#thank you all for being here and enjoying this fic with me

[rgwriteshockey]

side by side w/ quinn hughes ⇒

quinn hughes x gf!reader

summary: quinn hughes gets named captain of the vancouver canucks, and his girlfriend of five years, y/n, is right there with him. from the hype of the announcement to the pressures of being captain, she’s his rock. as quinn steps into the role, he juggles the weight of leadership and the challenges of the season, but with y/n’s support, he stays grounded. they continue to grow together, face tough moments, and celebrate the good ones. through it all, they prove that they’re stronger together—both on the ice and off.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: mild language, happy relationship

a/n: fic #2!! hope yall enjoy and don't forget to like!

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quinn hughes had always rolled with the changes. from the days he spent watching hockey games from the sidelines, dreaming of being in the nhl, to getting drafted by the vancouver canucks, and now, stepping into the role of team captain. it felt like all those late nights, tough games, and moments of doubt had led him to this point.

but the one thing that made all of this feel even more meaningful? you being there right beside him.

you and quinn had been together for five years, through all the ups and downs that came with being in a relationship with someone who lived such a high-profile life. you’d been there for his breakout moments, when he nailed an insane assist or made a game-saving play. but you’d also been there when things didn’t go right—when the team wasn’t performing well, when he got hurt, or when the pressure of living up to expectations seemed like it might break him.

through all of it, you’d been the person he could lean on. and now, as he stood at the threshold of a new chapter—becoming captain of the canucks—it felt surreal, but it also felt like something he truly deserved.

────────────────────────────────────────────

it was a crisp morning when quinn was officially named captain of the vancouver canucks. the press conference was packed with reporters, cameras flashing, and everyone eager to hear what quinn had to say. the excitement in the air was contagious, but you could tell that quinn was feeling a bit of the pressure too. he stood there, looking calm on the outside, but you could see the nerves in his eyes. this was a big moment.

you sat in the front row, next to his family. jack, his brother, had flown in to support him, and you could see the pride in his eyes every time he looked at quinn. you weren’t the only one who was proud—everyone in the room could feel the weight of this moment. but even so, quinn’s demeanor was humble as ever. he didn’t seem to let the spotlight rattle him.

"thank you all for being here," the canucks' gm said from the podium. "it’s an honor to introduce the new captain of the vancouver canucks: quinn hughes."

the room erupted in applause. quinn gave a modest nod as he stepped up to the microphone. you could see how much this meant to him, but he kept his composure as always. he adjusted his tie, took a deep breath, and started speaking.

“it’s an honor to be here today,” quinn said, his voice strong, but there was a bit of a nervous edge to it. “being part of this organization has been incredible, and it means the world to me to have the chance to lead this team. but none of this happens without the people who’ve been there for me along the way—my teammates, my coaches, my family, and, of course, my girlfriend, y/n.”

your heart skipped a beat as quinn’s eyes found you in the crowd. the moment felt surreal, as all the eyes in the room turned to you. it wasn’t something you expected—being called out like that. but there he was, giving you that soft smile, the one you loved so much, as if to say, “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

you quickly wiped a tear from your eye, feeling all sorts of emotions hit at once. quinn wasn’t just a hockey player to you—he was your partner, your best friend, the person who made all the long nights worth it.

“y/n has been there for me through everything,” quinn continued. “She’s been my biggest supporter, my rock. I’m proud to share this moment with her.”

the room erupted in applause again, and you felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. it was overwhelming, but in the best way. quinn’s words made everything feel like it was meant to be.

after the press conference ended, reporters started to trickle out, but quinn didn’t rush. he made his way to you, his family following behind, and you met him halfway.

"hey," quinn said, his voice low, as he wrapped you in a hug. "thank you for always being here. for everything."

you hugged him tight, your heart full. “you deserve this, quinn. I’m so proud of you.”

he pulled away, looking into your eyes. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

you both stood there for a moment, away from the chaos, just the two of you. no words were needed. you both knew this was just the beginning of something huge.

────────────────────────────────────────────

the next few weeks flew by in a whirlwind of excitement and adjustment. quinn was officially the captain now, and it came with a lot more responsibility. he was taking on extra meetings, spending more time at the rink, and handling pressure that he’d never had to before. but through it all, he kept his calm. he took the responsibility seriously, but he didn’t let it consume him.

you saw the subtle changes in him—he was more focused, more aware of how his actions affected the team. he was always the first one on the ice, pushing the younger players to work hard. but he also made sure to check in with everyone, making sure the guys knew they had his back. he wasn’t just the captain on paper—he was earning the respect of his teammates every day.

at home, it wasn’t much different. after a tough game, where the canucks had lost in overtime, you found quinn sitting on the couch, staring out the window. the city lights below twinkled, but he seemed lost in thought.

“rough game?” you asked, walking over and sitting beside him.

quinn let out a long breath, rubbing his temples. “yeah, we just couldn’t get it together. I made that last pass, and I messed it up.”

you gently squeezed his hand. “you can’t win them all, quinn. you’ve been killing it all season. one mistake doesn’t change that.”

he gave you a small smile, but you could tell he was still frustrated. “I just hate feeling like I let everyone down. I’m supposed to be the leader.”

“you’re doing great,” you reassured him. “nobody expects you to be perfect. your team knows you’re doing everything you can, and they look up to you for it.”

quinn looked at you, his eyes softening. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, y/n. you make everything easier.”

you grinned and gave his hand a soft squeeze. “I’m always gonna be here, quinn. don’t ever forget that.”

he pulled you into a tight hug, and for a while, that was all you needed. just to be there together, away from everything. the world outside could wait.

────────────────────────────────────────────

as the season wore on, quinn settled into the role of captain. the canucks started clicking as a team, and with quinn leading the charge, their play was getting better and better. he seemed to grow more comfortable with each game, more confident in his leadership abilities. but despite the growing success, he stayed grounded. he was still the same quinn you’d known from the beginning—humble, hardworking, and always ready to laugh at the little things.

one night, after a huge win, quinn and the team went out to celebrate. you stood at the back of the room, watching him interact with his teammates, joking around and laughing. he looked like a natural leader, fitting perfectly into this new role. but it was when his eyes found yours across the room that your heart skipped a beat. you could see the pride in his gaze, the quiet appreciation that you were there, supporting him every step of the way.

later that night, when most of the team had left, quinn pulled you aside in the quiet of the hallway. he looked at you with a mix of exhaustion and contentment.

“you’ve been with me through everything,” he said quietly, taking both your hands in his. “I couldn’t have done this without you. I’m so thankful for you, y/n.”

you smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m proud of you, quinn. you’ve earned this.”

quinn stepped closer and pulled you into a kiss—gentle, full of meaning, and everything you’d ever needed. the world outside seemed to disappear as he kissed you, and for a few moments, it was just the two of you. the pressure, the expectations, the challenges—they didn’t matter. you were together, and that was enough.

and as the season continued, you both knew that this was only the beginning. quinn’s leadership was just taking shape, and with you by his side, there was nothing he couldn’t face. the road ahead was full of possibilities, and you’d be there with him every step of the way.

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly (part five)

genre: slow burn fic, fluff with hints of angst, light drama, no explicit smut

kms masterlist | <- part four | part six (soon) ->

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!introverted!kook!reader

cw: swearing, suggestive language, overthinking, light tension, kelce being kelce

synopsys: it's the last year of high school and y/n is paired up with rafe cameron for a 2 week long project in art class. this wouldn't be a problem if y/n wasn't awkward as hell and well ... if there wasn't her big fat crush on him. could this be the beginning of a friendship or maybe even more? one thing was certain: rafe cameron's intense, impulsive, and complex in ways that weren't always for the better, and y/n's mind? that shit was even more tangled. but she hadn't spent seven years crushing on him from a distance just to let this chance slip through her fingers ... right?

summary of recent events: starting the day with the struggle to focus after texting rafe the night before, he unexpectedly asks you to sit with him in the back row of economics class. having forgotten his pizza date with his friends, he invites you to join them to work on your project at kelce’s instead of staying in school. despite your hesitation, you agree. feeling out of place as you sit in his car on the way to kelce’s, rafe makes a seemingly casual attempt to ease your nerves along the way.

word count: 4.5k+

a/n: thank you guys sm for the kind words and support on the last one, this always means sm to me <3 i also had sm fun with this one and felt like it’s time for the first little drama highigi. also next part will include a little rafe pov 😈 anyway, hope you enjoy <3

"Yo, what took you so long? Did you two have a quickie in the car or something?" That was the first thing Kelce Statter said as he opened the front door, glancing between you and Rafe with an amused grin, his pupils just a little too wide.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

And here we go.

Like clockwork, heat shot straight to your cheeks, and as usual, whenever you were overwhelmed and didn’t know how to react, that tense, awkward smile appeared on your face.

Not even a minute here, and one dumb comment had already thrown you off balance. This was off to a fantastic start.

Rafe let out an annoyed snort. "Kelce, shut the fuck up."

"Whoa, dude, no need to get your claws out." Kelce raised his hands in mock innocence, tilting his head with a smug smirk. His gaze landed on you—your awkward smile and deep red face more specifically—before flicking back to Rafe. "Aww, you got her all shy and flustered. You must’ve been good."

Okay, that’s it. THIS was officially the most awkward moment of your life, and the worst part? You were too stunned to speak.

Rafe ran a hand down his face, clearly over Kelce’s shit, before shooting him a sharp glare. "Jesus Christ, dude, do me a favor and, just once in your fucking life, pull your head out of your ugly ass."

Wow. What subtlety. You honestly couldn’t tell if Rafe liked or despised him. Probably something in between both.

Before Kelce—still stupidly grinning—could fire back, Rafe stepped into the doorway and shoved him (softly?) aside. "Now move, before I deck you."

"Love you too, bro," Kelce said, throwing a wink in your direction, before disappearing down the hallway.

Well, what an interesting dynamic.

Rafe turned back to you with an exasperated sigh. "I swear I’m gonna kill that idiot one day."

Now would be a good time to SAY SOMETHING.

A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you smiled awkwardly, blurting out dryly, "He seems… nice."

NICE? Of all the words you could’ve chosen, 'nice' had to be at the very bottom of the list to describe Kelce Statter.

Rafe let out a short, amused breath. "Sure, he’s a sweetheart." He motioned toward the inside of the house with a nod. "C’mon, or we’ll end up with nothing but crust. His appetite’s as big as his mouth."

So you followed him inside like a stupid little duckling.

In the living room, a massive flat tree-stump-and-glass coffee table was already “set”—if you could even call it that. A big, colorful pizza sat on a wooden board in the center, surrounded by a chaotic mess of four plates, a few glasses, cigarette packs, a lighter, car keys, a can of deodorant, an almost empty roll of paper towels, as well as a bag of weed and a used grinder.

In your mind, you titled this condition Kelce Statter core.

A forest-green semicircle couch wrapped around half the table, facing a gigantic flat-screen TV. Family Guy was playing on the screen, the volume low but audible.

Kelce was perched at one end of the couch, hunched forward as he shoved a slice of pepperoni pizza into his mouth. Topper sat somewhere in the middle, his eyes lighting up as soon as he saw the two of you—or more specifically, Rafe.

With a casual “Yo, bro,” Topper got up and dapped Rafe up. He shot you a neutral smile, his voice carrying a friendly vibe. “We’re all apologizing in advance for Kelce’s shitty jokes.”

Now that was what you’d call nice.

From the background came a muffled, “Hey!”

A genuine smile tugged at your lips but before you could respond, Rafe made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Okay, okay, let’s just eat. The idiot’s already inhaled half the pizza.”

Topper sat back down next to Kelce while you settled on Rafe’s right—at a comfortably safe distance—at the opposite end of the couch. Still, your heart and mind refused to slow down.

But as your stomach filled, a bit of the tension in your body started to ease. Surprisingly, the pizza tasted amazing—like, really really good.

Was Kelce secretly some kind of passionate hobby chef? Probably. Would make sense, considering he was on his healthy gym grind like Rafe had told you.

As the minutes passed, the guys were deep in their own conversation—which you were thankful for because eating, talking, and not embarrassing yourself was an art you had yet to master.

Kelce was raving about some new protein/creatine/whatever powder he swore by, Topper was hyping up an upcoming surf competition he was planning to enter, and Rafe had some big news about a deal his dad had recently landed.

The only thing remotely interesting to you as a surfer was the tournament Topper had mentioned. The rest you tuned out, peacefully eating your pizza, taking an occasional sip of your Coke, and half-watching some weird Brian-and-Stewie subplot on TV.

This actually almost felt like hanging out with friends.

At some point, Topper mentioned your name, and you snapped out of your little bubble, turning away from the screen in surprise.

Shit, what did he say?

You swallowed the bite of pizza in your mouth and gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, what?”

Kelce jumped in before Topper could repeat himself, seemingly taking your disinterest in the conversation as a win. “Oh shit, you’re into Family Guy?”

Your thumb nervously traced a spot on the edge of your plate. “Yeah, I mean, it's a good show to watch on the side.”

“And South Park, Rick and Morty?”

You felt all three of them staring at you. “They’re good, I guess. I mean, South Park isn’t really my thing but—”

Kelce gasped like you’d just insulted his entire family. “Not your thing?! That’s—”

“Jesus, bro, let her at least finish,” Topper interrupted with a roll of his eyes because well Kelce had just interrupted him.

Rafe nodded in agreement, waving his hand toward the kitchen. “Seriously, go grab more paper towels or some shit.”

Kelce shook his head, clearly unimpressed, but stood up anyway, plate in hand. “Wow, you guys are actual mean girls.”

You smiled because the other two did, but somehow, you still felt a little bad for Kelce. Sure, he was annoying, loud, and way too blunt, but getting shut down by your friends every two minutes had to sting, right?

Wow. Am I seriously feeling sorry for Kelce Statter?

Topper shook his head as Kelce disappeared into the kitchen. “Sometimes I wonder how he manages to pull any girl at all.”

Rafe shrugged, wiping his hands on the last paper towel. “Maybe they’re just hoping his dick’s as big as his mouth.”

That got a laugh out of Topper—one that, in your opinion, was a little too enthusiastic. “Yeah, probably.”

Okayyy. If you were Rafe Cameron Stan No. 1, then Topper was definitely No. 2.

Rafe seemed to notice your lack of reaction, turning to you with a crooked smile, like he couldn’t quite comprehend why you didn’t find this hilarious. “What? Would you go for a guy like that?”

WHAT KIND OF QUESTION WAS THAT? Better yet, how were you supposed to answer?!

On one hand, you’d never in a million years go for Kelce Statter. On the other, it felt wrong to sit in his house and join in on roasting him.

Your cheeks flushed pink as you gave an awkward smile. “No, I mean… I barely know him.”

God, what a stupid answer.

“That wasn’t a real no,” Topper remarked with a smirk, and you wished the ground would just swallow you whole.

Rafe’s brows twitched just slightly but before he could throw another dumb question your way, you tried to salvage it. “I mean, I just… I wouldn’t want to judge someone based on their looks or, uh, any shallow first impressions.”

Great. Should’ve just kept your mouth shut.

Rafe and Topper stared at you like you’d just announced that you believed in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

OH GOD, they probably thought you liked Kelce now. Worse, RAFE probably did.

AHHH, HELP.

“Okay, you better not tell him that,” Topper said, amused. “His giant ego will rub it in your face forever. Or worse, he’ll actually think he has a shot with you.”

...

You weren’t sure what was worse—how aware you were of your burning cheeks, Rafe’s unreadable look that could mean anything from irritation to amusement to indifference, or the fact that Topper had basically just said you were too good for Kelce. Which was probably supposed to be a compliment, but the way he’d said it with that weird teasing undertone … yeah, no thanks.

Rafe leaned forward with a defiant-yet-amused snort, cutting off your view of Topper, and gathered the last three plates. “Shit, that’s enough talk about Kelce,” he said, shoving the stack of plates into Topper’s hands.

For a moment, Topper just stared at him, then he stood up, casting a brief glance at you before looking back at Rafe. “Sure, yeah, guess we’ll head out to the porch then. Have fun with your… art project work session or whatever.”

And with that, he disappeared in the same direction as Kelce.

Now it was just you and Rafe again. But for some reason, alongside your nervousness, there was this inexplicable tension lingering in the air from the conversation earlier.

This whole thing was SO FUCKING WEIRD anyway.

Yesterday morning, Kelce, Topper, and Rafe had been… well, strangers to you. And now? Now you were sitting in Kelce Statter’s living room, having had lunch with the three of them, and now you were spending your FREE TIME—like, not during class, not during lunch, but your actual free time—working on a school project with Rafe.

This whole cozy setup, this couch, the TV running in the background, the whole environment—it all felt so… intimate. Even though it absolutely wasn’t.

And then all those comments, those questions… This was so far out of your comfort zone, and you had no idea how to deal with such a sudden shift.

And, honestly? You were still stuck on why Rafe had even invited you here in the first place. Yeah, sure, to work on a school project. But at his friend’s house? When you could’ve just done it during lunch. It didn’t make any sense.

And the dangerous part? Somewhere deep down, there was this tiny part of you that thought maybe, just maybe, Rafe wasn’t just after a good grade.

The fact that Rafe didn’t shift over, even though the couch was now completely clear (sure, there was still a decent gap between you two, but still...), didn’t go unnoticed. Quite the opposite, he spread out his legs slightly more, adjusting his position.

You had to seriously focus to avoid accidentally looking at... certain areas.

GIRL PLS.

“Don't tell me you're still nervous after having experienced these idiots firsthand” he said, his tone playful but noticeably more detached than usual.

Could I get one moment—just ONE—in which my face isn’t on fire? PLEASE.

You forced a clumsy smile. “I wasn’t nervous... just curious.”

Oh, yeah. He’s totally going to believe that.

Rafe raised an unimpressed brow, his smirk making it clear he didn’t buy it. “Yeah, anxious curious.” He sank deeper into the couch, putting one leg on the edge of the table, and looked up at you with his pretty blue eyes. “So, you have a thing for Kelce, huh? Is that why you acted so weird when I asked you to come along?” His voice was teasing, almost challenging, but there was something distant in it too, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?? Like, LITERALLY WHAT?? What kind of question was that?

You honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking or being serious. His expression gave absolutely nothing away. Also didn’t he just say to Topper to put the Kelce topic aside?

You shook your head, brows furrowing in irritation (and let’s be real, you probably looked like a sulky tomato while doing so). “What? No! I mean… what? Where is that even coming from?”

Rafe shrugged, his tone maddeningly casual. “He wouldn’t say no, just saying. Kelce would take any gi—”

“But I would!” you shot back, sharper than you intended. “Saying ‘no’, I mean.” You froze for a second, your brows furrowing further as if you’d just misheard yourself. “Wait, what were you gonna say?”

There it was again. That shift in his mood. Barely noticeable but it was there—the way his brows raised just slightly, his eyes focusing on you like he was daring you in some strange way.

“What?” he asked, clearly testing to see if you’d let it slide or push further.

And, of fucking course, you’d push further. Crush or not, no way would you let that audacity slide.

You tilted your head, and honestly, maybe it was the stress of the day catching up to you, but the way he looked so smug, so goddamn full of himself, pissed you off. "You were trying to say that Kelce would go for any girl anyway." You furrowed your brows. "What… how am I supposed to interpret that?"

You couldn’t help but remember the comment he’d made earlier at school—Kelce always brings some random chick to our hangouts.

So, was that how he saw you? Some random, disposable girl for his friend? Was that the point of this? To hook you up with Kelce?

You had no idea why but before this, thinking of hookups in general had been mildly amusing to you. But now that it was somehow in the air, it just pissed you off.

Something flickered in Rafe’s eyes, but he shook his head, his mouth tugging down in mock innocence. “Don’t know.” And then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he added, “You didn’t say ‘no’ earlier. You know, all that talk about 'not judging people by surface-level impressions' or whatever.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “What the fuck, I never—... I'm not interested in--” You stopped yourself mid-sentence when you noticed how observant he was eyeing you.

Either he was messing with you—trying to get a reaction out of you by asking these upfront questions—or he was actually being serious.

“This feels like gaslighting", you said dryly, though you couldn’t stop the somehow amused smile from creeping onto your face.

A crooked grin spread across Rafe’s features and the crease between his brows disappeared. “I'm just repeating what you’ve said.”

Seriously, what did he want you to say? “Yes, I like Kelce”??? Did he actually believe your words earlier had hinted at some interest in Kelce? Just the thought of it made your skin crawl.

Your expression shifted back to a frown. Hesitantly you asked, “Is this like... a bro-playing-matchmaker-for-bro thing?”

Did he want you to start something with Kelce? You couldn’t make sense of all the questions—this whole thing with Topper earlier, too. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Kelce secretly had a thing for you and they were both playing his wingmen in a very strange way.

OH. MY. GOD.

That would explain why Rafe had invited you here in the first place. But then again, why were you—just the two of you—about to work on the project?

Even your confusion was confused at this point.

“Shit, no,” Rafe shot back with an amused smirk, crossing his arms. “Like I’d play wingman for Kelce.” He shrugged, his grin lingering. “But you do seem like someone who needs help in this area.”

…

WHAT.

Did he think you were some kind of helpless maiden who needed assistance at courting the other sex? Well, it wasn’t that far from the truth, be for real, but that wasn’t the point. Why would he even say something like this? Was he suggesting to be your wingman or some shit?

God, this was such a painfully awkward situation and he seemed to have fun cornering you like this.

Screw it. You were done with whatever this was.

You nodded slowly, your cheeks still flushed deep pink. “I don’t, thanks. And I feel like we shouldn’t waste any more time and get back to the project.”

Something strange flashed across his face—a mix of disappointment and irritation as if he had enjoyed this back and forth—but he just shrugged. “Back at being a nerd.”

Wow. Okay. Seriously, what the actual fuck was going on inside Rafe Cameron’s head?

Trying to suppress a frown, you leaned toward the side of the couch and pulled your iPad from your bag, tucking your legs up into a comfortable position as you opened yesterday’s notes.

The air felt heavy with a strange tension. Not like yesterday, when you’d had your first real conversation with him. Not like earlier either, when he was pissed off at you mentioning his dad in a conversation. No, this was something else entirely—some kind of irritated restlessness on both sides.

Your heart pounded uneasily in your chest, and you hated that you couldn’t just address whatever this was. If it even was anything.

So, you did what you always did when things started feeling like too much—you disconnected from the situation entirely and focused on the task at hand. Skimming over your notes, you cleared your throat and read out your last update. “Okay, so…” -----------------------------------------------

You washed your hands, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

What am I even doing here?

This was so stupid. You should’ve insisted on rescheduling this whole thing—it would’ve been so much easier.

Grabbing the towel from the rack, you dried your hands and took a deep breath. Screw whatever all of this was—why he’d invited you here, why he’d asked all those weird-ass questions. You just needed to focus on the project.

Art was the only subject you were actually kind of good at and there was no way you were going to mess it up just because your brain was spiraling over this surreal, out-of-nowhere situation.

But as you walked back down the hallway toward the living room, you were hit with another curveball.

Is this guy SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!

There he was, sitting on the couch, your iPad resting on his lap, your Apple Pencil in his hand as his eyes stared at the screen.

Never mind that he looked CUTE AS HELL doing it—he couldn’t just scroll through your sketches like that. THAT WAS AN UNSPOKEN RULE. What if he found your studies of—NOPE.

“What are you doing?”

Rafe looked up, completely unbothered. Before he could even answer, you were already sitting down next to him, hand reaching for your iPad.

And then you saw it.

He wasn’t flipping through your gallery—he was just writing something in the Notes app.

Your face instantly flushed hot. “Oh,” you mumbled, pulling your hand back quickly—only to accidentally brush against the fabric of his jeans.

AKA HIS THIGH.

It was over. Your life was over. Done. Finished. The end. You were officially dead in every language known to man.

The heat in your face burned hotter as your pulse skyrocketed, embarrassment filling every cell in your body.

And his face? Big blue eyes staring at you half-surprised while his lips slowly turned into a crooked smile.

UGHHHH, OH MY GOD.

A sheepish-awkward smile crept across your lips. “Oh, I—oh my God, I’m so sorry, I… I thought you were scrolling through my gallery.”

Brilliant. Truly a top-tier diversion. AS ALWAYS.

Please, please, please, for the love of everything holy, don’t mention the fact that I just touched your leg. PLEASE.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, more amused than irritated. “Why, what would I find? Nudes?”

I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE.

“What? No! I don’t—gallery, I meant my art gallery!” you shot back quickly, your voice a pitch higher than usual as the heat rushed back into your face.

And then, as your gaze flicked to the striking details of his annoyingly pretty eyes, it hit you just how close you were to him.

Too fucking close.

Your overly dramatic attempt to snatch the iPad from him had somehow left your whole body turned toward his, with barely four inches separating you.

Every instinct screamed at you to throw yourself onto the other end of the couch, grab your bag, and leave this house as fast as humanly possible. Move forward another state and start a new life.

But you couldn’t move. It was like you were frozen, completely anchored in place. Because choosing to put space between you now? That would just highlight how ridiculously awkward this whole situation had become.

You felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, unable to move.

And Rafe’s eyes? They were the headlights. He stared at you, his expression teetering somewhere between playful curiosity and deliberation, like he was trying to decide whether to swerve or just run you over.

“Jesus Christ, calm down,” he finally said, a cocky laugh slipping past his lips as he clicked the Apple Pencil back into the iPad case. “I didn’t look at your top-secret drawing gallery. Happy?”

And even if he had looked, would he even admit it? Probably not.

Still, a tiny part of you relaxed. Perfect—now only 99% of you were stuck in full fight-or-flight mode.

“Thanks,” you managed to mumble, taking the iPad from him with painstaking care to avoid even accidentally brushing against him again. That would definitely be the end of you.

Finally seizing the opportunity, you scooted a little further away—not as far as before but just enough to calm your heart rate without making it seem like you were actively trying to escape.

The last thing you wanted was to look like a total creep.

Even though the situation had been painfully awkward, somehow, it had managed to break that weird, unspoken tension that had been hanging between you two entirely.

You had just looked up, ready to comment on the one (1) completely useless bullet point he’d added when he beat you to it. "We should go to my place tomorrow evening. Maybe you’ll relax a little for once”, he said with a teasing yet somehow serious undertone.

...

...

WAIT. WHAT? THIS WAS COMING OUT OF NOWHERE LIKE WHAT?!

You must’ve misheard him. No way. This was too crazy, too fucking surreal to be real. Surely he was messing with you. Yeah, that had to be it.

Your brows furrowed slightly. "Your place?" Good. That was good. This way, you could at least make sure he wasn’t being serious.

Rafe scoffed, amused. "Yeah, unless you’d rather go back to working at school like a real nerd."

HE WAS SERIOUS.

Okay, hold on. But WHY AT EVENING? Evenings were basically the second most intimate time of day, right after actual nighttime. And his whole family would be home—no, absolutely not. That was insane. Way too much, too soon.

There was no way you’d 'relax' there.

You let out a nervous laugh, avoiding his gaze. "I don’t know… your parents—" You hesitated, remembering Rose wasn’t actually his mom. "I mean, your family probably wants their space."

Oh god. You could already feel the shift in his mood—subtle, but definitely there.

But Rafe just shook his head, completely unfazed. "My dad and Rose are at some charity event. Wheezie’s on a school trip this week, and Sarah can do whatever she wants, I don't care."

OH.

That—that changed everything. Shit, no, that changed THE ENTIRE FUCKING SITUATION YOU WERE IN.

An empty house, almost nighttime, and he wanted you to come over just after two days of getting to know each other? Holy shit, every alarm bell in your head was ringing.

Sure, you were inexperienced when it came to dating (NOT that this situation was anything close to being labeled as dating). And yes, you had no clue how to flirt. Plus, the entire concept of the male species lowkey terrified you and you were terrible at picking up hints.

But even you knew what this meant.

You’d heard enough of Cara’s stories, read enough shitty fanfiction, watched enough trashy movies and TV shows, and—unintentionally—overheard enough (deeply uncomfortable) conversations between drunk, horny teenagers at parties to recognize exactly what was happening here:

Rafe Cameron was setting the ground for a hookup.

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kms masterlist | <- part four | part six (soon) ->

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Taglist (open):

@ursogorgeous13 @my-name-is-baby @moneybaby07 @jjasmiineee @sttaejoon-blog @vogueprincess @princesspeaxhh @wtfisastiles @wefelldowntherabbithole13 @rafes4 @kathryn-maraudersversion @wuluhwuhmaster @torturedtypewritersdept @sfotiegiuls @vvmaybank @ltristessedureratoujours @mia-iltc

[jensturnss]

Taste

parings: dilf!matt x inexperienced!shy!reader

warnings: 18 + mdni! smut oral (f receiving) age gap (matt’s 33 reader is 25) smut with no plot MATT THE MUNCHH dom and sub dynamic praise kink pet names (baby, sweetheart, love, ma, etc) little bit of dry humping, squirting, fingering, overstimulation, aftercare, fluff!

a/n: creds to whoever made the dilf!matt au it think it was @luvs4matt but idk!! lilly’s the daughter btw! dividers by @issysh3ll this turned out ok so mb it’s bad

wc: 533

“I caould eat that girl for lunch yeah she dances on my tongue”

“Please just one taste ma” matt said practically begging you “But lilly’s sleeping matty” You said in grinding your hips against matt desperate for some stimulation “I know ma just have to be quiet for me”

���Fine matty but please just” You don’t finish your sentence to shy to say it “C’mon sweetheart gotta use your words”

“Please just touch me matt” “Atta girl” And with that matt didn’t hesitate to eat your cunt like he hadn’t eaten in days

When you first got together you didn’t think he actually liked eating you out but after that first time and the bliss in his eyes you knew he enjoyed it just as much as you did

“F-fuck matt!” was all you could say before tangle your fingers into his hair

matt moaned sending vibrations down to your clit

Matt was a very talented man, him being the owner of his own company, big house, a daughter, you, but one of your favorites is what he could do with his mouth and fingers alone

“Please matt give me more I can take it” you whined “Such a greedy princess” Matt says before adding in another finger making you moan

“Please matt i’m so close” You whined begging for release “Go ahead pretty been so good f’me” Matt said not stopping his movements

“Fuck!” Was all you could say before releasing your juices all over matt’s face

You were to gone in the bliss to realize you had squirted all over matt’s face and bed

“Fuck ma look so good like this” Matt said fucking you with his fingers through your high not stopping

“To much matt” You whined at matt not stopping even though you enjoyed it

“Shh you gotta be quiet f’me lilly’s sleeping” Matt said slowing down his movements before stopping all together

“Stay here for me going to go run you bath sound good baby?” Matt asked as he kissed your cheek “Mm ok matty” You said to tried to say anything else

“Did so good f’me baby” Matt said before cleaning you up “Wait matt what about your sheets?” You said as you realized that the sheets were all dirty

“Don’t worry about the sweetheart you just go take a bath while I wash the sheets ok?” Matt said while helping you get up

“Ok thank you i love you matty” You said with a lazy smile “Love you to sweetheart” Matt said with a smile on his face

The end!!

a/n: little blurb to introduce my new au ( I didn’t not make this au it’s just me starting the au) Idk if i should make this into a fic or leave it like this lmk!!

tags: @chrepsi @solarsturniolo @chrislilcumslvt @caydennnnnnn @angelicckisses @ishasturnz @t0riiiis @emely9274

[ivesdio]

AGAIN . . ? ⋆.˚

summary: after a night out, you wake up in a bed you know all too well.. again.

warnings: single mention of vomiting (she’s hungover let a girl live smh), reference to previous sexual activities, ending leads to sex, but no details are given - lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: hi lovelies!! this is my obx fic writer debut, so pretty please go easy on me :,) my requests are open 24/7 and i’m really excited to be in this amazin community! enjoy this lil thing xx

wc: 922

you groan, your head feeling like it’s being, repeatedly, banged against a wall, lids heavy with sleep and an impending hangover. the morning sunlight shining in through the covers was blinding, another tired sound slipping past your lips.

you think nothing of it when you notice that the messy sheets surrounding you are different from yours - that’s ‘cause you’d changed them not too long ago.

but when the sound of movement behind you breaks your thoughts, you sigh in.. disappointment? anger? anyway; the feeling was targeted towards yourself.

your phone vibrates next to the pillow your head was resting on, an alarm chiming in the warm room. you turn it off, taking it in your hands. a text catches your eye.

ah, fuck.

sar 🤍

pls don’t telk me that u lrft wit my brotger again

Delivered: 01:54 AM

well.. that confirms your suspicions.

you and rafe had an.. interesting relationship, to put it mildly. glances around tannyhill soon became hook-ups in his bedroom and truck after parties. sneaking around the cameron household, stolen kisses and sweat beaded bodies slowly becoming a norm.

but, damn it, was he fucking imposs—

“fuck you doin’ up so early?” rafe’s voice invades your hearing, making you wonder if killing yourself would be a good option right about now.

“how much did i have t’drink?” you grumble as you put down your phone and press your cheek against the cool pillow, your face slightly squished.

“why?” he asks, his tone lacking any sign of patience. shocking.

“‘cause i’m here. again,” a dry scoff leaves your raw throat (probably from the vomiting. great fuckin’ job!).

“..a decent amount,” he answers, chuckling with no emotion behind the small laugh “way too early for this shit, baby,” the nickname spills from his lips before he could even think about it - a habit, almost.

“told y’not to call me that, rafe,” you mumble, groaning hoarsely when you sit up and stand up from the plush bed. you catch a glimpse of yourself in his mirror, brows furrowing as you gaze into the glass.

yesterday’s clothes? gone.

panties? still there.

what was new, though, was the black tee framing your body. the fabric was soft and smelled of.. him. fuck, his perfume was intoxicating. what did he use again? eh, whatever - all you knew was that it smelled divine. and expensive.

“did we..?” you ask carefully, turning to face him from your place on the floor. he simply shakes his head, huffing.

“nah. drunk outta your mind.”

you nod in acknowledgment, biting the inside of your cheek in thought.

“did you.. want to?” another question from you fills the room. he shrugs, sitting up. the white covers fall from his bare upper half, crumpling in his lap.

“no shit,” he scoffs, scratching his nose before he continues, “didn’t wanna.. y’know— take advantage of you. basic human decency and stuff. would’a been wrong.”

he was rambling. a bit, at least. you’d never seen him like this and.. to be completely honest? it was kinda cute. you nod again, the corners of your mouth tilting up a bit. you try to fight the smile starting to break through, but god, was it difficult.

“right, yeah. uh.. thanks,” you mutter and chuckle quietly. to your complete surprise, his lips turn up an inch, a hint of a smile playing on them. he stands up and the duvet falls behind him, a pair of boxers being the only thing on his toned form. he steps closer to you, towering. bastard.

“sarah texted?” he asks, tilting his head. fuck him and his fucking teasing, and his fucking smile, and his—

“mhm. jumble of letters, really, but yeah. why?” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. you don’t miss the way rafe’s baby blues flicker down to the movement, before meeting your gaze again.

“think we have some time ‘fore she scolds us again?” his voice was just barely above a whisper, a small smirk grazing the corner of his mouth.

“maybe,” you reply, shrugging.

before you could fully finish saying the word, his lips were crashing into yours, big hands cradling your face. his ring was cold against your heated skin. an audible hitch of your breath travels into his mouth as you kiss him back, your own hands brushing up his muscular arms. his biceps flex underneath your touch, the feeling sending a jolt up your spine.

he’s devouring your fucking face at this point - like a man starved. your back meets a wall, a soft gasp leaving your mouth. rafe swallows the sound, a small grunt escaping his throat. he pulls away after a few moments, his forehead resting against yours as he pants.

“fuck, baby.. can’t stay away for t’long,” he whispers, “that okay with you?”

you chuckle, slightly out of breath, “d’you hear me complaining?”

“that’s my girl,” he drawls, his signature smirk filling your sight.

in one swift motion, his hands reach down and grasp your thighs, lifting you up. instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist. he leaves small wet kisses on your neck, his breath hot against yours skin, all while his thumb rubs circles into the small of your back.

your back meets his plush bed again, the man in front of you already on his knees. his eyes flicker from your panties to your eyes, that fucking proud smirk plastered on his smug face.

“you got time, right?” he chuckles, kissing up your inner thigh.

you nod, breathing heavily.

oh, you were definitely sober now.

[howisjoostfanfictionforfree]

Three Times as Many ///// Longer Nights

Real person fiction! Joost Klein x vampire!reader

CW: 18+, MDNI, RPF, brief reference to past murder, cannibalism if you squint, smoochin, dry humping, oral sex, light bondage

Reader: vampire!reader, cisfemale!reader, not too descriptive with readers appearance, implied to be smaller than Joost but by an unspecified amount

Notes: Read part 1 here. Sorry for how atrociously long this part took! Vampire Joost in the Why Not??? mv helped give me the inspo to finish. I hope you guys like it because I can’t tell if I do or not. Thanks for reading!

Gargantuan kudos to @joosthead for being my inspiration and my support as always! Also huge shoutout to @catholicfacade and @tkomptgoedluv for your kind words that have driven me onwards with this fic! My tumblr homies on god

Words: ~11,600

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You're not sure why you left Joost standing there. 

Why you ran away. 

Again.

Things were going so well. You could have kissed him. Could have done all sorts of things. It's not like he wasn't into it.

Maybe it was just to get a reaction. Joost is so expressive. The way he looks at you is already something you crave and you've really only just met. Maybe, it’s because as much as you want to believe you overreacted that first night, you're still not really sure you did. Nothing has made you lose control like that since the time you literally ate someone.

The doubt tickles at the back of your mind but it’s also hard to pay it too much attention when the insistent pressure of Joost’s cock against your ass is seared so clearly into your memory. It’s hard not to want to see him again. 

Still, if you’re doing this, you’re taking no chances.

Joost is expecting you at his studio tomorrow, so tonight, Melkweg is the place to be.

Tickets to actually see a show are too expensive when you're not there to enjoy yourself so the cold evening is spent against the even-colder cement wall of a movie theater across the street. Wedged between gently lit ads for Bones and All and Puss in Boots you watch those who have partied too hard trickle out of Melkweg’s ever-revolving door.

Each is more than drunk enough to suit your needs, but tonight they are all in groups. So responsible. So unhelpful. When one guy finally stumbles out sans-friend you let yourself follow, slipping into those same shadows that are deeper than ever. 

Fall is well underway and nights are only getting longer.

A few streets away the lamps are sparse enough and he goes down easy. His blood is hot and sharp and everything it should be, but it’s hard to miss how unmoved you are by the man beneath you. He tastes good, it scratches an itch, but your attention is divided and the whole process somehow feels clinical.

Even now you're thinking of Joost. How you wish it were him. How he would moan when your teeth slide in deep. Deeper than he expects. Would he still be so happy-go-lucky then? Or would he claw and beg? You don’t even know which one you prefer. The man groans and you realize you're biting way too hard.

It was a good idea to do this tonight. 

You try to drink your fill, as much as you suspect the poor guy can tolerate, and release him. He nearly stumbles into the canal in his panic, but rights himself before you have to make a watery rescue. His hot blood simmers in your veins, warming you against the evening chill as you watch him stagger down the street and disappear.

Hopefully he can find his way home on a cold night like this.

Anti-murder  insurance measures complete, you head for your own home with what you hope is a full belly.

The morning doesn't bring the rain so typical of your new favorite city, but instead a creeping mist. Almost as thick as the shadows that multiply with each passing night, the tiny droplets obscure the neighborhood as you stand on your balcony ruminating on how very in-control you will be today. 

The address Joost gave is surprisingly close to your own apartment. The brisk ride on your shabby bike that may or may not have originally belonged to someone else lasts only ten minutes.

16 Schimmelstraat is like much of Amsterdam. One of many brick row houses lined up one after another, complete with compulsory loading beam and hook jutting out above the top window, leftover from when the street was once a canal. There are a few small shops tucked in at ground level but most of the buildings appear residential.

Few people are on the street and with the way the sun can’t quite penetrate through the murky whiteness, the world almost seems to stand still.

Joost stands on the stoop at the end of the row in what looks like at least three hoodies. He’s still so beautiful it’s shocking. Leaning against cold whitewashed brick, much as you did last night, he smokes lazily. The tendrils curl up and away from perfect pouty lips to join with the mist and you can imagine the city is enshrouded all because of him. 

You see Joost long before he sees you. Hard not to spot a glowing head of hair like that even in this murkiness. Here in the Netherlands it shouldn’t stand out, but it did in the club and it does now too. You’re sure it’s just the almost-mullet. Nothing to do with the way his features are imprinted on your hindbrain.

When he notices you coming down the street, his face lights up just like before. He can barely stub out his cigarette as he keeps looking up like you’ll disappear. Bounding down the steps on those long long legs, Joost skids to a halt mere inches away, nearly bowling you over and flooding you with his scent.

“Heyyy!” Joost looks so excited it's almost embarrassing. Hands flit around at his sides like he wants to touch but in the sober light of day he can't seem to find an excuse. It doesn't keep him from standing way too close for sanity. Already, your preparations are threatening to become useless as you fight the tug behind your eyes and the pit in your stomach yawns.

“I’m happy you came!” He blurts, giddy. “I didn't know if you would really come in the middle of the day.” 

You squint. He can’t be serious.

“I’m not nocturnal, I just prefer the club at night!” 

He giggles nervously “I wasn’t sure. Everyone knows vampires burn in the sun. Or sparkle. Looks like you don’t sparkle either.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.” 

He smiles so sweetly at that. “You don’t. I’m glad you came. Still want me to show you my stuff?” There's the eyebrow waggle again. You didn't know someone could look so tender and so unrepentantly horny at the same time.

“C’mon, it’s just upstairs.”

Opening the door, Joost lets you through before following you inside. Immediately faced with another door you try the handle, but before you can budge it there is a jingle and he leans past with a key. It’s obvious Joost is making a move when he lets his chest press against your back as he all but pens you in, breath fanning over your neck. It’s more than welcome, but in the tiny space trapping every molecule of his scent, it nearly makes you do something terrible. 

“Wait, wait, hold on.” You whip around and press flat against the door to regain some space, trying desperately not to get riled. No matter your preparations, Joost is an assault on the senses. 

“Sorry!” he pulls away quickly, big blue eyes searching you from behind thick black frames, eyebrows inching upwards. “Sorry. Was I reading this wrong?”

Holding your breath would help, but he's asked you a question and you can’t imagine ignoring a face like that. “No, you just..you smell too nice…and…I really need to get a handle on the eyes. Just…hold on one sec.”

Joost absorbs that for a split second before melting back into a smile. “Oh, but we're alone, it's okay right? I like your eyes.” 

Such a flatterer. And he’s kind of right, it is good that you're alone for this. It’s a goddamn miracle no one noticed your eyes at the club. Here, you almost want to take advantage of the opportunity to relax around such an unusually accepting person. Still, you know Joost is also an unusually slippery slope. 

“No- I’m trying not to-” you can’t even finish.

He waits patiently while you fight it but the memory of him hard against your ass in the club makes a timely reappearance and the eyes snap into place. 

“Fuck.”  You cover them quickly. 

He brings a hand to your wrist. “Let me see.” So gentle and so shameless, he convinces you easily. Dropping your hand, you meet his eyes and he holds them, just as mesmerized as before.

 “That must be a huge pain in the ass.” 

Your confusion must show because he clarifies “Hiding that all the time I mean. I’m glad I didn’t just buzz you in, Tantu might have been the one to get the door.” 

You blink. “I don’t think Tantu would have been a problem.” 

It’s his turn to look puzzled.

“I mean, this isn’t usually a problem. You just smell so much better than anyone else.” Now that you’re past pretending to be human you can’t find it in you to be anything other than blunt. 

The gears turning in his head are all but visible as he swallows thickly, face pink. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Well, just give me a minute, I think I’m almost there.” something about what you say makes his stunned look slide into a smirk but you ignore it in favor of focusing on slowing your heart and pretending you don’t smell the spike of arousal coming off him. 

You’re definitely not wet. Nope. 

After another minute you take a deep breath, and even though the accompanying wave of pheromones makes you want to punch the wall, you manage to keep your eyes normal. “Okay, let’s go” He obliges, and you give him room to unlock the door.

Turns out, Tantu is the DJ from the club. One of the many of Joosts friends that had been there that night. You step into is in fact a very real studio full of very real equipment you couldn't even begin to guess the purpose of.

Tantu daps Joost up with noticeable warmth and welcomes you into the space without fuss. It’s clear any friend of Joost’s is a friend of Tantu and soon he leaves you to return to stabbing at his computer. Joost shows you to his own in the opposite corner. 

Right off the bat, you realize any assumptions you might have had about Joost had been wrong as he hands you the most expensive looking pair of headphones you've ever seen and proceeds to play you his entire studio album released just over a month ago.

At the club he had said ‘huge artiest’ so jokingly, so flirtatiously, somehow managing to be modest mid-brag. You hadn’t known whether to believe him. You had hoped it would be true, but you hadn't really expected it. 

Here, now, in the span of fourteen songs it becomes abundantly clear he’s not just some soundcloud rapper, not a wannabe star. He’s a real one. 

He tells you a little about each song before he plays it. Who helped him the most in the end (mostly Tantu), where he was when he started writing it (so many places, he travels a lot), how he sampled this for this song and this for that song. He is deeply proud but you can tell there is also a layer of nervousness, like he truly wants you to like it.

You sing along to Fryslan Bop, the one from the club, and he laughs hysterically as you try and fail to imitate the sound of Dutch lyrics you can’t understand to the best of your memory. 

Finally, you finish and he seems to be waiting for a review.

“I couldn’t understand almost any of that, sorry to say. Only fuck, the handful of other English words, and Joost Klein. That really is your favorite lyric isn't it?” He shrugs happily. “But I didn't need to. I liked it. It made me feel… things. You have a lot of range in your sound. All the festivals I went to this summer and nothing sounded like this.”  

He’s grinning ear to ear. “Did you go to Pinkpop? I got to play this year!”

“Yes! I definitely didn't see you though, I would have remembered.” 

He nods sagely. “Must have been a different day.” 

You want to ask about the sad song in the middle of the album. Florida-something. So different from the upbeat tracks before and after. Somehow though, it feels like you can’t, like you shouldn't, and you let it lie. 

“All right! What’s next?”

Joost remains flirtatious over the afternoon but it’s dramatically toned down compared to your last encounter. Maybe it’s just how he behaves normally, without the booze and the high of the club. Maybe it's shyness given Tantu within earshot. Either way, you have no such reservations.

“Y’know, I was half expecting it to be all talk. Like, I wondered if ‘come to my studio’ was code for my place or yours?” Tantu coughs in the corner and a blush creeps up Joost’s neck. His scent kicks up and you're reminded why flirting right now isn’t actually a good idea.

Still, getting reactions out of Joost is a wonderful pastime and you can't help yourself. “This is so much better, this stuff is amazing, I’m serious. I think I’m gonna join the groupies.” From the corner of your eye you can see Tantu put on headphones. Joost looks rightfully smug. 

Hmm, not shy then. Smug is good too. 

After another hour of poking around in the files, you propose early dinner. Joost seems kind of surprised but suggests a few spots nearby. Maybe he expected you to bail again. To be fair, you’ve never stuck around this long before.

Tantu declines to join, citing too much to do. A suspicious answer, but you won't complain if he wants to let you be alone with Joost.

Joost leads you to an Italian restaurant of all places. It’s a short walk but from the corner of your eye you catch him almost reach for your hand no less than four times. You don’t reach back, pretend not to notice. He hasn’t touched you since this morning when he crowded you against the door and you wish he would again but watching him squirm is so much fun.

The October sun has already gone down and the neon sign for Antonio’s glows like a beacon on a street with few other lights. Joost stops to stare up at it. “Can you uh…can you eat garlic?” 

What are you gonna do with this guy? 

“No, I'll die.” He whips his head around. “Really?! Fuck, sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I know another place-.” You can’t keep a straight face. “No, I’m kidding. C’mon I’m hungry.” He follows, sputtering.

They must peg you for a couple because they automatically seat you at a table in the corner away from other customers. As you peruse the menu, Joost is unusually quiet. His eyes keep flicking up to you as you read. The waitress comes to take your order and his eyebrows disappear into his bangs when you ask for pasta. He’s still staring once she leaves and you can’t stand it any more. 

“Dude, I can't drink blood all the time.” 

He chokes on his water. 

This is apparently the permission he needs to unleash the legion of questions that have been brewing since the fateful moment you rubbed up on his dick and disappeared into the night. Joost proceeds to take inventory of your personal brand of vampire with a thoroughness you did not expect. You really should have, considering the way his heart picks up every time anything vaguely vampiric takes place. 

He’s a bit of a nerd about it actually. 

“So you eat regular food?” 

Yes. 

“Do you have to drink blood?” 

Yes.

“Do you have fangs?”

Yes.

“It doesn’t look like you have fangs.”

They’re retracted.

“Re..tracted.”

Not full length right now.

“Oh. Can you turn invisible?”

No. 

“Can you brainwash humans?” 

No. What? 

“Can you turn into a bat?” 

No!

“Okay, okay! How often do you have to drink blood?” 

You tell him what you’ve found to be true over the years. 

Blood doesn’t seem to be necessary for actual nutrition, but the longer you go without it the more you crave it, and ultimately the more forceful you become when you finally take what you need. It makes you feel healthier, it gives you energy, but beyond any of that it’s just an urge you always have.

Abstaining for very long only leads to bad times for your unwilling donors when you finally give in. Indulging about twice a week seems to be the best for keeping people out of the hospital. 

By the time the food arrives, Joost is looking suspiciously horny. Smells like it too. Resisting the tug at the back of your eyes is already becoming a practiced routine. He doesn’t seem the least bit deterred by the casual mention of violence and you wonder if you could ever tell Joost about that night. 

The thought gets flicked aside as quickly as it came. 

No one can ever know what you’ve done and it’s honestly crazy to be letting him in at all. Everything you have come to accept can’t be part of your life, everything you left behind, it was to protect you- you did it to survive. 

With Joost, it’s almost like those rules have gone out the window. You don’t know what about him has you wanting to be so honest. He may be unfairly hot and the only person who has never freaked out on you but where is the self preservation? 

You’re probably going to have to move again. 

Joost has more questions but you’re curious about him. He’s Dutch, he’s beautiful, he’s not actually a poser, he clearly has a danger kink, but who is he?

Somehow, though he’s bright red again, the first thing out of his mouth is that he is not Dutch. He is from Fryslân! Joost tells you a little bit about where he grew up, when he first moved to Amsterdam, how he used to do Youtube and how he first met Tantu. You let him talk and set to work making a dent in your noodles. 

Everything Joost tells you helps paint a picture, but to your curiosity, he is quick to skate over most of his past. Anything more than a handful of years ago gets more and more vague and it becomes clear there's something he’s avoiding.

You don’t see why he would be holding out on you, it’s not like you haven’t been telling him all your secrets. Well, maybe not all of them. Whatever. 

The Florida song tickles at the back of your mind and you don’t press it. 

“I’m down to one noodle, wanna Lady and the Tramp this shit?” 

Sadly, though he accepts with enthusiasm, the noodle breaks and you don’t get your arrabiata kiss. He checks his phone while you wait for the bill and curses under his breath. “What is it?” you mumble through your napkin.

“Tantu was just being polite earlier. He wanted to work on more stuff after dinner but I didn’t see the message.” You begin to wonder what that means for your evening but Joost is already smiling again as he slips the phone back into his pocket. “Oh well, Tantu always forgives me. We’ll do it later. Wanna go through the park on the way back?”

Your stomach gives a little flip. “Yeah.”

The last vestiges of the sunset are long gone and the park is deathly quiet. The fog has been so thick for so long that the grass is soaked, glistening under the lamplight and stretching out on either side of the path to form dark fields of glitter. 

“So, is it a date this time?” He asks innocently.

You try not to trip over nothing.

You want it to be a date. It really shouldn't be, you shouldn't let people know you, but for so long it hasn’t even been an option and Joost is so much more than an option. You’ve never met anyone like him.

“Yes.”

He grabs your hand and every hair on your body stands on end. It’s an innocent touch, all things considered, but you know where this is going and finally, finally, something is happening. It’s a wonder you didn’t end up in his bed that night at the club. He so clearly wanted you, and you were just as ready to let him hit it against the wall in the alley if he’d asked. This time, you're not running.

He swings your hands as you walk, trying and failing to keep the smile off his face. Every ounce of your attention is zeroed-in on the way his big hand curls around yours, but it’s also becoming impossible not to notice the emptiness around you.

The surface of the pond is mirror-smooth and the trees stand lifeless as you wander deeper into the park, like everything is holding its breath. You are utterly alone and the crunching of your shared footsteps seems to echo. 

Forgetting you're an apex predator, one would almost worry about what is lurking in the shadows. It’s fun to suspend your disbelief, let the atmosphere affect you and pretend that Joost is your only hope against the creatures of the night. You grip his hand tighter and he grips back, giving a little squeeze then lacing his fingers between your own. 

The path continues along the water and under a bridge. Low but wide, the street that goes over must be a main thoroughfare yet not a single car can be heard. Joost’s puffs of breath are all the more audible as you enter the void of the tunnel underneath.

The shadows are deep, unnaturally so, and you can only half make out the patchwork of graffiti. The lamp at the exit seems farther than it should be and it gives you a thrill, still indulging in your supernatural fantasy. You press your side up against Joost, letting the closeness be a comfort even though you are nothing but excited. 

He stops in place suddenly, catching you by the hand, and pulls you to his chest. He wraps an arm around your back and squeezes. “Why are we walking so fast?”

The light is so low but you can still make out his features, pink, golden, and perfect, looking at you bemused. “It’s spooky out here, don’t you think?” You half-whisper. “If I’m out here, who knows what else is too.” It’s said with a smile and Joost grins right back. 

“Don’t worry, we’re safe if we’re together.” His eyes dart to your lips and back up before he speaks again. “Slow down for me?” In the stillness of the night, his heartbeat is deafening. His normally crystal eyes are dark, pupils dilating more and more with his climbing pulse. It’s a shame he can’t hear yours. A feeling you refuse to name pricks at your chest and you crane your neck up. 

He beats you to it. 

Your mouths meet and color explodes behind your lids. If his scent was powerful, the taste of him is something else entirely. Joost groans against your lips and releases your hand to wrap both arms around you, crushing you close.

When he has you where he wants you, one hand comes up to cradle the back of your head and he licks at the seam of your mouth. You open for him and he licks further into you with a sigh.

It’s hard to keep up. Now that Joost finally has you in his arms he is greedy and the hot wet of his mouth threatens to eat you alive. 

You don’t think you would mind if it did. 

Joost is forced to pull away first, his laboured breath visible in the cold. You whine at the loss and his eyes widen. Need for air forgotten again, he peddles you backwards until your back hits the wall of the tunnel and he’s on you again. Joost kisses you deep, hard, pressing you into the concrete like you’re laid flat on a bed.

The kisses make their way down your neck and when your eyes open as he sucks at your collar bone, it is to see that the passage and all its vandalism register in perfect detail. You never even felt the tug but your eyes are fully shifted. 

He lifts his head to capture your mouth again and you can’t mistake the infatuation in his eyes when he notices your own.

It ruins you. You could never say no to a face like that. What’s more, you don’t want to. His devotion is so apparent and this is only your first time together. If he weren't pressing you into the wall, it would have you on your knees. 

You kiss back, hungry. Maybe if you swallow him whole, you can keep him forever. It’s hard to ignore how good he smells. His arousal has been simmering all day but now it’s kicked up to a thousand and every inhale sends a pang to your cunt. Your panties are toast. 

The hand cushioning your head from the wall comes around to cup your cheek as Joost tries his best to drink your little noises. He has plenty of his own. Words too. Little yes’s and encouragements when he slips his knee between your thighs and you grind down. 

His length is hard against your tummy, bigger than you realized when it was against your ass before. 

The rush of blood under his skin is almost tangible- so quick with the frantic pace of his heart. The hot length of his throat is flush with it, and the most mouth-watering aroma curls lazily from the neck of his hoodie. 

Your core throbs. Your teeth ache. 

Joost’s fingers start to curl under the edge of your jacket, fumbling to get under the shirt. The cool air and his cold hands make you moan and he whimpers in response, grabbing you hard by both hips and grinding into you firmly. It turns your legs to jelly, and you have to break the kiss to catch your breath against his chest. 

Too overcome to focus on a rhythm, he thrusts mindlessly every couple beats as his lips make their way slowly down your temple. Even through all the clothing, the hot length of him is like a brand over your navel. He licks over your ear and all the air you managed to recover whooshes right out again.

Joost’s shameless enthusiasm, his desperation, has your head spinning. His scent has enveloped you completely- arousal so thick you can almost taste it with his throat so close to your face. You want to taste it. He nibbles at your earlobe tenderly and your stomach swoops. 

Spit pools on your tongue and it’s dawning on you that there might be a problem.

His lips start to travel down your neck a second time. Open-mouthed kisses and tiny nips followed by the flat of his tongue laving over each mark, soothing each time it makes you grip him tighter. Then, without warning, his mouth drops to that same spot on your shoulder- the same as in the club, and he bites down.

The thrill it sends through you ricochets down to your pussy, clenching around nothing, and back up again in a split second. Your fangs drop. 

You lunge forward before you can think.

You can’t think, actually. Joost is on you, around you, and he might as well be in you with the way he fills up every corner of your awareness making higher functions impossible. He jerks back, surprised at the speed of the movement, and your teeth sink into three layers of hoodie. 

It tastes like the pasta sauce he dripped on himself at dinner.

Your gut swoops in an entirely different way as your head clears all too suddenly and you unlock your jaw and shove him off you, hand slapping over your mouth. Joost staggers back a few steps at the force, nearly falling on his ass. He looks petulant, big eyes pleading like you’ve just taken away his favorite toy. 

“What's wrong?” He huffs, already closing the distance again. You lurch away to maintain the space and confusion twists his brow. Joost tugs at the neck of his hoodie, tucking his chin to look at it and finding two jagged holes and a patch of dampness.

His brow goes slack in understanding. “Oh, it’s okay, come here.” He reaches for you again. “You know I want you to bite me right?” 

Your eyes widen and you dodge his grabby hands. You don’t dare remove your own hand from your mouth to speak. Really, you should have known. In retrospect, it was obvious. Should have known from the moment he bit you the first time in the club that he really did want you to bite him back. Fucking vampire kink fucking weirdo.

Not that you’re entirely complaining.

Finally Joost stops reaching for you, pouting, and waits. You don’t trust yourself to speak for several minutes. It would be better if you left, ran away again in case the sanity doesn’t hold. You don’t want to do that to him again though, not a third time. You have to get a grip.

Slowly, you remove your hand and he perks up. “Sorry, about your hoodie. I- , We- , We shouldn’t do that. You won’t like it.”

“What, why not? I think I would.”

“Believe me, it hurts.”

His trademark blush and grin combo is firmly back in place. “I don't care, it’s kind of hot.”

You pause, unsure how to counter without laying out the details of how you don’t want to commit murder a second time. “It’s like with the eyes. With you, I can’t really help what I’m doing, can’t control myself. It would probably be rough. I might hurt you. I mean, it always hurts but I think I might hurt you for real.”

He looks contemplative, though you notice the blush hasn’t diminished. “Is it really that different with me?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why. I think- , I think I just need to get used to you. I probably can’t ever bite you, but if we’re gonna get cozy without me flipping my shit, then I think we might need an adjustment period.” You immediately realize what you said. “That is, uh, if you want to keep doing this sometimes.”

He doesn’t leave you hanging. “I do! You said this is a date, I want more dates.” His earnest expression becomes immediately suggestive. “If I have to wait to show you my stuff, that's okay. Can’t help it if I drive you crazy.”

Oh, he’s a bastard. “Whatever you say, spaghetti shirt. You’re gonna need to stop biting me too, I can’t be held responsible for what that makes me want to do to you.”

“Noted.” He chokes through a laugh.

“Alright, let's go back. I’m fucking cold.”

The second Joost had kissed you, all fantasies of supernatural ambiance were forgotten. Now that you're separated again, they are at the front of your mind once more. The shadows look like more than shadows and the density of the fog feels designed to conceal something lurking beyond. You feel the need to protect Joost, probably from yourself, but it’s nicer to imagine something else so you let the fantasy reform.

The twinge of unease from the misty morning on your balcony is back and you do your best to stomp it out. You just need to take it slow. You can still do this if you take it slow and let yourself get used to him. 

The walk is mostly quiet. Joost seems thoughtful and you try not to hold his hand too hard. When you make it back to the studio, you unlock your bike and try not to imagine the night swallowing him when you go your separate ways. When you turn back to him, Joost swoops in again for another kiss.

It’s only a peck, he’s giving you the space you asked for, but then his hand grabs your own and brings it to his mouth. It seems like he's going to kiss that too, goofy as he is, but quick as blinking he gives your knuckle a nip and winks before doing a one-eighty and starting down the street. 

You clutch your hand to your chest like you’ve been burned.

He bit you!

Again!

He keeps biting you and now he's walking calmly with his back turned like it doesn’t make you want to chase him down and pin him. Like it doesn't make you want to take him there on the pavement and tear into him.

Is this his idea of compromise?

“See you later!” He waves before disappearing around the corner.

It’s hard to decide whether to blush or go pale. 

You wonder, not for the last time, what the fuck you are doing. 

There's no chance to stew too long because the very next day Joost is already taking up all your attention. He hits you up at ten. You're naked in front of the mirror brushing your teeth when he calls. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” So chipper. 

You spit into the sink. “Just work, was gonna go to a cafe.”

“Can I come with?” He is possibly the most distracting person in the world for you, if last night was any indication, but he sounds so eager you can’t find it in you to say no. 

Joost meets you at your usual cafe down the street. A place you often find yourself working these days when your cozy apartment, though a good refuge from the persistent rain, becomes just a little too monotonous.

There is another moment of acclimation when you meet him out front, but you manage to keep your eyes from changing. You lean into him, forehead against his chest to keep anyone from seeing in case you can’t keep a handle on it while he smooths a hand down your back, heart noticeably fast and scent stirring at the closeness.

Anyone bothering to pay attention would think you were any normal couple embracing. After a few minutes when nothing happens, you straighten. Joost almost looks disappointed. 

He swoops in rather dramatically to pay when you order at the counter and you let him, bemused. He wants to know whether you’ve ever tried poffertjes and when the food arrives he feeds you one off his plate, looking only vaguely horny when you wrap your lips around it.

Joost asks you how you like the Netherlands and you find yourself telling him how long you really haven't been here. Before you know it, you're telling him all the places you've lived over the past few years, distracted from your work already.

He has so many questions and he drinks up your stories eagerly, relays some of his own about some of the same places. He really does travel a lot.

You get so caught up that you retrace your journey all the way back to your home country. When you pause, he notices you’ve exhausted your list. “That’s where you're from, right? You have the accent.” 

You hesitate, but telling him where you're from won’t actually bring him any closer to knowing what you did. “Yeah, that’s home.” 

“Why did you leave? Why so many places?” 

Fuck. 

“Is it because-” he pokes at his canines with the tips of his index fingers “vampire?” Relief washes over you. It’s the truth technically, more than he will ever know, and you don't really have to explain it. He’s filling in the gaps himself.

“Yeah, got too hard to hide.” 

When you part after many hours and little work, he gives you the tiniest, softest kiss, takes your hand, and brushes his mouth over the same knuckle before gently biting it once more.

The cafe becomes a pattern for the two of you, him showing up more often than you would have thought he had time for. He’s better at letting you work after that first day. Often brings his own things to work on, mostly concert visuals, and becomes deeply immersed in editing and drawing when he isn’t serving as your unwitting tech-support. 

When you’re not working, he takes up your time all the same. He texts you constantly. A stupid picture of his dog, of Tantu, an edgy meme.

You're not used to it. It's been years since anyone has texted you at all. Even your boss just emails. Most often, the texting is to suss out where you are and if you're busy.

He seems determined to take you to what you're realizing is every place he usually spends his free time. His favorite restaurants, his favorite parks, his favorite bars. He's so bright, so gleeful in almost everything that he does. Joost shows you things just to see if you like them too.

One night he shows up at your door, six-pack in hand.

 “Hi! …How do you know where I live?” 

He stares back with eyes that look huge through the black frames slid low on his nose. “You sent me a pin? I thought you wanted me to meet you.”

 A glance at your phone reveals the sent pin and several highly enthusiastic reply texts that you very much had not noticed. You meant to send him the link to the place you were meeting tomorrow. Fuck your life. 

“Uh, I didn’t mean to. Hope I didn't make you drop anything to come here.” 

“No, you didn't! What are you up to? Wanna hang out?” Joost almost talks like a kid. The bottles clink at the way he wiggles while he speaks and it only adds to the effect despite the way he towers over you like you're the child.

That night you proceed to have the first of many regular movie marathons with Joost. Keeping your hands to yourself is hard with him on your couch all cozy and warm, oozing pheromones, but he mostly behaves and so do you.

Another night, he takes you to his favorite skate park where you don't do any skating. You just sit and watch everyone else and eat ice cream that melts way too fast while he tells you about someone named Nathan. 

Another night after that he brings you to his place where you play COD until he gives up trying to teach you and you talk until the sun comes up. It's more difficult being in Joost’s flat, everything smells like him and it was fucking mean of him to wear grey sweatpants the first time you come over. Still, he gives you space, not pushing like you can tell he wants to.

It’s kind of sweet actually. This stranger you met at the club, grinded on at the club, trying to work with you and be delicate like being delicate matters. It all felt like some kind of weird extended hook-up at first, but the longer this goes on the more it feels like Joost wants to know you.

No one has been allowed to know you in a long time. 

You want to know him too- know more of his favourite places, his favorite movies, his favourite foods. Know what it is he isn't saying every time you talk about the past.

It’s beginning to feel like you will. Like this thing you have going isn't so crazy.  

Seeing Joost starts to fill your days, replacing the sporadic trips to the club that filled the human-shaped hole in your chest with a companionship that made you forget there ever was a hole. You didn’t realize how much of your time was so empty before. 

Of course he isn’t always around. Often disappears for days on end to the studio and long weekends away for concerts. But, he always comes looking for you when he’s done and no matter what else you get up to together, you always find yourselves back at the cafe. You’ve carved out your own territory there, a table where no one else ever seems to sit as if they know it's meant for the two of you. 

One morning you sit at it, waiting for Joost.

He strolls in later than usual, humming what sounds a lot like Numa Numa as he approaches with an extra spring in his step. He plops down unceremoniously in his usual seat across from you, fishes around in one cavernous pocket, and deposits a steel ball-gag in front of your croissant and coffee with a clatter.

“Hey, good morning. What’s this?” 

He rubs his hands together like some kind of cartoon villain. “Good morning! I’m so glad you asked! I was just thinking since, y’know, sharp teeth problem, you could wear this and then we could do whatever we want!” His eyebrows wiggle furiously. “Well, I guess we wouldn’t be able to kiss, but you know what I mean.”

“Uhhhhh.”

“I know you said you just need to get used to me but this way you don’t have to!” His giggly, somewhat bashful self of the first few weeks knowing him has melted away to leave a Joost with honestly very little shame. It was gradual, and he was never too reserved to begin with, but these days he is incorrigible. You must be rubbing off on him.

Sadly, this one isn’t up your alley.

“I’m gonna be real, that’s not happening.  Have you ever tried one of these? It’s a good idea but I can’t handle that much drool.”

“Come on, please? I won’t laugh at you I swear. And honestly-” He leans in close. “I needed to eat you out like yesterday. Can we try it?”

As much as you don’t care that everyone in the cafe has been looking at you since the second Joost whipped out a ball gag, you also don’t want to get kicked out. This is your favorite spot.

“No, put that away!” 

Joost takes it in stride but as the days pass, you can tell he’s far from done with his scheming.

At the movies and the automat and everywhere else he takes you, at his apartment and at yours where you’ve both started expecting each other, he is always nudging. Tempting you more and more while still following the rules. Little flirtations and kisses and those goddamn tiny little bites you never quite get used to. The tender press of his canines around your knuckle make your stomach swoop without fail.

You're sure Joost knows what he’s doing, what with the way he smiles that same little smile every time. 

Bastard.

It’s not like you can blame him for any of it. You want him too.

One day though, less than a week before Christmas, Joost is forced to pause his efforts. It’s a cold and gray afternoon, and though there’s no snow on the ground, every shop and every home has wreaths and candles on doors and in windows. It’s impossible not to notice what time of year it is.

When Joost comes knocking, all bundled and breathless and confused why you aren’t at the cafe, he can tell immediately that something is wrong. 

It’s a bad day, really no other way to put it. Today is your little sister’s birthday and for the third time ever, you won’t be there. 

She was a brat really, but you loved her and she is one of the few things that always makes you think of home.

That wasn’t true at first, when you spent the first few months missing all your friends and family something awful. But after you literally killed and ate someone, the fear of discovery and the fear of hurting them drove your travels farther and farther until before long, you felt like you were doing the right thing. 

Besides, the world was too big and too detailed to miss out on. Too vibrant in all of your new senses to spend your time sulking over what could never be. Most days now, home was just a passing thought.

Still, your sister never fully left your mind, and on this one day every year you have been gone, you can never help but let your mind drift over what is and what could have been. 

Joost can tell the second you open the door. You let him in without fuss, but when you answer his probing questions with little more than noncommittal grunts and squeeze him far too tight when he goes in for a hug, he starts to adjust his demeanor.

He follows you into the kitchen and you shut your laptop, still open with the work you had been using for distraction.

“So, you don’t usually pass up the gift of my presence, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, I’m good. I just have a lot going on with work. Sorry I forgot to tell you I wasn’t gonna be there.”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

A pause.

“I've seen you stressed about work. Usually you’re asking me to help you find a file or proofread an email…”

“Yeah, okay, yeah. I’m a little distracted.”

“With what?”

“With-” you allow yourself to lean against him. He’s saddled up behind you as you finally come to a stop in the middle of the kitchen. His arms come around your waist and you let out a bone-rattling sigh.

There’s few places you’d rather be than in his arms, but the knowledge that even that is something you're still trying to allow yourself to have makes it hard for it to feel like a comfort right now.

“-with things at home. There are things I left behind that I can’t go back to.”

“You wish you could?”

“Sometimes.”

“You miss someone?”

“Yeah.” 

Fuck it. There’s so much you’ve already told him. Why not this.

“My sister.”

His grip relaxes slightly. You didn’t realize it had become tense. “Oh. I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Yeah.”

“I have a sister too. I don’t see her very often but it’s not because I can’t or anything. I don’t know what it would be like to not have the option.”

“Yeah.” You sniff. It seems to be the only thing you can say.

He squeezes you tight again when he hears it. “Wanna…talk about it?”

“No, not right now. I’ve been thinking about it all day and there’s nothing I can do so I might as well stop.”

“Okay. Wanna do something with me? Wanna watch a movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, how about Spiderman?” 

He knows you so well by now.

Joost coaxes you back to his apartment. Away from your work and to what you have to admit after many movie marathons is a home cinema setup superior to your own. The perfection of the couch-pillow-foot rest-cup holder placement leaves you unable to turn down the journey when the ride is only ten minutes.

Tonight, you watch Far From Home. Though you always cycle through the the Spiderman movies, it’s the one you saw with your friends the night you turned, and somehow it's the one you always come back to.

You’ve never told Joost you prefer it but he’s noticed anyway. Tonight, he pulls it out before you can ask.

By the time Peter Parker gets knocked out by Mysterio and accidentally arrives in the Netherlands via train, you're in Joost’s lap, clinging on with arms slung around his neck and face pressed into his chest, barely watching. Being sad does wonders for not being riled by his closeness. 

He holds you right back, hands at your waist, occasionally pressing light kisses to your hair as he comments on the inaccuracies of the movie’s Dutch portrayal.

“Y’know we do love soccer but honestly, no one is so super happy like this, especially not if you’re stuck in jail.”

You just hold him tighter. It’s been hours now in Joost’s presence and finally, you feel yourself unwinding. Just like always, Joost is the best distraction you’ve ever encountered. Your teeth itch of course, what with your face so close to his throat, but you ignore it so you can savor the feeling of him wrapped around you.

Joost is sweeter than you could have ever asked for. So often wants to know about your problems and offers up his time to solve them. Provides his presence and his affection when he can’t. 

Not that you have many problems. Your tech issues present the majority. 

Still, here and now, he's trying to fix everything just like he always does and it is with a deep shudder from yourself that he starts to rub your shoulders. His hands smooth down your back to your hips and back up again, reminiscent of the moments in front of cafes and shops where you always have your moment of initial acclimation.

Now, there is no pressure to the moment, no rush to get yourself under control. All you have to do is relax further into his hold and let his big hot hands melt sensation into your flesh. 

A sort of tingle accompanies his hands wherever they go. Up and down and up again. They knead at the muscles of your lower back before working their way up either side of your spine with gentle compressions of his knuckles. One big palm cups the back of your neck when his ministrations make it to the top and he takes a moment to inhale deeply from your hair.

The motions repeat over and over, up and down and back again. You would be letting him know exactly how much his efforts are appreciated if those efforts weren’t completely melting your mind.

Lingering in that liminal goo-brain space for what feels like hours, it occurs to you that every pass over your hips is gradually getting lower. Every time he works his way down your spine, his thick fingers splay just a little further over the swell of your ass.

You let him do it, fully on board with the feelings it’s inspiring in your core and too strung-out to think of why there might be any reason not to indulge. 

Before long, his hands are fully cupping your ass with every pass. Each time he spends a moment squeezing lightly before continuing the cycle. After a couple more circuits, he finally breaks the pattern and stops to hold each cheek in one huge hand, pulling back from your hair to make eye contact, asking silent permission.

You hold his gaze, unable to think further than the lazy, slow, creeping want he inspires. He made you so comfortable, so pliant and soft, why would you ever do anything other than what he wants?

You slump forward to mouth at his jaw, forgetting yourself, and his heart stutters.

His hands slide lower to the back of each thigh and his fingertips brush over your slit. It’s the first time he’s ever done anything quite so direct since that moment under the bridge and it makes you moan so loud that he pulls back once more to get a read on your face.

“Is this okay?”

“Mmm, yeah.” It’s hard to remember why such a question makes sense. His fingertips, so close to where you need them, make higher processes a herculean effort. Still, your brain is the stuff of legends, and you pull it together to consider what he means. 

“Fuck, uhhnh, gimme a sec.”

His hands don’t leave their precarious position, but make no further move. In the meantime, his mouth fills in the gap.

‘You know I bought something else. After the ball gag I mean. I was thinking handcuffs kinda do the same thing but, y’know, less drool.”

He smiles sheepishly.

“We don’t have to use them, I just wanted to tell you. It could keep your mouth away from me if I stayed down here.” he squeezes with both hands for emphasis.

“Oh.” With the strong departure from the sadness that had been consuming you and the reminder of all Joost represents, you are quickly coming back to awareness. Your gums ache in a way they haven’t for quite a while now, the tug behind your eyes making a return. “I- how would that work?”

“If I cuff you to the headboard and stay down here-”

Another squeeze for demonstrative purposes,

“-then your teeth will never come near me. We can’t kiss, after a point, but we can do other stuff. There are a lot of things I want to do to you.”

“Okay, I’m with you, but you would need like a steel headboard or something. I’ve seen the IKEA particle board slats you have going on.”

“I may have- uh, I may have bought that too.”

Oh he is a freak.

Your smile is all Joost needs to scramble to shut off the movie and scoop you up like it’s nothing, mouth on yours like a man starved. You cling to his shoulders as he slowly walks you back through the apartment. It’s a miracle you make it when he can’t be bothered to look where he’s going. 

Somehow, he neither bangs your elbow nor your knee on a door frame and all of a sudden the world shifts as you are deposited onto his bed with a bounce.

True to his word, it’s a new bed. Same dark blue comforter and faded Minecraft bed sheets but a new frame with solid metal bars. He lets you look while he fiddles with something on the bookshelf before turning back to you with a ‘clink’. 

The handcuffs, equally metal and solid, glint in the low light of his bedroom. You’ve never been into bondage per se, but just about anything Joost wants, you find yourself wanting too.

His enthusiasm never gets old. Even if the bed and the cuffs are just a means to an end, Joost picked them out for you, he picked them out and bought them because after all this time dancing around each other, he still wants to fuck you so badly. 

The tug behind your eyes is irresistible like never before. This time, you don’t fight it.

Joost takes you in, eyes wide and wanton, fixed on your own dark pools. He gives a shuddering sigh and unclicks the cuffs. “Oh, liefje, let’s start with this.”

The simple endearment used for the first time short-circuits any intelligent response. There are no words. You scoot up the bed, overcome by the word still bouncing around your skull and the hunger evident in his scent.

Laying back slowly, you lift your arms above your head as he crawls over you. 

Something about the position feels a little strange, but the thought leaves as quickly as it came when you’re distracted by cold metal clicking into place. He adjusts the cuffs gently, one on each wrist with the chain hooked around a thick steel post of the headboard. A good tug proves them to be durable and Joost lets out a breath you didn’t know he had been holding. 

Though the bedside lamp is dim, the blue of his eyes practically glows as he removes his glasses and lays them on the nightstand to admire what’s laid out before him.

It’s obvious all too soon that there are drawbacks to the position. You can’t lean up to kiss him, at least not much, can’t reach out to touch him and tuck a bright blond strand behind his ear or cup a cheek and trace his pouty bottom lip.

You need to, if you're being honest. Need to touch him and hold him and kiss him and tell him there is no one else you would ever want to do this with.

You don’t even know what that means, since there haven’t exactly been other options, but you know it’s true. 

Joost watches your squirming with increasing amusement as you test the limits of your bonds. Finally, mercifully, he parts your thighs and presses flush against you to capture your mouth. Your legs wrap around him immediately, holding him the only way you can. His scent is just as potent as it was that night under the bridge and quickly becoming stronger. It’s a good thing you’re cuffed because your willpower is already softening.

As overwhelmed as you are already, your teeth haven't dropped yet and you're thankful as he all but steals the breath from you. The increasingly desperate press of your mouths is all that's keeping you from begging him to get on with it.

You never thought you would be one to beg, but here with Joost above you, presence all encompassing and hips slotted into the cradle of your own like he belongs there, you think you would.

In the end, you don’t have to. Joost pulls away all too suddenly and the hands braced at either side of your head come down to toy at the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?”

“Please!”

The transparent need in your demand short-circuits him for a moment. He says nothing, huge pupils unblinking for several long seconds before they snap down to fix on the stripe of skin that gets wider and wider as tattooed fingers slowly peel the shirt up your stomach. It would have been smart to get undressed first, but you’re both a bit beyond reason and you do your best to help as he drags it up above your head to tangle around your wrists.

He pauses again to drink you in, more bare skin than he’s had the opportunity to see yet. So much of the past months has been little more than kisses. His hands trace their way back down, over your sternum and your belly, ignoring your bra for now, until they reach the hem of your lounge pants.

Joost doesn’t ask this time, just meets your eyes and takes the nod you give without words. He removes them much easier than the shirt and whips them away to land somewhere to be found later. Hot palms smooth up your thighs and a single finger hooks into the elastic waistband of your panties.

The whine you let out as soon as he does it sends him scrambling and they are quickly tossed away to join the pants. 

Huge hands brace themselves against your inner thighs and you're made to bend your knees up to accommodate. It spreads you wide, everything on display. It’s been so long since anyone has seen you like this it’s borderline embarrassing. The way his scent picks up and his pupils nearly eclipse their blue border makes it all worth it.

He crawls forward to give you a single deep kiss.

“All good?” He breathes against your lips.

“All good.”

He shuffles back down and starts laying more kisses against your inner thighs. 

You know exactly where this is going. 

Joost’s overture that day in the cafe never strays too far from your mind. If you were wet before, now you’re positively dripping. It starts to run down your ass and you wonder if he will notice, see your desperation made flesh.

It’s unlikely, what with the way his eyes are shut tight and his brow is slack with bliss. He’s getting exactly what he wants.

Joost laves a hot stripe over the skin closest to the junction of your thigh, pauses for one maddening moment, then turns to lick into where you need him most without warning. 

Your gasp is more of a shout.

He groans in response and hooks an arm around each thigh before you can squirm away, the wet, slippery friction on your clit so intense you almost try to. He starts out with deep, long licks directly over it before he goes anywhere else, straight to the punch without teasing.

After what feels like far too much and nowhere near enough, he gives one long lick through your folds and shifts his focus lower. He lingers over your entrance, the flat of his tongue seals tight to the rim, textured buds undulating against the delicate skin making you writhe. He does it again and again, taking breaks to pull back and run the tip around the edge, tracing and circling before latching to it yet again with a wet ‘smack’.

Normal breathing is becoming impossible and when your thighs have been tensed so long they start to shake, he dips it in. 

There’s no telling what undoubtedly guttural noise you make because you are too busy wrestling with the sensation of blood blooming across your tongue and iron filling your sinuses. Every teasing nudge inside your pussy sends your fangs digging deeper into your lip. 

The brief agitation from earlier has returned, but now you know what it is. There’s nothing actually wrong, it’s just so much harder to bite lying on your back. The urge you usually manage to suppress is now front and center of all thought. As always, pleasure seems inextricably tied to predation.

You need to pin Joost and bite him and feel him struggle but you also need his delicious weight on top of you and his hands around you and his tongue inside you and you can’t have both.

You feel insane.

Joost’s groans are heavy, the vibrations rolling through you as he lazily pumps his tongue deeper, nose grinding into your swollen clit. He settles into a pattern. Deep, languid tongue-fucking followed by licks to either sider of your bud, close but not close enough, before directly grinding the flat of his tongue into it a few times and then starting the process all over again. 

The cuffs are fighting a battle of their own above you. Every time Joost switches targets the headboard gives a heavy creak.

You hardly notice. It’s taking all your remaining brain power just to try not to squeeze him too hard with your thighs. Though, it might be okay since every time you do he lets out a groan, far too pleased for what is probably a legitimate threat to his skull.

Blood drips down your chin now, your canines deep in your bottom lip when you hear it:

A shuffle.

A rustle.

A slight sway to the mattress.

He takes your clit between his lips and sucks hard. The bedsprings give a pathetic wheeze as your head slams back and your spine arches as a squeal rips out of you. 

The rhythmic swaying picks up the pace.

When Joost finally gives you a second of reprieve to kiss at your thigh, hot heavy breaths fanning over you, the gentle swaying continues. Puzzled, you find the willpower to lift your head and shakily unlock your thighs from where they have become earmuffs.

It’s hard to place it at first, the incessant tongue back on your skin and sharp iron in your mouth more than distracting, but then you notice. 

Gently, 

slowly, 

almost tenderly, 

Joost’s hips roll down into the mattress.

It might be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

The way his brow has started to knit as he ruts instinctively, pleasure seeping up his spine as he gets off on your own. The way his hips jerk softly like he isn’t even aware, like his body is just making him do it. The way his sweats have slid down to reveal the dark material of his boxers, snug against the muscles of his ass that are working insistently. 

You can’t handle it. You have to do something, anything. Your hands whip down to bury your fingers in his hair as you grind up into his mouth and lose your mind.

Your fingers in…his hair?

He flinches. Makes a pathetic noise as he withdraws his tongue. The sudden hard stop to the blissful sensation all the more highlights the bright red sheeting from his brow.

In your pleasure, the cuffs ripped like paper. Both loops are still attached but the chain, now broken, swings freely from your right wrist, bloody from where it lanced him deep across the temple.

Oh.

Fuck.

Joost has never bled in front of you before. Not a single scratch or cut, not even a hangnail. 

It's like hearing colors or tasting music. Now that the source of his scent isn’t trapped under his skin, it is so much more potent than you could have ever prepared for. You could never have built a tolerance to this. 

The sudden certainty of a guaranteed meal, the knowledge that your strength is superior, that you've won, it overwhelms you in an instant and the sureness of it almost leaves you calm. You're going to get what you want. There's nothing that could possibly stop you. And why should it? 

The only thing that keeps you from destroying him on the spot is the look on his face.

It’s all happening within seconds. He’s still mid-recoil. His face screws up now that the pain is starting to register, blank confusion twisting to stricken agony. 

It’s nothing like you imagined. 

Those nights alone when you think about Joost and can’t quite control that deep, savage part of your mind, the part that's been there ever since you woke up bloody in the middle of the street all those years ago, you never imagined it like this.

That inhuman part of you was sure his pain would be something beautiful. Even if the logical majority of you protested, somewhere deep down, you always expected it to be true. 

Maybe it’s the added shock of the sudden blow, maybe it’s just the wrong kind of pain, but the hurt on his face is terrible.

Not pleasure-pain like when you press on a bruise you accidentally gave him the day before and he can’t help the way his eyelids flutter, not like when your sharp nails dig into his back when you go in for a kiss and he picks you up and you have to hold on tight as he groans into your mouth.

Just pain.

Your heart folds in.

You’re rolling off the bed and shooting to your feet before Joost can even look at you, too busy staring at the blood on his fingers as he draws them back from his forehead, shaking.

It’s physically painful to turn away. You grab your phone with enough force to rattle the night stand and make yourself walk towards the door. Every sense is cranked to eleven and every reflex and muscle fiber is dialed in, all strength and no precision as you work against your instincts. Every base impulse is screaming at you to turn back and take what is right in front of you.

There’s no running away this time, just brute force resistance.

There’s so much blood.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m gonna get someone, just stay there. Stay there.” The words are choked as you use every ounce of willpower to force yourself into the hall. You don’t know if he hears you and you can’t afford to look back to check.

His gasps of pain almost sound erotic now without the visual evidence of his suffering and it makes you want to turn around and devour him.

When you recognize the thought, you hate yourself just a little.

You wrestle into your long winter coat and manage not to break the front door as you unlock it. Joost calls out your name just before it slams shut behind you.

Outside in the cold, damp, wind whipped darkness, there is enough of a disconnect from what’s inside that you can feel control come back online. 

You want to run but you make yourself walk, thankful your coat covers your bare ass, as you prioritize sending a cryptic but detailed text to 112 and then dialing the one other person that can possibly help. Tantu answers on the third ring.

“Tantu. I need you to check on Joost. I need you to go over to his place right now and it can’t wait.”

“What? What do you mean? Did he call you?”

“No it’s- Tantu please just do it. Please. Will you check on him?”

“Yes, yeah, I will, what’s going on?”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes! I’m putting on my coat! Tell me what’s wrong!”

“Please hurry, Tantu.”

You hang up, cutting off what sounds like a curse. 

He’s a good friend, you can tell. It’s a good thing you have his number. You don’t know any of Joost’s other friends. Honestly, you barely know Tantu. Joost talks about them often and with love but you’ve just never met them. 

It’s mostly Joost’s efforts to try not to spook you, to ease you into knowing him without pressure. You let it slip once that you try not to make close connections for practical reasons and he let up on group invites quickly, if a little disappointed. Anything to keep you around and unwilling to gamble with being the exception.

The trill of your phone makes you slow once more. 

It’s Joost.

He’s okay. Okay enough to call at least. Hopefully emergency medical or Tantu gets there soon.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Your phone continues to buzz as he calls again. 

And then again.

You wanted to see if this could work, whatever this is. It felt possible once. Felt like one day you would say yes to meeting his friends, like you would feel close enough to ask him about his past and maybe even tell him the full truth about yours, felt like one day you might finally adjust enough to be able to love him properly. 

Because you do love him. 

You’ve known it and denied it but you do.

You do and it didn't stop you. Such a small mistake, made so easily and unconsciously and almost the end of his life.

You love him and that’s why as you walk down the street, completely enveloped in abyssal shadow, no moon in sight, you know that when you get home you’re going to pack your things.

[roomwithanopenfire]

Stats Sunday

Happy March!! Thanks for the tag @nausikaaa! Unfortunately, my goal is to make this banner worse every month, so be prepared—we've only just begun.

Early post for me. I should be sleeping but I started making my graphs and then... well, here we are.

Here's my February Recap loll. Stats and graphs and musings incoming. (this post is so long but i promise there's a snippet in here)

Rest of post is under the cut. It is long. You've been warned.

I've posted two things last month! A valentine's day fic for Ebb/Fiona and Chapter 3 of the Way We Are. (Technically i posted 3 but this stranger things oneshot was posted on the 1st and written in January so it feels like January's accomplishment)

Total words written for February: 14405 (this beats Jan by 460 words!)

Days I met my writing goal (200 words): 20

Days I didn't write or edit anything: 4

Day I wrote the most: Feb 11th with 2249 (this beats last month's high score of 1717!)

Number of Fics worked on: 10 technically, but i have not been consistent with most of them. mainly worked on 3.

Daily Average: 514 words (but like last month i am highly inconsistent and my WC varies wildy depending on the day)

(I really like the little curve in the middle. also two the days that look like zero are actually 1 words, which is my placeholder if i spend all day editing)

And here's a pie chart to show my WC distribution across projects. Tbh a lot of these were fics that i've had in my fic ideas doc and all i did was make a google doc for them and word barf onto it my ideas, that's why there's so many small slices.

some slices are so small you don't even get to know my placeholder names. also i hope the title THTHIPWGI intrigues you, i'm always excited when i can title a fic right away and refer to it by a fun accyromn on my spreadsheet.

Other notable things from February:

I finished writing all of The Way We Are!! (kind of. i have one more scene to write. Monica's fault.)

I took over the @carry-on-sapphic-week event!! Check out the prompts if you haven't yet <3

I've received So Many beautiful valentines from the CO discord servers exchange. my mailbox and my heart has been full

The CO fandom was able to raise $500 for Fandom Trumps Hate!! (and I got to make a spreadsheet bc of this!!!) (also i won two auctions from this, one for each fandom i'm in)

My car battery died and I had to get a new one :/

I started a new journal!

I finally figured out how to spell February

my savage worlds campaign finally got our ship back and made it off this stupid planet that we've been on forever.

i've started watching Yellowjackets and I'm really enjoying it

I read so many CO AU fest fics and each one of them was so good. I think i've read all except one so far, and honestly this fest has been so fun i'm obsessed with you guys, you're are so talented.

SPEAKING of CO AU fest fics, @fiend-for-culture's fic, Everything In Between, is SO good, i've been thinking about it all week. you should read it (and leave a comment so i can read it bc i'm stalking the comments on this fic and there's not enough to sate me)

i have spring break in just one week!!

Okay, i promised you words, so here's a snip from my COBB.

“And I’m sorry,” Simon says. “For what?” “Driving you off yesterday.” “That wasn’t your fault. I was being terrible.” “Yeah,” Simon agrees. “But I shouldn’t have dismissed you like that.” I make a face. “I’m not having a heart-to-heart with you, Snow.” Simon groans. “Why do you have to do that?" "What" "Everytime I think we're making progress you say something nasty like that."

sorry this post is so long, thank you for reading if you made it this far

tags, hellos, and apologies:

@alexalexinii @aristocratic-otter @argumentativeantitheticalg @artsyunderstudy @arthurkko

@beastmonstertitan @blackberrysummerblog @best--dress @bookishbroadwayandblind @bookish-bogwitch

@the-beard-of-edward-teach @brilla-brilla-estrellita @cccloudsss @ciescen @confused-bi-queer

@cutestkilla @drowninginships @facewithoutheart @emeryhall @fiend-for-culture

@hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @theimpossibledemon @jyae23

@larkral @lovelettersto-mars @meanjeansjeans @m1ndwinder @monbons

@noblecorgi @orange-peony @prettygoododds @raenestee @rimeswithpurple

@run-for-chamo-miles @rbkzz @shrekgogurt @simonscones @skee3000

@supercutedinosaurs @sweetronancer @talentpiper11 @toc-the-scrambled @thewholelemon

@valeffelees @youarenevertooold @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

added some new ppl to this tag list, feel free to share a wip you're working on—art, fic, etc. it does not have to stats like mine is loll. i use wipsdays as my soapbox.

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #07 死

† sunshine †

"Meandering around the castle late at night wasn’t supposed to take you to Jeon. Nor was he supposed to be the one training you. But here you are."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 5.4k

rating: mature

content: AM encounters, outside of the cafeteria spot, smoking, cryptic messages, begrudging acknowledgements, takama appearance (my kiwi boy), training that somehow seems like foreplay

☠ author's note ☠

Alright, you thirsty little monsters, I knew you'd be STARVING for some action so here are some CRUMBS. Bon appétit! Don't say I never gave you anything (￢‿￢ )

Fun fact: Takama literally didn't exist until I was hate-eating a kiwi at like 2 AM after a terrible day. Just popped into my brain fully formed like Athena from Zeus's forehead but considerably more polite. I don't necessarily intend for him to have a massive role but... well, characters have a way of hijacking the plot when I least expect it.

But he's just??? So nice??? I don't know why I'm surprised by my own creation, but here we are. My little kiwi-inspired shaved-head cinnamon roll. Too pure for this gang. Too pure for this fic, honestly.

ACTUALLY, I love all my characters—even the ones who make objectively terrible life choices. It's like watching your disaster children set things on fire and being like "well, at least they're applying themselves." But I also have WAY more information about them than you do, so my attachment makes sense I guess (•̀ᴗ•́)و

So that leaves me wondering... which character is your favorite so far? And which one makes you want to throw your phone across the room? I have my suspicions about the general consensus, but maybe you'll surprise me. I read all your comments so let me know!

And before anyone asks—no, I will not be giving you more than crumbs. The slow burn tag exists for a reason, and that reason is I enjoy chaos. Your tears sustain me. Stay mad!

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

read on wattpad

tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

You don't see Jeon for two weeks after the ankle incident.

Not that you saw him much before, mind you. Your paths barely crossed even when you could walk properly. But his absence feels... noticeable. Like missing a storm cloud that usually hovers at the edge of your vision. You wish you could say it's a relief not having him around, but maybe you've just gotten used to being the target of his general disdain.

It's 5 AM and you're wandering the castle halls like some restless ghost. Most people would say roaming a gang headquarters before dawn is asking for trouble, but they don't understand the appeal. Everything's quiet at this hour—no footsteps echoing off stone walls, no voices carrying from common areas. 

Just you and your thoughts and the soft hum of the heating system.

Besides, what else are you supposed to do when sleep keeps dodging you? Your legs are itchy with the need to move, to do something. And it's not even about your ankle anymore.

That's actually healing pretty well, thanks to following J-Hope's instructions to the letter. Two weeks of medical training turned out to be more interesting than you expected. You learned how to stitch wounds, dress injuries, even set a broken bone (though hopefully you'll never need that particular skill).

J-Hope's... different than you thought. You wouldn't call yourselves friends exactly—there's still that whole "he's on the Council and you're basically a grunt" thing making things weird. But under all that cranky exterior and constant complaining, there's someone genuinely reliable. The kind of person you'd want patching you up after a mission gone wrong.

He actually cares about people, even if he shows it by threatening to revoke their medical privileges. Which is more than you can say for some people.

l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶c̶e̶r̶t̶a̶i̶n̶ ̶s̶n̶i̶p̶e̶r̶

At least J-Hope's grumpiness comes with a side of actual human emotion. Unlike Jeon, who seems about as caring as the brick walls you're currently stalking past.

Maybe that's not entirely fair though. 

You've caught glimpses of something else beneath all that ice he wraps around himself—little cracks scattered across that stoic shell he wears so well. 

Whether that something counts as actual human emotion is still up for debate.

These past two weeks without him have been... easier. 

You hate admitting it, even to yourself, but not having to constantly watch your step around Hurricane Jeon has been a relief. No more walking on eggshells, no more bracing for the next storm.

Your feet carry you to the cafeteria's outer corridor before you really think about it. The same spot where you had that lovely second chat with Jeon—the one where he made it crystal clear just how much he enjoyed talking to you. 

The memory still stings, which is stupid because why should you care what he thinks?

But the universe, it seems, has a sick sense of humor.

Because there he is.

A shadow against the night sky. Sharp angles. Quiet intensity. 

The cigarette between his fingers glows like a dying star, smoke curling into the darkness. Something in your chest does this weird little flip that you choose to ignore.

"What are you doing here?" The words slip out before you can stop them; and as soon as they leave your mouth, you realize how dumb they sound—like you have any more right to be here than he does.

He must think the same thing because he doesn't even bother turning around. "And you?"

"Has anyone ever told you it's rude to answer a question with another question?" You lean against the wall opposite him, trying to look casual.

You study his silhouette against the window—the slight hunch of his shoulders, the way his forearms rest on the ledge. The cigarette looks natural between his ringed fingers, like it belongs there. You catch that familiar scent of pine and mint mixing with tobacco smoke.

Part of you expects him to ignore you completely. That would be classic Jeon—pretending you don't exist unless he needs bait for paintball practice. 

But another part hopes he won't. 

Because there is something different about him in these quiet hours, something less... hurricane-like. You wonder what keeps someone like him awake at this hour. What ghosts chase sleep away?

"You're really not going to answer my question?" You push a little, testing how far this almost-civil moment can stretch.

"Couldn't sleep." His voice comes out low. "That's all."

"Makes two of us." The sigh slips out before you can catch it.

He makes this soft sound—not quite agreement, not quite dismissal. More like a hum. It nearly gets lost in the pre-dawn quiet.

"Why not grab coffee then?" You can't help asking. The sun's barely thinking about rising.

"Cafeteria doesn't open until six." He says it like it's obvious, like everyone should know the castle's breakfast schedule by heart.

You tilt your head, curious now. You've been doing the early breakfast routine for weeks, chasing those fresh croissants, but you never knew there was an actual schedule. 

"How do you know that?"

"Common knowledge." The words come quick, almost defensive. But there's something else there, like maybe he knows the schedule because he's spent his fair share of sleepless nights waiting for that first cup of coffee.

"I see." The words come out quiet, almost lost in the pre-dawn air. It's like something about this hour that makes conversation feel... heavier. Still, curiosity nags at you. "Why not try going back to sleep?"

His jaw clenches—just slightly, but you catch it. "Cafeteria opens in an hour anyway. Might as well wait."

"For an hour?" You can't help the disbelief in your voice. "You must really love that first cup of coffee."

He finally turns to face you, though his hand stays outside, cigarette smoke curling into the darkness. Those dark eyes study you like you're a puzzle he can't quite solve, picking apart every micro-expression.

"So you knew?"

"What?" Your eyebrow arches of its own accord.

"That morning, few weeks back. Same spot." His gaze doesn't waver, like he's trying to read something written on your soul. "You got there first. Took the first coffee."

"I... did?" You frown, trying to remember. Because seriously, who keeps track of stuff like that? Is he actually holding a grudge over coffee? "Oh. Well, I didn't know then. Just found out recently that was your thing."

Something in his expression shifts, those storm-dark eyes softening just a fraction. But instead of saying anything else, he turns back to the window, leaving you to wonder what exactly just happened. 

"Second cup's not terrible," he mutters, the words almost lost in the air. "Just doesn't hit the same as the first."

You study his shoulders, the way tension sits there like there's an actual dumbbell; and you can't help but think that seeing him like this—guard slightly lowered, existing in this quiet moment—makes him seem almost human.

"Why's that?" 

You don't know why you ask. You don't know why you're curious. 

He takes another drag from his cigarette, the ember burning bright against the darkness. Smoke curls from his lips as he considers your question, his ringed fingers tapping an absent rhythm against the window sill. 

"It's routine now." His answer comes after a silence that stretches just long enough to be uncomfortable, and the words feel heavy, like they carry more weight than he's letting on.

"Routine?" A small huff of amusement escapes your lips—trust Jeon to make something as simple as coffee sound like a military operation.

But there's something about him that makes you want to dig deeper. Maybe it's the way he almost looks peaceful at this hour, or how the soft pre-dawn light catches on his silver chain. Whatever it is, you find yourself wanting to understand the storm that lives behind those dark eyes.

He lets the silence build again, but it feels different now. Less like he's ignoring you. More like he's actually considering his words.

"I just..." He hesitates for a second, and it's weird—because you haven't seen him hesitate, ever. "I like knowing exactly where things stand when my day begins. Everything else might go to shit, but at least that first cup is always exactly what I expect."

The confession hangs between you, oddly vulnerable for someone who usually keeps his emotions locked down tighter than the castle's security system. 

You wonder what it costs him to admit even this small thing.

"I get it." The words come out softer than intended, gentle in a way you didn't mean to be. "Control matters. Especially here."

Your heart does this weird skippy thing that you choose to ignore. Because empathizing with Jeon? That's definitely not part of the plan. t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶s̶ ̶k̶i̶n̶d̶a̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶h̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶v̶u̶l̶n̶e̶r̶a̶b̶l̶e̶

It's almost like the night is wrapping around you both, filled with the kind of silence that feels too heavy to break. His scent is stronger now that he's turned to face you properly, and why the fuck are you noticing stupid shit like that? 

He flicks his cigarette out the window, the ember trailing through the darkness like a falling star. When he looks at you again, those dark eyes hit like a physical force. 

Suddenly, something storms behind them. 

Something you can't quite read but definitely feels dangerous.

"You think you understand?" His voice is rough. "Trust me, you don't know shit about control or lack thereof. Not here."

The words slam into you like a door being shut in your face. Like the moment you thought you'd almost glimpse something real, his walls went up again. 

"Maybe I don't know everything about control." You meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down even though your heart's trying to crawl up your throat. "But I see enough. This isn't just about coffee for you, is it?"

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you know you've pushed too far. You probably don't know anything about what control means to him, about why he needs that first cup of coffee like he needs air. But something about Jeon makes you stupid brave, makes you want to push at his walls until something breaks.

Maybe it's the pre-dawn air making you reckless. Maybe it's the way vulnerability looks on him, rare and fascinating. Or maybe you just never learned when to shut up.

A muscle jumps in Jeon's jaw as he studies you. Those dark eyes narrow like he's trying to dissect your words, find the hidden meaning behind them.

"And what exactly do you think you see?" The question comes out sharp, wrapped in cynicism.

"I see someone who needs their first coffee before dawn not because they love the taste." Your voice drops without you meaning it to, like you're sharing a secret neither of you is ready to acknowledge. "But because they need something certain when everything else isn't."

Silence falls.

But Jeon doesn't look away. 

That storm that usually rages behind his eyes goes quiet, replaced by what you think is understanding, or maybe just resignation. 

"You're reaching." His smirk doesn't quite land, missing that usual bite. There's a pause before he says it though—just long enough to make you wonder if you hit closer to home than he wants to admit.

"Maybe." You hum. "Or maybe I just pay attention."

Jeon stares at you like he's seeing something new, something that doesn't quite fit with whatever image he had of you before.

"Or maybe," he whispers, eyes dark and tinged with slight amusement, "you just like pushing buttons to see what happens."

"I prefer 'tactical engagement.'" You tilt your head, matching his tone. "Sounds more professional, don't you think?"

He turns back to the window, but not before you catch the ghost of what might have been a smile. The sky's starting to lighten, painting everything in soft greys and blues. When he speaks again, his voice has gone quiet, thoughtful in a way you've never heard before.

"Professional or not, it's still dangerous territory."

"You say that like it's supposed to scare me." 

You don't mean for your words to come out that light, almost teasing. But then again, everything about Jeon is uncertain. It's weird how each conversation with him feels like carefully picking your way across thin ice—reckless indeed, but kind of thrilling too.

The scoff he lets out in response sounds almost fond. Almost. When he faces you again, he leans against the windowsill, and you notice how the early light catches on his eyebrow piercing.

"If it doesn't scare you yet..." His voice drops lower. "It should. You can never be too careful around here."

The way he says it makes you think he's not just talking about coffee anymore. Like he's implying something darker. Something that hints at experiences you probably don't want to know about. But instead of making you want to back off, it just makes you more curious about what lies behind all those walls he's built.

You study him for a moment, trying to read between the lines. Everything in Kkangpae has double meanings—even warnings about coffee, apparently.

"I'll keep that in mind." You respond. "And don't worry, your precious first cup is safe from me."

"Aren't you just a ray of sunshine." His lips twitch, and for a second you catch something that might almost be a smile—gone so fast you could've imagined it, but the memory of it lingers like smoke.

"Also..." The words stick in your throat for a second, but fuck it. Here goes nothing. "Thanks for the croissant."

He stiffens. A blink follows—one that lasts a heartbeat too long. If you weren't watching so closely, you might have missed it.

"Don't know what you're talking about." His voice goes flat, dismissive—like you're crazy for even making such assumption. But there's something in his eyes before he turns away—something that colors his reaction. You don't know what color, though. 

Maybe Yunjin wasn't so far off after all.

Silence descends again between you two, and so you take that as your cue to leave, pushing off from the wall with a small nod. Your footsteps echo down the hallway as you head for the elevator, each click against stone counting down the seconds until dawn.

Then his voice catches you mid-step, low and quiet like he's talking more to himself than you:

"Glad you liked it."

You freeze, caught between wanting to turn around and knowing you shouldn't. Because this feels oddly like something fragile; perhaps vulnerability he didn't mean to show. Like catching a glimpse of something wild and knowing any sudden movement might make it disappear.

So you stay there, suspended between one step and the next, letting that quiet admission settle in the pre-dawn air.

But you don't turn around. 

Jeon deserves that small reprieve. 

Takama turns out to be nothing like you expected.

You'd figured Jeon's second-in-command would be a mini-version of him—all stormy eyes and cynical sarcasm, ready to freeze you with a glare. That's what would make sense, right? Deputies usually mirror their leaders, picking up their habits like cats picking up fleas.

But Takama? He's about as similar to Jeon as a gentle breeze is to a hurricane.

Sure, he's quiet and precise—you've never seen someone demonstrate a low kick with such mechanical perfection. But that's where the similarities end. There's nothing cold or distant about the way he corrects your stance, nothing harsh in how he points out your mistakes. Even when you mess up the same move for the fifth time, his patience doesn't crack.

The training room feels different with him here. Less intimidating, somehow, even though Takama commands respect in his own way. His shaved head and slate gray eyes give him this intense monk-warrior vibe, but without the whole "I could kill you with a glance" energy that radiates off Jeon.

You'd been low-key terrified when you first walked in here. Your brain had conjured up all sorts of scenarios—because you didn't know what or who to expect. So the walk to the training room had felt like heading to your execution, each step heavier than the last.

Then you'd pushed open the door and found... just Takama.

No thorny roses. No brewing storms. Just a bald guy in training gear, looking about as threatening as your high school gym teacher.

Relief should've been your first reaction. But honestly? You had been more confused than anything. Yunjin's endless fountain of gang gossip had barely mentioned Takama beyond "he's Jeon's deputy." 

Which begs the question—why is he the one teaching you? 

The answer came to you a bit later. 

After your injury, Jeon disappeared on some mission, and by the time J-Hope grudgingly cleared you for training, he still hadn't surfaced. V stuck around during your recovery, but naturally, the universe had other plans—he got sent out right when you were supposed to start training with Assassination.

So you had ended up assigned to Takama. Which honestly? Might be a blessing in disguise.

That first day, you'd been a nervous wreck. Two weeks of lying around while everyone else trained? Not great for the confidence. You'd walked into the training room expecting to get chewed out for falling behind. 

Instead, you got... this.

This half-japanese (according to what he's told you) guy, who is nothing like his boss. Where Jeon fills a room like an incoming storm, Takama's presence is more like early morning fog—quiet, steady, impossible to pin down. No hurricane winds trying to knock you off balance, just... calm.

"Ready?" 

His voice pulls you back to the present. The way he asks makes it sound like an actual question, not a challenge or a threat. Like if you said no, he'd actually wait.

You nod, watching as he flows through another set of combat moves. There's something almost peaceful about how he fights—each motion precise, purposeful, no energy wasted. Like watching someone solve a complicated math problem with perfect handwriting.

Your first attempt at copying him is... less graceful. Your body feels clumsy, still remembering two weeks of forced rest. But Takama just watches, gray eyes taking everything in without judgment.

"Your balance is off." He steps closer, adjusting your shoulder with careful hands. "Try shifting your weight here instead."

The training room door creaks open and you freeze mid-movement, that familiar scent of pine and mint hitting you before you even turn around.

Oh.

Jeon stands in the doorway like some drama lead making his entrance, gym bag slung over one shoulder. For a second, surprise flickers across his face (guess he wasn't expecting company). His fingers tighten on the bag strap like he's considering turning around, but then he steps inside anyway, letting the door click shut behind him.

The room feels smaller suddenly. 

You catch that slight shift in the air that always comes with his presence, like the pressure drop before a storm. Takama doesn't react beyond a quick glance, probably used to Jeon randomly showing up to brood and punch things.

Those dark eyes sweep over you and Takama, something flashing in them before he looks away. He heads straight for the boxing area, dropping his bag with a thud that echoes in the quiet room. He seems to be starting his prep routine, and it looks almost meditative—like he's done this a thousand times before.

You look at Takama, wondering if you should... what? Leave? Apologize for existing in Jeon's general vicinity? But Takama just gives you this tiny nod that clearly means 'ignore him, keep working.'

So you do. Or try to. Because—easier said than done.

Your rhythm's all off now. You keep catching glimpses of Jeon as he methodically removes his rings, setting each one aside carefully. You don't mean to look but... The way he wraps his hands is almost hypnotic. Years of practice, you bet.

He doesn't look your way once, completely absorbed in his own thing. His brow's furrowed slightly, that little crease appearing that usually means he's either concentrating really hard or plotting someone's murder. h̶o̶p̶e̶f̶u̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶s̶

And honestly? The contrast is almost funny—you and Takama over here doing your best sensei-student routine, while Jeon radiates 'don't fucking talk to me' energy from his corner.

"Focus." Takama adjusts your stance again with gentle hands. 

And the thing is... You're trying, really trying, but your attention keeps drifting to the other side of the room like a compass finding north.

Because Jeon's started his shadow boxing routine, and it's... distracting. Each punch flows into the next like water, and you catch yourself wondering how someone who radiates such raw strength can move with such precision.

Then your eyes meet his in the mirror for a split second. Something flickers across his face—maybe surprise, maybe something else—before his signature aloofness slides back into place. His usual scent is stronger now that he's working up a sweat.

You force yourself to look away, taking a deep breath that's supposed to help you focus but just fills your lungs with his scent. t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶h̶e̶l̶p̶i̶n̶g̶

You try to concentrate on Takama's instructions, but your body won't cooperate. Every movement feels wrong, awkward, like you've forgotten how your limbs work.

"Keep it fluid," Takama reminds you, adjusting your elbow. "You're too stiff."

You nod, but 'fluid' feels impossible right now. Your movements are wobbly, hesitating, nothing like the smooth precision you're aiming for. Against your better judgment, you steal another glance at Jeon.

He's moved to the punching bag now, each hit echoing through the room with a thunderous rhythm. The way his muscles move under his shirt is... d̶i̶s̶t̶r̶a̶c̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ completely irrelevant to your training.

You try again, but your next sequence is even worse. 

The sigh that escapes you is pure frustration. 

You can feel Jeon's eyes on you sometimes, brief glances that burn like touches, and it's making everything harder.

This would be so much easier if he'd just stayed in his room cleaning sniper rifles or whatever he does. But no —he has to be over there looking like some kind of combat god while you fumble through basic forms like a newborn giraffe.

"You're being too soft, Takama." Jeon's voice cuts through the room like ice. 

The steady rhythm of the punching bag has stopped, and suddenly the air feels thunderous.

Takama just nods, that zen master calm never wavering. But before he can resume the lesson, Jeon's already moving toward you both, rolling his shoulders like he's getting ready to pounce.

Your stomach does this weird flip thing as he approaches. The scent of pine gets stronger with each step, and you try very hard not to notice how his tank top shows off those tattoos crawling up his arms.

"Let me show you." His voice drops low, almost a growl, and yeah—that's not helping your concentration at all. 

Takama steps back, clearly recognizing when to bow out, the traitor.

Jeon moves behind you, and suddenly breathing becomes an advanced skill you've forgotten how to master. His hands wrap around your wrists—warm and steady and way too gentle for someone who looks like he could break you in half.

"Like this." The words ghost across your ear, and you suppress a shiver. 

He adjusts your stance, every touch feeling deliberate, calculated. You try to focus on the actual instructions, but all you can think about is how his chest is barely inches from your back and how he smells like mint and forest and leather.

"You need to relax." 

Easy for him to say. You're pretty sure 'relaxed' isn't even in your vocabulary right now, not with him standing so fucking close.

His hands guide you through the movement again, and you wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingers. If he notices how your breath catches when his thumb brushes over your inner wrist.

t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶r̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ This is training. Just training. Nothing else.

"Come on. Hit me." Jeon immediately drops into a defensive stance in front of you, those tattooed arms raised like living art.

You blink at him, caught between t̶h̶i̶r̶s̶t̶y̶ surprise and uncertainty. Those dark eyes watch you through the cage of his hands, waiting. Patient. Testing.

When you finally throw a punch, it's half-hearted at best. Not because you think he can't take it—you're pretty sure Jeon could stare down a freight train until it apologized—but because you're too busy trying not to notice his fucking biceps.

His eyebrows draw together, disappointment written all over his stupidly perfect face. "Are you trying to dance tango with the enemy?" The scoff in his voice hits like a slap. "Again."

The criticism stings, but it also lights something inside you. That familiar spark of fuck you that Jeon seems particularly good at igniting. You reset your stance, squaring up to face him properly this time.

"Didn't know you danced." You can't help the smirk that tugs at your lips. "Though tango does take two. Unless you're scared to lead?"

His eyes narrow, and the temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. He doesn't move an inch, but somehow his stillness feels dangerous. Like a storm gathering strength.

"I always lead." His voice drops lower, rougher. The words feel like fingers trailing down your spine. "Question is, can you keep up?"

You know he's talking about fighting. He has to be. But there's something else in his voice, in the way his eyes track your movements, that makes your mind go places. 

You throw yourself into the next punch with everything you've got. No more half-measures—if he wants a fight, he'll get one. Even if you know he'll probably dodge it because he's t̶i̶n̶f̶u̶r̶i̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶l̶y̶ annoyingly good at this.

Sure enough, Jeon deflects your fist like he's swatting away a fly. The movement is so smooth it's almost insulting. His eyes catch yours as you follow through, and you swear you see a spark of actual amusement breaking through.

"Maybe you should try leading better." 

You don't know what you expect when the words fly out your mouth.

Maybe a disbelieving laugh.

Maybe a reprimand.

But then something weird happens. 

Because Jeon smirks. Actually smirks, like the ice sculpture suddenly remembered how to have human expressions. 

It's so unexpected you almost miss your next block.

"And maybe," his voice drops lower, teasing in a way that does funny things to your stomach, "you should follow instructions better."

You've never heard him sound like that. Playful. None of his usual arctic blast. It's... h̶o̶t̶ distracting.

"Can't when the instructor doesn't know how to give them." You fire back because apparently your mouth has a death wish and your heart's racing, and you tell yourself it's just from the exercise.

"That's why you're here getting lessons, and I'm here teaching them?" 

The condescension in his voice should be annoying. 

It is annoying. 

But somehow it's hot too. 

You're suddenly very aware of how close he is, how his eyes haven't left yours, how the thin fabric of his tank top clings to his shoulders.

"Guess seduction skills don't translate to combat," Jeon says, and god, you want to wipe that smug look off his face.

"Good thing I'm not trying to seduce you then." You quip, heart pounding against your ribs fighting a mix of exertion and something else you'd rather not examine.

He scoffs, circling you. "Good indeed. Because you'd fail miserably."

"Don't flatter yourself, Jeon." You mirror his movements, keeping your distance. Your muscles tense, ready to dodge. "You're just a man. My division's bread and butter."

"Is that why you keep dancing around me instead of landing a blow?"

"Maybe I'm studying you. That's what we do—find the cracks, the weak spots."

"And have you found mine?"

"Still working on it." You fake left, but he reads you like an open book. Bastard. 

"Keep trying." His lips quirk up, just barely. "You might surprise yourself."

Fuck it. You're done playing defense. You lunge forward, aiming for his left side. Your movements are sharper now, more deliberate. The countless hours of training are finally starting to show.

Jeon blocks your attack, but there's a slight nod—the closest thing to approval you'll probably ever get from him.

"Not bad." He steps back, giving you space to reset your stance. "You're learning."

You drop your arms and watch him. He seems to smile now, head tilting. He looks less hostile now, more... huh?

"But don't get too comfortable, sunshine." His voice drops low, and what the fuck is that nickname supposed to mean? "In both seduction and assassination, the moment you think you've figured it all out is the moment you've lost."

You barely have time to process the s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ unexpected nickname before he's moving. It's a feint to the left—you can tell by the way his weight shifts. You dodge right, proud for reading him correctly, but he swipes you off your feet with a low kick. 

Oh shit. 

You're going down, but your seduction training kicks in—never waste an opportunity. Your fingers grab his shirt, pulling him with you. 

If you're eating mat today, he's joining the menu.

His eyes widen slightly—ha, bet he didn't see that coming. His perfect little training session just went off-script.

Your back hits the mat with a loud thud, and he catches himself on his forearms, caging you beneath him. A strand of his black hair falls forward, and god, it's unfair how he manages to look good even when you've just ruined his whole flow.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, and you tell yourself it's just the adrenaline from the fall. Nothing to do with how his dark eyes are locked on yours, or how the scent of pine and wood seems stronger this close.

Your fingers are still twisted in his shirt—you should let go, but you don't. The fabric bunches under your grip. He doesn't move, but his muscles flex. It's n̶i̶c̶e̶ irrelevant how solid he feels.

The silver chain around his neck dangles between you, catching the fluorescent lights. You focus on that instead of his face, watching it swing with each breath he takes. Better than meeting his eyes or thinking about how his minty breath fans across your cheeks.

But your gaze betrays you, drifting up to his face anyway, and the way his dark eyes are slightly wider than usual... makes him look—

A throat clearing shatters the moment. 

Takama.

Great. You forgot he existed.

Jeon tenses above you, jaw tightening as he acknowledges his deputy with a short nod. Less than a second, and his whole leader persona is back.

He pushes himself up in one fluid motion, extending a hand to help you. Honestly, weirdly polite coming from him, but you take it anyway. His palm is warm and calloused against yours as he pulls you to your feet.

"If we're done with the k-drama moments," you say, hoping your voice sounds steadier than you feel, "I'd like to try that move again, thundercloud."

The nickname slips out before you can stop it—petty payback for his "sunshine" earlier. His eyebrow ticks up slightly, and his face is a mix of amusement and deadpan. 

But you force yourself to focus. You have a point to prove, after all. You're not some swooning romance novel heroine, and he's definitely not your prince charming.

He's just Jeon—cold, distant, p̶r̶e̶t̶t̶y̶ irritating Jeon. And you're just trying to learn how to fight better. That's all this is.

That's all this will be. 

But then, he says:

"Sure thing, sunshine." 

And it's pure sin. 

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© jungkoode 2025

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[popcornforone]

Bunked Up

A Mr Ben Fan Fic

I gave you a vote & you overwhelmingly chose Mr Ben as this weeks fic. This one I’ve had completed in draft since the end of November but then I had Christmas writing then the January & February challenges, so it been patient waiting for its turn.

Synopsis:- You are need an extra teacher for your field trip, your new boy friend mr Ben agrees to help.

Word Count:- 3000

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! PIV unprotected sex, swearing, muffling, orgasms, established but secret & new realationship, lover colleagues, PDA, bed creeping, small bed scenario.

Thanks as always for the read peoples, I hope you enjoy this, it’s been a very fun write.

“Free for a second Ben” you poke your head around his class room door. “I need to vent & you always love to tell me to calm down” in you stroll, youve only been back at school 3 days teaching & are already stressed. Being the new head of geography is already proving hard work. Bens busy reading a the new poetry anthology he needs to get his 15 year olds to work on. His feet are up in the desk. He slowly lowers his book & his glasses & eyes pop up from behind it. Instantly making you calmer. Who could ever be angry at such a handsome face.

“Couldnt this wait until later” he groans, but he knows from your tone this needs to be off your chest now, you both like to try & leave work at work.

“Ben!”

“What”

“You’d rather I talked about this when we go out for dinner tonight?” It’s Thursday & you’ve decided to make tonight your date night. You’ve been seeing each other for the last 6 months & are soon going to have to have that chat about where you see this going.

“No you’re right sorry” he puts his book mark in & closes the anthology. You know he’s read this at least once, he took the book with you when you went on your mini break in the summer to the Hamptons.

“So you know George,”

“Yes”

“Well his wife now needs to be induced for the triplets they are having” Ben wonders why this affects you.

“Okay so…”

“The date they have been given in October 4th”

“&…”

“It’s when our field trip to Florida is happening, to take the kids to the keys just before storm season”

“So….” Ben can’t see the point”how does he having his babies effect your trip, he doesn’t teach Geography”

“No but he’s a man & he has always volunteered for trips to be the spare man if one is needed.” Ben sees your issue. “Me Jenny & Scott are all the geography teachers & we have to leave 2 teachers behind to teach the rest & set supply, so we need another man on the field trip”

“Okay yes” you look bemused.

“What do you mean yes”

“Yes I’ll do it…” your jaw drops.

“Ben… I…I… I wasn’t expecting that”

“Why not”

“Well you don’t even teach a humanity & no one cares if a Religious study’s teacher goes away for 5 days, but your head of English”

“Did you just want 5 days without me?” He says & takes his glasses off & bites the end of them. You dampen your panties instantly. That always makes you want to jump his bones.

“Ben stop it”

“Make me” you lean across his desk & pull at his dark blue tie. He groans. His lips that you kiss every day feeling more plump today for some reason. He holds your neck gently, cradling it.

“You sure you want to come on a boring geography field trip. I only came in here to have a moan…”

“You’ve done that in both respects” he giggles.

“Ben”

“What” you playfully dig him in the ribs.

“I’ll need to go clear this with the principal, but if you really did want to, then it would be a huge help then me having to email everyone in the school tomorrow morning”

“If it’s okay with the head, I’m in”

“Ahhh” you squeeze him “my hero & don’t worry all you need to do is be a chaparone, we will do the teaching, we just need a male teacher.” He hugs you back.

“It’s geography, what could go wrong?”…

Ben wasn’t happy when you got to where you were staying for the field trip. Yes he got his own room but it was a half double bed & a little basic. He was upset you weren’t on the same floor as him. But he put on a happy face as the wind & rain blew at him as the kids collected data each day. You are built for these field trips. You can stand in the winds & speak to kids, you’ve been doing it for years, the cold doesn’t get to you until at least the last day of each trip which is why now as head of department, you’ve organised for the last day of the field trip to be either organising the data the kids have collected or going to a museum so your not all frozen. Ben however usually takes kids to plays or to readings or lectures. When you packed him lots of waterproof clothes & thermals he laughed, now he wished you’d packed more.

He stands there as the kids are busy measuring the long shore drift. You’ve told him he can have a break for a few minutes. So he’s sat on a sea defence, desperately clasping to a flask of coffee he brought with him to keep warm. You look up & see this & mouth to Scott to keep an eye on everyone & walk across the beach to Ben. He try’s to man up straight away the second he senses you walking over but you can tell he’s not enjoying this.

“Told you these weren’t for the faint hearted”

“I ain’t volunteering next year no way, thought you said this would be fun”

“It is”

“Since when”he scoffs struggling to undo the top of his flask, his hands shivering in his gloves. you sigh & take it from him & undo it straight away. A seasoned professional at how to survive the elements.

“Ben I promise you that we have one more day here on the beach after today taking data then it’s class room based & a museum & no more wind & rain & sea breeze okay” you rub his hat ruffling his hair under it.

“You’re made of strong stuff you know” he says a small smile forming on his face after sipping his hot drink. The colour coming back into his face.

“Years of doing this Ben, be glad we’re not doing this in December”

“Well I wouldn’t be here” he say & you look concerned. “Those triplets would be almost 2 months old by then” you both laugh & you slowly take his hand in yours giving it a squeeze.

“I know I say this a lot, but I really am thankful you did volunteer to do this” this makes him smile too.

“Anything to make my girl happy”

Tomorrow you are all off to a museum before flying back to New York. The kids you’ve all been looking after & who haven’t been in bed before 1pm no matter how hard you all tried every night, are finally all knackered. All in their rooms by 11pm. Clearly they have reached exhaustion, because no matter how many brave faces you & the teachers have put on, you’re all spent too.

Jenny has agreed to man the corridors tonight if there’s anything that goes on. She hadn’t done it for the first 3 nights of the trip at all & had got the most sleep. You slip into your jammies & sit on your half double bed which squeaks & is hard & sit there with a mug of hot water, reading your romance novel. Finally some you time as you hear the rain clatter on the window. Or so you thought, a polite knocking happens on your door & you grown. The kids know to not talk to you unless it’s a complete emergency tonight, you slink out of bed & grab your Hoodie to put it on over your top, it’s not completely see though but it’s not the best for a kid to see. You yawn as you open the door.

“This had better…” the door is pushed open. Large familiar hands engulf you in second, kicking the door shut behind the large man. Your lips peppered & your neck caressed.

“Oooh baby”

“Ben” you moan your hands all up in his hair. You can feel his erection through his bottoms. “Baby we’re on a field trip”

“Couldnt sleep, have only had about 6 hours sleep since we got here”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me” you say & hold him back a few seconds. His puppy dog eyes filled with sorrow & tiredness.

“Didn’t want my girl to have something else to worry about”

“Ben you should have told me” you caress his face. He smiles at your touch. “I’d have got you another mattress or”

“It’s not the same, you weren’t there to wake up to”

“I’m not always there for you to wake up to”

“But your here in this building, sleeping the floor bellow, it’s ached not being able to touch you or kiss you or pleasure you” he closes the gap between you both again. Little kisses around the base of your neck. He loves to do that. His hand slips inside you jammies.

“Ben please”

“Why not” he relaises you have no underwear on.

“No Ben you misunderstand” his eyes dilate as you smirk”oooh Ben please” your own hand going into his trouser, teasing his erection.

“Oooh fuck baby” he yanks down your jammie bottoms & the two fingers that were on your clit slip inside your sex. You grab onto his shoulder & whimper.

“Fuck Ben”

“Just getting you ready baby, want my girl to enjoy it all as we have no lube”

“Any condoms” you hadn’t brought your birth control tablets with you.

“Erm….” He looks embarrassed.

“Ben there’s solutions in pharmacy’s.” You tug off his T-shirt as the rain gets heavier outside. He pushes you on your bed which creeks & takes off your hoodie & top. Looking at you already on the edge of bliss just by his fingers taking you.

“Your fucking needy baby”

“Only cos you like it.” You wrap your legs around him & get your feet in the back of his waist band. You both wriggle so his penis springs free, rubbing your skin just above your clit, getting some of your pubic hair on it. He takes his fingers from inside you & sucks.

“Fucking delicious” he moans before his fingers grip his length. Pre cum drips across your sex. The way you groan when he slowly Edges all the way inside you. It may have only been a couple of days where you hadn’t had sex, but this felt needed by you both. His eyes wide, as he sinks deeper into you & the way his moustache curls has you feeling even more in heaven than you already are.

“Fuck Ben” his hand covers your mouth.

“Shhhh the kids below” he reminds you. His first thrust powerful. You grip his skin. The bed creeks louder than your moan.

“Ben” you whimper “the bed will give us more away” he giggles with you. “Can you do slow & sensual?” So far all your sex sessions have been rough & passionate. No holding back, you both feel like you’ve had a work out by the end of it. He raises an eye brow.

“I can try beautiful” he whispers before then kissing all around your ear. His next couple of movements slower, rubbing your walls, hitting your spot as you hiss in pleasure trying to be quiet. “But when you look as sexy as this, it hard to control myself”.

No matter how hard you try to be quiet & he try’s to be slow, noises fill the room. The bed even slow creeks, the headboard hitting the wall. You moan every 3 thrusts fuck out loud. Eyes time you do he sucks on your breasts & then you squeeze his bum making him whimper. Feeling him raw always makes your eyes roll, his length knows what to do as you grip onto him. Your legs still wrapped around him. You’re squeezing him too, pushing him deeper, making him feel bigger, the pleasure unmatched. As your collective climax approaches, he gives up. His large hand no longer over your mouth. The bed rocking & rolling with you as you both pant & swear. The air turning blue.

“Fuck fuck b..” before you can scream Ben snogs you. He knows how loud you screech his name when you cum & he knows hearing it will make him reply back with your own name. His tongue taking over sets you off, your body jolting through your climax. As you clamp around you, his own high hits, filling you up with his seed. He always digs his hand in hard to your hip when he finishes. He pants, lying flush on top of you. You ruffle his hair eventually when your lips separate. His sweaty body warming your though. The bed no longer creaking as you both lie in silence as the rain stops & you both fall asleep in each others arms.

You both slept so well. Just being near each other made you both feel safe & secure. Your heat radiating. It was the perfect way to end your school trip. Or so you both thought.

Ben crept out of your room like he was a naughty school boy at about 5am after peppering you with kisses as an apology for not staying the whole night & went back to his bed. You both made sure to shower before joining the other teachers & your students in the canteen for breakfast. You walked in first & grabbed a coffee & a pastry. A few kids looked your way but not too many. But when Ben walked in the whole of your field trip turned to face him & then back at you & then him. Ben was never good at poker faces, he turned bright red instantly as the room filled with loud gossip. His name on everyone’s lips. He slowly went to get his breakfast & then sat down next to you at the teachers table like he had done every morning, with his hand on your thigh.

“Slept well Ben” Jenny asked.

“I did” he sheepishly replied.

“Probably too well that you almost stumbled up the stairs this morning” said Scott. He shot looks between you both.

“Fuck did you see”

“No” Scott said “but we all heard her bed creek for 20mins last night, the walls are thin” you both look at each other. You look a little more mortified than Ben. Ben then takes the hand from you thigh & locks it around your fingers, rubbing across your knuckles.

“What can I say” says Ben now proud of his night time activities “she’s the love of my life & not sharing a bed with her this week has been torture” you drop your cutlery in shock at what he just said the whole canteen falls silent.

“You… you love me?” You say not realising the whole room can hear you.

“Yes baby, I do” your face lights up.

“Good cos I love you too” you both forget you are in a room full of high school students & tenderly kiss. His lips soft & full of the love you both just declared.

A collective awwwwww from all the students fills both your ears & you remember where you are.

“Alright you lot just shhh okay” says Ben.

“You know they’ve been shipping us for a while Ben”

“Really” he raises an eyebrow, you know that smile to well.”well then let’s given them something to talk about”. Ben leans in & presses a lingering kiss to your temple before turning back to his breakfast, acting like he didn’t just declare his love in front of a room full of teenagers. You, on the other hand, are still reeling, the warmth of his hand in yours grounding you. Jenny smirks over her coffee.

“Well, at least it’s official now. The worst kept secret in the school.”

Scott shakes his head, laughing.

“You two really thought no one knew?” Ben feigns innocence, taking a bite of his toast.

“We were subtle.” He proclaims, this makes some of the students near bursts into laughter.

“Sir no offense, but you literally stare at her like shes the star cheerleader in the team” one of the kids says, another chimes in,

“also she looks at you like you’re the only person in the room.” You glance at Ben, & he gives you a little shrug, as if to say, they’re not wrong. You roll your eyes but squeeze his hand under the table. Jenny sighs dramatically.

“So what happens now? A romantic wedding in the school gym? Matching ‘his and hers’ coffee mugs in the staff room?”

Ben grins, finally regaining his confidence.

“I was thinking something more low-key. Maybe just moving in together first?” You choke on your coffee.

“Excuse me?”

He shrugs, pretending to focus on his breakfast, but the slight pink in his cheeks gives him away.

“I mean… it’s not like I ever want to wake up without you again. I want to be bunked up with you…” he gulps & then looks you seriously but softly in the eyes, love pouring out of them “…forever”

The students erupt into more cheers and dramatic awwws as you sit there, staring at him in stunned silence. Eventually, you shake your head, laughing.

“Well,” you say, nudging him with your knee under the table, “let’s get today over with & then when we get back tonight we can have a chat without additional ears” you caress his face. Ben smirks, leaning in just close enough for only you to hear.

“I’ll make sure when we get back that the only person that hears you orgasm is me” you blush crimson, for the first time in days, despite the exhaustion, the cold, & the chaos of chaperoning teenagers, you feel completely, utterly warm.

[butlervibesonly]

𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐺𝐼𝑅𝐿 || 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐭 || Austin! Elvis

PREVIOUS PART <- -> NEXT PART COMING SOON

• Summary: Living with Elvis has made your life so much better. But it has visible effect on your school results. But that doesn’t stop you. At least that’s what you thought…

• Pairing: Austin! Elvis x female reader

• Warnings: slight angst, Elvis being possessive, arguing, kissing, maybe typos,…

• Note: NEW ELVIS PART IS HEREEEEE! Enjoy! + NOTE!! My acknowledge of Elvis is not so big, all things I know are from movie, documents, webs etc! So I deeply apologize for any mistakes/typos/misunderstanding that have nothing to do with reality. All of this is fic and has nothing to do with no one or anything. Based just on Austin's role of Elvis!Thank you for understanding! 🫶🏼

From the moment you moved to Graceland, Elvis spoiled you the best he could. He wanted to make you feel the love you deserve. He buys you all the clothes, from dresses to night gowns, all the makeup you never had because your father never allowed you to wear it. He gifted you jewelry on random days just to show his love for you.

Since the first day you moved in you sleep in Elvis’ bed with him. He wants to make sure you feel safe. And his bed now doesn’t feel empty like it always had. With you in it he feels more than happy. More than happy that he has you in his life. And his family? Gosh, they adore you.

Now you are sitting curled up on the couch in the quietest corner of Graceland, books and papers spread out in front of you. Warm glow of the lights over your notes, but the lights did not help to reduce the exhaustion that you feel.

You sigh, rubbing your temples, trying to make sense of the essay that you are writing. You are finishing last semester of university and it’s more than demanding. It is late today… too late. You should probably be in the bed next to Elvis now but you have a deadline, and you can’t afford to fall behind.

A deep familiar voice cuts through the silence. “Darlin’, you still workin’?” You glance up to see Elvis standing in the doorway, in his navy blue pajamas, arms crossed on his chest, looking at you with something between amusement and concern.

“I have to finish this essay,” you murmur, blinking tiredly. “It has a deadline and I can’t miss it…” Elvis smirks, approaching you. “You’ve been starin’ at that essay for hours, Satnin. I know ‘cause I’ve been standin’ here watchin’ you.”

You groan, flopping back against the couch. “I can’t think straight. It’s due tomorrow...” Elvis perches on the arm of the couch, leaning over to skim the page. “Ain’t nothin’ on here but a bunch of big words meant to make folks feel important.” He shoots you a teasing grin.

“C’mon, tell me what it’s supposed to be about. In simple English.” he adds, sitting down beside you, before pulling you on his lap.

You huff as you sit straight in his lap. “It’s about Southern literature… How writers use nostalgia to explore their ideas of home.” Elvis tilts his head, considering. “So, like, how people remember things better than they were?”

“Exactly.”

Elvis nods, clenching his jaw while thinking for a moment. “Well, take you for example. Your daddy. You know about how strict he was, how you felt like you couldnt’ breathe in that house. But I bet there’s somethin’ you miss about it, even if you don’t wanna admit it.”

You hesitate, your thoughts going back to your house. “I guess. I miss my mama’s cooking...” Elvis smiles, stroking your thigh. “That’s nostalgia, Satnin. Ain’t that what you’re writin’ about?” You stare at him, the weight of realization hitting in. “You just explained my entire essay in few seconds.”

He chuckles, his hand trailing to your hip. “Ain’t my fault you make things more complicated than they gotta be.” You mock offense and can’t help but smile. “I should make you write it for me, then.”

“Ah. Now, don’t go gettin’ any ideas, darlin’.”he teases you, but then his expression softness. “I mean it, though. You gotta finish school, Y/n. You ain’t givin’ up on it, not for me, not for nothin’.”

You nod and start finishing the essay. The minutes pass by as Elvis sits beside you, rubbing your back and watching you and after you finish scribbling down your thoughts, your mind is now clearer than it had been in hours. You lay down on the couch, your head in his lap.

“Finally…” you murmur, playful smile on your lips. “I think I actually made something that could make sense.” Elvis smirks, glancing down at you in his lap as he caresses your cheek. “Told ya you would, sweetheart.”

You smile at him, loving him so much words can’t even explain. “Thank you.” You say and he shrugs, but there is something thoughtful in his expression. A quiet kind of seriousness that isn’t usually there. “What?” you ask, narrowing your eyebrows playfully. “You look like you got something on your mind…”

Elvis lets out a slow breath, reaching for your hand, gripping it. He doesn’t play with your hair no more. This time, he just holds your hand, his grip tight.

“I been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ for a while,” he says, his voice possessive. “And seein’ ya like this – so damn smart, so determined – it just makin’ me want it more.”

Your expression changes into concern. “Want what, El?” He glances down for a second, then back at you, his blue eyes roaming your face. “About you… About us. After you graduate… I wanna marry you, Satnin. I wanna have a family. Little ones runnin’ ‘round.”

Your breath caught. You feel your pulse in throat, her hands, everywhere if that’s even possible. “Y-you do?” you let a out shakily.

“I do,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Ain’t never wanted anythin’ more.” Your chest feels heavier at his words.

Elvis cups your cheek, his thumb grazing over your soft skin. “Hell, I don’t even gotta close my eyes to picture it. I see it. You, me, sittin’ on a porch, kids laughin’ in the yard, while you sit there with my another baby in your belly... I see you happy. And if you’ll have me… I wanna be the one to give you that all.”

Your breath hitches in your throat just by picturing it. You never wanted anything more. A love full husband and kids. And now Elvis is promising to give it to you. He kisses you hungrily, his grip on your hips. “I love you, darlin’. And I wanna spend my life showin’ you just how much.”

And that’s what you want the most right now To graduate, and have him all for yourself. Marry him, give him babies. Be his wife.

Weeks passed and you were getting closer to graduating every day. Your academic results were poor, definitely not the same as when you lived with your parents. But not bad enough to fail.

You are just to finish your last class when your head master stops you. “Miss Y/l/n, do you have a moment?”

“Yes, ma’am.” you nod and your stomach does a flip. You follow her to her office and the moment you sit down you know something is off. “I’ve been reviewing your academic results lately,” Mrs. O’Conell starts. “Miss Y/l/n, your results are tripping. Your attendance, works and grades,”

“Ma’am I am trying, really, I—”

“Trying is not enough, Miss Y/l/n.” she cuts off your words. “You have been our best student. And I know you are bright and wise young lady. I fear you are letting distractions pull you away from your career.”

You take a deep breath. Sooner or later this had to happen. Mrs. O’Conell takes a breath. “I understand that life outside of these walls can be… more enjoyable, you name it. But you must understand that education is a foundation. I hope you take this seriously, Miss Y/l/n.”

“I do, Mrs. I promise I will do better.” you reply, fidgeting with the hem of your uniform’s skirt. Mrs. O’Conell nod and sighs. “Well, I hope so. You used to be the too student of our school. Don't let this ruin your graduation.”

With a nod you look down at your lap. All you can think of is Elvis. You wish more than anything for this all to be over so that you can be with him and him only. “You are now dismissed. And remember what we talked about.”

You leave the office feeling tense but relieved. That wasn’t as bad as it could have been. But that feeling changes the moment you step outside — your breath catches. Your father is standing at the school gates, arms crossed, his expression stormy. The school must have let him know.

You feel your blood freeze. Your pulse pounds as you walk towards him, gripping the books so tight against your chest, knuckles turning white. The moment you stop in front of him, a low and deep growl leaves from him. “So this is what you left us for? Throwin’ away your education for some damn fool?!”

Your jaw clenches. “I am not throwing anything away. I am graduating.”

“Barely!” he shouts out. People around the campus look at you with wide eyes and he lowers his tone. “You are nearly failin’, Y/n! What did you thought is gonna happen once you leave us, huh?! What happened to you? You were supposed to be better than this!”

“I am better! I am finally living the life where I can breathe freely!” You can almost sense how blood is boiling in your father’s body. “That man—“

“Don’t!” you warn, your voice sharp. “You don’t get to talk about him like that. Never again. He has been treating me better in those few months than you during those 22 years of mine!”

As if summoned by the mention, the low rumble of an engine cuts through the tension. Pink Cadillac pulls up beside the school gates and the driver’s door opens and Elvis steps out. The girls all around the campus freeze, seeing Elvis.

Little do they know he is here to pick you up. His jaw tightens as he notices you, the way you clutch your books like they are armor to protect you. Then his gaze settles on your father. You can see his hands shape into fists. Elvis slowly approaches you and takes your hand. “Somethin’ wrong here?”

“This ain’t your business.” your father barks out. “The hell it ain’t,” Elvis says smoothly, his Southern accent thickening with something sharper. “Y/n is my business. Mine.” he pulls you closer.

“You think you can just swoop in, take my daughter, and turn her into—” your father scoffs in. “Turn her into what?” Elvis’ voice is dangerously calm, making you even more tense. “A woman who makes her own choices? A woman who ain’t afraid to live her life?”

Your father’s face turns red. “You’re gonna ruin her.” Elvis shakes his hand in amusement, he laughs under his breath. “Sir, I’d ruin myself before I ever let anything happen to her.” his voice is dropping lower. “Besides, Y/n already knows what she wants.”

Your father exhales sharply, his control slipping for the first time. For a second, he looks less like the overbearing man you have always feared and more like someone lost—someone who knows he is losing you.

“Y/n,” he says, being quieter now, “you still have a chance to fix this.” You shake your head. “No, Daddy. I’m not the one who is broken.” At that, Elvis squeezes your hand, proud of your statement.

Your father watches you with speechless expression. Know he knows he has lost. “This ain’t over,” he says, his voice low. Your father turns on his heel and walks away, leaving you and Elvis standing there.

“You okay, darlin’?” Elvis immediately checks on you, pulling you in his arms. You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I think so…” He studies you for a moment before nodding. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”As soon as he pulls away he takes your hand in his , leading you away. Now you know—no matter what your father thinks, this is where you belong.

To him. To Elvis. You are his girl.

[lovcrss]

pretty please could i request a peter maximoff fic? >__< i'm thinking one where peter gets arrested for some petty theft (again) and u can't help but find it attractive HAHA he looks like such a total loser but ur all heart eyes.. a total 'crush' by ethel cain moment

obsessed with this, LOVE PETERRRR

handcuffs | peter maximoff

The evening started off peacefully. You went to a coffee shop with friends after a long day and had much fun. The weather was perfect for walking and you used that opportunity to walk back to the X Mansion.

You’ve been working with the mutants for a long time, supporting their missions, helping with their physical health and being a major problem solver. Out of all of them, Peter Maximoff should be the most lucky to have you to get him out of trouble.

His little scandals and adventures always caused him a lot of trouble. He was wanted by many for his mischievous tricks. The gift of super speed was mostly used for petty things such as stealing, yet somehow he would always get away with it.

Charles always warned you about Peter, telling you to keep an eye on him and you tried hard, but Peter was spontaneous and restless. With him, you never knew what could happen.

Enjoying your walk back to the mansion relaxed, you receive a warning text. It was from Charles: “Peter is at it again. I sense trouble, please check it out.”

After you were finished reading the text, sirens started blasting somewhere behind you. Police cars passed and your gut told you that something was wrong. Running after the cars, you cursed Peter for being so recklesss.

When you arrive at the scene, your suspicions appear to be right. Police cars surrounded a gaming shop, where Peter got all his video games from. Peter’s silver hair pokes out the door, in between two officers who held his hands behind his back. You quickly jog closer to the mess he made, calling his name.

Peter looked up and saw you, after which he smiles ironically and shrugs his shoulders. He looked all flushed and ashamed. “What can I say?”

You shake your head disapprovingly, glaring bullets at him. “Officers, will it be possible for me to take it from here?”

“No, unfortunately. We have to report him back to the station.”

One of them put handcuffs on him and that’s when a weird feeling interrupted your train of thoughts. With his hands pinned behind his back, Peter throws his head back, closing his eyes defeatedly. His Adam’s apple popped though his neck, he sighs, his eyelashes falling to his rosy cheeks. Even in this state, Peter managed to look like a statue. “Oh thank you, officer”, he jokes.

Snapping out of your daze, you realize what’s happening when they start approaching the car. “W- uhm, Wait up-”

Peter turns around to look at you. Suddenly you appear more nervous than you were when you arrived, you had no idea what was happening but he noticed it.

“I’m right behind you!”, you shout after him.

“Don’t speed too much”, Peter calls sarcastically.

—————————

A cab took you to the police station. It was half empty, so it was easy to spot Peter right away. He still had handcuffs on, looking bored and embarrassed.

The officers who took him here were speaking to the receptionist, guarding Peter between each other. You enter, hurrying to check the situation. It seemed like they checked him in the sistem, but now you were there to take responsibility for him.

Once he saw you, Peter straightened his posture and focused, relieved to see that you came to his rescue once again. His lips squeezed together in an “oh well” manner.

You roll your eyes, quickly whispering in his ear: “I’ll deal with you later.”

His eyes darken, lips part and face turns red in a flash. For a second the arrest was worth hearing you whisper that sentence to him, making his blood rush through his veins.

He watched you speak to the police, loving how in charge and leading you looked. You held your head high and tone calm as you negotiated.

“Give us some time and we’ll let you go shortly”, they told you.

Meanwhile you notice how the handcuffs made Peter’s muscles more defined, his back wider and his behaviour more tamed than ever. It made you wonder why the hell you hadn’t reported him yourself earlier to watch him in this state. With his arms behind his back, wrists crossed and head thrown back, his silver strands of hair falling around his head he looked hotter than ever.

You were so stunned you didn’t notice when the officers tried talking to you. Peter looked at you to see what you were gonna respond, instead noticing the look in your eyes as you watched him. “Hello?”, he tilts his head.

Reality hit you once again, trying your best to focus. “You were saying?”

The conversation between you and the police resumes, while Peter notices the shift in your behaviour. He observes: you nervously play with your hands, red in the face and constantly glimpsing over at him, not even sure if you were listening to what was being said to you. This was confusing, but he liked the way you were looking at him.

Once you were finished, you were instructed to sit down on nearby chairs. Peter joined you while the officers weren’t looking, still handcuffed. He was tamed and still a little ashamed of the situation he found himself in, getting caught like this, more importantly having you witness it. On the other hand, you were more aware of his presence than usual since they caught him.

He was eager to tease you. “You know I’m the one arrested, not you, right?”

“What?”

He looked you up and down. “Well, I can sense you’re nervous. Did anything illegal tonight, Y/N?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about”, you scoff, playing it off, trying to ignore him and crossing your arms.

He chuckled, standing up. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”, he shrugs.

His long sleeved shirt showed his muscles and you couldn’t help put notice them. You felt like you were being tested, like Peter knew exactly what he was doing. Subtly, you stand up and pull at his handcuffs. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”, he smirks.

Your glare riles him up even more, adrenaline entering his system. He realized you secretly loved watching him in those handcuffs.

Going back to the reception, you talk to the officers again. Negotiations were ahead, deciding if Peter was going to get punished slightly or not. “Bail is possible, since this is his first strike”, the blonde policeman explained.

Hearing this Peter went back to being embarrassed, staring at the ground and squirming in his place. This only made your excitement grow.

“Don’t worry, we will make sure this doesn’t happen anymore. Right, Peter?”

His gaze was still focused down. “Yes, I promise”, he mumbles slightly desperate, nodding.

After a few minutes, they finally announce: “You’re free to go, for now.”

You wait outside while they took his prints and take off his handcuffs, much to your disappointment. As he walks out, Peter barely looks at you. His shame and sudden lack of cockiness only amuses you. “Why so sad now, Quickie? You miss the cuffs?”, you tease.

He rolls his eyes. “Not funny. Matter of fact if anyone misses them, it’s you.”

You play dumb. “What the hell are you saying?”

“I’m saying I saw the way you looked at me.”

“You’re too cocky”, you scoff.

“Am I?”

It was already past midnight, you waited for a cab to take you to the mansion. He had his hands in his pockets, still feeling humbled. “Should’ve just ran from here.”

“I’m tired, let’s just put this behind us now.”

Your relaxednesses was suspicious to him, making him gain a little confidence again. “Still gonna deny it, huh?”

“Deny how I saved your ass once again?” , you raise you eyebrows at him.

He kicks pebbles, humbled once again.

“However, I think I’m gonna buy you those handcuffs for later”

[joelsprettyprincess]

Sharing is Caring

Pairing: Joel Miller + Arthur Morgan + Simon 'Ghost' Riley + John Price x f!reader Wordcount: 2k Tags: Extremely explicit smut, kind of dubcon (consent is assumed), oral, anal, piv (protected, for once), free-use, slight daddy kink, five(?)some, it's not poly they're just running a train on her. A/N: Okay. Um. Not sure what happened, I meant to write a little BLURB about this and it turned into a whole thing. Anyway..I tried to do it in a different style; it's kind of fragmented, instead of a proper story. Also this is very nasty. Like, REALLY nasty. I fear this is even more self-indulgent than my Dutch x reader fic, but I hope you guys enjoy anyway!! And MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!! FOCUS ON YOUR ALGEBRA HOMEWORK 😒

joel preps you a couple hours beforehand. takes you over the knee, and fingers you till you're blubbering and begging him to stopkeep going. he slowly stretches out both your holes with plenty of lube. once he's got you properly ready, he slides a cute bejeweled buttplug between your asscheeks to make it...easier, later on. the hot pink heart winks up at him.

he has you greet his friends with him at the door. you've never seen them before, but they know you. you and your pretty body, your soft lips, your ass that hides the curve of your cunt. oh, yes, they know you, courtesy of the souvenir photos joel takes when you're cockdrunk and passed out.

they file in, one by one, big hulking figures. arthur, the freelance artist, who's already eyeing your curves, barely hidden by the tiny skirt joel put you in. you try fruitlessly to pull it down as he passes by. next is simon, or ghost, as he tells you to call him. an ex-military man who's even bigger than joel, with eyes like a wolf. "you look good enough to eat," he tells you.

"later," joel promises.

last is john, who you actually have met before. occasionally, when joel is in the mood to share, he invites him over for some fun– the fun being you. you'd had his cock stuffed down your throat at least half a dozen times. "hello again, love," he greets you, patting your head. you smile bashfully, already starting to get wet (thanks to the aphrodisiac joel had slipped into your food earlier). he was always kind to you, even more than joel sometimes.

the men all sit on the L-shaped couch– there's a big game today, or something. joel sits you between him and john, while arthur and ghost sit on the other side. "get us a beer, honey," joel says. when you get up to fetch them, john slaps your ass as you walk by. the men chuckle when you squeak.

you collect 4 beers and carry them in your arms back to the living room. after distributing them, the men focus on the hockey game, but john won't leave you alone. he lets his large hand rest on your thigh, then creeps it closer to your fluttering cunt. you push it away, but it's only a few seconds before he's invading your space again. you whine quietly, and joel notices. "leave her alone," he chides. "all in good time."

joel leaves to use the bathroom, leaving you alone with 2 strangers and john. arthur immediately slides over. "joel's told us a lot about you," he says, giving you a smile that reveals a hint of his canines. "oh," you say wondrously. you wonder what he's said. you wonder how arthur's chest looks under his slightly too-tight shirt.

"you like living here with 'im?" he asks. "y'know, if he's treating you wrong you could stay with me." he chuckles. you shake your head. "i like it here," you tell him. "he does everything for me." now ghost is closing in, unashamedly staring at your breasts. "real cute outfit you got on," he comments. you feel self-conscious in your tiny black tank top and short pink skirt. "daddy picked it out for me," you explain, referring to joel.

just then, joel comes back, and scolds the men, who've surrounded you as if you're their prey. "get off her– I told you all in good time, didn't I?"

"we've barely got to see her, what with you and john squishing her," arthur complains. ghost nods in agreement. "come sit by us, sweetheart, let us have a look at you." you look at joel for permission, and he nods, sighing. you switch places, now sitting between arthur and ghost.

after a while the men start to talk, about sports, about their friends...about women. joel tells them all about how obedient you are, how it took no time at all to mold you into his perfect stupid fuckdollgirlfriend. your face grows hot and you smile at the floor, embarrassed. it's not helping that arthur's been kneading your breast for the last 10 minutes and your panties are becoming soaked.

by this time all the men except joel have downed 2 or 3 beers, and they're getting handsier. ghost has been tracing circles on your thigh, 'accidentally' letting his fingers go up your skirt and graze the edge of your panties.

the men all silently exchange glances, unseen by you, and abruptly stand up. arthur pulls you along to the dining room, where the table has been cleared off. only a thin blanket remains on it...wait, what? you squeal in surprise as arthur easily lifts you and places you face down, ass up on the table.

the men surround you with hungry looks on their faces. "now, gentlemen, let me remind you of the rules," joel speaks. "don't hog a hole, everyone will have a turn. clean yourself off if you're going ass to mouth. use a condom, she's not on the pill. and simon, I know how you are with anal. be gentle. in fact, all of you, don't hurt her too badly."

"i want her ass first," arthur announces, already pulling down his pants. he flips up your skirt, and inhales sharply when he sees the heart-shaped outline of your buttplug against your light blue panties. he makes short work of your panties, tugging at them so urgently that they rip and fall onto the blanket in tatters.

the rest of the men quickly pull off their pants as well, eager to claim a hole. it's a bit daunting, staring at three muscular men who are hellbent on taking their stress out on your poor holes. joel allows his guests to pick first– ghost rests his thick cock against your lips. your tongue instinctively darts out to get a taste, before you can stop yourself.

"i haven't had the pleasure of her cunt in weeks," john sighs. he elbows arthur out of the way, and the two of them tap and stroke their tips against your two tight holes. arthur slowly pulls out your buttplug, and you whine loudly at the stretch. your hole is left gaping, the perfect opportunity for him to slide in. you grip the table and moan into the blanket, keeping your legs opened as wide as possible to accommodate him.

john puts on a condom and easily slides into your pussy, sticky and sopping with your own arousal. tears prick at your fluttering eyes as the two men stuff you full of cock. you stick your tongue out, overcome with need.

ghost pushes your mouth onto his cock, and you start sucking like the tip is made of candy. joel stands to the side, grabs your hand, and uses it to pump his throbbing shaft.

"she's so fuckin' tight," arthur grunts out, barely even halfway in your ass. he's right, you're gripping his cock like you need it to survive. he places both hands on your asscheeks, stroking and slapping them as he slowly moves in and out. john's just beside him, thrusting into your tight sticky cunt– the sounds are driving him crazy. your slightly pained groans, the creamy schwelp schwelp of your pussy– oh, he missed this.

ghost is the first to cum. driven crazy by your tongue slurping every inch of his cock and the feel of your plush lips practically sealing it in your mouth, he holds you by the hair and jerks off till thick globs and ropes of cum land on your face. he puts his tip against your tongue and finishes his release there, leaving a big puddle which you promptly swallow.

soon after, arthur cums, spreading your cheeks and keeping them still while he dumps a hot, thick load in your ass. it leaks out even while he's still inside you, dripping down to your pussy. "fuck, honey..." he mutters, pulling out. he observes your winking hole, already getting hard again.

ghost takes his place. he barely stops to clean up arthur's mess; just wipes off the excess with a paper towel and pushes his once-again stiff cock in your ass. you cry out, still sensitive from the stretch of arthur before. arthur's cum oozes out of you with every thrust.

john is still jackhammering your pretty pussy, and he's close. he presses himself balls deep inside you, and you can feel his cock twitching as he cums inside the condom. it could be the aphrodisiac, but the thought of him possibly knocking you up makes you twice as wet. he pulls out and fingers your spasming cunt, encouraging you to cum. you whine and moan loudly as arthur, who's just finished cleaning off his cock, slides his shaft between your puffy lips. your eyes roll, and you cum hard, squirting on john's hand and on the blanket. you thrash your legs a bit as john refuses to let up, and keeps fingering your extremely sensitive pussy.

joel finally reaches his peak as well, shooting a thick rope onto your hand, then getting closer and glazing your already cum-covered face with even more. some of it gets in your hair, which he knows you hate. his cum oozes down your face, and you can feel it sliding down to your right eye. he and john switch places, with john making you cradle his balls, while joel whistles when he sees the mess that your pussy is. he's the only one that can go bareback, the only one that's able to cum inside you. and he intends on doing exactly that.

joel wastes no time and pushes into your still-recovering pussy, watching your slightly swollen lips automatically grip him. you're still sticky with arousal, and it coats his cock. "you love being passed around by daddy's friends?" he mutters, smacking your ass. "you want 'em all to have a turn in this sweet pussy?" you can't answer, as arthur's got his cock in your mouth. but you whine, and if the sound of your creamy pussy is any indicator, you love this.

the men all take turns in your various holes, dumping load after load in your ass, in your mouth, and on your face. only joel cums straight in your pussy, but the others make up for it by covering your body with their hot loads. you cum more times than you can count, and by the end, the air smells of lust and sweat.

after they've all been fully satisfied, then men step back and survey their handiwork. your face is completely covered with multiple loads that are dripping off your face. your right eye is closed; you're unable to open it because of the cum that joel deposited on your eyelid. your lips are pink and puffy, and your tongue hangs out, tired after coaxing so many loads out of the men.

your asscheeks are also glazed with cum, and even your back has some white ropes. your ass is gaping, with cum oozing out of it. several used condoms have been thrown haphazardly on your body, mostly on your back.

and finally, your poor pussy. though it had the least amount of cum, it had taken the most abuse; all of the men had bullied your cunt into multiple orgasms, and now there's a puddle of arousal underneath you. joel's cum leaks from between your pussy lips onto the blanket.

your head lays on the table– you don't have the strength to even look up anymore.

"fuckin' beautiful," john says quietly, and the men agree. they all clean themselves off and get redressed, then joel coaxes you off the table. you stumble, then right yourself. more cum oozes out of your ass onto the floor. "'s okay, c'mon," he says, holding you by your left hand– maybe the only place on your whole body that hasn't been glazed.

the men watch you leave. your ass jiggles a bit, and arthur sighs. "we've got to come back, and soon."

[silverview]

i thought i'd do a self-indulgent little roundup post about my birthday, so i can look back on it someday and get emo about how lovely it was :')

concludes with my s/f report from the thursday evening show, all spoilers clearly marked!!

on the day itself i got some amazing gift fics from @donotbelasagne, @batatadulce9 & @kookaburrito (in order of posting), which was completely unexpected & wonderful 💕💕 if you like freaky rpf then you probably know where to find them! AND...

kooka also sent me this reece locket and this AMAZING lazoo doll which. i actually started yelling when i opened it & saw what it was. LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT MY HORRID BABY

this is why i had to post the stitchup showdown opening, to at least provide context if not an explanation for my love for him 💗

my bf got me some amazing presents too, and we saw stage/fright – his 1st time, my 5th. details about the show further down, but first...!!

💕 REECE HUGGED ME!! 💕 and wished me happy birthday!!! 💕 he is the absolute sweetest and i just... yeah no words. i have rewatched the video of it a million times already. i was wearing heels so it was a biiit of a stretch for him to reach 🙈

i think this confirms he's not on ao3 lol because when i said "it's my birthday!" he didn't go pale and say "YOU! >:O"

on friday i had the best day with the lovely @spcvarney 💗 & we did a tour of the wyndham's!! she posted about this already, but the staff told us that reece has been claiming to feel ghosts touching his shoulder & stuff in the theatre 👻 of course he has

supposedly he had the same experience back in 2005 when he did as you like it there. no wonder he seems so happy there. they said that the alleged ghost has a history of reacting badly to swearing, and especially to the word cunt. 🫢

they let us go onstage, which was amazing. they asked us not to take photos of the stage/fright set & props. so of course i didn't. :) it really is an amazingly beautiful place

yesterday was my birthday party & it was rlly nice to see my family & friends, including some wonderful in9 fans, and i had the BEST time nerding out with them in person 💗 @wintersoulwitch managed to come by IN BETWEEN the evening & matinee s/f performances which was actual legend behaviour, & their varney tshirt was easily a highlight of the whole experience

at the party itself i found out that i didn't just pass my january exams (the ones that made me wish i was dead), i actually nailed them 😭😭

@mifhortunach came a long way for the party & i can't say how exciting that was 🥹❤️ we've been friends for the longest time & every time we hang out irl i have so much fun. they were the one who introduced me to in9 in the first place, so that was a nice full circle moment 😅

today i was so wrecked that i slept all morning & only woke up in time to see them off. it has been a very... VERY intense three days & this post can't possibly capture it all but yeah, these are just some highlights

i feel really lucky. i love my friends, including the ones not mentioned here & the ones who don't know that i think of them as friends. idk how i come across on here, or in person. i'm not someone who has never been deeply lonely & shy & insecure. being in this fandom is one of the strangest & loveliest things that's ever happened to me, because the people are amazing. sometimes i think about how it won't last forever, but that's okay, i'll enjoy it for as long as it lasts

my time gets stretched pretty thin. i'm never on here as much as i'd like to be, & i usually don't reply to people as fast as i'd like to. a lot of in9 fans are in the uk, so my nocturnal habits are pretty antisocial. thanks for being kind to me & patient with me :')

⚠️ stage/fright spoilers beyond this point!!! ⚠️

thursday eve was a GREAT performance!! the audio is mostly me + my bf cackling with joy. the audience were well up for it. really enthusiastic, laughing a lot. the whole play felt looser and more energetic than usual, everyone in the cast was clearly vibing

reece especially – marcus was sassier and more over-the-top than usual, and he corpsed a bunch during kidnappers, covering his mouth with his hand. on "i know how to answer the phone" he did a little jig for no reason and then burst out laughing at himself

speaking of kidnappers, the guest was julian clary (jewel ink lairy) and he was FANTASTIC, so so funny. he called s&r "heterosexual cunts" & i think the looks on their faces can best be described as delighted astonishment

i should point out that my straight, non-fandom, comedy writer bf feels that the "pudgy & homosexual" line IS most likely a reference to s&r themselves 💁🏻‍♀️

hugo's gloves were among the props left out onstage. plus the ghost light, gramophone, creepy jars, and trepanning chair from that segment. and the hare (we think it was The Hare)

the boys skipped some fairly important dialogue in their last scene: the reference to bcdr and the explanation as to why the song was cut. not sure what happened but i think reece just fastforwarded a bit by mistake. it still worked and it was still absolutely perfect. ❤️

i had happy tears in my eyes all through the song. reece was audibly belting it out and clearly having the time of his absolute life.

when miranda hennessy came out of the stage door, there was a huge cheer from a group of women across the alley who yelled "we know her!" she ran over to them & they all hugged & laughed & they said how proud they were :')))

[spacerockwriting]

Shameless Big Bang: When You Know, You Know, You Know?

Sequel to Where The Gay Wieners Go

It’s a year later, and recovery is anything but linear. Just when Ian finds himself moving forward, his past finds a way to sneak back up to him. And when an incident separates Mickey and Ian temporarily, Ian’s strength is put to the test, now if only his brother could move forward as well

Start The Wiener Verse||Read||Listen to the Playlist

It's here! Thank you thank you thank you ALL to @shamelessbigbang, to @nozenfordaddy for keeping us all in check. To all my friends in the @gallavich-fic-club for your continuous support and encouragement and motivation. To all my friends who have kept me going and inspired me to continue writing, to my AMAZING beta @mickaleks who got to not only read my endless shenanigans and deciphered all of my shit, but also became such a good friend in the process. Thanks for not only encouraging my dumbassery love of the Milkovich Bros, but also, thank you for indulging me in daily talks about our little Galladad universe and our now beloved rare pair.

Thank you to @mikcrymilkovich for bringing to life my story and making amazing art and being able to suffer with my ideas of torturing Ian and the readers with not only blond hair, but also the dreaded long hair as well. You took the challenge, and I applaud you.

Thank you to both @runawaybrainsc and @mybrainismelted for saving my ass while in New York City, and trying and (failing) to keep me from dropping mad cash on Cameron & Noel not once, not twice, but three times.

Thank you to @deathclassic for being an amazing pal and talking all things shameless and nerdy with me while going around one the biggest malls on the east coast, and enjoying kiddie trains and Ninja Turtle themed statues.

And thank you to all my wonderful cameo friends @transmurderbug @transmickey @ian-galagher @creepkinginc @deathclassic @gallapiech @thepupperino @rayrayor and all else I have included and may have forgotten. I wrote most of this shit with my now evicted gallbladder. And LASTLY

I had a failed fuckin' gallbladder, surgery, all while writing this shit, so what the hell is your excuse? Just this once here's what you missed last year on Where the Gay Wieners Go:

Canon Divergent from 3x06

Instead of being sent to a group home, Ian and Lip instead get sent to a religious couple's house. But a sleepover gone wrong, changes the Gallagher's life forever.

--

Thank you dear readers,

Xxx

Comet

Amazing artwork Spoiler Below!!!

[seraphimankh]

The Last Midnight

Chapter 18.

[moeblob]

Yeah! I haven't read any fics focusing on them but I have seen that they exist! And also there's like a five sentence interaction in a fic I read ages ago that lives rent free in my brain. I think about it all the time when I draw Sixty.

[vvildside]

eddie has no business to have such a full plump pink lips like that no wonder venom only want him to be his host brah