#while filming in Vancouver

[theabsurdity]

I found an old contact sheet for a roll of film I took in 2010, this day was fun, out in a small town where you could still smoke in the bar

[fraddit]

The funny/tragic thing is, since it was real rain, it might not even show up on camera when the scene finally airs.

[isasweetie]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . drew starkey and the sweetie who interviewed him

you’re nothing — that’s what you always tell yourself, anyway. you’re a journalist at a small magazine company, all potential and questions wasted because you’re relatively shy and big names like vogue tend to hire the louder workers.

it was a shock to you when your editor landed you an interview spot at TIFF. she believed in you, wanted to give you an opportunity to chat with some big names.

walking into the room where the stars would be interviewed by all the big names, you’re accompanied by one photographer who brought his camera to film the interviews. your pink heels click on the ground as you walk, and you feel severly underdressed in a black mini slip dress, with your hair down.

you’re handed the less popular movie stars to interview, but you’re nervous nonetheless. face going red when you stumble during a long question (even if they’re extremely intellectual), and fiddling with your nails while you listen.

you’re assuming everyone you interview is lesser known, based on the pattern occuring, until a very familiar figure walks over. right, you almost forgot you had to interview him.

now, it’s not like you knew him personally. you were both from north carolina and you have a two mutuals on instagram, but you and him weren’t friends. the only reason you know him is because you’d be living under a rock if you didn’t — drew starkey.

you can’t help the way you’re shaking a bit, flustered, nervous, and excited all at once.

“hi, y/n l/n,” you greet, then tell him what magazine you’re from. you shake his hand.

“drew starkey,” his voice is deep and makes you shiver. you’d heard from almost everyone how captivating he is, and now you believe it.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you say gently. his baby blues haven’t left yours yet. “i just watched ‘queer’ last night, drew, it was amazing,” you tell him, easing your way into the interview. “what was it like filming around the world? have you ever done that before?”

“uh, yeah, i have,” he nods. “i went to vancouver to film ‘the other zoey’, i think, and i went to serbia for ‘hellraiser.’ but i mean, i feel like for ‘queer’, it was more of an experience. we filmed everywhere, multiple continents, it was kind of crazy. and i mean, i’m a country boy, north carolina, so experiencing cultures outside of traditional america will always wow me,” he explains. “where are you from?”

you smile when he flips it on you because he’s very polite. “i live in north carolina too.” you tell him.

“no shit,” he smiles. “what part?”

“charlotte. i mean, i’m not orignally from there, but it’s where i live now so…” you shrug.

“where are you originally from?”

“this isn’t my interview, mr. starkey,” you smile at him. he chuckles. “can i ask another question please?”

“yes ma’am,” he relents, and you giggle. his smile grows when you giggle — his eyes haven’t left you.

you ask a couple more questions, and eventually he has to leave to go talk to another journalist. but he grabs your hand again and squeezes it, intense eye contact as he says it was nice to meet you, and to have a nice night. you’re already in a trance, even though you try to convince yourself that he was just being polite. he’s polite to everyone.

when he leaves, you can’t help but turn to the photographer with a smile on your face and your jaw dropped, simply because that was the biggest name you’ve ever spoken to. you’re unaware he never stopped the video.

────୨ৎ────

the morning after, when reporters are posting their interviews everywhere, you can’t go three scrolls on tiktok without drew’s face at TIFF appearing. you’re half-asleep, until it clicks that every interview you’ve seen has been specifically your interview with him. captioned with, ‘how to be this interviewer???’ or ‘the way he looks at her?’ or ‘someone tell her hes taken by me already’, or even ‘he looks a little young for her?’ you’ve gone viral. everyone believes that the drew starkey is into you.

you’re down a rabbit hole. the slo mo videos on him glancing at your lips, then licking his own, the way he squeezed your hand, you and him both giggling. you can’t deny how it might look either.

you go onto drew’s instagram. he doesn’t follow you, and you’re a bit nervous to initiate. so you close your eyes, bracing yourself, before hitting follow. an hour later, he follows you back. you open the app — one new message.

[Drew Starkey] : Hey it’s the cute interviewer from yesterday! How are you?

you could’ve sworn that your lungs gave out right there.

[mybrainproblems]

sorry if you've already been asked this or have talked about this on your blog before, but are you still working on spreadsheetsnatural? it's ok if you aren't, I'm just obsessed with the market research lol it's given me permanent brainrot

kind of?? i ended up taking a turn down the left fork of the supernatural rabbit hole and ended up in dabbnatural/late seasons hyperfixation which also comes with spreadsheets. i don't know how much of it would be of interest to ppl tbh... it's just a lot of timeline events and source citation links. at this point i can remember most of it off the top of my head but i like to keep a quick reference.

[tillysslife]

soft launches—w. scobell smau

pairings: walker scobell x childhood!bsf!reader

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charliebushnell when she doesn’t even like him back HA

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user i hope whoever this is knows she's the most lucky girl in the world

dior.n.goodjohn walker. scobell.

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You were painfully oblivious to Walkers massive crush on you. You two had been neighbours ever since he had moved in to the house beside yours in pre-school. The connection had been instant between you two.

And as age and maturity tracked your friendship what started as meeting outside to draw on the pavement with coloured chalk turned into sneaking out of your houses and trekking to target.

The biggest problem that had ever rose between your hearts was the long time he was away to film Percy Jackson. You two had never spent time away from eachother, opting to go to eachother’s family holidays and even beg to be put in the same classes at school.

Walker having to leave and fly to Canada was tougher than either of you had anticipated. Separation anxiety was definitely a word thrown around by your friends and family, and you missed him dearly. Though, Walker missed you even more.

The separation only clarified Walker’s feelings for you. He was in love with you. He always had been forever but he buried it deep inside, classing it as platonic admiration instead of admitting that he was head over heels and had been for years.

But it was hard to escape feelings that were so all-consuming.

When filming season one wrapped up, the two of you spent all your time together. Giving Walker tons of photos and memories to store with him while he was back in Vancouver for season two.

That is how he started ‘soft launching’ you on his instagram. The first post started with a chaos of questions. Many from you.

His cast members had caught on to his infatuation and only ever commented with disappointed faces to his delusional posts but you were left in the dark.

You didn’t like the gnawing feeling in your gut every time you viewed Walker’s social media. Who was this girl who had him this down bad? Why wouldn’t he tell you? Why wasn’t it you?

You were truly so oblivious that you somehow didn’t even realise that the girl in the photos were you.

It wasn’t until you saw a Tiktok that annotated all of his posts that it clicked .

It shows multiple pieces of evidence that the mystery girl was you. A hoodie the girl was wearing that was on your account as well. A side by side photo that made it look a helluva lot like you. A coffee cup he posted that had your custom order on it.

Suddenly it was viral and everyone thought it was you. Fans of him flooded your DM’s you were tagged in several comments and your friends and his alike were going crazy.

ACCEPT FACETIME FROM SCOOBY🐕

YES OR NO

You don’t even let him say hello before you burst out, “It’s me! I’m the soft launch?!”

“What happened to hello?” He teased, a smirk smugger than you had ever seen on his face.

You rolled your eyes, narrowing your eyes at your best friend. “Hello Walker William Scobell. Now tell me why everyone is telling me that the girl in all those photos was me.”

“Yes sweetheart, it was you the whole time.” He chuckled, dragging a hand down his jaw, “It’s always been you. You’re just oblivious.”

“Hey excuse you. I am not oblivious,” You retorted.

Walker shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “I mean… C’mon who else could it be y/n?”

You can only stare at him, jaw dropped and unable to breathe. Because now that you really think about it, who else could it be. The captions, the hoodies, the messages, the way he had been captured multiple times looking at you like you hung the stars.

You let out a shaky breath, your voice softer now, “So you weren’t just playing the internet.”

His smirk drops, and it is replaced by such a sincerity in his eyes that it takes your breath away. “No silly, I was playing you.”

A laugh bubbles out of your throat but you can’t formulate any word in your head but; oh! The way he’s looking at you right now is like he’s already won.

Walker raises a brow “So… did it work?”

“Did what work?” You question quietly, swallowing forcefully.

His voice goes unbelievably soft, the tone he uses when you’ve just slept over and he’s tenderly waking you up. “Soft launching myself to you.”

Tbe silence stretches and your heart beats at a speed that doctors wouldn’t approve of.

Walker watches you through the screen, ever so patient.

You take a shaky breath “So… you’re saying this whole time… you’ve liked me?” The last two words come out as an uncertain squeak. Like you’re not too sure you want him to hear.

Walker blinks “Mhm, I always have.”

Your stomach flips “And the playlist?”

“Just me trying to tell you I love you through our favourite songs.”

You exhale sharply , your eyes fluttering closed “Oh my god.”

Walker leans closer to the screen, a smile on his lips “Childhood friends falling in love. What a concept.”

Your heart malfunctions. And you hate how easily he’s saying it like he hadn’t just turned your world upside down.

You shake your head, laughing under your breath “You’re unbelievable.”

He grins “You love it.”

You smile because you do. You really, really do.

So you finally voice it, your words hardly a whisper “Yeah I do.”

Walker freezes, the teasing smile fades. His eyes flicker between yours like he has to know you’re being serious, waiting for you to take it back. “…You do?”

You nod. There’s no going back now. “Yeah Walker I really do.”

His face breaks into the biggest, dopiest smile you’ve ever seen.

But before you can even process it he hangs up.

“What the hell,” You mutter.

Then your phone buzzes “Omw. Open the door.”

Your stomach drops and then confusion kicks in. Isn’t he meant to be in Canada right now?

Nonetheless, you sprint to the mirror, fixing your disheveled appearance from running yoir hands repeatedly through your hair when you found out. Two seconds later there’s a knock on the door.

And when you open it, Walker’s right there.

Grinning. Out of breath. Eyes shining with everything that he wanted to say.

And then? He says none of it.

He just cups your cheeks with a quick, quiet “Can I please?”

As soon as you nod, he presses his lips to yours.

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[lila-lou]

✨Nanny Call - Pt. 1/2✨

Summary: You weren’t expecting much when Jared Padalecki called. And definitely not to end up living with Jensen Ackles and his three chaos-loving kids. But now you’re in deeper than you planned, balancing bedtime battles and forbidden tension with a man you were never supposed to want.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 5944

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

You weren’t expecting much when Jared Padalecki called. Maybe a short congratulatory text for graduating college. What you didn’t expect was to be thrown headfirst into the life of Jensen Ackles.

“I swear, you’d be perfect for this”, Jared had said over the phone, voice light but insistent. “Jensen’s drowning a little. He’s got the kids alone for the next few months, and the show’s shooting schedule is brutal. He needs someone he can trust. And you’re great with kids”.

You hesitated. Sure, you loved kids. And sure, you’d babysat a lot during high school. But Jensen Ackles? That was a whole different universe. You’d grown up hearing about him through your older brother, one of Jared’s longtime friends, and of course, you’d seen Supernatural. He was larger than life. A celebrity. A dad.

But somehow, Jared talked you into it. You told yourself it was just temporary. Just until Jensen got his footing or found a full-time nanny. No pressure.

The first meeting was at Jensen’s temporary place in Vancouver, where he’d be staying for the next few months while filming season sixteen of Supernatural. It was tucked into a quiet neighborhood just outside the city, a rental that looked nice enough from the outside, but already showed signs of life within. Toys peeked out from behind the curtains, and a little pair of sneakers sat abandoned on the porch.

You tugged at your sweater as you walked up the steps, heart thudding harder than you liked to admit. This wasn’t just a gig, it was Jensen Ackles. And his kids.

Before you could knock, the door swung open, and there he was.

Jensen looked… exhausted. Comfortable, though. Barefoot, in joggers and a faded Texas Rangers t-shirt, his hair still damp from a rushed shower. He leaned against the doorframe like he'd forgotten how to stand still, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and mild regret.

“You’re Y/N?”, he asked, eyebrows raising slightly as he gave you a once-over.

You nodded, offering a smile that felt steadier than you expected. “Yep. Jared sent me”.

He exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh, but close. “Yeah. He did”.

There was a pause, just long enough to be uncomfortable. You weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t the faint frown that tugged at the corner of his mouth, or the way he looked past you like he was still debating something.

“I gotta be honest”, he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I wasn’t really sold on this”.

You blinked. “Oh”.

“It’s nothing personal. You’re just…”. He motioned vaguely, trying to find a polite word. “Young”.

You bit your tongue to keep from saying something defensive. Because yeah, you were young. Fresh out of college. But you weren’t stupid. And you weren’t unqualified.

“And inexperienced”, he added, just twisting the knife a little deeper.

You shifted your weight and crossed your arms, lifting a brow. “I worked with kids through all of college. Daycares, summer camps, tutoring, kind of the whole shebang”.

He nodded slowly, but his eyes still held that wary edge. “Jared said you were great. He practically wouldn’t shut up about it. Said you were mature. Reliable. Said you’d be good for them”.

“And you don’t believe him?”.

“I believe Jared believes it”, he said. “But I’ve got three kids, a full-time shooting schedule, and not a lot of margin for error. I just…”. He trailed off, sighing again. “I need help. I just don’t know if this is the right kind”.

You let the silence settle for a beat before speaking. “Look. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But give me one day. Let me show you I’m not just some college kid who can’t tell a diaper from a juice box”.

That finally cracked something in him, a smile, small and dry, but genuine.

“Alright”, he said. “One day”.

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “But if one of them ends up on the roof again, it’s on you”.

You blinked. “Again?”.

But he was already stepping aside to let you in, muttering, “You’ll see”.

You’d barely stepped into the living room when a voice floated down the hallway, sharp and matter-of-fact.

“Dad. Zeppelin’s drinking maple syrup. Again”.

Jensen closed his eyes like this was a recurring battle he had long since lost. “JJ”, he called back, “can you grab it from him before he chugs the whole bottle?”.

“I’m eleven, not a miracle worker”, she replied, though you could hear her footsteps heading toward the kitchen anyway.

A few seconds later, she appeared, tall for her age and already carrying herself with the weariness of someone twice it. Her long hair was pulled back into a slightly lopsided ponytail, and she eyed you with a quiet, measuring gaze as she handed Jensen a half-empty syrup bottle.

“That’s JJ”, he said. “My little general”.

JJ gave a small shrug. “Hi”. Then, to you, flatly: “Are you the new sitter or just here for the interview?”.

“Guess we’ll see by the end of the day”, you answered with a smile.

JJ’s eyes narrowed slightly, like she was deciding whether to like you or not. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t walk away either, which felt like a tiny win.

Then came the thundering footsteps, real ones this time. Zeppelin burst around the corner, shirt on backwards, sockless, and grinning like he’d just committed a heist and gotten away with it.

“Hi! Are you the new mom?”.

“Zepp!”, Jensen’s voice cracked in disbelief. “No—no one is the new mom”.

Zeppelin blinked at you. “Oh. Okay. Are you gonna live here?”.

“I’m just the babysitter… maybe”, you said quickly, kneeling down to his eye level. “But thanks for the enthusiasm”.

Zepp nodded, then turned around and yelled, “Arrow! She’s not the new mom! You owe me five bucks!”.

Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose.

Just as Zeppelin’s yell echoed through the house, Arrow appeared like a storm in mid-formation, arms flailing, one sock halfway off, and a suspicious smear of glitter across her cheek. Her eyes locked on you like a hawk spotting prey.

“You’re the babysitter?”, she asked, marching right up to you. “You look like a teenager”.

“Technically not anymore”, you said, trying not to laugh.

“Do you know how to cook? Because Dad burns everything”.

“Hey!”, Jensen called from the kitchen. “I make great grilled cheese”.

“You burned it twice last week!”, Arrow shouted back. “The toaster still smells like smoke and sadness!”.

You glanced at Jensen, who was muttering to himself as he refilled his coffee. He looked seconds away from either laughing or walking directly into traffic.

Arrow turned back to you, eyes narrowed. “Do you let kids swear?”.

“Depends”, you said slowly. “What kind of swearing are we talking?”.

She beamed. “Like, ass and crap, but also sometimes Zeppelin says shit when he’s mad and I like it”.

Zepp gasped from across the room, clutching his chest like she’d betrayed him.

Jensen groaned. “Arrow…”.

“I didn’t say I said it. I appreciate the intensity”.

You bit your lip, struggling not to break. “Appreciated intensity. Got it”.

Arrow tilted her head. “Are you cool? Because if you’re not cool, we can tell. JJ’s like, a people scanner. And Zeppelin’s too dumb to lie, so he always ruins it anyway”.

“Hey!”, Zepp protested.

“I’m cool”, you said, smiling. “But I’m also not afraid to put toys in timeout”.

Arrow’s eyes lit up. “You’re bluffing”.

“Wanna bet?”.

She stared at you. You stared right back.

Jensen, now watching with a fresh mug of coffee, leaned against the counter and said under his breath, “That’s the face she makes right before she sets something on fire”.

You believed him.

After a moment, Arrow broke first. She huffed, muttered something under her breath that might have been another swear word, then plopped down cross-legged in the middle of the floor.

“She likes you”, JJ said quietly beside you, like she was admitting to something grudgingly earned.

“Yeah?”, you asked, a little surprised.

JJ nodded. “She didn’t bite you”.

“That’s… comforting”.

Zeppelin came over and leaned against your side like he’d known you forever. “I bit a sub once. Got kicked out of class. They said it wasn’t ‘normal behavior’”.

Arrow grinned. “It was funny though”.

Jensen let out a long, slow breath. “So. Welcome to the circus”.

You looked around—Arrow whispering to her bunny, JJ pretending not to smile, Zeppelin braiding the fringe of your sweater like it was a sacred mission—and somehow, it already felt like you belonged.

“Thanks”, you said, looking back at Jensen with a smirk. “I’ve always wanted front-row seats”.

He shook his head, grinning despite himself. “Let’s see how you feel after bedtime”.

-

The house had finally gone still.

It had taken a full hour of negotiations, two bedtime stories, one lost toothbrush, and a dramatic meltdown over mismatched pajama pants, but the whirlwind trio was finally asleep, or at least quiet enough to fool you. You stood in the hallway for a moment, just breathing in the silence like it was oxygen.

Then you padded into the kitchen to find Jensen already there, leaning against the counter with the kind of posture that only came after surviving battle. His shoulders had relaxed, though, and when he looked up and saw you, something in his expression softened even more.

“You’re still here”, he said, reaching into the cabinet above him.

“Barely”, you said with a smile, sinking into one of the barstools. “I feel like I just ran a marathon. Blindfolded. In a thunderstorm. While carrying three feral raccoons”.

Jensen chuckled, pulling down two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey. “Then you had the full experience”.

He poured a generous splash into each glass and handed one to you. The rim felt cool in your hand, the amber liquid catching the soft glow of the under-cabinet lights.

“To surviving bedtime”, he said, raising his glass.

You clinked yours against his. “And to not getting bitten”.

He smirked. “A rare first-day win”.

You took a sip, smooth, smoky, warm going down. The kind of drink meant for winding down, not winding up. You let the silence stretch for a moment, comfortable now, not awkward like earlier.

“They’re great kids”, you said eventually. “Really. Just… a lot”.

Jensen nodded, staring into his glass. “Yeah. They didn’t use to be this… wound up. Not all the time. But things are different now. They know it, even when I try to keep things normal”.

You didn’t say anything right away. You just let him speak.

“Danneel and I, we tried. We really did”, he continued. “But when it got bad, we agreed not to let the kids be in the middle of it. So now we’re doing this thing—few months with me, then they go to her. It’s fair. But it doesn’t mean it’s easy”.

His voice was quiet, heavy in a way that made you feel like he wasn’t used to talking about this. Or maybe just not used to talking to someone who wasn’t already in his life.

-

Six weeks in, and you were convinced you’d aged at least a decade.

You hadn’t meant to become a live-in babysitter. It had started with a few overnights when Jensen’s call times stretched too late or started too early. Then one night turned into three. Then the guestroom slowly became yours—your phone charger on the nightstand, your sneakers by the door, your hoodie borrowed by JJ more times than you could count.

The kids had settled into the rhythm of you. Breakfast with you. School drop-offs. After-dinner dance parties. Bedtime battles that ended with Arrow curled in your lap, Zeppelin sleep-talking nonsense, and JJ quietly laying her head on your shoulder in the dark, just for a moment, before pretending she hadn’t.

But Jensen? They barely saw him.

The show was in full swing. Night shoots. Early calls. Script changes. You’d catch him in the mornings sometimes, half-awake and nursing a third cup of coffee while tugging on a hoodie and whispering goodbye to a sleeping Arrow. Or late at night, when you were cleaning up Lego landmines and found him sitting on the couch, too tired to even shower.

Tonight was one of those nights. It was nearly midnight when the front door finally creaked open.

You were curled into the corner of the couch, wrapped in the worn blanket Arrow insisted you “borrow forever”, the TV playing something you weren’t really watching. You’d made popcorn an hour ago and hadn’t touched it. Sleep felt impossible, like your mind refused to power down with so much of your heart stretched across a house that wasn’t technically yours.

Jensen stepped inside and paused, keys still in hand, like he was surprised to see the lights still on. His eyes found yours almost immediately.

“You’re up”, he said quietly, his voice rough around the edges from another fourteen-hour day.

You gave him a tired smile. “Couldn’t sleep”.

He didn’t answer right away. Just slipped his boots off and crossed the living room in socked feet, collapsing into the armchair across from you with a low groan. His head fell back, and he let out a long breath, one that sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for hours.

“Rough night?”, you asked.

He cracked an eye open. “Rough week”.

You nodded, tucking your legs underneath you. “The twins had a glitter explosion in the bathroom. I think Arrow tried to make soap out of toothpaste and hand sanitizer”.

He sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. “At least she’s creative”.

“She also called her teacher a ‘dictator in skinny jeans’”.

Jensen choked on a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Geez”.

“I didn’t even punish her. I was too impressed”.

His smile faded slowly as he looked at you—really looked at you—and something in his expression shifted. A weight, maybe. Or a recognition.

You would’ve been lying if you said you weren’t attracted to him.

Of course you were. How could you not be? Jensen was Jensen. He was rugged and quietly kind, his tired eyes somehow still full of fire, and he carried himself with the weight of someone who loved too deeply and didn’t know how to put that love down, even when it hurt.

But attraction was dangerous. Especially here. Especially now.

This wasn’t the life you’d imagined for yourself. Playing second mom at twenty-something, falling asleep in a guest room that felt more like your own with every passing night, building a routine around three kids and a man who barely had time to breathe—this wasn’t what you had planned.

So you kept your distance. You held the line. Even if that line was getting harder and harder to see.

You sighed and rose from the couch, brushing the blanket off as you stretched. “I’ll heat something up. You probably haven’t eaten since noon”.

Your sleep shorts—tiny and soft and comfortable—rode up a little too high as you stood, and you reached to tug them down, not thinking much of it, until you turned, just a glance over your shoulder. And caught him.

Jensen’s eyes were locked on you. Not subtly. Not in passing. No flick of a gaze quickly averted. He was staring. Right at your ass.

For a second, he didn’t even seem to realize he’d been caught, his jaw slightly tight, one hand still resting on his knee. It was instinctual. Unfiltered. And when your eyes met his, something passed between you so fast and sharp it left the air between you charged like static after a storm.

His mouth parted just slightly. Your breath caught.

Then, slowly, his eyes dragged up to yours and he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look embarrassed. He didn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. He held your gaze. There was heat there. Interest. Hunger he wasn’t saying out loud.

You swallowed, pulse thudding in your ears. The room suddenly felt a few degrees warmer, like the silence itself had turned into something alive and watchful.

“I—uh—”, you said, breaking eye contact as you turned fully to the kitchen. “Pasta. Right. Shouldn’t take long”.

You busied yourself with the microwave, but your fingers fumbled more than once, and you hated the way your hands shook just slightly as you hit the buttons. You didn’t even know what you were flustered by more, being caught looking back at him, or the fact that part of you liked the way he’d looked at you.

The microwave hummed to life behind you. You kept your eyes down, heart racing.

Then his voice—low, measured—cut through the silence. “I’m sorry”.

You froze, turning to face him again. “For what?”, you asked.

Jensen rubbed a hand across his jaw, rough with a day’s worth of stubble. He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he stared down at the plate you’d just handed him like it held some kind of moral compass.

“For… ”, he muttered. “The staring. It’s been a long night. Hell, it’s been a long year. And I haven’t…”. He trailed off, then shook his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve even looked at someone like that. It wasn’t appropriate. You work here. You take care of my kids. You’re younger. Too young”.

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossed loosely, not defensive, just… trying to hold something inside you still.

“I didn’t mind”, you said quietly.

That made him look up.

“I mean…”, you hesitated, cheeks burning, forcing yourself to keep your voice even. “I noticed. Obviously. But I didn’t mind. It’s not like you were being gross about it. You just… looked. And honestly? You kind of caught me off guard”.

His brow furrowed, a question behind his eyes.

You gave a small, half-shy shrug. “I didn’t think you found me attractive”.

Jensen’s eyes darkened, the disbelief flickering behind them.

“Until a few minutes ago”, you added, voice softer now. “And look, I get it. You’re dealing with a lot. You have the kids, the show, the divorce still hanging in the air. But… I’m not naive, Jensen”.

He sat back slightly, his fork untouched, giving you his full attention now.

“I’m not looking to complicate your life… I’m not asking for anything serious”. You paused, then tilted your head slightly, meeting his eyes with quiet certainty. “But… if you want to blow off some steam, I’m not saying no”.

The words hung in the air like smoke, bold and unfiltered, the kind of honesty Jensen had come to expect from you. That was one of the things he liked most, how you never danced around your truth. No games. No pretending. Just you, direct and grounded, even when the stakes were quietly rising around both of you. But right now…

Jensen’s jaw tightened, his breath a little shallower now. He wasn’t expecting you to make it that easy. Or that real.

Because the truth? He’d been thinking about you. More than he should have. At first, it was small, quiet admiration. The way you moved through the house like you’d always belonged. The way you soothed the kids without forcing it, met chaos with calm, and met his exhaustion with understanding. It was comforting. Familiar.

Then it shifted.

It started the night you came into the kitchen in one of his t-shirts and bare legs and didn’t even notice the way his brain short-circuited. The night you laughed at something stupid he’d said and threw your head back and looked at him like he was someone worth laughing with.

It turned into late-night thoughts when he was too tired to sleep. Quiet, unspoken fantasies in the shower. Wondering what your skin felt like under those shorts. What your mouth would taste like if he just let go. It wasn’t just attraction. It was desire. Gnawing, growing. Dangerous.

And now? Now you were standing in front of him saying it out loud. Jensen let out a slow breath, his eyes tracing you like he couldn’t help himself. But even as his hand hovered near your waist—so close, so damn close—he didn’t touch you. Not yet.

His jaw clenched, and you could practically see the war going on behind his eyes.

“Damn it”, he muttered under his breath, stepping back just enough to break the moment, but not far enough to escape it. “This is such a bad idea”.

You stayed where you were, heart thudding hard, lips parted. “Because I work here?”.

He looked up, the corner of his mouth twitching with something like guilt. “Because you live here. Because you’re wrapped up in all of it—me, the kids, the mess I’m barely managing. I’ve already blurred so many lines, I don’t even know what’s safe anymore”.

You nodded, trying to steady your voice even as your body buzzed from the almost of it all. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Jensen. I’m just saying you don’t have to be alone tonight”.

“I should be alone”, he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like it might shake sense into him. “Because if I start this with you—even if it’s just physical—it won’t be simple. Nothing in my life ever is”.

You gave him a small, understanding smile. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve lived with you six weeks”.

That shut him up for a moment.

You stepped a little closer now, careful but deliberate. “I’m not fragile, Jensen. I knew what I was walking into. And I know this is messy. But you’ve been trying so hard to do the right thing, you’re forgetting you’re allowed to want something for you”.

Jensen was quiet, but his eyes burned into yours like he was holding onto your words, trying to find the flaw in them and failing. The conflict in his expression softened, just slightly—like the fight in him was losing ground to something warmer, deeper. Need.

“And you’re okay with this being just…”, he began, but the words trailed off.

You nodded. “Just physical. I’m not asking for more than that”.

He searched your face for a long moment, and you let him. You didn’t flinch or backtrack. You let him see the certainty in you, the steadiness, the want.

And something in him cracked.

His hand found your waist again, more confident this time. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of your shirt, grounding and possessive all at once. You sucked in a breath, and before you could say anything else, he dipped his head and kissed you—really kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant anymore. It was heat, and pressure, and pent-up hunger finally breaking loose.

You answered it with equal fire, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt, dragging it up as his mouth moved against yours like he couldn’t get enough. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your thighs, your lower back, like he was mapping the parts of you he’d only thought about before tonight. You tugged at his shirt until he broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head and toss it to the floor.

The moment his skin met yours, it got harder to breathe.

He lifted you effortlessly onto the counter again, your legs parting to let him step between them like he belonged there. Like he knew he did. Your fingers tangled in his hair as his mouth dropped to your neck, his stubble scraping gently against your skin, sending sparks down your spine.

You gasped when his teeth grazed your collarbone, a shiver running down your spine. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to the moment, hot and real and finally.

Jensen pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours as his chest rose and fell against yours.

“no one can know about this”, he murmured, his voice gravel and restraint.

You looked up at him through heavy lashes, breathless but still steady. “I figured”.

“I mean it”, he said more firmly, like he needed to say it before he lost all grip on logic. “Not the kids. Not Jared. Not a soul. This doesn’t leave this room”.

You smirked, tugging gently at the back of his hair, leaning in just close enough that your lips almost brushed his again. “Relax, I’m not planning to live-stream it”.

Jensen exhaled a half-laugh, half-groan.

You tilted your head, grin teasing, voice a little breathy but still playful. “Besides… I’ve already been working here six weeks. I know most of your dirty little secrets already”.

That made his eyes narrow, curious and amused, suspicious in that half-scolding dad way he did with the kids, but a whole lot darker when it was directed at you.

“Like?”, he challenged.

You let your nails drag lightly down his chest, just to feel the way he tensed under your touch. “Well”, you drawled, like you were ticking off items on a mental list, “I know you only ever jerk off in the shower. And only at night. After the kids are asleep. Like clockwork”.

His mouth dropped open just slightly, stunned into silence.

You leaned in, voice near his ear now, wicked and warm. “You’re quiet, but not that quiet. The pipes in this house are ancient. And sometimes I’m doing laundry late”.

He stared at you, deadpan for a beat. Then shook his head slowly, grinning in disbelief. “You are such a little brat”.

You gave him your most innocent look. “You hired me”.

“I must’ve been out of my goddamn mind”.

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’re definitely out of your clothes”.

He groaned, then pulled you in harder, his hands gripping your thighs as he pressed you back against the counter. “Say it again”, he growled, low and amused and barely holding back.

“What?”, you teased, breath catching.

“That you don’t want anything serious”.

You bit your lip, eyes dancing. “Just something to blow off steam… remember?”.

Jensen's mouth was still on yours when his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you off the counter in one smooth—but slightly breathless—motion. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, arms looping around his neck as he steadied you against him.

You smiled against his lips, the kiss breaking just long enough to whisper, “You sure you’ve got me?”.

He let out a low grunt, adjusting his grip with a quiet, “Barely”.

You laughed, nuzzling against his jaw. “Wow. All that muscle and you're winded already?”.

“I just filmed fight scenes for twelve hours”, he muttered, huffing slightly as he started down the hallway with you clinging to him. “Cut me some slack”.

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “I don’t know… you were acting like such a big, strong guy back there in the kitchen”.

He gave you a pointed look, but didn’t stop. “You’re lucky I like mouthy”.

“I know you like mouthy”, you whispered near his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “You wouldn’t be hauling me to your bedroom right now if you didn’t”.

Jensen huffed a laugh—half aroused, half exasperated—as he kicked open his door with his foot and stumbled just slightly when the edge of the bed bumped his shin.

“You okay there, old man?”, you teased, one brow lifting as he finally dropped you onto the mattress with a soft thud.

“You’re enjoying this way too much”.

You stretched out beneath him, legs still bent around his hips, your shirt riding up dangerously high. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just enjoying watching you work for it”.

He braced himself over you, staring down with a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, his hair slightly tousled and his chest rising and falling faster than before.

“You keep running that mouth”, he said, voice low and thick with warning, “and I’m not gonna be so nice”.

You tilted your head, smirking back. “Good”.

And that was all it took.

He leaned down again, and this time the kiss was rougher, more urgent. The heat between you burning past the banter, curling into something heady and consuming as you finally gave into everything you’d both been holding back.

Jensen was shirtless above you, skin warm and solid, every muscle under your palms tensing with anticipation. You were still fully clothed, your shirt rumpled from where he’d gripped your waist.

Then his hand slipped lower. Beneath the waistband of your panties.

And when his fingers found just how soaked you already were, he pulled back from the kiss with a low, guttural groan, rough and broken, like the sound had been ripped from his throat.

“Fuck”, he muttered against your neck, his breath hot, his voice wrecked. “You’re—fuck, you’re soaked”.

You couldn’t even find words, you just arched into him slightly, pulse thundering in your ears, your fingers curling in the back of his hair as his thumb teased a little more pressure.

Just then, somewhere down the hallway a door had shut. Hard. Both of you froze

Your entire body went rigid beneath him as your eyes snapped open. Jensen’s face hovered above yours, blinking like his brain was sprinting to catch up with reality.

Then he sat up fast, his hand disappearing from your waistband like he’d been burned.

“Shit”, he breathed. “Shit. That was a bedroom door”.

“Kid?”, you whispered, sitting up, your heart racing now for a whole new reason.

He was already standing, grabbing his t-shirt off the floor and yanking it over his head while padding to the bedroom door. He pressed his ear to it for a second, then opened it slowly, peeking out into the dark hallway.

Nothing.

He turned back to you, his voice low and urgent. “Stay here”.

You nodded, your hands tugging your panties back into place as the moment dissolved into adrenaline. You could still feel the ghost of his touch—warm and slow and so close—and now it clashed violently with the sudden fear of a kid standing in a hallway… or worse, hearing something they shouldn’t have.

You listened from the bed, heart still racing, as Jensen’s footsteps padded down the hallway. The house had gone quiet, but not for long. You heard the creak of a door, followed by a soft murmur, Jensen’s voice, low and tired.

Then, faint and groggy: “Dad?”.

You sat up straighter, instinctively still, every nerve in your body on edge, not from fear now, but anticipation. The heat of what had nearly happened still pulsed in your skin, but reality was pulling everything else into sharp focus.

“It’s okay, Zepp”, Jensen said softly. “Did you have a nightmare?”.

There was a rustle, a sleepy sniffle. “Yeah. It was about the spiders again. They were on the ceiling and one fell on Arrow and she turned into one and started hissing at me”.

You smiled despite yourself, rubbing your hand over your face.

Then came Zeppelin’s quiet plea: “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”.

A pause.

You could feel the hesitation in Jensen’s silence, even from the hallway. Then a low sigh, weary but gentle.

“Yeah, bud. Come on”.

You climbed off the bed, heart still thudding in your chest, and tugged your clothes back into place. You barely had time to smooth your hair before Jensen returned, carrying Zeppelin, arms and legs dangling awkwardly as he did his best not to drop the very solid, very eight-year-old boy in his arms.

It clearly wasn’t effortless.

“Damn buddy”, Jensen muttered under his breath as he nudged the door open with his foot. “You gotta stop growing”.

Zeppelin’s head rested on his dad’s shoulder, blinking blearily at you through one half-open eye before mumbling, “Hey”.

“Hey, bud”, you whispered, offering him a soft smile.

Jensen eased him onto the bed with a quiet groan, adjusting the blanket around him as Zeppelin immediately curled toward the pillow, grabbing it like it might float away without him.

You stayed quiet, stepping back to give them space, the earlier fire now buried under layers of real life.

Jensen lingered for a moment, watching his son’s breathing even out. Then he slowly turned back to you, his expression caught somewhere between frustration and fondness, the weight of the night pressing heavily between you.

“I know”, you said gently. “It’s fine. I should go anyway”.

He didn’t argue. Just nodded, slowly.

You gave him a faint, tired smile—one that said we’ll talk later without actually promising anything—and then you turned, stepping lightly toward the door.

Your feet were almost silent on the hardwood, but the room still felt thick with sound. With breath. With everything left unsaid.

Zeppelin had already drifted off, his soft snoring the only noise as you slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind you with a gentle click.

The second it shut, your shoulders sagged.

Your body was still humming, still burning from the weight of his hands on your skin, the heat of his mouth on yours. But it had faded now, muted by guilt, by timing, by the steady presence of a scared little boy who needed comfort more than you needed release.

You walked down the hall, barefoot and half-dazed, the house quiet in that eerie, late-night way. The kind of quiet that comes after tension, not peace. You opened the door to your guest room and stepped inside, the cool air making you shiver now that everything had settled.

You dropped onto the bed, not even bothering with a change of clothes. The sheets still smelled like your shampoo and the lavender laundry detergent Arrow insisted on helping you pick out at the store. You stared at the ceiling for a while, the shadows from the window playing across the drywall like slow-moving ghosts.

You could still feel the way Jensen had looked at you. Still hear his groan when he touched you. Still feel the sharp stop in your chest the second that door slammed, and everything real rushed in to remind you, this wasn’t a fantasy. This was his life. And now, it was yours too. In some unspoken way.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 2

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[puckinghischier]

i’m having soft quinn thoughts today and i have to shout them from the rooftops so everyone else can suffer with me.

but i absolutely cannot stop thinking about how quinn would always want to spend time with you, but feel guilty for how occupied he is during the season. every second of downtime he has is spent watching game film in your living room, studying tactics and plays. not that you ever complain. you’re content simply being in the same room as him, not taking for granted any amount of time you can be in his presence.

quinn’s attention is always half on you, no matter how hard he tries to focus. he steals more glances at you than he cares to admit, worried that one day you’ll get sick of sitting in silence while hockey occupies the space between you. but you never do. you keep yourself busy scrolling through your phone or reading the most recent book he bought you, never uttering a complaint. he’s tuned in to every fidget or movement you make, not wanting you to remove your always cold feet from under his warm legs to occupy yourself with something—or rather someone—better.

it surprises him that you never do. you never utter a word, not wanting to disrupt his work. every so often he’ll catch you looking back at him during one of his ‘quick’ glances, absorbing the warm smile you give him. sometimes you’ll quietly ask him if he wants anything from the kitchen when you stand to go fill up your water cup, but seem content to simply sit there with him as he mumbles to himself, jotting down notes as he watches.

tonight, he can’t help but notice—during his million and one glances at you—that your eyes are glued to the tv. your phone is laying, locked, in your lap, eyes following the puck as it’s shuffled across both screens from player to player. your body’s subtle reactions to the game aren’t lost on him either. the twitch of your foot anytime someone shoots the puck, the raise of your brow when a player on either team scores, the hitch in your breath anytime the two teams start to fight.

you can feel his eyes on you more than usual tonight, his (not so) subtle glances lingering longer than normal. you turn your head to meet his gaze, brows furrowed and a puzzled look on his face.

“what?” you whisper, flitting your eyes between his own and the tv, not wanting to miss any important moments.

“are you watching the game?” he looks at you like you have three heads.

you giggle in response, amused at his expression and surprised tone of his voice. “yeah, kinda. don’t really know what’s happening, though, if i’m honest.”

there was never a home game of quinn’s you missed. you went to support him every time you could, and loved seeing him in his element. but you can’t even pretend to understand the sport past each player wanting to get the puck into the opposing net. you didn’t understand the positions, the penalties, or anything surrounding the ins and outs of professional hockey. you never watched it growing up, and probably still wouldn’t watch it if you weren’t dating the captain of your new city’s team.

you had moved to vancouver for work, and knew nothing of the prominent hockey culture before you arrived. the sports presence buzzed all around you as you figured out the ins and outs of your new home, but it had no place in your daily routine. that is, until you hit it off with this insanely attractive stranger that seemed to frequent the same coffee shop as you. you accidentally cut him in line one day, offering to pay for his coffee to make up for it, but he paid for yours instead. a ‘pay it forward’ war was started between the two of you until he was stood waiting at the door with your usual order one morning, requesting more than just a name and the fact you drank a large, vanilla iced coffee with chocolate syrup lining the cup every morning.

when he realized you were likely the only person in the city he now calls home that doesn’t know who he is, it only piqued his interest in the pretty coffee shop stranger further. the morning meetings at the shop turned into an exchange of numbers, which developed into him meeting you for lunch on your break when he was in town, that then escalated into dinner dates and spontaneous outings, and now it’s found its permanence in you moving in with him a few months ago.

you were…indifferent, when he revealed to you who he was and what all his career entailed, uttering out a simple “oh! that’s cool! makes sense why you’re always at the gym, now” later explaining that you thought he was just really into fitness and maybe worked as a personal trainer or some equivalent. when he first invited you to games he tried to tell you a little bit about the rules, but assumed you’d catch on as you watched (hopefully) more and more of his sport. you always told him how much you enjoyed watching him in his element, but never asked many questions past if the other team was supposed to be good or not. he assumed you understood enough to keep up, knowing how intelligent and observant you are, but he tried to refrain from talking about work too much with you. when he’s with you, he wants to be present with you, not hockey.

which is why he feels so guilty at times like this, watching film while you’re sitting next to him. it feels like you’re two people who happen to be in the same room, completely in your own worlds. until tonight.

“you…never watch the games with me. you always have a book or something,” he reaches over to pause the game, still a little shocked.

you shrug at him. “didn’t feel like reading tonight. not really anything new on my socials, either. so i figured i’d just watch with you for once.”

“and you weren’t gonna say anything?”

this earns a real laugh out of you, not understanding why this is such a big shock for him. it’s not like you’ve ever told him you don’t like hockey. you just have never really cared to watch it if isn’t the one playing. but you’ve been wanting to learn more about it recently, tired of not being able to participate in the games like the other women do when they’re watching their husband or boyfriend play.

“why would i? you’re trying to work, i’m just trying to learn a little bit,” you reply, the hint of a laugh on each word as you say it.

quinn just blinks at you, trying not to get his hopes up at your expression, not knowing just how far you want to go with your quest for knowledge.

“since when do you want to learn about hockey? why now?” he questions, trying not to sound accusatory or snarky, but genuinely curious as to what you’ll answer.

“i’ve always wanted to learn, ever since that first game i went to, but you don’t seem to like to talk about it outside of the rink, so i don’t really ask much. me and google have become very good friends as of late,” you shrug out another answer for him. “plus, when you’re watching games at night like this, i don’t want to keep talking and asking a million questions while you’re trying to work, so i force myself not to watch to keep from distracting you.”

quinn sits a little straighter, now worried he’s made it seem like hockey is this forbidden subject between the two of you.

“sweetheart, i don’t like talking about hockey outside of the rink because i don’t ever want you to think that’s all we ever talk about, not because we can’t talk about it,” he tries to defend himself, even though there’s no accusation. “if you want to learn about the game, please, ask me questions. i- god, i’d love nothing more than to teach you about it. i hate sitting here in silence every night i’m home, worried you’re going to eventually get pissed at me because all i do during the season is watch old games.”

you grin at his slight panic, endeared by how worried he was about your feelings this whole time, appreciating his intention with the unspoken rule.

“q, i never asked about it because i didn’t want you to be upset because i kept bringing up work when you’re away from it all,” your smile only grows at the fact you were both worried about upsetting the other for no reason at all.

the slight tension in his shoulders fades at your words, relieved that you’re not upset or feel like he made it seem like you had no place in that part of his life.

“alright, well, fire away, then,” he gives you the floor, pressing play so the players on the tv screens move once again, now glancing at you every few seconds to catch any looks of confusion or interest in any particular play or action.

the rest of the night is spent playing and pausing the game over and over again, question after question flying out of your mouth. anything from why the faceoff is from a certain spot on the ice to what a particular penalty looks like is spoken the second the thought enters your brain. quinn takes his time explaining every answer to you, even rewinding and pulling up other examples to make sure you understand what he’s telling you.

at the end of the night he realizes just how much more he caught of the game while answering your questions. there’s several times you picked up on things he never has before. like why one player seems to always place his stick so close to another player’s skates while he’s chasing him. or why a certain goalie seems to lean left everytime instead of right, no matter where the puck is coming from.

he’s been able to add several tells about players in his notes, ready to take them to practice the next morning and change his game to accommodate his opponents habits. and when they win their game a few days later, thanks to your observations during the impromptu hockey 101 class in your living room, he revels in the fact that even though you know so little about his sport and his job, you ended up being one of the biggest parts of their success.

from then on, the nights of sitting in silence while he studies film are nonexistent. every time he brings work home with him, you’re right there next to him, enthralled in whatever opponent’s game they’re facing that week. he loves that you’re so observant, paying attention to the smallest of details someone who’s been playing for years becomes blind to. and he really loves turning you into a bottomless pit of hockey information, seeing how you absorb each ‘lesson’ from day to day.

when they break through their slump, a big part of that accredited to your nights spent questioning quinn, and he sees you start really participating in his games, he can’t help but fall that much deeper in love with you. watching you scream and complain about bad calls with the rest of the fans in rogers arena, and reading your texts to him about your thoughts on his away games you watch on tv, swells his heart in a way he never thought to be possible.

plus, he always knew it was only a matter of time before you fell victim to the hockey atmosphere of the city. no one can really resist the pull of vancouver hockey, especially not when it’s captain has anything to do with it.

[luvhughes43]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ dallas cowboys cheerleaders - year one!

{love and cheers au!} - dcc!reader x quinn hughes

making the team [part one]:

──.☆ quinn films your audition videos for round one and he is HYPING you up in between filming. the boys got steady hands, so not only does his videos come out perfect, but he recorded everything so now you has a bunch of little clips on you phone of quinn cheering you on behind the camera !

"ouu that was a good one, baby", "atta girl! do you wanna run the dance one more time?", "thats the winner right there, babe",

──.☆ you go to the gym together every day while waiting for the final results of your online audition. you'd been in training camp once before when you were 18 (but sadly got cut) so you know the drill but you still want to make sure your prepared for finals !! quinn helps spot you when you weight train, and hes always super encouraging.

──.☆ youre in your childhood bedroom when you find out that you'd made it to finals, the one thats only a 15 minute drive away from the hughes lake house. you wanted to find out by yourself, and so when you opened the dcc portal to see "CONGRATULATIONS!" you immediately burst into tears and after telling your parents youre in your car and driving to him.

making the team [dallas]:

──.☆ he helps you pack your suitcases for dallas like you helped him pack for vancouver two years ago. its bittersweet, and quinns not that much help considering he sucks at folding clothes... but you have a good time sitting in your childhood bedroom while you pack the essentials for finals and hopefully training camp.

──.☆ quinn manages to convince your parents to let him be the one to drive you to the airport to catch your flight to dallas, and so after some uplifting goodbyes, its just the two of you in the car to the airport.

"youre quiet today, is everything okay?" you ask as quinn takes one hand off the wheel and interlaces his fingers with yours. "just thinking," he hums back, eyes steady on the road until you squeeze his hand three times. he glances at you before sighing. "just gonna miss you is all," "you never know, i might not even make it to training camp again," "you will," quinn says seriously. "youre the hardest worker i know, you've got this," its silent for awhile before he continues with a soft, "i love you."

──.☆ at the airport quinn helps sort out your flight details even though you've flown numerous times before (which u suspect is a way for him to delay the inevitable... driving back home alone). he helps checking you in at the front desk and pays for your suitcase when it checks in as overweight, and lingers in his goodbyes. he hugs you extra tight, kisses the top of your hand, and tells you he loves you before you have to walk through security.

making the team [finals]:

──.☆ you had spent the past three months perfecting your solo. your routine started off slow, before the beat kicked up and you hit the iconic dcc style with strength and power in you movements.

──.☆ your field audition went even better, having lots of on field dance experience from your years at umich. you introduced yourself to the judges over the loud speakers, yn ln, 21, from michigan.

──.☆ you had gotten to know the other girls during the wait for the judges to deliberate on who was going to make it into training camp, and you crossed your fingers the entire time you sat in the bleachers waiting for your name and number to be called onto the field.

──.☆ when youre called onto the field time stops - its a familiar feeling that you were desperate to feel again after your first time in training camp. you practically run onto the field, hugging a group of your fellow rookie candidates. when you get back to your hotel the first thing you do is call quinn and tell him the news... it was 1am his time, but he answered on the first ring and he was absolutely beaming for you when you told him the news!

making the team [training camp]:

──.☆ training camp was difficult for your relationship. you were busy during the day running through your dances, practicing relentlessly, and making new friends with (hopefully), your new teammates. meanwhile, quinn was at home in michigan since it was the off season... taking things slow and spending the days under the hot michigan sun with his family in friends.

it was difficult to schedule calls. after you got out of practice it was late and he was hanging out with a new group of his friends that were passing through town and staying at the lake house. you'd run through your dances when u did manage to find the time to call, and you were beyond stressed worrying about your technique, high kicks, and remembering all of the routines that your calls were more stressful than they shouldve been.

──.☆ you had been called into the office once and had a serious discussion about your noticeable anxiety during practices. kelli reads over the judges comments, overwhelmingly positive, and tells you that you needed to work on making yourself look more at ease when doing the choreo. after the office visit your training got more intense, leading to less calls home and more time in the hotel ballroom rewatching practice videos and trying to calm your nerves down before practices.

making the team [team announcement]:

──.☆ the coaches bring you and the remaining 36 girls into the rehearsal room after the last round of cuts the night before. one of the vets on the team, a girl you initially auditioned with 4 years ago, holds onto your arm while another one of your rookie friends grips your hand as charlotte jones say the words that change your life: "congratulations! you guys are the 2021-2022 squad!"

──.☆ immediate tears. your handed your uniform by kelli and once you and the girls run into the locker room for pictures you FaceTime quinn with your uniform in hand... YN printed on the hanger.

"i made the team!" you cry out, one hand clutching your uniform to your chest and the other one holding your phone in front of your face. quinn immediately sits up, his face lighting up as he sees how happy you are. "atta girl!" he calls out, "i'm so proud of you!"

meet the team [family day]:

──.☆ quinn flies out with your family for the dcc meet the team event. youre already dressed in your uniform, makeup done to the nines, and hair perfectly curled when your boyfriend and family walk into the locker room. quinn immediately takes it all in as he eyes you in your fresh uniform as well as your name and picture on your locker.

──.☆ your parents take a million photos of the two of you - quinn lifting you up under the knees in the locker room, posing on the football field, and the list goes on. you teach quinn the entrance to thunderstruck on the field as you challenge him to travel a yard in 4 steps.

──.☆ he sits with yours and your teammates families as you perform thunderstruck for the first time with an audience. your positioned in the back row with the rest of the rookies but quinns attention immediately finds you as you strut onto the field in your new lucchese boots.

──.☆ quinn makes one of the pictures of the two of you on the field as his phone background, and he stares at it the whole flight back to michigan without you.

regular season:

──.☆ you move into an apartment in dallas with one of your fellow rookies, immediately becoming best friends as you navigate the world of dcc together. on top of cheering, youre working full-time so your schedule is insanely busy but quinn understands because hes also training and on the road.

──.☆ quinns not able to come to one of your game day performances until late october, when hes on the road in the states and has a free day to watch you at at&t. he sits in the family section, and hes finally starting to get a taste of the wag lifestyle as he meets the boyfriends and husbands of your fellow teammates.

[dbdphotoproject]

Limbo

📍Orpheum Theatre - 884 Granville St., Vancouver

Frame Edit Courtesy of: @idliketobeatree

Location bts:

The Orpheum has two entrances, with the Granville Street lobby being the filming location for Limbo. The Limbo desk was built between two pillars at the top of the stairs in front of the concession area that resides there. This location offers tours where you get to enjoy some behind-the-scenes areas and local history.

The Granville lobby is only 7.6m (25ft) but uses mirrors and a high ceiling to appear larger- the majority of the theatre was built on Seymour Street (a cheaper location). The Orpheum has 3 resident ghosts and is named after the mythical figure Orpheus, which seems apt.

This location features an antique Wurlitzer organ also named 'Orpheus' which is the only theatre organ in Canada that is still in its original home.

The tour was fast so I also bought a Symphony ticket for a different day and spent the first half of the show in the lobby. It was amazing to take photos while Orff's 'O Fortuna' with full orchestra and choir filled the theatre lobby and really added to the grandeur of the space

Bonus bts:

A mini location from actual Dead Boy Detectives filming bts. Golden Age Collectables and the DC sign has been a staple on Granville Street for many years, and the logo is still in their window display as of February 2025. I'm including it here as it is only a few doors down from The Orpheum Theatre. It's kind of fun to think how two pivotal locations were so close together.

[eretzyisrael]

by Casey Babb

While the outbreak of antisemitism throughout the West has been precipitous in virtually every country—the tenor, violence, and extremist nature of Jew-hatred in Canada has ratcheted up in a way few other places on Earth have experienced.

Consider the following—much of which has gotten scant media attention.

Targeting Jews in Their Backyards

In September 2024 protesters sympathetic to Hamas and the “resistance” jubilantly rallied outside a Jewish retirement facility in Ottawa where several Holocaust survivors live, and where 60 percent of the residents suffer from dementia. Chants of “Go back to Europe” and “We want bullets and missiles!” in Arabic could be heard from their bedrooms.

On Remembrance Day in 2024 at Sir Robert Borden public school in Ottawa, where there is a large Jewish student body, a Palestinian protest song was the only song played during an event to honor Canadian soldiers. When pressed on the choice of music, Principal Aaron Hobbs said it was chosen to add some diversity and inclusion to a day usually about “a white guy who has done something related to the military.”

There have been numerous instances where, in predominantly Jewish neighborhoods, protesters have dressed up like Palestinian terrorists, including the October 7 mastermind Yahya Sinwar.

Hundreds of pro-Palestinian protests surrounded the Holocaust Museum in Montreal in March 2024, where they shouted, “Death to Israel” and “Death to the Jews.”

At a softball game for teenage girls between Canada and Israel as part of last year’s Canada Cup Women’s International Softball Championship in Surrey, British Columbia, protesters stood on the sidelines wearing keffiyehs, holding signs that read “Israel is a genocidal state,” with another equating Israel with Nazi Germany.

In April, a pro-Hamas rally was staged in Winnipeg, just steps from a Jewish community center where children attend school and day care.

During Israel’s official day of remembrance for fallen soldiers and victims of terrorism on April 29, protesters stood in front of Beth Emeth Bais Yehuda Synagogue in Toronto waving Palestinian flags. One man wore a sweater that read “Palestinian Holocaust: Never Again Is Now.”

Earlier this month in Montreal, protesters were filmed chanting “All the Zionists are racists” through megaphones at a school for students ages 4 to 16 with intellectual disabilities and autism-spectrum disorders.

These activities aren’t normal protests. They aren’t in front of the Israeli embassy in Ottawa or the Israeli consulate in Toronto. They aren’t directed toward a specific Israeli policy, law, regulation, or act, and they certainly make no mention of Hamas, Hezbollah, or any other terrorist organization that has brought immense death and destruction upon the Palestinians. These are belligerent acts of aggression designed to intimidate Canada’s Jewish community, to coerce them into silence, and ultimately, to extinguish their public presence.Activists gather during the Stop The Genocide rally in Edmonton, Alberta, on April 13, 2025. (Artur Widak/NurPhoto via AP)

Open Antisemitism and Valorizing Terrorism

In October 2024, men masked with keffiyehs took to the streets of Ottawa, calling for Jews to “go back to Europe”—a phrase they’ve repeatedly used everywhere from flag-raising ceremonies to synagogues to university campuses.

In Vancouver, British Columbia, protesters gathered on the one-year anniversary of the October 7, 2023 massacre and declared “We are Hezbollah, and we are Hamas” while burning the Canadian flag.

Protesters have also gathered outside hospitals, such as Toronto’s Mount Sinai—a hospital founded by Jews—where patients could hear screams for an “intifada” from inside the building.

Last March, in downtown Ottawa—on the same streets where former prime minister Justin Trudeau invoked the Emergencies Act in response to the trucker convoy in 2022— a young man dressed as a Hamas terrorist taunted shocked onlookers, the flags of Lebanon and Palestine blowing in the wind behind him.

In November 2024, an estimated 50,000 students, as well as faculty, from universities including Concordia, McGill, and Dawson College took to the streets and campuses, where they overran buildings, destroyed property, and led schools to close. Chants of “Long live the intifada” could be heard, with one protester saying on camera, “The final solution is coming your way.”

In April, a man wearing a keffiyeh in downtown Toronto climbed onto scaffolding, lit an Israeli flag on fire, and doused it with gasoline, while chants of “All Zionists are racists; all Zionists are degenerates” could be heard in the background.

Violent Attacks

Since October 7, 2023, there have also been nearly a dozen terrorism-related incidents in Canada or abroad involving Canadians. These include:

A father-son duo, who had been planning a violent attack in Toronto, were arrested in July 2024.

Two Ottawa youths, plotting to attack the city’s Jewish community, were arrested in February 2024.

The September 2024 arrest of a Pakistani man studying in Toronto who was planning an ISIS-inspired attack against Jews in Brooklyn, New York.

The April arrest of a Yemeni man in Canada planning to join a terrorist organization in the Middle East.

An attack on Edmonton City Hall in January 2024.

A Canadian who traveled to Israel in July 2024 to attack Israeli soldiers.

And this list does not include the Jewish girls school in Toronto that was hit with gunfire on three separate occasions, the multiple shootings at a Jewish school in Montreal, the firebombing of a synagogue in Montreal, the firebombing of a synagogue near Montreal, the endless vandalism of Jewish-owned businesses, the vandalism of homes with swastikas, and the destruction of campaign signs for Jewish politicians running in the 2025 federal election.

Nor does it capture the anti-Israel indoctrination occurring at public schools, universities, and unions across the country, among many other things.

[ileftmysoulinnorway]

IWTV S3: 2nd & 3rd week of production

News:

We got Sam, Jacob, and Eric in costume, as well as a poster, a bus, and a 1975 Chevrolet Camaro 😍

(x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

Locations:

June 23: Corktown Pub, Hamilton (present day, Rockstar Lestat, a band rehearsal).

(x)

Shakespeare's, Hamilton (present day?, something to do with Lestat and music?*).

*Judging by the fact that Matthew Santos, Sam's vocal coach, was on set all day.

(x)

July 1 & 2: The Opera House, Toronto (present day, Rockstar Lestat, Sam, Jacob, and Eric at a concert venue, interior and exterior scenes with background actors)

(x)

Danforth Music Hall, Toronto (present day, Rockstar Lestat, a concert venue)

This location may not be used at all, or it may only be used for interior scenes (an exterior scene was scrapped and moved to the Opera House).

The Sts. Cyril and Methodius Church was used as a holding area for background actors during this shoot, but it wasn't a filming location.

(x) (x)

July 3: Sheraton Hotel, Hamilton (present day, Louis & Lestat scenes, with background actors)

(x) (x)

Actors:

Sam, Jacob, Eric, and Joseph have all been confirmed to be in Toronto.

Delainey is currently filming Carrie in Vancouver, while Luke is working on the Scorpions biopic in London.

As of Friday, Assad was still in London, as he graciously confirmed in a true Assad fashion.

Noah Reid was cast as Larry, Lestat's bandmate.

(x) (x)

There are also some other actors who will be playing minor roles:

Kenneth Cheung (ep. 1) and Arrielle Edwards (ep. 2)

Roger Honeywell (could be playing an opera singer)

Michal Cox and Mark Henderson (maybe a roadie, or someone connected to the band?)

(x) (x)

In summary: So far, they have largely been filming scenes set in the present day revolving around Lestat and his tour. The exception was at the beginning, when they filmed scenes from the 1700s in the woods and in front of the Greek Revival villa at Ruthven Park. But keep in mind that no one knows what's going on in the studio (likely more 1700s scenes).

As expected, Lestat is at the forefront of all this. Daniel's presence is not surprising, but Louis being with Lestat right from the start is very exciting. I'm looking forward to seeing them sitting alone on the bench, as reported here, a contrast to all the partying and concert noise.

.

.

This is already long, but since there has been discussion and drama again about what fans can and cannot do, I'll add my two cents. It's perfectly fine to visit the filming locations, watch the scenes being filmed, and chat with the actors as long as you're respectful and listen to the crew. Trust me, I did it many times during S2. Ultimately, each fan decides what to post online and what to keep to themselves. No one deserves any backlash.

However, what crosses the line for me is when certain "updates" accounts think it's a good idea to bother actors online and try to pry info about filming from them. Because of that and other things, don't be surprised if some things are kept private.

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I can't wait to see what next week brings (hint: more music)!

.

.

I'm adding everything important to the timeline and the map.

[huggybearhughes43]

Best friend Quinn doing a favour for reader and helping her take spicy pics for her only fans when she convinces him to get involved for some photos/videos by letting her suck his fingers or filming while she begs for him to touch her and play with her pussy (leads to smut)

Just me, okay?

A/n: this is also for the person who requested the number 13 for my drafts (unfortunately but also fortunately was not Nico Hischier, so sorry)

Warnings- smut, finger sucking, fingering, oral (fem!receiving), recording, daddy kink but only for the fans, raw dawgin but he pulls out

Summary- in the request but a teeny tiny bit different

Word count- 1.3k

Quinn’s sitting on the other side of my couch with my feet resting on his lap. His focus was on the tv that played highlights of his most recent game. The gears in my head were turning as I scrolled through my new subscribers on my only fans. I huff and puff realizing that I hadn’t posted anything in a hot second. Quinn’s eyes flicker to me and his brows furrow, “What’s wrong?” I explain to him and he sighs, “I can leave if you want?”

My eyes light up as a thought comes to my head, I was a genius. “Can’t you help me?” Quinns face flushes and I think for a moment that maybe I shouldn’t have asked that. Quinn and I had been friends since he got to Vancouver but we’ve never even shared so much of a peck on the lips. “Well- uhm, I mean… you don’t have to? I just-“ “I’ll help” he laughs, “What do you want me to do?”

My mouth gapes but then I close it, “Uhm, first help me pick out something to wear?” He leans back against the couch and nods. I get up and go to my bedroom just a few steps into the hallways that sprung from my living room. “Okay I have three choices.” I mutter before slipping into my room. I rummage through my drawers and find three sets of lingerie. A dark red, a dark green, and a blue. I figured I’d save the one he’d like the best for last.

I walk out of my bedroom with the green lace, it was close to sheer, you could clearly see anything if you looked hard enough. Quinn looks up, his face turning dark red, “I wanna see all of them before I choose” “yes sir” I turn back and change into the dark red one piece that had cutouts in just the right spots for access. The second I walk out Quinn hastily reaches for a pillow to place on his lap. I giggle and he clears his throat, “last one?” I nod and go into my room to change into the blue one, a blue that was almost the exact shade of his team colors. It too had cutouts, the top was sheer and the bottoms had a slit. Again, for easy access.

He groans at the sight but tries to cover it up with a clearing of his throat, “I like this one the best.” “Thought so” I smile and plop right down on the couch next to him and hold out my phone with it switched on video. He stands up and puts the camera right in front of my face, making me move to sit on my knees. Before he got the chance to ask, I pull his hand and stuff two fingers in my mouth. He takes this as his queue to begin recording. The second I hear the video start I begin to move my head back and forth, making seductive sounds around his fingers.

My eyes droop but I manage to look up, not at the camera but at Quinn. I stick my tongue out and pull his hand away, making sure I got the trail of spit connecting the two of us on camera. “Touch me, daddy…” I whisper, fluttering my eyes lashes at him. He has to bite his tongue to hold back any sound that threatened to escape and give away his anonymous position. His hand moves down to my throat, squeezing softly which earned a whine out of me.

Quinn slowly drops to his knees, spreading my knees apart. He makes sure to get all the good angles on the camera. His wet finds trail up my leg and he looks up at me to make sure it was still okay that he was the one doing it. I nod, my jaw slacking the second I feel his fingers poke at my entrance. I don’t mask my moans as he forces his thick fingers into my hole.

I’d never had another person help me with any of my videos. In reality, the whole concept was just for extra money, I hardly ever slept around with anyone. Quinn was the only exception, but he was a close friend anyways. My back arches off the couch when he begins to move his finger back and forth. He angles the camera so you could see the pleasure on my face as well as his fingers stretching me out.

The urge to moan out his name strained in my throat, his fingers pulling me over the edge. My legs shake and I moan loudly, “I’m cumming, daddy!” His fingers are soon coated in my cum. Quinn sat back on his knees, switching the video off before licking his fingers clean. “Quinn…” I whine when I see his dirty actions.

While I was catching my breath I failed to notice Quinn setting my phone up on the coffee table, recording the whole couch. I jump slightly and look down when I feel Quinn spread my legs again. "Tell me if you want me to stop" he days softly before dipping his head in between my legs. I throw my head back, my hands rushing to grasp Quinn’s hair.

His tongue moved strategically through my folds. He licked and slurped like he was a starved man. His skills plus the lingering past orgasm quickly catch up to me. “Quinn- I’m close again-“ his movements don’t stop. My back arches causing my cunt to press harder into his face as I cum all over his mouth. He pulls back, licking the juices from his lips, not wanting to let any go to waste.

“Lay down for me.” Without another word, I do. I never thought of Quinn this way but now that I felt it, I didn’t think I’ve ever felt anything better than him. He pulls off his shirt, followed quickly by his pants. He crawls on top of me, peppering kisses along my shoulders and collar bone sweetly. He checks the camera to make sure it was set up right. Once he got the confirmation, he looked up at me.

“Is this still okay? We can stop if you don’t want to go this far-“ “please,” I interrupt him, “I need you so bad Quinn.” He smiles goofily at my words and lets out a quiet, “okay.” Before spitting in his hand and reaching down to use it as lube. He lines himself up, slowly pushing in. I gasp and throw my head back.

Quinn smirks and once’s he’s bottomed out, he begins thrusting right away. He lifts my legs to rest on his shoulders, creating a new position to reach deeper. Quinn’s hands fall from my legs to rest next to my head, nearly folding me in half but providing me with something to hold onto. “You’re so fucking wet” I moan, trying to find the words to respond, “all for you.”

These words seem to be Quinn’s breaking point, his thrusts begin to be sloppy but harsher. “Fuck-“ he moans out, throwing his head back. The mere sight pushes me into my third orgasm of the night. My juices come out in squirts, soaking all the way up to his mid abs. The feeling causes Quinn to break. His abs twitch and he pulls out and jerks his cock harshly, releasing his load onto my stomach.

He reaches over to stop the video. His head turns to me and he smiles, “send this to only me, okay?” I smile and nod, “I will, can I post the other one?” He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “That’s what I was here for.” He sets my phone down and stands up, not bothering to redress quite yet.

I had an idea of what he was doing as he left, so I stay quiet. My suspicions are confirmed when he returns with a damp rag. He approaches and takes his spot back above me, wiping up the mess he made. The second he finishes, he tosses the rag somewhere that I didn’t care about before plopping down on top of me. I laugh and wrap my arms around him as we cuddle.

[misshoneyimhome]

Say My Name, Say My Name I Quinn Hughes 🖋️🌺

Requested? Yes / No

Summary; Based on the Tik Tok trend, calling your boyfriend “husband”

Tropes & warnings; established relationship; Tik Tok trend; fluff, marriage proposal; no warnings;

Other notes: For the second story of this TikTok trend, I've challenged myself with writing for Quinn Hughes for the first time 😊 To be honest, I didn't know much about him to fully capture his character, however, this is pretty much how sweet I imagine this boy to be 🤭🤍 Since I had a few different ideas of how to approach the request, this turned out to be nothing but pure fluff 🌺🥂

I hope you enjoy it 🌷🐰

Word count; 1.6K

・✶ ｡ﾟ

As the sun dipped low, casting a gentle glow over the bustling streets of Vancouver, you strolled alongside your boyfriend, Quinn Hughes. The city buzzed with its usual activity, providing a comforting backdrop to your conversation on this typical Thursday evening. And with the promise of a hockey-free weekend on the horizon, a mischievous idea had crept into your mind – sparked by a popular TikTok challenge that had been gaining traction online.

In recent weeks, you'd seen numerous videos of people teasingly calling their boyfriends "husbands," while recording their partners' bewildered reactions for entertainment. And intrigued by the trend, you couldn't resist the urge to try it out with Quinn.

After nearly three years of shared laughter and cherished moments in your relationship, you were confident that Quinn would find the prank amusing, perhaps even earning a reaction with a hint of panic. So, with a playful glint in your eye, you had naturally shared your plan with your closest friend, enlisting her help in pulling off the light-hearted prank.

As you’d proposed the idea, your friend, always up for TikTok trends, had eagerly agreed to assist. You’d decided on arranging a double date, which wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, planning for you to execute the prank while she would discreetly film Quinn's reaction.

So, as you sat in a cosy, almost half-empty restaurant later that Thursday evening, the weight of your impending prank began to settle in. Excitement and nerves mingled in your chest, your fingers tapping restlessly on the tabletop as you waited for the perfect moment to put your plan into action.

And finally, the moment arrived, hanging in the air with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. As the waiter approached to take your orders, a surge of anxious energy coursed through you, your heart racing. Yet, with practiced ease, you smoothly transitioned into the pivotal moment. "And for my husband," you said, injecting a playful tone into your voice, "he'll have a glass of ice water and the pasta Bolognese."

The words hung in the air, a silent challenge to fate, while your best friend discreetly positioned her phone, ready to capture Quinn's genuine reaction.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment as Quinn's gaze shifted towards you, his expression a fleeting mix of surprise and curiosity. "Your what?" he murmured, his voice barely audible, yet you persisted, ignoring the amusement threatening your facade of confidence.

In that suspended moment, Quinn's initial reaction was genuine astonishment, his eyes widening in disbelief before a soft chuckle broke the tension like a gentle wave against the shore. 

And as the waiter then walked away following taking all orders, he left behind echoes of laughter. Quinn then leaned closer towards you; his tone laced with mock seriousness. "Husband, huh?" he mused, a playful smirk on his lips. "Guess I'll need to update my resume."

It hadn’t entirely been the shocked reaction you’d hoped for, yet you still found the situation undeniably amusing. Confessing the inspiration behind your jest, laughter filled the air. And as the night wore on, your little act slowly faded in the background.

However, unbeknownst to you, the innocent prank had sparked an idea in Quinn's mind.

Although he hadn’t exactly expected to consider such a significant step already at the age of 24, the notion lingered, intriguing and compelling. As the eldest among his brothers and in his most serious relationship yet, Quinn had pondered the concept for some time. He’d even briefly sought advice from his closest teammates on how to broach the subject, as he’d realised life was too short to wait for the perfect moment.

So, as he sat beside you, enveloped in shared laughter, he felt a newfound determination. With quiet resolve and a heart full of affection, he began laying the groundwork for a significant occasion, one that would hopefully change your relationship for the better.

A little over a week later, with the memory of your playful prank still fresh in his mind, Quinn found himself beyond excited and content about the idea. With determination coursing through him and a ring burning a silent promise in his pocket, he’d devised a plan.

His aim was to catch you off guard, to make the moment as unexpected as possible. And having noticed how you had emphasised the prank was nothing but a joke, he guessed your mind hadn’t dwelled on such matters. Which made it the perfect opportunity.

So, returning to the very same restaurant Saturday evening where the idea had originated, Quinn carefully arranged the setting for the action. Despite the absence of a best friend discreetly recording the scene, the familiar ambiance of the restaurant's softly lit interior and the intimate corner table added a serene touch to the occasion. So with a steady hand and a heart brimming with love, Quinn recreated the scene.

As the waiter approached to take your orders, he took a deep breath, and with a voice filled with emotion, he echoed your words from days prior, "And for my wife, she'll have a glass of Champagne along with some water and the cheese, spinach ravioli, please."

Your eyes widened a little in slight disbelief as the words lingered in the air, blending with the gentle buzz of conversation around you, and a chuckle escaped your lips of amusement at Quinn's unexpected play. You simply couldn’t help but laugh at the joke and how he replicated your playful tease from the other night with such precision.

“Wife, huh?” You chuckled lightly. “Guess I deserved that one - though I do enjoy the sound of it.”

However, this time, it wasn't a prank. As the waiter departed, leaving behind a soft smile, your eyes met with Quinn’s, flashing him an entertained smile. Yet there was a seriousness in your boyfriend’s expression, a rare sight outside of the intensity of a hockey match, and a curious furrow creased your brow as you couldn’t decipher his thoughts. But before you could ask him what was on his mind, Quinn gently rose from his seat, moving with deliberate grace to stand next to you.

“I’m glad you say that ‘cause…”

You shifted in your seat to face him, the air crackled with anticipation as he then slowly dropped to one knee, the world around you fading into insignificance, leaving only the man you loved, poised before you with a vulnerability that stole your breath away.

Your heart pounded in your chest as Quinn gently took out the little velvet box from his pocket, his brown eyes shining with an intensity that mirrored his deep emotions. 

“Y/n," he softly began. "I know you said it as a joke the other night, but... truth be told, it stuck with me. And I realised that… I do want to be your called husband. You mean everything to me. Without you, I'd be lost – even though I don't tell you enough, you make my every day brighter. I can't even begin to thank you enough for your endless support, for putting up with me and my career every single day. You never ask for anything, and yet you give so much love. I love you so so much, and I just can't imagine a future without you in it..."

With every heartfelt confession, your breath hitched in your throat, your mind swirling with the weight of his sentiments. Emotions surged within you, threatening to overflow as Quinn exposed his soul, sharing his fears and dreams for your future together.

And then came the question, hanging in the air like a fragile promise—a question that held the power to shape your lives forever.

"Y/n, will you marry me?"

It felt surreal, like a dream woven from the threads of your deepest desires and fondest hopes. Quinn on his knee before you, his vulnerability a testament to the depth of his love. And in that moment, tears glistening in your eyes, and a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, there was only one right answer.

Though struggling to find the words, you willed your lips to move and your throat to vocalise the response.

"Yes... Quinn, of course," you replied with excitement, the sound of soft applauses rippling through the restaurant. And with a deep relieved sigh, and a satisfied smile illuminating his face, Quinn rose from his kneeling position, meeting you in a deep, heartfelt kiss. 

Sealing the engagement your lips met with nothing but devotion, the world around you slowly dissolving, before breaking apart. Quinn's excitement was nothing short of palpable, his smile radiant as he carefully slipped the ring onto your finger, and he couldn’t deny that this felt better than any hockey match win. Perhaps besides winning the Stanley Cup. 

It was truly a beautiful ring. The diamond's shimmer mirrored the twinkle in his eyes as you admired the ring's delicate intricacies. And with a content smile, you shared another quick kiss before Quinn returned to his seat, and the waiter poured champagne to mark the occasion.

Raising your glasses in a toast, you again sealed the engagement with a clink, the bubbles dancing against your lips like promises of a future filled with love and joy. This moment was everything you had ever dreamed of. Though it had begun with a playful joke, it perfectly captured the essence of your relationship—full of laughter, love, and shared moments of joy.

And with your hands gently intertwined on the table, both admiring the new addition to your finger, you couldn't help but chuckle. "Looks like I really do need to update my resume," you playfully remarked, echoing Quinn's words from the other night.

And in response, your fiancé merely chuckled, his eyes brimming with adoration as he kissed your hand and held your gaze with unwavering affection. "Yes, I suppose you’ll have to," he smiled, his voice filled with promise and a love that knew no bounds.

[ab4eva]

‘The Three of Us: Brat Behavior’

Fully co-authored with: my love @therealslimshakespeare

Notes: The response to the first fic has been so unexpected and overwhelmingly amazing - thank you, thank you to everyone who has read, reblogged, liked, screamed and gushed over it! It has made our little hearts so very full, we can’t even express properly just how happy it’s made us! We hope you enjoy this installment - we love hearing from you so please feel free to scream at us!

Warnings: Threesome, all the sex that entails, 18+ only

Word count: 6.3k

The Three of Us - part 1

-

When the paparazzi pictures of you and Callum outside a pre-Emmy’s bash were splashed across the internet, the confusion was palpable. The photo evidence of Austin Butler’s girlfriend looking especially loved up with his best friend sparked more than a bit of outrage. It wouldn’t have been so bad, if they had snapped the two of you just a few seconds before. But the way his strong arms engulfed your entire body, your sequined dress glittering in the night as your back was pressed to his broad chest while you waited on the curb for your ride. The way he nuzzled your neck and made you giggle - the evidence was undeniable. Tumblr was once again set ablaze with rumors and speculation:

“I thought she was dating his close friend? Wtf?”

“He didn’t seem like this kinda dude but ok, another disappointment. Damn.”

“Bro code is dead it seems.”

But then, a day after those pictures captured headlines, a new set of photos made the rounds. Austin Butler himself could be seen, standing just off to the side, laughing and chatting with you and Callum. Upon further inspection he had been there all along - crouched in front of you and Cal, talking to the Uber driver, head ducked into the window. A leather jacket-clad arm, just barely inside the photo, ringed hand entwined with yours as Callum held you in his arms. A collective huh could be heard throughout the fandom.

-

The three of you had had exactly two months together, before going your separate ways for work. Two months of clandestine, late night get togethers at Austin’s house or your apartment. Two months of breakfasts in bed, hikes at Fryman Canyon and coffee dates at Aroma. Two months of hard work while each of you prepared for your next projects, the tedious research and memorizing lines made a little bit easier, more interesting, just by being in each other’s company. A thousand kisses, smiles, secret looks, soft touches and more than double that in sighs, whimpers and blushes. Until one day, when the party finally seemed to be over, for now, and all that was left were deflated balloons and half-hung streamers.

The night before you left for Europe for five months you spent with Austin, just the two of you, cuddled up in his big bed, eating takeout and watching old movies. You, Callum and Austin had already said your goodbyes to one another earlier in the day, a bittersweet encounter that left you happy, satisfied and more than a bit sore, and you wondered how, exactly, you’d fair spending ten hours sitting on a plane the next day. The boys were due to ship out in the next couple of days as well - Austin to New Mexico for a new film, followed by press for The Bikeriders after that. And Callum was off to Vancouver for his next film, Eternity. The way things were looking, you three wouldn’t be together in the same room again until September, just in time for the Emmy’s, which seemed like an awfully long time to miss someone. Two someones.

What followed over the spring and summer were five long months of mutual pining and longing and horniess that was only partially satiated by group video chats as often as schedules allowed. These catch-ups inevitably turned into what amounted to three-way phone sex with everyone getting off in their separate hotel rooms and going to bed alone, wishing it was any other way than the way it was. You bought a ridiculous amount of cute lingerie just for these hangouts, not to mention various toys and gadgets sure to turn on more than just you.

Then there was the group text chat that Callum had set up and named, appropriately, The Lads. Sometimes it was silent except for a thumbs up from Austin on yesterday’s “Miss you, chums,” from Callum. He had taken to calling you and Austin his lads, his chaps, etc. And you, in turn, deemed him Old Bean, never using the affectionate nickname without also employing a stuffy British accent, purely to see his face light up and crack with a smile. Sometimes you sent suggestive food photos from your apartment in Budapest, “food porn” as you cheekily referred to them. Your little hand wrapped around a squash you were cutting up for soup or two avocados you saucily bounced in your palm, mimicking a favorite move of the boys’ - you could almost hear them groan in ecstasy a thousand miles away. It tickled them pink when you did this and almost always led to a filthy string of threats from Callum and a soft expletive from Austin.

Sometimes this group chat got you all in trouble, or at the very least, terribly embarrassed. There was the time you were in a production meeting with other department heads on the film and Callum sent a picture of himself in tight boxer briefs, lounging in bed, veiny hand gripping his very hard dick through thin fabric. Or the time you sent a, mostly covered, nude pic and Austin’s manager happened to be holding his unlocked phone at that moment. You could picture exactly the furious blush that must have spread over his entire face.

But it wasn’t all lighthearted chatting and sexy photos. Sometimes you’d come across a paparazzi photo of Callum out to dinner with friends or a co-star. You didn’t love how white hot jealousy burned through you like a smoldering ember, blinding you to the truth. The truth that he has girls who are friends. That he’s an affectionate, touchy-feely kind of guy and sometimes he just can’t help himself. You had to tamp down your needy tendencies and remind yourself that you didn’t own him and besides, it was always you and Austin for him at the end of the day anyway. And sometimes you’d be scrolling Instagram, when out of the blue, you were stopped dead in your tracks by a picture of Austin on someone’s feed. The sense of desire and longing that kept you tethered to him would tighten and threaten to spill over in tears.

-

The thing about Callum Turner is that his constant teasing and joking, that wheedling mouth of his, gets him into all sorts of unforeseen trouble. And the trouble coming his way tonight ain’t his usual choice of dynamic but hey, he’s here now and whatever comes his way, he might as well try new things, eh?

“So what, you’re a big boy, big shot, producer fella now, huh? Off doing big shot important shite, too busy for us?” Cal says through a wide grin, though the playfulness of his words doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s some other emotion stirring in those blue depths - neediness, maybe. Or impatience. The only response from Austin is a quiet breath, huffed out through flared nostrils as he sips from his cocktail and looks around the room, choosing to ignore the teasing.

Austin is Mr. Stately Reserved at the party - not really, it just seems that way from the outside. Or the inside, as it were. He’s hugging and laughing and chatting but to Callum, who’s missed him more than he cares to admit, even to himself, it’s maddeningly poised. Callum would like to smooch him and pick him up and twirl him around but Austin is barely even looking him in the eye. He wants to grab that perfect, model face that Austin has on for the cameras, the crowd, and wreck it. Make sure he still feels something behind that cool and indifferent facade.

Austin glances at you as his hand goes round your waist, tugging you closer to his side in the crowded room. You sneak a glance at Callum through your eyelashes and are amused to find a rather put out expression on his face. Every little thing Cal thinks bolts across his features like a flashing neon sign. You bite your lip and turn the snicker escaping your lips into a cough behind your hand. Cal’s eyes flicker to you and you raise an eyebrow, imperceptibly shaking your head, staring him down and silently pleading with him to be patient, just cool it. You can tell by the way his mouth sets into a determined little smile that your telepathic message was not well received.

“You could just ask to be dommed, you know?” Austin says suddenly, voice monotone, eyes unreadable and his haughty, camera-ready face still scanning the room.

“How the hell does that correlate to being dommed, Aus? Huh? How?” There’s an outraged disbelief in Cal’s tone that almost outweighs the high pitched -although mild -panic seeping through. Never unsure, ever, at least that you’ve seen him, until Austin Butler interprets him some such way and then this big tough man is a flailing and defensive windmill of arms and definitions.

“You’re literally so happy to see me, everyone here can see your tail wagging, that’s how,” Austin says smoothly out of the side of his mouth, an almost bored tone permeating his inflammatory words.

“Ah see, now, I’m offended mate, here I am, missing my friend, showing it -and I get called a furry. You into that now?” Callum ribs goodnaturedly.

“Wouldn’t say no to you on Halloween just ‘cause you were wearing a pair of ears,” Austin admits with a suppressed grin. Already in full contestant mode, it takes Callum a brief minute to close his mouth and realize he’s just won a victory for himself here.

“Now that’s the kinda way to make a fella feel special, Austin. That and loaning me your cable to watch the game later. That would do it.”

“Oh I’ll make you feel special, Cal, just not in front of Steven Spielberg,” Austin murmurs, as the man himself starts to make his way across the room to shake their hands. Austin finally turns his eyes on Callum and holds his gaze so intensely that Cal’s stomach drops and he feels a twitch in his pants, like he shoulda braced or something before those eyes flicked over and met his: fuckin’ finally.

And he just knows, in that moment, that he’s in for it. He’s gonna get what he’s been asking for all night, and from that moment on, his stomach is in pleasurable knots and he can’t concentrate on anything anyone is saying to him. And if there’s a wink in there somewhere, when Austin is sure no one can see, well, it makes Cal just about stagger, both from assurance and the weirdly hot feeling of being a naughty little secret.

—

The coast is clear. Or that’s Cal’s best guess when Austin’s golden little head stops covertly craning around the corner of the elevator to inspect the hallway and turns instead to lock eyes with him.

Oh that smile, soft but not tender, slow but not lazy, constrained but nothing short of mischief in a bottle. A lean, ringed hand darts out and Cal is suddenly tripping over his big feet, pulled into the dim hall by a fist in the gap of his double breasted blazer, Austin’s knuckles firm against his sternum when he lurches forward too fast. A dog on a leash. And the hypnotic swirl of the carpet’s pattern blurs with the interspersed lamps on the dark walls until it’s nothing but a streak of swirls and Austin’s shoulders ahead of him. He’s got them fuckin’ joggin’ to the room. Cal’s loud laugh surprises himself but he’s too happy to shove it down.

“So ya did miss me -badly looks like- ya’poncy bastard.”

Austin does nothing more than throw an amused look over his shoulder, not a hitch in his fast stride. The look glances off Cal’s grinning face and back behind him to where you’re lagging behind, not out of shyness or hesitancy, instead you’re unabashedly admiring the view from back here, watching them tug and run and fall into each other on patterned carpet leading to the suite.

“Keep up, angel!” Austin insists before turning his face back towards his break-neck trajectory.

The tone and the attitude reminds you of that afternoon when you’d all first settled into some sort of lasting mojo, one that had begun in bed but wouldn’t last without some care outside in the carless, callous, scrutinizing world. You’d gone rock climbing, sweaty tank tops and dusty hands a-pair, the competitive spirit spilled onto you too as they grappled up the wall.

You’d been one of the boys then. And it felt just right. Especially when the boys were as loving and devoted as these to each other.

They’ve a head start on you down the hall, the heels Austin had helped you out of in the elevator did their damage to your poor toes but you try anyway, sequins rough and crushed in your sweaty palm as you hike up your dress skirt and sprint after them, the hallway suddenly burning hot in your exertions, Cal’s sweaty face cackling maniacally back at you as you try, and fail, to grab at his coat tails, seems to share the sentiment.

“We gotta get out of these layers.”

Dexterous, and a dozen other potent synonyms that Cal has indulged in coming up with late at night on his brainy apps, is how he’d describe Austin on a good day. It’s a goddamn magic trick tonight, the way the room key is suddenly in his hand from up his shirt sleeve, like pulling a white rabbit out of a hat, and it’s tapping and opening the latch.

The room is cool, dim and smells of your hairspray and Austin’s cologne. Cal salivates and would contemplate that being a new low to go with being called a furry tonight, but then his back is being slammed harshly against the small wall space by the door, Austin’s fist still tight against his chest, suit coat clenched between white knuckles. He’s really letting Butler just toss him around tonight, and dimly he knows he could do something about that but after hours of trying to blow straw wrapper balls at him to get the least response, it’s nice to be manhandled instead.

Oh, right, ok, of course— Austin’s keeping him here, the door propped open with a Louis Vuitton outfitted foot so you can come in too.

This wasn’t all about bruising Cal’s back. He finds himself mildly disappointed by that. Odd. Tonight’s been odd. But it just got nicer with you coming in all pink cheeked and panting from the race.

“Third place.” Cal has enough assholish gusto left in him to taunt over Austin’s shoulder, sticking three large and disrespectful fingers in your eye-line as you pass, shoving the score quite literally in your face.

You were headed to pull the drapes, being a nice little girlfriend and respecting how tough it might be for either of these guys to find themselves on TMZ tomorrow doing...whatever it is that Austin’s doing pinning Cal up to the wall like he’s a suspect. But with this competitive provocation regarding having lost a foot race to two very large, very competitive and highly motivated young men, you pause in your errand of mercy and chomp at the offending fingers instead, drawing a howl from Callum. To his credit he no longer looks remotely surprised when you do that anymore.

“Only loser here is you,” Austin jabs but the door has just banged closed, let go by his foot, and Callum has the decency to swallow very hard at whatever the hell that look on his face means.

“Your hair’s grown back out,” Austin adds, not conversationally, more like someone pleased their Amazon order came as advertised. His eyes rake over Callum’s features, following the swirls of soft curls falling across his forehead.

You trip backwards to the curtains, not wanting to miss a thing and hardly registering banging your heel on the very modern and very sharp ottoman corner that’s in between you and the window.

“Ya like it?” Cal’s face lights up and his cheeks go a little pink under Austin’s intense scrutiny, making the light freckles that dot his nose spring to life. He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly aware it’s getting to the length it was when they first met. “I didn’t think you’d noticed, Mr. Big Shot, with all that schmoozing you were doing.”

Austin’s eyes deepen as his pupils dilate, almost swallowing the blues of his irises completely. The fist gripping Cal’s shirt loosens, only to be quickly replaced by a firm arm barred across his throat, threatening to cut off his air supply, both a warning and an invitation. Austin smiles darkly and a look flashes across his face, needy and possessive. Callum’s adrenaline kicks in, his cock throbbing painfully in sync with his pounding heart. He is reminded of the only other time he’s seen Austin Butler look this way.

Three Years Ago

The slow build from friends into something more had happened gradually, in tiny increments. How had they gone from walking Callum’s dog and dinners at the local pub to lying beside each other in the balmy dark, ragged breaths and quiet groans filling the air as they tugged each other’s cocks, their spend eventually spilling out, hot and sticky, onto their hands. But looking back now, Callum could see it had all blurred together, like an impressionist painting, and he was unable to tell where things began and ended. It felt like everything had happened all at once, their worlds colliding and meshing into one another, and that was the way it had always been, before they had ripped apart, separate once more.

The closer they came to wrapping Masters of the Air, the more inevitable the end became. One evening, towards the end, Austin had a mind to show his mate how much this meant to him, whatever this was. They’d never gone farther than some heavy petting, an urgent kiss here and there, and getting each other off. But that night, something simmered just under the surface and Austin, with slightly shaky hands, unbuttoned Callum’s jeans and pulled them down his solid thighs as he sank to his knees. He felt Callum’s hands rest lightly in his hair, thumbs brushing his temples as Austin slowly leaned forward. He hesitated a split second before taking Callum’s bulging tip into his mouth, his tongue running circles around it. The feeling was foreign but intriguing and he noted with distant observation the things Callum responded to. It was messy and awkward and thrilling, in an illicit sort of way. Cal’s muscles flexed beneath Austin’s gentle hands as they mapped and explored every dip and crease.

Weirdly it got him so hot and bothered, doing it, listening to Cal’s constant praise, that Austin noticed, with dissociated interest, his own cock growing hard and rubbing against the inseam of his pants with delicious agony. Cal sounded like he was being exorcized the braver he got, which spurred Austin on to redouble his fumbling but enthusiastic efforts. Callum surged forward and Austin gagged, barely recovering before gagging again. That's apparently what it took to get the job done and with less than a second’s warning, Austin pulled his mouth off Cal just as he started to come, using his fist to jerk the rest out of him with rough precision.

Once he caught his breath, Cal was ready to return the damn favor, and excited about it too. He led Austin to the edge of the bed as the blonde struggled to rid himself of the offending inseam and pants, tripping slightly in his haste. Cal chuckled and steadied him with a strong arm around his waist, licking a stripe up Austin’s neck as he did. Austin’s stomach flip-flopped at the promise of that mouth as he finally shucked his pants. Once out of its confines, his perfect, pink cock sprang up toward his belly, already slick and oozing. Callum pushed Austin onto the bed with a gentle shove, dropping to his knees between those long, lean legs. Austin fell back on his elbows, blue eyes ever watchful, his face red and gleaming with sweat. Cal grasped Austin’s hip firmly with a large hand, the fingertips of the other barely touching the angry cock bobbing at him at eye level. He hadn’t even had a chance to wrap his lips around it before Austin was shooting off without warning all over Callum - into his eye, up his nose, onto his open lower lip. Cal sputtered in shock, falling back on his ass in his haste to try and get the sticky stuff off.

“What the fuck, Butler! What the fuck?! It’s in my hair! Jesus Christ!” he moaned, the shock beginning to wear off. Callum looked so cute, with his freckles glazed and being dramatic as all hell and Austin was no help whatsoever. He laid there, feeling fabulous and sated with his spent cock still spurting now and again. Completely relaxed, zero sympathy, because truly he wasn’t even remotely sorry for cum up the nose when his throat was raw from sucking Cal’s massive dick.

In the present time Cal’s tentative: “You like them?” has Austin reaching up to drag through Callum’s curls after his pleading goad.

“They’re gonna make the prettiest handle here in a second.” Austin smirks and yanks his large puppy away from the wall, hauling him to the bed, gravity working in Austin’s favor as Cal trips over his feet and lands in a face-first splat onto fine weave cotton with a muffled “oomph.”

Without warning, Austin levels a hard smack to Callum’s bottom, the loud crack of it reverberating throughout the room. You gasp and freeze where you stand near the curtains, not wanting to disturb whatever this is that’s playing out. You see Austin wind up for another spank, delivering it just as Cal recovers from the shock of the first one. He roars, unused to being treated this way. A stream of curses leaves his mouth as he struggles to roll over, to fight back in some way. But Austin’s already kneeling on the bed, looming over him with one knee planted firmly on Callum’s back, pinning him down.

“The hell was that for?! Let me up!” Callum practically shouts, the panic of not being able to move setting in, all that alcohol he tossed back with abandon at the party making him slow and uncoordinated. “Fucking let me up, bro!”

“You’ve been a pain in my ass all night…couldn’t wait til we were alone, could you? Had to have allllll my attention right then. Had to act like a brat in front of our friends and colleagues.” He delivers another brutal smack that has Callum jolting forward, fists gripping the white duvet he’s face-planted in. Callum lets out a strangled moan, half frustration, half arousal. “Practically begged me to dom you…” smack. “Does my attention feel good now, hmm?”

You can’t watch from the sidelines any longer, your panties are already soaked and your legs feel shaky with need. Without a word you walk over and tug Cal’s pants off unceremoniously, his boxer-briefs sliding down with them. His usually pale, round bottom is already red, and by the look on Austin's face, it’s about to get much worse. Compulsively you kneel over Callum and kiss it better, your lips trailing little smooches over the angry skin before smoothing your cool palm across the expanse of his backside and rubbing his back soothingly. He lets out a sigh of misplaced relief, his hands relaxing their grip on the covers only to be startled out of his temporary reverie by another slap to his now bare ass. That one definitely left a mark and you stare in awe at the large handprint left behind. From there it’s just a tenderly brutal back and forth as you soothe what Austin stings.

Callum is so dazed by his own feelings and having allowed himself to be treated this way that when Austin stands and finally rolls him over he’s about as docile as a lamb. He didn’t even know he’d come until the cool air hits him and he realizes his belly and shirt are a hot, sticky mess. As Cal is hazily coming to grips with what just happened, you turn your gaze to Austin standing at the foot of the bed. In soothing one you hadn’t been paying attention to the other.

Your boyfriend is breathing hard and his face is flushed, like he’s just run a marathon. You bite your lip as your eyes travel the length of him, eyefucking him blatantly, there’s something so magnetic and even a little daunting about him when he’s in this mood. Your gaze stops at the outline of his hard cock pressed against his pants. You didn’t realize he was so turned on by what he’s taken out on Callum’s skin but it makes your belly jump as you slowly slide off the bed, the need to ravish him overwhelming.

In an instant your hands are in his hair, pulling and tugging his own curls. Your mouth is desperate for his, nipping and sucking and kissing every inch of him you can reach. You grab at his t-shirt, ripping it off in one fell swoop and tossing it aside before you resume your aggressive making out. You can’t decide what to focus on first - his plump, pink lips or his open neck. You decide to bite his collarbone, drawing a yelp from him. Your little hand, with perfectly painted red nails, palms his hard-on through his slacks, doing your damndest to give him a handjob through all that fabric. Austin pants into your mouth and unzips your dress, pushing it off your shoulders and to the floor. You step out of it as you push him against the wall, unbuttoning the fly of his pants and reaching a hand in to grip him fully. He’s so soft and warm and hard as you swipe your thumb across his tip, swirling your tongue over his, wishing you could feel him in your mouth. He lets out a choked moan as he unfastens your bra, his long fingers finding your peaked nipples and giving them a pinch. You’ve knocked his mojo off course for the moment and he shudders under your sensuous attack. And all the while Cal watches you two from the bed, one hand around his straining length, about to spurt again.

Austin suddenly breaks the kiss, grabbing your wrists and holding your body away from his. “That’s enough now, baby. I-I need you to get on Cal’s cock.” The command is so sudden and so sure it nearly winds you, but then Austin is mummering, “Can you do that for me, angel?” blue eyes suddenly serious as he stares you down, his lips kiss-swollen and neck already starting to bruise. You nod your head silently as he turns you around and shoves you toward the bed, smacking your ass hard as you willingly obey. Cal starts to sit up and move towards the headboard, like last time, ready to have you and some relief as well.

“No, no, no. On your back, Callum Turner. You stay on your back,” Austin commands quietly, pointing a finger. “You feeling special yet, baby boy, or will it take my cock down your throat, too?”

You’re straddling Cal now and after momentarily bracing for that extra burn only he can give, you deliciously sink down onto him as he fills and probes you just that little bit deeper beyond comfort. His hands encircle your waist without thinking as you slide him in to the hilt, both of you groaning. He can unfortunately no longer think straight, let alone answer, right this moment. And daddy definitely wanted an answer.

Austin tsks quietly in feigned disappointment, “Cock it is then.”

And that’s how Callum Turner found himself flat on his back with you balancing on his balls and Austin Butler’s heavy cock in his mouth, choking him from time to time, not unpleasantly he’s surprised to find.

“You were so sad when I didn’t make it down your throat last time,” Austin coos over his shoulder as he slowly rides Cal’s face while his perfect, pert ass is manhandled by Chelsea’s finest lad, muffled sounds of god knows what coming from him. Austin has a love/hate relationship with watching you enjoy another dick that much, the least he can do is make you scream his name while you’re at it. Which is why he’s facing you as both of you ride Callum, overwhelming him like ants, the man has no chance of getting back up once he’s been felled. You lean back a little, hands on Cal’s thighs as he pounds you, teasing Austin with a little peek at your swollen clit. It has the intended effect and Austin keeps his slow and steady pace as he bends over to lick you while you ride Cal’s fat cock.

Meanwhile, gurgling noises are emanating from somewhere behind Austin’s shoulder as Callum is literally choking on cock, the bend of it molding perfectly to his throat at this angle, like someone poured playdough down it, heavy balls resting on his nose. Austin shifts again, one hand on your breast and one reaching behind to Cal's throat, massaging, squeezing. And the only thing floating through Callum’s mind as he struggles to draw breath is, “Payback’s a bitch.”

“Do you feel special now, huh? Now that you can’t breathe?” Austin grunts out, relishing the feeling, the noises, the heady rush of being in control.

Something that sounds suspiciously like “Jesus Christ, Austin” flies out of Callum’s mouth but you can’t quite tell because it’s all garbled, almost unintelligible. He’s arguing with a cock down his throat, muffled protests and encouragements. All of the sudden his belly starts to heave in panic, his airflow finally sealed off as Austin presses lower, trying to get Cal to deepthroat him.

“Shhh it’s ok…breathe baby, breathe through your mouth, Cal, not your nose. That will only make it worse.” You pet his belly soothingly as he still gags for a moment. Austin jolts forward, the feeling of Cal gagging on his cock incredible. He grabs your hips, nails digging into your flesh, taking some calming breaths himself, trying to last and not to spurt hot cum down Callum’s throat right now. Cal bucks up into you, swift and firm, but Austin’s got a death grip on your hips, holding you down and that’s just the first orgasm of the night for you.

But Callum Turner is nothing if not resilient, and a multitasker at that. He relaxes his throat, starting to get the hang of things, figuring out how to breathe around a pole stuffed down his windpipe. Good thing he has such a wide mouth, finally came in handy for something. He can both learn how to deepthroat for the first time and knead Austin’s ass and thighs like he’s making sourdough. He’s really getting into the groove now - kneading and slapping, rocking Austin in encouragement to pick up the pace. Which quickly turns Austin’s dominance into a very whiny sort of thing. He can’t quite keep up after a few minutes of Callum’s sweet torture, the balls on his nose no longer a hindrance. Callum is pulling him apart and acting like he’s enjoying himself so much that Austin’s mind goes blankety-blank. When Cal starts smacking at his little ass to encourage him to rut, he loses it.

You watch this change overtake Austin gradually, like sand eroding from a beach, little by little. You can see when he goes from being in charge of “Operation Overwhelm Cal” to being a pretty baby in dire need of cumming. He slowly tips forward, partly to get his cock further into Callum’s throat and partly to face-plant in your ample titties because he’s feeling a lot of feelings at the moment. He’s practically on all fours now, drool dripping down onto Cal’s lower belly and mixing with your wetness already there. His forehead rests between the valley of your breasts as his hips work like an auger down Cal’s throat. You’ve got one hand in his hair and the other on one of your tits as he grabs your hips, urging you to pick up the pace. He can’t take his eyes off of where Callum disappears inside you, again and again, his thick, pale lower belly, everything a blur.

Austin explodes without warning, a strangled cry wrenched from his lips. Cal’s whole body jerks up as he chokes, dislodging Austin onto the bed beside you. He has the forethought to grab a discarded t-shirt lying next to him and spit into it, gasping for breath. You’re still riding him hard, and you’re close again, so close. In the blink of an eye you’re on your back, delicate wrists held together in one of his expansive palms. You hook a leg around his waist and a floodgate opens up. At this new angle he’s hitting the spot that has you shaking apart and coming, little quakes every few seconds. He presses on despite your gasping protests, whispered words of praise and teasing and you can’t tell which is making you come harder - his taunts or his cock. You feel Austin slip a hand between your bodies, one long finger toying with your nipple, sending you over the edge again just as you were recovering. Callum roars, wrecked and rasping, burying his head in the crook of your neck as he finishes, his solid weight crushing you as he collapses onto your chest.

“Roll over, ya big oaf…my hand is…trapped,” Austin says between tugs, trying to extricate himself. Callum turns one, jewel-blue eye on Austin and grins, leaning over to bite his shoulder. Despite Austin’s growled protests and more useless tugging of his trapped hand, there’s a spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before, a certain kind of floaty lightness. It looks good on him.

-

Quiet noises filter through Cal’s brain, like sunlight through a window, slowly and then all at once. The actual sun stays hidden behind blackout curtains, thanks to your thoughtful gesture the night before. Sprawled out on his belly like an overgrown spider, he registers the sound of someone getting ready for the day. Running water, an electric toothbrush, the soft thump of a towel being dropped, the rustle of clothes. He blinks his eyes open slowly, swallowing gingerly. God, his throat feels like it’s on fire! Is it always this way? He groans as he swallows again, trying to get some moisture down to soothe it. He makes a mental note to go a little easier on you next time you have his cock shoved down your windpipe. A movement catches his eye through the cracked bathroom door and he can make out Austin, dressed to the nines and fussing with his hair til he gets it just so. His heart plummets - Austin’s already back on his professional bullshit. Cal opens his mouth to make some comment about the outfit he’s wearing only to have it all squeak out in a cracked voice, the hoarse dig barely audible. That gets a smirk and a raised eyebrow from Austin, he knows where this is coming from.

“Need a cough drop for that throat, bud?” as he buttons his shirt at the wrists, looking at him in the bathroom mirror. “Don’t be salty,” he snickers, trying not to laugh at the gathering storm cloud on Cal’s face.

“That’s a shit pun, Butler,” Callum manages to croak, starting to raise himself up. To do what, he isn’t sure, he only knows he can’t take this lying down. But then you’re giggling somewhere at his back, apparently still in bed with him, going, “Salty, get it?” Your cool hand travels up his freckled skin, soothing his ruffled feathers and urging him to lie back. He flops down again, arms spread wide and rolls over to see you’re still very much entrenched in the bed, fluffy covers held to your chest and hair floating in a halo on the pillow. He’s not going to be alone…or not right away, at least. Austin walks to the foot of the bed, all suave and put together, the woody scent of his cologne hitting your noses and making you both swoon a little, if you’re honest.

“You sleepy heads enjoy your breakfast. And don’t watch without me...or there will be repercussions.” One side of his mouth quirks up, long finger pointed at the two of you as he slips on his sunglasses, looking for all the world like some hottie mob boss. Heat curls in your belly and you have to stop yourself from reaching up and pulling him down to the bed by his open shirt collar.

“And just what are we, your harem?” you say with a pout, stretching your arms above your head, pert nipples peeking out above the covers. His eyes are hidden behind dark lenses but you note with satisfaction the way he swallows hard, leg jiggling slightly, before turning abruptly away and heading for the door.

“Don’t wanna be it, don’t act like it,” he tosses over his shoulder just before the door slams shut.

In the ringing quietness after his exit, you can hear Cal’s raspy breathing and a mildly oppressive feeling of sore melancholy. You roll on your side to fully face him, the crinkle of the sheets loud in the stillness and he turns to you, boyish and expectant. A smirk lights up your face, “How about a bath, Turner? Baby’s first time and all,” you tease, fingers trailing up his collarbone as he pulls you into the crook of his arm.

“Oh fuck off,” he grins, blue eyes shutting, snuggling you closer. He cracks one eye open again, fixing you with a sheepish look. “Could use some pancakes though.”

-

The Three of Us: ‘Tis The Damn Season (part 3)

The Three of Us: Masterlist

Tags - let us know if you’d like to be added or removed: @oskea93, @softboo, @winniemaywebber, @spiderstyles04, @abswifey, @thegettingbyp2, @blikebarbie92, @missmaywemeetagain, @icedb1ackcoffee, @wildfll0wer, @dilfelvis, @slowsweetlove, @thefallofthedamned, @cherieaustin, @liv-n, @steph-speaks @jelliedonut @elvisabutler, @crazymadpassionatelove @stylespresleyhearted @easy-peezy-squeeze-a-lemon

[shiftingwithjaidyn]

🎞️ ⋮ writer/fame dr

★┊ BASICS .ᐟ

timeline:

this dr takes place around late august of 2022 due to the fact i intend to be part of one of the films i work on right from its beginning

locations:

los angeles, california (main)

vancouver, canada

new york, new york

san antonio, texas

london, england

notes:

i scripted out a lot of things that occur in this reality (due to the fact i scripted the timeline of everything somewhat similar)

some movies in my filmography are book adaptations that do not exist in this reality however exist in mine and most tv-shows in my filmography are cancelled shows in this reality so i decided to make them continued in my dr (just incase of some confusion hehe)

★┊ ABOUT ME .ᐟ

name: lilian maricel villaécija

nicknames: lily, lia, celia, mary/mari

gender & pronouns: demigirl || she/they

birthday: august 11th, 1980

height: 5’6”/167 cm

zodiac sign: leo

mbti: enfp

nationality & ethnicity: american || filipino-chinese

occupations:

screenwriter

script supervisor

production designer

director of photography

make-up artist

storyboard artist

aesthetic:

★┊ CAREER .ᐟ

movies:

center stage (2000)

in the mood for love (2000)

uptown girls (2003)

eternal sunshine of a spotless mind (2004)

pride & prejudice (2005)

the devil wears prada (2006)

black swan (2010)

if i stay (2014)

la la land (2016)

lady bird (2017)

the glass castle (2017)

to the bone (2017)

the greatest showman (2017)

oceans 8 (2018)

crazy rich asians (2018)

always be my maybe (2019)

little women (2019)

all the bright places (2020)

pieces of a woman (2020)

last night in soho (2021)

everything everywhere all at once (2022)

one last stop (2023) [film adaptation of the book by casey mcquinston]

tv shows:

grey's anatomy (s2-s13) || 2005-2016)

rupaul's drag race (s5-s14 || 2013-2022)

rupaul's drag race: all stars (s2-s5 || 2016-2020)

anne with an e (s1- || 2017-present/ongoing)

the marvelous mrs. maisel (s1-s5 || 2017-2023)

pose (s1-s3 || 2018-2021)

instinct (s1-s3) (2018-2023)

the umbrella academy (s1-s4 || 2019-2024)

the haunting of bly manor (s1 || 2020)

bridgerton (s1- || 2020-present/ongoing)

yellowjackets (s2- || 2023-present/ongoing)

★┊ RELATIONSHIPS .ᐟ

╰┈➤ FRIENDS

(i have a lot of friends due to the fact i've been in the industry for quite a while now, but these are just my closest)

trixie mattel

shea couleé

katya zamolodchikova

kate walsh

emmy raver-lampman

sandra oh

nicola coughlan

gemma chan

simone kessell

a huge special mention as well to @ixzotica a.k.a. aaliyah sinclair in my dr!! the one and only best friend, neighbor, sister, and platonic soulmate of mine in every single universe <3

╰┈➤ PET

name: mari-pusa (Mariposa)

nicknames: mari, choco butternut,

gender & pronouns: female || she/her

birthday: january 15

zodiac sign: capricorn

mbti: istj

breed: tortoiseshell

╰┈➤ S/O

gonna keep him a redacted for now as i am not yet comfortable sharing much about my dr but i just wanted to let u guys know he's an actor, he's a libra, and that he exists HSHJSHDSHKJHL

★┊ EXTRAS .ᐟ

links:

patter banner || gradient divider || star divider || heart divider

note:

feel free to ask me about this dr or any shifting related thing in general!! i'd really appreciate it! : ]

[unsuperingyournatural]

i really hate it when this happens

Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader

comfort, tears, spoilers (TLoU 2x02), a little fluff that was much needed

It started with a vow.

You had promised yourself you wouldn’t watch the episode. Not when it aired. Maybe not ever. Because even talking about it had pulled something deep from him—something wounded and raw—and you couldn’t bear the thought of seeing that hurt etched across his face again.

But Easter Sunday came, and with it, the second episode—the one you had been dreading. Pedro was in New York for the press circuit, caught up in a whirlwind of interviews and late-night appearances. You, meanwhile, were stuck on location for a cold indie film in Vancouver, shivering between takes in a thin robe while fake blood dried sticky on your arms.

You kept your promise to yourself. You didn’t watch it.

Pedro did.

He FaceTimed you that night, almost the moment the credits rolled. You answered from your hotel bed, bundled under three heavy blankets and clutching your heating pad like a lifeline. The second the call connected, your breath caught. His eyes were bloodshot, his face drawn and solemn, the weariness clinging to him like a second skin.

“Hey,” you whispered, your brow creasing the moment you took in his face. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t speak right away. His throat worked around a swallow, his hand dragging down his face like he could wipe it all away if he just tried hard enough.

When his eyes finally found yours, he forced a small, crooked smile—one that barely lasted a second before it collapsed under the weight of everything he was feeling.

Your stomach twisted painfully. His eyes were bloodshot, his face blotchy in a way that told you he'd shed more than a few tears.

Your heart seized. "Babe?" you said softly, barely audible, unsure what you were even asking—just needing him to say something, anything.

Pedro let out a small, broken laugh, dragging a hand down his face.

“I watched it,” he said roughly.

Your chest ached as the words hit you. You blinked back a new wave of emotion, heart tightening for him, not yourself. "God, Pedro... I'm so sorry."

“I thought I could handle it,” he said, his voice cracking around the edges as another breath of disbelief escaped him. “I’d already seen the cut. I knew every frame. But Bella—fuck, Bella destroyed me.”

He scrubbed his hand through his hair, eyes shining. For a second, it looked like he might lose it all over again.

Without thinking, you reached for the screen, fingertips brushing the glass like it might somehow bridge the distance. “I wish I could hug you right now,” you whispered.

He smiled, small and wrecked. “You kind of are.”

You talked long after that—not just about the show, but about anything, everything, keeping each other tethered. By the time you hung up, Pedro’s voice had steadied, the lines at the corners of his eyes easing. You kissed your fingertips and pressed them to the screen, lingering for a beat longer than necessary. Pedro mimed catching it with exaggerated care, cradling it to his chest with both hands, making you laugh through the tightness in your throat.

You should’ve left it at that.

But three days later, your brother texted you a link to a Reddit thread.

you: what’s this?

him: read the comments. some of these people GET it. like really get it.

Curiosity was your downfall.

You scrolled. The comments were glowing. Praise for Pedro, Bella, Kaitlyn. People devastated by the scene. Cries of heartbreak and disbelief. You found yourself screenshotting the sweetest, most heartfelt ones and sent them to Pedro with a soft message: for when you need a reminder.

Then the five-minute warning came on set. You powered down. Went back to work.

But the words stayed with you. Lodged in your ribs.

"Most brutal death scene I've ever seen."

"Worse than the game."

"Pedro Pascal deserves an Emmy for this."

By the time you were back in your hotel, scrubbed clean and wrapped in pajamas, the ache had grown unbearable.

You watched it.

You didn’t even bother catching up with the premiere first. You dove straight into the second episode. Straight into the wreckage.

It destroyed you.

By the time Ellie’s screams cracked through the TV speakers, you were sobbing—ugly, hiccuping sobs that wracked your entire body. You barely noticed when your phone buzzed with Pedro’s message: still awake? can I call you? You just hit FaceTime with trembling fingers.

He answered immediately.

His face filled your screen, forehead furrowed with concern.

“Hey—hey, hey,” Pedro said, alarm sharpening his voice. “What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head frantically, gasping. “I—I watched it.”

Relief and heartbreak crashed across his features.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed.

You hiccupped miserably. “It was horrible. I can’t—I can’t even look at you right now without wanting to cry again.”

You turned the camera away, overwhelmed.

“No, no, please,” he murmured. “Come back to me, amor. I’m right here. Just breathe. Nice and slow, okay?”

You tried. You really did. Pedro’s voice, soft and steady, was the only thing that tethered you. He coached you through it—slow inhales, slower exhales—until you could lift the phone again, your tear-streaked face filling the screen.

“Get some water,” he coaxed. “Little sips.”

You obeyed, the cold water helping to ease the tightness in your throat.

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna watch it,” he said once your breathing steadied, teasing just enough to make you huff a shaky laugh.

“I wasn’t,” you groaned. “But my asshat of a brother sent me the link to those Reddit comments. And I got curious.”

Pedro shook his head, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Please do,” you muttered, collapsing back onto your pillows.

He chuckled, warm and low. “Not before I see you first.”

A beat of silence passed, both of you soaking in the connection through the screen.

“I wish you’d told me,” he said, quieter now. “I would’ve asked you to wait. So I could be there. So you knew I was okay.”

Your lip wobbled.

“I wish I had too,” you whispered. “Or not watched it at all. I really fucking hate seeing you die on screen.”

Pedro’s expression softened even more, his eyes glistening.

That interview, years ago, came rushing back—him asking what you couldn’t stand after reading from a cue card. You, blurting out, Watching you die on film. I hate it. His teasing “Aww,” the warmth in his touch when he patted your shoulder.

Now, he said nothing for a moment—just looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world.

“I love you so much,” he said roughly.

“I love you too,” you whispered. “And I miss you.”

“I miss you more.” His smile turned boyish, a little shy. “Can’t wait to hug on you nonstop. Smother you, honestly. You’re gonna regret saying you miss me.”

You let out a wet, broken laugh.

The rest of the call melted into soft teasing, low confessions, promises tucked into every lingering glance.

You said goodnight with soft goodbyes and quiet I love yous, carrying them with you through the long days that followed.

So when the knock came a week later, you didn’t think twice—just padded to the door, remote still in hand, expecting nothing more than a delivery or a staff check-in.

Until you opened it—and found him standing there.

Pedro stood there in the dim hallway, the sight of him hitting you like a breath you hadn't realized you were holding—tired, rumpled, beautiful, and so achingly familiar your heart nearly gave out.

The moment your eyes locked with his, tears welled up, blurring your vision.

You launched yourself forward without thinking. Pedro caught you with a soft grunt, his bag slipping from his shoulder and thudding forgotten onto the floor, his arms wrapping around you with a fierce, unyielding strength.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion.

You buried your face against his chest, clutching at the fabric of his jacket, breathing him in—warm skin, leather, a faint trace of cologne you knew by heart.

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Missed you so much, hermosa."

You dragged him inside. He dropped everything, didn't even make it two steps before he was kissing you—slow, deep, lingering—like he needed the confirmation that you were real.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I wasn’t about to let you watch the next episode without me,” he whispered.

You smiled faintly against his chest, voice thick with emotion. "Good, because I still hate watching you die on screen. And I need you here to remind me that you're okay, that it's just pretend."

Pedro's hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his voice a low, steady murmur against your hair. "Of course, amor. I'm right here. Always."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing your hair gently from your face. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Fingers still threaded loosely with yours, he nudged the door shut with his foot and followed you farther into the room. The muted flicker of the TV danced across the walls. Pedro lowered himself beside you, tucking you into his side with a quiet, lingering tenderness. You nestled against him, feeling his hand skim soothing circles along your back.

You grabbed the remote, your heart still pounding from the reality of him here, and without a word, pressed play on the new episode, curled up against him, the steady beat of his heart grounding you more than anything else could.

And for the first time all week, you let yourself exhale.

didn't want to put this up top due to spoilers but this materialized when i watched a reaction video of that scene and I had the thought 'I really fucking hate seeing this man die on screen. His shouts and those sounds are going to be in my mind for the fucking rest of my life'. RIP Joel, you deserved better.