#and she asks him if she has something he needs

[pellucid-constellations]

Creature Fear

And if had been clean, if there had been no strings between you, this would have been easy. But, with Azriel, you had never expected the strings to disappear. They would always be there—at least, they would for you.

An angsty piece inspired by Creature Fear by Bon Iver (2.3k words)

~~

With another kick slamming into the muscle along the Shadowsinger’s thigh, you heaved in a breath that assaulted your lungs. It burned and tasted of iron as you panted, but that was simply the natural flow of training.

This was fine. 

Everything was fine. 

You weren’t picturing Azriel with his hands on her waist, swaying to the rhythm of a song you couldn’t recall. You weren’t replaying how his lips touched her ear or how his fingers tilted her jaw to the side. No part of your brain was rehashing the smile she sent him, an expression given just moments before he led her out of Rita’s. 

No, you weren’t thinking of the events the night prior as you swung at the man before you. 

He ducked—a pity, really. 

“Something on your mind?” Azriel asked, words rushed as he moved around your attempted hits. 

You grunted. “No. I’m training. That’s why you dragged me out here.” 

“Right.” 

Another jab at his face. He dodged it. You used your leg to sweep at his ankles. 

“Are you even going to try?” you goaded, frustration creeping into your tone. 

Azriel hopped back in the ring, but when you only followed his escape, he released an impatient sigh and grabbed at your shoulders, flipping you until your back met the ground with a soft groan. 

“What’s the matter?” he huffed out above you. “You’re antsy. Your moves are sloppy and you really seem to want to hit me.” 

“I have hit you.” 

“Y/n,” Azriel warned. 

You ticked your jaw to the side, still out of breath as his chest pressed to yours. This was not an unusual position for the two of you. In fact, it was a position you had found yourself in just last week, only there was far less anger and far more pillows. And it had been dark—quite romantic if anyone had asked you, but no one was asking you. 

Because the relationship between you and the Shadowsinger was not public knowledge, and it certainly was not exclusive. No strings, Azriel had said against your mouth when you had come together the first time. And then it was we’re just blowing off steam and only one more time and we can’t tell anyone. It was unclear why Azriel needed a concrete reason to sleep with you each time he did it, but the underlying message was clear: you were not in a relationship. 

It was just sex. 

And sure, that was fine the first time—maybe even the second and third. But you had been lying to yourself when you agreed to the arrangement in between heavy breaths and rushed fingers. Azriel was not something you could do halfway, and you knew that from the start. You’d been half in love with him from the moment you met him. This had only been the nail in the coffin. 

“Get off of me,” you demanded with forearms pressing into Azriel’s chest. 

He was unrelenting. “No. Tell me what’s wrong with you.” 

“Nothing’s wrong. You’re crushing my ribs. Get off.” 

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, luckily, believing me has nothing to do with your ability to get off of me.” 

Azriel traced his eyes along each dip and high point of your face with a scrutinizing gaze before he finally heaved himself up, landing in a seat beside you. You sucked in a dramatic breath and propped yourself up on your palms. 

“Is it something to do with the information Rhys is having you decode?” Azriel asked, tucking his knee in the crook of his elbow. 

The side of your mouth twitched as heat licked up your throat. “No. Azriel, I told you everything’s fine. I was just trying something new Cassian wanted me to practice.” 

“Cassian wanted you to practice being reckless and untrained?” 

“That was incredibly rude.” 

Azriel breathed out a semblance of a laugh. You heard his wings shift as you kept your eyes trained on the floor, but that reprieve was short-lived as a hand met the curve of your jaw. Azriel pressed at the skin there until your gaze was level with his, and then he continued his search.

You humored him—for a moment—allowing your friend to furrow his brows at the distance you were trying to create between the two of you. 

“Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Azriel, noth—” 

“Stop lying to me,” he interrupted, sliding his hand back until his fingers wove into the hair at the base of your neck. “I know you. Something’s wrong.” 

Your chest was beginning to feel fuzzy and the heat in your throat had melted into a blissful warmth. It was always so easy to be around Azriel, and it would be just as easy to lean forward and whisper that against his lips. Since that line had been crossed all those months ago, you had been tempted to take what you wanted several times. 

But those liberties were only afforded to you in the dark aperture that was Azriel’s room. He only touched you like this when no one else was around, saving the gentleness of his fingers in the public eye for strangers in pleasure halls and nightclubs. 

You were nothing like the girl he took home the night before. She had probably woken with him wrapped in orange morning light when you were always scampering away in the bleak blues and greys that made up the middle of the night. She was probably soft and delicate and not training for battle at the crack of dawn. 

No, to Azriel, you were only a friend and you were convenient. 

You knocked his hand away. “I told you I’m fine, Azriel. I’m just having an off day. Leave it alone.” 

Azriel, who had flinched when the back of your hand met his arm, opened his mouth to speak without sound to follow. You were already on your feet by the time he could have formulated a response.

~~

You hadn’t spoken to him in three days. 

Three days of avoiding every room he frequented. Three days of avoiding his shadows as they attempted to beckon you to the training ring, the kitchens, and the balcony where he would inevitably get you to go into town with him. Three days of driving yourself insane. 

This was always going to end poorly, but you hadn’t expected you to feel so angry. Hurt, yes, but anger was not something typically in your repertoire—especially not associated with Azriel. 

The way he touched that woman played on a loop in your mind, reminding you how it had been so easy for him to do that in front of so many eyes. That, unlike you, there was no shame accompanied by his lazy fingers. He had touched you with those same hands, with that same tenderness, just the morning after—but no one was around to see it. 

It did hurt, but it was also infuriating. 

Maybe the angry heat was just a placeholder for the pain, something easier to digest, but you didn’t care to parse out the origin.

On the fourth day of stewing in your frustration, you were ending the night in bed with a candle and a book you could hardly focus on, reading and then rereading the same page as your jaw sat sewn together. 

The knock on your door was unexpected and unwelcomed

You didn’t have it in you to speak to him. 

You opened the door despite that. 

The man on the other side looked shocked for a moment, blinking as the wind from your arrival hit his eyes, and then he looked restless, bringing his hands up as if you were about to slam the door in his face. 

“Can I come in?” he asked, eyes darting over your shoulder to your bedroom and then back to you. “I know you’re avoiding me. I miss you. Let me come in.” 

“I’m not—” 

“Please, y/n.” 

His tone, rushed and panicked, made your brows come together. You opened the door a fraction wider to let him in. He stepped forward three times and then remained in place as you turned to close the door behind you. When you turned to face him once more, your senses were overwhelmed. 

Your back was pressed to the wood and familiar hands pressed divots into the skin of your waist. Azriel was kissing you—not hurried as he usually was when you met for these reasons, but almost savoring the feel of you against him. In your shock, your hands had landed on his chest, fisting his sweater between your fingers. Having him here, like this, distracted you for a moment. 

It felt natural. 

It was good. 

When Azriel deepened the kiss, you snapped back to your anger, remembering the sly way he had guided that woman out of Rita’s. You flattened your palms against his chest and pushed, hard. The Shadowsinger stumbled back with wild eyes, and it was then you saw the state of him. His rumpled clothes and the way his hair stood up as if he’d been running his fingers through it. The rings he typically wore were each missing from his fingers and he was completely unarmed, not even the Truthteller strapped at his hip. 

“I—I shouldn’t have done that,” Azriel spoke, clearing his throat as he ran his hand along his jaw. “You’re angry at me. I came in here to ask—I wanted to make it right. I didn’t mean to—” 

“Azriel, stop. I’m not angry at you.” A lie. You were angry at him, but there were no grounds to be. You straightened out your posture and fixed your nightgown where he had wrinkled it with his fingers. “We don’t… do it this way. I come to your room.” 

“I haven’t seen you in four days,” Azriel reasoned. “I miss you. I said that.” 

You ground your teeth together, unable to look him in the eye. “I’m sure I’m not the only woman in Velaris that could warm your bed.” 

Azriel stuttered over his words before replying, “That’s not what I meant. You’re—You are my friend and I miss you because you have gone to lengths to avoid me. I would like to know why.” 

Your gaze flashed up at the crack in his voice. He stood with his palms open to you, his arms hanging by his sides. 

“Friends don’t do what we were doing. Things are different between us now, Azriel.” 

“They don’t have to be. We agreed—no strings.” 

Anger grew and festered. They don’t have to change because he wouldn’t want them to. He would want a woman like the one at the pleasure hall. He would want anyone but you. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling equal parts unfair and justified. “Because the world works exactly how you want it to, doesn’t it, Azriel?” 

He paused, his pleading expressed now dumbfounded. “What?” 

“You just get to have your pick of women each night and if none of them work out you know I’ll be waiting at home for you? That your friend will be available if all of the women you’ll actually acknowledge in front of our family aren’t interested?” 

“No, I—” 

“I’m not some backup plan, Azirel. What, no one else available tonight? Did you happen to round on the Archeron sisters as well? I’m last again, right?” 

As the words spewed from your mouth, you knew you would come to regret them. Azriel looked more and more confused and affronted at each accusation you made, but this was easier than crying and professing your love. Azriel had said no strings attached, and if you couldn’t avoid love, he would have to deal with anger. That was an easier string to sever.

“We’re stopping this, if that wasn’t obvious.” 

Azriel’s breath seemed to escape his lungs in one fell swoop. He took a step forward and shook his head. “Is this about that night at Rita’s? Y/n, I would never have—” 

“No, you said no strings, right?” you bit out. “So you’re allowed to do whatever and whoever you want. This has nothing to do with that. I’m just… I’m just done.”

Gods, you weren’t making sense. Why had he kissed you when he walked in? You felt like you were going to cry and that was not something you wanted to do in front of him. “Okay, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Azriel almost begged. He looked ruined and so tired. “We can go back to how it was before.” The prospect seemed to pain him. “Just—tell me how to fix this between us. I can’t… lose you. Not to this.” 

“There’s nothing to fix,” you lied. “Let’s just—let’s just stop.” 

“Okay. Okay, we can stop and—” 

“And you need to get out.” 

Azriel blinked at you, brows furrowed. “But we still—Y/n, I want to talk about this.” 

There was an incongruence in the way he was looking at you. If it had just been about sex, this would have been simple, clean. For you, it would have hurt, but for Azriel, it would have been a small variable being removed. But he was looking at you as if the world was ending, and you couldn't comprehend that. 

He had been holding another woman earlier this week. 

His hands twitched now. 

He needed to leave before you cried.

“Get out, Azriel.”

[trashytracktales]

Heyy girliee, first of all I want to say that your writing is absolutely amazing. I’ve been reading your Lando fics for the past couple of days and “endings, beginnings” had me feeling butterflies in my stomach 🫢 I wanted to ask you if you could write something about lando and reader being friends but constantly having sexual tension building up between them. Maybe they flirt with each other but never think of it as something so serious and one night after a party they completely destroy each other. I fully trust you with this and how you’ll develop the story haha and don’t hold back. Thank youuu :*

Think twice | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for the love on Endings, beginnings & I appreciate you for taking the time to share this. Hope you like it 🤍🎀

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𐙚 summary ──── What starts as a chill party, where they sit in their old habits, ends with new boundaries crossed and a heavy tension they can no longer ignore.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, mentions of alcohol and drinking, friends to lovers, bit of jealous!Lando, smut, slight teasing, praising, fingering & oral (sit on it), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.8k

𐙚 date ──── Jan. 21, 2025

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THE TWO OF them are always standing next to each other, no matter the room they’re in. The context, just like the reason why this happens, is redundant. Plus, they don’t even do it on purpose; rather, they are unconsciously drawn to each other like two magnets.

The party has finally slowed to a lazy hum, the music just a tolerable background noise now. People linger in clusters around them, their voices a distant murmur blending with the faint bassline of a forgotten playlist. The living room is dim, lit mostly by the glow of a string of fairy lights drooping across the ceiling.

It was supposed to be a small gathering, but then a friend told a friend, and that friend told their friends. And now, it’s almost impossible to find a private spot to catch your breath without breathing someone else’s air.

Somehow, they did. They are tucked into the corner of a couch, their space a small bubble of comfort. Her legs are draped over his lap, bare skin warm against the fabric of his black jeans. He’s cradling her calf in one hand, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her skin.

Her fingers thread through his curls at the back of his head, twirling them lazily. It’s a casual gesture, but it sends a shiver through him every time she does it.

Their conversation shifted into easy gossiping about a mutual friend — someone they both think is trying a bit too hard with their Instagram posts.

“It’s fucking obvious he’s fishing for attention,” says Lando, sounding almost conspiratorial.

“I know, right? The cryptic ass captions, the mirror selfies. He thinks he’s smooth with it, too,” she replies, giggling at the thought.

Lando grins, his thumb still tracing circles on her leg. The banter feels safe, the kind of effortless connection they’ve always had. But underneath it, there’s a quiet tension that neither of them is ready to address. Because they are, maybe, a bit tipsy, or because none of them has ever had the courage to take it further, for some reason.

“Alright, I need to pee,” she announces suddenly, getting ready to stand.

But Lando tightens his grip on her legs, his lips twitching in a smirk. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” she insists, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “If I don’t go, I might pee on you.”

Lando shrugs, “Go ahead. Then I might discover a new kink,” he encourages her.

“New?” she laughs. “That implies you already have at least one.”

Lando winks at her without saying a word, the corners of his mouth curling into a mischievous smile.

She rolls her eyes, smiling back at his immature behavior. “My God. You’re actually the worst. Move.”

He doesn’t. Instead, Lando, just stares at her with an expression that’s visibly different. His usual playful gaze has shifted to something more intense, and she tells herself he’s just a little... intoxicated. Still, it makes her heart skip a beat, because he looks so adorable when his eyes focus on something so intently. And so hot, that it makes her almost forget why she wanted to get up in the first place.

“Lan, I’m not joking, I actually have to go,” she whispers, her voice softer now.

He exhales, loosening his grip but not before giving her leg a small, reluctant squeeze.

“Don’t get lost,” he says, the words carrying more weight than they should.

She shakes her head, slipping off the couch and disappearing into the hallway. Lando watches her go, his eyes trailing after her like he’s afraid she might actually not come back.

Which is ridiculous, because he should not care. There are lots of other girls that he can take home tonight if he wants to.

Want, being the keyword.

Leaning back against the couch, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s always known she was the embodiment of the perfect girl for him — funny, kind, and loyal. But tonight, there’s something else in the air that makes his mind wander. The way she carries herself, her laugh, the way she makes everything around her seem brighter.

Lando realized long ago that he wants to he in her presence. The truth hit him like a punch in the gut. And he still feels that punch sometimes, especially when he sees her interacting with other people. Especially men.

He’s had thoughts about her before. Many thoughts. Wild fantasies he brushed off as nothing more than fleeting curiosity. And they’ve joked about it, too, their drunken ‘if we’re single at 35’ pact a favorite running gag. But tonight, it doesn’t feel like a joke — he might actually marry her if she keeps letting him invade her personal space like that. Except she wouldn’t have let Lando do that if she didn’t want him there.

He finds himself smiling at his own thoughts. But then, an unwanted stiffness claws his body.

She’s on the way back when a guy leaning against the wall near the bathroom is blocking her path. He’s tall, too close for Lando’s liking, and he is gesturing animatedly. She’s always too polite, smiling as she talks, but Lando notices the way she shifts her weight, edging away slightly.

Something close to jealousy ignites in his chest, but he manages to tame the feeling by looking away, and forcing himself to take a slow sip of his drink. She can handle herself, he knows that. But he’s also ready to step in, just in case he needs to. Most men don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and he’s aware of how insistent some of them can be.

When she finally returns, Lando’s mood has shifted drastically, and she notices it the second she looks at him.

“Hey, you good?” she asks, plopping back down and swinging her legs over his lap again.

“Yeah,” he says shortly, his hand resuming its absent stroking on her shin.

Her brows knit together. “Not you lying to me. Come on, Landinho, what’s with you?”

“Nothing,” he insists, but his tone is clipped, and his eyes won’t quite meet hers.

She punches his arm lightly, trying to break through whatever wall he’s just put up. “You sure?”

He looks at her then, and the vulnerability in his gaze takes her breath away. “Sure,” he says. But his hand tightens slightly on her leg, like he’s holding onto her in more ways than one.

Her heart clenches. Lando is her friend, the one person she can always count on, but in this moment, she feels the air between them growing in different direction. It’s not the first time, and it doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but it’s not easy for her to sit in it, either.

“You’re being weird,” she states, trying to lighten the mood, but her voice wavers.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, forcing a small smile. “Just tired,” adds Lando, but there’s something he hides behind his eyes, something that makes her chest ache.

She studies his face, her teasing words dying on her lips. His eyes are heavy-lidded, the usual spark dulled by the late hour and maybe one drink too many. His movements are slow, lazy, his thumb still caressing her skin.

“I can see that,” she says gently, sliding her legs off his lap. “Up. Come with me?”

The sudden loss of contact pulls him out of his haze, “Where?” asks Lando, his voice faintly slurred with exhaustion.

“Do you trust me?” she replies with a knowing smile, standing up and extending a hand to him. “My god, Lando. My friend gave me keys to one of the rooms upstairs in case I wanted to crash.”

He hesitates, glancing at her outstretched hand before finally letting out a soft laugh and taking it.

They make their way upstairs, the faint thump of music growing quieter with each step. The room isn’t far, tucked at the end of a hallway. She unlocks the door, revealing a small but cozy space. The room is dimly lit, with a single bedside lamp casting a muted glow over the single bed that’s pressed against one wall, a small dresser, and an armchair in the corner.

Lando steps in behind her, the faint hum of the party fading as the door clicks shut. His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the space. She lingers by the door for a moment, turning the key with a soft click, locking them in; the sound feels final, and heavier than it should.

Lando notices the bed immediately, his eyes narrowing briefly before he rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that betrays his unease. His voice is low and uncertain as he says, “You know what, I can crash on the couch downstairs. It’s fine.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a small smile as she watches him fidget. “You can,” she agrees, knowing that Lando has the superpower to fall asleep anywhere, no matter the place or how loud the background noise is. “Unfortunately, I locked the door,” she adds with fake concern in her voice.

Lando glances at her, his expression caught somewhere between playful and wary. “Yeah. You can unlock it, though.”

“But I won’t,” she replies, her smile softening, her words carrying an unspoken challenge that Lando catches immediately.

His lips part, and for a moment, he says nothing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Then, quietly, his voice dipping lower, he says, “Then don’t.”

His words linger between them, and she feels the weight of his gaze as it shifts to her. There’s no teasing in his expression now, no trace of the lighthearted Lando she’s used to.

She lets her arms fall to her side, her pulse quickening.

Lando’s chest rises and falls steadily, though there’s a tautness to his posture. His gaze darts back to the bed, then to her, and she swears she sees a flicker of something in his eyes — fear? Desire? Anticipation?

His jaw tightens, his eyes searching hers, and she feels the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on them both. Every glance, every touch, every joke that lingered a second too long — it’s all there, bubbling to the surface.

The tension between them that has simmered for months, maybe even years, suddenly feels unbearable. Lando’s eyes meet hers once again, and the quiet resolve in her gaze breaks something inside him. And then, suddenly, a glance he catches from her it’s all it takes. The restraint he’s held onto for so long snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. Before he knows it, he’s closing the gap between them, his hands cupping her face as his lips crash against hers.

She responds instantly, her hands tangling in his curls as she pulls him closer. The kiss is all-consuming, months of buried feelings and unsaid words spilling out in a rush. It’s intoxicating, a heavy blend of alcohol and the faint sweetness of her cherry lip balm. His lips are soft, impossibly so, molding against hers like they were made to fit. The taste of him is dizzying, a perfect balance of warmth and want, and each movement of his mouth sends sparks of heat rippling through her.

It’s overwhelming, the way Lando kisses her — gentle, but with a growing intensity that leaves her breathless, her heart pounding as if it’s trying to match the rhythm of his. His fingers trail down to her neck, squeezing lightly and pulling her against him as they stumble backward toward the bed.

“Do you know how long—” he begins against her lips, his voice rough with need.

“Too long,” she cuts him off with another kiss while her fingers are rushing to tug at the hem of his shirt.

Lando groans as they tumble onto the bed. Their breaths are loud and uneven, filling the small space as their lips crash together again, need and desire fueling every movement. Her palm presses against the small of his back, coaxing him between her legs. He instinctively follows her guidance, his body lowering against hers until his forehead rests on hers. At that, Lando sighs, not with frustration but a soft exasperation that halts them both.

“Are we… okay?” he asks, half-amused and half-concerned. “We shouldn’t—we should not do this. Not like this.”

She doesn’t release him, her hands still on his sides, her legs loosely wrapped around him. “We are,” she assures him, her voice calm but insistent. “It’s just us, Lando.”

His brows furrow, his lips parting in disbelief. “I know. I just don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and—”

Her hands move to his face, cupping it firmly and forcing him to look directly at her. “Regret it?” the girl asks, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Don’t be silly. You know this isn’t about tonight. I’ve wanted you for a while now. I know you do, too.”

His eyes flicker with something raw, and he swallows hard. “I do,” he agrees. “But. It’d be such a waste to mess it up.”

The weight of his confession settles over them, and he falls onto the mattress beside her. For a moment, they both stare up at the ceiling, their fingers brushing tentatively before intertwining. It’s quiet, save for the hum of the party faintly bleeding through the walls.

And then, “You’re such a good kisser, by the way,” she finally breaks the silence.

He lets out a chuckle, visibly affected. “You’re not making it any easier.”

“I’m already messed up because of you, Lan,” she confesses, turning onto her side, her fingers finding his arm and tracing slow patterns along its length. “I trust us. No matter the outcome.”

Her hand travels to his chest, her fingers brushing lightly over his collarbone before moving to his jaw. She traces the line of it, her touch light but electrifying. Finally, her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her gaze following her movements so closely, as if she wants to devour him.

Their thoughts run wild, revisiting every stolen glance, the tension, the want — it’s always been there. Every moment brought them here.

And now?

“Do you, really?” asks Lando, his voice laced with curiosity.

She nods, her hands sliding down to rest over his, her fingers curling around his. “Completely. I trust us to figure it out as we go. Don’t you?”

He lets her words settle, a warmth spreading through his body. He does. But he still has to think twice before agreeing to something so drastic, especially when he is faced with something he wants so badly that it makes him burn with impatience.

Finally, Lando sighs, looking at her.

“It’s not a big deal, right?” she says with a quiet laugh, her voice tinged with both affection and relief. “We’ve always been good at just... being us.”

He smiles at that, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “That’s true. We’re pretty fucking great at that.”

Lando’s breathing hitches as she guides his hand to her ass, pressing it against her curves with an undeniable confidence. His grip tightens instinctively, and she drapes a leg over his waist, pulling herself closer. Their eyes lock, her fingers tracing his features, as if committing every contour to memory. They’ve never been so close to each other, and the intimacy of the moment makes his heart race, while hers almost melts under the warmth of his body.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he admits matter-of-factly.

Her lips curl into a faint smile. “Hopefully,” she whispers, her hand traveling south, to work on unbuttoning his jeans.

Lando swallows hard, his gaze darkening as he grips her tighter. “If I fuck you tonight…” his voice drops, laced with a possessiveness that makes her shiver. “I won’t be able to let another guy come anywhere near you again.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, finally able to put the pieces together, understanding why Lando was acting so strange earlier.

“Are you jealous, Lando?” she teases, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in her tone.

Lando’s response is silent; instead, he leans in, his lips finding the soft curve of her neck. He sucks lightly, then harder, leaving a blooming hickey that makes her gasp.

When he pulls back, his voice is firm, “No, I just want people to stay away from what’s mine.”

Her breath catches, and before she can stop herself, the word escapes her lips in a near-whisper. “Yours.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but he doesn’t say anything, letting the intensity in his gaze speak for him. She pushes at his chest, making him fall back against the mattress with a soft laugh, and crawls on top of him, her thighs straddling his hips.

Impatiently, her hands work on his shirt, pushing it up his chest. “Off,” she demands, tugging until he lifts his arms and lets her pull it over his head.

His hands waste no time, slipping under her skirt and pulling at the lace of her panties. “These,” he says quickly, his breath warm against her collarbone, “are in my way.”

With a sharp pull, he slides them down her thighs, and she shivers as the cool air kisses her damp skin. She leans down, burying her face in the crook of his neck to hide her embarrassment as he guides her hips forward, her bare core pressing against the warmth of his abs. The firm ridges of muscle beneath her send a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she lets out a soft moan.

Lando’s hand tightens on her hip, his thumb brushing over her skin. “Look at that,” he breathes heavily, “What got you so excited, hm?”

She whimpers at his words, the heat pooling in her cheeks as much as between her thighs. “Don’t—” she mumbles into his neck, her voice muffled and shy.

He chuckles softly, the vibration of it against her skin making her shudder. “No, that’s so hot,” he teases, moving her hips just slightly so she drags against him. His own breath catches, and his hips shift upward, pressing the hardness of his length against her thigh. “You feel what you’re doing to me? It’s mutual.”

She lifts her head, her eyes meeting his as she lets her fingers trail down his chest. Next, she adjusts herself as her hand slides lower, brushing against the waistband of his pants before she pushes them down just enough to free him. His cock springs free, and she bites her lip at the sight of it, her own arousal growing as she reaches out to wrap her hand around him.

Lando groans, his head falling back against the pillow. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice rough and full of longing.

As she leans down to press her lips to his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipple, a sound escapes him that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan. She glances up again, amused. “Well,” she teases, her voice playful but sultry, “I think I just found your new kink.”

Lando lets out a weak chuckle, his hand tangling in her hair as he pulls her back up to kiss her. “Shut up,” he speaks over her lips, but the way his hips buck against her hand tells her she’s right. “Everything you do is my kink,” he whispers, the rawness in his voice making her heart race.

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade, and with a playful glint in her eye, her hand squeezes his cock lightly, eliciting a sharp inhale from him. “Sorry,” she giggles, feigning innocence, “I just wanted to make sure.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk before his hands cup her ass firmly, pressing her harder against him. His voice is rough and dripping with need as he almost begs, “Come sit on my face.”

The unexpected plea is leaving her breathless, painting her face in confusion. “What?” she stammers, her voice nearly swallowed by the thrum of arousal coursing through her.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Lando assures her, his tone insistent, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.

Without waiting for her to argue, he pushes her skirt up around her waist, revealing the soft skin of her thighs, and pulls her closer to his face. She hesitates for a moment, her nerves warring with her desire, but when his strong hands guide her gently and his lips press a teasing kiss against her inner thigh, she gives in. The first swipe of his tongue against her entrance makes her gasp, her hand flying to the wall to steady herself.

Lando groans as he tastes her, the sound vibrating against her core and sending shockwaves through her body. One arm wraps tightly around her thigh, anchoring her to him, while his free hand drifts down to his cock, stroking himself in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue. Her moans spill into the air, mixing with his as Lando’s mouth works her over like a man starved, warm and wet and utterly relentless.

“Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky as the intensity builds. Her hips jerk against his mouth instinctively, and he responds by pulling her even closer, burying his face deeper between her legs.

His tongue flicks, swirls, and presses in all the right places, and she can barely keep herself upright. She has to press both of her palms on the wall, but even then it’s not enough to keep her grounded. Not when Lando laps at her clit, his fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still as her body begins to tremble.

“You taste so fucking good,” he informs her between strokes of his tongue, his words muffled but clear enough to make her toes curl.

As her breaths turn shallow and erratic, she feels the pressure coiling tightly in her abdomen. Lando senses it, too, and his grip tightens, his movements growing more fervent. “Wanna come for me?” he asks as impatient as she is.

Before she can even process his question, her climax crashes into her like a tidal wave, her thighs trembling around his head as her moans echo through the room. Lando doesn’t stop, his mouth and tongue coaxing her through every pulse and tremor until she’s gasping for air.

In one swift, effortless motion, he pulls her down onto the bed and flips her over, positioning himself above her. His lips are slick, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust as he pumps two fingers into her, the wet heat of her still clenching around him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his thumb brushing against her sensitive clit as his fingers curl inside. “Let me feel you.”

Her body arches off the bed as another wave of pleasure crests over her, Lando’s name spilling from her lips in breathless cries. The sheer intensity of his touch and the quickness of it all leave her spinning, her mind barely able to keep up as he drives her over the edge once more.

By the time her breathing begins to steady, Lando leans down, his lips brushing hers in a lingering kiss, tasting her satisfaction on his tongue. He grins against her mouth, utterly smug but entirely captivated.

“See how fucking delicious you are?” he whispers, and she can only nod, still lost in the aftermath of him unraveling her completely.

Seeing the pleasure etched across her face, Lando can barely hold it together. His hands tremble slightly as he shoves his jeans and boxers down for good, freeing himself at last. His cock, heavy and flushed, rests against her thigh, the warmth of her skin giving him goosebumps. He breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers as he pauses for just a moment, meeting her gaze with a mix of vulnerability and pure lust.

“Are we really gonna do this?” asks Lando, his voice hiding too much desire under its raspy tone.

His eyes search hers, looking for any hint of doubt. Luckily, there is none. She just nods frantically, her hands sliding down his back to cup the firm muscles of his ass.

Her touch sends electricity through him, and she guides him where she needs him most, her body arching in anticipation. “I want you. Please.”

Without breaking eye contact, he sinks into her, and the world stops for both of them. His head falls forward, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he feels her warmth envelop him, her slick heat drawing him in effortlessly. Her body opens for him so easily, so perfectly, that it steals his breath. The tension that had coiled tightly in her frame melts away as her legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer.

Her arms encircle his shoulders, holding him tightly while she gasps Lando’s name. Her voice is music to his ears, and he presses his forehead against hers, the connection between them both overwhelming, yet grounding. Her fingers slide into his curls, playing with the strands at the nape of his neck as her hips shift instinctively, adjusting to his size.

“God, you feel…” he trails off, unable to find the words. Instead, he lets his body speak for him, drawing back before thrusting forward again. His movements are purposeful and powerful, each one making the bed creak slightly beneath them and pushing her up and down the sheets.

Her lips part with soft cries, her fingers tightening in his hair as her body meets each of his thrusts. “Lando,” she moans, her voice full of need and adoration, spurring him on. “Yes, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

He catches her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her sounds as his hands wander over her body. His fingers hook under the hem of her t-shirt, and he tugs it upward, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull it over her head. The sight of her bare skin, flushed and glistening, takes his breath away. Her breasts are adorned with black lace, and the contrast against her skin ignites something primal in him.

“Stunning,” says Lando just as his hand drifts to her chest, brushing over the delicate fabric.

The way she arches into his touch, her nails scraping lightly against his shoulders, drives him wild. His thrusts deepen, his hips moving with purpose as the room fills with the sounds of their bodies meeting, her moans, and his ragged breaths.

“Fucking hell,” he rasps. His jaw clenches as he feels her tightening around him. “You’re killing me. So tight and—”

Before he can finish, she pulls him into a kiss. It’s shallow, their lips barely meeting as they breathe each other’s air. Her nails dig into his back, her legs trembling as she holds him as close as humanly possible.

“You’re so good, Lando,” she murmurs, her voice quivering, her praise like gasoline on his fire. “My favorite boy.”

Her words send him over the edge of control, his hips stuttering as he thrusts deep inside her, feeling her walls begin to flutter and clench around his cock. Her back arches, her head burying into the pillow as her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave. Again.

Her moans are unfiltered, and she clutches him like he’s her lifeline, while Lando stills inside her, groaning low and long as her body grips him so tightly that knocks the air out of his lungs. He presses his forehead against her chest, their breaths hurried as her aftershocks pulse around him so sweetly. Her nails scrape lightly down his back, grounding them both, continuing to whisper his name like a prayer.

It’s enough for Lando to surrender to his own orgasm, his body trembling as wave after wave of release takes him over. He stays buried inside her, unwilling to part just yet. The warm tightness around him makes him shudder, his hand gripping her thigh to anchor himself.

When he finally pulls out, he hesitates before pressing his knee between her legs, feeling the slick warmth of their combined arousal smearing against his skin. She squirms against him, her overstimulated body trembling, her hips shifting involuntarily as aftershocks ripple through her.

Lando watches her, his eyes dark with satisfaction, his voice husky as he whispers, “Forget 35. Let’s get married tomorrow.”

She exhales sharply, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I’m down,” she teases, her tone light but affectionate. “Let’s book the venue now.”

He looks at her, gaze softening, filled with something deeper as he reaches behind her and, with one measured motion, unclasps her bra. The suddenness of it catches her off guard, her eyes widening as he tosses it aside like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Before she can say a word, Lando leans over the side of the bed, fishing for his shirt. He finds it, holding it up, then tugging it over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her frame.

“Perfect fit,” he says softly, his fingers brushing against her arms as he helps her adjust it. The gesture makes her chest tighten, her heart swelling with an ache she doesn’t fully understand yet.

After that, Lando slides back into his boxers and pulls the covers over both of them. The bed is small, forcing their bodies to press together in a tangle of limbs. It doesn’t feel awkward, though. It feels like a new home, safe and peaceful.

He rests his head on her chest, his breath warm and steady against her, while his hand absently caresses her through the fabric of his shirt, his fingers brushing over her nipple. Everything about the moment feels somehow so normal, like they’ve been this way forever.

The silence stretches on, so comforting, until she suddenly breaks it with a soft groan. “I have to pee again.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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© trashy track tales, 2025

[captain-huggy-bear]

Priorities

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Illness/comfort

Summary: When Quinn gets a text from you 2 hours before his game, he shows where his priorities lie when he drops it all for you.

Series: Teacher Reader series

Notes: I am not very well atm and I had to drive home dizzy from work the other day, the idea of Quinn being there to help has been stuck in my head so have some self indulgence from me.

A kind of sequel to In Sickness and in Health but you don't need to read that to read this.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

He's already at the rink getting ready for the game in the locker room when his phone goes off. You don't actually ring him, clearly doing that thing you always do where you're trying to not bother him on a game day, instead you send a quick text message. He expects the usual:

'Good luck on the game today, baby!'

Instead, the text he gets has him picking his phone up and calling you back in an instant, worry clouding his judgement and making his hands shake slightly.

'Hey, so guess who's being sent home because she's dizzy and can't breathe? I had my head between my legs for 20 minutes, definitely can't stand and teach. Have a good game x'.

You drop the good luck at the end like he's not supposed to be worried, like you've just casually told him about the weather and not that you we're struggling to breathe.

It doesn't really matter that Tocc is giving him the look, the one he reserves for when he's annoyed at the boys, or that half the locker room have stopped their own pre-game, pre-warm up routines to watch their captain frantically call you. He's pacing back and forth, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for you to pick up the phone.

"Quinn?" You sound so incredibly breathless its like listening to an asthmatic 80 year old who's smoked for half their life. Except you don't smoke and you're not asthmatic or 80 which makes the whole situation about 10 times worse because you shouldn't be struggling to breathe. You should be doing better today.

You've been ill, he knows this, a chest infection he forced you to get meds for on the weekend. Meds which should have started working by now, a heavy dose of antibiotics and steroids which were supposed to have helped. You'd felt well enough this morning to go in and give work another go, but he regrets letting you do that now. Clearly trying to stand up in front of teenagers and talk was not something you should have been doing, not when the school day had only started half an hour ago and you were already being sent home.

"Baby, are okay?" You're sitting on the front steps of the school with all your things when you answer the phone to Quinn's worried voice. You keep telling yourself you just need a minute, just a minute and then you won't feel so dizzy, won't feel so breathless. Just a minute and the tingles in your fingers will go and your hands will stop shaking so much. Just a minute and then you can drive home and get into bed.

"Y-yeah, I'm...I'm just breathless. I'll be okay...they're...they're covering my...my lessons and..." You stop for a minute, taking big deep breathes, you sound so laboured on the phone that Quinn can't help but clench his phone tighter in his hand, "and I'm going home now." Your breaths are wheezy, just like Saturday, in fact he's certain you sound worse.

"How are you getting home?" He knows the answer before you say it and he hates it before he even hears it. You're dizzy and breathless and there is no way you should be driving home at all, but he knows you. Self-reliant to a fault, a martyr, always pushing yourself past the point of no return because you think you're fine, because you convince yourself you're fine. Because you don't want to inconvenience anyone or cause more problems. You ask to little of people around you, expecting barely anything despite all you give.

"I'm...I'm going to...to drive."

"No. You're not. I'm going to come get you." You want to protest a lot more than you do if you're being honest. But, you're so tired and it's so hard to breathe and students wandering in late to school are staring at you like you're having a break down. So your protests are relatively lacklustre by your usual standard. That actually worries him more.

"It's...there's like 2 hours before the game...you've...you've got warm ups soon." You hate the idea of him missing warm ups or god forbid the game, all because you were too stupid to realise you shouldn't have gone into work in the first place.

"So, I'll get you, take you home and come back to the rink and play. I'll walk to the school tomorrow and collect your car so you don't have to worry about it. But, you aren't driving, baby. If you even try to get in that car I will being fucking pissed. I love you, you do not get in that car." You know he's serious in that moment, not just because he's very rarely angry at you or anyone but himself, outside of the rink, but because he's got that clipped tone he only uses when he's serious. This isn't a request, it's a direct order and you have no intention of disobeying it, not when you know he's right...not when it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside that he's so insistent about your wellbeing.

"But, what...what if you miss warm ups?" He loves how much you support him and his hockey, he always will, but he hates that your first thought is that hockey should come first. His girlfriend can barely breathe right now and he quite honestly doesn't give a flying fuck if he misses warm ups. The team had to pull themselves together at some point and you came first. Always. If they couldn't manage warm ups without him then what was the point of paying them so much money?

"Warm ups aren't my priority, baby. You are. Do not get in the car. Do not drive. Do not move. I'm leaving right now, okay? Just sit on the steps of the school and take deep breaths." He's already grabbing his keys, not even bothering to change out of his gear other than putting some proper shoes on so that he can actually drive. He knows it'll spark some speculation and rumours, Captain of the Canucks storming out of the arena 2 hours before puck drop in full gear except his skates, but he doesn't fucking care about that right now.

"...Okay...thank you, Quinny. I love you." You say it because in that moment you have never felt so loved, to have someone drop everything, something so important, to come get you...Maybe its the meds, maybe its the breathlessness, the infection, but you feel like crying a little because of how sweet he is even when he's bossing you about.

"I'll see you soon, baby. I love you too."

He doesn't waste time once he hangs up, just turns straight to Tocc and tells him, "I'll be back."

The look he gets is a mixture of disbelief, frustration and confusion and he really can't blame Tocc for it. Not when Quinn is the captain, the player that seems to make a massive difference on the ice, and he's about to run out the doors 2 hours before the game? Yeah, he knows Tocc doesn't want to hear it.

"Quinn, where you going? We have a game in 2 hours?!" He knows he's going to be cutting it fine with Vancouver traffic and getting to your school, the apartment and back to the arena, but he's not letting you drive. He could live with missing a game, losing a game, but he couldn't live with himself if he let you drive home and something happened. His job was to look after you, if he failed at that? What was the fucking point?

"Tocc, I'll be back. I promise. But, right now my girlfriend is unable to breathe and dizzy and I'm not letting her drive home, okay? Sooner I leave, sooner I come back."

Maybe it's the insistence on Quinn's face, the reality that if he was forced to stay he wouldn't play well anyway. Maybe it's that you and Tocc get along and he can see a hint of concern in the other man's eyes or maybe Tocc just trusts him that much. But, he actually agrees to let him go. Not that Quinn could really be forced to stay. They'd have to tie him to the bench.

"Okay, I'm trusting you."

"Thanks."

Quinn ignores every single person he storms past, every employee, every fan outside, every person with a camera that starts asking him where he's going as he starts his car with one destination in mind. Maybe he seems rude, maybe he seems standoffish, but he doesn't really care because right now you are sat on the steps of a school struggling to breathe and he just wants to see you and get you home and into bed.

He doesn't even care that he knows Tocc is going to be questioned about his absence or that he can already hear his phone pinging with notifications from social media, most likely people asking where he was going and speculating.

'Just saw Quinn Hughes storm out of Rogers Arena in full gear, finally got fed up of his team?'

'Um, is anyone else panicking that Hughes just left the arena like 2 hours before puck drop?'

'Captain Lexapro has officially lost it with this team, just stormed out of the arena!!'

He tries his best not to break any traffic laws getting to you, despite the fact he has a lead foot that wants to press harder on the accelerator. But, he knows you'd hate it and you'd worry more about him getting a ticket, so he just grips the steering wheel tighter until he's turning into the school car park.

He doesn't try to park in a proper space, just pulls up as close to you as possible before hopping out. Your head is between your legs, shoulders rising and falling in laboured breaths and he feels like he's been punched in the stomach at how bad you sound.

"Oh, baby..." He's kneeling on the dirty ground within seconds and you try, through broken gasps to tell him he'll get his hockey socks dirty, but he doesn't listen to you, just reaches to pull you into a hug.

"Let's get you home, okay? Tomorrow we're going back to the doctors, okay?" You're leaning your head into his shoulder so heavily that he's worried you might actually pass out. It's like the moment his arms wrap around you, you just give up on holding yourself up. In truth, that's kind of what happens. You just want to lean into him, soak up the comfort of your boyfriend lighting petting your hair and whispering into your ear.

"Don't y-you have...practice?"

"I think I can fit the doctors in around practice, baby..." He doesn't tell you, but he'd forgo practice for you. He doesn't care about anything but how you're doing and you're not okay. Quinn can see that better than anyone.

"Alright, up you get..." He stands first, hands reaching for yours to help pull you to your feet. You sway before him like you're on a 16th century galleon in a thunderstorm, forehead plonking on his chest heavily, "Atta, girl. There we go." He just strokes your hair and back while you wait for the dizziness to pass, he knows each second will make him later to the arena but he's not going to rush you when you're struggling just to stand without fainting.

"Alright, let me get your stuff and then we'll take it one step at a time, baby, okay?"

"O..okay...one step...at a time." He tries his best not to let go of you completely as he bundles your work bag onto his shoulder. Quinn is as quick as he can be with it, before pulling you under his arm and helping you inch step by step towards the car.

It's slow going, every few steps you get a little dizzy and he waits for you to nod before he pushes you forward again. You're drained, dark circles under your eyes and skin losing some of its usual colour by the time you reach the car.

Quinn had purposefully pulled up the car with the passenger side facing you and you're thankful not to have to walk around the car as you brace yourself against the door for a moment. Quinn helps ease you into the seat, reaching over to put your seatbelt on for you and adjust the headrest so you can lean back. It eases some of the weight in your chest.

"Nearly home, okay, baby?"

You just nod, exhausted as his hands cup your cheeks tenderly, spreading a soft sort of affection through your already aching chest. He's so gentle as he looks down at you, fingers rubbing circles in your cheeks, but he looks so worried and you feel so guilty because he shouldn't have to be that worried.

"You've been so brave, baby, you're so brave...soon you'll be in bed and you can watch the game and sleep, okay?" He knows you'll want to watch the game if you're sat at home, mostly because you watch every game he plays even if its on catch up, but also because he knows it'll reassure you that he made it back in time.

You nod again, blinking up at him so tired that he can't help but frown.

"Atta, girl. My brave girl." The kiss Quinn presses to your forehead is short and sweet, not lingering but filling you with warmth and lightness even as he closes the door on you and gets into the driver's side.

You miss his comforting touch and as if he knows this, his hand reaches for your thigh at any given opportunity when it isn't in use to drive. The stability of it, the comfort of just having him there is so welcome and helps you to relax back into the seat as he drives.

It's just as hard work getting you into the apartment, thankful as ever that the elevator actually works, but once you're in, Quinn feels ten times lighter.

"Right, lets get you comfy, baby...you want one of my jerseys or a hoodie?"

"Jersey...the....the black one, please."

"Okay, sit down, there ya go, good girl.." He watches you the entire time from the corner of his eye, scared you'll lean too far forward from how you're hunched over on the edge of the bed. He tries to make the entire thing quick, reaching for his black jersey, the extra big one that he bought home because you liked how it dwarfed you and even dwarfed him.

"Arms up, baby..." He helps you out of your work blouse and your bra, slipping the jersey over the top quickly to avoid the shivers you start shaking with.

The worst part is getting you to your feet to get your bottoms off. Quinn helps you rise to your feet before kneeling in front of you, dragging your hands to his shoulders for support as he helps you inch out of the remainder of your work clothes. Your fingers grip his shoulders so tight that he's certain you might leave bruises but he doesn't really care, just happy to get you comfy and help you into bed.

You're bundled under as many blankets as he can find, plus the heated blanket you got at Christmas. A big jug of water beside the bed, snacks piled high because he is not having you try to go all the way to kitchen without supervision right now.

"You want the game set to go on?"

"Y...yes, please...wanna watch you play." He turns the television on, setting it to the NHL game set to go live in less than an hour now and he knows he's going to miss warm ups at this point. Tocc's probably blowing up his phone and he knows he's cutting it fine...but you look so small bundled up in bed and he actually hates the idea of leaving you alone. He hates not having his family near all the time as a general rule, but in that moment he hates it so much more. If his mum or dad had been near he could have asked Ellen or Jim to check in on you, instead you were going to be all alone and he hated it.

"I'll score for you, yeah? You can watch me score and maybe we'll win and then I'll come and make us dinner. That sound good, baby?"

"Perfect..." Quinn smooths your hair back from your face, tucking a strand behind your ear even as he uses it as an excuse to feel your temperature. Not unreasonably warm which reassures him a little that you're at least not feverish.

He just keeps sitting there next to you, stroking your hair and caressing your cheek to the point that as much as you're loathe to get him to stop and to leave, you have to remind him he can't stay here. He has a game he's already running late to.

"You...you have to go, Quinn...I'll be okay..."

"If you're not, you'll phone 911, right?" He smooths your hair back again, in truth he really doesn't want to leave you there like that. Even as you seem to be breathing a little better now you're lying down. He considers just not going, if they lose they lose...but he knows he can't. He's captain, he promised he'd be back...and you'd be unhappy with him. He might be your boyfriend but the Canucks were your team and you'd likely make him sleep on the couch for a week.

"I promise...just go win for me?"

"Okay, sweet girl." He presses a last lingering kiss to your forehead, before getting up to leave. But, he still lingers in the doorway for a moment until you push him to go.

Once he's out of the apartment he's rushing. Barely any time and honestly when he finally gets back to the arena and gets his skates on he's surprised he's just in time to go out on the ice for the anthem...cold, not warmed up in the slightest, not ready at all to play a game, but willing to.

Tocc stops him as he's passing the bench to get to the ice, "Cutting it fine, Hughes!" despite the gruff tone, Quinn can tell that Tocc is just relieved that Quinn's back in time. As are the guys who all look at him with varying shades of relief as if they'd been freaking out the entire time. Which they probably had.

"Told you I'd be back." Quinn says it with such confidence, even though inside he knows he nearly missed the entire game. To be honest if you hadn't forced him out the apartment then he'd probably have been late at best.

"How is she?" Tocc's voice is soft, concerned and Quinn appreciates it. He appreciates that as a coach Tocc doesn't just care about how much they cost or how well they play, he cares about them and their families too...and you're included in that, ring or not.

"Not good...but safe at home."

"You need practice off tomorrow?"

"Please, I need to get her to the doctors..."

"Done. Now go help us win the game." Tocc gives him a clap on the shoulder before pushing him out onto the ice and just like that Quinn slips into captain mode.

Locked in like he always is even if his legs don't feel as loose and his stick feels a little less familiar in his hands. Knowing you're home safe helps, he can put the thought of you to the back of his mind, knowing you're safe in the apartment, comfortable and surrounded by everything you need.

You find it hard to focus on the game, but force yourself to, determined to watch Quinn play and to see the goal he intends to score for you. Maybe it's silly, there's no guarantee he'll actually score, but you can tell from the moment he's on the ice that it's one of the few things on his mind. Shot after shot after shot, a determined series of attempts that remind you how important you are to him even as you lie wheezing in bed, eating as much chocolate as Quinn put out for you.

It's part way through the first period with one goal already to Vancouver thanks to Petey that the issue of Quinn's disappearance pre-game is raised.

"Quinn Hughes was nearly late to the game today, the captain missed warm ups but that's certainly not stopping him now!" Shortie's voice rings through the room, a familiar cadence that makes you feel comforted.

"No, it's not, Shortie, do we know why Hughes was late?" Dave responds and for a moment you can't quite comprehend that you've managed to cause this much of a ruckus.

"It hasn't been confirmed and you know I'm not much of a gossip..." You have a little giggle a Shortie even as you are the topic of conversation because it's not really much in the way of gossip and it's so silly.

"But?"

"Apparently he had a family emergency, his girlfriend is very unwell and he dropped everything to go get her."

"Well, that's just.."

"Romantic? Sweet?"

"I was going to say so unlike the Quinn Hughes we used to know, the one who only thought about hockey." You think back to Quinn when you first met, how everything had been hockey, hockey, hockey. You hadn't minded, your own love of the sport meant that you could handle it. But, it's true...Quinn had been rethinking his priorities ever since you started dating, where he might have prioritised hockey once, he'd started to prioritise you. You're not entirely sure at what point you became that important in his life, but it made you feel warm and fuzzy all over.

"I think it's a good thing, that's a sign of growth, just like Hughes' shot!" Shortie cuts himself off as you watch the camera pan to Quinn, following his agile movements across the ice as he skips past the other team's players as if it's as easy as breathing, "He's in past the defence, he lines up the shot and an unassisted goal for Quinn Hughes! Vancouver goal!"

You smile wide as you watch Quinn grin, celebrating with his team in a series of hugs before he finds a camera. There's a moment where you know he's grinning at you, for you, a cheeky little wink sent through the screen as if to say 'told you I'd score for you'.

"I suspect that one was for the girlfriend, Shortie."

You watch the entire game, trying not to nod off to sleep between periods. While you can't cheer and you certainly don't have the energy to celebrate too hard, every Canuck goal makes you feel lighter and brings a smile to your face.

The end result of a 5-2 win to the Canucks makes it easy for you to drift off as the game ends and the waiting for Quinn begins.

He's running off a high when the game ends, even more so when Boeser offers to take over press duties so Quinn can get back to you quickly.

The apartment is quiet when he comes in, "Baby?" not a sound comes back in response and he's careful to move quietly through the apartment to the bedroom doorway.

You're fast asleep, breathing heavy but nowhere near as bad as earlier in the day, you're surrounded by chocolate wrappers and he's quiet as he picks them all up and puts them in a bin, replacing them with the puck he scored with on your bedside table.

He tiptoes back to the kitchen quietly pottering around to make some dinner for you while you're still asleep, nothing fancy but protein, carbs and veg. The sort of thing that's definitely boring but also definitely what your body needs right now.

"Baby, time to wake up...I've made you dinner." He's gentle when he wakes you, soft fingers down your cheek as you stir awake, blinking up at him bleary eyed. Quinn helps you sit upright, the tray of food settling neatly in your lap.

"Where's...where's yours?"

"On the table, you want me to eat in here with you, sweetheart?"

He's moving before you finish nodding, grabbing another tray and his plate before joining you on the bed. He spends most of his dinner watching you eat, making sure you're not leaving large amounts and that you're okay.

He's happy about the win, happy about the score, but he's mostly just happy to be back with you and knowing that you're eating and you're okay, if not well.

Quinn's quick to tidy up your trays and even quicker to get back to you and get into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, sliding under the covers with you and pulling you into his arms.

Your cheek rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heart a soothing sound that helps some of the anxiety about being off work ease off. Quinn's fingers caress circles and weird shapes across your arm and shoulder as he tucks you tight against him, legs twined together. Every so often he presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the top of your hair, as if reassuring himself that you're okay and he's got you.

"You scored..." You mumble into his t-shirt, a small smile working it's way to your lips as his hand moves up to run through your hair, stopping at your scalp every now and then to scratch lightly until you feel like purring even if that purr is more of a wheezy rumble.

"Mmm, for you, baby." Quinn smiles down at you, another kiss pressed to your cheek.

"T...the wink?" His smile weakens slightly at your still stumbling breathlessness and the wheeze and crackle that accompany it.

"Just for you, sweet girl."

"I'm...I'm proud of you, y'know?" You smile up at him so sweetly that he can't help but feel certain in his choices today. Yeah, nearly missing a game was rough, and maybe the press are going to be dicks about it and maybe he would have felt guilty if he'd missed the game or they'd lost...but he knows he'd skip a million games if it meant you were being looked after, were safe.

"I know...and tomorrow you're going to show me how proud you are by letting me take you to the doctors again."

"Ugh..." You groan, hiding your face into his chest like that will stop him from dragging you to the doctors. Your stubbornness normally cute but in this moment less so.

Quinn cups the back of your head until your looking up at him, green eyes meeting yours with a pleading stare that makes your resolve tremble and shudder. "Please? I'm worried about you, baby...I was really scared when I got that text from you."

"Yeah?" You hate that you worried him...it's that worry that makes you concede that maybe you need to go back to the doctors and maybe as much as you hate it, you'll do it, for Quinn.

"Yeah. I can replace hockey, I can play another game if I miss one. But, I can't replace you. Let me take you to the doctors."

There's a beat of silence as he pleads with you, eyes soft, worried, gentle, thumb stroking soothingly across the base of your neck and you can't really deny him this. Not when you know you'd feel exactly the same if the roles were reversed, not when he nearly missed a game for you today and went in completely cold turkey to win it.

"Okay...as...as long as you keep cuddling me."

"I think I can do that, baby." You curl back into his arms like the spot was carved just for you and in that moment Quinn Hughes knows that you have fully hit the top of his priority list, no ands, ifs, buts or maybes. You could ask him to quit hockey tomorrow and he'd do it. He'd do anything for you and that should be terrifying, but it's not because he knows you'd never ask too much of him. If anything you ask too little.

[my-castles-crumbling]

first flat - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 404

Remus stood amongst the vast array of couches, quite sure he was going to drown in all the options. It wasn’t that he didn’t know there were so many types of sofas…it was that he’d never seen all of them at once before. Long ones, short ones, leather, plush…he was a bit overwhelmed, if he was honest. He’d never had his own flat before, and furnishing it was something he’d never really thought about. 

“Need help?”

The sickly-sweet voice of another shopper caused Remus to turn his head, and he met eyes with a girl that had to be at least five years younger than he was. 

“Erm, no..” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “Just looking.”

“Oh, but you’d do well to get a woman’s opinion, wouldn’t you?” she laughed a high-pitched giggle, pressing her arm to his bicep and leaning far too close. “I really like that one, over there. Very….rugged.” Her voice got rather low when she said the last word, and Remus did his best not to cringe.

As she spoke, she pointed to a rather expensive and uncomfortable-looking monstrosity that was covered in what looked like brown pleather.

“Thanks, but I already have-” Remus tried to protest, but the woman cut him off, batting her ridiculously long eyelashes. 

“Oh, you have a wife already?” she asked, her voice turning slow and sultry. “Well, I promise, she doesn’t need to know I helped you pick, yeah? I can be very secretive if I want to be.” She bit her lip in a way Remus supposed she thought was attractive.

“Sure…” he said, clearing his throat in discomfort. “But-”

“C’mon, honey,” the woman nearly purred, cutting him off, her face only inches from his as he bent backwards to avoid her. “Why don’t we…go for a walk. Talk about all of your…options. Your wife never has to find out.”

But before he could say anything else, he heard a familiar voice.

“Hello! Who’s this?”

Remus turned with relief and shot Sirius a panicked look. “Erm…this is…” he murmured, unsure of what to call the annoying woman.

“Rose,” she said, eyeing Sirius with an interested expression, stepping completely away from Remus to place both hands on Sirius’s shoulder. “And you are?”

Sirius sent her the fakest grin Remus had ever seen. “His wife.”

Remus couldn’t help but laugh at the way the simpering smile slid off of Rose’s face.

[potatoes83]

I appreciate the modifier "almost". Now, there was definitely a shift between the idealism of the white picket fence, the perfect family, Honey, I'm home world of the 50s and 60s, and say Married with Children, or The Simpsons. Both great sitcoms in their own right, but it was definitely a relatively new trope of the tit for tat between Peg and Al, or walking through the door to find Lisa on a hunger strike, and Bart smashing a hole through the drywall with a hammer, because reasons.

But there was this trope that definitely started more in the mid to latter period of our idealized Americana, and it most quickly comes to mind with The Flintstones. Now, I've opined on this before, but it bugs the hell out of me, because it's one we haven't yet been able to crack. It remains insidious. There's two sides to this. The first, and perhaps most obvious, is the fact that while Fred and Wilma love each other, one wrong move and she can be an absolute balls cutting bitch. Like seriously, if you have to sneak around to go bowling with the water buffalo lodge, crawling through the window of your own home because it's late and Wilma is either waiting to beat your ass with a cast iron skillet, or get pissed off and go to her mother's with the kid, what the hell is that? Like, living in the real non-idealized world, I don't have to worry about these sort of retributions. There is not going to be punishment or resentment because I want to hang out with my friends.

But then the other side, probably more subtle, is the fact that Fred is a freaking clod. And in this trope, the man always is. Wilma is pissed because Fred managed to forget their anniversary, went out bowling with the guys instead, said he'd be home by 8:00 to watch the kid because Wilma has a graniteware party or some shit that she told him about weeks ago, and instead comes sneaking in at a quarter to 12.

Now of course, the writing on this is just cheap humor. Supposedly relatable, one of those "uh oh, Fred's in the dog house again, we've all been there" sort of things. That's the point of a sitcom, it's idealized, dramatized, all sorts of other ized... but this thing started around that time, and it remains damaging to this day. Because if you look at male female couples as portrayed by the media, you see one of two things.

Going back to the age of The Flintstones, Fred is this big stupid blowhard popping off to anyone who will listen that he's the man of the house, he's not going to take no guff from Wilma for hanging out with the guys, and then comes home completely cucked both because she's downright vicious, but also kind of has a point because he's in the wrong, and is too arrogant to realize it because man. She's been cooking and cleaning all day, she asked him to do one thing, and he managed to screw it up because man. And you see that these days. Oh, she's pissed off, well he's just going to double down, he's going to tell her who the man of the house is, and then he gets the look. Granted, you see this one quite a bit less as time has gone on, because in general, you see strong men a lot less.

So then there's the other thing, and this is a more modern take, where the man is just a fucking idiot. I mean just this completely helpless man-child, thank goodness he is with this snarky judgmental always right woman, because if it wasn't for her, he wouldn't be able to tie his shoes. Anything more complicated than football, nachos, and grunting, he is invariably going to fuck up, so we need her to come to the rescue by clicking something on her cell phone and calling in professionals to deal with it. Of course, while giving a snarky comment, and a holier than thou look. Good thing he's busy watching the game, he won't be in the way when she's getting railed by the plumber she had to call because he couldn't figure out how to put soap in the dishwasher.

What It ultimately boils down to is partnership. I won't even say equality, because that word has been really somewhat co-opted, and wouldn't come across is what I'm trying to get at. Marriage is a partnership. And there are traditional roles. But that is certainly not to say that you are locked into them. Historically, the man does the outside yard work, maybe not the flower gardening, works and provides for the family, the woman takes care of the inside stuff, the cooking the cleaning the vacuuming and all that. He provides for the home, she makes the home. And there is nothing wrong with this, that was a big change with the radfem movement of the 60s, was this idea that so-called traditional gender roles were somehow subjugating to women.

So in our case, I'm the primary provider, I maintain the outside of the house, the home repairs and upkeep, let's call that the traditional masculine gender role. But then I also do most of the cooking. I enjoy it, and I happen to be a trained chef. I'm also home first by a couple hours. The laundry is, I would say, probably split evenly if not leaning a little more towards me, but then it's like I'll do the laundry, but she'll fold and put away all the laundry. Partnership. What It ultimately boils down to is what needs doing. If I'm in the kitchen and the dishwasher needs unloading and reloading, then I'll probably do it. Or maybe she will. She might vacuum, I might vacuum, it just depends who decides to take it upon themselves to do it.

So in a partnership, neither of you are stuck doing a certain thing, or more to the point condemned to do it because of some arbitrary rule. Like she has never mowed the lawn, but that's because it's something that I really enjoy doing. It's a great way to blow off the stress of the work week, it's something that I just really like. And I can't think of any chore around here that she's done that I haven't, but that's because I lived with roommates or out on my own for quite a few years.

I'm getting off on a tangent here, but the point is, we somehow went from an idealism that was based on a reality of partnership, to this almost him versus her scenario. If I had to sneak around and lie to hang out with my friends because she's going to be pissed off no matter what, I wouldn't have married her. And she is strong, intelligent, and beautiful, so if I was one of those "woman, I worked all day, get in that kitchen and cook me a steak" kind of lunkheads, I would hope she wouldn't have married me either. I recognize that. I'm 41 years old. And was raised with two parents, both of whom were in a partnership to run the house and raise a family.

I mean, imagine being a young man today. If you have any kind of strength or self-confidence, you're told that's toxic masculinity, and you just can't be doing that. All your masculine role models in the media are cucks, and why would you want to date the judgmental trash that is portrayed as a woman. This shit needs to change, and I'm not talking a Hallmark movie script either; real, substantive change. Nuclear family, backbone of society, partnerships, in which both parties better each other. 🥔

[woozinhos]

Hiiiiii okay so reader has a crush on mingyu and mingyu doesn’t care for her and wonwoo gets tired of her ass so he fucks her on mingyus bed ( ROUGHH) till all she can do is cry and scream ( he fucks her dumb basically)

Even on his bed I’m still better

Notes: stop why are all my fics so long today and why are they all hitting so good!

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Juicy smut below the cut

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The atmosphere was lively and loud as you stood chatting with Mingyu at the party. He was his usual charming self, laughing and joking with you, but you couldn't help feeling a flutter of nerves every time he smiled at you. You had been nursing a crush on him for months, and every time you saw him, your heart would race. You couldn't shake the feeling that there was something between you two, even if he didn't seem to notice.

Wonwoo stood off to the side, watching the two of you with a growing sense of frustration. He had been trying to get your attention all night, but it seemed like you were too caught up in your conversation with Mingyu to notice him. Mingyu was polite and friendly, but you couldn't help but notice that he didn't seem to reciprocate your feelings. He laughed at your jokes and smiled at your attempts to flirt, but there was always a hint of detachment in his expression. You tried not to let it get to you, but deep down, it stung. You couldn't understand why he wasn't interested in you when you were so obviously smitten with him.

As the conversation with Mingyu continued, you found yourself growing more and more flustered. You tried to steer the conversation in a direction that would make him realize your feelings, but he remained oblivious. You felt a pang of jealousy as he joked with another girl nearby, laughing at something she said. Wonwoo's frustration only grew as he watched you pine after someone who clearly wasn't interested. Wonwoo finally couldn't take it anymore. He walked over to where you and Mingyu were standing and inserted himself into the conversation.

"Hey," he said, his voice firm. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" Mingyu looked a bit surprised at Wonwoo's interruption, but he nodded and stepped away to give you two some privacy. You followed Wonwoo to a quieter corner of the room, your heart racing with a mix of anticipation and nerves.

Once you were alone, Wonwoo turned to face you, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. "You need to stop," he said bluntly. "Stop flirting with Mingyu and wasting your time." You were taken aback by his bluntness, but you couldn't deny that a part of you had been expecting this conversation. "Why?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. "He's not interested, I know that, but I can't just give up." Wonwoo's frustration grew as he saw the stubborn look on your face.

"You're so blind," he said, his voice rising slightly. "Mingyu doesn't care about you like that, and you're just setting yourself up for heartbreak." You crossed your arms, defensive. "You don't know that," you retorted. "Maybe he just needs a little push." Wonwoo shook his head, clearly exasperated. "No, he doesn't. He's made it clear that he doesn't see you that way. You're just wasting your time chasing after someone who will never love you back."

His words stung, but you couldn't deny the truth in them. You had seen the way Mingyu acted around you, the way he never reciprocated your flirting or gave any indication that he was interested. But despite that, you still held onto hope that things could change. "Maybe I'm just being optimistic," you said quietly, looking down at the ground. Wonwoo couldn't hold back any longer. He stepped closer to you, his eyes burning with a mix of frustration and longing.

"No, you're being stubborn and stupid," he said, his voice firm but tinged with desperation. "Because I'm the one who loves you. I've been right here, watching you chase after someone who doesn't deserve you." Your eyes widened in surprise as his words sank in. You had never seen Wonwoo like this before, so raw and vulnerable. "What?" you whispered, your heart racing. "You...you love me?" Wonwoo nodded, his expression a mixture of relief and vulnerability.

"Yes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've loved you for a long time, but I never said anything because I thought you were in love with Mingyu." Your mind was racing as you tried to process his confession. You had always thought of Wonwoo as a close friend, but you never considered the possibility that he felt something more for you. "Why didn't you say anything?" you asked, your voice shaking slightly. Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and defeated.

"I didn't want to ruin our friendship," he said. "I didn't want to risk losing you if you didn't feel the same way. So I kept quiet and watched you chase after someone who doesn't deserve you." Wonwoo looked at you with a mixture of hope and pleading in his eyes.

"Please," he said softly. "Give me a chance. I know I'm not perfect, but I'll do anything to make you happy. Just stop chasing after someone who doesn't appreciate you and let me show you how much I care." You were torn. On one hand, you had spent so long pining after Mingyu that it felt like giving up on him would be letting go of a part of yourself. But on the other hand, there was Wonwoo, standing in front of you, confessing his love and offering you a chance at something real.

You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all you saw was sincerity and longing. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the decision you were about to make. "Okay," you said quietly. "I'll give you a chance." Wonwoo's eyes lit up with hope and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Really?" he asked, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You mean it?" You nodded, a small smile of your own forming.

"Yeah, I mean it," you said. "I'm tired of chasing after someone who doesn't want me. I'm ready to give you a chance." Wonwoo's eyes darkened with a mix of desire and determination. "I want to show you how much I've been wanting you," he said, his voice low and seductive. "Will you let me?" You felt a shiver run down your spine at the intensity in his voice. The way he was looking at you, as if you were the only person in the world, made your heart race with anticipation.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Show me." Wonwoo's grip on your wrist was firm as he led you upstairs, his strides long and purposeful. He didn't even hesitate as he opened the door to Mingyu's room and pulled you inside, closing the door behind him. The room was dark, with only the soft glow of a lamp illuminating the space. Wonwoo pressed you against the wall, his body flush against yours. He pinned you against the wall, his hands roaming over your body as he pressed his lips against your neck.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. Wonwoo's words were rough and possessive, his desire for you clear in his voice. He pulled back to look at you, his eyes burning with intensity. "Let me show you how much better I am than him," he repeated, his fingers tracing a path down your body. "Let me make you forget all about Mingyu." Wonwoo smirked as he continued to press you against the wall, his hands moving lower and lower down your body.

"Even on his bed, I'll still be better," he whispered in your ear, his voice dripping with confidence. "I'll make you scream my name and forget all about that idiot." Wonwoo pushed you onto the bed, his body following closely behind. He hovered over you, his eyes raking over your body with a possessive hunger. "You're mine now," he growled, his hands roaming over your curves. "No more Mingyu, no more thinking about anyone else but me."

"Yes," you gasped out, your breath catching in your throat as he continued to touch you. "I'm yours. Only yours." Wonwoo's lips curled into a satisfied smirk at your words. He leaned down and captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth and exploring every inch. As he kissed you, his hands continued to roam over your body, his touch growing more urgent and possessive with each passing moment.

Wonwoo broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck and across your collarbone. He nipped and sucked at your skin, leaving a trail of marks in his wake. "You have no idea how long I've dreamed of having you like this," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. "All mine, writhing and moaning beneath me." Wonwoo's hands made quick work of the fabric of your dress, slowly revealing more and more of your skin. He pushed the material down your body, his eyes drinking in every inch of you as it fell to the floor.

"So beautiful," he whispered, his fingers tracing patterns across your bare skin. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you like this." Wonwoo tossed his t-shirt aside, revealing his toned chest and muscular arms. He looked down at you with a hungry expression, his eyes roaming over your body.

"You're perfect," he said, his voice rough with desire. "I can't believe I almost let you slip away from me." He leaned down, his body pressing against yours, his skin hot against yours. You could feel his hardness pressing against you through his jeans, and he let out a low growl of frustration.

"I need you," he said, his lips finding your ear. "Now."

Wonwoo's hands moved to the waistband of your panties, his fingers tracing the edge teasingly. "Lift your hips for me," he commanded, his voice firm and commanding. You obeyed his command, lifting your hips off the bed. Wonwoo slowly pulled your panties down your legs, his eyes fixed on the sight of your exposed body.

"You're even more beautiful than I imagined," he said, his voice low and husky. "And all mine."

"Get on your hands and knees," Wonwoo commanded, his eyes dark with desire. "I want to take you from behind."

"I'm sorry, but I need to show you what you've been missing," Wonwoo repeated, his voice filled with a mix of apology and determination. "You deserve to feel pleasure like you've never felt before." You slowly got onto your hands and knees, your body trembling with anticipation. As you presented yourself to Wonwoo, you felt a mix of vulnerability and excitement coursing through your veins. You could feel the heat of his gaze on your body, his eyes roaming over every curve and contour. You could sense the tension in the air, the unspoken promise of pleasure that was about to be fulfilled. Wonwoo positioned himself behind you, his hands running over your back and down to your hips. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back as he whispered in your ear.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look like this," he said, his breath hot against your skin. "All mine, ready and waiting for me." He trailed his lips down your spine, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. His hands continued to explore your body, his touch growing more confident and possessive. "I'm going to make you feel so good," he promised, his voice low and seductive. "I'm going to make you forget everything but my name." Wonwoo slowly pushed himself inside you, filling you up inch by inch. He let out a low groan of pleasure as he bottomed out, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice strained. "You feel so good. So tight and perfect." Wonwoo set a punishing pace, his thrusts hard and rough as he pounded into you from behind. Each movement was filled with purpose, as if he was determined to erase any memory of Mingyu from your mind. He leaned forward, his chest pressed against your back, his lips finding the nape of your neck. He bit down gently, marking you as his own. As you arched your back, pushing your body against him, Wonwoo's grip on your hips tightened. He adjusted his angle, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with every thrust.

"You're so good for me," he panted, his voice thick with pleasure. "Taking me so well, just like you were made for me." Wonwoo tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back slightly. The sudden sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you moaned loudly in response. "That's it," he growled, his grip on your hair tightening. "I want to hear you moan for me. I want everyone to know who you belong to."

"Scream my name," Wonwoo commanded, his voice rough and dominant. "Let everyone know who's making you feel this way." As he continued to pound into you, his thrusts growing faster and harder, you couldn't hold back any longer. The pleasure was too much, and you screamed his name. "Wonwoo!" you cried out, your voice echoing through the room. Wonwoo's grip on your hair loosened as he heard you scream his name, and he leaned down to whisper in your ear. "That's it, baby," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. "You're mine. Say it again."

"I'm yours, Wonwoo," you panted, your voice ragged with pleasure. "I'm all yours." He growled in response, his thrusts becoming more urgent and desperate. He was close, and he wanted you to come undone for him. "Say it again," he demanded, his fingers digging into your hips. "I need to hear you say it one more time."

"I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours," you chanted, the words spilling from your lips like a mantra. You could feel your orgasm building, the pleasure coiling tight in your core.

"That's it," Wonwoo groaned, his voice strained. "Come for me, baby. Come for me and I'll give you everything." You felt your body tense, your muscles coiling tightly as your orgasm washed over you. You cried out Wonwoo's name, your body shaking with the force of your release. Wonwoo followed soon after, his own climax crashing over him as he thrust into you one final time. He buried his face in your neck, his body shuddering against yours as he came deep inside you. Wonwoo's thrusts slowed as he rode out his orgasm, his body trembling against yours. He held you close, his arms wrapping around you as he caught his breath.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "You're amazing. I don't think I've ever felt that good before."

Wonwoo carefully pulled out of you and rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so that you were lying on top of him. He traced lazy patterns on your back, his fingers skimming over your skin. “I'm never letting you go," he murmured, his voice filled with possessiveness. "You're mine, forever." Wonwoo reached over and grabbed a blanket, pulling it over the two of you. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you snuggled into his chest.

"We should stay like this for a while," he said, his voice sleepy. "Just us, no one else."

"That was...incredible," you murmured, your voice soft and dreamy. "You were incredible."

All of a sudden the door swung open and Mingyu walked in, stopping in his tracks as he took in the sight of you and Wonwoo lying together on his bed, wrapped up in each other. His eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment he just stood there, speechless. Mingyu's eyes darted around the room, taking in the scattered clothes and the obvious signs of what had just happened. He looked back at you and Wonwoo, his expression a mix of shock and anger.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, his voice sharp. Wonwoo smirked, his arms tightening around you as he spoke.

"Just showing her what she's been missing, that's all," he said casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "And I must say, she's been enjoying herself quite a bit."

[nativegirltapes]

https://www.tumblr.com/nativegirltapes/773164996285939712/this-is-bballplayerdrew-who-is-constantly-flying

mhmm loveee….so what’s the list of rules??!

. . . list of ‘rules’ basketballplayer!drew has for you when you finally start dating ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

warnings/notes: drew borderline controlling reader, but she’s got her mischievous ways around it lol so it’s not in a weird daddy i own you kind of way, but more a nate jacobs kind of way if u will …..

always facetime him before you go out. he’s so possessive sometimes so he wants to see exactly what you’re wearing, even underneath your clothes. depending on how long it’s been since he seen you’ll last, he’ll get all perverted and horny during the call; him telling you to “do a lil spin” suddenly turns into you both touching yourself on the phone.

always wear his jersey to his game. this one seems pretty obvious but people don’t realize how insane drew can get about it. he wants everyone to know that you are his and you’re off playing grounds. he needs everyone to know exactly why you’re there (him).

keep yourself modestly dressed when showing up to events for him. this one causes the most issues between you and drew, simply because it’s your most favorite thing in the world to prance around in the sluttiest outfits >.< you’re pouting to drew about how you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that, and it’s literally just a long sleeve white shirt.

if he asks what you’re doing, always send a picture. this is another one of your least favorites because sometimes you’re doing something you know you shouldn’t be doing (hanging out with his homeboys .. oops) so you already have a load of selfies of you and your girls to send whenever you need to lie; “hanging out with the girls, miss you ♡”.

always wear what he buys you. whether it’s a t-shirt, new cardigan, or even a new lingerie set, he wants you to wear it and he wants to see it! you’ll even do a little show for him, where he compliments every little thing about you because he swears there’s no one as perfect as you (there’s not, and you know it).

no getting with anyone else when you’re on a break. this one seems pretty standard but you never follow it. the minute drew starts playing games and you both decide to call it off for a few weeks, you’re already calling up your ex and telling him you’re just ‘sooo stressed’ and it would be nice if he came over (you’re asking for dick).

[am-i-interrupting]

Can you do how arcane characters would react with a partner whos a super picky eater?

Caitlyn:

She is getting you full course meals packed with all the nutrients you need. It will be tailored to your likings. However, her number one concern is making sure that you eat and you get what you need out of doing so.

Ekko:

He offers you foods you may be skeptical of off of his own plate. If you say yes, good. If you say no, also good. Overall, he doesn’t really care. He just takes comfort in the fact that you know what you don’t want at least he asks if what you should have for dinner. That at least narrows it down.

Jinx:

Understands 0% but supports 100%. This is the same woman who ate something she wasn’t certain wasn’t toxic. Like she will eat anything so she doesn’t understand your aversions but she will be supportive. Just don’t expect her to get food from the same place or in the same category if she’s tasked with getting dinner. Don’t trust her in the kitchen, only let her get food from stalls and restaurants.

Lest:

She understands. She has super hearing. She has aversions to noises so she understands a bit better than the rest having sensory problems. She’ll honestly probably agree with you. That is gross.

Sevika:

Confused. Sevika has preferences, of course, but she will grit her teeth and eat anything. It’s what she’s used to living in the undercity. She might question you a bit at first, judge you even but then she’ll shrug her shoulders and drop it. Accepting it as a part of you even if the concept absolutely baffles her.

Silco:

He’s similar to Sevika in that he will eat anything that gives him the nutrients he needs. He makes a bit more of an effort to understand. He learns what does and does not tick that box in your brain which puts food into yes or no categories. He’ll extend his fork to you if you seem curious about a specific thing and tell you whether or not he thinks you’ll like it. He’s usually right.

Viktor:

Cooking dates. He makes the biggest effort to understand what you can and can’t eat. He studies your cooking habits almost. He wants to be able to perfectly replicate how you make your comfort foods so when the need arises and you’re unable, he’s dragging a stool into the kitchen and getting to work.

[mulloey]

unwelcome • pt 2

read part one here

stepdad!mingyu x fem!reader

words: 3.8k

warnings: this is pretty fucked up. stepfather relationship, infidelity, mingyu n u are not good people rly, brat/brat tamer dynamics, mean hard dom!mingyu, daddy kink, dirty talk, punishment, pussy slapping, gyu refers to you as ‘daughter’ and himself as ‘father’ in a sexual context a couple times, not really dubcon but there’s certainly a power imbalance, breeding, pregnancy mention, heavy degradation, choking etc. this is pretty intense.

you’ve been appropriately warned of the content of this fic and are solely responsible for what you consume. don’t like, don’t read. hate is blocked.

-

it’s been a week since the incident in the kitchen— since mingyu had finally snapped, since you felt his firm hands and long fingers restraining and touching you as he pleased. since the event that you thought would have changed everything with your stepfather. except it hasn’t.

mingyu has said nothing about what transpired that day, and neither have you. you tried to, once, but a hand around your neck and whispered warning that “that wasn’t what you thought it was” had shut you down quickly. he’s still strict, but it’s from a distance now— he doesn’t scold or reprimand you, but nor does he praise or really interact with you in any way. you never thought you would, but you miss it. you miss him.

your mother is gone, again. she seems to have picked up on the energy shift in the house over the past week and, like you, doesn’t seem to know what to do with it. so she’s chosen to stay away, assuming that whatever’s going on will resolve itself as it always does. you had hoped it would too— except mingyu won’t let you get near him.

today you’ve been mulling it over; holed up in your room with your blanket around your shoulders. you’d gone down earlier to grab a piece of toast; you’d felt your stepfather’s eyes on you the whole time you were in the kitchen, but you paid him no mind, grabbing your toast and quickly retreating back upstairs without a word. you wish you hadn’t heard his sigh of relief when you walked away.

you can’t live like this anymore, you know that. whatever thick, immobilizing tension is separating you two, pulling at one and pushing at the other, needs to break. and you will break it, even if just to have back the annoying, obnoxious man you used to hate. it’s better than… whatever this is.

you discuss it at length with your best friend, pearl, over drinks at your favourite bar downtown. she’s the only one you could turn to with something like this— the only one you can trust not to judge you. not that you don’t deserve to be judged; you’ve done an awful thing, after all. you’ve allowed your mother’s husband to touch and finger you. you’ve not just helped him to betray your mother, but you’ve betrayed her yourself.

you’re past that now, though. you’ll make it up to her later. and if mingyu’s willing to do that to his own step daughter then clearly he’s not the right man for your mom anyway. it doesn’t make you feel a whole lot better.

but pearl doesn’t judge you; she never does. you’ve known each other since you were babies, for one, but more importantly, she has (to your annoyance), been saying from the start how utterly delectable your new stepfather is. if anything, she’s probably annoyed she didn’t get to fuck him first.

she listens silently and thoughtfully as you run her through the events of last week, tapping her manicured nails against the wood of the table. by the time you finish, a sly, knowing smile has reached her face.

“isn’t it obvious?” she asks.

you hesitate, confused. “isn’t what obvious?”

“what you need to do,” she says. “to fix this.”

“not to me,” you say. “i mean, i need to fuck him, i think. but i can’t do that when he barely even talks to me now.”

she shrugs, twirling the little cocktail umbrella between her fingers. “so make him jealous.”

“what?”

“piss him off, y/n,” she says. “bring someone home and let him see that you’re moving on. i guarantee you he won’t like it.”

you slump back in your seat, thinking for a moment. it’s a good plan— if it goes right. if it goes wrong, well… you doubt anything could be worse than this. “okay,” you say. “i’ll do that.”

it takes two more days to find the nerve to bring home a boy from your campus. you were careful to choose someone you wouldn’t have to interact with after today if it all went catastrophically wrong, which means the TA in your thesis group who makes eyes at you from across the room is off the table (sorry, wonwoo), but who you’ve seen and interacted with enough that it won’t seem weird when you invite them home with you.

you have no real intentions with joshua, but he’s nice enough, around your age and very horny, so you figure he’ll do fine; indeed, he can barely keep his hands off you as you walk into the house and accidentally-on-purpose make your presence known with a loud laugh. his wandering hands only leave you when your stepfather rounds the corner into the lobby.

he’s dressed in his pyjamas still, and he looks tired and irritated until he spots the boy next to you— and the non-existent, certainly non-platonic gap between you. in an instant he’s awake and the irritation is gone, replaced with anger. his palms twitch at his side, desperate to break the calm demeanor that he’s hanging onto by a thread. little slut.

“what’s going on here?” he asks. he tries to keep his voice cool and leveled but the resulting sound is low and dangerous, like a predator about to strike.

joshua swallows and you feel him tensing up nervously beside you. whether it’s to calm him down or to provoke mingyu further, you're not sure, but you grab his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. joshua relaxes slightly, and mingyu’s eyes narrow.

“hi,” joshua finally says. “i’m jo–”

“i don’t give a rat's ass who you are,” mingyu says sharply. “tell me what you’re doing here and what your hands are doing on my daughter, now.”

joshua’s eyes widen and he seems to shrink further into himself, wishing he was anywhere else. “look, man,” he says, “i don’t want any trouble. we were just gonna hang out.”

“yeah?” mingyu asks. “not anymore. plans changed, i’m afraid. we’re busy this evening.”

“oh yeah?” you challenge. “busy with what?”

mingyu says nothing, just raises a cool eyebrow at you with a blank expression. you feel joshua’s gaze flicker between the two of you in confusion and discomfort.

clearly, he wants nothing to do with this. you don’t blame him; and he’s served his purpose anyway. you’ll make it up to him another day. buy him a coffee or something. doesn’t really matter right now.

“i’m just gonna go,” he mutters. he catches your eye as he walks past, face contorted half in sympathy and half in fear— fear for you, it seems. if only he knew that you’re halfway to getting exactly what you wanted.

“see you around, josh,” you say, but your eyes are already locked with your stepfather.

the door slams shut and he’s on you instantly, hand on your neck as you’re shoved harshly against the wall. the impact is so sharp and sudden that it sends the small painting hung up next to you crashing down, but neither of you notice; not when you’re looking at him with such lust and he’s looking at you with such ire. you could cut the tension between you with a knife, but even then, you’re not sure if it would break. the tiny gap between his face and yours and the heavy breathing as he looks you up and down is electrifying like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

“min—”

“shut up,” he says. “i’ve had it with you.” his voice is almost shaking with rage and he stares at you for a moment before his large hand impacts the side of your face. you shriek in pain and surprise, reaching to clutch your stinging cheek but he grabs your wrist with the hand that had just slapped you, holding it firmly above your head.

“fucking slut,” he says. “parading your little boy toy through my house as if i wouldn’t know what you’re doing. debasing yourself like a cheap whore. is that what you thought i wanted?”

your mouth opens and closes, lost for words. you both know the answer but you don’t want to say it. he shakes his head, chuckling dryly.

“no, it’s not,” he says. “because you never cared or even thought about what i might want. only ever thought about yourself, didn’t you?”

you feel yourself shrink under his gaze and the venom of his words and he smiles briefly. his eyes roam your body, lingering on your chest that rises and falls with your heavy, panicked breathing. fuck, he’s practically drunk on the power he has over you right now.

his grip on your neck tightens momentarily— just enough to remind you of how small and breakable you are under his grip. “too fucking cock drunk to think about anything else,” he says lowly. “fuck. i should‘ve made your friend stay so i could fuck you in front of him, shouldn’t i? teach you both a lesson.”

his words hit you in the stomach, knots of arousal twisting in your gut. you know he sees the way your thighs clench together at the image. “i…” you trail off; you have nothing to say. he knows it too. he lifts his hand from your neck to stroke your cheek with a surprising tenderness.

“pretty thing,” he mutters. “my little girl.” he’s silent for a moment, eyes raking over your face, so small and fragile in his strong hands. his grip tightens, squeezing your jaw. “apologise,” he says.

you frown, confused. “for what?”

he snorts like it’s obvious. “provoking me, for one,” he says. “using that poor boy to get a rise out of me. and being a rude, bratty little girl simply because i wasn’t giving you enough attention.”

you roll your eyes before you can think it through and he’s quick to react, his hand slapping you again before returning to your neck. “no respect,” he mutters. “you obviously need an attitude adjustment. and that’s exactly what daddy’s gonna give you.”

you bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning at the name he’s given himself, but it’s no use. your stepfather is far too tuned in, far too in control, to let anything slip past him. his lips curl into a thin, sneering smile. “liked that, did you?” he asks. “you like being fucked by your fucking father?”

“mingyu,” you whine. your face burns at the humiliation of not just his words, but the truth of them— mingyu is your stepfather. he’s married to your mother. and you’d do anything to have your hands on his dick right now.

“no,” he says. “you don’t get to call me that. if you could act like a mature fucking adult then maybe i’d let you but you can’t, can you? you’ve been a little fucking brat since i met you and it’s about time i treated you like one.”

there’s a fire in his eyes you haven’t seen since that day in the kitchen, only now it burns both brighter and darker than before. as he finally releases his grip of you against the wall, only to drag you by the hair through to the living room, you get the feeling you’re about to see mingyu in a way even the episode in the kitchen couldn’t have clued you into.

he shoves you down, watching you stumble to the floor with a surprised shriek. you sit yourself up, leaning on your hands as you stare up at him where he towers above you— tall, imposing, and terrifying.

he’s silent, watching you closely before he sighs and walks over to sit himself down on the couch. “come here.”

your legs are shaking as you struggle to pull yourself up from the floor. his jaw twitches, fists clenching. you’ve never looked so pathetic, never felt so humiliated and you still have all your clothes on. he reaches out to pull you towards him and you stumble forwards until you land on his lap— over his lap. you feel your short skirt flip up over your ass from the sudden motion, exposing your black lace panties. he chuckles, grabbing one of your ass cheeks and squeezing it firmly. your breath hitches.

“mm,” hums appreciatively. “this is how i like to see you, daughter mine. bent over and ready to submit.”

you squirm, thighs clenching at the low timbre of his voice; the deepening of it as he calls you his daughter. jesus. this is so fucked up.

his finger trails the inside of your thigh, stopping just short of your pussy. he fingers at the hem of your panties, right next to your pussy, watching the way you react to his touch as he teases the edge of your underwear like he’s inspecting it. he sees the wetness seeping through the black fabric and chuckles. “that desperate, baby?” he asks.

you say nothing, still processing the situation you find yourself in and he slaps your ass harshly, making you jolt. “answer,” he says darkly. “or i’ll just spank you and send you to bed without release. is that what you want, little girl?”

“no,” you gasp, shaking your head fervently. you won’t deny it; the idea of being spanked by mingyu, not for sex, not for foreplay, but solely for punishment, is embarrassingly tantalising. but you’ve been waiting too long to have him touch you like this again and if you don’t get to feel his dick inside you tonight you might actually go insane. “no, i don’t,” you say.

he laughs, pinching the sensitive skin of your thigh and rubbing the red mark soothingly. “look at you,” he chuckles. “so bratty and disrespectful but so quick to submit once i use a bit of force. can’t believe i wasted my time on your mother when i had this little kitten here waiting for me.”

his words are like cold water as they wash over you— your mother. this isn’t just your stepfather— this is your mother’s husband. this is the man she loves and relies on, who swore to be hers for the rest of his life. and you’re bent over his lap and trying desperately not to grind against his thick, strong thigh. you’re the worst daughter ever.

and if you weren’t before, you certainly are when you mewl out a desperate, “please, daddy, fuck me.”

“hm,” he says. “such good manners, i’m almost tempted.” his finger trails along your panties before finally sliding over your covered pussy. you gasp, squirming again when he ghosts over your clit. he presses down a little, enough to make you pulse slightly, then lets go. “what a shame you had to be such a brat.”

you make a noise of confusion, craning your head around to see mingyu sliding your panties down to your ankles, exposing you fully to him with your skirt by now halfway up your back. you catch his gaze and he raises an eyebrow. “turn around,” he says. “i’m gonna teach you how to fucking act around me.”

swallowing, you obey, turning around to bury your head in the pillows of the couch. you feel him raise the thigh you’re bent over, giving him easier access. you close your eyes, bracing for the first hit against your ass. you’re ready for it, you think— what you’re not ready for, is for him to suddenly tilt you forwards and start slapping your pussy instead.

the first strike makes you shriek and he gives you no time to recover before continuing. your pussy is far more sensitive than your ass, not to mention dripping, but he hits you with the same brute strength he’d used on your ass and face. the pain is white hot and searing and you hear the impact of each slap; and the wet, squelching sound of his hand against fluid gushing from you. strings of cream are connecting to his hand, following it each time he pulls away to wind up for another hit. you feel him hardening beneath you and adjust yourself a little without realising, trying to grind against his cock subconsciously. he grabs your waist to tug you back into place and delivers an extra hard swat right on your clit.

it’s so painful and so arousing that you don’t even notice when it’s over. not until he’s pulled you off his lap and pressed his leaking cock against his entrance do you finally realise what’s happening. he’s going to fuck you. finally.

he leans over where you’ve found yourself on all fours on the couch, lips pressing against your ear. “ask me to fuck you, baby,” he whispers. you gasp as he rubs himself against you and he chuckles. “c’mon, filthy girl. ask me nicely.”

“p-please,” you stutter. all your nerves are on fire and pushing against your skin, senses heightened as he slowly starts to push into you. “more,” he groans.

“daddy,” you gasp. his hands are on your waist as he guides himself into you, moaning at the way you sob his name. “fuck,” he grunts.

when he finally gets in all the way it’s overwhelming; mingyu is huge, beyond huge, and you’ve never been this full before. you feel him pressing against your cervix even without moving yet there’s none of the pain or discomfort that someone of his size would usually bring. it feels right. like you were made to take him and he was made to take you.

he starts moving without a word; slow thrusts that get faster and harder until he’s completely pounding you, fucking into you desperately like a wild animal. he sounds like one, too; you both do, yelling and grunting as you pushing yourselves deeper into the other. his grip on your waist is bruising but comfortable and you sink into it, lost in pleasure.

you chant his name on repeat — “daddy, daddy, daddy” — the only word that comes to you as he fucks you open. he leans over you, pressing his face into the back of your neck and kissing down the top of your back before straightening up again, angling himself to go deeper.

“you love this, don’t you?” he spits. “love being whored out by your stepfather. is that why you moved back home? to make yourself available to me?”

you groan at his words, clenching around him. you both know that’s not true, but it may as well be— you certainly won’t be moving back out again anytime soon now. you want to stay with him, be available for him— a waiting hole for him to use. fuck, you're depraved, but so is he; he groans when you say it out loud, thrusting harder. “that’s right,” he grunts. “just a hole f’me. just a fuck toy for your daddy, yeah?”

you choke, crying out when he slams into you again. you reach your arms back, trying to touch him and he grabs them, folding them against your back and holding you down.

“i knew it,” he laughs. “knew from the moment i met you that you just needed some dick. knew it had to be mine, fuck.”

“yes,” you gasp. “yours, yours, gyu, has to be yours.” you’re babbling and delirious now and he’s fucking high on it. he presses more of his weight onto you, trapping you beneath him— as if you’d ever want to get away.

“good girl,” he whispers. “i’m gonna fuck you every fucking day. every time that bitch leaves the house you’re gonna come and fucking present yourself to me, understand? gonna come offer up your holes to daddy.”

“yes,” you whine. “always, daddy.”

“i’m never fucking your mother again,” he says. “i’ve got this perfect little pussy now instead and it’s all mine.”

by now the sensations of his dick slamming into you have become a constant rhythm, allowing you to cling to it as you go dumber and dumber on his cock. you could stay like this forever; split open and abused while he spits filth into your ear; but you can tell from the clenching of your pussy and the throbbing of his cock that you’re both close to the edge. he grunts, grabbing your hair to pull your head backwards and pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “good girl,” he says, movements speeding up. “i’m gonna cum in you. gonna put a fucking kid in you. you want that?”

you know mingyu knows you’re on birth control; he’s seen the pills you keep in the medicine cabinet and heard you discuss your prescription with your mother. but fuck, the idea of him getting you pregnant, your own stepfather knocking you up, is so twisted and exhilarating that it propels you towards your orgasm. you feel yourself releasing over his dick, drenching the couch and he makes a noise of delight. “didn’t know you squirted, baby,” he moans. “that’s so fucking perfect, god.”

“daddy,” you moan. “mingyu.” you’ve gone limp on his dick now, fucked out and exhausted but you’re smart enough to recognise that this stops when he’s finished. he’s almost there, though, you can tell; his grip on your tightens, moans getting louder until he spits out a “clench, slut,” and releases into you the moment you obey.

he collapses on top of you once he’s done, face pressed into your back. you’re both filthy; covered in sweat and cum and drool but you don’t care. you’ve never felt so satisfied in your fucking life.

mingyu pulls you into his arms and you relax into his hold, breathing deeply against his chest. it’s perfect peace, utter bliss— while it lasts. minutes later he jumps up, looking panicked.

you stare up at him in confusion. “mingyu?”

“your mother’s coming back,” he says. your stomach drops. “in 30 fucking minutes.”

panic takes over and you force yourself to your feet; it’s dizzying and disorients you for a moment, but mingyu is quick to catch you when you stumble, helping you steady yourself before he releases you. mercifully, most of the mess is on the two of you; the couch is pretty much clean. mingyu orders you into the shower and you obey, scrubbing away all the evidence of what you’ve just done. you hear him run past your room a few minutes later, and when you emerge, you’re both clean and in your pyjama. only the way he looks at you as you walk downstairs together gives away what’s happened.

your mother looks tired when she walks through the door, but smiles sweetly when she spots her husband and daughter waiting in the kitchen for her. she plants a long, wet kiss on mingyu’s lips and you feel your stomach twist in envy. looking away, you turn back to see his eyes on you, dark and scrutinising as your mother sits down at the table.

“how are my loves?” she asks. you smile weakly at her, wracked with guilt but at the same time wishing she would just get the fuck out so you can fuck her husband again.

mingyu puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it fondly, but his eyes never leave you as he speaks.

“we’re perfect.”

-

requests open! feedback, reblogs and comments are appreciated. love🖤🖤🖤

taglist open!

[captain-huggy-bear]

A Little Misunderstanding

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lil' angsty at points, but ends sweet, lots of mutual pining and two idiots not realising the other is also in love with the other, meddling mothers (for the best this time)

Summary: Your parents assume that Quinn, the man you mention over the phone all the time, is in fact your boyfriend. He's very much not, but Quinn thinks its funny to pretend he is...until it gets a little too real and maybe some truths are told and feelings are aired.

Notes: Thank you to the anon who requested fake dating to lovers with Quinn, I had this idea which is a little different from the usual fake dating so I hope its okay and you still like it 😊

Tried to keep it ambiguous as to where the reader originated from so that us UK girlies can relate as well as anyone else not from Vancouver and/or Canada.

Reminder I typically use UK spellings because I'm English so...don't come at me if you wish I spelt it the US away. If I have to read US spellings all the time, you can handle the odd UK spelling

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

"When does your flight get in?" You balance your phone between your shoulder and ear, picking up a stray sock that had fallen out of your laundry basket as you attempt to tidy your apartment.

"7am your time, sweetheart, remember?" Your mother's voice rings clear down the line, familiar and warm. It's been a while since you saw either of your parents. You having moved all the way to Vancouver, more miles than you could count from your birthplace and hometown around two years ago. You were excited to have them finally able to come out and stay with you for a week, they'd never been to see you, and it had been a while since you'd been able to see your parents, not having time to fly to see them. While you were glad for the move to Vancouver, living in a completely different place away from your family wasn't always the easiest thing in the world. You so often felt like you were having to fend for yourself without much of a support network. Luckily you'd made some good friends in the time you'd been in Van.

"Quinn offered to come with me to pick you and dad up, we'll be there waiting for you so don't worry about getting an Uber." You dropped Quinn's name casually because that's what it was, he was just another part of your existence. Your friend, who admittedly you had a small crush on, but just your friend nonetheless. Just because you thought he was beautiful and wanted to kiss him didn't mean you were allowed to kiss him or that he'd even want to kiss you. He was a friend who happened to be a man and you both happened to be single. This had not changed for two years and wasn't likely to any time soon.

"Oh, Quinn'll be there?" Your mother's voice was suddenly more upbeat, excited. She'd been eager to meet Quinn for months now, you're not sure why she finally took an interest in one of your friends but you can't help but be glad. Quinn had become a massive part of your life, a support network you very much needed when you'd first come to a strange new place all by yourself. He was part of the fabric of your life now, and you knew he'd charm your parents without even thinking about it. It shouldn't matter to you that your parents like your friend, its not like Quinn was your boyfriend, but it did matter to you. You wanted them to like him as much as you did because you wanted him around for the foreseeable future.

"Yeah, I mentioned you were coming to visit the other day and his car is bigger than mine, so he offered to come along, he has to get up early most days anyway so he's not too bothered by it." It helped that Quinn had a couple of days off, but still you were thankful. He could have spent his rare enough free time doing something much more enjoyable than helping you pick your parents up from the airport.

"Your father and I look forward to meeting him, we've heard so much about him, darling!"

There's something about your mother's tone that makes you stop for a second suddenly feeling a little awkward about the whole thing. Maybe it's just how eager she is or maybe it's something else, but there's a little red flag waving in the back of your mind with some small print on that you just can't quite read yet.

"Right...um, look I'll see you tomorrow morning then? I gotta get everything ready for you guys."

"Of course, of course! We love you!"

"Love you too, mum."

"You're sure you don't mind?" You look over at Quinn from the passenger seat, the two of you look exhausted, big bags under your eyes and even bigger hoodies to hide in because a 5am wake up to get to the airport in time was just a little much for both of you. This early in the morning it's still dark and the streetlights do something to Quinn's face that makes him even more handsome than usual, even as he looks like he might fall back asleep at any minute. It doesn't help that his scruff has grown out or that his hair is in those perfect waves he always seems to get even when he's just taken his bucket off.

"I wouldn't have offered if I did, besides the amount of time we spend together isn't it about time I met your parents? You've met mine." He smiles over at you, cheeky, the sort of Quinn most people didn't see. It's silly that it makes your cheeks feel warm, he's just your friend. You shouldn't be flustered by him.

"Your parents are at as many of your games as possible, of course I've met them."

"So are you. Sue me for wanting to meet the parents of one of my best friends."

"I'm your best friend?" You lean your head back on the headrest, tilting slightly to grin at him all silly. Quinn can see it from the corner of his eye and as much as it's ridiculous, that little grin makes you even more beautiful than normal.

"One of." He rolls his eyes at you, partly because of your silliness and partly rolling his eyes at himself. You're his friend. He shouldn't feel this way about you, men can have female friends...he just can't seem to have you as a female friend without wanting to kiss you at any given opportunity. It's becoming difficult, even more so in the early morning when the low light level puts your face in stark contrast and your hoodie, one of his, makes you look so cozy and sweet.

"That's just your way of avoiding admitting how much you love me and need me in your life."

Quinn's cheeks flush bright red, so bright that even the low light can't hide it nor hide the way he bites back a smile at you, eyes fixed on the road and the last few miles to the airport.

"...Shut up."

The silence that fills the car is comfortable, the sort that comes about from spending so much time together. You have friends that aren't Quinn, of course you do, but Quinn had been your first friend in Vancouver. He'd shown you around and made time for you in his incredibly busy schedule. You were often the first person he saw when he came off a roadie and the last person to see him before he left for one. There were nights when you stayed round Quinn's after a game or vice versa. You spent so much time together that you simply coexisted, being around Quinn was as easy as breathing. You rarely argued or disagreed and when you did it was always resolved properly. You simply worked. There wasn't ever much to think about with Quinn. You could just...shut off.

"Thank you, though...seriously." You take a moment, thinking how to word your next few thoughts, your warning as the signs for the airport come into full view, "Just, my mum seems really eager to meet you so...just brace yourself."

"Eager?"

"You know when your parents are excited to meet a new partner?" You think back to the few times you'd introduced a boyfriend to your mum, the excitement that she exuded...it was starting to concern you that she was that excited to just meet your friend. Because that's all Quinn was. Your friend. Not your boyfriend. Your friend, you remind yourself, even as he looks so good smiling over at you with his beard. He'd let it grow out just enough that he looked rugged and mature.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, she's that sort of excited which is really weird...she normally doesn't' care that much about my friends. Just, sorry, if she's really weird about it?" It's awkward enough talking about, you and Quinn have always stayed firmly platonic, you didn't talk about the fact that people assumed you were dating or even the concept of it. Talking about it felt...it felt like you were opening the curtains up, letting him see in a little too far.

"You didn't tell her we were married or something, did you?"

"Quinn! Shut up!" He laughs so loud that you can't actually be that mad at him, not when he's grinning at you like that, not when he's been so stressed as of late about the performance of his team. Even if it's at your expense.

"What? Just checking! For all I know you could have told her we got married in Vegas during one of my games or something?"

"If I'm telling my mum I'm married to you, it'll be because I'm actually married to you, you idiot." You roll your eyes at him, arms crossing over your chest as you turn to look out the window.

"Oh, so you do want to marry me?" He's joking, but he's not...he's thought about it. There's not a day that Quinn hasn't thought about what it would be like to be yours and you be his, not since he met you...and then promptly managed to land himself so far into the friendzone that he was scared to crawl his way out lest he leave you behind in the process.

"...I hate you."

"No you don't." His voice is singsong in intonation and sweet and he's right because you love him and it hurts...god, it hurts how much you love someone you can't have. Someone you see every day, someone who is so deeply ingrained in your life that removing him would be like carving a hole into your own chest.

You just sit and glare at him, even as a heavy sort of sadness hits, as he pulls up into one of the parking bays for collecting passengers.

It's okay that he's just your friend, you remind yourself as you get out of the car. It's okay because he's the best friend you could ask for, he's here at 6.45 am in the morning to collect your parents from the airport, not because he was asked or because he had to, but because he wanted to. You can live with loving him in silence, so long as you always have him around.

"I think they're over this way, probably, near gate 1?" You're just getting your bearings, trying to figure out roughly where your parents will come out at after they find their things from baggage claim when you hear it.

"My baby!" The squeal of a middle aged woman who hasn't seen her daughter in far too long pierces the air. You barely have time to brace yourself for impact before your mother is wrapping you up in a gigantic hug and pressing as many kisses to your face as possible, you know without a doubt her signature mauve lipstick is smudged all across your skin.

Your father stands behind her, rolling his eyes in amusement but the smile he gives you is no less warm, "Hey there, princess."

"Hi, mum, hi, dad," You pull yourself free from your mother just long enough to get a long awaited hug from your father, big and warm and so familiar that you almost feel like crying. How long has it been since you last hugged your dad? Half a year? Nine months? Longer? You sometimes don't realise how much you miss something until you get it back.

When you turn back around your mother is already pulling Quinn into a hug that he accepts, if a tad awkwardly, his hands patting her on the back like he's not quite sure how hugs work.

She has his face in her hands before you can intervene, overly familiar and friendly as she grins up at him like he's made her day just by existing. "You must be Quinn, Y/N's boyfriend..."

"Oh, he's n-" You're pretty sure your eyes bug out of your head, startled by the suggestion because at no point in the last few years of living in Vancouver had you ever called Quinn your boyfriend. Ever.

You're cut off by Quinn who's grinning at you wickedly over the top of your mother's head like he's just been giving the greatest Christmas present he could ever ask for and in that moment you know...you know that he is going to make your life very difficult with this tiny piece of information.

"Yeah, hi, nice to meet, the boyfriend, that's me." God, he wishes it was true. There's nothing more he wants in that moment than to be able to say to your mom that you are 100% his girlfriend, but he can't...he can, however, enjoy the roleplaying while it lasts. He can't really stop himself, not when you look so aghast at your mother calling him your boyfriend, not when he can use this to tease you for at least the next 30 years. He grew up with 2 brothers, sue him for taking advantage of the situation.

"Quinn!"

"What? Am I not allowed to call myself your boyfriend anymore?" He sidles up to you, slipping out from your mother's grip to pull you into his side. His arm rests naturally over your shoulder, yours finding his waist, and it is natural...because you've done this a million times before. The kiss he presses to your hair is new though, different and as much as your mum clearly believes the ruse, you can see your father just looks amused. Something tells you he knows this is all an act, but he finds it enjoyable to watch. Typical. No support from him when you need it most. Dads.

"Oh, she's just grouchy in the mornings, has been ever since she was a baby!" Your mother looks at the two of you with such pride that you're certain her heart actually might break when she finds out Quinn isn't actually your boyfriend. You've never seen her look so happy with your choice in a man before and you're certain she won't be able to cope when you have to inevitably tell her that it was either a) a lie or b) that Quinn just wasn't the guy for you (another lie just to make your life more complicated).

"Mum!"

"Oh don't worry, I know just how grouchy my baby can be in the mornings." This time he presses a kiss to your cheek and when he does, you hiss lowly in his ear, 'I'm going to kill you.' and Quinn can't help but laugh at you, biting his lip at how much fun he's having riling you up.

"Here let me take your bags, Mrs Y/L/N," Quinn's bending down before your mother can even begin to protest, her carry on backpack being slung over his shoulder and pulling up the handle of her suitcase to wheel it behind him.

"Oh, you don't have to, Quinn!"

"I insist." He knows he's making it harder on you, can see the look you give him because he's just going to make your mother fall in love with him. But, even as he enjoys riling you up, he was also raised right and he's not letting your mother carry her own bags.

Your mother hangs back with you while your father and Quinn start walking ahead with the suitcases. She slips her arm through yours walking with you to keep up, as she does so she does a very bad attempt at whispering. The sort of whispering that means you know Quinn can hear every word and is probably enjoying it immensely.

"He's such a gentleman..."

"Yeah, a real gentleman." You mutter sarcastically, watching the way his shoulders rise and fall in a silent laugh that he's no doubt doing his best to swallow down.

"Don't be grumpy, he's just being sweet on you. You should be glad for such a loving boyfriend..." Your mother scolds you before raising her voice back to normal, Quinn and your father slowing down slightly to help keep the four of you together, "So, Quinn, my daughter tells me you're a hockey player?"

"Yeah, you talk about me, baby?" Quinn's grin is wide, and you can't help the warmth that fills your entire face because you can't actually deny it. You talk about Quinn all the time, he's your best friend and whenever your mother phones, you inevitably talk about him. Whether it was a game of his you went to or a coffee place you'd visited together or gala he'd invited you to. Maybe, you talked about him too much? Maybe, it was obvious in the way you talked about him that you loved him? Maybe that's why your mother had made such a large assumption about your relationship status. Maybe this was your fault, why wouldn't she assume you were dating?

"She talks about you all the time. Quinn this, Quinn that...did you know that Quinn did this today and broke this record?"

"Mum..." You groan out, looking to your dad for help but all he does is shrug his shoulders at you, amusement bright in his eyes. Even if he could do something you know he wouldn't because he's clearly enjoying your torture.

Quinn can't help it, the tables seem to reverse. You're embarrassed still, but now he is too, bright red in the face, ears flushed the colour of a fire engine and a hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. All because you talk about him to your parents...you talk about him when he's not around...he feels like a twelve year old, giddy because his crush smiled at him for the first time.

"I play for the NHL."

"Vancouver Canucks, wasn't it?" Your mother asks as the four of you step out into the cold Canadian air, her attention making Quinn squirm and you smile, enjoying the discomfort being swapped around for a moment.

"Yeah, I'm the captain of the team." He smiles at your mother awkwardly as he opens the boot of the car and starts to pile in the suitcases, organising them in just the right way that they fit without hassle.

Your father chimes in as he lifts his own suitcase into the back, Quinn helping him shove it back further, "That's impressive, I used to play field hockey myself, never got out of the amateur league but got a few bruises in my time. You had an injury recently right?"

You still remember phoning your mum to talk about it, at first worried and then over time growing more and more frustrated with how sullen Quinn was being. He'd grown restless from not being able to play hockey and you'd been his distraction, a distraction that had grown fed up with his moping no matter how much you loved him.

"I've had a few this year, most recently my hand." He raises his braced hand, the brace a point of annoyance to him at this point in time. He was itching to be done with it, but put up with it because it meant he could still play hockey at the moment.

"Oh, you shouldn't have been carrying my bag then, Quinn!" Your mother fusses over him, flapping about as if she might have a miracle cure for his hand injury.

"Honestly, it's fine! It looks worse than it is, I promise. I wouldn't get away with it otherwise, this one would kill me." He nods his head at you as he closes the boot, opening one of the backdoors for your mother to slide inside.

"Damn right I'd kill you, I cannot take more days of you moping that you can't play hockey and that you're bored despite my amazing company."

"You know I enjoyed spending time with you, sweetheart...but..."

"But, you can't live without hockey, yeah, I know..."

He follows you round to the passenger side door, opening it for you like a gentleman and letting you slide inside. You find yourself enjoying the attention even as you catch your mother's eye in the rear view mirror, a little smirk reaching her lips as she watches Quinn buckle you in. Something he does from time to time when he's feeling particularly sweet...because he was a good friend.

"So, Quinn, how did you meet our daughter? I'm not sure she ever mentioned it?"

The entire ride home is filled with your mother peppering Quinn with questions, encouraging him to talk more and more about your 'relationship'. Everything from when you first met to the first date you went on (which Quinn told her was the first time he took you ice skating, you were under the impression that that was a friendly family skate event and most certainly not a date).

The conversation lulls while you set your parents up in your spare bedroom, helping them settle themselves and showing them around your apartment. They hadn't ever seen it in person and they spent half the time cooing over your choices, the photos of family and friends on the wall, the ones of you and Quinn, as well as your mother checking your fridge and telling you to buy more vegetables.

It's as you're sitting down to a breakfast of pre-bought croissants and pain au chocolat that your mother restarts her question. This time even more invasive than the first.

"So Quinn, when did you know?"

"Mm? Know what?" Your best friend looks at your mother with furrowed brows, taking a sip of his orange juice and almost choking on it when she proceeds to clarify her question.

"When you loved my daughter."

There's a long beat of silence where your eyes stay fixated on your plate, watching your own hands intently as you spread Nutella inside your croissant, far too focused on that to be anything casual or calm. You're certain you're going to be sick because he doesn't love you but you love him and your poor mother is so oblivious and this...this is going too far, it feels like it's gone too far.

"Expected answer or honest answer?"

"Honest answer."

"The second week I knew her." Your head snaps up with a start only to find Quinn looking directly at you, green eyes crinkling softly at the corners. "She heard that I had been hurt on the ice the night before and she stormed round my apartment with a bunch of food, medicine and a blanket. Spent the whole day looking after me and making me watch 90s movies I hadn't watched growing up. No one outside my family had ever done that for me before...it made me realise that if I wasn't already in love, I would be pretty quick." You almost believe him, the way he looks at you, the way he speaks so softly. Almost.

You look down at your plate, tears welling in your eyes because you know he doesn't mean it. He's spinning a yarn for your mother and it hurts that he would go that far when you both know this is all some ruse he's decided to pull. You swallow hard and take a bite of your croissant, refusing to look at him for the rest of breakfast.

You won't meet his eyes until he goes to leave after breakfast, your parents hanging back so you can say goodbye to your 'boyfriend'.

"Mind if I come over after dinner? We could watch a movie with your parents?"

"Quinn..." You go to challenge him on his behaviour today, but the words won't come out.

"What?"

"Nothing...uh, sure, after dinner?"

"After dinner, baby."

You want to tell him off as he says it, as he presses a kiss to your cheek so your parents can see because you aren't his baby and he's hurting you. He's hurting you without realising it because you so desperately want to be his baby. But, you don't. You just watch him walk away down the corridor of your apartment building and out of sight before getting ready to show your parents around Vancouver for the day.

You try to put the whole thing out of your mind throughout the day, showing your parents the sights of Vancouver, including the arena...but it's hard when they keep bringing Quinn back up and asking about your feelings. They probe you for half the day and it's emotionally exhausting balancing the truth with the half-truth, even more so knowing that they're going to be just as disappointed as you are when they realise your relationship with Quinn is just a sham, a charade, a fake.

Eventually they seem to grow bored of talking about the topic, however, and dinner goes relatively smoothly, you taking them to a nice restaurant Quinn had shown you back in your first couple of months in Vancouver. Even that feels bittersweet though, filled with memories of the two of you dining together. You can't help but feel like the whole issue needs addressing as you get them back home and pop a film on ready for Quinn's arrival.

When he arrives he continues the act as if it isn't one, greeting you at the door with a kiss to the cheek and pulling you down onto the loveseat opposite your parents, curling one arm around your shoulders and urging you to lay against him, your cheek pressed into his chest. In some ways it's familiar, not an act, because you cuddle for movies all time, completely platonically of course, but both of you are touchy feely and it's always been part of your dynamic. In others though? The way he talks to you, the pet names, kisses to your hair, that is all new, all a way to show your parents he's the 'doting boyfriend', even though he's not your boyfriend at all.

Your parents lap it up, every now and then you catch them smiling at each other and then over to the two of you and you can't help but feel heavy with it. With this feeling of unrequited affection. You love Quinn, you've known that for a while now, but it was easy to be around him because you didn't need to address it. You could love him in silence and from afar...you had never considered how hard it would become when what you wanted most was being dangled in front of you like a carrot on a string.

Quinn has a similar dilemma going on in his own head. He's always known he loved you more than a friend, even when you barely knew each other...had he been braver he would have asked for your number for a date that first day, not so that he could show you around a new city as a 'friend'. But, he'd been a coward and since then he'd continued to be. He enjoyed every ounce of affection he got from you, every hug, every cuddle, ever time you held his arm at an event, all while feeling like that had to be enough...now he's had more? He's not sure it'll ever be enough, he's greedy for you. Greedy for your affection, your attention, greedy in the way he wants to keep kissing you, keeping calling you sweet names and greedy for the way you grow bashful. Greedy for more than just being your friend...he's given himself a taste of what life could be like and now he can't forget it.

It's halfway through the movie, your legs slung over Quinn's lap and his fingers carding through the ends of your hair when your parents stand with a groan from the other couch.

"Princess?" You lift your head to look at your father, who's stretching out his back after sitting for so long.

"Yeah, dad?"

"Your mother and I are getting a little tired...we're going to go to bed, if that's alright with you two?"

"Of course, don't let us keep you up." Quinn confirms your own thoughts as well, telling your parents it's not problem at all. It's all so...so domestic.

Your dad presses a kiss to the top of your head, as does your mother, before yourself and Quinn wish them goodnight. You wait until you see the door to the spare room start to close, not waiting for it to do so fully, before turning to Quinn. You pull out of his arms, the missing warmth of you an immediate loss to him, but it has him sitting up straight and taking you seriously.

Your face is sullen, sad, eyebrows pinched, mouth turned down into a frown and he's alarmed to see that your eyes are glassy like you might cry.

"Why on earth would you let my parents think we're dating? Why would you tell my mother you're in love with me?" You're certain you're going to cry, angry, frustrated and sad all in one. Lovesick because it hurts to hear him tell your mother he was in love with you when you know he's not.

"Why not?" He frowns at you, hands reaching out but you keep just out of reach as if touching him is the last thing you want. You've never shied away from Quinn's touch and he recoils, breathing a little heavier out of anxious worry that he's upset you, that he's fucked this up. Maybe you've been uncomfortable with his touch all day? Has he been making you uncomfortable all day? Is he one of those guys?

"Because we're not dating and you're not in love with me, Quinn. My mother is certain we're going to get married and I'll stop being an old spinster! You're getting her hopes up." The unspoken words lay heavy on your tongue, 'you're getting my hopes up', you want to say.

"Who said I didn't love you? Who said I didn't want to marry you?" The look he gives you isn't the cheeky one he's had all day, it's not joking or silly, it's dead serious. He scoots closer to you, but doesn't reach out for you this time. But, Quinn can't help but want to be close to you, to be drawn into your orbit, into your gravity.

"Quinn..."

"What?"

"You're being mean..." Your voice is filled with tears, wet, pathetic sounding and you choke back a sob as a tear falls down your cheek because he's being so mean...he can't dangle that in front of you, everything you've ever wanted, not when he doesn't actually mean it.

He realises in that moment that you don't believe him. You believe he's spent the entire morning and evening telling lies, saying that he loves you when he doesn't, that you're that important to him when you aren't. You believe he's being mean because you don't believe him, that the tears are because you think he's holding this thing, this idea out in front of you, only to snatch it away.

"Look, I said a lot today...but none of it was a lie." He can't help himself this time, hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb wiping away that pesky tear that shouldn't have been there in the first place. It's the way you lean into his touch that brings him a sense of confidence, of relief, you wouldn't do that if you didn't want him touching you.

"I know our first date wasn't a date, just a stupid family skate I was too scared to ask you out to as more than just a friend. I wish it had been a date and I wish I had been brave enough from the start to tell you I didn't just want to be your friend."

"Quinn..."

"And I was telling the truth...when your mother asked me when I fell in love with you." He tugs you closer, until your legs are back over his lap and your practically sitting on top of him, arms wrapping around your lower back and pulling you closer. The way he stares up at you is nothing short of reverent.

"Q..."

"The second week we knew each other you came to look after me when no one else did...and I knew...I knew that I was going to love you and that I was stupid for not asking you out in the first place...but I was...I was too scared to say anything. I didn't want to lose my new friend...I thought..." He hesitates, tongue coming out to nervously brush against his bottom lip, capturing your attention like a magpie with a shiny button.

"You thought?" You're whispering, quiet as if to speak any louder might scare him, might disrupt this little bubble you've found yourself in.

"I thought having a tiny bit of you...any bit, was better than having none of you at all." Quinn confesses, shifting you on his lap as your legs fall either side of his hips until you're so close your noses brush.

"Is it?"

"It was...for a bit..." It's self-deprecating, sardonic, like he finds himself ridiculous, foolish.

"And now?"

"And now I've had a taste of what it's like to love you, to be able to kiss you and hold you...call you mine...and now I'm greedy and it's not enough...Baby, it'll never be enough."

"You...you love me?" It's like even after all of this, everything he's said, every tender touch, you still don't quite believe him. It's hard to believe that everything you've ever wanted is sat in the palm of your hand just waiting for you to capture it, to take it. That your feelings, the ones you believed were unrequited for two years, were actually returned all along.

"I love you...and...um, if...if you'll have me, maybe I could be your real boyfriend this time?" His face is bright red, so warm to the touch when you're fingers reach out to trace his cheeks that you're surprised he doesn't combust.

"I'd like that...I...I love you too,"

"So...I'm your boyfriend?" He says it like he doesn't quite believe it, the beauty mark on his cheek moving as he grins up at you giddy like a little kid getting his first bag of sweets.

"You're my boyfriend." You press a kiss to that beauty mark without overthinking it...because you can now, because now it's not a lie when you tell your parents he's your boyfriend, because now you're allowed to kiss him and hold him and tell him how much you love him.

"Fuck...that sounds good."

He can't help but just stare up at you from where you're straddling his lap. The healthy glow to your skin, the soft smile directed down at him, the way you seem to curl into him like you're not close enough even now. God, you're beautiful and you're his...you're finally his and he's yours and...and he can't comprehend that the thing he wanted to happen for so long has finally happened. What had he been scared of all this time? He could have been with you for two years, instead he'd squandered it out of fear...

"Quinn?" Your voice is soft, melodic, so so sweet that almost closes his eyes at the sound.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Kiss me?" You whisper as if it's shameful to ask, as if you've asked for something more sordid than a simple kiss...your first kiss together at that.

"Anything for my girl."

He's gentle in the way he cups your neck and jaw with one large hand, thumb pressing just below your jaw bone as he pulls you in. There's nothing rushed about the way Quinn presses your lips together, the smooth glide of his bottom lip against your top. Even the way his tongue brushes against your lip until you open up for him is slow, steady, adoring. You can't help the way you sigh into him, fingers gliding through dark chocolate strands, eyes closing shut with the sense of home, sense of relief that you find in him.

The two of you lose yourselves in each other, slow kisses, wandering hands, nothing too extreme, but a new found intimacy that you're finally allowed to indulge in before you curl back up together to watch the remainder of the movie. Watch being a loose term for what you're really doing.

"Did you know?" Your father turns his eyes away from the scene outside the spare bedroom, the way you're curled up in Quinn's arms like you were always supposed to be there. Neither of you realising that the spare bedroom door had never fully closed, both your parents eavesdropping like Samwise Gamgee.

"That they weren't actually together, dear?" Your mother looks sly and devious as she looks over at her husband. The face of the woman he loves, but also fears in equal measure.

"Yes."

"Of course I knew...but I figured they could both use a shove in the right direction, I mean, look at them?" Your parents both turn to watch the two of you, the way you curl up together on the couch is the epitome of young love. There's no real watching of a movie happening, instead Quinn's fingers are rubbing circles into your shoulder, while you look up at him lovingly from where you're curled against his chest. Every now and then he dips his head down to press a kiss against your forehead, and each time you giggle, face pressing briefly into his neck. The giddy feeling of a new, fresh love, making film watching the least of your interests.

"They just needed a little push." Both your parents smile at each other even as your father playfully scolds his wife, "You're a meddlesome woman."

"And you love me for it."

"Yes, yes I do."

Perhaps it took a bit of meddling, a fake misunderstanding, but that would be their little secret...at least for now. Your mother was rather looking forward to seeing you squirm in the future as you reveal the truth, that you hadn't actually been dating Quinn as long as you said. Yes, she certainly was happy to help, but she also was still your mother and lying to your mother was certainly not the done thing. A little squirming was good for you sometimes, but first, she'd let you enjoy the fresh bloom of love...and she'd go easy on you.

[dem0batz]

Rotten Right to the Core

Caleb x MC

Author's Note: No thoughts, only Caleb's toxic ass behavior. This was shorter than I planned but sometimes the words lead you and not the other way around. Hope y'all still enjoy 😘 Word Count: ~1500 | Read on AO3 Summary: Caleb wants to feel you without any barriers. 🔞Content Warnings: Dead Dove, afab!MC, she/her MC, taboo (pseudo-cest), PIV, rough sex, edging, biting, protected sex until it’s not, dubcon (sexual coercion), possessive Caleb, spanking, Girlboss/Gaslight/Breeding Kink, hair pulling, putting it back in

Incoherent words fall from your mouth, muffled by the scratchy material of your grandmother’s couch while Caleb ruts into you from behind. Ever the one to take advantage of your time home alone together, your brother had you pinned to the cushion the moment you got home from a full day of classes at the Hunter’s Academy. You barely had time to for your bag to drop to the floor before his tongue was down your throat and he had you folded in half over the armrest. He’s been different since leaving for the Skyhaven base to train as a pilot. Caleb has always been the overprotective, obsessive type but now that you were no longer living under the same roof it was like he was trying to tattoo himself inside you whenever he was granted leave to visit home.

“This is just the welcome home I needed,” he groans.

His fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips, pulling you back on his length with obscene wet slaps echoing off of the walls. Your body was already sore from the way he tossed you around like a rag doll, placing you in various positions and seeming unable to get enough. Heavy, firm balls slap against your puffy abused clit, teasing at an orgasm he had denied you over and over again until you felt on the verge of madness.

“Caleb, please!” you whine, voice pitched high and eyes full of tears.

A deep chuckle vibrates against your back as he pins you further with his chest.

It was borderline cruel the way he made you beg for release. You never understood why he insisted on drawing it out and tormenting the both of you, especially considering that more times than not you were on a time crunch to finish before Gran could catch the two of you. It was like he wanted to get caught, always pushing the limit further and further, seeing how close you could get to the sun without incinerating.

“You know just what I like to hear.” His warm breath is like silk against your eardrum. “I want something else from you, though.”

You don’t hesitate to answer, unable to bear the thought of waiting any longer.

“Anything.”

Caleb’s hand grips your jaw, pulling your gaze back to meet his until your neck aches from the strain. Danger flashes in his amethyst eyes.

“You have no sense of self-preservation, dear sister. You don’t even know what you’re asking for. But it’s too late to take it back.”

He bites your ear painfully as he continues to pump into you, teeth clamping hard while his tongue flicks at jewelry in your lobe. You cry out in a heady combination of pain and please, tightening around his erection.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he moans your name. His heavy cock falls out, leaving you dripping and clenching around nothing as a pitiful plea escapes your lips. “Stop being a whiny brat. You’ll get what you want. Take the condom off.”

That snaps you out of your tormented, blissed out haze, shocking you to your core.

“What do you mean, take it off—”

As you push up on one arm to turn around and face him, you collapse onto your chest once more as Caleb pushes you down and pins your arm behind your back. His hand encircles yours in deceptive softness as he guides your fingers to the tip of his hard cock to pinch the latex.

“What I mean… is take it off, pip,” he repeats.

“B-but we don’t… not without…” you grapple for understanding as responsibility pushes through your lust-filled brain.

“Yeah, well I wanna feel you. All of you. Without anything between us.”

You hesitate, knowing it would be an incredibly irresponsible thing to do. You just got into the academy and were top of your class. Before long you would be assigned to a squad at the Association, something you’ve dreamed of doing since you saw Hunters fighting off Wanderers on the broadcast as a little girl.

Caleb must sense your hesitation. Soft lips press to your cheek, a trail of soothing kisses pecking lovingly against the skin. The hand not currently wrapped around your own dips between your thighs as he starts to swirl your swollen clit. Still sensitive from the constant edging, your mind swims as your forehead falls to the cushion to stop the room from spinning. His touch is light, gentle even as your brother’s calming voice soothes you like a balm.

“I know this is new for us and you’re nervous, but it hurts that you don’t trust me to take care of you.”

“It’s not—”

“You have the implant—”

“How do you know tha—” you ask, but he cuts you off again.

“And I’ll pull out. I promise.” A soft sigh falls from his lips as he starts to pump against your hand that was still gripping him. “Just need to feel you.”

You never knew how to tell him no when he gets like this, all soft and sweet even if it never lasted.

“I-I—you promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“…okay,” you give in, body going pliant in his hold.

Pinching the latex, you start to tug. Caleb pulls back to give you space to work the condom down his length with a snap!

“There’s my sweet girl,” he praises.

Releasing your arm, he grabs himself to swipe the sticky bare head through your soaked folds with a hiss. Up and down over and over again as it keeps bumping your clit in a maddening tease. Just when you think he’s never going to put you out of your misery, he slides in with a single deep, hard thrust that takes the air from your lungs.

“Caleb!” you cry out just as he lets out a loud quivering groan.

Hand pressing against his abdomen you attempt to make him ease up. But just like before when you tried to stop him, he traps your arm against your lower back while his long cock bruises your cervix. His hips regain the brutal pace it had before the condom came off, the skin-to-skin contact making his glide through your walls much easier. Despite your pleas for him to slow down, you gush around the intrusion.

“I know you like it soft and sweet, pip-squeak, but you also like when I just take what’s mine. Don’t you?”

His hand cracks across your ass, leaving behind a sting that has you grinding your teeth. Head shaking in denial, Caleb lands another smack across the sensitive flesh followed by another and another.

“Don’t lie to me. I can feel your cunt squeezing the life out of me every time I do.”

“No—”

Crack!

“Want to try that again?”

“Caleb!”

Crack!

“Just tell me the truth and I’ll let you come.”

Like a carrot dangling in front of a horse, you give, desperate for the release. Your muffled response gets lost in the cushion. Fingers thread through the base of your neck, pulling at your roots until your face is unobstructed.

“Say it again,” he demands, panting harshly into your ear.

He was just about as far gone as you at this point.

“I like it,” you mewl, not having the strength to deny it any longer.

Your body was starting to grow heavy and you didn’t have much left to give.

“Like what? Use your big girl words.”

You loved hated when he did this. He was a total sadist sometimes. Face heating to an unbearable degree, you rush out a response.

“I like it when you take what’s yours.”

“You love it when I take what’s mine,” he corrects.

“I love it when you take what’s yours,” you repeat between high pitched moans.

You would give him anything he wanted right now if he would just give you what you needed. Your dignity was long gone, that ship having sailed years ago when it came to him.

“Now tell me you want my cum.”

“Caleb,” you hyperventilate, on the verge of tears again at his constant teasing.

“Shhh, it’s okay sweet girl. Almost there, I promise. Tell me what you want.”

“I want your cum.”

“Whose cum?”

“My brother’s…” you murmur, knowing exactly what the pervert wants to hear.

Caleb always did want what he wasn’t supposed to have, you above all.

“Yeah? You want your big brother’s cum? Well, who am I to deny a pretty girl her request.”

Fingers pinch your clit, the mere touch enough at this point to make you go blind with pleasure. Your abdomen tightens and your ears ring almost painfully as you’re overcome with your release. You barely even notice when Caleb pulls out with a growl and wetness coats both holes between your legs. The moment seems to go on forever until he finally releases you, allowing you to collapse face-first into the couch with your heart pounding against your ribcage.

Grabbing his still stiff cock, Caleb swipes it through the mess he made of your ass and pussy, gathering the sticky release together on the tip.

So out of it, you don’t even realize what he’s doing until it’s too late.

Caleb slides back into your abused, tender hole with slow intentional deep strokes.

“Caleb!” you scold, so depleted of energy that your protest comes out as a pathetic mumble.

“I kept my promise, babygirl. I pulled out. Do you think Gran would be mad if we made her a grandma again?”

“You’re a jerk,” your swat lands against his naked hip with a smack as he laughs at your expense.

[nanenna]

Warning: Implied bodily mutilation.

Okay, so remember how this prompt started and why Danny's dissociating hard enough he's in the next universe over? Kon gets a sudden, visceral reminder. UwU (Nothing graphic, all implied. This time)

-----

It was nice having all of Just Us together again, even if it was only for a pre-mission information gathering meeting. After contacting Wonder Woman about it this was now official League business, specifically JLD business. So here he, Tim, Cassie, and Bart were, sitting in one of the meeting rooms on the Watchtower across the table from Wonder Woman and John Constantine. Tim had a presentation all ready to go, including Danny’s drawings and one blurry photo he somehow managed to get of the boy, as he explained everything they knew so far.

“It does seem this boy is from an alternate universe,” Diana agreed as she looked at the star chart Danny had drawn compared to their own. It seemed about half the stars Danny had drawn were a match.

“And even if not, I can’t help search for him with this,” Tim said.

Diana looked over to Constantine.

“I would need to get a read on him, preferably after I get some supplies and get everything set up.”

Kon sighed, “I’ll talk to Ma and Pa. Promise you won’t do any damage to the house.”

Constantine held his hands up, “I’ll clean up after myself.”

“I’ll put together a rescue team,” Diana said.

Kon and his friends all frowned, “We’re already a team.”

“Kon will need to go since Danny already knows him,” Cassie pointed out. “And since we’re already a team we work best with each other.”

Diana nodded, “Alright, I and John will come with you as back up and to make sure we can make it home. We’ll make arrangements to get his supplies, in the mean time I think it’s best you start introducing Danny to others. Ma and Pa at the least.”

Kon nodded, “Sure, I can do that.” He stood up, since it sounded like the meeting was over.

“Before you lot go running off,” Constantine interrupted, “just wanna say not everything from Earth is human.”

Kon sat back down.

“You mean like us?” Cassie asked with a confused frown.

“Yes and no. There’s Amazons and Atlanteans, sure. But there’s also the Tuatha Dé Danann, Hulder, Vila, Kami, whatever you wanna call them.”

Kon had no idea what Constantine was talking about, he looked over to Tim. “The fair folk, or fairies. Like Morgaine le Fey.”

Kon nodded, he had some idea what Constantine meant now.

“Dream walking isn’t something many humans can do.”

Kon remembered something he hadn’t paid much attention to earlier. “Danny called me Nocturn, the Ancient of dreams. He thinks this is all a dream, I don’t think he even knows he’s astral projecting.”

“Right, so he could be fae and knows it, he could be fae and not know it, or he could be a human who managed to make friends with something that sounds like a fae lord. And depending on what it is it changes the rules of hospitality, so be careful about that.”

Tim sighed, “I’ll give them all the fae crash course.”

“The Bat is surprisingly correct and thorough on that.” Constantine sighed, then looked towards Kon. “Look, mate, I know you won’t like this but it might be best to let him think he’s still dreaming for now, just until we get him out of whatever situation is so bad it has him dissociating into the next universe.”

He was right, Kon didn’t like it.

✧✦✧

It had only been a day, Kon wasn’t expecting to see Danny again so soon. At first there had been a whole week between the first and second sighting, but they had been getting closer and closer together over the last couple weeks. Kon wasn’t sure if that meant he just didn’t always run into Danny or if he was actually astral projecting more often. But he hadn’t seen Danny two days in a row yet.

Except now he had.

Kon had finished explaining the whole situation to Ma and Pa, had helped them pick out which room in the big old farmhouse they would let Constantine borrow, and promised to introduce them to Danny the next he saw him. He’d previously told them about him so they could keep an eye out for him, but it seemed they hadn’t seen him yet. Kon was just heading out to the barn for evening chores when he saw a misty figure out in one of the fields. Kon had almost missed them, due to how misty the fields were with rain coming down, but he stopped and squinted and yeah, that was Danny.

“Hello,” Kon greeted as he approached.

Danny didn’t look over, keeping his face turned up and eyes closed. “I can almost feel it.” The rain was going right through him, leaving misty trails in his translucent body.

“At least you don’t have to worry about getting wet.”

“I miss it.”

That’s it, just miss it, not even a comment about how he wants to go stand in the rain when he’s awake.

“Would you like to come inside? Meet my Ma and Pa? I’ve told them about you.”

Danny did blink, looking over at Kon owlishly with his haunting green eyes. “I suppose I have been too lonely.” Danny lifted off the ground and drifted towards Kon, who also lifted into the air and started leading Danny towards the farmhouse.

“I’m not Nocturn.”

Danny looked over with one of his indulgent smiles.

“I mean it,” Kon said quickly. “I don’t want you to think I lied and said I was him when I’m not.” He may need to let Danny think he’s still dreaming, which technically he’s not wrong about, but Kon wasn’t going to try to pretend to be someone he’s never even heard of.

“If you say so.”

Kon sighed, he’d tried. They arrived at the house then, Kon carefully wiped off his shoes before going in. Danny didn’t have a lower half to bother with. “Ma, Pa, I have a guest.”

“Oh, is it one of your friends or did Diana and John finish their shopping trip already?” Ma asked as she walked into the room. When she spotted Danny she stopped and looked at him for a moment before smiling brightly. “You must be Danny, Conner’s been telling us about you.”

Danny looked up at Kon, “Conner?”

Kon shrugged, “Earth name.”

Danny just nodded, then turned back to Ma. “I am Danny, it’s nice to meet you.” He held a hand out, the arm attaching it to his body barely there.

Pa came in just as Danny introduced himself, then he gave the boy a hearty handshake.

“Well, can you eat?” Ma asked.

Danny shrugged and looked to Kon, who also shrugged. Danny turned back to Ma, “I can smell.”

Her mouth rolled into a thin line, “Well how about I make you a cup of hot cider and we can see how that goes.”

“Sure.” Danny followed Ma into the kitchen. He managed to pull out the chair himself to sit in it, legs still missing and hands barely a suggestion as they were folded in front of him on the table.

Ma set about pouring some of the cider they had into a pot to heat up. While that was going, she bustled around the kitchen gathering enough mugs for everyone.

Pa sat across from Danny at the table while Kon stood to the side, just watching her until she poured the steaming cider into the mugs. Kon picked up two of them and handed one off to Danny, while Ma gave Pa his.

“Thank you,” Danny said to both Kon and Ma when the mug was placed in front of him.

Interesting, according to Tim fairies were allergic to saying thank you. So either Danny was raised human and didn’t know he was a fairy, or he was a human and this was all Nocturn.

Danny closed his eyes and seemed to savor the long sniff he took of the mug he’d pulled closer to himself. “It smells so good.”

“Thank you,” Ma said proudly, taking a sip for herself.

Danny leaned forward and carefully picked up the mug, tipping it to take a sip. Cider splattered on the table. Danny frowned down at it.

Kon quickly picked up one of the kitchen towels and wiped the spill up. “That’s a bummer.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can make myself solid enough. It’s so weird, normally I have to try to not be solid.”

“Well I’m sorry you can’t eat,” Ma said with a sigh.

“It still smells really good.” Danny settled the mug in his hands to be cradled just under his nose.

No one seemed sure what to say to that. It was Pa that tried to change the subject. “Why don’t you tell us about yourself, Danny?”

“I’d rather not.”

Kon couldn’t help wincing, even said in Danny’s soft, dreamy voice that was a bit harsh.

Pa recovered, “Alright then, how about we tell you about the farm? It’s been a real nice year so far. The animals and crops are doing well.”

“It’s been easier since Conner’s been actually staying instead of just visiting,” Ma added.

“What?” Kon asked.

Ma tittered, “Since Danny showed up you’ve been staying the whole time instead of just visiting.”

“I visit every day!”

“You do,” Ma agreed with a wide smile. “Don’t change that it’s been lonely since Clark and Lois moved back to Metropolis, took little Jon with them.”

“They visit a lot too!”

“That they do,” Pa agreed. He gave Danny an exaggerated wink, “We’re real lucky our boys can make the time to come visit us so often.”

Danny smiled gently at Pa, “It does sound-”

Danny’s mug clattered to the table, spilling cider across it and splashing some on the floor. Kon moved to start cleaning it up when he realized why Danny’s mug had fallen.

Danny’s right arm was missing.

Danny looked down at it with his usual passive expression, “Oh, so that’s what that feeling was.”

“What?” Kon asked blankly.

“They’re gonna run outta limbs eventually.”

Kon looked over to Ma, who had her hands pressed over her mouth, and Pa, who was frozen half standing. Then he looked back to Danny, who was still frowning at his shoulder. “W-what?”

Danny looked passively up at Kon. “You already know what’s going on, it’s why you made this waking dream for me after all.”

Kon stared at the arm that wasn’t there, not even a misty hint.

Danny sighed and closed his eyes, a nearly invisible arm and hand reappeared and quickly became as solid (half at best) as the other hand. He picked up his fallen mug.

Kon thought about how Danny’s arms only seemed to be there half the time. He thought about how Danny’s legs almost never seemed to be there. Kon thought about how he wasn’t entirely sure what Danny’s face looked like besides his brightly glowing eyes.

Ma was already sopping up the cider with a kitchen towel, Pa was at the linen closet grabbing bigger towel. Kon was outside, crouched over in a squat with his fingers laced and pressing against the back of his neck. He heard Ma distantly shout for Clark, but he was too busy trying to get his breathing back under control to notice.

DP x DC Prompt/Plotbunny #6

After days? weeks? months? years? in this mercy-forsaken lab, Danny finds himself slipping; his core straining under the weight of what he's been subjected to. In a last ditch effort to save his fracturing soul, his brain simply stops processing the pain and allows his mind to escape into a waking dream.

Danny knows it's a dream. If he thinks about it; he can still hear, see, feel the scientists at work. He doesn't think about it; instead embraces whatever false world his mind decides to concoct for him.

.

Several states away, a young boy opens his eyes to the inside of a strange pod in an abandoned lab. Though he cannot see it yet, a strange metal tag dangles from his ear, stamped on one side with the word 'CADMUS' and on the other with 'R-13'.

[yuechihua]

remember me as i am.

summary: When Harumasa asks for an unexpected favor, you accept, against your better judgement. The last thing you expected was to have to pretend to be his spouse at a doctor’s appointment.

notes: 4.5k words, author's notes, fake marriage, fake dating, ambiguous relationship/feelings, fluff with some light introspective sadness

“I need you to do me a favor.”

When Asaba Harumasa whispers those words to you across your shared desks at the Section Six office, hand cupped around his mouth for emphasis, eyes glittering with mischief, you can’t help but brace yourself for whatever ensuing trouble he’s going to drag you into.

“What’s the favor?” you respond evenly. “If it’s to convince Yanagi to accept your request for time off, I’m not going to do that.”

“It’s not that!” Harumasa insists. “But it’s about something that’s important for the well-being of Section Six.”

You glance around the room; Soukaku is doodling with crayons on some confidential reports, Miyabi has left for a meeting with the rest of the section chiefs (and you can guarantee that she isn’t paying any attention), and Yanagi is steadfastly working through a towering stack of papers on her desk, so high that you can barely make out the top of her head. No one is paying attention to the two of you.

“Well, what is it then?” you say, and Harumasa casts a furtive glance at Yanagi before leaning closer to you, bracing his elbow on your desk. He’s enjoying himself a little too much, you can’t help but feel, what with how his smile curls like a satisfied cat.

“We need to meet up on our day off, preferably in the morning and somewhere near Lumina Square,” he says conspiratorially. “It’s too risky to pull off here. But it’s important, partner, so make sure you’re not late.”

“If it’s something that’s important for Section Six,” you whisper, tilting your own head closer to the shell of his ear, “Maybe it’s something that we should bring up to the others. What is it? Some illicit venture into a Hollow? Should I call Phaenton, too?”

“There’s no need for all of that,” Harumasa says hastily. “You only need to bring yourself. Maybe a disguise,” he adds, “to avoid public notice. This is a confidential mission. I’m relying on you.”

You let out a small sigh. Visions of curling up on your couch tomorrow, browsing through books with a mug of warm, sweet tea vanish in front of your eyes. “Fine. I’ll be there. But you owe me for dragging me out on our only day off.”

“I’ll make it worth your time, I promise.” Harumasa has the audacity to wink at you, like you’ve agreed to some ridiculous, under-the-table deal. 

Maybe you have. It certainly feels like it when you drag yourself out of bed the next morning, donning sunglasses, a long, caramel-colored coat buttoned up to your neck, and pulling a hat low over your head to complete the look. You’re out the door and on the train to Lumina Square before ten minutes have passed.

You’re set to meet Harumasa at some nondescript corner of the square, an alley boxed in by towering buildings and mostly hidden from view. What does he have in store for you? Despite the playful attitude he had yesterday when asking you for help, there was also something serious underpinning his words, even as he tried to pass it off as a flight of fancy. Harumasa would never ask you for help unless it was something important. 

You’re certain that you’ll have to wait for Harumasa to show up a few minutes late, making some slap-fash excuse. To your surprise, he’s already waiting for you. You almost can’t recognize him at first. He’s forgone his usual headband; instead, he’s wearing a hoodie, a cap, and a facemask, slouching against the wall, staring aimlessly at the sky. 

“Harumasa?” you say.

At your voice, Harumasa immediately straightens, lifting himself off the wall. You can hear the smile in his voice, even if you can’t see it. “There you are!”

“You’re early,” you say. “I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”

Harumasa slings a casual arm around your shoulder. “Well, I didn’t want to miss our date. But don’t let Yanagi know that I’m capable of showing up on time, okay?” 

“It’s not a date,” you say, lowering your sunglasses to give him an unimpressed stare, “It’s a mission. Or so you claim.”

“It is,” he says. “Come with me. I’ll show you our place of operations.”

Harumasa still has his arm around your shoulders, but you don’t shake him off as he leads you confidently through alleys and down back roads, avoiding the bustle of crowds in the main section of the city. The breeze is cool, the sunlight warm on your face againsr the winter’s chill.

Eventually, the two of you stop in front of a hospital, a towering construction of shining metal and glass reflecting squares of blue sky. People bustle in and out of the sliding front doors, letting out gusts of sharp, chemically scented air.

Harumasa is silent as he stares up at the building, his hat shading his eyes. You can’t make out his expression, but you lean your head on his shoulder, a brief, reassuring touch.

He seems to come back to himself, then, and Harumasa’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he resumes talking in a clear, casual voice, “So, this is where our mission is taking place. Here’s the gist of it: I need you to pretend to be my spouse.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he wheedles. “I’ve been avoiding coming here for a while, but they’re not taking my excuses anymore. And they wanted me to bring a family member over to verify some things.”

“You could have just said so from the beginning,” you say. “I was beginning to think you wanted us to infiltrate somewhere.”

“If you think about it, we technically are,” Harumasa muses. “Besides, isn’t it more fun if I tell you we’re on a mission, instead of just giving everything away? Also, this is necessary to Section Six; what are they going to do without their star Executive Officer?”

The arm around your shoulder is shaking imperceptibly; sometime during his words, his grip has tightened, just slightly, as if he’s clinging to you to keep from sliding down a cliff. The unspoken truths hover in the air: that you’re the only one in Section Six who knows about his Ether Regression Aptitude Syndrome, and that he can’t ask anyone else to help him for this.

“Why your spouse, though?” you say instead. “Why not just say I’m a distant relation? You could also just not specify what our relationship is.” 

“Because it’s more fun for me,” Harumasa replies. Typical.

Within the next few minutes, the two are checking in at the front desk after a brief wait, Harumasa wading through tedious paperwork and bureaucracy and health insurance forms with clipboards and pens that click more than necessary. 

“Make sure to tell the doctor I’m here with my spouse,” Harumasa emphasizes, tapping the clipboard with his pen. He slides his arm around you, drawing you closer to him, and you try to resist the urge to pull away and keep your face schooled in a neutral, pleasant expression.

“All right, Mr. Asaba,” the receptionist chirps. “He’ll be out to see you in a bit!”

The waiting room is filled with rows of yellow and white plastic chairs, carpeting worn by the tread of countless anxious patients, and stacks of old magazines on tables and televisions mounted on the walls playing a cheesy blockbuster with the voices muted. A bored child plays with the hospital’s block toys on the floor, his mother talks quietly into her phone in front of him, and an elderly man flips through a magazine, his cane resting on his lap.

You and Harumasa settle into your seats, side by side. In the space between, where your hands dangle, his knuckles brush against the back of your hand before he draws your hand into his. You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve somehow become his stress ball, something he needs to touch to ground himself. 

“Still holding up alright?” Harumasa whispers. “You cleared the first hurdle.”

“Maybe I should be asking you that,” you whisper back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m used to it.” At times like this, you wish you could see Harumasa’s mouth, because his eyes betray nothing. 

Still, when the receptionist finally calls out, “Asaba Harumasa, the doctor’s here to see you,” you don’t let go of Harumasa’s hand. The doctor is stocky and short, with tired, drooping eyes, and he frowns when he sees Harumasa.

The three of you start walking down the hall, the doctor setting a rapid pace as he lectures Harumasa. “You’ve been avoiding my calls for the past week. Do you know how hard it is to get in contact with you? Proper medical care requires consistency!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harumasa says without sounding sorry at all, but he seems more focused on swinging your joined hands together like a child on a swing set. 

In the doctor’s office, the two of you are finally separated as Harumasa perches on the examination table. You’re sitting in a guest chair lined up against the wall across from him. The doctor moves through standard physical procedures with a deft, practiced hand. Harumasa follows along easily, thoughtlessly, as if these processes are second nature: the lights shining in his eyes, the blood pressure cuff around his arm, the routine questions. 

However, whenever the doctor is distracted recording results or marking down Harumasa’s answers, Harumasa will pull down his mask and make faces at you, to which you’ll respond with a roll of your eyes or your own exaggerated expressions of annoyance. 

“Have you been resting well?” the doctor asks sternly, turning back around just as the two of you quickly settle into more typical expressions. “You’re not pushing yourself at work, I hope?”

“I haven’t,” Harumasa says, with wide eyes. 

“Hmpth.” The doctor turns to you. “Well? Is he being truthful? As his spouse, I trust you’ll be honest for the sake of his health.” Behind the doctor’s back, Harumasa strikes you with an expression of mock disbelief, raising his eyebrows dramatically. It’s almost enough to make you laugh, but you control the tremor of your lips. 

“He hasn’t been pushing himself hard at all,” you say smoothly. “If anything, I think my husband has been resting a little too well.”

“All right. And your medications, Mr. Asaba? Have you been taking them properly?”

“Right as instructed, every morning and night,” Harumasa says. “My lovely spouse would know. They’ve seen me dutifully take all of them.”

“He has,” you verify. From what you know, anyways, Harumasa never misses a dosage. 

The doctor peppers Harumasa with more health-related questions and logs down all his answers. It’s over before you know it, and Harumasa leaps off the table as soon as the doctor puts away his clipboard. 

“I’ve missed you, cutie,” he says, throwing his arms around you like you haven’t seen him in months, snuggling up to you as the doctor watches with a weary expression. 

“The two of you get along well,” he says stoically.

“Oh, we do,” Harumasa chirps. 

“Make sure to make a follow-up appointment, Mr. Asaba. Your health appears stable, and your symptoms haven’t worsened.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” you supply, shooting a quick, withering glance at Harumasa, who only gives you a pleading expression in return. “He won’t be late to the next appointment.”

“I appreciate that, Mx…?” the doctor trails off questioningly.

“Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa interjects. “That’s their name.”

“That’s right,” you say. “Thank you for your time today.”

Harumasa wraps his arm around your waist, giving the doctor a lazy wave, and then the two of you are through the door, down the hall, and out of the hospital. Once you’re a street away, Harumasa finally speaks. 

“You were excellent there, Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa says. 

“Of course I was. Though you don’t need to call me that.”

“Why? I think it has a nice ring to it,” he muses. “Mx. Asaba and Mr. Asaba.”

“I was serious about what I said back there, you know,” you say. “You need to make your follow-up appointment soon. And you should try to show up to it on time.”

“You’re so strict. What if I need you to come with me again to feel better?”

“Then just tell me when, and where,” you say. “If you need me there, then I’ll be there, no matter what.” 

A brief flicker of surprise lights across his face, before it smooths out into his usual relaxed smile. “You’re soooo good to me, Mx. Asaba. Since you went out of your way today to help me with such a confidential mission, let me treat you to some food!” 

“I suppose that’s what a good spouse should do,” you say. 

Harumasa’s arm is still around your waist, but you can’t bring yourself to shake it off as he enthusiastically guides you to whatever restaurant he has in mind. His grip is casual, loose enough that you could shrug it off if you really want to. But if you do, then he’d never pull close to you like again.

Harumasa is attentive in that way. If you set a line, then he would never cross it. All his jokes feel like a casual calculation of the distance between the two of you. How far is he allowed to go? How much are you willing to put up with? What’s the boundary of your relationship? 

It’s like he’s waiting for rejection, offering you the chance to push away from him in a way that would make it easier for both of you. The way he touches you is akin to possession, but from a man who’s afraid to say he deserves to call you his.

Yet, if you push a little too close, more than he’s comfortable with, then he’ll run away like a skittish cat, afraid your affection will turn to boredom or cruelty. You’ve been with him long enough to understand this. So you’ll play along with his jokes, his little white little lies and deceptions, if it’s the only way he’ll let you stay close to him.

It’s a date, or a confidential mission, or whatever excuse Harumasa wants to use. What a complicated, beloved partner you have.

“We’re here,” Harumasa says. You’re at a ramen shop, with low stalls pulled up the counter, the simmering heat and steam from the kitchen feeling like a miniature summer. Thankfully, it’s empty, but your disguises ensure that neither your nor Harumasa’s fans will bother you for pictures and autographs in either case. 

“Order whatever you want,” he says, and you pick up the laminated menu, browsing through the various options. “Oh, wait. Pose for a second.”

Harumasa pulls out his phone, opening the camera, and aims it in your direction. You make a quick peace sign, menu held aloft in your other hand, and the shutter snaps. “What’s that for?”

“You looked nice,” he says. “I’ll send it to you later.”

“I didn’t realize you liked photography.”

“It’s a good way to preserve things that are fleeting, but important to you,” he says. “Moments that won’t last, people that might leave. Things like that.”

“Are you planning on divorcing me already?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand, peering at him over the top of your sunglasses. 

Harumasa places a hand over his heart. “Me? Never.”

The two of you place an order for ramen, and it doesn’t take long for the noodles to arrive. It’s simple, but delicious: hearty, flavorful broth, bamboo shoots, seaweed, fish cakes, slices of charred, fatty pork, and an egg with a jammy yolk.

Neither of you talk as you sit in silence, slurping noodles and drinking spoonfuls of broth. It’s been a while since you’ve gone out for a meal like this, and even longer since you did so with someone that wasn’t some sort of business partner or official whose good graces you need to stay in. 

You glance up with a mouthful of noodles to find Harumasa watching you, chopsticks in hand, a small smile on his face, as if he’s never seen anything so charming, his own ramen forgotten. Your face burns for reasons you don’t want to identify; you’re only thankful he doesn’t ask for another picture.

Harumasa lets out a sigh of appreciation when he’s done, placing his chopsticks neatly over his finished bowl. “Soukaku once cleared out almost all the noodles in this place, did you know that? I’ve been meaning to go ever since she told me.”

“Did it match your expectations?”

“I don’t normally like heavy food, but this time, I didn’t mind it,” he says. “Or maybe it’s because you looked like you enjoyed it a lot. It made me appreciate this bowl more.”

“Smooth-talker,” you say. “If you’re done, should we head back–”

“Wait, there’s somewhere else we should go,” Harumasa interrupts, holding up a hand. “We need dessert after a meal, don’t you think?”

“Really? A dessert? What are you thinking of getting?” you ask.

“There’s a popular drink shop around here. They serve milk tea in these cute little Bangboo shaped cups,” Harumasa begins. “I thought it might be fun to check it out.” 

“I thought you hated sweet things,” you supply. The two of you stand, and you smooth down your coat as Harumasa adjusts his facemask. You’re ambling down the street again, but this time, you loop your arm through his, pulling him close. It’s an effortless gesture, and it’s startling how easy it is to press so close to him.

“Well, you don’t,” he returns. “And it’s a popular date spot too. Can’t I take my lovely spouse out some more?”

You bump him with your hip. There’s no need to keep up your pretense anymore. There’s no one else here to listen to your lies. Both of you know this, but you can’t bring yourself to state the obvious. If you point out the script, then the curtain will fall and the play will end, your fragile happiness disappearing as the actors take a final bow. “Sure, if you keep paying.” 

The two of you end up in front of an inconspicuous milk tea shop. There’s no outdoor or indoor seating, but there is a counter and a blackboard with the menu chalked in, alongside doodles of smiling Bangboo holding milk tea on the side. A tired salesgirl stands in front, her expression at odds with her bubblegum pink uniform. There’s a few teenagers milling nearby, hands cupped around their milk tea and conversing in giggles.

Harumasa tilts his head as he looks at the menu, hanging above the two of you. “They sell iced coffee here,” he muses. “I thought this was a milk tea place.”

“They probably want to offer a variety of drinks for people who might not like milk tea,” you supply. 

“What are you getting?”

“The Bangboo special milk tea,” you say immediately. “It’s their speciality, and it comes with a Bangboo shaped cup. If it’s cute, I might take it home and wash it so I can reuse it”

He eyes you with amusement as the two of you approach the counter, where Harumasa slides his card across the counter. You make a note to treat him out to dinner at some point; as much as you tease, it wouldn’t sit right with you if you didn’t return the favor. “One iced espresso and a Bangboo special milk tea for me and my spouse, please.”

“Got it.” The salesgirl doesn’t bat an eye as Harumasa leans against you, his eyes crinkling at the corners like a pleased cat.

It doesn’t take long for your drinks to arrive. Your milk tea is in the shape of a Bangboo’s head, and topped with a pile of jellies over delicately set tiers of differing flavors. You take a sip, and you’re flooded with a creamy, milky sweetness.

Harumasa, who hasn’t even taken a sip of his espresso yet, looks amused as he watches you. “Let me try some of yours.”

“You won’t like it,” you protest, but Harumasa is already pulling down his face mask and leaning towards you. You raise your drink to let him take a quick sip.

He licks his top lip in thoughtful contemplation. “Way too sweet.”

“I told you. Now give me some of yours,” you say. “It’s only fair.” 

He obliges without protest, tilting his straw towards you. You take a quick sip, but it’s cold and bitter. You wrinkle your nose; you’re no stranger to coffee, especially when shifts run late into the night, but you still like to add creamer and sugar to take the edge off. 

“Coffee is an acquired taste for true adults,” Harumasa says when he sees your expression. “Maybe I’m just a bit more mature than you.”

“Sweetness is also an acquired taste,” you quip. “It’s good to learn to enjoy the sweet things in life.”

“Maybe it is. Oh, wait. Before you finish your drink. Let’s take another picture.” Harumasa pulls out his phone again, and you don’t protest as he raises it and angles it down towards the two of you. You raise your cup, and Harumasa lopes his arm around yours, locking the two of you together.  

With a few press of his thumb, he’s done, and lowers the phone for your inspection. You examine yourself the same way a stranger might; the two of you huddled up together, Harumasa’s cheeks red from the cold, your lips drawn into a smile, looking almost like the married couple you’re pretending to be. 

“You look cute as usual,” Harumasa comments. “But it makes me look bad. I’ve got to stop taking pictures with you.” 

“That’s not my fault,” you protest. 

“Of course it isn’t. You can’t help being the cutest person in the world.” 

You’re saved from thinking up a response that won’t betray your own embarrassment by the curious giggles of the teenagers across from you. They keep glancing furtively from you to Harumasa, hands cupped over their mouths. You can hear whispers of “Section Six” and “celebrities” which doesn’t bode well for your current anonymity. 

Swiftly, you grab Harumasa’s hand and start pulling him away from the cafe, down the streets of Lumina Square. The winter sun has started to droop in the sky, painting the world in a vivid, melting, yolky light. Laughter drifts around you from people lost in their own worlds. 

You’re not sure where you’re going, only certain on heading away from anyone who can recognize you. Harumasa follows along gamely, your willing accomplice.

You fly up a flight of stairs and you’re suddenly on the walkway above the streets, the city stretching out below you, buildings stacked like decadent cakes, people little figurines trotting carelessly by. 

You’re far away from everyone else now, cocooned in your own world. Harumasa’s fingers squeezes yours playfully, and suddenly you’re aware of how his hand feels in yours, warm skin and calluses from his bow and reassuringly slender fingers wrapped around your own. 

You drop his hand, finally, and take a sip of your own drink, which is sweet, so sweet, as Harumasa walks up to the railing and braces his elbow against the metal. 

“You’ve been taking a lot of pictures of me today,” you say. 

“I want to treasure every moment we have together,” Harumasa says, without turning. A cool breeze stirs, sending his hair fluttering, his clothes rippling. 

He’s unfair when he talks like this, the tenderness in his voice making your heart ache over the inevitable future, a predetermined ending. Like he’ll slip through your fingers as easily as water at any moment.

You pull out your phone, swipe to your camera, and raise it to frame Harumasa in the center, backlit by the glow of the sun and the tart light from the windows of buildings around you. 

“Look over here,” you call, and Harumasa turns. He’s beautiful, so beautiful it hurts. “Strike a pose.” 

“Shouldn’t I be the one taking a picture?” he asks. 

“I want to remember you,” you say. “Forever.” 

Harumasa tilts his head back. “Me?” 

“You’re not the only one who wants to cherish every moment we spend together.” 

Harumasa slowly pulls down his face mask, and you can finally see his smile, more brilliant than the sun behind him, flooding through your nerves and filling every part of you with a warm light. 

You press your phone’s camera shutter, once, twice, immortalizing Harumasa for as long as you can. You lower your phone, and join him at the railing, looking down below at the peace you’ve both fought so hard to protect. 

The world is filled with such endless cruelty and stunning beauty in equal measure. And yet, it’s the only world you have. You tap your fingers against the railing, a nonsensical song. 

“For your next appointment, maybe we should try a different restaurant when you’re done,” you say. “And we can walk around and take more pictures. There’s a few art installations around.” 

“You sure you want to come back with me? You’ll have to pretend to be Mx. Asaba again, you know.” 

“I don’t mind,” you murmur. “It has a nice ring to it.” 

“If you talk like that, you’ll make me want to make it official…. Of course, I’m kidding,” he adds before the words can linger for too long. 

“Have you thought about getting married?” you ask.

“I couldn’t do that to someone,” he responds lightly. “Besides, it’d be bad for PR. You know how intense our fan clubs can get.”

Of course, you understand. Marriage is an alien thought for a job where you risk your life everyday fighting against Ethereals and venturing into Hollows. You barely have enough time for yourself after long shifts and overtime and late nights, ready to be called into action at the slightest emergency. Could you bear to leave behind someone you love under the circumstances? Could they bear waiting and worrying for you? You would never be able to provide them any form of normalcy.

“Leaving someone behind like that… I don’t think I could do it. Or ask them to understand why I can’t give them an ordinary life,” you say. 

“Right, right. I wouldn’t want to make my partner cry,” he says. “I knew you would get it.”

His eyes gleam, two precious pieces of gold. Of course. Neither of you are capable of an ordinary relationship. Whatever the two of you have right now, whatever form you let it take, can’t be named. Something will break if you try. 

Carefully, delicately, you lean your head against his shoulder. He stiffens only momentarily before relaxing, a silent affirmation of your presence. Below, cars rush by, the misty glow of streetlights winking into life as the sky darkens.

“I’ll let you know when I have my next appointment,” he says, voice carrying like the wind.

“All right. I’ll be sure to make the time for you, Mr. Asaba.”

He laughs, a low, soft sound. “Thank you, Mx. Asaba. I knew I could rely on you.”

And it’s nice, like this. For just a while longer, you can forget anything that’s happened before, or anything that might happen in the future. Right now, it’s just you, and him, together. 

[henrycangelbaby]

NSFW 18+

Baby daddy!Simon who simply can’t keep his hands off you no matter what, he finds you irresistible like there’s a reason you have been pregnant so many times

Baby daddy!simon who slaps your ass whenever you walk by despite the fact you keep telling him that he can’t do it I front of the kids because they will start mimicking his behaviour

Baby daddy!simon who doesn’t stop it and pays the price when you make him leave work one day to pick up your daughter from school cause she slapped her teacher on the ass

In her defence she saw it as a sign of affection

Baby daddy!simon who is big and strong and is always holding you and your kids when you go out in public together

Baby daddy!simon who has a child in one arm and you in the other, the other children are in and between one eager to explore under his parents careful eye and one strapped to your chest

Baby daddy!simon who still manages to have an arm around you at all times hand usually resting on your growing bump

Baby daddy!simon who hates going out in public but loves watching the way that you glow when you mother his kids with your natural ability and the way you are so friendly to everyone you encounter smiling at even the grumpiest of minimum wage workers

Baby daddy!simon who always wants a kiss from you a reward whenever he does anything remotely helpful

Baby daddy!simon who pouts his lips bearing a steady resemblance to his ever pleading toddler every time he doesn’t get a kiss right away

Baby daddy!simon who looks at you saying “can I get a kiss?” Only for you to smirk at him asking “you think you deserve a kiss?”

Baby daddy!simon who moves closer to you placing a hand over your prominent baby bump and ghosting his lips over yours

Baby daddy!simon who whispers close to your ear “gave you this baby” he says rubbing over your belly “think I deserve a kiss for knocking you up so much huh? You love it” he smirks down at you

Baby daddy!simon who smiles fully when you lean up to kiss him you do love it

Baby daddy!simon who drapes himself all over you while you sleep together wanting to be impossibly close to you during sleep

Baby daddy!simon who always has a big hand placed over your bump smiling when he feels a small kick in what he believes is recognition

Baby daddy!simon who insists that you are never ever to heavy for him no matter what

Baby daddy!simon who will pick you up even when you are heavily pregnant your bump forcing a gap between you as you giggle at him to put you down

Baby daddy!simon who picks you up whenever you do something he doesn’t like or thinks is unsafe

Baby daddy!simon who picks you up by your hips when you get up onto the bench once again ignoring your protests reminding you that this is the seventh time he’s told you not to do that

Baby daddy!simon who insists you sit in his lap after the kids have gone to bed he laughs at you when you complain about being heavy pulling you without asking straight onto his thighs

Baby daddy!simon who hooks his head over your shoulder and watches whatever thing you put on the tv while his palms cover your bump fully

Baby daddy!simon who needs you fully all the time secretly loving being home with you and the kids but hating the fact that he can’t bend you over whenever because there are so many tiny people that require your attention

Baby daddy!simon who waits till everyone has gone to bed to fuck you against the dinner table muttering about how you are soon going to need a bigger table cause he’s gonna keep giving you babies

Baby daddy!simon who is a horny needy bastard that would spend 24/7 drapes all over you and in you if he could

[abby-howard]

I love everyone's outfits in Scarlett Hollow (especially Kaneeka's) so I wanted to ask how do you go about designing multiple outfits for each character that are different yet still fit that characters general aesthetic. Also do you have a favorite/least favorite outfit.

Aw thank you!!

Designing outfits is definitely not something that came very naturally to me at the start of Scarlet Hollow, but I've been gettin' the hang of it as I go-- I'd say a lot of it is about the vibe. I sketch a new outfit, and if it feels like they're in a costume, I scrap it. Color in particular gets tricky... one color can throw off a whole look and make them feel like their aura is off. Picking a palette in advance is a good idea!

I think it's mostly about understanding your character and the kinds of choices they make; Kaneeka cares a lot about how others view her, so she presents as very put-together, thus her outfits are always a little complicated and carefully constructed. Whereas Stella is laid back and probably hates having to think about what she's wearing, so she goes with roughly the same combination of jeans and a t shirt every day.

More of my rules for each main character under the cut! Minor spoilers for Scarlet Hollow:

I answered a similar question during an AMA, so I'm paraphrasing from those answers~

Stella: her shirt must match the theme of the episode while also being a believable cryptid/folklore t shirt design. She has a red/neutral theme, plus jeans. Butch sense of fashion with casual sensibilities.

Kaneeka: is a nu-goth, so no corsets or elaborate frills, and no techno-goth or scene/emo accoutrements. Her emo days are far behind her... so now she wears all black, no color besides her red braids, with interesting clothing shapes and the occasional lace or metallic accent. This is pretty close to how I dress so I just think about if it's something I would wear.

Oscar: he's a professional! So suits and button-ups, except his undershirt episode. He has a tan/yellow theme with unsaturated red accents, which he shares with his daughter Rosalina. His outfits are the toughest to mix up, because he dresses nice for work and only owns one suit. But I try to get creative where I can!

Avery: a plant theme, which includes mostly greens, with some purples, oranges, and earthy yellow allowed. Definitely has the widest palette, since they have to have interesting patterned button-ups. Can have a coat if needed, always tan, and nice dress pants that have a little bit of a bellbottom.

Reese: Wears whatever. A vague blue theme. Nothing looks like it fits him right. I have given him a cool jacket for Episode 5, but I can't post that sprite... too spoiler.......

[aryadelvich]

Here’s a story from this request

Summary : Luigi has a secret crush on you. Both of you attending the same university. When you ask him for help with math, what starts as a simple study session quickly gets spicy !!

Warning : explicite content 🔞🔞

I don’t know why this song feels like Luigi in college.

Others Luigi’s parts not related to this one :

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Luigi stood in the university hall, leaning casually against a wall as his friends joked around. Though he appeared to be listening, his focus shifted the moment he saw you descending the staircase.

His gaze lingered longer than it should have, tracing the determined set of your jaw and the way you clutched a paper tightly in one hand. There was something different about you today—your usual cheerful demeanor had been replaced by a tense, distracted air.

Then your eyes met his.

Caught off guard, Luigi looked away quickly, his pulse quickening.

"Oh, look. It's Y/N," one of his friends said with a teasing grin, just loud enough for you to hear.

As if on cue, the group turned to look at you. Luigi let out a quiet sigh, his jaw tightening. He had noticed you from the very first day of class but hadn't said anything to his friends. And now, they were practically gawking.

You stopped mid-step, offering the group a polite smile. "Hi, guys."

Your gaze flickered briefly to Luigi, and this time, you greeted him with a smile that held just the faintest edge of teasing.

"Hi, Luigi," you said, your tone light.

His throat tightened, and his response came out awkwardly, barely audible. "H-hi Y/n"

You stepped closer, holding out the paper in your hand. "I need help with applied mathematics. You're taking it as a minor, right? And from what I hear, you're pretty good at it."

"Oh... yeah," Luigi stammered, unprepared for your directness.

Before he could offer a proper response, one of his friends cut in, raising a hand dramatically. "I can help you too, Y/N!"

"Yeah, me too," another added, clearly trying to impress you.

Luigi shot them both an annoyed glance. "Back off," he muttered, though his tone remained light enough to pass as joking.

You raised an eyebrow, amusement flashing in your eyes. “I’m gonna choose whoever scored the highest on the last test gets to tutor me."

The group fell into a brief silence, and then the scores started coming in.

"71."

"82."

"89."

"80."

Finally, Luigi spoke, his voice calm and steady. "95."

Your lips curved into a grin. "Well, looks like we have a winner. Luigi, you're my tutor."

The subtle pride in his expression didn't escape you, though he tried to play it cool.

"How about tomorrow at the library?" he offered.

You shook your head. "I need to study tonight—my retake is the day after tomorrow. Your place or mine?"

Luigi froze, your words echoing in his mind. Around him, his friends erupted into laughter, elbowing each other and exchanging smirks.

"M-my room... if that's okay with you," he managed, his voice suddenly tight.

"Perfect," you said with an easy smile. "I'll see you after class, then."

As you turned and walked off, Luigi stared after you, his thoughts racing.

"Dude, did you hear that? She literally said, 'Your place or mine.' That's your chance !" one of his friends teased, slapping him on the shoulder.

Luigi shoots them a sharp look. "Shut up. She just needs help, that's all."

"Sure, sure," another friend says, smirking knowingly.

But Luigi doesn't respond. He's too preoccupied with the thought of spending time with you alone. Ever since you entered his life, you've had a way of unsettling the calm, logical order he's used to.

[7 PM]

Luigi paced nervously in his room, adjusting the books and papers on his desk for what felt like the hundredth time. He smoothed the creases in his shirt, glanced at the clock, and took a steadying breath.

A soft knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He opened it to find you standing there, arms full of notes, a faint smile on your lips.

"Ready for an intense night of applied math?" you joke.

He steps aside to let you in, trying to mask his nervousness. "I hope you're prepared to work hard because I'm a tough teacher," he quips.

You laugh as you take a seat at his desk, spreading out your notes. Luigi watches you discreetly, wondering why your presence alone is enough to make his heart race. He pulled up a chair beside you. He sits next to you and opens a notebook filled with neatly organized notes. His subtle cologne lingers in the air, and you can't help but notice how focused he looks when he starts explaining.

"Alright, show me what's giving you trouble," he says, gesturing to your notes.

You flip to a particularly challenging problem. "This one. Honestly, equations like this make me want to quit. Differential equations are a nightmare."

Luigi chuckles softly. "They seem daunting, but once you understand the logic, it's not so bad. Let's break it down step by step."

He explains with patience, his calm voice guiding you through each line. As complicated as the topic is, his methodical approach makes everything click.

"Oh! I get it now!" you exclaim, your face lighting up. "Why didn't anyone explain it like this before? It's so obvious!"

He grins, clearly proud of your progress. "See? I told you it wasn't as hard as it looked."

You work together for a while, your confidence growing with each solved problem. At one point, as you reach for his notebook, your fingers brush against his. The brief touch makes you pause, and you notice him quickly look away, his ears turning red.

"Sorry," you murmur, pulling your hand back.

"It's... it's nothing," he replies, his voice quiet.

The atmosphere grows heavier as you both become more aware of the growing tension between you.

At one point, your hands brushed as you both reached for the same pen. You pulled back quickly, but not before your gaze met his. A flicker of something passed between you—brief, but undeniable. Luigi looked away again, clearing his throat.

Luigi leaned closer to point out an error in your notes, his shoulder brushing against yours. You froze, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was.

"Here," he murmured, his raspy voice lower now, almost intimate.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, taking in the slight crease in his brow as he concentrated. The sharp lines of his jaw, the faint curl of his hair—it all felt too distracting.

"Got it?" he asked, his tone snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Y-yeah," you stammered, focusing back on the paper.

But even as the night continued, the unspoken tension between you lingered, growing in the quiet spaces between words. Neither of you dared to name it, but it was there—electric and impossible to ignore.

A few minutes later, after tackling another problem, Luigi leans closer to explain a particular detail. His proximity sends a wave of nervous energy through you, but you fight to keep your focus. When his elbow accidentally brushes against the side of your chest, warmth spreads through your body, pooling low in your stomach. 

"Sorry," he murmurs, his voice tinged with embarrassment. 

"It's fine..." you reply softly, your voice barely above a whisper. 

But your concentration falters as your thoughts begin to wander. Your eyes trace the lines of his hands—large and strong, with long, deft fingers. Veins crisscross his forearms, disappearing into the back of his hands, and the way he grips the pen exudes a quiet confidence. His arms are muscular, his collarbone defined, hinting at the sculpted frame beneath his shirt. 

Your gaze dips lower, involuntarily lingering at his crotch for a moment too long. You can't help yourself. Luigi has always been a contradiction: introverted and composed, yet brimming with a quiet fire, a confidence you've never fully understood but can't help wanting to unravel. 

Your eyes shift back to his face, and you find yourself studying him anew. His profile is striking—an angular jawline, lips that seem almost too perfect, and a thick beard that he likely trims every day. His brows are bold, framing a gaze that is somehow both piercing and gentle. There's an elegance to his nose and a wildness to his untamed curls, as though he doesn't care enough to control them. 

You're not sure what's happening, what this magnetic pull between you means. And judging by the faint tension in his movements, neither does he. 

"Alright," Luigi says, his voice breaking through your reverie. "I'm going to give you an exercise now. It'll cover everything we've gone over so far. You'll work on it yourself while I keep an eye on your progress." 

"Okay," you reply, nodding eagerly, grasping at the distraction. 

He steps back, giving you space to focus. For a few minutes, you immerse yourself in the task, scribbling out equations and trying to channel all your thoughts into solving the problem. But then you feel him again—standing behind you, his presence throwing your concentration into disarray. Your mind strays to places it shouldn't, thoughts you can't control flaring to life. 

Luigi crouches down beside you, his arm resting on the back of your chair. The closeness feels almost deliberate, his movements steady yet unassuming, as if he's unaware of the way he's affecting you. 

"Look here," he instructs, his voice low and firm. 

He reaches for your pen, his fingers brushing against yours once again. The contact feels electric, sending a jolt through you. He corrects the mistake with a confident stroke, then places the pen back in your hand. 

Your eyes lift to meet his, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The air between you feels charged, heavy with something unspoken yet impossible to ignore. You both break the gaze at the same time, awkward and unsure. The tension hangs there, undeniable yet unaddressed.

He leaned closer, his curly brown hair falling into his face as he pointed at a particularly confusing problem. "Okay," he said, his voice soft but confident, "tell me what the derivative of this function is."

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip. Your eyes flickered to his face—his sharp jawline, the faint stubble, the way his lips curved into that patient smile. He caught your gaze and tilted his head, his brown eyes narrowing playfully.

"Focus," he teased, tapping the page with his pen.

"I... I don't remember," you admitted, flushing slightly under his scrutiny.

"Hmm." He clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that made your stomach flutter. "Wrong answer. But don't worry, we'll get there."

He scooted closer, his thigh brushing against yours, and you felt a jolt of warmth shoot through your body. His voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. "Let's break it down step by step. Think of it like building something from scratch—you start with the foundation, right?"

You nodded, though your attention was less on the math and more on the way his hand gestured animatedly as he explained. God, why does he have to be so damn attractive? His rolled-up sleeves revealed the veins running along his forearms, and you couldn't help but imagine how they'd feel under your fingertips.

"So, if f(x) equals 2x squared plus 3x minus 4," he continued, writing out the equation neatly, "what's the first step?"

Your mind went blank again, but this time it wasn't just because of the math. The proximity was getting to you—his woodsy cologne, the warmth radiating off his body, the way his leg pressed against yours. You shifted slightly, trying to focus, but it was impossible.

"Uh..." you stalled, glancing up at him.

His lips quirked into a knowing smirk. "Wrong again," he murmured, leaning in even closer. His breath ghosted over your ear as he whispered with his raspy voice, "You're not paying attention, are you?"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "Maybe I need a different kind of lesson," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Luigi froze for a moment, his pen hovering mid-air. Then, slowly, he set it down and turned to face you fully. His expression was unreadable, but there was a heat in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine. "Oh?" he said, his voice low and velvety. "What kind of lesson did you have in mind?"

You hesitated for only a second before reaching out and placing a hand on his chest. His heartbeat thudded beneath your palm, steady and strong. "One where you show me exactly how much you know," you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your boldness.

His lips parted in surprise, but then his eyes darkened with something primal, something hungry. He leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. "Are you sure about this?" he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

"Positive," you breathed, closing the distance between you.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as if both of you were testing the waters. But then his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and everything changed. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you dizzy, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you in a way that made your toes curl.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were hooded, his pupils blown wide with desire. "If I'm going to teach you anything," he murmured, his voice rough, "you're going to have to follow my rules."

You nodded, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "What are they?"

A wicked grin spread across his face. "Every time you get a question wrong," he said, trailing a finger down your arm, "I stop. No touching, no kissing, nothing. Until you get it right."

"And if I get it right?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His grin widened. "Then I'll reward you appropriately."

Before you could respond, he grabbed the textbook again and flipped to a new page. "Alright," he said, his tone suddenly serious, though his eyes still burned with mischief. "What's the integral of sine x?"

Your brain scrambled to recall the formula, but all you could think about was the way his thumb was tracing circles on your thigh. "I don't care."

He shook his head, clicking his tongue again. "Nope. Wrong." And just like that, he leaned back, his hands dropping away from you.

You groaned in frustration, but there was a thrill in the challenge, a fire igniting deep within you. "Fine. Try me again."

This time, when he asked another question, you forced yourself to focus, determined not to let him win so easily. And when you finally got the answer right, the look of pure satisfaction on his face was worth every second of torment.

"Good girl," he purred, pulling you back into his arms. His lips crashed against yours, his hands roaming your body with possessive intent. His touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you as he explored every inch of your skin.

But just as things were heating up, he pulled away again, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Next question," he said, his voice thick with arousal. "What's the limit as x approaches infinity of 1 over x?"

You bit your lip, your mind racing. "Zero?"

He smiled, slow and dangerous. "Correct."

And then his lips were on you again, his hands everywhere at once, until the only thing you could think about was him—his taste, his touch, the sound of his ragged breathing as he whispered your name.

But just as you reached for the hem of his shirt, he stopped you, his grip firm. "Wait," he said, his voice hoarse. "What's the area under the curve of y equals x squared from 0 to 2?"

You blinked, your brain struggling to catch up. "Uh... 8/3?"

He grinned, his hands sliding up your thighs. "Exactly right."

And then he kissed you again, harder this time, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you onto his lap. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other, desperate and wanting.

But before things could escalate further, he broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he stared into your eyes. "Last question," he said, his voice shaking with restraint. "What's the probability of us finishing this without any interruptions?"

You laughed breathlessly, your hands tangling in his hair. "Slim to none."

"That's what I thought," he growled, pressing his forehead against yours. "But I'm willing to take the risk if you are."

His hands slid up your thighs, the warmth of his touch sending shivers through your body. The air in the room was thick with tension, every breath you took filling your lungs with the scent of him—clean sweat, cologne, and something uniquely Luigi. His brown eyes locked onto yours, dark with desire, but still glinting with that playful intelligence that always seemed to disarm you. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "What's the derivative of e^(2x)?"

You froze for a moment, your mind struggling to focus on anything other than the way his fingers were now tracing circles on your inner thigh. Think, think. You bit your lip, trying to recall the formula. "Uh... 2e^(2x)?"

A slow, approving smile spread across his face. "Perfect," he murmured, his voice low and smooth like honey. His hand moved higher, his fingertips grazing the edge of your panties. You gasped, arching into his touch, but he paused, his smile turning teasing. "Next question. What's the integral of sin(x)? If you get it wrong, I stop."

"Luigi," you whined, squirming under his hold. His thumb pressed against the sensitive spot just above your knee, making it nearly impossible to concentrate. "That's not fair."

"All's fair in love and math," he teased, leaning back slightly to give you space to think. His confidence was infuriatingly attractive, and you couldn't help but laugh despite the ache pooling between your legs.

"The integral is -cos(x)," you said quickly, hoping to end the torture.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Brava," he said as he pulled you closer. His hands slid up your sides, lifting your shirt over your head before you could even process what was happening. The cool air of the room hit your skin, but his body heat chased away any chill. His lips found yours again, hungry and demanding, while his hands explored every curve of your torso.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him. He chuckled against your mouth, letting you undo them one by one until his chest was finally bare. Your hands roamed over his abs, tracing the ridges and feeling the tightness of his muscles. He groaned softly, his hips pressing up into yours, and you could feel how hard he already was through his pants.

But before you could take things further, he pulled back again, his breathing ragged. "One more question," he said, his voice rough. "What's the limit as x approaches infinity of (3x^2 + 2)/(4x^2 - 1)?"

You groaned, dropping your forehead to his shoulder. "Are you serious right now?"

"Dead serious," he said, his fingers trailing down your spine, making you shiver. "Answer correctly, and I'll make sure you forget your own name."

You could barely think straight, but you forced yourself to focus. The answer came to you in a haze. "Three over four?"

His smile was wicked as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your neck. "Very good baby," he breathed, his hot breath sending goosebumps across your skin. "Now, let me show you how well I can reward good students."

In one swift motion, he stood, lifting you with him as if you weighed nothing. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and he carried you to his bed, laying you down gently before climbing over you. His kisses trailed down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, each one leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his lips closed around your nipple, you gasped, your back arching off the bed.

His hands worked quickly, pulling off the rest of your clothes until you were completely bare beneath him. His eyes drank in the sight of you, and the hunger in his gaze made your stomach twist with anticipation. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Before you could respond, his lips descended lower, kissing a path down your stomach until he reached your core. You tensed, your hands gripping the sheets as his tongue touched you for the first time. The sensation was electric, sending sparks through your entire body. He licked slowly, deliberately, driving you insane with the unhurried pace. Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he pressed two fingers inside you, curling them in a way that made you cry out.

"Luigi!" you moaned, your hips lifting off the bed as he worked you with his mouth and fingers. Every stroke, every lick felt like it was unraveling you piece by piece. You were close—so close—but then he stopped, looking up at you with that devilish smirk.

"What's the value of pi to five decimal places?" he asked, his voice steady despite the slickness on his chin.

"Are you fucking kidding me—" you started, but he cut you off with a pinch to your thigh.

"Answer correctly, and I'll finish what I started," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You clenched your fists, frustration and desperation warring within you. "3.14159," you spat out, glaring at him.

His grin widened, and he didn't waste another second. His tongue dove back in, and this time, he didn't stop until you were trembling beneath him, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. You cried out his name, your voice breaking as pleasure consumed you.

When you finally came down, he kissed his way back up your body, his lips claiming yours in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it only heightened the ache between your legs. His cock pressed against you, hot and heavy, and you reached between you to free him from his pants.

As soon as your hand wrapped around him, he sucked in a sharp breath, his hips jerking forward. "Y/n" he muttered, his voice strained. "You're going to kill me."

You stroked him slowly, savoring the way his eyelids fluttered and his breath hitched. But before you could tease him further, he grabbed your wrist, pinning it above your head. "My turn," he growled, settling between your legs. The tip of his cock pressed against you, and you both groaned as he pushed inside, inch by inch.

It was almost too much—his size stretching you in the best way possible—but he gave you time to adjust, peppering your neck with soft kisses. When he finally bottomed out, he stilled, his forehead resting against yours. "Tell me this is okay," he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"More than okay," you replied, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Please, Luigi. Don't stop."

He didn't need to be told twice. His hips began to move, each thrust hitting that perfect spot deep inside you. His rhythm was relentless, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. You clung to him, nails digging into his back as you urged him on. His name spilled from your lips like a prayer, and each time he swallowed your cries with a kiss.

The coil in your stomach tightened again, your second orgasm building faster than you expected. "I'm close," you gasped, your legs shaking around him.

"Me too," he panted, his movements becoming erratic. "Where do you want me to—"

"Inside," you interrupted, the word coming out as a desperate plea. "Please."

He groaned, burying his face in your neck as his thrusts became harder, deeper. With one final push, you shattered, your climax tearing through you like a storm. He followed moments later, spilling himself inside you with a guttural moan. For a long moment, neither of you moved, too lost in the aftermath to care about anything else.

Finally, he rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so you were curled against his chest. His heartbeat was rapid under your ear, and his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. "Thank you," he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You looked up at him, grinning despite your exhaustion. "For what? Being a genius at math?"

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "For trusting me." His expression turned thoughtful, and he tilted your chin up so you were looking directly into his eyes.

You stride confidently through the university hall, a triumphant smile lighting up your face. Spotting Luigi, you rush toward him and throw yourself into his arms without hesitation. 

"So, what did you got ?" he asks, barely able to contain his excitement. 

"Ninety-seven! Luigi, you're incredible!" you exclaim, wrapping your arms tightly around him. The curious stares from other students don't faze you in the slightest. 

"I'm proud of you, Y/N!" he says, his tone full of warmth and pride. 

"Well, I had the best tutor anyone could ask for," you reply with a teasing grin. 

Not far away, Luigi's group of friends watches the scene, their confusion evident as they exchange glances, silently trying to piece together what they're seeing. 

"How about we celebrate properly? Dinner's on me," Luigi suggests, his smile growing wider. 

"Absolutely!" 

Without thinking, you lean in and kiss his cheek, the gesture natural and full of gratitude. Luigi chuckles softly, his ears turning just a bit pink, but he doesn't pull away. The buzz of the hall seems to fade, leaving only the two of you in your little bubble of joy.

GIRLS IF YOU HAVE ANY REQUESTS ASK ME I WILL DO IT WITH PLEASURE !!!! FEEL FREE TO ASK !!!