#I made a promise and I really don’t want this whole round to have been for naught

[fennecfox44]

star shopping

jack hughes x reader

word count 2.0k

content warnings- very mean, vague sh reference, slapping but its all fun you’ll like it trust me!!!!!!!!😸😸😸

can be read as a vignette but check the rest of the series!

August 2019

You’re sobbing dizzily like you were never gonna see him again. Like he’s gonna die, like they’re shipping him off to go meet his end, and really, it’s so dramatic and silly, he just wants to hit you. It’s not cute, your face is all blotchy and red and wet and you can’t see him leering at you with the most vacant stare, completely unaffected by your tears. 

“Are we like, not gonna…” he trails off. He was sat at the headboard of his bed, arms crossed because it was sort of cold, and you’d only gotten as far as getting his hoodie off over his head with your trembling shaky hands before you dropped your head and started your crying.

It was the night before he was leaving for Newark. You’d known it would come. It wasn’t sprung on you out of nowhere, he’d been projected to go in the first round for a while now, and you had just prayed Detroit would pick him. You felt like it was reasonable. They had the sixth pick and surely there were five better players than Jack.

But no. He had to go and be god’s gift and have the best hands to ever hold a hockey stick. Then there was the whole victory lap, him getting paraded around the city in a pj, trying to get girls to lift their shirts for him. Salt in the wound. You wanted to hit him.

His cool, easy tone made you see red. You do hit him. Rather you kind of just, lunge at him aggressively with no clear attack. Your vision was cloudy, so your sparring mirrors that of a feral cat. You have no defensive play, so when Jack flips you on your back and pins you down, all you can do is thrash under him, choking on your spit. 

He gets his hands on your shoulders, throttling you. “Jesus, fuck. Calm down.”

“Asshole,” you sob. You say other things but they’re unintelligible through your tears.

“No.”

“Yes!”

“I’m not fucking dying,” he seethes. “Are you alright? Like, in the fucking head? I think you’re insane. Genuinely. I think you should see someone. You have mental problems.”

You start kicking again so he sits back on your thighs. He grabs your wrists and holds those, squeezing. You were in a long sleeve and he knew about what you did and if he could guess, you’d probably done it again, maybe recently, since it was summer and you were in a sweater. So when he squeezes he hopes it hurts a little.

“No,” you sputter out. “I don't.”

“I think you have delusions. I promise I’m not joking.”

“Jack–”

“Because– listen,” he leans his face in. “Listen, alright? You’re listening?” He doesn’t wait for you to nod. “I, me, Jack, I’m not your fucking boyfriend.” There’s so much venom and hate and some spit even lands on your cheek and you’re shrinking in on yourself, trying to get smaller, so he gets closer. “I don’t like you. I've never liked you. You’re easy. That’s all you are. So if you’re gonna keep crying about me leaving, if you’re not gonna let me fuck you, then get the fuck out of my room. Get the fuck out of my house.”

You don’t even have anything good to say. Even if you tried. Nothing could hurt him. 

“Okay,” you say, flat and calm. Mimicking his own vacant unaffectedness from earlier. As if his little outburst was unwarranted. As if the remnants of your own tantrum weren't evident in your puffy red eyes.

Jack huffs out an exhale. He keeps both your wrists in one hand and moves the other up your sweater, tugging it up over your chest. He doesn’t get it all the way off, doesn’t wanna have to look at what you did.

He knows it’s not because of him, but part of him wonders. And he gets mad at you for doing it and mad at himself for caring and mad at you again for making him wonder in the first place. So he pushes the thought out completely and gropes at your chest, rolling his hips against yours. You moan a little, gasping soft at the friction. Jack leans over you, hissing in your ear. “My fucking parents are here.”

You hardly made a sound at all so you glare at him. “Oh, but it's your house, I thought.”

He slaps you a little, not as hard as he wants but enough to make your eyes go wide, and then he covers your mouth, clamping his palm tight over it.

Maybe he wanted your tears. Maybe he liked that. You wouldn’t give him more if you could help it. Except if he asked, if when he slapped you he told you cry for me then you think maybe, fine, if that’s what it takes, if then you’ll like me a little. 

“Can’t even let me be nice to you,” he mumbles, shucking your shorts down your legs before he spreads your thighs, settling himself between. “You’ve gotta- fuck,” he falters a little, losing it when he gets inside, working up a rhythm. “You- you’re annoying as fuck, all this fucking– crying.”

You like it, you wanna say, you love it. He wrenches a muffled little whimper out of you and it’s got his eyes rolling back.

It doesn’t even make you mad. Maybe because he was hitting so deep it made you dumb and boneless and pacified. Makes you forget he’s leaving and all the girls he’s gonna do this to when he’s ten hours by car or two by plane away from you. His grip on your mouth loosens a little and when you whine a little he shoves his fingers in your mouth, gets you quiet that way.

He could be doing this with another girl right now, you think, and decide to be briefly delighted that it’s you he’s fucking right now instead. This could be it, the end forever. Might never happen again. You wrap your legs around his waist and he drops down onto his forearms, bracketing your head, panting now. You hold him closer, try and savor it, locking your ankles at the small of his back. 

You stare at his face. He’s got his eyes squeezed shut but you’ll never forget the blue of his. You hope it’s not the end. You’d rather have him mean forever than never again.

You know begging is pointless. He wouldn’t stay for a girl. He doesn’t even like you. Some small child inside you warbles out a desperate little please, please, and you don’t even know what she’s asking for. He called you delusional earlier. He was probably right. Could you be delusional if you acknowledged that you might be?

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, you can come.”

You gasp when you do and he doesn’t even get mad at the sound, maybe because it helps get him off too. In any case. You shut your eyes and pretend he’s saying yeah, you can come with me to Jersey, drop out of school and you can come with me everywhere, I want you to come with me, stay with me, be with me.

He yawns and drops his head down on your chest. You keep him there even when his heavy head starts to weigh on you. You don’t care. For all you knew you’d never feel it again, and he would always be your favorite burden.

It’s only because he feels bad for roughing you up. Because now when you should be crying, you’re not, and it unnerves him. You’d just been staring up at the ceiling, making shapes out of the flattened popcorn patterns.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a little croaky, trying to snap you out of it. He pats at your cheek, a softer kind of slap. He felt a little bad for doing that earlier, now.

You blink down at him, gaze so empty and tired his gut twists.

Jack grimaces. He rubs at the bone of your hip with his thumb. “You hungry?”

You shrug. It’s better than a ‘no’, and even if it was, he’d force something down your throat anyway. But you meet him halfway, which he’s glad for, because it means he doesn’t have to wrestle you into his car. He could say anything and you'd agree to it, would do anything to make your time with him last longer.

This is how you arrive at a McDonald’s drive thru at two in the morning, when he should really be asleep, because he’s got an early flight. But he was too wired now, with you, who's got too much to say but afraid to talk or say any of it, which he’s both relieved but also guilty for because it’s on him for making you feel that way.

"I want ice cream," you tell him. It's the first time you've spoken in a while, so it startles him. He squeezes your thigh and orders you a cone.

The worker says the machine's down, so Jack starts rolling up the window. You whine at him, tapping his arm. "What're you doing?"

"We can go to a different one, there's like, so many."

"No, just stay, it's fine."

"You want ice cream, though."

"Jackkk," you groan, covering your face, so you couldn't watch him pull out of the line, driving to the next closest one.

"They just shouldn't sell ice cream if they're never gonna have the machine working," he says after a while of dead air. You're curled up in the seat, scared and small, a frightened cat. He squeezes your thigh again. "Dude, relax."

"I'm so annoying," you say miserably.

"You're not annoying. I want ice cream too."

You sigh and pat his hand. He pulls it away quick, like he'd been caught with something he shouldn't have been doing. Only doling out affection if you wouldn't acknowledge it.

Once you get your cones he parks the car and kills the engine. Your back's against the door and your legs are over the center console, feet in his lap as you lick at the ice cream.

"I shouldn't have said some things," Jack says it casual, mid lick, because he never apologizes even when he should and when he does he's not going to make it this big, ceremonious thing. "I just don't wanna like, make you think it's something that it's not. Don't want you like, waiting around for me, or some shit."

"M'not."

He nods, staring at the cream all over your lips a little too heatedly before he wrenches his gaze away and focuses on the steering wheel.

"Like, we had fun. Yeah?"

"Yeah, mhm."

"And I'm gonna like, come back around sometimes. So we can, if you want, whenever I'm..." Jack huffs. "I don't know. Or whatever."

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

You nod. "I know that you're just saying all this to make me feel better. You don't need to. I know you don't mean it."

"I do mean it," he frowns. His hand moves to your thigh before he pulls it away like it was scalding. He had to stop that. He was an ass for giving you this false hope as it was, he didn't need to lay it on this thick and be this touchy, even if it felt as natural as breathing. "I do mean it."

You roll your eyes a little.

"Fuck you, don't believe me," he laughs. "Just tryna be nice."

"But you're not nice," you say, sort of soft and with a smile too, and that gets him in a way he wasn't expecting.

He pauses before leaning over the middle, seeing if you'll meet him half way. It takes you a second, you stare at him a little unfocused, a little confused before you do, and he's taking your cheek in his hand and pulling you closer to kiss.

Which, arguably, was the meanest thing he'd done all night.

[bestanimal]

Round 2.5 Final Stats:

The top classes of Round 2.5 have been ranked thusly, listed here from highest ranking to lowest:

Scyphozoa ~ 656

Eutardigrada ~ 656

Hydrozoa ~ 474

Tentaculata ~ 416

Hexacorallia ~ 399

Cubozoa ~ 367

Heterotardigrada ~ 365

“Turbellaria” ~ 282

Octocorallia ~ 279

Staurozoa ~ 245

Nuda ~ 226

Ceriantharia ~ 209

Polypodiozoa ~ 142

Trematoda ~ 73

Catenulida ~ 71

Cestoda ~ 56

Malacosporea ~ 55

Myxosporea ~ 47

Monogenea ~ 35

Unfortunately, none of the classes were able to beat Actinistia and score at least 853 points. So, as promised, only the top-most rated class will be redeemed and move on to Round 3, which in this case is a tie between Scyphozoa and Eutardigrada! Let’s welcome them back into the running and wish them luck in Round 3. Judging by how this round went… they’re going to need it. 🙃

Round 3 will begin February 1st and will feature the Orders of Chondrichthyes, Mammalia, Reptilia, Cephalopoda, Lissamphibia, Actinopterygii, Malacostraca, Arachnida, Insecta, Actinistia, Scyphozoa, and Eutardigrada.

Pack some water, snacks, and road trip games. It’s going to be a long ride!

Extra Stats below the cut:

Cnidarian Class Octocorallia (polyps with 8-fold symmetry)

~ was the first group of the redemption round

~ had the highest percentage of likes at 48.4%

~ had 0 dislikes

Cnidarian Class Hexacorallia (polyps with 6-fold symmetry)

~ had the highest amount of likes at 80

~ had 0 dislikes and 0 hates

Cnidarian Class Cubozoa (“Box Jellyfish”)

~ had 0 hates

Cnidarian Class Hydrozoa (Hydrozoans)

~ had the highest percentage of favorites at 25.3%, along with Scyphozoa

~ had 0 hates

~ had the third most reblogs at 33

Cnidarian Class Scyphozoa (“True Jellyfish”)

~ had the highest amount of favorites at 59

~ had the highest percentage of favorites at 25.3%, along with Hydrozoa

~ had 0 hates

~ had the most notes at 99

~ had the most reblogs at 48

Cnidarian Class Myxosporea (microscopic parasites)

~ had the lowest amount of loves at 5, along with Monogenea

~ had the lowest percentage of loves at 4%

Cnidarian Class Malacosporea (microscopic parasites)

~ had the lowest amount of likes at 16

~ had the lowest percentage of likes at 13.2%

~ had the highest amount of neutral votes at 78

Platyhelminthian Class Catenulida (simple, free-living flatworms)

~ had the lowest amount of favorites at 3, along with Monogenea

~ had the lowest percentage of favorites at 2.7%

~ had 0 hates

Platyhelminthian Class Cestoda (“ Tapeworms” and Cestodarians)

~ had the highest amount of dislikes at 32

~ had the highest percentage of dislikes at 23.7%

~ had the highest amount of hates at 8

~ had the highest percentage of hates at 5.9%

Platyhelminthian Class Monogenea (ectoparasites)

~ had the least votes at 95

~ had the lowest amount of favorites at 3, along with Catenulida

~ had the lowest amount of loves at 5, along with Myxosporea

~ had the highest percentage of neutral votes at 65.3%

~ had the least notes at 13

~ had the least reblogs at 6

Tardigradan Class Eutardigrada (“Smooth-bodied Tardigrades”)

~ had the most votes at 240

~ had the highest amount of loves at 130

~ had the highest percentage of loves at 54.2%

~ had the lowest amount of neutral votes at 8

~ had the lowest percentage of neutral votes at 3.3%

~ had the second most reblogs at 38

Tardigradan Class Heterotardigrada (“Rough-bodied Tardigrades”)

~ had the same amount of loves as likes

~ had 0 hates

Ctenophoran Class Tentaculata (“Tentaculate Comb Jellies”)

~ had 69 loves (nice)

~ had 0 dislikes and 0 hates

Ctenophoran Class Nuda (“Beroids”)

~ had 0 dislikes and 0 hates

[thatonegirlonhere]

can a request felix x inexperienced!bsf!reader where she’s been having trouble climaxing by herself so she asks him to come over and help her🫣

You’re Not Broken

Felix x F! Bsf reader

AHHHHH THIS IS SO GOOD OMG!!! Okay, so I hope you’re not upset but I did tweak it just a little… I promise it’s not by much though!!

Please enjoy this panty soaking, thigh clenching smut. And as per usual: Eat a snack, drink some water, put a towel down, and get ready to read ;)

Content warning: fingering, oral (f!receiving),protected sex, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, dominance, possessiveness, praise, aftercare.

word count: ~3500

Master list

Lmk if you want to be added to my tag list ☺️

© thatonegirlonhere ── please do not copy, translate, or repost my work without permission.

Your apartment was warm with the kind of lazy comfort only Felix ever seemed to bring. He was stretched out on your couch, legs long and sprawled, hoodie swallowing him whole while his freckles glowed faintly under the lamp light. Some movie neither of you were really watching played in the background, and the half-empty pizza box on the coffee table was proof of how your “Friday night in” always went.

He laughed at something dumb you said, that low rumble of his voice vibrating through the air, and you couldn’t help but grin. Being with Felix was always like this—safe, easy, like breathing.

“You’re literally the only person who finds me funny,” you teased, nudging his thigh with your foot.

“Lies,” he smirked, grabbing your ankle before you could pull away. His long fingers curled around it, warm and casual, but it made your stomach dip anyway. “You’re hilarious. Half the time I’m laughing because you’re not even trying.”

The conversation drifted from jokes to old stories, to people you both used to date—or tried to. It wasn’t unusual, not with how you’d always been open with each other. Felix told you about a date that ended when the girl cried over her ex mid-dessert, and you countered with your own awkward fling that fizzled out after two weeks.

And that was when it slipped out.

“I don’t even bother anymore,” you said with a shrug, sipping your drink. “Like, what’s the point? I’ve never even…” You hesitated, then added lightly, “Never even made myself cum, so maybe my body’s just broken.”

Silence.

You blinked and turned your head, realizing Felix wasn’t laughing along this time. He was staring at you, lips parted slightly, eyes wide.

“…What?” you asked, laughing nervously. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” His deep voice was low, sharp around the edges in a way you’d never heard before. He sat up straighter, brows drawn together. “Y/N… you’re telling me you’ve never—ever—?”

You waved him off, suddenly regretting saying anything. “I don’t know, I just… figured some people can’t, right? Like maybe I’m just one of them. It’s fine.”

But Felix didn’t look like he thought it was fine. In fact, he looked… unsettled. His jaw flexed as he stared at you, freckles dusted across skin that had gone warm pink.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” he muttered.

“What?”

“That’s not—” He ran a hand through his blond hair, frustrated, before looking back at you. His eyes, normally soft, were dark and fixed. “You’re not broken. And the fact that you think that—fuck, no. That just means no one’s done it right.”

Your breath hitched. The way he said it, that little growl under his voice, made your chest tighten.

“Lix—”

“Do you trust me?” he cut in, voice deep, rough.

The question knocked the air from your lungs. “You know I do.”

His gaze flicked down your body before returning to your face, something dangerous simmering there. “Then let me prove you wrong.”

Your heart stopped.

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in, heat rushing through your body like wildfire. He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t teasing. Felix—your Felix, your best friend—was dead serious.

“Felix…” you whispered.

He shifted closer on the couch, his knee brushing yours. His hand reached out, cupping your jaw so gently you almost melted. “Tell me no, and I’ll drop it. We’ll never bring it up again. But if you say yes…” His thumb traced your cheek, his eyes locking you in place. “I’ll make you cum so many times you’ll forget you ever thought you couldn’t.”

Your entire body trembled.

And when you didn’t pull away—when you whispered, “Yes”—something inside him snapped.

⸻

Felix kissed you like he’d been holding himself back for years. His mouth was soft but hungry, tasting you like he needed proof you were real, his tongue sliding against yours until your lungs burned. When he finally pulled away, your lips were wet and swollen, and he pressed his forehead to yours with a shaky laugh.

“You don’t know what you just started,” he murmured, voice dropping so low it vibrated in your chest.

Your heart pounded as he guided you back against the cushions, moving with care, as if he was terrified you might change your mind. But the second your back touched the couch, his whole demeanor shifted—protective, yes, but commanding too. He leaned over you, one knee pressing between your thighs, caging you in.

“Look at me, angel,” he whispered. His hand cradled your cheek, thumb brushing your skin. “Still okay?”

You nodded, too breathless for words.

“That’s my girl.” The praise rolled out of him in that deep, husky timbre, and your stomach flipped.

His hand slid down, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. The brush of his fingers over your skin was enough to make you shiver, every callus catching against your ribs as he traced a slow path to your stomach. He didn’t rush, letting you feel every inch of contact until goosebumps spread across your skin.

When he reached the band of your leggings, he paused, his eyes burning into yours. “Can I?”

Your whisper was shaky, but certain. “Yes.”

The corner of his mouth lifted before he hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged, dragging your leggings down slowly, like unwrapping a present he wanted to savor. When you were bare for him, his gaze darkened.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, the word raw, reverent. “So perfect.”

Heat shot through you at the way he looked at you, not just lust but awe, like you were something untouchable. He lowered himself, settling between your spread thighs. His palm cupped you over your panties, applying just enough pressure to make your hips jolt.

You gasped, instinctively trying to close your legs, but his free hand held your knee open with firm gentleness.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Let me see you. Let me feel you.”

Your face flamed as he stroked over the damp fabric, his thumb brushing your clit in lazy circles. The friction had your breath hitching in seconds, thighs trembling against his hold.

“You’re already wet for me,” he whispered, smirking against your jaw. “And you were telling me your body can’t? Angel, you’re dripping.”

Your protest died in a whimper when he pushed your panties aside and touched you bare. His fingers traced your folds, slow, exploring, as if he had all night to learn every contour of you. He spread your slickness with teasing strokes, dragging it up to your clit before slipping back down.

“Felix—” Your voice cracked.

“Shh,” he soothed, kissing the corner of your lips. “Just relax. Let me show you.”

Then, finally, he slid one finger inside.

The intrusion was startling at first—different from your own clumsy attempts—but his touch was steady, sure, patient. He didn’t push too fast, letting you adjust before curling slightly, pressing up into the sensitive spot inside you.

The noise that ripped out of you made his breath hitch.

“There it is,” he groaned, his accent thicker, his control slipping. “Right there. That’s your sweet spot, isn’t it, baby?”

Before you could answer, he added a second finger. The stretch made you whine, but the fullness was delicious, especially when he began to move—slow at first, then faster, curling up into that same spot with precision. His thumb pressed down on your clit, circling in rhythm with each thrust of his fingers.

You bucked against him, overwhelmed, every nerve sparking. “Lix—oh my god—”

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “You feel that? That’s your body begging for release. You’re not broken, angel. You’ve just been waiting for the right one.”

Your hips chased his hand, the coil in your stomach tightening unbearably. Felix’s breath came harder, his forehead pressed to yours as he worked you open.

“You’re so fucking tight around my fingers,” he groaned. “Can’t wait to feel you cum for me. Wanna hear you scream my name when you let go.”

Your nails dug into his hoodie, your thighs shaking uncontrollably. The sensation built and built until you thought you’d shatter.

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His thumb pressed harder, circling faster, relentless. His fingers pumped into you with perfect rhythm, curling up against that spot until sparks danced behind your eyes. “You will. Cum for me, angel. I’ve got you. Let go.”

The orgasm hit like a lightning strike.

Your body arched violently, mouth falling open in a cry you couldn’t hold back. Pleasure ripped through you in crashing waves, so intense you almost sobbed. Your walls clamped around his fingers, pulsing as he coaxed every ounce out of you.

“That’s it, baby. That’s my girl,” Felix groaned, watching your face with something close to awe. “So beautiful when you cum. God, I could watch you like this forever.”

He slowed gradually, easing you down, then withdrew his fingers with care. You shivered as he brought them to his mouth, sliding them past his lips with a hum of satisfaction.

“Told you,” he said, voice rough and dripping with smug affection. “Not broken.”

Your whole body trembled, wrecked, and when you buried your face in his chest, his arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you through the aftershocks.

⸻

Your body was still trembling when Felix eased you back against the cushions, his big hand smoothing over your thigh like he needed to ground you. His chest rose and fell fast, but his eyes never left your face—dark, intent, hungry.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

“Felix…” you breathed, half-embarrassed, half-overwhelmed.

His lips curled into a crooked grin, freckles crinkling with it, but his voice stayed low, rough. “That was just my fingers, angel. I told you—your body can do this. Over and over.”

Heat flared in your stomach again, even through the haze of your orgasm. He leaned down, kissing you softly at first, but when you whimpered against his mouth, his control cracked. His tongue slid against yours, deeper, hungrier, like he couldn’t get enough.

When he pulled away, his mouth was wet and swollen. He glanced down your body, then back at you, his voice a rasp. “Can I taste you?”

The question made your breath stutter. “Y-you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His hand pressed lightly against your stomach, pinning you in place as he shifted lower, between your thighs. “Need to. I’ve been dying to know how sweet you are.”

You couldn’t speak, only nodded shakily.

Felix’s smirk was sinful, but the way he kissed the inside of your thigh before lowering himself was reverent. “Good girl.”

Then he dragged his tongue through your folds.

Your whole body jolted, a broken gasp leaving your throat. His low groan rumbled against you, and you realized with a shock that he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his deep voice vibrating straight through you. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

His mouth sealed over your clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue against it in quick, precise strokes. You cried out, hips jerking, but his hands pinned your thighs open, holding you down with easy strength.

“Stay still for me,” he growled softly. “Let me eat you the way you deserve.”

The wet sounds filled the room—his tongue lapping, his lips sucking, the needy noises he let slip like he was starving for you. He alternated between teasing flicks over your clit and plunging his tongue deep inside you, fucking you with his mouth until your hands tangled helplessly in his blond hair.

“Felix—oh god—”

He pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, his chin glistening. “Louder, angel. I want everyone to know I’m the one making you feel this good.”

Before you could answer, he dove back in, this time adding his fingers again—two sliding into your slick heat while his tongue lashed your clit. The combination was devastating, pushing you higher, faster.

The pressure built so quickly you were almost scared of it.

“Lix—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His eyes locked on yours, even as his tongue moved relentlessly. “Cum on my tongue, baby. Drown me in it.”

The orgasm tore through you without warning. You screamed his name, thighs shaking violently against his hold as pleasure crashed over you in brutal waves. Felix groaned into you, drinking down every drop, his fingers still pumping until you were thrashing.

Only when you pushed weakly at his head did he finally ease up, kissing your trembling thighs as he withdrew his fingers. He licked them clean again with a filthy moan, then crawled back up to kiss you, making you taste yourself on his tongue.

“See?” he whispered against your lips, his deep voice dripping with satisfaction. “Not broken. Just needed me to ruin you.”

Your chest heaved, your voice a wrecked whisper. “Felix…”

He kissed you again, slower this time, his hand cradling your jaw. “Still not done, angel. I’m gonna keep going until you can’t remember what it feels like not to cum.”

⸻

You were still shuddering, your body buzzing from your second orgasm, when Felix pulled himself up over you again. His lips were red and swollen, his chin still slick, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon.

And his eyes—dark, wild, wrecked—fixed on you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Angel…” His voice was ragged, torn from his chest. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, trembling. “Felix—”

But your words died when your gaze flicked lower. His hoodie had ridden up, revealing the hard lines of his stomach, and beneath his sweats he was straining, so hard it made your mouth go dry.

Your best friend. Hard for you.

He caught the direction of your stare and groaned, burying his face against your neck for a second before muttering, “I was trying to take it slow—fuck—but I need to feel you.”

His hips pressed against yours, the blunt length of him grinding through the slick mess between your thighs, and the friction made both of you moan.

“Felix,” you whispered, half plea, half disbelief.

He lifted his head, cupping your face in both hands. “Tell me no, and I’ll stop. Right now. But if you say yes…” His forehead pressed to yours, his breath shaking. “I’ll fuck you until you can’t say anything but my name.”

Your answer was instant. “Yes. Please.”

The sound he made—half growl, half whimper—shook through your bones. He sat up just enough to shove his hoodie and sweats off in a frenzy, his cock springing free, flushed and leaking. Your breath hitched at the sight—thick, long, almost intimidating.

Felix caught your reaction, his smirk wicked but his voice soft. “Don’t worry, angel. It’ll fit.”

He grabbed a condom from his wallet—because of course he had one—and rolled it on with shaky hands, all while keeping his eyes locked on you. Then he lowered himself again, lining up at your entrance.

The first push stole your breath.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his deep voice breaking as he eased in. “Gripping me like you were made for me.”

You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in as he stretched you inch by inch. It was overwhelming, but his hand stroked your cheek, grounding you. “Breathe for me, baby. That’s it. You’re doing so good.”

When he bottomed out, fully seated inside you, both of you moaned in unison. Felix dropped his forehead to your shoulder, trembling. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he confessed, voice raw. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to feel you like this.”

You gasped, stunned. “You… wanted this?”

His laugh was shaky, broken. “Wanted you. Always.”

Then he pulled back and thrust in again—and everything else disappeared.

The stretch, the fullness, the sheer pressure of him made you sob out his name. He set a slow, steady rhythm at first, rolling his hips deep, grinding into your sweet spot with every stroke.

“Felix—oh my god—”

“That’s it,” he panted, his deep voice wrecked. “Take me. Feel how deep I am? No one else could ever touch you like this.”

He picked up the pace, thrusts sharper now, his abs flexing with the effort. Sweat dotted his temples, blond hair sticking to his forehead, but his eyes never left you—watching every cry, every gasp, like he was memorizing.

Your nails raked down his back, and he hissed, slamming harder. The wet slap of skin filled the room, obscene and perfect.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, voice cracking. “I’m addicted already. Gonna fuck you until you can’t think.”

His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, circling ruthlessly in time with his thrusts. The combination was brutal—you were already sensitive, already trembling—and the orgasm built fast, hot and impossible to stop.

“Lix—I’m gonna—”

“Cum with me, angel,” he begged, his thrusts rougher now, desperate. “Cum on my cock. Show me you’re mine.”

The dam broke again, harder than before. You screamed his name as your body clenched violently around him, stars bursting behind your eyes. Felix’s curse ripped out with yours, his thrusts stuttering as he slammed deep one final time, his whole body shuddering as he came with a broken moan against your neck.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the weight of him pressed against you, his heartbeat hammering as wildly as yours.

Then Felix kissed you—soft, lingering, shaking—and whispered against your lips, “Told you. You’re perfect. You’re mine.”

⸻

Felix collapsed onto you with a groan, his body heavy and warm, but the second he realized how much weight he was putting on you, he rolled to the side, pulling you into his chest instead. His arms wrapped around you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head as if you might float away if he let go.

“You okay, angel?” he whispered, his deep voice still hoarse.

You nodded against his chest, still trembling, your voice barely there. “Yeah… just… wow.”

His laugh was soft, shaky. “Yeah, wow.” He pressed a kiss into your hair, breathing you in like he needed the scent to calm himself down. “You were perfect. So perfect for me.”

His hand stroked slowly up and down your spine, grounding you, while his other hand gently massaged your thigh where it had been trembling earlier. Every touch was deliberate, soothing, the opposite of the desperate pace he’d just fucked you with.

“Does anything hurt?” he asked carefully, leaning back enough to scan your face. His freckles were still dusted across flushed cheeks, his hair messy, his lips swollen—but his eyes were pure concern.

“No,” you whispered, smiling faintly. “Just… sore. In a good way.”

Relief washed over his features. He kissed you softly, almost reverently this time, nothing like the hungry kisses from before. “Good. I’ll run you a bath later, yeah? Get you some water first.”

You blinked up at him, a little stunned. “You’re really… good at this.”

Felix chuckled, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Not just good at sex, angel. Good at you. I know how to take care of my girl.”

Your stomach flipped at the words my girl, but he didn’t seem to notice—he was too busy tugging the blanket from the back of the couch to drape it over both of you. He tucked it in around you snugly, like he’d done a thousand sleepovers before, only this time his touch lingered at your waist, his lips pressed to your temple.

“You scared me, you know,” he murmured after a while.

Your brows knit. “Scared you?”

“That you thought you were broken.” His voice cracked on it, raw. He hugged you tighter, burying his face in your hair. “I hated hearing you say that. You’re the most beautiful, perfect thing I’ve ever seen, and the idea of you believing you’re anything less—” He broke off with a frustrated sigh. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving you wrong if I have to.”

Your throat tightened, eyes stinging. You turned, pressing your lips to his jaw, whispering, “You already proved it tonight.”

Felix exhaled shakily, and when he looked down at you, his eyes were soft but shining, like he was on the edge of saying something bigger. Instead, he kissed you again—slow, deep, full of everything he wasn’t ready to put into words yet.

When he finally pulled back, he tucked you tighter into his chest, his deep voice rumbling as he whispered, “Rest, angel. I’ve got you.”

And with his arms around you, his warmth seeping into your bones, it was easy to let go.

TYSM for reading!!

Feel free to check out my master list to see more of my works!

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[umadosedepascal]

DIRTY HOLIDAY | Pedro Pascal X f!reader | One Shot

Written by Santa Trindade

Banner by @missyorkswhore

Made in Brazil

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: You go with friends spend the holidays in Mexico, such a coincidence to be at the same resort as Pedro. What a world, so small huh?

wc: 3.7k

rating/warnings: [little surprising plot] [Pedro being Pedro][unprotected PIV][oral sex m/f] [alcohol comsuption] [Curse words]

a/n: C’MON GUYS. Do I need to explain myself after yesterday pictures and videos? NO. FUCKING HELL NO. wtf Pedro.. WHY is he so fucking hot??? WTF. 😭

You are going with your friends to Mexico to spend the holidays this year. It was a tough decision to make because you always spend the holidays with family, but this time you decided to try something new away from home since your whole family always judges you. Your dad always comes to you saying, “You’ve been drinking a lot, my baby; slow down…”

All you want to say is that you are a grown woman and do whatever you want, but every year you keep behaving as an angel to them.

You and your girlfriends get on the airplane on the 24th, heading to Mexico for 2 weeks.

All of you are very excited and feeling some freedom in the air.

“Hell yeah, the first thing we get there will be a round of tequila shots… you gotta deal with me…” and your friends laugh with your sassy attitude.

A promise is a promise. You check in, change to your bikinis, and go to the bar by the pool.

“Hey buddy, 3 shots of tequila, por favor?”

The barman looks at you with half-closed eyes. “ID first, my ladies; you look under 18…”

Although you are all over 27, actually, you three hand your IDs on the counter and look around the pool waiting for your drinks.

One of your friends comes to you and says, “Hey, isn’t that guy from….”

Your jaw drops, your legs start trembling and shaking, trying to hold on to something and not to fall… “YES?”

Pedro is lying down on a sun chair in red shorts, drips of water are running down to his bare chest, and he is really deep into a book.

“I need my shot RIGHT NOW!” You say loudly to your friends, trying to compose yourself at the same time.

They know you have a crush on him and talk nonstop about his work, so this is going to be a wild trip if you get to meet him even for a second.

“Second round is on me; let’s do it,” one of your friends says.

All you can think about is him. You don’t stop to look in his direction and try to plan how to approach without being a silly, stupid, drunk idiot.

The most down-to-earth friend of yours tries to calm you down, saying that you will have your chance, etc., but you are so far away in your thoughts that you ask for a large margarita and tell them you're going to take a sun chair as close as possible to him and see what happens.

“You crazy! But yeah, good luck; I hope he’s not a dick with you…” one of them tells you, hopeless, not trying to hurt your feelings.

“Dick? Yeah, I want some dick… You laugh, already buzzed, walking towards the chair right next to his.

As long as you get near him, by himself, still deep into the book.

You already worked up the courage and asked, “Hi, is this chair taken?”

He gives a side eye, looking at you from head to toe. “No darling, all yours…”

As you sit on the chair, you can hear your friends from the bar cheering like party animals.

You look at him saying, “Jeez, these people know how to party, huh?” Hoping he didn’t see you before taking shots with them a few moments ago.

“Yeah, yeah… young people... having their time…” he says with a smooth voice.

You feel relief because he didn’t see you before with them and anxious at the same time because YES, you could start a chit chat with him.

“Erm, yeah…” You don’t know how to keep this going and pick anything that you find inside your ecobag just to create other possible ways to talk.

Lay down on the chair, put on your Ray-Bans, and open the FUCKING MAP of the resort.

Jesus, what am I doing? Should I say I know him? Should I just ask what he is reading or maybe wait for another brief comment coming from him?

You can see by the side of your eye that from time to time he looks at you, but very, very fast, you just hold that giant map, feeling like you're on mushrooms with empty thoughts on your mind.

You’ve got your friends getting drunk and cheering for you from the bar and the hottest guy in the world by your side.

Think wisely…

You grab your drink from the side table and sip it.

“Is that good?” He asks you.

Pretending like you got scared, almost dropping the fancy glass on the floor… “Did you just.. talk to me? Um, well, I had better ones. But this one isn’t bad at all…” you describe your drink with a shy smile.

What the fuck did I say???

He chuckles, closing his book and now sitting down on the chair.

“Hm... 3-star review? I’m getting one myself; I like cheap stuff.”

You simply just give a “ha” to him as he stands up and walks towards the bar.

Your friends get wild; at this point, they might think he is going to talk to them for sure.

You immediately look at them trying to mimic something like, “Nooooo, noooooo, don’t say shit, you motherfuckers!!!”

You are in a panic because you know them and what they are capable of, especially under alcohol influence.

But they understand wrong; they know you always need a hand in terms of trying to flirt with someone else.

You see one of them approach him, saying something and looking at you at the same time.

You are screwed up. You know.

The only thing you can do now is wait for your end, getting big gulps of your drink and trying to calm down.

He comes back with a wild smile on his face saying, “I just met your friends over there; they told me things... you don’t need to hide anything…”

You sit down quickly. “What? Hahaha, they… They are buzzed; don’t believe in what they say…”

He keeps looking at you with half-closed eyes. “Hmm,” he sits on his chair sipping his drink and says, “Yeah, it’s not that bad at all…”

You simply don’t talk for some moments; your anxiety is building up like a pressure cooker.

Until then… “Hey Pedro… I’m sorry… I just wanted to say hi, but I’m already drunk, and I don’t know how to start a proper conversation. They probably told you I’m a sucker for you… and the ‘dick’ thing as well. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a stalker; I don’t want to bother you. I just think you're awesome, and it was a stupid idea to come over right here, right now.” You run over words.

“Wow, wow, wow, they just told me to be nice to you, haha, because you care... about me.” Pointing to himself.

After you say all that with a flushed cheek, you let out a loud laugh looking at your friends that are already out of sight. You get more desperate saying sorry a million times, trying to compose yourself.

“What more did they say?”

“That you are awesome and know everything about my stuff, but with moderation… I don’t know what they meant, but yeah, I just didn’t catch your name…"

You tell him your name with eyes open and disbelief that your friends, for the first time, did a good job, but not you… not you.

“What’s the dick thing you told me?” He asks you with a smirk.

“Aaah, nothing… being a dick… that’s it.” You say, looking to the ground with shame.

He grabs you by the chin and says, “I would never be a dick to a beautiful girl like you…”

You feel a shiver down to your spine when he touches you like that.

Oh shit…I’m already wet without even getting into the pool.

“I, I think I need to… brb…” You leave everything behind and go straight to the toilet, locking the door and sitting there.

Breathe in, breathe out.Ok, I will just grab my stuff and disappear…What did I do?

As soon as you open the door, Pedro is there waiting…

“I usually don’t do things like that; it can be the vibe, my drinks, or even Xmas. I don’t know…” He says, grabbing your hips, pushing you back to the toilet, and closing the door behind him.

“Is that what you wanted? hm" He rubs his beard on your face, searching for your mouth.

He guides your hands to his growing bulge while running his right hand from behind you, rubbing one finger over your pussy.

You moan when he rubs his finger roughly against you…

“So wet already for me…” he says in between sloppy kisses.

“Since the moment I spotted you here, yeah…” you whisper, with both hands stroking his cock over the shorts…

Then Pedro takes you slowly to the sink and sits you there, spreading your legs…“Let me see what you got, beautiful… spread more…” putting your bikini bottom aside and lowering to the same level.

You grab his wet hair with one hand while he tongue darts you deep, sucking your lips and moaning low with pleasure…

You don’t even blink, just looking down at him savoring you, such a tease.

No fucking way this is happening…

You can feel his nose rubbing against your clit; you are getting close to the edge, but suddenly people knock at the door…

“Oh dammit…” You murmur disappointedly.

Pedro stops his worship on you and tells you with a low voice, “My room isn't far... want to see what naughty presents Santa has for you?" His fingers trace small patterns on your thighs, making you shiver.

“But we need to be discreet… What’s your room number? I meet you there…”

Pedro chuckled softly, his breath tickling your ear. "Discreet, huh? I like the way you think." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe as he whispered, "Room 217, second floor."

Luckily nobody is at the door anymore, so you sneak out the toilet.

You try to find your girls just to quickly freak out and disappear again, but there's no sign of them.

You come back to the pool area, and Pedro isn’t there anymore; you bite your lip, get a deep breath, take your stuff, and go towards the elevator.

Room 217

You knock twice.

The door slowly creaks open, revealing Pedro standing there, his shirt half unbuttoned, revealing his chiseled chest. He's holding a bottle of tequila and two glasses. His eyes roamed over your body hungrily.

Stepping aside to let you in, he whispers suggestively, "Merry Christmas to me, indeed." He gently shut the door behind you, his free hand trailing down your arm. "Hope you like tequila..."

“Hm, yeah, better be careful… right?

Pedro's eyebrows shot up, a devilish grin spreading across his face at the memory. "Ah, but that was just a sample of what I can do sober. Imagine what I'm capable of now, all loosened up." Doing a little dance…

Then he pours two generous glasses of tequila, sliding one towards you before picking up his own. "I've got a list of naughty things I want to do with you..."

Oh, he wants to play a game…I’m just gonna faint 😮‍💨

“Oh… tell me more…” You push him to the sofa, sitting on his lap.

A deep, sexy chuckle escapes his lips as he lets you push him onto the sofa, his hands immediately finding your curves. "Mmm, you're being a naughty girl..." He takes a sip of his tequila, then offers you the glass. "You first."

“My list? With you... it is an extensive list. Better you tell me yours first…”

Pedro leans back into the sofa, a confident smirk playing on his lips as his hands continue their exploration of your body. "Well, since you asked..." He takes another sip of tequila, his eyes never leaving yours.

The motherfucker is a tease; I knew it… I knew it!!!

His hands wander up and down your body possessively as he continues. "I want to see those perfect lips wrapped around my... gifts." He punctuates his words with a gentle bite to your neck.

"Then I want you bent over this fireplace mantel while I take you from behind, watching your reflection in that mirror across the room.” His fingers trailed along your waistband suggestively.

“Wow…You really don’t waste time on your list, huh?” You start unbuttoning his shirt all the way down.

He chuckles, his eyes locking onto yours as he sees you unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his chest and abs one button at a time. He helps you finish the job, tossing his shirt aside. "Guess not..." He growls, pulling you closer.

Pedro's lips curled into a wicked smile as you slowly head down towards his chest, his hand lightly gripping the back of your neck.

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." you murmur approvingly, pressing your lips against his nipple.

He let out a low groan as you began to suck, his other hand coming up to gently stroke your cheek. "Fuck, just like that..."

You let out a soft laugh. “So… you like some worship on your nipples, huh?”

A deep, sultry chuckle escaped his lips, his voice husky with desire. "You're learning my secrets, aren't you?" His hand urges your head towards his other nipple. "Not just my nipples... but every part of me deserves some worship."

“That’s how I make my way down…” you whisper.

His breath hitches as you whisper your intentions, his body tingling with excitement. "Well then, I can hardly wait to feel those heavenly lips trailing lower..." He guides your face down his torso, his abs clenching instinctively under your touch.

As you kiss and nuzzle your way down his abdomen, Pedro's hands rest lightly on your head, his fingers gently guiding you. "Lower... lower... yes, just like that..." He hisses as your lips brush against the waistband of his red swim trunks.

You slowly peel back his zipper, the sound echoing in the room. Pedro's breathing grows heavier as you reach inside and wrap your hand around his thick, hard length. He lets out a low groan as you pull it free, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Fuck... oh god..."

Pedro's cock twitches eagerly as you firm your grip, the skin velvety soft, a prominent vein runs along the underside. The head is broad and round, flushed a deep red, with a tiny slit oozing with pre-cum. His hips giving an involuntary thrust forward, seeking more of your touch. "Don't tease me, beautiful..." He breathes out, voice strained with lust. "Put those gorgeous lips to work."

As you bob your head up and down, Pedro's hands tighten on your shoulders, his fingers digging into your skin. He starts to thrust gently…”Fuck... You look so beautiful with your mouth full of me..." He pants, his abs flexing with each thrust. His hands move to cup your jaw, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he guides your movements. The wet sounds of your sucking fill the room, mixed with his guttural groans.

I take you out of my mouth for a few seconds. “You taste so good, but I don’t want you to reach the edge, hottie…”

His breath catches at your words. "Mmm, teasing me now? You know exactly what you're doing..." His tone is a mix of both frustration and deep satisfaction. "Yeah, don't make me come just yet…”

“Yes, let’s work on your list…” You say, sitting back on his lap, cleaning the corner of your mouth with his precum.

Pedro's eyes darken with desire as he watches you clean your mouth with his precum. "Fuck, you're so naughty... I love it." He reaches out and runs his thumb over your lips, spreading it around before leaning in to claim your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.

“So…What did you say about the fireplace? Second of the list…”

Pedro smirks mischievously. "Ah, the fireplace... I was thinking we could move our little session over there." He stands up, lifting you with him effortlessly. "I want to bend you over the mantel and fuck you from behind, watching your reflection in that mirror across the room.”

Pedro carries you to the fireplace, setting you down gently on your feet. He spins you around and bends you over the ornate wooden mantel, the cool marble pressing against your skin. "Keep those elbows locked," he commands, a firm hand on the small of your back.

Not happy with that, you just suggest, “Why don’t you just take me to the bed?”

"Because the bed is too ordinary," Pedro murmurs, running his hands down your thighs possessively, "I want to do this here, where I can watch myself take you in the mirror." He steps back to admire the view, his eyes roaming over your arched back and rounded bottom.

With a mischievous tone, you ask him… ”and you like to watch yourself?”

"Right now I’d love watching myself fucking you," Pedro confesses, his voice low and husky with desire. "Seeing my cock disappear into your pussy, feeling your body shake as I pound into you... it's fucking incredible." He reaches out to run his fingers through your hair, tangling them in the loose strands.

"And the mirror," he continues, his other hand reaching out to the mantel to steady himself as he lines himself up with your entrance. "Watching myself push into you, feeling your tight little hole squeeze around my dick as I fuck you hard against the mirror... fuck, it's going to be perfect."

With a deep grunt, Pedro thrusts forward, sheathing his hard length inside you in one smooth motion. He pauses for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried inside you before he starts to move, his hips slamming against your ass as he fucks you hard against the mirror.

"Look at us in the mirror..." He reaches around to cup your breasts while continuing his steady pace. "Watch how beautifully you take my cock. Those whimpers you're making... fuck, you're perfect." His pace quickens, his breath becoming ragged against your ear.

His fingers pinch and tug at your nipples as he fucks you relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. The mirror fogs up from your panting breaths and his sweat, obscuring parts of the reflection but not enough to hide the lewd scene unfolding before it.

In between moans, you beg him to take you to the bed; you can’t stand your legs anymore with so much pressure.

Pedro growls, pulling out of you abruptly and spinning you around to face him. He lifts you up and carries you to the bed, tossing you onto it before climbing on top of you. "I need to be inside you again, now."

He settles between your thighs, his hard cock pressing urgently against your slick folds. "Wrap your legs around me," he demands, easing the tip of his shaft teasingly along your slit. As you comply, he grips your wrists, pinning them above your head with one strong hand.

Pedro leans down, capturing your lips in a fierce, dominant kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming your mouth as his other hand guides his cock to your entrance. In one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you again, swallowing your gasp with his mouth.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes blazing with lust as he begins to move, thrusting into you with deep, measured strokes that make the bed creak beneath you. "Fuck, your pussy feels amazing," he grits out, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you.

Pedro quickens his pace, his grip on your wrists tightening as he chases his release. The room fills with the sound of his hips slapping against yours and your breathy moans. "I'm going to fill you up so full," he pants, nipping at your jaw. One of his hands slides between your bodies, finding your clit and circling it with his thumb. "I want to feel you come on my cock…”

"Fuck, you're getting tighter... Is this what you need, baby?" His thumb presses harder against your clit as he fucks you with deep, forceful strokes, the intensity in his eyes unwavering. "Come for me..."

Pedro feels your walls clench around him, and he growls, "That's it, cum on my cock." He slams into you one last time, burying himself as deep as he can go. His thumb circles your clit frantically as his release builds. "Fuck, I'm close..."

With a loud grunt, Pedro explodes inside you, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his hot seed. His thumb presses hard against your clit, sending you over the edge as you scream in pleasure, your pussy milking his cock for everything he's got.

He stays buried inside you, his thumb slowly circling your sensitive bundle of nerves as he nuzzles his face against yours, breathing heavily. "Damn it, I will tell your friends you are amazing… they were right..." He murmurs, his voice muffled against your neck.

After a moment, Pedro slowly pulls out of you, his softening cock slipping free from your still-quivering pussy. He collapses beside you on the bed, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. "Can we keep up with this list?" You say.

He kisses the top of your head, his heart still racing from their intense encounter. "I think we should keep going, yeah. There are a lot more things on that list I want to try with you." He pulls out his phone and starts typing, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Hey, I need to check on the girls...” you say, worried about them being away for a couple of hours already.

Pedro looks up from his phone, his expression softening. "Of course, go check on your friends. I'll be here when you get back. But don't be too long, okay?" He says giving you a little wink.

As soon as you go back to your room, you find your friends passed out on the bed.

Well, I guess you will leave a note at the door saying thanks for the little help, and you guys will catch up on the next day because you won’t sleep in the same room for a while… The list is endless.

😈

————————————————

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[russo-woso]

Giving it away || Jessie Fleming x Putellas!reader

Request | Masterlist | Prompt list

Warning Injury

Summary You and Jessie have hid your relationship for a while, but will it all get revealed when your sister and Jessie get in a heated tackle?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It had been a nightmare from hell.

Spain were playing Canada in a friendly.

To most people and players, it wasn’t a big deal. After all, it was just a friendly.

But for you, you were playing your girlfriend for the first time.

You and Jessie had been together for a few months, seven months officially.

You both met when you went to Chelsea for two seasons.

You wanted a break from Spain, always being in the shadows of your older sister, Alexia.

So, you decided to go to England. You quickly signed your contract with Chelsea, shifting your whole life to the WSL.

Your sister understood your reasons for leaving Barcelona, having you promise you’d come back.

You knew you would so you happily promised. You’d miss your homeland and your sister and go back.

But you met Jessie, and made the whole situation so much harder for you.

Over the course of the two years, you fell hard for each other, quickly becoming inseparable before realising your both liked each other.

When the two years were up, you made the decision to fly back to Barcelona and sign a year contract.

You’d made a name for yourself in the football community and you weren’t just alexia putellas’ sister, you were Y/N Putellas.

Jessie also made the decision to leave Chelsea, however, she didn’t follow you to Spain.

Jessie flew to America instead, signing for Portland thorns.

You spoke about it and agreed you could do long distance, the love between you so strong that you could make it work.

And maybe the idea of one of you leaving your respectable clubs to play in one country to be closer to each other.

You spoke to each other everyday on the phone. It was difficult, both of you could admit it, but it was working and that’s what mattered.

There was one downfall to it though, You had to do it secret.

Growing up, whenever you brought a girl round, Alexia scared them away, sometimes even with just a glare.

You didn’t want that to happen with Jessie, so you kept her a secret from Alexia.

You’ll tell her at some point, right?

Wrong

You didn’t and that’s what brings you to now, your girlfriend and your sister in the middle of a heated tackle.

It happened so suddenly.

Alexia had slid into Jessie, clipping her ankles sending Jessie hurling to the floor.

“Alexia!” You shouted, worry on your face as you focused on Jessie, her face scrunched up in pain. “Bebé, are you okay?”

It slipped out of you mouth, after all, it was natural for you to call her it.

“Bebé? What?” Alexia said, confusion written on her face. “You two? Are you… qué mierda.”

“Alexia, I was gonna tell you.” You muttered to her in Spanish, looking up to her as you crouched down, rubbing Jessie’s shoulder. “I was, I promise. It just hadn’t come up.”

“How long?”

“Seven months.” You replied, watching alexia nod with a sad expression.

“You didn’t tell me…”

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t because you always push the people I love away from me. You scare them, Ale.” You explained. “I love Jessie, I don’t want to lose her.”

Alexia looked at Jessie, medics surrounding her looking at her ankle, and back at you.

“I didn’t know.��

“Yeah, well it wasn’t you heartbroken when they all left.” You muttered

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know about the others.” Alexia apologised

“You didn’t know. But, Ale, I really love Jessie. Please give her a chance.”

“Does she make you happy?” Alexia asked, you nodding in response. “Then I guess I could give her a chance.

“Thank you, Ale.” You let out a sigh of relief, hugging alexia tightly.

“I just want to protect you. You’re my baby sister. I have to protect you.”

“You still can, but not when it comes to my love life.” You said, Alexia nodding in agreement.

You watched as alexia walked over to Jessie, extending her hand to help Jessie up.

“You love her?” Alexia questioned

“With my whole heart.” Jessie replied

“Good, because if you break her heart, I will—” Alexia began but you quickly cut her off.

“—Alexia! What did we just talk about?”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Nice to meet you, Jessie. better?”

You nodded in approval, sending Alexis a grateful smile.

Alexia walked away, leaving you and Jessie.

“She approves!” Jessie exclaimed, punching the air in celebration.

“I haven’t officially approved yet.” Alexia added

“She’ll love you when she gets to know you, I promise.” You told Jessie

“Good because I never wanna lose you.”

“It’s a good job you won’t then.”

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Coming up with the idea to take Simon out so that he can pick out a couple pieces of lingerie he wants to see you in, his choices really surprise you.

Request from here.

The minute you brought up the idea, Simon was on board, ready to dish out whatever money he needed to spoil his princess. It seemed like a win-win: you get new lingerie and he gets the benefit of picking out a few items that only he would get to see you in. How could he ever say no to something like that?

The first day you were both off you headed out to the local mall, ready to go on a different kind of mission, one that already had Simon salivating and itching to finish so you both could get back with the items in hand. You did promise that as soon as you got home you’d model them for him and there was no doubt what would inevitably come next.

Walking into the Victoria’s Secret all 6’4” of Simon drew a few stares, but he didn’t care; he was focused on you just as he was any time you two went anywhere. Arms wrapped around your middle to hold your back against his chest as you both slowly made your way through the store.

“Remember, it’s what you want to see me in,” you reiterated the rules for this excursion.

“Best believe I remembered, luv,” he said, his gravely voice hitting you ear just right to make you shiver with anticipation. “Haven’t been able to think of fuck all else since you brought it up, but I think that was your fuckin’ plan.”

You passed by several things that you were sure he would have picked up, you did say anything so nothing was off limits and that included whatever string number he may want to strap you in. The point was to get him excited to chose the bit of wrapping he wanted around his present, not that he needed it. He’d take you in a trash bag and still think you were the hottest piece of tail around.

A severe lack of Simon around your body broke you out of your thoughts as he had let you go to walk over to a display off to the left of you. The way he locked on, it was clear something had caught his eye and you followed him over just as he picked up a bra and pantie set and handed them over to you.

Baby pink with a bit of delicate lace lining the top of the cups, a tiny silken bow in the middle along the rib band and the same matching bikini style panties that had a slightly larger bow on the back, that was his choice. It was very sweet and dainty, something a very soft girl would pick for herself.

“Really? This one?” you questioned, eyebrow raised curiously.

“You said to pick one I liked,” he said. “I like this one. Is that a problem, sweetheart?”

It wasn’t a bad choice at all, just surprising. Never would you have imagined Simon pick something so...quaint. In fact you were sure he would have gone straight for the string thongs or see-thru lace bras, so when he chose that one it caught you off guard.

“Not at all, just didn’t think you liked that sort of style,” you backpedaled, not wanting him to think he screwed up.

“I can like pretty shit too, luv. After all, I chose you, didn’t I?” he chuckled. “This is what I want to see coverin’ across that sweet arse of yours... well, until I get to admire it layin’ on my floor.”

Your cheeks flushed bright red. Fuck, how did he always do that? “I was the one that did the choosing,” you pushed the subject as you tried to dissipate the heat in your face.

“Oh, is that so?” he shot back coolly, moving back in close to take your chin in his firm grasp. “The one that still gets nervous probably wasn’t the one callin’ the fuckin’ the shots. Don’t force me to make that blush brighter just to prove my point, luv.”

Touche, he had won this round; you knew he would too, screw being in public. He wasn’t afraid of people staring as they had been staring at him his whole life, might well enjoy himself while he drew the eyes. You gave in and backed down, receiving a quick peck on your lips for your troubles.

“Now, let me finish my shoppin’ so that we can get outta here and get to the actual fun part,” he said with a smirk.

Lord, he was insatiable. That man could have your pussy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and still be hungry for more.

Going through the rest of the place another similar set he found after a bit more of searching, this one a pale yellow with a little silk flower in the same places the bow was on the first set. He handed over everything over to you so that you could double check the sizes and make sure it was correct before he took it back so that he could pay.

Always the gentleman to his girl.

That large palm was plastered to your inner thigh the entire drive back and every now and again he gave it a squeeze. His mind raced as his imagination ran wild with images of what you’d look like in his purchases: beautiful? Always, but these pieces were more delicate than the others you had and so he was curious to see just how pretty you’d look in them.

“You ready?” you asked through the door.

Once you got back, you left him sitting in his chair as you went off into the bathroom to get changed. He had chosen the yellow to go first, saving his real favorite for last. As you slipped everything around your curves, you had to admit that it was actually really cute and surprisingly not too uncomfortable as well.

Good job baby.

“Get out here now, beautiful girl,” he called back.

Opening the door slowly, you stepped out and sauntered your way to him, stopping just shy of the tips of his boots. Placing your hands behind your back, you stood twisting your body back and forth as you let him admire his choice.

Silently Simon eyed you up and down, taking you all in. “Well?” you asked after a moment.

Eyes came back up to meet your own. “Do a spin for me, darlin’,” he said, making a spinning motion with his index finger. “Slow like.”

Turning around smoothly at a steady pace, you came all the back around until you were facing him again. He was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked to your body.

“What’s the verdict?” you asked again.

The corner of his mouth unturned. “I’ve got good taste,” he smirked. “Exactly what I fuckin’ wanted. You look amazing, sweetheart.”

His approval made you smile, excited that he liked it, even though you knew he would since he was the one to pick it out. That obsessive stare gave you new life; who wouldn’t want to be the object of Simon’s desire? “Should I try on the other one now?”

Simon nodded his head as he adjusted the crotch of his pants and you scurried back off to the bathroom to change, fueled by his intense interest in you.

The pink on slipped on just as easy and you actually enjoyed this one even more as it enhanced your skin tone to perfection and the little details were so sweet you knew why this one would be his favorite; you could hardly wait to go show him how good you looked.

Coming back out again you nearly ran straight into him as this time he was leaning against the door frame as if waiting for you. He didn’t say a word, but you swore you could hear his breath hitch in his chest as he gazed down at you in that soft little pink number. Calloused fingers came up to trace over the thin ribbon detail, following the curves of the mini bow in the center of your chest.

“This one I really fuckin’ like, sweetheart,” he purred in that gruff, low tone that set you alight.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing in your veins already. “I have to admit you did really good baby,” you said. “Never thought you’d pick something so pretty.”

Fingers traced the line of the band under your breast along your ribcage before they came back up. “Like you in pretty, sweet things,” he said, slipping a thick finger into the top of the band between the cups. “Bows and flowers, light colors, that sort of shit. Suits you best, luv.”

“Aww,” you picked at him. “You going soft on me?”

That finger fully hooked itself into the fabric between your breasts and pulled you forward, making you take a step to bring you in closer until you were flush against his chest. Those amber eyes shimmered as he tilted his head down close to your neck. “All the shit I’ve to deal with at work, don’t ya wanna give this bastard somethin’ beautiful to touch?”

Well, when he put it like that…how could you deny him?

“My pretty little thing, so goddamn sweet,” he said with a groan, exploring hands releasing your bra so that they could run down the line of your back towards your hips before coming to a stop just under the curve of your ass. He cupped the cheeks one in each hand, massaging the meat in a circular motion.

Hungry lips embraced your neck, quick, burning kisses connecting with the skin to leave a trail of fire where he went. His arousal was already pressing up against your thigh as his hands on your ass squeezed harder; he had been worked up all day and seeing you all pretty for him it pushed him over the edge.

“Just wanna fuckin’ corrupt my little flower, ruin her pretty petals with my fat cock,” he breathed against the nape of your neck. His warm breath wafted down your collar bone to the tops of your breasts, making the skin pinprick with goose pimples while his words worked on your nerves to send you into a tailspin.

Were you supposed to stay sane after that? Because it just got really, really hard to think straight. “Yes,” was the only word your mind could form and you moaned it against the side of his head.

Fingers flitted around the waistband of your panties, outlining the band around your hips before it found the band descending between your legs; he followed that with his fingertips as well. “Mmmm, my beautiful girl, you know no one else even comes close?” he groaned. “Got the prettiest little thing around. Sets me on fuckin’ fire, how lucky I am to have such dainty thing at my disposal.”

Desperation gathered in his movements as he pawed at your body, causing you to respond to him as all your nerve ends across your skin began to ignite like he had just lit a match.

Without warning you were picked up and brought over to the bed where he set you down carefully along the edge. In an instant he had dropped down to his knees before you, one large hand gathered at the back of your head to pull you into his face so that he could press his lips desperately to yours. Wet, aggressive kisses he greedily stole from your mouth over and over again as he moved up into you.

“Lean back for me, darlin',” he said against your mouth.

Releasing you from his grasp you did as Simon said, laying back on your elbows so that you could still watch him. Hands on your parted thighs to steady himself, he swooped in. His face was at your pubic bone and he opened his mouth, collecting the waist of your panties in his teeth before he was pulling them down your legs, undressing you completely without the use of his hands.

Well damn, you had been curious to see how good they’d look on the floor since he had brought it up, but who could have predicted that they would look exquisite in between his teeth?

…Definitely a good choice indeed.

[delirious-donna]

Kento finds your journal and vows to return it, but not before he accidentally sneaks a peek… or, the time he read that you wanted to climb him like a tree.

Oh fuck - no! No no no. Please don’t have read it. I’ll do all my weekend chores rather than playing videogames and I’ll even unpack that final box that has been sitting in the spare room if you’ll do me this one solid favour.

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

tw: embarrassing situations, teacher Kento and teacher reader, thigh riding, use of pet names (darling and sweetheart), dirty talk, Kento being more forward than usual, rewrite of an old story (it’s better now, promise), brief appearance of Satoru

The notebook caught his eye; magenta in colour, clearly well-thumbed and definitely not meant to be here, in the teacher’s lounge. He rolled his neck against the uncomfortably lumpy couch until the cracking noise of stiff joints popping made him wince.

With a resigned grunt, Kento sat forward and glanced at his watch.

His next class was due to begin in ten minutes and if he were honest, he felt rather unmotivated to inspire the next generation on this particular day, a feeling that was becoming painfully regular. Fixing the knot of his tie, which he had loosened upon entering the lounge, he lamented on how every day seemed to bleed into each other.

It had been so stiflingly long since anything new or of interest had occurred and he was starting to feel drained from the mundane, walking through each day like a zombie. Heaven help him, it was a frighteningly familiar feeling.

On his way towards the door, he picked up the offending notebook that was stuck between the couch cushions and glanced at it curiously. Your name was emblazoned on the front cover, written in glittery silver ink. Nanami passed a finger over the lettering, his lips tilting into a thin smile at how irreverent it appeared.

He knew you were a few years younger than he was, that you had only become a teacher at the start of this academic year after a sudden change in career, and to say you were a little shy would be a gross understatement. Kento could probably count the times you had spoken to him on one hand, and each one had been a rushed experience, as if you couldn’t wait to retreat from his presence–was he really that intimidating?

At that rather depressing thought, he resumed walking, intent on delivering your notebook before arriving at his own classroom to greet his darling little bastards charges for the afternoon lecture.

Of course, things would never be that simple, nor straightforward when you worked alongside Satoru Gojo.

The white-haired whirlwind hurtled into him as soon as he ventured into the hall. A barking laugh bounced off the walls as Gojo clapped him heartily on the back and effectively knocked the notebook from his grasp to flutter to the floor.

“Ah, Nanami-san, just the man I was looking for,” he thundered. “Could you do your bestest friend in the whole world a favour?”

“If you are referring to yourself with that sentiment, Gojo, then the answer is of course, no.”

Satoru pouted, Kento grimaced.

Celestial blue eyes peered over the rim of his round sunglasses whilst Kento bent to retrieve the book that had tumbled out of his hands and was now spread open at his feet. His eyes narrowed on the hastily scrawled text that he couldn’t quite make out, but… that was his name that he was staring at.

He was aware that Satoru was still talking, the man would continue to ramble away to himself forever, but Kento held his hand aloft to cease the incessant drone.

A strange, but not unpleasant heat coursed through his veins, and something he hadn’t felt in the longest time stirred in his chest. The wild thump of his heart drowned out his pesky colleague’s yammering as he was finally able to read the line of text that referred to him. A sentence that you had hastily scrawled and then ringed again and again with a fluffy cloud border.

Why does Nanami-san have to be so goddamn big and sexy? What I wouldn’t give to climb him like a tree…

He was sure that he could feel the warmth spread up his neck, his collar suddenly too tight, and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the runny saliva pooling inside his mouth.

It would be a lie to say he hadn’t admired you, although always from afar. He knew he wasn’t the most social of men, a sentiment his annoying friend constantly reminded him of. Added to the fact that Kento had been sure you were terrified of him, and he had no intention of making you feel uncomfortable, he kept his distance and his daydreaming to himself and the privacy of his bedroom and shower.

Only now, did he wonder if that discomfort had been something else entirely…

“Will you do it?” Satoru asked, shaking his arms with his long spindly fingers and offering a wide cocky smile.

“I wasn’t listening, and no. I’m going to be busy,” he replied, brushing his fellow teacher’s hand from his forearms and pushing past him to his classroom.

He could care less for the deflated look that the snowy-haired menace threw over his shoulder, there were more important matters on his mind and a knowing smirk curved his lips. The smirk was mirrored by the very man he gave his back to, and that was just fine in his book.

No longer did he detour to return the notebook. Oh no--he’d deliver it back to you safe and sound once the day was over and everyone else had cleared out.

~

It had been a long day. A tiring one too, and the prospect of spending your precious evening hours behind your desk marking exams and writing assignment commentary was unwelcome.

As if the universe could hear your lament, they sent you a curve ball you could never see coming…

A determined knock shook you from your thoughts. The pen in your hand fell to the desk at the same moment you leaned back in your chair, inviting your unexpected visitor to enter.

Your mouth ran dry as the very man you least expected to be calling in on you, walked inside. Least expected but most wanted, secretly, of course. There was no way you were earning yourself a reputation for flirting with your colleagues, even if he was so painfully handsome it made you chew the insides of your cheeks every time you were in his presence. Not because you were shy, because you were a little, but because you didn’t trust what might come out of your mouth! Best to keep those thoughts inside your head where they were safe.

Kento turned to shut the door, the lock flicking silently into place so as to avoid any embarrassing interruptions, before he bowed his head in greeting.

“Nanami-san, what can I do for you?” you asked, impressed that you had managed to speak without tripping over your words. It was certainly an improvement on previous attempts.

It was near impossible not to admire him as he stood near the back of the class. The collar of his azure dress shirt had been loosened, the tie askew as if he had been pulling at them both with insistent fingers. Fingers that were currently drumming against the taut muscles of his forearms. There was something about a man with his sleeves rolled to the elbows that never failed to send you into a feral kind of heat, and right now was no different.

Why did he have to look so downright tantalising? Why did your thighs have to clench together like you were some horny beast in an actual heat?

The aloof expression, the way that he seemed to caress you with his hazel eyes and the simple pleasure of how big he was. At the end of the day, you were no better than an animal, and you animal brain was saying that big was good. Big would rock your world given the chance.

“I found something that belongs to you and thought I should return it,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Oh? That’s kind of you, what is it?”

You wondered what he could have found, mentally scanning your memory of something you might have misplaced or been looking for. Standing, you took two steps forward but froze in place at the sight of your personal notebook held in his large hand. Surely your heart had seized in your chest, it certainly felt like it had.

Oh fuck - no! No no no. Please don’t have read it. I’ll do all my weekend chores rather than playing videogames and I’ll even unpack that final box that has been sitting in the spare room if you’ll do me this one solid favour.

Your eyes widened, looking from the notebook to his face and back again. For a second you thought your silent pleas had been answered, but when had life ever been so benevolent to you before? Kento winked almost imperceptibly, and you wished that a sink hole would form beneath your feet to save you from this mortification.

Heat rose to your cheeks in rushing waves. You swayed unsteadily on the spot with your hand outstretched for the book, desperate for some distance but needing the offending item back in your possession.

Kento chuckled and the deep baritone rumble felt as if the sound resonated within your own body. It stroked at you with exploratory phantom touches although he hadn’t moved. Your every muscle tightened whilst you waited for him to hand over the notebook that held some of your wildest fantasies.

When he held it over his head instead of depositing it into your awaiting sweaty paws, you swore it felt like the air was sucked from the room. It seemed like he had read a very specific piece of information, and you would die of embarrassment.

“I suggest…” he drawled almost lazily. “That if you want it back, you best climb me for it.”

“You—you weren’t meant to read that,” you whispered, staring into the depths of the floor.

A pair of sturdy but unassuming boots came into view. You frowned, surprised.

Two fingers fit beneath your chin and raised your head up to meet his gaze. There was a prominent frown between his eyes that hadn’t been there seconds prior, and you couldn’t help but admire his sharply angular face even if you were doing your best to look anywhere but into his eyes.

“I apologise… perhaps that was a bit too forward. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but you see... I’ve thought about you a lot and not just because I found your notebook? Journal? Doesn’t matter.” Kento exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “You think I’m big? I don’t see it myself, but then I was never my best critic.”

You nodded in affirmation, where was the point in denying it now? His eyes softened, crinkles forming in the outer corners whilst his thumb lightly grazed your jaw. Roasted coffee grounds and notes of sandalwood invaded your nose as his head bent lower, towards your ear.

“Then I will repeat myself only once, sweetheart, climb me if you want it back.”

And so, you did.

You climbed him like a feral little animal.

You reached the offending notebook and hurled it to the floor without a second thought. His laughter was warm and the most boisterous you had heard from him. It made you follow through with your impulse to hook your arms around his strong neck, fingers curling into the rough undercut at his nape. Your legs were quick to follow, circling his waist until your entire front rocked into the wall of muscles that was his body.

“Tell me, what else have you put in that saucy little journal about me, hm?”

“You didn’t read it all?” you asked, almost shocked at his level of restraint if it were true.

Kento shook his head, and you believed him. He wasn’t one for lying. “I wanted to hear them from your mouth.”

“Oh… that’s… mm. Anyone ever told you that you’re as perfect as a fictional man, preferably one created by a woman? Don’t answer that,” you clamoured, pressing your hand across his mouth as it stretched open to reply.

“There’s—uh—this one thing.” You nudged the tip of his nose with yours, moving to speak directly into his ear.

Kento’s breath caught in his throat as you whispered about getting off on his thigh, his hold at your waist, which has stayed appropriate until then, tightened and moved towards your backside—squeezing.

With you still attached to him like a koala, he seated himself on the edge of your desk, lowering you until you were spread over one of his incredibly thick thighs. Your skirt bunched around your middle to accommodate the position as his expansive palms wandered your sides, pawing at your hips and palming your ass with a groan.

In no time at all he was dragging you along the length of his thigh. Your underwear was ruined by this point, your clit throbbed from the friction, the seam of yours and his clothing catching you in deliciously new ways and you still hadn’t kissed him.

You remedied this terrible oversight with enthusiasm, delighting when he startled at your forwardness before he melted, shoulders sagging. It was everything and more. No fantasy could live up to the reality. Kento kissed softly, thoroughly. Whilst he continued to lead the rhythm of your body as you rode his thigh, he was more than happy to let you lead here.

His mouth was surprisingly hot for a man who always seemed to remain cool and composed, a deep groan rumbled in his throat when you curled around his tongue and sucked on the warm, wet muscle. The warmly spiced scent and taste of Kento filled your lungs and evaporated any sense of reason you might have had about making out with a fellow teacher in your classroom. It didn’t matter. Only this mattered.

“Feel good?” he asked as you parted for much-needed air. His rough fingers gripped into the fat of your behind, reaching beneath the hem of your skirt to bunch the cotton of your underwear until he was forcing the material between your slick pussy lips.

You nodded enthusiastically, drawing his lower lip into your mouth and sucking on the tender flesh in earnest. Kento was manhandling you in a way that would make any staunch feminist blanch, but it was exactly what you wanted, exactly what you needed.

“You’re making a mess on me, darling.”

“So, I’m you’re darling, am I?” You quipped back despite sounding out of breath. He was right about the mess, there was an embarrassingly long wet streak on his tailored slacks from being manipulated along his thigh. You were fucking yourself against the strong muscles that flexed beneath you and leaving the evidence for anyone to see.

“I think I’d like that,” he admitted with a hum, planting kisses to your neck and collarbone.

Your orgasm was coming in fast; the combination of the friction against your clenching cunt, the large palms gripping into your ass as if he owned it and his delicious mouth teasing your skin was speeding you towards the finish line in haste. His admittance that he might like some kind of relationship with you was the final nail in your coffin, so to speak.

“Nanami-san!”

Blond hair fell into your vision, urgent lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to your cleavage and the swell of your breasts. His tongue flickered at your flesh, warming you up before sucking possessive purple bruises that would be hard to explain later.

“Kento,” he breathed against your collarbone, “call me Kento, my darling.”

Gods, could he be any more perfect? It was as if he knew exactly what to do and say to set you off like a firecracker!

You shrieked in surprise when Kento lifted you like you weighed nothing—you most definitely did not weigh nothing. He held you tight as he turned your body so your back was flush with his chest, rearranging you over his broad thigh once more but this time you could feel the prod of his prominent erection at the outside of your hip. It was thick and imposing, distracting but only in that you wondered what it would look like, feel like—in your hand and stretching your walls.

“Go on, be a good girl and get yourself off on my thigh,” he cooed, nipping at your earlobe.

Kento grabbed at your breasts, squeezing the doughy mounds between his fingers whilst you rode his thigh to completion, pinching you through lace and chiffon. The orgasm that hit was staggering; it stole the air from your lungs, the equilibrium of your body and the sight from your eyes.

White lights pulsed behind your eyelids as you gushed like a surging waterfall over his trousers, ruining your underwear and skirt in the process. It would be embarrassing if it wasn't for the primal-sound growl that emanated from his chest. The almost bestial sounding war cry that made you shiver whilst you floated back down from ecstasy.

“Atta girl. There it is. Mhm, so good for me. So receptive. Can I take you home?” Kento asked, his voice thick and strained with unspoken emotion. “Cause I think it’s my turn now, and I can't wait to see how goddamn perfect you’re gonna look taking my cock.”

You smiled, drunk on the bliss. “Sure thing, big boy, but let’s not make this our get together story for the grandkids, yeah?”

You were so glad he found your notebook, even if you had no idea that it was Satoru Gojo that you needed to thank in the first place...

[our-marvel-universe]

Second Chances

Second Chances Part 1

Ex-Husband!Steve x Reader

Summary: You and Steve have a history. Right now you are just friends but what if he wants more?

Warnings: Smut, oral (m receiving), PIV, mild jealousy

WC: 4.9K

A/N: I'm so happy to finally introduce you all to Ex-Husband!Steve! I started this forever ago and I thought it would be just a one shot but it has just gotten longer and longer, and harder to finish. So I'm hoping introducing this pair to the world and getting some feedback will inspire me to actually finish this story!

“Ok I don’t get it” Sam finally relents.

“You don’t get what?” Steve replies to his friend without taking his eyes off you. You're across the bar headed to the pool table with some guy Steve doesn’t recognize. He’s pretty sure the top you're wearing is new. You look gorgeous, but then again you always do. 

“What is the deal with you two? And don’t tell me it’s not nothing cause there's clearly some history there.” Sam insists. 

“Ohh wow, this is a new low punk, even for you.” Bucky chimes in.

Steve clears his throat and uses his only excuse. “It’s not a big deal.” 

“You never even told him? Seriously!?”  Bucky snapped, his voice low and tight in an attempt to restrain himself from reaching across the table and pummeling his best friend. 

“Told me what?” Sam asks, his patience wearing thin. 

“You are looking at the former Mrs. Rogers.” Bucky takes a long pull from his beer as he watches Sam’s eyes practically pop out of his head. 

“You two were married!?”

“Yup” Bucky says emphasizing the P.

“Damn it’s worse than I thought” Sam scoffs.

Despite what his two best friends are about to say he never lied to Sam. Technically he was single when he and Sam met. Besides, Steve didn’t like to talk about it, didn’t even like to think about it. When he did think about you, which was about every 45 seconds or so, he tried to only focus on the good things.

The way you light up when you laugh. The way you always insist on taking a million photos to commemorate any and every occasion. How doing the dishes somehow always turned into a dance party. The way you would curl up on him at the end of a long day. 

Knowing he doesn’t need to sit through this next part he makes his way to the bar to grab another round of drinks.

“So what happened?” Sam asks Bucky.

“They got married young, really young. Which probably wasn’t the best idea, but they were in love and Steve was headed off to war and you know how it is.” Sam nods in agreement, letting Bucky continue.

“We enlisted together. She made us both promise we’d bring each other home. The first tour was hard on her I could tell even on video chat it was like she was just holding her breath till we came back. The next couple times were a little easier, we came home once before why wouldn’t we come home again? We were on our 3rd tour, about a month out from coming home when,” Bucky places his metal arm on the table he inspects it carefully opening and closing his fist. 

“We got hit. I got blown from the Humvee and ended up losing my arm. Steve was ok, physically but..we lost a couple of good men that day.” The brunette sighs. “After the accident her and Steve took care of me. They visited me at the hospital everyday and eventually took me in when I got out. I had been out of the hospital for a few weeks when Steve told us he was going back.

"She just couldn’t do it anymore. The waiting, the worry, the distance, especially with me having been hurt she was convinced Steve would come back in a casket, and I wasn’t so sure she was wrong. But you know Steve. They fought… a lot and eventually she laid out an ultimatum. If he enlisted again she wouldn’t be there when he got back.“

“Damn.” Sam said, shaking his head, “That must have been hard for her to admit.” Bucky nodded in agreement. “And he really just left?”

“Yeah. Looking back on it now, I realize nothing was going to stop him from going. Everyone told him to stay, me, his mom, the whole damn town tried to convince him but he wouldn’t hear any of it. I kept hoping he would change his mind, you know, that he’d stop being so pig headed, but no, he just had to go. The day after he left she contacted a lawyer.” Bucky stops to take a long swing of beer. 

“But the former Mrs. Rogers is nothing if not a saint, even with her heart broken she still put all her energy into helping me heal. She let me live with her even after Steve left, took me to all my physical therapy and Dr. appointments, helped me get the hang of the prosthetic” He says flexing his fist on his metal arm. “I owe her everything. That punks lucky I didn’t leave him too.” scoffed Bucky.

“Ohh yeah why didn’t you?” Sam asks

“Because” Bucky said as he leaned back in his chair, “she wouldn’t let me.”

Steve is sitting at the bar, he could go back to the table with Bucky and Sam but he figures he’ll give them a few minutes to cool off and change the subject before he ventures back. He keeps his eye practically glued on the bartenders, watching them work helps him resist the urge to turn around and look at you. He knows you’re over by the pool table. He can picture you taking your time, totally focused, biting your lip as you  line up your shot. He can imagine it perfectly; the only thing better than his imagination would be turning around and seeing it in real time. 

He sees you land at the bar a couple stools down from him and watches as Pepper approaches you. 

“So it looks like the date is going well” Pepper says while starting on your drink.

“I don’t know if it’s a date per say. ” You say with a playful glare “But yes, Scott and I are having a good time.” 

Steve looks up just in time to see you shoot him a wave and a small smile before thanking Pepper and heading back to your game.

His jaw is so tight he’s worried he might actually crack a tooth and it’s like the entire world’s gone quiet. He’s not sure if what he’s feeling right now is rage or heartbreak, it’s probably both. Pepper is the one that breaks him out of his stupor.

“Loosen the grip on that will ya?” She says pointing at the beer bottle in his hand, “I’ll have to clean it up if you break it.”  

Steve puts the bottle down flexing his fists, before he can even ask she places a double shot of whiskey in front of him.

He tosses it back, then slaps some cash on the bar before heading for the door.

Steve isn’t a complete prick. At least he doesn’t mean to be, but it’s hard. As much as he wants you as much as his body wants yours that is not an option, and he’s still human. So every once in a while he sates his urges with an actual woman and not just his hand.  It’s a small town, people talk, so when he does need relief he heads up the highway. Making sure to avoid any place that you or anyone from town may decide to venture to. 

It’s never anything serious, usually just a night. There was Sharon last summer. He saw her for a couple weeks but he made it very clear it was never going to turn into anything and she was perfectly happy to get his late night booty calls. 

It’s been a few days since that night at the bar, Bucky has been on Steve’s case more than ever and now he has Sam as back up. Plus the vision of you on your date, is permanently etched into his brain. Where you looked so beautiful. Christ all he wanted to do was bend you over the pool table and….

Needless to say, jacking off was not going to be enough. 

So here he is. In some back alley behind some trendy bar in the city with what he assumes is probably a perfectly lovely lady on her knees sucking him off. But it’s hard to picture you when it’s clearly not you staring back at him. Before he can lose his hard on, he yanks her up and pushes her against the brick. He would apologize for being so rough but she moans out a yes at the manhandling so clearly she's into it. 

Facing away from him, ass up, he never preferred this position until he lost you. When he was with you all he wanted was to see your face. To kiss every inch of you, feel your sweat slicked skin against his, and look into your eyes as you came undone. He always wanted to be close to you, touching you. But he can’t have that so he settles for this. 

In all honesty this girl isn’t bad, she's just not you. She’s moaning and grinding against him in a way that's too performative, but when he hears a sigh a real sigh it almost sounds like yours and that's all he needs. He keeps hitting her sweet spot and rubbing her clit and he's so lost in his vision of you he actually calls out your name.

Now he’s not going to say this has never happened before, because it has. In 5 years of missing you and pretending to move on he has, on more than one occasion called out your name while another woman rides his cock. He’s not particularly proud of this fact, but it’s true. But this time the worst part is, he didn’t even notice. He turned to dump the used condom in the dumpster in that and when he turned around his face slams into a fist. He wasn’t entirely sure what happened cradling his face; he tries to get his bearings when he hears.

“You piece of shit my name is Kristy!!!” 

Damn. She knew how to throw a punch. In a moment of complete and utter shame Steve slides to the ground completely defeated.

Steve opens the door of his apartment to find Bucky sitting on his couch drinking his beer. Great, exactly what he needs to top this night off.

“What happened to you?” Bucky asks as Steve heads to the kitchen to grab a bag of frozen peas for his soon to be black eye. 

“Got punched in the face” 

“Obviously punk. Who’d you piss off this time.”

"Girl at a bar.” He mumbles then winces as he adjusts the bag on his face.

“Damn, bet she has brothers. Good ones too since she landed a solid hit” Bucky muses.

Steve doesn't bother acknowledging his friend. He simply grabs a glass and a bottle of whiskey before taking a seat on the couch. They sit quietly for a bit, when finally Bucky breaks the silence.

“So, what’s your plan here?”

“What the hell are you talking about Buck?”

“What am I…” Bucky takes a deep breath and stands calming himself  before he gives his friend a second black eye. “I’m talking about the fact that it’s been 5 years Steve. Five long years of you pining and making those sad puppy dog eyes when you think no one is paying attention. Which we all are by the way. You’re constantly pouting, until God forbid a guy shows any interest in her at which point you become absolutely unbearable.” Bucky is pacing now the pressure of keeping quiet all these year has finally come to an end and he's decided to finally air his grievances.

“You sit by the phone waiting for her to have a flat tire or for her furnace to bust, all so you can ride in like her knight in shining armor. Whatever she needs you’re always there. You’ve had every opportunity but instead of telling her how you feel you go out and fuck other girls pretending they’re her. All the while knowing you’d both be a lot fucking happier if you were together.” Finally Bucky stops his pacing and instead grabs a seat on the coffee table looking his friend right in the eyes. 

“So I ask again -  What. Is. Your. Plan?” 

Steve drains his glass then watches as his best friend pours him a refill. He drains that too, tosses the frozen bag down as he throws his head back and stares at the ceiling. 

“I don’t know Buck. All I know is I don’t want to live without her.”

“Ok then.” Bucky pours Steve one last refill “That’s a start.”  He says getting up to take the bottle back to the kitchen. “Word of advice, you better figure out a plan. And soon, because no one has the time or the patience to wait around for you to get your head out of your ass.” Bucky goes to grab his coat when he stops.

“Ohh and make sure you clean yourself up for tomorrow. Arm’s been acting up. I gotta go see the doc. You’ll have to handle all the morning appointments.“

“You couldn’t have just called to tell me?” Steve scoffs at his friend. “You had to come here and harass me and drink all my beer?”

“Yeah well, it’s more fun for me this way.” He chuckles as he heads out “See you tomorrow punk.”

Steve gets ready to head downstairs to Twin Tires, the shop he and Bucky opened after Steve finally left the army. Luckily for him he lives in the apartment right above the shop so he doesn’t have to rush to get down there. Which is good cause on this particular morning he feels like shit. 

After Bucky left he kept drowning his sorrows in whiskey imagining what life would be like if you had stayed together. Between the what ifs, his hangover and his black eye this day is off to an awful start. And now he has to deal with the shop himself cause Bucky’s not coming in till noon. Needless to say when he heads downstairs he’s in a shit mood, but then he hears you. 

He’s not sure what you’re saying or who you’re talking to but he’s sure it’s you. Fuck Bucky. In an instant Steve realizes Bucky knew you were coming by the shop today. All that ‘look good tomorrow shit’, he knew Bucky was up to something. You’re probably picking him up for his Dr’s appointment damn it. 

Steve curses under his breath, stepping out into the Lobby where you’re with Bucky. He was so focused on you he completely forgot about how rough he looks until you look up at him shocked.

Abandoning your conversation with Bucky you rush towards Steve without a second thought. 

“Omigod Steve! What happened?” You cup his face in your hands gently coaxing him to bend down so you can take a look.

“Aww he’s fine doll. He’s seen worse” Bucky chuckles as he takes a smug sip of his coffee.

Bucky isn’t wrong Steve has seen much worse, but at this moment he is not fine because your hands are on him. They’re so warm and soft, and he can smell that hand cream you use. In a split second you envelope all his senses and take him back to a time when the two of you always had your hands on each other. 

Steve’s breath fans across your wrists and realizing how close you are you take a step back. .“Well it doesn’t look too bad” You say as you begin to bite your lip, a nervous tick Steve immediately picks up on, it takes all his strength not to stare at your mouth like a horny tennager, so instead he moves behind the desk. 

“It’s fine. It’ll heal soon I promise.” Steve says in an attempt to reassure you, even if he knows it won’t work. He clears his throat as he opens the appointment book. 

"You two should get going, you don’t want to be late."

“You’re right Stevie I don’t.” Buck says with a wink as he heads to the door unaccompanied. “You two have fun, don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Bye Buck!” You wave him off.

“You’re not going with him?” Steve asks.

“What? No Clint is taking him, he didn’t tell you?” There you go biting your lip again, has it always been this distracting?

He knows he’s been starting too long when you gently call his name again.  Shaking his head out of his stupor he tries to actually focus on the conversation at hand. “Tell me what?” 

You look like a deer caught in headlights before you grab a coffee cup out of the tray on the counter and hand it to him. 

“This is for you. I made it myself with those beans you like at the shop just before coming over here.”

Steve stares at the coffee, then at you. He’s perplexed by the coffee, he knows it will be exactly how he likes it. He still goes to the bakery for coffee and it’s always perfect. But he’s confused as to why you would bring it to him on this particular morning. 

“Sweetheart…what’s going on?”

"Well I was hoping I could ask you for a favor…."

“Christ.”

“OK, Look I know this is a lot to ask but he’s a good kid Steve, a great kid! And this way not only will he have a car but he will also be learning practical life skills and an honest work ethic!"

“He already works with you. I am positive you instill plenty of work ethic in him.” Steve chugs the last of his coffee before tossing the cup in the trash behind him.

 “How on earth did you let May talk you into something like this?” He asks.

“She didn’t talk me into anything” You scoff, “it was my idea.“Look it's an old car, with good bones it just needs to be fixed up a bit. Besides, I mean don’t get me wrong I love having Peter at the shop but he’s a tinkerer ya know?” Now you're all worked up, Steve knows how much you love May and her nephew Peter, not to mention he knows how passionate you get about these collaborations you come up with. 

“He likes taking things apart and putting them back together, and working with his hands,” Steve cuts you off.

“Last time I checked baking is done with your hands.” He simply shrugs at the glare you give him.

“Where’d this car come from anyway?” He asks in an attempt to make peace. 

“One of May’s old boyfriends. He didn't know a socket wrench from an open wrench, but apparently he was convinced he could put it back together. He left it and hasn’t been back since. It’s just been collecting dust.” 

“Look,” You insist, planting your hands on the counter. “I know this is a big ask but when you think about it it’s a win, win scenario.” 

“Ohh yeah” Steve scoffs “How so?”

“Well Pete is a young man, who needs more positive male influences in his life. He’ll get that,” You say ticking off your fingers, “practical life experience, plus a new car.” 

“This sounds like a lot of wins for Peter and none for me.”

“And you” You say poking him in the chest “You get an apprentice!” 

“I don’t need an apprentice.” He protests rolling his eyes  before turning and heading back to the shop to get set up for the day. 

“Come on," You inevitably follow him. Just like you knew you would, " everyone needs an apprentice. Someone you can groom to take over the business when you’re ready to pass it on, just like Sarah did with me.”

“Look at Johnny Hunt , he had no one to take over for him so when he got hurt his store just closed. It was tragic. I don’t want that to happen to you Steve, could you imagine everything you worked for just gone.” 

“You spend a lot of time thinking about my business doll?” He has to hold back his smirk as you get visibly embarrassed by his question. Deciding to put you out of your misery before you have to answer he immediately gets back to the topic.

“What about Buck? It’s his business too, I can’t just hire an apprentice with his input.”

“Well I already asked him. He thinks it’s a great idea.”

“You asked him about fixing up the car, or about your plans to hand our business over to some smartass kid?”

“He said, and I quote ‘the sooner Steve teaches this kid to do the books the sooner I can retire to Palm Springs.'" 

Steve hangs his head. He knows he’s going to give in, not only is it you asking but his soon to be former best friend has already agreed. But mostly it’s you. He can never say no to you, not anymore, not after all he did. But he knows you will will sit here and argue with him till the sun goes down only to come back tomorrow and start again.  So he decides to drag his heels for a little longer if only to extend his time with you. 

But when he turns around to look up at you he completely loses his train of thought. The light from the window surrounds you making you look even brighter and more beautiful. Your eyes are boring into his with a pleading look when you say “Will you at least  take a look at the car please? For me?”

And that’s when Steve knows he’s a goner. 

Steve throws a towel at Bucky as he waltz back into the shop. Bucky easily catches it and settles himself on the stool next to Steve's station. He says nothing, taking a sip from his drink.

“You could've told me.” Steve huffs before diving back under the hood in an attempt to ignore his friend. 

“And why would I tell you, when you are much more apt to say yes if she asked you?” Bucky smirks as Steve's scowl deepens. “Besides it’s her project, why should I ask you?”

“More important question is why would you say yes!?” Steve practically shouts as he tosses down his tools and heads back into the office. The other guys working in the shop pretend to look busy as the bosses pass them. 

“Look there's no downside ok. We get to help out a good kid.” Bucky shakes his head at Steve's look of disbelief. “Look Parker can be annoying but he is a good kid ok? No one has a bad thing to say about him. And the guys are great with cars, but not with business. They can fix shit sure but no one out there can do the books, or even wants to learn but maybe one day Parker actually could and then we’d have someone to take all this over so I can finally take a vacation.” The brunette makes himself comfortable in Steve’s desk chair, putting his feet up and his arms behind his head. “Besides, now you’ve got some extra sweet brownie points with your girl and that sure as shit can’t hurt.”

That last comment makes Steve deflate “She’s not..” Bucky waves his hand cutting him off,

“Yeah, yeah save me the speech.” Electing to ignore his friend he continues  “So when does Parker start?”

Steve has been ruminating over it for days, and he has come to the irrevocable conclusion that having Peter Parker work in his shop is a terrible idea. He was ready to call the whole thing off. But then this morning he came downstairs and found you leaning on the side of your car with a box from your shop sitting on the hood. Seeing you standing there, glowing in the morning sun  in what happens to be his favorite dress of yours, he knew this was a done deal. No matter what he previously thought now he was going to  follow through on this crazy plan of yours.  

“Good morning!” You cheer, already holding out Steve’s coffee cup as he walks towards you. 

“Morning Doll, what's all this?”

“This is just a little thank you.” You say as Steve takes a sip of the coffee. He’d never tell his Ma, but your coffee is a million times better. “I just wanted to thank you again. I really think this will be so good for Peter and… “ Steve cuts you off. 

“Sweetheart, you already thanked me about a thousand times. Besides, you weren’t wrong, it could be good to have some extra hands around here.” Steve concedes with a shrug. While he ignores how hypocritical he is considering he was singing a different tune 2 min ago.

“Steven Grant Rogers, did you just admit I was right?” You’re smirking at him and you’ve got a mischievous twinkle in your eye and damn it if that doesn’t make his heart speed up. 

“Well, possibly. I mean for all we know Parker could be a disaster who should never step foot near an engine, only time will tell.” Steve chuckles as you lightly slap him on the arm.

“You just wait, Rogers, you’ll be eating your words soon enough!”

The two of you are standing less than a foot apart. Steve decides this is not close enough. It dawns on him, you are standing a foot apart in a parking lot, that is the set up for a brief conversation before the two of you run off in your separate directions. But that is not what he wants. All Steve wants is more time with you. So he quickly asks. 

“Are there enough in there to share?”

The two of you head back to the office and settle in over your makeshift breakfast. You take a bite of the scone and your eyes roll back in your head as you quietly moan at the taste.

“You’re acting like you’ve never tried any doll, you made ‘em” Steve chuckles before taking a bite.

“I mean I did” you laugh softly as you dust crumbs from your dress, “But I decided to tweak the recipe and this is my first time trying it” you bashfully admit.

“Man that's what I get as a thank you? New recipe scones? What if they had been a flop?” 

You laugh at his faux scolding and the sound lights him up from the inside out.“That’s why I brought them. I knew if you didn’t like them then I couldn’t sell them.” You shrug “Besides, I have brownies in the car as a backup” You say giving him a wink as you take another bite.

“I know you don’t think you’re leaving here with those sweetheart.” 

You’re talking his ear off, he has books to update, parts to order and schedules to make and if it was anyone else he would have told them to leave the food at the front desk and went back to his office without a second glance. 

But it isn’t just anyone…it’s you.

This may be what he misses most. Sitting with you, talking about nothing and everything, tasting your new recipes. The most mundane days were always better when he had you.

Steve thinks this might be the moment. He can ask you out to dinner. Or maybe it’d be better if he cooked for you? Either way he will be securing a date with you before you leave this office, he’s determined. Right as he goes to open his mouth to invite you on what will hopefully be a life altering date, there’s a knock on the door. Without waiting for a response Bucky waltzes right in, and makes a beeline straight for the box on the desk. 

“Ohh scones” Bucky sings, but before he can reach the box Steve snatches it out of the way. 

“They're not for you Buck.” Steve grumbles with a glare.

“Aww come on Stevie don’t be like that” Bucky’s pout turns to you as you begin to stand. “Doll tell him he has to share!” 

“Don’t be too sad Bucky, I have brownies in the car. If you come grab them then they're all yours.” 

Steve starts to panic as you begin to grab your stuff. “You’re leaving already?”

“Yeah, I should get going. Besides I need to get out of your hair, you probably have a busy day.” 

Steve moves out from behind the desk, trying to think of a reason to get you to stay but before he can say anything you're right in his space, leaning up and planting a kiss on his cheek. Thanking him again before you leave his office Bucky hot on your heels.

When Bucky comes back in a couple minutes later with a smug look on his face it takes all of Steve's strength not to wring his neck.

“Brownie for your troubles?”

“God I hate you” Steve mumbles keeping his eyes on the screen as Bucky gets comfortable in the seat you were occupying moments ago. 

“Hey don’t get mad at me. All I did was come in here to say hello, not my fault she ran off” Bucky notes before taking a bite of his brownie. “Damn, these are good.” 

Steve rolls his eyes.

“So are you making any progress?” 

Before Steve can tell Bucky to mind his goddamn business his phone lights up with a text from you. 

I told Bucky he has to share the brownies with you, but feel free to hog all the scones ;) 

Steve smirks as he reaches over and snatches up a brownie. 

OMG part 1!! Can you believe? What did y'all think? Do you just love these 2? Do you want to see more of them? Leave a comment below because reblogs and comments fuel the muse.

[quarterlifekitty]

The Gaz secret baby post was sooo delicious. He totally would go "oh fuck yeah a baby it’s baby time". You've infected my brain with this trope and the doctors are saying it's incurable 🤒 I keep thinking of Nikolai in this trope!

He's not made his attraction to you any secret – you dismiss any reciprocated feelings because it's just not realistic with both of your jobs. The task force finishes a gruelling but successful op with him, and everybody decides to let loose for a night. After a few many rounds of drinks… you inevitably fall into his bed.

Cut to 5 weeks later, you're staring at a positive test and wondering how long you can keep this a secret. You resolve to never let Nik know he's the dad. Someone who loves his job, disappearing for months… you decide it's best for your child to have at least one present parent and maybe you're scared of the rejection.

I’m so ashamed I haven’t done this trope for Nikolai!!! I love the idea of you trying actively to hide it— it’s not just a one night stand thing, you really know each other and you’re still trying to get away with it.

At first, when he sees the baby— he just assumes it can’t be his, because you would’ve told him, wouldn’t you? Surely you wouldn’t think he didn’t want anything to do with a perfect, chubby baby made from both you and him. So when he’s questioning, it’s about the timelines. He knows there wasn’t anything labeled between you— it was one night, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but the beast inside him still bares its teeth at the idea that you fucked someone right after he fucked you.

Price, for all that Nik is his best mate, promised to be your confidant as your captain, and he wouldn’t betray that. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t a messy bitch who will start making a whole load of implications. Some of them are pretty crude, too, because he’s trying to goad Nik into confronting you. Saying things like “You should dick ‘er down again soon, last time it settled her down like you wouldn’t believe.”

It makes Nik more and more sure that there wasn’t anyone else. You were never really the type. Which means the baby must be his, and for some reason, you don’t want him to know.

That makes his blood hot. The idea that you don’t want him to father his own baby. You’ve always been a bit bristly to him, and he’s never known exactly why— he was hoping to find out the morning after you fell into bed together, but you ran out first thing, and he was contracted in a job soon after.

So he hangs over you more than before, watching from a distance, the gears turning as he considers what the fuck to say to get you to fess up. He wants to hear you say it. He doesn’t want to just ask and have you confirm or deny.

It hurts that you don’t want to tell him. That you don’t feel it’s safe for him to know. That you’re trying to protect yourself and the cub from him knowing. And despite the support from your own squad— it can’t have been easy for you.

But he also doesn’t want to miss out on another second of fatherhood. There’s an impatient roiling in his gut about it. Seeing your fat little baby, his fat little baby, and not being able to wordlessly lift it from your arms and hold it close to his chest and kiss its head.

So he’s conflicted, to say the least.

[puckinghischier]

Jersey Talk

nico hischier x fem!reader, jack hughes x platonic!reader, luke hughes x platonic!reader

summary: reader finds herself engaging in a lot of jersey talk

notes: part 3 of my lil unnamed nico series!! i loved writing this part and hope you enjoy it as much as i do 🥹 also, i didn’t really proofread so ignore any mistakes. and just a disclaimer, i don’t claim to know everything there is to know about any of the players mentioned in my writing, so if there’s inaccuracies on timelines or personality traits, just ignore them and assume it’s for the plot 😌

p.s.!! i’m thinking about starting a tag list for this/any of my writing i post so if you want to be a part of that, let me know!!

part 1, part 2, part 4

[6.4k]

You absolutely love how foot travel friendly New Jersey is. Coming from an area where foot travel is virtually nonexistent, the change is a welcomed one. You appreciate being able to simply grab your favorite totes, your headphones, and make the fifteen-minute walk to the small corner store. Surely in the winter you’ll feel differently about the five-block trek, but hopefully you’ll have your car by then. For now, the comfortable Autumn air makes the walk enjoyable. The fresh air, the beautiful buildings, and the surprising friendliness of the strangers you pass on the street make you feel like you made the right decision in relocating your life to the garden state.

Luckily this grocery run was fairly light, only needing to pick up some essentials until one of the boys gives you a ride to the larger chain grocery store on one of their upcoming off days. You really just needed the ingredients to make dinner tonight, making good on your promise to be their personal shopper and occasional chef in exchange for a place to live. You even stopped in a small bakery about a block from your apartment and picked up a few assorted pastries for a sweet treat later, knowing how much Luke loves his dessert.

As you walk into the apartment, courtesy of your shiny new key Jack gave you last week, you see both him and Luke on the couch, each with one hand on an iPad held out so both could view the contents on the screen. You assume they’re watching game film, preparing for their game later in the week against the Rangers. Your assumption is confirmed when you hear the unmistakable sound of sticks slapping against pucks and ice coming from the iPad in question.

They’re both so engrossed in the game film on the screen that they have no clue that you’ve even walked through the door. You make your way to the kitchen to unload what’s in your hands, putting away what little groceries you bought. Once you’re finished in the kitchen, you make your way back out into the living room, wanting to catch up with your roommates on how their midday practice had gone. As you walk towards the living area, rounding the loveseat adjacent to the sectional where the boys sit, Luke catches your moving figure from the corner of his eye. His body jerks slightly, clearly startled until he notices its only you.

“Oh my god you just scared the shit out of me,” you hear him exhale, holding his hand to his chest.

You just chuckle as you see Jack whip his head up, confused as to what Luke was referring to until he saw you sitting down, tucking your feet up under your legs to get comfortable.

“When did you get home? Have you been here the whole time?” Jack asks, pausing the game film and sitting the iPad on the small coffee table in the center of the room.

“No, you two were just lost in hockey land when I came in. I went to the corner mart a few blocks down to get stuff to make dinner, then put it all away before coming in here. Thought I’d give you guys a few more minutes before I came in here and interrupted,” you replied, resting your chin on your hands that are placed on the arm of the loveseat.

“Well, you have our full attention now. What’s up?” Jack leans back into the couch once again, stretching his arms above his head.

“Just wanted to talk to my boys. See how practice went today. Figure out how you guys are going to fare against the Rags,” you throw in a small dig at their biggest rival team.

“The Rags? Since when do you participate in hockey talk?” Luke chimes into the conversation, laughing slightly at your attempt to assimilate into the world of hockey.

“Since I overheard a conversation at this cute little bakery down the street. While I was waiting in line there was a man in front of me with a Devils hat on and the guy working the counter was asking him about his thoughts on the game this week. He was talking about how much he wishes ‘the boys can pull their heads out of their asses and beat the damn Rags’ and I thought it was funny. Figured I should probably adopt the local vernacular if I want to fit in around here. You know, participate in the Jersey talk,” you recall with a shrug of your shoulders.

The two brothers let out a little chuckle at your story, amused at your attempt to insert yourself into their world. The two of them and Quinn taught you a lot about how hockey is played and the rules over the years, but their hope of you fully getting involved in all of the aspects of hockey and the fanbase quickly dissolved. They would sit and force you to watch reruns of games with them over the summer at the lake, and you would sit there and whine because of how badly you wanted to go out on the boat or drive the golf cart down to the local ice cream shop, not listening to a single word the trio would say to you. Once you made the decision to move in with the two youngest brothers, you figured you should probably put a little more effort into the whole hockey fan experience, considering you would likely be attending games on a regular basis.

“Well, we’ve been preparing for the Rags, so that old man in the bakery can rest easy knowing we’re working our asses off, which our heads aren’t in, by the way,” Jack speaks, correcting the stranger’s statement.

“Yeah, we’re doing really well, actually. We keep splitting the team up and forcing one half to mimic the Rangers and some of their techniques, so we’re actually getting really good at stopping them from getting the puck into our zone. Plus, our goalies are putting out some insane stops during practice, so I really think we’ve got this in the bag,” Luke adds, excited to showcase their hard work.

You’ve noticed that practices must have been hard for the boys this week. A lot of naps and ibuprofen consumed. You haven’t really seen much of them, if you’re being honest. They’re usually gone by the time you wake up in the mornings and so tired by the time they come home that they go straight to the couch or their bedrooms and fall asleep. By the time they wake up from their naps you’re usually already cooking dinner, at least getting to chat a bit while you cook. After finishing dinner they’re back to the couch, watching game film or heading back to the arena for various events and strategy meetings. They go to bed fairly early, considering all of their early morning starts, so evenings are usually spent in your room by yourself watching tv or catching up with your friends back home. You suppose you should get used to spending time by yourself, though, knowing you’ll be here by yourself more often than not during the season.

They had a game in Boston a few days prior, leaving you with your apartment to yourself for the first time in the two weeks you’ve lived with them. They were only gone for one night, but it was definitely lonely. You really haven’t been here long enough to have an abundance of people to call up anytime Jack and Luke were unavailable, so you had passed the time by exploring the area around your apartment complex a little, finding the perfect park to go sit at to soak up some much-needed sunshine. You couldn’t hide your excitement when the two brothers returned home the next evening, though. You got up from the couch and ran over to the door, ready to greet them and ask them all about the game (you had watched it on tv, but you really just wanted to talk to someone after a full day with no one’s company but your own), but you were greeted with tired eyes and frowns, despite their win the previous night. You simply gave each of them a hug and then sent them off to bed, knowing once they got some sleep they would be up for conversation.

This is why, right now, even though you have zero knowledge of what preparing for a rival hockey game consists of, you’re taking in every word the two have to offer about the subject. You’re just happy to have a few uninterrupted minutes to sit and talk with them.

“Good! That’s great! Really…good,” you say, giving a thumbs up and awkward smile after failing to come up with a better response to Luke’s statements.

Luke just laughs, appreciating your attempts at interest in their jobs.

“You’re coming to the game, right? We put back a ticket for you, but if you can’t make it that’s okay, too. Got you a pretty sick seat, though. Glass seat, right beside the net,” Jack reveals, raising his eyebrows a bit, as if trying to convince you.

“Of course I’ll be there, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you exclaim, a little offended at the mere thought you’d skip out on such a big game for them.

“You won’t be disappointed, I swear. We’re gonna kick some major Rags ass,” Luke adds, excitement showing at the idea of you being in the crowd.

“The real question here shouldn’t be if I’m coming to the game or not. It’s whose jersey am I going to wear?” you throw out, poking fun at the two.

“Pshh, c’mon that one’s a no brainer. You’ll obviously wear mine, I’m your favorite,” Jack waves off your words, fully confident that you’ll agree with him.

“I don’t know, Rowdy. I feel like plenty of people will have 86 jerseys on. It is Moose’s rookie season, maybe I should wear his so he feels included.”

“Yeah, dickhead. You have a whole arena full of people wearing your number, she should wear mine. We all know it’s the better number anyways,” Luke retorts.

Jack rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to fire back an insult at Luke, but he’s cut off by a knock at the door. You look over at the two boys to see if they know who might be at the door, but both of their faces mirror your confused look. So much for your uninterrupted time with them.

“Did you guys invite someone over? Or should I be worried that there’s a murderer standing on the other side of our door right now,” you ask.

“Well first of all I don’t think a murderer would knock on the door. They would probably pick the lock or something. Isn’t the whole point of murdering someone to do it when they don’t see it coming?” Jack responds, standing up. “Second of all, it’s probably just Nico. I had mentioned watching game film together at practice earlier and he told me he’d see how he was feeling later. Kinda forgot about it, if I’m being honest, but this is around the time he wakes up from his post-practice nap.”

You sit up a little straighter when Jack mentions his teammate and captain. You hadn’t seen him since your first night in town about two weeks ago. You’d caught little bits of information about him in passing from both Jack and Luke, but tried to keep your questions about him to a minimum. The two of you were still practically strangers, not having had any reason to communicate after that night. You assume he’s been as busy as Jack and Luke, coming and going far more than you. Still, you’re surprised you haven’t even run into him once. You figure his captain duties keep him far busier than even Luke and Jack.

You hear the front door open and then two sets of voices making their way down the short hallway. You look over to see Nico in a hoodie and sweats, a hat hiding his long hair. You think back to that night at the bar when his hair was uncovered and he was having to push it out of his eyes for most of the night, wishing you could catch a glimpse of the brown locks right now. The two were continuing their short conversation from the door, so Nico had yet to acknowledge you or Luke yet. You look away, starting to pick at a loose thread on your socks, knowing you needed to avert your eyes before you were caught staring.

Unknown to you, Luke had already noticed your stare, observing how fixated you were on his captain. You look over to find Luke staring at you, an undecipherable expression on his face. You give him a puzzled look, as if to say ‘what?’ and he responds by simply shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders a bit.

“Oh, hey you two. How’s it going?” Nico’s voice pulls you from your silent conversation with Luke, noticing Jack was no longer next to him.

“Hey, man. How was your nap? Your shoulder okay?” Luke asks him, adjusting his body slightly on the couch to make room for Nico to sit down.

You turn your head to look at Nico once again, a small hint of worry surfacing. He doesn’t look injured? His arm isn’t in a sling or anything, and he’s not holding it in pain. You watch as he sits down to see if even the smallest wince makes its way across his face as his back comes to rest against the plush cushions. If he’s in any sort of pain, he’s not letting it show in his actions.

“Yeah, perfectly fine. Don’t give yourself that much credit, kid. You don’t hit nearly as hard as you think you do,” Nico chuckles, taking his hand and tapping Luke on the knee a few times.

“Trying to hurt your captain before a huge game, Luke?” you speak for the first time since Nico entered the apartment. “Maybe I should wear Jack’s jersey on Saturday.”

“I knew it! See, my jersey is clearly the better choice, Moose. Sucks to suck, huh?” Jack interjects with a grin, walking from the direction of the kitchen, glass of water in hand.

“Now c’mon, Y/N, that isn’t even fair. It was an accident!” Luke cries out. “We were running drills and I was trying to stop, but I misjudged and ran into Nico. He didn’t even hit the glass that hard, you heard him!”he argues, looking between you and his brother.

“All I’m saying is, it won’t look good if the rookie is the reason the captain can’t play against public enemy number one. Then you’ll become public enemy number one, and I can’t be caught at a game wearing the new public enemy’s jersey. I’m already a newcomer, I can’t tarnish my reputation this early,” you hold your hands up in defense.

“What have I just walked into?” Nico asks, eyes darting between the three of you.

“Well, right before you walked in, we were talking about which jersey Y/N was going to wear to the game on Saturday. I told her the obvious choice was mine, but she decided to spew some bullshit about there being too many 86 jerseys already, so she should wear Luke’s since he’s new and needs to feel included,” Jack uses finger quotes around the last part of his sentence.

“Well, she has a point.”

“See! Even Cap thinks so! That’s it, you’re wearing my jersey, Y/N. Cap’s word is final,” Luke leans back, taking in his assumed victory.

Your mind wanders back to Nico’s words he spoke to you at the bar a couple of weeks ago, wondering if Luke’s statement includes those words, too.

“Maybe I should be fair and not wear either jersey. Just go down the roster and pick a random name and then buy it,” you joke, watching the brothers widen their eyes like you just told them you ran over their childhood pet.

“That’s…not even funny. How dare you even joke about something so important,” Jack stares at you, seriousness painted on his features.

“C’mon, Y/N, that’s just…that’s just cruel,” Luke emphasizes the last word dramatically.

“I think you should do it. In fact, I have a spare jersey I think you can wear,” Nico adds, looking at you with mischievous eyes.

“Oh, well that actually sounds lovely, Nico, thank you! What better way to show my support at my first Devils game than sporting the captain’s jersey?”

Jack and Luke both turn their heads to glare at their captain sitting between them. If looks could kill, the poor Swiss man would be six feet under right now. The Hughes brothers don’t play around when it comes to their jerseys. You remember when you had gone to one of Luke’s games while he was playing for Michigan, wanting to buy a Michigan jersey in support, but the gift shop had run out of Luke’s number once he announced his contract with the Devils. You knew you could have simply asked him for a jersey, knowing he had several lying around his dorm room, but the trip was supposed to be a surprise.

You were forced to buy a random jersey with some lesser known last name on it, because you still wanted to show up in Michigan attire. You don’t even remember whose name and number it was, but you remember the look on Luke’s face when he saw you during warm ups, going from pure joy to disgust in seconds. He skated off, going to the locker room briefly before returning with a yellow Jersey that he then threw over the glass to your seat, motioning for you to put it on. You just laughed and did as you were told. You’ve had similar arguments with both Jack and Quinn over threatening to wear a teammates jersey over the years, but you just like to poke fun at how protective the three are over you. Jack explained to you that they want you to wear their jersey’s because it shows their teammates that you’re to be left alone, knowing the reputations of their fellow players.

“Cap, please don’t make me kick you out of this apartment right now,” Jack looks at Nico with complete seriousness.

“Maybe I need to work on my body checks in practice tomorrow, Cap,” Luke tries to threaten.

Nico simply laughs, shaking his head at the sudden unity between the two bickering brothers.

“Alright, chill out you two, all jokes. Unless…” You trail off, standing up.

“No, no unless. You’re wearing one of our jerseys, preferably mine. Hey! Where are you going, this is serious!” Jack yells after you as you walk towards the kitchen.

“Unless you want to starve tonight, someone has to start making dinner. Plus, I have some jersey shopping to do,” you say, hearing Nico’s laughter ringing out once more as you enter the kitchen.

———————————————————————————

“Hey, Nico! Are you staying for dinner? I need to know how much pasta to make!” you shout from your spot by the stove, having just sat down a large pot of water on the hot eye.

You walk over to the cabinet to grab the box of pasta and a couple jars of sauce, waiting for an answer from the living room. You decided to go with just simple spaghetti and salad tonight, not really in the mood for having to prep a ton of food and spend an hour and a half cooking. Jack will probably complain about the amount of carbs he’s consuming, but he’ll get over it. As if he doesn’t burn enough calories from practice and his personal workouts he does on a daily basis. Luke will just be happy to have something that isn’t chicken, seeing as that’s all you made for the first few days of your new living arrangement, trying to stick to the meal plan Jack had the nutritionist send you.

After the third night of some form of chicken and vegetables, Luke was quick to inform you that no one on the team follows the meal plan so strictly. You also learned that Jack is going through some phase of eating nothing but chicken or steak and brown rice, Luke revealing that’s what the two mostly lived on during the weeks leading up to your move. You had told Luke he should learn to cook for himself, and then he wouldn’t be forced to eat what Jack or you decide to make if he doesn’t like it, but he had rolled his eyes and told you “this was the agreement, right? We won’t let you pay rent, so you told us you would contribute by cooking. So really, I’m just helping you fulfill your roommate duties.”

You still don’t have an answer from the three in the living room. You figure they’re too busy with game film to hear you, so you decide to just make enough for Nico, too. You can always pack up the leftovers and have them for lunch the next few days if needed. You dump what you think to be the proper amount of pasta for four people into the pot once it reaches a boil, then work on pouring the sauce into a pan to let it heat up. You cheated on the salad, too, deciding to just buy two bags of salad mix, dumping the bag into a large bowl and adding the small packets of toppings. You’ve just dumped the now done pasta into the colander in the sink, turning to put the pot back onto the stove to cool off a bit when a voice causes you to nearly drop the hot pot in your hands.

“It smells delicious in here,” Nico announces his presence, walking through the doorway towards the fridge.

You settle yourself before setting the pot down safely on the stovetop before speaking. “You know, I really need to get on ordering those squeaky shoes if I want to avoid a heart attack by 25.”

Turning your body, you see Nico hunched over looking in the fridge, arm reaching towards a water bottle before raising up, flashing you a smile.

“Nah, even if you buy them I wouldn’t wear them. This is like, our thing now. Me sneaking up on you, you getting mad, me getting a good laugh out of it,” he stands back at his full height now.

“How comforting that you find enjoyment out of my jumpiness. Such an admirable trait to have,” you grumble, taking the pasta from the sink and transfer it into the pan filled with sauce. “I was going to ask if you wanted to stay for dinner, seeing as it looks like I made enough to feed the entire team, but I think I’ll just leave you to fend for yourself. See how funny that is.”

This earns another laugh, Nico moving to lean against the counter opposite of you, watching you try to combine the sauce and the pasta without making a giant mess.

“Why don’t you just put it back in the pot you cooked the pasta in. You’ll be able to mix it easier.”

“Because apparently that would have been too easy,” you step back and huff, wondering why you didn’t think of that before you created an overflowing mess of sauce and noodles.

Nico makes his way over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders to move you out of the way. He picks up the pan and dumps the contents into the pot sitting next to it, not spilling a single drop.

“There, now you can mix it easier and it won’t spill out over the sides and cause an even bigger mess,” he states, placing the dirty pan in the sink behind you.

“Okay, captain chef, next time you’re cooking dinner, since you clearly have more kitchen skills than me,” you tell him, making your way across the kitchen to collect plates to sit on the table.

Nico just chuckles as he watches you grab the plates, sitting one in front of each chair around the small dining table that sits in the kitchen.

“It smells so good in here, please tell me its almost done,” Jack enters the kitchen, Luke trailing behind him.

“It is, just finished actually,” you look up, Nico carrying the pot of steaming pasta from the stove to the table, careful not to drop it.

“Rowdy, grab the salad over there by the sink for me while I grab some forks for everyone,” you move towards the silverware drawer, walking around the Swiss man in your kitchen, having to turn your body slightly as he steps back from the table.

“Well, I better get going, my leftovers aren’t going to heat themselves up,” Nico announces, starting to make his way out of the kitchen.

“Cap, are you crazy? Do you not see how much food Bouy made?” Jack places the bowl of salad next to the pot of pasta, taking his seat at the table.

“Jack, I’m being so serious right now, if you keep using that stupid nickname for me I will sneak laxatives into your protein shakes.” You take the seat across from Jack, Luke falling into the seat to your left.

“Well, as long as it’s okay with Bouy, I’d love to stay.” Nico walks back over to the table, taking the seat next to Jack, smirking while avoiding eye contact with you.

“I know where you live, so the threat extends to you too, Cap” you glare at Nico.

The rest of the meal is mostly filled with talk between the three hockey players, you chiming in here and there, until Jack shifts the topic of conversation to you.

“So, what’s the update with your new job? You have everything lined up and ready to go?”

“Yeah, talked to them earlier today, actually. They said they’d have my office ready in about a week, so I should be starting not long after that.” You shrug, not wanting to bore them with the details of the corporate scene in New Jersey.

“Where are you going to be working?” Nico asks, genuine interest present in his tone, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“I got offered a position with a small publishing company not too far from here, actually. Mostly independent, up and coming authors, but still exciting,” you reveal, perking up a bit at the opportunity to talk about your passion.

“Was super worried I wasn’t going to be able to use my degree after college, seeing as the market for English lit degrees isn’t too wide unless you want to teach. At least, that’s how it is back home. After I graduated and Jack offered the spare room here, I applied to a few positions here in Jersey and a few in New York, willing to make the commute if needed. Only heard back from one place, though. And it just so happened to be a thirty-minute drive from here, so I accepted and started packing,” you explained.

“It was meant to be. The gang back together once again,” Jack beams.

“Well, the gang minus Quinn. The fucker just had to end up in Vancouver of all places,” Luke grumbles, still upset the oldest Hughes is so far away.

“Lucky for us I can work remotely if I ever need or want to, so this summer at the lake we can all be together again,” you try to cheer Luke up, knowing how much he wishes the three brothers could have played on the same team while making their dreams come true.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jack celebrates. “This is going to be the best summer at the lake house yet. We’re all grown, most of us legal drinking age, but don’t worry, we won’t tell if you won’t, Lukey,” Jack winks over at Luke, knowing the underage drinking rule has never really applied in the sacred space of the lake houses, “and we’ll all finally be there together again after, what, like 6 years?”

“It’s been awhile, at least that long,” you try to think back to the last time everyone was there together.

It was the summer before Quinn got drafted. Quinn had signed to play hockey at Michigan a few months before everyone was set to arrive at the summer oasis. You remember being so proud of him. You couldn’t wait to finally see him and congratulate him in person, knowing how hard he had worked for it. You figured things would stay the same for a few more years, expecting him to come home every summer for the next four years before moving on to the NHL. You had no clue that he would be drafted only a summer later and that it would be the beginning of the end for the summers of fun at the lake house.

“Nico, you should come up this summer! It’s always such a good time!” Jack pulls you from your reminiscing.

“I mean, maybe. I’ve been talking to my parents about flying home during the off season this year, since I didn’t make it over there last year. But I could probably come for a few days, at least,” he shrugs his shoulders.

You try to picture Nico at the lake house, hat covering his hair, swim trunks and a t-shirt covering his body. You picture him lounging on the boat in the sun while Jack takes everyone out for a midday ride, finding a secluded spot somewhere on the lake to stop and swim for a while. You picture him trying to wake surf, wondering if he’d be instantly good at it or if he would end up wiping out in the water. You picture him sitting around the fire at night, a light hoodie on to the mask the chill that never fails to make an appearance on Michigan summer nights, the glow from the fire illuminating his face just enough for you to admire him. You picture him with a slight sunburn on his nose, tan skin glowing from being in the sun so often.

You must have been lost in your thoughts for longer than you realized, because you came back to the conversation with several calls of your name from the seat next to you.

“Are you even listening to us anymore? Or do you really not want Cap coming to the lake house?” Luke looks over at you, slightly waving his hand in front of your face.

“What? No,” you say, looking around at the expectant faces surrounding you. “I mean, no I don’t care if he comes. It would be fun, yeah. If he can make it, of course. You heard him, I’m sure he’s excited to see his family.”

“I’m sure I can work something out. Have the best of both worlds. These two have talked about the infamous lake house so much I’m curious to see if it really lives up to all the hype,” Nico leans back, nodding his head towards both Jack and Luke.

“Then its settled! Cap is coming to Michigan this summer!” Jack cheers, throwing his arms up in celebration.

You laugh in response to Jack’s excitement, noticing that everyone seems to be done eating, plates clean and glasses empty. You stand up and start to take some of the dishes to the sink, setting them in there before walking back over to the table.

“Since you’re in such a good mood, I think now would be the best time to tell you that you and Luke have dish duty tonight.” You clear the last of the dishes off the table.

You watch Jack’s face fall, while Luke’s does a sharp turn in your direction. You turn your back to them to walk back over to the counter, opening the cabinet below you to find Tupperware to store the leftovers in.

“On that note, I better get going. Have some laundry I need to get done before practice in the morning,” Nico stands, bringing over a few stray pieces of silverware you seemed to have missed.

“Oh, no you don’t, Cap. You heard her, she cooked, we clean,” Jack turns to look at his captain as he makes his way to the sink.

“No, I said you and Luke have dish duty tonight. Nico’s name was never mentioned. Guests don’t do the dishes, Jack. I know Ellen raised you better than that.”

“Nico is hardly a guest. He’s over here all the time!” Luke chimes in, opening one of the drawers by the sink, grabbing a towel to dry dishes with.

“He doesn’t pay any rent for the apartment, therefore he’s a guest. Just accept your fate, you two. You’ll survive, I promise.” You hand the pot you just emptied to Jack, taking the food in your hands to the fridge a few steps away.

“You don’t pay any rent, and you’re not a guest,” Jack mumbles, hands covered in soapy suds.

“Exactly! That means I don’t do the dishes, either. I knew you’d catch on eventually! And they say you’re just a pretty face,” you shut the fridge door, looking over at Jack with an amused grin.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Jack whines.

“C’mon, man, you walked right into that one,” Nico adds, laughing at his teammate.

Jack glares at the taller man. “I thought you said you were leaving, that you had laundry to do or some shit.”

“I am, I am,” Nico throws his hands up in defense.

“I’ll walk you out, Nico. Leave the children to pout while doing their chores,” you jest, walking toward the kitchen’s exit.

“Thanks for dinner, Y/N. Ten times better than whatever I would’ve found in my fridge,” Nico says as you pass through the living room.

“Anytime, Cap,” you use his title, blaming Jack and Luke for the new habit. “After all, I owed you for rescuing me from sleeping in the hallway.”

This earns another one of those laughs you love to hear fall from his mouth, smiling to yourself as he follows you down the small hallway towards the front door.

“I feel like you definitely had to put in more effort on your end of that deal,” he steps through the door you’re holding open.

“I’ll just wait until you owe me a favor, then I’ll make sure to cash in some extravagant request,” you joke, leaning against the door as he stands in the hallway.

“I’ll be eagerly awaiting the day.”

Nico takes his apartment key from his pocket and unlocks his door, opening it and stepping inside, turning around to face you once again, his stance mirroring your own in his own doorway.

“So, I’ll see you at the game on Saturday, then?” He stalls a goodbye.

“Yep, I’ll be there. Still deciding which brother I’m going to piss off,” you reference the earlier argument over whose jersey you’ll wear.

“Oh, that reminds me-“ Nico says before propping his door open, leaving you alone in your doorway, confused as to where he could’ve gone.

After about a minute of you standing there, wondering if he was going to come back, he returns, holding a red jersey in his hand.

“Here, figured there’s no sense in you going out and buying one if you really wanted to mess with their heads.”

He hands you the jersey, stepping back into his doorway. You unfold the jersey and notice the big black C on the upper left corner of the jersey. It was a solid red jersey, the team’s symbol in the middle, two black stripes on the forearms of each sleeve, more black accents on the shoulders of the jersey. You look up at him, a little surprised.

“I- I can’t take one of your jerseys, Nico. What if I mess it up, or spill something on it? I’ll just wear one of the ones I have. This looks too nice to risk it,” you attempt to hand the jersey back across the hallway.

“No, I insist. I think it’ll be fun to mess around with them a little. Especially Jack, since he seemed so convinced you were going to wear his. They’ll never even see it coming,” Nico refuses.

You run the idea through your head for a second, thinking about how it would be a funny little dig at the boys. You also think about the implications of wearing a jersey that doesn’t belong to one of Hughes brothers. It’s harmless, though, right? Nico said it was just a fun way to get under their skin. ‘Don’t jump to conclusions, Y/N’ you think to yourself, trying to kick your habit of creative narratives in your head.

“Okay, but if I end up getting kicked out of my apartment I’m knocking on your door to sleep on your couch,” you finally agree.

“My door’s always open for you.”

You look back down to the jersey in your hands to hide the blush that appears on your face at his words. You know you’ve only known him for a short period of time, tonight being the first real chunk of time you’ve spent in his presence, but Nico is making it really hard for you to keep your feelings for him casual. You’ve always had a habit of getting a case of the heart eyes fast, but you’re trying to be normal, for once.

He’s likely just being his normal, personable self and you’re letting every smile and joke go to your head, placing more meaning on them than is warranted. There’s just something about him, though. He’s extremely attractive, for one. But it’s more than that. From all that you’ve learned about him through Jack and Luke, and the easy conversation that has flowed between the two of you from the moment you first spoke to him in the hallway, you can’t lie to yourself and say you’re not drawn to the Swiss captain.

Your mind circles back to the idea of wearing his jersey this weekend and what Jack and Luke will think. What if you seriously hurt their feelings? What if it affects how they play because they’re mad at you? What if they ignore you the whole game? You know the two brothers love you, but you also know how petty they can both be when mad.

“Stop overthinking it. I can see you getting lost up in that head of yours. It’s a harmless joke. They’re not going to freak out on the ice or anything. And if they do, I’m in more danger than you are,” Nico reassures you, pulling you from your thoughts.

“You better at least score a goal if I’m risking being homeless for you,” you tell him, looking back up at his face.

“How about I do you one better. If you promise to wear my jersey, I’ll score a hatty for your first ever New Jersey Devils hockey experience,” Nico offers, his eyes flashing with something you assume is delight at a challenge.

“Well then you better work on your slapshot tomorrow morning, Captain. I’ll be holding you to that Saturday night,” you take the bait, knowing how difficult a hat trick is to pull off.

“No need, I know I’ll have the right motivation night of to get it done,” he winks at you, causing your stomach to fill with butterflies. “And if I don’t, consider it your IOU for that extravagant request you might need one day,” He responds, crossing his arms and shrugging his shoulders, the nonchalance of his body language making you hope for his failure, just so you can think of some ridiculous task for him to perform.

“Thanks for the heads up, I’ll get right to brainstorming,” you respond, trying to prevent your thoughts from spiraling yet again.

Nico lets out a small laugh, standing up straight and placing his hand on the handle of his door. “Think hard. Let me know what you come up with. Have a good night, Bouy, see you Saturday.” He shuts the door before you can berate him for using the nickname you hate.

You walk back into your apartment, door shutting behind you, going straight to your room to hide the jersey before either of the boys see it. You think back on the entire interaction, a smile on your face at the possibility of being able to have Nico do anything you ask him. As you’re walking past the kitchen you hear Jack’s voice.

“Luke, am I stupid or did Y/N call me stupid earlier?” he recalls your earlier comment about him being ‘just a pretty face’.

“Think about how you worded the first part of your question and you’ll have your answer,” you hear Luke respond as you make it past the kitchen unnoticed, making you stifle a giggle so you won’t be discovered.

Oh how you loved being back with your boys.

[deepdisireslonging]

Bound and Blinded Together

The Winchesters are out on a case, leaving Cas and the Reader to pack up the Bunker’s holiday decorations. Castiel gets a little overwhelmed by the task, but the Reader takes her time in helping him out.

Pairing: Castiel x Winchester!Reader

Warnings/Promises: Dean being uncharacteristically a grinch, holiday angst, plot without point, bad decorations packing, fluff, Smut, bondage with unsafe materials

Word Count: 3300

Note: This turned out surprisingly angsty. Apparently, I needed to get some things off my chest. I also played around with Cas’s Grace abilities in this one. Let me know what you thought with comments and reblogs <3 Happy reading! And Happy New Year!

Your eyes widened, trying to process what Dean just ordered. “What! You can’t be serious?”

He groaned and looked at the floor. “It all needs to come down.” Though it pained him to say it, the Christmas decorations covering the bunker floor to ceiling couldn’t stay up. “Sam and I probably won’t be back till January. And Rowena will be with us by then. We can’t have the Queen of Hell seeing all this.”

With a pout, you crossed your arms. “Why not? She might find it cute.”

Sam glanced at Dean before nodding in agreement. “It’ll kinda undermine what we need to ask her to do. You and Dean did a great job putting everything up, but –” He sighed. “If the place looks childish she might not cooperate.”

It was a load of crap. You knew Rowena had seen the boys at their most childish, and yet she still did everything Sam asked. He didn’t reply when you pointed out as much. But Dean’s jaw was set. So you might as well have been arguing with a brick wall. Not that it stopped you.

“We could probably leave this up year-round! It’s not like anyone can see this from the outside. We’re not the tacky neighbors using our Christmas lights to decorate for Fourth of July.” With a huff, you shot Cas a look, begging him to help you.

He turned to the brothers. “She is correct. The warding on the bunker prevents any beings from knowing what the inside looks like unless we let them in. And Rowena has been here before.”

You resisted the very Dean-move of tightly closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose. You tried one more thing. “Come on, Dee. We worked so hard on it.”

For a split second you thought it worked. Dean looked around, soaking in the brightly colored lights. He grinned at the tinsel that had gotten everywhere while the two of you  decorated. All while playing Muppet Christmas music and every rock cover of classic holiday songs that you could find. It took the whole weekend to put up the three trees for the library, war room, and game room. That weekend was your new favorite memory. Especially when Sam and Cas came back from their case and helped trim the trees with the ornaments you had curated for them. Everyone had at least three apiece, each one referencing a funny moment on a case or other big moment. Dean had been particularly tickled with the angel tree topper you found for the library tree that kind of looked like Castiel. He glanced at that tree one more time before running a hand down his face.

“We did do good work. But we can do it again next year.” He turned and walked out of the library.

The pain in his shoulders finally revealed why he didn’t want to help the take-down: he didn’t want to see the bunker sad and drab until he knew he was coming back for sure. If things went sideways… the last memory you’d have of him was the putting it all up. The weight of realization hit you hard. You looked up at Sam with a lump in your throat.

“Is it really going to be that bad? I thought you and Rowena were still… friends.”

He swallowed. “We’re hoping so. But… we’re not sure all this is her doing. If it’s someone else, they may try to stop us from stopping them. And they might try and take out Rowena in the process.” He opened his arms for you to run into. “We’re trying to be careful. There’s too much we don’t know.” Shuddering a breath, he made eye contact with Cas over your head.

“But if it is Rowena,” Castiel gruffed, “then your brothers will explain to her what’s happening up here and convince her to stop.” He gave you a cheery smile as you turned your head out of Sam’s chest. “They will be fine.”

Sam kept smoothing his hand up and down your back. But you didn’t miss the hesitation and slight clench of Sam’s palm.

Castiel continued, “and I’m staying here with you. I’ll help pack everything away.”

As your body tensed, Sam kissed the top of your head. “You don’t have to do anything immediately. Wait till after New Year’s if you like. And we’ll try to call you with a heads up when we’re on our way.” He wrapped his long arms around you as you muttered “some Christmas present” into his chest. He chuckled. “If anything’s still up when we get back, we’ll tell Rowena its for Epiphany.”

----

For the first few days after they left, you refused to move a single bauble. Castiel put up with a lot on those days. You baked more cookies than the two of you could ever eat. And you watched every Christmas movie you could think of. And you found a few more on reels in the archives that you’d never seen before.

He didn’t push. But Castiel quietly brought out the storage boxes and readied the packing paper.

New Years Eve rolled around and over into the New Year. You talked with Sam and Dean over the phone. They refused to update you on the case. Part of you knew Dean was inwardly thrilled at the possibility that someone was listening in on their calls like in a spy movie. But it also meant they had to keep it short. The New Year dawned. And the bunker was quiet as a tomb.

“We don’t have to do it all tonight,” Cas started. “We could just do the ornaments.”

He was right. You knew it, even if you didn’t want to hear it. So, with a huff, you left the couch and slid over the ornaments box.

Cas joined you. He noticed your pause as you wondered where to start. He snapped his fingers.

“No!” Chest tight, you looked between the tree and the box. The green was only wrapped in lights while the ornaments were nestled safely in the box. “Put them back.”

“But I thought,” Cas’s head tilted. “If taking the decorations down is too painful, I can do it all like this.”

You shook your head. “No. You – you can’t do it like that. It’s… too sudden.” You knew he could read your mind. Opening the mental doors to him, you let him see the memories. Memories like coming back from breakfast on a case and finding your dad had dumped the cheap gas-station decorations in the trash so he could pile you all into the Impala the second you got there. And the time Dean decorated for Christmas with just the three of you the first winter in the bunker. Sam dragged you out on a case and Dean had taken everything down himself without telling you his intentions. You had come back from a rough vampire’s nest to the colorless bunker and broke down. The bunker was a home you hadn’t had since childhood. And it still felt like every small joy was being stolen from you. It felt like the earth was spinning faster every year and your small moments with family were becoming fewer and farther in between. And now your brothers were out there and might not come back and-

Castiel walked over and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. His shirt and tie were quickly soaked with your tears.

So what if the bunker looked childish when Rowena got here? You wanted to be childish. Hadn’t you grown up enough?

“Yes. You’ve grown up enough.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. The way he did when Dean was in the room but he still wanted to comfort you without raising your brothers’ protective ire. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” With the soft flutter of his wings, the ornaments were back on their branches, and he was in your arms again. Cas hummed as you kissed the underside of his jaw. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”

The ornaments came off the tree the slow way. The delicate ones were wrapped in paper. The cheap plastic ones were squeezed together in the plastic cubbies of the box. And the angel topper went back into his box. Taking the strands of tinsel off was a struggle. Somewhere out there, you knew there was a good way to store the silver strands again for next year. But they somehow ended up scrunched down into a box you were sure needed to hold a decoration you’d forgotten about.

Castiel handled the lights. Or he tried to anyways.

One minute you were folding up the tree skirt. The next you were laughing till your sides hurt.

The poor angle had completely tangled himself. You weren’t sure how. If this had been another cartoon your group had gotten caught in, you almost would have thought the lights were like a tightly-wound coil. And they had somehow sprung. Castiel stood there like Tom from Tom and Jerry with the lights wrapped around his limbs like a spring.

“How did you – never mind. Let me help.”

He grumbled under his breath as you tried to untangle him. Once or twice he offered to snap the lights into conformity, but you were having too much fun. Soon, he was smiling too.

“Here, lift your leg. I’ve almost got it.”

But your tugging on the strand made him wobble. Cas made a surprise sound. Then he fell like a tree. You tried to catch him, but with the lights in the way, his arms were stuck to his sides. You winced as he hit the ground.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.” You clasped your hands over your mouth to cover your smile. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. His head tilted as you began to shake. “Are you alright?”

A giggle bubbled over your hands. “Mhmm. Just… you fell like a log. Like in the movies.” The giggles turned into full-body laughter. “Alright, let’s try this again.”

Reaching down, you tried to bring Castiel to his feet by tugging on the lights. But without his hands, he couldn’t help. And he wasn’t about to angel himself out of the situation. Not when you were smiling like that. Your wrist got caught in a circle you’d managed to tug loose earlier.

Cas’s eyes went wide. “Y/N.” Then he went down again. This time, you went down with him. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” Wriggling, you realized a few strands you’d freed the ends of decided to join the tangle. They tied you to Castiel across the back of your legs and diagonally across your back. You weren’t sure how they managed that, but then you squinted at your angel. He was terrible at hiding his guilt from you. “You know, I think you’ve been holding back on your understanding human humor.”

He looked sideways at the floor. “Not necessarily. But we’ve been watching those Hello Mark movies for days. And this problem showed up a few times. It made you laugh.” He dipped his chin before meeting your gaze. “I like hearing you laugh.”

With a grin, you leaned up to kiss the end of his nose. “Hallmark. The movies were from Hallmark.” You sighed. “I like laughing with you. I would say thank you for the reason to, but… how are we going to fix this? You gonna angel mojo us outta here or-“ With a start, you realized how pink the tops of his cheeks were. “Castiel. Are you trying to seduce me? With Hallmark moves, no less.”

“Not necessarily. Just wanted to cheer you up.” He settled back onto the floor. “Unless it’s working.”

You answered by nuzzling your nose under his jaw. It brought you no small joy that his whole body shivered when you finally kissed over his pulse point. “Perhaps it is. But it’s a little uncomfortable laying here on the floor, don’t you think? And if this is going to work, we’re never going to get our clothes out of the way with the lights tangled like this –”

A ruffle of wings later, you were no longer laying on the floor, but on the sheets of your bed. The air was cool on your bare skin. But the lights still twined around your bodies. They had moved too.

“Cas?”

His eyes were wide. Lust-blown. It wasn’t odd for you to have to remind him to breathe when out on a case so he looked human. But his chest heaved up and down now. It strained against the strand of lights crisscrossed against his chest. The strand hugged tight at his hips before spiraling around his thighs. There was a bit of give in the line before it began its twine around your body.

Yours were wrapped tight around your hips too. The lights crossed your torso and pressed in a tight figure eight around your breasts, pushing them forward. Another loop was around your throat. It wasn’t too tight. But if Castiel were to hook a few fingers under the line, like you hoped he would, it wouldn’t be hard for him to restrict your breathing. The end-caps of the lights pressed against your skin. Intersections of the lines collected at your egregious zones. You rolled your hips. Already you were trembling. “Like what you see?”

Cas nodded gently, mouth agape.

Suddenly he leaned forward and caught you in a searing kiss. You would have wrapped your arms around him. But the light strand caught your wrists and pulled them back over your head. You had nowhere to go as Cas kissed his way across your collarbone and down between your breasts. He mouthed at the hollow of your throat to make you whine. Trapped together, he could feel every roll of your hips, and you jolted every time his cockhead caught your clit. As he caught your mouth, drinking in your sighs, you closed your eyes. Your skin warmed under his attention.

When you opened your eyes, you realized that the heat wasn’t just from the two of you. The more frantic Cas was to taste every inch of your skin, the brighter the lights flared.

“Are – are you doing that?”

“No.” He pressed his lips against your forehead as his hands kneaded your breasts. “My Grace might be affecting them.”

“Are we going to catch fire?”

“No. We might burn out a few of the bulbs.”

You arched as his kisses made their way down your throat and then up to the peaks of your breasts. “If this goes the way I think it will, I hope we pop them all.”

Cas growled against your skin. His hand spread wide over your lower tummy. A warmth spread within you as he made sure you were ready for his length. Before you could keen for his fingers, he gently nudged the tip of his cock at your entrance. The lights flickered. Cas’s gaze tunneled to where you were conjoined. Unable to wait another second, he pressed deep within you.

Your moan, high and needy, made Castiel ravenous. He muttered under his breath in Enochian. He must have been using some strong phrases because a few items rattled around the room. Or were you the one shaking? With the barest touch to your clit, Cas sent you soaring into release. You squeezed your thighs around him with a cry. When you managed to open your eyes a few breaths later, he was still moving, but he was entranced with the view of you.

He quickly worked you up again. Every breath that caught in your throat and every clamp of your walls added to his desperation. You could never be sure if he wasn’t using his Grace to help you along. But when an orgasm was ready, you didn’t care how he did it. You wanted him. Craved him. He freed your wrists so he could hug you close as he thundered into your sex. You clawed at his back as you came, muffling your sounds in his flushed skin.

And he never stopped thrusting. The last release didn’t fade away. Instead, it kindled and burned your nerves, quickly preparing you for another.

Cas’s hips were frantic. Under his drooping eyelids, you could see the wisps of blue light peaking out. He squeezed his eyes shut. But the bulbs wrapped around your limbs brightened. Your eyes fluttered closed under the onslaught of pleasure and light. With a shout, Cas spilled into you, sending you spiraling into a final release. If your eyes hadn’t been shut, you would have been blinded. He kept moving for a few more thrusts. Each one pushed his cum back into your sex. You were whimpering before he stopped.

“I think we burned the lights.”

You giggled. “Good.” A chill breeze washed over you. It the time it took to inhale, you were cleaned up and comfy in your pj’s. You snagged Castiel’s wrist before he could move away. “Oh, no you don’t.” You curled to one side, wiggling your body back into his torso. “You’re always too quick. Stay with me.”

He settled in with a hum.

Sleep had almost overcome you when he spoke up.

“I’m sorry about the lights.”

You grinned. “We can get new ones. Don’t worry about it.” Sleep called, but now your brain was thinking. “Does your Grace always react like that?”

Behind you, Cas’s nose pressed between your shoulder blades. “Yes. I have to focus to repress it. But the lights… picked up on my Grace somehow.” He kissed at your spine. “That was a… gentler display of what my Grace does when I orgasm in you. With you. Because of you.”

His words made your body warm all over again. But then he pulled you tighter against his body. So tight, you didn’t have room to shift or turn like you usually did when trying to fight off sleep.

Cas watched your eyes close. He listened to your breathing even out. And he held you close until you woke up the next morning, ready to welcome in a new year.

---

A few days later, the bunker door screeched open. Dean walked through first. Then Sam. And then their guest.

“Rowena!”

She smiled brightly as she descended the stairs. “Hello, Dearie.” With a giggle that you happily matched, she accepted your embrace. “The boys told me you didn’t want to give up your decorations for me.”

“They said it would make the place look childish.”

Rowena scoffed. “I already know they’re childish. It’s nothing new. Just like them, your meanie brothers, trying to keep up appearances they didn’t have to begin with.”  She glanced at Castiel. “What else have you two been up to?”

The angel froze.

“Oh, nothing. Lounging, researching,” you shrugged. “The usual.”

“Mhmm.” Her gaze traveled head to toe and back again over Cas. “Still, the place could be at least a little festive.” With a twirl of her finger she made a bundle of mistletoe hang from the door mantle between the war room and library. “There. Much better.” She laced her arm with yours and began to walk that way. “Can’t leave your angel in the cold just because your brothers are home.”

Sam grimaced. “Rowena –”

“What?” She tried to summon him over as she passed under the greenery. “Doesn’t just have to be for them.”

Now Dean growled.

“Oh, alright.” She inhaled deeply before taking your arm again. “I think it’s time you and I had a little chat, Dearie, to get you caught up on a lot of things. Shall we?”

***

Master List

***

Other Castiel Fics:

Satisfied (S)

Spell-Bound (S)

Other SPN Fics:

Need a Lift? ( SPN Fluff Appreciation Day 2017) - Sam x Reader

Short and Short Tempered (F, Implied S, Drabble) - Sam x Reader

Last of the Season (Food Mention, Fluff, S) - Dean x Reader

What’s Your Favorite Position? (S) - Dean x Reader

[gingersxng]

Tease Me & I’ll Go Rough On You

Pairing: f!reader x Mingi

Genre: smut 18+

Summary: would it be so bad to push your boyfriends buttons and tell him what you want when you’re home alone getting more and more desperate for his touch.

Notes: rough mean dom!mingi, sub!reader, boyfriend mingi, mingi has tattoos on his hands, teasing, sexting, nudes, mention of sex toys, big dick mingi, pet names (doll, darling), reader is called a freak, blowjob, degradation, slight choking, reader is stripping, unprotected sex (always be safe), lots of grabbing, nipple play, overstimulation, creampie, many rounds. may have forgot something!

Words: 1.6k

your boyfriend was away for the night with the boys and you weren’t invited, it was only a boys night out so you were home alone waiting for your boyfriend to come home. Mingi had been extremely busy these last few weeks with work and more work and you guys didn’t get to spend much time together so when you found out he wasn’t going to be with you tonight either you got a bit upset cause you missed him, you missed his touch, his big tattooed hands… his big dick. damn. your mind began to run away thinking of all the dirty things you wanted him to do to you. It was two weeks since you last had sex, Mingi had spent most of the days at the studio and even spent the nights there too. you’ve received messages some nights from Mingi telling you to send pictures of your breasts because he was so horny he couldn’t sleep.

it was soon midnight and maby an hour left until Mingi would be home, or so you hoped. as time passed by you felt yourself getting more and more impatient and horny. you were almost about to bring out your toybox to get the job done yourself, fucking yourself with a dildo wasn’t at all as good as being fucked by Mingis big cock but since he wasn’t here and you were so damn horny you had no choice. you were about to sink down on the big red rubber dick when an idea popped up in your head. since Mingi was out with his friends you decided it would be a fun thing to tease him, you knew you would be out on thin ice teasing that man but right now you would do anything to have him destroying your pussy with his big cock.

you sent a message to him:

to my mingi: how long before you come back home?

mingi: i don’t know but maybe an hour or so.

to my mingi: can’t you come home now? pls

mingi: it won’t be long i promise.

to my mingi: i really need you… so bad I’m going crazy!

mingi: I’ll be home soon you have to wait okay.

to my mingi: but I need you inside me right now I can’t wait anymore!!

mingi: I’ll take care of you when I get home, fuck yourself on that red dildo I bought you.

to my mingi: I don’t want to I want you to fuck me Mings.

mingi: *seen*

to my mingi: and now you don’t even reply to me?? well alright then.

*you sent a picture of yourself in a black lingerie set and thigh high stockings Mingi bought for you on your birthday*

to my mingi: I guess I’ll play with myself but you’ll miss this then.

mingi: I’ll be home in 15 min, on your knees and that’s an order understood?!!!

you’re whole stomach twisted knowing what waited when he came home, filled with both lust and anxiety you patiently waited down on your knees on the wooden floor in your shared bedroom. finally you heard Mingi coming home tossing the car keys somewhere and headed upstairs your way. the door swung open and you were met by a aroused Mingi, his eyes were hooded and filled with lust. he looked down at you with a smirk forming on his lips. “what a dirty freak you are, can’t even wait patiently for my cock” he said raising an eyebrow at you. being called a freak sent chills down your core and your panties only got wetter. “ you better put that nasty mouth to good use before I fuck your brains out” he said as he started to unbuckle his pants. you could clearly see the outline of his massive cock. Mingi pulled down his pants and boxers to let out his friend, it didn’t matter how many times you’d seen his dick it always made your mouth water and your pussy throb.

Mingi pumped his length a few times before slapping it on your cheek wanting you to open. you welcomed him into your mouth licking up and down his veiny thick shaft earning a groan from him. one of Mingis favourite things was having you down on your bare knees begging for his cock and fuck your throat until you can’t speak.

while working your lips around his length Mingi was holding your chin in a tight grip forcing you to look him straight in the eyes, your eyes began to tear up a bit as he started to rock his hips pressing his dick further down your throat. “is my doll crying?” Mingi said in a sarcastic tone as he caressed your cheek putting his thumb in your mouth. with your big teary eyes you could see he had the “I won’t be nice to you” look on his face and it made you even hornier if that’s possible. “I’ll give you something to cry about” he growled. he put one hand behind your head and the other one squeezing your neck while fucking his dick down your throat with big slow thrusts resulting in you gagging over and over again getting dizzy and more tears running down your cheeks. the fucked out expression on your face and the drool spilling out of your mouth made Mingis cock twitch meaning he was close. he bucked his hips a few more times before he pulled out leaving you gasping for air. he denied his own orgasm just to get to torture you more which was his favourite thing to do when you didn’t behave like tonight.

Mingi sat down on the bed watching as you were catching your breath, chuckling as he saw what a mess you were already. you stood up wiping your wet cheeks with your hand, taking a step towards the bed Mingi stopped you. “take off your panties” he said with a voice so deep it could break you. you obeyed him taking the hem of your panties sliding them down slow to tease him some more, adding more fuel to the fire. Mingis cock twitched at the sight in front of him and he too grew more impatient. when you finally had tossed your panties somewhere on the floor you walked over to Mingi grabbing his shoulders as you straddled him. you could feel him getting more and more worked up and now you were in for a ride.

Mingi ran his hand down your stomach and stopped to play with your clit making you moan, you took a hold of his cock and guided it to your entrance rubbing the tip along your soaking folds. your actions made him snap and in a flash he were grabbing your waist and pushed you down on his thick dick. it felt like you got split in half and once again the tears were back. “fuck you’re too big” you breathed out. Mingi gave you a wink with his bottom lip between his teeth. he pulled out slow and smashed you down onto his cock with force hitting your cervix with every thrust. your hands found their way to his hair tugging on it earning lots of groans from Mingi who was busy using his strength to destroy your insides resulting in you being unable to walk the coming week. Mingis hands were squeezing your ass and breast and his thrusts were getting sloppy. you could also feel the knot in your stomach tighten as he hit all the right places over and over again and with some stimulation to your nipples you felt your orgasm burst, you bruised his shoulders and nuzzled your head into his neck followed by a loud moan. riding out your orgasm Mingi was still thrusting up into you waiting for his own release, his thrusts was getting so sloppy he missed your entrance a few times making his cock brush against your clit. putting himself back in again he sped up the pace, his breathing getting heavier and the beads of sweat on his forehead were dripping down. you could feel yourself getting overstimulated and your legs began to shake with a second orgasm on its way.

“pls Min- aaahh” you cried out feeling a familiar tingle in your stomach building up again. “cum again darling, cum on my cock” Mingi growled thrusting harder and the smirk never leaving his lips. a few more thrusts and you both came. you felt a big load of Mingis hot seeds spurting into you painting your insides white. “now your pussy is filled up good” he said giving you a kiss. you felt your eyelids getting heavy and were almost off to dreamland but Mingi was not thinking about going to sleep yet, in fact it was you who wanted this and even made him leave his friends behind just to go home and fuck his impatient and horny girlfriend.

Mingi pulled you off him and placed you onto your back, his tall figure looking down at you with hungry eyes. tired and sore you waited to get railed yet again by your favourite dick. Mingi placed wet kisses along your inner thighs and got up to whisper something in your ear that made your pussy throb. “coming up with this teasing shit idea again and I will only make it worse for you, my nasty doll”

he pushed himself inside your cum filled stretched hole with no intentions at all on going easier on you.

[ghulehunknown]

Clergy Headcanons - Proposals!

Rated G - Purely fluff! Gender neutral reader

How I think the head members of the Clergy would propose to you 😌

(inspired by Älva’s Papa engagement ring post!)

Primo

Very romantic

He asked a parental figure/someone important in your life for your hand (well, at least told your loved one(s) beforehand to give a semblance of traditionality)

Plans a picnic with all your favorite foods, and he brought your favorite roses and other pretty flowers from his garden. He actually secretly grew a special engagement bouquet just for you!

He doesn’t get down on one knee because of his arthritis, but proposes while you’re both sitting down

The ring is very traditional and likely passed down for generations in his family. He’s been waiting a whole lifetime to give it to you 🥺

Secondo

Whatever he has planned, it’s completely with your personality in mind - whether you are more inclined for something quiet or a something with a little more opulence

But it’s probably something a little more lowkey, like after a lovely dinner that he cooks for you. He may not be one for grand gestures but he does know how to make you feel very special

He has a very romantic, although not super long, speech before he gets down on one knee and hands you the most wonderful ring you’ve ever seen

The ring is beautiful, but dark - much like him. It’s probably got some black star sapphires in it or something, and the band is made from tungsten or titanium because it’s durable and lasting like his love for you

Terzo

He…may or may not have proposed impulsively one evening after a date because he got excited…then remembered he’s Terzo and vows to do better with a surprise later. (Eloping isn’t out of the question for him)

He plans a grand day out doing all your favorite activities before coming back to the Ministry which is decorated to the max and all your loved ones are there in attendance

He gets down on one knee and gives an elaborate, moving speech and promises you the world

The ring is GORGEOUS and extravagant and must’ve cost a fortune. But your love is priceless, so a silly little price tag doesn’t stop him (don’t worry, he paid full price and didn’t use the Papa discount; he makes sure you know that)

He definitely planned a flashmob for you with Siblings and Ghouls dressed in tuxedos and wedding dresses, but waves them off after he sees how overcome with emotion you are

Can’t wait for you to see the second part…alone in his room, because you have to “christen the engagement”

Copia

Oh god he’s nervous AF, he’s sweating and stumbling. He doesn’t want to mess this up because he’s been planning it for a long time. He knew you were the one the day he met you

He takes you back to the spot you had your first date. You can tell something is up because he’s acting a little funny

He definitely messes up his little speech he has prepared but he says something like: “You will never walk alone”

He’s so, so sweet and everything is perfect no matter how nervous you both are 🥺

He gets down on one knee and everything and you feel like the most special person in the world, because to him you are

He gives you a traditional, but absolutely beautiful ring. It’s probably got diamonds or your birthstone in it. He’s not a fully traditional man, but for things as important as this he doesn’t want to miss a beat

He’s ready to start planning the wedding!

Nihil

“Here,” and hands you the ring

He probably proposes immediately after you have an argument in attempt to makeup and show you he still wants you

The ring is simple, but durable. It’s probably solid gold, because to him you’re golden

Afterwards he takes you out to your favorite restaurant then a drive in movie (it reminds him of the good ol’ days)

Sister Imperator (bonus round!)

Very methodical and planned to a T

Lots of beautiful decorations

The speech is simple and to the point, as she often is, so there’s really no way to get lost in flowery language. You know what she wants, and it’s you and her forever

“We would be good together, don’t you think?” she’d say with her all-knowing smirk

She hands you a sturdy stainless steel ring and got herself one to match

[cloudcrabtaur]

ISATOBER Day 31 - I promise

Isatober round up thoughts below!

🎃 Happy Halloween! 👻

It’s arrived - the final day of Inktober 2024! And I have a couple of things to say to close out so let’s go!

First off, and most importantly, a huge thank you to @darlnyan who created the Isatober prompts I’ve been following this year - they’ve been great all the way through - I don’t think I would’ve had half as much fun with any other set of prompts! Go check them out and follow them if you haven’t yet!

A second huge thank you, though it kinda goes without saying, to the creator of Isat @insertdisc5 ! Who made a game so amazing that I’ve spent an entire month making fanart for it every single day - and my enthusiasm still hasn’t wavered in the slightest! Isat has inspired me more than anything has in a WHILE - both to create fanart and to work on my own original projects. Also! it did kinda revive my tumblr from the dead! Funny how that happens!

Third! I wanted to congratulate everyone else who participated in Isatober this year, because I’ve been checking this tag every day and you are all INSANE! Genuinely incredible! Pat yourselves on the back because you deserve it! Seeing the different ways everyone has interpreted these prompts has been the best part of the whole challenge for me, and I’m really looking forward to seeing what everyone puts out next!

And finally thank you to everyone who has left notes on any of my Isatober drawings this month. I genuinely never expected this many people would enjoy my silly fanart and I’ve got so much encouragement from the community! You’re all amazing 💖

And with that!

I think it’s time to give Sif a rest (for a little while anyway). I am hoping to spruce up a few of my unfinished Isatober pieces as well as finish some unseen WIPs next - so keep an eye out for those!

Enjoy the rest of the season everyone, and look foreword to Inktober 2025!

[python333]

soft spot — python333

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synopsis you've been having a bad day, and ghost feels like being extra nice to you. plot twist you're an age regressor and him being so nice is NOT helping.

relationships platonic agere cg!ghost & gn little!reader.

characters ghost.

word count 6.7k.

warnings a victorious reference, age regressor reader, usage of c/n [call sign/code name], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself]

note please feel free to attack me as much as you want if this is inaccurate. i don't even care if it's not constructive criticism. i am begging for everyone's thoughts and opinions on this!! this is also the longest oneshot i think i've ever written!

“Having fun there?” 

You turn in your seat and find Ghost leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and one eye slightly wider than the other—an indication that his eyebrow is raised. 

“Not really,” You answer, setting down your gun. You’d been disassembling it, trying to take your mind off of the slowly growing headache that’s been building up for the past few hours. You don’t think it’s a migraine or anything, but it still bothers you greatly. 

“Yeah, no, I can tell,” Ghost chuckles, pushing himself off of the door frame and walking over to you. He eyes your gun for a moment, the magazine already removed as well as any live rounds left in the rifle ejected, and the bolt locked to the rear. You were only maybe a quarter of the way through your disassembly, even though you started around thirty minutes ago. 

For some reason, you woke up upset today. You were too tired, you felt awfully sluggish, and there was a throbbing pain clustered in the back of your eyebrows. So, in short—you were reasonably very upset. It showed visibly in the way your eyes twitched every so often, and in the way you felt the need to pinch the bridge of your nose to distract you from the pain that was still building up behind your brows. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, leaning on the table. 

“I have this headache that won’t go away,” You respond, sighing as you move your gaze from your gun to Ghost. You can barely see it, but from his eyes you can tell that his face scrunches up beneath his mask. He knows a thing or two about bad headaches, being someone who frequently gets migraines himself. 

“Have you taken any meds for it?” You shake your head ‘no’. Ghost holds up a single finger in a ‘one moment’ motion and rummages through the pockets on his tactical vest for a moment, before he pulls out a small bottle of ibuprofen no bigger than his palm. He hands it to you. 

“Here.” You blink at it for a moment. 

“Thanks,” You take the bottle gingerly and Ghost nods, watching you as you struggle with the child-proof lid for a second before getting it open. You shake out a small tablet, one the size of a low-dosage aspirin, and pop it into your mouth. You don’t have much of an issue dry-swallowing it, and it only takes one attempt before you successfully swallow the tablet.

“You’ve been feeling pretty bad this whole week, haven’t you?” Ghost frowns underneath his mask. 

You think for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I guess. I think it’s mostly just stress.” 

You know it’s not just stress. 

For a while now, you’ve used something called ‘age regression’ as a form of stress relief. You don’t know exactly when it started, but you do know that it was before you were recruited for the 141. And originally, you made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t regress while on base, and you kept that promise for maybe a month before you broke it. 

You think it was Ghost that was the trigger, actually. You can vividly remember the first time you regressed while on base; you had just finished talking to Ghost, and he called you something—you think he called you something similar to ‘kid’—that made a flip in your mind switch immediately. You can remember excusing yourself from the conversation quickly, leaving your lieutenant slightly confused but otherwise unbothered by the strange action. 

And, worst of all, you can remember being in your quarters and practically burrowing under your blankets. You were curled up into a fetal position, trying to fight the urge to suck on your thumb or at least chew on something, but ultimately lost the fight and succumbed to your urges. You spent maybe a few hours like that, wide awake when you just wanted to try and sleep it away, thinking about that interaction you had with Ghost over and over again. 

You’re not stupid. You know that Ghost has some sort of soft spot for you—albeit, you don’t know exactly how soft that soft spot is, but it’s definitely soft. Soft enough that he goes the tiniest bit easier on you compared to other recruits, soft enough that he spares you more time than he does for others, and the most obvious of all—he initiates most of your conversations. 

Contrary to popular belief, he’s not the scary super-soldier most people think of him as. Sure, maybe he is kind of scary, and maybe his mask does jumpscare you when you’re doing missions in particularly dark spaces sometimes, but other than that he’s not scary in the slightest. If anything, he’s awkward. Awkward enough that he’s almost never the first person to talk to someone—except for you, of course. You don’t know why he acts so differently around you, but you don’t complain about it. 

“That’s rough,” Ghost looks down at you with concerned, empathetic eyes, “Sorry you’re so stressed. Mind me askin’ why?” 

“I don’t, but I also don’t know why I’m so stressed,” You huff out, even though you know the answer completely. You stand up, “I think it’s just me being sleep deprived. I’ve been having the tiniest bit of trouble falling asleep lately.” 

“You should’ve told me earlier,” Ghost tuts, “I have melatonin.” 

You give him a confused look. “You do?” 

“‘Course I do.” 

You blink at him for a moment before sighing, “Could I have some then?” 

“What’s the magic word?” You give him an unimpressed look, ignoring the way the words make your stomach twist, and his eyes crinkle in a way that lets you know that he’s grinning under his mask. 

“Could I please have some melatonin?” 

“The magic word was lotion, but I’ll let it slide,” Ghost hums, “There’s some in my office. I’ll grab it for you later.” 

“M’kay,” You look over at the door, unintentionally zoning out as you do. Your vision goes unfocused as the throbbing pain behind your eyebrows grows and something else grows inside of you. 

Jesus. Why can’t you choose any other time to get the urge to slip into a younger mentality? Why does your headache have to make everything worse for you? Why does Ghost have to be so nice and helpful? 

“Hey,” Ghost frowns, tapping a finger on your shoulder to snap you out of whatever trance you’re in, “[c/n]?” 

Oh God. 

Your eyes—that you try desperately to keep neutral—meet Ghost’s, his eyes soft and his eyebrows dipped downwards in a confused manner. His eyes are searching, flitting over you, trying to find something. The way he looks at you makes you want to squirm, and you can’t help but just slightly shuffle in place. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, voice as concerned as his look. That should be the breaking point for you, but you remain as big as you can be, and nod affirmatively. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You try to assure him, hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel, “I think I’m just a little tired.” 

Ghost doesn’t look convinced. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder, the act like a hammer putting another dent in the wall you had put up. The leather of his glove is warm even through the thick material of your shirt, and it feels like hot metal against your cold skin, the clothing covering your shoulder be damned. 

“You can tell me if you’re not okay,” He tells you—what is he doing? Does he know something I don’t?—while his thumb starts rubbing circles into your shoulder, “I feel like you’re more than a little tired.” 

You stay silent for a little bit. You don’t know how to explain yourself, the words seeming to liquify and leak right out of you, making you speechless. He seems to notice this, sighing and letting his hand slip down to your hand, holding it and giving it a quick squeeze. 

“I think,” He looks around for a moment before turning back to you, “that we should head to my office so that nobody can bother us, and then you can tell me all about how you’re feeling right now. Does that sound okay?” 

You nod wordlessly, not trusting yourself to talk with how heavy your tongue feels, and you let Ghost lead you back to his office. It’s only a hallway away, but that’s still enough time to overthink everything that could possibly happen. How does he know something’s wrong? What gave it away? Did I do something bad? What did I do? Wh—

The creak of his office door opening snaps you out of your thoughts, and Ghost steps aside to let you enter his office first. Hesitantly, you take a few steps inside, and you hear the door click shut behind you as Ghost walks in. He takes your hand again, making you look at him as he guides you to a chair. 

You sit in the chair that’s in front of his desk, and he quickly drags out the chair that’s behind it so that it’s right next to yours. He sits down. 

He’s looking at you expectantly. 

“Uh.” You’re not sure what to say. He’s looking at you so reassuringly, it’s hard to keep yourself sitting upright. 

“I know something’s wrong,” Ghost says, leaning forward the tiniest bit, “I need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.” 

He’s got to have at least some idea of what you’re experiencing, You think, trying to form some sort of explanation, He’s being so… weird? 

You swear there’s some other word you could use, but your vocabulary feels so limited, and you would mentally curse if you could because you know that now your explanation is gonna sound weird. You can’t use the words you want, you’re gonna be forced to use simple words, ones that can’t convey exactly how you feel. Words that—and it physically pained you to admit this—were childish. 

You can explain your situation. Just, now it would be more… blunt. And short. And also you’d feel like killing yourself afterwards. You won’t, obviously, but you can predict that you’ll come very close to doing so.

Okay, I have to say something because Ghost is looking more and more worried the longer I stay silent. 

“I feel…” You trail off for a moment, trying to get your thoughts in order for the next two seconds to actually say something that makes sense, before continuing in a far less confident tone, “… small.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it. Ew. Ew. Ew. What. Why? Why that word? It leaves a sour taste on your tongue and yet you can’t think of any other word that would better suit how you feel. Still. Ew. 

Your thoughts are a jumbled mess ranging from fleeting thoughts of disgust to thoughts lodged in the back of your mind begging you to go anywhere else just so that you can stop having to have this conversation. This conversation requires words bigger than you have access to, and a sort of control over yourself that you can’t grasp. You can feel your hands twitching, wanting something to hold onto, anything to keep you distracted from the overwhelming urge to just regress. 

Ghost blinks. He didn’t expect that answer. 

“Small?” He repeats in a questioning tone, eyebrows furrowed, “I mean, compared to me, I guess you’re kind of short—” 

“No, no, not like short small,” You try to clarify, feeling just slightly discouraged by Ghost’s confused words, “Like…” 

You struggle to find the words that properly describe how you feel, only finding words like small and little in your current vocabulary. Your findings are making you increasingly upset, and you can feel your face start to grow hot with frustration and embarrassment. 

Oh my God. 

“Like…?” Ghost nudges your knee with his, trying to encourage you to talk, “I’m not leaving until you tell me.” 

There’s still a level of care in his words, no matter how confused he seems, and that adds all the more struggle to your predicament. Not only do you not want to tell him, but you can’t describe how you feel in a way that’s acceptable for someone your age to describe anything. At least, not in a way that you deem acceptable for yourself to describe anything. 

You’re far too old to be describing yourself as small. 

“[c/n]?” Ghost nudges you again, and you blink at him. Your eyes are flickering all over his mask, going anywhere but his eyes, since eye contact with anyone would make everything significantly worse for you right now. 

“It’s just—” You try to take a deep breath but your breath hitches. Everything is starting to make you feel so frustrated, and you’re starting to think that you might just throw a tantrum if you can’t do at least one thing right. You try to find the words you want to use but your throat is disobediently closing on you. Your mind feels like straight mush, and the quickly softening look that Ghost is giving you isn’t helping you at all. 

To your horror, in your inexplicable inability to talk in the way you normally do, you let out a small whine. It sounds obnoxious to your ears, and worst of all, sounds like something a little kid would do. 

You put your head in your hands, the quickly reddening skin of your cheeks getting cooled by the cold of your palms as you try and hide your face from Ghost. You can picture how he looks right now—somehow more confused than earlier, possibly annoyed, weirded out—and all those mental images make you bite your tongue to prevent another noise. 

“What was that?” You don’t answer him. 

To your non-answer, Ghost sighs, and you think, This is it, this is where he kicks me out of his office, oh my God I’m gonna get dishonorably discharged and he’s gonna give me a really mean look on my way out—

“Look at me.” You shake your head negatively. 

“Why not?” He sounds so confused, it makes you want to cry. There’s still a level of worry in his voice, and it adds to the fog that builds up in your brain. 

You move your face just slightly up so that your eyes peek out from above your fingertips, your hands covering the rest of your face. Ghost reaches out both of his hands, and ever so gently removes your hands from your face, uncovering your red cheeks and your lips—the lower of which quivers, like you’re about to cry. He notices this quickly, and you can practically feel the level of his worry shoot up. 

He doesn’t say anything, instead just holding your hands in his for a moment, before he sets them down into your lap. He looks at you, concerned, and asks, “Is it hard to talk right now?” 

You nod. His gaze shifts to his computer, and then back to you. 

“I’m gonna go look a few things up really quick, okay? I’ll just be right over there,” He nods over to the space behind his computer, “and I’ll be right back here in a few seconds.” 

You reluctantly nod again, and Ghost gets up from his seat. He grabs the back of the chair and drags it back around behind his desk, sitting down in it and powering on his monitor. It turns on almost immediately, much to his relief, and he goes to his browser and searches up a few things. You can’t tell what he’s searching up, only hearing the clacking of keys and the occasional final click that indicates that he’s hit the enter button. 

He stays there for maybe a minute or two. It’s a long few minutes, and you can feel yourself slipping more and more the longer he stays at his computer. And the more you feel yourself slipping into that younger mindset, the more you start to crave Ghost’s attention. 

The way his eyes are glued to his computer starts to irritate you. You’re aware that he’s doing something important, he must be, because why would he be so intent on looking something up otherwise, but still—you manage to feel the tiniest bit jealous of the computer. You know you’re too far gone when you can’t find it within yourself to realize that you’re jealous of a computer. 

Your eyes linger on him and he must notice this because he looks up from the screen of his monitor and looks over at you. As if he can read your mind, he reassures you, “Just a few more seconds.” 

But you said you were gonna be back in a few seconds a few minutes ago. 

You don’t voice your thoughts. Instead, you nod, because God forbid you annoy Ghost with your need for attention now when he’s being so patient with you. He looks at you for another moment before going back to his computer and looking something else up, this time with a little more fervor. 

Another few seconds pass and, true to his word this time, Ghost stops and gets up from his chair. He walks over to you, and your eyes follow him intently. He kneels down in front of you.

He looks hesitant to say something to you. That’s a first. That adds to the exponentially growing blob of fear that lives inside your mind, one of the only things that’s still prominent in the fog that conquers your brain. 

“Are you…” You feel like you know what he’s gonna ask you. You’re bracing yourself for the question, and he looks like he’s bracing himself just to ask it. 

“How, uh,” He’s trying to find the right wording, and you’ve never been able to relate to him harder than you do in this moment, “How… do you feel right now? How old?” 

How old? You don’t really like that question. As much as you like that you’re now getting attention, you’re starting to remember how little you actually enjoy this type of attention. The question is pretty vague, but at the same time so specific, and you’re almost ashamed to know exactly what the answer is. Or, at least, you would feel ashamed if there was room in your mind to feel so. 

“You said you feel small, right? Not like short small, just small?” He sounds more unsure of himself now, and you don’t think you like seeing him so reluctant to say something, “I looked up what it means to feel like that. Took some time, but I got to some person’s… website, and the person who wrote it was talkin’ about feeling like that. Something about regression, feeling a little bit younger than usual?” 

He’s being so awkward about it, and while you typically find his awkwardness funny, now it’s anything but that. 

“Uhm,” Your voice comes out as a mumble and you see Ghost perk up at it. You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you’re silent again, before you get over your embarrassment for a quick two seconds and force yourself to say, “Four.” 

“Four?” Ghost asks, before quickly realizing, “Right. Four. You feel four?” 

You nod, and your hands instinctively start moving back up to cover your face. Ghost swiftly grabs them, keeping his grip gentle as he keeps them from reaching your face. 

“Hey, don’t try to hide again,” He says, tone softening as he holds your hands, “everything’s fine, okay? Do you— what, uh— do you need me to do anything? Do you want me to leave you alo—”

“No!” You quickly answer, a little surprised by your own volume, before you clear your throat and answer in a much more quiet voice, “Don’t leave me alone.” 

“Okay, okay,” Ghost’s thumbs rub across the back of your hands, a soothing gesture that makes you the tiniest bit more relaxed, “what do you need?” 

You sniffle, and you can see an immediate look of panic cross Ghost’s eyes. You don’t know how well he is with crying children, and don’t want to impose such a situation on him, but you also can’t stop the tears that begin to well up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Hey, don’t cry,” He borderline begs, “everything’s gonna be okay, okay? Please do not cry. Take a deep breath.” 

You try to take a deep breath, you really do, but your breath just hitches and gets caught in your throat. It only makes you more distressed, adding to the urge you have to just disappear. Ghost notices your failed deep breathing and lets go of one of your hands, before taking the other and holding it to his chest.

You can just barely feel his heartbeat, his thick tactical vest and gear in the way of it, but you can still feel it. Ghost takes a deep breath, holding it for a second or two before slowly exhaling. 

“You copy me, okay?” He tells you, his words an order but his tone suggesting otherwise. He takes another deep breath, this time hoping you’ll follow his lead, and you do. 

You try to breathe with him, your hand on his chest helping, but your breath keeps getting caught in your throat. Ghost notices this, but continues his breathing anyway, hoping you’ll catch on soon. You do, thankfully—after a few more attempted breaths, you finally manage one almost identical to Ghost’s. The next few after that go similarly, and that’s when Ghost decides you’re alright to take your hand off of his chest. 

“I need you to tell me what to do,” He says, keeping your hand in his hold, “or at least tell me how all of this works. I want to help you.”

 You really don’t want to tell him what you need right now, but you also don’t think you have a choice. 

Wordlessly, you stand up from your seat, balance just slightly off-center before you quickly get your footing right. Ghost watches you, not moving, before you tug on his hand to try and urge him to get up as well. He obliges, getting up. 

“What—” You interrupt him by taking another step forward and letting your head thump right into his chest, ignoring the itchy uncomfortable feeling of his vest against your face. You don’t bother to wrap your arms around him to at least try and form some sort of hug, preferring to just smush yourself into him and hope for the best. 

After a moment of stunned silence, he wraps his arms around you. 

“You mind if we move behind my desk so I can look up some more stuff on all of this?” He asks, voice quiet, “Unless you want to just tell me?” 

“Desk,” You simply mumble into his vest, making him nod. 

“Alright, but you’re gonna have to stop hugging me for a second,” Ghost warns you. You reluctantly step away, and Ghost smiles softly down at you, bringing his hands away from your back and instead holding one of yours. 

He leads you behind his desk, and lets go of your hand before sitting down in his chair. Pausing, he quickly realizes you have nowhere to sit, and thinks for a moment before getting back up. He drags his chair just slightly to the side and looks back at you. 

“Sit down,” He nods to the chair, “It’s only gonna be a minute or two, alright?” 

You nod, hesitantly moving to sit in the chair, not really liking how far away from Ghost it is. It's not that far, You try to rationalize, I’m gonna be fine. 

Ghost can see your hesitation and tries to work as quickly as he can, grateful that he didn’t turn his computer off earlier, typing away on his keyboard. You don’t care to see what he’s looking up, more focused on looking at the time on his monitor. 21:44. 21:45. The time ticks by and even though it’s only been a few seconds you already want Ghost’s attention again. His attention has actually turned into good attention, and that’s the type of attention you’ve been craving for the past week. 

The clock reads 21:47 once Ghost is done, and he powers his monitor off this time, the small whirring the device makes dying down to a low hum before going completely silent. He turns to you, and somehow can sense that you need more attention. 

“Am I not paying enough attention to you?” He teases you, making you conflicted on whether you should be annoyed by the teasing or happy you’re finally getting attention. As if he can read your mind, he chuckles, and kneels down to your level. 

“I’m gonna give you as much attention as you need, alright?” He promises, “I just need you to stay in this room.” 

— 

Ghost watches you nod non-verbally, and it only adds to his softening expression. 

He’s always had a soft spot for kids. He knows that you aren’t technically a kid, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still see you as one. You’re young for someone in the military, much less someone in this 141, and now that he’s found out that you’re an age regressor, that you’re a little—well, that doesn’t help how he sees you at all. 

He thinks that maybe the reason he has such a soft spot for kids is a few encounters he’s had with them in the past. He’s seen far too many in compromising positions while on missions; positions like being held hostage, being held as prisoner, or just generally being mistreated or even just living in bad conditions. 

He looks at you, and he just sees another one of those kids. 

He sees how you act around him. He’s not stupid. When he talks to you, you’re actually engaged in the conversation, compared to when anyone else tries to talk to you—maybe excluding Price, or Soap, or Gaz, heavy on that maybe—you’re more likely than not brushing them off every chance you get. You’re standoffish with everyone else, but with him, you’ll always accept any conversation he initiates. 

He can also see the way you look at him. It’s like you’re looking at your idol, or your savior, the way you look up at him. He can see that curious glint in your eyes when he tells you about a recent mission, or when he tells you anything, really. He can see when you try to mimic how he holds his weapons, and when you try to copy his techniques. 

He remembers catching you one day in the shooting range trying to mimic how he aims at the targets—looking through your scope with one eye closed, the other focused only on the dot centered on the scope, taking a deep breath in and out before shooting, and keeping the gun exactly like that even seconds after the shot’s been fired. 

In fact, the copying has gone from guns to melee weapons recently. Ghost swings only his forearm when he uses a knife, thumb resting on the very end of the knife’s handle, and entire arm stiff as he does. He does a slow windup when behind someone, a fast one on the off-chance that he’s in front, and buries the weapon to the hilt in whoever’s flesh he’s penetrated. He’s already seen you do the same on a recent mission. Not only that, but he caught you using a knife almost identical to his. 

And now, you’re still looking at him like that—except, different. Sort of like how a kid might look up to their parents. 

“What do you feel like doing, kiddo?” He asks, hoping the pet name isn’t too much. 

From the way your eyes light up, he suspects it isn't. 

“Mmm…” You hum, thinking for a moment, before requesting, “Coloring?” 

“Coloring, huh?” Ghost looks around for some blank paper and some sort of marker or pen thick enough to act as one, but can only find some highlighters. He turns to you, frowning, “Sorry, but I don’t think I have any paper, kid. Anything else you wanna do?”

You shake your head, and Ghost is just about ready to jump off of a bridge before you point to his arm and repeat, “Coloring.” 

He looks at his arm for a second, confused, before he remembers a conversation the two of you had a month or so ago. 

“If you ever wanna get tattoos, I know a guy in Brighton,” Ghost said, reclining his chair back so that he can lay down in it. You were sitting across from him in front of his desk, fiddling with one of his pens. 

“Good to know,” You hummed, “You have any tattoos?” 

“Yeah,” You perked up at his admission, and he sat up for a second to roll up the sleeve of his shirt. He wasn’t wearing his usual gear, only one of those standard issue army-green shirts. 

“Here,” He pointed to a large tattoo covering his whole arm like a sleeve, a few designs you could point out to yourself being a skull, a few Roman numerals, and some kind of scythe. 

“Very emo,” You commented, making Ghost snort, “I like it.” 

“I’m glad,” He rolled his sleeve back down. 

There’s a lot of blank space in the tattoo, despite it being a sleeve, and he can already tell that you mean you want to color in that space. He thinks about it for a moment, a fleeting thought of is that even safe? crossing his mind before he ultimately decides that he doesn’t care and would rather kill himself than see you disappointed because he denied your request, his own health be damned. 

“Alright,” He hums, grabbing a few highlighters from a mesh cup on his desk in the colors pink, yellow, and blue, “Go for it.” 

You give him a small smile and if he cared about if he’d get ink poisoning two seconds ago, he sure as hell doesn’t care now. You gingerly grab the highlighters from his hand, your grabbing not too secure and sort of clumsy but secure enough that the markers stay in your hand.

You hold them with both hands, and it makes Ghost realize how small your hands are—sure, you could hold the highlighters with one hand, but he’s glad you aren’t because now he can admire just how small you are as a whole. 

You set the yellow and blue down on his desk, making sure they don’t roll off for a moment before uncapping the pink and hesitantly holding out a hand for Ghost’s arm. He rolls up his sleeve and obediently holds out his arm for you, watching curiously as you press the cold tip of the highlighter to his skin. You’re starting by coloring in the skull a neon pink, much to his amusement, and you’re starting in the dead center of its forehead. 

You’re so much more quiet than you usually are when you’re little, and you’re so much more hesitant, it makes Ghost want to just wrap you in a blanket and keep you safe and in his sight forever. 

Your tongue slightly pokes out from between your lips as you concentrate on coloring in Ghost’s tattoo, making him grin beneath his mask. The ink of the highlighter doesn’t stay within the black bounds of his tattoos at all, but he doesn’t care one bit, and he doesn’t think you care either. You finish up the skull quickly, and move onto the scythe that’s right next to it, this time capping the pink highlighter and grabbing the yellow. 

Ghost is pretty sure this is gonna stain his skin for a day or two, but he couldn’t care less.

He can’t help but notice how much more relaxed you look in your regressed state. More at peace, he should say. There’s no longer a hunch in your shoulders, your eyes aren’t twitching from your headache, and you’re not bouncing your leg like you usually do when you’re sitting down somewhere. It’s like any anxieties you had pre-regression had evaporated, like slipping into a younger mentality had taken away most of your worries, if not all of them. 

He also can’t help but wish he could see you like this more often. Not necessarily the regressed part, but the relaxed part. Well, maybe the regressed part too. You’re being such a sweetheart right now, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to live through this experience. 

“You having fun there, darling?” Ghost asks, his grin evident in his voice. The corners of your lips quirk up at the pet name and you nod silently, and now Ghost is starting to think you’re actually trying to kill him. You’re being so uncharacteristically shy, and you’re being so quiet, and you’re just being so sweet. 

It seems you’ve moved onto the blue highlighter now, coloring in the last bit of his tattoo. He doesn’t think he’ll ever wash it off—or, at least, he wouldn’t if he had a choice. He knows that he has to shower sometime soon, but surely he can put that off for a bit, right?

Once you’re finished with your coloring, you cap the highlighter, and set it down next to the others you’ve discarded. You turn Ghost’s arm the tiniest bit towards him so that he can see your work better. 

“‘s it good?” You ask quietly, watching intently for Ghost’s reaction. He looks over your coloring job and hums approvingly. 

“It’s amazing, I love it,” He assures you, smiling down softly at you, “You did great.” 

You seem to preen at the praise, and you take your hand off of Ghost’s arm, moving to put in your lap. You’re keeping yourself very contained, Ghost notices, Why? 

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when he hears you yawn, and you quickly move to cover your mouth as you do. He’s reminded that it’s almost twenty-two hundred, and while that usually wouldn’t be an issue for him, it’s an issue for you. You originally came to the 141 as someone who had a sleep schedule almost as fucked up at Ghost’s, but soon developed a habit of going to sleep somewhat early considering the training you had in the morning. So, now you get tired anywhere from eighteen-hundred to twenty-one hundred. After that, your only goal is to find somewhere to sleep. 

“Sleepy?” You nod tiredly, making Ghost coo, Ghost, the man who quite literally haunts some people’s nightmares, coos at you, “Aw, of course you are, sweetheart. Pretty sure it’s way past your bedtime by now.” 

“Nuh uh,” You deny, making Ghost chuckle. 

“‘Nuh uh’?” He asks, amused, “What d’you mean ‘nuh uh’?” 

“No b’dtime,” You shortly elaborate. 

“Ohhh, okay,” Ghost feigns realization, “You think you’re too big for a bedtime, huh?” 

“Mhm. Way too big.”

“I dunno about ‘way’ too big,” Ghost hums, checking to see if the highlighter on his arm has dried before he pulls his sleeve back down. “You seem pretty little to me.” 

“No,” You whine, dragging out the ‘o’, “Not lil’.” 

“Hmm… you sure, kiddo?” Ghost asks, “So if I ask you if you need to go to bed, you’re gonna say ‘no’?” 

That makes you hesitate, and Ghost almost thinks he’s won, before your own pettiness wins and you nod affirmatively. He raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Alright, well, you’ve gotta sleep at some point,” He says, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair. 

You think this over for a second, and he watches as you look over him for a moment before looking down at his lap, then looking back up at him. He can already tell there’s some sort of plan forming in your mind.  Wordlessly, you get up, and Ghost does nothing to stop you as you decide to just plop yourself down into his lap. You straddle his thighs, moving until you’re sitting comfortably on him, and then let yourself slump forward so that your face is resting in the crook of his neck. It takes him a moment to process what just happened, before he laughs lightly and wraps both of his arms around you to keep you in place. 

“Oh, okay,” He grins, resting his chin on your shoulder, “you just wanna cuddle with me until you fall asleep? Is that what this is?” 

He feels you nod against his neck, and his grin grows as he rubs one hand against your back, trying to soothe you to sleep. He doesn’t say anything else, not wanting to distract you from your attempts to sleep anymore, simply letting you stay slumped against him. Your breathing wasn’t too fast-paced to begin with, but as you relax even more in his arms, he can feel your breathing even out. 

You’re falling asleep fairly quickly, and the only complaint he has is that he didn’t get to spend nearly as much time as he wanted to with you while you were awake and regressed. 

Once he’s sure you’re barely awake, he murmurs, “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?” 

— 

You don’t know how long it’s been since you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by the slight rustling of clothes, and then you feel yourself moving up. 

Your mind still feels foggy and you can tell you’re still somewhat in that younger mindset of yours, but now you’re significantly less bothered by it than you were before. You’re awake enough to be aware of what’s happening, always having been a light-sleeper, but not awake enough to know exactly what’s happening. You don’t dare open your eyes, and try to keep your breathing even—though that isn’t much of a challenge. 

That headache that had been building up earlier has fully disappeared, thank God, and you no longer feel the tension in your shoulder that you’d been unconsciously carrying. 

You can sort of feel someone’s arms snaked under your back, and you know that you’re being moved somewhere. Quickly, you remember that it’s Ghost carrying you, and that you had fallen asleep on him, much to your embarrassment. Or, at least, it would be much to your embarrassment if you had the mental capacity to feel embarrassed about that right now. But you feel so comfy and so safe that it really doesn’t matter to you right now. 

You can hear the clicking of Ghost’s boots against the concrete floors of the hallway, and he’s carrying you off somewhere; you imagine that somewhere to be your sleeping quarters. He’s walking pretty fast, not hurriedly but still at a somewhat fast pace. 

Soon, he reaches a stopping point where he has to awkwardly put one leg up to support your back on his thigh as he quickly reaches one arm out to turn the knob of the door to your sleeping quarters and pulls that arm right back to support your back again. He sighs as he puts his foot back down, kicking open the door and walking in. 

He’s quick to reach your bed, and he pauses as he considers what to do. You can practically hear him thinking, wondering how he’s gonna get you under the covers while he’s still carrying you, and for a second you think about showing him you’re awake so that things are easier for him before he sets you down on the bed. 

He pulls the covers up and stops when he reaches the part your body covers, and picks you back up, before dropping you right back off where the blankets have been pulled away. He pulls the covers back over you. 

After a few moments, you think he’s left the room, before you hear the rustling of fabric and feel him leaning down. He gently presses his lips to your forehead and pulls away after a second or two, before quietly mumbling, “Night, kiddo.”

He stays there for a moment before you hear his footsteps leave the room, and then the door clicking shut behind him as he leaves the room entirely. 

You’re quick to fall asleep after that.

[tryandbehappy]

The episode that completely ruined the story and made the love triangle painfully predictable and at the same time shallow.

I can’t even explain how disappointed I am in this episode — and it’s not because Bonrad became obvious and is clearly endgame. I knew that from the start, I always had 0% hope. (The most I ever let myself go was maybe 3% hope for Jere, and that was only because of some poorly planted Easter eggs)

My issue here is that this episode suddenly takes a hard turn toward Bonrad after a season and a half of solid, deep Belly & Jere development. If you go back to the very first episode of season 2, Belly’s face was entirely turned toward Jere. She was constantly saying goodbye to her past with Conrad while building her relationship with Jere. That didn’t change in season 3 — in fact, their bond grew even stronger despite the fights, despite the parents being against them. Literally in the previous episode they were glued together like two little penguins, against the whole world. She didn’t even want to be apart from him for five days.

That created a huge obstacle for Bonrad. I kept wondering — how are they going to pivot back to Bonrad? Because Belly had promised, had made such a conscious choice, had loved him faithfully for four years. They had been one whole, completely in sync. Which would actually make it a real problem for Conrad, because their relationship was the real deal. I was genuinely curious. I actually gave the writers a lot of grace and trust, expecting them to make it realistic — maybe with some big event or deep emotional revelation.

Instead, what we got was surface-level fanfic nonsense. Bonrad went from basically zero emotional connection and constant misunderstandings straight into “everything is fine now.” Not just okay — no, way better than with Jere suddenly. In the span of one single episode, they had to shove in:

• “childhood connection (where Jere is a dick of course who never cared about Belly)

• “tons of shared memories,”

• “they understand each other better and they’re a better match for each other. Look, they have the same taste in vases, in the whole wedding concept. And honestly, they would’ve had the perfect wedding 🦄✨🦋🌸💖💍💫

• “they share emotional moments where he talks about his struggles, she supports him, and where she, mind you, complains to him about Jere and even has arguments with him on speakerphone in front of Conrad as if they are the team, not someone she has been in fully committed and long relationship with

• passion, physical desire

• plus that weird sexual flashback that doesn’t fit at all with the story so far, claiming they had this intense sexual relationship before.

It’s like they crammed everything in just to make us believe, “Look, they’re endgame, they have it all.” 🦄✨🦋🌸💖💍💫 And at the same time, Jelly takes just as sharp of a dive — they suddenly stop understanding each other, despite having gotten through «cheating» and so many other obstacles before, but now their “insurmountable” problem turns out to be some fucking cake. It was so abrupt, like, “Well, we’ve had enough of these Jellies, they’ve worn us out. So look, Bonrad. Now it’s Bonrad time, and we’re moving on to Bonrad.

The transition was so abrupt that it made the story painfully predictable. Bonrad feels forced, like shoving a square peg into a round hole, because all their issues just magically disappeared. And the worst part — there’s no real emotional weight to Belly’s shift. There’s no strong moment of realization, no “I’ve been in the wrong relationship.” Or “Wow, turns out I actually really love Conrad.”

No. What we get instead is Belly being written in the worst possible way just to push Bonrad. And I hate to say this because I don’t want to sound misogynistic, but they made her look awful here.

Let’s break it down:

She’s away from her fiancé for five days ⚠️One whole day with his brother — her ex — and the game changes. She lets him cross her intimate boundaries in the peach scene. She never even talks to him about it afterwards — why he did it and that it was completely inappropriate. Then she’s having dinner with him, drinking, flirting. Continuing to be in this game.

That is a massive betrayal of Jere. Imagine if he saw that peach scene — how would that feel? And both she and Conrad know it. That’s already a shared “intimate secret” between them.

And now the showrunner is already doing interviews about how “they still love each other.” Which just makes Belly look even worse. She chose Jere. Their relationship had depth, understanding, and she fought for him. She was the one who convinced him to be with her. She literally chased after him the entire second season, persuading him that she would never repeat what happened before — that she would never go back to Conrad. He’s doing everything he can to be a great partner — working, building his future. And it’s still not enough because her ex can just touch her face and suddenly her world is upside down. She swore up and down that she loved him, and they literally hadn’t had a single unsolved conflict until this episode.

So what, you can’t even leave her alone with her ex for one day? She immediately starts dripping like a dog in heat.. (I have never seen such an embarrassment in any love triangle, because this makes the woman just so weak, completely stripped of any kind of moral compass)

We already know what’s coming: Conrad will be in her dreams, she’ll start doubting Jere, and suddenly — out of nowhere — they’ll start showing cracks in Jere and Belly’s relationship when there weren’t any before.

This episode ruined Jere/Belly — now Belly looks like a hypocrite who could cheat at any moment. If Conrad kissed her, she probably wouldn’t even push him away.

It also ruined Bonrad — apparently they had some great sexual connection, yet she betrayed him back in season 2 when he was grieving. Almost immediately started chasing after his brother and was so shameless about it that she even wanted to kiss him during truth or dare in front of Conrad — can you imagine what a fucking mess that is?

It ruined Conrad — he’s presented as someone who’s fiercely against cheating (that’s why he hates his father so much), yet here he’s totally fine provoking someone else into cheating — when that person is already at the stage of getting married. Instead of genuinely wanting to help Belly with her wedding to Jere or support her emotionally, he spends most of the episode basically getting hard because she eats five times, and he loves watching it every single time, like we didn’t get it the first time. Makes him come off shallow, horny, and hypocritical, pretending he’s all loyal and principled while actively encouraging Belly’s emotional and physical betrayal.

It ruined Belly — she swore to Jere she wouldn’t repeat the past, tHeRe’S nOtHiNg BeTwEeN uS aNyMoRe. i’M dOnE wItH cOnRaD. but here she is, emotionally cheating on him. And emotional cheating is worse than Jere’s so-called “cheating” (which wasn’t even cheating because they were broken up, he was drunk and the sex couldn’t have been fully consensual from his part yet he will be punished hard for that)

And it ruined the whole triangle. Now it’s obvious: Belly will start to doubt Jere, be torn between obligation and feelings for Conrad. Jere will sense it, start messing up, and we’ll just watch their relationship slowly die. They’ll keep harping on about his so-called “cheating,” while it’s actually Belly and Conrad who have no problem with cheating and are doing the exact same thing to Jere — all while swearing that cheating is absolutely horrible to them and something they deeply condemn. And all of this, you see, happened so easily. All Conrad had to do was just exist, be a little nice, and touch her face with a shirt once. One single day — that’s all it took. They couldn’t make it more obvious if they tried — they even titled the episode The Last Dance.

And worst of all — it retroactively cheapens the past seasons. Belly now looks like someone who betrays both brothers, lies to both, cheats on both. In season 2 she hurt Conrad badly, now she’s doing the same to Jere.

I am beyond disappointed. This is just fucking ridiculous.