#i want to put him in a sock and swing it against a wall

[5thelement]

[of-rice-and-men]

dean is the perfect blorbo. hes beautiful. hes miserable. hes bisexual. hes daddy’s little girl. he’s gone to hell. his goals are unattainable. his wildest dreams are fishing off a dock and having a family. everyone wants him dead. god won’t let him die. frequently is killed with hammers. one scene he’s crying as he bleeds out on the floor covered in dirt, the next happier than he’s ever been because he’s eating cheap diner food. what more could you want.

[maxlarens]

Hi! Can i request friends for lovers with lando saying "i can't seem to take neither my eyes, nor my mind off of you, [name]." ✨🫶 thank you

usually i am so Consumed by the idea of the ✨Tension✨ of friends to lovers that i never do a confession scene but here is me making good on that finally. i hope u liked this anon!!!! sorry it took a while.

In hindsight, you think you should have woken up that morning and known. Known via some cosmic force that today was going to be it— the day you’d been waiting basically a decade for, the day you don't think you'll forget as long as you live—

Instead, you wake up bolt upright at three in the morning, heart beating frantic in your chest, to five missed calls from your best friend.

"What?", you groan, angry, into the phone, then, realising he's calling you at three in the morning, a more concerned note seeps into your tone, "Lan, is that you? You alright?"

"I locked myself out," is the gravelly reply.

"You locked yourself out?"

"I— yes," he hisses down the line, "I forgot my keys okay."

You snort, say, "You're a silly billy," without thinking anything of it.

You'll attribute it to sleep deprivation later, but you'll also find that Lando thinks nothing further of it, too used to you throwing affectionate nicknames his way—

"Shuddup," he mumbles.

You think he's drunk, at least tipsy. He'd said something offhandedly on your FaceTime call yesterday about going out with a few friends you don't know. Besides, there's a slur to his words, a tiredness.

"Come up already," you tell him.

"'M right outside."

You hum in confirmation that you've heard him, put your phone back on the nightstand and slip out from under the covers. You're wearing a sweatshirt that's three sizes too big it might be Lando's and pink fuzzy socks, you feel goosebumps rise on your legs as you pad to the front door. You lean heavily against the wall, closing your eyes as you unlock the padlock and swing it open for your friend.

Lando stumbles in. You twist around to look at him. He's not as drunk as you thought he might be. Sleepy though. You can tell by the squint of his eyes, how they're red rimmed and the mess of his hair. Run through too many times with his hand.

"You want your spare key?", you question as Lando turns on his heel, finding you at the sound of your voice.

He frowns, looking at you like you've grown two heads. Crease forming between his eyebrows.

"Nuh," he shakes his head, then reaches forward to take your wrist, hauling you back through the apartment, "Let's go sleep."

You shrug, acquiescing as he leads you to your bedroom. If you hadn't just been woken up from a dead sleep you might have felt a little weird about it. Paid attention to the stirring feeling low in your gut. Instead, you slip into bed and pull the covers back for Lando without a care in the world.

It's not that weird, you think as he kicks off his shoes and rummages around on your hanging rail for a shirt big enough for him. He finds one that you're sure was originally his. You look away as he changes, shucking out of the short sleeve button up you'd helped him pick out, peeling off chinos you'd also picked out. There's a pair of his gym shorts laying around somewhere, you know it— but he doesn't bother to look for them. Just pulls the t-shirt on over his bare tan chest and climbs in next to you.

You've done this before. Many times. And the two of you make a deliberate point of not being weird about, even though it's been a point of contention in every relationship either of you have had to date. And you don't know what it is tonight this morning, but his presence next to you is making your chest tight. Something skitters up your spine as he slots into your space.

As casual as ever he slings an arm over your waist, tugs you closer to him and presses the line of his nose into the back of your neck. Briefly, he reaches to swipe your hair out of the way, mumbling something about it tickling him.

There's something set ablaze in your stomach.

"G'night, babe," he mutters, breath fanning your ear.

God. You have to suppress a shiver. The babe thing isn't even anything different, he calls you that often enough mostly when he's had something to drink, there's just something about it right now. When you're sleep-woozy and he's just undressed in front of you. Maybe you had a weird dream about him again and you can't remember it, even if your subconscious does.

You bite down on your tongue, answer, "Sleep tight, Lan."

He hums. You crack your neck to stop from letting out a noise that would be utterly indecent right now. Unaware, Lando puts his nose right back in the same spot. You lie there for a while, wired and buzzing, until you hear his breathing steady and deepen as he falls asleep. And even though you feel like every nerve ending in your body is on fire, sleep finds you too.

You wake up again, later, to the morning sun pouring in through your curtains. It lights up the empty space on the bed in front of you. Acreage of bed, pillow, not taken up by anyone.

Still, on your other side, Lando's in your personal space to a degree that you don't realise at first. You wake up disoriented, grappling to remember the events of early that morning. There’s still no cosmic thing telling you that you need to remember today. Commit every single second to memory as it happens. You try to roll over, feeling warmth at your back but not thinking anything of it until Lando gripes something unintelligible into your ear—

Okay. Memories return to you now.

You start to contextualise the skin on yours.

Lando's arm is still slung around your waist, but his hand has made it's way underneath your jumper. Fingers dig into the plush skin of your bare stomach, clutching like you'll slip out of his grasp if he's not careful. Somehow, the other arm has forced it's way under your pillow and you can feel the line of his body against your back, where he's gotten as close to you as he could manage. His legs tangle with yours, one of them spreading out into your space, strewn diagonally across the bed. His knee presses up into the meat of your thigh.

You try not to think how easily your bodies fit together.

You're still for a while. Drifting in and out of sleep. You're comfortable, above all else. You don't really want Lando to move. This certainly isn't the first time you've woken up like this, tangled up with each other, you're betting you'll be able to pass it off with a silly comment once Lando wakes up. You'll extract yourselves from each other and get on with your day like usual.

No big deal—

Lando wakes up half an hour or so later and acts like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He yawns loudly into your ear and rolls over without fanfare—

No big deal—

It's only when you're in the kitchen together— cooking bacon and eggs while Lando drinks coffee from your espresso machine— that the cracks start to show.

You glance at him sideways, watching as he gnaws at the inside of his mouth. His eyes slip off you, directing to the sizzling pan, “What’s up?”, you ask, “Something happen?”

He shakes his head, too quickly, “No. Nope— I—”

He tapers off his sentence, shaking his head. Nose scrunching momentarily. You raise an eyebrow but don’t think much of it. It’s Lando, he’ll tell you if it’s important. Plus, you’re kinda busy right now making sure the eggs don’t burn. A few minutes pass, you ask him to grab plates. He says okay and then drags out an,

“Um,” for so long that you’re a little concerned.

Something nervous flutters in your chest, you’re turning the heat on the burner down low before you know why. You’ve just been friends with Lando for so long, you know when there’s something heavy in his words, when there’s something on the tip of his tongue.

You turn to give him your full attention, your eyebrows furrowing as you look up at him.

“Plates, Lan?”

He’s staring at you. Like, staring at you. Like, slack-jawed, eyes glittering, staring. Like how the guy looks at the girl at the end of every rom-com ever. Like how Harry looks at Sally in every fucking scene of your favourite movie of all time. Like—

Shit. Do you have a massive fuck off pimple on your face? Have you turned blue? Are you being completely out of your mind delusional right now? Because there’s something suddenly wreaking havoc in your stomach. And you really do want to believe that Lando is looking at you in that way, and not just because you’ve got something embarrassing on your face—

“Lando,” you say, firmly, urgency to it, “Spit it out.”

He shakes his head.

You put a hand on his bicep, “Lando.”

It’s got to be that. It’s got to be—

God, your chest feels tight. Your skin feels like it’s on fire. He’s not even said anything yet!

It’s got to be—

He blinks. You think your sudden intensity has made him nervous because he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck from side to side. A little groan escapes his lips.

“I just—” he sighs heavily, as if it’s too hard to force out; but he’s still looking at you, “What if, I was— ugh, no, nothing, it’s fine—”

“What if you were what?”, it’s out of your mouth before you can think. You think you know exactly what the end of his sentence is. You think perhaps you are too. A pause, then, being braver than you thought you could be, you add, “In love with me?”

He looks immediately as if you’ve sucker punched him right in the gut. Eyes wide and wet and red-rimmed, like kicked puppy, a pleading dog. There’s something scared, nervous, in the set of his shoulders as well. You watch them draw up to his chin as he tries to sink into them.

“Why would you say that?” His voice is downright panicked, “How did you know that?”

Your heart stops beating in your chest, drops into your stomach and falls right out your ass. You shake your head,

“I didn’t. I didn’t. I just guessed, Lan,” you realise your hand is still on his bicep, you squeeze, “Are you?”

“Am I?”, he looks slightly incredulous, baffled at what you’re saying like it’s supposed to be obvious that he is, “Jesus. Of course I am. I can’t– I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re there all the time. And y’know, I see you and you’re just,” he waves an arm between the two of you, gesturing up and down at your body, “You’re fucken’ gorgeous. And you don’t say a thing when we wake up together and I’m basically, on top of you—”

“You don’t say anything either,” you gripe, even though there’s something like joy clawing up your throat, “I thought it was normal.”

Lando tips his head back, groans something halfway filthy, “Normal. I didn’t let half my exes sleep over, and I turned around if they did sleep in my bed. And— fuck, y’know— my keys are actually in my pants pocket right now. I was out drinking and having fun and all I could think about was how much I missed you. How much I just wanted to like, crawl into bed with you.”

“You arsehole.”

“What?”

“You arsehole,” you repeat, “I would have let you in anyway. You didn’t have to lie.”

For a long minute, Lando gapes at you like a fish out of water. Briefly, you think maybe you’ve screwed it by being too mean. It’s never stopped you before, but you’ve also never been in this exact situation with Lando before, frighteningly enough—

One second you’re running through all the possible apologies you could give to make it better, to smooth it all over, and then the next Lando is kissing you—

Or, you feel his hand on your chin first, your mouth forming the first letter of shit, sorry Lan, and then suddenly his mouth is slanting across yours. He tastes a bit like morning breath and a lot like bitter coffee, but his mouth is wet and soft and your lips slot together so perfectly. You put a hand in his curls and find that it feels different to when you card your fingers through his hair.

God.

He’s got a hand on your waist and he’s digging his fingers into your jaw like you’re going to pull away from him without warning and never come back.

“Lan,” you say into his mouth, he pauses long enough for you to speak, lips hovering, nearly touching, “‘M not going anywhere.”

He shakes his head, slanting forward to kiss you again, “No, you’re not,” he pulls back again, pressing his forehead to yours, green-as-grass eyes boring into yours, “Please say you’re in love with me right now?”

Despite yourself, you raise an eyebrow, “Are you in love with me?”

He sighs something ragged out through his nose, kisses you again, says, “‘Course, I’m in love with you. How could I not be,” into your mouth.

You hum from the back of your throat, tongue slipping forward to press against his teeth, tangling against his, “Then of course I am, Lan,” you echo.

How could you not be?

u just know all of lando's gfs/situationships HATED the fuck out of her

[casssmalefantasy]

NOTHING BUT NET — PAIGE BUECKERS X OC

CHAPTER ONE.

new number, same name

| parings: paige bueckers x tatum rhodes

| synopsis: tatum rhodes has always been that girl. jersey-born, louisville-made, and now... husky. her decision to transfer to uconn for her senior year wasn't taken lightly-but she's ready for a new chapter, and maybe, just maybe, she's ready for whatever tension sparks when she meets paige bueckers for the first time.

| warnings: light cursing, light suggestive banter, lots of basketball referencing, mentions of sweat and college dorm chaos, slow burn setup, first impressions with tension

| word count: 2.3K?

| tags list (comment): none yet

| masterlist • next chapter

──────────────────────

“You think she’s gonna fit in?”

Paige looks up from her phone, a bag of chips tucked between her legs as she leans back into Azzi’s pile of throw pillows. She grabs an another chip, chewing. She’s half-listening, but the question catches.

“Who?”

“Tatum Rhodes.”

Azzi’s cross-legged on the floor in front of her bookshelf, rearranging her books for the third time this week. Color-coded stacks, soft flicker of candles behind her, the whole room humming with warmth and pink edges. Even in summer, Azzi’s dorm feels like a blanket.

“Rhodes from Louisville?” Paige tilts her head. “Point guard, number nine?”

“Was number nine. She’s wearing fourteen now.” Azzi glances up. “Coach said she’s moving in tomorrow.”

Paige puts her phone down. “Oh, her. She went crazy against Tennessee last year, right?”

“Thirty-two points,” Azzi says, lips curving. “Six threes.”

“Damn,” Paige breathes, low and impressed. “I remember that game. She played like she was mad at the world.”

“Maybe she was.” Azzi smiles, soft but knowing.

Paige leans back further, eyes on the ceiling. She’s quiet for a second, then, “You ever talk to her before?”

“We were mutuals. Met once on her visit, remember? You weren’t around. Few of us grabbed ice cream after practice. She was cool.”

Paige hums. Doesn’t say more, but something lingers behind her eyes. That name. That statline. Thirty-two points. Six threes. The kind of game that said she was someone.

And tomorrow, she’d be theirs.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

Tatum’s been hooping since before she could spell it.

Rec center leagues. Weekend tournaments. Free throws in the driveway with her older sister yelling “Bend your knees!” every Saturday morning. Her dad took her to every open gym in Essex County, watched her grind out hours under flickering gym lights, gloves on, fingers numb in the cold Jersey air.

Basketball was the only thing that made sense. It’s how she made friends. How she got through school. How she learned control.

Louisville gave her everything she thought she wanted—three years, a conference ring, a few deep tourney runs. But after last season, something shifted. Not in her minutes, not in her role. Just in her.

She wanted more. More pressure. More demand. More of a fight.

Geno had called it “The storm you’ve been asking for” when she committed.

And now, standing in the middle of her new dorm apartment, sweat sticking to the back of her neck, duffel bag in hand, Tatum’s starting to believe him.

“This is the last one!” her sister Riley shouts, lugging in the box labeled “posters + kicks.”

“Jesus,” their dad groans behind her, hauling the suitcase. “You moving in or opening a Foot Locker?”

“Don’t start,” Tatum mutters, already tugging her room key from her back pocket.

The door swings open to reveal Azzi, framed in soft lamplight, wearing a hoodie and fuzzy socks. Her room is tucked to the right—walls blushing pink, books stacked in threes, candles on her desk. Warm as hell.

“You made it,” Azzi grins. “And you weren’t lying. You really brought the whole store.”

“Rotation essentials,” Tatum shrugs, stepping past her.

Her own room is darker—blues, purples, shadows layered into corners. A few posters already pinned above her bed: Lauryn Hill, Kendrick, Solange. A vintage photo of Kobe mid-fadeaway. Her sneaker rack lined like an altar.

“You good with the mattress?” Azzi asks, hovering by the door.

“He’s got a system,” Riley deadpans, pointing at their dad.

“Don’t mess with the system,” he echoes, already halfway done.

It doesn’t take long—clothes hung, snacks stashed, posters straightened. When it’s all said and done, there’s a small pause.

“You okay?” Riley asks, quieter now.

Tatum nods. “Yeah. It’s just… weird.”

She doesn’t say what she’s really feeling. Not the part about leaving Louisville. Not the ache in her chest when she saw that team selfie tucked into her nightstand, from just before everything went south. Smiles frozen. Her ex standing too close, her hand on Tatum’s back like she owned it. The girl who sent the receipts on Instagram had DMed her that same night. The kiss. The party. The cheating.

She’d blocked them both by morning.

No one ever knew they were together, not even her closest teammates.

Now, it’s just her.

“You got this,” her dad says, hugging her one-armed.

“Don’t let anyone punk you,” Riley adds, already tearing up.

“Love y’all,” Tatum murmurs. Then they’re gone.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

“Game night,” Azzi announces later that night, knocking on her door. “Paige’s dorm. Mandatory.”

“Mandatory?”

“Yeah. It’s team law.”

Tatum throws on a black hoodie, slips her feet into slides, and trails behind her down the hall. Paige lives across the quad, third floor. The second Azzi opens the door, it’s chaos.

“Ayyy, hey girly poppp!” KK yells, sprawled across the floor with Aubrey, chips scattered like confetti.

“It’s Tatum,” Azzi corrects, rolling her eyes.

“Tatum! Come catch this Uno smoke!” Jana calls.

“You guys are so dramatic,” Morgan a freshman laughs, handing Tatum a soda. “But hey—welcome.”

She doesn’t expect it. The noise. The way everyone’s already a part of something. But then Caroline pulls her into a game and someone hands her a handful of Skittles and before she realizes, she’s got cards in one hand, Pepsi in the other, and she’s laughing.

Paige is holding court on the other side of the room, shoulder to shoulder with Ice and KK, her presence like gravity. Loud. Quick-witted. Everyone listens when she talks. Everyone wants her on their team. She doesn’t try to be the center—she just is.

Tatum watches her from the corner of her eye.

Mid-game, Caroline leans over. “Tatum, didn’t you cook Tennessee last year?”

“Oh yeah,” KK nods. “Career high, right?”

“Thirty-two points,” Paige says casually, glancing up from her hand. Her voice isn’t loud, but Tatum hears it clear.

“You remember that?” Tatum asks.

“I remember players like you.”

And it hits. Not the compliment. The memory. That night. The game, yeah—but also the fight after. The DMs. The heartbreak. Her ex ducking her eyes in the locker room.

Tatum’s smile shifts. Not enough for most to notice.

But Paige does.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

Later, when the games wind down and the room empties, Paige finds her in the kitchen. Tatum’s rinsing her cup in the sink when she hears soft steps.

“You good?” Paige asks.

Tatum doesn’t look back. “Yeah.”

“You dipped for a sec.”

“Just needed air.”

There was a silence between them for a second.

“It was that Tennessee game, right?” Paige asks. Not a question, really.

Tatum dries the cup, slow and measured. “What about it?”

“You shifted. When we brought it up earlier.”

Tatum finally turns. “You’re watching my face that close?”

“Your shoulders,” Paige says. “They dropped. Like you flinched.”

Tatum stiffens. She hadn’t even noticed.

“Damn. Didn’t know you were in the business of analyzing body language.”

“I notice things,” Paige shrugs, leaning against the fridge. “It’s kind of part of the job.”

“Reading people?”

“Reading teammates. Reading the room. Makes the passes easier.”

Tatum folds her arms. “I’m not one of your reads, Paige.”

Paige’s mouth twitches. Not quite a smile.

“Okay. I’ll back off.”

A silence stretches between them. Not cold. Just… cautious.

“You ever have a game that everyone else remembers for the box score,” Tatum says finally, “but you remember for something else entirely?”

Paige nods. “Couple of those.”

“Yeah. That was one of mine.”

She doesn’t say more. Doesn’t need to. And Paige—surprisingly—doesn’t press.

“Your game’s nice, by the way,” Paige says, stepping back toward the door. “Clean footwork. Smooth release.”

“Flattery doesn’t work on me.”

“Noted,” Paige grins. “But it’s not flattery if it’s true.”

The door creaks slightly as she goes, and Tatum’s left in the hush of the kitchen. Heart not racing, but not quite calm either.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

Sarah drops her bag with a thud and kicks off her sneakers like she’s just landed on Earth after a long space mission.

“Wow, I missed this apartment,” she says, flopping onto the couch with a sigh that’s half relief, half exhaustion.

“You barely moved in and you were gone like two and a half weeks,” Azzi says, curling one leg beneath her as she settles next to Sarah.

“And in that time,” Sarah points between them like she’s calling out a crime, “And somehow come back to a new roommate who only exists when there’s food involve.”

Tatum, perched on the counter with a half-finished water bottle, raises an eyebrow. “You just got here. Also harsh first impression.”

“You don’t talk much Azzi said,” Sarah says, blinking like she just realized the truth herself, “But you’re chill. I respect it.“

“Tatum hangs out with me sometimes,” Azzi says, pulling out her phone. “She just doesn’t talk unless it’s worth saying.”

“Exactly,” Tatum deadpans, sliding off the counter. “So… Wingstop or Domino’s?”

“Wait, you paying for it?” Sarah asks, a little too eager.

“Yeah,” Tatum says, opening the food app, “We can call this a roomie night or something.”

They order enough to feed a small team—garlic bread, wings, a box of cheese pizza, and some bread sticks

Tatum’s on aux, Azzi lights two candles and flicks off the main light. Sarah awkwardly places her Team USA medal on the windowsill like it’s a trophy she can’t quite own yet, then sinks back into the cushions.

“So… Team USA?” Azzi asks, chin propped on her hand.

“Intense,” Sarah says, voice dropping like she’s sharing a secret. “Like, good intense. Playing next to girls I only ever watched on highlight reels. Everyone’s tall, fast—blink and someone’s shooting on you.”

“You cook anyone?” Tatum asks, smirking.

Sarah smirks back, but it’s a little shy, a little surprised at herself. “Just a little. Caught one girl slipping, hit her with a spin into a step-through. Got her twice with the same move.

“Gotta pull that move when the season starts,” Azzi teases, nudging Sarah.

“I mean, maybe,” Sarah says, voice cracking just slightly, “Depends on the team.”

Tatum settles deeper into the couch, the warmth between pillows and people making something feel a little easier.

They talk music, food, old basketball games, and Sarah’s sarcasm keeps catching Tatum off guard, making her laugh more than she thought she would.

“Honestly,” Sarah says, looking at Tatum with a half smile, “You’re way cooler than I thought.”

“Oh yeah?” Tatum replies, raising an eyebrow.

“Well because Azzi told me you didn’t talk much, I assumed you were going to be one of those people who never hangs out, unless needed to. ”

Tatum smirks. “Maybe I am.”

“You definitely aren’t,” Azzi says with a grin. “Besides I would never let you stay in your room longer than you need to.”

They all laugh—and for the first time since she got here, Tatum feels like maybe she’s not just visiting.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

The gym smells like sweat and hardwood and something almost electric in the air. The kind of charge you only get when it’s real. No cameras. No fans. Just buckets, breath, and blood.

Geno’s already pacing. Whistle around his neck. Clipboard balanced against his chest.

No welcome speeches.

Just, “Get on the line.”

Geno’s whistle cuts through the air like a blade.

“On the baseline. Thirty-second touches. Go.”

It’s hell. Three touches, full-court sprints, backpedals, suicides. Azzi’s already setting the pace. Paige stays a step behind her, even though she’s barely breaking a sweat.

Tatum’s holding her own. Footwork tight, arms pumping, lungs burning in that familiar way—painful, but alive.

“Slide, slide, hands!” CD shouts from the sideline.

They run shell drills next. Live ball screen coverages. Paige and Azzi on one side, Tatum and Sarah switching on the other. Geno stops the rep.

“Rhodes—what are we doing when they screen flat up top?”

“Hedge hard, recover quick.”

“So why are you trailing her like we’re playing soft drop?”

Tatum exhales sharp. “Got it. Again.”

They reset. Screen comes. She hedges, bodies Azzi high, recovers like a shadow. Sarah rotates behind her.

Geno claps once. That’s all she gets.

They scrimmage for the last half hour. Full-court, scoreboard on. Paige takes control like she’s orchestrating a symphony. Calling sets—“Horns twist! Chin drag! 5-out ghost!”—but always with freedom laced into it.

Tatum starts to feel the rhythm.

She sinks a catch-and-shoot three from the slot. Then a jab-step drive into a floater off the glass. When Paige tries to cut baseline off a stagger, Tatum bodies up and denies it. Full chest, no space.

“Nice,” Paige says under her breath, half-grinning.

“Not that nice,” Tatum mutters, locking in.

“Give it time.”

Geno stops everything after a missed defensive rotation. Not Tatum’s fault, but he doesn’t care.

“Do it again. This isn’t a highlight tape. This is habits.”

They run it back. And this time? Tatum closes out with a low base, contests the shot, sprints to the glass, and snatches the rebound out of midair like it owes her something.

That’s not the end. Days before she knows it, Geno is back to yelling.

“Move your feet, Ashlyn!”

“Ice, finish the layup!”

“Tatum—take the shot!”

Tatum takes it all. Soaks it in. Doesn’t flinch when he barks her name. Doesn’t complain when her legs burn. She hits a stepback three in transition. Then another. Then drives hard into the paint and finishes through contact.

Paige sees it. The way she doesn’t just score—she thinks, moves with purpose, reads the floor like a map she’s already memorized.

Geno blows the whistle.

“Tatum.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Don’t float. You might be new to the team, but you’re still one of the leaders. So lead.”

Tatum nods. Steady hands. Chin lifted. She knows what this is. She came here for this.

As everyone heads to get some water, Tatum stays at half court. Paige jogs past her and claps her shoulder once. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

Tatum watches Azzi laugh with Caroline. Hears Ice and Jana bickering about who missed a switch. Sees Kaitlyn already calling the next drill.

She breathes in the gym air. Hears her heartbeat slow.

And maybe—

Maybe she doesn’t have to guard her heart when everyone around her plays like they got her back.

[ghostgirl-22]

I fear I need more art calling patrick daddy

my lovely Mel you requested this at the beginning of the year so sorry for the delay 😅 I combined it with a similar anon request <33 original fic is here. My apologies for this being so long! I was so tired and also on my period when writing this so I’m really sorry if it comes across tired and horny 😭

CW: 18+ NSFW daddy kink, mild voyeurism/exhibitionism

——

It’s barely been ten minutes since Patrick had a very drunk Art all over him, hands down Art’s boxers, jerking him off while Art whispered daddy in his ear over and over. So ridiculous in his voice. With his cadence. It’s fucking insane. Patrick feels insane because now Arts sitting on his bed width wise. He’s showered and cleaned up in fresh clothes, resting his back against the wall. Fidgety, he’s swinging his socked feet back and forth and biting his thumb like nothing ever happened. Like Patrick didn't just tell him he wanted to fuck him. Like he didn't just basically say yes. 

Art’s roommate Ethan (who doesn’t know much about Patrick except that his silent dislike is mutual) wants to tell Art all about his night out. Talking and bragging about this gay bar he went to in San Francisco. Patrick is annoyed and hard but whatever. he’s not a total asshole so he lets them talk while he scrolls through his iPod. He’s already tried to go use the bathroom but it was pointless, he’s too hard to piss without making a mess everywhere.  

“One day I’m gonna make you come out with me. I’ll even pretend to be your boyfriend…you know…just so you don’t get hit on.” Ethan says to Art he’s in the same position on his own bed, Patrick rolls his eyes. 

“Why? Are they gonna wanna kiss me or something?” Art says playfully. He’s so giggly, eyes like little half moons, chest full of hiccups. Incurably flirtatious when he’s had too much to drink. Exactly how he and Patrick ended up doing what they just did. And so many other things before that. 

“Are you kidding, blondie? Fuck. They’d be all over you.” Ethan says, hungry eyes looking over Arts body.

Patrick thinks Arts drunk little roomie should shut the fuck up and go to bed so Patrick can finally cross the line. He’s resting on Art’s pillow, knees drawn up, he scrolls past the song Blame It on the Alcohol by Jaime Foxx. Just the perfect song for Art right now. He taps Art’s thigh with his barefoot and shows him the iPod. 

Art squints at him and then crawls closer to see the iPod screen. he should be wearing glasses but he never puts them on, crawls on his hands and knees, between Patrick’s thighs so he can see the title properly and then he grins. “Send it to me.” 

“When I get on my computer,” Patrick says. 

“Please just don’t fucking forget,” Art gazes at him— wet lips, eyes fully dilated. He smiles. So flirty. Fucking slut. Patrick needs to be inside him.

“So how was your night, Art?” Ethan goes on, like he’s determined to be oblivious. Art does a dramatic flop onto the bed next to Patrick, head on the same pillow. 

“It was so… tired,” Art groans into the pillow.

”Yeah me too,” Ethan says. “If you want… I don’t mind sharing with you if your friend wants this bed to himself. You know, like what we did when my sister was here.”

“No he jerked off in my bed and made a mess, he should have to sleep in it.” Art mumbles without looking up. 

Ethan presses his lips together, eyes narrowing in Patrick’s direction, subtly irritated. Patrick smirks at him. Ethan rolls his eyes and finally starts getting ready for bed. He leaves the TV on. they both leave it on every night.  Patrick thinks he hears the Ethan snoring after a bit but he’s worried that Art’s actually fallen asleep too. He’s lying on his tummy, hugging the pillow. Patrick puts the iPod down and rolls over. “You still gonna let daddy fuck you?” He whispers.

“Mm,” Art hums and rolls over. “You’re such a freak.”   

“You started it.” Patrick smiles, rubbing his bottom. Art sits up. Leans in too close. He’s still so drunk. Patrick tangles his fingers into golden curls “if you’re daddy… what am I? Baby?” Art asks. 

“Mmhm,” Patrick nods. Convinced every time Art says it, an angel gets a halo or whatever the phrase is.  

“So fucked up,” Art whispers and Patrick kisses him. Art slips his tongue in right away, wet and warm, exploring Patrick’s mouth. Before long he’s moaning a little bit. Stuff he does when he’s drunk. He’s got Patricks leg between his thighs, pressed along his erection. He starts grinding. Patrick pulls back, dizzy already.

“Mm no you’re not coming like that,” Patrick whispers. 

“Cause you wanna fuck me?” Art hiccups, trying to sneak another kiss, Patrick stops him. 

“No. I’m going to fuck you.” 

“Mmkay daddy. But you have to be really quiet,” He whispers, grinning.

Patrick comes apart, but only a little bit, he touches himself idly before balling his fingers to make himself stop. He brackets Art’s waist instead. “Has your roommate ever fucked you?”

Art gets the giggles. “No.” 

“You kiss him?” 

“Uh once but we were—“

”You were drunk,” Patrick finishes for him. 

“Yeah, like now,” Art says, this time he manages to steal a kiss before Patrick presses him back down on the bed and he’s grinning. 

“You’re so naughty,” Patrick whispers. 

“What? Are you gonna spank me?” Art grins, “like make me call you daddy when you do it?” 

God. His stupidly soft, sing-song voice and that fucking word. Makes Patrick’s skin tingle at every spot where their bodies are touching. “I don’t know. Should we try it?” Patrick whispers softly. “You let me spank you till you’re red all over, till you’re squirming and crying, and your hole is twitching for me. Till your dick is so hard and your balls are so full. And you’re begging me to just please, please fuck you? And I promise you I will if you just ask daddy so nicely?”  

Art’s gone silent, he’s settled on his back, knees pulled up and falling open, the slightest glimpse of his tongue flitting across his lips, as he gazes up at Patrick. So goddamn magic.   

“You have lube?” Patrick asks. 

“I um— I think my roommate does.” 

“Go get it.” 

Art obeys. crawls off the single and sneaks over to his roommates side. There’s still the sound of his roommates' soft snoring. Not that Patrick actually gives a fuck if they wake him, outside of how Art will react. 

He stumbles over and pulls a small bottle of lube out of his roomie's nightstand and brings it back to the bed. Patrick stops him mid straddle as he’s moving to climb over him. “Sit, I want you to put it on.” 

Art’s a little breathless. He settles on Patrick’s thighs and Patrick watches him. He slowly tugs at the waist band of Patrick’s boxers and his long neglected dick rises at attention.

”Oh,” Art’s breathing goes shallow, his eyes widen like he’s seeing it in a new light now that he’s thinking of it going inside him. 

“You see what you do to me?” Patrick asks gently.

“Fuck… Patrick… I don’t think I can…” 

“Yes you can, of course you can. You’re so talented.” Patrick says.

”But…” he takes a breath. One that tells Patrick he’s actually kinda nervous. “It’s too much… daddy.” he teases, dancing his fingers over the length. Patrick scoots closer. God. This could ruin him.  “ I’ve never had anything inside me before.” 

“I know, baby. God, you make my fucking teeth ache.” Patrick breathes, coming to the distant realisation that he’s shivering. 

Art is squirming on Patrick’s lap, touching it like he doesn’t want to get caught touching but he can’t stop himself.  “Daddy I wanna…” and then he does something that breaks Patrick a little bit more, he takes hold of the base more firmly and presses it to his lips. 

“Oh, oh shit,” Patrick hisses as Art fills his mouth. Just puts as much in as he can. Inexperienced, teeth scraping and everything, making it fucking hot and painful at the same time. 

Patrick can’t help himself, jerking his hips up. ”Art nngh… shit… oh fuck…you gotta stop or ‘m gonna fucking come in your mouth baby… fuck,” Patrick groans as his blonde head bobs up and down. 

Art pulls back and looks up at him, eyes all sparkly and oh… Patrick realizes he’s gone. He’s so far gone. “Mm sorry.” He hiccups. “I think I’m just dizzy.” He’s still touching Patrick idly, can’t stop touching. 

Patrick takes a deep breath and steadies Arts hand. Such a smart kid, all higher thoughts hijacked by just the sight of Patrick’s swollen dick, Patrick hasn’t even fucked him yet. He grins in spite of himself.  “You like it?” 

“Mmhm,” Art nods. Jesus. he’s practically drooling.   

Patrick snatches the lube from Arts useless hands. He’s barely got any self control left. He starts coating his dick with it. Using too much, for Art’s sake. Art is fixated on his movements. Lips parted, eyes glassy. Head empty.

“Lay down,” Patrick says, softly. Art is so silly. He lays down facing Patrick, and Patrick makes him turn over to face his roommates bed, grabs his hips to pull him back. “Take these down,” Patrick says. 

Art eases his shorts down over his ass and Patrick presses up against his entrance. Art’s breath hitches, he’s suddenly tense. The heat of him is already making Patrick’s mouth water. He’s so tight. stupid little virgin. Patrick’s impatient, but decides to prep him just a little. Slips his finger in, and listens to Art whine before he tries again with the head of his dick. 

Art is holding his breath and Patrick rubs his side, “breathe, i know it’s a lot. I know. I know. You’re doing so good, baby. Taking such a big one right out of the gate. Such a good boy.” Patrick whispers, he’s short circuiting just a bit. Going crazy just a little bit. 

Art takes deep breaths. “Really?” 

“Yes, so good for me baby. Oh so fucking tight. I can feel you stretching for me. Fuck. I feel you opening up for every inch of me. Your body just taking me in.” 

“Mm,” Art squirms, clenching, clenching so tightly and fuck Patrick thinks for the first time tonight he’s probably not gonna fucking last. 

“Mm, it feels so…” Art whines, breathlessly. “It’s so big, it’s so… full. I feel really full. I feel so…weird.” 

“It’s okay… it’s okay. Daddy’s gonna take care of you. Breathe. Fuck. Just breathe through it. You feel that… how much your body needs it. Squeezing me. So fucking tight.” 

Art’s whining, panting like their full on fucking and Patrick’s not much better, he kisses Art’s shoulder, he’s nearly all in when Art wants a break. He’s settled with Patrick inside him, cockwarming him while Patrick runs his finger tips idly over Arts pelvis. 

“Patrick. Can I—” 

“Mm that’s not how we’re talking right now, is it?” Patrick says, his voice tight. Art’s squirming all over him.  

“Daddy,” Art whispers. 

It takes everything not to pound into him when he says it. Pitched high and desperate. “MmHm.” Patrick breathes.

“Daddy please can I—- I wanna suck— I want something in my mouth,” Art whines. 

Fuck. It’s on brand. This is the same kid that was still sucking his thumb when Patrick met him after all.  

“Is that what you need?”

“Yes please, need it so much,” 

He teases his fingers inside Arts wet mouth, doesn’t do it gentle. Shoves so much inside Art is immediately drooling on him. Wiggling on Patrick’s dick, the little bit of stretch and movement has him moaning. Patrick squeezes his eyes shut, tries to let him get used to it but too much more of this and he’s gonna black out. Probably wake up with Art beneath him, load after load of come dripping out of him.    

“I think… I think… can you fuck me now? ” 

“Is that how you ask?” 

“Please daddy,” Art whines. “Please fuck me.”

Patrick’s hips are rocking right away, not bothering to be soft or gentle with it. “daddy was going so fucking crazy letting you play around with my big long dick inside you. I might have to fill you with a couple loads before I can stop baby. Is that okay baby? Hm? Is it okay?”

Art moans. “Yes daddy” He gasps. And that’s it. That’s the end. That’s all it takes.

Patrick is losing control, Art’s first time and he’s losing control.  Pumping furiously in and out and in and out of him.  gripping his waist, so tight, too tight. It’s so much fucking better than anything he could ever imagine. This insanely tight, silky wet heat. Art moaning, swearing, begging for more. He’s so loud. It’s filthy actually, his pretty voice saying things like, “more daddy, more, please daddy, fuck me more… I’ll be so good…”  

“Shh… my god,” Patrick whispers, “fuck sweetheart… I know it feels good but Jesus christ,” he’s covering Art’s mouth to try and muffle him. 

His poor roommate isn’t snoring anymore, in the pale light of the television Patrick can practically make out the frantic way his sheets are moving. He’s definitely awake, watching, touching himself.  

Patrick loses everything when Art starts meeting his thrusts. The bed squeaking. Heavy breathing. The television low, white noise in the background. 

Patrick takes his hand off Art’s mouth to bring him to completion, gripping him, jerking him. Can’t muffle Art’s sounds any more. He can’t help a breathless laugh for how feral Art’s gone by the time he comes. He’s practically full volume, no thoughts in his head except for how much he needs to cum…hips stuttering, spurting all over his sheets. Patrick grips his waist and buries his load deep inside, groaning into his curls. 

“Mm, fuck,” he moans. 

“Yeah,” Art agrees breathless. 

And suddenly Patrick needs to pee like a race horse. He’s pulling out and Art groans reluctantly as Patrick gets out of bed. 

“Where are you going?” He whines. 

“Right back in a minute,” Patrick says, rushing into the bathroom, he barely makes it. 

Art can’t wait a minute. He’s pushing in the door. His boxers all twisted, hair all sexed up. Skin flushed. And immediately Patrick thinks he might need a second round.

“Miss me?” He smirks.

“No.” Art says, but he’s smiling.

“It’s okay, I have that effect on people.” 

Art’s eyes follow the movement of Patrick tucking himself back into his boxers and he pads closer to meet him near the sink. “My roommate just said he really wants to fuck me next.” His voice is a little worn out. Of course he sounds hot. 

“Surprise of the century.” Patrick mutters.. Art yawns, hugging himself, his t-shirt lifts slightly and Patrick can see little pink bruises on his hips in the shape of Patrick’s fingers. Yeah he needs another round. Patrick reaches for him. He steps closer and lets Patrick grab him with wet hands and kiss his cheek. “What’d you tell him? Not that it matters. Cause he doesn’t get to.”

Art smirks at him in the mirror, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “Seriously?”

”Yeah seriously.” 

“What do you care? You have a girlfriend.”

”I know.”

”So maybe I can do whatever I want.” Art turns to face him, challenging him. 

“Mm that was true… yesterday…but then you made a mistake and called me daddy, and that means every boy that wants you needs my permission first.”

“That’s marriage.” 

“It’s everything.” 

Art bounces from one foot to the other, his eyes getting shiny again and that’s when Patrick knows he’s won. “You’re a freak.” Art says, but he doesn’t disagree and Patrick smiles and follows him back into the bedroom. 

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

Peace - Act I : Chapter five

Lottie Matthews x fem!reader

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Reader comes back to her hometown and transfers to Wiskayok High School after getting expelled from her previous high school. Follows Junior year into Senior year, all the way up to the crash. (Eventual NSFW mdni)

Warnings: None

The score was 1–1, and the varsity team was catching their breath. Jackie shouted adjustments, Coach Martinez scribbled on a whiteboard, and players swigged Gatorade, mud on their socks, and fire in their eyes. But you weren’t in the huddle. You glanced at the time on your watch.

4:03 PM.

Your heart dropped.

Max.

Every Saturday, 4 PM sharp. Just you and your little brother. Your thing. A promise you never broke-no matter what. Because no one else remembered him like you did. And after the mixed media club, after school, after surviving the noise of your aunt’s house, it was the one moment that was just yours.

You slipped around the bleachers, your camera bumping against your hip, and bolted toward the old payphone tucked beside the gym doors. You dug through your jacket pocket for quarters with shaky fingers and fed them in one by one.

The phone rang once. Twice.

“Hello?” came a small, slightly breathless voice.

You closed your eyes in relief. “Max,” she breathed. “You just get out of baseball?”

“Yeah, we had extra innings,” he said, panting a little. “I hit a double. Coach said my swing’s getting better!”

A grin split across onto your face. “Dude, that’s awesome. You’re gonna be the next Ken Griffey.”

“Grandpa says I’m the next Yogi Berra.”

You chuckled. “You don’t even know who that is.”

“Do too!” Max insisted. “He talks weird.”

You leaned against the brick wall, your smile softening. “I miss you.”

“I miss you more. Did you get my letter?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, picturing the letter in your head. “I hung it up. Right above my bed.”

“I added a drawing of me hitting the ball. So you won’t forget what I look like.”

Your breath hitched. “Max…”

He kept going, unaware of the lump forming in your throat. “I even drew the bat and everything. I tried to make it look like the one Grandpa gave me. And I put a little speech bubble that says ‘The Yankees suck!’”

Hearing the Yankees suck, made you roll your eyes. Your grandfather is the biggest Red Sox fan. So naturally, you were all raised to hate the Yankees. You could picture Max wearing a navy Red Sox shirt right now on the other end.

You laughed, shaky. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Nooo,” Max groaned. “Don’t cry. Crying is for babies.”

“I’m not crying,” you lied. “I’m just proud of you.”

He went quiet for a beat. “I’m proud of you, too.”

You felt tears sting in your eyes. There was really nothing to be proud of. You weren't anything special, or doing anything special. Yet Max was the only one who really cared about you. Really loved you. For no other reason but to love and care about you. Nothing more than just for being you. Even in his innocent words, they stuck onto you like clay.

“You okay?” Max asked.

You hesitated. “Yeah,” you said. “Just… tired. But I’m okay. You?”

“I’m good. Grandma made flan. I ate three.”

“You’re a monster.”

“It's just REALLY good.” Max insisted with a giggle.

You laughed, breath hitching. “It is pretty good, I guess.”

You hear commotion from the other end of the phone. Your heart sinks, already knowing what's coming. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “I gotta go. Grandpa wants me to watch this old game he recorded. Call me next Saturday?”

“You know I will,” you said. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” Max chirped and hung up.

You stayed there a second, your fingers still curled around the receiver, your heart aching in that complicated, permanent way it always did after hearing his voice. Willing yourself to calm down. Trying not to let the tears fall. Your hands palmed your eyes, and you took a deep breath.

“Y/n?”

You turned sharply. Lottie. Her curls slightly frizzed from play, hands on her hips, cheeks flushed from the first half. Sweat darkening the edges of her jersey. She looked… softer than usual. Pretty.

“Coach Scott sent me,” she said. “He saw you storm off and thought you were throwing up.”

You forced a smile. “Nope. Just needed to make a call.”

Lottie nodded slowly. She didn’t press, but her eyes scanned your face, softer than they’d been all week.

“You good?” she asked, voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” you said automatically, then paused. “Actually… yeah. I think so.”

Lottie gave her a faint smile. “Then come on. We’ve got a second half to capture.”

You nodded, already jogging alongside her. The camera swung at your hip, the weight familiar. You didn’t say anything else. But Lottie stayed close, and you didn’t mind.

The energy on the field was electric. Cleats tore into the grass, shouts echoed under the lights, and the scoreboard blinked a tense 1–1. The rivalry with the Titans was personal, at least, both teams played like it.

You stood just past the sideline, fingers wrapped tight around your camera, eyes locked on the field. Your conversation with Max still echoed in your chest, but now you were focused. Watching. Framing. Capturing.

And right now, Lottie was everywhere.

She’d come alive in the second half, gliding through defenders with quiet fury, body low, eyes sharp. It was like watching magic. Jackie barked commands up front. Shauna and Tai locked down midfield. Laura Lee and Mari tightened the back. The whole team pulsed with movement.

Then it happened—Lottie intercepted a midfield pass and didn’t hesitate. She tore down the left, a blur of determination, juked one, slipped past another.

“Center! Center!” Jackie shouted.

But Lottie didn’t go to Jackie. She curled the ball around the last defender and sent a perfectly timed cross straight to Natalie on the right wing. Natalie didn’t even trap it, she volleyed it into the net on first touch.

GOAL.

The sideline erupted.

You got it all, Lottie’s wind-up, Natalie’s strike, the net snapping back, Van leaping from goal to scream in celebration. Shutter click. Shutter click. Holy fuck, it was all magic.

2–1, Yellowjackets.

But the game wasn’t over. Minutes later, Lottie, riding the adrenaline, went too hard on defense. A bad angle. A clumsy slide. She clipped the Titans forward from behind. The ref didn’t hesitate.

Whistle. Foul.

You, along with the crowd, groaned. Penalty kick. Lottie stood back, jaw clenched. Jackie swore under her breath. Shauna put her hands on her hips, trying to breathe. Van jogged in place, eyes narrowed at the girl lining up the shot. You could barely breathe. The Titans forward stepped up. Blew out a breath. Ran forward.

BOOM.

A rocket to the left. But Van was already there. A full-body dive. Fingertips. A slap of leather. DENIED. The rebound was cleared by Tai, and the clock ticked down.

Ten. Nine. Eight…

The crowd counted together.

Three. Two. One—Final Whistle.

Yellowjackets win.

Screams. Laughs. Someone tackled Van in joy. Jackie pulled Lottie into a rough hug. Shauna smacked Laure Lee on the back. Even Natalie cracked a grin.

You had the camera to your face the whole time, snapping the exact moment Van’s arms shot in the air, gloves high, triumph written all over her mud-streaked face.

A near-perfect shot.

Coach Martinez and Coach Scott stood near the register, somehow both overwhelmed and beaming. On the way back home, they pulled both Vans into an Ice Cream parlor off the road.

“Order whatever you want,” Coach Martinez said. “You earned it.”

The ice cream parlor was buzzing with post-game energy — laughter bouncing off tiled walls, jerseys sticking to backs, and sneakers squeaking against old tile floors. Coach Martinez had taken over two tables. Coach Scott was arguing with Van about which flavor was the best.

You stood off to the side, eyes scanning the blur of teal jerseys and sugar highs. You weren't sure if you were here as part of the team or just the one who happened to catch them at their best.

“Y/N!”

You turned and just in time to see Lottie approaching, beaming like she hadn’t just nearly gotten carded for nearly cleating someone into the next county. Lottie’s hair was still damp, cheeks flushed with the leftover adrenaline of the win, and in her hand was a double scoop of something pink and neon. “They had bubblegum,” she said, holding it up proudly. “Like the kind I would only get at this weird stand in the mall when I was, like, nine.”

You blinked. “I’ve never had that.”

Lottie paused, blinked, and then shoved the cone toward your face. “Then obviously, now is the time to try it’s goodness.”

You laughed, dodging the melting scoop. “You’re gonna drop it, psycho.”

“I’ll drop it into your hand if you don’t take a bite. Come on,” Lottie leaned in, whispering like it was a secret mission. “It’s basically a rite of passage. You’re one of us now.”

The words hung there, light but full. One of us.

You slowly let yourself smile. And then leaned forward, took a small bite, and winced. “Oh my god, that’s terrible.”

“I know, right?” Lottie was grinning widely now. “That’s why I get it every time. It's so bad that it's literally so good.”

You rolled your eyes, but something loosened in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was the sugar or the soft, persistent way Lottie always seemed to find you. But for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel like you were on the outside of something. You felt… in it.

Fuck maybe you loved soccer now.

[i-dont-wanna-be-me-anymore]

“I Win” | Cagefighter!Logan x Cagefighter!male!reader

Logan x Male!Reader

HC’s about Logan and a cage fighter mutant!male reader

Warnings: blood and violence, mutant!reader, mention of guns, sexual implications, Logan has a pain kink?

Request by: @keigohawks

A/n: so, this was kind of a request that i saw, so I figured why not since I was already like in love with Logan. Also, Im ngl. Watching DP&W, i left the theatre feeling both sad cus of the end credits, and a little turned on.

SET PRE- X-MEN (2000)

—

• When Logan first met him, he wasn’t entirely what he expected. He actually wasn’t even looking at him when he saw him.

• Logan had been facing away from the wall as he heard people booing and yelling strings of curses at the man who just entered the cage. He turned and saw who he was up against. The man was beautiful, so much so that Logan had to do a double take upon seeing him.

• When the match started, Logan waited for the man to swing or at least do something, but he didn’t he just walked along the sides of the cage, watching his every movement. So, Logan charged at him, the metal in his bones making a hard impact as he punched the side of his face, watching him hunch over and spit out blood before he looked up at him, grinning.

• One thing led to another, and after several minutes of the two throwing each other against the walls, kicking each other’s stomachs, socking one another in the face; Logan ended up pinned down to the floor with the fighter’s fists swinging at him, left and right.

• Logan suddenly grabbed his arm and looked up at him, blood seeping down into his teeth from his injuries as he looked up at the man, smiling.

• The man squinted and pinned Logan’s arms down as he put them across his body, choking him with his own arms. Logan tried to use his enhanced strength to get him off, but it was no use, his efforts seemed pointless as the man was left un-harmed by his touch. With that, his vision went black.

• When he woke up, he saw the man sitting across from him, playing solitaire. Logan looked over the man, seeing that any sign of injuries on his face had gone away, or healed up just as soon as he got them.

• “Who are you?”

• One simple question led to him and the unknown, well now known, man to travel together in his truck.

• Logan had never had someone willingly want to go with him, it was always people looking for rides, people stealing his truck (and learning that it wasn’t the best thing to do), but now he actually had someone to talk to.

• Someone that he could actually call a friend.

• Y/n, he learned to be the unknown man’s name, was quite possibly the one person that actually care about him.

• And it even showed when he stuck by his side when finding out about the “X-Men.”

—

A/n: Short and sweet, also guys, I am currently between projects right now. I’m working on two TUA projects. One is Five x reader, that’s on here, and the other is an entire fanfiction, like s1-4 fanfiction, but I’m still on season 1. Anyways, that’s kind of why I took so long posting this. Lmk how this is and if you guys liked it

[raven-cl]

For day 16 for @stmarchmm, pack isolation syndrome!

Lonely All on My Own

Ship: Steve & Tommy & Carol, Tommy/Carol | Word Count: 5,902 | CW: omega isolation syndrome, Mean Carol and Tommy in the beginning I Rated Teen | Read on AO3

Everything started off slow. Steve gradually feeling colder more often, the muscles in his body becoming sore and tense from seemingly nothing, his scent becoming weaker and less noticeable. It was all very slow.

And yet everything always seemed to be flying past him. It shouldn't have, with his gradual decline over the months but it started to feel like he was having to run to catch up to everybody else. It was foreign to him, scary to not be in the lead like he usually was, but with how his life was going how could he be?

The pack he had with his ex best friends since middle school has been destroyed by him choosing to stay with his girlfriend rather than them and the very same girlfriend he chose to stay beside was snuggling up with other omega.

He was totally and utterly alone apart from the party that would swing by occasionally to raid his house. But how could he possibly drag them into his mess when they were just middle schoolers, even if he could feel like he could breathe and wasn't shivering cold all the time when they were around.

And with Nancy choosing Jonathan over him, what was he supposed to do? So, he kept everything all to himself, dealing with stabbing pains alone just as he'd always done.

Sooner or later though it was going to kill him if the way he became weaker was to say anything and it was looking more soon. It was getting harder to move around with how his joints ached, and he was freezing no matter how many blankets he threw on himself.

He barely had the energy to get up, but he'd run out of groceries two days and he needed to get more desperately. Forcing himself up and out of his nest, he shucked off the three heavy blankets he had on him. Crawling his way out, he put on a thick sweater along with a jacket, slotting on some jeans.

Finishing up he threw on his socks and made his way downstairs, leaning against the wall as he went down. The omega huffed, really not wanting to go out but knowing he had to. Putting on his sneakers and grabbing his keys, he made his way outside into his car.

He cranked up the heater in the beamer, though it never seemed to help anyway and drove down to the store. Steve was cold the whole way there and ignored the looks he got, given it was a Saturday and some of the people expected him to be out partying or at the very least on a date apparently.

Entering the market he picked up a basket and headed straight for the frozen section, intent on just getting some tv dinners and drinks to last him the week. As he walked around in the section, he tried his best to not openly shiver, not wanting to look too odd while he walked around. He could feel himself getting light headed and knew he needed to get what he wanted and quick.

Surveying the lot, he just threw a couple in, not really caring which ones just as long as they happened to look decent enough to eat. Once he was done, he bolted out of there, speedwalking to the drink aisle. Luckily enough, he still had bottled water at home so he didn't need to grab a pack of them, he wasn't sure he could lift it up in his current state honestly.

Instead he just grabbed a few six packs of soda, tossing them into his basket. Just as he was turning to leave, Steve felt his heart freeze when he heard the undeniable sound of Carol Perkins ‘oooing’ at him and his fears were only just confirmed as Tommy's cocky mocking voice filled his ears, “well, look who we have here.”

Deeply sighing, he turned to look at them, shifting all his weight to one leg and putting a hand on his hip as the couple entered his sight.

“What’re you doing around by yourself? Wheeler not work out for you?” Tommy asked, taunting him. It was obvious to everyone that she had moved on from him to Byers and they knew that damn well. Seeing what used to be his former pack now act as enemies towards him stung, making his heart clench tightly in pain.

He stayed quiet, not dignifying them with an answer to that, not that it mattered, Tommy still laughed at his silence anyways.

“What the fuck do you guys want?” Steve questioned, glancing between the both of them as they stalked towards him, ignoring the way he felt as the familiar scent of his old pack began washing over him, even if they were no longer with him.

Shrugging nonchalantly Carol teased with a gun, "whaaat, we're just coming to say hello to you, see how you're doing."

Inhaling a deep breath he just stared at her unamused, but the glare didn't deter either of them as Tommy quipped looking him up and down as he spoke, "c'mon we're not allowed to check on you after you get your girl stolen by the town weirdo? Once King Steve, now just a… guy who sits around alone on a Saturday getting groceries?"

“Just knock it off, I'm fucking leaving,” Steve said and he would've, had Tommy not laughed and gave him a light push with a finger to keep him there. Normally it wouldn't have caught him off guard and he would've been able to recover, but with how his limbs are feeling like dead weight and he was getting a migraine the more and more he stood there, he fell. Stumbling back, he crashed onto the floor on top of his basket, hurting his back.

He groaned, not subsequently hearing the gasp and the "Tommy you knothead" that left Carol's mouth as he tried weakly to push himself up. Not that he needed to, not with the way Tommy immediately grabbed his shirt and helped lift him back onto his feet. Steve just held the back of his head with a hand, glaring at the pair as they stared at him.

“Oh my god, y'know what I just thought of?” Carol started, glancing between the two as she continued, “it's strange nowadays isn't it? It used to be so easy to find you in the hallways and stuff with your scent but it's hard as shit with the blockers you use now. I mean hell, I can barely even smell you from right here,” she stated, tone casual and playful but Steve knew better.

It had to just be a thing of her making fun of him as well, she was just better at hiding the venom in her voice than Tommy was.

“It is a bit odd isn't it? Why'd you start wearing blockers anyways Stevie?” Tommy asked, wrapping an arm around Carol's waist.

Sighing and rolling his eyes hard, Steve answered, “I'm not, I'm not wearing anything right now.”

Giggling, Carol asked incredulously, “what? Yes you are, you don't have to lie about it.”

He wanted to leave. He was starting to get painfully cold and his limbs were heavy and he wasn't even sure he could kneel down to pick back up his items. He wanted to sleep. He didn't need this right now.

Sighing and shaking his head, "oh would you just shut the hell up already?" Steve seethed, slamming his basket on the ground and stomping off, not caring if he was making a mess that the workers were gonna have to clean up.

He ignored the tears pricking his eyes and just headed straight for his car, wanting nothing more than to just be home and in bed.

Blearily, he started up his car and sped home, breaking several traffic laws in the process. As soon as he got home, he flopped face first into the nest he'd made on the couch, tired and quickly falling asleep the second he closed his eyes.

----

“How long has he been asleep for? He was asleep when we got here,” Steve heard a voice travel over him as he slept, trying to place who it was. He could hear other people in his home if the fridge opening was something to go by, but it wasn't anyone in the party or someone that his brain placed right at the moment.

"Dude, I dunno know, he's got like nothing in here though," he could faintly hear the other voice say before he couldn't focus enough on their conversation.

Blinking, he opened his eyes, eyelids heavy and making it difficult to see as he looked up to see Carol crouched peering down at him. “Heyyy sleepy head, thought we'd come check on you.”

Groaning again, he rubbed his head against the couch pillow, ignoring her. “You okay? Hit your head pretty hard back there,” she continued. Scoffing as she kept eyeing him, “you look like shit, what the hell happened? You bump your head too hard?”

Steve just huffed, not bothering to answer her though his brow was furrowed annoyed, not that she would care to leave him alone after noticing. He was cold, freezing, and he felt too tired to get up proper to shoo them out his house so he could have some peace and quiet.

But on the other side the familiar scent was so nice. The scent that he used to hang out with always and cuddle with and everything being so close, being right there for him to do again, but he couldn't. He knew he couldn't.

Speaking slowly he asked, “how the hell did you two even get in my house?”

After a very loud crunch, presumably a snack that Tommy had stolen from his kitchen, Tommy mocked, “awww come on, we've been friends for forever and you think we don't know how to get into your house without you?”

That was a sentence that should raise alarms but he couldn't find it in himself to care at the moment.

Flinching as a hand came up against his forehead, Carol exclaimed, “ough, you're cold! Why are you cold, it's not even cold out right now. And it's not cold in here either.” Continuing on her rant, “you want another blanket? I'll get you another blanket, hold on,” and then she was off along with her pleasant scent that was keeping Steve somewhat grounded.

He closed his eyes again, intent on just trying to give back to sleep and dealing with the fallout of whatever they were doing later. That only lasted so long however as soon he felt more blankets being toppled on top of him and then wrapped around him so he was snug. Then Carol felt his face again asking, “why are you cold?” before she sat on his lower back.

He couldn't see what she or Tommy were doing but he heard her say, “come feel him he's like, freezing right now.”

Steve sighed loudly at the crunching of whatever it was Tommy was eating got closer. As the sound approached, he felt a new hand try to touch him and he groaned, trying to hide his face in the couch cushion.

Tutting at him, Tommy used one hand to push his head to the side and using the other to feel his forehead again. Steve desperately tried to make sure he didn't make any noise, the distressed whine in his throat wanting to claw its way out.

Chuckling, “shit yeah, he is really cold,” Tommy said before Steve heard him take another bite.

“Why are you cold? Are you sick or something?” Carol asked, putting more weight on the central part of him as she leaned forward, putting her hands on his upper back.

He stayed silent and apparently that wouldn't just work with them, Tommy pressing a finger into his check, prodding him to answer. Once it was clear Steve wasn't going to answer that question, he heard Tommy walk off again, leaving him with just Carol who was now plain out lying down on top of him, head resting just below the nape of his neck.

Huffing, she asked as she pushed herself up onto her forearms, “why are you wearing blockers now? Like what's up with that, what suddenly convinced you to wear that?”

Loudly exhaling he replied, annoyed and tired, working himself up as even just speaking took a great deal of energy from him, “I'm not!”

Scoffing as if she was the one annoyed and being bothered, she argued, “yes you are! Look,” and she was pushing hair out of the way of his neck to get a look at his bonding and scent glands. He couldn't fight her, his limbs feeling too much like dead weight as she probed around, searching his neck before she fished his arm out from under the blankets.

She felt the glands on his wrist, the glands there making a futile attempt of releasing any of his scent there and she put it back down and just stayed there. Unmoving. It was unnerving not knowing what she was doing or about to do next, when she finally spoke up, “his scent is gone. Like it's just gone, he's not wearing any blockers.”

Chuckling, tone incredulous as Tommy questioned, “what? What do you mean it's just gone?”

“Like it's fucking gone Tommy, I just checked him, he's not wearing anything, this is just him,” she replied and Steve could hear her trying to keep the urgency and worry out of her voice. Though he couldn't even honestly be sure she was genuinely worried about him. If anything they probably invaded his house just to fuck with him so who knew if they were being authentic or not in their concern.

He heard Tommy come back over, briskly strolling over to them and he flinched as he felt Carol's hands on his neck again, only to move over to bring his wrist up presumably for Tommy's viewing. Then it was quiet again, unsettling him. He jumped and held his breath as he felt Tommy's hands on him now, though they weren't nearly as close to his bonding site as Carol's were.

He choked down a whimper, not wanting to confirm any suspicions they had while they were quiet again, now with both of their hands off him. Then he heard a quick shuffle of feet walking off and the sound of Tommy going up the stairs while Carol now sat up straddling his hips. 

He almost cried out at the loss of touch, so desperately craving her to lie back down, but somehow managed to keep it down and just waited as they did whatever they wanted. Carol was running her hands up and down the small of his back, presumably waiting for Tommy to come back downstairs from wherever he was doing. It felt like forever that he was up there, but the familiar scent along with the affectionate touches was driving Steve up the wall.

It felt so nice. Felt like home, like he could breathe without being suffocated, like he could move without weights being attached to him.

Then the clomping of Tommy's feet down the stairs filled the room and he spoke up, voice flat, “his rooms not scented either. I can barely smell him at all in there, even on the bed and pillows.”

“What's your deal? Why's your scent like, all gone?” she asked, laying back down on his back, moving up to plant her cheek against his.

As much as the two hated him, and as much as he should tell them to get lost, he didn't want it to end. The faux pack between the three of them right now felt good, he didn't want it to stop and go back to just being a shivering mess by himself again. Torturing himself while playing like he was perfectly fine in front of everyone else.

She wouldn't take his silence for an answer though, rubbing her cheek against his and subtly scenting him, trying to bother him enough into answering.

Steve just sighed, “can you just knock it off?” he mumbled, managing to crack a vexed eye in her direction.

“Oh come on, are you serious? You're really not gonna say what your deal is?” Carol complained, lifting herself back to straddle his waist as she pouted at him.

“Come on Stevie, what's the worst that can happen?” Tommy taunted, presumably leaning on the couch if the way the cushion squished was to say anything.

Closing his eye again, he countered, “what, I tell you guys so you can go about making fun of me? Or pushing me around?” saying the last part pointedly.

Scoffing dramatically, “that was an accident and you know it, how the hell was I supposed to know you were just gonna topple over? And I picked you up right after, didn't I?” Tommy argued.

Steve was quiet after that, Tommy was technically right. He hadn't pushed him very hard and he did pull him back up, although quite roughly.

Loudly sighing, “just tell us. We're gonna leave if you don't,” Carol grumbled, moving back to run her hands along the small of his back.

“No please, anything but that,” Steve said sarcastically even as he internally whined that the touch he had just gotten accustomed to at the moment was about to leave if he didn't do anything to make them stay.

Silent for a moment, all Carol said was, "fine, whatever, be sick on your own then," and was pushing herself off his back. Still keeping his eyes closed, he heard the shuffle of feet getting further away until the front door open and then finally clicked close.

Steve just stayed where he was, not even bothering to see that they properly left. Instead, he just miserably rubbed and scented the pillow he was on, subsequently missing the long last look Carol threw his way before she left with Tommy. 

He tried wrapping the blankets impossibly closer to himself and tried to take in as much of their scent, already starting to get cold again now that Carol was off him.

-----

The next time the omega woke he was starving, nauseous with a throat so dry it hurt to swallow and a migraine so bad he almost wanted to cry. Groaning as he sat up, he leaned against the back of the couch so he didn't sway.

Steve sighed, looking over to the clock and squinted at it confused, tryingto figure out what time of day it was considering it was still winter and it was dark out.

Leaning down, he plucked the remote off the table and clicked on the tv, finally getting his answer as the tv said six pm. Heavily exhaling he threw his head over the back of the couch; he'd already told Dustin he'd watch some movie the beta wanted him to see that was only in theaters and the gaggle of kids were coming over tomorrow.

Moaning in pain, he forced himself up, looking down at himself as he apparently was still wearing the clothes from last night. Shrugging, he decided to just wear it out again, it's not like anyone would know, and stumbled out the door into his car and drove towards the movie theater.

The omega's head was pounding and the lights around him weren't helping. He almost immediately regretted his decision as soon as he actually got on the road but he was far enough out that he might as well see himself all the way through. While he drove he could still feel his head spinning and he decided that the first thing he'd do when he first got there after buying a ticket was get something from the concession counter to help with his headache.

Miraculously he managed to get there in one piece and without anything happening on the way. Snagging one of the more closer spots to the door he parked, almost stumbling out his car as he exited it. Strolling to the building, he stood in the line for the box office, hoping it wasn't too obvious how much he was shaking.

Then, as if they knew his every step he could hear the sound of Carol and Tommy conversing getting closer. Sighing, he already knew what he was about to get into when he heard the somewhat cheerful gasp come out of her mouth.

"Steve! There you are, y'know it was quite rude to blow me off yesterday," she said, pouting at his back. Turning his head back he only side eyed her, not bothering to respond.

"Come on Stevie, just talk to us, we miss being able to tell where you are," Carol teased, poking his back and Steve wasn't certain that she meant it. Leaning in close she whispered, "come just tell it to me then, omega to omega."

Annoyedly, he just huffed and left, leaving the two to watch whatever movie it was that they were planning on. On the way back to his car however, his head started feeling too lightheaded and all of a sudden everything was getting hard to hear.

Then the edges of his vision started getting black and finally, not having the time or energy to catch himself, he fell forward onto the concrete in the middle of the parking lot. As he blacked out he could faintly hear voices exclaiming, though he couldn't decipher who's they were.

When he woke up next, he found himself in a bright white room wearing a hospital gown. Squinting at the blinding lights, he looked around and the only thing he saw of note was someone with big red hair. He groaned, rolling his eyes and closing them, trying to will himself back to sleep.

Happily huffing, she rejoiced, "heyyy sleepy head, good to see you're awakeee." Upon feeling the bed sink near his hand, he peeped an eye open at her. "You've been out for quite awhile you know. You gave us quite a scare when you just flopped over like that," she complained, poking an offending finger at his stomach.

Heavily sighing she looked him up and down, apparently deciding to change her tone to be more serious as she spoke, "they took your vitals and stuff, said you were cold, said that you were extremely dehydrated and hungry so they gave you an IV and fluid. They already gave you an electric blanket to try to help warm you up."

Look away she continued, "we told them about the lack of scent and everything that me and Tommy found the other day so they're running some tests to see what that's about."

Exhaling exasperatedly he rolled his eyes annoyed, when he got a snap from her, only now smelling the light sourness that was underlying her scent. "You're not telling us anything and we know your little girlfriend got a new boyfriend so you're not telling her anything, so. We just had to find out on our own," she scolded, scent turning slightly annoyed.

Scoffing he answered, "we don't talk, we don't hang out, you guys don't like me! Why would I tell you anything about me anymore!"

"Yeah we're pissed at you, that doesn't mean we want you to die dummy," she yelled back glaring at him which he quickly returned.

They stared at one another, quiet with her scent flaring. Finally, she relented first, looking away and shuffling up the bed to sit right next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Confused, he gazed down out the corner of his eyes at her before just accepting that this was something that was happening. The pair sat there, Carol scenting him while his glands struggled to release anything to rub back onto her. Even with how tense things were between the two of them, this felt nice, he could feel himself slightly warming up.

Suddenly they heard a knock on the door and in came Tommy and the doctor. Tommy was carrying a bag with presumably food if the smell was anything and a cup holder with two drinks in it. He held it up, showing to Carol and Steve could see her wave him away.

Tommy set the food down on the ground but held onto the drinks, everyone turning to look at the doctor.

"Are you stepping in as the alpha for him?" the beta doctor asked, gesturing to Tommy.

"Yeah I am," he answered and Steve quickly opened his mouth to interject when Carol nudged him, stopping him.

Flipping through the pages one last time, she spoke, telling them about all the tests that they ran to figure out what was the matter with him.

Steve's heart thumped as the doctor spoke, scared for whatever was to find out the doctor's mouth next, knowing there was nothing there near next to nothing he could do that the couple wouldn't be able to weasel their way through. He closed his eyes as she started reading the results.

"So, with the symptoms that he's been displaying combined with what you've told us about him not staying close with a pack for a bit, we've diagnosed that he's got pack isolation syndrome," she finally concluded and the omega didn't have it in him to open his eyes to see how the couple was looking at him.

"Okay, so what would we do, just, start putting him in our pack more? Just hang out with him more?" Tommy asked.

"Well that's what I would start with, I'd integrate him more into the pack, give him stuff with both of yours and whoever else's scent on it for him to keep around. Then, if he'll allow which I would hope he would, I'd probably say if you guys to directly scent him in a little cuddle pile in his nest," she answered before adding, "and just keep him around more in general.

Finally he willed himself into opening his eyes and he felt a chill run up his spine. It wasn't even like anyone was doing anything wrong, Tommy was just facing the doctor to talk to her while Carol was looking straight ahead.

"Is there any questions that you guys have?" she asked to which all three of them responded no. At that she said, "okay well, he's all free to go then, just make sure you're intergrating him into your pack more and make sure he's eating and drinking. You can get redressed and you're all good to go."

And with that she left the room and now all eyes were on Steve. Carol hopped off the bed, about to join Tommy's side when he handed her Steve's clothes and she gave them to the omega. Getting up, Steve took up his shirt, glancing between the both of them before he said, "turn around."

"Yeah you alpha, turn around," Carol teased, pretending to squint a glare at Tommy even as he listened with a roll of his eyes. Now it was just Carol looking at him and Steve continued staring at her, waiting. "Ugh, me too?! It's nothing I haven't seen before, not like I'm Tommy," she pouted, crossing her arms and ignoring his small offended "hey".

Still she listened, turning around. Once he was certain both of them were going to keep their backs to him, he started changed, slipping off the hospital gown and slotting on his shirt and pants, cheeks flushing embarrassed at how the doctors had to undress him.

Apparently he finished changing just in time as Carol whipped her head around to see if he was done and announcing, "oh good! You are, let's go." Immediately she headed towards the door, opening it while waiting for the two.

Tommy picked up the food he'd brought in and headed out the door and subsequently Steve followed behind, Carol exiting the room last. The omega followed the couple all the way down to their car, having no choice but to get in in order to get home.

It was awkward, unnerving. The car ride back home was silent except for the sound of Carol digging through the bag and eating fries. Soon, as they got closer to reaching his house, she turned around, still chewing a fry as she pointed one at him.

He shook his head no and instead of just accepting his answer, she twirled it around until he finally accepted it and ate it in front of her. She kept doing it, occasionally giving him fries to eat and refusing to let him turn her down.

Eventually when they got there, Steve immediately left the car, booking it for his front door. However, as he got up the steps and tried it, the door was locked and he didn't have the keys to open it.

Sighing and resting his head on the door, he reluctantly turned and saw the pair coming up the pathway, Carol jingling the keys with a smug smile on her face. She opened the door, and made her way inside, Steve instantly walking inside.

He tried making a run for it upstairs only for her to grab the back of his shirt and pulling him into the kitchen.

"You should eat, you want the double meat cheeseburger? You can have it don't worry," Carol said, speaking to Steve even if the conversation was mainly with herself.

"Why should he get my food?" Tommy asked incredulously.

"Cause I said he could, just go get another," she answered with a playful look, biting a fry in half.

"Why not give him yours if you want him to eat," he questioned, putting his hands on his hips and looking her up and down.

Putting the rest of the fry in her mouth she finished, "because that's unalpha like and knothead behavior of you to make me give mine up."

Groaning, Tommy just rolled his eyes, glaring at her for just a second and then just agreeing, setting everything on the table. He snatched up the drink, telling her, "I'm getting the drink though," before walking out the house and the start up of his car could be heard.

Carol started getting plates, organizing everything and handing it off to Steve once she was done. Then, like it was nothing, she sat at the kitchen island, tapping the other side of the table, inviting him.

He looked at her suspiciously, standing on the other side. Finally, after being hungry for days and just being freezing and overall miserable by himself, he relented, sitting across from her and joining her in eating.

Steve stuffed his face with the burger, eating the whole thing quickly, also chowing down the fries.

He hated how well this was working, how with just the pleasant scent of her being around and the two acting homely with each other was being to make him feel better, making him feel alive.

"Do you not have any of our stuff anymore?" she asked suddenly, looking up from her burger.

"I mean," he started, shifting his eyes awkwardly, "I don't keep it around or anything but it's probably around here somewhere."

Scoffing, she just took two big bites of her burger and chewed them, scrunching her face in discomfort before licking her fingers and wiping them saying, "I'm full, are you?"

Not giving him a chance to answer, she grabbed his hand and dragged him upstairs with her, making her way to his bedroom. Immediately bolting for his closet, she started rummaging through it.

"What are you doing?" he exclaimed, standing behind her while she ruffled through it like she was trying to decide his clothes for a date.

"Looking through it obviously," she said rapidly flipping through every article of clothing. "If you don't have something of mine then I'm just gonna start scenting stuff."

Stuttering he complained, "are you serious?"

"Yeah, I'm serious," she replied, unhooking a few shirts from his closet. Immediately she started rubbing them up against her neck, heavily scenting them as she strolled over to the bed.

"What are you doing now??" he asked, throwing his hands wildly.

Huffing like it was obvious, "getting in the nest goofball, get over here." He stood there in place, staring at her in disbelief.

Stomping her foot, she ordered, "I said get over here, stop just standing there."

"Why should I??"

Angrily huffing, "cause I said to, now come here," she ordered again, glaring at him.

When he refused to comply, she went over and dragged him, shoving him onto the bed. She finished scenting the articles, stuffing close to where their heads would before crawling in next to him and began heavily scenting the nest.

Steve sat there staring at her and groaning annoyedly she tugged him down, forcing him to lay face to face with her. Flustered and embarrassed about the whole situation, he flipped over so his back was to her.

"Oh my god you are ridiculous," she bitched but allowed it nonetheless, choosing to just hug his back and scent his neck instead. He just let her, even as embarrassed or weird as this was.

After laying there for a bit, they both heard the front door open and close. "Just ignore him, he'll find us," she mumbled and continued lying there. Steve peered behind him, finding her with both eyes close, though with his movement she popped an eye open.

Immediately he faced forward, opting to just close his eyes same as she was and to just ride this out until they left. He'd managed to actually fall asleep comfortably without freezing, only to be disturbed when he heard two voices in the room talking.

Opening his eyes he blinked blearily at the figure standing in the room who appeared to be holding something. Quickly he registered that it was Tommy and now he was scenting some of Steve's clothes.

Steve watched as he rubbed them against his neck, then threw them onto the bed. Carol got up and started organizing it into nest and Steve internally whined at the loss of contact.

But then he felt shuffling around and he turned around to see Carol moving away from him and Tommy crawling on to the bed.

"Christ guys, is this necessary?" he complained, leaning away from the middle.

"Don't be so dramatic, this is not that bad," Tommy said, flopping onto his back. Steve tried ignoring him, lying with his back to the both of them.

Pulling at him, Carol said, "oh come on, stop that."

"Just knock it off already man come on," Tommy groused, helping her flip Steve back over and manhandling him until he was half laying on top of Tommy alongside Carol.

Glancing between his eyes, she asked, "can you just relax? We're helping you out. As far as I know you don't have anyone else so at the very least let us make sure you don't fucking die okay?"

Mumbling a quiet "okay", she replied much louder, "thank you," and closed her eyes apparently intent on going back to sleep. Tommy wrapped his arms around both around both of them and Steve decided that he could just wait them out while at the very least enjoying the warmth that being next to them gave him, and closed his eyes, ready to sleep with the two of them.

[iwouldn-tdothatifiwereyou]

Going Away Party (18+)

FTM! FRANK IERO x GERARD WAY x FTM!READER

SUMMARY: Frank is dropping out of university, so Gee and Y/N throw him a going-away party ;)

WORD COUNT: ~2.5K

———

It's always a really comforting experience to be around these two, Gerard a few years older than Y/N and Frank but having become friends with them through Mikey. And hey, a little pot never hurt anybody either.

Frank sinks back into the sofa, puff of smoke settling deep into his lungs for a few seconds before he breathes out long and slow, and Y/N can't really find it in himself to look away.

"I'm thinking about dropping out," Frank says honestly.

"Why?" Y/N immediately responds, taking the pen from the guy's outstretched hand. He presses the button, sucks the shit out of it because this one's always getting stuck, and ends up taking too big of a hit. He holds his breath resolutely, squeezing his eyes shut, and tries really, really hard to not hack up a lung when he exhales (it does not work, unfortunately).

As Y/N continues to wheeze and passes the pen to Gerard, curled up around him, Frank says, "I just don't really like it. Pencey is picking up and, like, I love everything I'm learning, I just wish there wasn't, like, the pressure of deadlines and grades to learn all this shit."

Gerard blows smoke into the air. "You'd be moving out of the dorms then."

"Yeah." He looks a little disappointed. "I want to find a place first."

He scoots closer to Gee and Y/N and lays his head on Gerard's shoulder, sighing deeply, and the guy wraps one arm around his shoulders, kissing the crown of his head. "Well, let us know, and we can save up for actual weed and watch a scary movie the day before, and then we can help you move your things if you wanted." Frank feels his lungs get really light and his cheeks grow warm.

He nods, taking the pen from Gee's hand. "I would actually really love that."

———

Three weeks later, everything in Frank's dorm is either stuffed in boxes or "organized" in piles around the room, to be dealt with tomorrow.

Y/N texts him to tell him he's on his way over, since he gets lost every fuckin time he tries to get to Gee's dorm himself, downstairs and across campus and upstairs and down some hallway, but he can never remember which intersection to turn at. He stuffs his toothbrush and deodorant in the same bag as his camera and looks through his sock drawer for two socks of the same length.

Y/N's opening the door as he's putting on his slip-ons. Frank peers up at the guy from over the half-wall that separates the bed from the entrance. "Hi." He's made the "what happened to knocking" joke about seventy times before, so he bites it back, grinning to himself instead.

"Hi. You ready to go?" Y/N leans against Frank's desk, watching him struggle to pull his second shoe on and neglecting to hide his amusement.

"Yeah, give me a minute." The heel of his shoe keeps getting folded under his foot and if he wasn't so particular about it he'd just call it good like that and walk out. Instead, he takes another 45 seconds to pinch at the heel and wiggle his foot into the shoe before he can stand up.

Y/N grabs Frank's hand once he adjusts his bag and they exit his dorm, shutting and locking the door behind them. Frank tries to really pay attention to the directions this time, despite knowing he won't be needing the information soon. He squeezes Y/N's hand a little tighter, and Y/N responds by bringing their hands up to kiss his knuckles. He drops their hands back down to swing back and forth between them.

———

When Y/N invites the two of them into Gee's dorm, the only lights are the dim lamp in the corner of the room and the paused computer screen. Gerard jumps onto Frank and hugs him tightly. "Yay! We can celebrate now!" Frank hugs him back around the waist.

Everything is almost all set up. Giant communal snack bowl, some good fucking weed (thank you, art commissions money), and Saw IV paused at the beginning credits on Gee's laptop against his bedframe.

They pile a few thick blankets on the floor against the wall, Frank grabs one to wrap up in, and they sit down, practically on top of each other. Frank lays his head on Gerard's shoulder and his legs end up in Y/N's lap.

Only a couple minutes into the movie, when the cassette in John's stomach is just being discovered, Frank pipes up, words a little bit muffled into Gerard's shirt. "I know we'll still be able to see each other, like I'm not going very far, but I'm gonna miss you guys," he admits. Gerard pulls the guy even closer to him, kissing him on the forehead.

"Aww, we'll miss you too Frankie."

As John's low-quality mini stomach cassette plays, Gerard makes grabby hands at the bubbler and lighter sitting out of the way of everybody's feet until Y/N notices and hands them to him. "Would you like to have the honors?" he asks Frank, wiggling the bubbler in front of him enticingly.

"Fucking absolutely." Frank sits up from where he's slouched against Gee's body, pushing up with one hand on his thigh, and takes the bubbler, thumb over the thumbhole in a second. Gerard lights the bowl, keeps it there for a little longer than he was intending to. Frank's eyes widen a little bit but he takes it like a fucking champ, eyes watering and throat burning as he blows out. "Motherfucker."

Gee apologizes honestly, rubbing his back. Y/N can't help but grin, amused. There's still smoke left in the stem. Usually Gee would poke fun at Frank for it, simply because he's never one to leave it like that, but seeing as he's still recovering, he just clears the rest of it and passes it to Y/N. The setting of the movie has changed now, the lighting even dimmer. Frank is usually pretty in-tune when they watch movies together, even if they are stoned, but it seems that this time his mind is a little more set on getting the three of them as close together as possible and just staying like this.

The bowl takes a good while to smoke between the three of them, and admittedly Gerard did kind of over-pack it, but hey, it's a celebratory occasion.

Y/N reaches over the piles of blankets and places the bubbler down on the ground as far away as possible, hand waving back and forth a little bit. Once he's sure it's too far away to accidentally kick over (because that bubbler is glass and expensive), he leans back over to lay his head on Frank's shoulder. He puts one hand on the guy's thigh. Gee gives Frank a few more kisses.

"Can you... I want..." Frank's mind is quite fuzzy right now, but unfortunately not quite enough to say what he's thinking without embarrassment. Gerard hums questioningly, stroking his hair with gentle fingers; Y/N watches Frank's face as he goes through the five stages of grief in a matter of minutes (maybe seconds, time isn't exactly a thing right now). He takes a deep breath and makes this noise that actually might be a fucking whimper. "Kiss my neck. Please."

Oh.

Y/N sees Gerard's hand pause for a split second before it continues in the same pattern it has been making. "Yeah? Are you sure you want that Frankie?" he asks. They're all really stoned. He still wants to make sure.

"Yeah," Frank says. Nods. "Please?"

Gerard whispers an "okay" that's so sweet it has Y/N feeling all mushy and affectionate. Gee pulls Frank farther into his lap so that he's easier to reach, pulling the blanket away from the boy's neck and pressing his lips to the skin just under his ear. Frank swallows, and Gerard makes a small noise of delight as he tilts his head farther into the touch.

Y/N squeezes Frank's thigh, listens to him hum. "I want to kiss you," he says, voice just above a whisper. He's got his foggy vision trained on Frank's barely-open mouth... his lip piercing is finally healed, ring silver and shiny and probably a little cold.

"Kiss me." As Gerard continues pressing soft kisses down his neck, brushing his teeth over a spot occasionally but not biting, Y/N readjusts himself so he can lean into their personal space and cups Frank's face in one hand. It's so hot, and suddenly he realizes how hard Frank must be blushing right now, red cheeks hidden in the shadows with such little light in the room. He closes his eyes as their lips press together. He can feel Frank's leg twitching under his hand.

Frank's lips are chapped, admittedly. But he doesn't let that stop him from kissing back harder, blanket slipping off his shoulders as he loops an arm around Y/N's neck to pull him so close he's almost sitting on Gerard's knee, and their foreheads bump into each other a couple of times. Frank's fingers come up to pull at his hair. Oh my god.

Y/N thinks about testing the waters, but Frank is miles ahead of him already, tongue pushing haphazardly into his mouth; if they weren't so high, the taste and stench of weed and the bad fucking cottonmouth might have been unpleasant, but as it is, he can't bring himself to care enough to pull away. Especially when the feeling of Frank's blunt fingernails scratching at the back of his neck as he keeps pulling his hair is sending hot shivers down his spine.

The screaming from the computer almost covers up the little noises that Frank makes, mouth falling open, kisses uncoordinated. Y/N notices now how his fingers are shaking, clutching at the back of his neck.

"I know, I know," he hears Gerard whisper sweetly. He opens his eyes, finds Gee's hand trailing its way down Frank's torso, realizes that his hips are working in these little jerking circles against Gerard's thigh. You could almost miss it in the shitty lighting, mistake it for involuntary twitching if you could see, until Gee's fingers reach down to rub insistently against his crotch, and Frank whines, high-pitched and breathless.

His mouth is open. Y/N watches with complete adoration as he closes his mouth, opens it again, tries to get something to come out, and only manages another shaky, airy noise. It seems to frustrate him; he furrows his brow, tries to get more air into his lungs and Y/N can practically see all of the cogs turning overtime in his head. "Sweet boy can't talk?" he asks, brushing Frank's dampening hair out of his eyes and going back to cup his face with both hands.. The boy averts his eyes and shakes his head sheepishly, an almost comical contrast to the way his hips are still stuttering back and forth, grinding on Gerard's fingers.

There's a small noise of complaint as Gee's hand moves back up, but then his thumb is curling under the waistband of Frank's sweatpants. "Can I go under?" Frank nods, makes some sort of semblance of an "uh-huh."

He makes this strangled gasp of a sound, and Gee says, as if it's some surprise, "God, you're so wet." Y/N believes him, can already hear the slick sound of his fingers on Frank's cunt.

He really, truly doesn't know what possesses him with the idea, but he acts on impulse, hand sliding down from Frank's cheek to rest softly against his throat, with the slightest bit of pressure afforded underneath his chin. The boy's eyes flutter, mouth falling open a little more. He's making these short, high-pitched noises, completely unfiltered, with the rhythm of Gerard's fingers sliding in and out of him. The three of them have certainly done a few things before, one-on-one and as a group, but somehow something as simple as this hasn't ever crossed Y/N's mind. Sometime in the future he might regret not thinking about it sooner, but at the moment he just stares with heavy-lidded eyes, transfixed on the way Frank presses farther into his hand.

And he really, really wants to kiss him again. He asks, waits patiently as the cogs slowly turn in the guy's pretty head. His thumb brushes back and forth across a small spot beneath his jaw in a way that's got to be sending electricity through the both of them. And then Frank finally nods, sluggish and impaired from the pressure of Y/N's hand on his throat, and immediately, like he's never needed anything so badly, Y/N's mouth is on his. It's making him almost dizzy, the way he can feel Frank gasping near frantically for air every time there's a split second of space between them.

"Aw, are you gonna come just from this?" Gerard coos. And Frank's hips stutter helplessly as Gee finally starts to suck a decently dark bruise onto his shoulder, body starting to tremble at the amount of attention he's receiving. Y/N can tell, has seen Frank come enough times that he knows when he's right there. He pets a sweet hand through Frank's hair and continues to pacify him with kisses as the guy's hips rock back and forth onto Gee's hand. He whines into Y/N's mouth, presses deeper into the kiss.

And then their mouths disconnect, and Frank makes this strained hiccup of a sound. His nails dig into the back of Y/N's neck. Gerard peppers little kisses on his neck, up to his ear and the side of his head, whispering gentle nothings to him as he comes down, breathing heavy and heart rate through the roof. He slumps into Y/N's chest, hips still twitching minutely like he's not sure he's done, but as Gerard makes a move to start up again, he whimpers and shakes his head.

The end credits have already stopped rolling, and sometime later, once Frank's caught his breath, cuddled back into Gerard's side and swaddled in a blanket, he pipes up shyly, "Can we restart the movie?"

Y/N laughs and reaches for the computer.

———

the ending of this was a little bit rushed if i’m being honest but i hope you like it :)))

[byuljoonie]

moonlight // knj

I’m sorry baby I’m just really hot…

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: one shot, slight angst, fluff, growing tension, boyfriend material, extreme smut, desperation, succubus intentions…

word count: 5k+ (sorry)

warnings: mentions of mature topics, spit, namjoon driving lmao, thigh humping bcs desperate, throat goat, dom!sub, dom rm!sub reader, alcohol consumption, probably a good amount of swearing, post-gym namjoon, grocery store activities, slight car play, teasing, oral, summer night, riding, overstimulation, a little masochism

summary: namjoon promised to go to the grocery store with you after the gym (extended ending on ao3)

note: just had what cody ko and noel would call a “power thought.” I literally just had a spark of inspiration bcs it’s really hot in the south right now and Namjoon’s vogue cover is to die for. enjoy and feel free to check out any of my playlists while reading. Sorry for any little mistakes. gonna make a tag list after I post 10 works! -ash (wrote this draft a few months ago so it might be slightly more extreme than expected.)

My reflection stared back at me, tracing the movement of the cloth against my skin. The long slit of the black fabric starts by the left knee and leaves an opening at the bottom of the dress. My manicured feet sat firmly against the hardwood bedroom floor, grounding me away from my persistent thoughts. I grabbed my sunglasses from the stand mounted on the cream walls and turned swiftly on my heels. Abandoning the mirror with a grimace on my face.

I loved this dress very much, the long sleeves light and airy protecting me from the harsh summer rays. The way it hugs my figure is like someone familiar. The same someone that bought this dress for me. He crossed my mind once more sending another surge of anger through me.

Namjoon promised to come along to the grocery store with me today but he’s been at the gym for almost 2 hours now. He said he’d only be gone an hour but an hour quickly turned to two, now I’m dressed and past ready to go. I hated going to crowded stores, at this rate we’ll never beat the after-work rush.

I sat on the bed putting on my anklet he gifted me for our 3 year anniversary. Yet another gift that I’m wearing today, being spoiled ruining my plans of holding a grudge tonight on our date. I slipped on some black socks and made my way towards the door. Listening as the front door swings open with a beep of the automatic keypad.

I excitedly descend the stairs, my black dress sweeping the floor behind me beautifully like a wedding gown flowing in the summer breeze. The second step I’ve already failed at trying to be mad at him.

“Baby! Where you at?” He says deep voice roaring through our apartment. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs almost running into his chest. He smiled at me taking in all of my body, returning to my eyes after his brief but thorough inspection.

“Right here NAMjoon,” I stated putting extra emphasis on his surname. I watched as his chest rose and fell with every breath, his skin glistened with sweat. Tan skin accentuating his muscular frame, my mouth parted slightly at the sight. He looked heavenly I almost lost my composure.

“I’m sorry I took so long Y/N my trainer wouldn’t let me leave until the workout was complete,” he said walking towards me. Smirking at the way my eyes followed his every movement.

“You look so gorgeous Princess, this dress is perfect for you,” he said pulling me into a tight embrace. Grabbing a handful of my ass as he reached over to rest his chin on my shoulder. I yelp in surprise at the sudden groping, melting into his body and giving up on being angry. I wanted to take him right now but first, we need food or we’ll be eating out for another week before we have time to shop again.

“Whatever Joon go shower we have to leave as soon as possible and you’re stinky,” I said pulling away from him and then standing on my tippy toes to kiss him quickly. He kissed me back beginning to deepen it before I push him away again. I give him a knowing look and bid him goodbye as I walk to the kitchen to make him a snack to eat in the car. The store was about a 25 minute drive from us but it was worth it for the produce.

I grab a few ingredients from the fridge to make him a nice sandwich with an everything bagel. I prepared everything quickly and put it in a small ziplock bag next to my purse. I heard Namjoon exiting our bedroom 15 minutes later, humming a sweet tune in his beautiful vibrato.

“Come on babe I already have the car warming up,” he said grabbing my hand and lightly pulling me next to him. He’s wearing a light brown shirt with a pair of distressed blue jeans. Looking as handsome as always I drink in his appearance for eternity. We walked to the elevator quietly, Namjoon tapping away on his phone until the elevator doors opened to be let us out.

As we walk towards our car I begin to sweat a little, the setting Sun still scorching my skin like its’ noonday twin. I started to speed up a little pulling Namjoon along so I could feel the relief of the A/C sooner than later. He swung the door open for me making sure my dress wasn’t in the way before shutting the door.

Namjoon jumps in quickly closing the door before the heat could penetrate the closed air. It still wasn’t cool enough in here, with the sun beaming directly on our vehicle the A/C felt like lukewarm hell. I let down the window hastily fanning myself as we pulled out of the parking lot.

After I few minutes of fanning and desperation, I looked over and behold a sight that would make any woman yearn in an instant. A head of sweat moved swiftly down the expanse of Namjoons golden jaw. Resting at the base before dropping down onto his slightly exposed shoulder. His lips rose colored from his unconscious biting. I wanted to reach over and swallow him whole, I crave him so bad I can’t help but squeeze my legs together at the thought.

I was so caught up in my sinful thoughts I didn’t notice him glance over at me. A twinkle in his eye set off the indication of a torturous idea. Namjoon placed his large hand on my thigh, causing me to tense up instantly. Before I could utter a word he reached over my leg and grabbed his sandwich from my lap.

His smile turning into a stifled laugh as he continued to stare straight ahead. I must have let out the small noise I was holding in because he seemed to know exactly what would tick me off right now. I turned my attention towards the windshield trying to focus on the passing cars and people watching. Then an idea popped into my head.

I pull out my phone and open the group chat I have with our 6 best friends. I stop and think of what to type before another brilliant idea is brought to me. I pose provocatively making sure my cleavage was “present,” in my photo. I took a couple of pictures, some with sunglasses and some staring at Namjoon. He patiently drove, oblivious to my sly intentions. He hummed along to one of his favorite songs looking over at me to shoot me a wink.

I giggled and looked away almost feeling bad for what I’m going to do. Yet not bad enough because I went ahead and sent the photos with a message. “Should I post these on my close friends? I don’t know if I look good enough today…” I said ending with a sad face. It didn’t take long for our phones to simultaneously vibrate. Secretly glancing over at Namjoon, I unlock my phone knowing he can’t check his until we’re in the lot.

Hobi ddaeng: You look great !! Of course, you should post it, Namjoon talk some sense into her.

Me: He’s driving right now. I didn’t ask for his opinion yet I want to hear you guys first :)

Park Chanel: ooooh…I see…

Park Chanel: If you don’t post the pictures I will! Wow wow you look beautiful. Nice..dress and necklace.

I looked down at my neck realizing I didn’t wear a necklace today. Oh Jimin you’re evil Namjoon is going to kill me and you. I laughed a little at his crude behavior and read the next incoming message.

Yoongi: You’re gonna get hit Jimin *laughing emojis*

Me: mmm just because you guys said so I will post it hehe

Before I could read the next response I felt the car shake as we pulled into the grocery store parking lot. I quickly went on my sns and posted two of the pictures on my close friends. Picking the two the boys liked the most. I was starting to get nervous, I know how possessive he is with me and I’m the same but I want revenge for making me frustrated.

Namjoon pulls into an open parking spot almost near the front of the bustling building. I take off my seatbelt with a click grabbing my purse from my lap and swinging the door open. I wanted to beat Namjoon inside before he could read the texts and catch me. As I hurriedly closed the door I saw him reading the messages, jaw tensing with rage.

I hear him call my name from the car and a slam of a car door followed behind the sound of his sexy voice. His long legs easily closing the space between us as he grabbed my hand, squeezing it while looking at me. I put my shades on ignoring his questions. Stroking the back of his hand as I never break eye contact with the automatic sliding doors.

“Can you get us a cart pet?” I froze at the nickname. He knows what he’s doing, and I don’t plan on breaking that fast. I let go of his hand briefly going to grab the first cart I saw. Cleaning the handle before strutting back over to my boyfriend as he eyed me intensely.

I let him grab the cart from me but not before pulling him down to whisper in his ear. “Anything for you Daddy..” I say in a hushed tone. Making sure to leave a kiss on his sensitive earlobe as I pull away.

I walk forward trying not to laugh at the silly nickname I used to get him riled up. He trailed behind me, failing to hide his blatant staring at my ass. We make our way down the aisles trying to speed up the process as people begin piling into the store.

“Joonie baby I can’t reach this,” I said struggling to reach the box of goldfish on the top shelf. He moved over to me in a flash, pressing his front flush against my back. I heard his breathing stop as I purposely pushed my ass against him.

“This one, this one, this one, or this one…” He trailed off purposely picking the wrong boxes to tease me. He finally grabbed the correct item and tossed it in the cart. Walking away as if he didn’t leave me speechless and flustered on the cracker aisle.

I follow him to the snack aisle after grabbing a few bottles of wine and champagne for our date tonight. The empty aisle presents another opportunity for me to assert my dominance. I walk over to the chips looking at them inquisitively as if I’m mocking a character.

“Honey do you want this kind or this kind?” I said while bending over. Making sure to sway slowly as I wait for an answer. “Babe? Which-“ I was cut short as a hand firmly grabbed my ass causing me to yelp in surprise and sit up straight.

“I want this one right here,” he growled in my ear. I turned around and looked at him, watching his eyes darken with hunger. “Let’s get outta here yeah?” He questioned looking into my eyes. I nodded furiously ready to exit this hell and get home to what’s waiting.

We race to the self-checkout line, scanning and bagging groceries like a 5000-dollar prize is awaiting the winner. Namjoon grabbed my hand after he paid and pulled me along with him as he pushed the basket with his other hand. He was so warm, skin clear and kissable. I wanted to pull him aside and cover him in kisses, not caring about the people around us.

Namjoon unlocks the car as we stop beside it. I move to walk around the cart but he stops me in my tracks. “Let me help you get the groceries in the car love,” I say looking confused at his sudden maneuver.

Unexpectedly, he opened the car door and motioned for me to get inside. I insisted again that I help but he gave me a look that I know better than to disobey. I got inside praying I didn’t anger him too much. I set myself up for this one, didn’t I? It’ll be worth it in the end right? Maybe I went a little too far with the texts but I can’t help but shiver with anticipation. I pull out my phone to text Jimin about my bad decisions.

Me: I think I fucked up lol

Park Chanel: you’re welcome ;)

Namjoon slams the trunk shut causing me to jump in surprise. I close my phone sitting it in the cup holder beside me. He gets in the car, jaw still tense as he turns the key in the ignition. I thought about breaking the silence but the tension was so thick a knife would recoil at the slight pressure of penetration. Namjoon puts on his seatbelt then proceeds to look at me.

“ I don’t want to hear another peep from you Y/N..” he starts lowly not breaking eye contact for a second. “You’ve done enough for tonight, if you do anything stupid I swear I will pull the car over and take you on the side of the road. I promise you wouldn’t want that.” He deadpans and looks away from me, pulling out of the parking spot. I utter a soft okay and prepare to behave the rest of the way home.

I slide my palm over to his free hand resting on his thigh. I stare firmly at him, giving my best puppy eyes in return. He doesn’t look away from the road but I watch as his lip twitches into a small smile. He grabs my hand, rubbing his large thumb over the back of my hand. In love can’t begin to describe how I truly feel about this man.

I laugh as he tries to sing along to Smoke Sprite, raspy voice blending well with Soyoon. I rap along to his part of the song, stealing the spotlight and making him bop his head in excitement. The song finishes and we’re about 10 minutes from our place. I check my phone and see a text from our group chat, making the recent grocery store escapades flash through my mind. I want him to touch me again, I like it when he’s desperate and needy for me.

Another terrible idea floods my brain accompanied by a mound of outcomes. I suddenly let go of Namjoons hand causing him to spare me a confused expression. A smile graced my face as I turned my body forward, grabbing the slit of my dress and opening it over my legs. I let my left hand run down the front of my dress, stopping at my panties hesitating even.

I slide my hand under the fabric immediately coming in contact with the soft skin. I dip my fingers and get to work. I began letting out dramatized moans and grunts. I moan Namjoon's name and furiously let my hand lose control. I looked over and saw Namjoon gripping the steering wheel in frustration. Sweat adorned his angelic face, veins prominent in his hands. I let this go on until we reached the last stop light near our apartment building. I sat up and closed my legs acting like I didn’t just masturbate next to my boyfriend in a moving car.

We pull into the lot entering our designated spot. Namjoon quietly turned off the engine and released a sigh that he seemed to have been holding in. He looks absolutely pissed and it’s so sexy. His erratic breathing only made me wetter by the second.

“You’re going to follow my instructions carefully. I don’t want to hear a word from you or tonight will be your worst fucking nightmare got it?” He questioned angrily letting his eyes trail over my body once more. I nodded too scared to move an inch more.

“Go upstairs, get undressed, wait in the middle of the bed. If you’re not in that spot when I come up there in 15 minutes, you better pray you can stop time.” He seethes hotly. “Yes sir,” I say scared and ready for more. He gets out of the car walks around and opens my door. He grabs my purse from my lap holding eye contact, his brown almond eyes dark and predatory.

“Go.” He states motioning for me to exit the vehicle. I get out swiftly, grabbing my purse from his hand and sprinting towards the entrance of the building. The elevator took an eternity to bring me to our floor. I ran to the door and shakily put in the passcode, messing up a few times before it finally let me in.

My shoes are off in a flash, I leave my purse by the door as well abandoning my shades on the counter as I run past to the stairs. I burst into our room, slipping my dress off. Almost fell as I grabbed my silk lavender robe hanging on the wall. I threw it on and climbed onto the bed. My anklet glowed in the natural light seeping through the parted curtains. The front door swung open slamming against the wall.

I heard shuffling, cabinets opening and closing for 10 more minutes before his heavy footsteps echoed through our hallway. He walked into the room eyeing me before raising an eyebrow. I started to sweat nervously hoping I did what I was told.

“Who told you to put on your robe Y/N?” He questioned in amusement. He slowly walked over to me, grabbing each side of the robe and ripping it open. He discarded it onto the floor and stalked around the bed, he stood at the front motionless. “On your knees in front of me, now.” He said and I immediately left the bed. I swung my legs over the side and dropped to my knees.

Namjoon watched me through lidded eyes as I crawled over to him on my knees, stopping directly in front of his growing bulge. I was quick to unlatch the hook of his buckle, the metal of the belt clinging as it hit the hardwood floors.

“I’ll excuse the robe mishap since you’re so eager to taste me doll face,” he said reaching down to grab my chin. A loud moan echoed through the room as he grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. He looked down at me, motioning his head back as if telling me to open up. I did as I was told and watched as he spit in my mouth and closed it back. He pulled his pants down and kicked them to the side.

“Good girl, now eat.” He said intensely. He hummed in satisfaction, eyes never leaving the way I wrapped my fingers around his cock and finally engulfed his length into the warmth of my mouth. I took him in slowly inch by inch, his girth heavy against my tongue as I extended my jaw wider and wider. I choked a little as he hit the back of my throat.

“You look so fucking gorgeous with your lips wrapped around me, pet,” his fingers tightened into my hair, his gaze stoic and heavy on me. Pet. The pet name earned a moan from me as I began a steady rhythm of sucking. My fingers were coated in a thick layer of saliva, Namjoon’s cock easily sliding against my pressured grip as my cheeks hollowed, jaw growing sore from my strenuous movements.

He groaned loudly, fucking my throat faster until I could no longer take it. I let my jaw go slack so he could use me as his personal toy. He grabbed my face and fucked it harder until I was seeing stars. A beautiful repetition of my name strung from his tongue, stilling as he came into my mouth. I happily swallowed every drop, coughing around his cock one last time, sending a shiver through his body.

“Good job, get on the bed I want to taste you. I can see you dripping on the floor,” he smirks as he picks me up and helps me onto the bed. He walks around and gets in the middle of the bed, watching me as I sit patiently waiting for instructions.

“Come here baby, sit on my face,” he motioned for me to come to him. I slowly crawled towards him, bracing myself on his lap. He kissed me roughly, tasting himself on my tongue, running his hand down to play with my chest. Nipples sensitive to the touch, he pulls away from me, taking my right breast in his mouth. Sucking and nibbling on me, teasing me. He pulled off with a pop, scooting further down the bed and then lifting me so I could move towards his face.

I place my hands on the headboard hovering over his face in anticipation. He suddenly grabs my thighs and pulls me down onto him. I scream out in pleasure as he dives into my center. Feverishly lapping his tongue at my pussy like it’s the last time he’ll have me. His moans send intense vibrations through my body, making me scream his name. We’ll have a noise complaint tomorrow.

I felt my orgasm coming on, riding his tongue until my legs were sore. He let go of my left thigh to slap my ass hard, signaling me to cum on his tongue. I came with a loud groan of his name. Shaking and twitching as I came down from my high.

Namjoon grabbed my hips, gently guiding me down to his lap. His face was covered in my essence, from nose to chin, he glistened like an Angel. He smiled and rubbed circles on my tummy as he watched me shake.

“Don’t think we’re done darling, I’m not finished until I see my cum dripping down your pretty legs.” He gave me one last smile before his eyes darkened once more. He grabbed my hips and lifted me slightly, sticking his girth fully inside me. I sank slowly, letting him fill me to the brim. Tears streamed down my cheeks loving the painful stretch in my core.

“Ride me until I say stop.” He deadpanned motioning for me to move or else. I started to ride him painfully slow, not being able to take much more. This was my opportunity to finally seize control. I picked up the pace, rhythmic grunts and sounds of skin slapping filled the room. I put my hands on his chest and let my hips do the talking.

I ground down harder, spelling his name with every swift motion of my hips. I felt his cock twitch inside of me, indicating he was close already. Now that I have control I’m going to make him feel everything he did to me. I moved faster, causing the bed to shake and tremble with every shout of his name.

He grabbed my hips trying to make me slow down but I only grind down harder. Clenching and tightening around him to send me him over the edge. I watched as his orgasm roared through him, eyes rolling to the back of his head. I kept moving, milking everything from him. Getting closer to my orgasm, I let myself go with one last yell of his name.

Squeezing my eyes shut as I finally stilled. The sound of heavy breathing filled the room, the bed creaking as I rolled off of him. Shivering as the empty feeling overtakes me when he’s not inside of me. “I hope I didn’t get too carried away,” I started while looking over at my completely wrecked boyfriend.

“That was perfect.” He said smiling over at me. He slowly stood up, going to our bathroom to retrieve a towel. He returned momentarily, cleaning me off and then cleaning himself. Throwing the towel in the hamper against the wall. I was so exhausted I could barely move. I got under our giant duvet, getting comfortable fairly quickly.

Namjoon glanced at me, nestled under the warm blankets, my eyes getting heavy with exhaustion. He promised me a special date night and he was determined to make it happen, even if he just put me to sleep. With a gentle smile, his aftercare continued.

“Hey, babe,” he whispered softly, brushing a strand of loose hair from my face. “I know you’re tired but I don’t want our date night to go to waste.”

I yawned in response and mumbled sleepily, “Joonie I’m so comfy right here.” Earning a chuckle from him, my reluctance seeped through the atmosphere. “I know, but trust me, you won’t regret it. I’ve got something in the living room set up for us.”

That caused me to sit up, curiosity overcoming my fatigue. “Oh? What is it?” I said carefully. “It’s a surprise, but I promise it’ll be worth it.” He said leaning in to plant a kiss on my forehead.

With his gentle encouragement, I reluctantly pushed the covers aside and allowed Namjoon to help me out of bed. He passed me the discarded robe and my slippers, and together we made our way to the living room.

Where soft candlelight flickered with a movie on the screen waiting to be played. As I settled onto the couch I couldn’t help but smile at the effort Namjoon had put into creating this romantic haven. A charcuterie board with our favorite snacks and 2 bottles of the wine we purchased earlier were on the coffee table.

Namjoon plopped down beside me, taking my hand in his. “See princess? Our date night in the living room isn’t so bad, is it?” He said grinning like he won the lottery. My fatigue began to dissipate as I basked in the warmth of Namjoon's love and effort. “Not bad at all,” I said, feeling grateful for his consistency and thoughtfulness.

“Let’s start the movie I’m so excited!” I exclaimed pumping my fist in the air embarrassingly hard. Namjoon laughed and mimicked me, making me laugh even harder than before. The first half of the movie went by as we stuffed our faces with food and downed wine like it was our last supper. I was starting to feel tipsy and before I knew it my thoughts started wandering again.

“Mmm, these snacks are-“ Namjoon started as he reached for the charcuterie board. I interrupted his thought by grabbing his hand. Namjoon looked at me puzzled, “huh?” He says in surprise. I move closer and settle onto his lap. “I want to be closer to you,” I said, hands resting on his toned chest.

Namjoon blinked at me, a tipsy smile forming on his lips, “Well I can’t argue with that pet.” I look into his eyes exploring the galaxies I can reach within them. “You know, I love nights like these, just you and me, a movie, some wine…” I rambled to him.

“Yeah, me too. It’s moments like this when I realize how lucky I am to have you in my life baby.” He said while lost in my eyes. Searching for something, something that he knows I have. I leaned in slowly, our lips almost touching, “I love you Namjoon.” I kissed him before he could respond. Feeling his emotions spill into our kiss. He pulled us apart gently, rubbing his hand on my cheek. “I love you too Y/N.”

He grabbed my face and captured my lips again. A thief that could do no wrong in my eyes, I deepened the kiss craving more of him. Needing to feel something more. I slowly began moving my hips on his thigh, grinding down onto the exposed skin, earning a guttural groan from his throat.

His hands moved down the side of my body, exploring every curve, touching every mark he left on me this evening. He landed on my hips, guiding me to my last orgasm with his strong hands. The air was hot once more, soft moans and sweet nothings penetrated the quiet.

The movie is long forgotten, the candlelight coating the walls in a beautiful golden glow. I felt my orgasm building quickly, still sensitive from the earlier assault on my clit. Namjoon began bouncing his leg, adding more pressure on my center, and sending me over the edge.

I kiss him one last time before I fall fast asleep on him.

The end.

[shoukiko]

Merry Christmas, Simon

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Tags: Fluff....just fluff lol

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: I've been working on this for a bit, just waiting to post it today, I'm all antsy, I really hope you guys like it.

You’ve worked with TF141 for the past three years. Price spoke to Laswell, saying that he thought the team deserved some type of break, so he and Laswell came up with an “amazing holiday getaway” to “a hidden oasis where the only sounds you hear are the rustling leaves and the soothing melody of birdsong.”. It was a small cabin in the middle of nowhere, for safety reasons, but you were all grateful for it. It was 2 weeks away, a day would’ve been fine, but she insisted.

It was a week and two days into the trip, snowing outside, your turn for chores. Soap and Gaz sat on the couch in front of an old television watching some soap opera. Price is sitting in one of the lounge chairs, asleep with his arms crossed as his head dangles. You’re tidying up the kitchen after a late dinner, you turn to look at the clock hung on the wall which reads, 12:05. You realize what this entails as you turn to the three men.

“Merry Christmas, guys!” You say cheerfully in their direction. 

“Merry Christmas, Lass.” Soap says from his seat, he nudges Gaz to respond. “Ah- Yea Merry Christmas…” He seems to be too focused on the TV show, who can blame him, those telenovelas are addicting. You decide against waking Price up, the man needs his sleep. As you turn back to the sink you feel a tap on your left shoulder, you turn to see Ghost’s tall dark figure hovering over you, sporting his casual skull balaclava.

“Oh, hey. What’s up?” You tilt your head as you ask, genuinely curious as to what he could need that requires a tap on the shoulder instead of him outright asking.

“You got a minute? Wanted to see if we could have a quick chat.” His tone is somewhat nervous? He isn’t as husky or gritty as usual. “Sure, let me finish up and-” He cuts you off before you can finish. “It’s important. I’ll help you out after.” 

Must really be important if the Ghost tells you it is. “Alright.” You wipe your hands on your apron, untying it from your back and hanging it up on a nearby chair. “Grab your coat.” He dons his own coat, all in one fell swoop. You grab yours, putting it on. 

You both head outside to the porch, each taking a seat on the swinging bench that hangs from the veranda. “Ah wait here-” He says, standing once more, he heads inside and comes back hiding something in his coat. “Whatcha got there, Mister?” You ask him as he sits back down, the bench shifts slightly from his weight.

He pulls out a plastic bag that contains multiple little things, he hands it to you. Taking notice of the slight blush at the end of his fingertips you slowly take the bag. “Merry Christmas… Sorry, didn’t get to wrap it.” A bashful tone in his voice.

“You.. got me something? Man, I feel a little bad, if I would’ve known I would’ve done the same..” You say, hesitating to open it. “Don’t fret over it… Are you gonna open it or just stare at it?”

“Ah right- Sorry” You carefully reach into the bag and pull out one of the small items. It’s… 

“Socks! You got me socks?!” A smile appears on your face, beaming in the night. Despite the mask, his eyes crinkled with a smile. “There’s more if you look.” 

You open the bag more and find more small items, a small tube of vanilla scented lotion, a notepad, and some cinnamon wax melts. You’re happy, but oh so confused by the difference of each item.

“This is… Thank you. I really love it, but what’s with the theme?” You ask with a laugh.

“Well…” He pauses to think for a minute. “It’s all things you wanted.” “Huh..?”

“A couple days ago you said you couldn’t find your winter socks, then you said you forgot your hand cream back at home, then you said while eating dinner two nights ago that you love the smell of cinnamon during Christmas because it reminds you of good memories from your childhood.” You’re taken aback, you don’t remember saying any of these things until he brings it up, such small things and yet he remembers. 

“You… you actually remember?” A faint blush appears on your face as you scan over your new gifts, suddenly feeling warm despite the subzero temperatures. “Uhm.. Thank you.. Really. Was this what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No, actually.” His expression becomes somber as he closes his eyes and takes a breath, he turns his body slightly and rests his arm on the back of the bench. “Look, I don’t know how else to bring this up.”

“What’s wrong?”

Ghost grips the back of the bench before meeting your eyes.

"Listen, I've been thinkin' a lot lately, and I reckon I need to be straight with you. You mean a proper lot to me, more than I can put into words. I'm mad about you, every single goddamn I hear your voice or that stupid laugh.. It’s like something shifts in me. I care about you, more than  I have about anyone in a long time, but…”

Your heart beating out of your chest, uncertain on how to respond. All you can let out is a

“But..?”

He looks down, almost like he’s ashamed before responding.

“I’m.. scared, terrified. Of hurting you.. Or you getting into an accident during a mission. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.” His tone is serious, but you can hear a sense of fear.

You look at him with genuine eyes, you almost can’t believe what’s happening in front of you, the Ghost confessing his feelings for you. “But…” He continues. “If you’ll have me, I’m willing to take that leap into uncertainty with you. If… you want.”

You look at him as if you’re a deer caught in headlights. You begin to lose your breath, blinking,  unable to process what was said to you. You take a moment before replying…

“I- I….” You struggle to find the words, you want to scream, but you also want to take it slow and really talk about it. You can see him become antsy, your silence bringing tension to the cold air around you. “Ghost I..”

“It’s fine.” He interrupts.

“What?”

“It’s fine, I know it’s sudden. I’m sorry.” He says, there's a slight hurt in his voice, he goes to stand. Just then you grab his arm, stopping him.

“I want.” “...What..?” “You said if I want…. Well.. I want, I don’t know how else to say it. I do want to be with you. I want to jump into that uncertainty with you. Please.” There’s a tinge of desperation in your voice, you feel as if you say nothing now, you will never have this opportunity again.

Ghost looks as if a wave of relief has washed over him. 

“I thought you were gonna make me think I said all that for nothin’.” His eyes crinkle slightly as he adjusts himself once more.

“I’m sorry, I got nervous, I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.” You begin to fidget with your hands in your lap, a faint blush appearing on your faces as you turn away. 

You feel him inching closer to you, the heat from his body radiating, bringing warmth for both of you to share.

He softly grabs your face with his right hand, turning you towards him. You take glances at his mask and eyes, unable to lock on a single thing. He pulls up his mask just above his nose and leans in, pressing his lips against yours. Only a few seconds before you lean into him, grabbing onto the sleeve of his coat. He places a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. You pull away for just a second to catch your breath. The both of you share a look, complete silence, then..

He chuckles, “Well then..” You place a hand on your mouth as you stare at him, stifling a small laugh. “That was something.” You manage to say through your giggles. You place your hand on his, a loving smile forms on your lips. He begins to caress the back of your hand, his touch gentle, yet warm. “Thank you…. Merry Christmas, Doll.” He looks up at you with gentle eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Simon.”

[kimbapisnotsushi]

As far as public bathrooms go, the one at Ocean’s Edge isn’t all that bad for throwing yourself a pity party in.

The sinks are all sleek and modern-looking, with gold faucets and polished stone basins. Large oval mirrors hang above them, and—true to the club’s name—little neon fish swim all over the navy-blue walls. [Speakers somewhere in the ceiling play the lulling sounds of waves rolling against the shore.] There’s even an air freshener plugged into the corner that puffs out coconut-scented mist every ten minutes[, so that you can truly feel like you’re in a tropical paradise while throwing up from however many drinks it takes to make you forget about a shitty day.]

The black stall isn’t exactly roomy, but Morisuke has just enough space to stretch out his legs while he perches on the edge of the toilet, chewing his bottom lip as he stares at his phone. The screen is bright in the bathroom’s dim lighting and draws all of Morisuke’s attention like a moth to a flame. 

Please, reads the last message. It had been two weeks since then. Kuroo, talk to me. What did I do?

Kuroo never responded. Rereading the conversation makes Morisuke feel like he’s dragging the claw of a hammer across his heart, but he keeps scrolling farther and farther back. 

Let’s end it, Kuroo had written. This didn’t really mean anything, after all. I have better things I could do with my time.

Six months. Six fucking months, and none of it meant anything, apparently. Not the late nights they stayed up to make fun of inaccurate sci-fi series, or the times they met early at the cafe for breakfast because it was their only chance to get together for the day. Not even the time Kuroo opened up about his mother, his gaze distant, and Morisuke had held his hand to anchor him to what was real and here and whole. He still remembers that soft smile Kuroo had given him after, the way they'd curled up on the couch like two puzzle pieces slotting together. Morisuke had offered him tea, hot chocolate, whatever he needed. Kuroo just laughed and kissed his temple.

All I need is you, he had said. You're perfect, Yakkun. i couldn't ask for anything more.

And then not even a week later, Morisuke was getting dumped over text.

"Stupid," he says out loud now. “Dumbass. Idiot. Why the fuck did I ever fall for him?”

The bathroom door creaks open, letting noise from the club spill in, but Morisuke doesn’t pay it any mind until he hears a familiar voice calling out his name. 

“Morisuke? Are you here?”

“No,” Morisuke grumbles. His voice echoes off the bathroom walls. “Go away.”

“You made me promise to stop you before you do anything stupid.” Footsteps fall closer until they pause right outside Morisuke’s stall. Damn Sugawara Koushi and his unwavering loyalty—he’d probably break in if he had to. “Are you planning on doing anything stupid?”

Morisuke unlocks the stall door and lets it swing open. He glares at Koushi, who just smiles back at him. It’s a hot summer night and they’d been surrounded by heated bodies on the dance floor, but Koushi still looks totally put together. Meanwhile, Morisuke is sweating through his socks and the back of his neck feels way too warm.

So, yeah, he’d needed a break. It’s not like he came to the restroom just to feel sorry for himself. 

“You had me worried,” Koushi says. “The last time I saw you, you were downing your seventh shot. And that was after the two drinks you already had.”

Was it really? Morisuke hadn’t been keeping track. He’d just asked for something strong. And again. And again. And then for one more, perhaps two or three times. Maybe five. 

Whatever. Morisuke is feeling perfectly fine. His head is a little foggy, sure, but he’s fine. He can totally think this through. 

“I wanna text him.”

Koushi makes a choked sound. “Oh, no. You are very drunk, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.” Morisuke frowns at his phone. “He never told me why. I want to know that much, at least.”

The door to the stall next to Morisuke’s flies open with a bang, and he and Koushi jump. A body wedges itself between them: tall and broad-shouldered, with artfully-tousled chestnut hair, glasses framing brown-sugar eyes, and a jawline that could cut through steel. Hot, but not Morisuke’s type.

Kuroo had been Morisuke’s type.

-- an excerpt from don't text your ex, a kuroyaku exes-to-lovers fic where yaku gets unsolicited advice from a stranger in the club bathroom

[bambuwu-writes]

is this my first fic-let??????? 747 word count last i checked. azuma ohhh azuma....!!!

Azuma has a horrible habit of watching doors. Watching doors open, watching doors close, watching doors when they don't move, wondering when they will. He watches when someone knocks, and opens his door, hands leaning on the handle, and he wills the hinges to move, prays for the door to swing open just a bit more, so that when they leave, it’ll take just that second longer to close it.

He watches when the door opens, and people stand outside of it, talking to him from out in the hall. When people stand in the doorway, one foot planted in his room, asking if he wants oolong or sencha? When people walk in, and close the door behind them. That's something he seems to love watching. A fixation, perhaps. To see whether or not they either: close the door completely by hand, let it swing closed on its own, or let it swing, but stay that strange little crack open, almost brushing against the frame. Sometimes when scrolling on his phone, or reading, or coloring, or stretching, or anything, he’ll stop and start watching the door. He never notices he does this. He'll just sit and watch. Sometimes up to 10 minutes straight, he’ll just. Watch. 

Who's gonna knock. 

Who's coming through next? 

Is someone coming next? 

Will anyone ever come next? 

They’ve all left, haven't they. Everyone moved out. They didn't think to let me know. no one told me. They moved out, and there are no pots or pans left in the kitchen. The fridge isn't plugged in. The rugs have been rolled up and put away, the spots where they laid mark a full shade different from the rest of the flooring. The practice room is locked. It's dusty. 

Would it matter if he had the keys? 

A set of keys for all the rooms? 

If he went in to sweep? 

The gardens are dead, he muses. Tsumugi must have felt so bad, leaving his gardens. He must have dug up the plants into pots to move them. Move them to. To. To wherever he was moving them to. They left and they didn't tell me. There are no feet running in the halls, on the ceiling above me, pounding on the wood loud enough to make me jump. There are no more backpacks being dropped carelessly on the floors. There's no more rustle and thump of bags of groceries being hauled into the kitchen. The TV isn't on. 

No one’s left the TV on.

I can't hear the TV on. 

The vacuum is in a storage closet. That nice one that Matsukawa had to make a written request to Sakyo for, with the mop attachment and everything. All the dressers are empty. If he went through every room in this building and pulled out every drawer, he’d find nothing but sweet little brown house-spiders. He feels like he can remember it. Everyone, packing outside his room. calling out to collect another load of garbage, for more packing materials, if anyone had a spare laundry bag? He remembers it. It has to be true then, if he can see it so clearly, feel it in the pit of his stomach, making him sweat, making him shiver. 

They left, and didn't tell me.

Izumi opens the door without knocking, and steps in. Steps in with both feet. Both feet across the threshold. Socks tracking dust onto his carpet. She is standing in his room. In his room.

“Azuuu, I can't figure out what to wear tonight, and when I asked Tsumugi he just said anything would look nice. I mean, like, I know?? but that doesn't helppp! Ok-ok-ok, ummm, work-casual, or like…classy-casual?”

“Oh, definitely classy-casual, sweetheart. You’ll be making that whole bar swoon.”

A ringing laugh, and a hand on the wall. On his wall, to support her as she leans over in her amusement.

“Aw, hush! You mean we will! Pshh, alright, okay, I got it. You get yourself dressed up, see you at the door in 30, ‘kay?”

And when Izumi leaves, she leaves the door open for a moment, and he can see Juza and Tsuzuru walk past, arms laden with a snack haul, the silvery foil crinkle of a chip bag that Taichi was already calling dibs for. A quick shuffling of feet later, Izumi pops back in, stage-whispers a smiling ‘sorry!’ and closes the door again, turning the handle so it clicks back in almost silently.

Azuma stands. He needs to pick out a shirt to wear.

[skepsiss]

For the @steddiesummerexchange to @stevesjockstrap!

Batter Up: Chapter 2 of 5

Read [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

Rated: Explicit

Summary: This fluffy story is about Baseball Player Steve Harrington, meeting Rock Star Eddie Munson and the whirlwind 1-week romance turned committed relationship. They're instantly obsessed with one another, but neither knows how to take things to the next level. Enjoy Steve being a love-sick idiot! (The story turns explicit in Chapter 4, other chapters are all fluff). In this chapter, we get to read Eddie's POV and how obsessed he is with Steve, too. Chrissy is here to cheer him on.

Read Chapter 2 below, or [read it on Ao3]

Big thank you to @thefreakandthehair for beta reading for me and helping me with my NBA terms!

Graphic made by me!

”I want to bite his ass like it’s a fucking apple,” Eddie gritted out, his hands tense and clawing at the air as he seemingly held back unfathomable amounts of sexual tension. “Gross!” Chrissy trilled, bouncing the squash ball in her hand against the ground to warm it up. “You don’t need to be so crass, Eddie.” “You don’t understand—” Eddie hissed, sitting forward in his seat as he spoke to Chrissy through the plexiglass. She gave him an unimpressed look, saying ‘really’ silently with a twisted lip and a raised brow. “Okay, you understand— just! He’s so fucking hot, and I swear to fucking God if he lets me near him, I’m going to go berserk,” Eddie groaned, sighing dramatically as he bounced his leg. “Don’t you have a date tomorrow?” Chrissy asked, squeezing the little black ball in her hand a few times before casually starting to bounce it against her racket. “That’s the problem! Chrissy! Jesus Christ—he’s like… fucking Adonis. How am I—I clam up like a Mongolian death worm every time he gets near me. I can’t—I can’t even get close to laying the moves on him ‘cause I’m, like, fucking useless. It isn’t even a date tomorrow. It’s like a poorly concealed, deep-fake, seduction attempt. I don’t know! You know I’m fucking useless at actually flirting with guys unless I’m off my fucking rocker, high out of my mind,” Eddie lamented, finally standing up and beginning to pace. Chrissy’s shoes squeaked on the floor as she served and started to play a single game of squash by herself. She was listening, Eddie knew she was, this was sort of par for the course with them. He was on Chrissy’s time, and he wasn’t going to complain about being stuck inside a squash court with his best friend, even if it smelt like an old sock. 

Alright, maybe he would complain a little bit.

“But we’re not—” Chrissy puffed, exerting herself as she kept up the conversation, “—going to get high—right?”

“No, I’m not going to get high,” Eddie groaned, feeling his fingers twitch against his leg. He had given drugs up—or at least he hoped he had—but that didn’t mean that it made existing without them easy. “I don’t want to depend on drugs to flirt, I just—I wish I was starting out with a smaller-fry, you know? First big thing out of rehab, and I’m smacked in the face with Steve Harrington? Why didn’t you tell me about him earlier? He’s just—-ugh! Chrissy!” Eddie whined, his stature devolving as he crumpled to his knees on the squishy floor. 

“Not my fault—you refused every invite—to baseball before—now,” Chrissy retorted, the bang of the ball against the wall making it a bit difficult to hear her. “You didn’t tell me my fucking Achilles heel of men existed in cotton spandex pants, and a baseball cap,” Eddie complained, crawling back over to the bench to pull himself up onto it. “He looks so fucking good, Chrissy. God… it’s like the gods sculpted his ass and put it inside white sheets woven from the strings of fate itself.” Chrissy missed the swing and puffed, putting her hands on her hips as she caught her breath. “You’re really….” she sighed, finally looking over at Eddie and smiling at him, “... into this guy, Eddie. You going to write poetry for all the boys you get a crush on? It’s pretty cute, actually.” “Don’t call me cute,” Eddie huffed, rolling his face toward the bench to hide from Chrissy. “I just… don’t want to fuck this up, Cece…”

Eddie heard the door to the squash court open and the muted sound of Chrissy’s shoes against the mats. It didn’t take long for her to get to the bench and sit down with him, her fingers instantly in his hair. It was soothing, and Eddie only resisted for a moment before he inched forward and put his head in her lap. 

“You won’t mess it up…” Chrissy repeated, tailoring her reply so she wasn’t swearing as well. Chrissy was sweet, and Eddie was no stranger to this sort of kindness from her. They had dated, once upon a time, and Eddie could confidently say that Chrissy was the only person he had been with that he had really loved. He still loved her, even though they weren’t together, and he didn’t think he could ever not love Chrissy Cunningham, but the attraction they had once shared was void now. They just weren’t meant to be romantic, but Eddie knew that losing that intimacy with Chrissy had destroyed his heart. Still, he was more than grateful to have her as a friend. No one knew him better than Chrissy, and he didn’t hold out hope for them to get back together. It had been the drugs that had broken them up, but it had been Chrissy’s confession that she was more attracted to women that had kept them apart. 

He didn’t begrudge her, but Eddie had never been able to shake the feeling that he had been the one to fuck everything up for them. That it was his shortcomings that had poked holes into an already sinking ship. He was great at that kind of stuff— an expert at ruining a good thing. 

“I don’t know… if I’m ready,” Eddie confessed, his necklaces clinking together as he rested his head on Chrissy’s thighs. 

“Ready for what?” Chrissy asked, her voice gentle as she continued to pet his hair away. “A relationship…” Eddie sighed. He had been single for years now and had only really pursued flings or one-night stands. Even then, he had gotten out of rehab a few months ago and he hadn’t even tried to hook up with anyone since getting out. It was too intimidating to flirt when he didn’t have drugs to rely on, and now he was being blindsided by the prospect that he didn’t just want to sleep with Steve. 

“You really like this guy, huh?” Chrissy smiled, her tone so caring it made Eddie’s heart ache. 

He hid again, rolling his face into the crisp white of Chrissy’s uniform. She looked tooth-achingly sweet in it, and Eddie only let himself feel a little bad for getting eyeliner on her skirt. 

“Oh, Eddie…” Chrissy lamented, still petting his head. “You’re allowed to want things, sugar.”

Eddie let out a held breath, his fingers clenching at the soft fabric of Chrissy’s outfit. “But what… if I fuck it up?” He asked again, the fear edging into his voice as he let himself get vulnerable. “How would you mess it up?” Chrissy asked, sounding more like a mother than someone Eddie’s own age. “I don’t know,” Eddie whined, “open my mouth and speak? Show him the fact that I’m a giant fucking nerd with an ego the size of Australia and daddy issues that span the Atlantic Ocean?” 

“You’re being dramatic,” Chrissy sighed, her tone remaining gentle. “Even if that was true, if he doesn’t like or well… accept that kind of stuff about you, he’s not going to be a very good boyfriend.”

Eddie groaned softly, knowing that Chrissy was right, but hating the idea that they could just not work out, and he would have to let go of the idea of Steve Harrington. “What if… he’s just looking for something… short term?” Eddie questioned, feeling his heart and stomach clench in unison. “Well, then you get at least one great night of sex with playboy, Steve Harrington,” Chrissy replied matter-of-factly.

“Chrissy!” Eddie gasped, lifting his head to look at her. He was only mildly scandalized that she would say something forward like that, but he amped up his reaction to get a smile out of her. 

“Lots of ladies are frothing at the mouth to get a date with him, you know,” she continued, grinning. “And you’ve gotten, what? Four dates in the last week?” Eddie breathed a laugh and put his head back down, smiling at her reassurances. She was right. They had been flirting pretty relentlessly, and Eddie was certain Steve was interested in him. So, for flirting to extend over the course of a week… that had to mean Steve wanted more than just a fling, right? 

“You really think I have a shot with him?” Eddie asked, his voice quiet as he turned the idea of just kissing Steve over in his mind. 

“I really think you do,” Chrissy concluded, tugging Eddie’s earlobe until he hissed and sat up. “You’re a catch, Eddie.” He smiled bashfully at her and looked away, rubbing his ear. “Really,” Chrissy offered, patting his thigh. “If you’re just you, really you, without any of the fame or drugs or anything like that… he has to fall for you. If he already likes you enough to ask you out, I have no doubt that he’ll like the real you, Eddie.” 

Eddie frowned, still unable to look at Chrissy as she placated him with compliments. The worst part of it was that he knew she meant it. They weren’t in love, but he loved her. “You’re succeeding in helping my ego take over New Zealand, too,” Eddie teased, sniffing as he tried to hide how touched he was by Chrissy’s comment. She gave his thigh a good pat and then stood up, tucking the frills of her skort behind her as she walked back toward the squash court. 

“Who knows, Eddie,” Chrissy chimed, “maybe this is the makings of real love.” She flashed him a little smile and then slipped back into the court, picking her racket up and starting to warm the ball again. 

Eddie blinked at her, and then slowly felt his cheeks flush as he took those words in. Real love, huh? He really liked the idea of falling in love with Steve. 

Chapter 3

[neewtmas]

ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴀʙʙᴇʏ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ // ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴠ

pairing: george karim x fem!reader

wordcount: 4.6k

summary: a case that takes longer than expected, an unrequited crush, and the hardest decision you ever had to make

a/n: this part was fun to write, that's all i'm gonna say

masterlist series masterlist

taglist: @maraschinomerry @sstrawberriel @poisonquinzell @holymotherfxrkingshirtballs @the-high-lady-of-3am-crackposts @oblivious-idiot @bobbys-not-that-small @myownpainintheass @taygrls @marinalor @y0urm0m12 @fearlessmoony @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @quack-quack-snacks (if you wanna be added or removed, just tell me)

Neither of you said anything. You had finished folding your clothes, even stacking them neatly on top of the blanket and patting them down to make sure it was perfect.

"I've never seen you put that much effort into folding clothes."

You whipped around, immediately crossing your arms in front of your chest as if it would protect and hide you from his eyes.

"I'm not trying to show up in crinkled clothes tomorrow evening", you shot back.

George gave you a small smile. "I see. I'll get changed then."

You turned your back to him, your eyes now fixed on the dirty grey of the old wallpaper that was peeling off the wall in several places. Your arms were still crossed, fingers digging into your sides and grasping at the fabric of the shirt just to have something to hold onto.

"Done."

You turned around slowly, feeling relief wash over you at the sight of George wearing a shirt and pyjama pants. At least for that, Lucy had been kind enough.

After you all had brushed your teeth in the small bathroom a few doors down, it was time to sleep. When you returned to the room, George was already in bed, comfortably under the covers.

You turned off the light with the switch by the door and found yourself in complete darkness. It seemed like some clouds had made their way in front of the moon, blocking all its light. You tried your best to remember the short way to your bed, hands stretched out in front of you to make contact with whatever could possibly be in your way before you ran into it. But to no avail. While your hands were already securely placed on the thin mattress, your foot caught on the bedframe and you let out a strangled curse at the piercing pain shooting up your toe.

"You good?" There was rustling of a blanket, indicating that George had sat back up.

You clenched your teeth, forced out a sound somewhat resembling a yes and crawled onto the bed. The pillow was flat, and the blanket you immediately pulled up to your chin was thin and scratchy. You closed your eyes, trying to calm down your breathing and ignore the pain in your foot. The sooner you fell asleep, the sooner this ordeal would be over.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

As it turned out, the more desperate one was to fall asleep, the harder it was. Half an hour later, after you had turned over approximately a thousand times, you were still wide awake. The cold of the night had crept into the room, and no matter how tightly you wrapped the blanket around yourself, it didn't help against the slight shivering that had taken over your body. The bed probably hadn't been very comfortable even at its best time, but years of use had left their mark and now it felt like you might as well just sleep on the floor for a similar level of comfort.

You listened. It was quiet, both in the natural and supernatural sense. George was breathing steady and deep, from the sound of it he was already asleep. You contemplated for a moment, then carefully removed the blanket from your body and sat up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. You flinched as your bare feet came in contact with the ice-cold wooden floor, but you didn't feel like searching for your socks in the dark so you would just have to be quick. Somewhere in your bag were flashlights, but you didn't want to risk waking George by searching for them under chains and salt bombs, so you'd have to pass on those as well. You quietly tip-toed to the door, tensing up briefly at the creaking hinges before you slipped out onto the dark hallway. You kept close to the wall and felt with your hand over the wallpaper until you reached the next room.

It took you a second to find the doorknob, but when you twisted it open, you were met with what looked like an old storage room. So you closed the door and kept on going to the next room. It was a bedroom, but to your great disappointment, both beds were without a blanket. You closed the door again, leaving yourself in the thick darkness of the hallway. The cold of the house was beginning to catch up to you, what had been just a slight tremble before was now full-on violent shivering. You decided to take one last chance and blindly felt around until you found the door on the other side of the hallway. Another bedroom, this time with blankets, but they looked old, and dirty, and like they would disintegrate the moment you picked them up, so you had to admit defeat. Time to sneak back into bed and hope to warm up at least a little.

It took you a while to find the way back to your room. You pushed open the door and gasped when you were met with George standing in front of you, looking like he had been about to open the door himself.

"What are you doing?", you hissed, letting go of the edge of the door you had clutched seconds earlier, trying to hide how much he had scared you.

"I could ask you the same thing", he whispered back. "I wanted to check on you. You took a long time." His gaze fell onto your hands which were now clasped together in front of you to hide the shivering. "You are shaking, (name)"

"No shit. It's freezing in here. I wanted to check the other rooms for extra blankets. But there aren't any."

Neither of you said anything for a few long moments.

"I'm cold too", George finally admitted.

You didn't dare look at him. The implication of the next logical step was hanging heavy between you.

"Do you think… maybe… would you mind sharing?" George asked, his voice sounding somewhat strangled. You could only imagine how badly he wished to be in his bed in Portland Row right now - warm, cosy and far away from you.

"If you're fine with it, I'm fine with it", you quietly said. Your voice sounded strangled too, you noted, though for very different reasons.

George stepped aside to let you in and closed the door behind you while you made your way over to your bed to snag your blanket. George's flashlight was perched upon his bedside table, switched on to the lowest setting.

"Which side do you want?", George asked behind you. You had your blanket bunched up in front of your chest as you stared down at his bed.

"Left side."

George went to straighten out his blanket before he gently took your blanket from your grip and laid it out on top. He climbed in, got situated close to the wall, and you could feel your heartbeat quicken as you realised how small of a space was left for you. He raised the corner of the blanket and looked at you expectantly, so you sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress felt much more comfortable than your own, and when you took the blanket corner from him and laid down, it was still cold but much more manageable than with only one blanket.

Your whole body was stiff as laid on your back, arms at your side and eyes fixed onto the ceiling. You could feel George next to you, much closer than you had anticipated.

"Could you switch off the light?", George asked. You reached over, careful not to move around too much, and with a little click the room was dark again.

Your breathing was shallow, and you prayed that George wouldn't notice and would just fall asleep as quickly as possible. He moved around next to you, seemingly trying to find a comfortable position, and you couldn't help but feel guilty that he now had only half of an already narrow bed left.

"Oh shit, forgot my glasses", he suddenly mumbled and before you could process what was happening, he was reaching over you to place his glasses onto the nightstand. You swore your heart skipped several beats as you felt his breath ghost over your face for a few seconds, his warmth and weight on your side before he rolled back.

Neither of you said anything, and you tried your best to breathe evenly, though your heart was now beating out of your chest and you felt a little dizzy. How were you supposed to fall asleep like this?

George turned around again. You bit your lip. "Are you comfortable? I can go back to my bed -" "No!", he interrupted you. "No, it's all good. I'm a side sleeper anyway."

You nodded, though he couldn't see you.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked.

Were you? It wasn't as simple as yes or no. You weren't shivering anymore. And you would be lying if you said you didn't enjoy this at least a little bit. But there was also not much space to avoid body contact.

"Yes", you breathed out.

A brief silence, and it felt like George wanted to say something.

"Good night, (name)."

"Good night, George."

He moved around a little more before settling down, and his breathing soon turned steady. You, on the other hand, hadn't moved at all. You stared into the dark, willing for sleep to take you away, but it seemed the universe wasn't on your side tonight.

Finally, when you were sure George was asleep, you turned onto your side with your back to him. You never slept well on your back, and maybe sleep would come quicker that way. But no matter how carefully you shifted around, the bed was so small that your movement seemed to have disturbed him nonetheless. He moved behind you, and you half expected him to say something, maybe ask for more space or for you to go back to your bed. Instead, you had to bite back a noise of surprise as you felt his arm wrap around your waist. Next thing you knew, he had pulled you back against his chest.

"George", you breathed out, your voice almost giving out on you. No answer. You said his name again, a little louder this time. Nothing. His breathing was steady - he was still asleep.

His arm felt heavy on your side, in a very comforting way. You tried to ignore the way you could now also feel his breathing from his chest rising and falling against your back, or the way his hand gripped your shirt - no his shirt. You were wearing his shirt and sleeping in his bed, in his arms. Were you dreaming?

But the anxiety that pooled in your stomach felt too real. As much as this was what you had wished for a million times, just thinking about the next morning made your stomach tie itself in knots. George would be so embarrassed, disgusted even. He, who never went for physical contact when it wasn't necessary.

You knew he wasn't as opposed to it with you, you were a close friend after all. And maybe a position like that was just what happened when two people slept in a narrow bed together. But you couldn't imagine he wouldn't feel extremely uncomfortable about it nonetheless. Not only had you exploited his kindness by making him share his bed just because you felt a little cold - but now you also had forced yourself on him like that.

The longer you thought about it, the more your head hurt. But even though you tried your best to fight it, you couldn't help your tense muscles slowly relaxing in his embrace. The warmth that emanated from his body enveloped you like a cocoon and made you feel safe and secure. Like nothing in the world could hurt you now. As your limbs got heavier and heavier with relaxation and sleep, you scooted back, cuddling a little closer to him. He responded to it, even in his sleep, by tightening his arm around you.

⫘⫘⫘⫘ NEXT MORNING ⫘⫘⫘⫘

The sound of a door slamming pulled you from a deep, dreamless sleep. The first thing you noticed was that you must have turned over during the night because George was now lying on his back. Your head was resting on his chest that was rising and falling with his breaths, his arm securely around your back, holding you in place. You blinked a few times, not daring to move even a little.

Early morning light filled the room, and you could hear steps in the hallway outside your door. That was when you realised that you had to get out of this bed as soon as possible if you wanted to avoid getting mercilessly teased by Lucy for the rest of your life.

You tried to sit up, which was made difficult by George's arm around your middle. He was still grasping at your shirt and you realised there was no way you were gonna be able to get away without waking him up. With some difficulty, you moved off him, and as expected, he started stirring. Your stomach was doing one backflip after the other as he blinked up at you, hair dishevelled from sleep. You fought the urge to lean down and close the small gap between you and - no. No.

He groaned and pushed himself up on his elbow. That's when his eyes wandered down to his other arm, which was still somewhat wrapped around you, his hand dangerously close to the bare skin of your hips where your shirt had ridden up from the way he had been grasping it in the night.

"(name) -" The way he said your name, his voice deeper than usual from the sleepiness clinging to it, sent shivers down your spine.

"I -", you began but got interrupted by several loud knocks on the door.

“(name)! George! Are you awake?” That was Lucy.

Your body moved of its own accord, and you shot up from the bed as if it suddenly burned your skin. Just then, the door opened and Lucy stuck her head in.

“Are you two – oh.”

Her eyes wandered over you standing next to George’s bed, looking like a deer caught in the headlight, over to George who had just put his glasses on and finally over to your bed, which stood against the wall, the lack of blanket and pillow making it obvious that no one had slept there last night.

“Oh.”

You looked at her with wide and pleading eyes, trying to shake your head as subtly as possible as you mouthed a please no. You felt George’s gaze burn on your back. Never before had you wished so badly for the ground to open up and swallow you.

Lucy looked back and forth between you and cleared her throat.

“Well, we thought about going down to the village to get some breakfast. Figured you'd like to join us.”

Your shoulders slumped down in relief.

“Sure,” you said and with a few strides you were by your bed, grabbing the stack of clothes.

“I’ll get changed.”

With that you pushed past Lucy, fleeing the scene without another glance at George.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

After ten minutes in a locked bathroom and several splashes of cold water to the face, you felt somewhat ready to face your friends again. You just had to hope Lucy had taken the hint and wouldn’t say anything, at least not with George around.

On the way down the driveway, Lockwood filled you in on the plans for the day. You would walk down to get some breakfast at a bakery he had spotted on the cab ride the day prior, and then split up.

"Lucy and I will talk to the locals", Lockwood said, plucking the ridiculously big sunglasses from the collar of his coat and putting them on. "I can't wait to find out what the people have to say about this family."

As you continued walking, you let yourself fall back, feeling the need for a little space to clear your head. Eventually, Lucy slowed down her steps so that you could catch up to her, and interlinked your arm with hers.

"You and George need to go to the local library later. We're hoping that maybe the papers around here provide some more insights than the ones in London."

Your eyes fixated on George, who was walking ahead of you next to Lockwood.

"Do you think maybe you could go with George today?" You leaned closer to Lucy, keeping your voice low so that the boys wouldn't be able to hear what you were saying.

"Is this about last night? What happened? You should have seen George after you left for the bathroom." She shook her head. "Poor boy looked like he'd seen a ghost."

Your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. So you had made him uncomfortable.

"It was cold. I tried to get blankets from the other rooms but there were none. So we - we shared his bed."

Lucy let out a little sound of excitement and squeezed your arm.

"No way! And….. did you kiss?"

You choked. George immediately turned around, throwing you a worried glance but you were too busy trying to get through your coughing fit to notice it.

"All good!", Lucy waved him off and gave you a few strong pats on the back with her other hand.

"I take that as a no?"

You cleared your throat. "Obviously", you hissed. "It's bad enough that I basically forced him to cuddle me." She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Because there was no space to sleep any other way? It was really narrow", you added, exasperated.

"Maybe you should try the whole 'I'm so cold' thing again at home", Lucy suggested with a chuckle. "I imagine it wouldn't take long until you got your kiss."

"Or a restraining order", you huffed and pulled your arm away from hers. "Can we please just stop talking about this? I am honestly mortified and you're really not helping."

You walked in silence for a few minutes. You had your hands buried in the pockets of your jacket, the morning air still a little chilly. There was a slight breeze as you walked along the road that led down to the village, the fields on either side swaying slightly in the wind.

"Is there a reason you are so vehemently against even thinking about the possibility that he might like you back?"

You could tell from Lucy’s tone that nothing about that question was meant to tease you.

You couldn't look at her, so instead you focused your gaze on a tree that stood lonely amid the fields. “I just can’t … I can’t see it. You know, when I look at you and Lockwood, it’s so… obvious. It’s just not that way with us.”

You could feel your throat close up a little and unzipped your jacket.

“And what if I said, it is that way with you? It’s obvious to me. And I bet if you asked Lockwood, he’d say the same.”

Lucy reached over to squeeze your shoulder. You had to blink away the tears forming in your eyes as she pulled you into her side.

“I wouldn’t be saying it if I wasn’t absolutely sure about it, (name).”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

After getting some breakfast it was time to split up. You hadn’t asked Lucy to switch with you a second time, because you knew it would be futile, and because George seemed to hover near Lockwood the entire time, there also wasn’t a chance to ask him.

And so you found yourself walking through the narrow streets of the village with George, passing house after house and beautifully planted gardens. The smell of the flowers lingered in the air, but you couldn’t quite enjoy it, for there was something else hanging heavy between the two of you.

A part of you wanted to ask him about it, wanted confirmation that he didn't mind, that you hadn't gone too far, but a much bigger part wanted to bury it and simply never acknowledge it happened. Too great was the fear of him saying something that you couldn't bear to hear.

Eventually, the silence felt like it was about to choke you.

„So, what exactly is our plan for today?”, you asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

George glanced at his watch. “Catch the train, and visit the library in the next village over. I’m dying to get my hands on some local papers and records. There is something wrong with this family, and we need to find out what that is before tonight. From experience, fighting the dead and the living simultaneously doesn't work out that well”, he added with a little chuckle.

“I want to know more about Genevieve”, you said. “I feel like we almost know nothing about her.”

George nodded. “Just what I was thinking. The archives had awfully little information about her.”

You couldn’t help some of the tension leaving your body at the way he smiled at you. Luckily it seemed like he wasn’t going to hold last night against you.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The train was just as empty as the one you had taken out of London the day prior. George had chosen the seat next to you instead of sitting opposite of you, which meant that you spent almost the entire time staring out of the window. The sitting arrangement invoked memories of the most recent train ride that you had spent sleeping against his shoulder and as much as you tried to think of something else, you couldn’t fight the blush that spread over your cheeks. He didn’t have to see that.

The train station you got off of just a few minutes later looked almost identical to the one where you had boarded the train. The narrow streets and crooked houses with stone walls overgrown with ivy that you walked past made it seem like you didn’t even leave Stoneford, but you figured that was probably because every village around here looked the same.

The library was located in the corner of a small town square, squeezed in between two houses, each with differently coloured window shutters. It looked unassuming, but the elderly lady that you had asked for directions had pointed you there.

A metal plaque let into the stone next to the door indicated you had found the right place. George twisted the knob, and the wooden door opened into a rather small room that was flooded with light from the midday sun shining through the windows next to the door. You passed over the threshold after George, taking in the framed newspaper cutouts hanging on the walls, a little cart in the corner that was stacked so full of books that some would surely fall off in case it was moved, and a hallway at which end you spotted several bookshelves in the shadows.

A bell chimed as George opened the door and again when you closed it behind yourself, and the person who had been typing away at the computer on a desk at the other side of the room leaned over and peeked past the screen. It was a blonde girl roughly your age, maybe a little older, and her neutral expression was quickly replaced with a dazzling smile.

She greeted you as you came up to her desk. "How can I help you?"

George cleared his throat. You glanced over to him and then at the girl, and you could feel yourself shrinking back.

This was gonna go just great.

The girl, who introduced herself as Emily, noticeably perked up when George explained that you were agents from London.

"That's so cool! I barely see any agents around here, you wouldn't believe how boring it is. But then again that's probably a good thing because it means we don't have to deal with many ghost appearances. I don't even know how I would deal with ghosts if I think about it. Well, I wouldn't do it myself obviously, I would call agents like you. Anyways, are you here to research something? I can help you out, I have read just about every book in here."

She beamed at both of you. Or maybe just at George, it was hard to tell. You briefly wondered how she was able to unload all this information on you so quickly without taking a single breath in between sentences.

"We're investigating a haunting at Abbey House. Do you know anything about that?" George adjusted his glasses.

Emily's eyes widened. "Abbey House? Of course, I know that. Everyone around here does. You must be a very capable agency if they called you out of London just for that. What is it like, being an agent? I imagine it must be very frightening at times."

You could tell that George liked her interest in your profession, and had to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes. She seemed sweet enough, but for some reason you found yourself feeling annoyed. Maybe because she talked so much.

Emily led you through the hallway and past some bookshelves to a few desks that had been squeezed into the space between the wall and the last bookshelf.

"Make yourself comfortable, I know just what you need. Give me a few seconds!"

With that, Emily disappeared and you sat alone with George. He pulled out one of the chairs and hung his jacket over the backrest before he sat down.

"Never would have thought we'd find such a well-organised library around here. Nothing better than a librarian that knows their way around."

Your chest tightened a little at his words, and you just made a vague sound of agreement. Then you sat in silence, and you had your eyes fixed on the bookshelf in front of you, pretending to study the selection of books in the different rows. In reality, you just stared into nothingness and if anyone had asked you afterwards, you wouldn't have been able to name even one of the books on display.

Emily returned not long after, balancing a pile of books and newspapers in front of her. You watched as George jumped up to take them from her, and the tight feeling in your chest returned, intensifying as Emily pulled over one of the chairs to sit down in between you and George. You watched as she splayed out the books and newspapers on the table, pointing at each one and giving a brief summary.

You wanted to listen to what she was saying, you really did, but you could feel your attention slipping away, her voice beginning to sound muffled and far away, while you just sat and watched how George clung to every word she was saying.

She pushed a book over to you and you began flipping through the pages absentmindedly, pretending you were looking for something - you didn't even know what you were supposed to be looking for. The words on the page were blurring together, and even after reading the first sentence of the chapter for the fifth time, you still hadn't grasped its meaning. Instead, you found yourself constantly glancing over to where Emily was reading intently, every now and then pointing something out to George, which he would scribble down in the notebook he brought.

You shouldn't have come.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

thank you for reading! feedback is appreciated <3

Part VI

[sour-ggrapess]

𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄 - ❝will you sleep with me?  i know how that sounds i just mean—  i feel safe when you’re there.❞

pjm. fluffy smut. subby jimin

btw i put 3 request in one cuz i really wanna start a series

"yeah?" You responded, peering your head back in the doorframe to see what Jimin wanted as he called your name. His eyes stuck on you, as he had a sad glow in his eyes. "Im sorry, nevermind." You could sense a hint of vulnerability in his voice, making you curious about what was bothering him. "Are you sure everything's okay?" You said it gently, offering your presence as a source of comfort. Stepping back into the room as you pushed the door behind you, You noticed Jimin's hesitance, wondering if he would open up to you. 

 

"Will you sleep with me? I-i know how that sounds... I just feel safe with you next to me."

He said this, looking hopeful, as if he were waiting for you to say yes. "Uhm, yeah, ok, I'll stay." You replied, slightly taken aback by his request but understanding the vulnerability behind it. Jimin was always protective, and you knew he would do anything to make sure you were safe, so why can't you return the favor and just do the bare minimum to put his mind at ease? You pull back the covers and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. His practice is warm and comfy, as it helps you get comfortable as you softly whisper "goodnight." His soft voice whispers it back as you turn over to face the opposite side of the room, feeling a sense of peace and contentment. You drift off to sleep before the dreams take you on a journey through your subconscious mind.

 

light off the walls, casting a warm and comforting glow throughout the room. Soft groans and breaths fill  the air as the weight next to you shifts closer to you, a pair of arms snake around your waist, and the light feel of Jimin's breath against your neck.  

He smacks his lips as he nuzzles up into your backside as his cock rests at the top of your ass , sending a shiver down your spine. You can't help but surrender to the intoxicating sensation. His erection grows against your body, from soft and breathy to uncomfortable groans and shifting of his body, causing you to slowly awaken.

Eyes slowly opening as his monas turn into whimpers as he ruts his cock up against you. "Jimin, what the fuck are you doing?" You scoot away and turn to face him , horrified by his actions.  "His eyes open as he looks at you with heavy eyes and an open mouth "Wha-what?" he asked with sleep decorating his words before he looked down to see his cock poking through his pajama pants. "I'm so sorry," he stammers, quickly pulling away and covering himself. "I'm going to get ready to leave," he says, his face flushing with embarrassment. He got off the bed as you thought about how bad you probably made him feel.

He was hot, and maybe you could help him. The thought of you taking his cock in your throat made a wave of slick leak out of your now socked hole and onto your pants. "What if I could help you with your situation down there?" you asked as you looked at his dick poking through the cotton pants  as you took your lip between your teeth. His eyes widened in confusion and shock as he exclaimed, "Huh?" You almost beg, "Let me suck your cock," as you stare at him with round, wide eyes, craving the taste and sensation.  As you crawl to the end, the mattress moves. You maintain eye contact and motion for him to approach. He walked forward as he placed his nicely folded clothes back on the dresser before towering over you with a smug  smile on his face.  "Tell me what you want, baby; tell me how badly you want to touch me," you said as you slid your hand up and down his toned and slim torso. "I want to fuck you so bad that you won't be able to walk straight for days," he whispered in your ear, his voice dripping with desire. "I couldn't stop thinking about you bouncing on my cock the whole time I was next to you." He whined, "I need you to touch me; please touch me." He begged as you pulled his now tight pants down along with his boxers. His hard and red cock twitches with arousal as it fights to stay up.

"Are you ready, baby?" you asked as you mocked him with a whiney voice , knowing that you were in complete control of his pleasure. He despondently nods his head  right before you start to pump his shaft with skilled precision, making him gasp and moan uncontrollably. Your lips meet his tip, sucking hard as if you were trying to drain all the semen out of his balls. His mouth hangs open and his eyes are tightly shut as he gasps for air , overwhelmed by the intense pleasure coursing through his body. His hands turned into fists as he inhaled a sharp breath through his clenched jaw. Releasing his tip from the grips of your mouth with a pop causes him to moan loudly as the boy's hips shutter. 

"Tell me that you're mine while I suck you good." You take half his length into your mouth, feeling his warmth and hardness against your tongue. Your tongue slides along the underside of his shaft as you bob your head up and down on his length. savoring every inch of him as you jerk the rest that won't fit. "I'm all yours, fuufk." He yelps as you lick between his slits, sending shivers down his spine and making him moan in pleasure. "Can I fuck you?" He breathes heavily, his voice hoarse and desperate. "No baby" You get up and push him on the bed, causing his eyes to widen at your action as you climb on top of him, taking control. "I'm going to fuck you, understand?" You assert yourself confidently, a wicked smile playing on your lips as you crash them on his. Saliva seeps as Jimin's tongue fights for dominance against yours. You pull away as you lift up your body and pull down the  tight, now wet sleep short

s, tossing them to the ground along with his pants. "Please, can you fuck me?" he begged as he rubbed his hands along the curves of your ass. "No, baby, you've got to ask nicely to touch me," you replied with a mischievous grin. You plopped down on his cock with a loud smack, causing you both to moan loudly. Loud slaps as you bounce up and down on his member, feeling every inch of his cock inside you. the perfect curve of his manhood hitting the spot you didn't know was there , sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. loud moans spilling from both of your throats as you both reach the pinnacle of ecstasy. "Fuck, can I please touch your boobs?" He pleads with a hoarse voice from not being in use for so long. "Tell me yours," You say as you place your hands on his throat. "Tell me." His eyes shut tight as he exhaled a shaky breath, finally surrendering to your demand. "I'm all yours, yN, all yours; I belong to you." "Good boy".

Tank top now, along with all the other clothes, as your boobs bounce In his face. "Oh my f-fuking god, Jimin, your cock is so big." Your words made his lips quiver, along with his legs. "I'm going "let it out, baby," you say as you bounce sloppier than before, chansing your own orgasm as your excitement builds as his cock twitches inside of you. Hot spurts of smen shoot out, coating your walls as Jimin moans out your name. His hands fly to your ass, making you cum all over him, making it mix with his and pool on his balls. 

 ense pleasure consumes both of you, leaving you breathless and satisfied. you falYoulat on his chest as you both bask in the afterglow of your passionate encounter.

"You had no panties on the entire time?"

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