#the twelve chairs movie | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

biteyoubiteme · 7 months ago

Text

black cherry flavored

ot5 txt x fem!reader

synopsis: how many ghostfaces are there again?

warnings: 🔞!!! gangbang, mentions of drinking, getting scared, fearplay? reader gets chased through house and doesnt know who it is, knifeplay (only used to cut off underwear), clit play, mean dom moments, filming during sex, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (f!), creampie(s), marking, subspace, fingering, oral (m! rec), hair pulling!, overstim (f!rec), she/her used prob forgot some

wc: 9.2k (this one got away from me)

an: this is not proofread at all im so so so sorry forgive me sweet angel ily but I cannot believe october is over and this event has come to an end ;-; I hope you guys like this one! im a HUGE horror movie fan so I was excited to do this and hopefully it turned out well. I went with a different approach for a scream fic that was kinda based on different aspects from the movies and I hope you like it! feedback is appreciated :)) [m.list]

this is apart of my mini kinktober event check out the rest of the fics! [dumdum m.list]

"whats your favorite scary movie?"

You roll your eyes, hand coming up to cover the screen of your laptop. “Aren't you supposed to be doing your own work not pestering me about mine?”

It was late in the night, the library dead silent besides the hum of the heater and faint typing on stiff keyboards. The door to the study space was cracked just enough to hear the elevator if it dinged, the indicator the floor would soon be closing for the cleaning staff. The clock on the wall told you it was close to one in the morning, only an hour away from the library being cleared and closed.

“I'm avoiding the rest of my essay,” beomgyu shrugs, clicking his pen as a signal for an end to the line of questioning. “Annoying you just seemed like a better plan,”

“Annoying all of us, I needed this done an hour ago,” yeonjun doesn't even look up from his laptop, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, lenses glossed over with the light from his screen, fingers speeding over the keys only to pause and jam the delete button. “Fuck, i lost my train of thought,”

“It's already late, just turn it in tomorrow morning,” huening suggests, slouched back in his chair, thumbs nibbly swiveling on the joystick of his switch. “The syllabus said it was ten points off no matter how late after twelve you submit it,”

“Don't talk to me right now, you got yours in on time. And I'm getting this done tonight whether I like it or not. I won't be able to handle looking at it tomorrow morning. the paper just won't get turned in at all if that happens,” yeonjuns back to typing furiously squinting at his laptop not noticing kais grin.

“You should have listened to me about meeting up at nine, but nooo-”

“Huening,” yeonjun warns.

“I'm just saying…”

Yeonjun picks up one of Soobin's scattered pens from the table, tossing it at Kai hitting him in the lap. And when Kai just laughs, Yeonjun picks up a few more to throw, the showering of pens making Kai yelp.

“Shhh,” soobin doesn't even lift his head to see what's going on. He and tae had been trying to sleep for the better part of two hours, Taehyun having found success, sliding two chairs together to prop his legs up. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and hasn't said anything since closing them. Soobin only crossed his arms and laid his head down, leg bouncing showing he was still struggling to actually find it in him to sleep without his bed.

The six of you usually booked the room on Friday nights from nine to two, blocking the time to try and catch up on work before the weekend. It was either the time you got the most work done or none at all. You're surprised it took beomgyu this long to finally turn away from his assignment at this point he's usually at the whiteboard doodling or trying to get everyone to play dirty hangman.

It was easier to get all of you together here instead of one of your small dorms, the space hardly big enough for three people let alone six. In the library you didn't have to worry about cramming together, the fourth floors study spaces equipped with long tables and eight chairs. Out of the two libraries on campus this one didn't have many people visit often, especially not when the walk from any of the dorms was twice as long. The fourth floor was empty and quiet except for the group's laughter on nights you didn't worry about work.

“You didn't answer that question,” beomgyu points out again, pointer finger pushing away your hand blocking the screen, “what's your favorite scary movie?”

“I didn't answer it because I can't choose,” you confess, scrolling through the paper you're writing for class.

“Is your homework twenty questions?” soobins voice is muffled, annoyed and sleep-ridden.

“No-”

beomgyu cuts you off before you could explain, brows scrunching as he reads. “Looks like it, this one is ‘what are the rules around sex’ there is no way this actually for your class,”

“What?” this pulls soobins head up, the messy strands of his dark hair sticking up around his forehead.

“Of course you wake up when you hear the word sex,” yeonjun quips, pursing his lips reading over his work on his screen.

“No need to wake up you type so loud i couldn't fall asleep,” soobin says brushing his long fingers through his hair, you always noticed the later it got the grumpier he became, pouting lips and half lidded eyes always making an appearance after midnight.

“It's for my film studies class. We’re learning about the rules of horror,” its clarification enough for soobin who nods but beomgyu lets his head tilt to the side, the vision of a question mark.

“Rules? You can't just send a killer in, have them spill some blood, and call it a day?”

“You could, but i'm sure it would follow a pattern, even without you realizing it,” scrolling through your work you pause on the first option. “First you have to think about the time period when the movie was filmed. Most of the popular ones ranged from the 80’s to the early 2000’s. A huge push in most cultures is the topics of sex, drugs, and money. It's the three things people try to control the most. Throw a bunch of badly behaving teens in with a psycho killer playing god and you can tell the masses how wrong something is. Like having sex,”

“So wrong it would get you killed?”

“Yup, in most, if not all, horror movies the people who have sex on screen or are known for sleeping around get killed off, leaving the poor virgin alive. Main characters who live to the end also don't drink, or do drugs. Rich people aren't safe, especially if you have a big empty house with lots of stairs, doors, and windows. The more for you to make the wrong decision not to exit from,”

“Then who does live?” Kai asks, game paused in hand.

“The girl next door lead, never her boyfriend, the camera man, unless you see him leave the group because you should never leave the group under any circumstances. But everyone else is fair game. Oh and if you say ‘i'll be right back,’ the lines a killer in and of itself,”

“So I'd die because I like to have a good time?” yeonjun asks, fingers paused on his keys as he looks over at you. Everyone but tae is turned in your direction, listening intently.

“Unless you're the killer, or lucky because you weren't in line of the camera when you decided it was smart enough to leave the house. It's very kill or be killed. Another rule is to never trust anyone,”

“The list just gets longer and longer,” soobin sits back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head as he stretches, “you know i saw this one post on twitter that some people like the whole masked killer thing, gets them off,”

“Of course you would be on twitter looking at stuff like that,” gyu fakes disappointment, shaking his head, “this is exactly why you wouldn't survive, you're a closeted perv,”

“I don't know about closeted perv, he was openly scrolling past hentai the other day in the dorm,” yeonjun is back to typing, soobin kicking the foot of his chair.

“Past it, i didn't pause on it,”

“It was on your for you page! Clearly you have a habit of liking things akin to it,”

“I don't know, I think it's kinda hot, the mask thing. or i guess more so the build up of fear, it's almost like foreplay, your pulse starts going, you get all flushed. And I did see this clip of these two guys dressed up…” this wouldn't be the first time any of you confessed to watching something that turned you on. All of you had been friends for years, growing up nothing had ever been an off limits topic. You can see the video in your head, the way they held the girl between them; how they manhandled her down onto the bed.

“So you and soobin are both freaks,” beomgyu grins, the need to tease showing right in his eyes.

“A threesome is not freaky,” Taehyun states, breaking his silence, hat still over his eyes, fully relaxed and laid back. If you hadn't known the sound of his voice you would have assumed he was still asleep, if he had even been asleep in the first place.

“Agreed, anything over three is a little freaky,” soobin shrugs, bending over halfway out of his chair to pick up his fallen pens.

“So would you? Sleep with more than two people at once?” gyu asks, the tilt back to his head, “this is the true test if you're freaky or not,” he chuckles.

“I mean yeah… would you?” The question is directed at the room and you watch the question lay over them like fog, each of them thinking for a second, blank expressions all the way around.

Taehyun was the first to respond, shrugging his shoulders before nodding briefly, “I wouldn't let the opportunity slip by if it was offered,” It was a unanimous yes from all of them, the hummed agreement not too surprising.

“Done!” yeonjun smashes one last key before stretching big, “finally fucking submitted, and right before we have to leave, im surprised the staff hasnt gotten around to our room yet to kick us out,”

Taehyun pulls his hat from his face, sitting up with a yawn, “good, i needed my bed two hours ago,”

It always felt so good to sleep in on a saturday after a study session like this, you could already feel how cozy it would be to wrap up in your blanket. And even if the mattress was shit with or without the foam topper, it was better than laying out in the chairs like taehyun just was. ��

All of you cleaned up the space, making sure to tuck in the chairs, pick up the discarded cups of late night bad decision coffee. Squishing in the elevator together, bags bumping into one another before you filed out; passing all the empty desks and empty aisles of books to make it out the front door.

As soon as the outside air hits your cheeks you know it’s going to feel like a long walk back to the dorms. the boys tucking their ears into hoodies, zipping their jackets up, you and kai lived in the dorms on the opposite side of campus from the rest of them, their walk shorter by only a few minutes.

“Okay we’re still on for dinner tomorrow right?” Kai asks the group.

beomgyu’s jumping on the balls of his feet to try to generate some warmth. “literally just text us, I cannot think about tomorrow when i’m this cold and sleepy,”

“Yes, we’re still on, I've been craving anything other than dining hall food for the past week,” yeonjun adds, shivering as he pulls the straps of his bag closer to his chest. “We'll still meet up back here like usual,” he was walking backwards as he said it, already a few steps behind the others, “but see you guys tomorrow or should I say ‘i’ll be right back!’” he jokingly yells while the others wave goodbye.

“don’t play jjunie, you might be next! don’t trust anyone!” He gives you a silent salute in response as you and Kai head out for your walk.

Instinctively the two of you are shoulder to shoulder, bumping into one another every other step. Silence following each muffled step on the pavement. Sometimes the two of you didn't say anything until you split on the elevators. a quick ‘goodnight’ or ‘see you tomorrow’ thrown out as you step out on your floor, waving as the doors closed back up so he could go up one more level. Other nights it was the two of you giggling trying to keep it down as you walked under the moonlight, too late to be loud.

You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering as the wind hits the treeline. spots of orange light from the spaced out street lights are rare, casting the two of you in darkness every time the moon is behind the clouds; every several feet the hash light is back in your path.

“So you'd live? In a horror movie?” Kai asks, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders to his ears from the cold. The wind is hitting him right in the face, tossing his hair from his eyes where he liked to keep it. He asks it so softly, the question highlighted in the divot of his brow, nose pink, face washed in the glow from the moon.

“I'm not really a virgin so…,” it's not an embarrassing confession but when it's this late with his eyes trained solely on you it's like a spilled glass of red wine on white sheets. Impossible to look away from.

“You wouldn't live for knowing how people survive?”

“The smart ones usually die from bad luck, they know to head for the car waiting in the lot but forget the keys or if the keys are still in the ignition they never check the back seat. They know if you run into the woods to escape you can hide, but how unlucky for a rusty forgotten bare trap to be waiting for your next step. or if you miss that one here's a log to trip over, only to tumble down a hill and break your neck. Call the police? You're in the one movie a phone works only for you to forget never trust anyone because the police work for the killer,”

“So none of us make it?” It's such an open question the way he asks it, the hopeful twinge hitting the ending, twisting it into something it shouldn't be. Written right over his features the soft words unsaid, can't we? There has to be a way.

“This isn't a movie kai, we’re fine,”

“I know, it's only a question,” he's so easily flustered when alone, second guessing everything he says, as if one slip up will make you hate him. Now he's blushing, both of you falling back into comfortable silence. You can tell he's thinking by the way he's biting at his cheek, eyes watching his feet, making sure not to miss one step. You assume it's the end of what he has to say, his silence following you all the way back to your floor. The elevator doors opened finally giving him the courage to speak up. “Do you…”

“Hum?” you lift your arm to hold the doors open, turned to see him struggling to get the words out.

“Do you want to come with me to my parents cabin,” he says it all in a rush, avoiding looking you in the eyes just in case you reject him. “I mean you don't have to, the guys won't be there and if it makes you uncomfortable-” he cuts himself off, hand at the back of his neck, trying to rub away his embarrassment, “forget it- forget i said anything,”

“It's okay, I'd love to go. where is it?”

“Um it's like two hours from campus, my parents need me to check on it just cause and i thought, why not make a weekend of it? I mean, you can finally sleep on a real mattress, not whatever was issued here,”

A weekend away did sound good, perfect after the semester you were having. And Kai is as sweet as they come, spending time with him wouldn't be bad at all. “Sure, when are you thinking?”

“Next week?”

It was all so very innocent, a sweet boy asking a girl to join him on a weekend getaway. He even packed you snacks for the drive, let you pick all the music, and made sure to carry your bag in when you arrived.

You weren't stupid enough not to realize why you were here and the other boys didn't get an invite. The whole week you thought it over, pushing around the idea of being with him. And you could tell he was tossing it around all throughout the drive, periodically blushing without saying a thing to you, hands tightening on the steering wheel; knuckles turning white from the pressure.

Halfway through the drive you realized exactly what he meant by cabin. Not the kind sitting near the edge of a trail, but one hidden deep into the woods for perfect seclusion. Kai had a late class to make up for and the two of you didn't get started on the drive until the sun was already setting behind the trees. Every shadow thrown across the road drew longer and longer as the car kept on.

The gravel driveway leading up to the cabin was a stretch, but when you finally broke past the winding path the gleaming two story was not very cabin like. The windows reflecting the cars headlights back at you expanded most of the first level. Wraparound porch dotted with chairs, and a swinging bench. As soon as kai killed the engine the silence stumbled in, darkness spilling over the scene as you climbed out of your seat.

“This place is huge,” you whisper, as if anything louder would disrupt the peace of the outdoors. You held your phone's flash up in front of you, huening fumbling to put the key into the lock on the first try. Each attempt from his shaking hand failed.

“Here,” you took the key into your own hand, twisting the knob and pushing the door open.

“Sorry,” his voice wavering as he flips on the light switch, “i'm just- you know-,” he cuts himself off not wanting any more embarrassment to follow him.

As soon as the lights come on you can't see anything outside, the windows a reflection of the room. A tv hanging over a huge stone fireplace, welcoming couches spaced out in a semi circle around a wooden coffee table, a bar topped with dusty glasses pushed in the corner. Kai kicks off his shoes by the door, walking further in you notice the dark hallway leading deeper into the first floor, a staircase waiting right by the entrance. But kai ignores it all while walking towards the kitchen.

“I mostly have to check the doors and windows to make sure no one broke in,” he's trying to fill the silence, rambling to kill his nerves,”one year we had someone steal the tv, we don't really leave much now just incase, so that's why it looks so empty,”

“People actually drive all the way out here and break in? The last time i saw a turn off the road before this one was an hour ago,”

“You never know, it's best to just check and fill out a report sooner rather than later,” in the kitchen the backdoor is made of two foggy planes of glass, only the outline of kai seen in the weavering shape. He twists the knob and to your surprise it gives way and opens, “damn one of my sisters must have forgotten to lock it last they were here,” You lean your hip against the kitchen island, taking his explanation as is.

“They come out here to check too?”

“Rarely they mostly come with their friends but stopped when they realized there is zero phone service this far out,”

“There isn't?” you hadn't even checked to see if your phone was working, “what if someone had broken in? You have no phone to make a call from,”

He chuckles pointing past your shoulder, right on the end of the counter a sleek black cordless landline rests in its holder, the blinking red light showing one waiting voicemail. “Sometimes it can be spotty but for the most part its a solid line of communication,”

Hand still on the knob of the backdoor he locks the door before walking over to the pantry, finding only a crate of dusty wine and a stack of old jiffy pop popcorn.

“Wait, I didn't think they made these anymore,” you reach out for the thin metal handle attached to the panshapped popcorn container. Shaking it you hear the rattle of the kernels, “when i was younger i thought it was just something people had in movies,”

“My sisters and i love the stuff, it's also easy to pop outside over the fire,”

“So all you leave is popcorn and wine when you're not staying here?” you tap the crate of wine with your foot, his grin boyish and shy.

“It's a good thing for us now i guess,”

It's what leads you to sharing the bottle, passing it by the neck as he gives you a tour of the house. His lips right at the spout, nerves loosening up with each sip he takes, creaking steps leading up the second floor. “And here is my room,”

It’s right at the end of the hall, bed neatly made with a single stuffed penguin sitting against the pillows. “You left him here all alone?” You ask, picking up the plushie, Kai's standing in front of the closet, the slatted doors making up most of the wall behind him facing the bed.

He shrugs placing the half full wine bottle down on his dresser, “someone needed to protect my prize possession,” he falls right onto the mattress, head thrown back, hair spilling against the pillows, “i always sleep so good in this bed,” cheeks flushed from the wine, half lidded eyes watching you from under his lashes. It's an invitation you don't pass up.

You climb in after him, feeling relaxed from drinking even if it was only a little bit, you can tell it's helped him too, his lazy smile so blissful. “I'm sure this bed is good for other things too,” you don't even care about being bold, not alone with him under you as you dip your head, nose brushing his.

The first kiss is so soft, a brush of lips together lasting no longer than a second. Kai whines in the back of his throat, an ache for more hidden in the desperate sound. It's addicting to have someone seem so needy for your attention, his legs instinctively tangling with yours, hand at the back of your neck pulling you back down for another kiss.

The two of you fumbling to feel at each other, your hand sliding up under his shirt to touch his warm skin, his stomach flexing at the brush of your cold fingertips. His hand at your waist pulling you closer to him, needing you as close as he can get you. The kiss is sloppy in seconds, his tongue sliding against yours, noses bumping as you breath in each other. You can feel that he's semi-hard, pressed against your thigh between his legs.

He's a mess, whimpering when you pull away to take off your sweater, leaving you braless in a tank top. greedy hands back on you, pulling you back down on top of him, he’s grinding onto you desperately, fully hard from only kissing.

every little noise he makes is caught in your mouth, his fingers fumbling for the button on your jeans. you have to pull away after his failed attempt, giggling as you brush his hair back, “it’s okay to take it a little bit slow huening we have all night,” you remind him, “I don’t want you cumming in your jeans when it could be in or on me,” he's looking up at you with total devotion, with an expression that lets you know he'd let you do anything if you asked.

“Please?” and it doesn't even matter what he's begging for, you would let him do just about anything in return for looking at you like that.

You're quick to rid yourself of your pants, falling back to the bed and letting him roll on top of you. Hands in his hair as he presses into you, one hand holding himself up while the other snakes down between you two. The soft gasp you let out eggs him on, drawing soft circles over your clothed clit like he knows exactly what to do. You twist your fingers into his hair, his lips tracing down your neck, hips back to grinding into your thigh. At first you don't notice the smell of popcorn. It's faint upstairs, wafting in through the vents, buttery and warm as kai slips his fingers into you. Your hips rolling on his hand, meeting every thrust, heel of his palm pressed to your clit.

It isn't until the popcorn starts to burn that you say something, the tang in the air subtle as kai sucks hickeys on your sensitive skin. “Is something on fire?”

Kai pulls away from the crook of your neck, “what the fuck?” breathing deeply to catch the scent. It's clear in the air now, hanging around like a question. “Stay here,”

it's so unceremonious when he pulls his hand from your panties, fingers dropping onto his tongue to clear them, “i'll be right back, okay?”

“O-okay,” you're confused more than anything, knees pulling in feeling overly exposed all of a sudden. It's silent in the house, the soundtrack of your kissing dimmed to nothing, before it's replaced with the creaking of his dissipating steps down the stairs.

You feel a little foolish sitting in his bed, the crumpled sheets and discarded plushie a reminder that this is not normal for a hook up at all. Letting out a long breath you push out of the bed, all relaxation felt before now gone as you reach for the wine bottle on the dresser. You take a heavy swig from the bottle, needing your courage back. It felt silly to worry over burnt popcorn.

Your stomach turns, sickening realization settling in. the two of you had only picked up the wine, neither of you even put the jiffy pop close to the stove's burners. You're quick to look for your phone, checking in the pile of your clothes on the floor, and finding nothing. Your bag was by the door downstairs, right next to the shoes, if your phone wasnt up here it was bound to be in your bag.

You didn't say anything as you made it to the top of the stairs, not until the phone rang. Not the familiar song that came through your speakers but the deft echo of a warning siren. The kind of ringtone that was played in a movie when someone was receiving bad news, and it didn't stop, traveling up the stairs, playing once, twice, until nothing but silence.

“Huening?” your voice wasn't as strong as you wished, faulting at the end as you took your first step down the stairs.

No response.

The last step creaks under your weight, the sound triggering the phone, that chilling ringtone back in the air. All the lights are on, nothing outside the windows visible as you watch your reflection walk past. You look right at the front door as you walk past, all of your things still in place, even Kai's shoes are still right where he left them.

In the kitchen you find the ringing phone, the little screen bright green as it shows the incoming call. The skins faucet turned on, the pelting water beating down on the thin aluminum foil of the jiffy pop, hastily tossed into the basin. Thin rivulets of smoke still curling from the singed popcorn. The stove's gas burner still lit with a blue flame.

The ringing continues as you turn everything off, feeling suddenly too cold and alone standing under the golden lights. It doesn't help that you're only dressed in your panties and tanktop, bare feet padding across the tile to pick you the phone.

Unknown caller. Read the directory, not even the number shown underneath. You hit answer before you could think better of it.

“Hello?” your pulse was in your ears, washing down your neck, but you're stunned to recognize the voice over the phone.

“What's your favorite scary movie?”

You can't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up before you respond, “kai, are you using the ghostface voice on me right now? You already had your hand down my pants no need for the theatrics,”

You can't even pick up a trace of his real voice over the filter, the soft chuckle on the other line trickling down your spine. “You didn't answer my question, you have to have a favorite, what comes to mind?”

“So we’re quoting the movie now?” you ask, looking around the kitchen, leaning back against the countertop. “Should i go all in and start asking to make it to the sequel?”

He chuckles, so soft and sensual, unlike his usual boisterous laugh. “Maybe…but a little birdie told me that you're not a virgin and you know what happens to those who sleep around right?”

“Enlighten me,” you cross your arms smiling at your reflection in the window. It's a bit silly to be here roleplaying in the first place but it's not like you're against it. What gets you is that it's coming from kai of all people. So soft and sweet, giggling and shyly walking you home. But you truly never know what a persons into until you're faced first with it.

“They don't last very long,” so smug as he says it.

“They don't?”

“Nope, and you have a list of things that you've already done wrong. I don't know if you truly deserve to make it to the sequel,”

“Oh? What did I do wrong?” you smile, checking out your nails, thumb running along the bed of your cuticles as you listen.

“Humm, let me see. First you're all alone in that big old house, did anyone ever tell you never to go into the dark and scary woods all alone?”

“I'm not alone, i have you,”

He ignores the last half of your statement, “Aren't you? hum, funny how i don't see the boytoy around anymore,”

“I can't believe you planned all of this, who knew you would be so freaky? I can't say that it doesn't turn me on though,”

“Oh? How cute that you still think I'm your little boyfriend. I mean didn't you see the signs? The door was unlocked in the back, popcorn on the stove when you didn't put it there, and now a missing boy toy. It's a shame you seem to have forgotten everything you've learned in class, or maybe it was the wine,”

“A few sips won't make me stupid, seriously huening come out, i want to get back into your bed,” you push off the counter, walking back toward the living room until you're stopped dead in your tracks. The sound isn't coming from the phone but just up ahead around the corner.

Your laugh echoes in the empty house, followed by your own words, “it’s okay to take it a little bit slow huening, we have all night, I don’t want you cumming in your jeans when it could be in or on me,”

You follow each line into the living room, the tv on and showing a video of only minutes ago.

“Please?” kais weavering voice seems so loud here instead of between you two.

You can see yourself push down your pants, watch the way the two of you fall right back into each other. Only now you're seeing it from the perspective of the closet, it's the only place you could think of that he would have placed the camera. The slats of the wood even in frame. It's like someone dropped a bucket of ice water on top of you. Standing in front of the tv as if you're Carrie from the prom and someones set up a cruel joke.

“Cute huh?” the voice over the phone asks, that little laugh following right after, “i sure think it is. Look at the way your body reacts to his fingers, you’ll be that pretty for me won't you?”

You feel the hair on the back of your neck rise, the house too big for this kind of game. Even just standing there now alone it felt like you were a fish in a bowl, stuck to be watched from all sides. And not from the video but from the figure standing right on the outside of the window.

He was dressed in all black, nothing like what kai had been wearing before. And covering his face the dripping white mask of ghostface. You only catch a glimpse because the lights are on but it's enough to remind you that maybe this isn't a joke. “Are you outside?”

“I don't know? Am i?” but as he says it you see down the hallway a dark figure step out of a doorway.

Everything in you freezes, your heart rate plummeting, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin. You hadn't even noticed your fingers had been trembling before, not until your deathgrip on the phone starts to hurt. “Don't hang up on me,” he warns over the line, but the person down the hall doesnt even have a phone in sight, his slow prowl reminding you to move.

You take off back towards the kitchen, the back door playing in your head as the best possible exit but as soon as you're in front of it, tugging on a door knob needs to be unlocked you see the haze reflection of two more figures waiting right against the glass. You can hear the laugh of the person on the phone even if it's not to your ear as you rush to pull open any drawer that might have something in it to protect you. But every pull leads you to find nothing at all, “what the fuck!”

The door shakes as they try to pull it open, the glass rattling as you lift the phone back to your ear, “okay huening, that's enough, i get it, ha ha, funny, but seriously-”

“Were you looking for a knife?” he cuts you off, voice so calm when you're falling apart.

“What?” you're exasperated, huffing the question like it's a slap in the face.

“I know where one is, if you want it,”

It's then that the masked man from the hall comes into the kitchen, the steel knife in his hands glinting in the light. “You have to be fucking kidding me right now,” youre desprate to find an explanation for this. The island is between the two of you, his head tilting to the side, the open mouth of the mask mocking you as he takes slow steps around the marble. You're matching his every move, both of you circling the kitchen like two fighters waiting for the ding of a bell.

The door rattles again, the sound making you yelp, hand pressed to your racing heart. It's the distraction you need to bolt right through the kitchens arch way and run to the front door.

You're moving so fast you have little time to slow down, partially slamming into the door, fingers fast to twist the locks.

As soon as it's opened you're standing face to face with another ghostface mask, his black clad outfit sticking to his figure as he towers over you, phone hovering right over the mask's gaping mouth. “Hum not out the front door i guess,”

You try to slam the door shut but his boot clad foot moves fast catching it right before it could close completely. Spinning you run towards the stairs, the sound of their following footsteps close behind. The door to the bedroom is still wide open as you barrel through turning around and throwing the door closed and twisting the lock.

But it's only a moment of relief when you feel a hand clasp around your mouth. Your scream is muffled from their fingers, your eyes closing as if that would fix the situation, the phone in your hand falling to the floor, “Shhh it's okay,” Kai whispers, a strong arm wrapping around your middle pulling you closer to him.

The weight is lifted off your shoulders hearing his voice, hands wrapping around the one covering your mouth to tug it away. “What is going on?” you ask, pulling yourself away from him. your back is to the door and he steps closer backing you right up against it.

“Didn't you say you found it kinda hot, the whole fear thing?” he asks, leaning close enough to kiss, “i wanted to make it extra special for you, and you don't mind if we all share you, right?” his knuckle lifts your chin up so you’re eye to eye, nose to nose, his normal shy smile turned devilish. “All you have to do is say no,”

It was crazy to say yes. your heart still pounding, breathing only just starting to regulate, and yet you want him, you want them. “I-I don’t- I don’t want to say no,”

“Then don’t,” he pushed his whole body against yours, engulfing you in his warmth, taking you for another kiss like you hadn’t left the room at all. You don't even notice him unlocking the door, not until the knob is shaking against your back.

Kai pulls you towards the bed, the closet doors behind him open showing the empty space with a lone camera on a tripod. The red light looking back at you like a warning, you looked right down the barrel of the lens wondering if you would ever see this again, and praying that you did. Kai fit his fingers over you eyes, “don't look at it, don’t think about its there,”

You hear a chuckle, so similar to the one over the phone, only without the filter. Now so easily recognizable as yeonjun, you can picture the way his mouth looks as he does it, his canines on display as he smirks. You don't even have to see him to know, you've known all of them so long you're sure one touch and you could guess who was who. And with both of kais hands on your eyes the brush of someone's fingers on your cheek lets you know exactly who it is. Soobins hands are the softest of the bunch and your face tilts in his direction. “Soobin?”

he lets out a huff of a laugh, “you caught me. And you know it's kind of rude not to open the back door when we come knocking,”

“You scared me,” it's a soft confession that they all chuckle at.

“Did we?” beomgyu teases, so much closer than you expected, the ghost of his touch going up your arm, goosebumps popping up along the trail.

Your senses are on overdrive, pulse loud enough to be heard if one listens close enough, every little thing heightened by your fading fear and covered eyes. You feel a hand slip down your stomach stopping right before your panty line, a single finger sliding under the waistline to pull it and let it snap back against your skin. You jolt from the contact, body flush with kai’s, his hard cock pressed to your back.

You hear rustling from the closet, and kai lets you go, letting you see yeonjun taking the camera in hand. He's adjusting the viewfinder, the others standing in a circle around you, it should be intimidating, the masks off now, looking at you like you're something to eat. It's taehyun that steps forward first, thumb reaching out to drag across your bottom lip. You open your mouth letting him press the digit flat against your tongue.

“You’ll be good for us, won't you?” he asks, and you close your mouth sucking his finger as you nod. He smirks, “i want first,”

It's all he says before he's pushing you down on the bed. It's so quick the air is almost knocked right out of you, your hands scrambling to find purchase on the beds duvet cover. It's almost a shame how wet you already are, the way your panties are cut away, the cold knife in taehyuns free hand only just brushing your skin. The fabric tossed around from person to person. “I did most of the work,” kai adds as you bury your face into the sheets, “she wouldn't be this prepped if i didn't start early,”

“And that's why you have to wait,” “You didn't even get her off,” they talk over each other.

“You guys didn't give me time!” kai tries but they ignore him when you give a sharp whine.

Taehyun shoves his fingers right into you, your body so willing to take him in. but you hear his belt being undone with one hand, and it's a shame you cant see the way his cock looks from this angle, because as he pressed the tip right at your entrance, slick fingers helping to lude up his veiny shaft, you can tell he's going to be the perfect stretch.

Your moan as he sinks into your warm heat is echoed by the rest of them, a choir of the perfect voices turned husky and wanting. “Holy shit,” teahyun breathes his hand pressed right to your lower back, your feet dangling right off the edge of the bed, toes only just barely touching the ground.

“Doesn't she feel amazing?” kai asks, “fuck i bet she fits like a fucking dream,” gyu adds as he walks over to the other side of the bed climbing in to lay against the headboard. His zipper was already undone, pants low on his hips as he watched you get pounded into.

Because tae was not holding back anymore, it felt like he had been waiting all night for this exact moment, to chase his high without question. And your pussy was so welcoming, sucking him in, practically begging for his cum.

Yeonjun walked around the bed, zeroing the camera in on you as your legs bend, heel of your feet pushing on taes thighs. Taehyun wraps his hands in your hair, tugging your head back, extending your throat to the camera, arching your back just right, “i want to be able to watch back how you looked while i fucked you okay?”

“Oh, look at that, huening marked up our toy already,” soobin reaches out a finger, tracing over the hickey kai had left on your skin, your eyes were wide and begging as you watched him, mouth caught open in a moan as taes thrusts turned sloppy. “Fuck, look at that mouth,”

yeonjun bent down to catch the image. “I think someone needs to fill it,”

Soobin didn't need to be told twice. He was tugging his cock out of his jeans, leaking precum already dotting the tip as he gave it long languid strokes. Your mouth was already watering at the sight, knowing taking him down your throat would be a task but one you wouldn't back away from.

But taehyun was already cumming, orgasm cresting as he slammed his hips into your ass, cock twitching as he let out a deep rumbling moan. He let go of your hair, head falling forward into the duvet as he stilled inside you pressing as close as he could get, the tip of his cock hitting you just right as he spilled inside you.

“I want next!” gyu calls out, raising his hand like he knows the answer to a question.

“No-” soobin starts but beomgyu is already moving from his stop on the bed as taehyun pulls out, the gush of warmth leaving your cunt dripping down your thighs. Yeonjun is quick to catch the sight on film.

“Look at that,” it sounds so endearing coming from him, a true sight to behold as you whine from the feeling of being empty. You feel like a ragdoll as soobin pulls on you, tugging you further up the bed so that you're on your hands and knees in front of him.

“Open,” his tip is already prodding at your lips. You feel the bed dip behind you, gyu finding his place as he drags his fingers through the leaking cum traveling down your legs, he does his best to shove it right back into you, fingers dragging over your clit, circling it as soobin shoves his cock right into your mouth.

You give a muffled yelp, tongue flattening to make it easier for him to slide in and out of. His head is rolling back, hair spilling around his ears as he moans. He twists his fingers in your hair, both hands wrapping around your head to bob you up and down on his dick like his own personal toy. You're nails dig into the sheets, the sloppy sounds of him fucking your throat taking up the most sound.

Beomgyu keeps one hand on your clit and the other guides his cock into you, he's quick to snap his hips forward sending you forward on soobin, until you're choking for air. Moans sending vibrations up along soobins shaft. His eyes tighten, needing to pull away before he cums too quickly, face flushed red as rivulets of your saliva still connect you to him.

The constant pressure put on your clit from beomgyus fingers has your stomach tightening in knots. Now that you're not taking soobin in beomgyu picks up his pace, the skin on skin slapping sounds melding with your whines. “I want you to cum for me, i want to be the first one to make you cum, please,” he sounds so desperate, not matching the way he drills into you, tip hitting your cervix in a mix of painful pleasure. He can feel your fluttering walls, every particularly hard thrust making your cunt react just right. And when you cum hes a blubbering mess, “fuck fuck fuck-” not expecting to cum so fast, but youre drawing it out of him, with each little sound you make. He's almost embarrassed by how long he cums for, head falling forward to rest on your shoulder blade, his dick pulsing inside you, curses turning to nonsense, the drawn out, “fuuu- ahh, ah,”

“Look at how pretty she looks when she cums,” yeonjun smiles, bringing the camera close to catch the way you are trying to blink the spots from your vision, “soobin next? Or maybe kai? Both of them seem to have waited so long for you,”

Kai leans back against the dresser, arms crossed as he watches you, expressionless as he follows the shape of your body. Only one of your tank tops straps are on, your breasts already spilling out from the thin fabric, soobins eyes caught on your peaked nipples as he strokes himself. But you look back over to huening, the way he's standing there like he's unaffected at all. But you know it's not true, not when he's straining in his pants, the bulge itself drives you insane. “Hyuka?”

The shyness in your voice is what does it for him, beomgyu only just pulling out of you with a hiss. More cum dribbling out as he pushes his hair back looking at his handiwork. Yeonjun is right next to him too, getting the perfect shot.

Taehyun languidly lounges back against the headboard, cock still hard as it rests against his stomach, hand wrapped around the base as he watches you. It distracts you enough not to see kai moving replacing gyus spot.

Kai wraps his hand in your hair but unlike taehyun he forcefully pushes your head down into the mattress. The whole mit of his hand cups your skull, your whimper making him chuckle. His free hands traced up your side, slipping under your tank top as he feels along your skin. “You know I was thinking about this the whole walk back after our study night?” his hand dips down fingers sliding along your wetness, “i kept thinking about how perfect it would be to absolutely ruin you,”

You're already sensitive from finishing already and kai can tell as your thighs tremble but it wont stop him from pinching your clit. Your hips push back against him, yelping as he goes on to rub circles over the bundle of nerves. “Seeing it happen- watching you get used as a little cum dump is so much better than I ever imagined,” he works your clit, building up his speed until your back is arching, nails biting into your palm as you feel your orgasm building too quickly. You're trying to rock back into his hand but the way he has you bent helps very little. Your cries heighten until he pulls it all away.

“No huening please!”

“Aww how cute, she's begging,” beomgyu laughs and you're whimpering in response.

“Kai…please!”

“You're already doing so well because i want you begging to be filled with my cum, crying from how badly you want it,” his hand goes back to your cunt, pressing into your clit rubbing at a pace that has you seeing stars, your hands scratch out for looking for anything to hold onto. Yeonjun takes your hand in his keeping the camera facing your reaction as your eyes roll back. Its in the middle of your climax that kai pushes his cock into you, finding a punishing rhythm as he fucks you into the matterss.

“Beg for it,” he growls, hand in your hair twisting in the strands. You can feel him all the way to your throat, stretched out so good, he presses right into your gspot like he was made for you.

“P-please- hyuka i need it- i-” you cant even get the words out anymore, the squeaking of the bed building as he increases his speed. You can hear the wet sounds of the other boys jerking off, “i want your c-cum, i need it,”

“Louder,” yeonjun mutters in front of you, your death grip on his hand not loosening anytime soon.

“I want it! I need your cum, please!” But Huenings is so lost chasing his own high that he drops his hand from your clit to grab your hip, his bruising hold and brutal thrusts making you cry out.

Beomgyu reaches down under you, fingers finding just the right rhythm to send you over the edge at the same time kai cums. His faltering thrusts and throaty moans makes you feel weak. Your cunt is strangling his cock, his release pushed as deep as he could get it into you. When he pulls out you collapse onto the bed, completely used up.

It feels never ending body too tired already when you feel soobin climb into the bed. He lays right behind your exhausted form, both of you on your sides facing yeonjun, “look who's next, do you think you could get another one out of her? I hear you're only a freak in theory and not practice,”

But soobin doesn't take the bait, one hand sliding under you and wrapping around your chest, hand coming up to cup your breast, fingers twisting your hard nipple, and the other lifting your leg to get better access to your leaking cunt. Your thighs are so sticky soobins fingers slip on his hold, having to tighten his grip to make sure he can keep you open. He's been ready since the start, his cock aching as it prods your now puffy swollen cunt, so used you're sure you would be sore for days.

When he sinks in your whimpers are so soft they are hardly heard. Yeonjun is kneeling on the floor, arm holding the camera resting on the bed. He captures the way soobins dick slides in with ease, no resistance now with how much slick is coming out of you. Every drag of soobins cock comes away stained in white. A ring of the combined cum circling the base, balls sticking to your skin with every thrust.

His breathy moans are lost against your neck, pitiful little sounds before he's muttering, “im sorry, oh god- im-”

“Don't you dare cum yet,” yeonjun warns soobin, who pauses his thrusts trying to listen but can't find it in him to restrain. Yeonjuns fingers pinch at your clit, your whole body reacting to the feeling, jolting you back to life as you cum. soobin unable to handle the pressure and is a complete mess, whimpering as he pulls you closer, hugging you as if he could merge bodies.

It took him a while to finally pull out, a much needed break for only a few breaths before yeonjun passes the camera to taehyun to keep the filming going. You can feel the weakness all the way down to your bones, sure if you stand you could collapse to the floor, legs too weak to hold you up. But yeonjun is looking at you like you're being served on a silver platter, all done up with all the best fixings.

“Best for last huh?” he grins climbing over you brushing under your eye to catch a single tear that's fallen from your overstimulation. “Its so fun to see you so dumb on cock, so unlike how we usually see you,”

You hum in response as he pushes your legs open, hands at the back of your knees pushing them to your chest. When he puts them over his shoulders you whimper, reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck as he sinks into your wet heat. Bent in half you feel your toes curling, sure that if you came one more time you would be better off sleeping for the next year. “I think this is good practice, don't you?” he asks like you'll respond to him with anything other than a string of muffled whimpers. Your body is coated in a thin layer of sweat, sticking to his skin as he takes a slow pace. It's like he's apologizing, lips peppering across your cheek, down your neck. “We’ll keep you so happy, stuffed full like you deserve. Would you like that?”

You're nodding, eyes closing as he uses you. You don't even notice the way your body is reacting, that slow rise of your next orgasm building up, “i-” you can’t think about cumming again already feeling so dumbed out.

“Hum? Are you going to cum, pretty?” he picks up his pace, sinking his hips and hitting you right against your g spot. Your head rolls back as it washes over you, body tightening until you feel like you’ve combusted into little particles. “Oh look at that, so perfect for me, your pussy feels so good when it's squeezing me like this,” it's all he says before he’s trembling, a guttural moan taking over as he cums, you swear you can feel its warmth spreading throughout you. And when he pulls out he takes the camera back from taehyun focusing it in on the sight of all the combined release staining your folds.

“Look at how she pushes it out,” beomgyu says, mesmerized by the way you look leaking so much cum. But it's Kai who leans down, fingers collecting anything he can before shoving all the cream right back into you. “Its almost like she wants us to fuck it right back in,”

🏷taglist: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @stwq2349 @isa942572 @tomorrowxforever r @beestvng @soobingf-blog @lovinjjong @lola-horore-553 @cypher-03 @midnight-mochii i @hueningwhy @choibeomning @soobinbunnie5 @yunjinswifee @cupidtaehyun @bamgeutsz @prince-jjae @nessaassen02 @iluvhyukaa @mrsjohnnysuh @wand3rlustm3

thank you so much to @beomiracles @prince-jjae and @thetxtdevil for beta/proofreading the first part of this fic!

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feeder86 · 7 months ago

Text

The Curse of Deansgate

An understudy for Chris Peterson? Most of Ned’s friends could not believe it. Nor could Ned, to be fair. The fact that Chris was even doing Broadway was almost just as unbelievable. Hollywood superstars, like him, rarely gave up the time for a twelve-week stint in a production like ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’. It was going to be, without a doubt, the hottest ticket in town.

Ned watched through some of Chris’ old movies before rehearsals began. He devoured them all: the romantic comedies, the science fiction classics, as well as the action hero thrillers where Chris’ shirt was pleasingly absent for multiple scenes. Ned swooned, still feeling unable to comprehend his good luck. He’d done the Broadway circuit for a few years now and was slowly building a name for himself. A major role in his last show had earned him the attention he craved within the industry, despite the show actually selling rather poorly. But Ned simply loved the theatre and couldn’t wait to see Chris in action on stage. He imagined that the guy would feel quite nervous performing to a large crowd every night, especially after exclusively working on movies for so many years. And, as his understudy, Ned would be sure to support him. He fantasised about them becoming best friends and forging a bond like no other. He felt the bubbling excitement in his stomach as the days ticked down, getting closer and closer to the beginning.

The media coverage was already everywhere, even before the two week rehearsal period. ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ was a rarely performed production due to the superstition surrounding its commercial failures in the past. Written in the early twentieth century, ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ had apparently never once completed a full run in any theatre; although Ned doubted that to be completely true. Like all superstitions, it made Ned laugh to think that the play would make the usually level-headed investors go weak at the knees; much like all the actors he had met over the years, too superstitious to utter the words ‘Macbeth’ on stage. But a ‘cursed’ play certainly made for an awful lot of clickbait; cleverly helping to fuel the audience’s anticipation, as well as the advanced ticket sales.

However, there was also another reason why the play was being discussed so much; one that Ned felt a little more nervous about. The director would be the incredibly talented Gordon Harrison; an absolute master; especially here on Broadway, crafting incredible productions over a career that spanned decades. He had once played the lead in ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ back when he was in his twenties, and was resurrecting it now, perhaps as a form of nostalgia for himself. However, if anyone was to meet Gordon, it might not have been his ingenious directing creativity that they first noticed. Gordon was known to be one of the largest men working in the industry; a ginormous gut and wide butt, weighing in at a waddling five hundred pounds or more.

Ned was sure that many people had probably made fun of Gordon’s weight over the years, but none so publicly as Chris Peterson. It had apparently happened early on in Chris’ career, when he was still making a name for himself, playing a small role in one of Gordon’s rare movie productions. When asked what he thought of the renowned director, a young, pretty-boy Chris had been less than complimentary, remarking to a journalist about how grotesquely greedy and lazy the fat director was on set; rarely getting out of his reinforced chair to offer notes to the hardworking performers and crew surrounding him; also referring to him as just another ‘failed actor’ who had shifted to directing once his first career ended. They were throwaway comments, but even Ned remembered the media storm that inevitably came from it.

Perhaps not for the right reasons, Chris Peterson undoubtedly became better known afterwards. He’d been remembered and picked for bad boy roles where a little edge to the character’s personality was definitely a requirement. From there, he’d only gone from strength to strength, after his management eventually taught him to hold his tongue a little more when it came to badmouthing people he had worked with. Now, the director’s offer of the lead role in this play had been widely seen as an olive branch to the handsome actor, as a way to leave the past behind them; one that had been graciously accepted by Chris’ management team who convinced him to sign up straight away. And so, for the first time ever, the money was pouring in from investors, hoping to get a slice of success as ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ was about to be performed to the public for the first time in thirty years.

Some men just had that aura about them. It was the thing Ned most remembered about Chris Peterson, the first time he strolled into the theatre. Like any Hollywood hunk, he was painfully handsome, not to mention stylish. But Chris was also incredibly tall and muscular, giving the perception that he could have turned his hand to any sport at all, had the acting career not worked out so well for him. Ned remembered how aroused he was, sitting in the wings, watching the final act, when Chris rehearsed the penultimate scene, completely shirtless: the broad back, the stunning chest, the insane six pack. Not that Ned was a stranger to the gym himself, it was pretty much given in his line of work, but there was just something so awe-inspiring about the physique of a true Hollywood leading man.

Unlike any other production Ned had ever been involved in, there were journalists waiting outside from day one of rehearsals. Gordon had made it clear that no one was to talk to them or pose for pictures, but that didn’t stop them shouting for attention each time the cast walked out. Usually they wanted to know about Chris, or about how Gordon was doing, working with a guy who had so badly insulted him almost ten years ago. If Ned had been allowed to answer them, he could have told them that, in fact, everything was absolutely fine. Ever the professional, a now twenty-seven year old Chris took to the theatre work with ease, and Gordon didn’t seem in the least bit resentful towards him at all. Perhaps that was the point. The reality was so fundamentally boring, keeping the air of mystery kept the media writing about the play and building that appetite for it.

As for Ned’s dreams of becoming best friends with Chris Peterson, well, that had always been unlikely. Although the man had learned all their names and was friendly enough, Chris kept himself to himself during break times and retained that Holwood mystique with the rest of the cast; continuing to be one of the only people Ned knew who could get away with wearing sunglasses indoors and still look sexy. But, in regards to being an understudy for him, Gordon had told Ned straight out that it was never going to happen. People were coming to this production to see Chris and that was exactly what they would get. It was the investors who had insisted on there being an understudy, just in case, but Ned was never going to actually get the chance to perform to an audience. He would simply stick to his significantly smaller role, dying before the end of the first act each and every night.

“Break a leg!” Ned smiled at Chris as the curtain was about to go up on their first night. He still got butterflies each time he had the opportunity to talk to the guy, even after the long rehearsals.

Chris smiled back, seeming as cool as could be; as if none of this phased him in the slightest. Then, with a final intake of breath, he stepped onto the stage, in front of a cheering crowd, surreptitiously dotted with some of New York’s harshest critics.

There was the strangest of feelings in the theatre that night; like an unheard frequency that was somehow ringing in the ears. Chris’ performance was powerful and moving; rising above anything they had witnessed in the rehearsals. Ned could already see the awards and accolades the Hollywood star was about to amass. The final act was a marvel, and Ned saw their large, oversized director sitting in an extra large chair on the front row, smiling with pride the entire time. When the final curtain fell, the audience rose to their feet, but Gordon remained seated. He looked pleased with himself, like he had just accomplished something he had been working towards for many, many years.

At the afterparty that evening, the excitement was electric. Everybody knew that the show was a hit; perhaps the biggest success they would ever be involved in; the pinnacle of their careers. Their director stood, having graciously acknowledged everyone in the cast and crew for all they had done, only leaving one final man to congratulate. He called Chris to stand beside him and slipped his big, heavy arm over the hunk’s broad shoulders.

“You’ve joined a very exclusive club this evening,” Gordon smiled. “There are very few ‘Gentlemen of Deansgate’ out there!” he nodded; acknowledging the fact that he too had once played the part, some twenty-five years ago. “You’re never going to be the same after this.”

The grin on Gordon’s face was a little too perplexing for Ned. He couldn’t quite make it out. He held Chris’ stare for an almost uncomfortable time, until finally raising his glass and toasting the biggest Broadway smash in many, many years.

The reviews the next morning sang with praise, just as they had all expected. Ned poured over them all, hoping for even a brief mention of his own performance. Instead, Chris had stolen the show, and the promotional image of him in the final scene, shirtless and steamy, dominated much of the pages that were dedicated to the reviews. By lunchtime, Ned could recite almost all of them word for word. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one who had felt the curious atmosphere in the theatre that first night. Each review, every single one, seemed to comment on it in some form; like some magical awakening of acting greatness. Still, Ned cut every last one of them out, saving them all for his own personal scrapbook.

“Do me a favour,” Gordon insisted, raising his hand to get Ned’s attention as everyone else busied themselves backstage for the second night. “Drop these off with Chris, will you?” he insisted, thrusting a box of doughnuts towards Ned.

“What? Take them to his dressing room?” Ned asked, delighted and nervous about getting the opportunity to go and see Chris before the curtain went up. “Does he even eat doughnuts?”

Gordon chuckled. “Oh, he eats them alright!” he smirked, already waddling away to deal with something more pressing.

Ned held the large tray of doughnuts in his hands, feeling empowered, simply to go and see the star of the show before he went on stage. He raced along the corridor like a man on a mission and knocked firmly on the door until he heard Chris’ deep, masculine voice telling him to come inside.

Half dressed, Chris’ fine torso was on show as he collected all of his bits for the first act. Ned felt like he had entered at the absolute perfect time. “Um, Gordon sent these over,” he mumbled, trying to think straight and not stare too much at the gorgeous man in front of him. Just how many people would have paid serious cash to be standing exactly where he was right then?

“What are they? Doughnuts?” Chris asked, dropping his belt on the floor and heading straight over. He reached in and grabbed one with each hand, pushing one immediately into his mouth with the biggest bite Ned had ever seen. He moaned aloud and chewed quickly, as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

“I didn’t know you were so keen on doughnuts,” Ned chuckled awkwardly, simply standing there, holding the box, not knowing where he could put it down. Chris was still purposefully in front of him, seemingly getting ready to take another round.

Chris didn’t answer. He simply moaned as he gorged on doughnut after doughnut; not even caring that his mouth was now covered in sugar. Ned stood there, watching the car crash in slow motion as the entire box was devoured in less than three minutes flat.

“Fuck!” Chris chuckled, swallowing the last of it all. “I had no idea I could do that!” he smirked, turning to look at himself in the mirror, then laughing at how immediately bloated his stomach had become. “Bring me another one of those trays after the show and I’ll let you suck me off,” Chris suddenly declared, reaching his hand down to his crotch and readjusting the suddenly obvious erection that was pressing against his purposefully tight pants.

“What?” Ned asked; his heart beating faster than ever before. Had he heard that right?

“Don’t act coy,” Chris shot back. “You heard me. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Bring me another tray of doughnuts after the show and I’ll let you suck me dry,” he repeated, reaching for Ned’s limp hand and placing it directly across to his boner. “Deal?” Chris asked, knowing that there was no way Ned would ever refuse him.

Ned left Chris’ dressing room almost shaking with elation. Was this really happening? The hottest, straight hunk in the world was going to let him go down on him after the show? Surely this was just a dream?

With the first act soon over with, Ned snuck out to the doughnut place across the street and bought the exact same tray of treats that had been delivered earlier. He stood around, pretending to wait purposefully in the corridor, having concealed the order under a pile of clothes in his small, shared changing area.

The next thing Ned knew, he was back on stage for the curtain call. He’d started to doubt himself; to dispute reality. He was going insane. Chris hadn’t really made such an advance on him, nor made the bizarre request! He was just slowly succumbing to madness. But as they all cheered their way off the stage, Ned felt a very firm hand on his shoulder and the Hollywood superstar bringing his mouth close to his ear, whispering. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

After the buzz of the first night, the second night always felt anticlimactic, with people darting off quickly after the show ended. Ned waited until there was a slight lull in the noisy corridor, until he stood outside Chris’ dressing room holding the doughnut tray, knocking until he heard the call for him to enter.

This time, Chris was sitting. already stroking himself in his chair; legs parted and pants removed, ready for Ned to do what he had come here for. Of course he had a large penis, Ned thought to himself, watching the sexy guy stroking it like he was filming a porn scene.

“Give them to me!” Chris demanded, having eyes only for the tray that Ned was carrying. He reached out, ripped them from him and immediately began gorging, like he had before. Then, with only a nod of his head, he ordered Ned down to his crotch.

Slipping onto his knees, Ned could hardly believe what he was about to do; something he never imagined could be done. He started slowly, determined to get it exactly right; to give Chris as much pleasure as he could. If he delivered Chris the best blow job of his life, he would. He pursed his lips and worked his tongue to perfection, hearing Chris moan with pleasure as he pushed those doughnuts into his mouth. He felt the guy’s large, sticky, icing-covered hand press onto the top of his head, pushing him deeper into his crotch. Ned obliged, willing himself not to gag as his throat opened further. Then, absolute magic. He’d done it. He’d made the Hollywood superstar climax in what sounded like the most intense orgasm imaginable.

Ned stood, feeling proud, looking down on the hunk slouched in the chair. The man was a mess, covered in icing and sugar all around his face; his toned stomach now bloated and hard. The man seemed dazed, either from the eating, or the intense relief of having ejaculated so forcefully. He sighed multiple times and began tapping his own face as if to bring himself back into reality. “Fuck! That was good!” the man growled, before sitting up and casually feeding himself the larger fragments of doughnut that had fallen onto his chest during his rampant gorging minutes earlier.

Grinning, Ned knew that this was a tale he would be able to recount for the rest of his life: the day he sucked off Chris Peterson in his dressing room!

“What are you doing this evening?” Chris asked, finally getting to his feet.

“Um, nothing much,” Ned replied, feeling the shadow of the large man cross over him.

“You know this city, don’t you?” Chris pondered. “You’re from here, aren’t you? You can take me out.”

“Yes,” Ned answered, without evening thinking; his heart almost leaping out of his chest. “But I wouldn’t know where to take a Hollywood star like you. We’d be harrassed by journalists the whole time if I took you to the bars I usually go to.”

“Then don’t take me to the bars,” Chris shot back. “Take me back to your place and order in.”

“You… you want to come back to my apartment?” Ned spluttered, overjoyed and simultaneously embarrassed by the thought of hosting Chris Peterson in the miniscule space he rented in the city. Still, he had kept the place fairly clean… Maybe Chris just wanted another opportunity for them to be alone together again.

“Is it far from here?” Chris asked, already gathering all that he needed and slipping a few items of clothing back on.

“Not far,” Ned replied, realising that he didn’t really have a choice either way. “We can head out through the back and be there in five minutes.”

“Good,” the man nodded, already pushing Ned towards the door. “Lead on.”

Just over an hour later, Ned was accepting the second delivery at his apartment whilst Chris lounged on his couch, gorging himself on the pizzas that had arrived five minutes earlier. The moment he went back in, Chris dropped his greasy pizza down and made to grab the bag of Chinese food, not caring that the slice landed topside up on the couch, leaking the oily residue into the material.

“I didn’t know that you were such a foodie,” Ned sighed, hoping that Chris’ hunger wasn’t going to get in the way of them having more fun later on. He ran to grab a cloth and began attempting to get the stain out.

Chris’s kisses were passionate and arousing after all the food. Ned had seen some bizarre Hollywood diets in his time, but this binge eating of Chris’ had bloated his stomach up like nothing he had ever known. He was gentle around the man in the bedroom, wondering whether he might throw up should things get a little energetic. Hosting a Hollywood superstar, making him climax in his very own apartment, it felt like a moment Ned had been waiting for his entire life; an experience he could boast about for years to come. Had Chris wanted to stay the night, Ned would have been more than delighted, but the man seemed restless and keen to get back to the hotel he was staying in, ordering himself a ride and bidding Ned a goodnight.

Gordon didn’t seem to care when Chris didn’t show in time for their pre-show meetings, rolling in with just enough time to get into costume and get on stage. For the first time, the backstage crew began to grumble about him, knowing that they were only one week in, with another eleven long weeks to go. But just as the lead actor had seemingly lost all passion for it, so had their esteemed director; no longer bothered by the silly little mistakes that were made by the lighting department on the fifth night, nor the fact that Chris had missed his cue several times by the start of week two.

On their opening night, the show had felt like a slick, well-oiled and ambitious machine. Now things were getting sloppy and haphazard. The excellent reviews of the previous week were being replaced by curious clippings in gossip columns about Chris’ amateurish performances. Not only that, but a rogue cell phone had snapped a picture of Chris during his shirtless scene looking significantly thicker than he had seemed in the promotional shots. Ned had seen it first hand as he continued to slip into Chris’ dressing room after a performance for some fun. He’d known that the make-up department had painted on a six-pack for the last three performances. However, nothing could mask the unmistakable width of Chris as he turned to his side; a distinct paunch starting to form. All of a sudden, that one picture seemed to be everywhere and all of the press interest in the play turned directly towards Chris’ weight gain.

“There’ll probably be more people trying to get pictures of you tomorrow,” Ned warned as he snuck into Chris’ dressing room and caught the guy gorging himself on a couple of boxes of cookies that had been left in there for him.

Chris scowled and nodded for Ned to lock the door behind him. “That’s tomorrow’s problem,” he grumbled, sliding down in his chair and pulling out his hardness for Ned to suck on as he ate.

Ned assumed the position, noticing the roll of stomach fat that was beginning to encircle Chris’ waist. His fingers slipped onto it as he took Chris’ hardness in his mouth, noticing the soft and doughy nature of it, slyly ruining the ultimate Hollywood sixpack. Ned knew he was in some way enabling Chris by not walking away and failing to challenge him on his eating but when else in his life was he going to have the chance to be with a global superstar like this?

With the doughnuts gone, Chris stood up and removed the last of his clothes, ready to fuck Ned over the table at the back of the room. Ned obliged, catching the view of Chris’ softer glutes in the mirror as they began kissing; the back fat standing out so much, the skin starting to roll. “Chris…” Ned started, knowing that he could no longer stay silent. “Don’t you think you need to do something about this?” he asked, pinching the actual lovehandles that had blossomed in just over a week.

“Do you want to get fucked, or not?” Chris growled back, clearly too consumed with arousal to think of anything else. Discussions about the guy’s weight were clearly off the table. Ned, lay across his table, spread his legs and allowed the horny glutton to at last get some exercise.

Their esteemed director seemed slightly different over the following days. Unlike Chis’ stomach, which seemed to grow more prominent each day, Gordon appeared to be deflating. His large gut didn’t seem quite so extreme as he strolled about at a faster pace, going from department to department. There was a twinkle in his eye as he saw Ned and a look that suggested that he knew exactly what went on between him and Chris behind the closed doors of the dressing room.

The man had rejected calls for the shirtless scene to be altered so that Chris could cover himself with a shirt, positively laughing at all the press that surrounded the hunk’s sudden gains. “All publicity is good publicity,” he grinned as if he hoped for a boost in ticket sales from it all; not that there was any need. The show had been booked out for weeks before they’d even started rehearsals.

News outlets began reporting that Gordon had insisted Chris diet immediately and that he had threatened to kick him out from the show should he not comply. However, none of it was true. Of all the people working on that production, the director was the only one who was not in the least bit flustered by it all, even as Chris’ management seemed determined to find a way to get him out of the play and end this constant barrage of bad publicity.

Ned felt it all very personally, having fallen for Chris during this strange period of his life. But with so much gossip and speculation flying around, how much longer could his fling with Chris stay a secret? A public ‘outting’ was absolutely the last thing either of them needed right then.

“Eight more weeks to go!” Gordon sang, almost tauntingly at them all as Chris stepped up behind the curtain, a rounded stomach pressing out, ready for the shirtless scene. Gordon appeared to wait, listening intently for the inevitable gasps of the stunned audience as the former hunk went out on stage. Then the director would chuckle to himself and stroll happily away.

Getting in to see Chris was becoming harder and harder. A team of people seemed to surround the man the entire time he was at the theatre; men and women who had been flown over from Hollywood to kick Chris into touch. None of it seemed to be working. Even under the strict eyes of his babysitters, Chris’ stomach seemed to be expanding daily. Tensions with the director seemed to flare up as Gordon failed time and time again to renegotiate the star’s watertight contract. The looming fear that the play would end hung like a dark cloud over all of them. As Chris’s belly blossomed into a small, stout and rounded beer gut, each of them looked at each other and sighed. Would this be their last show? How much longer could this insanity continue?

Like a petulant child, Chris appeared to detest all the fussing around him. Sometimes, at night, he would appear at Ned’s apartment, having snuck out undetected from his hotel. He’d order take-out, complain bitterly about his situation and completely fail to show any self-awareness of his own part in the evolving crisis that surrounded him; even as he gorged on pizza after pizza. He’d drawn Ned in, making him feel like the only one in the world who could sympathise with him; the one sane person in his life whilst all the madness threatened to consume him. Ned had been flattered. He felt special. And even though he could see the giant ball of stomach fat growing larger and larger; even as a double chin began to spread itself under Chris’s handsome face and his tight glutes softened with each passing day, Ned still fell for him and stayed up late into the night, pleasing him in any way he could.

It was week four when everything seemed to crash around them. Ned saw the news flash up on his cell phone before anyone at the play got in contact with him to let him know. Chris had left the production, paying a hefty, multi-million dollar fee for exiting early and ending the show.

“You’re up!” Gordon sang down the phone an hour or so later. “You’re my Gentleman of Deansgate!”

“But I thought…” Ned mumbled back; his head spinning.

“One last performance!” Gordon exclaimed excitedly. “Chris’ team were quite insistent upon it as they added a nice buffer into the cheque they signed this morning to get him out of his contract.”

“Why?” Ned asked, remembering how adamant Gordon had once been that he would never allow Ned to understudy for Chris. “What does it matter to them?”

“Just be here early,” Gordon replied, immediately ending the phone call.

Ned didn’t know how to feel. The last few weeks had been the strangest of his life. On the one hand, he felt elated that he was about to have the biggest career highlight to date, seeing his name appearing in the articles about Chris’ sudden departure as the Gordon’s team sent out their official press release about the final show. However, he also knew that he was unlikely to see Chris ever again. The media had already reported that he had left New York for his home in Los Angeles. Just like that, it was all over.

Gordon positively skipped about backstage, racing between the different departments. There was no denying that he had lost a significant amount of weight in the last few weeks and the spring in his step seemed to catch everyone off-guard. Everything had to be perfect once more and the sloppiness of the last few weeks had to end immediately. Yet, despite all the demands and high standards Gordon was insisting upon, there was still a smug, sickly grin plastered all over his face.

“He’s just had a massive payout from Chris’ people,” whispered one of the lighting guys as Ned watched the man with obvious confusion etched across his face. “I was here late last night when they were all negotiating.”

“Well, I expect it must be a relief for him now all the tickets will have to be refunded for the rest of the run,” Ned nodded.

“That stuff’s all covered,” the backstage man replied, shaking his head at Ned’s misunderstanding. “I mean Gordon himself. He’s just had over five million dollars from Chris to let him go early and to ensure there’s this last performance tonight.”

“They paid Gordon personally?” Ned asked. “But that makes no sense!”

Twenty minutes later and the crowds were starting to move into the theatre, bitterly disappointed that the main attraction for attending this play had inexplicably left the production. Ned had no doubt that he wouldn’t be able to please the audience, no matter what he did that night. Ned had braced himself for Gordon’s assertive approach to managing him, yet the man had barely uttered more than a few words. Despite micromanaging everyone else, as the new lead actor, Ned felt almost as if he was going into the whole thing blind. Gordon stood behind him as the music began to rumble into life, placing his hand on Ned’s shoulder just before his cue. The role had been Gordon’s once, many, many years ago. Perhaps he felt like he knew how Ned was feeling. “Welcome to the club,” he whispered, grinning excitedly and nudging Ned onto the stage.

If Ned could have found the words to describe the feeling as he acted on stage that night, his explanation would have been akin to the accounts of out-of-body experiences. It was as if he no longer needed to recall the lines of dialogue; like they simply flowed through his body. His movements did not feel like his own; his walk and stature had altered. It was as if he embodied the character and had no control over any of it at all. In the papers the next morning, they would criticise him for mimicking Chris’ performance to the very last detail, but in Ned’s mind, the only thing he had actually done was to step out onto that stage. Everything else had been autopilot.

Unlike the final show of every other production Ned had ever been in, the mood that night was too low to celebrate afterwards. People hugged backstage and collected all their things, knowing that they would not have an opportunity to do so at any other time. Meanwhile, after all the obligatory praise, Ned headed back into the main dressing room as if his mind had drifted below a dense fog. He simply sat in his chair, staring at his reflection in the mirror. What on earth had come over him?

Half an hour later, a drunken Gordon came skipping into the room, holding a glass of champagne for himself. “You did wonderfully!” he beamed at Ned, despite the fact that Ned had already been told that Gordon hadn’t seen a moment of it; too busy celebrating backstage. “And now, no one else will perform this play for many decades to come!” he beamed. “‘The Curse of Deansgate’ has struck again! An incomplete run, just like every other time it’s been attempted. No financial backers will go near it again,” he laughed, as if this had all been such a vast, cunning plan from the very beginning.

“Everything worked out pretty well for you, though,” Ned managed to utter, catching the scent of something sweet down the corridor and suddenly feeling remarkably hungry.

“Even better than I expected,” Gordon nodded emphatically, running his hand down his surprisingly deflated gut. “But the curse has never been about financial ruin, has it?” he laughed. “The curse has always been something much more insidious. I taught that arrogant fuck a lesson and got a very decent payout at the same time.” He looked at his reflection in the mirror, seeming pleased with what he saw. “It’s been a very successful few weeks!”

“You never really did forgive Chris, did you?” Ned asked, feeling the strangest sense of familiarity with Gordon. The man’s last words to him before he had gone on stage had been to welcome him to the Deansgate ‘club’ and now that Ned was there, he felt as if he could ask Gordon anything and be told the exact truth.

Goron closed the door that he had been propping open with his large body and stepped inside so that he could not be overheard. “Of course not,” he laughed. “And you sealed your fate the moment you started sucking him off back here after each performance.” He looked down at Ned disapprovingly. “You’re a serious actor. You should have known better than that!” he scolded him. “Perhaps I should have fired you then and saved you from all this.”

Ned dropped his head. Gordon was certainly right there.

“I hadn’t ever planned to let you take the lead. But when Chris Peterson’s management figured things out, the opportunity to throw you under the bus was simply too easy.” He looked down at Ned with triumph dancing in his eyes. “Lay down with dogs and you get fleas.”

“What did they figure out?” Ned asked, having the strangest feeling that the way his mind was so clouded at that moment was all related to something much larger.

“Here,” Gordon grunted, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. “I’ve been told to give you this.”

An envelope was thrown into Ned’s lap without Gordon even making an effort to step forwards. Ned opened it up and found a plane ticket to Los Angeles, departing at 2.05am.

“Lover Boy wants to see you!” Gordon explained, holding back a snarl.

Silently, Ned felt elated. From the moment he’d read that Chris had left New York, he had believed that their fling was over. Now he was realising that he hadn’t been forgotten after all. “Well, I guess there’s no point in sticking around here these next few days, anyway” he sighed, looking around the dressing room he would have to vacat shortly.

“No, I quite agree,” Gordon smirked. “I’ll message him to let him know that you’re on your way.” He placed his hand on Ned’s shoulder. “Now that you’re the very latest Gentleman of Deansgate instead, I have a feeling that you’re about to meet the real Chris Peterson at long last…”

Ned felt eyes on him the entire time as he made his way to the airport and flew across the country, not really knowing what was going to happen when he finally arrived. In the arrivals lounge, a driver was waiting, holding up a banner with his name written across it. Ned’s only backpack was taken off his shoulders as he made his way to the expensive car that was to carry him away.

They pulled up forty minutes later at the most obscene residence, overlooking the Hollywood hills. The whole residence seemed llavish beyond words. Unlike the chill of a New York winter, the sun shone gently on Ned’s face and he sighed in appreciation at his own good fortune.

A member of Chris’ extensive team came straight out to greet him, ushering him inside almost as if he was expecting a team of photographers to ambush them from the gates . Everywhere was pristine and surprisingly immaculate, from the large marble pillars to the extensive windows at the back of the property, overlooking an enormous swimming pool and the incredible view across the valley.

Ned sat down at the large breakfast bar in the kitchen, where pastries and snacks filled several plates for the members of Chris’ entourage. He was told to help himself whilst the man left the room to let Chris know that he had arrived. Whilst Ned ate, he heard the splash of someone emerging from the pool and suddenly saw the large, looming shape of Chris Peterson marching across the terrace towards the expansive kitchen. Dressed in only his swim shorts with a towel lazily draped over his shoulders, Chris moved with an assertive speed that Ned had not seen from him before; although, his fat stomach popped out in front of him, firm and rounded under his large pecs.

“Excellent!” Chris cheered, spotting Ned and striding straight over to place his hands on his secret lover’s shoulders as he ate. Chris’ strong fingers massaged Ned’s shoulders, not offering any other sign of affection, most likely because his team were all so close by. “Did anyone see him arriving?” Chris asked someone behind them.

“No, sir. It was all very fast and discreet,” replied a deep masculine voice.

“Good,” Chris replied, his hands massaging more softly now and leaning in to whisper into Ned’s ear. “I bet you’re hungry after all that travelling.”

Chris suddenly stood bolt upright and marched about once more, heading to the refrigerator and pulling out as many things as he could.

“Sir, sir…” counselled a woman from his staff. “You don’t need to do that. We’ve got this covered. You can head back to the pool. We’ll look after Ned.”

Chris looked across at Ned, as if calculating whether he could trust his entourage to do what they were promising. “Fine,” he spat, turning around and marching straight out, clearly in a mood about something. “But I need results. I need all of this mess sorting out now!”

Coming down from the high of his great performance the night before was almost impossible. Ned had hardly slept at all on the plane and he had the remarkable feeling of being almost drunk. Time seemed like nothing at all as Chris’ friendly team fussed around him. He was led out onto the terrace to watch Chris’ gruelling swimming training with his coach. Every now and then, the unnecessarily angry actor would call out to his team any time he looked up and saw that Ned wasn’t being looked after with something to eat or drink.

“You’ve got one fucking job!” he yelled from the pool, making them all rush about to serve Ned something else.

Ned was half asleep when he heard Chris’ voice mumbling around him. “Fucking wake him up then!” he ordered one of his team, before huffing and coming over himself. “Ned… Neddy…” he called out in a voice that was barely soothing. “It’s dinner time, buddy!”

Ned opened his eyes.

“He’s awake,” Chris nodded to two guys, who promptly lifted the back of Ned’s deckchair up so that he was sitting upright. “It’s time to eat now, buddy,” Chris explained to Ned, like he was a toddler, using the kindest voice he had heard from him all day. “Mmmm! Look at all this!” he cooed, as a perfect height table was rolled underneath the deck chair so that a table sat just in front of Ned, loaded with different items.

Overcome with hunger, Ned set to work without questioning any of it. Once food was in front of him, nothing else seemed to matter.

“Good. This is good,” Chris nodded again at his team, as he looked back and forth between them and Ned. “He seems to like this the best,” he pointed at one of the dishes, as if that was a cue for them to get more.

Faced with so much food, Ned found it hard to concentrate. He was given large, chocolate flavoured drinks that were thick and almost difficult to swallow, however Chris seemed to nod his head in approval each time Ned managed to get one down.

Ned wished that everyone else would disappear. He felt so uncontrollably horny for Chris, yet there were always people around, making it impossible for them to come together. Something about the food seemed almost… erotic. He’d never felt this way before, nor eaten so much in only a few short hours; although he wasn’t quite sure how much that was.

As night time approached, Chris entered Ned’s bedroom carrying a large tray of doughnuts. “A little treat before bed!” he winked charmingly, throwing them down on the mattress.

Ned felt his body lunge for them and he began stuffing the first one into his mouth. Chris hopped on beside him, throwing his arm over Ned’s shoulders like they were old friends, rather than lovers.

“That fucking play, huh?” he grumbled to Ned as the guy ate. “Gordon did us both dirty with that one… and I had no fucking idea!” he laughed, like he had had some lucky escape. “That’s why it’s always important to have people looking out for you behind the scenes. That could have been the end of my whole career!”

Chris noticed a large piece of Ned’s third doughnut break off as the houseguest ate a little too fast. Chris picked it up, not caring about the sticky icing that had spread across the sheets, but keen that Ned should get it down him.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to try and stop you eating, like you did with me.” He looked down at his own, stout gut and sighed. “Look at all this!” he complained, grabbing a large wedge of it. “How the hell did you ever let me fuck you, looking like this? It’s disgusting!”

“You’re beautiful,” Ned mumbled through a mouthful of food, spitting a little out.

Chris tutted and exhaled in frustration. “You’re wasting it!” he growled in annoyance. Getting more fed up when Ned tried to apologise and did the same thing again. “Look, just sit back a bit more and let me take care of this,” he insisted, handing Ned yet another doughnut and feeling his hand into the eager guy’s crotch, grabbing at the hardness, but not stroking until Ned started to eat.

Ned had never known bliss like it: the tastes on his tongue and the pleasure down below. Each time he swallowed and opened his mouth to moan, in went a fresh doughnut. There were multiple points when he felt like he could have climaxed, yet Chris seemed to hold him back until the very last moment. He came, feeling like a strong jet had erupted from his groin, opening his eyes moments later to see Chris dropping the emptied doughnut tray onto the floor and wiping his hands on the bed sheets. “Was that nice?” he asked, returning to that slightly patronising tone.

Ned nodded, feeling utterly spent.

“Good,” Chris smiled. “Would you like the same again tomorrow?” Chris asked, like he was trying to bargain something out of Ned. So when Ned nodded, stuffed full of food and bloated, the man couldn’t help but chuckle, heading back to his own master suite.

Chris had lost weight. With all his training and determination, Ned had never seen a belly shrink so quickly. Yet, over the coming days, he felt an onslaught of fat begin to slide onto his own stomach, inflating it with softness in an unnaturally speedy manner. Sometimes he would wake from an afternoon nap to find a measuring tape had been wrapped around his arm or thigh, by a member of Chris’ staff; no one seeming in the least bit surprised at the sudden transformation, despite monitoring it closely.

Ned knew he should be paying more attention to his body. But food was everywhere and his brain felt like it was in such a fog. Dressed only in a pair of swim shorts, he couldn’t detect a stretching in his clothes, nor remember where he had even put his cell phone to communicate with the rest of the world outside of Chris’ incredible house. Nothing he seemed to do from that point on appeared to annoy Chris, with the man’s face lighting up each time he saw a shirtless Ned lazily trotting towards the breakfast bar to eat. The other staff were relaxing too, with fewer of them there in the day now. The ‘crisis mode’ of the previous week was now over.

Chris lifted his arm and still felt a slight stubborn clinging of fat around his love handles. “Do you want some ice cream?” he asked Ned, as if this would somehow remedy the problem. Without waiting for an answer, he headed over to the freezer to fetch it and dumped the complete tub in front of Ned, along with a large spoon.

Back Chris went to the mirror, turning and flexing, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Ned.

“It’s almost time for you to go home soon,” he smiled. “A couple more days and things should have worked themselves out.”

“I don’t think I want to go home,” Ned replied, feeling his heart sink.

Chris laughed and came over to pat his chubby friend on his back. “I know. I know,” he smiled. “But what am I supposed to do with you once I’m back to my old shape?” He looked down at Ned’s shirtless body and seemed to grimace at the rolls of fresh blubber along his side. “You’ll just be getting more and more out of shape and I don’t really want that hanging around outside by the pool.” He ruffled Ned’s hair playfully. “I’m sure you can understand that,” he laughed, pulling a fresh bottle of water out from the refrigerator and sliding a bowl of potato chips closer to Ned instead. Then, off he went onto the terrace, diving into his pool once more.

Ned didn’t see Chris after that. The guy had disappeared later that afternoon after a lucrative advertising deal had emerged. He read later on that Chris had claimed his appearance in the play had been caused by some form of abdominal distension, unrelated to weight gain. Several so-called ‘experts’ disputed that, but when the hunk reappeared in beach shots looking just as fit as ever only a few days later, all other explanations seemed to be implausible.

No such rapid recovery came for Ned, however. Once home, his ravenous appetite seemed to consume him and he was dropped by his agent only six months later after piling on a ridiculous amount of weight in that period. And, although he could never prove it, Ned always had a suspicion that Chris Peterson’s team had been at least partly behind his declining career; desperately wanting to reduce his influence after everything that had happened with their golden boy.

Ned’s handsome face seemed to bloat and his chiselled jawline was engulfed and framed by an unflattering amount of neck fat. His pecs drooped within a month and his stomach fat swelled into a giant ball of surprisingly squishy blubber. Pants were hard to come by, given how wide his rear had become after the first year. Ned found that he had to detach himself from his old life and form something new; taking inspiration from the only other man he had known to have gone through the same experience….

It was thirty years later when Ned sat in the same old theatre where they had performed ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ all those years ago. It had taken him decades to finance a new run and convince his investors. But, at long last, the show was ready to audition the lead roles.

Years ago, after Ned had had time to think and understand it all, unemployed and gaining pounds and pounds of lard by the day, he wrote it all down; every last detail of that play he would one day hope to direct: the lighting, the sound, the timings, the instruments. He didn’t know which parts were important to whatever power fuelled the curse that he had lived with for so long; transforming him into the gluttonous man he had been all these years. Everything had to be perfect.

“I’m very grateful to you for coming all the way over here to audition,” Ned smiled at the handsome, young hopeful standing on the stage: the image of his beautiful father.

“I’m very flattered that you wanted me,” the athletic twenty-seven year old replied. “I believe you were the understudy for my father when he performed here? It was his only Broadway appearance.”

“Yes, yes,” Ned nodded. “That seems like a lifetime ago!” he lied. “And I’m sure your father would be very proud to see you standing there now, ready to fill his shoes,” he smiled, pretending to be sorry that Chris Peterson’s drug-fuelled car crash had claimed his life five years earlier.

The audition went well; not that Ned had ever seriously considered anyone else for the role. Revenge could come in many forms, but few as sweet as this poor boy.

“I think this show is going to be a huge success!” Ned grinned, eyeing his new lead actor’s cute butt as he skipped out of the theatre having just signed a watertight contract. “I can’t wait to get started!”

#gay feedee #gainerstory #gayfeeder #gayfeedee #gainerfic #gainer stories #gainer story #gainer fiction #gainerstories #gainer fic

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yvaineseleneposts · 14 days ago

Text

The way it was before you

A/N: This is written after my siblings, their girlfriend, and boyfriend, and I shared embarrassing stories about us. And my sister thought her boyfriend might feel left out because he hasn't been in our family long.

Requested: no

Pairing: Jack Hughes x reader

Words: 1.5k

Warning(s): mentions of alcohol

It was just a backyard birthday party—nothing crazy. Balloons were tied haphazardly to the fence, the grill was smoking slightly too much, and music from an old Bluetooth speaker fought to be heard over laughter and the occasional "Do you remember when…?"

You sat with your younger brother and sister at the patio table, plastic cups in hand, the remnants of cake still on your plate. Jack, your boyfriend of six months, was sitting beside you, one arm slung casually along the back of your chair, smiling quietly as the three of you dove deep into childhood stories.

“I swear,” your brother said between wheezing laughter, “you tried to microwave a Pop-Tart in the foil wrapper—like, who does that?”

Your sister pointed at you, cackling. “And then blamed the fire on me! I was in the shower!”

You groaned. “Okay, okay, in my defence, I was twelve and no one told me foil couldn’t go in the microwave.”

Your siblings kept laughing, voices overlapping, memories bubbling up with ease—late-night sneak-outs, the haunted attic incident, your infamous prank war that once ended in a shampoo bottle filled with mayo.

You noticed Jack hadn’t said much, just sipping his drink, eyes flicking between each of you like he was watching his favourite movie. You touched his knee under the table.

“Sorry,” you murmured, just for him. “You okay? I know we’re kind of taking a trip down memory lane without a map.”

Jack turned to you with that soft half-smile that still made your chest flutter. “I’m good,” he said, voice low and sincere. “I like hearing about you before me.”

You blinked, touched by the quiet honesty in his tone. He glanced at your siblings, who were now trying to recall the year your sister shaved half your eyebrow in your sleep. “You guys are close. It’s cool. Makes me wish I had more siblings sometimes. Or at least ones that filled shampoo bottles with condiments.”

You laughed, and your sister leaned in conspiratorially. “You sure about that, Jack? Because I’ve got ideas.”

Your brother added, “If you're dating our sibling, you’re basically inducted. We prank in this family.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Bring it on. I’ve got two brothers—I’ve survived worse.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, heart full. “I’m warning you, Hughes. They don’t fight fair.”

“Neither do I,” he grinned.

The sun had dipped lower, leaving a gold-tinted haze over the backyard. The grill was finally off, the last hot dog long claimed, and the vibe had mellowed into that sweet spot of full stomachs and shared nostalgia.

You, your brother, and sister were leaning back in your chairs, that perfect kind of tired you only get from being full, happy, and slightly sunburnt. Jack still sat quietly beside you, sipping his drink and watching with that soft smile that made your heart squeeze.

“Okay, but someone please tell me why you thought it was a good idea to drunk-text your ex and their mom?” your sister said, side-eyeing you with a knowing grin.

Your brother nearly spit out his soda. “Wait—what? I don’t even remember this one.”

You groaned, slumping forward. “It was one time. And I was two margaritas and half a tequila sunrise deep. I thought I was texting my ex... to say sorry for ghosting them in college.”

Jack leaned in. “What did you say?”

You squinted. “Something like, ‘Sorry I never returned your sweater. Tell your mom I miss her lasagna.’”

Your brother lost it, nearly choking from laughing so hard. Your sister high-fived you. “And then the mom replied like, ‘It’s okay sweetie. Come by anytime.’”

You buried your face in your hands, shaking your head. “I wanted the earth to swallow me.”

Jack leaned closer, whispering, “I wish I had that lasagna now, honestly.”

You looked at him and laughed. “Don’t encourage me.”

But the embarrassment didn’t stop there.

“Remember your 22nd birthday?” your sister asked, eyes lighting up. “The house party where you did the worm in the hallway and knocked over like... three people?”

“That was ICONIC,” your brother added. “And then you tried to breakdance in socks on the hardwood floor.”

“I had blisters for a week,” you muttered.

“Oh, and the Cha Cha Slide night,” your sister said, eyes gleaming. “Where you were too drunk to follow the directions so you just started yelling, ‘WHO EVEN IS CHARLIE BROWN?’ and flopped on the floor like a fish.”

Jack was full-on laughing now. You turned to him with mock accusation. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He shrugged, chuckling. “I’m learning a lot about you.”

“Oh please,” your sister said, pointing at Jack. “Don’t let that innocent face fool you. I’ve seen the way he dances at games. You two are a match made in coordination hell.”

“I am extremely coordinated on ice,” Jack argued, pretending to be offended. “It’s just land that’s the problem.”

Your brother raised a hand. “Alright, next party, dance-off. You vs. our sibling. No hockey skates. No injuries.”

Jack held out a hand toward you. “Deal?”

You rolled your eyes and shook it. “Fine. But if you pull a hamstring trying to do the worm, I’m not taking you to the ER.”

“Deal,” he said again, still smiling like this was his favourite moment of the night.

Because it kind of was. Watching you in your element—laughing too loud, cringing at stories, swatting your sister for bringing up that one drunk karaoke night where you screamed Beyoncé’s Single Ladies into a ladle—Jack didn’t feel out of place.

He felt in place.

He didn’t have your history, but he had something better now—your present. And maybe, just maybe, your future embarrassing stories would have him in them too.

The night wound down slowly, like the last few flickers of a candle’s flame.

Your brother was passed out half on, half off the couch with an empty Solo cup resting on his chest. Your sister had claimed the recliner, wrapped in a blanket, muttering about her feet hurting from dancing barefoot on the patio. The Bluetooth speaker had long gone silent.

You and Jack were in the kitchen, surrounded by dirty plates, sticky countertops, and a few mystery stains you decided to ignore until tomorrow. You passed him a dish towel and gave him a look. “Team effort?”

He grinned, rolling up his sleeves. “Let’s do it.”

The two of you moved in sync—rinsing, drying, stacking, dodging each other in the tight space of your parents’ kitchen like it was some kind of choreographed dance. You bumped hips once, accidentally. He did it again, very much on purpose.

You gave him a playful glare. “Don’t start.”

Jack laughed, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder. He was quiet for a beat as he watched you scrub the frosting off a plate, your hair pulled messily back, cheeks still flushed from the day.

Then, softly, he said, “You’re really something when you’re with them.”

You glanced up. “What do you mean?”

He leaned against the counter, his eyes steady and warm. “Just... watching you with your brother and sister today—it was like seeing you lit up from the inside. You’re already amazing, but with them, it’s like... I don’t know, I get to see all the layers. The chaotic, loud, embarrassing dance-move layer. The ‘microwave foil’ disaster layer.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “You mean the 'walking hazard' layer.”

He smiled. “Exactly. But it’s all so you. And I love it. I love seeing where you come from—who you are with them.”

You stopped mid-scrub, heart thudding a little harder in your chest.

“And I think,” he added, stepping closer, voice quieter now, “seeing you like that makes me love you more.”

You looked up, stunned.

“Jack…”

He set the dish towel down and cupped your jaw, gently brushing a thumb over your cheek. “You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know. You—all of you—are everything.”

That was it.

You kissed him.

Not a soft, tentative kiss. No. This was the kind of kiss that tasted like a full day of laughter, like cake crumbs and tequila still on your breath, like heat and heartache and deep affection rolled into one.

You gripped the front of his shirt and backed him into the counter, and he kissed you like he’d been waiting all night for this moment—hands framing your waist, mouth moving with slow, deliberate hunger. He pulled you closer like he needed to feel every inch of you.

The kitchen light buzzed overhead. A pan clattered off the dish rack unnoticed.

Your back hit the edge of the counter, and he kissed down your jaw, murmuring, “I meant it. I love you.”

You caught his face in your hands and whispered against his lips, “I love you too, Jack.”

And just like that, the chaos of the day melted into this quiet, perfect moment—your bodies pressed close in a messy kitchen, dishes half-done, the rest of the world blissfully asleep.

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g1rld1ary · 25 days ago

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1980s horror film - james potter x reader

wc: 1469 summary: you work at a video store and james works at a convenience store in a shitty small town. you're both bored as hell, but at least you work across the street. me: inspired by the movie clerks! set in the mid-late 90s (so title is a bit misleading LOL). kind of obsessed with this au so feel free to send reqs if you like it or want more!! a contribution to shop au for @acourtofchaos festival!

You tilted your head back, boredom overtaking your body. You’d already been on shift for, like, seven fucking hours, and you’d maybe leant out three videos. Like, who even goes to a video store in the middle of a Thursday?

The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, you wished you could turn them off. Maybe you’d get cooler customers if you were in charge of the decorating. Your first order of business would definitely be to install some lamps or something, anything nicer than the violent white light you had to put up with every shift.

You twirled around in your swivel chair for a few minutes, watching the shelves blur into one multicoloured blob, surrounding you until you thought you might throw up.

Knowing you would be the one to clean it up if you did vomit on the aggressively eclectic patterned carpet, you stopped, standing on unsteady feet. You walked out of the store, not bothering to lock it. You weren’t going far.

You traipsed across the street, having learnt you didn’t need to look both ways before crossing long ago. Hardly anyone ever came by.

The bell jingled above you as you pushed the convenience store door open, the boy behind the counter looking up lazily. When he saw it was you, James’s face broke into a crooked smile.

“Slow day?” He asked, pushing himself off the counter he’d been leaning against. You nodded, heading straight to the row of fridges to grab a Coca-Cola, producing spare change to drop on the counter with a clang.

You cracked the bottle open with a satisfying hiss, hopping up to sit yourself on the counter in front of James. He made a teasing face at your audacity but let you do it anyway, taking a step to lean against the back wall, amongst the cigarettes and porn mags.

“How many customers have you had today?” He asked, pulling a bag of crisps from under the bench, sticking his hand in haphazardly.

“Three,” You answered plainly, stretching out your back with an aggressive twist. James laughed exaggeratedly in your face as if he was proving a point.

“I had seven,” he puffed out his chest as if it were a personal achievement.

“Right,” You stared at him, “Are you aware that you run a gas station and I work at a video store. On a Thursday.” James didn’t appear to see the ridiculousness of comparing your respective careers.

“It’s because of my superior personality and dazzling charm,” He crowed, circling some keys around his fingers to fidget with. You rolled your eyes, sliding off the countertop, examining the selection of chocolate bars under the register.

“It’s because you have gas, drinks and toilet paper. If I sold necessities, I’d be the most popular kid on the block, too, Potter.”

“Speaking of what you do sell,” James scanned the KitKat and started unwrapping it for you, “I’m meeting the guys tonight, got a recommendation?”

You paused, genuinely thinking.

“Well, if it’s the guys, then you’re looking for something ridiculous, right? Something to laugh at, like Scream or Wayne’s World. Remus will hate it and think it’s ridiculous, but the rest of you should like it.”

“Genius!” He cried, smacking the counter. “I thought we were gonna have to rewatch bloody Sleepless in Seattle again coz it’s one of the only tapes Peter actually owns — not that I don’t love Sleepless in Seattle, but we’ve probably watched it twelve times already.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“You’re all softies, the lot of you. I can’t believe you walk around acting all tough when you all pile into Peter Pettigrew’s basement and cry over Sleepless in Seattle.” You shook your head, biting a chunk out of the chocolate.

“Okay, first of all, fuck you, I’m just in touch with my emotions. And second of all, I only cried the first time, and that’s because we were all high.” You cackled, leaning on your knees for stability.

Oh, fuck! Customer!” You saw from the corner of your eye, waving quickly to James. “Softie!” You called over your shoulder as you darted back across the road, ready to greet with a smile.

You ran down an empty aisle, diving (and skidding) into the swivel chair behind the register, bringing up the membership page ready for the customer.

You watched the back of a head browse titles for ten minutes, umming and ah-ing over the romances before finally heading toward you. Your mouth dropped open when you recognised the miraculous head of hair.

“Do you have any thoughts on either of these? Just me and my wife at home tonight, so I thought I’d surprise her with a nice night in but I’m just not sure with all these new fangled ‘rom-coms,” Fleamont shook his head, sliding three different tapes across to you.

“That sounds nice, Mister Potter. You might like It Could Happen To You or Much Ado About Nothing, but My Girl is about two little kids; might not set the mood — oh my God, I cannot believe I just said that.” You slapped your hand across your face, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Fleamont Potter, hot dad that he famously was, only laughed.

“Alright, I’ll take Much Ado then, thanks for your help. It’s a good thing this store has such knowledgeable employees like yourself.” He winked, and you used all your self-control not to throw yourself under the desk and hide until he left. You stuttered through the rest of the renting process, avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

“Hey, uh, Mister Potter, would you be able to tell James to come in on his break?”

He nodded, silver hair attracting the light as he left the store.

“And then I fucking told him it’d set the mood. What the fuck is wrong with me?” You moaned, throwing your upper body across the counter in agony.

“It’s literally fine,” James said through a huge bite of his curry lunch, “Pretty much all of my friends wanna fuck him. You talking about him fucking his wife is probably a welcome change.”

“James!” You squealed, popping back up to face him, gesturing wildly. “You can’t just say that! Most kids don’t talk about their parents fucking that casually!”

James shrugged, mixing his curry around in the container and offering you a fork.

“It’s just life. Everyone has sex; they had to have sex to make me. Even you have sex. I assume.” He looked you up and down with a frankly sassy attitude, and you grew self-conscious of your long jorts and Jaws t-shirt.

“I can get laid, thank you very much, not that you’d know what that’s like.” James opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off, “I don’t wanna know where you’re sticking your dick, okay?” He raised his arms in surrender.

“Whatever, we all know you’d jump if you had the chance.” He rolled his eyes, wandering off to look for the films you’d recommended earlier.

You turned up the music playing over the store speakers, Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic pumping through the aisles.

Taking your hair out of its scrunchie, you loosened out your body, dancing around the store. James’ tall figure popped up from behind one of the aisles, watching you with an amused grin.

“Come on, Potter, not too good to dance, are you? Need to keep active if you’re gonna retain that athlete physique,” You teased him, miming freestyle strokes to travel over to him. James rolled his eyes, nevertheless holding his nose and wiggling his arm to imitate being underwater with you.

You danced for the duration of the song, laughing and enjoying being up and active amidst an otherwise very monotonous work day. James held his hand out like a gentleman, and you took it with exaggerated elegance, the two of you jumping about the store in a terrible waltz.

The bell to the shop door jingled, signalling a customer entering. You and James leapt apart, James returning to where the comedies were, and you practically flying back to your spot by the computer.

You both held coy smiles as you completed the transaction with mock-professionalism as you asked for his full name and membership number, biting your lip to stop your giggles as the old woman shopping inched further towards the curtained off pornography section.

“Make sure you return this by Monday, ‘kay?” You sent James off, rolling your eyes at his corny wink, smiling despite yourself.

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lee-laurent · 6 months ago

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Romeo and Juliet - Jack Hughes

Summary: Jack falls for the new owner of the Devils' daughter

content: reverse of a slowburn (they move really fast)

wc: 14k

notes: requested!! i'm sorry this took sooooo long! school is kicking my ass :(( but i really liked writing this! i rewrote it like twelve times until i finally found an angle i liked and i hope you guys enjoy it too! keep on sending in requests :))

Remi Bouchard stood awkwardly behind her dad, arms crossed and weight shifting from one foot to the other, as he talked to his new team, droning on and on about his expectations. She'd heard this speech before--different team, same lines. Discipline. Effort. Respect. Her dad always delivered it like he was audtioning for a role in a sports movie, with the same rehearsed authority and clipped tone.

Behind his back, she rolled her eyes. This time, though, she wasn't sitting in the bleachers or tucked away in the family section. No, this time, he'd insisted she stand behind him, a silent reminder to everyone in the room that he was not only their new coach, but also her father. Like she needed that.

Her gaze drifted lazily across the room. Players filled the chairs, leaning back like they'd heard their fair share of speeches too. A few were older, veterans whose faces she vaguely recognized from highlight reels. The rest were younger--fresh-faced rookies and players just hitting their stride.

Her eyes landed on a guy near the back, sitting with one ankle propped on his knee. His light brown hair was messy in a way that looked accidental but wasn't, and a lopsided grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he whispered something to the guy beside him. Whatever it was must've been funny, because the other guy was fighting to keep a straight face.

Interesting.

Remi tilted her head, letting her gaze linger a second longer than she should have. She'd always been good at reading people--better than her dad, anyway--and something about him stood out. He didn't look nervous or overly respectful like some of the others. He looked... comfortable. Like he knew exactly who he was and didn't feel the need to apologize for it.

Her dad's voice snapped her back to reality.

"And remember, gentlemen, this season isn't just about talent--it's about discipline. Off the ice as well as on. That's what wins cups."

She fought the urge to groan. Discipline was her dad's favourite word, and he'd wielded it like a weapon her entire life. No late nights. No parties. No distractions. Her curfew in high school had been earlier than the local diner closed. Even now, at 19, he still acted like he needed his permission to make a decision.

But that was the thing about being 19. She didn't need anyone's permission--not anymore.

When her dad finally wrapped up his speech, he turned to her with a rare, tight-lipped smile. "Remi, why don't you introduce yourself?"

Her stomach twisted. She'd spent most of her life being introduced as "Phil Bouchard's daughter," and it didn't look like that was changing anytime soon. Still, she managed a polite smile, the one she'd perfected after years of playing nice for her dad's sake.

"Hi," she said, her voice cutting through the murmurs in the room. "I'm Remi. My dad's the coach--obviously. But don't let him fool you; he's not that scary."

There was a ripple of polite laughter, but her eyes were fixed on the guy in the back. His lopsided grin had widened into a full-on smirk now, and for the first time, she felt her own smile shift into a real one.

The players were filing out, some offering polite nods to her dad as they passed. Remi stayed in the corner, checking her phone out of habit, when a voice grabbed her attention.

"So, Coach's not that scary?"

She looked up to find the guy from earlier standing a few feet away, hands shoved in the pocket of his Devils branded sweatpants, the same smirk on his face. Up close, he was even more annoyingly attractive.

"Not unless you cross him," she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

"Good to know." He extended a hand. "Jack Hughes."

"Remi Bouchard," she replied, shaking it. His grip was confident and lingered long enough to make her heart skip.

"I figured," Jack said. "Your dad's been saying 'my daughter' every five minutes."

She laughed despite herself. "Yeah, he's good at that."

"Is he good at coaching too, or should I be worried?"

Remi hesitated for a beat, then leaned in slightly, her voice dropping low enough to make him lean in too. "Let's just say... don't expect to sleep in."

Jack's laugh was genuine, bright, and made her stomach flutter.

"Noted," he stood up straight. "Guess I'll see you around, Bouchard."

And with that, he was gone, leaving her standing there, slightly breathless and entirely annoyed at how much she'd enjoyed that.

The locker room emptied quickly after that. Remi stayed put, scrolling aimlessly through her phone as her dad exchanged a few last words with his assistant coaches. She didn't need to look up to know he was shooting her occasional glances, making sure she wasn't doing anything embarrassing.

When the other coaches finally left the room, her dad turned to her, his expression shifting into something softer, but no less authoritative.

"Thanks for sticking around today, kid," he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Didn't really have a choice, did I?" she replied, her tone just sharp enough to sting.

Phil frowned, his grip tightening slightly before he let go. "I just want you to understand what's at stake here. This team is a fresh start for me--and for us. I'm counting on you to make a good impression. That means no antics, Remi. No sneaking around, no hanging out with the players, no late nights."

Her jaw tightened. The rules. Always the rules. No matter where they moved or how many teams he coached, her dad never let up. She was 19 years old, a legal adult, and he still talked to her like she was a teenager that couldn't be trusted.

"Got it," she said flatly, shoving her phone into her pocket. "Are we done?"

Phil's frown deepened, but he nodded. "Go home. I'll meet you there after meetings."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out, her heart pounding with anger. The hallway leading out of the arena was dimly lit, her footsteps echoing loudly in the empty space. Her dad's words replayed in her mind, each one sharpening her resentment like a knife.

No antics. No hanging out with players.

The absurdity of it made her laugh under her breath. Like she couldn't handle herself. Like she wasn't already smarter, sharper, and more aware of the world than he gave her credit for.

The truth was, she'd been good for too long. For years, she'd followed his rules, played the perfect daughter, sat quietly by the sidelines of his career. And what had it gotten her? A suffocating shadow she couldn't escape.

She paused at the edge of the parking lot, looking back at the arena. Most of the players were gone by now, but a few stragglers were still lingering by their cars. Her eyes scanned the lot until they landed on him. Jack Hughes.

He was leaning against the driver's side door of his car, his stupid smirk still on his face. His posture was relaxed, lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

He's exactly the kind of guy Dad would hate me hanging out with.

The thought struck her with startling clarity. Jack wasn't just charming and attractive--he was off-limits. A walking, talking rebellion waiting to happen. And the best part? Her dad had basically handed her the idea on a silver platter.

She could hear the protests in his voice already. Stay away from him, Remi. You're going to embarrass me. You don't know what you're doing.

A slow, wicked grin spread across her face. Maybe she didn't know exactly what she was doing yet, but she knew enough. She wasn't going to sit around and let her dad dictate her life any longer. If he wanted her to stay away from Jack Hughes, well, that was exactly who she'd be spending her time with.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her attention. Her best friend, Talia, was texting her.

Talia: how's hockey prison? are you surviving?

Remi smirked, fingers flying across the screen.

Remi: barely. but i've got a plannnn. stay tuned

She glanced at Jack again. This wasn't just about pissing off her dad--it was about proving, to herself and to him, that she was in control of her own life. And Jack Hughes? He was going to help her do exactly that.

She walked over to him, smoothing down her hair and tugging at the hem of her jacket, wanting to look like she wasn't psyching herself up to do this.

Jack didn't notice her approach until she was a few feet away. He glanced up, his face shifting to surprise, then to a lazy grin that had her weak in the knees.

"Didn't think I'd see you again tonight," he said.

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Figured I'd say hi before you forgot about me."

"Not a chance. Coach's daughter isn't exactly forgettable."

Her laugh came easily, and she stepped closer, leaning against the car beside him. "Well, that's reassuring. So, what's the team's golden boy still doing here? Everyone else has cleared the fuck out."

Jack tilted his head. "Golden boy? That's a stretch."

"Come on," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his. "Don't play humble with me. I saw you back there, all comfortable and confident. You're not like the others."

"Is that a good thing?" he smirked.

"That depends. Do you live up to the hype?"

Jack chuckled, the sound warm and low. "Guess you'll have to stick around and find out."

For a split second, her resolve wavered. It would be so easy to fall into this, to let herself believe this wasn't just a game she was playing. But she couldn't afford that--not now. She had a point to prove, and he was the perfect way to do it.

"So," she said, smoothly changing the subject, "is this how you always spend your Friday nights? Hanging out in parking lots and scrolling through Instagram?"

Jack leaned back, crossing his arms. "Only when I'm waiting for someone interesting to show up."

"Oh?" she arched a brow. "And did they?"

"Yeah," he held her gaze. "They did."

The flutter in her chest was stronger this time, and she quickly buried it beneath a playful grin. "Well, I hate to disappoint, but I'm not that interesting."

"Not buying it," he shook his head. "I've got a feeling you're full of surprises."

"Maybe you'll find out."

Jack pushed off his car, standing just a little closer than before. "Guess I'll have to stick around, then," he teased.

Remi glanced up at him, her heart pounding. This is working. She didn't need to push too hard--just enough to keep him hooked, to let him think this was real. It almost felt real. And that was the dangerous part.

"Well," she stepped back just far enough to break the moment, "don't let me keep you here all night."

Jack hesitated, then pulled his car keys from his pocket. "Alright, Bouchard. But don't be a stranger, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied, her voice light and breezy as she turned and walked away.

When she reached her car, her phone buzzed with another text from Talia.

Talia: details. now.

Remi: step 1: complete. he's hooked

As she hit send, she glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Jack's car pulling out of the lot. This was just the beginning.

Remi leaned against the railing of the bleachers in the practice rink, her legs crossed casually as she scrolled through Instagram to see what her friends back in Toronto were up to. The team was midway through drills, her dad barking instructions from the bench, his voice echoing through the room.

But when she was looking up, her attention wasn't on her dad. It was on him.

Jack was mid-drill, skating backward as he tracked a pass, his stick carrying the puck across the ice. He made it look so easy--like he was born to do this. The precision in his movements was almost hypnotic.

When the whistle blew, signaling a break, Jack skated toward the bench for water. He looked upward--just for a second--and locked eyes with her. Remi played it cool, offering him a small wave and a teasing smirk.

Jack raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a grin that was equal parts amused and intrigued. He didn't break their eye contact as he lifted the water bottle, taking a long sip like he was trying to show off to her in the oddest way.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. Subtlety clearly wasn't his strong suit.

As the players began to scatter for the next drill, Jack skated over to the boards near where she stood. Leaning his forearms casually on top of the plastic, he tilted his head up at her.

"Didn't realize this practice was open to spectators," he teased.

"It's not," she replied, moving down a couple rows. "I'm special."

"Special, huh?" He smirked. "Is that why you're standing up there, judging my every move?"

"Who says I was judging?" she shot back. "Maybe I was admiring."

Jack blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but quickly recovered. "Careful, Bouchard. Keep talking like that and I'll start thinking you're here just to see me."

She grinned, "Maybe I am."

The whistle blew again, cutting through their moment. Jack glanced back at the ice, where the rest of the team was already setting up for the next drill.

"Duty calls," he said, skating backward to keep his eyes on her. "But don't go anywhere. I'll be looking for you when we're done."

"I'll think about it," she sassed, turning to leave.

The smell of sweat hit her as the players filtered into the locker room, chatting as they pulled off their gear. Remi stood near the wall, pretending not to notice the attention her presence was drawing.

Jack was one of the last to come off the ice, his jersey slung over one jersey and his sweat damp with sweat. When he spotted her, his pace slowed, his grin widening as he veered her way.

"You know," he said, stopping just a little to close, "if you keep showing up like this, people are going to start talking."

"Talking about what?" she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes.

"About how the coach's daughter has a thing for the team's centre," he replied, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Remi raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. "Who says I don't?"

Jack blinked, his confidence faltering for a fraction of a second before he let out a soft laugh. "You're dangerous, you know that?"

"Am I?" she deliberately took a step closer.

"Definitely," his voice dropped even lower.

Before he could say more, the sound of her dad's voice calling her name echoed down the hall. Jack immediately straightened, stepping back like a kid caught his hand in the cookie jar.

"Don't worry," she whispered, brushing past him. "I won't tell."

As she walked away, she glanced back over her shoulder just in time to catch the look on his face--amusement and exasperation. It sent a thrill racing through her, and for the first time, she realized how much she was enjoying this.

Remi wandered through the small crowd, her dad occupied with his assistant coaches on the other side of the lounge. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on Jack, who was standing by the snack table with a few teammates.

When their eyes met, his face lit up, and he excused himself, weaving through the crowd to meet her halfway.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft and warm. "You didn't come down to congratulate me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she teased, crossing her arms. "Do you require special acknowledgment for doing your job?"

Jack laughed, shaking his head. "I thought you might be impressed."

She tilted her head, pretending to consider. "I guess you were okay."

"Okay?" he repeated, placing a hand over his heart like he'd been mortally wounded. "Tough crowd."

"Don't worry," she said, her smile turning mischievous. "I'll be sure to send you a participation ribbon."

Jack leaned in slightly, his grin becoming more genuine. "How about dinner instead?"

His tone, his expression--there was nothing calculated about it. He was just... sincere. And that made her next move feel all the more like a game.

"Maybe," she took a step back. "If you're lucky."

She walked away, leaving Jack standing there, shaking his head with a smile that said he was already hooked.

Remi laughed softly as she collapsed onto Jack's couch, kicking off her sneakers and tucking her legs under herself. His apartment was a reflection of him--casual, but inviting, with a lingering smell of cologne that was distinctly Jack.

She'd finally taken him up on his dinner offer and it had been the most fun she'd had in a long time.

"You're way too good at losing track of time," Jack said, joining her with two beers in hand. He offered her one, his knee brushing against hers as he settled beside her.

"Time's a construct," she quipped, taking the bottle, glad he had already removed the cap. She leaned back, letting her head rest against the cushion. "And I was having fun."

Jack gave her a crooked smile. "Fun, huh? Is that all I am to you?"

"Oh, don't fish for compliments," she teased, knocking his shoulder with hers. "You're more than fun. You're..." She pretended to think, her smile widening as his expression grew mock-serious. "Moderately entertaining."

Jack rolled his eyes, setting his beer down on the coffee table. "Moderately entertaining? Guess I'll have to up my game."

Before she could reply, he leaned in, his hand sliding along her jaw as his lips found hers. The kiss was warm and confident, tasting of beer and italian food, deepening quickly as he tilted her head back. Remi melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair as he pressed closer, his weight shifting to pin her against the couch.

The outside world melted away, leaving only the heat of his hands as they pulled her shirt up and the intoxicating way he kissed her--like she was the only thing that mattered. His hands roamed over her waist, her thighs, pulling her against him with a hunger that made her heart beat faster. They quickly stripped down to their underwear, shifting to lay on the couch.

She pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, "I'm gonna ruin you, Hughes."

He laughed softly, his forehead resting against hers. "Pretty sure it's the other way around."

Remi reached into the pocket of her discarded jeans, pulling out a case containing a neatly rolled blunt. She held it up between them, her lip pulled between her teeth. "Wanna test that theory?"

Jack raised an eyebrow, but propped himself up on his elbows, watching as she lit the blunt with practiced ease. She took a slow drag, blowing the smoke out in a lazy swirl before handing it to him.

"D'you always carry these around?" he asked, taking it from her and mimicking her movements.

"Only when I'm feeling inspired," she replied, slipping out from under him and onto the floor, patting the space beside her. "Come on. The couch is overrated."

Jack joined her, body sprawling out beside hers as they passed the blunt back and forth. The room filled with the soft haze of smoke, and the tension that had been simmering between them shifted into something more intimate.

"What's your biggest secret?" she asked suddenly, her head turned to look at him.

Jack exhaled a puff of smoke, his brows furrowing as he thought. "Biggest secret? Probably that I suck at cooking."

Remi laughed, elbowing his side. "Come on, Hughes. You can do better than that."

"Alright... I hate how much I care about what people think of me. On the ice, off the ice. It's exhausting sometimes."

Remi blinked, surprised by the raw honesty in his voice. She handed him the blunt, her tone gentler. "Well, for what it's worth, I think you're doing just fine."

Jack smiled, taking a drag. "Your turn. Biggest secret."

"I don't think I've ever really been myself," she admitted. "Not around my dad, not around anyone. It's like... I'm always trying to be what people expect."

Jack reached over, his fingers brushing hers. "You're pretty damn great as you are."

The sincerity in his voice made her chest ache, and for the first time, she wondered if she'd underestimated him.

Jack hovered nervously by the back door, his hoodie pulled low over his head, scanning the dark backyard like they were in a spy movie. "I still think this is a terrible idea."

"That's because you're boring," Remi whispered back, pulling her house key from her pocket. The lock clicked softly, and she pushed the door wide with a grin. "See? Easy."

Jack stepped inside hesitantly, wincing when the hinges creaked. "If he catches me--"

"He won't," she cut, turning to grab his hand. Her fingers were warm, steady, and the quick squeeze she gave his palm sent a shiver up his arm. "He's been passed out for hours. I'd know--I checked."

"That's reassuring," he muttered, letting her pull him forward.

The house was dark and still, the only sound the faint hum of the refridgerator in the kitchen. Jack couldn't help but glance around as they moved through the house, his grip on her hand tightening every time the floorboards creaked under their weight.

"This is ridiculous," he hissed when they reached the staircase. "Your dad's not just anyone, Remi. He's my coach. My fucking boss."

She paused mid-step, turning to look at him with a smirk that made his pulse quicken. "And yet you're the one who keeps following me."

He opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut when she tugged on his hand again, pulling him up the stairs. His heart hammered as they passed the closed door to what he could only assume was her dad's bedroom, the faint sound of snoring filtering through the wood.

When they finally reached her bedroom, Remi pushed him inside, locking the door behind them. Jack leaned back against it, exhaling hard as he ran a hand through his hair. "You're gonna get me benched."

She rolled her eyes, stepping closer until her body was pressed against his. "You're too good. He'd never bench you."

"You sure about that?" he mumbled, his voice dropping as his hands slid instinctively to her hips.

"Positive," she replied, tipping her head back to meet his gaze. "Besides, you'll be worth it."

His breath caught, her confidence making him forget how bad of an idea this was. She was dangerous, magnetic, and impossible to resist.

"God, you're reckless," his voice was rough as he leaned down to kiss her.

Her reply was lost against his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hoodie as they stumbled toward the bed.

The room was quiet now, save for the sound of their heavy breathing. Remi lay sprawled across the sheets, her bare skin still warm from Jack's touch. His arm was draped lazily across her waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her ribs as he stared up at the ceiling.

"You okay?" he asked almost hesitantly.

She turned her head to look at him, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Better than okay."

Jack laughed under his breath, pulling her closer. "Good. 'Cause I don't think I'll survive your dad murdering me."

She shook her head, leaning up to press a kiss to the faint red marks she'd left along his collarbone. "Relax. He doesn't need to know."

But as her hand slid across his chest, his fingers gently caught her wrist. His gaze turned serious, searching hers. "You're sure about this? About us?"

For a split second, she hesitated. The way he looked at her--like she was something precious, something worth risking everything for--made her chest tighten in a way she wasn't used to. But she pushed the thought aside, flashing him a toothy grin. "I'm sure."

Jack smiled, leaning down to kiss her again, and the warmth of his hand on her waist made her forget everything else.

Remi slipped into the kitchen the next morning, a slight ache in her muscles and a satisifed smirk on her lips. She was pouring a cup of coffee when her dad walked in, his expression already tense.

"Morning," she said lightly, leaning against the counter.

Phil frowned, eyes narrowing as he studied her. "What's on your neck?"

She instinctively lifted a hand to cover the faint bruise Jack had left just above her collarbone. "Nothing," she lied, turning to grab her mug.

"Don't 'nothing' me," he snapped, stepping closer. "That's a hickey. Who were you with?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," she said, her tone sharper than she intended.

Phil's jaw clenched, his frustration spilling over. "It is my fucking business, Remi. I know boys. Most of them are players who don't care about anything but themselves. I'm not letting you ruin your life for some--"

"I'm not ruining anything!" she snapped, slamming her mug onto the counter, coffee sloshing over the side. "God, Dad, I'm not a kid anymore! You can't control who I spend my time with."

The parking lot was empty except for a few scattered cars. Jack leaned against the driver's side door of his car, his hockey bag tossed in the backseat.

"You waiting for me again?" Remi asked, stopping a few feet away.

"Maybe. Can you blame me?"

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing the edge of his jacket. "Not really."

The space between them disappeared as he pulled her in, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was hungry, insistent. Her hands slid up his chest, tangling in the collar of his coat as she pressed herself against him.

Jack groaned softly, his hands gripping her waist as he slid his tongue into her mouth. The cool night air was forgotten, replaced by the warmth of her body and the breathy sounds she made against his mouth.

But the sound of footsteps nearby made them both freeze. Jack pulled back, his heart hammering as he glanced over his shoulder. A security guard was walking along the far side of the lot, his flashlight swinging lazily across the pavement.

"Shit," Jack whispered, running a hand through his tangled hair. "We need to be more careful."

Remi smirked. "Scared, Hughesy?"

He shook his head, exhaling a shaky laugh. "No, just trying not to get caught."

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "Where's the fun in that?"

Jack adjusted the collar of his jacket as he led Remi down the familiar hallway to his apartment. He'd suggested they grab dinner at his place after practice--a casual way for her to meet someone close to him. Remi had agreed, though the idea of meeting Luke like this had left a gnawing pit in her stomach.

"Relax," Jack said, glancing back at her as they stopped outside the door. "Luke's chill. He'll be excited to meet you."

"Oh, I'm sure," Remi replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your teammate-slash-brother who's seen me sulking around the rink for weeks? I bet he'll have no questions."

Jack smirked, unlocking the door. "You're overthinking it."

The door swung open, revealing Luke in a Devils hoodie and sweats, his hair damp like he'd just showered. His eyes flickered between Jack and Remi, surprise flashing across his face before he smiled.

"Hey. You actually did bring someone."

"Funny," Jack said, clapping his brother on the shoulder as he walked past. "Remi, this is Luke. Luke, Remi."

Remi extended a hand. "Nice to finally meet you outside of the rink."

Luke shook her hand. "You too. I, uh, I've seen you around a lot. Heard even more."

"Good things, I hope," she replied, shooting Jack a pointed look.

"All good," Luke said quickly, though his smile was tight. She could tell he was connecting the dots in his head.

Remi Bouchard. Coach's daughter. And now... whatever she was to Jack.

They moved into the living room, Jack dropping onto the couch and gesturing for Remi to join him. Luke disappeared into the kitchen, returning with beers. He handed one to Jack and set one on the table in front of Remi.

"So, how'd this happen?" he asked, sitting in the chair opposite them. His tone was casual, but his were sharp, darting between the two of them.

"What, you think I can't pull someone like her?" Jack teased.

"I didn't say that," Luke said quickly. "Just... isn't it... complicated?"

Remi stiffened slightly, but Jack just laughed, taking a swig of his beer. "Not as complicated as you'd think."

Luke's expression didn't change, and the weight of it made Remi shift uncomfortably. She could tell he wanted to ask more--probably about her dad, about how much he knew--but he held back, choosing to make small talk instead.

The evening passed with relative ease, though there was a tension lingering below the surface. Luke was polite, funny, but Remi couldn't shake the feeling that he was analyzing her every word. When they finally left, she let out a sigh she hadn't even realized she was holding.

On the car ride back to her place, Jack was unusually quiet, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. Remi glanced at him, the city lights casting soft shadows across his face.

"You okay?" she asked., s

He nodded. "Yeah. Just... I'm glad you properly met Luke."

"Why?" she asked, her voice light, though the question felt heavier than she intended.

Jack's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Because I really like you. And if this... if we're gonna be something, I want the people I care about to know you."

Guilt prickled at the edges of her thoughts. She forced a smile, reaching over to rest her hand on his thigh. "You're sweet, Hughes. You know that?"

He laughed softly, his shoulders relaxing as he placed a hand over hers. "Don't let it get around. Gotta protect my image."

Her smile didn't waver, but her stomach churned. She wasn't sure if it was guilt, the thrill of rebellion, or something else entirely. All she knew was that Jack Hughes was nothing like she'd expected--and that scared her more than she wanted to admit.

Jack sat in his stall, sipping water as he wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. Across the room, Nico and Luke were talking about dinner plans, their voices blending into background noise.

The sound of Phil's sharp whistle cut through the chatter, snapping everyone to attention. Jack tensed, his eyes flickering to the entry where Phil stood, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"Alright, listen up," Phil began, his voice carrying the kind of authority that demanded silence. "I've been watching you guys these past few weeks, and while I'm mostly happy with what I've seen on the ice, I need to remind you all of something."

The room was silent, every pair of eyes fixed on the coach. Jack shifted uncomfortably, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine.

"This team has one goal: to win," Phil continued, pacing slowly in front of the group. "And that means focus. Discipline. No distractions--on the ice or off."

Jack's stomach twisted. Phil's tone was calm, measured, but the words hit like a warning shot. He couldn't help but glance toward Nico, who raised an eyebrow in silent confusion.

"I've been in this game a long time," Phil said, stopping to look directly at the group. "I know what happens when players lose sight of what's important. You think one bad decision won't cost you? Think again. Whether it's partying too much, chasing the wrong kind of attention, or getting involved with the wrong people--it will catch up with you."

Jack swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep a neutral expression. He told himself that Phil didn't know anything, that the speech was just a coincidence. But the way his coach's eyes swept over the room, lingering on him longer than anyone else, made his chest tight.

"That's all," Phil said finally. "Think about what kind of player you want to be--and act like it. See you tomorrow."

The room remained silent as Phil walked out, the door swinging shut behind him. It wasn't until he was gone that the players began to murmur, exchanging confused glances.

"What the hell was that about?" Dawson muttered, leaning toward Jack.

"No idea," he replied quickly. He stood up, grabbing his bag. "I'll catch you later."

As he left the locker room, Jack couldn't shake the feeling that Phil's warning had been aimed directly at him.

Remi stood in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully brushing her hair into place when she heard her dad's voice call her name from the hallway. She sighed, setting the brush down as she turned to face the door.

"Yeah?" she called back, already bracing herself for whatever lecture was coming.

Phil appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression as story as she'd expected. His eyes flickered briefly to her neck, where the faint shadow of a hickey still lingered despite her best efforts to cover it with makeup.

"Who's the guy?" he asked bluntly, his tone clipped.

Remi's heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face neutral, crossing her arms to mirrow his stance. "What guy?"

"Don't play games with me, Remi," Phil snapped, stepping further into the room. "I'm not blind. You've been sneaking around, coming home late, and you've got another..." He gestured vaguely toward her neck. "You think I don't know what's going on?"

Remi arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a defiant smirk. "Maybe you don't."

Phil's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I don't have time for this, Remi. You're my daughter, and I'm trying to protect you."

"From what?" she shot back. "Living my life? Making my own decisions? God forbid I do anything you don't approve of."

"This isn't about approval!" he barked. "It's about respect--for yourself and for this family. You're running around with some guy who clearly doesn't care about you--"

"How would you know?" Remi interuppted, stepping closer. Her eyes flashed with anger. "You don't even know who he is."

Phil's face darkened. "And I don't want to know! Whoever he is, he's not worth it. Guys like that only think about themselves."

Remi laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "Wow, Dad. You're so sure you're right about everything, aren't you? Maybe the problem isn't who I'm seeing. Maybe the problem is you."

Phil stared at her, stunned into silence. For a moment, the only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

"You don't get it, do you?" he said finally, his voice lower but no less tense. "This isn't just about you. The choices you make reflect on me--and on this team. I won't let you ruin what we've worked for."

Remi's anger gave away to something colder. "You mean what you've worked for. God forbid I do anything for myself."

Without waiting for a reply, she pushed past him, her steps echoing down the hall as she headed for her room. She slammed the door shut behind her, leaning against it as her heart pounded in her chest.

Her dad didn't know. He couldn't know. But the weight of his words still lingered, settling like a stone in her stomach.

The room was quiet, Jack lay sprawled across the bed, his body still covered in a sheen of sweat. The sheets were a tangled mess beneath him, and the scent of sex and Remi's perfume lingered in the air.

Remi had slipped into the bathroom a few minutes ago, the sound of running water muffled by the door. Jack stared at the ceiling, a smile tugging at his lips as he replayed the way she looked down at him--wild and unguarded, like he was the only person in the world that mattered.

His reverie was interrupted by the sharp buzz of her phone on the nighstand. It vibrated again, and again, lighting up the screen with notifications.

Jack hesitated, glancing toward the bathroom door. Don't man. Just leave it.

But the buzzing didn't stop, and before he could talk himself out of it, he reached over, turning the phone toward him. The messages were from a group labeled "Bad Bitches Only," the preview showing snippets of texts that made his brow furrow.

Talia: did you see him tonight?

Carmen: yeah, she's got him wrapped around her finger

Talia: rem is a mastermind. her dad's gonna lose it when he finds out

The words hit Jack like a slap to the face. He knew he shouldn't--but his curiosity was like an itch he couldn't ignore.

His thumb hovered over the screen, and then he guessed. Her passcode was simple--her birthday. His pulse quickened when the phone unlocked, revealing the full thread.

Talia: how's it feel to be breaking all daddy's rules?

Remi: better than i thought. he has noooo idea

Carmen: does jack know you're just using him or does he actually think you're like into him?

Remi: oh, he thinks it's real. poor guy's falling HARD

Talia: and when phil finds out?

Remi: that's the best part. let him stew

His chest felt like it had caved in, the air sucked from the room. The words blurred, but their meaning was crystal clear.

The bathroom door opened, and Remi walked out, wrapped in a towel, her damp hair framing her face. She stopped short when she saw him sitting up on the bed, her phone clutched in his hand.

"What are you doing with my phone?" she asked, her tone sharp, but there was a flicker of something else--panic--in her eyes.

Jack stood, his grip on the device tightening as he turned to face her. "What the hell is this, Remi?" His voice was low, dangerously quiet.

"What are you talking about?"

"This," he snapped, holding up the phone. "This whole... game you're playing. Using me to get back at your dad? To prove some point? Is that what all this was?"

Her eyes widened, and she stepped forward, hands raised. "Jack, it's not like that--"

"Don't," he interrupted, his voice cracking. "Don't even try to lie. I read the messages."

Remi's mouth opened, then closed like a fish, her face pale. "You shouldn't have done that," her voice trembled.

Jack let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "That's what you're worried about? That I invaded your privacy? Jesus Christ, Remi. I thought you actually cared about me."

"I do!" she blurted out. "Jack, I--"

"Don't," he cut her off again, backing away. "You don't get to say that. Not after this."

She reached for him, but he jerked his arm away. "Jack, please. Just let me explain."

"Explain what?" he snapped, his eyes blazing. "How you pretended to give a shit about me? How every kiss, every touch, was part of some sick plan to piss off your dad? Do you even know what you've done? How I--" His voice broke, and he turned away, running a hand through his hair.

"Jack," she whispered, her voice thick with desperation. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Bullshit," he spat, spinning to face her. "That's all this was. Hurting me, hurting him. None of it was real, was it?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. The truth was written all over her face.

Jack exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging. He tossed the phone onto the bed and grabbed his shirt, pulling it on with shaking hands. "You know what? You're just like him."

Her breath hitched. "What?"

"You manipulate people to get what you want," he said, his voice hollow. "You don't care about anyone but yourself."

Remi flinched like he'd slapped her, her eyes glassy. "That's not fair."

Jack's jaw clenched, but he didn't reply. He grabbed his keys and headed for the door, his steps heavy with anger and heartbreak.

"Jack, wait!" she called, her voice breaking. "Please, just--"

The door slammed behind him, cutting her off. The sound echoed through the silence, leaving Remi standing in the middle of her room, her chest heaving as tears spilled down her cheeks.

For the first time, the weight of what she'd done hit her with full force. She sank onto the bed, staring at her phone like it was a bomb that had just gone off.

The silence in the room was deafening. Remi sat on the edge of her bed, her legs curled up to her chest as she stared at her phone lying on the crumpled sheets. The screen was dark, but the words Jack had read were burned into her mind. Her chest felt hollow, her breath shallow as her thoughts raced, tears spilling from her eyes.

I thought you actually cared about me.

His voice haunted her, raw and broken, the weight of his anger hitting her like a punch to the gut. She wrapped her arms around herself, the sting of his words cutting deeper and deeper. For someone who'd always prided herself on control, on being untouchable, she felt exposed--like every carefully constructed wall she'd built had come crashing down in an instant.

Her phone buzzed on the bed beside her, and she grabbed it, hoping--praying--it was Jack. But it was just a text from Talia.

Talia: what happened? you okay??

Remi's fingers hovered over the keyboard, but she couldn't bring herself to reply. Instead, she set the phone down again, her gaze drifting to the messy sheets, the imprint of where Jack had been laying not even half an hour before. She reached out, her fingers brushing the fabric, and a fresh wave of regret crashed over her.

None of it was real, was it?

The question hung in her mind, heavy and suffocating. And for the first time, she realized the answer wasn't as simple as she'd thought. At first, she'd convinced herself it was all part of the plan--a way to rebel, to defy her dad in the most calculated way possible. But somewhere along the line, something had shifted.

Her favourite moments with Jack began playing in her mind, uninvited.

They'd sprawled on the floor of his apartment, the faint haze of smoke curling in the air between them. Jack had been tracing patterns on the rug with his finger, his voice soft as he opened up about his fears--about letting people down, about never living up to expectations.

"You know," he'd said, glancing at her with a shy smile, "I don't think I've ever been this honest with anyone before."

Her chest had tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. "Maybe that's because you don't let people in."

He'd laughed, shaking his head. "And yet, here I am. Letting you in."

At the time, she'd brushed it off, teasing him about being sappy. But now the memory hit her differently, the weight of his trust making her throat feel raw.

Jack had taken her to a quiet overlook just outside the city, the twinkling lights stretching out before them like a sea of stars. He'd sat beside her on the hood of his car, their shoulders touching as they took in the scene in front of them.

"This is where I go when I need to clear my head," he'd said, his voice low. "Figured you might like it."

She'd turned to look at him, surprised by his soft expression. "Why'd you bring me here?"

He'd shrugged, but his eyes had been earnest. "Because you're different. You get me."

Then, she'd smiled, but now the memory felt bittersweet. You're different. His words had meant something then--something she'd ignored.

She'd always loved the way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the room. Whether they were stealing kisses in a quiet corner, or sharing laughs over takeout, his gaze had been steady, warm, and full of something she hadn't wanted to name.

But now, as she replayed those moments, she realized what it was. He'd looked at her like he loved her.

And the truth hit her like a freight train: She'd fallen for him, too.

She sucked in a shaky breath, pressing her palms to her eyes as tears spilled over. How had she let it get this far? How had she been so blind? The very thing she'd been trying to avoid--caring too much, being vulnerable--had happened anyway. And now she'd lost him.

The regret sat on her chest, suffocating her. She grabbed her phone, unlocking it with trembling hands, and opened her messages.

jack, i'm so sorry. please, let me explain

She stared at the screen, the cursor blinking accusingly. She hit send, her heart pounding, and followed it with another.

i never meant to hurt you. you mean more to me than you know

The texts went unanswered. She tried again, dialing his number. It rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail.

"Jack," she said, her voice cracking as she struggled to hold back tears. "Please. Just... call me back. I know I screwed up, but I need you to know that I--" She stopped, biting her lip to keep from sobbing. "I care about you. I care about you so much, and I-- I'm sorry. I'll explain everything. Just... please."

She ended the call, staring at the screen like it might magically light up with a reply. But nothing came.

The days passed into agonizing silence. Jack didn't respond to her texts or her voicemails, and each unanswered message felt like another nail in the coffin.

She barely slept, barely ate, her mind consumed with guilt and the aching emptiness he'd left behind. Her friends' attempts to cheer her up fell flat, and even her usual rebellious streak lost its spark.

She felt truly alone.

Jack didn't feel like himself. Not on the ice, not in the locker room, not even at home.

The hurt and anger churned inside him like a storm he couldn't shake. He'd barely slept since the night at Remi's, and when he did, he woke up angry all over again. Her words, her actions, her texts--they played on a loop in his mind, taunting him.

You don't care about anyone but yourself.

His own voice echoed in his head, laced with the same bitterness that had been clawing at him ever since he stormed out of her room. He hated that he'd said it. But more than that, he hated that she'd made him feel that way.

The buzzer sounded, snapping him back to the present. He was at practice, the familiar hum of the arena doing little to calm the chaos in his mind. Jack skated hard, pushing himself past the point of exhaustion, but the frustration remained, clawing at him like a weight he couldn't shake.

During a drill, he lost the puck to Nico, who darted past him with ease. Normally, Jack would've shrugged it off, but today it felt like salt in the wound. He slammed his stick against the boards, muttering a curse loud enough for Nico to glance back in confusion.

"You good, man?" Nico skated closer.

Jack waved him off, not trusting himself to answer. The rest of practice passed in a blur of misplaced passes and uncharacteristic mistakes. He felt every set of eyes on him, but he didn't care.

By the time the puck dropped for their next game, Jack's head was still far from clear. His anger simmered just beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

He started the game strong, channeling his frustration into speed and aggression. But as the minutes ticked by, his emotions got the better of him.

A harmless shove from an opposing player turned into a cross-check, earning him two minutes in the box.

When he returned to the ice, it happened again--a poorly timed hit that left his teammates scrambling to recover. This time, the refs weren't as forgiving.

"Two for boarding!" the ref barked, gesturing him off the ice.

Jack skated to the penalty box, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Luke caught his eye from the bench, his expression confused and concerned.

The final straw came in the third period. An opponent chirped him during a faceoff, something innocuous, but it set Jack off. Before he knew it, he was swinging, his gloves hitting the ice as he grabbed the guy by his jersey.

The refs blew the whistle, chaos breaking out around them. Jack barely felt the punches before they were pulling him away, ejecting him from the game.

He sat alone in the locker room, his head in his hands. His knuckles throbbed, his chest heaving as he replayed the fight in his mind.

The door swung open, and Luke stepped in, his skates still on, his eyebrows furrowed.

"What the hell was that, Jack?" Luke demanded, dropping onto the bench across from him.

"Not now, Luke," Jack muttered, not looking up.

"No, now," Luke snapped, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "What's going on with you? You're acting like a complete idiot out there. First penalities, now getting tossed from a game? You're better than this."

Jack's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.

"Talk to me, Jack. Is it about Remi?"

The mention of her name felt like another insult to injury. Jack's head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "Stay out of it, Luke."

"Jack--"

"I said stay out of it!" Jack barked, slamming his fist against the bench. The sound echoed through the room, but Luke didn't flinch.

"I'll take that as a yes," Luke said quietly. "What happened?"

Jack stood abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. "Nothing. Just drop it."

"You're full of shit," Luke shot back, standing now too. "You haven't been yourself for like a week now. You're angry all the time, you're screwing up on the ice, and you can't even look me in the eye."

"Luke--"

"And you know what else?" the youngest Hughes interrupted. "I haven't seen her around the rink lately. She used to be here all the time, hanging out, waiting for you. But now? Nothing. So either you tell me what's going on, or I'm going to have to go Phil and tell him about whatever the hell's been going on between you two."

Jack froze. "You wouldn't."

"Try," Luke said, crossing his arms. "I'm not gonna let you self-destruct over some girl. So tell me the truth."

Jack exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he said nothing, letting the weight of Luke's words settle over him. Finally, he sank back onto the bench, his head in his hands.

"She was using me," he said quietly, his voice strained. "It was all some stupid plan to piss off Phil. I was just a pawn."

"Jack..."

"I thought she cared about me," Jack continued, his voice breaking. "But it was all fake. Every kiss, every--" He stopped, shaking his head. "God, I'm so fucking stupid."

"You're not stupid," Luke said firmly, getting up to sit beside him. "You just... cared about the wrong person."

Jack laughed bitterly. "Yeah. Well, it doesn't matter now."

Luke placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "You don't have to deal with this alone, you know. Whatever happens, I've got your back."

Jack nodded, though the ache in his chest remained.

Every word that Remi texted Jack felt inadequate, like she was trying to patch up a sinking ship with duct tape. She knew she'd screwed up--more than screwed up. She'd hurt someone who didn't deserve it, someone who'd been nothing but good to her.

Her dad was downstairs on the phone, talking loudly about hockey. Probably complaining about something that had happened at the game that night. She hated hearing him talk about hockey even more now--it just made her think of Jack.

She opened her phone, scrolling through Instagram for any content that could help distract her. But it was useless, the Devils account was the first one that came up. It was a picture of the guys hugging after the win. She clicked on the comments and her heart stopped.

Jack had been ejected from the game. She had to find the clip. She turned to Twitter, scrolling until she found it. She watched as he started a pointless fight, throwing his gloves to the ice. The refs blew the whistle and a beyond pissed Jack was escorted off the ice.

"Damn it, Jack," she whispered, wiping the single tear that had fallen onto her phone screen.

"Remi, you have to stop," Talia said through the phone, sitting criss-cross on her bed.

"I can't," Remi replied, pacing her room. "I can't just leave it like this. He--he means too much to me."

"Does he, though?" Talia raised a brow. "Because last time I checked, this was all about pissing your dad off."

Remi stopped, turning to glare at her friend through the screen. "That's how it started. It's not what it is now."

"Really?" Talia challenged, crossing her arms. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're just upset because you got caught."

"That's not true," Remi snapped, her voice rising. "You don't understand. He's--" She stopped, pulling at the roots of her hair. "I care about him, Talia. I--"

"You what?" Talia interrupted, her eyes wide.

Remi hesitated. The words felt too big, too raw, but they were there, clawing their way out.

"I love him," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

Talia just blinked, her mouth falling open.

"I didn't mean to," Remi continued, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "But I do. And now he hates me, and it's all my fault."

"Ugh, girl. I wish I could give you the biggest hug... but you really screwed this up, huh?"

"Yeah. Big time."

She stood outside the apartment door, her hands trembling as she knocked. She'd rehearsed what she was going to say with Talia at least a dozen times, but now, standing there, her chest felt tight and her mind went blank.

It had been two weeks since she'd seen Jack, and the silence had been unbearable. She couldn't take it anymore. She had to talk to him, even if it meant facing his anger head-on.

The door opened after a few moments, and Luke appeared, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to immediate hostility when he saw her.

"Hell no," Luke said, his tone flat and unwavering. "He doesn't want to see you."

"Luke, please," Remi begged. "I just need five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

"No," Luke said firmly, stepping back like he intended to close the door in her face. "You've done enough. Go home, Remi."

"What's going on?" Jack's voice came from inside the apartment, faint but growing louder as he approached.

"It's nobody," Luke called back, throwing a glare in the girl's direction. "They've got the wrong place."

Remi's heart sank, but before she could say anything, Jack appeared behind his brother, his brow furrowing as he looked past Luke.

The moment their eyes met, Jack's face hardened, his jaw clenching. "You've got be fucking kidding me," he muttered, stepping past Luke to block the doorway.

"Jack," Remi said, her voice trembling. "Please. Just let me explain. I need to talk to you."

"There's nothing to talk about," Jack replied coldly, crossing his arms. "You made it pretty clear how you feel."

"Jack, come on," Luke interjected, his tone softer but still protective. "You don't have to do this."

Jack held up a hand to silence his brother, his eyes never leaving Remi's. "What could you possibly have to say that I'd want to hear?"

She swallowed hard, shrinking under the weight of his anger. "I know I hurt you," she said quietly. "I know I screwed up. But I need you to hear me out. Please."

Jack stared at her for what felt like hours, his expression unreadable. Finally, he stepped back, his voice sharp as he turned to Luke. "It's fine. I've got this."

Luke hesitated, his face screwing up as he looked between the two of them. "I'll be in my room," he said finally, walking off but not before shooting Remi one more death stare.

Jack stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound impossibly loud in the heavy silence that followed.

He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter with a posture that screamed frustration. "You've got five minutes," he said curtly.

Remi took a deep breath, searching her head to find the right words. "I don't even know where to start," she admitted, her voice shaking.

Jack let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "That's a great sign."

"Jack, please," she said. "I know I don't deserve it, but you have to know that I never meant for things to end up like this."

He raised an eyebrow, his anger simmering just below the surface. "Oh, so you accidentally used me to piss off your dad? Is that what you're saying?"

Remi winced. "That's how it started. But it's not what it became. I swear to you, Jack, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Didn't mean to?" he repeated. "Do you even hear yourself? You played me, Remi. You lied to me, over and over again. And for what? To prove a point?"

Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You're right. I lied. I was selfish. I was awful. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about my dad and started being about you."

Jack scoffed, turning away from her. "Yeah? And when exactly did that happen? Before or after you told your friends I was just a pawn?"

"I don't know!" she cried. "I don't know when it happened. But it did, Jack. I care about you. I--" She stopped, her throat closing up. "I love you."

Jack froze, his back still turned to her. The silence that followed was deafening, and Remi's chest heaved as she took deep breaths to calm herself.

"You don't get to say that," Jack said finally, his voice low and filled with pain. He turned to face her, his eyes now also glossy. "You don't get to use me, break me, then tell me you love me like it makes it all okay."

Remi took a shaky step forward, her hands clasped like she was begging. "I know it doesn't fix anything," she said. "But it's the truth. I love you, Jack. And I'll do whatever it takes to make this right."

He stared at her, his jaw ticking as he tried to process her words. Finally, he let out a long sigh.

"I can't do this right now."

Remi's heart sank, but she nodded, tears streaming down her face. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Jack turned away again, walking toward the hallway without another word. She stod there for a moment, her chest heaving with sobs, before letting herself out.

She'd said what she needed to say, but the bottomless pit in her stomach told her that it wasn't enough.

Remi felt like she was at a school dance with the glittering lights, clinking glasses, and people huddled in groups. Players mingled with donors and fans, their tuxedos adding to the air of sosphistication surrounding the event. Remi stood near the edge of the room, her strapless black dress hugging her figure perfectly. She'd only come because her dad had insisted--demanded, really--after their most recent fight.

"Try not to embarrass me for once," he said, his words like a harsh slap.

So, there she was, a forced smile on her face, a flute of champagne in her hand. She didn't bother hiding her trips to the bar. No one noticed, and even if they did, they wouldn't dare say anything to Phil Bouchard's daughter.

The alcohol warmed her from the inside out, dulling the sharpness of her dad's disapproval. But even with the champagne flowing, she couldn't stop her gaze from darting across the room, searching for him.

She spotted Jack near the far corner, his dark suit fitting him perfectly, his tie slightly loosened as he laughed at something Nico said. Her chest tightened at the sight of him, her fingers gripping the stem of her glass.

She should leave him alone. But the pull was magnetic.

Jack noticed her before she reached him, his smile fading as their eyes met. His posture stiffened, but he didn't move, watching as she approached.

"Hey," she said softly, stopping a few feet away.

"Hey," he replied, his voice guarded.

"What are you drinking?" she gestured to his glass.

"Does it matter?" He looked down at the whiskey in his hand.

Remi winced at the edge in his tone but pressed on. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Yeah, well," he said, looking at her champagne flute, "I work for the team. I didn't know you'd be here."

She swallowed hard, her confidence faltering under his cool demeanor. But then she noticed the slight flush on his cheeks, the faint glassiness in his eyes. He wasn't completely sober either.

"I miss you," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Jack's grip on his glass visibly tightened. "Don't."

"I mean it," she insisted. "Jack, I--"

"I'm serious, Remi," he interrupted. "You don't get to prance over here, say you miss me, and expect everything to be okay."

Her chest ached, but the alcohol flowing through her veins made her bold. "I don't expect everything to be okay," she said. "I just--I needed to see you."

Jack sighed. "You think a few words are gonna fix what you did? We've already had this conversation. You think I'm just gonna forget--"

"I love you."

He stared at her, his lips pursed, letting her words hang in the air.

"Say something," she whispered.

Jack shook his head. "You're impossible."

And then he looked around to make sure nobody was watching... and he kissed her.

Their kiss was fiery, weeks of unresolved tension compressed into a single moment. Jack's hands gripped her waist, pulling her tight against him as she squeezed his forearms.

"Come with me," he mumbled against her lips, his voice rough.

The stumbled down a hallway, their steps hurried and uneven. Jack pushed open the door to the bathroom, pulling her inside before locking it behind them.

"Jack," she breathed, her back hitting the counter as his lips found her neck.

"Shut up," he muttered, hands roaming her body as he tried to make up for lost time.

Her dress slipped down her body, his pants hitting the floor as their kisses grew more frantic. All the hurt, all the anger, dissolved into urgency, their bodies together as if they'd been starved of each other.

Remi woke up in her room, her head pounding from the champagne. She sat up, memories of the night flooding back in vivid detail. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of her bathroom rendezvous with Jack. She reached for her phone, and there was already a text waiting for her.

Jack: We need to talk. Call me when you're up

He'd never been one for small talk, and the tone of his text felt heavy, deliberate.

Her fingers hovered over the call button. He answered after two rings.

"Hey."

"About last night--"

"We need to have a serious conversation," he cut her off.

"Oh, um, okay."

"Is your dad home this afternoon? I'll come by later." Before she could even respond, the line went dead.

Whatever Jack had to say, she knew it wasn't going to be easy.

Remi sat on the couch, staring at the clock on the wall. Jack had said he'd come by, and now every passing second felt like an eternity. Her mind raced with what he might say. As soon as there was a knock at the door, she bolted up, straightening her shirt as she walked to the door.

Jack was standing there, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweats, his expression serious. He walked past her into the living room, standing near the coffee table, his posture tense.

"About last night... I'm sorry if--"

"Don't," Jack held up his hand. "Don't start with sorry. I've heard that before."

Remi flinched, but she nodded. "Okay. Then... what do you want to say?"

"Last night... it happened so fast. And I don't regret it. But we can't just go back to how things were."

"I don't want that either. I want to fix this. Fix us."

Jack's eyes flashed with hope, but he kept his tone firm. "If we're going to do this, things have to change, Remi. You have to change."

"I know."

"No, I don't think you do. This isn't just about what happened. It's about everything. The games, the rebellion, the lying. You can't keep doing things just to piss off your dad or to prove a point."

Remi opened her mouth to respond, but he kept going. "Do you even know what that did to me? Knowing I was just some pawn in whatever battle you're fighting with him?"

"That's not what you are to me. Not anymore."

"Then prove it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean show me that you're serious. Show me that this isn't another game for you. Because I can't go through this again, Remi. I can't keep wondering if I'm enough or if you're just going to throw me under the bus when it's convenient."

Her chest ached at the pain in his voice, the vulnerability he was letting her see. "I'll do whatever it takes, Jack. I swear."

"Then start with being honest. Not just with me, but with your dad. Stop sneaking around, stop playing these games. If you want this to work, it has to be real--all of it."

The idea of facing her dad, of owning up to everything, sent a jolt of fear through her. But as she stared at the man she loved, the weight of his words sank in. If she didn't do this--if she didn't prove she was serious--she'd lose him for good.

"Okay... I'll tell him."

"And no more lies," he added. "No more excuses. If I'm in this, I need to know that you are too."

"I am. Jack, I am."

"Then we'll see."

Remi nodded, tears streaking her cheeks. "I'll prove it to you. I promise."

For the first time since he'd walked in, Jack smiled. "You better."

As he turned to leave, he paused at the door, glancing back at her. "One step at a time, Remi. We'll figure it out."

Phil sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in hand as he scrolled through his tablet, his posture rigid as ever. Remi stood in the doorway, her palms clammy as she steeled herself. Her nerves felt like they were on fire, her hands shaking.

"Dad."

"Hm?"

"Dad."

"What is it, Remi?"

She took a deep breath, gripping the back of a chair for support. "I need to tell you something. And I need you to actually listen to me."

He frowned, setting down his tablet. "Go on."

"I'm seeing someone. And before you say anything, I know you're going to be mad, but--"

"Who?" Phil interrupted.

She hesitated, but there was no point in lying. "Jack."

Phil gripped his mug so tightly that Remi thought it might crack from the pressure. "Jack who?"

"You know who."

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You're joking."

"I'm not!" she stood up straight. "I love him."

"Love him? You've lost your goddamn mind, Remi. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I haven't done anything wrong," she retorted. "I'm not a kid, Dad. You don't get to control who I have feelings for."

"This isn't about control," he began to pace the kitchen. "This is about respect--something you clearly don't have for me or my job."

"This has nothing to do with your job!" she threw her hands up.

"It has everything to do with my job!" Phil barked, slamming his hand down on the table. "I trusted Jack. I treated him like a professional, and he goes behind my back to... to--"

"To care about your daughter? Yeah, real betrayal there."

Phil pointed a finger at her, his voice deadly calm now. "This ends today. You're done seeing him."

"You can't stop me," she said defiantly, though her voice wavered.

"Watch me. You're banned from games, practices, and anything to do with this team. And Jack--he's going to learn what happens when you cross a line."

Her stomach dropped. "You can't punish him for this," she panicked.

"Like hell I can't! If he wants to act like an amateur, he can work twice as hard to prove he still deserves his spot."

Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You're being unfair."

"I'm being a father. And you're too young to understand what that means."

"I'm not a child," she whispered.

"Then stop acting like one."

True to his word, Phil enforced his ban swiftly. The next morning, security at the rink had a list with her name on it, and when she tried to text Jack about meeting him after practice, he replied curtly.

Jack: Can't

Remi: why not? :(

Jack: Your dad's got us running drills nonstop. I'm wiped

Remi: i'm sorry, j. this is all my fault

The three little bubbles appeared, then disappeared. No reply came.

Remi felt trapped, helpless. Her dad's wrath was affecting not just, but Jack as well. And that hurt almost as much as not being able to see him.

Jack stood on the ice, his legs burning as Phil barked orders from the bench. It was their third round of line rushes, and he wasn't sure he had it in him to finish.

"Move faster, Hughes!" Phil yelled. "You think you're tired? You think the other team's gonna care? Again!"

Jack bit down hard on his tongue, forcing his body to keep moving. He could feel his teammates' eyes on him, some confused, others sympathetic. But none of them dared to ask what was happening.

"Want to tell me what that was about?" Luke asked, collapsing onto the bench next to his brother.

Jack shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. Why's Phil riding you harder than anyone else? What's going on?"

Jack didn't answer, staring at his shaking hands.

"It's about her, isn't it?"

Jack still didn't speak.

"Jack, I get it. You really like her. She's stunning and super sweet. But this thing with her and Phil? It's a disaster waiting to happen."

"You think I don't know that?" Jack snapped, finally looking up at him. "You think I'm not already dealing with it?"

Luke held up his hands in surrender. "Alright. Just... don't let him break you over her, okay?"

Silence.

Phil had always been a disciplinarian, but lately, his need to control his daughter felt suffocating. She felt it in the way he scrutinized her every move, every conversation.

The final straw came one evening when he caught her lingering outside the rink after practice, talking to Luke.

"Hand it over," he demanded when they arrived home, his hand outstretched.

Remi frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Your phone. I'm not an idiot, Remi. You think I don't know you're still talking to him? You're done. Give it to me."

"Dad, this is ridiculous--"

"Now!"

Reluctantly, she handed him her phone, her stomach sinking as he walked away with it.

Deprived of her usual means of communication, Remi turned to one of the few people who could help her: Luke.

It started with a simple note slipped into his car window, written hastily on a scrap of notebook paper.

Luke,

Please get this to Jack. I need him to know I'm not ghosting him.

Luke, initially hesitant, agreed after some convincing from Jack, who pleaded with his younger brother to help them stay in touch.

From then on, he became their unofficial carrier pigeon.

He delivered folded notes in his hockey bag. He passed them off casually after practice, muttering "You dropped this" to avoid suspicion. Once, he even hid a letter in a water bottle, smuggling it onto the bench during a game.

The notes became their lifeline, filled with promises, apologies, and small updates:

Remi, I miss you. Today was brutal. Your dad's riding me harder than ever, but thinking about your little notes makes it bearable.

Jack, I miss you too. I wish I could be there to make things easier. This is such bullshit.

One evening, Phil barged into Remi's room unannounced, his expression stormy. "Why've you been talking to Luke?"

She barely had time to react before he noticed the small stack of papers peeking out from beneath her pillow.

"What's this?" he snatched them before she could stop him.

"Dad, don't--"

But it was too late. His face turned bright red as he read the letters, steam practically coming from his ears.

"Unbelievable! You've been sneaking around still! And using one of my other players to do it? Do you have any idea how fucking stupid this is?"

"It's not stupid! I care about him."

He held up one of the letters. "You care about him? Enough to sleep with him, apparently."

Her face flushed, her heart pounding.

"You didn't think I'd find out? I continue to give Jack a shot because I thought he had potential. That he's professional. Turns out, he's just as reckless as you are!"

The next practice was brutal. Jack knew something was wrong the moment he stepped onto the ice. Phil barely looked at him, but his commands were clipped, his critiques harsher than ever.

When the starting lineup was announced, Jack's name was glaringly absent.

"Coach," he said after practice, jogging to catch up with Phil in the hallway. "What's going on? Why am I not playing?"

Phil turned to him, his expression cold. "Disciplinary reasons," he said like it was the simplest thing ever.

"I... I haven't done anything wrong."

"Oh, haven't you? I trusted you, Jack. You're an alternate captain. I'm here to help you, and this is how you repay me? By crosing every line I've set?"

"With all due respect, sir, my personal life doesn't affect my performance on the ice."

"It does when it distracts you and causes chaos within the team. You're lucky I haven't gone to the GM."

That night, Remi was lying in her bed, when a faint tapping sound drew her attention. She frowned, pulling off her warm covers and walking to the window.

Jack was standing in the backyard, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Remi!" he hissed.

Her heart leapt to her throat, and she quickly opened the window. "What are you doing here?"

"Let me in," he said, gesturing toward the tree by her window.

She hesitated for a second before nodding. Jack climbed up with surprising ease, swinging himself onto the ledge before stepping into her room.

He was breathless, his hair a mess. "Your dad's lost his fucking mind. He's cutting my ice time, and he's blaming me for everything."

"Jack, I'm so sorry--"

"I don't care about me," his eyes searched hers. "I care about us. I don't know how much longer I can do this, Rem. He's making my life a living hell."

"We'll figure it out. I promise."

"Remi! Is there someone in there?"

She froze, the voice coming from the other side of her bedroom door, heavy with suspicion.

"Remi?" he asked again. "What's going on in there?"

"Under the bed," she whispered urgently, shoving him toward the narrow space.

"Seriously?" he hissed, his voice incredulous.

"Do you have a better idea?" she asked, already grabbing the edge of the duvet to shield the gap.

Jack didn't argue any further, dropping to his knees and sliding under the bed just as her doorknob jiggled.

The door creaked open, and her dad did a quick sweep of the room. "What's going on in here? Is everything okay?"

"Nothing," her voice was too quick, too high-pitched. "Why are you even in here?"

"I... I thought I heard voices."

"From the TV," she nodded to her laptop on her bed, where Netflix played quietly. She gestured toward it dramatically. "See? I couldn't sleep, so I turned something on."

Phil pulled her into a hug, smoothing down her messy bed hair. "You've been sneaking around, Remi. If you're hiding something--"

She pulled away. "I'm not. I'm trying to relax. You can't just barge in every time you get paranoid."

"Keep it down," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "And don't test me, kid. You're already on thin, thin ice."

The moment his footsteps retreated back down the hallway, she bent down to lift the duvet.

"Jack," she whispered. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, sliding out from under the bed. His face was flushed and his hair even messier than before. "That was fun."

She giggled. "Sorry, babe."

"You're good under pressure, I'll give you that."

"Not bad yourself," she scrunched up her face as he pressed a kiss to her nose.

"So..."

"What do we do next? Run away? Get me a burner phone and live off the grid?"

Jack laughed despite himself. "I don't know. I just... I'm not gonna lose you, Rem."

"You won't. I love you, Jack."

"I love you more."

"We've got this."

"I hope you're right."

Another fight with Phil had left Remi rattled, and she'd stormed out of the house to clear her head. A walk through the neigbourhood usually helped, but the slippery sidewalk--coated with frost--proved to be dangerous when walking as fast as she was.

Her foot slipped from under her as she turned the corner, her arms flailing as she tried to keep her balance. Instead, she went down hard, her ankle twisting painfully beneath her as she hit the pavement.

"Shit," she hissed, clutching her leg. The sharp, stabbing pain told her something was wrong, and she felt like puking at the sight of her already swelling ankle.

She fumbled for her phone, but of course, it wasn't there. Her dad still had it, leaving her with no way to call for help.

The sound of a car engine approaching made her look up, and relief flooded her when she recognized Jack's car pulling to a stop.

"Remi?" his face screwed up as he cut the engine.

"Jack," she gasped, tears falling as he crouched beside her.

"What happened?" he asked, examining her ankle.

"I slipped. I think it's sprained? I'm... I'm not really sure."

Jack didn't hesitate. He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly. "I've got you, baby."

He stayed by her side the entire time, his hand never leaving hers as they waited for a doctor in the ER. He helped fill out paperwork, fetched water when she needed it, and even cracked a few horrible jokes to distract her from the pain.

When the doctor confirmed it was a pretty bad sprain, Jack insisted on picking up her medication and made sure she had crutches before they left. By the time they got back to her house, night had fallen. He helped her inside, careful with every step as he guided her to the couch.

"You don't have to say," she mumbled sleepily, though she didn't mean it.

"I'm not going anywhere," he replied firmly, adjusting the ice pack on her foot.

Their peace was broken by the door slamming shut. Phil's heavy footsteps entered the living room, his face scrunched up as soon as he saw Jack sitting there.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Remi winced, trying to push herself up straighter. "Dad, I--"

"You have some nerve," Phil snapped, his glare fixed on Jack. "I told you to stay away from her."

Jack stood, hands clenched at his sides. "She was hurt. She needed help."

"And that gave you the right to defy me? You've disrespected me and the team time and time again, Hughes."

"Dad, stop! He didn't do anything wrong! I fell, and he was there. If it wasn't for Jack, I'd probably still be sitting on the sidewalk."

Phil's gaze flickered to her, his face softening slightly, before he turned back to Jack. "You're off the team. Effective immediately."

"Dad, no!"

"Wait. You can bench me, cut my ice time, try to kick me off the team... but that's not going to change how I feel about her."

Phil narrowed his eyes, but Jack didn't falter.

"I care about her. More than anything. And I know you hate this, but I'm not going to walk away just because it's inconvenient for you. I love her too much for that."

Phil sighed, running a hand over his face. "You're not going anywhere tonight."

Jack blinked, caught completely off guard. "Sir?"

"She's injured," he said gruffly. "Someone has to keep an eye on her. You're already here--might as well make yourself useful."

"Dad--"

"I'm not saying I approve," he held up a hand. "But... maybe I've been a bit too harsh."

Jack's days became a balancing act. Mornings were for practices, where he pushed himself harder than ever, determined to prove to Phil--and himself--that he could handle the demands of both his hockey career and his personal life. Evenings were for Remi, where he'd show up at the house with groceries, helping her navigate her life on crutches.

Phi, ever watchful, made his presence known whenever Jack was around.

"Door stays open," he'd said the second night Jack came to help. He leaned against the doorframe, looking between the two young adults. "And no funny business."

"Yes sir," Jack replied, biting back a smile as he helped Remi prop up her injured leg on a pillow.

"And I meant it. No going into the bathroom together, no sneaking around, no--"

"Dad, we get it," Remi rolled her eyes. "We're not thirteen."

Phil shot her a look, but didn't say anything more.

Jack leaned in with a grin. "Well, that went better than expected."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Don't get too comfortable. He's probably listening right now."

Jack chuckled but kept his hands firmly on the heating pad he was adjusting on her ankle.

Phil observed them quietly for the next week or so. One evening, he sat in the living room, pretending to read a book while Jack and Remi played cards at the kitchen table. He glanced up occasionally, watching as they laughed and teased each other, the room filled with an ease he hadn't seen in his daughter in... years.

"Jack," she giggled. "You're terrible at this game."

"I'm letting you win because you're injured," Jack shot back with a smirk.

"Oh please," she scoffed, re-shuffling the deck. "You're just bad."

Phil watched as Jack leaned in, whispering something that made Remi burst into laughter, her cheeks glowing.

It hit him then--how much Jack truly scared for her. The way he looked at her, like she was the most important thing in the room. The way he balanced his career and her injury without a single complaint. The way Remi never stopped smiling around him.

He sighed, setting down his book. "Jack," he called, drawing their attention.

"Yes, sir?"

Phil cleared his throat, the words getting stuck halfway. "You... you've been good to her."

Jack's eyes widened, but he nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't make me regret saying that."

His acceptance just grew from there, marked by small moments of trust and understanding. Though he kept his rules in place--like the open door policy and no PDA--he began to soften, joining them for dinner occasionally or offering Jack advice after games.

One day, after a particularly good win, Phil even clapped Jack on the back, a rare gesture of approval. "You played well out there," he said, his tone almost warm.

Jack grinned. "Thanks, Coach."

And while it wasn't a happily-ever-after, it was a start.

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine

268 notes · View notes

koiiiji · 5 months ago

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new year's eve cuddles

summary ; batboys edition!! this is the first part of new year headcanons, gonna add more with lookism boys soon🕯️💌

author's note ; i haven't read/watch DC comics for a while so it maybe a little too ooc😔🥀

JASON TODD

Jason acts like he doesn’t care about new year’s eve but secretly goes out of his way to make the night special. he would never tell you about his plans because he wanted to make it a surprise, but because of his 'work' he of course forgot, and so all the preparations are made at the last minute. generally domestic life with Red Hood is chaotic, but preparation for new year is another level.

literally nothing is prepared. the apartment is in complete chaos - shell casings and guns are lying on the kitchen table, Jason's endless junk is scattered on the shelves, your things are stacked on a chair instead of a closet, unwashed dishes from previous times are in the sink, and a pile of other junk is scattered around the apartment of an ordinary young couple.

but Jason's sudden will to set new year mood is helping, he calls you on the way home and asks you to start cleaning the apartment while he buys the last little things (liar, he didn't have anything ready and it was a big shopping for about EVERYTHING) btw did he help cleaning? no, he got stuck at the moment when he needed to remove the cartridges and guns... but don't worry, he was your moral support!!

at least he might have a movie marathon ready, a bottles of beer (or cider, depending on your preference), and a cozy blanket fort in the living room.

Jason is the type who would want to spend at least one peaceful night at home, with you, to let you lay on his chest while he wraps an arm protectively around you. he’ll make sarcastic comments about the movies you’re watching but also unconsciously stroke your hair or rub your back.

as the countdown begins, Jason pulls you closer, his voice softening as he teases you about how cliche the moment feels. but when the clock strikes twelve, he kisses you deeply and mumbles something gruff about how much he loves you, his ears tinged red.

after midnight, Jason keeps holding you close, either discussing plans for the upcoming year or sharing quiet moments of contentment. he’ll eventually fall asleep with his head resting on top of yours, and his grip on you unrelenting even in his dreams.

DICK GRAYSON

Richard loves the energy of new year’s eve, so he might take you to Wayne manor to celebrate holiday with his family and have a great view of the city’s fireworks after midnight. but if you’d rather stay at your shared apartments, he’s all about cooking dinner together and dancing around the kitchen with you!

Dick really loves holidays so everything was set up, bought and prepared months ago!! he is super excited about gifts, about your reaction and what you prepared for him!

when dinner is prepared, gifts are opened and it’s time to settle down, Dick is the ultimate cuddler. he’ll have you tucked into his side, one arm around your shoulders, your legs tangled together as you both lounge on the couch or bed. he’s always running his fingers over your skin absentmindedly, either tracing patterns or giving little squeezes.

Dick is so into the little rituals!! he will ask you to sit under the table to eat that 12 grapes and make a wish as the clock strikes midnight. spoiler : you have no excuse to say no to this! giggling like a kid, almost choking on last grape, he makes sure you’re looking at him when the clock strike twelve and gives you the most tender, heartfelt kiss. he’ll then whisper something about how this year is going to be amazing as long as he has you.

Dick’s the kind of guy who suggests staying up late to watch the sunrise or talk about your hopes for the new year (or gossiping about batfamily). he’ll hold you close under a blanket, sharing quiet giggles and soft kisses until you both drift off to sleep.

DAMIAN WAYNE

Damian approaches new year’s eve with almost awful sense of formality. he insists on sticking to traditions, whether it’s preparing a specific meal or writing down resolutions.

it's his habit to wake up early, but on 31 of december its insanely early. Damian acts like old man, mumbling about mess, starting spring cleaning, food preparation and adding final decoration(i mean you wanted it, not him, and if Damian start to do something it needs to be perfect!!) however, he secretly loves when you convince him to relax and enjoy the night in a more carefree way (ofc all animals included!!)

Damian’s cuddles start a little stiff — he’s not the most physically affectionate at first — but once you’re settled, he melts. he’ll keep his arms securely around you, one hand resting on your back or waist while his head leans against yours.

as the countdown starts, Damian pretends not to be fazed, but he keeps stealing glances at you, his expression softening. when the clock hits twelve, he kisses you gently, almost shyly, and murmurs a quiet “happy new year” before tightening his hold on you.

after midnight, Damian might surprise you by asking about your goals or sharing his own hopes for the year ahead. he values the quiet intimacy of the moment and makes it clear that, whatever happens, you’re an essential part of his future.

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inknopewetrust · 5 months ago

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𝐏𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 [𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] [𝐰𝐜: 2.5k]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐥 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

Dean tried to be discreet when he looked at you in any scenario.

Across the room, beside you, in the back of Baby, in the distance or even in his memories, he thought himself to be a sleuth in the way his pupils expanded, heart pounded faster, and hands clenched into fists.

You sent him into a spiral of himself. An utter ache; fluttering feelings that he couldn’t control and send blood rushing throughout his body and thoughts manifesting images of you he felt filthy to feel.

Today was like any other—well, sort of.

The Bunker was quiet except for the sounds of his television and you and Sam behind him playing foosball behind him. The entire time your game had been happening, Dean was glad neither you or Sam could see him as he could barely contain the soft smile that plastered onto his face at every complaint you made toward his brother. The accusations of cheating and not following the rules, Dean had expected nothing less from you after you’d offered to take Sam up on a game.

And Sam gave what you did back to you. Growing the animosity and frustration, Dean attempted to focus his attention on whatever movie was playing on the channel he had turned to simply to break his distraction you consistently gave him.

“You can’t do that!” You argued behind him. “Sam, there’s a rule book for a reason. The timer gives ten—“

“It was less than ten!” Sam defended and Dean visualized what it looked like. Sam, arms on his hips, pointing to the middle field and his eyebrows raised high while he tried to rationalize whatever he had done.

“It was twelve and that’s the second time!”

Sam huffed. The spindle of one of his rows sounded and continued to spin as the little player spun into oblivion within the table.

“I don’t know why I agreed to play with you,” Sam responded.

You blanked. “You asked me, Sam. Just because you can’t play the game right doesn’t mean you get to be a sore-“

“I am not a sore loser! Okay? I just…” Sam let out a groan of frustration and grabbed his beer off the side of the table. “I think we’ve played enough today.”

“Wha-“ you lifted your hands in protest and gawked as he backed away from the table and tapped the back of Dean’s chair.

“I’m goin’ to bed,” he told both of you but directed toward Dean. “You can play.”

“Hey!” You said offensively. “I can’t wait against Dean!”

Sam turned back to you and gave wide eyes. “Good!”

“You asshole!” A laugh escaped you and Dean felt it as music to his ears. If he heard it again, he was sure they’d light themselves on fire. “Now I remember why we don’t ever come in here.”

Making his way to the doorway, Sam nodded his head in agreement and pointed to Dean.

“It’s really because of him. This is too…” he motioned around the room with a sour look on his face, “it’s too much Dean.”

“Oh come on!” Dean turned off the television. “This is my cave, Sammy. Not yours or anyone else’s. So yeah, it’s all me. If you can’t handle it, then no more…” he tried to think of something to come back with as he stood up from his chair. “No more drinks! Or playing foosball!”

Sam continued on beyond the doorway and into the hall before yelling in the distance: “I don’t even like foosball!”

You looked to Dean. “Yes he does. He’s a liar.”

“Yeah,” he said exaggeratedly, dismissing Sam’s tantrum into the usual and took stance at the end of the table, not the opposite side. “You wanna play?”

You knew if you did, you’d lose. You always lost against Dean and you didn’t know how someone could have a talent for foosball alone. You’d seen him sweep pool and darts and cards but on the table, he was a different person. Like a wiz of the nerds who spent forty hours perfecting the spins of the nozzles and angle of the ball.

Dean could see the resignation in your eyes but he wanted to savor your company. His own two green eyes softening and relaxing himself to simply look—to take in and relish what a magnificent being you were. He wanted to throw up. He couldn’t believe that he was actively thinking that way for anyone.

“I think it’s my turn to check out too,” you said with an apology laced within the words. “It’s late, we’ve got places to be tomorrow.”

“I get it.” He didn’t, but he did too. He would stay awake forever if it meant you’d just look at him.

“But maybe another time? I don’t think I can take losing for the millionth time tonight.”

“Sure,” he nodded. His knuckles rapped against the wood. You peered at him, eyes tracing over his shoulders and broad chest. “Another time.”

“You should get some rest too.” You walked to saddle up beside him. Hip leaning onto the wood, a mere few inches between you and it made it hard for him to not twitch his fingers. He had to tell himself not to look at your face because if he did, his eyes would wander and they’d give him away. So, instead, he hummed in agreement.

“For what it’s worth,” you said lowly and looked at him to the point where he couldn’t avoid not looking back, “I like it in here. It’s so… you.”

The smile you gave him imprinted itself onto his heart.

“And you’ve got the best drinks.” You winked, eyes flicking around his face as his own lit up. You liked this version of Dean. The one where the walls weren’t up and he let himself feel something more than hurt.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Without thinking, you gave his forearm a squeeze and pulled away. Your fingers lifted up and dragged onto his skin ever so slightly and left him feeling cold when all your body had given him warmth. The fabric of your shirt nearly brushed his and he could smell the lingering soaps and sprays that made you fill a room float around him and away as your footsteps carried you out.

Dean closed his eyes to breathe it in. The tendrils of your leaving spilled into his soul; gripping him and pulling him to these places he neglected and forced into the darkness of the undeserved. The streams of blood within him rushed again. It flowed from vein to vein and from the tips of his fingers to his toes and conjured images of you.

You in every which way. You smiling at him. Beaming and joyous and the tinge of sadness that stole the golden gleam of your perfection stuck his heart like an arrow. The simplistic nature of the natural pull; an illicit revelation that Dean handled poorly. Neglected and ignored until those affections pounded on his chest to be heard. Screeching inside of his mind to paint images he’d rather die than have you witness what he wanted, needed of you.

The tremble of his fingertips wisped the hairs on his head backwards and he bounded off, away from the room and to his own. Dean felt that in the protection of his room he’d be safe. He could be relieved of this covet to simply go to bed.

Yet the second he shut the door and rested his back upon the wooden slab, he knew that peace wouldn’t come. There were no good ideas that festered in his bedroom. Guns slung onto the wall being a reminder of his tasks, the bed made but void of belonging, and the walls of concrete that bring no comfort or solace to him. So, he shook his head of you and walked to the bathroom and saw himself in the reflection.

Dean gripped onto the sides of the sink and closed his eyes. He felt the phantom of you walk in, sneak behind him and snake your hands along the sides of his body and rest your body upon his back. Dean heeded the fantasy of your fingertips grazing his body and leaving your trail of kisses onto his back, threatening to whisper into his ear and tell him that this dream was foolish.

He sighed, heavily, and opened his eyes to see himself alone and turned on the shower to the midway lukewarm water the facility could manage.

As he undressed himself, Dean simply denied himself the formality of closure. He kept thinking of you. Imagining the intimacy of what a moment such as this could be with you—undressing, caressing one another to only bathe which, for Dean, would lead to more because he wouldn’t be able to keep his thoughts pure. He admired you, adored you to the point where you had consumed every thought. Dean was seldom embarrassed by his attractions but for you, he was only protected in his small room and the porcelain glass that separated him from the outside.

He stepped into the mild water and let it wash over him in sin. But he couldn’t stop thinking. He couldn’t stop imagining and fantasizing you and the blood continued to rush through him and begged of him to relieve himself into pleasure. Dean’s soapy hands washed over his head, his chest, and skimmed himself to where the problem laid.

No one would know.

There were inches of concrete walls between himself and the rest of the living world. No one would know.

The soap smooths over him. Gliding his hand in gentle strokes to his cock and in a test, he moves his hand over himself. Lightly gripping it to tug outwards in a shudder of knowing. Dean let the soap guide him, one pump then two. He could feeling the veins strain on his shaft; aching for you but settling for his fist instead.

Dean let the heat of the water rise from the floor in steam. It covered the glass panels of the shower door and filled the mirror therefore he could see no reflection of himself. Completely alone with his thoughts, he muttered a weak, quiet “fuck” and began pumping himself rhythmically. Over and over he felt himself growing in his palm until there was no more length to reach. A shuttered breath left one arm on the tiled wall as the other continued to caress his dick, running over his head and molding over the reddened bulb before falling back down and carelessly tugging at his base more rapidly than before.

“Shit,” Dean gasped as his forehead rested on his outstretched hand and he shut his eyes tightly. He wanted you there instead. He wished it was your hand stroking his cock and leaving wet kisses on his body. The hot water ran along his back to leave red pelts on his skin.

He jerked himself harder, more furiously than before at the thought of you. How you’d kneel on the floor and bruise your knees to pleasure him. The sounds you’d make with him heavy on your tongue or the way your eyes would tear at his thrusts as he cradled the back of your head. Dean’s wrist begged to falter and fall to his sides in agony of you. But he continued. He kept rolling his hand with his member viced inside of it. His other hand forming a tight fist.

Knuckles gone white at the way his heart strained for you.

He groaned in hopes the water drowned him out. That the inches of concrete that separated him were truly thick enough to hide the sounds he emitted and it wasn’t the first time he’d thought such thoughts. Dean didn’t bother stopping because he could feel the sensation building. He felt the tingle this body gave and the pressure building inside of him that needed to come out.

So, faster and faster did he jerk himself to the point of no return. He pulled at the base of his cock, teasing his balls with just a touch before going back and running his hand over all of himself. Dean’s body twitched, head falling onto the tile and his free hand balled into a tight fist as it pounded on the slate.

“Son of a bitch,” he groaned. His toes wanted to curl. His hips now jutting into his hand. Envisioning you kneeling before him, mouth wide and waiting, he choked on his breath and let it out. His finish painted his hand, the wall before him and in his imagination, your face and lips plump with him.

He breathed hard. Exhaling as the steam rose from his feet and the water raining down upon him washed away his release from his hands, the wall and what fell onto the shower floor. Dean ran along his shaft as it spasmed at the sensation. He could feel the tremble in his chest; the rattle of his bones.

You’d kiss up his leg at his coming. Slowly rising on bruised knees to litter soft pecks along his torso and chest and shoulder and neck. He’d relish the feeling of your hands gliding over his body and he’d wrap his own around you.

He’d kiss you. He’d kiss you hard and deep and suffocating underneath the hot water.

But he opened his eyes to nothing. Softening in his palm, Dean raised his hand off and went back for the soap to wash the feeling away. He hated the way his repulsed nature filled the cracks he’d left vulnerable in his end. The way his images of you made him feel… sorry. Somehow deserving to be punished for his fantasy. That there was no reason for him to think such thoughts about you, practically family to him.

Yet he couldn’t stop them. Everyday they grew stronger and harder to ignore.

And one day, maybe he could dream of his fantasies manifesting to reality. You would kneel before him, you would kiss him completely.

As Dean’s shower commenced, all he was left with was the dream.

A/N: Happy new year everyone! I hope you all enjoyed this lil peace and us writers on tumblr are always most motivated by reblogs and comments. Here’s to more Dean fics in 2025! 🥂

#dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x male reader #dean winchester x gn!reader #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural fanfiction #jensen ackles x reader #kinktober #spn #supernatural Dean

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storiesofsvu · 2 months ago

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Show & Tell

Tara Lewis x fem!reader Warnings: language, smut, masturbation, guided masturbation, dirty talk, slight degradation, sex toys, slight voyeurism, squirting, maybe a little exhibitionism? It's kinda like in person phone sex lol. Boy oh boy this one got AWAY from me. It was supposed to be a drabble. 5.4k

Your case in Des Moines had started out hot, a second crime scene and a fair amount of sightings happening before you were even landed, still pouring over paperwork on the jet. There were local FBI agents already on the ground, working alongside the police department and acting as a liaison between them and the BAU. You were forming a profile by the time the wheels met the tarmac. Because of this, you were told to leave your bags, it happened occasionally, with no time to stop or even think about hotels you hit the road and someone else would take care of everything else.

Things progressed surprisingly smoothly and quickly, managing to wrap everything up in under twelve hours, the team beginning to finalize paperwork over takeout with the locals by the time hotel keys were dropped off. Prentiss made the call that the filing could wait until morning, you had everything required it just needed to be organized and that could wait eight hours. Piling into SUV’s you all let out a breath of relief and headed over to the assigned hotel.

The door beeped, light flashing green as soon as you held the key card over it and you were thankful for no issues, the last thing you wanted was to have to drag yourself down to the front desk right now. Immediately kicking off your shoes you tossed your blazer over a chair, fiddling with your bra until you managed to pull it off from under your shirt without undressing. With a hefty sigh you dropped back onto the bed and picked up the remote, flicking through the channels until you found something suitable. You scrolled through your phone mindlessly, half paying attention to the television, taking the time to mentally decompress from the day. It was only after a couple of rather suggestive scenes in whatever late night movie was playing that you started to feel your pulse pick up. An idea began to slowly creep into your head, after all, what better way to relax, release stress and have a good nights sleep, than to get yourself off? Your earphones were in your pocket, shoved in there on the way off the jet, it didn’t take long for you to connect them to your phone and head to your preferred site.

A couple of scrolls passed the newest videos and you found one of your liking, heat creeping through your veins as you watched the scene unfold. You settled back against the pillows, listening to the sounds as your free hand began to roam your body. You fingers pinched your nipple through your shirt as your thighs squeezed together, eyes on the salacious actions going on onscreen. You were never one to drag solo sessions out, you’d rather get to the point and get them done with, go about your day or fall into a dreamy sleep, so it wasn’t long before your hand was sneaking into your pants. Fingers lazily rolling your clit as your cheeks heated, watching the girl on screen take it like a champ. Your body shivered and you let out a huff, your hand was never going to be enough and you knew it, thankfully, you had toy stashed away in your bag for nights just like this.

With a sigh you tossed your phone down on your bed, the video continuing to play in your ears as you crossed the room to where concierge had left your bag. Pulling open the zipper on the black duffle you started rooting through the clothes, searching for what was safely tucked at the bottom. It took a few minutes, but you couldn’t find it. Disappointment washed over you, you must have left it charging after your last trip out of state. So much for relief. It was only when you shoved a pair of pants to the side, doing a double check that you noticed a pair of lacy, white panties. Never in your life had you bought white underwear, and upon further inspection, the pants you’d just shifted out of the way definitely weren’t yours either. You quickly zipped the bag back up, your fingers practically fumbling for the tag.

‘T. Lewis.’

Shit. Not only was she a mere door down from you, but your own tag only said, ‘T. Lowell.’ It was a mistake anyone could have made, hell, even Prentiss sometimes stumbled over whose name she meant to say before enough coffee.

With a weary sigh you crossed back to the bed, pausing your video and putting your earbuds back on the nightstand before grabbing your key card and scooping up the bag. An intermission in your plans wasn’t ideal, but it also wasn’t the end of the world. You knocked on Tara’s door, waiting a few seconds before you heard shuffling on the other side and it swung open.

“Hey.” She greeted and you swore there was a glint in her eye that wasn’t there before.

“Hey… I uh… I think you have my bag.” You lifted up the one in your hand, “this one’s yours.”

“Huh.” The corner of her lips briefly flicked up into a smirk and now you were certain the look in her eye was a mischievous one. She nodded her head as a gesture for you to come in and you followed her over the threshold, setting her bag down on the spare bed, “you know, I was starting to think these clothes didn’t look like the ones I packed.” Turning her back to you she bent over your bag and you heard the zipper do up, “but I feel like there’s something else you wanted that made you realize the mix up.”

“Uhm… toothbrush?” You offered up with an awkward laugh, one that she returned with a chuckle.

“I was thinking something more along the lines of this.” She turned back to you, your rabbit vibrator in her hand. “It’s hot pink. Kinda hard to miss in there with all those dark clothes.”

“I…uh.”

She chuckled darkly, “oh come on. You can’t possibly be getting shy on me now.” She crossed the room back to you, close enough you could smell the lingering of perfume wafting off her skin. Her finger curled under your chin, turning your gaze up to hers, “we’ve been playing this game of cat and mouse long enough. I’d say this is a sign to finally dive right in, don’t you?”

Tara wasn’t wrong, as long as the two of you had been on the team together there had been this back and fourth flirtation. Lingering touches, teasing remarks, a push and pull as you each toed the line but never dared to cross it. Truthfully, you’d always thought it was a silly game to her, a way to kill the time, relieve some boredom and have some fun. Considering your line of work, you needed a little uplifting once in a while, you never thought she was actually interested or would ever follow through.

“I… yeah. I mean,” you fumbled over your words, your brain going a million miles a minute trying to unscramble everything meanwhile you could already feel yourself pulsing at the thought of Tara touching you.

“Cat got your tongue?” She asked with another grin, “didn’t think I could ever render you speechless.”

“Oh I doubt that.” Somehow those words tumbled out of your mouth with ease.

“You’re right.” Her eyes darkened ever so slightly, “I have thought about it.”

“Really?” You looked up at her, eyes widening as you felt your pulse begin to race.

“Mmhm.” She nodded, her fingers softly pinching your chin before they trailed down the side of your neck, tickled across your collarbone and down your side. She curled her finger through your beltloop, tugging you closer to her. “Thought about all the ways I could make you tongue-tied. How I could empty that pretty little head of any thoughts, your pristine vocabulary limited to nothing but moans and whimpers.”

“Oh…” You were so close to her you could feel her breath on your skin, you felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest, every time her body swayed even a fraction of an inch away from you, you felt magnetized toward her, shuffling your feet to not leave any space between your bodies.

“Then I found this.” She raised the toy between the two of you, “bet you wouldn’t be the least bit shy when you’re using it. All spread out with that pretty pussy on display, fucking yourself silly. What is it you normally think about when you make yourself come?” She cocked a brow at you and you gulped.

“Uhm… usually you.�� You admitted, your voice barely over a whisper.

“How interesting.” The smirk found its way back to her lips and she picked up your hand, placing the toy into it, “why don’t you show me?” Her eyes watched your throat bob as you swallowed and she leant down, pressing her lips into the side of your neck, grinning at the breath you let out and the way your body practically melted into hers. “Don’t worry baby…” she kissed your skin again, “I can get you started, and I’ll definitely help you finish.” Her finger curled under your chin, turning your face to her, “do you like the sound of that angel?”

“Yes.” You breathed out, skin tingling already.

“Good” With a soft smile Tara leant down, her lips meeting yours as her fingers slid under the hem of your shirt, slowly dragging the fabric up as her fingers tickled your skin and her lips moved with grace against yours. She pulled away from the kiss, chuckling at the way you whined, already missing her touch, though it morphed into a small gasp as she tugged your shirt over your head, and your chest was exposed to the chilled air conditioned air. “Such pretty tits.”

Her hands wrapped around your hips as her lips met yours again, this time her tongue slid into your mouth as she guided you backwards to the bed. You let out a groan, your back arching toward her touch as her hands cupped your chest, thumbs brushing over your nipples. When her fingers pinched you the tingle burst into a spark that quickly moved downward through your body, your pussy pulsing.

“That’s it baby.” Tara’s breath was hot as she trailed kisses across your jaw, fingers continuing to toy with your chest, “feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded, your hands clutching at her shirt.

“Just think…” this time her teeth nipped your neck, “if this feels this good, imagine how good my fingers will feel in that wet pussy of yours.” Her tongue drew a line up your neck and you shivered, “are those the kind of dirty thoughts you have when you touch yourself?” Her mouth found the crook of your neck, biting at the supple skin before sucking on it, hellbent on leaving you with a reminder of this night. “Or are they worse?”

“Worse…” you managed out a breath, your words catching in your throat as Tara’s hands slid down your stomach, swiftly undoing your pants.

She chuckled darkly, a hand sliding into your pants as her teeth dragged across your skin, “so your not just a dirty girl?” The next bite was sharper and you let out a gasp, body jumping and eyes shooting open as Tara lifted her head from the crook of your neck, “you’re a desperate little whore.” To emphasize her point, she suddenly cupped you roughly through your panties, pressing the ruined fabric into your soaked folds.

“Fuck.” Your knees nearly gave out, lips forming a pout when she pulled her hand out of your pants.

“Well…” she nudged you backwards onto the bed, hands yanking down your pants and underwear, “show me.” Her eyes flicked to the toy still clutched in your hand as she stepped back from the foot of the bed, “I want to see just how hot and bothered you get when you’re thinking about me fucking you, so spread your legs.”

Tara crossed her arms over her chest, cocking a brow in your direction and that was all it took for you to do as she asked, crawling up the bed to relax into the pillows as you opened your legs so she could see your pussy glistening in the low light.

“I... I think about kissing you…” your voice was soft, nearly trembling as you attempted to keep eye contact with her, “about grinding onto your lap, you…” you swallowed, “pulling my hair, kissing my neck.” You felt the heat creeping up your neck, slowly taking over your cheeks and a sense of embarrassment swept over you at the thought of admitting this. Unable to keep looking at the woman you were talking about your head dropped back into the pillows and you shut your eyes. “I think about you playing with my tits,” one of your hands slid up your body, groping at one side of your chest, “think about you sucking on them, starting gentle then biting me…”

“You really are needy.” She commented, her lips curving up into a smirk.

You let out a soft moan as you pinched your nipple, rolling it between your thumb and forefinger, the shame lifting as pleasure began to weave its way through your body. With your eyes shut you could pretend Tara wasn’t actually there, that this was any other night where you were alone in bed, you were just speaking things into existence, dragging out the wind up to get yourself to a more powerful orgasm. Tugging your lower lip into your mouth you whined, groping at your chest again, the pulsing increasing between your legs.

“I shift on your lap, grinding down onto your thigh,” one of your hands slid across your stomach, sinking between your legs, the heel of your palm pressing into your clit, “god it feels good.” You palmed at yourself, just enough to have your breath hitch, “one of your hands is on my hip, pushing me down harder, rolling my hips and I can’t help myself, burying my face into your neck to try and hold back my whines.” You ground the heel of your hand against your clit, the nub throbbing beneath it, your hips rocking up off the bed into the touch.

“That’s it baby,” Tara cooed, praising you as if the images in your head were currently happening, “go on and ride my thigh.”

You let out a whimper, your thighs twitching as you gave into the pleasure, finger tips coming up to rub your clit in slow circles. “Fuck…”

“You’re doing so good for me.” Her eyes zeroed in on your cunt, her mouth practically watering as she watched it get wetter with each pass of your fingers, “I want to see how much of a mess you can make on my pants, dirty girl. Do you think you can squirt for me?”

“God yes!” The admission burst from your lips before you could even think about it.

“Then you better start moving faster, I know you can. You may be a slut, but you’re my good little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes..” you whined, your hips rocking up off the bed as your hand started to move faster between your legs. “Oh god Tara.”

“Mmm… I like the sound of my name on your lips. Keep going angel, you must be close by now.”

“Mmph…” the strangled moan was all you could handle, your chest heaving when you began to pant. Your legs trembling as your fingers pressed harder and faster. Your hand snuck deeper between your legs, smearing your juices around your cunt before returning to your throbbing clit, “fuck! Fuck, oh f—uck!” Your heels dug into the bed, knees turning in as your body went rigid, twitching with pleasure as you hit your peak. Tara’s name was a chant on your lips as wetness seeped out of your cunt, soaking the bedspread below you.

“So fucking good for me baby.” Her voice was thick with lust when she spoke and you couldn’t help but shiver at the way she sounded, “you look so pretty when you do that. I can just imagine how you’d tremble in my arms, legs squeezing around my thigh as you soak it with cum.”

Your eyes were still shut as you willed yourself down, your heartbeat slowing from its highest, though electricity still buzzed through your veins. You could hear Tara shuffling at the foot of the bed and you could practically feel her eyes on your naked body, the thought of her watching you somehow turned you on even more and you shivered, pussy fluttering again already. You never came that hard or that quickly when you were on your own in the dark, something about hearing her call you hers drove you absolutely wild. While part of you was still absolutely aching for her to actually touch you, you were somehow just as satisfied having her talk you through it, having her eyes on you while you admitted your dirtiest fantasies. You thought about all the other things you wanted her to do to you, what things you wanted to do to her. How she would feel wrapped around your fingers, what she would taste like as you buried your head between her legs. How good her cock would feel stretching out your tight little cunt, how many times she could make you come on it. There was no way your heartrate was going to come back down right now, with the way images kept flying into your brain, a new idea present with every breath you took. Suddenly Tara spoke again, reminding you she was there, pulling you only halfway out of your fantasy world.

“You’re such a good girl, such a perfect slut, you deserve a reward.” Her hand gently circled your ankle, “open your eyes angel.”

You did as she asked, a small gasp escaping your lips when you took in the view in front of you. Tara had stripped down to her lingerie, deep purple lace molded perfectly to her body. Your eyes drank her in, roaming across every inch of newly exposed skin, lingering on the swell of her breast, the curve of her ass completely revealed in her thong, most importantly, the damp spot on the fabric between her legs.

“Christ.” You muttered. The knowledge that she was that turned on by just talking you through an orgasm made you want to absolutely devour her right there and then. It was as if she could see the shift move through you, the way your eyes darkened in a hungry way and she chuckled.

“Not yet angel.” Her hand dropped from your ankle, picking up the toy you had abandoned at the foot of the bed, “I’m not through with you, I still want to see what you’re like when you pretend to beg for my cock. Need to see how you fuck yourself when you’re imagining it’s me.” Her free hand curved around your calf, slowly moving upwards as she walked along the side of the bed, “I’ll need to know for next time.”

The haze you were in suddenly burst at her words, “n--next time?”

“Well of course baby.” Her fingers squeezed into your thigh and she dropped the toy between your legs, “so…how will it be? Should I drag it out? Fuck you nice and slow, so you can feel every inch of my cock dragging through your pussy. Or do you want it hard and fast? I could take you from behind, hips slamming into yours with each thrust, my cock pressing deeper into your cunt than you’ve ever had before.”

“Oh fuck Tara.” Your thighs clenched, “do I have to choose?”

She chuckled above you, “maybe it’ll be easier in the heat of the moment? Now, I want to see that toy covered in your cum.” She tilted her head toward it, “show me more, really let go. I want to know all your secrets.” Her hand vanished from your leg as she stepped back from the bed, settling in one of the chairs.

You could feel the heat lingering where her fingers had trailed across your skin and you looked from that spot to her, her gaze still on you, a small grin on her lips as she relaxed into the chair. Her eyes drifted down your body slowly until they landed on your slick pussy and her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. Your heart jumped in your chest, thumping faster at the ravenous look in her eyes. Sparks began to dance through your body again and you picked up the toy, turning it on to the lowest vibrating setting.

“Mmmm…” the hum came from the back of your throat as your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut once more. You dragged the tip of the toy through your folds, coating it with your juices while you fell back into your fantasies. “I’m soaking already, begging you to fill me up… stretch me out. Please Tara, I’ve been so good so far, I need it.” You shifted the toy, circling it around your clit and you whimpered softly, body rocking toward the touch, “I think about you rubbing your cock on me, teasing me just a little bit.” You demonstrated the action with the toy, “until I’m so needy and pliant I’d let you do anything you wanted to me. Your hands spread my legs wide, opening me up and you lean down to get a taste first.” You slid the toy up and down your cunt, as if she was lapping at you, “god your tongue feels so fucking good.”

With each pass of the toy you pressed a little harder, your words turning to whimpers as you pictured Tara with her face between your legs, how warm her mouth would feel, how her lips would wrap around your clit, sucking on it and your pussy absolutely throbbed.

“I think I’d have a great time with you sitting on my face.” She murmured from her chair, “you wouldn’t be able to shy away…”

You continued rubbing the toy against your pussy, varying the pressure as the pleasure built up in your body, soft moans coming from your parted lips as Tara continued to narrate.

“Those legs spread wide, my hands on your ass as I lick that pretty cunt. You’d get a little spank or two, urging you on.” Her breath hitched as your hips began to rock in a rhythm, the toy spreading your wetness, “c’mon angel, I want those juices smeared all over my face. I want to taste all of you.”

“Yes…” your body undulated again, your legs spreading wider as your breath picked up again, heat crawling across your skin. “Oh fuck,” you moaned, “you’re gonna make me come again.”

“Then do it.” Her voice had a sharp tone to it, she wanted the control, even like this. Tara could feel the wet patch on her panties growing as she watched you stroke yourself with the silicone cock. “Come for me. Now angel.”

You pressed the toy harder against you, turning the vibrations up to the next level, dragging it across your clit at her words and a cry escaped the back of your throat. Tara watched as your body thrashed against the bedspread, your pussy absolutely drenched as your second orgasm shot through you like a lightning strike.

“Oh fuck, fuck, oh fuuuck!” Your words were nothing but whines, small cries sending shudders through you. You were just about to move the toy to the side, let yourself come down before starting again until you heard Tara laugh darkly.

“Oh I don’t think so baby. If I was fucking you? I wouldn’t let you recover, I’m gonna stretch that tight cunt out immediately. I know you’re ready for me, just look at yourself…” her eyes zoned in on the apex of your thighs, “all puffy and worked up. You don’t even need your words to beg me, I can tell.” She shifted forward on the chair, resting her elbows on her knees as if to get a better look. “I’d slide my cock right in, no hesitation, as deep as I could get.”

With a shaking hand, you followed her directions, sinking the vibrator into you, each inch it disappeared you felt your breath hitch higher and higher until it disappeared entirely into you and you let out a cry.

“Oh my god…” it was nearing a sob as you held it still, the rabbit side of it gently vibrating against your clit. Your thighs were already shaking.

“Told you I would make you feel good.” She purred, “and you know what? I can tell how needy you are, you’re gonna take it nice and slow, aren’t you angel? I’d pull out slowly, watching how you start to gasp until the tip is barely inside you anymore.” She watched as you followed the instruction and you could hear the smile in her voice, “good girl. Now your pussy feels all empty, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” You took a shuddering breath.

“All stretched out and pulsing around basically nothing, squeezing around the head of my cock. Mmmm, baby you’re so deprived aren’t you? Just fucking drunk on my cock already and you’ve barely had it. You want more?”

“Yes! God yes! Pleeease!”

“Alright then.” She laughed softly and you suddenly felt the bed dip with her weight, “I suppose I’d push back into you, just as slow. God that pussy feels so good, you’re so warm baby, and just soaked. Do you feel how I fill you up perfectly?”

“Mmhmm.” You did your best to nod, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body, the toy buried to the hilt. You could feel the wet spot on the bed under you growing with each second that passed by, a sheen of sweat coating your body, you were almost uncomfortable with need, ready to burst out of your skin. Hand still shaking, you continued to slowly thrust the toy in and out of your pussy, a string of whimpers bouncing off the hotel room walls. “God you’re so big.” You groaned, “and so deep.”

“I’d play with your tits while fucking you too.” She prompted and your free hand slid across your skin, wrapping around your breast. Groping at the flesh with one hand while the other guided the toy in and out, you couldn’t help but moan, fingers pinching at your nipple. You were lost to the sensation when Tara spoke again, “God you’re so gorgeous baby, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you, tits swaying with each thrust of my hips, I’m mesmerized, just have to get my mouth on you.”

You were about to move your hand, suck your fingers into your mouth to slick them with spit and continue toying with your nipple when suddenly Tara leant forward, wrapping her mouth around your tit. You let out a gasp, your eyes flying open as your body shuddered. Tara’s eyes flicked up to yours and you could feel her warm lips curving up into a grin as she took in your surprise, her tongue flicking across your nipple.

“Oh shit.” You moaned, your hand holding the toy stilling, leaving it buried in your dripping cunt, “oh god that feels good.”

Her teeth sunk into your skin and you moaned. She let your nipple go with a lewd pop, blowing cool air on the bud causing you to shudder as you tried to continue fucking yourself with the toy. Her mouth made a home on the underside of your breast, sucking, biting and licking until she was certain there would be a mark left, one that only you would be privy to.

“I told you I would help you finish, didn’t I?” She raised a brow in your direction and you nodded weakly, the hand between your aching legs shaking even harder. She pressed a kiss to your skin, reaching between your legs, “why don’t you let me handle that?”

Tara only waited a second for you to drop the toy, your hands immediately coming to claw at the bedspread as you mewled, body shaking against the bed. With a quick press of a couple of buttons the vibration was suddenly set the highest it could go.

“Fuck!” Your shout was louder than you intended, your body tensing.

“You took it so well. I need to give you what you really want,” she pushed the toy back into you, “which is hard and fast, like my perfect little slut likes it. Isn’t it?” She pressed the outer part of the toy harder against your clit and you cried out again.

“Yes! Oh god yes!”

Tears were already pooling in the corners of your eyes, your orgasm was hiding just around the corner, threatening to burst in at any second, your skin absolutely on fire. With Tara in total control of the toy, you were completely at her mercy, free to shake and shiver between her and the bed. She could push you farther than you could push yourself, holding you up as high as she could, bringing you that extra mile before letting it all crash down on you.

She fucked the toy in and out of your sopping cunt with ease, faster and faster with each flick of her wrist, angling it so with each thrust the head brushed over your g-spot. Your eyes were scrunched shut so tight you were starting to see stars, only able to whine and groan, pussy clenching down around the toy. Tara leant over you again, sucking your nipple back into her mouth right as her free hand snuck between the outer of the toy and your body, rubbing furiously at your clit.

“Tara…” you cried, “fu—uuckkk.”

“That’s it baby.” She murmured against your skin, hands working your body fast, she could feel you vibrating against her, “say my name when you come. I want everyone on this floor to know exactly who’s making you feel this fucking good. Come for me, squirt all over my cock like the needy, perfect little slut you are.”

One more thrust of the toy was all it took to have you sobbing her name, vision going white as your entire body went rigid, thighs clenching around her wrist as pleasure blazed through you and you were certain that at least the neighbouring rooms knew exactly what was going on.

Tara clicked the vibrator back to its lowest setting, leaving a trail of kisses down your heated skin until she was sitting between your legs. Gently she fucked you through your orgasm, watching with satisfaction at the way your body shivered, how the wet spot on the bed continued to grow and most importantly how coated the toy was with your cum. She watched your arched back flatten , your body melting into the bed and she turned off the vibration, sliding the toy in and out a few more times before gently easing it from you.

“That’s my good girl.” She purred and your eyes cracked open just in time to see her slipping the toy between her lips, sucking your juices off with a satisfied groan. “Fuck, that was so hot.” She chuckled, setting the semi-clean toy down on the bed before crawling over you, kissing you deeply. “How did it compare to your fantasies?”

“So much fucking better.” You panted and she laughed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And exactly how often to you spend the night alone in the dark, touching yourself, pretending it’s me?”

Despite the last hour, you felt your cheeks blaze at her question, “every night,” you admitted in a desperate whisper.

“Well.” Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, “I think we have plenty more to get through then. What other kind of naughty fantasies do you have in that brain of yours, hmm? How many different ways do you think I can make you come before the sun comes up?”

“Oh god…” your eyes fell shut, your aching pussy already starting to tingle again, knowing this time it would be Tara touching you and you wouldn’t have to imagine it anymore.

“That’s what I thought.” She snickered, her hand ghosting up your inner thigh. “So why don’t you think about it while I play with this pretty pussy, then you can tell me all the dirty things you want me to do to you.”

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#tara lewis #tara lewis x reader #tara lewis x fem!reader #criminal minds

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astridthevalkyrie · 1 year ago

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me getting into a new character: how neurodivergent am i allowed to go

cw: fluff + a few mild horny thoughts

Rafayel has this little quirk where he's practically incapable of acting like a normal boyfriend. Or a normal person, honestly. Where other people would just take your hand walking down the street, he holds it out with a too-happy, beaming grin so that he can see you take it yourself. Where other people would just sit down at a fancy restaurant, he makes mock offended noises if you try to sit before he can make a big show of pulling your chair out for you.

Where other people would kiss you, he likes biting.

"I'm thinking," he muses, nibbling on your earlobe, "what about a diamond necklace?"

You sigh, burrowing yourself further into him, back against his chest. You're quite comfortable, and you could even fall asleep if it wasn't for his constant yammering. "No."

"Come on," he complains, sinking his teeth into your cheek this time. You let out a brief sound of exasperation, trying to bat at him, but he remains steadfast, tongue poking out to soothe the minor indent he leaves into your skin. "How'm I supposed to prove myself if you won't let me?"

"How would you buying me a diamond necklace prove anything?"

One of his hands slips under your shirt, resting right under your chest. His fingers knead whatever they get in contact with—it's not painful, actually it feels pretty good, not that you'd ever admit it to him. Though you suppose, turning around in his hold and silently indicating to him to pull you closer may just be admitting exactly that.

"It'd prove I'm not cheap, for one thing. I'd be able to tell everyone, whatever my girlfriend wants, she gets! You're so strange, not wanting anything. Do you even know how rich I am?"

"Tell you what," you mumble, burying your face in his neck and completely melting in his arms as soon as his comforting scent fills your senses, "you buy me a quesadilla tomorrow and I'll tell everyone you're practically my sugar daddy."

Rafayel scoffs. "Like anyone would ever believe you were a sugar baby. You don't have the constitution for it."

That might be a new lead in the top ten strangest insults you've ever heard from him. Shooting a small glare up his way, you bite back, "Are you going to let me sleep or are you gonna keep talking?"

"Keep talking," he answers without hesitation, then barrels forward before you can protest. "Hmm, maybe I should just fill my place up with amenities for you. Cheese plates in the kitchen. Exfoliators in the bathroom. A butler to take your coat."

The ridiculous idea of him hiring a butler just so someone could occasionally take your coat from you when you come over makes you laugh, which in turn puts a pleased smile on his face and accidentally encourages him to continue.

"What's that kids' movie you like? Twelve Dancing Princesses? What if I just repaint this room with the floor design from that?"

Now hang on. This one actually interests you, the idea of playing out your childhood fantasies out by dancing around in Rafayel's room. If you asked, you're sure he'd hire someone to replicate the same dress the main character from that movie wears too. "Wouldn't that be embarrassing? Anyone who comes here would see it."

"Yeah, something tells Thomas won't care. And if anyone else does come here, they'll probably write a boringly long article meant to flatter me. Renowned artist is super nice and generous to his childish girlfriend—"

"Says the guy who cried during Island Princess," you fire back, "also, it's nice to know you're only trying to spoil me for acclaim."

"Hello? Did you miss the part where I said boringly long? I'm trying to spoil you because I want you to spend my money."

"Why? It turns you on or something?"

"Maybe," he grins, pretending to lean in to kiss you, then sinking his teeth into your cheek once more the second you purse your lips to meet him halfway. With a quiet growl, you kick at his feet, and he only laughs against your skin. "Come oooon, I'm serious. Tell me at least one expensive thing I can get you."

Finally, you open your eyes, looking up at him with all your sincerest conviction. "Raf. If you wanna ruin your reputation and renovate your floor into the Twelve Dancing Princesses one just to prove a point, go for it. But I'm warning you, I'm gonna have to give you the best head of your life if you do that."

Rafayel groans, the hand that's not up your shirt tangling into your hair. "Don't tell me that, you're gonna force me to be selfless and turn it down. This isn't transactional. I give you my card and tell you to go wild, and then you just do it. Nothing in return."

Ah, yes, the Raf classic. Say the sweetest possible thing in the most irritating way he possibly can. Well, two can play at that game.

"If you give me your card and expect nothing in return, I'm going to strictly buy paint supplies in all your favorite brands, all your favorite colors—"

"I don't have favorite colors—"

Clamping a hand over his mouth, you press on. "And your weak attempt to spoil me will fall flat because not only will I only buy things you like, but I'll wire you the entire amount of what I spend the next day."

He lets out a dramatic half-whine, shaking you a little. "Man, you're so embarrassing!" Tugging you closer, he drowns out your complaints with his own protests. "So clingy, stop getting so close to me! Oh my god," he moans, holding your hand tighter the more you try to fight him and pull back, "get away from me, stalker. Let go!"

"Holy shit, you're so annoying—"

"And you're so obsessed with me, it's concerning."

For once, you're the one pouting at him. "I'm trying to sleep. You're really warm. Can you please push my limits later?"

An affectionate smile lights up his face. "Yeah, okay. As long as you agree tomebuyingyouapradabag."

"No."

Rafayel snorts, tucking his face into your hair. "And you think you could handle being a sugar baby."

#love and deepspace #l&ds #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x mc #rafayel #valkyrie stories

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slut4celebs · 8 months ago

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Angel Baby

Olivia Rodrigo x Reader, Jenna Ortega x BestFriend!Reader

Word Count: 1,702 words

Trigger Warnings: a lot of fluff

Synopsis: A songfic based on Angel Baby by Troye Sivan in which Olivia and the Reader see each other after their decision to never date anyone ever again.

“I just think… Putting yourself out there wouldn’t be the worst idea.” Jenna said, glancing up at her best friend, who was currently examining her ice latte as if it were the worst thing to ever exist. Though, Jenna had come to realize (Y/n)’s face wasn’t towards the latte, but rather a way to pretend she wasn’t horrified by her suggestion. “(Y/n), come on. You’re amazing and talented. You deserve love. I have this friend… I would really like to introduce you to her. And, I heard you call her pretty before when we were flipping through a magazine.”

(Y/n) chose to refrain from rolling her eyes. “Another girl in the industry… great.” (Y/n) said sarcastically, wincing a bit when the disappointed frown that graced Jenna’s face appeared. She hated when Jenna pulled out the frown, an involuntary expression that only showed around people who knew her well enough to notice it. “Look, I just don’t think dating is good for me. All it ever led to was me locking myself in my apartment, missing three auditions that would’ve been amazing and totally mine if I would have attended, and me almost drowning in my cereal bowl.” She reminded, getting a little snicker from Jenna at the mention of when (Y/n) cried in her Fruit Loops, and Jenna had to lift her head from the bowl. She had milk all over her face, and Jenna had to take five minutes to keep from laughing.

Jenna grew serious though as she tapped the table. (Y/n) could almost groan, knowing what her best friend had up her sleeve. Undeniably, it was the best friend pact. Jenna was calling in a favor. (Y/n) could read it so clearly on her freckled face as Jenna tried to pick her words carefully. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to deny a favor of this caliber since Jenna very rarely pulled out the Best Friend Pact Favor. This was something they created on set of a movie they starred in together at the age of twelve. Since the creation of this sacred pact, they have stuck to it, using it to call dibs on being each other’s dates to events, help them avoid awkward questions asked by paparazzi, fans, and interviewers, and more.

“I hate to do this but… I’m invoking the pact.” Jenna said, leaning back in her chair. (Y/n) sighed deeply but waited, wanting to hear Jenna out. This was obviously something that had brewing in her mind for awhile. “Honestly, I’m worried about you and her. I think you two would be good for each other. I just want you to give it a chance. A real chance, (Y/n).”

(Y/n) ran a hand down her face, risking her makeup’s safety when she did. “Fine, fine. Just tell me who it is. That way I can plan something.” She agreed, taking a sip of her coffee, debating chugging it to get out of the coffee shop faster. But instead, she remained calm and just panicked on the inside. She knew that Jenna was genuinely worried about her and the fact that she complained a little too frequently about being lonely. Plus, it had been a year since her breakup to the girl who always put down her dreams for her own. Maybe it was time to put herself out there. Besides, Jenna knew her taste quite well, saying as they were going on almost ten years strong in their friendship.

“Ha, as if I would tell you upfront and risk you leaving as soon as you saw her.” Jenna rose a brow. She tended to know her a little too well. Admittedly, she probably would run. But who’s to say that’s still not a possibility given that she could go to wherever Jenna would drop her off at… She could also just sneak off. “You’re also not allowed to sneak out as soon as I drop you off. This date is going to be on Saturday at six, I’ve decided. Dress nice but not overly nice. Basically, a pretty blouse and jeans. Oh! And that leather jacket that you look super fucking hot in.”

A snort escaped her at Jenna’s words and she allowed her gaze to meet Jenna’s deep brown ones. “I’m beginning to think you’re setting me up with you.” She teased, earning a playful shove. (Y/n) found herself to be grateful that the shove was officially the end to the conversation. Now, they’ve moved onto better topics like filming and dessert they’ve had recently. She finally felt the tension caused by the conversation leave her shoulders as she listen to Jenna talk about a special dessert Emma, her Wednesday co-star, had her try.

On Saturday, Jenna dropped (Y/n) at a pretty popular celebrity hangout, that way she wouldn’t know who she was setting her up with. (Y/n) drummed her fingers on the table, fist against her cheek as she waited for some kind of clue for who it might be when someone unexpected caught her eye at the bar. Olivia Rodrigo. A guilty pit fell in her stomach as she looked around, completely abandoning whoever Jenna might be dropping off soon now that she was settled. Instead, she approached the brunette who was ordering a glass of wine.

“Good choice. I’ll have the same.” She settled by the girl, who looked over and smiled a bit. “It’s been awhile, Liv,” (Y/n) greeted her friend. She has always had sort of a thing for Olivia, not that she would say it out loud. Only Jenna knew. “How has the music scene been going? Please tell me your third album is coming out soon. I’ve been craving a new vinyl with your name on it.” (Y/n), being a big supporter of her friends’ works, bought their movies and vinyl's. This included Olivia. She had her Sour album, her Guts album, and even her Guts Deluxe album.

A small smile fell on Olivia lips as she sipped her wine. “I didn’t expect to see you here, (Y/n).” She leaned in, closer to the girl. “The third album might come sooner than you think.” She said with a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “What about you? What have you been working on as of late? Any movie I should be keeping my eyes out for?” Olivia winked, causing (Y/n)’s cheeks to heat up. She reminded herself, in that moment, that she swore off dating. She couldn’t flirt with Olivia. But Olivia seemed to be flirting, a little bit, with her. Was she being delusional?

Their conversation continued, and (Y/n) forgot about the fact that she was there for Jenna and whoever she would be bringing. She didn't know if there was anyone waiting for her, looking out for her. Her attention was just on Olivia. "Honestly, I wasn't excited to come out here tonight." (Y/n) swirled the wine around in her glass as more was poured. Their conversation had turned into something less of small talk. Now, they were going into deeper conversations, both agreeing that the dating scene has sucked. But there was an ease to their conversation that made them feel comfortable. That's how all of their conversations seemed to go.

Olivia frowned a bit, eyes searching (Y/n)'s for a moment. "Oh? Why is that?" She questioned the girl. (Y/n) found herself at a loss, not knowing how to explain that she had abandoned a potential date to join Olivia. Mostly because she knew that leaving whoever it was behind like that was wrong. However, she couldn't help herself to be so drawn in to the girl in front of her. She just had this way about her that always drew (Y/n) in. From their first conversation, Olivia had become someone (Y/n) deeply appreciated and welcome into her life. And that wasn't something she did often.

"Well, I don't want you to think I'm a bad person. It's just… Jenna was trying to set me up with someone, but I've just sworn off dating. Though, I'm starting to think that… you know, I shouldn't do that." She cleared her throat, cheeks burning at the insinuation that she would give up dating for Olivia. But she would. She would love to take Olivia on a date and not just sit in front of a bar, talking over a couple glasses of wine. "I just totally abandoned whoever she was trying to set me up with because I saw you. I couldn't help myself."

A smile fell on Olivia's lips. For a moment, she had turned away from (Y/n) before she let her brown eyes meet (Y/n)'s eyes again. "You didn't abandon your date. Jenna had me come meet you here because I swore it, dating, off, too. I'm also thinking that was a dumb idea, now, though. I just needed some wine before I walked over to you because… You make me nervous. Jenna asked me about you, and I said you were stunning and like the perfect person. That's how this whole thing got set up. I just was too nervous to tell you 'hi' when walking in." She admitted softly. The admission cause (Y/n) to lose that guilty feeling that was heavy on her chest before she leaned in. Olivia followed in the motion, their lips connecting gently.

They were both lost in the feeling before the bar tender told them they couldn't make-out there. So, (Y/n) pulled away, paid for both of their drinks, and left a big tip before leading Olivia out of the building. Olivia had taken her to her car, dropping (Y/n)'s assumptions that Jenna had dropped her off as well. This was a good thing because now, as two celebrities who were followed constantly by paparazzi, they had a sense of privacy. (Y/n) drew Olivia back in and the two kissed for long moments until they couldn't breath anymore.

"Just so you know… I'm going to take you out now. This time, without Jenna finding her way into the relationship." She joked, causing Olivia to grin widely. Their lips were reconnected, and the two knew that they about to be so lost in each other for what very well might be forever, with any luck.

#olivia rodrigo x reader #olivia rodrigo #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega

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rootedinrevisions · 8 months ago

Text

In the Wings: Part 1

SUMMARY: When you're offered the chance to work as a hair and makeup artist on Top Gun 3, it feels like a dream come true. Leaving behind your routine for a Hollywood blockbuster, you arrive on set with high hopes but little expectation of the whirlwind to come. That all changes the day you meet Glen Powell—charming, grounded, and quick to make an impression. As your professional relationship grows, so does a spark between you, but you're still keeping things strictly work. For now, the only thing you're certain of is that this job will be like no other.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to Anon who sent me this request and gave me the idea. I'm really hoping I can take your idea and do it justice. I think this will end up being around 4 parts. But if I feel like I need to make it longer or shorter I'll adjust as I finish revising it.

WARNINGS: None.

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

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If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

The email came through on a Wednesday afternoon, catching your attention amidst a relatively slow workday. The subject line read: “Film Contract Inquiry – Urgent Response Requested.” As you clicked it open, your curiosity piqued instantly. The production team was interested in hiring you as a hair and makeup artist for an upcoming film. But unlike most offers you’d received in your career, this one was cloaked in secrecy.

You scanned the email again, focusing on the specific wording. Top secret. No details were given about the film itself, just the fact that you would be based primarily in Southern California, near San Diego, for a total of twelve weeks. The cryptic message hinted that you might also be required to travel for a few additional shoots at other undisclosed locations if needed.

While these types of jobs were nothing new to you—you’d been working on movie sets for over a decade—this one had a different feel.

For one, they didn’t even mention the title of the project.

And the compensation offer attached to the email? Far beyond anything you’d ever been offered before. You leaned back in your chair, letting the numbers sink in. They clearly wanted the best for this film, and the pay confirmed it was going to be something big.

But how big? The secrecy surrounding the whole thing was hard to ignore. There wasn’t even a mention of the production company involved, and everything was handled through private communication channels.

Not only that, but they'd already sent over a non-disclosure agreement for you to sign. Until the movie was officially released, you wouldn’t be able to discuss a single detail—not the actors, not the plot, not even the locations.

The NDA felt like a weight in your inbox, staring back at you as you reread the email for the third time. Something about this film was different, and it intrigued you. Whatever it was, it had to be major if they were going to these lengths to protect it. And with that thought in mind, you clicked “Reply” and began typing.

* * * *

The flight to San Diego was uneventful, and the California sunshine greeted you as soon as you stepped out of the terminal. You quickly spotted a driver holding a sign with your name on it. After introductions, you handed over the address they’d provided, ready for the next step of this mysterious journey.

As the car began weaving through the busy San Diego streets, you took in the sights—the familiar palm trees, the ocean in the distance, the hustle of a city on the coast. You’d worked in Southern California plenty of times, but something about this trip felt different. The secrecy still clung to you like a shadow.

The driver made small talk, but you were too focused on the location to fully engage. It wasn’t until you noticed the roads becoming less crowded, the landscape shifting from city to something more… official, that your curiosity spiked. Fences lined the road now, and you could see uniformed personnel at several checkpoints as the car continued.

A military base?

Your heart skipped a beat as realization dawned on you. You leaned forward, squinting out the window at the upcoming sign confirming your suspicion: Naval Air Station North Island.

The driver pulled up to the security gate, handing over the proper identification and passes. After a brief exchange with the guard, the car was waved through.

You sat back in your seat, processing. So, this film has something to do with the military. That narrowed it down, but not by much. There were plenty of military-themed movies out there, but none that warranted this level of secrecy. You thought back to the emails, still trying to piece together what kind of project could possibly be in the works.

The car came to a stop outside a large set of trailers tucked behind an aircraft hangar. Military personnel and crew members bustled around, a few actors you didn’t yet recognize standing in clusters nearby. The atmosphere was buzzing with excitement, but still, no one gave anything away.

The driver helped unload your bags, and you thanked him before making your way toward one of the trailers you’d been instructed to report to. A sense of unease mixed with anticipation settled in your chest. You were about to find out what all the mystery was about.

With your equipment in tow, you approached the door to the hair and makeup trailer, pausing just long enough to take a breath before stepping inside. Whatever you’d signed on for, you were about to find out—whether you were ready or not.

You stepped inside the trailer, greeted by the familiar scent of hairspray and cosmetics. The space was bustling with activity—mirrors lined with bright lights, makeup kits neatly arranged, and hair styling tools humming in the background. Three other stylists were already there, each at their own station, chatting quietly as they organized their gear.

You scanned the room for an empty spot, finding a vacant station near the back. The butterflies in your stomach settled as you began unpacking your kit, laying out your brushes, combs, and palettes with the same precision you did before any project. Your hands moved with a practiced ease, though your mind was still racing with questions about the film. You tried to brush it off as first-day nerves, but the secrecy of it all still gnawed at you.

A couple of minutes passed before one of the stylists, a brunette with sleek hair pulled into a tight ponytail, approached you with a friendly smile. “You must be the new hire for this project. I’m Katherine,” she said, extending a hand.

“Hi." You said as you gave her your name and shook her hand.

“Welcome! You’ll love this crew,” she said, gesturing to the others who were busy in their own areas. "We’re still settling into the schedule, but it’s a great team." She paused, lowering her voice slightly, “Though this project is next-level crazy, right? So much secrecy.”

You nodded, laughing softly. “I know, right? I’ve never had to sign so many NDAs before starting a job.”

Just as you were about to ask more, the door swung open, and a crew member entered, holding a stack of papers. He looked around before making his way toward you. “I’ve got your list of actors and the schedule for this week.”

“Thanks,” you said, accepting the documents from him.

He gave you a quick nod before heading out, leaving you alone with the list in hand. You glanced down, scanning the schedule you and the other hair and makeup artists would be following. Then you notice the names that are listed.

Tom Cruise. Miles Teller. Glen Powell.

Your eyes widened slightly as recognition hit. You’d heard those names before—especially from Top Gun: Maverick. You looked up from the paper, your heart picking up its pace again. Could it be?

Before you could process it further, you overheard one of the other stylists—Lily—speaking to Katherine in a hushed tone. "I think I saw Tom Cruise on set earlier. They’ve kept it under wraps, but... it’s definitely Top Gun 3."

Your breath caught in your throat. Top Gun 3.

It clicked. The secrecy. The military base. The list of actors. This wasn’t just some random movie set—it was one of the biggest sequels in recent history. You were part of Top Gun.

You tried to keep your face neutral, but inside you were buzzing with excitement. Top Gun 3. You had landed a job on one of the most anticipated movies ever. You looked back down at your list, realizing that you would be working with some of the biggest names in Hollywood over the next few weeks—one of them being Glen Powell.

Your mind raced as you processed it all, but you kept your cool. This was your job, and you needed to stay professional, no matter how starstruck you might be. You took a deep breath, refocused, and went back to setting up your station, knowing that your first day on Top Gun 3 was just beginning.

You were adjusting the lighting at your station when the trailer door creaked open again. You didn’t pay much attention at first, focusing on getting everything perfect for the day ahead. But then, you heard a familiar voice—a low, playful tone that filled the room with ease.

"Is this where the magic happens?"

You looked up, and there he was—Glen Powell, standing in the doorway with a laid-back smile on his face. He was taller than you expected, dressed in casual workout gear, his hair its natural shade, but you knew that wouldn’t last long. Your first task was to lighten Glen’s hair a few shades to look a little more naturally sun-faded than his darker natural color.

His eyes landed on you, and for a brief moment, there was a spark—an instant recognition of something unspoken.

"Yep, this is where we make the magic happen," you responded, grinning as you set your tools down.

Glen walked over to your station, his posture relaxed yet confident. “You must be the one in charge of turning me into Hangman 2.0.”

You chuckled, motioning for him to take a seat in the chair. “I guess I am. Ready to go a few shades lighter?”

He raised an eyebrow, taking a seat in the chair with a smirk. “Let’s see what you’ve got. I’m trusting you with my hair, so no pressure, right?”

“Oh, none at all,” you quipped, rolling your eyes playfully as you grabbed the bleach kit. “Just a couple of hours and we’ll make you camera-ready. Shouldn’t be too painful.”

The banter was light, but the chemistry between the two of you was undeniable. Even though this was your first time meeting, the interaction felt natural, as though you’d known each other for longer. Glen was easygoing, and you found yourself smiling more than you expected as you worked.

As you began sectioning off his hair, you asked, “So, are you nervous about going blond again? Or is this just another day in the life of Glen Powell?”

He leaned back in the chair, his grin widening. “I won’t lie, the last time I did this, I felt like I ended up looking like an extra from Legally Blonde. But hey, if you’re the one doing it, I’m sure it’ll turn out great.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I promise, no Legally Blonde vibes. Just a subtle lightning. You’ll still look like Hangman.”

Across the trailer, a few of the other makeup artists glanced over, their eyes darting between you and Glen, smiling knowingly. Sarah, one of the artists working on another actor, shot you a teasing look before leaning over to her client, Jay Ellis, who raised an eyebrow in Glen’s direction. You overheard a soft chuckle from Jay as Sarah whispered something.

Glen, oblivious to the side glances, watched you carefully as you applied the bleach, a casual silence settling between you for a few moments before he broke it again. “So, how’d you end up on this project? You’ve got to be pretty top-tier if they brought you onto Top Gun.”

You glanced at him, surprised at the question. "I've been in the business for a while. Special effects makeup is kind of my specialty, but I do all kinds of stuff. They contacted me about this job, and it was all very hush-hush until I got here."

He tilted his head, clearly impressed. "Well, looks like we’re in good hands.”

You felt a subtle warmth in your chest at the compliment, though you brushed it off quickly. “Just doing my job,” you replied, grabbing a small brush to touch up a few sections of his hair. “Anyway, you’ve got the easy part today. They’re filming inside, so minimal makeup. Just enough so you don’t look like a ghost on camera.”

He chuckled. “Don’t want to scare anyone off with my Casper-like complexion.”

As you continued working on his hair, the conversation flowed easily. You asked him about his last few projects, and he asked about yours in return, keeping the tone light and casual. There was something effortless about talking to him, and it made the time fly by faster than expected.

When the bleaching was done and his hair was the perfect shade of lighter blond, you gave it a final check in the mirror. “Well, what do you think?” you asked, turning the chair slightly so he could see the result.

He inspected his reflection, his eyes lighting up in approval. “I’ve got to say, you nailed it. No Elle Woods here.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “Told you.”

With his hair done, you moved on to the makeup—just enough to prevent any washout under the bright lights. It was quick and simple, a few strokes here and there, but even as you applied it, the easy conversation continued.

“You know,” Glen said suddenly, as you brushed a bit of powder on his face, “for someone working in Hollywood, you’re pretty laid back. I’ve had stylists who barely talk and are just all about the job, and then there’s you—who’s actually, you know, fun.”

You laughed softly at his words, feeling the compliment slip into the air between you. “Well, I try. I’ve learned that being chill makes the day go by smoother.”

He smirked, his gaze locking onto yours for just a beat too long. “Good policy.”

There it was again—something between you that neither of you acknowledged aloud, but it lingered, making the air feel slightly heavier in the best way. A moment passed, and you stepped back, finishing the last of his touch-ups.

“All done,” you said, stepping back to clean your brushes. “You’re officially camera-ready.”

He stood from the chair, taking a quick look in the mirror again. “Not bad at all. You’re good at this.”

“Thanks,” you replied, flashing a small smile. “Just don’t mess it up too much before they get you on camera.”

He chuckled, his eyes catching yours once more before he turned toward the door. “No promises.” And with that, he gave you a playful wink and left the trailer, leaving you with a slight smile lingering on your lips.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Sarah leaned over with a knowing look. “Looks like you and Glen are gonna get along just fine.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “It’s just work,” you said, though the butterflies in your stomach told a slightly different story.

Jay chimed in again, smirking. “Yeah, sure. But I’d say that was the most fun Glen’s had in a makeup chair in a long time.”

#Glen Powell Fic #Glen Powell Fanfic #Glen Powell Fanfiction

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wokeupinmars · 9 months ago

Text

“I'll go wherever you go”

Pairing: Sierra Six / Court Gentry x Reader

Summary: Tender truths come to light when noisy neighbors cause Six and Claire to seek refuge at your place.

Warning: None. This part contains crumbs of Six and Reader's previous relationship and insight into the domestic life they're beginning to lead with Claire.

Word Count: 3K

Author’s Note: This is the second part of the series.

Part One: The Pretty Nurse Who Lives Down the Hall

Part Three: The End of Beginning

Please comment and/or reblog if you enjoyed this!!

RG Masterlist

Your body moved on autopilot, working four twelve-hour shifts this week had drained you completely. All you wanted was a nice hot shower, followed by eating whatever leftovers were in the fridge and then hitting the sack.

The last thing you were expecting the night to bring was company but when you spot Six and Claire at your door, you knew a wrench would be thrown in your plans. You remove your headphones, “Everything alright?” you ask, once you get close enough to see the dark circles under both of their eyes.

“Oh thank god,” Claire breathes out, leaning into you immediately. You instinctively wrap your arm around her and look at Six, your eyes filled with concern, “What’s wrong?”

Whatever it was you knew it couldn’t be good. A few months had passed since they had moved in and while the three of you had fallen into some sort of routine, you knew Six was still reluctant to lean on you. Weekly dinners, movie nights, running any and all errands together, as well as spending the majority of your free time with them did little to chip away at his self-reliant nature. It wasn’t something you held against him, you knew him well enough to know that it would take some time for him to adjust to having someone willing to help him carry the weight of the world.

So for him to show up at your door like this, it must have been serious. He lets out an exasperated sigh and nods his head towards the door, “Can we sleep here tonight?”

“Of course,” you reply, stepping away from Claire to fish through your bag for your key and open the door. Claire walks through the door first, b-lining for your couch, you stand aside and wait for Six to enter but he motions for you to go in first, “Can you please clue me in on what��s going on? You both look like you could collapse on the spot.”

Six locks the door and glances back at you, “You know those two guys that live next door to us?”

“The college students?” you ask.

He nods, “Well one of them went away for the weekend, and the other has had his girlfriend over the entire time. They’re either arguing or having loud makeup sex.”

You grimace at that. “It’s so much worse than that,” Claire grumbles out, “The people that live above us decided that 2 a.m. is the ideal time to rearrange furniture.” You give them both a sympathetic look and gesture for Six to sit in the armchair. He leans his head back, allowing himself to sink into the chair.

“You should’ve texted me. You guys could’ve crashed here since I’ve been working the night shift,” you tell him as you set your bag down.

He knew you had been working the night shift for the past four days, your work schedule was something you always kept him updated on. “I didn’t want to bother you,” he murmurs, “his roommate was supposed to come back, I thought it would be over…nothing could have prepared to hear a three-way.”

Your eyes widen at that, “Good god.”

Claire begins to lull away, you crouch down to face level and rub her back gently, “Can you stand up for me, Sweetheart?” She nods her head and sits up, pausing for a moment, and then pushes herself up onto her feet. You guide her down the hall towards your room, letting her crash there. She looks up at you, her eyes barely open as you lay her down on your bed, “Thank you,” she whispers, as you unfold and drape one of your blankets over her.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

—

“She okay?” his voice was gravelly as he spoke.

“Out like a light,” you assure him. You set down extra pillows and blankets on the coffee table and start taking the cushions off the couch, “You okay with sharing the pull-out with me?”

He helps you pull the metal handle and unfold the bed, which makes a creaking noise that pierces the room, “And you’ll behave?”

“Haven’t I always been a good girl for you?” you tease, prompting Six to give you a look that you can only interpret as his sleepy attempt at a glare.

You leave him in the living room, heading to the bathroom to take a much-needed shower. The hot water beats against your skin, the exhaustion you had been feeling for the past few days seeping into your bones. You try to let your muscles relax and relieve all the tension stored in your body but you’re still a bundle of nerves.

Six was still awake when you got out of the shower, “Strawberries,” he murmurs.

“What?” you question, walking into the kitchen, opening the fridge, and scanning the shelves for something to eat. Six trails in behind you, “Strawberries,” he repeats, “You have strawberries on your shorts.”

Your lips form an ‘o’ as you put what remains of the pasta you made a few days ago to heat. The dish was steaming when you took it out of the microwave and set it on the table. You didn’t think Six would sit at the table with you but much to your surprise, he does. You press play on your answering machine and listen your voicemails instead of waiting idly, for the food to cool. Most of them were unknown numbers, your typical scam calls, the one that did catch your attention was from your former real estate agent. The message itself began playing halfway through, it was clear she hadn’t waited for the beep to start talking, “...I know you wanted to stop looking but the asking price for the house on 73rd you liked dropped by a lot…” her voice starts to break up and the voicemail stops.

Six raises his eyebrows at you, “I didn’t know you were looking at houses.” The confusion of his voice made it seem like more of a question than a statement.

You shrug it off, “That was before.” You feel the side of the container with the back of your hand to determine if it has cooled down enough to finally eat and sink your fork into the pasta, “You know you can go to sleep right?”

He nods, crossing his arms over his chest, “I know…why’d you stop looking at houses?”

You were blowing on the forkful of pasta before bringing it up to your mouth, you held up a finger, telling him to give you a second as you ate. “Why do you think?” you answer.

A quiet hum leaves his lips, “Left the job after they hired you to take me out and now this…I’m starting to think you’ve got a soft spot for me.” You scoff at that and point your fork at him, “In your dreams.”

“If only you knew.”

You recognize quickly that he’s probably far too tired to realize the shift in his demeanor. This felt like old times, back when the two of you would shack up in between jobs, it was nice and you wanted to revel in it but just like then, you knew it was only temporary, that you would have to let go even if you didn’t want to.

It wasn't until he started speaking again that you realized you had gone quiet, “Are Claire and I actually the reason you stopped looking at houses?”

“Yeah,” you don’t even bother denying it, “I kept telling myself it was just until you guys settled in. We’ve walked away from each other so many times before, I figured it would be no different this time around. I guess I didn’t think I would get attached…but now…I make sure I never have a night shift on Fridays so I don’t miss a game night, keep three different kinds of hot sauce in my pantry, and have essentially half of Claire’s things scattered around the apartment.”

He goes quiet and you’re almost certain you had gotten a little too touchy-feely for his liking, but then he starts to talk, “No one else uses the mug you always use when you come over. It's just yours...and Claire doesn’t actually like tea, we only buy it ‘cause we know it’s your favorite.”

You smile softly at that, your heart warms at the small gesture, “You do?”

“We do,” he confirms.

—

You finished eating and opted to leave the dish to soak, telling yourself it was a problem to be dealt with in the morning. You head back into the bathroom to brush your teeth and complete your skincare routine.

You watch in the mirror as he appears in the doorway a few minutes later, watching as you complete the steps of your skincare routine, “You know I’ve already got a shadow right?”

Six sighs heavily, stepping into the bathroom, and leans against the counter, just observing you, “What is that?”

“Moisturizer,” you answer, working the product into your skin. “Want some?”

He didn’t have a chance to reply when you pumped some of the cream onto your fingers and started applying it to his face, “Is it supposed to be cold?” his hand rested on your waist. You shush him and rub the moisturizer into his skin.

He lets out a quiet “Thank you” and waits for you to leave the bathroom before following suit.

“You want me to build a pillow wall between us?” you tease as you lay down. You expect him to lay beside you but he just stands at the foot of the pull-out, you pat the spot beside you, “Why are you just standing there? Come to lay down.”

“Move over,” he instructs.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “Why? What’s wrong with that side?”

“Nothing,” he states. You’re about to press further to understand what the issue is but he answers your question before you even have the opportunity to ask it, “This side,” he motions to the side you were lying on, “Is closer to the door.”

You huff out a sigh and reluctantly roll over onto the other side. He was right, the side you laid on was closest to the door. You didn’t think it was that big of a deal but you knew better than to try and fight him on this one. He flicks off the lights and waits a few seconds to let both of your eyes adjust to the darkness. The springs creak under both of you as he gets in. Silence fills the room as the two of you lay beside each other. You turn on your side to face him, only to find he’s already looking at you. “I missed you, you know? Don’t think I’ve said that yet,” you say quietly.

Six doesn’t say anything at first instead he stretches his hand out and rests it on your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze. You could tell he was testing the waters, you weren’t expecting any other kind of acknowledgment beyond that but you were pleasantly surprised when he snaked his arm under you and pulled you to his chest by your waist, “Miss you too,” his words coming out in a low rumble.

You lift your head, “Yeah?” you ask, unable to suppress your grin.

His hand comes up and pushes your head back down to his chest, “Don’t let it get your head,” he mutters. You let out a breathy laugh and zeroed in on the loud thumps of his heartbeat under your ear.

You soak in the moment, you know that it isn’t going to last forever, but you allow yourself to indulge in the comfort that being held by him brings anyway.

According to the glowing numbers of your cable box, only ten minutes had passed. The tranquil silence that washes over the two of you combined with the feeling of his hand rubbing up and down your back soothes you, “Court?” You whisper.

He lets out a groan, letting you know he’s listening. You take a deep breath, “I know it's a bit outlandish but if I did move would you and Claire come with me?”

Your words hang in the air for a second, ‘Would you want us to?” You could hear his heartbeat pick up ever so slightly as he spoke.

“Yes,” you affirm, shifting and nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the faint scent of his body wash.

“I'll go wherever you go,” his voice hushed,“We can talk about it more in the morning with Claire, she’ll be ecstatic.” A content hum escapes your lips, it was the answer you wanted to hear. You inhale deeply and let your body completely relax against him on the exhale. You stop trying to fight off your drowsiness and let your heavy eyes close. There’s a delicate pressure against your forehead before you finally doze off. A kiss.

—

The repeated clicks of a camera are what woke you up. Your face was smushed against Six’s chest, and your eyes fluttered open and immediately squeezed shut when you were blinded by a flash. Claire’s giggle rings in your ears. You sit up and rub your eyes. You blink repeatedly before your vision becomes clear. Claire was standing on one of your dining chairs, her Polaroid camera in hand, “Good morning,” she chirped.

“Morning kiddo,” your voice was hoarse as you spoke. You stretch and let out a yawn. You turned to the side to look back at Six’s sleeping form and brushed a few strands of hair that fanned across his forehead.

“I’ve never seen him like this before…so at ease,” she whispers, stepping down from the chair. A soft smile appears on your face as you continue to look at him, “Probably been a while since he’s gotten the chance to sleep in,” you say, matching her volume.

Claire taps her chin with her pointer finger, “Sure…but don’t you think it might be for another reason?” You knew what she was getting at but you chose to dismiss it, “Nope, definitely the sleep.”

“And not who he’s sleeping with?” she questions, tilting her head. You avert your eyes away from Six and back to her, “How do you feel about pancakes for breakfast?” It was a terrible attempt at changing the topic but when her eyes lit up at the mention, you knew you were in the clear. “With chocolate chips?” You nod and instruct her to go brush her teeth, letting her know that there are extra toothbrushes in the cabinet under the sink.

You wait until you hear the door to the bathroom close before saying aloud, “I know you’re awake,” as you continue to play with his hair. He opened one eye, peeking up at you before rolling over onto his stomach, lazily draping his arm over your lap. If you had to guess it was likely that he’d been awake from the second Claire dragged the dining chair from the kitchen and into the living room.

With a soft pat, you lift his arm just enough for you to throw your legs over the side of the pullout and stand. “You want chocolate chips in your pancakes too?” He makes a noise which you take as a yes.

Claire was out of the bathroom and eager to help by the time you were adding the wet ingredients into the dry, she stood beside you as you focused on getting rid of any lumps, “Can I add the chocolate chips?”

You point to the bag, silently indicating it’s time. She sprinkles the chips into the bowl of batter, watching from over your shoulder as you fold them into the mixture. “So you’re off for the rest of the—” she starts only to cut herself off when Six enters the kitchen, “Nice of you to join us in the land of the living.”

“It’s too early to deal with you two,” he mumbles, clasping his fingers together and holding them over his head to stretch. His shirt rises and you’re able to catch a glimpse of his happy trail. He tries to reach his hand into the bag of chocolate chips Claire’s holding but she's quick to slap his hand away and hold them away from him and scolds him, “You haven’t even brushed your teeth!”

—

Claire knew something was up just from the way the two of you sat across. “You guys look like you’re about to tell me you sent the family dog to live on a farm upstate and that he’s in a better place now,” she jokes, uncapping the bottle of syrup and dousing the stack in them.

You and Six exchange glances before he clears his throat, “We do actually want to talk to you about something.” The firmness in his voice makes her wary, a worrisome expression spreads across her face, “Now I’m nervous.”

“How do you feel about moving again?” The question makes her slump into her seat, “Why? We’ve been doing so good here, I like it here.”

“You like her,” Six corrects. The corner of your mouth curves up when he says that, you knew Claire had grown attached to you but it felt good to hear. “And you don’t?” Claire counters, “I don’t understand, we both like it here…we have someone here, why would we leave?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, “We should have practiced this….I’m moving and—”

The frown on her face deepens as she interrupts you, “You’re moving?”

“I am, but,” you emphasize the word, “Six and I talked about the possibility of you two moving with me. Same area, just out of these crummy apartments and into a house.” You watch as Claire perks up, “Move in with you? For real?”

Six nudges you with his elbow, his nonverbal way of saying “I told you so.” He nods his head in confirmation. Claire is beaming. “So you’re okay with the three of us living together?” you ask her.

She shakes her head ‘yes’ profusely, “This is great, we get to live with you, I got pancakes, and Buster’s well.” Six’s eyebrows crease and confusingly repeats the name. “The family dog? God, Six, you gotta keep up,” she retorts, cutting into the pancakes, a grin graces her face when takes a deep breath and sighs.

—

Part Three: The End of Beginning

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