#thanks for asking. i need to be locked up

[cosycryptid]

Eddie has always enjoyed giving people nicknames, it’s just something creative he does that makes people stick in his brain. He’s never forgotten a face and it’s mostly because he has names to go with them.

Typically, he refers to acquaintances by their last name, friends by something jokey and embarrassing, and foes by nicknames that are a little mean and cutting.

Then there's Steve Harrington, who falls into his own category entirely.

Before, when he claimed to dislike Steve it would be:

“Perfect Harrington.”

“Steve Harrington the gorgeous with his flowing locks.”

“Guess what Mr. Hot Sports Man did now.”

“Can you believe Beautiful Steve Harrington and his merry band of assholes?”

“God, look at Mr. Distracting showing off his amazing chest again. He’s such a poser.”

“I was trying to order my usual, but then Steve ‘Dreamboat’ Harrington was behind the counter and he used his evil sorcery to make me say ‘1 scoop of vanilla’ by mistake. Now he probably thinks I'm boring.”

He said the names in a mocking tone, but it always ended with just a hint of something longing. His friends would shoot each other knowing looks across the room whenever he came up with a new one for one of his Steve related tirades.

Then they started to become friends and the names took on a more teasing, flirty nature, which then slowly gave way to softer and more tender names like 'Stevie' and 'sweetheart' and 'honey'. The knowing looks from friends became looks that said 'here we go again' and Steve's reactions went from intense, puzzled stares to warm smiles.

One day, when Eddie's running late for their fortnightly movie night, the rest of the party decide to say something about it.

"So, I have to ask," Mike says. "What kind of magic spell have you cast on Eddie?"

Steve looks up and sees that everyone is staring at him. "Huh?" he blinks. "Were you talking to me?"

"Yes Steve, he was talking to you!" Dustin exclaims. "Who else here in this room does Eddie regularly shower with mushy pet names?"

"Okay, they're not 'mushy pet names'," Steve argues, rolling his eyes. "They're just nicknames, he gives everyone nicknames. I don't see why it's a big deal."

"Steve, he gives everyone else nicknames. Yours are something else." Max points out.

"How?"

"How?" Lucas asks. "Steve, last week he walked into me by accident, said 'Sorry Sinclair’ and then turned to you and went 'Hey, angel. How are you today?'." He puts on a sickeningly sweet voice for the second one and Max laughs.

"Yeah and what about that time he threw a sunscreen bottle at Mike and said 'Stay safe, pasty', then saw you putting yours on and said 'Need help getting your back, darling?'" Max adds. Her and Lucas are snickering to each other by the end of it.

Mike frowns. "Don't know why he called me that. He's just as pale as I am."

Will pats him on the back. "Don't worry about it, he called me Bowlcut Junior two days ago when he was asking me to make a perception check."

"Oh so that's what the Bowlcut Senior thing was about," Jonathan mumbles.

"Steve, he likes you," Robin says, clearly spelling it out. "Or at the very least it's obvious you're one of his favourites."

"He does call you an awful lot of things even me and Jonathan wouldn't call each other," Nancy adds carefully.

"Eddie's just a sweet guy," Steve says.

"Eddie Munson is not a 'sweet guy'," Mike retorts, bewildered. "He killed off all of our characters in last week's session because we were ten minutes late."

"I mean if he went to all of that effort planning and preparing everything then you could have at least turned up on time."

"Thanks, mom."

"I did warn you guys he wouldn't be happy with us," Will points out with a grim expression.

Before anything else can be said, Eddie walks in with Gareth and Jeff trailing behind him. Everyone tries their best to look casual. Most fail. Luckily, Eddie's attention is zoned in on two people.

"Hey Sweet Prince, and Henderson and others," Eddie greets them. "I'll be right back, just gotta run to the bathroom because I was checking something under the van just now and it looks like I got into a fight with an octopus."

He lifts his arms, which are covered in oil.

"Oh shit," Steve says. "Yeah, no problem. Feel free to take a shower and borrow some clothes if you want, we'll wait."

"Thanks, sugar." He calls behind him.

The party's eyes are locked on Steve when he turns back to face them, causing him to flinch a little.

"What's up guys?" Gareth says as he and Jeff make themselves at home, finding a spot on the carpet.

"Yeah, you all looked super awkward when we walked in just now," Jeff adds. "What's that about?"

"We were just trying to get it through Steve's head that Eddie is basically in love with him," Robin fills them in. "Also, I don't know if I should be a little offended that we're 'and others'."

"Oh that," Jeff says, way too casual. "Yeah that's been a thing for years. Even back when he was pretending not to like Steve."

"Wait what?" Mike asks.

"Oh yeah, he used to call him things like 'Handsome Harrington' or 'Beautiful Steve Harrington' every time he talked about him," Gareth shrugged.

"Oh shit," Dustin says. "One time I tried to get him to hang out with us and he said no but he called you 'Pretty Boy Steve'."

"Can you guys just let this go?" Steve sighs, clearly getting annoyed. "It's just a thing he does, it doesn't mean anything."

"Yeah, sure," Jeff scoffs. "Keep telling yourself that. What are you trying not to get your hopes up?"

Steve is too quiet for too long, and he hates the way his friends expressions turn sympathetic toward him.

"All I'm saying is, do it back to him and see how he reacts," Gareth says with a knowing smile. "I dare you."

The opportunity doesn't arise until later, when Eddie gets up to go to the kitchen half way through the movie. He comes back with two drinks, one of which he hands to Steve while lifting the other to his lips.

Robin gives him a look that says 'what are you waiting for?' and Steve takes a deep breath before accepting the drink with a casual, "Thanks, babe."

And that’s all it takes.

Eddie’s hand jerks, his brain short-circuits, and the drink completely misses his mouth. A splash of soda hits his chin, and the rest pours out on the Harrington's expensive carpet. Then he just stands there blinking like he’s been hit with a stun spell.

His brain seems to come back online when he sees Steve's shocked gaze switch between him and the liquid soaking into the carpet.

"Oh shit! I'm so sorry!" Eddie shouts, no longer in control of his volume. He sprints to the kitchen and returns just as fast with paper towels, dropping to his knees to try and soak up the spilled beverage. His face is bright red in a way Steve's never seen on him before.

Steve is still frozen, half-standing, watching Eddie frantically blot the carpet like it personally insulted him. The rest of the group is silent for a beat—stunned into stillness by the sheer velocity of Eddie’s reaction.

Then Robin breaks the silence with a quiet, “Oh my god.”

Max snorts. “I think you broke him.”

“Like, for real,” Dustin adds, eyes wide. “That was a full system crash.”

Eddie doesn’t look up. “Don’t mind me, just ruining your house and my dignity in one fell swoop.”

Steve finally moves, crouching down beside him. “Eds, it’s fine. Seriously. It’s just soda.”

Eddie glances up at him, eyes wide and still a little dazed. “You called me babe.”

Steve smiles, soft and a little shy. “Yeah. I did.”

Eddie stares at him for a second longer, then groans and drops his forehead to the carpet. “I’m never gonna recover from this.”

Steve laughs, nudging him gently with his shoulder. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

Eddie lets out a muffled noise that might be a whimper or a laugh, it’s hard to tell. But when he lifts his head again, his face is still red, and his smile is blinding. And Steve forgets they have an audience.

"I think I know a way you can make it up to me," he grins.

"How's that, babydoll?" Eddie asks, confused, but hopeful.

Steve pulls Eddie in for a quick kiss and says, "Take me out tomorrow night, when I finish work?"

"Absolutely," Eddie beams.

Their moment is ruined by fake gagging noises from the kids. "This is worse than Dustin and Suzie serenading each other with Never Ending Story," Lucas comments, receiving a middle finger in response from Dustin.

"I'm assuming band practice is off tomorrow then?" Jeff smirks.

"Sorry guys," Eddie says still looking at Steve with a tender smile. "Something incredibly important just came up."

[iydiamartinx]

PAN-DEMONIUM II

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 1.2k synopsis: When your boyfriend forgets to mention his dad is the Batman, things can escalate quickly.  a/n: I wasn't planning on a part two but y'all asked, so here it is!

You hummed under your breath, barefoot on cool marble, sleeves of Jason’s hoodie rolled up to your elbows as you stood in the large kitchen, helping Alfred lay out breakfast. The older man had insisted—very politely—that you relax, but you’d ignored him in equally polite defiance and taken to slicing fruit while he worked on the eggs. Jason was upstairs showering, and everything was feeling domestic and peaceful.

“Would you be a dear and watch the eggs for a moment?” Alfred asked as he dried his hands on a dish towel. “I’ve just remembered the preserves need restocking.”

“Of course,” you said, offering him a warm smile as you stepped in front of the stovetop. The eggs were nearly done—edges crisping perfectly. 

They let out a gentle hiss as you stirred them. You were so focused on making sure they didn’t burn. You didn’t even hear the door creak open behind you.

You only realized that you were no longer alone when you heard footsteps approaching from behind.

“Back already?” you asked without looking up. “I think they’re just about—”

You turned.

And screamed as you saw a massive, dark figure looming behind you with ghost-pale eyes fixed on you.

You didn’t even think.

Instinct screamed through your body. Your hand snapped to the counter, grabbed the first thing you saw—the damn pan again—and swung.

CLANG.

The sound rang out like a gong in a cathedral.

The figure jerked back, staggering a half step as a low grunt escaped him—equal parts pain and surprise—as the pan connected with the side of his head.

All Bruce could think in that moment was, Thank God you hadn’t aimed for the jaw, like he’d advised last time. If you had, he’d be sporting a nasty burn in addition to what was already shaping up to be a mild concussion.

The eggs—once again utterly ruined—sailed from the pan in a slow, tragic arc and hit the wall with a wet splat, yolk and butter sliding down like the world’s saddest crime scene.

At that exact moment, Alfred stepped out of the pantry holding a jar of marmalade. He paused, blinked once, and sighed with the quiet resolve of a man who’d lived through way too many Bat-related mishaps.

“Oh dear,” he said, utterly unbothered. “Master Bruce, are you quite alright?”

You stared at him, arm still raised, pan trembling.. Then back to the man you’d just clocked. “Wait—Bruce?!”

Before anyone could clarify further, thudding footsteps sounded from the hallway—multiple sets, heavy and fast. A second later, the door slammed open as three figures rushed in, weapons drawn. They burst into the kitchen scanning for threats like they were about to face off with Gotham’s worst.

Nightwing with his glowing blue escrima sticks crackling with electricity. Red Robin, gripping his bo staff and finally Robin with his sword already halfway unsheathed.

“Is it Joker?!” Nightwing barked, eyes scanning the room.

“Where is he?!” Red Robin demanded, doing the same.

“Please tell me someone needs to die,” Robin muttered, his tone almost hopeful.

You screamed—again—reflexively, throwing the frying pan up like a shield.

And then—they all stopped.

Three pairs of masked eyes locked on the scene, Batman rubbing his head, Alfred calmly setting jam on the counter, you clutching a frying pan like your life depended on it, and the eggs completely and utterly ruined against the wall.

At that moment, Jason strolled into the kitchen, shirt half-tucked and hair damp from his shower. He also took one look at the scene and sighed.

“Again? Seriously?” He looked at Batman with a crooked grin. “B, you really need to announce yourself. Keep this up, and the rogues’ gallery is gonna find out and your reputation’s gonna tank.”

You, however, were spiralling.

“I—okay, someone needs to explain what the hell is going on,” you said, voice rising as you looked around in disbelief. “Why is Alfred calling him Bruce?! That’s Batman in the kitchen! Batman! And the rest of his team! Oh my god, am I about to have to fight all of you?! It was an accident! I swear! He keeps following me and—someone needs to put a bell on him! or—or better yet tell him to stop breaking into people’s houses! Wait—why are you all laughing?!”

Jason stepped in quickly, his smirk barely held in check as he gently pried the pan from your grip before you could land another accidental assault charge on Gotham’s most feared vigilante.

“Babe,” he said, tone low and soothing, like he was trying not to make you panic more than you already were. “That is Bruce. As in Bruce Wayne. My dad.”

You blinked. “What?”

“And those three?” He pointed behind him with his thumb. “Nightwing—Dick. Red Robin—Tim. And the family disappointment, Robin—Damian.”

“I heard that,” Damian snapped.

You stared at them, utterly dumbfounded. Then looked back at Bruce who was now rubbing his temple like this was more inconvenience than injury. The others casually pulled off their masks, and sure enough, there they were—Jason’s siblings. The same faces you’d seen over breakfast, teasing one another in sweatpants and hoodies. Now suited up in full tactical gear.

“You’re telling me…” you began slowly, turning toward Jason with a look of utter disbelief. Your voice cracked under the weight of your unraveling sanity. “Your entire family is made up of vigilantes and you just—forgot to mention that?”

Jason shrugged, unbothered, the corner of his mouth curling in amusement. “I was easing you into it all.”

You gawked at him, then at the others, then back to Bruce, and then back at Jason. Your eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Give me back that damn pan.”

Jason stepped just out of reach, hiding the pan behind his back like that might save him from your wrath. “Hell no! At least B had armour when you swung.”

You inhaled sharply, exhaled an equally sharp curse under your breath, and dragged a hand down your face. “I think I need to sit down.”

Without missing a beat, Bruce—still in full Bat-gear, cowl and all—muttered, “Preferably somewhere without cookware.”

Alfred, who had returned to plating toast like none of this was new to him, cleared his throat gently. “Shall I prepare ice for the swelling, sir?”

Bruce exhaled through his nose. Long-suffering because he was becoming way too old for this shit. “No. I think I’m just going to go to bed.”

He turned and walked out, cape swishing with whatever dignity he had remaining—which wasn’t much.

You stared after him in stunned silence, then turned back to Jason. “I’m gonna be banned from the manor now, aren’t I?”

Jason only grinned, sliding an arm around your shoulders and tugging you into his side like this was all perfectly normal. “Nah. You’re family now. It’s like… tradition.”

You looked up at him, deadpan. “Do all your family traditions involve blunt force trauma?”

“Only the fun ones.”

You lightly elbowed him in his side with a tired groan, glaring up at him. “I’m still half-tempted to hit you with the pan for not telling me all of this sooner.”

Jason smirked. “That’s fair. Just… at least give me a running headstart.”

From the other side of the kitchen, Tim—still in partial gear, bo staff casually propped against the counter—lifted an eyebrow. “So… when exactly are we making her a suit?”

Dick let out a laugh, arms folded across his chest, that mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. “I say we call her Cast Iron. Ooh! Or Pan-man!”

Jason groaned, rolling his eyes. “You seriously need to work on your names.”

“Says the one who practically named himself after Red Riding Hood,” Dick shot back with a smirk.

“Like you can speak, Disco-Wing,” Jason retorted.

Damian scoffed, cutting the two off as he turned on his heel. “She’s lucky Father didn’t counter the attack. You would’ve been mopping her off the floor.”

Jason’s expression darkened slightly. “Watch it, demon brat.”

But you only groaned louder, dragging both hands down your face. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

Jason looked back down at you and his face brightened as he grinned. “Not a chance.”

← Previous Chapter

Tag List: @sept3mberchild, @sascha-graves, @eepyfaerie

[meadowfics]

blood stained kisses

kang dae-ho x f!reader

synopsis: the sensitive guy needed a stress reliever. fortunately, you needed the same.

warnings: 18+ smut with plot. MDNI! established relationship. semi-public. borderline somnophilia. oral (daeho receiving). p in v unprotected. voyeurism(??) vulgar dialogue. praise & degradation.

after the rebellion, your heart feels like it is racing a million miles per hour.

you survived the assault thanks to you following hyunju when she needed the bullets from daeho.

daeho, as cowardice as his actions were, didn't make you upset like it did with everyone else.

especially with yong-sik and gi-hun.

right now, you gave the sensitive player some space.

ten feet away, you stood beside hyunju and yong-sik looking down at geum-ja giving gi-hun sweet potatoes.

"look, I know. I know that you were trying to save us all," geum-ja sighs. gi-hun doesn't look at her, zoning out at the ground knowing that more lives were lost because of his failed act of heroism.

149 continued, "you were trying to punish the bad guys and put an end to all of this."

your hands got shaky, remembering the amount of gunshots that were fired during the rebellion. you remember the colorful staircase turning into grey through gunpowder and red from blood.

"I'm sorry," hyun-ju speaks up.

you look at her, confused, knowing that hyunju couldn't have handled it on her own.

"don't be-" you spoke up, nearly mumbling as you put your hand on hyunju's bicep.

daeho is munching on sweet potatoes in your peripheral vision, but you don't look at him.

again, you weren't as upset as everyone else. you hid your hands in your jacket sleeves as you looked back and forth between gi-hun, who's locked up to the bunk, and daeho in the corner of the room.

in your mind, you just wished that daeho would've stayed behind if he couldn't fight.

you continued, "you have nothing to apologize for hyunju. I should've been the one who grabbed the ammo." you swallowed.

yong-sik spoke up, "I agree. it was all dae-ho's fault," the man points his water bottle towards daeho's direction, "I saw it, my mom saw it, everyone else saw it. dae-ho came to pick up the magazines , but when he was about to leave, he just sank to the floor."

yes, he was right. however, to entirely blame daeho was unjustified.

"he sanked to the floor because he was traumatized." you kneeled down to the floor, on geum-ja's level while looking at gi-hun.

"its still his--"

"yong-sik, would you have been able to go upstairs and do what daeho did?" you snark.

"enough." geum-ja cuts you off.

yong-sik’s scowl deepened, his voice dripping with disdain, “defending your boyfriend won’t bring any of them back, y/n.”

you bristled, your hands clenching into fists.

“dae-ho didn’t think up this stupid rebellion in the first place, yong-sik!” you snapped, your words cutting through the tense air.

a heavy silence followed. your eyes flicked toward gi-hun, who was still locked on the bunk, his jaw tight and his gaze burning with anger. your heart sank as realization hit....you’d just thrown gi-hun under the bus as you yelled at yong-sik.

gi-hun was the one who’d come up with the rebellion, the plan that had crumbled and cost them so much.

your eyes widened, guilt creeping in as you confessed how you felt about the rebellion, but you pushed it down.

you glanced over at daeho, sitting alone in the corner, quietly eating his sweet potatoes. he looked small, hunched over, like the weight of everything was crushing him. you couldn’t leave him alone like that any longer.

scoffing at yong-sik, you turned and walked over to daeho, sitting close enough that your front brushed against his.

the small act of physical comfort felt like the least you could offer.

“how’re those sweet potatoes?” you asked softly, trying to pull him out of his head.

he nodded, his voice barely a whisper, “very sweet.”

you smiled lightly, but it faded as you sighed.

“dae-ho, i don’t blame you for anything,” you said, your tone gentle but firm.

he didn’t look up, just kept picking at the food. after a moment, he spoke, his voice low and shaky.

“i knew gi-hun’s plan was stupid. i… i regret even being part of it.” his eyes glistened, tears welling up as he continued, “but jungbae… upstairs…”

daeho's voice cracked, and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

you reached out, wrapping an arm around him, your fingers threading through his long, raven-colored locks. your man's warmth grounded you, even as your own stress about the next games ripped at your insides.

during lights out, you woke up in darkness.

not complete darkness. the light from the piggy bank gave a nice glow in the dormitory. it felt like a huge lava lamp.

daeho held you from behind, big spooning you. one of his hands rested down your upper hips, the other rests under your right boob.

the stress of everything hasn't granted you sleep.

after the rebellion, the games continue. in a way, you were scared that the guards were going to use the next game as a punishment.

in daeho's sleep, he stirs. the man's large hand squeezes your boob, allowing you let out a small sigh.

you turn your head, seeing daeho asleep.

daeho had the prettiest features ever. you take your finger and lightly trace the soft contours of his face in sleep. his long, raven-colored locks fell messily across his forehead, framing his sharp jawline and the faint scar above his left eyebrow.

388's lips, slightly parted, twitched as if caught in a fleeting dream, and his thick lashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, giving him an almost serene look despite the weight he carried.

the warmth of his body pressed close to yours, full of love.

he is asleep, but your lips couldn't help but connect to his softer ones.

you give him a light kiss first, before giving him more. you sigh against his mouth, and it’s like a switch flips which you feel his lips finally kissing you back.

you open your eyes, seeing that daeho woke up, before closing them again in satisfaction.

the kiss deepens as his hands slide to your lower back. your fingers threading into his hair as he tilts your head for better access.

daeho's lips move tiredly, slow but hungry, tasting you like he’s waited forever to do this. the man's tongue traces your bottom lip before slipping inside, and your body presses closer to his instinctively, needing more, needing everything.

he exhales sharply, almost a groan, his grip tightening as his lips move against yours with more urgency.

your breath has the taste of sweet potatoes with the hint of smoke.

gunpowder smoke.

your hands find their way to his jacket, gripping the fabric as you unzip it. daeho's breath is warm against your skin, his presence overwhelming in the best way.

the buzz from the piggy bank's light surrounds you, but you don't notice.

slowly, you push daeho to lay down on his back. you crawl on top of his crotch as your lips started to trail away from his.

he started to realize what you wanted, since it was like a magnet was pulling you down towards the bulge in-between his legs.

your soft lips kiss along dae-ho’s jawline, patience running thin as your mouth now sucks on his adam’s apple.

“fuck me.” dae-ho mumbles to himself, his left hand holding your waist and his right gripping a good handful of your ass. 

"soon." you mumble again his skin.

again, you were losing patience.

you pulled yourself away from his face and moved down in-between his legs on the bed. the ivory colored blanket was pulled over top of you and daeho's lower body... just incase.

thankfully nobody around you was awake. most were tired from the rebellion the night before.

you could’ve drooled right there, looking up at him processing what was happening as you start to kiss on his clothed bulge.

the man groaned feeling your soft lips through his boxers and blood stained joggers. the traces of your tongue make him rock hard, groaning lightly as you pulled away.

you smirk as your hands went to his waistband.

the way you yanked dae-ho’s pants and boxers down was desperate and fast. 

dae ho holds onto your hair gently, close to whimpering while you took one kitten lick at his fat tip. you kept eye contact with your man, taking his girthy dick in your hands.

you slowly pump his dick, licking precum from his hole, before licking it off clean.

dae-ho slowly wrapped your hair into a loose ponytail while you wrapped your lips around his head, pushing your head down and taking his length whole.

your hand wrapped around the parts of dae-ho’s cock that your mouth could not push down on.

at this point, your clit was throbbing. you wanted to play with yourself, but you wanted daeho to do that for you.

as you took dae-ho deeper in your throat, you started to notice dae-ho pushing your head down a little more. that's it. you teased him by forcing your head off of his length.

the man groaned in protest before you started to lick at his balls.

dae-ho lets out a breathy moan before grabbing your hair and moving your head back onto his shaft himself.

you moaned against his dick.

you love it when your sweet boyfriend is rough with you.

“fuck fuck fuck” he mumbled, gazing lovingly at your watering eyes while you look up at him.

you felt his shaft twitch inside of your throat, at the same time he released the harsh grip on your hair, only for him to come undone all inside of your throat, the sweet substance being something that you crave even more now. 

dae-ho smacks his along your lips and chin, scenting you a few times before letting you crawl back up to him.

“please fuck me.” you whisper against his earlobe, your hand pumping his cock a few times as daeho started pulling your own joggers down.

you were hypnotized by daeho’s large hands, and how they were able to pull your pants down to your knees. you helped him take your pants off entirely, keeping it under the blanket as daeho's mouth waters at the sight the waterfall inbetween your legs.

daeho gripped his length as he stared.

“you’re so pretty.” daeho’s lips ghosted over your temple, kissing you softly.

you move to straddle his hips, his hands gripping your thighs as you sink down onto him. he’s still so hard, and the feeling of him inside you makes you moan. 

when daeho's large hands move up to cover your mouth entirely, relying on your to breath through your nose so you wouldn't moan so loudly, you got wetter.

you ride him slowly at first, your hands on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart through that 388 shirt.

as you straddle dae ho, his hands gripping your thighs with a desperation that makes your pulse race.

you lean forward, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, “you’re so lucky that you have a big dick.”

daeho’s mouth is parted, his eyes moving between your eyes and your breasts bouncing through your shirt.

you weren't wearing a bra. you barely do.

"fuck," daeho groans lightly at your words.

"I co--could--fuck!-- be so upset at you. i can't.. not when you make me feel this good." you lean down against daeho's lips, speaking as daeho's hands grab a handful of your hips and ass.

your big boy's breath hitches at your speech before a soft whimper escaping his lips, the sound sending a thrill through you. 

your fingers trail down his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart, and you smile against his skin, savoring how responsive he is, how every word you speak makes his body shudder beneath you.

“look at you,” you murmur, your voice low and sultry while your lips graze his jaw as you move faster, your hips grinding down with purpose. 

dae ho’s eyes flutter shut, another whimper slipping out as your hips move around in circles your clit brushing up against his pubes.

you kiss the corner of his mouth, whispering, “I still love you daeho. nobody could ever make me feel this full.”

your pace quickens, and you lean back slightly, your hands braced on his chest as you watch him unravel. 

“only you can make me feel so good,” you breathe, your voice a soft caress, “no one else could ever do this to me, only you, filling and stretching me so perfectly every time you fuck me.”

daeho's whimper turns into a low moan, his head tipping back into the pillows.

"fuck, I lo-love you s-s-so much t-too! arghh--" he groans.

you feel the tension in him, the way he’s on the edge of release again for the second time tonight. 

daeho’s hands roam your body, cupping your breasts, teasing your nipples through your shirt. you arch into his touch, setting a steady rhythm.

388's eyes are now locked on you, filled with adoration, and he sits up from the bed, kissing you deeply as you move together. 

the man’s hands guide your hips, but you take control.

daeho’s fingers slip between your bodies, finding your clit.

you moan loudly, silently hoping that didn’t wake up anybody in the dorms.

you did, but you'll find that out soon.

your hips grind down on the base of his dick harder, the rhythm steady but relentless. every muscle is coiled tight in both of your bodies as he fuck himself up into you. 

again, your moans soften into breathless gasps, the sensation of him filling you as you release all over his cock, balls, and upper tights.

the stress from the games slip away, only daeho and his senses are filling your mind and body.

dae ho’s hands tighten on your hips, knowing that they will leave purple marks that will bloom in the morning.

you collapse onto his chest, both of you slick with sweat and dried blood. 

daeho immediately falls asleep as you put your pants back on from underneath the blanket.

after coming down from a high state of lust and love.. you look around seeing everybody mostly asleep.

except for one.

when you look over at a handcuffed gi-hun, seeing the hatred turn his eyes black as he looks at you and daeho... you realized not only was he watching you fuck daeho the entire time.

now he wants the both of you dead.

masterlist

[bruisedboys]

── SQUID GAME MEN when you have a nightmare

ft. kang dae-ho, lee myung-gi, thanos, nam-gyu, and hwang jun-ho (all except junho are set during the games)

note: guys I have a severe case of squid game brainrot. doctor said my only chance of survival is writing fanfic

★ KANG DAE-HO, player 388

daeho is so sweet about it! he’s very very soft on you, and he just hates to see you upset or scared. when you wake from a nightmare one night during the games, he’s up with you in an instant. he’s quite a light sleeper, and he’s been worried sick about you anyway, so his sixth sense for you sort of kicks in and he wakes the moment you do. he climbs over to your bunk and sits with you, gives you a sip of water from his water bottle and then gives you a hug, rubbing your back with a big, warm hand. he’ll stay up with you if you don’t want to go back to sleep. if you ask him to lie with you, he’ll do it in a heartbeat, making sure to give you enough space but still keeping close enough to help you feel safe. he’ll stay awake until you fall asleep, and in the morning when you thank him for comforting you during the night, he shrugs it off like it’s nothing. “don’t mention it, pretty,” he says with a shrug, and you have to stop yourself from swooning.

★ LEE MYUNG-GI, player 333

he’s very soft with you! though he won’t wake up unless you wake him up on purpose. when you jolt awake, half frightened to death, you consider letting myunggi sleep — he looks peaceful, after all, and the games have taken their toll on him. but your nightmare really freaked you out, so you clamber over to his bunk and nudge him awake. he’s disoriented, his eyes still half-closed, but he’ll ask you what’s wrong worriedly. when you tell him, he sort of blinks at you, unsure what to do or how to comfort you. but when he sees how upset you are, he’ll wrap you in his arms, and then encourage you to lie down with him in his bed. he pulls you into his chest and lets you sleep with him, murmuring a promise into your hair that you’ll be safe as long as you’re with him.

★ CHOI SU-BONG, player 230

he’s so insensitive at first, he hates being woken up in the middle of the night. you’re already in his bed — he insisted you sleep next to him so he could “protect” you. when you wake up, thanos is snoring next to you, his arm thrown over your waist. you grab his shoulder and shake him awake, and he grumbles and groans. “what’d you wake me up for?” he murmurs, irritated. when you tell him, he just scoffs and rolls over. it shocks you, though it shouldn’t, really. upset and annoyed, you start to climb out of the bunk to find an empty bed, but thanos grabs your wrist before you can make it very far. “hey, wait, I’m sorry,” he says, pushing himself up on one elbow. “come back, y/n, please? I’ll keep you safe.” and, despite yourself, you let him pull you back into his arms. he holds you to his chest and promises to fight the nightmares off with his bare hands if they come.

★ NAM-GYU, player 124

namgyu is surprisingly sensitive about it! he seems like the type of guy to have nightmares of his own, though he won’t ever admit it. so, when he wakes up from one of his own bad dreams, and pushes himself up onto his elbows to find you awake, sitting quietly in between yours and his bunk, he guesses you’ve just had a nightmare. he slides out of bed and joins you on the metal steps in between the bunks. you seem unsurprised as he settles in next to you, his knee brushing yours. “nightmare?” he asks. you meet his eyes and nod, “how’d you know?” namgyu just shrugs, then slides an arm over your shoulders and pulls you into his chest. he doesn’t say anything — he doesn’t need to. it’s enough to just have him hold you like this, your thighs pressing together and your head against his chest, listening to the steady thud thud thud of his heart.

★ HWANG JUN-HO

junho is so good with nightmares — he’s very attentive and knows all the tricks. he tends to sleep with his arms practically locked around you, so when you wake, he does too. you’re trembling, and he knows what’s wrong without you even having to say anything. he’ll sit you up and give you a good, long hug, rubbing your back and murmuring to you in a soft voice. if you’re crying, he’ll pull back to wipe your tears for you, hands gentle and warm as they cup your face. he’ll ask if you want to talk about it, and he’ll listen if you do but won’t press if you don’t. when you’ve calmed down, he’ll lie you both down and let you curl into his chest like a cat. he’ll rub your arm soothingly, his thumb pressing slow circles into your bicep until you fall asleep in his arms.

-

thank you for reading! reblogs are appreciated as always ᡣ𐭩

[thatonegrimm]

📱 New Phone, Who Dis?

Summary: You decide it’s time to teach the Saja Boys how to use smartphones. This turns out to be the worst mistake you’ve ever made. From autocorrect disasters to weaponized selfies, haunted filters, group chat crimes, and Baby’s terrifying rise in Subway Surfers—your phone will never be safe again.

----------------------------------------------

 Step 1: The Basics

You were five minutes into the tutorial and already considering throwing the entire group chat idea off the roof.

“Okay,” you said, with the voice of someone who had absolutely explained this before, “to unlock the phone, you swipe up from the bottom. Just one smooth motion with your thumb. Like this.”

You demonstrated. The lock screen vanished. Easy.

Jinu leaned forward, brows furrowed like you’d just performed a complicated summoning ritual.

“Wait, that’s it?” he asked, suspicious.

“That’s it,” you said.

Jinu took his phone like it was a bomb that might detonate. He placed his thumb gently against the screen.

Nothing.

He tried again. Slower.

Still nothing.

“It doesn’t recognize me,” he said darkly. “This is personal.”

“You have to swipe, not pat it,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“I am swiping,” he said, now dragging his whole palm across the screen like he was trying to exorcise it.

Baby peeked over his shoulder. “You’re caressing it like a ghost bride.”

“I don’t know what that means!”

Abby reached for his phone. “I’ll try!”

You nodded, relieved. “Okay, see if you can—”

Abby pressed so hard his knuckle tapped the SOS emergency screen.

You launched forward. “NOPE nope nope— okay, we’re exiting that—great.”

Abby blinked. “Why is it asking if I need the authorities?”

“Because the phone thinks you’re being kidnapped.”

Romance, already lounging on the couch, casually unlocked his screen in a smooth, practiced flick. “I like the phone,” he purred. “It understands me.”

“I hate that it does,” Jinu muttered.

You turned to Mystery. “You wanna give it a go?”

Mystery didn’t answer. He was already holding his phone upside-down, silently trying to will it open with pure shadow energy.

“…That’s not how it works,” you said gently.

He looked at you. Blinked once. Then flipped the phone around and unlocked it with a single swipe.

“…Did you just—?”

He shrugged. “I observed.”

You turned to Baby.

He stared down at his phone, unmoving.

“You okay there?”

He slowly poked the screen.

Once.

With his index finger.

Like it might bite him.

Nothing happened.

He looked up at you.

“It’s broken.”

“It’s not broken, Baby. You just have to touch it.”

“I did touch it.”

“With the enthusiasm of a dying slug!”

He poked it again. It lit up—briefly—then timed out.

“I don’t trust it,” he said.

Romance threw his head back laughing. “He’s scared of a rectangle.”

Baby snapped, “You’re scared of commitment.”

You raised both hands. “Okay! Let’s pause and try this again. Together.”

Jinu sighed. Abby flexed. Mystery stared. Romance winked at the lock screen. Baby poked it like it insulted his mother.

You were starting to understand why every ancient text warned against summoning multiple demons at once.

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Step 1.5: Autocorrect Betrayal

“You have to text clearly,” you said, leaning over Jinu’s shoulder as he stared down at the messaging app like it had just challenged him to single combat.

“I am texting clearly,” he said, slowly jabbing the letters one by one with his index finger.

You glanced at the message he’d typed:

“Thank you for your time. We will make the necessary preparations to… consume you.”

“…Okay,” you said gently, “so you meant to say ‘confirm’ that, not ‘consume,’ right?”

He froze. “…Did I not?”

“No.”

Romance, from across the room: “Honestly, it’s more efficient that way.”

Jinu immediately began mashing the backspace button with growing panic. “Why would the phone assume ‘consume?’ What kind of human interactions is it basing that on?”

“It’s predictive text,” you said. “It learns how you talk over time.”

“Oh,” Mystery said from the floor, peeking up over the back of the couch, “then we’re doomed.”

You turned to Abby. “You okay with yours?”

He held up his phone proudly.

“hi this is Abby i would like to no if u do the meats pizza with the the cheese and also the onions thank you”

“…You know what? That’s actually impressive.”

“I watched three TikToks about phone etiquette,” he said.

Romance leaned over your shoulder. “Let me try.”

You handed him your phone. Mistake.

In five seconds, he had opened Messages, typed “So are you up or just emotionally unavailable? 😏” and nearly sent it to your grandma.

“STOP.”

“You have so many contacts,” he said, impressed. “Who is ‘Work Dentist’?”

“I don’t even know anymore,” you muttered, snatching your phone back.

Meanwhile, Baby sat in the corner, hunched over his phone. Silent. Focused. His brows drawn together in deep concentration.

“Baby?” you asked. “You texting?”

He nodded. “Practicing.”

You leaned over to peek.

He was texting you. From across the room.

🧍

🧍

🧍 “The meat witch is watching me.”

You: “…What?”

“Autocorrect,” he said solemnly. “I meant ‘microwave.’”

----------------------------------------------

Five minutes later, Mystery handed you his phone. He had typed a single, cryptic sentence in his notes app:

“The cheese knows what I’ve done.”

You blinked. “Did you mean to type this?”

He stared at you blankly. “No.”

“…Do you regret typing this?”

He paused.

“No.”

You ended the lesson there, mostly because Abby accidentally voice-texted “SEND NUDES” to the pizza place while trying to ask about extra mushrooms.

To their credit, the pizza place responded,

“No, but we do have breadsticks.”

And that’s how you earned a permanent note in their system labeled: “Do not engage with chaos group.”

----------------------------------------------

Step 2: Group Chat Setup

You created the group chat out of necessity, not optimism.

After thirty minutes of individually texting everyone to remind them not to microwave metal (again), you decided enough was enough.

One thread. One chat. One place for them to scream into the digital void.

It should have been easy.

It wasn’t.

----------------------------------------------

You started it simply.

You: “Hi. This is the new group chat. Be normal.”

Jinu immediately replied:

Jinu: “What is the appropriate etiquette for tone and punctuation?”

Romance: ���Hot take: let’s call this chat ‘Thirst Circle 💋’”

You: “NO.”

Romance: “Sorry, that was for my other group.”

Abby: “Can it be called MUSCLE UNITY 💪🔥”

Baby: “call it SQUAD”

You: “You know what? Abby, you name it.”

Big mistake.

Two seconds later, the group was officially labeled:

“SQUAD, BUT MAKE IT DEMONIC 😈🔥🔥🔥🧍”

“You added the little standing guy,” you said, staring at Baby.

He shrugged. “He’s the mascot.”

“Of what?!”

----------------------------------------------

The chaos spiraled quickly.

Romance kept changing the name every five minutes:

“Thirst Circle 💋”

“Chaos Coven 🌶️”

“Twerk Coven 🔥🧎”

“Oh god Jinu saw this one hold on—”

You eventually restricted nickname permissions.

Mystery renamed himself in the chat to “.”

Just a period. Nothing more.

“Are you trying to be ominous?” you asked.

“I am ominous,” he replied.

Abby added a profile pic of his bicep. You didn’t ask where the lighting came from, but it was suspiciously professional.

Jinu’s picture was a picture of a textbook. Literally just… a textbook.

“Do I need a face photo?” he asked. “Is that expected for group bonding?”

“No,” you said. “But maybe something that’s not a copyright-free image of a law journal.”

He nodded seriously. “Understood.”

(He changed it to a picture of a tree. You let him have it.)

----------------------------------------------

Pinned Message: You eventually pinned a message that read:

“🛑 NO threatening anyone via emoji

✅ Be respectful

❌ DO NOT summon things in here

✅ No baby photos of each other without permission

❌ No hexes

❌ No shirtless mirror pics before 10am”

Romance reacted to it with a heart.

Mystery reacted with a skull.

Baby sent 🧍 again.

You gave up and muted the chat.

For ten minutes.

Until Abby sent:

Abby: “Help. My phone just told me to call ‘Mommy.’ I don’t know who that is. Is that you??”

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Step 3: Emojis and Overuse Thereof

You introduced emojis because it seemed harmless.

A fun way to help the boys express themselves, you thought. Little images. Harmless shapes. Smiley faces. What could possibly go wrong?

Answer: everything.

----------------------------------------------

It started innocently.

“So emojis are basically tone indicators,” you explained, holding up your phone. “You know, smiley faces for happy messages, hearts for affection—”

“Visual emotion markers,” Jinu repeated, squinting like he was studying scripture.

“Right,” you said. “Just… don’t overdo it.”

----------------------------------------------

Abby immediately overdid it.

He typed like he was trying to summon an emoji-based deity.

“We need more rice 🍚🍚🍚🔥🔥💪💪💪🙏🫶💥💥💥‼️‼️‼️”

You blinked. “That’s for rice?”

“It’s a food emergency,” he said gravely.

You opened another text.

“Bathroom’s out of soap 🚿😔🧼🧼🧼🧼💀💀🔥🔥🔥🔥🧻🧻”

You stared. “Is the fire necessary?”

“Yes,” he said. “For emphasis.”

----------------------------------------------

Jinu, on the other hand, resisted entirely.

“Language exists for clarity,” he argued. “Icons only encourage confusion.”

You nodded. “Fair.”

Later that day, he sent:

“I’ve stabilized the mirror rune. 🙂”

You: “...Are you mad or happy?”

Jinu: “The smile is neutral.”

You: “No it’s not. It’s threatening.”

Jinu: “Then I’ll remove it.”

“I’ve stabilized the mirror rune.”

You: “That’s worse.”

He added a thumbs-up.

You blocked him for five minutes.

----------------------------------------------

Romance discovered the peach emoji and hasn’t looked back since.

“Are you free tonight? 🍑💦👀”

You: “Romance.”

“Need help folding laundry? 🍑👕🛏️😉”

You: “Romance.”

“Do we have milk? 🥛🍑🥛🍑”

You: “I’M BEGGING YOU.”

He winked at you in person, then changed his contact name to “Certified 🍑 User.”

----------------------------------------------

Mystery uses emojis like divination tools.

He never sends a full sentence. Just cryptic clusters of unrelated chaos.

🦷🌕🧃📉

“This is what my tea tastes like,” he explained once.

Another time:

“Abby stole my socks 🧦🦴🧼🕳️”

You: “That tells me nothing.”

Mystery: “Then it’s working.”

----------------------------------------------

And Baby…

Baby uses one emoji.

🧍

That’s it.

That’s the emoji.

He texts it at all hours, with no context.

🧍

🧍🧍

🧍(threatening)

You once tried to ask if he wanted food. He replied:

🧍🍖🧍💥🧍🧍🧍

You’re 90% sure he started a war in emoji form.

----------------------------------------------

Eventually, you sent a group message:

“New rule: Limit yourselves to 3 emojis per message.”

Romance responded:

“But I’m 4 emojis deep in my feelings 🥺🍑💘😢”

Mystery replied with:

🕯️🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍

Baby just sent 19 🧍 in a row.

You considered deleting the group chat.

And maybe the internet.

And yourself.

----------------------------------------------

Step 4: Photos and Selfies

Introducing the boys to the camera app should’ve been easy.

You were wrong.

----------------------------------------------

You: “Okay, this is the camera. Tap to take a photo. Swipe left for video. Front-facing camera is—”

Abby: “Can it capture velocity?”

You: “No. This isn’t an anime opening.”

Romance: click (He just took a photo of you. With flash.)

You: “STOP THAT.”

----------------------------------------------

You sent a message in the group chat:

You: “Send one (1) normal selfie. No chaos.”

That was your second mistake.

----------------------------------------------

Abby: Sends a perfectly lit bicep pic with dramatic shadows. Caption: “strong angle 💪🔥”

You: “Okay, but maybe include your face?”

Abby: “Bicep is face.”

You: “It is not.”

----------------------------------------------

Romance: Sends five photos. One with a rose between his teeth. Another shirtless. One suspiciously filtered to look like oil paint.

Romance: “Thoughts? Be honest.”

You: “You’re holding a bottle of olive oil like it’s wine.”

Romance: “Because I’m smooth, rich, and good on everything.”

Jinu: “That was vile.”

----------------------------------------------

Jinu: Sends a completely blurry image.

You: “What is this?”

Jinu: “It was supposed to be Mystery.”

You: “There’s nothing in this photo.”

Jinu: “Exactly.”

(He later sent a photo of a fire extinguisher labeled “safety.”)

----------------------------------------------

Mystery: Sends a photo of a crumpled sock in sunlight. Caption: “quiet warmth.”

You: “Do you even take selfies?”

Mystery: “This is me.”

You didn’t respond. You just… sat with that.

----------------------------------------------

Baby: Sends 36 rapid photos of his own forehead.

You: “What are you doing.”

Baby: “Watching myself blink in slow motion.”

You: “I’m deleting your camera app.”

He responds with 7 🧍 emojis and a grainy picture of his eye.

----------------------------------------------

You tried once—once—to take a group selfie.

It went like this:

Abby flexed at the last second.

Romance duck-faced and winked.

Jinu blinked mid-shot.

Mystery wasn’t visible in the photo at all.

Baby flipped the camera off.

You didn’t delete it.

It’s now the banner for the group chat.

And you titled it:

“New Phone, Who Dis? 📱🔥🧍”

----------------------------------------------

 Step 4.5: The Filter Spiral

It all started when you showed them how to swipe for filters.

Just a casual, innocent, “Look, this one gives you cat ears!”

And then the world ended.

----------------------------------------------

Romance immediately fell down the rabbit hole like it owed him rent.

You caught him posing under a hanging plant for “natural light,” his phone balanced on a cup of ramen, glitter filter turned all the way up.

“Do I look… tragically divine?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. You were too distracted by the sparkle trails around his head and the fake beauty mark the app gave him.

Abby hovered behind him, whispering, “You look soft. Like a marshmallow. But powerful.”

Then he downloaded the app too.

Within ten minutes, Abby had discovered the “rainbow lens flare” filter and declared it “spiritually honest.”

Every time he took a picture, he said something like:

“I feel like this light represents my soul.”

“This glow is who I want to become.”

You weren’t going to argue. His teeth sparkled when he smiled.

----------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Jinu refused. Flat-out.

He said filters were “a distortion of digital identity and emotional clarity.”

Five minutes later, Romance snapped a stealth shot of Jinu using the “soft contour + sparkle eyes” filter—and it turned out absurdly flattering.

Everyone went silent.

Jinu stared at the screen.

“…I look ethereal,” he whispered.

You tried to stop him before he downloaded a photo editing app.

You failed.

----------------------------------------------

Baby found one filter. Just one.

The one that made his eyes glow red and added anime speed lines.

He used it once.

Then again.

Then in every photo, video, and mirror reflection from that moment on.

You tried to talk him out of it.

He sent you a Boomerang of himself blinking with red eyes and the caption:

“🧍🔥💢🧍🔥💢🧍”

----------------------------------------------

Mystery didn’t speak. He just quietly applied the glitch filter to a selfie.

The result was… unsettling.

His face flickered, half-faded, the background looped into static. You blinked and it was gone.

Next, he took a video using the “face disappear” filter.

Caption: “Finally.”

You asked if he was okay.

He sent back a skull emoji and vanished behind a potted plant.

----------------------------------------------

Eventually, you opened the group chat and saw this string of messages:

Abby: “LOOK AT MY LIGHT BEAMS 🌈💪💫”

Romance: [photo of himself in vintage filter with the caption “dream me softly”] Jinu: “how do you remove chin shine but keep the ambient glow asking for a friend”

Mystery: [video labeled “i am not perceivable”] Baby: 🧍🧍🧍🧍 (with glowing red eyes)

You closed the app.

They were gone now.

Lost to the spiral.

----------------------------------------------

Step 5: Texting Etiquette (Failed)

You gave them rules.

Simple ones.

No texts after midnight

No spam

No threats via emoji

No shirtless mirror pics before 10am

No live summoning attempts through the group chat

You even pinned the message.

You: “Please use this chat responsibly.”

They did not.

----------------------------------------------

It started subtly. A gentle unraveling.

One night at 12:47 a.m., Romance sent:

“Is it normal to crave both emotional intimacy and garlic bread?”

At 1:03 a.m., Abby responded:

“YES 🧄💪🔥”

At 1:15 a.m., Mystery sent:

“I’m under the bed. Not sure whose bed.”

You decided not to engage.

----------------------------------------------

Baby texted you at 4:22 a.m.

🧍

🧍

🧍

🧍

“im in ur room lol”

He wasn’t.

…Right?

You got up and checked.

He was standing in the hallway. Staring.

Phone in hand.

No expression.

Just slowly sending more 🧍 in real time.

----------------------------------------------

Jinu was no better.

He texted full essays. At 6 a.m. sharp.

“I’ve come to understand that sleep is unnecessary when fueled by rage and chamomile. The duality of man.”

You muted the chat.

Then unmuted it out of fear.

----------------------------------------------

Mystery stopped using words entirely.

One morning you woke up to:

🕯️🌊🪞🔪🐚🦴🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷

You responded:

“Did something happen?”

He replied:

“It’s happening now.”

You put your phone face-down and went back to bed.

----------------------------------------------

The texting styles only made it worse:

Abby voice-texts everything. Sometimes while chewing.

Romance sends paragraphs.

“buying eggs. protein. flex. truck.” crunch

With line breaks.

And mood. “You ever feel like… the moonlight is looking at you instead?”

“Anyway, anyone wanna split dumplings?”

Jinu uses perfect grammar and terrifying punctuation.

Baby just sends 🧍.

“I have taken the liberty of organizing our supplies. Do not move them. :)”

No context.

No words.

Just: 🧍

And sometimes:

🧍🔥🧍🔥🧍🔥🧍🔥

----------------------------------------------

You tried to implement rules again.

“Okay. New rule. No texting after midnight unless it’s an emergency.”

Immediately, Romance replied:

“Emotionally or physically?”

Abby added:

“What if I miss you? Emotionally and physically?”

Mystery replied with a crow emoji and a question mark.

Baby responded at 11:59 with:

🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍

“emotional emergency incoming”

----------------------------------------------

You gave up.

You muted the chat again.

For real this time.

But then, two hours later, you saw this message:

Jinu: “Is… Baby glowing?? Should he be glowing??”

And one from Mystery:

“i think the filter became real”

You turned your phone back on.

Again.

----------------------------------------------

 Step 5.5: Mobile Games

You thought teaching them how to download apps would be harmless.

You were wrong.

Very wrong.

----------------------------------------------

It all started with you showing Abby how to install a recipe app. Easy enough.

But three hours later, everyone was fully obsessed with games you hadn’t even mentioned.

You: “How did you all find Subway Surfers?”

Baby: “It found me.”

----------------------------------------------

Abby picked a farming simulator.

You were thrilled—until he started min-maxing crop yields and naming his chickens after famous warriors.

“This is General Cluckles. He’s seen things.”

He made spreadsheets. Color-coded spreadsheets. You didn't know whether to be proud or afraid.

----------------------------------------------

Romance downloaded Love Island: The Game.

He immediately maxed out his charm stat and is now romantically entangled with six NPCs.

“I’m only doing this for research,” he said.

“Research for what?”

“Flirting analytics.”

He also tried to mod the game to include your face.

You confiscated his phone.

He downloaded it on Abby’s instead.

----------------------------------------------

Jinu downloaded chess.

Not a fun mobile chess app. Not like, “learn to play!” chess.

No—he downloaded a tournament tracker and three AI sparring apps.

He now speaks in phrases like:

“He sacrificed the bishop in six… bold.”

You walked in once and found him playing against a CPU rated 2400.

His eyes were glowing.

You backed out slowly.

----------------------------------------------

Mystery somehow ended up with a haunted tamagotchi.

You don’t know what the app was supposed to be, but now his screen shows:

A blinking eye

An icon labeled “FEED?”

And every now and then, a glitchy voice whispering “It grows…”

You told him to delete it.

He whispered back, “I love it.”

----------------------------------------------

And Baby?

Baby downloaded Subway Surfers.

And then something… happened.

Day 1: He was bad at it. Walked into the first train. Got a 15.

Day 2: 1,500 points.

Day 3: He was dodging obstacles that weren’t there.

By Day 4, he had:

Maxed out every character

Memorized every map variant

Started doing combo parkour tricks no human should be able to pull off

“You’re sliding through fire,” you said.

“I am fire,” he said.

He now plays while making eye contact with you.

He doesn’t blink.

You're pretty sure his patterns glow when he hits a perfect streak.

----------------------------------------------

You tried taking their phones away.

Romance said, “But my digital boyfriend needs me.”

Baby sent you 🧍

You gave up.

----------------------------------------------

Epilogue: The Damage Is Done

Later that week, you left your phone charging for ten minutes.

When you came back, Abby had it in his hands.

“Abby…” you said slowly.

“I was just checking something!” he insisted.

You took a breath. “You Googled ‘do demons have bones.’”

From the kitchen, Romance called out, “Do we?”

“I HAVE BONES,” Abby shouted defensively.

Mystery nodded from the couch without looking up. “They creak.”

----------------------------------------------

That night, you sat all five of them down for a review.

Mystery was slicing virtual fruit like it had wronged him, phone at 4% and falling fast.

Jinu was deep in Settings trying to disable every app permission “for safety.”

Baby had subscribed to seven different mukbang YouTube channels and was now playing all of them simultaneously.

Romance kept switching between two phones. You didn’t know where the second one came from. You were afraid to ask.

You exhaled.

And then—smiled.

There was only one frontier left.

“…Okay,” you said. “Who wants to learn how to make a TikTok?”

Romance bolted upright. “I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT MY ENTIRE AFTERLIFE.”

Jinu stood stiffly. “I must object. Formally.”

Mystery blinked. “Can it have a crow in it?”

Abby flexed. “Do we get to do a group dance?”

Baby didn’t say anything.

He opened the group chat.

And sent:

🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍

🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍🧍

Just like that.

You knew:

You were never getting your phone back.

----------------------------------------------

M-List

[akkaweo-akkaweo]

Overtime

Hong Eunchae x Jang Kyujin x Kang Haerin x M!reader

Tags: daddy!kink + praise!kink, blowjob

WC: 3.3k

—————

"Enter," you called out.

Your face was buried in your hands. Work was unbearable, checking paper after paper after paper. Classes left and right that you barely had time to do anything that didn't involve reading a boom, and even less time to read books that weren't academic.

Of course, Kyujin, Eunchae, and Haerin knew all that.

"Ladies," you groaned. "Thank goodness you're here."

Without saying a word, Haerin moved behind you and started massaging your shoulders. She never really was a talker, but she didn't need any direction from you.

"Are you okay, sir?," Kyujin asked with concern, crouching to meet your downward gaze. The more outward-going type, she always approached you with casual friendliness. And you weren't against it – you needed a break from formalities.

"We can go out for some jjigae," Eunchae offered. She was the type to do that – think of literally anything else that wasn't the droll of your struggles.

Honest to goodness, you felt smothered in the presence of these three. Nothing negative about it, if only you weren't so damn into them when they were under your charge. But earlier last year, by then a year since they graduated, they approached asking for work. You offered a meager salary shared between the three of them, in exchange for not needing to do anything other than be around at the end of the day. You were about as surprised that they all said yes, hoping they'd be pushed back instead by the insanity of the setup.

Yet here you were, one year later, sat, pampered, and attended to by your three assistants.

"Thank heavens this term is almost over," you remarked. "I thought it'd never end."

"Tell me about it," Haerin remarked. "I swear I saw posters about the commencement exercises just two weeks ago. Turns out it's been two months."

"It's okay, sir," Eunchae continued, "me and Kyujin can deal with this stack of papers in the morning."

"I don't pay you for the morning," you commented. "I pay you for keeping me company."

Kyujin playfully slapped your leg. "Sir, I'd think it's fair that we actually do the job of the assistant you paid us to be."

"I just want to destress, that's all," you laughed dismissively. "So, jjigae, right, Eunchae?"

Haerin wrapped her arms around your neck. "Actually sir, we were thinking something else." Kyujin and Eunchae sat on either of your legs, as if on cue.

You'd given up on pretending these three were nothing more than friends for hire. The only reason this setup was acceptable to you in the first place were three things: first, they were the closest students you've ever had, bar none; second, they were persistent, even in their academics; and third, you unapologetically found the three of them beautiful. Still, one must pretend for posterity.

"Ladies," you said sternly. "I am your boss. I was your teacher."

"Oh come on," Eunchae teased. "You're barely our boss and not our teacher anymore. So that makes us friends."

"'Friends'," you emphasized in air quotes, "don't offer what I think you're offering."

"And what would that be, sir?," Kyujin teased, now kneeling at your feet, between your legs. Haerin joined in, while Eunchae locked the door before placing herself with the crowd.

"This is very compromising, ladies," you chuckled. The jig was, unquestionably, up.

"Would you prefer sir or daddy, daddy?," Haerin asked. You rolled your eyes.

"Daddy it is, then," Eunchae said, before undoing your belt buckle. Kyujin and Haerin worked your pants off your legs until they were on your feet. Unsurprisingly, you were very much hard for them already.

"How'd you it figure out?," you asked. "I must know."

"Because we love it when you call us pretty, daddy," Kyujin replied. Caught you there.

"So then," you asked, "what's the actual plan for tonight?"

"The three of us will suck your dick, daddy," Eunchae responded.

"We'll take turns, then make you cum," Kyujin continued.

"We'll let you use us," Haerin concluded. "Facefuck us, daddy."

Fuck. Your dick trembled in anticipation. The three of them still sat pretty before you; you assumed it was your pick. Whoever you chose first determined how exactly this would go down; you needed to choose wisely.

You took Kyujin's face in both your hands, rubbing a thumb on her cheek. She laughed, her face transforming from the casually seductive to the innocently playful. Despite her grin, she opened her mouth – not wide, but equally inviting – silently waiting for you to drop her between your legs.

Haerin and Eunchae both took a leg, resting their heads as their gazes were completely transfixed on your erect member. Breaths held, eyes wide, they waited with anticipation – partly yearning to taste the fruit laid before them, partly to see their friend take her first bite. They didn't look it, but it felt like a pair of lionesses were waiting for their turn to start digging into their prey.

"Ready?," you asked Kyujin tenderly. She nodded, eyes burning into yours.

You led her head down, and without struggle she fit all of you in her mouth. You felt your tip reach the back of her throat, making her gag, and you took her off of you.

"Are you alright? Did you like that?," you asked.

"Please be careful, daddy," Eunchae pouted.

"No, it's okay, I can take it," Kyujin reassured. "Please don't rush, daddy."

You fixed her hair and led her down your shaft again. She slowly closed her mouth over you, the warmth enveloping your cock like velvet. You lifted her head, and already the sensation had you weak.

"She takes you so well, daddy," Haerin purred.

"Fuck, Kyujin," you swore behind clenched teeth. Her head stayed right over your tip, spit now slowly dribbling down your shaft.

"She's waiting for you to use her," Eunchae reminded, rubbing your thigh. It felt wrong to violate such a pretty face – and yet, precisely because you were determined not to, there was a sense of excitement to be fully in control.

You started to glide her head up and down your shaft, her lips squeezing out all the spit down to your base. So long as you didn't force it all the way through, she didn't falter in keeping your cock drenched. The temptation to ravage her pretty little mouth – and all the space you knew it could take – was a thought you had to shove aside.

Still, she had a bit more to learn.

"Baby," you moaned, "let me show you something." You guided your thumb again to her cheek. "Try to suck the air in, baby. I should feel this part fall inwards."

Kyujin tried, coughing for a second. "Sorry, daddy, I'm trying not inhale my spit." You kissed her on the forehead.

"You can do it, Kyujin-ie," Eunchae cheered. She tried again, getting a hang of how to grip you in her mouth; she got it after a few cautious strokes.

"There we go, fuck," you groaned. While you still had Kyujin's head in one of your hands, you let go, placing it instead on top of her head.

Kyujin moved with determination, as some halfway point towards desperation. Her pace was consistent, and after your reminder she moved even more confidently, taking you in. She even gagged a bit, though she would hold back right after.

That urge again to shove her down torturously sat in your mind, wishing for her to finish you sooner. The other two, it seemed, noticed.

"Please don't cum yet, daddy," Haerin begged, squeezing your thigh. "Save it for all of us."

"Let her edge you, daddy," Eunchae added. "We wanna feel it on all our faces."

Their mewling alone put you closer to the edge you needed to be on, and you let go of her as you held your breath. Kyujin's breath was fast, hot, and still expectant of you in her mouth. Instead, Kyujin rubbed her face along the side of your throbbing length. "Thank you, daddy," she purred.

"Do you wanna go first, Haerin-ie?," Eunchae asked. Haerin crawled to replace Kyujin, who took her place on your leg. She laid her head down, still catching her breath.

Haerin took your hand and placed it on the right side of her head, right over her ear. You ruffled it lightly as if to pet her , and she retreated into her shoulders. But without any prompting, her eyelids fell heavily, narrow – coaxing you to use her.

"I'm ready, daddy," she purred eagerly, licking her lips. How brazen, you thought to yourself – all these orchestrations of carnal hunger and lust almost felt rehearsed, debunked only by the subtle hesitations in their movements.

You led her head down, her lips and mouth learning from your pointers to Kyujin. Less spit, more tongue, aggressively twirling around your dick. Her pace was slower, focused more on exploring – more like wrestling – your member in her mouth.

The feeling was unprecedented. Of the three, Haerin was the one you thought to be the least aggressive, yet now she had you leaned back on your chair like you were on the ropes. Eunchae and Kyujin were ever the supportive ones.

"Keep looking at her, daddy," Kyujin teased. "Look into her eyes."

"Mmm, she really likes it, don't you, Haerin-ie?," Eunchae taunted. Haerin nodded, her mouth still full of you.

"Fucking–," you squirmed. "not too harsh, baby." You scratched her head to get her out of her trance; you swore her eyes rolled up, very much stimulated. "Savor it, Haerin. Feel how hard you make me."

You guided her head, dictating the tempo of her bobbing. At first she still fought against your grasp, frantically chasing after an invisible target. Still, you slowed her down. "Feel every muscle and vein. You have it, baby."

Haerin did slow her onslaught with her tongue, and a switch flipped with a single, deep moan. For once, she closed her eyes, as if to paint a relief of you in her mind. So focused was she that her mouth never hit the base of your hips, feeling instead the head of your dick and your frenulum rubbing all over her tongue.

"You want that dick so bad, Haerin-ie," Kyujin smirked. Eunchae bit her lip expectantly. "Are you gonna burst, daddy?"

You squirmed, even bucking your hips up. Haerin kept going, and you could feel your balls tense up.

Eunchae and Kyujin both reached out, the first time their participation was more direct: Eunchae gingerly reached for your balls, massaging them; Kyujin wrapped her dainty fingers around your base, not hard enough to deny your orgasm, but enough to stop the feeling pooling up where she held you.

You growled, the frustration of being edged a second time for these three needy brats slowly winning over. But those same brats looked at you almost apologetically.

"We're so sorry, daddy," Kyujin whined, kissing your thigh. Eunchae did the same on the inside of your thigh. While you were twitching at the electric sensation of their lips on your skin, you slowly lifted herself off your shaft, now coated in twice the spit.

With Haerin now stepping back, another lioness was ready to pounce. Eunchae's head perked up. "Is it my turn now, daddy?"

You laid a hand on her, guiding her head just like Kyujin. Haerin sat right beside Kyujin, wrapping herself over the more petite woman.

"You can do it, Eunchae-nie," Haerin cheered, before turning to Kyujin. "Daddy's cock tastes so good." Kyujin bit her lip, blushing at the memory.

"I wanna take it all, daddy," Eunchae begged. "Please take care of me."

You kissed her forehead. "Don't push too hard, baby."

Eunchae slowly thrusted your tip through her lips, intent to take you all the way to the back of her throat. She swallowed you in slowly, unsure of the many sensations: the mix of your hot shaft and cooled spit; the unavoidably strong smell of sweat, spit, and everything else coating you; and the taste, that ever addicting flavor of your precum now pulsing out of your very erect cock.

As you reached the back of her throat, she took a deep breath, slowly easing your dick in. Eunchae held it there for a few seconds, before starting to cough aggressively.

Kyujin and Haerin got up to support her on either shoulder, rubbing her back. You too leaned forward, ignoring the throbbing distraction between your legs. When Eunchae looked up at you once again, there were tears in her eyes, remorseful for her apparent failure.

"Please be gentle, daddy," Haerin said.

"It's not her fault, daddy," Kyujin defended. "She's trying her best."

Even if there was no ill feeling in you, you felt bad as Eunchae tried hard to fight back her disappointment. Even at their expense, they fawned over you, supporting each other as they tried to pleasure you. You weren't going to requite that with harshness.

You made Eunchae look up at you even as she shamefully tried to hide her face. "Eunchae, baby," you held her, wiping the tears with your thumbs. "Don't force it. Do what you want to do, but do it slowly."

"I just want daddy to feel good," Eunchae whined. "I can do it daddy, I promise."

"I know," you reassured, planting another kiss on her head. "I'll guide you, baby. Haerin, Kyujin," you looked at the two on her sides, "support her. Affirm her." Dissonance aside, your heart ached for these three.

Kyujin took a handful of Eunchae's hair and held it back. Haerin held her by the lower back of her head.

"We'll guide you, Eunchae-nie," Kyujin comforted.

Haerin guided her down your shaft once more. "You're doing great, Eunchae-nie. Take his cock good."

Kyujin whispered right in her ear. "Look at him, Eunchae-nie. Daddy really likes it," she breathed, as your mouth stayed agape with every inch she took in.

"Careful there," Haerin said, now on Eunchae's other ear. Eunchae's cheeks were flushed, likely from the praising and the slow success in swallowing you whole. Once she reached the back of her throat again and resurfaced, Kyujin and Haerin cheered her on.

"That was great!," Kyujin remarked.

"You're doing so great," Haerin added. "Tell her, daddy."

You prodded her chin up. "That felt amazing, Eunchae. Keep going."

Eunchae slowly worked herself back up to a steady pace, the sound of her gagging now being the dominant noise in the room. Unlike Haerin, it seemed she was determined to keep you exactly where you were in her mouth, deep down and close to your base. Spit now dripped down to your balls; sweat formed on your abdomen as the sensation felt like your tip was being massaged. You threw your head back again, lightheaded from the unceasing pleasure.

You let out a long groan. "Fuuuuck," you growled. Kyujin and Haerin, now retreated back to your legs, looked yearningly at Eunchae. Their breaths were warm to the touch of your thighs.

The real turn-on came from Eunchae staring at you, hungry not just for your cock, but for your favor. And you chose to feed well.

"You take me nicely, baby," you praised, and Eunchae smiled as far as a blowjob would let her. Fuck, she was adorably cute, eyes wide and mouth curled even with you fully in her mouth. Trying to take you in fully, her pace was easily the slowest, adding pressure on your already swollen head. In no time at all your orgasm came creeping back.

"Damn, ladies, I'm close," you growled again, lifting Eunchae off you. As she hovered right over your cock, the other two crawled in to surround you on either side.

"I'd like to cum now, ladies," you commanded.

Without any further instructions, the three of them made quick work of your cock. Kyujin kissed your balls and the underside of shaft; Haerin focused her lips entirely on the left side of your shaft and your tip; and Eunchae planted kisses all over the right and on your frenulum.

It was like clockwork: it was kiss after kiss after kiss, with not a single inch of its surface left unstimulated. Finally, the piece-by-piece meal had turned into a civil feeding frenzy, each leaving enough space for the others to feed on you unobstructed. You were no longer capable of commanding, because all you could groan out of your mouth was either surrender or a warning to finish.

And the ladies were very aware you were on the brink. Every giggle, every wet smack of lips, every moan into you cared less about the desire for their pleasure and more about the now insatiable urge to taste your seed on their lips.

Before you could issue that warning, however, the three of them stopped their kissing and moved down to your base. With a simple glance at each other, the three simultaneously licked upwards – Haerin on your left, Kyujin at the center, and Eunchae on your right.

That was it.

First it was one long stroke. Then another. And another. Then they took turns, pleading for your release.

"Cum for us, daddy," Kyujin begged.

"We wanna taste you, daddy," Haerin cooed.

"Give it to us, daddy," Eunchae whispered.

No matter what permutation their words came in, the end result remained the same: you released, almost too aggressively. One spurt, then another, pointing one each into their mouths. You thought nothing, saw nothing but the black of your eyes snapped shut by the sheer tension of your orgasm; all you thought was to point and feed.

When you opened your eyes, they were drenched in your load. Kyujin got some in her eye, Eunchae had a string from her nose to her bottom lip, and Haerin had one almost dripping down her jawline. Eunchae was the first to snap, practically pouncing on Kyujin to lap up her face. Haerin fingered the drop on her chin, before being interrupted by Kyujin. Eunchae wiped off with the side of her finger as much as she could, feeding it into Haerin's mouth. Haerin met Kyujin's lips, which met Eunchae's, which met Haerin once more.

To recall: whatever orchestrations were made prior were executed above and beyond what could possibly be expected. They deserved some form of encore.

You stroked off all the cum and let them lap it up before continuing to jerk yourself off. You felt your balls and shaft burn in protest, but you weren't empty enough to call it a night. And with one last groan, three last spurts, one each, as a parting gift. The three swallowed and moaned in unison.

You leaned back with finality. All tensions – from the stresses of labor to the snap of feelings unresolved – were dissipated. And no evidence of the ordeal to boot.

Eunchae and Kyujin shared your right leg, while Haerin kept your left all to herself, all still catching their breaths.

"Ladies, this was...," you trailed off, at a loss for words. "You were – are – all so pretty." A choir of giggles ensued.

"We'd do anything for more, daddy," Eunchae taunted.

Haerin kissed your thigh. "Daddy didn't even get to fuck us tonight."

"Your mouths did plenty of the fucking," you rebutted.

"Then we let you choose how to fuck us next time, daddy," Kyujin replied.

Haerin traced circles on your thighs. "I kinda wanna keep doing it here though."

"Same," Kyujin seconded. "It's hotter to do it like this."

"Guess you're gonna need a little bit of rearranging for us," Eunchae smiled.

This office was going to need a bit more than just rearranging for your needs.

—————

A/N: the amount of versions this story went through is almost frustrating. at least a goon session cleared it up no im just kidding seriously thats just a joke | edit: til bfh is a thing

[scatorcciosgirl]

camera girl…

Rockstar!Nat x Photographer!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ / MDNI, band/modern AU, fem!reader, usage of y/n, light angst, natalie is emotionally unavailable, reader is socially anxious, mentions of smoking, profanity, porn with plot, loss of virginity, fingering (r!receiving), praise kink, slightly dom!nat, not proofread

Note: this was my first time writing smut

You had no idea what your best friend, Olivia, was signing you two up for when she volunteered the two of you to run a merch stand at a local theater. A band you’d never heard of was playing there on their tour and your friend’s friend, who runs the place, needed some extra help. So, here you were, wearing a black crop-top with the band’s name on it, passing out merch with their faces and their EP title.

After the rush that came at the beginning of the show, it had died down once the band actually started playing. Their music wasn’t something you usually found on your playlist but you still bopped your head along to the beat.

The lead singer interacted with the audience like they were her best friends, making you look up every so often to watch. She was beautiful, wearing a leather jacket and a plaid skirt, hair cut into a shaggy bleached mullet. Her voice was smooth, like honey.

She seemed like the perfect subject to photograph, making your hands itch for your camera.

“Hey, would you mind taking some quick pictures for Instagram?” Heather asks you, suddenly appearing at the counter. You jump, tearing your attention away from the singer to blink at her.

“What?”

“Sorry,” Heather winced, the corners of her lips twitching up. “Can you take some photos of the group? So I can post them?”

“Oh,” you breathe out, nodding. “Yeah. Of course.”

You reach down and pull out your bag, where your camera is tucked safely inside. You fish it out, sliding the strap over your neck like second nature. You knew your friend had told her you could take some pictures for the theater’s socials, which was why you’d even brought it. You scan the building for a second, trying to find the best place to stand.

The lightning is… not ideal. But you know you can make it work.

You maneuver to the side of the stage, pushing through the crowd until you reach your vantage point.

You start with a few wide shots of the entire band. But, with the way the singer moves across the stage like it was built for her, you find yourself zooming in and tracking her every movement. Her skirt swings against her fishnet-covered legs and the lightning hits her jaw just right.

Your instincts take over and you snap picture after picture. She looks stunning in each and every one of them.

She’s electric.

You swear your heart stops when she looks over mid-song and locks eyes with you through the lens. Her lips curve up and you swallow, snapping the photo just in time before she looks away to continue singing.

You find yourself lost in her. She’s so photogenic, you wish you could photograph her forever. You don’t even realize how long you’ve been standing there until the band is suddenly saying their goodbyes. The crowd erupts in cheers and you catch the group bowing for the audience before they head backstage.

You hurry back to the merch stand, already knowing there’s going to be another flood of customers. When the walls are practically bare and everyone is gone, you reach for your camera and begin to scroll through your shots.

Heather and your friend look over your shoulder, commenting on their favorites.

“These are so good,” Olivia gushes. “The bassist looks so hot in that one.”

“You’re very talented,” Heather compliments.

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Thank you.”

That night, you stay up for hours editing the pictures. The sun is coming up by the time you’re finally done and you send them over to Heather so she can post them. You don’t think much of it anymore until you get a DM two days later.

yellowjacketsband

Hey! The band saw the pictures you took of them the other night at Heather’s and they’re obsessed! They’re playing in Austin tomorrow and they’re wondering if there’s any chance you’d be free to shoot them? We’ll comp you, of course. - Benjamin Scott, Yellowjackets Manager

You stare at the message for a second, heart hammering in your chest. You click on the account, wanting to make sure that its real.

It is.

ynsphotos

Thank you so much! I’d love to! Just let me know when to be there!

You swipe out of Instagram the second you send the message, already opening your messages app to text Olivia. You barely get a chance to start typing before you get another notification from the band. You click on it, biting down on the inside of your cheek in anticipation.

yellowjacketsband

Amazing! The set starts at 9 but if you could be there by 7, that would be great! We’ll leave a pass at the door for you. Just tell them your name when you get there. Thank you so much! Everyone’s really excited.

You reread the message a few times before you squeal and throw your phone on your bed, unable to believe what just happened.

It’s not your first time shooting for someone. But it is your first time shooting for someone who found you. And the fact that they liked your work enough to ask you to come back? That’s huge.

You grab your phone again and immediately FaceTime Olivia.

Tomorrow arrived far too fast for your liking.

Your hands shake as you walk up to the venue, trying to ignore the way the people in line stare at you as you walk past them.

The security guard doesn’t even look at you. “Back of the line.”

“No, I’m - I’m here to photograph the band?” you stammer, flushing in embarrassment as you give them your name.

His eyebrow raises as he looks down at the clipboard, scanning for your name. For a terrifying second, you worry that this was all an elaborate prank. A camera crew or something is going to jump out and you’ll look like an idiot on national television.

Then, he nods. “Got it.” He hands you a pass that says CREW and steps aside so you can enter. “Go ahead. Green room’s in the back, stage access through there.”

You mutter a quiet thank you, probably too low for him to have heard, and walk in, sliding the pass around your neck. Your eyes scan the room in amazement. It’s small and intimate like Heather’s bar is. Someone’s testing mics on stage, someone else is checking the lighting, and another person is coiling cords near a speaker.

“Hey!”

You jump at the sudden voice and spin around to see a tall man in a grey polo and black pants.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Ben, the Yellowjackets’ manager. You’re Y/N?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Oh, man. The band’s been talking about you nonstop. Seriously, they’re obsessed with those shots. You wanna head backstage and meet them real quick? They’re just hanging out. Soundcheck’s in 10.”

Your stomach churns but you force a small smile. “Sure.”

“Great!”

He leads you down a narrow hallway and pauses in front of a plain black door. You can hear voices from the other side.

“Dude, how the fuck did you manage to sweat through your shirt before soundcheck?”

“It’s hot as shit here. Fuck off.”

“They can be… a lot,” Ben warns. “Don’t take anything they say seriously.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and nod. “Got it.”

You mentally prepare yourself as he knocks once and opens the door.

The room is chaotic.

There’s coffee cups and beer cans everywhere, an open pizza box open on the coffee table, a clothes rack in the corner. Music is playing from a small speaker. There’s seven people scattered around the room. You recognize most of them because you spent hours staring at their faces while you edited.

The only guy – aside from Ben – in the room is the bassist. Sitting in front of him on the sofa is a redhead, who you know as the drummer. Their arm is wrapped around a black girl whom you don’t recognize. On the other sofa, there’s two other girls. The brunette is the other guitarist. The girl sitting beside her is also unfamiliar with hair that seems to be a mix of blonde and brown. Sitting on the floor against it is another brunette with olive skin, the keyboardist.

Then, in the back, settled in one of the seats at a vanity, guitar on her lap, is her. The lead singer.

Her shaggy bleached hair is pulled into a ponytail that most of the front pieces fall out of, framing her face. She’s wearing a Nirvana shirt and sweatpants, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up. A notebook is perched on the vanity desk, pen still in her hand.

“Photographer’s here,” Ben announces, turning to gesture to you like you’re a prize.

All seven of them turn to look at you. You tense under their gazes. You can feel them taking you in. Everything from the Mary Janes covering your feet to the white skirt you’d chosen to the cardigan hanging off your shoulders.

“Y/N, this is Travis–” Ben starts the introductions. The bassist – Travis – nods to you in acknowledgment before he tugs his shirt off.

“Don’t pay too much attention to him,” the redhead pipes up with a small smirk. “He’s a dick.” The girl next to them smacks their shoulder, making them let out a laugh. “What? It’s true.”

“That’s Van,” Ben says. “And their girlfriend, Taissa.”

Taissa turns away from Van and offers you a small wave.

“Then we have Lottie, Shauna, and her girlfriend, Jackie. . .”

Lottie sends you a kind smile and Shauna shoots you another wave. Meanwhile, Jackie beams and stands. She crosses the room and throws her arm around you. “I love your outfit.”

You blink in surprise before hesitantly returning the hug. “Thank you.”

“Jesus, Jackie. You trying to scare her off already?”

Jackie pulls away but slides her arm through yours, like the two of you have been best friends for ages. Your gaze cuts over to the singer, who’s stood from her chair and moved closer.

“And, finally, we have Natalie,” Ben introduces.

“Hey,” Natalie greets, eyes raking over your body.

You manage a small, “Hi,” and try not to flush too much under her gaze.

“Don’t worry,” Jackie mutters, squeezing your arm. “She doesn’t bite.”

Van snorts and adds, “Unless you ask her to.”

“Van!” the girl besides you scolds.

“Ignore them,” Natalie advises, rolling her eyes. “They just like to talk shit.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “It’s okay. I’m just really excited to be here. Thanks for having me back.”

“Dude, we should be thanking you,” Van counters, picking up a piece of pizza. “That shot of me flipping my sticks? Insane. And you even managed to make Travis look hot.”

The bassist, now wearing a different shirt, flips them off. The drummer wastes no time in returning the gesture.

“You guys were incredible,” you respond, chuckling at the two of them. “Seriously. I think I listened to, um... Queen of Hearts, like, 10 times in a row when I got home.”

“Good eye and a good ear.” Natalie smiles, impressed. “You’re the entire package.”

“She would not shut up about you. Spent half the night after the show zooming in on the picture of her looking right at the camera,” Van reveals through a mouthful.

“I’m pretty sure she made it her lockscreen,” Lottie remarks with a light laugh.

“She did,” Taissa confirms, nodding.

Before anyone can say anything else, the door opens. A girl with glasses and curly blonde hair pops her head in. “Time for soundcheck.”

A mixture of groans and cheers chorus from the band as they all hurry to finish their food and drinks before standing.

The blonde looks at you. “Hi, I’m Misty. I run equipment. You must be the photographer?”

You smile at her and introduce yourself, following the band out the door. Jackie and Taissa settle in on the floor, watching their partners. You stand off to the sound, snapping a few BTS photos, unable to shake the feeling that something is about to change.

The message comes the next day.

You’re half asleep, having just finished the photos from the show and sending them to Ben. The sun is shining through your window and, for a second, you curse the fact that you chose aesthetic over practicality with the curtains.

Your phone buzzes from where it rests on the bed beside you. You blink and grab it, unlocking your phone to view the text.

Ben Yellowjackets

These are amazing! I’m showing them to the band right now.

You smile and type out a quick reply.

You

Thank you! I hope they like them!

It’s not until hours later that it happens. You’re moving through your apartment like a zombie, attempting to throw together a pathetic excuse of a meal for lunch.

Ben Yellowjackets

Hey, Y/N! The band absolutely loves the shots you took last night. They’re wanting to know if you’d like to come on tour as the official photographer. Travel, rooms, and meals will be covered, plus a day rate. Interested?

Your eyes widen and your mouth drops open. You screenshot the message and send it to Olivia.

You

LIV

LIV

SOS

WHAT DO I SAY???

livvy

HOLY SHITTTT

SAY YES?? DUH

You

i dont know

this is crazy

Livvy

if u don’t say yes istg im going to smack u

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and reopen Ben’s message.

You

Absolutely! Just let me know the dates and cities.

You throw your phone on the couch and pace around your apartment, nerves bubbling in your stomach. The words repeat in your head.

On tour. Official photographer.

It's unbelievable. It cannot be real life.

When your phone buzzes again, you practically dive for it.

Ben Yellowjackets

Perfect. I’ll have Misty send over a basic contract and travel info. We’re in St. Louis Monday and Kansas City Tuesday. We’ll fly you out Monday morning so you can shoot that show. That work?

Your breath hitches.

You

Yes, that works!! Thank you so much!!

Ben Yellowjackets

Of course! We’ll handle the flight, hotel, and all that. Just send over your full name, birthday, and ID for the ticket. We’re all really excited to have you joining us!

You send off your details with shaking hands, then drop your phone again and just stare out your balcony window.

Two days ago, you were working with Olivia, selling the band’s merch.

Now you’re going on tour with them.

You barely sleep Sunday night before her flight. You keep waking up thinking you forgot something – memory cards, batteries, your passport (even though you’re not leaving the country).

You land in St. Louis around noon. The flight was short but awful. You hate flying. Ever since you were a kid, you’ve been terrified of the plane crashing.

The moment you step off the plane, you’re hyper aware of everything. The way your sneakers squeak against the airport floor, how sweaty your hand is against your carry-on handle, the weight of your camera bag slung over your shoulder.

You navigate to baggage claim, where Ben and Misty are already waiting.

Misty talks the entire car ride, listing off soundcheck times, load in schedules, and basically the entire tour by city and date. Ben tries to get her to calm down as to not overwhelm you but she always launches into another ramble.

The motel room is nice. Small and dingy, but nice overall.

You barely have time to set your luggage down and collapse back on the bed before a knock sounds on your door.

You sigh and stand, opening it. You’re met with the sight of Natalie. Her hair hangs loose, the blonde framing her face perfectly. She’s wearing a simple grey shirt and jean shorts.

You blink. “Hi.”

“Hey,” she greets. “You’re here.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you wanna grab a coffee before soundcheck?” Natalie asks. “Everyone else is either sleeping or exploring the city.”

You’re surprised at the over but grateful. You’d refused the drink and snack on the plane in fear that you’d throw up and had been running solely on anxiety.

You smile and nod, grateful. “I’d love that.”

So, with Maps leading you to the nearest cafe, the two of you start walking.

Natalie doesn’t say much at first.

She walks beside you, kicking a pebble every now and then or muttering something under her breath about the heat.

The silence makes you antsy, like you should say something but you don’t know what.

It’s the third block when she finally breaks the silence.

“You always this quiet?”

You look over at her, eyes widening. “Sorry, I didn’t–”

“It’s okay,” she interrupts you. “Just noticed you don’t talk very much.”

You don’t know what to say, so you settle on, “Sorry.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Another moment of silence passes by before she breaks it once more.

“How was your flight?”

You groan. “Awful.”

Natalie looks over, eyebrows raising. “Really?”

“I don’t like flying,” you explain. “My brain convinces me that every plane is doomed.”

“You and Shauna have that in common, then,” she replies, the corner of her lips twitching up. “She hates flying.”

You laugh. “Glad to know I’m not alone, then.”

“She makes Jackie hold her hand on every flight,” Natalie tells you. “It’s kinda cute, actually.”

“You don’t get nervous?” you wonder, tilting your head.

She shakes her head. “No. I find flying… peaceful, I guess.”

You shoot her a look. “You’re insane. What about a giant metal tube hurling through the sky is peaceful to you?”

“I don’t know,” Natalie laughs. “I mean, if the plane does crash, the worst that could happen is I die.”

“What if you survive?” you counter. “And you’re stranded in the woods? No food. No water. No shelter. Nothing.”

“I mean, we’d probably be able to find a cave or something,” She shelters. Or make shelters. And there’d probably be a river. And. . . about the food thing, that’s easy. Cannibalism. The others and I have all decided that if we ever get stranded, we’re eating Jackie first.”

You hum. “And how does Jackie feel about that?”

“Oh, she doesn’t know.”

You huff a laugh, the tension in your chest loosening.

Natalie holds the door open for you when you finally reach the cafe. The two of you are immediately greeted by the sound of Taylor Swift playing softly in the background. Your stomach grumbles at the smell of espresso and freshly baked something.

She orders a black coffee and looks back at you. “What do you want?”

You shake your head. “You don-”

“Tour rule,” she cuts you off. “If I invite you, I pay.”

You sigh and order an iced latte with oak milk. Natalie hands over her card while you drop a few dollars into the tip jar.

She leads you over to a booth while you wait for your drinks. “So... what’s your deal?”

“My… deal?” you repeat, confused.

“Yeah. Like, how did you get into photography?”

“Oh, um, it was kind of an accident, really,” you admit, running your finger over the smooth surface of the table. “I just liked taking pictures, capturing moments. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. My mom used to always say I should focus on something stable. And then my high school art teacher told me I had potential and… yeah. I decided this was something I really wanted to do.”

“And now?” she cocks her head. “How does your mom feel?”

You tense and avert your gaze to your hands. “We don’t really talk.”

“Shit,” Natalie frowns. “I’m sorry.”

Her voice softens in a way that makes your chest ache. She doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t offer empty comfort or try to pry.

“It’s okay,” you say. “It is what it is. We just want different things.”

Unfortunately, those differences didn’t only extend to photography.

“Well,” Natalie begins after a moment, “I think you made the right call. You’ve got the eye. The way you catch us onstage… it’s like you see something we don’t.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “That’s kind of the job.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “You’re not just good technically. It’s like… I don’t know. Like you’re looking for something real. You catch the little things. Like the way Van grins at Tai in the wings when she thinks no one’s watching. Or how Lottie closes her eyes when she plays a certain chord. Shit like that.”

You stare at her for a second, stunned. Then the barista calls her name before you can figure out what to say. The two of you stand to grab your drinks.

“We should probably start heading back,” she says, passing you your latte. “Ben’ll lose his shit if we’re not back in time.”

Like the walk there, the walk back to the motel starts in silence.

“So…” you’re the first one to break it. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal,” she breathes out, blowing her bangs out of her face. “God. Uh… bought a shitty guitar in middle school and started teaching myself. Started a band in high school but that didn’t work out. Met the others in college and the rest was pretty much history.”

“So you were all friends?” you question.

“Well, I was friends with Van and Lottie first,” she explains. “Lottie was friends with Jackie, who brought in Shauna. And then Van started dating Tai. And I dated Travis for a bit…”

“You… and Travis?”

You’re not sure why the mention of the two of them creates a strange feeling in your stomach.

“Yeah,” Natalie confirms. “We only dated for, like, a month. Realized we’re better off friends.”

You don’t say anything, too busy trying to make sense of the flicker of whatever you just felt.

Jealousy? That’d be stupid. You barely know her.

“He’s not your type?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Natalie shrugs. “Well… I mean, he’s hot – God, wait. Don’t tell him I said that. His ego’s already unbearable.”

You offer her a small smile. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“It wasn’t that I wasn’t attracted to him. It was just one of those things that made sense until it didn’t…” She sips her coffee. “Anyway, that was a long time ago. He’s like a brother now. Loud, annoying… leaves his shit everywhere.”

You laugh, but that weird little twinge in your chest lingers.

Natalie glances sideways at you. “What about you? What’s your relationship history look like?”

“Um…” you tense.

“Oh, come on,” she urges, gently bumping you with her elbow. “You know about my failed band and ex-boyfriend. I think I deserve at least one tragic backstory from you.”

You hesitate. The truth is embarrassing. You’ve never dated anybody. Never kissed anybody. Never even held hands romantically.

“I mean, I’ve dated some but nothing ever got serious,” you tell her, hoping you sound casual instead of like a liar. “Men kind of suck.”

“Hear, hear,” Natalie agrees, lifting her coffee cup up. “That’s why I mostly stick to girls now.”

You breath hitches. “Oh.”

Natalie pauses, brows furrowing. “Oh?”

Your eyes widen, suddenly aware of how you reaction sounded. “No, I – I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry. I don’t know…”

She lets out a breath. “You’re fine.”

The rest of the walk is silent. But not in the way it was earlier.

The quiet was thick and heavy.

Your brain runs through the conversation on a loop.

I mostly stick to girls now.

And your reaction. That stupid, surprised little oh. Because it wasn’t what she said. It was how she said it.

Simple. Easy. Like breathing.

I mostly stick to girls now.

Natalie exudes confidence. Like she knows exactly who she is and never bothered asking for permission.

You wish you could be like that.

You glance at her as you walk. Your hand itches for your camera as you take her in. The sunlight catches the blonde of her hair just right, casting a glow around her. She looks angelic.

You force yourself to look away.

As soon as the motel comes into view, you feel like you can breathe again. Your escape is so close.

“Thank you, Natalie,” you whisper, coming to a stop in front of your door. “For the coffee.”

“It’s Nat,” she corrects, almost like a reflex. “Nobody calls me Natalie.”

Relief floods your body when she smiles at you. Kindly. Genuinely.

“Nat,” you repeat, testing the name. It feels so natural. “Thank you, Nat.”

“Any time, Camera Girl.”

The nickname catches you off guard. You like the way it sounds coming from her. Like it's just hers. From how close the two of you are standing, you can see her eyes. They’re green. Probably the prettiest shade of green you’ve ever seen.

“We’ll probably head to the venue in about an hour,” she tells you, stepping bak. “Ben likes to get there early just in case something goes wrong.”

“Got it,” you nod, turning. You fish out the key Ben had given you and unlock your door. “Thanks, Nat.”

Natalie hums and turns, sipping what’s left of her coffee as she walks away. You enter your room and shut the door behind you, setting your coffee on the stand by the door before flopping down on your bed.

You’re in trouble.

You close your eyes, trying to force your heartbeat to slow. There’s no room for a crush. You’re here to work.

And Natalie is just being nice.

You end up fitting in surprisingly well with the band.

The days pass by in a blur of long drives, soundchecks, shows, late night dinners at 24 hour diners or gas stations, and more driving.

You’ve gotten close with everybody.

Ben is like the father you never really had. He always makes sure you’ve eaten and had enough sleep, He reminds you to take breaks even when you swear you’re fine.

Misty talks constantly. Half the time you don’t know whether to laugh or be concerned, You’ve grown quite font of her endless supply of bizarre facts and conspiracy theories. She’s weird, sure, but she means well.

Van can make you laugh until you can’t breathe. She has no filter and zero shame, and you love that about her.

Travis has become the brother you never wanted, making you glad for the first time in your life that you’re an only child. He constantly steals your snacks, flips you off in photos, calls you nicknames that makes no sense, and complains about your music taste. But he’s also the first one to carry your bag when you look tired. You never knew you could love and hate a person so much.

Lottie helps you with your outfits before shows. She’s soft-spoken and graceful, with a surprisingly sharp eye for fashion.

Paired with Lottie, Jackie has become like your personal makeup artist. She’ll make you feel so confident about the most random things. “Your eyelashes are so long. It’s not fair.”

Shauna is observant. She’ll randomly hand you a snack or wordlessly fix the strap of your camera.

Taissa has become the first person you go to when you have a problem. She’s level headed and grounded and always tells you what you need to hear.

You’ve found a rhythm with all of them.

But Nat is your constant.

She calls you Camera Girl more often than your actual name. She always sit next to you on the bus. She shares her earbuds with you – the wired kind, because she refuses to get AirPods because she always loses them. The two of you have created a perfectly blended playlist.

The room sharing started out of necessity. One too few rooms in Des Moines had led to a shrug from Natalie and a casual, “You cool with bunking up?”

So now if there aren't enough rooms, you two share without hesitation. She’ll strip down to a sports bra and boxers and flop down on the bed. She’ll watch you unpack your equipment like structure exists on the road. But she never judges.

If she’s not working on a song, she’s watching you edit the pictures you took of the previous show.

You’ve started noticing the little things. How a small pout forms on her lips when she’s concentrated. How she smells like motel shampoo, peppermint, and cigarettes.

How her fingers graze yours for a second too long when she passes you something. How her hand finds your lower back when you’re confused and she’s guiding you. How she always makes sure to blow the smoke away from you if she’s smoking near you.

But you know it doesn’t mean anything.

Natalie is a natural flirt. And she’s your friend. Your best friend here. That’s it.

But recently, she’s started pulling away. She’s become less Nat and more Natalie. You try not to pry. You know that being on tour can sometimes be overwhelming. But you hate how hollow everything feels now.

You guys are in Denver. The two of you are sitting outside the motel. Your camera is set on your lap as you scroll through the pictures you took tonight. She’s smoking beside you, turning her head away every time she exhales.

The air feels thinner between you guys. She hasn’t said a word since the set ended, or said much all day in general. It wasn’t strange at first. Sometimes Nat has days where she doesn’t want to talk much. Everyone does. But now it is because the air feels thin.

“Hey,” you softly call out, looking up at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she answers too quickly, flicking ash onto the sidewalk. “Just tired.”

She’s been tired for the past three cities.

You hesitate for a second before you ask, “Did I do something?”

Natalie turns toward you, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You’ve been different lately,” you tell her, busying yourself with your camera once more. “And… if I did something wrong, I just wanna know.”

She stared at you for a moment before she sighs and stubs out the cigarette. “You didn’t do anything.”

She doesn’t say anything else.

“Okay…” you say, not believing her but not wanting to push as you refocus on your pictures.

You pause on one of Lottie, fingers resting on the keys, head thrown back, completely immersed in the music.

Your camera is snatched out of your hands.

“Hey-”

Natalie is standing now, scrolling through the images. “You know, you’re always hide behind this thing, taking pictures of us. You never let us get pictures of you.”

“Well, I’m not the subject,” your retort, rising from the ground to try and grab it back. She steps away from you. “Nat! Give it back.”

You gasp at the way she keeps it out of your reach.

“Be careful, please–”

“Just let me take one picture of you and I’ll give it back.”

You groan. “Fine!”

“Smile!” she cockily sings, lifting the device up to her eye. You glare at her, not caring how childish you look as she snaps the photo.

“Okay, now give it–”

“You’re so beautiful.”

Your breath hitches and you stare at her for a moment. She lowers the camera and hands it over to you. You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water, trying to figure out what to say.

But her lips are on yours before you even get a chance to.

You freeze at first, brain struggling to catch up to the fact that this is happening. Natalie’s hands cup your cheeks. But by the time you come to your senses, she’s pulling back.

“Shit-”

You grip her shirt and pull her back in. You’re sure she can tell that you don’t know what you’re doing. But she still backs you up until you hit the motel door, barely pulling away to fish the key out.

Natalie opens the door and pushes you in, kicking it closed behind her. She guides you to the bed, pulling you on her lap. Her lips are moving much more feverishly. Your head is spinning with a million different thoughts.

She bites down on your bottom lip, making you gasp. She uses the moment to slip her tongue into your mouth as her hands roam your body, sliding up under your shirt.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” she mumbles, kisses trailing down your jaw and neck.

Although the sensations are new and overwhelming, the very last thing you want is for her to stop. “Please don’t.”

“Good girl,” Natalie mutters, tugging at your shirt.

You let out a shaky breath at the praise and instinctively lift your arms to allow her to pull off your top. The motel room is dark and you can’t see her that well but you can feel her eyes raking over you.

“Fuck,” she breathes out.

Before you even get a chance to do anything, she’s flipping you over. She hovers over you, lips moving down your chest. One hand pulls the cup of your bra down, exposing you to her.

She swipes her thumb over your nipple, it hardening under her touch. You suck in a breath when she leans down, tongue circling it. Her other hand frees your other breast and she kneads it.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Natalie whispers, pressing a kiss to your other nipple.

Against your better judgement, a whimper slips past your lips at the praise.

Her hands slide down your body as she takes it in her mouth. Her touch causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. Natalie’s fingers pause at the waistband of your jeans.

Natalie pulls away, making you whine at the loss of her touch. “Can I?”

You swallow thickly and nod, “Please.”

Her fingers unbutton your pants with ease. “Lift your hips for me,” she instructs. Without a second thought, you do what she asks, allowing her to pull them down. “Good girl.”

You try to control your breathing as she reaches down, touching you over your panties, feeling the damp spot. Your breath hitches and you tense under her touch.

“You okay?” she asks.

“I’m okay,” you confirm, too embarrassed to meet her eyes. You’re grateful for the lack of light in the room. “It’s… been a while.”

Natalie hums. “I can tell…”

Her hand slides underneath the fabric. You jolt when her skin brushes your heat. Her fingers slide through her folds, collecting your slick.

“I can tell,” she remarks. “You’re so fucking wet already.”

You can feel the rough calluses on her fingertips from her guitar as she touches you, finding your clit. She circles it with a certain expertise that makes you bit down on your lip, trying to not make too much noise.

“Let it out,” Natalie urges. “I wanna hear you.”

You have no choice but to do what she says. You let out a soft, shaky sound as your hands grip the comforter beneath you. Everything feels like too much.

“Yeah, just like that. You’re doing so good for me.”

Her fingers move lower, teasing your entrance. You hips arch against her, pressing into her hand. Without any warning, she slides her fingers inside.

You wince and grab her arm on instinct, the sudden stretch sharp and uncomfortable as your thighs clench around her wrist.

“Jesus,” she hisses, half to herself. “You’re tight.”

Your cheeks burn. If Natalie couldn’t already tell you were a virgin, she must suspect now. Her hand stills, giving your body time to adjust.

The sting slowly gives way into pleasure. Natalie starts moving her fingers, slow at first, then faster. You whine, your hips chasing the friction when her palm brushes your clit.

Her mouth returns to your breast, tongue flicking over your nipple in tandem with her fingers. The combination makes you groan.

The pressure builds fast in your lower stomach. You try to hold back, unsure if it’s supposed to feel this intense, but Natalie doesn’t let up.

“You gonna cum for me?” she asks almost teasingly. “C’mon, I wanna hear your pretty sounds.”

The pressure snaps.

A sound you didn’t know you could make forces its way out of you, your vision blurring and muscles tensing as pleasure floods through you.

Natalie slows, helping you through it. The teasing edge to her voice is gone when she speaks, “That’s it. Good girl. Fuck, look at you.”

You shove your face into the bed, chest heaving as the feeling fades. Humiliation replaces it. That was fast and, God, you were loud.

“Hey,” Natalie gently calls out, easing her fingers out of you. “You okay?”

You nod, unable to speak yet.

She leans down, lips brushing over your jaw. “You were perfect, Camera Girl.”

You’re unsure of what happens now. Or what this means. But when she lies down and pulls you closer to her, you melt into her and allow yourself to believe that it could mean something real.

Unfortunately, when you wake up in the morning to find the bed empty, you’re proven wrong.

[hana-no-seiiki]

hhh dddne for abuse and workplace harassment but yandere! employee who works his damn hardest to support his family. working 9-5 just to get a sliver of what his dear momma needs to survive or his poppa to get the healthcare he needs.

yandere! employee who regularly gets abused by his coworkers and manager due to his cute looks. so soft and demure. so easily bullyable.

then you came in, the business owner. at first he was afraid. the higher the ladder people were the harsher the harassment became. he shudders at the memory of being water boarded purely cause his hair looked better than his manager that day.

…but you weren’t like the others.

You didn’t scream.

Didn’t sneer.

Didn’t throw your coffee in his face just because he accidentally left it one degree too hot.

You just looked at him—really looked at him. Not at his trembling hands or the split lip he tried to hide behind a medical mask. Not at the too-pretty eyelashes that made his coworkers foam at the mouth with jealousy. No, you looked at him. The way his voice shook when he greeted you. The bruises he pretended were from clumsiness. The way he’d flinch every time you so much as raised an eyebrow.

You saw it all. And worse—you noticed.

The first time you called out his manager for yelling at him in the hallway, he thought he was going to faint. The second time you had HR “investigate,” his heart stopped. And the third time, when you pulled him aside to ask if he was okay…

Something inside him snapped.

No one had ever asked him that before. No one had cared.

He’d always held it together. Bitten his tongue until it bled. Kept his head down. But now?

Now he had you.

Yandere!employee who doesn’t just fall in love—he spirals.

Quietly. Obsessively. Gratefully.

You’re not just his boss.

You’re his savior.

The light in his bleak, 9-to-5 hell.

And he’s going to make sure no one ever hurts you the way he was hurt.

That barista who smiled a little too long at you during your lunch break? Gone.

That temp worker who flirted casually while filing papers in your office? Fired, anonymously.

That client who made you uncomfortable in a meeting? Let’s just say they’ve… withdrawn their contract.

Yandere!employee who stays late every night just to tidy your workspace.

Who memorizes your schedule, your lunch orders, your allergies.

Who takes the elevator at exactly 6:02 just to “coincidentally” ride it down with you.

Who sews tiny good luck charms into your coat pocket when no one’s looking.

He works hard. He always works hard.

Oh.

Oh, you noticed.

That trembling in his knees when you leaned just a little too close.

The way his breath hitched when you snapped at him for spilling your coffee.

The flushed ears, the bitten lips, the way he moaned—yes, moaned—so quietly you almost missed it, when you grabbed his jaw and told him to look at you when you’re being corrected.

At first, it was suspicion. Curiosity. Then you started testing.

Just a touch crueler. Just a little sharper. You’d “accidentally” push the pile of reports off his desk and make him pick them up on his knees. You’d assign him impossible tasks with tight deadlines, just to watch him pant and scramble to meet your expectations. You once made him redo a project six times—not because it was wrong, but because his face when you told him “not good enough” was so precious.

And he never complained. Not once.

He thanked you.

“Th-thank you, boss. I-I’ll do better next time… I swear…”

His coworkers thought you were just another tyrant. That he was just another soft little wage slave who didn’t know how to stand up for himself.

But you knew better.

Because one night, when you had him alone in the boardroom—just the two of you, lights low, door locked—you grabbed his face, forced him to look at you, and said:

“You like it when I’m cruel to you, don’t you?”

And he shivered. His eyes welled up. His breath stuttered.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes—please… don’t stop.”

“Then beg for it. Pray for my cruelty.”

That was when the real game began.

Sadist!boss!you who now makes your yandere employee earn every word of praise. Who drags him into your office, slams the file cabinet, and demands answers he already gave—just to watch him squirm. You make him beg for your approval. For affection. For punishment.

Yandere!employee who lives for it. Who whimpers when you raise your voice and gets hard when you scold him. Who bites back sobs just to feel your disappointed gaze on him. Who worships the ground you walk on, even when you make him clean it with a toothbrush.

Who would burn the world down for you with bloody, blistered hands and thank you for the privilege.

And when the lights go out, when the office is empty and only the two of you remain—when your heel presses against his back and your voice drips like poison into his ear…

“You’re mine, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t hesitate. He never hesitates.

“Yes, Boss. Only yours. Always yours. Please—break me however you want.”

Because this isn’t abuse.

This is love—his twisted, perfect, all-consuming brand of it.

And in your hands, he’s never felt more alive.

[john-get-the-salt]

Paper-Cuts & Sprains (w/Michael Robby Robinavitch)

Imagine: The first time you have to bring your daughter in to the ED for medical care

Contains: Dad!Robby cause he would be the best dad ever. References to reader being a mom

Warnings: None. Not proof read yet so excuse any typos/errors

Usually when you were entering Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center, it was because you were visiting your husband Robby and/or one of his co-workers.

Normally it wasn’t because you actually needed medical care, but that wasn’t the case today. Well-not entirely.

“It’s ok sweetheart,” you smoothed down your daughter’s hair as you carried her into the ED. Her arms were locked around your neck, tear tracks staining the face she kept buried in your neck.

You didn’t have to wait in line long, as soon as Lupe saw you she waved you back and unlocked the doors. You thanked her and walked the familiar route to the main nurses station.

You didn’t realize how tense you were until you spotted that familiar head of blonde hair. Your chest deflated as you took the first real breath since the accident. Dana was mid sentence to one of the residents when she turned and met your eyes. She stopped talking and jogged over.

“Hey-what‘s wrong? You look pale as death. What happened?”

You adjusted your daughter in your arms, causing her to whimper.

“We were at soccer practice and she twisted her ankle. I know she’s gonna be fine she’s just in a lot of pain and I know how important it is to get it set right and Robby is always saying-“

“Slow down, my love” Dana interrupted, not unkindly. You knew you were rambling, tears that you wouldn’t-couldn’t let fall pricking at the corners of your eyes. It had been so scary seeing her collapse on the field with a scream of pain.

“Have you told Robby?”

“No, I just drove us right over.”

“You did the right thing. How about you guys go make yourself at home in room 6 and I’ll go find your daddy yeah?”

Your daughter nodded, still unwilling to move away from you.

You thanked Dana and walked into room 6. You sat down on one of the seats and maneuvered your daughter so she was sitting on your lap. You gently brushed her cheeks with your thumb.

“How does it feel baby? Still hurting?”

She nodded, bottom lip sticking out.

“I’m sorry baby, daddy will come help you feel better okay?”

“Do you think I’ll get a sticker when we leave?”

“Have I ever let you leave here without one?”

Both you and your daughter looked up at the sound of Robby’s voice. He was standing in the doorway, looking as handsome and tired and loving as always.

“Daddy!” Your daughter cried and reached her arms out.

“Come here pumpkin,” he swooped her up, rocking her back and forth in his arms. She didn’t hesitate to burrow herself into her father like she did with you. You took that moment to wipe at your eyes and will the rest of the tears away for now.

Robby sat himself down beside you, grabbing one of your hands with his.

“What happened at soccer practice?”

“I tripped and hurt my foot.”

Robby glanced at you, knowing you could provide the detail he needed.

“They were playing a practice game and she was running to make a goal. There was a hole in the ground and she fell and twisted her ankle. It swelled up pretty quick and I drove her right over.”

“A goal? Were you gonna make it?”

“Of course I was daddy.” She moved her head away to give him a duh look. “I’m the fastest player on the team.”

You fought a grin. The amount of sass that the 6 year old contained never failed to amaze you.

“Well I’m sorry you didn’t make it. Does it still hurt?”

She nodded, sticking that big lip out again. Paired with her big watery eyes, you were certain in that moment Robby would give her anything in the entire world she asked for.

“I’m going to have to take a look at it, ok? Daddy will be really gentle, I promise.”

She nodded, reaching her hand out to you. “Mommy will you hold my hand?”

“Of course sweetheart. Whatever you needed.” You wrapped your hand around her much littler one and held on tight.

Robby did a full exam, ending with her foot. You diligently held onto her hand the entire time, wincing every time she cried out or moaned that it hurt. It hurt Robby as much as it hurt her, you could tell.

Once finished, Robby gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“You did great sweetheart. We’ll take some pictures of it just to be safe, but I think it’s just sprained. I’m gonna take you to Dana and she’s going to take you up herself to get the pictures while I talk to mommy okay?”

She nodded again. After from her parents, Dana was her most trusted adult. She babysat often when you and Robby needed a break.

You gave her kisses on both cheeks and promised to be right here waiting for her to come back. She said her goodbye and then Robby whisked her away. Once the door shut and you were left alone in the room you began to cry. The tears were a mix of relief and worry and a general feeling of being overwhelmed.

You sat crying quietly for a few minutes until the door opened again and Robby returned.

“She’s with Dana, who has already promised all the lollipops- honey?”

You looked up at him, sniffly, and your husband’s face softened.

“Oh baby.” He squatted down in front of you, taking your hands in his.

“It’s okay, I got you.”

“I was so scared,” you felt it necessary to explain why you were so emotional. “She just dropped like a bag of bricks and started screaming. I wasn’t sure if she hit her head or-or-“

“Shhhh,” he pressed his lips to your head, smoothing down your hair not unlike you did to your daughter to calm her down.

“You did so good, baby. You took good care of her and she’s going to be okay. She’s lucky to have a mom who loves her as much as you do.”

“She’s lucky to have you as a dad.”

“She’s lucky to have both of us,” Robby concluded, pulling far enough way to make you look at him. “And we’re so lucky to have her. When I left she was telling Dana all about the idiots in her class who didn’t know what Tylenol was.”

You choked back a laugh. Your daughter was already so smart and so interested in anything medical. She’d also already declared she wanted to be a Doctor just like her daddy when she grew up.

“I’m ok now, really. It just freaked me out.”

“There’s no need to explain yourself to me, sweetheart. Remember when she got her first paper cut and I cried like a baby?”

This time you let the laugh out fully. You would never forget the day when your daughter caught her finger on a piece of paper just right and a single bead of blood rose to the surface. Robby nearly lost it at the sight.

“We’re a bit sensitive when it comes to her,” you agreed.

“But just think of how sensitive and kind and thoughtful she’s turning out to be. We’re doing a damn good job.”

You smiled, admiring the love in Robby’s eyes. “We are.” You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. He tucked some of your hair behind your ear as his lips moved seamlessly against yours.

You pulled apart after a few moments and his eyes were crinkled happily.

“I love you.”

“I love you too sweetheart. And I love our little family, through all the paper cuts and sprains.”

“You say that now, but wait until she starts high school and wants to do cheerleading or volleyball.”

Robby groaned. “Don’t remind me that our little girl won’t be little forever.”

“Don’t worry, she’ll always be a daddy’s girl.”

“And you’ll always be my girl.”

“You cheese ball,” you teased while your cheeks flushed. No matter how much time passed, Robby could still always make you swoon.

“Come on,” Robby kissed your cheek and helped you stand. “The crew will want to see you before you take off again. Especially Cassie, I think she really needs a mom’s night off.”

“Say less, whatever that woman needs she gets. Lead the way.”

He laughed, leading you out of the room. “Have i told you today how much I love you?”

“Yes, but it never hurts to tell me a million more times.”

“Well I love you.”

“Love you too, Doctor.”

[delulupots]

pairing: idol!megan x badminton player!reader

genre: fluff, mutual pining but reader is also blind, childhood friends, our sweet sweet megs

wc: 1,589

a/n: guys im just new to this tumblr stuff so pls bear with me💔 i dont know how to use it as of now so its not so well written. tysm for this ask anon, t'was so fun to write this since im currently signing up to become a badminton player !!

The crowd was loud, buzzing with words you can barely understand from the adrenaline rushing through your body. You can't help but bounce your leg despite being a famous badminton player, fear crowds your mind, this was one of your biggest games to be held in your life. Your screen lights up in your hand with the name "Mei🍒" and suddenly a smile was on your face, written with excitement.

Mei🍒

goodluck out there, y/n:)

y/n

thank u, mei mei<3

i'll win this for u;)

Your turn was nearing, yet no sight of the kats. Sighing, pushing away the thoughts and whispering "Maybe they're still on their way?" Even though they had practice today, they excused themselves to watch you, showing their support all the way. The girls were always like this, you felt as if you were a part of them, they always remembered how important your games were and went to a few of your games.

As of this moment, you needed to see Megan, you needed to see her dimpled cheeks when she smiled at you, her screams that seemed to silence the cheers around you, and her eyes that were always focused on you with adoration and hope.

Both of you met even before Katseye, you were training in the same building as her dance studio. Each day, you passed by her just by the bathroom door. Her hair flowing, swear trickling down her temple, the huffs she let out on her way out the bathroom in a new set of clothes rather than the ones you saw her walk in with.

Badminton practice ended, you packed your shuttlecocks and racket inside where it was supposed to be, you rushed to the bathroom—eager to see her. Your heart pounded to the thought of seeing her for another day. Not even aware of your own feelings, you didn't even know why you were running.

The door clicked and a familiar figure stepped out the door. Her eyes are locked on you for a second, startled by the sudden appearance. You step to the side, giving her a way. But seeing her wasn't enough—not today. For a second you hesitated, scared to say a word, but you felt bold and as if you weren't so desperate you chased after her and stopped her from her tracks.

"hey. what's your name?" Your hands wrapped around her wrist quickly lets go, afraid of scaring her off. Looking down to the floor from embarrassment, head perking up to the sound of her voice. "my name's megan" A pair of eyes locked into yours, it was hers. This was the day you thought everything about her was perfect. "my name's y/n.." You held out your shaking hand, she took it and smiled, a dip on her upper cheek shows.

From then on, you'd walk with her to the parking lot and wave. The friendship soon turned into something more, eventually leading up to you realizing your feelings for her the day she won in Dream Academy. You were always proud of her and talked to her during the times she felt like the practice was draining her, sometimes bringing her food at their dorm and listening to her worries. She showed the same support, congratulating you for your success in badminton and gave the same comfort you offered her throughout the years.

Today was the day you were competing for your country, representing not only you, but also the pride and love you have for the sport. A voice called your name out "y/n. you're up." Grabbing your bag of rackets, you stride out to the court and hear the endless cheers. As if an archaeologist seeking out a treasure, you look for the kats in the crowd, disappointed in no sight of the girls.

You took a deep breath, letting out the chills that may consume you. It was your serve for the first round, your other leg stepped back and leaned in a little, holding up both your racket and the shuttle. With a flick of your wrist, the shuttle shot up and hit the net. You huffed, encouraging yourself that it was just one mistake. The next serve was your opponent's, flawless. You stepped forward flicking it back to her, but goes back to your side of the court and lands to the floor. You were now on 0-2, but still held on to the hope that you'll crush her for the next turn.

You stepped the side trying saving another serve from your opponent but quickly lands to the ground, this keeps up until your opponent was almost halfway through 21. You see 6 familiar figures cheering your name and one of them with a whiskered dimple shouting your name the loudest. It was Megan. Eyes lighting with hope, you waved to her and gave your biggest smile.

And yet another serve from the other side of the court, you caught it, going back to you and smashing the shuttle to the floor of her side. You served this time, your opponent saving it. You save it, she smashes it but lands out the line, another point. You service ace through the game and eventually reaching 19-18.

You land a net serve, earning the latter another point. Once she serves, you save the shuttle and it goes back and forth, eventually landing on her court. One more point until you win, your mind traces to Megan. She's always been your bias, you always watched her at Katseye's performances. Maybe she was completely blinded by the fact that you both were friends and never saw the way you looked at her with hearts basically lighting up in your eyes.

Letting out a nervous sigh, flicking your wrist for the last time for your serve. In the middle of the game, just as your luck was at best; your racket breaks, the strings can be heard popping as the shuttle gets hit by the strings. The crowd lets out and "oh" in shock and you chuckle to yourself in embarrassment, yet you choose to play until you get the final point. The shuttle still going through you and your opponent you smash hit the shuttle and it lands on the other side of the court.

Cheers were heard all around and you stepped forward to offer a handshake to your opponent, thanking them for the great game to which they reciprocate. You wave once again to the girls, shouting a thank you to the crowd after receiving your trophy. Walking back inside and celebrating your victory before showerint and changing to a new set of clothes. A hum erupts from your lips, singing a melody from Katseye's new song without knowing a Megan was freaking out near your door

"what do i even say? i only brought myself!" Megan shouts in a whisper, her hands playing with the hem of her jacket in hopes that it would provide a bit of support to calm her down. "megs, calm down. i'm pretty sure y/n wouldn't mind if you had brought nothing. her eyes already light up when she sees you" Lara lets out, begging to differ from poor Megan's fears.

Your ears perk up to the sound of three knocks. And to your surprise, the girls were there, offering their congratulations to you and each of them giving you a big hug. You let all of them in, sitting down with you and making the whole room kick out every silence it once had.

"megan couldn't take her eyes off you"

"her non existent tail was wagging"

"she could melt a hole through you with her staring you down the whole game"

The girls laughed at their own statement. Meanwhile one girl was sitting silently, hiding under her cap as if it could cover the way her face was practically heating up from every word she had heard about herself.

"we're getting food, megan can stay here and accompany you for awhile, anything you guys want?" Sophia asks. "i'll have whatever you guys think i'd like" you answer confidently, excited for what good they would bring for you. "i'll have whatever y/n's having" The latter beside you mentions. Five of them chat their way out the door leaving you and Megan alone.

"you did great, y/n" Megan finally breaks the silence inside lingering in the room. You thank her, offering a hug. You pull back and look at her eyes, she looks at you with fear, curiosity, and want.

"y/n, i like you" she blurts out.

You look at her, finding something, trying to look for whether this is another one of her flirty jokes, but she looks vulnerable whilst her hands shakes in yours. "i've always seen you during badminton practice before. i thought i would never have a chance to talk to you , not until you approached me. i would sometimes stay a little longer to watch you.. you were always set on your goal and hardworking, i admired you for that. i'm sorry i'm confessing to you only in this setting, i just wanted to tell you how i felt. you were taking up my mind everyday and there wasn't a day where i didn't long to see you." She confesses with her head down.

You cup her cheeks and place a kiss on her lips, it feels surreal, like something you both have been aching to do. You pull back and smile from ear to ear.

"i like you too, mei"

[versevibess]

pink lemonade˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Pairing: dofp!Logan X Innocent!virgin!Reader

I refuse for the Logan hype to die!

Summary: you were captured young and imprisoned for years, leaving you clueless to the regular sequence of events that would occur during the transition into adulthood. that was until you touched his hand and felt the way he thought about you.

Disclaimers: MINORS DNI 18+, SMUT, reader is afab, reader has hair, reader is mutant, age gap but reader is of age, pure filth, mentions of previous imprisonment, nicknames used (sugar, sweetheart, baby), no use of y/n, reader has empathy mutation (can feel and manipulate other emotions), female masturbation, female receiving, overstimulationnnn, praise kink, dirty talk, reader is a virgin, logan is hot as fuck, male masturbation, smidge of aftercare, borderline black out but not quite x

This shit IS NOT PROOF READ IM SORRY

It all started with a grazing of fingertips.

Featherlight, followed by an equally airy gasp that fell from your lips.

The chilled glass of lemonade could have fallen and shattered along the kitchen tiles if those large calloused hands hadn’t caught it.

You didn’t know whether to thank him, whether to apologise for your clumsiness or whether to simply burst into tears over the inability to complete a simple task: pass Logan the lemonade.

He said nothing as your wide eyes gazed up at him, the condensated glass meeting his lips as he began to gulp down the sugary light pink liquid. You almost could have giggled; watching a man, so tough and scary drink his glass of chilled pink lemonade on the hot summers day.

Yet there was nothing funny at all about what you just felt.

His eyes remained locked on yours the entire time, until the lemonade had slipped entirely from the glass and into his throat; the muscles of his neck flickering and shifting beneath taught, stubble coated skin with every sharp gulp.

The emotion still pricked your fingertips. Lust, longing. Something you hadn’t experienced yourself in a while, if not forever.

But it was his emotion, not yours. Not just arousal and heat, something rugged, dark, searing around the edges. It made you curious, made you think. You wanted to know more - yet you couldn’t just ask.

You wondered what had changed, since you had been imprisoned for all of those years. You hadn’t picked up the same habit of reading those fluffy smutty books that you secretly relished in before you were captivated. Yet what Logan felt was different, it wasn’t that same fluttery feeling that you experienced when lost in those explicit pages, no. This was a need, a primal instinct, one that pulsed deep within his skin. One that pulsed deep, when he was looking at you.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You found yourself often winding up in the same room as Logan.

You also found yourself making the pink lemonade more often.

He liked it, always asked for a glass. You always gave him one and secretly hoped your fingers would brush again when you passed it to him.

He hardly spoke a word to you, simply mumbled the request for a glass once he stumbled upon you mixing the jug in the kitchen. He avoided eye contact, tapped his fingers impatiently along the granite kitchen countertop as you slowly stirred the light pink drink before pouring, careful not to waste a single drop.

Until one day, he decided to ask, “why’d you always make this?”

The simple question made your stomach drop, the usual swirl of anxiety which coiled in your chest multiplying rapidly as you looked back at him like a stunned deer.

Did you tell him the truth? Did you tell him that it was to lure him in because you secretly hoped that you would get to feel his emotion once more? That you had never experienced a feeling such as his own before. A deep, pulsing need. One that had never been satisfied.

You shrugged, your glossy silken hair slipping over one shoulder at the movement. Your eyes attempted to focus on anything other than the mountain of golden muscle and tight grey cotton that stood on the other side of the counter.

“It’s a nice summer drink.” You replied simply, plush lips forming a firm line as you swallowed dryly.

You dared to flicker your eyes up at him, watching as his large hand clamped around the full glass. His brows furrowed as if he was thinking, before he brought the drink to his lips and began to gulp as if he had spent days without fluid. Once he settled the half empty glass back on the counter before you, he wiped his glistening lips with the back of his hand.

“Full of sugar, y’know.” He grunted, as if you hadn’t spent the last few days making it from scratch.

Your head tilted slightly to one side, your stomach flipping as you used the sleeve of your pale pink sweater to wipe away a splash of water on the counter top. “You don’t like sweet things?” You asked, your voice wafting like silk through the air.

He didn’t answer, yet an almost unrecognisable smirk tugged along his perfect lips. Eyes trailed on you, he threw back the rest of the lemonade, his lips wet, delicious looking. Almost good enough to lick clean.

“Darlin’, I love sweet things.” Was all he replied with, settling the glass down on the counter before turning and walking out of the kitchen.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

It was later this day, a few hours after dinner. The sun had set outside, the sky now a deep navy blue and littered with stars.

You still wanted a glass of lemonade even though it was getting late. And so did Logan.

Soon after you walked into the kitchen, pink silk pyjamas shifting along your soft skin like water, he followed. He actually waited, perched on the edge of the desk chair in his bedroom for the scent of strawberries and something sweet to pass by. He knew it was you, always knew it was you, and although he knew that should have been his queue to step back, walk away, he just couldn’t.

He couldn’t resist it. Ever since you had been brought to the school after being saved by Storm and Jean; ever since he got over the second hand grief he held for you over being taken away for so long and at so young, there had been nothing but need; dark, unrelenting desire and infatuation.

He had tried seeking out satisfaction in others, more like his self; damaged, experienced, older. Yet they didn’t tick all of the boxes like you did. He was convinced nobody could do it like you did.

Yet he didn’t know that you secretly liked it; secretly spent each night awake, hot and bothered, thinking about that one time you got to look at yourself through his eyes. And that you hoped that one day you got to experience it again.

The kitchen was quiet, the faint hum of electrical appliances cutting through the air as you shifted towards the fridge, reaching inside for the lemonade. Not long after you had retrieved yourself a glass, he appeared, just as you had hoped. Sleepy yet alert, shirtless yet clothed just enough to leave something to the imagination.

You didn’t want to imagine it though, you wanted to feel it. Wanted to feel every darkened emotion that soared through his body when he looked at you, when he thought of you. It felt dirty, like an invasion of privacy - but selfishly you didn’t care. Nobody had ever made you feel like Logan had, excited, nervous, heated. All without saying a single word.

He wordlessly dragged his feet to the opposite side of the counter, and you reached up into the cupboard to retrieve a second glass without him having to break his silence.

You poured the lemonade, pink fizzy liquid bubbling quickly over the rim of the tall glass. A finger mindlessly dragged up the side and cleaned up the accidental spill, slowly bringing the sugary sweetness you had over poured to your lips where you sucked it off gently.

Logan could have shattered the counter with the grip he held on its lip, knuckles fading to white as the stone held strong beneath his pressure. One taste, that was all he came to the kitchen for.

You slid the glass toward him, a wedge of lemon bobbing in the lemonade.

“You’re never up this late.” He observed, his voice hoarse, strained. Like it wasn’t the only thing he wanted to say.

You shrugged, lip pouting as your fingernails tapped along the chilled glass. “I only got up for some lemonade.” You replied, offering a small, sweet, half smile.

A beat of silence passed, and you couldn’t help that it was filled with fizzling, sparkling tension. Something that couldn’t only be emitted from just one person.

“What’s your mutation again?” The question caught you by surprise, the air escaping your lungs in a harsh breath which you quickly disguised with a gulp of your drink.

He knew exactly what your mutation was, unless he was entirely conked out of every briefing he had attended since you arrived here. The question confused you, yet you answered as if you were oblivious, as if it was your first time meeting him.

“Pathokenisis.” You answered quietly, swirling a nail around the many colours embedded in the granite counter. “When I touch people, I feel what they feel and if I try hard enough… I can change what they’re feeling.”

“You ever felt what I’m feeling?” The question was quick and sharp, as if he almost knew.

The breath caught in your throat, your shaky nimble fingers wrapping around your cold glass once more. You shook your head, quickly. Almost too quickly. “No, I have to touch.” You wanted to touch.

His eyebrows raised in a heart beat, pushing himself away from the counter with one hand as he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Good.” Was all he mumbled, before walking out of the room.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You hadn’t gone to the kitchen this night, nor had you gone the last.

Your infatuation had become unbearable, to the point where you could physically feel the heat searing away at your skin every time you thought about that single gentle touch.

He was dangerous, didn’t seem to care whether you lived or died, hardly spoke. But it just made it all the more intriguing, made you want to chip away at the hard stone walls around whatever it was he was hiding.

Every briefing and meeting of the day was braced with tension filled glances, as if you both knew, yet didn’t dare to act on it. There was something there, between the two of you. You just didn’t know how to word such a thing - how do you tell a man, with iron built bars around the confines of his mind, that you felt exactly what he was feeling. Exactly what he was feeling, when it came to you.

You were too shy. He was too closed off. You were convinced that the constant rush of back and forth thoughts would never surpass; that you would need to live this way, in the same house as a man you were so desperate to touch, forever.

That was until, he knocked on your door one night, after hardly seeing you around the school.

Once the lessons and the training sessions were completed for the day, you often scurried back to the safety net of your bedroom. Where you could be left alone with nothing but your thoughts, memories and your fingers.

The memory was growing distant; you hadn’t touched him in so long that the feeling you remembered had be clouded with a haze. Yet the feeling was so intense, so unforgettable that you managed to use it as a way to suppress the constant ache; the constant need for more.

Once all the lights in the school had dimmed and the last door in the hall clicked closed softly, your shaky hand slipped beneath the sheets, through the waistband of your soft cotton underwear.

You knew you shouldn’t be doing it; more importantly, you knew it would never amount to the actual thing. Yet it was something, anything, to suppress that thick, heavy curiosity which often lingered in your gut.

Usually, at this time, you would have snuck into the kitchen quietly for a glass of pink lemonade; with the hopes that he would follow.

But not tonight. Or last night. Or the night before that.

Instead breathy moans left your lips, quiet whimpers of his name rolling from your tongue as two fingers darted back and forth on your clit. Once you grew close enough, your mind would drift. And as that coil inside of you tightened impossibly more, you’d think about his face, his skin, those thick muscled thighs beneath tight denim and his large manly hands.

It wasn’t just the feeling, or the thoughts he had of you. It was him. The way he looked, the way he spoke; the way his eyes dragged over you and the way his pink tongue would peak out from his lips to wet them as he did so.

But as quickly as you worked your way to your orgasm, your hand shot up from beneath the covers; three sharp knocks against your bedroom door breaking you that inch further away from the pleasure you so desperately seeked.

You wiped your slick coated fingers on the white bedsheets beside you, a quick fix so that you didn’t have to answer the door covered in your own arousal. Trembling hands pushed the unruly hair from your face as you inhaled a shuddering, painful breath inwards before standing up to waddle towards the door.

They hadn’t knocked again - perhaps they had left.

You opened the door slowly, the pulsing hot fire inside of you skyrocketing once your eyes met Logan’s on the other side. Your legs still trembled, bracing your weight on the doorknob to steady yourself as if you hadn’t been seconds away from coming to the thought of the man stood just before you.

“C-can I help you.” Your voice was weak, pathetic - almost giving away what you were up to just moments before.

Logan shifted his weight onto one leg, briefly glancing over your shoulder at the messy sheets and imprint of your body on the bed. His nostrils flared. His eyes darkened.

“M’just checking to see if you’re alright. Haven’t seen you in a while.” His brows furrowed as he looked down at you, inhaling once more; his nostrils flaring even wider this time as you stared up at him with your lip trapped between your teeth.

A swirl of emotions warped and fought in your gut. You were no stranger to Logan’s mutation, yet you hoped that he wouldn’t put the scent of your room down to something so unsavoury. You hoped that he assumed it was normal, considering he had never set foot in the confines of these walls before. Yet something in his eyes told you different - his entire demeanour shifting, almost mirroring that exact same feeling you felt when you passed him that pink lemonade days ago.

“I’m fine.” You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears, your voice hoarse and soar from the breathy chants of his name; the image of him on top of you still burnt into the back of your eyelids.

“What were you just doing?” His voice dropped an octave lower, a flash of bared teeth spearing behind his pink lips.

He knew. Of course he knew.

You didn’t know whether to lie, whether to tell him a partial truth. Your hand braced the door frame, shaking slightly as you tried to work up the courage and slam it in his face before you could speak another word.

But he stepped forward, a heavy boot crossing over the boundary of your bedroom, until his body was almost flush with yours.

He bared his bottom row of teeth once more, his chest heaving as if he was the one who had just been caught. His dark pupils flickered over your fear stricken face, once, twice. Until they landed on your swollen lips.

“Nothing.” You whispered.

His tense shoulders slouched, and he took a step back. Running a hand through the back of his hair, you looked away once he turned to you for another answer again.

You didn’t need to touch him to know what he was feeling.

“Go sit down f’me, will you sweetheart.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand.

You swallowed as if nails lined the flesh of your throat, your eyes lingering on his for a heartbeat longer until his head flicked to the bed behind you. You tore yourself away from the doorframe, unable to hide the physical shake in your hand as you lifted the heavy duvet and plopped yourself on the edge of mattress.

He didn’t shift at first, simply watched your movements as if you were prey. Slow, deliberate steps lead him to your bedside table where he flicked on the lamp which sat there, before returning back to the door and closing it softly. The light from the hallway soon faded into a slit beneath the heavy wood, leaving you with a heart rate that doubled with every passing second.

He knew.

Every shift, every movement was made in a thick silence which almost screamed.

He eventually took a seat beside you, the mattress dipping significantly as he left hardly a gap between the two of your bodies.

He winced, as if he were wounded; two hands running down his hot flushed face as he braced both elbows on his bent knees. Your eyes watched each flicker of his body with caution, and it took every ounce of self restraint in your body not to reach out and touch his skin; it would have been easier than to ask him what he was thinking.

Yet he turned to you, forehead creased with thought.

“Now I’m gonna tell y’something…” his voice was lowered, as if he were afraid someone may hear. Your eyes widened at the statement, your body involuntarily leaning away from him as you felt the heat pour from each individual pore on his skin. “But I want you to tell me somethin’ in return.”

Your dry lips peeled open, yet no sound seemed to leave at first.

“What is it?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper as you studied his glassy hazel eyes and heavy eyelids.

No matter what it was he was about to say; no matter the dread that followed the thought - that he was about to shame you for what you were partaking in before he knocked on the door - you couldn’t help but relish in how handsome he was. Not typically, no, this was something different. Something a little rougher around the edges, something that leant into the dark side. He was a man, one that knew exactly what he was doing.

It turned you on even more.

“I don’t like pink lemonade.” He confessed, his face physically contorting with distaste at the name of the drink that you had been making over and over again.

Your breath caught in your throat, yet your brows furrowed with confusion.

“But you always ask for a glass?” You insisted.

A smirk etched its way onto those stubble lined lips, the ones that you had fantasised about licking, biting, caressing their way over your body.

“You see,-“ he began, finally breaking away from the intense eye contact you both held to look down at the two hands he had clasped before him, “I like something a little sweeter.”

You felt the shift in the air, like stone morphing into fairy floss. You saw the way his eyes drank you in, as if he was starved.

“You do?” You asked, your brain short circuiting at the confession that hung between your bodies.

He simply nodded, yet brung a hand up to your face, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your cheek; tucking it behind your ear.

The movement was deliberate.

You felt it again.

It was eating him up inside, slowly spreading from his groin to his stomach, to his heart; like a plague, filled with lust and hunger and unrelenting desire. A flash of his thoughts filled your mind, the white speckled image of you bent before him in the kitchen, silk nightgown bunched around your hips as he relentlessly thrusted into you from behind. He wanted you, all of you, all to himself. Wanted to memorise every crease and crevice of your body beneath his hands, with his cock.

A gasp fell from your lips as he retracted his hand.

“Now you’re gonna tell me, what you were doing before I came and knocked on that door?”

It was as if only your emotions were connected to your nervous system, rather than your brain. The words practically tumbled from your lips before your conscious could protest other wise.

“I was touching myself.”

Your thighs clamped together immediately, your heart practically beating its way out of its chest as you waited for some sort of response.

“What were you thinking about, hm?” He asked.

You covered your face with your hands, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as shame consumed you. So desperate, so needy that you couldn’t help yourself but masturbate to the thought of him. You didn’t want to lie, yet the tears that began to roll down your cheeks told him everything he needed to know.

Your shoulders shook as your fingers clamped around your eyes frantically to hide the wordless answer.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” Logan’s voice cooed softly - softer than you had ever heard it.

After a lack of response and endless sobs, his body shifted closer to yours, rough fingers grasping your wrists to pry your trembling hands away from your eyes. Your head lowered as he held them, tears soaking the white cotton sheet you both sat on until he nudged your chin with a curled finger.

Your head raised until your silver lined eyes met his; yet you couldn’t see past the glimmer of satisfaction which travelled from his body to yours once his finger braced your heated skin.

“You ever been touched by a man before?” He asked, voice cutting through the silence like sharp gravel.

You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth as you shook your head. “I-I was taken away when I was young… I have never,-“

He nodded softly although you didn’t quite manage to finish, his hand slowly leaving the wet skin beneath your chin and landing on the fat of your thigh. You sucked in a harsh breath, every raw emotion he held pulsing through your body as if it was your own. Until the need and the hunger became one.

“Do y’want me to show you what it feels like?” He asked.

You nodded, almost immediately.

His eyes fluttered closed and he inhaled heavily through his nose, fingers gripping harder at the soft flesh of your thigh. You could feel everything, he was hanging on by a single thread. And it was about to snap.

“Say it then, sugar. Tell me what you want.” He growled lowly through gritted teeth; eyes still screwed closed as if he would demolish you by simply looking.

“I want you to touch me, please Logan.”

That was all he needed to hear, all of the confirmation he needed to open his eyes and reach for you with firm hands. You yelped as his grip fastened to your waist, pulling you up before dragging you towards him where your legs fumbled to straddle either side of him.

You had been so wrapped up in his emotions and your own that you hadn’t even taken notice of the growing bulge that strained beneath his jeans; the one that caused the most delightful friction once your throbbing core sat right on top of it. His lips attached to yours, allowing not even a breath to escape you as his tongue immediately pushed through your lips.

Both of your emotions had rolled together and were burning your insides to the point where it almost hurt. You gasped as his hands rocked your hips backwards, then forwards, at a steady pace that almost made it feel like it was worth the wait. You gasped into the kiss, fingers clawing at the shoulders of his t-shirt as his bulge pushed up into your swollen lips once more.

You could feel his body vibrating, could feel the animal within him breaking loose with every lick of your mouth, every clash of your teeth against his.

Your hips began to shift on their own accord, the desire that had festered long enough to break someone finally finding purchase in the way his lips moved against yours. He was devouring you, moving your own body as if it belonged to him; lips sucking, hips grinding.

It was better than you imagined, better than any novel had written about. And yet you still hadn’t removed a single item of clothing; you were yet to feel him inside of you.

“Logan!-“ you gasped at a particularly harsh rut, his hand sliding down to grasp one cheek of your ass; his other immediately finding its way to do the same. Your head fell into the crook between his neck and shoulder, pleasure from both of your beings overthrowing any rational thought left in your mind.

He was going to destroy you. You were sure of it.

You felt the muscles in his neck twitch as his head lolled back, a deep hoarse moan leaving his lips as he used his grip on your ass to move your hips against his.

“C’mon baby, stand up f’me.” One hand tapped your backside lightly, and a whimper escaped you as you hesitantly crawled from his lap.

You could feel your own wetness between your thighs, silk shorts now cold and sticky beneath your entrance as you stood and waited for his next command. Your hands tugged on your thin pink tank top self consciously as his eyes glazed over, glued directly in line to your pebbled nipples poking out beneath the fabric.

He peeled up the tank top, only to where it sat just above your belly button, where he placed a gentle kiss beside it. He was planting a trail, one that lead to the waist band of your shorts, each kiss rougher, less controlled with every inch closer.

His hands ran over the backs of your thighs, a severe lack of self restraint washing over you like an electric shock - it wasn’t yours, it was his. You could feel what he wanted to do to you, before he actually did it.

“Y’sure you wanna do something like this with someone like me?” He breathed into the warm skin of your stomach, his eyelashes tickling their own path to where you needed him the most.

Your head tilted back as one finger slid beneath the elastic of your shorts.

“Yes, please.” You gasped, one of his hands snaking its way to lift the tank top higher, and higher. Until his fingers ghosted over your aching breast.

He grasped it harshly, a whimper leaving your lips like a song as his fingers wrestled with the fatty flesh. “You’re a polite little thing aren’t you?” He taunted gruffly, his free hand slowly peeling the shorts further down your legs, until the cooling fabric landed at your feet.

You could feel his arousal spike, not only from the tightening of his grip on your breast, but you could feel it being transferred into you. His head immediately dipped lower, his lips pressing a kiss to the skin of your inner thigh before his nose nudged closer to your soaked cotton underwear.

A cry left your lips as he pressed his nose in further, unintentionally nudging your clit and making your locked knees buckle. He inhaled sharply, your hands falling to the thick brunette hair that brushed your stomach with every movement.

“Smell so sweet,” he mumbled as he brought his face away from your aching cunt and slowly rose from the bed. His lips ghosted yours, practically swallowing his warm breaths as you looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Y’gonna let me have a taste? Or should I just use these?” He brought his fingers to your face, ghosting the back of his nails over your flushed pink cheekbones.

“You can taste.” You managed to choke out breathlessly, before he planted a wet kiss to your swollen lips once more.

“Good girl… now lay down f’me.” He whispered against your mouth, attaching his once more by sucking on your sore bottom lip.

His hands finally detached, yet not for long. He watched with careful eyes as you climbed onto your bed, where you had touched yourself to the thought of this just moments before.

Once your back hit the mattress, his fingers began to away at his t-shirt, first revealing the dark trail of hair that retreated beneath his jeans, beside a prominent vein. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the fabric being lifted higher, revealing a set of abs which looked as though they had been carved instead of earned. Your breath hitched; you had seen this many times - Logan wasn’t one for modesty - yet it was never in this light. Never when you were this desperate.

“Lay back.” He commanded, nodding in the direction of the headboard as his fingers began to pry at the leather weaved into his belt buckle. He watched carefully as laid back hesitantly, eyes travelling to the sweet spot beneath your legs as he braced one knee on the bed, disregarding his belt on the floor. “Open your legs for me, sugar.” He all but growled.

You swallowed, eyeing the bulge that had grown impossibly bigger in his jeans. You just wanted to see it, feel it, run your tongue along it.

One of his hands grasped your knee, a snarl etched into his face at the disobey. He pulled each of your bent legs further apart, until cool air laced its way in through your cotton underwear. Your cheeks flushed, your breaths caught.

He eyed you momentarily, checking to see if it was still anticipation that drew your flushed lips into a pout. One finger hooked around the gusset of your underwear, lightly brushing your hot wet sex as if it was teasing you; appetising you for what was to come. Then he pulled, his brows furrowed as he stared directly into your cunt; tight, dripping, untouched.

Logan felt as though he had died and went to heaven, and he couldn’t help but note that not one body he had ever seen had made him react in such a physical way. He never noted the fuzzy fine layer of hair that coated anyone else’s thighs, or the way that anyone else trembled beneath his tough hands. Only you. He only noticed you. He noticed the way you watched him undress, the way you eyed his hard cock as he climbed onto the bed; but he told himself - not today. You weren’t ready.

And once the cotton reached your ankles, Logan’s finger trailed up the opened line of your cunt, gently poking and swiping to get familiar with the way your body felt beneath his touch. He liked it, could get used to it.

“That feel good baby?” He asked hoarsely, brows furrowed as he etched further towards his prize. His fingers continued to swipe, up and down, putting pressure softly where your clit was.

You watched him with wide eyes. You didn’t know what felt better, his confident skilled hands on you, or just seeing him in such a way. You nodded your head quickly, lip trapped between your teeth as he began to circle your clit with a pressure you couldn’t quite master yourself.

Then he pushed a finger inside.

Your back arched from the bed, hips twisting as a high pitched moan filled the room. Logan only hummed in approval, adding another finger as he began to manoeuvre his body to hover over yours, pressing firm kisses along your body as he did so.

He stopped once he was eye level with your tits, pupils darting from their imprint in your thin tank top to your contorted face. He pumped in and out, once, then twice; making your eyes screw entirely shut, until he wasn’t even a blur in your vision anymore. His thumb began to circle that little sweet spot he found, the one that made your legs shake that little bit more.

“You gonna take your top off for me sweetheart? My hands are a bit full.” He croaked, skimming his lips along your collar bone as you slowly peeled open your eyes.

The pleasure was unfathomable; it was as if he already knew all the right places to stroke, to press. His fingers curled inside of your gummy walls, with just enough pressure to make you cry out as you lifted your tank top above your head; breasts spilling free just inches away from his eyes.

Your nipples pulsed, breasts aching and heavy as his lips wrapped around the taught mountain of skin.

“Logan!- it feels… t-too good.” You choked out between heaving breaths, his thumb circling faster on your swollen nub.

His lips suckled their way along your chest, obscene squelching sounds coming from both your sopping cunt and his saliva coated mouth.

“Can I add another baby? Gonna have to stretch you out a little if you’re gonna have my cock one day.” He didn’t even allow you the time to process his request before he planted a hot wet kiss to your mouth, tongue pushing its way past yours as he began to lick every bit of flesh inside. You all but screamed in response, his thumb pressing down harder as you felt all of the sensation in your body travel down to that single bundle of nerves between your legs. “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“Another! Please, another.” The crown of your head hit the headboard with a thump as another one of his thick fingers slipped past your folds with ease, the stretch painful for a heartbeat or too until white hot pleasure began to prickle at every bit of skin on your body.

“Too good for me baby… what did I do to deserve a sweet thing like you?” He cooed into your ear as he grabbed a handful of your breast, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone, then your lips, before leaning back to study the mess he had made of you.

You could feel yourself clenching on his fingers; feel your head becoming so delightfully numb and compressed. And with each passing second, Logan’s skilful fingers pumped faster, circled quicker, pressed harder.

“I- I think I’m gonna… come, Logan!” You mewled desperately, hips now involuntarily bucking against his hand as you desperately chased the pleasure you had been deprived of. You could feel that primal wave wash over him, feel the quickened beat of his heart as he watched your body convulse with nothing but sheer pleasure. It wasn’t just your own, but his. He was getting himself worked up - almost to the brink, just at the sight of coming undone beneath him.

“That’s it baby… that’s it…” he hissed, the veins in his arm growing more and more prominent with every thrust of his fingers into your clenching hole. He watched the taught skin around it drag along his fingers with each retreat, before plunging back in again.

He wished it was his cock, wished for nothing more than to thrust into you, hard, raw and deep until you were fucked senseless. But you weren’t just some quick fix, you were what he had been waiting for. He couldn’t scare you off immediately, no. He had to show you what it was like first; had to show you what it was like for him to dance on the borderline of restraint. Before he finally snapped.

“She’s a greedy tight thing, ain’t she?” He growled as he kept his eyes transfixed on your cunt. “Taking every inch of my fingers like she was made for this.”

You whimpered impossibly louder, eyes screwing shut as your back arched once more; the ache behind your clit growing to your core, where the coil inside of you snapped.

Blinding bright sheets of pleasure clouded your mind, that you were sure he could only make you feel; it coated your insides like thick, dripping honey. You screamed his name and then chanted it until a whisper, hips rocking back and forth on his hand as he eventually slowed his strokes and soft praises.

And once the pleasure washed away, leaving your body like a steady stream of trickling water, your eyelids grew heavy.

One orgasm. That was all it took. One orgasm from Logan for your body to grow entirely limp and for your mind to switch off.

Yet he wasn’t finished. He was far from finished.

A large rough hand gripped your trembling thigh, a gasp leaving your lips between heavy pants for air; eyes peeling open to stare at the plain white ceiling above.

You had never felt anything like that. You were worried that he had ruined you, not just physically. But for anyone else.

“Tell me what I’m feeling.” He asked, one hand gripping the twitching muscle of your thigh; the other - soaked to the knuckle in creamy slick - coming up to his mouth.

You watched him through glassy eyes, his thin pink lips wrapping around each individual finger slowly as he sucked yourself from him. You couldn’t breathe whilst watching, the swirl of his tongue on each fingertip sending another shooting desire through you.

The connection to your mutation was hazy, as if someone had fractured it. You focused your hardest on the searing heat of his hand on your thigh, the way it made you feel, before tying it to him.

Your jaw grew slack.

“You’re feeling aroused…” your voice was a croaky whisper, completely spent from the continuous screams of his name. “Not entirely satisfied.” You slowly pulled your elbows behind you on the bed, leaning your weight on them as your eyes grazed over your trembling thighs and the wet patch on the bed. Then they met his, and his fingers slid from his mouth.

“H-how can I satisfy you Logan?” You asked, dragging your cloudy gaze to the erection that still strained painfully against his jeans.

His eyes softened at the broken sound of your voice, but one thing he needed you to learn was that he was selfish. He was going to give, and give, until you physically couldn’t take anymore.

Both of his hands settled on your thighs now, kneading the soft flesh in his palms gently.

“You’re gonna sit on my face, sweetheart. Let me take care of the rest.”

You gulped audibly before nodding hesitantly, excitement sparking within your chest despite the almost painful throb between your legs. You shifted, wincing as you sat up straight; making Logan jolt to help you with two hands bracing your waist.

“Y’sure you can take it sugar?” He asked quietly, yet still manoeuvred your body with steady hands, easing you into a kneeling position.

You bit down on your swollen bottom lip, wide eyes gazing up at him and locking for a moment until you nodded. “I can take it.”

You didn’t know whether you could. But you wanted to try.

His hand ran down your bare sweat slick back, until it met the cheek of your arse and squeezed lightly. You yelped in surprise, yet the sound was swallowed once more by his greedy lips pressing to yours. Your mouth barely managed to move against his, fatigue raking over your body, yet you still craved more.

His hands left you, yet his lips kept moving; strained breaths escaping the both of you between each push of his tongue. Then you heard his zipper, followed by a strained sigh of relief, icy anticipation crawling its way up your spine. You pulled away just in time to watch him pull down his jeans impatiently, his black boxers following suit.

The sheer size of him was intimidating enough. Long, thick and painfully hard; you couldn’t help but suck in a breath at the sight. You heard him chuckle lowly at you as he kicked the jeans off of the side of the bed, the dark fabric pooling on the floor beside your pale pink pyjamas. He then wrapped his hand around the base, tugging the skin further up his thick shaft until he let out a deep, guttural groan. Your mouth watered at the sight, eyes following that one prominent vein in his abdomen, which followed to his angry red, leaking tip.

His free hand grazed your bare forearm, making you tear your eyes away from it. “If it gets too much… you’re gonna tell me, aren’t you?”

You nodded eagerly, the singe that still coated your skin cooling beneath his touch. You could feel everything he was thinking, his need, his lust, the unrelenting desire to claim. It only turned you on even more.

He kept stroking his cock slowly, eyes fixated on your naked, shaken body kneeling on the bed. “Turn around f’me.” He grunted and you obliged, knees sinking into the mattress as you shuffled until your hands met the wooden headboard bracing the wall.

You felt the mattress dip beneath his weight, the only sound in the room other than his shaky breaths being the springs beneath the two of you flicking loose.

Then you felt his hair tickle your thighs, your heart pounding impossibly faster as you waited for what was to come.

He started off slow at first, hands gripping each thigh and kneading the flesh idly as he prepped kisses along your slick covered skin. Then his warm, flattened tongue pressed into your folds, your legs immediately beginning to vibrate softly as you lost the ability to hover above him. The skin of your ass grazed his firm chest, his hands now grappling at your skin to push your throbbing sex even further into his mouth.

Every flick of his tongue was delightful, satisfying that pulsing ache that throbbed from your cunt to your stomach. You moaned, so loud that you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t just the two of you who lived on these premises alone. Yet that was what it felt like; that it was just the two of you, alone, wrapped in unfathomable pleasure that you never wanted to end.

His tongue dipped into your hole, obscene slurping sounds singing with your whines and whimpers. And when he sucked on your clit, your hips jolted forwards, head growing limp as the headboard beneath your hands began to bite back at your palms.

One of his hands left you, and as he began to stroke his painfully neglected cock he groaned - his own emotions pouring into you like your souls were tied. You had to bite back a scream of his name, teeth ground down harshly as you began to rock back and forth to the flick of his tongue. His pleasure was heavy, thick and it almost had you coming undone at the thought that you were making him feel such a way.

“Don’t stop, Logan… please…” you cried out, eyes screwed shut as the headboard in your grasp began to move back and forth with every rock and sway of your hips.

His tongue worked faster, firm pressure stimulating every nerve that held the key to your orgasm as if he had done it one thousand times before. It felt so good - it was almost painful.

He groaned beneath you, your eyes shooting open to watch as he hissed into the dripping mess you had made, his skin slapping behind you, faster and faster.

You pressed your weight into your knees slightly and hovered.

“I want you to come with me, baby… can you do that? I’m close.” And once he finished speaking, his mouth immediately attached back where they belonged, your painfully swollen clit suckled back between his lips once more.

You threw your head back, putting your weight back into his mouth again as you cried, “yes, yes! I can - I can.”

His hand left your thigh and you continued to grind along his handsome, pleasure twisted face as if he were a toy. He kneaded the soft plush skin of your ass, using it to anchor you even deeper into his mouth again, as if he wanted to suffer from being completely and utterly suffocated by you.

A strained groan left his lips, and you whimpered as his tongue worked faster, harder - desperation seeping from his body into yours. You cried, chanted his name as if it were a prayer; until that ache began to grow and grow, until it consumed your entire body in a shuddering, sore orgasm that made every limb tense.

You screamed, forehead grazing the headboard as you convulsed with devastating pleasure that was powerful enough to shake the walls. Logan followed soon after, ensuring he had a firm grip on your body so you could feel every fibre of his being; feel everything that you did to him. He roared, body shuddering and snapping beneath you as if he had been wounded.

Breaths escaped you as if it was you being suffocated, your knuckles fading to white around the lip of the headboard. You had just enough energy left in you to hover above his face, allowing him the room to slide out from beneath you.

And once you collapsed onto the bed, he reached for you, thick ropes of white cum coating the plains of muscle along his abs as he bundled your spent body into his arms, and rocked you as if he wasn’t the one to have completely ruined you.

Your head felt as if it had been trapped in a tight dark box, your body blissfully unaware that your orgasm had ended as it continued to convulse and shake in his arms.

“You alright sugar?” His hoarse voice sounded as if it were underwater, and your sweat slicked head fell against his chest with a soft thud. You sifted your numb legs slightly and jolted from the sensitivity between them. “Hey, hey…” he used his hand to tilt your face up and your eyes slowly peeled open, your vision darkened on the outsides. “Too much?” He asked with softened eyes.

You shook your head, a lazy, shy smile tugging at your lips as your head fell back into his warm chest again. You enjoyed him like this, softer, nicer, more delicate.

His chest rumbled beneath your skin as he let out a soft, breathy chuckle; gently peeling you off of him as he laid you down against the pillow.

He stood from the bed, your brows furrowing at the thought of him leaving so soon. But he knelt, one hand brushing over the curve of your waist as he pressed a delicate kiss to your throbbing temple.

“Gonna run you a bath sweetheart.”

hehe let me know if you want part 2 xx

[stargazedwinchester]

can you do more younger-sibling!winchester stuff? I'd love to see it <3 <3

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `family comes first, sam & dean winchester ༘♡

summary: you opted out of the family business, to follow in sam's footsteps. that's until there's a knock on your door in the middle of the night. word count: 733 pairing: sam & dean winchester x younger sibling!reader notes: this is based in s1, roughly just after sam leaves college thank you for requesting!! if you have anything particular in mind, please let me know!

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

You’ve only been asleep a few hours when the knock at your door awakes you.

Three sharp raps. You blink into the dark, your heart jumping in that way it hasn’t in years.

You sit up slowly, glancing at your alarm clock. 2:37 a.m.

Another knock.

This time, you get out of bed. Padding over to the peephole on your front door. Two tall men almost completely shield the hallway behind them.

You sigh as your shoulders relax, realising it’s just your older brothers. Sam is standing with his arms crossed against his chest, and Dean with his hands in his pockets.

You turn around, rubbing the space between your temple.

They’ve always been your biggest headache.

“It’s me.” A gruff voice raises on the other side of the door. “I know.” You tell him. You feel as if you can’t face them. Not yet. Not after the yelling, the walking away, and the huge fight that left you screaming “I want a normal life!” that split your family unevenly down the middle.

Sam and Dean took their leave in your father’s Chevy.

You open the door, they’re standing there; raindrops sit on Dean’s leather jacket, Sams’ hair curling at his ears from the drizzle outside. They both look troubled.

“What happened?” You ask. Because this isn’t a social call. Neither of them show up unless something is wrong. Especially Dean.

He doesn’t answer right away. He scans you up and down—your dorm room behind you, the textbooks piled on the desk by the back wall. You’re living Sam’s old dream, one that Dean never let himself want.

Sam steps closer. “Dad’s missing.”

The words settle in your gut like a weight.

“Went on a hunt,” he explains. “He hasn’t checked in. It’s been a week.”

“So? Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he—”

“He won’t pick up his phone. Straight to voicemail. He’s missing, Y/N.” Sam hushes, careful to not wake your roommates.

You press your lips together, eyes darting between both of your brothers. You shake your head. “No. No, this wasn’t part of the plan. I’m out. I’ve been out.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Deal’s change.”

You fold your arms, trying to hold yourself together. Trying to not burst into anger right in front of them. “So—let me get this right,” you huff, “you show up to my dorm, two thirty in the morning, expecting me to throw away my education because you need me to find dad? I’m okay, thank you.” You attempt to shut the door on them, but Dean stops you with his boot.

“Not everything is about you, kid. He’s our dad.”

“You think I don’t care?”

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Sam cuts in before either of you can escalate. “We didn’t come to fight. We just… need your help. And you’re still family.”

You look up at him. At both of them. And suddenly it’s all crashing down. The long car rides, arguing who has the better music taste—which is you (obviously). The late night hunts that included laughing over diner milkshakes and patching each other up with shaky hands.

You pushed all of those memories to the back of your mind, into a locked safe the day that you left.

“But I’ve got a mid-term on Tuesday,” you say weakly.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Great. You can study in the car.” He turns around, and Sam shows you an apologetic smile. You laugh dryly. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Sam steps closer. “You’ll be back by Monday. Promise.”

You hesitate. “Okay.”

You rapidly get changed, and grab your duffel from under the bed; still packed and untouched. Muscle memory takes over as you sling it over your shoulder, making your way to the front door.

The second you step outside, the cold hits you. So does the familiar growl of the Impala’s engine. You climb in to the middle of the back seat, slamming the door shut behind you.

“I better be back by Monday, or I’m going to kill you both.”

“You might wanna sharpen your knife, then, kid.” Dean purses his lips together as he reverses the Impala out of the car park.

The past is already catching up to you, and you hope it doesn’t last long. And you hope it doesn’t bite.

[pichichuu]

husband! romance

He comes back from work and offers you new lingerie

kissing, fluff, praise ??

omg yes i need this, romance is literally so sweet. i wanna know how yall are turning me into a romance stan WHAT

i lowk wanna make a newleywed au for some of the saja boys now ehehe

cw: suggestive. gn!reader :)

the lock clicks softly in the door, your husband quietly shuffling in. you perk up from your seat on the couch, calling out to him as you pad across the carpet to ask about his day.

your arms drape around his neck, his finding their place around your waist, dragging you to your tiptoes. you kissed him as he pulled you tighter, deepening your kiss.

his eyes eased open, lips reluctant to leave yours. his voice was just above a whisper.

i missed you.

his tone was painted in relief, like you allowed him to finally breathe again. he kissed you once more, thumb caressing your cheek as he pulled away.

he bends towards the ground, drawing your attention to a neat gift bag with tufts of tissue paper blooming from the top.

i got you something on the way home, he says, presenting the gift to you. open it.

you let out a soft gasp, thanking him as you lift the tissue paper out of the bag. an elegant card sits at the top of the bag, gold foil bordering white cardstock.

for my beautiful angel.

unfolding the first parcel, you lift a delicate set of lingerie, soft baby pink roses littering the white lace of the matching bra and panties. your jaw dropped slightly, lips parting as you met your husband's gaze.

he interrupted you before you could thank him, gesturing to the bag.

there's more, beautiful.

you opened the second, larger parcel, the bag now empty. the paper crinkled as you peeled it back, revealing two soft linen sets of matching pajamas. the shirts were identical simple white button downs. his set had pants, while yours had comfortable shorts, the pattern on both matching the lingerie he bought you.

clutching the gift to your chest, you kissed him, murmuring a gentle thank you between breaths.

he sat at the edge of your bed donning his new pajamas, legs folded, watching you try on your new set. elastic pulled taught over your thighs, the band of your panties resting snug on your hips. you adjusted your bra in the mirror, turning around to show your husband.

he looked at you like you held the world. a gentle smile graced his lips when he asked you to spin for him.

how did i get so lucky? he mused, pulling you by the waist to the bedside, wrapping you in his embrace. he trailed sugary kisses up your shoulder to your collarbone, your earlobe, the corner of your mouth, and finally his lips locked with yours.

his kisses weren't hungry, but slow and gentle, savoring the taste on his tongue.

you look stunning, he breathed between kisses, i love you so much.

m.list

[a-hughes22]

skinny dipping

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Reader

Warnings: Angst, nudity, implied sex, strong language

Summary: Inspired by skinny dipping by Sabrina Carpenter. What happens when you run into your ex at your favorite coffee shop?

Word count: 2.9k words

It'll be a Wednesday

And I'll be going in this coffee shop

Hear the barista call an oat milk latte and your name

And I look up from my phone

And think there's no chance it's you, but it is

               It was supposed to be just another summer day in June. It was your day off and like always, you visited your favorite coffee shop that opened up a few summers ago. You grabbed your iced matcha latte from the counter and thanked the barista. You began making your way to your favorite spot when suddenly you heard “Iced oat latte for Quinn!”

               Your heart stopped for a moment when you heard that name and you nearly died when you looked up from your phone. It was him. Quinn Hughes, the man you loved so deeply during your college days. You haven’t seen or spoke to him since he left for Vancouver over six years ago.

               The two of you locked eyes as he smiled and began walking towards your table.

You'll say, "Hi", I'll say, "Hi, how are you?"

You'll say, "How's your family? How's your sister?"

I'll say, "Shannon's being Shannon"

               You take a deep breath before giving Quinn a smile in return. “Hey.”

               “Hi.” He’s sitting across from you now, close enough to take a look at his handsome face. His eyes are still the same shade of mesmerizing blue, and his smile still carries the same boyish charm from when he was 19. He pretty much looks the same, except for the dark facial hair that coats the lower half of his face.

               “I didn’t expect to see you here,” you say, your heart pounding in your chest.

               “Well, the season ended over a month ago, so I’ve been living in the lake house again. And I felt pretty bored today, so I decided to take out the boat and explore the area.” You nod. “But anyways, how have you been?”

               “I’ve been pretty good. I finally moved out once I graduated. I was offered a job here and I’m really loving it. How are you doing? How’s your family? How’s Jack and Luke?”

               He smiles. “I’m also doing good. I was named captain two seasons ago and so far, it has been a great experience. Vancouver winters are brutal though. My parents are definitely enjoying life without us three, they actually bought a new house last year! And Jack and Luke are killing it, they’re both playing for the Devils.”

After a minute of nonsensical chatter, you'll say

"Well, this was really nice, maybe we should do this on purpose sometime"

               The two of you continue to have lighthearted conversations for the next hour about hockey and your families. Quinn checks the time on his phone.

               “This has been really nice. I’m glad to hear that you’re doing well. I wish I can stay, but I need to go. We’re having some family over for dinner tonight and Mom needs some help setting up.”

               “It has been. It’s nice to see you again. I’m glad you’re doing well too.”

               “Maybe we can continue this conversation another time?” Quinn asks, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

“I’d love to. Here, I’ll give you, my number. I changed it five years ago.”

               He copies your number into his phone, his fingers slightly trembling. “Thank you. How about I text you the next time I come here?”

               “Sounds good with me.”

               “Great! I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

“Bye, Quinn.”

               And just like you’re left alone with your thoughts again. You always thought that if you saw Quinn ever again it would be painful, maybe even dreadful. But it was the opposite. Sure, it felt bittersweet, but it almost felt…nice?

And it'll have been long enough that we won't harp on

Arguments in your garage

All the ways we sabotaged it

What it was and what it wasn't

               You and Quinn began dating in your first year of college. You were his biggest supporter; you knew that he was going to go far with hockey. You knew that one day he could possibly move somewhere else, but you didn’t want to accept that. As long as he was getting to live his dream, you were happy.

               When he got drafted by the Canucks in 2018, that meant he eventually had to move to Vancouver. Since he needed time to develop his skills, he wasn’t leaving quite yet. But it was something the two of you spoke about a lot.

               What would happen? Would you stay together? Was it possible for you to move with him? Could he potentially wait a little longer before leaving? You still had three years of school left.

               You two hadn’t even been dating for a year but the love you had for each other was real. You may have both still been young, but you truly saw a future with each other. Nothing hurt more than imagining life without the other in it.

               As Quinn gained more experience, you began to struggle with feelings of guilt about holding him back. He constantly reassured you that you didn’t, but your brain and heart kept convincing you that you were nothing but an obstacle getting in his way.

               And so, the night before he left for Vancouver you decided to end things with him.

               He was very upset. This wasn’t what you had agreed on, you were going to be long distance, and he’d come home to you during the off season.

               “I want you to be happy Quinn. I really want to see you succeed and I refuse to be the one who holds you back.”

               “Damn it Y/N, I am happy! You make me the happiest goddamn person in the world, and it would mean the absolute most to me if you could still be the person by my side no matter what.”

               You sighed, tears beginning to run down your face. “Quinn, you don’t understand. If you really love me, let me go. Please.”

               Finally, he gives up and everything in him breaks.

               “Fine. If this is what you really want. But I’m never going to forget you, Y/N. I will always love and miss you.”

               And that was the last time you ever saw him.

We've been swimming on the edge of a cliff

I'm resistant, but going down with the ship

It'd be so nice, right? Right?

If we could take it all off and just exist

And skinny dip in water under the bridge

               You’ll never forget the first time you went skinny dipping. It was with Quinn, of course. That night, you two snuck the boat out into the water after everyone had gone to bed. The evening had been another one filled with people and parties and chaos, and it was the first time the two of you had been alone for hours.

               You were telling him how overwhelmed you felt when suddenly he had an idea.

               “Grab some towels and your swimsuit Y/N. We’re taking the boat.”

               “Quinn, are you crazy? It’s 3 in the morning, where are we going?”

               “It’s a surprise.”

               As soon as you were ready you two got into the boat and he began to drive. The ride was a bit scary; it was eerily quiet, and you were surrounded in nothing but darkness. Soon enough, dawn came, and you didn’t feel afraid anymore. Quinn cut the engine and began taking off his trunks.

               “Quintin Jerome Hughes what the hell are you doing?”

               “Take off your bikini, Y/N. We’re going skinny dipping!”

               “What if someone sees us? And the water’s freezing!”

               He shushes you by pressing a small kiss onto your lips. “Don’t worry, Y/N. No one’s going to see us I promise. And if you feel cold, just come closer to me.”

               “I’ve never done this before,” you confess shyly as you untie your bikini top.

               “I know. Which is why we’re doing it now. Take my hand.”

               You squeeze his hand, and he leads you to the edge of the boat.

               “God, you are so beautiful Y/N,” he says, admiring your naked body. “Are you ready?”

               “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

               “3,2,1, jump!” Still holding onto hand, the two of you plunge into the cold water.

               “It’s freezing!” you cry out, finding your way into his arms.

               “I know! But isn’t this fun?”

               “It is. Let’s do this again tomorrow!”

               “We can do this every single day if you want. We’ve got all summer,” he winks at you. “But we should probably start heading back soon. I’m going to be in big trouble if Dad wakes up and the boat’s missing!”

               The two of you share one last kiss before climbing back into the boat.

You'll suggest a restaurant we used to go to

And I'll say, "Won't that be too nostalgic?"

And you'll say, "Maybe, but let's do it anyway"  

               Quinn kept his promise and texted you a few weeks later. Now you were both figuring out where to go. When the day came, you still hadn’t decided so now you sat at the same coffee shop going through your options.

               “Chinese food?”

               “Nah, it makes my stomach upset.”

               “The diner?”

               “I was just there yesterday.”

               “How about Northwood?”

               “I haven’t been there since… you know. I kind of do miss the food, but are you sure Quinn?”

               “I’m sure. I haven’t been there either, so why not?”

               Northwood was a family restaurant that had a special place in you and Quinn’s hearts. It was the first food you tried when you went to his lake house for the first time. After you broke up, you vowed to never set foot in it again.

               “Let’s do it.” You smile and take his hand.

We won't sit at our same old table, I promise

And we won't bring up the past, we'll keep it bureaucratic

And we won't say it

But both of us, we'll be thinking about how different we are

               When you walk into Northwood, not much has changed except for the menu, which is now displayed on a chalkboard.

               “They finally fixed it,” Quinn says, laughing. Back then the menu was only displayed on pieces of paper.

               You are relieved to see that your favorite club sandwich is still available. For old times’ sake, Quinn orders his usual: a cheeseburger.

               After you order your food, the two of you scan the restaurant in order to find a place to sit. Coincidentally, the only table available was the one you two always sat at: the one in front of the table in the right corner of the room. You can’t help but look at each other and smile. You remembered how nervous you felt during the days that led to this one. This restaurant was a special place during you and Quinn’s relationship, and even when you passed by, your heart sank to your stomach just a little bit. But today was different: like that first day in the coffee shop, you felt pleasant.

               “It really feels like setting foot in the past.” He looks around the room, focused on something that can’t be seen.

From those scared little kids that had those

Arguments in your garage

All the ways we sabotaged it

What it was and what it wasn't

               Once again, you and Quinn started off with small talk. But eventually the comfort you felt around each other was restored, and you were able to talk about the past.

               You are served by a waitress who was often here during your dates and Quinn can’t help but feel nostalgic.

               “Remember that time Trevor asked out that waitress and her husband was at the next table over? That was hilarious!”

               “Yes! I still think about it sometimes. How is he doing? I miss him.”

               “He’s doing great. He just got drafted by the Flyers after being in Anaheim. He hasn’t stayed at the lake house in a few years though. Jack and he don’t talk as much as they used to.”

               You can’t help but feel a little sad. Out of Quinn and his brothers’ friends, Trevor was your favorite. But instead of being melancholic, you choose to join Quinn on his trip down memory lane.

               “Remember the first time we went skinny dipping?” You cringed at yourself after being met with a longer silence. That moment was a significant one in your relationship, and you weren’t sure where Quinn stood with talking about it currently. So why did you say that?

               You are brought back to life when he meets your eyes with a smile. “Of course, I still remember. I’m pretty positive that it’s one of my core memories. I’m sure I have a memory orb of it, like in Inside Out.” He reaches across the table and takes your hands. “I have an idea but I’m not sure how much you’d be into it.”

               “I love ideas. Tell me!”

               “How would you like to do it again tonight?”

               “Quintin Jerome Hughes are you being serious?”

               He laughs at the use of his full name but his eyes and smile only display certainty and sincerity. “As serious as I’ll ever be.”

We've been swimming on the edge of a cliff

I'm resistant, but going down with the ship

It'd be so nice, right? Right?

If we could take it all off and just exist

And skinny dip in water under the bridge

               That night you were also invited to the family’s dinner, much to everyone’s surprise. But everyone was so happy to see you, you were only greeted by hugs. Ellen and Jim held you tight, and Luke and Jack squeezed all the air out of your lungs.

               It truly felt good to be back at the lake house, you felt right at home and welcomed. You didn’t get tired of conversations; everyone was genuinely interested to hear how you’re doing now, and you felt the same way about them.

               Finally, at around midnight, you and Quinn were finally alone again. The two of you stayed on the front porch, sitting on the patio swing with drinks in your hand.

               “How does it feel to be here again?” he asks you, sipping from his cooler.

               “Honestly? Really nice. I thought everyone would hate me after you know…”

               “Oh Y/N. My family could never hate you. In fact, they missed you.”

               You sigh. “I literally broke your heart, Quinn.”

               He grabs your hands. “Y/N. There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought about you. If we switched places, I’d want the same for you, to be happy. I loved you so much.”

               Your heart stops at his use of past tense. There is a moment of silence as you squeeze his hands and smile at him.

               He stands up from the swing. “Are you still interested in skinny dipping with me?”

               “Of course.” He pulls you up and you begin making your way to the dock.

               The ride to your old spot is peaceful and fills you both with a sense of longing. It is mostly silent, but you’re sitting on his lap just like all those summers ago.

               Finally, you arrive. Although the night is still young, the dawn is already beginning to break. Quinn cuts the engine, and the boat stops with a halt. He begins to strip down to only his swim trunks. You follow his lead, leaving yourself in nothing but your bikini.

               He stops for a moment, admiring you. “You’re still beautiful.”

               You smile, your heart swelling with warmth. “Why thank you.”

               Once the two of you are naked, he takes your hand. “Are you ready, Y/N?”

               “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

               In no time the cold water engulfs you. You never let go of his hand. You and Quinn laugh as you re-enter the surface.

               At last, the sun has begun to rise again. You take a glance at Quinn, who’s also admiring the view. In a split second he catches your gaze and the next thing you know you’re being pulled in for a kiss.

               When your lips meet again, it feels like the souls of two lovers have met again in a new life. The familiarity comforts you, and the novelty is thrilling.

               Eventually, he pulls away, but he continues to hold you close to him, smiling. “I never stopped loving you, Y/N.”

               Tears fill your eyes, and you kiss him again. “Neither have I, Quinn.”

We've been swimming on the edge of a cliff

I'm resistant, but going down with the ship

It'd be so nice, right? Right?

If we could take it all off and just exist

And skinny dip in water under the bridge

               You are awakened from your deep sleep by the sound of birds and the sun’s warm light pouring in through the curtains. Everything feels peaceful, you feel satisfied. As you continue to slowly wake up, you feel Quinn’s arm wrapped around your waist. His warmth covers you like a blanket, and his breathing grounds you, reminding you that you’re at his family’s lake house, in his room, in his bed, and in his arms. You turn around and admire his handsome face as he sleeps. Eventually, he also wakes up and looks surprised to see you in his arms. But once he realizes it’s you, he smiles.

               “Good morning,” you say softly, your voice still raspy from sleep.

               “Good morning,” he whispers, still surprised by your presence. “Am I dreaming, or is the love of my life really in my bed right now?”

               “I’m really here.” You lightly kiss his cheek.

               “I couldn’t be any happier. I am so grateful to have you in my arms again. You make all my dreams come true.

               “I love you, Quinn.”

               “I love you more, Y/N.”

[ellclarkey]

Dilemma of your own. (Requested)

George Clarke fluff.

warnings: none!

You were a guest on The Useless Hotline.

Fun enough, right?

Well it would be, if you didn’t have a huge secret to hide.

You and George had been dating for almost a year now. Ten months and nineteen days, to be exact not that you were counting. It wasn’t a situationship, it wasn’t a fling. It was real. And very much not public.

It wasn’t that you were ashamed. God, no. If anything, you were tempted daily to post his sleepy face on your Instagram story or show the world how much of a sweetheart he was.

But it just… wasn’t anyone’s business. Friends knew. Family knew. But the internet? That was a line you’d both agreed not to cross.

And now here you were, sitting in the Hotline studio, mic hot, nerves hotter, pretending like George wasn’t sitting across from you with that look he always gave you when he was trying not to smile too wide.

“So today we have a special guest YN!” Max declared

You smiled a real smile

You’d told Max explicitly not to mention relationships too much.

You didn’t trust yourself to lie convincingly, and George well, George had all the subtlety of teenager with a crush. You’d seen the way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching.

The internet would know in seconds.

So Max knew not to push it.

Knew to keep the relationship asking vague, the questions general, the suspicions quiet.

“So today we have a special guest Y/N!” Max declared.

You offered a genuine smile. “Hi, thanks for having me.”

Across the table, George did what he did best kept quiet. Let Max do the talking. Let you shine. His knee was bouncing under the table, though, you could feel it through the floor.

“Alright, we’ve had this one sent in a lot. Y/N, what are you looking for in a man? The listeners need to know.” Max asked with a grin

You smirked.

“Hmm… someone who’s funny. Beautiful eyes. Really good style. And…”

You turned, locking eyes with George just a second too long, “someone who can please me.”

George froze. Jaw clenched. Eyes wide.

Max chuckled.

“Right. Okay. Well. That’s… fantastic. Very specific. Your girl knows what she wants!.” Max says smile still full

You sipped your water innocently. George still hadn’t spoken. His ears had gone pink.

Then, another question hit.

“Here’s a fun one what’s it like being shipped with George?”

A beat.

You could see George visibly brace for impact.

You rolled your eyes dramatically.

“Oh, it’s terrible. Like having to bring your little sibling everywhere. Every time I’m in an edit he is too. To some taylor swift love ship edit”

George barked a laugh.

“He gets enough attention, trust me. I think the fans should move on to someone else.” You add

“Say it louder queen.” Max added

George finally breaks his silence

“Glad to know how you really feel.”

“Just saying what everyone’s thinking.” You smirk

There was a glint in your eye, and George caught it. That flicker of amusement mixed with something else something dangerous. He shot you a sideways look, biting back a smile.

The next few questions were well, fine.

Safe. Predictable.

“What’s your dream travel destination?”

“What’s your writing process like?”

“If you could only eat one meal forever, what would it be?”

You answered each with a smile, keeping your voice light and your words clean. George had mostly stayed quiet, chiming in with the occasional comment or joke, keeping it casual. But every so often, his foot would bump yours under the table. A silent nudge. You’d ignore it. Mostly.

Then, about 30 minutes in, Max glanced off-camera toward the corner of the room.

“Callum, do you have any dilemmas for us?” mas asks.

The director slouched back in his chair, working at the cameras perked up instantly, clearly prepared.

“Yeah, got one.Print it off.” He says pointing to the printer.

“George send this to the printer.”Max says

George types random things on his keyboard “Sent.”

“Here y/n read it” George says passing it to You

“All right. You say clearing your throat. Ive been making moves on my boss and he’s been reciprocating it constantly but we can’t be together due to HQ. What should i do? P.S George you’re fit and max is a skinny legend.”

The room fell dead silent. For a second too long.

You could feel your heart thudding in your ears, trying not to look at George, who was in the same position.

“Well hey, if he’s your boss… who’s gonna fire you if they find out?” You let out breathy laugh.

“Not sure that’s how that works.” Georgge adds.

Max jumps in “I mean hey, if it feels right, do it. Who cares if people find out and you loose your job?”

“Out of touch.” George smirks at max

Max threw a pen at him.

After the episode, once the mics are off and the cameras stop rolling

You pulled George aside the second this was finished.

“I think that dilemma is gonna make it obvious, you twat. Why would you let cal choose that one?”

“Blame Max, not me.” George said seemingly not caring.

“You handed it to me. You literally chose me to read it.”

“You were closest to the printer.”

“You’re closest to death.” You said unable to contain your smile

He laughed, hands raised in defense, but he stepped in a bit closer the grin softening just slightly.

“Seriously though… no one’s gunna know unless we tell them.”

“You don’t think that entire thing screamed secret relationship?” Tou tsk

“I think if we wanted to keep it hidden, maybe don’t describe me as your type then look at me when you say “please me” hmm?” He says annoyingly smug

You rolled your eyes.

“You liked that.” You bit your lip at him

George responds back quieter this time “Yeah. I did.”

You bit back a smile. He looked at you, just a beat longer than necessary.

“If the internet finds out you’re gonna be the one defending it this time.” You smirk

“You’re acting like it’s cancelable that we’re dating.” He says

“Oh hush it.” You say walking back to max.

[camficdiner]

Seen you were out of orders and we can’t have that!

Can I get 1.2 2.15 3.3 4.3

They pretend to hate each other - everyone else knows they’re obsessed

☕️ cams fic diner — order 079

🍒 thank you Gab — who said “seen you were out of orders and can’t have that” like the absolute icon she is. thank you for the reblogs, the love, the chaos, and for sliding back in with this prompt like you knew exactly what my delulu soul needed. this fic’s yours, babe — and yes, he snaps.

💬 “Shut the door, lock it, lose the key.”

✨ description & prompts:

• character: Quinn Hughes

• prompt: you both get locked overnight in the Canucks team bus

• additional tropes : enemies to lovers (but everyone knows they’re obsessed)

• type: smut (rough)

• wc ~ 2k

🍒🛼✨🧁

The last time you saw Quinn Hughes up close, your hair reached your hips.

Thick, wavy, always half-tangled from running between media vans and locker rooms with a lanyard swinging at your chest and a coffee going cold in your hand. You were the kind of girl who didn’t wait for things to calm down — you thrived in the chaos of a three-game road stretch, four post-skates in a row, media days with overlapping schedules.

You had been like that since day one. Loud, quick-tongued, too opinionated for someone who didn’t wear skates. You always had one foot planted near the Canucks, even if unofficially — media relations, then digital coverage, then an internal PR gig that kept you circulating the roster like a storm cloud in heels.

And Quinn hated it. Or at least that’s what he made you think.

Ever since the third month of his second full year in Vancouver — a November you would never forget — when you’d made a harmless joke about his hair after a shoot, and he’d muttered something just low enough to cut you in half.

“Maybe if you spent more time on your own look, you wouldn’t need to comment on mine.”

You blinked, stunned, lips parted, and didn’t say anything back. But you walked out, cheeks burning. And from that moment on, something had curdled between the two of you.

It wasn’t hostility. Not really. More like something sharp edged and overheated. Something that brewed when you were around each other too long. You’d shoot him a look across the tunnel. He’d roll his eyes. You’d avoid saying his name. He’d find ways to say yours wrong.

But here’s what no one really talked about:

How he always ended up walking near you when he didn’t have to.

How he knew your birthday.

How Jack, drunk one night, said Quinn talked about you too much for someone who doesn’t like you.

And tonight?

Tonight you were bent over inside the team bus at 9:57 PM, tossing a stack of game notes back into your duffel, when Quinn’s voice made your stomach clench.

“You cut it.”

You froze.

Straightened up.

Turned to see him in the middle aisle, backlit by the glow from the arena’s loading dock.

He was holding a charger in one hand and watching you like you’d morphed into a stranger.

Your hair — now cropped blunt to your shoulders — shifted slightly with your breath. Still the same deep color. Still yours. But you weren’t ready for the way he looked at it.

“Yeah,” you said evenly. “Got sick of it.”

His gaze didn’t move.

“Doesn’t suit you,” he muttered.

“Didn’t ask,” you shot back, and that should’ve been it. But you didn’t look away either.

And that’s when it happened.

The hiss of hydraulics.

The low mechanical clunk.

The dome lights dimming.

The final whir as the bus powered down.

You turned slowly.

“Was that…?”

Quinn took one long step toward the door. Tugged the handle.

Nothing

He pulled harder. Then shoved. The lock didn’t budge.

He cursed under his breath.

“No. No, no—fuck,” you said, moving past him and trying the emergency lever.

Still nothing.

The engine had shut. The driver was gone.

Outside, the last equipment guy was wheeling a bin back into the shadows of Rogers Arena. The loading bay lights flickered.

The bus had shut down for the night.

And you were inside it.

With Quinn Hughes.

Alone.

——

You looked at him. He looked at you. Silence, heat, tension.

And that was just the beginning.

The silence stretches five minutes too long.

You sit sideways in one of the cushioned bench seats halfway down the bus aisle, your knees drawn up, your hoodie bunched around your elbows. Quinn stands at the front, hands on his hips, pacing like he’s calculating an escape plan. You can feel the weight of his annoyance radiating off him like heat.

“This is your fault,” you mutter.

He doesn’t even look back. “Of course it is.”

You scoff. “You could’ve told someone you were coming in here. But no, you just had to brood silently with your little charger like some tortured divorced dad.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he snaps, still infuriatingly calm. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have walked in.”

You straighten your back. “Great. The feeling’s mutual.”

He finally turns around. Eyes cold. Jaw sharp. “Then stop talking.”

You laugh—an ugly, bitten thing. “You don’t get to act annoyed like I’m the one ruining your night, Hughes. You’ve been a dick to me for four years straight.”

His stare doesn’t waver. “Yeah? Maybe if you weren’t constantly in everyone’s face—”

“Oh, right. God forbid a woman be competent and loud.”

He steps forward, slow and measured. “It’s not that you’re loud. It’s that you always think you’re the smartest person in the room.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” you snap. “The quiet golden boy who thinks being moody counts as depth.”

Something flickers in his expression. You hit a nerve.

“Tell me, Quinn,” you push, your voice rising. “Did it make you feel good? That comment you made years ago? Did putting me down help your ego, or was that just classic rich kid ‘don’t touch my hair’ trauma?”

He’s close now.

Closer than he’s been in years.

His voice drops, barely audible. “You think I don’t regret that?”

You blink.

And he smirks. “You’ve hated me since that day. And yet, here we are. Still circling.”

“You think I want to be here?” You stand now, chest to chest. “You think I lie awake at night dreaming of being stuck in a goddamn bus with you?”

He leans in. “You know what I think?”

His breath is warm. His voice, deadly quiet.

“I think you liked it. The fight. The way I looked at you when you cut your hair. The way I still do.”

You don’t say anything. Your heart pounds.

He tilts his head. “You were mad I didn’t say you looked good.��

“I wasn’t—”

“You wanted it to matter.”

And that’s when you snap.

Your hand flies to his shirt, gripping the collar, shoving him back into the side of the aisle with a hard thud. His breath catches, sharp and surprised, but his hands are already on your hips—pulling you in, holding you still as your bodies collide.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you hiss.

“Yeah?” he growls, dragging you closer by the waistband of your jeans. “You’ve been strutting around this team for years like you don’t want me to ruin you.”

Then he kisses you.

Hard.

Teeth clashing. Tongue sharp. Hands brutal.

He spins you, presses you flat against the window. One hand fisting in your short hair, tugging it back so he can kiss your neck, bite the edge of your jaw.

“You cut it so I’d notice,” he breathes against your ear.

“You think too highly of yourself.”

“You wore the tight jeans,” he growls, hand slipping under your waistband, gripping your bare hip. “You knew what you were doing.”

“And you’re the same cocky boy who insulted me in year two,” you whisper.

“Still think about it every time I see you.”

He kisses you again, rougher, hungrier, his hand trailing between your legs. He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t pause. He touches you like he’s been waiting for this moment since that first fight, since that first interview, since the night he called you a name and saw your mouth part like you wanted to scream.

And now?

Now you do.

——

The window fogs behind your spine.

Your hands are flat on the glass, breath catching, knees tightening as Quinn’s hand slips lower—past denim, past the thin cotton of your underwear, straight to where you’re already soaking. He doesn’t pretend to be gentle. His fingers push in with that same restrained precision he plays with—controlled, decisive, arrogant.

“You’re this wet from arguing?” he breathes, pressing his mouth to your neck. “Fuck—figures you’d be loud even when you’re turned on.”

You moan, high and sharp, your body arching as he fucks you with his fingers—palm grinding against your clit, slow and deliberate. You can barely think. Can’t even try to win. Not when he’s curling his fingers just right, watching your mouth fall open.

“Been thinking about this,” he mutters, eyes heavy, voice wrecked. “About how you’d sound when I finally got you like this. Whining. Wet. Needing me.”

You turn to glare at him—but it’s pathetic, a half-lidded mess of need.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

He grins. “Yeah?”

And just like that, he drags his hand away.

You gasp, spinning around, slapping your hand on his chest, shoving him backward toward the narrow bus aisle. “Don’t you dare—”

But you don’t finish the sentence. Because he yanks you forward again, grabs your thighs, and lifts you like it’s nothing. Your back hits the cushioned bench seat. His body slots between your legs. His mouth is back on yours—tongue hot and demanding, hands already at your waistband, yanking your jeans down mid-thigh.

“You gonna tell me to stop?” he pants, pushing your underwear aside, running the thick head of his cock through your slick folds.

You shake your head.

He smirks. “Didn’t think so.”

And then he’s inside.

One stroke, deep and thick, stretching you open fast. Your head slams back into the seat. A raw, startled cry punches out of your throat.

“Fuck—Quinn—”

His grip on your hips tightens, fingers bruising as he starts thrusting. Hard. Relentless. The kind of rhythm that feels like punishment and obsession wrapped into one. He buries himself to the hilt each time, jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours.

“I hated you,” he grits. “I fucking hated how you looked at me. Like you saw through me. Like you knew what I wanted.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders.

“And you did. You fucking knew. That’s why you teased me. That’s why you wore those little outfits. That’s why you never looked away.”

Your legs wrap around his waist.

Your cries echo in the empty bus, breathless and sharp, your whole body shaking from the pace.

Then—

He grabs a fistful of your short hair. Tugs.

Hard.

Your neck arches back. Your mouth parts.

He leans in, choking you with his hand and kissing you all at once.

“Take it,” he growls, voice low and breaking. “Take all of it.”

Your vision blurs. Your walls tighten.

You feel him deep, dragging you toward the edge so fast you can’t stop it.

“Quinn—”

You come hard, sobbing into his neck, whole body wracked with it.

But he doesn’t slow

He keeps fucking you through it, pounding harder now, fingers back on your throat, breath ragged.

“You’re gonna let me come inside you,” he growls.

You whimper. “Y-Yeah—”

“Good girl.”

And he does—buries himself deep, grinds into you, moaning loud as he spills inside, every drop hot and messy and full.

He pulls out too slow, and the mess is already leaking down your thighs.

You’re both panting.

Sweating.

His thumb swipes the cum between your legs—slow, obscene—and pushes it back in.

“Quinn—fuck—”

He smirks. “Don’t act surprised. You’ve been dying for this since I called you a brat four years ago.”

You slap his chest. He grabs your wrist, kisses it.

Then kisses your mouth.

Soft.

Warm.

Careful, finally.

“Still hate me?” he whispers.

You roll your eyes. “Ask me in the morning.”

——

He leans back, pulls you onto his lap, tucks your jacket around your legs.

The bus is silent again.

Except this time, you’re wrapped around each other. Sweaty. Breathless. And finally—finally—honest.