#its so hard for me to move on from things

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

We meet again | In-ho x Fem!Reader | PT3

Summary: It was only one night for fun, you never thought you would see him again. Even less in a place like this one.

P1 P2

Warnings: S2 Spoilers - Canon violence - Pregnant!Reader - Non canon background for In-ho - Use of (Y/N) - Angst - Protective!In-ho - Soft!Dae-ho - Panic!Reader - grammar mistakes -

Morning came once again, this time you managed to get some good sleep, between the extra blankets and Jun-hee body heat (who told you she may end hugging you since she liked to cuddle in her sleep), you did not mind and so you woke up with her snoring over you.

"How does you two feel?" Dae-ho asked from besides the bed, for him it was like seeing his sisters from back home.

"I think we are both fine, better than last night" You slowly moved Jun-hee who asked for five more minutes, not catching up were she was.

You let out a small smile and looked around, Gi-hun and Jung-Bae seemed to be engrossed in a deep conversation, there was no trace of In-ho.

"Hey Dae-ho" He made a noise to let you know he was listening "Where is In-ho?"

"Oh, he said he needed to use the restroom and asked me to keep watch over you two" He responded like it was a normal thing. "He is really protective you know? I think he sees Jun-hee like a little sister of sorts but..." He closed his mouth not wanting to make things akward.

"But?, you can tell me"

"Its different with you. I see the way he looks at you, he was very atentive when we were walking the stairs and even let you held on him"

Well, he kind of forced me to.

"And, well the first night...I saw him giving you his blanket, I dont think he sees you like a sister at all" He added a small blush on his cheecks as he felt like he was sharing a secret

You did also blush, his words hitting your heart hard and deep. Did he really care ? Did he really care for his baby ? And yourself ? Was it true that he would have stayed or went back ?

"I think you are overthinking, he most likely does it because im...fragile right now"

But Dae-ho moved his head "No, im positive that he sees you more than a friend, trust me, I grow up with four sisters, im used to see which men would see them as friends and which would see them as lovers"

"Does that mean you see me like a sister?" You asked him trying to make him forget about his ideas.

He suttered responding "W-well, I mean, you are a woman" You nodded and he laughted "Right you are, and you are pregnant no less...two of my sisters were pregnant once and I was besides them during it so...m-maybe im acting on instinct. Sorry if it brothers you"

"No, no it does not. If nothing im happy. My brother left the country when he fell on debt, and passed it to me. He never called me or contacted before it. So...if you see me as your sister then its fair I see you as my brother"

Dae-ho smiled softly at your words He was going to talk once again but the voice of Jung-Bae calling him made him stop.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

"Its time for the game yet?" Jun-hee said getting up blinking to adjust to the light.

"No yet, we have a few more minutes to rest" You responded "How do you feel?"

Jun-hee dismissed your worried tone with her hand "Im fine, slept better than last night. Thank you for sharing the blankets"

"You are welcome, we must take care of each other, right?"

She smiled, a sincere one. "We have"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

In-ho with his clothes of Front Man read over the food for the next days, besides him stood The Officer not saying a word knowing better.

"Add one appel for each player" He finally said, giving the officer the tablet back who nodded. "And kept the vitamins for player 222 and 344"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

"Attention players, today we will be giving food, form a line and wait" The Guard called.

Jun-hee and you moved to get in line, followed by Jung-Bae, Gi-hun and Dae-ho. "Why are they giving us breakfast? And where is In-ho?" Jung-Bae asked looking around with confusion, even Gi-hun had started to get worried.

"Well...he did say he needed the restroom, but he has been gone for much time now" Dae-ho said looking around too.

"Maybe he got lost?" Jung-Bae said getting a look from the four of you. "Well dont look at me like that!"

"You four went to the restroom last night, how far is it?" You asked a bit worried

"Not far, and the guards keep watch" Gi-hun responded

"Maybe he tried to escape?" The voice of Jun-hee asked

All of you fell in silence, the words of the other players muffled by your own thoughts.

Slowly the line went on, the four of you moving in a robotic way, like already mouring his death. 

It cant be, I cant lose him again.. 

You almost fell but Dae-ho noticed it and took you in his arms

"Hey...he may he alright..."

You wanted to cry, maybe the pregnancy was getting on you, maybe the stress was too much.

"And what if not? What if..."

"Next"

Dae-ho helped till you two were in front of the guard who this time gave milk, bread, an appel and the same plastic bag as last time"

Dae-ho looked with curious eyes but a loud sound from the guard and and an almost violent push of food made him look away.

You took a seat and forced yourself to eat and take down the pills. You knew you needed them for your baby.

Dae-ho followed by the others came too, once again Jung-Bae offered Jun-hee and you his milk.

All of you ate in silence, no one knew what to say or do, everyone was confused because of the suprise breakfast but also worried over their other teammate.

"What's going on, the food cant be that bad" The voice from In-ho broke off the dead silence.

"In-ho!" All of you exclaimed, it was a fun scene for the outside of it.

In-ho took a look at all of you, he could tell all of you were worried over him. His gaze lingered on you for a longer moment but he broke the eye contact and took a seat.

"Where were you?" Gi-hun asked between worried and suspicious

In-ho kept his eyes, "I had a small injury from last game, needed to check it" He lied "Tried to go during the night but the guards did not let me"

The silence was still tense but you decided to break it.

"Im glad you are fine" You went to munch back the appel blushing a bit under his eyes. He smiled at you and passed his appel to you, "Jun-hee and you can share it, I dont need it"

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

"Attention players, the next game will start soon, form a line and follow a guard"

All of you moved, In-ho once again being in front of you while Dae-ho was behind.

"Really, I can climb these just fine" You told them but they just ignored you.

However this time the guard lead the line of players where you were around a different path one with almost no stairs and the ones that did appear where short ones.

You did not want to show it, but you were grateful for this. Not questioning why the path had change.

Jun-hee was as content as you, holding her own belly, even if she was not as pregnant as you, she still got tired from time to time. She looked at you smiling a bit when he saw In-ho looking over his shoulder to check on you.

Oh, she was sure you two had something. Maybe he was indeed the father of your baby. Maybe it was fate that you two met in here. Much like her own....even if she did not want anything to do with the father of her own baby.

If by the next game all of you were out then she would like to stay close to you. Maybe you two could go and look for cheap clothes for your babys, pick a color for their rooms. If you were living alone maybe you two could live together, or she could live close to you if by any chance In-ho and you shared a place.

She would love to go and have dinner, the three of you. She could picture In-ho not letting you or her do a thing, he would most likely cock and clean.

Maybe Dae-ho could come too. He did said he grow up with four sisters, maybe he would give you two some tricks and help you two. He could introduce his sisters to the two of you.

Her dream ended when they arrived to the next game.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

In-ho was nervous. He knew he could not change the game itself, it would make these watching it get too invested and suspect, last thing he wanted was for the "VIPs" to get their attention on you.

Still, this game was dangerous. Specially for you, it did include running and the spinning, he swear to himself to stay besides you during all of it. But even with that...what if the stress was too much ? The music ?

Fuck, fuck all of this. Fuck it being The Front Man, fuck the dam games, fuck Gi-hun for causing trouble. Why could him just take the money and live his life?

Maybe it was wrong to blame Gi-hun for this. After all, it was not his fault that he had let you pregnant....

But it was his fault he had to make things harder, use all his energy for the games, for these on top of him to be satisfied, if he had not cause trouble outside....

"In-ho" Your sweet voice made him get back "What do you think? About the next game?"

Were all of you talking ? He never noticed.

"Mhm, could be migle" He trailed off

"Like, when we used to count run and hug each other?" Jung-Bae asked

"Must have something to do with these doors" Gi-hun pointed out "Make teams and go inside, something like that"

You little fucker....

"These are too far away..." You said starting to get nervous

"We wont leave you behind" In-ho told you giving your hand a quick grip

I wont leave you behind.

The guards had been ordered to not shoot you. Only to take you to his room in case you did lose. But In-ho would not let you go, he did not want to be separated from you.

"Yeah, we are a team" Dae-ho said taking your hand and Jun-hee who was also scared. "We wont let you two behind"

Maybe the four men from your team had different reasons to be in the games, but they had one objective this time.

Protect you and Jun-hee at all costs.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

"Attention players, the next game is Migle, please get on the platform, when the song stops a number will be say. You must form teams of that number and go inside one of the rooms. If you fail to do so, you will be eliminated"

"You were right" You said to In-ho who helped you get on the platform "And Gi-hun, you were also right about the doors, you two seems to share the same brain"

Gi-hun said nothing while In-ho gave your hand a small grip. The platform started to spin, he could see you already feeling dizzy.

"Try to focus on a specific spot" He said avobe the music "That way you wont faint"

You did as he told you, eyes focus on a specific spot, the song was the old one you would hear kids sing back in your town. It made you want to vomit, to think on how twisted this was.

"10"

All of you started to look around, you were already six, just needed four more, but no one seemed to be around even if there were lots of players.

"Fuck what do we do" Jung-Bae said looking around

"How many are you?" Player 120 asked, behind her player 095, 007 and 149 stood.

"Six" Gi-hun responded quickly scanning the group seeing they were four, the number they needed

"Alright lets go then" In-ho said taking your hand between his, Dae-ho took Jun-hee hand with his, player 007 seemed to be dragging player 149, they were mother and son after all.

"There!" Gi-hun said running ahead opening a purpel door and making sure all of you went inside before he did it.

All of you were breathing hard after the run and stress.

Suddendly the door lock and the voice said time was up, next thing that came were the sounds of gunshots and screams.

"Oh you poor girls" The older woman said looking at Jun-hee and You like a mother would look at her daughter.

"We are fine" Jun-hee said hand on her belly as she took a quick look at you who nodded with a small smile.

"We are holding up" You told the older woman who was now cursing whoever would let two pregnant woman enter such a dangerous game.

In-ho had his face void from any emotion, even his eyes were stone cold while he listened to player 149 rant. It was destroying his heart.

The door unlocked again and the ten of you went out. Not knowing which number could be said next the ten of you decided to be close once the platform started to spin again.

"4"

Fuck, two will be out. You thought and all seemed to think the same, each one looking at the rest.

"Dae-ho, In-ho you two go with (Y/N) and Jun-hee, you four go together" Gi-hun started to make teams

"W-wait, what about-" Jung-Bae nervously asked but Gi-hun talked again "We will find two more, now go"

All of you splitted out, you were able to see the other four go inside a room before Dae-ho found one.

The four of you stood there, you went to look outside since the door had a small space, but between the lights and chaos you could not see Gi-hun or Jung-Bae.

"Hey, Seong was here before, and Jung-Bae its his best friend" Jun-hee said pulling you away from the door "I think they will be fine"

The door lock once again and the same sounds from last time repeated.

You closed your eyes feeling the breakfast trying to go up and out but you forced yourself not to.

Time passed slowly till the door unlock, the four of you inmediatly started to scream for Gi-hun and Jung-Bae but they did no appear.

"I dont see them" You said starting to panic "I- are they dead? I cant remember their numbers...did they said their numbers?" You asked getting more and more nervous not seeing around a player hitted your side

"Watch it caw" player 009, the same from the last game said.

"That little-" Dae-ho was about to go towards him but the screams from Gi-hun and Jung-Bae stopped him.

"Guys!" You said going towards them and hugging them, you felt Gi-hun tense under the hug, maybe he was not used to being hugged. "I was worried over you two" You separated yourself from them

"Gi-hun managed to find two more, its all thanks to him" Jung-Bae said but Gi-hun said nothing still lost in some thoguths

"Im glad you are safe" He finally said. He felt specially protective over you and Jun-hee, but since you seemed to be almost about to cry he could not help but let you know how he felt.

"We are, thanks for your quick thinking" In-ho appeared besides you, it did appear that he was covering you with his body but you did not say a thing.

The six of you went back to the platform, the other four players decided to stay close in case a high number was said.

The platform started to spin once again, the song was short played

"3"

"Let split" Jung-Bae said, already getting besides Gi-hun, "Jun-hee you can come with us"

"But-" Jun-hee did not want to separate herself from you. Last two rounds were heavy on her, being close to you had helped her calm down. She knew you would be safe with Dae-ho and In-ho, specially with In-ho.

"Go with them, we will see each other again" You softly told her giving her a quick hug and parting ways with Dae-ho and In-ho who was looking for a room. Most were already occupied but he would not let that stop him. He will get you inside one no matter what he had to do.

"There! Green one on the left" You screamed at them and both nodded going towards it.

However the three of you were not the only team that was going towards that door, In-ho noticed them right away and with decision ran faster taking one by the collar and punching him. The other two went to help their fallen companion but In-ho managed to fight them off giving Dae-ho and you enoguh time to get inside the room.

"In-ho, lets go time its almost up!!" You called him from the door not being fully inside yet.

He took a glance at the timer and sprinted towards you, barely making inside when the door closed with a loud sound.

"You fucker!! That was our room" One of the players that In-ho had stopped started to punch and scream.

Dae-ho hugged you pulling yourself as far from the door as he could while In-ho stood at the front, blocking the view.

He knew what was coming next and the player being too close would only make it worse.

"Cover her ears" In-ho told Dae-ho over his shoulder who catched up and did as told

The gunshots happen again, this time louder and closer. The player that had been screaming was dead outside now.

"Its ok, we are ok. (Y/N) how do you feel?" Dae-ho asked worried seeing you trembling. "H-hey whats wrong?"

In-ho moved towards you pulling you against his chest. He felt the tears falling down your face and the sobs.

"Shh, its fine. We made it, you and the baby are fine" In-ho calmed you down his own heart beating fast. If he was not inside the room before the time was up something could had happen. Even if the orders were clear to not hurt you, he had no idea how the guards would have manage the fact that inside the room where only two and not three players.

Would they ignored it? Kill Dae-ho and let you live? Give him more time?

He was taking many risks and was getting more worried over you and his baby. This game was too stressful, what was he going to do?

Once the guards removed the bodies the door did unlock, it was a nice suprise not seeing a pool of blood outside the door of the room you were in.

"Guys! Here" Gi-hun voice called, behind him Jung-Bae and Jun-hee followed

"Hey..." You said in a low and tired tone.

"What happened?" Jun-hee asked taking your hands in hers

"T-here was another team and we-" You could not finish the memory of them coming back.

"Its not your fault" Gi-hun said, knowing that most likely you three had to fight for the room. "Its no ones fault"

"In-ho saved us" Dae-ho said patting his back

In-ho tried not to let a groan, he only gave a small smile.

"Players get on the platform, next round will soon start"

The six of you went once again. In-ho made sure to take your hand in his. You looked at him giving him a significant grip and nodd.

"6"

It was like heaven had hear your prayers, the six of you did not waste time and ran to a nearby door. Not lots of players had exactly six so luckly you all made it without having to fight.

"I think this has been the easiest round" Jung-Bae said letting himself fell against a wall

"We got lucky, other number would have gave us problems" You said also slowly falling to sit

"How many rounds do you think we have to play?" Jun-hee wondered and all of you started to think

"Most likely one, I believe they had eliminated enough players by now" In-ho said feeling a headache forming.

"Then which number?" Dae-ho asked making silence fell over the room.

"It would be too much to ask for six again, right?" Jung-Bae said

"I dont see them being that generous" Were your only words.

Finally, the last round. The platform was once again spinning, song playing, In-ho knew it was the last round and that it was going to be two. He had decided he would go with you, the rest could separate as they wanted. But he would not leave you.

"2"

"Pairs! Form pairs and go" Gi-hun said seeing that most players had already started to move

In-ho took your hand once again not giving you time to think as he took you to the nearest room.

"W-wait, what about-"

"Jun-hee will be fine, and so will the rest" He said opening the door and making you go inside. "Stay at the back in case they try pulling the door open" He ordered and you did as he said.

Not sooner than later players were trying to open the door but In-ho had an iron griop on it, he was using all his force to not let them in.

Cmon, just finish the dam timer

"Times up"

The door locked for the last time and In-ho took a moment to collect his breath back. He turned to see you on the floor, eyes red and tears falling, hands over your belly.

"(Y/N) look at me, you are fine. The baby its fine" He assured you getting closer taking your face between his hands and cleaning your tears.

"I wont let anything happen to either of you" He added with lots of conviction "I will make sure you two are safe till the end, alright? Dont worry about anything just focus on surviving"

"But im scared, what if you die? What if you leave?" You asked criying a bit more.

"I wont, I promise you. Im sorry, sorry for everything. Even if you dont blame me anymore, im so sorry. Nothing like this should have happen. You should not be here"

You did not know. But In-ho was apolozising not only because of that. But because he was the one who came up with the games. Made them so he could break Gi-hun's will. It never ocurred to him that you would end here. Never in a millon years would he have thought the girl who he slept once was pregnant, the girl who plagued his days and nights was going throw a lot alone.

He felt deeply sorry for everything.

"Stop it, you know I dont blame you. If anything...im happy" That made In-ho look at you suprised. "I never thought I would be a mother, I never saw myself as one but, you made it possible. Even if things were not ideal. Im happy, and im happy with you. Im happy I could see you again, im happy that you care for me and the baby"

"You have no idea how much you two mean to me, listen (Y/N) you said it, it was not ideal, and our moment together was short. But never, I have never cared for someone as deep as I care for you"

Maybe only for his brother, but he had shoot him, so you were higher on the list.

"In-ho...."

"Can I kiss you? Please, please I need to kiss you, I need to know this is real" He begged you his walls falling and desesperation coming out.

You nodded and he leaned in keeping his eyes look in yours till his lips were on you.

It was soft, and tender. His movements were slow but passionate pulling all his feelings on it. It felt like the first time you two kissed, the world fading outside, only you two mattered.

In-ho pulled his hand over your belly not yet touching it, but you moved them and for the first time he was able to feel your belly. To think his baby was inside, was too much, too emotional, he did almost cry.

But a kick, a soft one directly where his hand was made him stop. He looked down, not beliving it when he felt it again. His baby was kicking him, his baby was alive.

"I think it knows its father" You said smiling feeling one more kick. Your baby almost never kicked, it was mostly quiet and would move when the sun was too strong but nothing much.

However, with In-ho around it was like it had woke up from a long nap.

"Do you know the gender?" He asked in a state of bliss

"No, I want it to be a suprise"

"Then, how do you call it?"

"Little one"

"Hello Little One, im your father In-ho" at this the baby kicked once again "Stay safe in there, your mother its going amazing so far"

And there, in that small room. In these deadly games, with blood and bodies outside. In there, In-ho found himself being the happiest man alive, with you by his side and his little one.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Tags:

@maria-trisha @blueyesuguru @imenekiki @victorie767 @futuristicdefendorfart @heyitsmefall

@love-you-louise @fantasylovestoryme @sleepyycatt @nightdark-dreamdark @lindsay000000 @ourlovesarang @smally97 @zigmasstuff @aleemendoza2425-blog @the-disaster-in-waiting @ilovequeen978 @sc4rrc @sylviavf @l4venderia @blueeclipsepaperstudent @annasnape7

I could not tag some, sorry.

[t0jisd0ll]

the last supper

genre: smut

pairing: gi hun x male!reader (implied frontman x reader x gi-hun)

CW: rimming, gi-hun eats reader out like a starved man, the term [y/n] is not used, semi-public sex, voyeurism

word count: 1.5k

The dining table stood empty now, the remnants of your final meal scattered across the pristine white cloth. The ominous quiet of the room was heavy, pressing down like a weight as you and Gi-hun exchanged lingering glances.

You were the only two left—the finalists.

The elegant black suit they’d given you felt stiff against your skin, a stark contrast to the ragged tracksuits you’d worn throughout the games. Gi-hun, sitting across from you, was similarly transformed, his dark hair slicked back, his usually weary expression replaced by something sharper, more intense.

He hadn’t said much during dinner, his focus flickering between his plate and you. Now, as the silence stretched, his gaze settled fully on you, warm and probing, as if he were trying to read your thoughts.

“You clean up nice,” he said at last, his voice low and rough, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Flattery won’t get you far,” you replied, leaning back in your chair, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your nonchalance.

He chuckled softly, the sound unexpectedly intimate in the vast, empty room. “I’m just being honest. You’ve got that... effect.”

“Effect?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He stood then, rounding the table with slow, deliberate steps. His movements were unhurried, his eyes locked on you like a predator sizing up its prey. When he reached your side, he leaned down, his face inches from yours.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “The kind that makes it hard to think straight.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as his hand rested lightly on the back of your chair, his body so close that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “What are you doing, Gi-hun?” you asked, your voice quieter now, tinged with uncertainty—and something else.

“Something I’ve been wanting to do for a while,” he said, his tone low and thick with meaning.

Before you could respond, his hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. His thumb brushed against your cheek, the touch featherlight but searing. The room seemed to shrink around you as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his voice a challenge, a dare.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was as electrifying as it was unexpected. He responded instantly, his hand sliding to the nape of your neck, pulling you deeper into him.

The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if all the tension of the games—the fear, the pain, the longing—had culminated in this one moment. His other hand found your waist, tugging you to your feet and closer to him.

Your suit jackets rustled together as his fingers gripped the fabric, his touch firm and unyielding. The kiss deepened, his lips and tongue leaving no room for hesitation. You clung to him, your own hands exploring the planes of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged. His hands still held you, grounding you in the moment.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice hoarse but sincere, his eyes searching yours.

Your answer was clear in the way you pulled him back in, your lips finding his once more.

The kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that left no room for second-guessing. His hands, rough from the games, cradled your face like you were the only thing grounding him in this moment. You clung to him just as fiercely, your fingers gripping the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him impossibly closer.

Gi-hun’s breath hitched when your hands trailed down to his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath the finely tailored fabric. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss further, his lips parting yours with a tenderness that gave way to raw need. His hands moved down, one settling at the small of your back, the other tracing the curve of your jaw with his thumb.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and unsteady.

“Maybe I do,” you whispered back, your words a challenge as your hands slid up to his shoulders, tugging him closer still.

Gi-hun chuckled, the sound dark and rough, before his lips found yours again, more insistent this time. The way he kissed you was consuming, like he was trying to etch the memory of you into his very soul. Each touch, each brush of his lips and hands, seemed to speak of everything he couldn’t say out loud—the pain, the longing, the fragile hope he clung to in your presence.

You stumbled back slightly as he guided you toward the nearest wall, his hand steady at your waist to keep you from losing your balance. The cold surface pressed against your back, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between the two of you. Gi-hun’s fingers skimmed along your sides, his touch firm yet reverent, as if he were memorizing every inch of you.

The room felt smaller now, the air thick with the electricity of what was happening. His lips left yours briefly, trailing a line of kisses along your jaw and down to the hollow of your throat. His breath was hot against your skin, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the taste of you.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, a quiet gasp escaping you when his teeth grazed the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. Gi-hun pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and heavy with desire.

He chuckled again, the sound vibrating through you as he pressed another lingering kiss to your lips. This one was softer, slower, but no less intense. His hands remained at your waist, anchoring you to him as if he was afraid to let go.

He slowly lifted you up, pushing your pants and boxers down at the same time. Your erection sprung out, waiting to be touched.

Instead of focusing on your length, he simply turned you around, with your back facing him, and your cheek pressing up against the cold wall.

“They didn’t give us desert, it’s up to me to indulge”, Gi-hun whispers, before spreading the flesh of your ass and feasting on you like a man starved.

The sudden intrusion of his tongue in your ring of muscles sends jolts up you. You don’t bother to stop your moans however, there was no point in the guards killing you now.

His grip on you tightens, and you feel yourself reaching your climax, hands struggling to grip anything on the empty wall.

Soon, you release, covering the wall with a pearly white coat. As your breathing slows down, Gi-hun slowly turns you around and stands up, hooking your legs onto his waist.

“You taste like vanilla”, is the only thing he says before his mouth finds yours again.

What neither of you noticed, lost in the haze of lust and desire, was the subtle red light blinking in the far corner of the room—a silent witness to everything that was unfolding.

In the dimly lit surveillance room, the Front Man leaned back in his chair, one of his gloved fingers steepled beneath his chin, while the other was slowly working on his hardened cock. His masked face betrayed no emotion, but the way his head tilted slightly as he watched the screen hinted at a level of interest far beyond casual observation.

The feed showed the two of you, pressed against the wall, your bodies impossibly close as Gi-hun’s hands roamed your sides with an intensity that spoke of need and desperation. Your head tilted back slightly as his lips trailed down your jaw, a quiet gasp escaping your lips that was audible even through the grainy audio.

The Front Man’s fingers tapped the armrest of his chair, his posture unnervingly relaxed as he studied the scene. He could almost feel the tension radiating off the screen, the raw chemistry between you and Gi-hun so palpable it was almost suffocating.

“Well, well,” he murmured to himself, his voice a low rasp beneath the mask. “Looks like the players are getting... creative.”

For a moment, he simply watched, the room silent except for the faint hum of the monitors. His gloved hand reached for the console, his finger hovering over the button that controlled the speaker system. The temptation to interrupt, to see the way you both might react, was almost too great to resist.

But he didn’t press it.

Instead, he leaned forward, his elbow resting on the console as his head tilted slightly. There was something about the way you moved together, the way you clung to each other like lifelines, that held him captive. His mask hid the faint smirk tugging at his lips, a reaction he wasn’t sure he’d ever admit to.

“Maybe I’ll have to... step in,” he groaned quietly, his voice low and laden with suggestion. The idea hung in the air, tantalizing and dangerous.

For now, he let the scene play out, his gaze never leaving the screen and his hand never leaving his length, moving slowly but consistently. But the thought lingered, unspoken yet potent—an invitation he hadn’t decided whether to extend.

© t0jisd0ll on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[aphrodeiities]

ᴅᴀʀᴋ ꜱʏɴᴀꜱᴛʀʏ ᴏʙꜱᴇʀᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

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not all observations will be dark, others will be sexual.

no copying! depends on how this post goes but i might do composite soon.

♱ 8h overlay is not the only overlay where people express their freaks, the 12h overlay can do that as well, hidden desires and kinks that they might be ashamed to express to other people.

♱ saturn aspecting lilith in synastry can be very, very intense. especially if its square or conjunct. the lilith person would expose the saturn person to liberties and freedom they havent experienced before, but sometimes the saturn person can be uncomfortable with how free the lilith person is and could even up wanting to restrict them.

♱ it was said before that venus can be the wife in love triangle situations, and lilith is the mistress. if the lilith aspects the sun which is usually the man, it can be really hard for the man/or the dominant partner to dismiss the attempts of the lilith woman.

♱ following up with lilith. lilith in a person's chart is what can make someone interested in the side person/the mistress. so someone with lilith in gemini in their chart shows that they would be into the other party who stimulates their mind, someone who can make them laugh and since its lilith, say dirty things to them. it could also make them very attracted to gemini placements.

♱ 5h synastry shows that the couple could love to have sex with each other, they could party with each other a lot. this could bring great joy with each other. but if it's not backed up with saturn aspects, the connection likely wont last for long.

♱ i've noted that a lot of virgo placements [including having chart ruler in jupiter] had a lot of stalkers, people constantly checking on them, its worse when there's neptunian/plutonic influence in their chart.

♱ 8h mars synastry would have someone so possessive over you, it'll be hard for them to get over you, and they would want to protect you all the time and sometimes treat you like you cannot do things yourself.

♱ dont get me started on pluto conjunct lilith. the epitome of an affair. if it conjuncts, the two of them will always find way to have each other, and have sex. but if there's no sex then its intense sexual frustration.

♱ lilith in the 2h synastry might cause lilith person to think they're entitled to know everything about you, another stalker indicator.

♱ sun in the 10h synastry...usually the sun person could be obsessed with being seen with the 10h person. it might cause them to see the house person as an object, or a ladder to use to climb up the social ladder.

♱ uranus in the 8h synastry is another obsessive sex indicator, they would want to have sex everywhere, and they could be into being watched by others.

♱ chiron in the 12h is you'll never get rid of me synastry. chiron could hate it if house person moves on, the type to stalk the person's new potential partners.

♱ lilith conjunct pluto is a very haunting aspect. like haunting from beyonce type of connection, thinking about each other all the time, and if broken up with each other they could go behind their lovers back and rekindle something again.

♱ 3h lilith synastry shows that lilith person could have very lewd thoughts about house person, and house person could be willing to play into lilith person's fantasy.

♱ saturn in 8h/12h synastry can speak of constant stalking each other. both people yearning each other sexually and spiritually, could get intense because either one could be bold enough to come between connections and break them.

♱ in most synastry charts i've looked at that involved cheating with each other, neptune 7h played a big part.

♱ pluto aspect sun...conjunct specifically? the sun would be obsessed! obsessed. and its worse if the person's sun aspects its own pluto as well. the sun person would pop up everywhere, always watching, taking note on who's their friend, if their instagram following or followers went up or not.

♱ moon in 6h synastry can make moon person very dependent on the house person's presence and energy, is another indicator of obsession.

♱ 11h moon synastry would have the house person want to involve themselves in moon person's life, like joe goldberg.

♱ north node conjunct venus? north node person might not be able to handle rejection from venus person, like at all. could get very reckless and intimidating.

♱ plus saturn 12h/8h synastry is an indicator of brat-taming kink.

♱ though 12h saturn synastry can speak of very intense breakups, like thinking about it forever.

♱ chiron conjunct chiron, feeling like you need each other all the time, only seeing, feeling and hearing them, could fall co-dependent on each other, but can also be each other's relationship/emotional injuries.

♱ mars opposition/square someone's mars/venus a game of cat and mouse, non stop, they would be too bold, could make advantages in public, the type to want to fuck them in places they'd get caught. very shameless synastry overlay. this is another synastry i saw where mars really wants to breed mars.

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[threadbearsweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

[ghostgirl-22]

okok this is an xfem!reader ask but could you write something like the video on the link with art?

https://x.com/sugarfemdom/status/1858661845122642119?s=46&t=3CW6FsXs0MAE69-4ntnOGQ

this is SO stanford!art to me it’s not even funny, like??? him and his pretty little girlfriend trying this for the first time and it’s completely new to art but he’s so lost in it he can’t even be embarrassed about how good it feels

Answering this sooner rather than later since Twitter has been trying to shut down the porn links. Y’all are so horny… and I love you for it <33 🥹

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Explicit (porn link)

—-

Art is this beautiful boy, tall, dorky, handsome and smart. Really incredible tennis player. You’d gone to your first tennis match to see Tashi Duncan, just like the rest of the school and while you were walking around the courts he was in the middle of his match when he smiled at you. You smiled back, thinking nothing of it, surely he just did that when he had an audience. But then next thing you know he’s asking for your number and the rest is history.

All it takes is for you to witness one interaction between him and his best friend Patrick, for you to realize your new boyfriend isn’t entirely straight.

They’re play fighting with each other. Patrick chasing Art around the courts while they’re giggling. He’s all too happy to be caught and wrestled to the ground, Patrick between his legs. The other boys are just laughing at them, you think they probably know too.

You fantasize about the thought of them fucking when you’re in his dorm room that night. You’re riding his cock and he’s losing himself, mesmerized by your full bouncing tits (he wishes he could slide his dick between them).

“Fuck yes… oh baby… oh god, you’re so fucking wet baby…gonna lose it… gonna give you whatever you want….” He’s moaning, crying, squirming as you bounce your hips, up and down, the sound of skin slapping together obscenely. His cock feels so good you don’t even care that Patrick could be back from his night out with Tashi at any minute. In fact you hope he walks in on you and gets so hard he has to fuck your boyfriend right in front of you.

You’re so caught up in the fantasy you tease a finger up inside of his ass without much warning.

“Oh shit,” you whisper as his moaning takes on an entirely new pitch. You tease a second finger inside him. “You like that baby?”

“Nngh yes… yes,” he groans, moving his hips. “Oh fuck. Fuck me baby. Please, please fuck me.” His hips bucking up uncontrollably and almost immediately he’s coming inside without even the pretense of needing to pull out. Thrusting himself helplessly while grinding into your fingers. Its so hot you start losing it too. He’s so fucking lucky you’re on the pill the way he’s filling you up.

He’s so lost in all of it that he barely bats an eyelash when you suggest that he let you fuck him for real.

“Of course baby, whatever you want,” he whispers, completely sated, gently kissing your face, as you curl up next to him in his single. He starts drifting off to sleep right away.

His mistake. You come over the next night with some of your lingerie. “Can you wear this out tonight baby?” You ask, pouting your lips. He loves when you play innocent.

“Fuck baby,” Art says shyly. “You’re serious?”

“Mmhm, if you wear it all night and be a good boy and don’t come I’ll give you a surprise,” you coax. It’s all he needs to actually do it.

Patrick gets home as you and Art are dressed and on your way out to the movies. You can’t help yourself. “Is the bra too tight baby?” You ask in front of Patrick.

“Uh…” Art stammers immediately turning red as Patrick starts grinning.

“I can help loosen the bra but there’s nothing I can do for the panties if you’re still hard,” you say softly.

“Where you guys going?” Patrick asks, patting Art on the shoulder, broad grin still on his face.

“Movies,” you smile. “He’s gonna be a good boy for me.”

“I bet,” Patrick says staring at Art but you don’t miss the heedy look that momentarily passes between them. You hate being right all the time. Even if they haven’t fucked, they want to.

*

Except for a few moments where Art has to take his time to hide his erection before getting up, he’s such a perfect gentleman all evening.

“I promised you’d get surprise right?” You say smiling when he’s standing so needy in front of you, clothes on the floor, dressed only in your lingerie, his dick straining the fabric.

“Y-yes,” he stammers. You make him sit on his bed. Again you have no idea when Patrick will be home but you really don’t care. You show him the strap on, you pull out of your backpack and there’s only one way to describe his reaction. He’s antsy, eager even, but he’s pretending like he doesn’t want it as much as he does.

“Have you ever done this before?” You ask gently.

He ponders his response for just a moment and then nods, shy. “My last girlfriend,” he whispers.

“Mm,” you hum. You ease on the strap and lube it up like you’re doing it with a real dick… the whole time he’s anxious. Legs crossed, his cock so full it’s leaking, dripping through the panties. You settle on the bed, pulling his soft hips forwards. He’s so pale in comparison to you, his skin so surprisingly smooth. He’s barely got any hair anywhere, he says he shaves for aerodynamics or whatever… You know nothing about tennis but you’re pretty sure barely having any pubic hair isn’t gonna make him a better player. It does make his dick look even bigger though.

You pull him onto your lap and slide the panties to the side so you can push the strap inside, he’s whining holding his breath as you guide it in. “Is it too big baby?” You ask gently.

“Mm, it’s good,” he breathes, pitched high and tight. He fucking loves this.

You start guiding it in and out of him. He’s taking it in stride, slowly rolling his hips on your dick. “That’s right,” you say gently. “Fuck yourself on my big dick baby.”

“Mm love you,” he groans. He’s said stuff like that before when he’s in the heat of the moment. You don’t take it seriously. He’s tugging the bra down, teasing his nipples, pinching them. You’re so wet you’re practically grinding your pussy against the harness as he’s riding it. You grab at his dick, sliding it out of the grip of the panties. So pink and achingly full. He’s moaning like a girl as you jerk him off, arching his back into the mattress, grasping at your legs, losing himself while he’s moving his hips, riding the strap.

You’re going a little crazy. You imagined he’d like it but you had no idea he’d like it this much.

“Good boy, fuck. You’re so good,” you whisper, over and over. Watching him fall apart with the strap shoved up inside him. Moaning like a slut.

“Oh fuck, baby, I-I can’t stop—“ he gasps as spurts of creamy white shoot up into the air, he’s coming all over himself, heated sticky liquid coating your hands. “Mm,” he whines. “Mm fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s good baby, it’s okay, holy shit. You liked that a lot huh?” You say gently crawling on top of him.

“Mmhm, thank you,” he says softly.

He’s so adorable you kiss him slow and soft.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend baby?” You whisper.

“Mm,” he whines. “N-not really.”

“What about Patrick? He’s hot right? You ever let him fuck you?”

Art squirms a little beneath you and you grin. “It’s okay, you can tell me later. First I want you to use your mouth for something else.”

“Mm yeah,” he says, licking his lips eagerly as you ease the strap off and move to straddle his face.

[doukeshi-kun]

I suddenly get crazy when i re-read all your dad!kolya short fic, i remember you said that since there's the kids in the house, nikolai and mama would be having sex in the bedroom or bathroom when they shower together DAMNNNNNN imagine he would carry you up and slam you onto the wall while the shower still on? Sex with dad!kolya would be hm hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

𝙙𝙖𝙙!𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙞 + 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙚.𝙭

notes ✥ happy new year. here's a porn for starters. unedited! un-proofread! i'm sick and my hands slipped and i wrote dick n balls

contents ✥ fem!reader, kolya and you are hubby and wifey, shower se.x, oc kids make small appearance

“Kolya—”

A loud gasp. Your back arches as your husband presses the pad of his fingers harder on your clit, rubbing it skillfully. Your thighs tremble as your back is peppered with warm kisses—his tongue slithers against your skin, licking the droplets of the hot shower raining on both of your naked bodies. 

“One more, baby, one more,” Nikolai whispers against your ear, grinding his cock on your ass. “Do you feel how hard I am, sweetheart? You wan’ it, yeah?”

“Mm-hm,”

“Gotta stretch you reeeal nice first,” He groans lowly, inserting two fingers into your cunt. Your legs jerk, one of them lifts at the sensation of his fingers scissoring your cunt—both of his fingers make a wavy motion against the spot, causing your moan to grow louder. 

“N-Nikolai— Haa—! A-Ah—” 

You are panting hard beneath his palm that he pressed against your mouth. “Slowly, sweet thing. You're gonna scare the kids.” He chuckles breathily as his fingers move faster, plunging in and out. Your eyes roll back, hands gripping his beefy arms that are tightly holding you against his naked, firm body. Your mouth is gagged with another of his hands as he pulls your head to lean against his shoulder. 

He tilts his head, smirking, cackling with that deep voice of his. For a moment, his words come out accented—“My pretty fucking wife, aww~” He teases as he watches your muffled moan and body trembles against him. You are close, so so close. Your hand flings to your breast, fondling it and teasing your own hard nipple. 

Your pussy clenches hard around his thick fingers as your hips roll against his palm, but Nikolai withdraws before you reach your climax. A whine leaves your mouth but quickly changes to a surprised yelp when Nikolai turns your body, hooks both of his arms under your thighs and lifts you too easily. Your legs wrap around his waist, arms clinging to him as you press your lips against his, sharing a sloppy kiss. 

He aligns his cock against your pussy, tapping its head against your sensitive clit. You whine between the kiss, receiving a chuckle from him. Your eyes gaze at his face—water dripping from his white hair, his skin is blushing red. 

“Kolya..!” You whine against his lips, kissing him again. “Fuck me, please,” You beg as your hands roam on his chest, brushing against his nipples, which causes him to hiss in pleasure. 

“As you wish, wife.” Nikolai says before he pushes himself into your heated cunt. You gasp and his head is thrown back. “O-Ooh, fuck…” He moans and leaves no time to start thrusting as his lust is heightened. Your hips roll slightly against him, mewling in pleasure as his mouth latches on your neck, sucking the skin. 

Both of you are moving in harmony, with your moans and his whimpers grow louder as he thrusts harder and harder. His cock is hard—thickly filling you, pleasuring every nerve in your pussy. You lean your head, chanting his name as your legs jerk, hugging his waist tightly as you cum around his girth.

Nikolai moans, adjusting his arms under your legs as he snaps his hips rougher—the slapping sound echoes loud in the bathroom. Your cunt is sensitive and your eyes are teary as the coil in your stomach tightens again. You whine loudly, using your own hand to rub your clit, urging him to go harder.

Until, your lust is interrupted with a loud crash and girly scream from outside. You can barely hear it but you swear you hear Yuri is calling for Mari and the sister is threatening Karol and the youngest is laughing naughtily. 

Between the haze of your love-making, you try to call for your husband who is lowering his head to suck on your tits. His mouth catches your nipple, tongue rolling on the sensitive bud. You whimper slowly, trying to control your voice. With your trembling hand, you reach Nikolai’s hair, trying to get his attention. 

“Nikolai— Mmh!”

Your voice is interrupted by a sudden hard thrust and a palm on your mouth. Your eyes roll back as Nikolai continues to thrust, grinding his pelvis against your clit, burying his dick as deep as he can, drawing pleasures to your nerves. He gives a long lick from your neck to your jaw and then to your ear. 

“Let the kids be. I wanna have fun with my wife for a moment.”

©doukeshi-kun 2025 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @/cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

[taehyungsgrowl]

birthday cake

hi! it is one of my best friends birthday today (happy birthday, reyna ily) and so here is a little yoongi birthday fic 🩷

in which yoongi decides to make a cake for his gf…

just blushy yoongi. fluff. slightly suggestive. no smut!

Yoongi found himself standing in the middle of his tiny kitchen, apron tied around his waist, frantically flipping through a baking book. He hadn’t baked in God knows how long, but today was different—today was Y/N's birthday, and he was determined to surprise her with the perfect cake.

He glanced at the clock, nodding to himself—plenty of time before she’d be back. No need to worry. After all, how hard could making a birthday cake be?

He regretted those thoughts instantly, rushing the first layer of cake back to the counter—if you could call it rushing. The kitchen was a disaster: eggshells scattered like confetti, flour dusting every surface (mixing in with the few strands of gray that nestled between his black hair), half-used sticks of butter, and sugar in places sugar should never be. "Ah, ah, ah..." His fingers danced under the baking tray, trying to avoid the heat, even through his thick baking mitts.

He shoved everything he could into the sink, trying to make room for the first cake layer. This couldn’t be the only way to do it—he had to have missed a step. What do you mean he had to repeat the whole process for the second layer? He muttered curses under his breath. Why hadn’t he thought to grab a second pan? Now he’d have to clear the one he was using, then make the frosting, decorate the cake, clean up, decorate the house, and still somehow look presentable. Where had the time gone? Y/N would be home any minute, and the kitchen looked like a war zone—with no cake in sight.

Yoongi's phone vibrated in his back pocket, taking him out of his zone. Her face flashed on his screen from the incoming call. Panic started to set it. She'd have to be on her way if she was calling! He tried to get it together and answered the call. "Hi honey," she could hear the smile in his voice, "Happy Birthday."

"Yoongi, you've already wished me a happy birthday," she laughed, adjusting the tote bag on her shoulder as she walked down the street.

Yoongi’s phone was wedged between his shoulder and neck, his head tilted just enough to keep it in place. His hands were busy, stirring the cake mixture as he tried to work the clumps out. "Yeah, I know I already said it, but I mean it. I want you to have the happiest day—every day, really. How was lunch with your sister?" He was proud of how carefree he could sound despite the anxiety this cake was giving him.

"Great! I'm actually calling you to tell you that she's taking me to go pick out my gift so I'll be back at a little later than expected -"

"He'll be fineee," he heard Y/N's sister whine in the background.

"Tell her I say hello too," he chuckled, "And not to keep you too late -she has to share." He couldn't stop the pout from forming on his lips, but he was also started making a mental list of ways he could thank Y/N's sister for buying him time. It was gonna be okay!

He quickly resumed his work, moving through the kitchen at the speed of light (or so it felt - but he had to keep stopping to check the instructions and recipe).

Yoongi carefully tried to lift the first cake layer, hoping he could slide it onto the cooling rack without incident. But as he moved it, the spatula slipped, and the edge of the cake tipped over the side. The layer landed with a soft thud on the counter, its corner now crumpled and slightly bent.

“C’mon, don’t fall apart now,” he muttered, his heart rate picking up. He gently tried to lift the cake, but the soft edges were starting to crumble under his touch.

With a frustrated sigh, he quickly steadied the layer, praying it wouldn’t collapse entirely. The last thing he needed was for this to fall apart before he even got to the frosting.

He glanced nervously at the clock—Y/N would be home soon, and this wasn’t exactly the picture of a perfect cake. "This is fine," he told himself, wiping his hands on his apron. “It’s fine. I’ll fix it.”

He gently placed the cake back on the rack, willing the crumbling edges to hold. It wasn’t perfect, but it was salvageable. At least, he hoped it was. Frosting fixes everything, right?

After more work, Yoongi stepped back and looked at the scene with a small, exhausted sigh. The cake wasn’t perfect, but it was finished—mostly intact and topped with a layer of frosting that, while not “artistic,” at least covered the obvious flaws. He gave a quick glance at the clock again. Y/N would be home soon!

He quickly grabbed a rag, scrubbing down the surfaces, and tossing used utensils into the sink. He kept glancing over at the cake, praying that it would stay intact for a few more minutes. It wasn’t perfect, but he was determined to make it look like he had it all together.

His mind was already racing to the next task. The house. He had to make it look less like a disaster and more like a cozy birthday surprise. Yoongi hurried through the living room, straightening the pillows on the couch and turning on her favorite candle. He didn’t have time for perfection, but he could at least make the place feel welcoming. He placed the happy birthday banner up on the wall. The fresh bouquet of flowers gently placed in a vase. It was all coming along!

The door opened just as Yoongi finished adjusting the last of the decorations. His heart skipped a beat, and he quickly wiped his hands on the apron, glancing around the living room one last time to make sure everything was in place. It wasn’t perfect—there were still a few flour smudges on the counter, and he hadn't quite managed to get the place spotless—but it would have to do.

He opened the door with a wide grin, his eyes lighting up as he saw Y/N standing there her face lighting up when she spotted him.

“Happy birthday!” he exclaimed, his voice a little too loud, a little too eager. The words came out with so much enthusiasm, but that was fine—he was just relieved she was finally home.

Y/N smiled back at him, her eyes softening in that way they always did when she looked at him. "You didn’t have to do all this," she said, looking at the decorations and then back at him. "It looks amazing."

Yoongi’s heart fluttered at the compliment, but before he could say anything more, Y/N’s eyes flickered down, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Uh… Yoongi,” she started, her gaze narrowing in on the corner of his mouth. “I think you missed a spot.” She reached up and gently wiped her thumb across his lip, picking up a small smudge of chocolate frosting that he hadn’t noticed. Without missing a beat, placed the thumb in her mouth sucking it clean, slow and deliberate.

Yoongi’s face went red as he stepped back, blinking in surprise. "What? Oh," he chuckled, his voice soft as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I, uh... might’ve taste-tested the cake. Can’t risk it being too sweet, right?”

Yoongi’s gaze flickered to her thumb, then back to her, his breath catching in his throat. He was blushing so hard he could feel the heat creeping up to his ears.

He flashed her a sheepish smile, still standing in the doorway in his apron, realizing only now how ridiculous he must look. “I kind of got caught up in... well, the cake... and, uh, decorating…” He gestured vaguely to the living room. “You know, the usual birthday chaos.”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and warm. She stepped inside, giving him a playful shove. "You're adorable," she teased, brushing past him to take in the rest of the room. “But seriously, you didn’t have to go all out like this. I’m happy just being with you.”

Yoongi felt a swell of warmth in his chest as he closed the door behind her. “I wanted it to be special,” he said quietly, his gaze softening as he watched her smile.

“Don’t worry, it is,” she said, glancing over her shoulder with a wink. "Though, I might have to help you with that messy kitchen... and maybe some other things later."

Yoongi followed her into the kitchen and he nervously glanced at the cake, still standing in the kitchen with his hands behind his back. He couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his neck. "Uh, so..." He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. "I, uh, made this for you."

He turned around slowly to reveal the cake—lopsided but covered in a thick, uneven layer of frosting, and sprinkled with a few hastily placed decorative touches. It wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely made with care.

Y/N smiled warmly, her eyes softening as she looked at the cake. "Wow, you really did this all yourself?" she asked, genuinely impressed. She leaned in closer, taking in the little imperfections with a fond smile. "I love it. It’s perfect."

Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, looking anywhere but at her as his heart raced. "I, uh, wanted it to be special. I know it’s not... fancy, but I—"

Before he could finish, Y/N leaned in, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Don’t worry," she said, her voice soft as she reached for the cake. "I think it’s perfect."

Without another word, she dipped her finger into the frosting and brought it to her mouth, licking it off slowly, savoring the taste. Yoongi’s breath hitched as he watched her, his pulse spiking. He tried to look away, but his gaze was glued to her finger and the way she cleaned it off, her eyes meeting his for just a second.

The warmth in his chest spread to his cheeks, and he immediately turned his head to hide the flush on his face. “Did you... like it?” he asked, his voice low. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest like it was about to leap out of his ribcage.

Y/N, still holding her finger to her lips, smiled coyly. “Mm, I do. It’s... sweet.” She licked her lips slowly, her gaze playful. “I think I’ll need more of this.”

Yoongi swallowed hard, the heat in his face intensifying. He opened his mouth to say something, but his brain couldn’t quite catch up with his racing thoughts. Instead, he just stammered, “Happy birthday, by the way…”

She let out a small giggle, stepping closer to him.

“Mm, the cake is really yummy," Y/N said with a smile, wiping a little frosting off her lips as her eyes locked with his. The look was gentle, but there was something in it—something more—something Yoongi recognized.

He stepped closer, the space between them narrowing. “I’m glad you like it," he murmured, his voice low. His hand reached for hers, fingers brushing her skin lightly.

Y/N’s thumb traced the back of his hand, the light touch sending warmth up his arm. She didn’t say anything more, but the silence between them was heavy with everything they’d been feeling in that moment. She was close and yet it wasn’t enough. Yoongi could feel his breath hitch as he gazed at her, his fingers tightening around hers just a little.

"Y/N," he breathed out, his voice soft but full of meaning. She didn’t pull back. Instead, she gave him a look that made his stomach flip, and the distance between them was gone.

He leaned in, his lips finding hers with a familiarity that made his heart race even more. It wasn’t tentative or hesitant. It was the kind of kiss they shared when there was nothing else in the world but the two of them. Yoongi’s hand cradled the side of her face, his thumb gently brushing her cheek as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer.

Y/N’s arms slid around his neck, her fingers threading into his hair, her body pressing into his. Yoongi’s chest tightened with the simple pleasure of having her so close, so warm. They kissed slowly, savoring the closeness, the sweetness of the moment. His tongue parted her lips as he deepened the kiss. He could taste the chocolate off her tongue.

Yoongi smiled as he heard her gasp against his kiss. He swallowed her sounds, his fingers gripping her hair.

Y/N's senses were everywhere. The sweet scent of the kitchen filling her nose, Yoongi's tongue tracing patterns as he kissed her, her fingers tangled in his hair.

She could feel him smirk as she gripped his hair and Yoongi made a mental note to keep his long length just a little longer (if it were up to Y/N, he knows he wouldn't be getting his hair cut any time soon).

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together as they caught their breath. Yoongi smiled softly, his fingers still tangled in her hair.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice a little raspier than usual.

She smiled back, her eyes sparkling with affection. “Thank you, Yoongi," she said, brushing her lips lightly against his. "Best gift ever.”

Everything just felt right. It was simple—just them, the cake, and this little piece of happiness they’d carved out together.

[ylangelegy]

my lovely !!!! congrats on 1 million followers 💝🎉✨ although u deserve a billion 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ i’m here to submit a📱 bc i’m dying to hear some more about ‘blindsided’ pls 🤲

char, my light, my love! u make this godforsaken site worth it and i love u oh so dearly ୨ৎ i am forever a u/pochaccoups fan 🙂‍↕️

📱 office worker!wonwoo x reader, based on blindsided (fic + text imagines). part of my follower milestone celebration. mdni, 18+ content.

Wonwoo has fucked you in every imaginable corner of your office.

He knows he should probably be guilty. He’s a model employee, after all. Perfect performance evaluations and all that. 

But he just can’t bring himself to care, not when he’s got you bent over the copy machine after hours. He doesn’t think of ethics or rules when he’s eating you out in one of the bathroom stalls or when the two of you steal away to the supply closet for a quickie.  

He’s certainly not thinking of it now as the two of you christen his new office room. 

Graduating from a cubicle was no small feat. At least that’s what you sweetly told him before sinking to your knees and unbuckling his belt. Wonwoo has a fistful of your hair in one hand while the other clutches the corner of his desk, white-knuckled in its grip. 

He hasn’t had this room for more than two days and he’s already risking it all for some head. Maybe he should— 

The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and whatever he was thinking of doing is as good as gone. 

“Fuck,” he huffs, his fingers tightening around the strands of your hair. “You’re— ah— going to get me in trouble.” 

You hum in response, unrepentant in your debauchery. You merely continue to suck him off like your life depends on it. The only thing Wonwoo can do is keep an eye on the door and hope, pray, that nobody needs him for the next ten minutes or so. 

When Wonwoo’s gaze flicks to you underneath his desk, he’s done for.

Maybe it’s the tears edging at your lashes, the way you’re trying so hard to take in every inch of him in your mouth. Maybe it’s how you look underneath his grasp, how you’re pliant and perfect and on your goddamn knees. 

Maybe he’s always just been weak for you. There’s that, too. 

Either way, Wonwoo finishes with a strangled groan. His hand that had been clutching the desk goes to cover his mouth in a futile attempt to bite back the sound. You lap up every drop of his seed in the way that drives him absolutely crazy, the way that makes him want to shoot his cum down your throat for days on end. 

His chest heaves as you shuffle out from underneath the desk, a coy grin tugging at your lips. You throw a quick glance at the door before draping yourself across Wonwoo’s lap, your skirt riding up as you bracket yourself across his thighs. 

Wonwoo’s hands instinctively find purchase at your waist. He lets out a low hiss when he feels just how wet you are, the evidence of your arousal seeping through your underwear and on to his pant leg. 

“Can’t do this,” he breathes out, his denial weak in the way his fingers slide up your blouse. “We have to stop.” 

He’s given you this bullshit excuse enough times that you know he doesn’t really mean it. A part of him does this time, he likes to think, and you must know that, too, because you lean forward until your chests are pressed together.

“Don’t worry.” You give a playful nip at his earlobe. “I’ll be gone in two weeks.” 

“What?” he sputters, his eyes widening behind his glasses. 

He tries to gently pull you away from him, but you don’t budge. Your head instead falls into the crook of his neck as you giggle breathlessly. 

“Got poached. Same position as yours,” you inform him. “Our company’s non-compete clause is pretty shitty, so I think I’m going to get away with it.” 

On one hand, Wonwoo is grateful. Your move would solve a number of issues, from conflict of interest to his never-ending war with morality. And— maybe, just maybe— he could graduate from friends with benefits to something more. Something real. 

But it also meant— 

Your teeth scraping his pulse point drags him out of his thoughts. Wonwoo’s grip on you tightens. You and your stupid habit of leaving marks right before ruining him. 

“What do you say, Jeon?” you tease. “One more for the road, yeah?” 

[rottenpumpkin13]

Idk if you have done this before, but what type of drunk are the boys? Lazard, Tseng, Angeal, Genesis, Zack, Sephiroth, Kunsel, Reno, Lazard or whoever you are willing to grace us with? (Aka, who is the functional alcoholic, lovey drunk, willing to fight with anyone/thing drunk, sleepy drunk, touchy drunk, existential crisis core drunk, the drunk that holds conversations with walls, etc)

Drunk Sephiroth: Has absolutely no filter when drunk. He will info-dump. He will overshare about classified missions and SOLDIER info. He will state his opinions on things no one asked him about. He will corner strangers to talk about the ethics of artificial materia production. He will let "fuck Shinra" slip more than once. If they take their eyes off drunk Sephiroth for 2 seconds he's either a) in a state of sleep not even a meteor could rouse him from, or b) telling the nearest stranger all about how he first learned to swim and hold his breath for extended periods of time when Hojo dunked him in a mako tank when he was five.

Drunk Zack: Has a lot of love to give. Will befriend literally everyone and everything including inanimate objects. Has lengthy conversations with the wall because "oh so just because its inanimate it doesnt deserve attention?" Tries to pet every stray animal he sees while sobbing about how hard their lives must be. "Look at this kitty! It has no home! Angeal, it has no home! Can we keep it?" (it's Sephiroth). Forms deep emotional bonds with random objects, cradling a bottle like it's a newborn like "This is my best friend now." Drunk-dials Angeal every 10 minutes to tell him he's the best mentor ever and cries when Angeal answers like "I KNEW YOU'D PICK UP, YOU ALWAYS PICK UP!" Looks at Cloud and bursts into tears because "He's so small. I'll protect him forever!"

Drunk Angeal: Compulsive cleaner when drunk, to the point of absurdity. Aggressively wiping down counters at the bar with "I can't believe people live like this." Starts rearranging furniture at the bar, claiming it has "terrible feng shui." If Zack's got anything on his face, Angeal will grab a napkin and scrub like he's buffing a rusty sword. He has no boundaries either. Strangers get dusted off, tables get realigned, and if anyone tries to stop him, he responds with "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I ruining your trash heap aesthetic? Please, let me leave this spilled drink so the rats can move in." Ends the night cleaning the bar's industrial fryer while the staff begs him to stop.

Drunk Genesis: Becomes a text book theater kid with complete disregard for his surroundings. Any elevated surface is a stage, whether it's a table, a car, or Angeal during a piggy-back ride back to HQ. Uses materia and fire to "heighten the dramatic tension" during monologues, setting off every sprinkler system within a three-block radius.

Drunk Lazard: The composed Director transforms into everyone's wine aunt. Makes inappropriately accurate observations about everyone's personal lives while swirling his glass.

Drunk Tseng: The only indication they have that he's inebriated is that he'll approve absolutely anything put in front of him with a completely straight face. Has signed off on vacation requests for people who don't even work at Shinra. Weapons budgets for departments that don't exist? Signed. Reno wants to purchase a horse on a company card? Stamped and approved.

Drunk Reno: A hazard to both himself and everyone around him. He's the guy leaning heavily on whoever is closest, slurring compliments and flirting (unsuccessfully). Trips over flat surfaces but plays it off like it was intentional. Gets way too into darts and nearly takes out Rude's left eye.

Drunk Kunsel: Is never actually drunk around other people. Instead, he pretends to be drunk, slurring his words and stumbling just enough to sell the act, all to finesse gossip and classified intel out of everyone while they're too wasted to notice.

[billthedrake]

ORAL FIXATION (PART FOUR)

It was Dad's idea but I don't know why I hadn't thought of it. He didn't even bring it up with me in advance. Instead he sprung it one night at dinner.

"So..." Dad said to Mom as we ate. "Junior's gonna help me get in shape."

Mom laughed and looked over at me. "Is that so?"

I played dumb, like I knew what Dad was talking about. "Um, yeah."

"He's letting me tag along on his morning runs," Dad chimed in before I stumbled too much. "And we have a whole gym workout planned, too."

Mom seemed surprised and amused. Dad was a good looking guy with some solid muscle on him, but he spent a lot of time at work, and though he was on his feet most of the day, a doctor doesn't have the most active job.

She looked back and forth between me and Dad. "Well, good for you men," she said, smirking some.

***

I felt a little bad, because I had a good idea what Dad had on his mind. We were both up early the next morning, a little before dawn even. I'd seen Dad in his gym clothes before, but it had been a while, to be honest. But they showed off his hairy meaty legs as we did stretches in the driveway, feeling the cool morning air.

"Where you run to, son?" he asked.

I told him my route and the distance I normally did. We lived a half mile from a park with a nice trail system, so it gave me some variety. "We don't have to do the whole thing, Dad," I said, pulling back my heel to my glutes for that extra stretch, then the other leg. "Just let me know what you're feeling."

"I'm a little out of shape," he admitted. "But I'll keep up."

He did, too. Pretty well, though I knew my pace was faster than his. I slowed down some, but I had that teenage energy working for me. I looked over at him after a couple of miles, and he looked at me.

"Doing OK, Pop?" I asked.

He nodded, a little of breath. "Yeah, Junior."

Only his eyes were on me. Probing, and more than a little hungry. We were circling in the wooded area of the park, and had only passed two joggers so far. The way my father looked at me excited me and gave me a half-stiff dick even mid stride. "You want it, Dad?" I asked quietly.

"Um, yeah," he said, nodding excitedly.

We slowed our gait to a trot and a walk, then I followed as he led us into the woods and behind a larger tree.

I stood and pulled down my shorts as his fingers traced along my bare thighs, his eyes fixed eagerly on my crotch, awaiting his next meal.

Before that morning, I knew Dad was an incredible cocksucker, and I knew we had that forbidden-thrill bond of his blowjobs. But that day I realized just how much Dad needed my cum, how addicted he was to blowing me.

The tree bark was a little scratchy, but I leaned back to steady myself as Dad took me into his mouth. No foreplay really, just nice steady mouth strokes up and down, working extra length down his gullet as he got into it.

I got into it, too, cradling his head gently and silently coaxing him to work my load out. I could see the silver flecks in his brown hair. Respectable doctor on his knees for a hot no-recip incest blowjob.

"Yes," I hissed. I knew we had to be quiet, but I missed talking to Dad while he sucked me. But this was naughty and hot, and I knew we were both worked up. Dad let out his own soft moan around my cock as my dick spurted its first salvo of precum. It had taken only a minute and wouldn't be much longer for the full cum, given how horny I always am in the morning.

Dad worked me more rigorously, deep and with high suction. And doing something with his tongue. That did it. I curled my fingers in his hair and held tightly as I blasted hard. A good seven or eight spurts of his son's seed right into his craw and straight into his belly. Dad sucked it down gratefully.

He didn't belabor the aftershocks but gave my wet dick a gentle kiss as he pulled off, then looked up and winked at me. I could see he was erect when he stood up, but true to form he didn't make any move for reciprocation.

"Maybe that'll slow you down," he whispered with a laugh.

I pulled up my shorts and laughed back.

By the time we got back, Dad's hardon had gone down and I felt more ready for my day than ever. It was surprisingly matter of fact between us, even, as we did our cool-down stretches and talked about how the run was for Dad, what his goal was.

"Tomorrow, same time, buddy?" he asked, giving my shoulder a light punch as we walked into the kitchen to rehydrate.

I'd been in a conditioning phase for football but generally aimed for running every other day. But if Dad was gonna be my running buddy, I'd make it every day for sure.

***

We skipped some mornings, but I got used to the ritual. I was a horny jock, and it was just mindblowingly great to have a fatherly blowjob to start most days. Jake Gehring made a crack about me being in a good mood lately, but for some reason I wasn't sure I should share the development with my buddy. I'm not sure why.... Dad had sucked Jake a couple of times. Given my friend's moods when he showed up at school, I'm sure Mr. Gehring was giving him the same treatment.

I wasn't being greedy, honest, the escalation just kind of happened. Dad had drained me good and well on our morning run, but around 7 o'clock one evening, he knocked on my door and stepped in, barechested and wearing just a pair of shorts. God, he was looking incredible with his lightly furred chest and muscle showing its pump from his workout in our basement home gym. And there was those clean-cut, professional looks. Hot doctor with a secret side.

"Your mother just left for her book club," he announced with a playful grin. "You up for a blow job?"

I liked this side of Dad. Matter of fact. Sexual. Needy.

"Hell yeah," I smiled. "If you're offering." I'd gotten off big that morning, Dad always gets me off well when he sucks. But I was a teen, and I had a pretty high sex drive.

"I'm offering," he grinned back, stepping in and closing the door. "Though maybe we can take our time." He got up on the bed and ran his hands up my legs. Dad seemed to really like my legs, or maybe that was his way of foreplay to get me going.

"You want me to last longer?" I asked. Maybe not insecure but feeling like a young guy with a lot to learn about sex. "You get me so worked up, it's sometimes hard to last," I admitted.

Dad chuckled. "I like that, Junior," he said. "I love when you cum fast... but I was thinking it would be fun to edge you a little tonight.... I mean, we have the time to play."

I knew what edging was, but never had really done it. I was usually too impatient to cum. "Sounds hot, Dad."

And like that, my father scooted up and cautiously met me for a kiss. We'd kissed before, but not much. I got the sense Dad only let himself do it when he was really horny. He was really horny now, I could tell by the feel of his boner in his shorts, pressing against mine.

I fucking loved it, though. I mean, I love kissing in general and making out with Dad was a mind fuck and a half that made my cock drip big time.

We both laughed as we broke the kiss. Like we'd gotten carried away.

"You OK with this, Junior?" Dad asked.

I ran my hands along his bare flank, feeling his warmth and firm muscle beneath the middle age softness. "Dad... you're fucking sucking my cock every day... of course I'm gonna be OK with this."

I worried I was too direct, but Dad just chuckled. "You're a horny kid all right," he said. Now his fingers ran underneath my T-shirt, feeling up my bare muscle. "And I'm VERY happy to take care of my hot young man." From anyone else that would have sounded slutty, but from Dad, it was just weirdly paternal and hot.

I gulped. "God, Dad."

"You'd say if we were doing this too much, right?" he looked in my eye, even as his fingers now ran beneath the elastic waistband of my mesh shorts.

I gulped and nodded. My cock lurched, feeling the aching closeness of his hand. It was like it had been 12 days since I'd last gotten off, not 12 hours. "Trust me, Dad... if anything it's the opposite."

That made him pause and look right into my eye. "You want it more, Junior."

My throat felt dry and I felt hot and sexual. "Fuck, Dad," I didn't normnally curse like that around my father, but something about the blowjobs changed the dynamic. "I don't mean it like what you're doing for me isn't enough... but yeah, I think about it a lot."

Dad peeled down my shorts, taking my briefs with them. My hardon was bared for him, throbbing and rigid. He took a second to openly admire it. Like he did each morning on our runs, but instead of a second to get a look, he had as much time as he wanted. We didn't need to rush this.

"We'll figure out a way, buddy," he said. "Put you on the twice a day plan," he winked. Then more softly he growled. "Damn, I love your cock so much son."

His fingers now traced my length slowly, openly, his eyes going from my dick and back up to meet my gaze. His blowjobs were incredible, but there was something powerful and intimate about this, too.

"Um, Dad," I said, a little nervous.

He looked back up at me. "Yeah, buddy?" In that you-can-ask-me-anything tone he'd use in our father-son chats.

Here goes. "I notice you rarely get off yourself," I said.

Dad seemed prepared for my comment, like he was surprised I hadn't asked him before. "I like to save it for your mother, Junior," he answered. "Makes me feel less guilty about what we're doing." Then fixing my gaze... "Too much information?"

I shook my head. "All good, Dad. Just wanna make sure.... you know... I don't wanna be an asshole or anything."

"We're good, son," Dad said, giving my bone a steadier stroke now. "Truth is, it's my way of edging, too.... can't get enough."

I sat up on my elbows, looking down. I wanted him to suck me so bad now. "Anytime you want it, Dad, just let me know. For real... I'm always horny."

Dad didn't reply but just moistened his lips. Then he leaned over and took my stick in between his surprisingly soft lips. At some point I'd have to ask him where he learned to suck dick so well. But that could wait. For now, I just enjoyed the feel of his warm wet mouth making love to my prick. Up and down, bobbing with fuller strokes till he was deep throating me.

"Dad!" I cried. I knew I'd cum any second.

Dad pulled off instantly and attacked my balls. It was the perfect stimulation, but one that fed my lust without making me boil over. He did this for a minute than took my whole cock on again.

Edging or not, we could only go a couple of times at this before my load had a mind of its own. As Dad was making his retreat from my dick, I was already firing against his tongue. My ejaculation caught him by surprise but he went back into full on milking mode to suck my balls dry.

"Sorry, Dad," I said as he finally came up from my lap.

Dad grinned. "Not a problem, son.... was it good?"

"The best," I answered. "I just know you wanted to go longer tonight."

Dad scooted up to lie beside me. "Well, your mother will be out till about 10...." he reached down and ran his fingers along my spit and cum wet half-hard dong. "You think maybe you got another in you?"

I smirked back at him. "I'd say so, Dad... definitely."

That was the first day Dad swallowed three of my loads, but not the last.

****

I wasn't real tight with Matt Carson, I mean he seemed a cool enough guy but he wasn't a football jock and was on the quieter side. Almost nerdy quiet. But he was friendly in his way as he stopped me in the hall one day between periods at school.

"Hey Mike," he said. Unlike guys on the team or my close buddies, Matt didn't call me by my last name. I guess I used his first name, too.

"Matt," I said, not giving him a fist bump like I might my buddies. "What's up?"

"What are your plans Saturday?" It was December and it was the rare week when the high school had no sports going on.

I shrugged. "No plans yet. Why?"

He was still guarded but more talkative than I'd ever seen him. "It's my birthday this weekend and I thought of having a few guys over. If you're interested..."

This surprised me. I wasn't a close bud with Matt. Then again, I worried he was the kind of dude who didn't have any close buds. I felt bad. "Sure, sounds cool," I said. Maybe I was getting myself into an awkward evening, but whatever.

I was glad to see a big smile on Matt's face. "Awesome, man... I wasn't sure..." he started. "It's at 7, just pizza and stuff... but guys are free to stay over if they want." There was something to the look in his eye that made me wonder if something was up. Maybe it wouldn't be a key party but a Mr. Carson BJ might be in the works. "I'll check with my folks," I said. "But I'll see you at 7."

We bumped fists and walked on to our classes.

****

It did seem to be just pizza and stuff. I sat wondering if my Dad was upset or jealous. Mom had been the one I asked for permission to stay over at Matt's, and I could see Dad's quiet but noticeable facial expression. I'd have to clear the air with him later, but part of me resented this part of our weird affair.

Especially because it didn't look like anything sexual was even going to happen.

However, around 9:00, Drew, one of Matt's basketball teammates, and Connor, one of the popular kids in school, had to go. I think Drew's parents were pretty strict and maybe religious, whereas Connor just had a hot date. That left Matt, me, my teammate Alex Ramirez, and another basketball player, Daryl, a tall chocolate-skinned jock who was kind of moody when I'd met him before but now seemed a lot more chill.

We were playing video games and I hadn't noticed Daryl had gone more than a couple of minutes. Hell, maybe he was just gone a couple of minutes. But he came back with a conspiratorial grin on his face. "Dayum, Matty... your old man has skills all right."

I was caught off guard, my face darting between the guys... Daryl, with his shit-eating grin, then Matt, who blushed some, then Alex who was amused by my surprised reaction.

"I guess you missed the last key party huh, Walsh?" Rodriguez teased, leaning back to spread his legs. "We got a new member to the club," he explained, gesturing toward Daryl.

Daryl now was getting a more earnest look on his face, leaning in some as he fixed me with his gaze. "Matty says your dad's a great cocksucker."

Part of me wanted to tell the guy not to talk about my father like that. But he was right, and besides, the appeal of the guys talk won me over. "Fuck, dude, I can't resist a blowjob from him."

Alex was now getting impatient. He gripped his crotch, where a thick rod rode up in his sweats. "It is my turn, Carson?" he asked the host. "I'm not supposed to fuck around without Dad there, so keep this a secret, OK?"

Matt chuckled. "Yeah, you got it."

I watched the hunky tight end stand up. Alex had the height, build, and athleticism of a star player, and it turns out he had the tool to match. Mr. Carson was gonna get a mouthful.

Now Matt seemed to get his normal shy side coming out. "You OK with this Mike?" he asked. "I figured..."

"Yeah," I said. "I wasn't sure if it was gonna be this kind of party, but that's very cool."

Carson smiled. "It's kind of my birthday present, actually. Dad putting out for my buddies," he explained. "It's been one of my fantasies."

Daryl laughed as he picked up the control to take over playing the video game. "You are one kinky motherfucker."

Carson seemed to relax. I realized he craved to be teased, to be one of the guys.

"What's the fantasy?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Dad taking care of you all. Multiple times if you want."

"I'm gonna want," Daryl piped, reaching down to rearrange his junk. He seemed hung, but not quite as big as Matt, who had a really long schlong. "Shi-ut"

"Yeah, me too," I said. Mr. Carson had never drawn Dad's keys at one of our oral parties, so I'd not yet experienced his mouth.

I'd have to wait a while longer. Rodriguez was taking his own sweet time, damnit. I tried to make small talk with Matt while Daryl played his turn, but I was getting harder by the minute.

"Your Dad OK with you having fun tonight?" Matt finally asked, nodding to my boner.

"I don't know, actually," I said. "We didn't talk about it. I don't really give a fuck," I said, even though maybe I did.

Alex finally came back in, olive complexion flush redder and a his hair actually sweaty. "Damn, Carson," he said to Matt. "Who's birthday is it?"

Already I was standing up, impatient to claim my first blowjob.

I sort of knew my way around the Carson McMansion, and I saw the light from the end of the hall upstairs saying where the master bedroom was. The door was ajar, and I quietly stepped up and gave a little knock.

"Mr. Carson?" I asked. I don't know why, but I was in polite guest mode.

"Yep," came the deep voice inside. "Come in."

There was a magnificent sight. Dave Carson's 40-something body naked and splayed face down, all 6'6" of his lean daddy build lying on the king sized bed. For a man of his build, his ass was surprisingly round, an almost pert bubble butt dusted in hair. Even from a few feet away, I could see the buns were wet.

Mr. Carson turned his head back but didn't make a motion to move. "There's lube on the nightstand," he said matter of factly. "And rubbers if you want. None of the other guys did," he chuckled before laying his face back down on the pillow.

I wouldn't say I never thought about fucking, but I'd never thought about fucking one of the key party dads. There had always been such a strict oral-only rule. But this wasn't a key party and the usual rules clearly didn't apply.

I stepped up and ran my hand along his calves. Furry and warm, I don't know why but it felt naughtier than normal to touch Mr. Carson like this. "Did Daryl and A both do you, Mr. C?"

He nodded. "Drew, too. Twice. I'm gonna be a little wet down there, Mike."

Fuck. I didn't know if this was crossing some line Dad didn't want me to cross. Like Rodriguez said, this secret could stay with the guys at the party. I slipped down my sweats and kicked them aside. I almost didn't both removing my T shirt but I enjoyed the dreamy smile on Mr. Carson's face as I did.

Yeah, I had a great body, thick and toned and athletic, but I was also just a high school senior who felt like a goddamn porn star just then. I climbed up on the bed, kneeling behind Matt's dad first, so I could run my hands along his hamstrings and ass muscle, taking it all in. My first fuck with a guy.

I dipped my finger in the crack. Mr. C wasn't kidding, he was wet as fuck. I wouldn't need lube on my cock. I didn't know what I was doing other than imitating porn videos. It was a good thing the man was all loose now and relaxed. As I stretched out on his warm body and guided my prick in place, his hole welcomed me instantly, its elastic wetness opening for my cock.

"Fuck!" I grunted.

"Your first, Mike?" Dave Carson asked excitedly. Realizing.

"Hell yes," I said. Now powering in for my first real thrust inside another man. The entry had been loose but once I bottomed out I felt the snugness of his guts around me.

I fucked in again.

"Go for it," Mr. Carson urged. "Fuck me."

The man braced his hands on the mattress, fingers digging in a little when I bottomed out a little too hard or deep. But he didn't complain or tell me to slow down. So I rode it out. I loved getting head, and I'd continue to love it. But this was different and exciting and a completely different set of sensations along my prick. I wanted to maximize that feeling so I fucked faster. Harder.

I planted my lips along Mr. Carson's neck. I got some height on me, but Mr. C is one tall motherfucker. Or I was a dadfucker. The idea had me cumming, my own dad and Mr. Carson melding into one.

When I finally dismounted, my dick was coated in frothy cum.

"Bring it here, stud," came the deep voice in soft instruction.

"You sure?" I asked. I mean, the man's hole was clean, but there was a lot of lube and a lot more sperm on my dick.

He just scooted around to take me in between his lips. Then descended deeper. I learned that day the difference between a real blowjob suck and a clean off suck. Mr. Carson gave it a soft kiss as he pulled off.

"You're amazing, Mike," he said. His blue eyes looked up at me. It was wild this masculine man was so into dick, but then again I could say that about my dad, or Mr. Gehring or Mr. Rodriguez. "Hopefully you're up for more later."

"Yes, sir," I said in dumb politeness. Now embarrassed, I found my sweats and T-shirt and slipped them on.

Matt was waiting outside the door, naked and hard with the long cock sticking up. He'd watched us.

"Hot, bro," he grinned.

"Yeah," I said. I leaned in to whisper. "You do this often?" I had to ask. I wasn't the brightest guy maybe.

Matt nodded with a pride glee. "All the time. It's hot, right?"

He didn't give me a chance to answer the rhetorical question. He patted my shoulder and walked past me into his father's bedroom.

I gave them their privacy.

****

I fucked Mr. Carson twice more that night. The third time I barely had anything to shoot, but I wanted the chance to enjoy the new experience again. I didn't keep track of the other guys, but they did him at least that much.

We woke up late, and Mr. Carson was still sleeping in. Matt was back to his quiet mode and could have been having regrets, so we kept things cool, talking about school stuff.

I got home by 11. Dad had a nervous look on his face. I felt frustrated. But I kept my poker face as I told my parents I had a good time and checked in. I then went off to shower. I had homework to do and then get to the gym.

I'd barely slipped on my underwear when Dad knocked on the door.

"Have fun, buddy?" he asked quietly, slipping into my room.

I nodded. I loved showing off my body to my father. Something about fucking Mr. Carson made me feel like an even bigger stud than normal. "You mad, Dad?"

"Not if it's what you want, Junior," he said. Then dropping to a whisper he added. "I know I don't take care of your needs enough."

Holy head fuck, Dad knew how to drive me crazy. The man sucked me at least once a day now, and often two or three times. And here was my mild-mannered, professional father acting like it wasn't enough.

"Shut the door, Dad," I whispered.

He got an excited look on his face. This was risky as fuck.

I peeled down my underwear and let my prick flop out. Unbelievably it was firming up again. Dad crouched down and hungrily caught the expanding head in his mouth. I lately learned he loved to have me go hard in his mouth. He was getting that today and going wild, moaning around my teen meat and scarfing it down. Within seconds I was fully erect and Dad was bobbing up and down on me.

This was me with a sex hangover going for hair of the dog. One of my Dad's prize-winning blowjobs. Nasty incest sucking. I watched his salt pepper hair and his hunched shoulders and savored the soft squishy sucking sounds combined with his quiet moans. Dad was going to have to work a little harder for this load, but he was up to the task. It might have been his best technique to date, the right combination of hard and silky-soft. Fingers on my ball sac, coaxing out my load.

I reached down and gripped his shoulder, giving him a soft squeeze to let him know I was coming. He hoovered down my semen as fast as I fed it to him. I was lightheaded, the orgasm was that good.

And as quickly as it started Dad retreated, pulling off and wiping his chin, before standing up. Nervously he darted to the door, listening ear to the wood, before he cracked it open, then slipped outside.

****

I was too tired for more that day, and Dad didn't pester me for anything more. I got a quickie Monday morning as Mom showered. But on Tuesday Dad somehow found time to get me off three times. Mom's book club was the best thing ever, I decided.

I lay back on the bed as Dad knelt between my spread legs, softly kissing my now sated genitals.

"For spring break, some of the dads are organizing a beach trip. Just guys," he said.

"Yeah?" I asked, perking up at the implications Dad seemed to be dropping.

He grinned and looked up at me. Like it was a chore to break eye contact with my dick. "If that appeals to you, Junior."

"Oh yeah. Who's gonna be there?"

"The usual. Carson, Gehring, and Heller. We're working on Joe Marino."

"Hot," I said. My prick was filling out some thinking of the possibilities. "Dad..." I said, my voice getting more serious. "I fucked Mr. Carson." I was going to keep this a secret, but I wanted to clear the air.

"Oh," Dad said, taken aback. He then got his encouraging paternal expression. "You enjoy that, Junior?"

I nodded. "A lot. Yeah."

He seemed to take that in. "I don't think I could do that," he said simply.

"I'm not expecting you to, Dad," I said. "Unless you wanted to." I had to throw the idea out there.

"Can we just keep it to this?" he asked.

"Absolutely," I replied. My dick was hard now. I pushed it down, offering to Dad in case he wanted to go for number four. "How bout now?"

He smiled. "You got a beautiful cock, Junior." He scooted forth and began licking me again.

"And I have the best cocksucker for a father," I teased. I always worried I was going too far when I said stuff like that, but Dad seemed more excited now, swallowing me deeper. I placed my hand on the back his neck and playfully held him there a couple of seconds before took more meat into his craw.

Hell yes we were going for number four. Dad taking his time, me focusing my erotic thoughts to get off again. To get over the finish line for Dad.

And as I came down from my intense fourth come, I decided I was going to have to do something special for Dad, to thank him for taking such good care of me.

[frogsinflannel]

If I Kiss You Where It's Sore

Rated T | 9-1-1: BuckTommy | 2230 words

“So.”  Tommy smiles at Buck from his place between his legs, hands gently cupping his knees.  His teeth are showing, white and sharp.  

The callouses on his hands catch on the downy leg hair, and he rubs little, teasing circles with his thumbs.  Buck feels his face split into an answering grin, one arm tucked under his head and the other laid against his side, his hand resting on his stomach.  “So what?” he asks.

Tommy presses his mouth to the meat of Buck’s leg in a slow kiss.  There’s no expectation there, no heat, just comfort and ease and the reassuring warmth of skin on skin.  They’re both stripped down to just their underwear, in a soft, sleepy bubble in Tommy’s big worn-in bed.  The duvet Tommy has is a creamy, striped linen, and it feels cozy and gentle and good where Buck lays on top of it.  There’s something approaching luxurious about how comfortable the bedding is, how intentional Tommy was in choosing it.  Something about a thing used fully for its intended purpose, enjoyed and well taken care of.  Buck gets the feeling that’s how Tommy is with the things he has now: careful.  Thoughtful and attentive, and Buck feels envy for every object lucky enough to be tended to with his big, exacting hands.  

He gets to be one of those objects again now, and when Tommy’s thumbs circle again in a play of soft-padded kisses a shivery thrill tracks up his spine. 

“ So. ”  Tommy gives him a look trying too hard to be exasperation.  Buck spreads his legs a little wider.  See, he’s accommodating, too, making room for Tommy’s broad, broad shoulders.  “Did you like the movie?”

Buck laughs and with a mock-scowl Tommy pops the thick, elasticized waistband of his briefs.  It snaps in pleasant not-quite-pain against his skin and he wiggles his hips.  “The movie?  Uh.  You think I watched the movie?  Hey, let me remind you whose mouth was on whose neck.”

Tommy grins but hides it, scooting up and burying his face in the soft skin of Buck’s inner thigh.  He shakes his head, rubbing against him, and Buck feels the gentle scratch of his stubble.  “Don’t know what you mean,” he says.  Buck sighs, content, and rakes touch-hungry fingers through Tommy’s fluffy, bed-softened hair.  It’s another one of those things about him he missed so much.  “I mean, did I have my hands on some gorgeous guy?  Was I kind of distracted myself, marking him up?  Did I touch him so good he lost his mind a little?”  Tommy looks up at him then, and his nose scrunches as he beams, playful and teasing, waiting for Buck to give him an answer.

The hand in Tommy’s hair moves down to cup his cheek and Buck thinks–not for the first time–that he’d fall over himself for the chance to touch Tommy, to be in a position where Tommy could touch him.  He’s already made a fool of himself for this man, and chances are he’ll be doing it again and again.  “A little?” he repeats, lifting one brow.  He presses his thumb into the cleft of Tommy’s chin.  Tommy’s eyes are soft, worn-denim blue, and Buck watches them flick down to his mouth.  He bites his bottom lip, a tease, and feels a hot splash of satisfaction in his belly when Tommy’s gaze zeroes in on the press of his teeth.  “Don’t undersell yourself,” he says, and he keeps his voice low and intimate.  Soft.  “You touched him so good he lost his whole mind.”

One big hand slides up his stomach and taps an arpeggio from his ribs up to his collarbone.  There’s a blossoming spot of purple right at the base of his throat, and Tommy presses the tips of two fingers into it–a slow, gently building pressure, just enough for Buck to feel it.  He groans and tilts his head back, baring his throat.

It feels like another question, the way Tommy’s hand lays hot and heavy against his clavicle.  The way his fingers push bluntly into the bruising warmth his mouth had made.  He wants it.  Tommy knows he wants it.  But things are still petal-soft and new, they’re re-learning the way they fit together.  Even in Tommy’s careful hands, it’s a question that needs an answer.

Because Tommy deserves to be tended to.

“Feels good,” he says, and his voice comes out rougher than he means it to.  It’s hoarse, a half-whisper that still sounds loud in the quiet of Tommy’s bedroom.   

“Yeah?”  Tommy glances up and their eyes meet.  He looks so pleased, his mouth crooked up and the corners of his eyes creased.  Then his gaze travels down–slow, slow–to fix on the point where his hand touches Buck’s skin.  Awareness and expectation start to rise and Buck feels the prickle of goosebumps up and down his body.

“Yeah.”  Buck swallows.  He wonders if Tommy can feel the bob of it.  “It’s like… like a memory, but better.  ‘S not the same.”  He groans when Tommy’s presses in with a touch more pressure, when Tommy’s body shimmies up and Buck can feel him warm and solid against the inside of his thighs.  “I can remember how we were the only two people in the theatre—because come on, Tommy, it was a shitty movie, you know this.  A-and how you let me put my arm around your shoulders because I was trying to be smooth, and you didn’t say anything even when I wasn’t.  You smiled about it and then turned so I couldn’t see it.”  He swallows again, working himself up and wanting Tommy to hear what he was saying–god did he want Tommy to hear it.  He cups the back of Tommy’s head and bends one leg, bracketing Tommy in with the mountain of his knee.  He thumbs at Tommy’s earlobe, scritches gently at his scalp.  “You wore your special cologne that I know costs more than you say it does, but it smells so good.  And even when I couldn’t see you, because the theatre was too dark, when you leaned in close it brought that scent with you, and I knew you were there.”  He gentles his hand and lets his fingers brush through the short hair.  “I knew you were there.”

“And then I kissed your neck,” Tommy murmurs.

“Uh-huh,” Buck agrees.  He shifts his hips, knows that Tommy can feel that he’s getting hard.  Knows that they’re not going to do anything about that yet.  “You kissed my neck.  I… I felt your teeth but you never bit down.  I felt when you sucked.  When you…”  He lets out a long, breathy exhale and he presses his knee tighter in to Tommy, wants to keep him right where he is for as long as he can.  “When you left a mark.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Tommy asks, and his eyes are so dark and his mouth is set and Buck knows what it looks like when it’s soft and open and wanting.  

“Yeah it hurts,” he says.  He lifts his chest, arches up as much as he can into Tommy’s fingers.  “It’s supposed to.  I want to know it’s there.”

Tommy sucks in a breath and then, quick for somebody as big as he is, he lifts himself and shimmies up to cover Buck’s body with his, blanketing him strong and solid and warm.  He presses a pleading kiss to the corner of Buck’s mouth.  It tastes bittersweet.

Their legs press together, Tommy’s hips fitted neatly into the cradle of Buck’s pelvis.  He hooks an ankle over Tommy’s calf, keeping him snugly in place, and then brushes a hand down the length of Tommy’s spine, landing softly on the small of his back.  He runs a finger along the line of his underwear, knows if he looks down he’ll see it clinging to the curve of Tommy’s luscious ass.  They’re so close, stacked on top of each other, and Buck never wants to leave.  He has Tommy, right where he wants him.  And Tommy is there, choosing to stay.  “Wanna remember you were there.”

With a huff, Tommy presses his face into Buck’s shoulder.  Hiding.  “Don’t say shit like that,” Tommy says, his voice muffled in Buck’s skin.

“Hey.”  He pinches his side and Tommy squirms.  “Honesty, right?  We’re saying what we mean?”  His fingers dig in further and Tommy grunts, nuzzling into him and then pushing the point of his nose into the crook of Buck’s neck.  “Well… I mean it.  I like thinking about how much you want me.  That you couldn’t even wait to get out of the theatre before, uh.  What was it you said?”  He feels it as his mouth curls up, and it takes restraint he doesn’t usually exercise to keep from sliding his hand down to grope or pushing his hips up again into Tommy’s.  “You got your hands on some gorgeous guy.  Gorgeous you said.”

Tommy hums.  “Maybe I was exaggerating.”

Buck covers his hand and cranes his neck as much as he can.  He slots his fingers between Tommy’s and then guides both their index fingers to press again at the almost obscenely large hickey on his neck.  “Huh.”  He feels it and feels it and it’s such a good sort of pain.  “Your enthusiasm suggests otherwise.”

A teasing slant of teeth nips at his collarbone.  It’s meant to distract him, he knows, but he’s got Tommy right where he wants him.  He wraps his arms around him, holding him tight.  The trap’s been sprung.  Tommy lifts his head, looking with mild curiosity at Buck’s needy grapple with one eyebrow raised.  “Well.  Maybe gorgeous isn’t entirely wrong.”

Buck grins big and wide.  

Tommy’s eyes darken.  “Yeah?  And maybe, if he asks really nicely—”

“Hey.”  Buck clears his throat, waits until he has every last speck of Tommy’s attention.  “I love you.”

Tommy’s mouth goes slack.  It’s not the first time he’s said it, but those few occasions have been precious, usually during something intense.  After getting back together and airing out their issues.  During sex.  He waited until now, until a moment of easy calm, because he wants Tommy to have to hear it.  He wants Tommy to know how much he means it.

He blinks and Buck can see him reeling back.

“Hey,” he says.  He squeezes once, then loosens his hold.  “I love you,” he says again.

“That’s…”  Tommy breathes out and Buck’s arms fall away a little as he props himself up to hover over Buck.  “That’s a big thing to say for one love bite, even if it is some of my best work.”

“Maybe I’m just grateful I get any of your work, even if it turned out to be your worst.”

“If you really want to thank me…” Tommy starts, and his voice is light.  Buck knows this game, he can already feel the deflection coming.  Tommy pets over Buck’s chest, lingering on his nipple and then a tattoo.  “You can put on that jock I know you’ve got in your bag and we’ll see if my work can’t improve with the right motivation.”

Buck shivers and he knows Tommy catches it.  He can’t help it–because Tommy’s right, he’d come to spend the night prepared, and maybe he’d wanted to encourage those large, masterful palms.  He is proudly aware that his ass is excellent motivation.  But this is important enough for his heart as well as his dick, and he shoves all the horny thoughts aside.  “That sounds… really damn good,” he says.  “And I want that.  I do.  But right now I want to cuddle, and digest that awful movie, and tell my gorgeous guy that I love him.”  He leans up and kisses the first part of Tommy he can reach.  “And I do.  I love you.”

For a long moment, Tommy is silent. Buck focuses on the warmth of him seeping in, on the soft bedding against his skin, on the buzzy ambience of the room around them.  There are still the faintest traces of his cologne lingering on Tommy’s body and he breathes in, trying to catch those, too.  He wants all of Tommy.  He wants his best work and his worst, the smell of him and the weight of him, too.  He wants to find all the cracks and stick his fingers in, see if they come out bleeding from the sharp edges.  He’s never known when to leave well enough alone.  He doesn’t want to leave Tommy alone again.

“Okay.”  Tommy breathes out and lowers his head.  His eyes are closed.  Buck wants to kiss the thin skin of his eyelids.  Very slowly Tommy starts to press down.  His body covers Buck's.  His weight starts to sink in.

Buck lays sandwiched between Tommy’s heavy, scarred body and the soft foam mattress topper covered by a fresh cotton sheet.  The pressure of that body brings a clarity he doesn’t often feel.  He drank a full glass of water.  He remembered his meds.  He doesn’t have to hold so tight when Tommy is the one keeping him pinned down, unable to get away.

“Okay,” Tommy says again.  He speaks against Buck’s skin.  His voice is soft and Buck can feel the words even better than he can hear them.  “Okay, Evan,”  he says.  “Okay.”

Read @ AO3

Song Inspo / Fic Soundtrack:

[lockettesstage]

outcast!chris making a charcoal drawing of crybaby!reader and she finds it absolutely stunning

You didn't even know that Chris had been drawing, okay well you knew he was drawing but you didn't know what he was drawing. He places down his charcoal crayon, hands dusty and stained jet black from the residue of the crayon, and gently rips out the page from his notebook.

"Uhm, this is uh- s'for you." He smiles and passes the paper to you. You grab it delicately, not wanting to crumple or tear the piece of paper. You almost don't recognize that it's you, but then you do and it has tears springing in your eyes because no one's ever taken any time to really notice you. The curve of your nose, the shadows that fall across your face when the sun hits you just right, the way your hair falls, and the little bit of frizz that's always a little bit there.

"Is this me, Chris?" You ask, stunned as you look up at him, doe eyes glassy with unshed tears. He nods and you pounce on him, attacking him with a hug. He falls back with a 'oomf' onto his bed, wrapping his arms around you and rocking side to side.

You place kisses all over his chest, pink lipgloss staining and stickying the fabric of his shirt. "Im guessing you like it?" Chris mumbles into your hair and you can feel his head tilt. "I love it! The man you are Christopher Owen the man you are." You smile as you shimmy down to sit up, not wanting to smack your head into his mouth, straddling him for a moment before leaning back down, hands placed on his chest to balance yourself, to kiss him.

Your lips slot with his, moving in sync for just a second before you pull back just enough to mumble, "Its stunning, Chris." Against his lips. You both smile against eachothers lips before he rolls you both over so he's on top of you instead. You're making out, a messy thing of tongues and lipgloss, before you realize you still have the page on the bed. You pull back, though it's hard due to the fact that your head is on the bed, and push Chris up into a sitting position.

He hovers a little confused as you wriggle out from under him to grab the page and place it on the nightstand. "I didnt wanna ruin it." You smile before your back under him and pulling him back down.

[thesoulspulse]

Danny Phantom Randomness (The Family Man)

Haven't made one of these in a while, but what better way to start off the new year? So this idea really hit me hard while working on one of my fanfics (plus a christmas movie I watched) and I started thinking about a timeline where Vlad was just your normal everyday guy. No powers, no fancy gadgets, no expensive suits, and nothing close to billions in dollars in his bank account.

In this AU, Vlad did end up marrying Maddie too but also became a work-at-home dad to support her dreams and help her move on after the accident with the proto-portal. This time, Maddie got upset with Jack and both she and Vlad tried to warn him not to turn it on. Furious, she threatened to storm out but as usual he didn't listen though. But instead of standing there like an idiot in front of the damn thing, Vlad managed to dodge the blast and it hit Jack who was right behind him. Jack runs off but Vlad stays behind to check on Maddie who collapses to her knees, sobbing because she blames herself for what just happened since she never meant for anyone to get hurt, especially not her best friends.

Vlad consoles her and against his better judgement they try to make amends with Jack at the hospital, however, feeling ashamed and being as stubborn as a mule he refuses to let anyone see him. Devastated, Maddie gives up researching ghosts altogether and in an effort to keep her from spiraling into a terrible depression Vlad suggests she switch her major, promising to support her no matter what. And he does just that. Giving up his tuition money to help her get into an even better college and working odd jobs to pay for his apartment now that he didn't have a roommate anymore.

Eventually Vlad and Maddie start dating after she graduates with honors, get married, and have two kids together. She's become a successful business woman while Vlad finally achieves his dream of becoming a husband and father. Problem is...he doesn't remember any of it because it all happened to a different person!

One day, Vlad wakes up in an unfamiliar house with someone nudging his shoulder, telling him the kids will be late for school if he doesn't get up. He's shocked and delighted to find out that the person in question is Maddie, his beloved college crush. That joy transforms into confusion but Vlad doesn't have time to worry about that and uses his quick wit to play along so she doesn't suspect anythings wrong. After that, for obvious reasons, Vlad tests to still see if he has his ghost powers intact and of course the answer is no. It bothers him at first, and he becomes quite a klutz himself when it comes to certain everyday things. However, apart from having a beautiful wife Vlad is also happy to discover Danny doesn't treat him like the enemy anymore. At least, no more than most teenagers do.

This gives Vlad the chance to get to know Danny as a person, not the son of his former best friend Jack. Its unfortunate neither of them have ghost powers anymore but strangely enough, just having Danny smile at him awkwardly from time to time more than makes up for it. Meanwhile Jazz is on the debate team at Casper High and his wife Maddie owns her own business while their home is, unfortunately, a bad knockoff of Fentonworks called Masterworks where he's a mechanic that mostly repairs computers and such so neither of them really keeps anything there that reminds them of how they used to research ghosts.

For the most part Vlad's new life isn't bad despite not having money to burn and it feels like Maddie's gone all the time. It gets lonely sometimes despite being married, but he makes the most of it until one day Jack suddenly shows up after years of isolation and kidnaps Jazz and Danny! Powerless to stop it himself and knowing he can't go to the police, Vlad hurries to tell Maddie during an important business meeting at her company. He can't exactly tell her how he knows about ghost powers, relying purely on their shared passion on the subject of the paranormal back in college, but to his surprise she seems unphased by the whole thing.

That means its up to Vlad to stop Jack without very good weapons and no powers to get their kids back because again, the police can't do anything against someone with ghost powers. The thing is, Maddie isn't totally wrong about Jack since he doesn't want to hurt the kids. He just wants to duke it out with Vlad because he blames him for his life being so lonely and miserable, which is ironic.

He does his best to stop Jack with a weaker version of the Plasmius Maximus that he haphazardly made out of computer parts that can only short out ghost powers for a few minutes, but unfortunately Jack's still a tank in his own right and knocks Vlad to the ground. After that, somehow Danny unties himself and his sister and once she's somewhere safe enough to call for help he runs back in and tries to shield Vlad, who is barely clinging to consciousness. As for Jack, seeing Vlad all battered and bruised he thinks this should make him feel better but it doesn't. It makes him feel worse after realizing, he just kidnapped two innocent kids to get back at someone who tried to fix things between them, yet Jack was the one who refused to let him all these years...

The last thing Vlad sees after that is Danny's tear-streaked face, pleading with him not to die and talking about all the things they wanted to do together. Things like visiting the local planetarium, stargaze some more on the rooftop, go fishing on Lake Eerie, teach him to drive a stick shift, and go to the next Packers game together. Vlad attempts to comfort his son, accidentally calling him his little badger which isn't a thing in this timeline, then everything goes dark.

Vlad wakes up in his Egyptian cotton sheets and silk pajamas, a freshly ironed suit ready and waiting for him in the closet and the smell of his favorite cologne hanging in the air. He's home. Yet, it doesn't feel like home. For the first time in years Vlad truly feels how empty and cold these halls are without the warmth of a friendly face to greet him in the morning. And even when he had a version of Maddie all to himself, she wasn't the woman he fell in love with, just a stranger who only cared about her career rather than her family.

Then Vlad remembers Danny's face in those final moments before this dream or whatever he had just experienced abruptly ended. There was so much love there, fear of losing his father, and the familiar determination of the original Danny to protect his loved ones whether he was strong enough to or not. Now, having experienced something similar himself, Vlad finally understands what that feels like. How it feels to put someone else first before anyone else.

Eventually this leads up to Vlad showing up one day in Danny's bedroom, looking around at all the little things that hint at what loves and what his hobbies are. It makes Vlad realize, he doesn't really know Danny at all. Not the boy he is anyway, just another hybrid Vlad assumed they'd instantly share a deep connection with because of their shared trauma. Of course, when Danny does finally show up he assumes Vlad's up to no good and is ready for a fight when Vlad shocks him by asking if they can just...talk. He's suspicious at first, seriously considering refusing to do anything, but there's something in Vlad's eyes he can't quite place. Almost like, for the first time, this brilliant man seemed lost.

I could go on but I think you get the idea. Phew, I'm glad I finally got this out of my system because it really had a death grip on me today lolz. Hope you enjoyed reading it! Oh and feel free to borrow this idea for fanart or your own story if it inspires you. I'd do it myself, however, in this new year of 2025 I REALLY want to try and fully complete a couple stories before writing anything new even as a short story/oneshot.

[th3mrskory]

Chapter 2: A New Begining

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Original fem!Reader x Origins!Logan

Warning: none. Just a slow burn (I promise it will be worth)

Word count: 7.6k

The first night in the cottage passed in a haze. She didn’t unpack much—just a quilt and a pillow to make the lumpy couch tolerable. Exhaustion clung to her, but sleep came in fits and starts. Every creak of the old house startled her awake, and the unfamiliar quiet wrapped around her like a heavy blanket. There were no city sounds to fill the space, no neighbors talking through paper-thin walls. Just her and the whispers of the forest beyond the cracked windows.

When morning came, it brought light that crept hesitantly through the dirt-streaked glass, casting long shadows across the floorboards. She sat up slowly, her body stiff from the couch, and stared at the room around her.

It was a mess. Dust coated every surface, cobwebs clung stubbornly to the corners, and the air smelled faintly of mildew. But this was her mess, and for the first time, that didn’t feel so bad.

The first thing she did was clean. There was no ceremony to it, no grand plan—just an overwhelming need to make this space livable. Scrubbing the windows became her first priority. The grime that clouded the glass blurred her view of the outside world, and with every stroke of the cloth, the light grew brighter, sharper. It felt like wiping away the fog that had settled over her life.

Next came the floors, their creaks and groans a constant reminder of the cottage’s age. She swept and scrubbed until her arms ached, until the scent of lavender soap replaced the stale air that had lingered when she first arrived. The work was hard, and every movement sent protests through muscles she hadn’t used in months, but it grounded her. Each small accomplishment—the gleam of the newly cleaned kitchen counters, the way the sunlight finally warmed the floorboards—felt like a step forward.

As the day stretched on, her thoughts wandered to the life she had left behind. The ache of betrayal still lingered, but here, in this little cottage tucked away from everything, it didn’t seem quite so sharp. The solitude wasn’t something to fear. It was space. Room to breathe.

By the time the sun began to set, she was covered in sweat and dust, her body demanding rest. She sank onto the couch again, this time with a mug of tea she had brewed on the cottage’s ancient stovetop. The sound of the river beyond the woods whispered faintly through the open window, a soothing backdrop to the crackling of the fire she had started in the hearth.

The cottage was still far from perfect. There was so much left to do—repairs she didn’t know how to make, corners she hadn’t yet touched. But as she sat there, wrapped in her quilt, staring into the flickering flames, she felt something she hadn’t in weeks: peace.

This house wasn’t a clean slate, not yet. It was a work in progress. And maybe, just maybe, so was she.

Sunday arrived with the chime of the church bell echoing through the quiet streets of Clearwater. It wasn’t the kind of morning she would’ve imagined for herself a few weeks ago—no hurried rush to get ready, no busy streets filled with strangers. Here, the world seemed to move slower, and for once, she didn’t mind.

She had planned to keep to herself, but the church bulletin board was how she’d found the cottage, and Pastor Edwards had been kind enough to help her settle in. Attending Sunday service felt like the least she could do.

The little white church stood proudly at the center of town, its steeple rising against the pale blue sky. Inside, the wooden pews were worn but polished, and the air smelled faintly of aged hymnals and lavender sachets tucked into the corners. She slipped into a seat near the back, hoping to remain unnoticed, but her presence didn’t go unnoticed for long.

After the service, Pastor Edwards approached her with a warm smile. “Good to see you here, Evelyn. How’s the cottage treating you so far?”

She returned his smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s... a work in progress. I’ve got the cleaning under control, but there are a few things I’m going to need help with. The porch, the plumbing…” She trailed off, feeling a little self-conscious about airing her problems.

The pastor nodded knowingly. “It’s an old place. Built to last, but it’s seen its fair share of years. I’ll ask around for you. See if anyone’s willing to lend a hand.”

A group of townsfolk lingered by the doors, chatting and casting curious glances her way. Pastor Edwards noticed and gestured toward them. “Why don’t I introduce you? Best way to feel at home here is to get to know the people.”

Before she could protest, he led her over, his booming voice breaking through their chatter. “Everyone, this is Evelyn. She just moved into the old cottage by the river.”

The townsfolk greeted her warmly, their curiosity softened by genuine kindness. She exchanged pleasantries, learned a few names, and politely answered their questions about where she came from and why she’d chosen Clearwater.

“You’ll love it here,” one older woman assured her. “Quiet, peaceful, and we’re a helpful bunch when you need us.”

“Actually,” Evelyn said hesitantly, glancing back at Pastor Edwards. “I could use a bit of help. The cottage needs some repairs—the kind of work I can’t do myself. Do you know of any handymen in town?”

The pastor’s expression shifted slightly, his smile turning a touch more cautious. “There’s Logan,” he said after a moment. “He works with the logging company, but he’s good with tools. Knows his way around repairs.”

“That sounds perfect,” she said, relief washing over her. “Do you think he’d be willing to help?”

Pastor Edwards hesitated. “He’s not... much of a people person,” he admitted carefully. “Keeps to himself, mostly. But if anyone can convince him, it’d be me. I’ll ask him next time I see him.”

She nodded, grateful for his kindness but curious about the man the pastor spoke of. A handyman who wasn’t good with people? It was an odd description, but for now, it was enough. She’d take whatever help she could get.

The drive back from church was quiet, the kind of silence that was more a companion than an intruder. The dirt road curved through the woods, the sunlight filtering through the branches in fleeting patterns that played across the windshield. It was peaceful, but her thoughts weren’t.

The brief conversation with Pastor Edwards lingered in her mind. “He’s not... much of a people person,” the pastor had said. It was a strange way to describe someone. Most people were either kind or curt, polite or brusque. Logan, apparently, was none of those things—or maybe all of them at once.

She was so lost in thought that the sudden jolt of her truck made her gasp. The vehicle lurched, its engine coughing out a metallic groan before it stuttered and died. She gripped the wheel tightly, guiding it to the side of the road as it rolled to a stubborn halt.

“No, no, no.”Climbing out, she inspected the vehicle with a growing sense of frustration.With a resigned sigh, she sitted on the dirt road.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the road, and the forest seemed to close in around her.

The sound of an approaching engine broke the stillness, a low rumble growing louder as a pickup truck rounded the bend. She glanced up, squinting against the glare of the headlights as the vehicle slowed to a stop just behind hers.

The man who stepped out moved with a quiet confidence, his boots crunching against the gravel as he approached. Broad shoulders filled out a flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms streaked with sawdust. His face was sharp, framed by dark hair that curled slightly at the ends, and his eyes—sharp and unreadable—held hers for just a moment longer than she expected.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice rough, carrying an edge of concern that didn’t quite match his guarded demeanor.

“I’m fine,” she replied quickly, brushing her hands against her jeans. “Just a little setback.”

“Looks like more than a little setback.”

She bit back a retort, her pride bristling under the weight of his assessment. “I’ve got it under control.”

“Right,” he said dryly, crouching down to inspect the damage anyway. His movements were deliberate, his hands steady as he examined the undercarriage. After a moment, he straightened, brushing his palms against his jeans. “Your axle’s shot. You’re not driving this anywhere.”

Her shoulders sagged, the weight of the day settling heavier on her. “Great,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “Just what I needed.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying her for a moment. “You live nearby?”

She hesitated, reluctant to share too much. But then she remembered Pastor Edwards’ words: He keeps to himself. “The cottage by the river,” she said finally, gesturing vaguely down the road.

Recognition flickered across his face, subtle but undeniable. “Figured you were the new tenant,” he said. “The pastor mentioned you.”

“Of course he did,” she said, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Small town, huh?”

“Yeah,” he replied. He nodded toward her truck. “Grab what you need. I’ll give you a lift.”

She hesitated again, her pride and practicality at war. Finally, practicality won. “Thanks,” she said, retrieving her bag before climbing into the passenger seat of his truck.

As he started the engine, he glanced at her. “Logan,” he said simply, offering his name without ceremony.

“Evelyn,” she replied, studying his profile as they pulled back onto the road.

The drive was quiet, save for the low rumble of the truck and the occasional creak of its suspension. She couldn’t help but steal glances at him, her curiosity growing with every passing second. There was something about him—an intensity that seemed to vibrate just beneath the surface, like a tightly coiled spring.

When they reached the cottage, Logan parked the truck at the edge of the driveway, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel as the engine idled. She climbed out, pausing to sling her bag over one shoulder before turning back to him.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended.

He gave a slight nod, his expression steady and unreadable. “I can take a look at your truck,” he said after a beat, his tone straightforward but not unkind.

She hesitated, unsure if the offer was out of convenience or obligation. “You don’t have to,” she replied carefully, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I know,” he said simply, his gaze meeting hers for a moment before shifting back to the windshield. “But it’ll save you a trip into town. Up to you.”

His words were practical, but something about the way he said them—low and even, without any trace of expectation—made her relent. “Alright,” she said softly. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Tomorrow morning. I’ll call my buddy that has a tow.” he replied, his tone final.

“Okay. Tomorrow morning,” she echoed, stepping back from the truck.

He nodded once more, putting the truck in drive. “See you then,” he said, his voice carrying just enough weight to linger as he pulled away.

She watched the taillights disappear into the woods, the sound of the truck fading into the quiet of the evening. There was something about him—something steady and solid, yet distant—that stayed with her as she turned toward the cottage.

For now, she told herself, it didn’t matter. But as she pushed the door open and stepped inside, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it did.

The next morning arrived with a chill in the air and a pale haze of dawn spreading through the trees. She pulled a cardigan over her shoulders as the hum of an engine broke through the quiet. Logan’s truck rolled up her driveway, followed closely by a rusty tow truck that looked as worn as her own.

Logan stepped out, his movements deliberate, the crunch of gravel under his boots louder than the low rumble of the trucks. He gave her a nod, his face unreadable as usual. “Morning.”

“Morning,” she replied, her voice soft against the brisk air.

The tow truck driver climbed out and gave a brief wave before getting to work. Logan stood back, arms crossed, watching the process with the ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times before.

“Thanks for arranging this,” she said, her fingers tightening on the mug of coffee she held.

“Needed to get it off the road,” he said simply. “Truck like that needs careful handling. Old axles don’t forgive mistakes.”

His words felt practical, not critical, but something in the way he said them made her feel exposed—like he saw more than she was ready to share.

“Well, it’s not much, but it’s mine,” she replied, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her tone.

He nodded, his gaze briefly meeting hers before shifting back to the truck. “That’s what counts.”

The tow truck driver had the vehicle secured in her driveway with a few well-practiced moves, stepping back to dust off his hands. Logan approached her then, his expression as steady as his voice.

“She’s old, but it’s not hopeless,” he said, jerking his head toward the truck. “I’ll need to get under the chassis tomorrow, but the axle can be salvaged.”

A small surge of relief lightened her chest. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he replied, his confidence simple and unassuming. He turned to the driver, exchanged a few quiet words, and handed the man a couple of bills. The driver tipped his cap before climbing into his own truck and pulling away, leaving the two of them alone.

Logan stepped closer to the truck, crouching down again to check the undercarriage. His hands moved with an ease that spoke of long familiarity with this kind of work. “It’s seen better days, but it’s solid,” he said, more to himself than to her. “This kind of thing doesn’t give up easily.”

She didn’t know if he was talking about the truck or something else, but the words settled over her in a way she didn’t expect.

He stood, brushing his hands on his jeans, and looked at her again. “I’ll bring the tools by tomorrow morning. Don’t try driving it until then.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” she replied, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but something close. “Good.”

As he turned to leave, she found herself hesitating, unsure if she should say something more. “Logan,” she called after him.

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Thanks. Really,” she said, the words carrying more weight than she intended.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment, unreadable but steady. “You don’t owe me a thanks,” he said simply before climbing into his truck.

The engine rumbled to life, and she watched as he drove away, the sound fading into the quiet of the woods. Left alone in the stillness, she looked back at her cottage, her truck, and the faint trail of dust left by Logan’s departure.

Something about the moment—about him—stuck with her, like the faint imprint of his voice still hung in the air. There was a steadiness to him, a quiet strength she hadn’t realized she needed until now.

She stepped back inside, her coffee mug still cold in her hands, and let herself wonder for a moment what it was about this town—and the people in it—that already felt so different.

The next day came quietly, the morning sky painted in soft hues of blue and gray. She spent most of it tidying the kitchen, organizing what few things she had unpacked. The routine was calming, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the man who had promised to return.

True to his word, Logan’s truck rolled into her driveway just as the clock struck ten. She stepped outside to greet him, brushing her hands on her jeans, trying not to seem too eager.

“Morning,” he said, pulling a heavy toolbox from the bed of his truck. His tone was as steady as ever, his expression unreadable.

“Morning,” she replied, offering a small smile.

Without wasting any time, Logan set the toolbox down beside her truck and crouched to get to work, his movements precise and methodical. She lingered nearby, unsure if she should offer help or leave him to it.

“You don’t have to stand there,” Logan said after a few minutes, his voice calm but direct. “This might take a while.”

She crossed her arms, the hint of a grin tugging at her lips. “I don’t mind. Besides, I might learn something.”

His mouth twitched, almost a smirk, before he returned his focus to the truck. “Suit yourself.”

For a while, the only sounds were the faint clink of tools and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. She watched him work, noticing the quiet confidence in his movements. His hands were sure and practiced, every action purposeful.

“Have you lived here long?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Long enough,” he replied without looking up.

“Do you like it?”

He paused, wiping his hands on a rag, and glanced at her. “It’s quiet. That’s all I need.”

She tilted her head, intrigued by the simplicity of his answer. “I guess I can see the appeal,” she said softly. “It’s a lot quieter than what I’m used to.”

Logan glanced up again, his gaze lingering this time. “City girl?”

She gave a small nod. “Born and raised. This is the first time I’ve lived somewhere like this.”

“Why’d you come here?” he asked, his voice even but not prying.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the hem of her sweater. “I needed a change,” she said after a pause, her tone guarded. “Something different.”

Logan didn’t press her. Instead, he nodded and returned to his work. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward; it felt more like a truce, an agreement to leave certain things unsaid for now.

An hour later, Logan stood and dusted off his hands. “Your axle’s patched for now,” he said, his tone practical. “Should hold up, but you’ll need a proper replacement soon.”

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, stepping closer. “Really, I can’t thank you enough for this.”

He shrugged, already packing up his tools. “Not a problem.”

“No, I mean it,” she insisted, brushing her hair out of her face. “I’d feel better if I paid you for your time. You’ve already done so much.”

Logan paused, his gaze meeting hers. For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then he said, “You’ll pay me when I’m done.”

Her brow furrowed. “When you’re done?”

He nodded toward the cottage. “Place like this? You’ve got more than a truck that needs fixing. If I’m coming back to work on it, might as well settle it all at once.”

She blinked, surprised by the offer. “Are you sure? That sounds like a lot of trouble.”

Logan’s expression didn’t change. “Trouble’s part of the job.”

A small laugh escaped her, the tension easing from her shoulders. “Alright. I guess I’ll owe you, then.”

“You will,” he replied simply, closing his toolbox.

“Thank you,” she said again, her voice softer now.

Logan gave her a slight nod, his gaze lingering just long enough to make her heart stumble before he climbed into his truck. “I’ll be by tomorrow to check out the porch,” he called through the open window.

Before she could respond, the engine roared to life, and he was gone, the sound of his truck fading into the woods.

Left standing in her driveway, she looked at the now-functional truck and then at her cottage. For the first time since moving here, she felt a flicker of something more than just survival—a tentative hope that maybe, with a little help, she could start building a life again.

The next day, she decided to head into town for groceries. Her cupboards were mostly bare, and while the cottage’s solitude was soothing, it lacked the essentials to make it feel like home. The small grocery store sat on the corner of Clearwater’s main street, its weathered sign swaying gently in the breeze.

Inside, the aisles were narrow and crowded with goods that seemed frozen in another decade. A bell chimed as she stepped through the door, drawing the attention of the clerk behind the counter—a woman in her late forties with sharp eyes and a kind smile.

“Well, you must be the newcomer everyone’s been talking about,” the woman behind the counter said warmly. 

“I guess word travels fast here,” Evelyn replied, grabbing a basket.

“It does,” the clerk said with a chuckle. “I’m Nancy. How’re you settling in?”

Evelyn smiled politely, picking up a basket. “It’s been... a change, but a good one. The town’s been welcoming so far.”

A few other customers—older women browsing the shelves and a man flipping through a newspaper near the counter—turned their attention to her. One of the women spoke up. “Oh, you’re the one fixing up the old cottage by the river, aren’t you? Brave thing, taking on a place like that all by yourself.”

Evelyn hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “It’s a work in progress, but it’s starting to feel like home. Had a little trouble with my truck the other day, though. Luckily, Logan stopped to help me out.”

At that, the room seemed to pause. The man with the newspaper lowered it, the clerk straightened, and one of the women in the aisle actually turned to face her fully.

“Logan?” the Nancy echoed, her tone edged with disbelief.

“Logan Howlett?” added the woman in the aisle, her brows furrowing.

“Yes, Logan,” she replied, glancing between their surprised faces. “He patched up my truck and even offered to help with some repairs around the cottage. Why?”

The clerk exchanged a look with the man at the counter before leaning forward again and letting out a low whisle. “Are you sure it was Logan who helped you? Tall fella? Always looks like he’s in a bad mood?”

“That’s him,” she confirmed, starting to feel self-conscious under their scrutiny.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the man muttered, folding his newspaper. “Doesn’t sound like the Logan I know.”,the man said, his tone edged with curiosity.

“I’d say,” the woman in the aisle chimed in, shaking her head. “He keeps to himself, doesn’t talk much. Not the type to go out of his way for anyone.”

“He didn’t seem unfriendly,” she said carefully, setting a loaf of bread into her basket. “Just... reserved. He was kind, in his own way.”

Nancy leaned over the counter, her curiosity evident. “Reserved is one way to put it. Man’s been in this town for years, and he barely speaks to anyone. You must’ve caught him on a good day.”

Sensing the conversation turning into speculation, she smiled politely and changed the subject. “The cottage is keeping me busy. Between cleaning and figuring out repairs, I haven’t had much time for anything else.”

“Good for you, dear,” the woman in the aisle said, though her curiosity lingered. “It’s a nice town. Quiet. You’ll find your rhythm soon enough.”

“That’s all I want,” she admitted, her tone softening. “Just peace and quiet. I’m not looking for anything more than that.”

“That’s probably for the best,” the older woman said kindly. “You’ll love it here. It’s a quiet town. Peaceful.”

Nancy handed her the receipt, her curiosity fading into a smile. “Well, you’ve come to the right place for that. Folks’ll let you be, though they might talk your ear off first.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Evelyn said with a small laugh.

As she stepped out of the store, the cool air wrapped around her. As Evelyn loaded the items into the passenger seat, her mind lingered on their reactions to Logan. They’d spoken about him as though he were an enigma—someone unknowable, even to the people who’d lived here for years.

Driving back to the cottage, she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man Logan really was. Reserved, yes, but there had been no malice in his quiet demeanor. 

The next morning came with a crisp chill that seeped through the windows of the cottage. Evelyn had spent the early hours tidying up, though she wasn’t sure why she felt the need to make the place look presentable. It wasn’t like Logan would care about the half-unpacked boxes or the persistent layer of dust clinging to the baseboards. Still, there was something about the prospect of having him around that made her want to at least look like she had things under control.

True to his word, Logan’s truck rolled into the driveway just after nine. She stepped outside as he climbed out, toolbox in hand and the same calm, unreadable expression on his face.

“Morning,” he said, nodding briefly as he approached.

“Morning,” she replied, crossing her arms to keep the chill at bay. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything important.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

She gestured vaguely toward the road. “Don’t you have work? At the logging company, I mean. Or do you make house calls full-time now?”

It was meant to be playful, but the corners of his mouth twitched, like he wasn’t sure whether to take her seriously.

“Not due there ‘til later,” he said simply, crouching down to inspect the porch steps. “Figured I’d get this done first.”

“Efficient,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

He glanced up, the faintest trace of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Something like that.”

The faint exchange felt oddly satisfying, like breaking through the first layer of ice. She lingered on the porch as he worked, watching the way his hands moved with practiced precision. The hammer in his grip looked like an extension of himself, every strike deliberate, every movement efficient.

“Do you like it?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Like what?” he replied without looking up.

“The logging company. The work.”

He straightened, wiping his hands on a rag as he considered her question. “It’s a job,” he said finally, his tone neutral.

She tilted her head. “That’s not exactly a glowing review.”

Logan’s mouth twitched again, but this time, it was closer to a smirk. “Pays the bills. That’s all that matters.”

“Fair enough,” she said, leaning against the railing. “You’re good at this, though,” she added, nodding toward the step he’d just finished reinforcing.

He shrugged, already moving on to the next. “Picked it up over the years. Comes in handy.”

“I can see that,” she replied, watching him work for a moment longer. “Still, I feel a little bad. Seems like you’ve got better things to do than fix up my mess of a house.”

Logan paused, his hands stilling as he glanced up at her. “If I had better things to do, I wouldn’t be here,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact.

The bluntness of his answer caught her off guard, leaving her momentarily at a loss for words.

“Well,” she said finally, clearing her throat, “I appreciate it. Really.”

He gave a small nod, returning to his work without another word.

As the morning wore on, she brought him a glass of water, which he accepted with a quiet “Thanks” before drinking it in a few quick gulps and setting the empty glass on the railing. She noticed how little space he seemed to take up, despite his broad frame and commanding presence. Logan moved like someone who was careful not to disturb the air around him.

“You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you with this place,” he remarked after a while, stepping back to assess the repairs.

“Tell me about it,” she said with a dry laugh. “You should’ve seen the kitchen before I attacked it with a bottle of bleach.”

He raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the door. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse,” she said with a grin.

Logan didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly—an almost-smile that was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“You didn’t have to take it on,” he said after a moment, his gaze briefly flicking toward her.

She shrugged, resting a hand on the railing. “Felt like the right thing to do. A new place, a fresh start... or something like that.”

“Fresh starts don’t come easy,” he said, returning to his work. His tone wasn’t dismissive, but there was a weight to his words that made her wonder if he was speaking from experience.

“They never do,” she replied softly.

By the time Logan packed up his tools, the porch looked sturdier than it had in years. He stood, brushing sawdust off his jeans, and nodded toward her.

“That’ll hold for now. You need anything else, let me know.”

“Do you always offer your handyman services, or am I just lucky?” she teased lightly, though there was genuine gratitude in her tone.

“Depends who’s asking,” he replied, his tone even but not unkind.

Her brows lifted slightly at his response, but she chose not to push further. Instead, she smiled and said, “Well, thanks again. Seriously.”

He nodded once more, then headed back to his truck. As the engine roared to life and he drove away, she found herself standing on the newly-repaired porch, her thoughts trailing after him.

Logan was an enigma, no doubt about it. Reserved, distant even. But there was something about his quiet presence that felt grounding in a way she hadn’t expected. It was as though he carried a steady gravity that made the world around him feel less chaotic.

She leaned against the railing, watching the horizon where his truck had disappeared. For now, she told herself, she didn’t need to figure him out.

She had enough to rebuild already.

The day passed quietly after Logan left, the cottage settling back into its usual rhythm of creaks and whispers. Evelyn spent the afternoon unpacking more boxes, though her mind kept wandering back to their conversation. His words had been sparse but weighty, each one carrying a subtle truth she hadn’t expected.

By early evening, her curiosity won out, and she decided to take a walk by the river. The air was cooler now, the sun dipping low and casting long shadows across the forest floor. She followed the worn trail that wound behind her cottage, the faint rush of water growing louder with each step.

When she reached the riverbank, she stopped, taking in the sight of the glassy water reflecting the gold and orange hues of the setting sun. It was peaceful, almost otherworldly in its stillness.

But even here, Logan lingered in her thoughts. The way he’d paused when she’d asked about the logging company. The almost-smile that had flickered across his face when she’d mentioned the kitchen. And the way he’d said, “If I had better things to do, I wouldn’t be here.”

It wasn’t a grand declaration—far from it. But the simplicity of his words had stayed with her, as though they meant more than he’d let on.

She crouched near the water’s edge, picking up a smooth stone and running her thumb over its surface. The town’s reactions to him echoed in her mind, too—the disbelief that he’d helped her, the quiet curiosity when she’d mentioned his name.

They didn’t know him, not really.

And neither did she.

The next morning, Evelyn made another trip into town. She needed groceries, but more than that, she wanted to get a better sense of the place—the people, the rhythm of life here.

The grocery store was small, its aisles narrow and cluttered but charming in their own way. She moved slowly through them, taking her time as she filled her basket with the essentials.

“You’re back,” Nancy, the clerk, said warmly when she approached the counter.

Evelyn smiled. “Looks like I’ll be a regular here.”

“Good,” Nancy replied, ringing up her items. “We like having new faces around here. How’s the cottage coming along?”

“It’s getting there,” Evelyn replied. “I’ve still got a lot to do, but I’m making progress.”

Nancy nodded approvingly. “I saw Logan’s truck heading that way yesterday. He helping you out?”

“Yeah, he fixed up my porch,” Evelyn said, her tone casual.

Nancy’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Did he now?”

“Is that surprising?”

“A little,” Nancy admitted. “He’s not exactly the helpful type, if you know what I mean. Keeps to himself, mostly.”

“That seems to be the consensus around here,” Evelyn said, her curiosity piqued.

Nancy leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “Don’t get me wrong—he’s a good man. Just… guarded. Don’t take it personally if he doesn’t say much.”

“I won’t,” Evelyn said with a small smile.

As she loaded the groceries into her truck, her mind lingered on Nancy’s words. Guarded. It was a fitting description, though it didn’t explain the flashes of kindness she’d seen in him. The quiet patience in the way he’d fixed her porch. The faint trace of amusement in his voice when she’d joked with him.

Driving back to the cottage, she glanced at the road ahead, wondering how long it would take for the mystery of Logan Howlett to unravel—or if it ever would.

When she pulled into the driveway, her gaze landed on something unexpected. Neatly stacked against the side of the house was a pile of freshly chopped firewood. She frowned, stepping out of the truck and approaching the stack.

It hadn’t been there that morning, she was sure of it.

Her first thought was Logan, though the idea surprised her. He hadn’t mentioned anything about firewood. He hadn’t said much of anything, really. But who else could it have been?

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly as she ran her fingers over the rough surface of the logs. It was a simple gesture, but it felt... deliberate.

Inside the cottage, she lit a fire in the hearth, the warmth spreading slowly through the room. Sitting cross-legged on the couch, she watched the flames flicker and crackle, her thoughts drifting back to him.

She wasn’t looking for love, or even connection. Not here. Not now. But Logan’s quiet presence had a way of grounding her, pulling her focus from the chaos of her past and planting it firmly in the present.

For now, that was enough.

The third morning after their encounter, Evelyn had settled into the rhythm of the cottage—cleaning, organizing, and slowly shaping the space into something livable. The day was crisp, the air sharp with the scent of pine when a steady knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

She opened it to find Logan standing on the porch, toolbox in hand, his familiar unreadable expression in place.

“Morning,” he said, his voice as steady as ever.

“Morning,” she replied, stepping aside to let him in. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

Logan stepped inside, glancing around briefly before setting his toolbox down near the kitchen. “Figured I’d get the cabinets done,” he said plainly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe with a hint of amusement. “You know, for someone who doesn’t seem to like people all that much, you sure go out of your way to help.”

He paused, turning his head slightly toward her, though his hands stayed busy unpacking his tools. “You saying you don’t need the help?”

“No,” she admitted, her voice softening. “I’m just saying it’s unexpected.”

Logan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he crouched to inspect the cabinets, his broad shoulders filling the small space beneath the sink. “Unexpected doesn’t mean unwelcome,” he said finally, his tone low but even.

She blinked, caught off guard by the weight of his words. He didn’t say them like they were meant to be comforting, but they landed that way regardless.

As Logan worked, Evelyn busied herself around the kitchen, though her eyes often wandered back to him. There was a certain ease to the way he moved—calculated, deliberate, as though every motion had purpose.

“You don’t do this often, do you?” she asked after a while, her voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Logan didn’t look up. “Do what?”

“Fix things for strangers.”

He paused briefly, his hand tightening a bolt on the cabinet door. “You’re not a stranger,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact.

She raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. “I’m not?”

“You’re part of this town now,” he replied, moving to the next cabinet without looking at her. “That makes you not a stranger.”

The corners of her lips twitched into a faint smile. “That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”

“It’s just the way it is,” Logan said, his voice steady.

She watched him for a moment, her curiosity growing. “Well, either way, I feel like I owe you. For the cabinets, the porch, the firewood...”

Logan glanced at her briefly, his eyes sharp but unreadable. “You’ll pay me when I finish everything that needs fixing.”

There was no room for argument in his tone, and something about it made her decide not to push further.

By midday, Logan had made significant progress, the cabinets now sturdy and functional. The kitchen felt less like a relic of the past and more like a space she could actually use.

“Lunch?” she offered, gesturing to the small table where she’d set out sandwiches and coffee.

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, wiping his hands on a rag before sitting across from her.

The silence between them was comfortable, the soft hum of the radio filling the space as they ate. Logan’s gaze drifted briefly to the stack of boxes in the corner, but he didn’t comment.

“Moving in isn’t as glamorous as it looks,” she said, following his gaze.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re in a rush,” he replied, taking a sip of coffee.

“I’m not,” she admitted. “After everything that happened... I think I just need to take my time.”

He nodded slightly, his expression thoughtful but guarded. “Makes sense.”

She hesitated, then asked, “You ever feel like that? Like you need to step away from everything for a while?”

Logan’s gaze met hers for a brief moment before he looked down at his mug. “More than you’d think.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning she didn’t press him to explain.

By the time Logan packed up his tools, the kitchen looked sturdier than it had in years. He stood by the doorway, his toolbox in hand, and gave her a brief nod.

“That should hold for now. I’ll check the roof next time,” he said.

“Next time, huh?” she said with a faint smile. “Do I need to schedule you in, or should I just leave the door unlocked?”

“Depends,” he replied, his tone carrying the faintest hint of humor. “You planning on giving me more work?”

Her smile widened slightly. “I’m sure I can find something.”

Logan’s lips twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smirk, but he didn’t let it settle. “See you around,” he said, heading to his truck.

As the engine roared to life and he drove away, Evelyn lingered on the porch, watching until the truck disappeared from view.

For someone who claimed not to like people, Logan Howlett seemed to go out of his way to help her. And for someone who claimed not to need help, she was beginning to realize how much his presence steadied her.

The thought stayed with her as she turned back toward the house, the faint smell of sawdust lingering in the air.

The following days passed quietly, the steady rhythm of her routine broken only by the occasional creak of the cottage or the distant sound of the river. Though the repairs Logan had done made a world of difference, there was still so much left to tackle.

True to his word, Logan returned a few days later, his truck pulling into the driveway with the same low rumble she was beginning to recognize. This time, he was inspecting the roof—a task she was more than happy to leave entirely in his hands.

From the safety of the porch, she watched as he climbed the ladder, his movements deliberate and practiced.

“Find anything up there?” she called up, shading her eyes from the midday sun.

“Leaky spots,” he replied, his voice carrying easily over the breeze. “Couple shingles need replacing.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Could be worse,” he said, crouching to examine the roofline. “At least it’s not caving in.”

“Well, there’s a silver lining,” she said dryly, though her tone carried a hint of humor.

Logan glanced down at her briefly, his lips twitching in what might have been amusement before he returned to his work.

As the afternoon wore on, Evelyn busied herself in the garden—if it could even be called that. Overgrown weeds and tangled ivy spilled over the edges of a weathered stone path, and she’d decided it was time to tame at least part of it.

She was crouched near the base of an old oak tree, pulling stubborn roots from the soil, when Logan’s voice startled her.

“You planning to fix that up too?”

She looked up, brushing her hair out of her face to see him standing a few feet away, his toolbox in hand.

“Eventually,” she said, gesturing to the mess around her. “It’s on the very long list of things to do.”

He nodded, setting the toolbox down near the porch. “Looks like it’s been a while since anyone’s touched it.”

“More like decades,” she replied, straightening and wiping her hands on her jeans. “But I guess that’s what I signed up for.”

“Not many people would,” Logan said, his tone matter-of-fact.

She tilted her head, studying him. “What about you? Ever think about fixing up a place like this?”

He shrugged, leaning against the railing. “Not really. I’m not much for settling down.”

The words lingered between them, heavy with a meaning she couldn’t quite place.

“Well,” she said finally, forcing a small smile, “good thing I’m not asking you to move in.”

Logan huffed softly, a sound that might have been a laugh, before picking up his toolbox again.

By the time the sun began to set, Logan had finished patching up the roof, and Evelyn had managed to clear a small patch of the garden. The quiet hum of the forest filled the air as they stood on the porch, the fading light casting long shadows across the yard.

“Thanks again,” she said, her voice softer now. “I know I keep saying it, but... I really mean it. This place would probably collapse around me if it weren’t for you.”

Logan shrugged, his expression as steady as ever. “You’re doing most of the work. I’m just keeping it from falling apart.”

“Still,” she said, meeting his gaze, “I appreciate it.”

He nodded once, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer than usual before he turned toward his truck.

“Logan,” she called after him, her voice stopping him mid-step.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

“You said you’re not much for settling down,” she said, her tone careful. “But... why stick around Clearwater, then? What keeps you here?”

Logan didn’t answer right away, his gaze shifting to the treeline in the distance. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more thoughtful.

“Sometimes it’s easier to stay where people already expect you to be alone.”

Her breath hitched at the weight of his words, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond.

Before she could find the right thing to say, Logan nodded again and climbed into his truck. The engine roared to life, and within seconds, he was gone, leaving her standing on the porch, the quiet settling around her like a heavy blanket.

That night, as the fire crackled softly in the hearth, Evelyn sat curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over her lap. The cottage was quiet now, save for the occasional groan of its old frame and the faint murmur of the river beyond the trees.

Logan’s words echoed in her mind. Sometimes it’s easier to stay where people already expect you to be alone.

She hadn’t known what to say to him then, and even now, hours later, she wasn’t sure she had an answer. But his honesty had left a mark, stirring something deep within her—a recognition of the weight they both seemed to carry in silence.

Her gaze drifted to the stack of firewood by the hearth. She hadn’t mentioned it to him, hadn’t asked if it was his doing. Somehow, she didn’t need to. The gesture felt like an extension of who he was—quiet, steady, always keeping his distance but still leaving something behind.

The faint glow of the fire bathed the room in warmth, and for the first time in a long time, she felt a flicker of contentment. It wasn’t happiness, not yet. But it was something close to it—a fragile sense of being grounded, of starting to rebuild.

As she sipped the last of her tea, her eyes grew heavy, the day’s work and lingering emotions finally catching up to her. She let herself sink into the cushions, the blanket pulled tighter around her shoulders.

Tomorrow would bring more work, more repairs, and, if she was lucky, another visit from Logan. Not that she’d admit she was looking forward to it—not even to herself.

For now, the fire burned steadily, the cottage standing strong around her, and the quiet of the night felt more like peace than loneliness.

With that thought, she let her eyes close, the rhythm of the river lulling her into a dreamless sleep.

_______________________________________________________________tagging some amazing people that showed interest on my previous post (if you don't want to be tagged please let me know):

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[billiesbossanovas]

Letters

High school au

Warnings: angst angst angst, death, su!cide mentions, self harm mentions, relapse mentions. Please read at your discretion.

If anyone reading this, or reading any of my work, or just so happens to even read just the warnings, know that I’m always open for you to talk to me if needed, please take care of yourself and know that you are loved and cared for. <3

This fic is kinda me projecting 🙂‍↕️ (extreme exaggeration for some parts)

Natasha Romanoff x gn!reader

Not proof read

—

You, y/n l/n, are part of the popular group in school, just from being long time friends with Tony stark, he was in the football team, mvp every game, best player in the whole school, you grew up with him, went through all levels or school with him, though you are the very contrast of him, nerdy, you would rather be reading than running around getting all sweaty and dirty.

One of his friends had caught your eye almost immediately, Natasha romanoff, a charming, tall redhead, at first she had struck you as kind, she smiled at you in the halls, even stood and had a conversation with you one time, that soon fizzled out, you had no idea why, she just started getting rude, giving you off handed comments or just flat out ignoring you. But you shrugged it off, it wasn’t anything major, just enough to make you slightly uncomfortable around her.

You sat on the bleachers watching as Tony was practicing with his team, him being your ride home meant waiting.. and waiting.. and waiting. It was annoying but also got you out of the house for longer. It was hard at home, your dad being ill and your mom being.. well your mom, so being out of the house was the best thing for your mental state, Tony knew that, he was the only person who knew how much you’d been struggling, how much you hated being at home. Hated being anywhere. So he offered to take you to school and drop you back at home after practices. He didn’t know everything, not about your plans or how you’d relapsed a week ago and feel back into your self harm as a coping mechanism, but some things are best kept secret, even from your best friend, especially from your best friend.

Natasha came and sat next to you, knocking you back into reality and huffed, she rested her chin in her hands and looked over at you. “What are you writing?” She snorts and laughs as you scramble to close your journal. “You’re such a dork” she grumbles before leaning back and watching as the team practices. You shove your journal into your bag and move it onto your other side, Natasha watches it and scoffs “I’m not gunna look in your precious journal” it’s said in a mocking way, but you know she means it, she’s not invasive, never has been.

Tony runs over to the two of you and gives a confused look before tapping you in the leg with his foot. “Ready to go?” He’s out of breathe and extremely sweaty to the point his hair was sticking to his forehead.

“Yeah- yeah let’s go. See you later Natasha” you stand up and put your bag on your back, she gives you half a wave and waits for Clint, he runs over and sits next to her as you and Tony walk away.

“So.. you doing okay?” He asks as the two of you get to the parking lot, you hum in response as he slings his football boots and jersey into the back seat of his car. “I’m here for you, you know that right?” He looks at you over the car, you give him a tight smile and sigh.

“I know.” Is all you give him, he stares at you, its intimidating like he’s trying to get information out of you with a stare, he lets it go after a second and climbs into the drivers seat. “Hey do you know my Natasha suddenly hates me?” You get into the car and out your seatbelt on, Tony takes a second to answer and looks over at you.

He opens his mouth and goes to speak a few times before smirking. “Tasha probably just likes you” he starts driving, he’s going the long way home, he always does. You just nod and think about it, if she liked you why would she be mean, acting as if it was a chore to speak to you without insulting you.

“Nah. I don’t think so.” You respond, the rest of the ride is quiet, the only sound being the hum of the radio, Tony focused on the road and you just watching as the houses and trees blur into one big mess, your demeanour shifts as soon as the corner turns onto your street.

Tony notices the shift in your energy, and the miserable look on your face. “You could sleep over at my house, my dad wouldn’t care.” He offers, trying to ease you a little, the offers nice, it would be great to even have a single night away from home, but you couldn’t, it wouldn’t be fair. You need to do chores, make sure everything is okay in the house.

“I-I’m okay, I’ll be fine.” He pats you on the shoulder, and watches as you drag yourself into the house. The moment you step in, you hear your parents arguing, you don’t what it’s over, but they’re loud and now only really shouting insults at each other, it had been going for a while now by the sounds of it, all you can do is sigh before walking up to your bedroom.

Dinner is silent, your dad eating what he can manage from his plate and your mom glaring at you while you eat. You look up at her, she scoffs and takes her plate to the kitchen sink. “You know you could help out once in a while.” She starts, aiming the statement at you. “I’m sick of doing everything around here. You could at least wash the dishes- or do the laundry.” You Finnish your food and take the plate over to where she is. “But even then you’d probably fuck it up- why don’t you just go study- or talk about me to your friends. Seeing as that’s all you do.” She takes your plate from you and starts washing it, you turn around to walk away from her. “I never get any help in this house.” She gritts out through her teeth, making a pang of guilt filter through your body as you make your way upstairs to your bedroom.

A sigh of relief leaves your mouth as you close your bedroom door, you pick up your bag and take out your journal, sitting at your desk to finish writing your letters, the one addressed to you parents being the first one you finished, you had one for everyone you were close with, just for if anything where to happen to you, the one you struggled with the most was Tony’s. What would you even write to him, all you could write was ‘I’m sorry’ you’d work on it more later. Flicking forward a few pages you write a name down to start a new letter.

Natasha, you also didn’t know what to say to her, how would you write a letter for someone to read after your death, when they don’t like you, and you’re basically in love with them? You sighed and layed your head in your desk onto of your journal trying to think, you closed your eyes, maybe it would help. In the end you fell asleep ontop of your notebook, being woke up to your mother pounding on your bedroom door announcing Tony was here, and you needed to get of your ass and go to school.

Over the course of the next week, everything had gotten worse, Natasha constantly ribbing on you for writing all the time, To y started slowly pulling away as things with pepper started to get more serious, you were left to deal with your thoughts, and your parents on your own. Your dad had gotten worse, he’d been admitted into hospital which made home life basically hell as your mother raved and screamed about how useless you were, how you could do so much more with your life’s yet you spent it locked away in your room. While you agreed on the latter, you could be doing normal teenage things, going to parties, getting into a relationship. But you spent your time locking yourself in your bedroom, crying yourself to sleep after making yourself bleed, because that’s what you deserved, to feel pain. You were a shitty friend and child, so why not make yourself suffer even more.

The day your mother burst into your room and shouted “you’re so fucking useless, you can’t even wash the dishes correctly. If you’re weren’t here my life would be so much easier.” There was more to the rant, but that’s the part that stuck to you, that was your breaking point. When night time rolled around you finished the letters off, and packed them insulate into envelopes with people’s names on them. They’re out into your bag, and you leave the house at four in the morning, leaving the letter for your parents on your desk ready for whenever they decide they want to speak to you.

It’s cold out, the only thing keeping you even remotely warm being a thin zip up jacket, the walk to Tony’s house is weirdly relaxing, crickets chirping, wind rustling through the leaves, making you wonder if you actually wanted to leave this all behind, before you knew it you were at Tony’s door posting the letter. ‘This is the right decision’ was all you could tell yourself, justifying your plan.

Now it was Natasha’s place, you walk up to her house, to your suprise she’s sat on the door step with a cigarette in her hand as she takes a drag. “Oh I didn’t know you smoked.” You mutter out as you stand at the edge of her porch.

Natasha laughed and blew out smoke, she looked at you confused then patted the spot next to her, you gladly took it and sat down. “I didn’t know dorks snuck out at night” she smirks at you and flicks her cigarette out onto the grass. “What are you doing here anyway?” She asks with a sigh leaning back and looking off at the still dark, early morning sky, it’s clear, the stars are out it’s beautiful.

“The night is so calm..” you mumble softly as you look at her, “beautiful..” you don’t know if it’s about Natasha or the stars, she looks over at you. “Right.. here” you hand the letter over to her. “Just don’t open it until I’m gone.”

Natasha watches as you walk away from her, she looks at the letter, her name written in your unkempt hand writing. She opened the envelope with care and unfolds the lined paper.

‘Natasha,

Where do I start? Well for one I’m sorry if I’ve done something wrong to make making you pissed off at me. Quite honestly I took a liking to you i really like you, a lot. And maybe in another universe we could have happened, I would’ve been easier for you to love, for anyone to love for that matter.

I love you, I’m sorry. ‘

As she read the letter, you were already climbing over the edge of a bridge, your shoes off sitting next to your bag. You stood there for a while, watching the water, maybe someone would see you and pull you down. Maybe deep down you didn’t actually want this. No, you knew this is what had to happen, what would make everything right, make everything okay.

Your jacket blows in the wind, the sun just rising over the water, giving you a sense of peace, clarity even, the wind blows in your hair, a rush coldness shivers its way down your body, for a moment you stop and think, are you just being dramatic? What if this makes everything worse?

There’s running the distance, Natasha comes sprinting towards you. “What are you doing!?” She shouts as she gets closer, she stops behind you, you don’t turn around, but you don’t step off the ledge either. “Come back on this side- you don’t have to do this” she whispers watching incase you make a move.

“I don’t have to do anything.” You mutter in response. “I don’t have to stay or go. But this is my choice to make, and I’ve already made it..” you look back for a second, Natasha looks frantic, her eyes wide, her breathing heavy and fast paced, she takes a step forward.

Natasha spends thirty minutes trying to get you to come down, talk you out of it, anything. You always thought it would Tony in this situation, maybe in the back of your head, you decide this time because you knew he’d be asleep, wouldn’t get a chance to read your letter before you’d get to the bridge, you listen quietly as she pleads for you to come down.

You take your jacket off and hand it to her, she looks at you confused. “A-are you coming down?” She asks softly, she takes your jacket and holds onto it.

“Put it on” you mumble, now looking at the risen sun, the way the it’s making the sky purple and pink, it’s gorgeous, reminding of Natasha. She doesn’t bother pulling the zipper down. “I love you” you sigh out as you hear her fumble with the jacket, when it’s over her face, that’s when you take the step, Natasha’s scream is over run by the rush of the wind in your ears, your arms extend, for a second, it feels like your flying, like your dad is holding you up in the air when you were two, a smile makes its way across your face, it’s only lasts a second, nothing more or less.

Then you hit the water, you close your eyes, there’s no pain, no cold washing over you, no warmth, no tears, and for a moment, you’re happy, really happy, truly at peace.

And there was nobody to take it away.

[valleyofthedolls777]

･ﾟﾟ･｡Dolly's sleep paralysis method for shifting

🌟 You heard that right. This is a method I'm sure someone else has thought of already, but I'm putting it into words for you guys.

Now, this method is weird and can even be scary to some. I recommend it to those who have gotten SP before or just aren't afraid of anything. But anyone can do it, really!

This is my favorite method, I've been able to minishift multiple times with it. My little brother also uses it to lucid dream :)

1. How does it work?

It's very simple. Have you ever tried shifting through a lucid dream, only to end up waking up in your cr bed, not being able to move? You might even see or hear things, what some people call "Sleep paralysis demon"

Now, here's the thing: sp demons don't exist.

🗣️-"But Dolly, why do I see, feel and hear things when I'm in sleep paralysis? It freaks me out!"

🐇- Sleep paralysis is a state, during waking up or falling asleep, in which a person is conscious but in a complete state of full-body paralysis. During an episode, the person may hallucinate, which often results in fear.

It happens when you pass between stages of wakefulness and sleep.

(If you're interested in the science behind it)

During REM sleep the body enters a state of temporary paralysis called muscle atonia. This state is likely a mechanism to prevent sleepers from injuring themselves by acting out their dreams. That's why you can't move!

Many experts believe that hallucinations during sleep paralysis occur when people experience the vivid dreams of REM sleep while they are awake.

So, don't worry about this so-called demon. It can't hurt you. Its just your half-asleep brain!

PRO TIP: When you find yourself in SP, don't open your eyes. Just relax, and remind yourself it's just your body being half asleep. If you have scary thoughts, shake them off. Sleep paralysis can even be fun if you learn how harmless it is.

2. And how can you shift with it?

Because SP is a state of half-sleepiness, it's the perfect time to manipulate your consciousness into being somewhere else.

I'll separate this method in two parts:

1.How to get sleep paralysis?

I've always gotten SP when my sleep is disrupted. That is, if I go to sleep at my usual time, like 10pm, and put an alarm to wake up at 2am (3-4 hours after falling asleep is perfect), and stay awake for a few hours, then fall back asleep, my brain will be all like: whaaaat?

My little brother also uses this method to lucid dream, and it always works for him. So, in steps:

Go to sleep when you're comfortable. Put an alarm to wake up 3-4 hours after falling asleep.

Wake up with that alarm, and now chill! Go to the bathroom, watch some youtube videos, read a book, wake yourself up, and wait until you're sleepy again. This usually takes me 2-4 hours awake. It's best to do it in weekends, please don't do this on school nights 😭

Fall back asleep. This might be hard, but just spend some time in the darkness, daydream about your dr, just relax and let your body slowly fall asleep.

You might wake up paralysed. That means it worked! (Scroll down a bit to see what you do at this point)

There are other methods to get sleep paralysis. This is just my personal favourite, but everybody is different!

2. I'm in sleep paralysis! Now what?

Now, just relax. Calm your mind, remind yourself: this is just my brain half-asleep.

Keep your eyes closed. Take your time to affirmate. My personal favourite is "I am shifting" because it's easy to remember.

Try to visualise your desired reality. Imagine you're already there. Because you are.

You might feel really strong symptoms, but I personally find them fun.

If you're very scared, don't worry. You can always wake up from SP. Just try moving a bit, and after a few seconds, you should be back to normal.

🐇

Anyways, tell me if you have any questions. I'm super bad at explaining so I'm sorry if something doesn't make a lot of sense! This is just a method, and everybody is different so what works for me might not work for you! Happy shifting 💗

- Doll