#for hips idk but for ankles - find a good pair of shoes

[mishkakagehishka]

corks how tf do u walk so much. my dorm is at the top of the hill and most of my classes are like halfway down it and making that walk both up and down is killer. my ankles hurt. my hips hurt. it makes my chest hurt. help

For me it's a case of getting used to (i walked some 10min uphill today to get to my hairdresser's and it killed me bc. I took public transport all the time here and fell out of the habit of walking), but don't you have chronic pain or smth of the sort? I vaguely remember you mentioning smth like that :[ honestly my suggestion sucks, but i'd say: leave earlier than you "have to" so you can take breaks to avoid overexerting yourself.

My commute's most annoying part is the 15min walk from my stop to my college. And it took 20ish min at first bc i had to take it slow until i got used to it.

[nastybuckybarnes]

In a Heartbeat  -  Four

Pairing: Fireman!Bucky X Reader

Summary: You’ve always been careful with your heart. With your condition, you don’t exactly have any other choice. The last time you let someone in, you paid the price. A price you don’t plan on paying again. Until Bucky comes in and shatters your carefully crafted world.

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Almost Smut

Word Count: 2.3K

A/n: hello I hope you all enjoy this!! I’m loving this series and I hope to keep updating it and Of Kings and Beasts regularly. Idk though. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

~*~

“You’re sure I look good?”

Nat groans and climbs off your couch reluctantly, grabbing you by the shoulders and stopping you from pacing anymore.

“You look gorgeous.” You bite your bottom lip nervously, hands itching to come up to your mouth.

Your hair is pushed behind your ears, natural and beautiful, and your makeup is light. Adorning your body is a simple light blue dress that stops just above your knees, as well as a beige cardigan that hangs loosely off of your shoulders.

Nat grabs you a pair of beige heels and shoves them into your hands.

“Put your shoes on and stop worrying. He’s on his way up so even if you didn’t look good there’s no time to change now.” You nod, taking a few deep breaths before crouching down and putting your shoes on. Right as you’re doing up the clasp around your ankle there's a knock on your door.

You freeze in place, looking at Natasha in absolute terror, and she rolls her eyes.

“It’s open!” She calls. You shake your head, one shoe on and the other off as you run to your bedroom.

“I can’t,” you whisper as the door starts to open. Hiding away in your bedroom, you listen to Nat greet Bucky.

“She’s almost ready. Just needs to grow a pair,” The redhead says loudly, her footsteps clomping towards the bedroom door.

She whips it open, ready to give you an earful, but when she sees the genuine fear on your face she reconsiders.

“Beans, you’re gonna be okay. He’s a real gentleman and he won’t do anything that you don’t want to do, I promise.” You take a few deep breaths, trying to hold back tears.

“What if I get hurt again, Nat? I don’t think I could handle it.” The weak whimper that leaves you has her heart shattering in her chest.

“He won’t hurt you. If he does I’ll kill him, I swear I will.” You sniffle and chuckle softly, sliding your foot into your other shoe and doing the clasp up.

“Okay. I think I’m ready.” She nods, taking your hand and giving it a firm squeeze before stepping aside and motioning to the door.

You take a deep breath, lift your chin, then leave your bedroom.

Bucky stands in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in his grasp. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans and a black button-up, as well as a leather jacket.

“Wow,” he whispers, eyes wide as he takes you in.

“You look... wow.”

You smile shyly at him. “You clean up pretty nice yourself, James.” He chuckles, then, as if remembering he’s holding flowers, offers the bouquet to you.

“I uh... I didn’t know what kind of flowers you’d like... and Steve said to get red roses but Nat said that red roses are for love and I think it’s too early for that because this is our first date and all and I really didn’t wanna scare you away and now I’m definitely talking too much but I’ve been looking forward tot his for.. since we set our real first date and-” Nat interrupts his rambling, hating and loving seeing her usually so confident friend stumbling over his words.

“You’re doing great, Casanova. Keep this up and she won’t even leave.” You glare at Nat over your shoulder, not wanting her to be mean to Bucky.

“Thank you, I love them.”

He got you a bouquet of beautiful lavender roses, white lilies, and an assortment of small little leaves that tie the whole bouquet together.

“Nat, can you put these in a vase for me please?” You hand the bouquet to her after taking a long sniff, smiling eagerly at her. She nods, taking them from you and handing you your purse.

“Now go on. Have fun kids, use a condom and all that.” You groan, risking a glance at Bucky to see that his cheeks are bright pink.

Feeling better at the fact that you’re not the only nervous one, you take his outstretched arm and allow him to walk you out of your apartment.

“So where are you taking me?” You ask, smiling up at him.

“Well, I know this little café that makes these nice little sandwiches. I figured we could start there, grab a bite to eat and see where the day takes us.” You nod, taking a few deep breaths to calm your heart.

~*~

“I’m really glad you gave me a chance, I know things started really rocky but I... I’m glad I get a second chance.”

You smile at him, setting down your cup of tea and nodding.

“Of course. I don’t think I would have ever heard the end of it from Nat if I didn’t anyway.” The two of you share a laugh, him smiling brightly at you.

“I’ll make sure I thank her.” You nod, taking another sip of the decaf tea, heart thundering in your chest.

“I-I’m sorry, I just need to take something. I’m very nervous and my heart-” He reaches across the table and grabs your hand, squeezing gently.

“You don’t need to explain it to me if you don’t want to. Do whatever you need to do to keep yourself healthy, okay? Your health and happiness... those are my top priority.” You swear if it wasn’t beating unbearably fast against your ribs it would melt.

You take your pills as discreetly as you can, but Bucky, being ever the gentleman, excused himself to the bathroom to give you space to do whatever you need to do.

~*~

“I uh... I pushed Steve out of the way when we were in a really bad fire. I saw the beam coming down and it would’ve killed him. So I pushed him out of the way and... took the damage instead. Doctors told me if I had waited a second longer it would’ve been too high up and would’ve got me right in the chest. Instead... it took my arm.”

You sit idling in Bucky’s truck in front of your apartment, the two of you talking for the past two hours.

“Oh James... I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head, smiling at you. “If it hadn’t happened then Steve wouldn’t be alive and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing I could’ve done something. Besides, Tommy thinks it’s pretty cool.” You nod at that, fingers tracing small patterns on his metal hand.

“I uh... When I was younger my mom was really careful with me. She wouldn’t let me do gym class... I could never go out with friends... nothing. One day we got into a nasty fight before I went to school. We called each other names and said awful things...

“I stopped on my way to school and bought an energy drink.” He stiffens beside you, eyes wide.

“I’d never even had caffeinated tea before, but I was so... so angry. I thought that... ‘whatever happens will teach her’. And I drank it. The whole can. I started feeling it halfway through class and when I raised my hand to tell my teacher... I just passed out. Collapsed right there in the middle of math class. They rushed me to the hospital and... I’ll never forget the fear I saw on my mom’s face. They said I almost killed myself. My heart couldn't handle the caffeine and I almost died. So from then on I just kinda... listened to my mom. Lived my life in the safe lane.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, eyes on your pretty face as you continue tracing patterns on his prosthetic.

“I’m glad you took a chance with me,” he whispers.

You look up at him, a shy smile on your face.

“I am too.”

His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes, and you do the same, silently granting him permission.

He leans in, and before you have a moment to second-guess your decision, his warm lips are against yours.

You whimper, hand grabbing his wrist while the other finds his hair. He leans forward, lips moving against yours as if that is what they were made to do.

After a moment he pulls away, eyes wide.

“I-I’m sorry! I should’ve told you. I shouldn’t have done that. I-is your heart okay?” You giggle, pushing him back into his seat and climbing over until you’re seated comfortably on his lap.

“It's gonna take a little more than some kissing to stop me,” you whisper, bringing your lips back down onto his.

He kisses you with newfound passion, hands gripping your waist and pulling you tight against him. His tongue explores your mouth, dancing with your own and making you feel things you haven’t felt in... ever.

When you pull away to breathe he doesn't stop. No, his lips, teeth, and tongue work their way down your neck until you’re quivering on top of him, body desperate for more.

“Come upstairs,” you whisper, panting against his mouth.

He lets out a weak chuckle then sighs, shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t.” You pull away, giving him a confused look. “Why not?” His hands find your thighs beneath your dress and he rubs his thumbs in circles on the soft skin.

“I... I wanna take my time with you. I wanna take you out again and I wanna wine and dine you real nice. If we just get right to it... It doesn’t feel right.” You go to climb off his lap but he stops you.

“This feels right. I didn’t mean that this,” he motions to where you are,” doesn’t feel right. I just... you already deserve so much more than I can give you, and I wanna do everything I can to prove that I’m gonna take care of you. Believe me, I wanna come upstairs and fuck you until you can’t remember your goddamn name.” You shiver at his words and he chuckles, pulling your hips forward a bit. You gasp as you feel his hard length through his pants, pressing up against you.

“I fucking want you,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss to your neck. “You’ve got no idea how bad I want you. But you deserve to be taken out and treated like a queen.” He pulls away, flesh hand coming up and cupping your cheek.

“I like you, (Y/n). And I don’t wanna ruin things before they get good.” You rest your hands against his chest, fingers splayed on the warm skin beneath his shirt from where you’ve popped a few buttons open.

“I like you too, James. A lot more than I thought I would. And... if I’m being honest... that scares me.” He frowns, looking up at you and waiting for you to continue.

“I just... what if something happens to you?” His heart melts and he leans up, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and then another.

“Don’t you worry about me, pretty girl. I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as I’ve got you willing to wait for me.” You grin, nodding and leaning down to press a kiss to his chest. Your lips linger long enough to feel the steady pulsing beneath the skin.

“I’m gonna be waiting for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Good.”

He walks you up to your apartment, hand held tightly in yours and a goofy smile on his face.

When you reach your door you feel sad that the night is coming to an end. Slowly you turn to him, eyes filled with things you want to say but can’t explain.

He simply chuckles softly, metal hand cupping your jaw gently.

“Text me when you get home, okay?” You ask softly, eyelids fluttering closed as he leans down. His lips find yours and you never want them to leave.

They fit so perfectly against yours, you could spend all of eternity kissing him.

Unfortunately, he pulls away after another fantastic moment.

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes on his as he slowly stands up to his full height.

“You can still wine and dine me even if you stay the night,” you whisper, already knowing what his answer will be.

He laughs quietly, shaking his head while smile lines fan out around his eyes.

“You, (Y/n), are gonna be the death of me. But god, what a way to go.” He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek then a lingering kiss to your knuckles before pulling away slowly.

“I’ll see you soon, babydoll. And I promise to text when I get home.” You nod, watching as he walks down the hallway. He shoots a glance over his shoulder when he reaches the elevator, a smile spreading on his face and red coating his cheeks as he sees you watching him.

Only once the door is closed do you unlock your apartment.

You hardly have time to step a foot in when you hear the door behind you open up.

“Next time you put on a show like that let me know so I can make popcorn.” You giggle, turning to Gladys and shaking your head.

“If we had known you’d be peeping on us we wouldn’t have done anything.” She shrugs, smiling at you. “It’s hard not to watch with a man like that standing there.” You roll your eyes at her.

“Goodnight, Gladys.” She’s already back in her apartment.

“So I’m assuming it went well?”

You nearly scream.

“Nat?! What the fuck!” She laughs, throwing her head back and letting out a good belly-laugh.

“You should’ve seen your face!” You glare at her, throwing your purse at her.

“Not funny! Why are you still here?” You kick off your shoes and groan as your toes finally have time to relax after being in heels all day.

“After last time I wanted to make sure nothing went wrong. But from the sounds of it I almost caught something scarring, didn’t I?” You shake your head, sighing and plopping down on the couch with her.

“He’s a fucking gentleman. For better or for worse.” She nods, hand slapping your knee.

“I told you. He’s gonna treat you right, Beans. I promise.”

[frostedfaves]

Repercussions (4)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha gives you a good night that leads to a hectic morning.

Warnings: dark themes, gaslighting, a bit of smut (18+ ONLY)

A/N: idk about y’all but...I am enjoying this so much. I think this series might be one of my favorite things I’ve ever written! anyway please please let me know your thoughts (not to be thirsty but I survive solely on water and your feedback), and don’t be afraid to let me know if I missed any warnings too! I don’t want anyone to accidentally read anything they aren’t comfortable with!

Previous part

-

Opening your eyes felt like peeling the end of a piece of tape from the roll, difficult but satisfying once it happened. It took a minute to adjust to the darkness and you shot up when you did, realizing you were in an unfamiliar room, your body covered in sheets of a bed you don’t remember climbing into.

“Everything okay, printsessa?”

You turned at the familiar voice, unsure if you should feel concerned or relieved at the sight of Natasha sitting up next to you. Her hand gently touched your back and you flinched away, which only made her move closer to you.

“Did you have a nightmare--”

“Where am I?” you cut her off in a shaky tone, and she sighed before reaching over on her side of the bed to turn on a lamp. Your eyes wandered around the room, empty except for a couch, a dresser holding a television and your bag in the corner.

“Baby, don’t you remember?” Her soft tone brought you back to her gaze, green eyes that pulled you in every time. “You told me you were off for a few days and I suggested we spend that time away from the city.”

“I don’t remember anything after meeting your best friend.” You shifted in bed slightly, wincing when pain shot through your lower leg. “Why does my ankle hurt?”

“You stumbled on your way in before I could warn you about the tricky step in the yard.” She chuckled quietly, her smile fading a bit as her hand ran along your arm and tangled your fingers together. “Are you sure you’re alright? You seem nervous.”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.” You took a deep breath and attempted a smile. “I just feel like a chunk of memory is missing, or that I just hit the fast forward button through the rest of the day.”

“How about I turn on some insignificant little show to get your mind off of everything?” 

You nod and she reaches for the remote, turning the television on with one hand and using her other arm to pull you in, securely hooking around your waist as you rest your head in the space between her shoulder and neck. She finally settled on a show and left it on a low volume, returning the remote to the bedside table and resting her hand on your thigh after pulling your leg across hers.

Focusing on the late night comedy became difficult as the hand on your thigh ran higher until it was suddenly under your shorts, gone again before you could react. The hand on your waist reached under your shirt to unclasp your bra, and in a split second you were on your back on the mattress with two of Natasha’s fingers under your waistband.

“I want these off,” she practically growled in a way that made you grip the sheets in anticipation.

She used both hands to rip away your shorts in an aggressive fashion that had your hips lifting to help her on their own accord. Her torso pressed against yours as she leaned in to kiss you, one hand holding your wrists together above your head while the other dipped into your underwear. Your mouth fell open against hers when you gasped, and she wasted no time inserting her tongue and fingers simultaneously.

Your eyes squeezed shut as your hips rocked against her hand, and Natasha found herself pulling away from the kiss to admire you. She smiled at the way your head pushed further into the mattress as pleasure washed over you, hands pushing and fighting against hers and losing every time.

“Open your eyes,” she demanded as she picked up her pace inside of you and you moaned loudly in response. “I want you to look at me.”

You followed her orders, meeting her intense eyes once more that held just the right amount of softness, and a loud squeak escaped you as your release came. She worked you through the sudden orgasm, a tired sigh falling from your lips as she slipped out of your underwear. Your hands stayed pressed into the mattress as they were released from her grip, a light slap felt on your cheek just as your eyes began to close.

“No resting yet, pretty baby. I’m nowhere near done with you.”

-

The next time you woke, the room was lit by the sun. You carefully stretched your aching body as you sat up, taking in all of the little bruises scattered across most of your skin that reminded you of Natasha’s wish to “show everyone who pleases you”. You searched on your side and crossed the vacant side of the bed to check Natasha’s nightstand for your phone, coming up empty handed. It was then that you noticed a silk robe on the end of the bed and slipped it on, opening the door to find your girlfriend.

You smiled as you rounded a corner downstairs and spotted Natasha at the kitchen table, quietly reading a newspaper while sipping coffee. She placed her mug on the table as you approached, moving her arm to leave room for you to climb onto her lap, which you did happily.

“Morning, printsessa. Did you sleep well?”

“Just woke up a little sore, but I feel rested.” You adjusted yourself and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning your head against hers while she grabbed her mug again. “Do you know where my phone is?”

“Did you check your bag?”

“No, it looked empty. But that’s okay, I can find it later.” You twirled a few strands of bright red hair around your fingers as you daydreamed, your eyes drifting over to the newspaper and widening when you noticed the date on the top. “Um, I think I’m going to take a shower. Be right back.”

“Okay, hurry.” 

Her teasing smile pressed against your skin when she turned to quickly kiss your cheek, and you slid out of her lap while forcing yourself to walk away normally. A week had passed since the day you went to the tower and you didn’t remember anything before last night, if it even was just last night. You had no way of knowing anymore.

When you reached the room you moved quickly to look for your phone in your bag, urgently searching every pocket before moving onto the bed. You looked under it and in between the mattress and box spring, shifting toward the nightstands next. Nothing. When you opened the closet doors, you nearly fainted.

It was full of your clothes, shirts and pants that you knew you didn’t pack a week ago. Even dresses you hadn’t worn in months were here, and your entire shoe collection was on the floor underneath it all. Shakily opening the drawers of the dresser, you discovered underwear, bras and sleepwear of yours as well.

You began pulling a few things out to make a full outfit, heading into the bathroom to prep for the shower you’d used as an excuse to escape. Not only did you need to keep appearances before Natasha could catch onto your nerves, but you also needed time to think about what was happening to you. More importantly, what were Natasha’s intentions with you?

You were doing a final rinse in the shower, your mind racing as you tried to remember anything that would help you make sense of what happened, when you heard the bathroom door open. You forced yourself to stay calm when you heard Natasha’s voice on the other side of the glass door.

“Printsessa, I need to get groceries. Should I wait for you?”

“No, I’m still pretty tired. I think I’ll go back to sleep when I’m done.”

“Alright, but I’m making you eat when I come back.”

You counted ten seconds following the bathroom door closing and turned the water off, stepping out of the shower and drying as quickly as you could. Your clothes were on in no time and you ran downstairs just in time to see her pulling out of the garage through the window of the front room. You noticed another car parked beside the one she was driving, and you quickly made your way over to find the keys.

Luckily they were hanging on a hook on the wall, and you snatched them up hastily, pressing the button on the remote and yanking the door open as soon as it unlocked. Within minutes you were out on the road, driving to who-knows-where. You just needed to leave, get as far away from that cabin as possible and find out why you couldn’t remember anything before something worse happened to you.

-

Tags: @littlegasps @imnotasuperhero @nat-km-mh @emilyprentisswife @cherrieloco @fayhar @muted-stoneheart @witchxaf @sakurat123 @bebe404 @its-a-long-way-to-ba-sing-se @trikruismybitch @darkangelxoxo @becka107 @seventeen0 @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve 

[leossmoonn]

Training Session [Peter Parker]

masterlist 

pairing - peter parker x fem!stark’s daughter!reader

type - fluff

note - hope you enjoy! also idk ANYTHING about martial arts or combat fighting so lol dont take i wrote too seriously

summary - peter finds out mr. stark has a daughter and you two are put together for a training session.

warnings - lil suggestive

————

*gif isnt mine*

“How do you like it?” Sam asked.

You turned to the mirror, eyes wide and mouth agape, admiring your new suit.

“This is awesome!” You squealed.

Sam, Tony, and Nat had deisgned a new suit for you. After your last battle, your suit had been torn to shreds. It had been months since you were able to go out in the field and you’d be anxious to fight crime. Now that you had your new suit, you were now able to fight crime.

You were named Fox. You were sly, witty, and and charming. Not just in your moves, but your personality, too. You had been working alongside your dad, Iron Man, for 7 years. You were 10 when you started, obviously too young to actually be fighting, but you were his right hand woman at all times. You helped him with his suit, team, and plans on how to deal with missions.

Your suit was a dark orange body suit, much like Nat’s. You had fingerless gloves, black combat boots, and an orange mask that went around your eyes. You had a black stripe down your suit’s back, much like a fox’s. You also had a utility belt with a grapling hook, taser, and pepper spray — you could never be too careful in the city. You and Tony tried hard to keep your identity safe, especially since you were still in high school.

“Do you think we need to add anything?” Tony asked.

“Can I get rockets on the bottoms on my shoes like you?” You asked.

Tony chuckled, “We’d have to change the whole material of your suit, cupcake. You don’t like metal, remember?”

You grumbled, “Yeah, yeah. Well, I love it! Thank you guys so much.” You turned to them with a big smile.

“No problem, babe,” Nat smiled. “You have training with me today at five.”

You nodded, “Noted.”

“There will be someone else joining you in trianing today,” Tony said.

“Who? Is it Bucky?” You asked. “No, he’s new,” Tony said.

“Wow, that gives me a lot. Who is it?” You pressed. 

“You’ll see. He’s actually pretty good for just starting out,” Sam smirked. 

You sighed, knowing they were gonna make it a surprise. 

“Well, I can’t wait!” You faked enthusiasm. You didn’t like surprises. 

You went off and up to your room, changing out of your suit and into running shorts and a t-shirt. You decided to take a nap before your training.

You woke up 2 hours later, still as exhausted as before. You filled up your water bottle before going into the gym. You saw Nat and a brunette boy. He wasn’t too much taller and by the back of his head, he didn’t look too much older.

“Hey, Nat,” you greeted as you walked in and set your water bottle near the mat. 

“Hey, Y/n! This is our new recruit, Peter Parker. You probably know him as Spider-Man,” Nat smiled. Peter turned around and his eyes widened. 

His heart started to race and his face turned red as he looked over you. Your eyes were bright and lively, your smile being the most gorgeous smile he’d ever seen. Your skin flawless and you had no makeup on, but you still looked beautiful. 

“Hi,” you smiled. “I’m Y/n Stark,” you held out your hand. 

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound that came out was a squeak. Nat and you chuckled at his shock. 

“H-hi. I’m Parker. No, Pe-Peter,” he stuttered and shook your hand. 

“Not used to meeting important people, huh?” You smirked. 

“Ye-yeah, but also pretty people,” he blurted. His face turned a darker shade of red and he slapped his mad over his mouth. 

The action made Nat giggle and his words made flustered as well.

“Thank you, Peter,” you said shyly and looked down at your shoes. 

“Ready to get to work, love birds?” Nat teased. 

You rolled your eyes and nodded. You took a long sip of water.

“We are gonna start on the treadmill, do some weights, and I’m gonna teach you some combat moves,” Nat instructed. 

You and Peter nodded and got up on the treadmills. 

“One mile today. Remember to pace yourself. If you get tired, don’t be afraid to slow down a little,” Nat said. 

You started the treadmill at 3.5 so you can warm up for a few minutes before running. You took a small sip of your water as you sped-walked. You looked over and saw Peter already running his mile. Your brows cocked upwards as you saw him running at 6.0 speed.

You worked your way up to 6.0 speed, finishing your mile in 6 minutes. Peter, however, finished 3 minutes after you. 

“I said pace yourself, kid,” Nat said. 

Peter blushed again and nodded. 

“Next time, follow Y/n’s lead. She paces herself nicely,” Nat said while you took a drink of water. 

“Thanks, Nat. I have been doing this for a long time,” you smiled. 

“How long? Are you a superhero?” Peter asked. 

“Mhm,” you hummed. “I’ve been helping my dad since I was 10. I’ve been a superhero for 3 years.”

“What’s your superhero name?” Peter asked. 

“Fox.”

“Oh, my God! Really? I-I am such a big fan. You were what actually inspired me to become Spider-Man. I think it’s so cool how you save people and fight off bad guys without any superpowers,” Peter gushed. 

“Thank you, Pete,” you giggled at his excitement. 

“You’re welcome. Wow, this is so cool. I am working with Fox, Iron Man, Black Widow,” Peter smiled. 

“You’re lucky, kid,” Nat smiled and patted his back. “Okay, why don’t you all stretch. Peter, have you ever benched before?” 

Peter shook his head while stretching his hamstrings. 

“Okay, we’ll start you out with 45 pounds. If that’s too light, we’ll bump it up to 50,” Nat said and put the weights on the bar. “Y/n, what do you wanna do today?”

“Uh, I’ll do a leg and glute day today. My arms need a break,” you said. 

“Rock and roll, then. I’ll spot you, Parker,” Nat said. Peter went to bench press while you went to the kickback machine. 

You and Peter worked in weights for about an hour. You did a variety of workouts while Peter mainly focused on how to use each machine and which would be most beneficial for him. 

“Okay. Grab a drink, use the bathroom, whatever you need before we do some fighting,” Nat said. 

You both went to do your things before you were going to fight. You came back in the gym, stretching your arms while walking in.

“Ready to work, Pete?” You asked the boy and patted his back. He nodded and choked on his water when he looked up at you

You changed our of your shorts and t-shirt to black biker shorts and a grey sports bra. The biker shorts hugged your body perfectly and the top of your breats showed, making Peter stare.

You noticed and smirked. “My eyes are up here, kid.”

His eyes immediately shot up and his face blushed for what seemed like the 100th time today.

“I am so sorry. I just don’t see girls in bras, like, ever. In gym class we all wear t-shirts, which makes sense. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I swear I’m not a prevert or anything, you just look really uh... nice? I—”

Nat and you turned to each other, amusement played on your faces. You turned back to the rambling boy.

“It’s okay, Peter. I get it, boobs are nice to look at. Especially when you’re a hormonal, almost always horny, teenage boy,” you teased.

“I’m not horny!” He claimed, embarrassing himself more.

“Don’t worry, I never assumed you were. I was just speaking generally,” you smiled.

“Oh,” he said and he looked down sheepishly.

“No worries. Now, let’s get goin’,” you said.

Peter nodded and followed you to the mat. 

“So, we are going to practice some basic moves. Y/n, I know you already know them, but there is nothing wrong with reviewing,” Nat said. 

You both nodded, waiting for further instruction.

“So, the first one is simple, yet very dangerous. It’s also fairly easy, in my opinion. It’s called the rear neck choke,” Nat said. “Peter, you’re gonna stand behind Y/n and put your arm around her neck.”

Peter nodded and awkwardly stood behind you. Your butt brushed against his crotch, making him cough awkwardly. He put his arm around your neck. The skin-to-skin contact made your heart flutter. You cleared your throat, too, breathing deeply to try and slow your heart rate.

“Good. Now, you basically just squeeze until the person passes out. Y/n, why don’t you demenstrate the next move,” Nat said.

You smiled and took ahold of Peter’s arm. You then crouched down and pulled him over your head. You flipped him over on the mat.

“Ow,” he whined as he fell. He looked up at you and couldn’t help but smile. You stood tall, hands on your hips and a smile on your face.

“Now, Peter, what you can do when she does that is hook your legs on her ankles and pull so she looses balance. You then can reach for her ankle and throw her across the room. But, we arent going to do that. What you can do, though, is do the ankle bit I told you. Then you can pin her down,” Nat explained.

Peter looked at you two hesitantly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Y/n chuckled, “It’s all right. You won’t hurt me that bad, I promise.”

Peter nodded and did as he was told. He hooked his feet over your ankle and jerked you so your feet gave out beneth you. He then got up quickly to pin you down, but you were quicker.

You rolled over and pinned him down instead. Your left hand held his wrists above his head while your right held down his shoulder. Your legs went around his waist and squeezed slightly to make sure he wouldn’t move. Your head leaned down to his, a triumphant smile resting on your lips.

“W-wha-” Peter was at a loss for words. Not just because you beat him, but how close you two were.

He breathed in deeply, catching a whiff of your scent. You smelled like cherries and vanilla. Your skin was smooth, clear, and glowing from the sheer film of sweat on your face. You looked like an angel to him, nonetheless.

“And that is why you gotta be faster, Parker. But you’ll learn in time. You’re already pretty good on the field by yourself,” Nat said.

Peter nodded. You got up off of him and helped him up.

“Wanna try that again? I promise I won’t do that again,” you suggested.

“Sure,” Peter nodded and laid back on the mat.

He hooked onto your ankle again. As you promised, you let him pin you down. You watched the way he moved. He was swift and fast. The way his muscles flexed when he grabbed your wrist made your stomach flip.

He got on top of you, pinning both your wrists like you did to him. His free hand went to the side of your face, helping him support himself so he wouldn’t be laying directly on top of you.

Your heart rate quickened once more and you felt like it was hard to breathe. A few strands of his hair were hanging down from his head and he had sweat glistening on his forehead. His honey-brown eyes was something you found yourself getting lost in quickly. He was so handsome.

“Uh... Y/n?” Peter muttered, catching your attention.

You blinked rapidly and looked away in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he gave you a friendly smile and got off of you.

“Okay, water break. You two practice those few moves a few more times,” Nat said.

You got up and took a big sip of your water bottle. You then got back to training with Peter. He was a fast learner and almost every time pinned you down. You, however, were slightly faster.

Each time you got on top of him, Peter couldn’t help the butterflies in his stomach. He’d never been this close to a girl before.

Thirty minutes later and the session was over.

“Good job, you two. Next time we’ll get into more moves involving punching and such. See you later, kiddos,” Nat smiled at you two. She left the gym and you turned to Peter.

“It was nice meeting you, Pete. Maybe we can hang out outside of training?” You suggested.

Peter’s eyes lit up and he nodded excitedly.

“Y-yeah. I’d like that.”

“Great. Give me your number next time. See you, Spidey,” you waved and left the gym.

Peter jumped up and down. He couldn’t wait to tell Ned.

————

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[yeojaa]

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing.  jjk x (named) f!reader.

genre + rating.   rockstar!au.  e2l (exes n enemies!).  explicit flut aka fluff and smut.    

tags / warnings.  it’s filthy.  like.  dummy filthy.  oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (don’t be silly!), creampie, an inappropriate use of a mirror, idk.  a stupid amount of petnames.  there should be a warning for kook as a person, too.  

beta reader(s).  @jjiminah the lob of my life!!

wc.  2.6k

drabble:  mirrors. four years ago.

It’s taking you far too long to find your keys, far too long to unlock the door, far too long to return his kiss.  He’s greedy and demanding, bowed against your back with his lips attached to your neck.  He sucks bruises into the skin the longer you take, biting incrementally harder with each second that passes.  It doesn’t occur to him that he’s the reason you’re so slow. 

“Kook, stop.”  It’s hardly a word.  Hardly a name.  It skips off your tongue like rain and drips molasses behind his molars.  

Don’t you know he’s a sugar addict? 

He noses against the column of your throat, humming delightedly over the strawberries and cream that blend in pretty swirls, left there by his hand.  He inhales the overwhelmingly jammy sweetness of your perfume - practically tastes it on his tongue - and guides the flat of his palms over silk.  It bunches beneath his rings, around his knuckles.  Jungkook loves when you wear it - loves the way it wears you, like a second skin. 

“C’mon, Pumpkin.  We gotta celebrate.”

You don’t notice it then - how his words come too slow, too slurred - even for an evening at the Ritz.  Coherence has left him, lost to the bottom of an empty glass or furled edge of a hundred dollar bill.  It leaves a shadow in its wake - one that rants and raves and believes in Neverland or something like it.  

The key slots into place - finally! - and he moves as one with you, stepping when you step, laughing when you laugh.  It’s not enough that he’s there in every motion.  He wants more - wants to fill all the spaces between you and then some. 

“Can you get the lights?”  You’re extracting yourself from him as best as you can, not realising it’s futile.  Every minute adjustment has him pressing closer.  It doesn’t even matter that you’re trying to unlace your heels - towering things with intricate ropes across the top of your foot.  He holds you like you’re a puzzle piece that completes him, refusing to allow you even an inch.  The frustration barely brushes the edge of your adoration.  Sharp as the words are, they’re coloured pretty pink - steeped in love and affection.  “Can you please let me take off my shoes?”

An impish smile appears then, draws across his face in a cartoon grin with eyes too big and teeth too white.  

The hands previously on your waist descend, snake themselves down the length of your hips - and then he drops to the ground, knees knocking against slick hardwood.  You gasp - a quiet little thing, more in worry than surprise - and he places a chaste peck to the bare skin right above your knee.

Thank fucking god for wrap dresses being a thing.  He’d fill your closet with them, if you’d let him.  Any excuse to open you up like his favourite gift, bounce you on his lap like a good girl at Christmas. 

“Kook.”  It’s his name again.  Same, same, but different.  There’s a swirl of emotion in your eyes - a supermassive black hole that threatens to swallow him whole like the colour of your irises.  He stares for too long, lost to the twinkling stars and silence.

So pretty, he thinks, pressing another kiss to the soft skin beneath his hands.  

“Yeah, Pumpkin?”  It’s sinful, seductive, laced in cigarette smoke and Scotch.  He’s a sucker for a good single malt but he wants something else now - something to ease the burn.  

“Shoes,”  you repeat, so faint he has to strain to hear it.  

Five fingers that had busied themselves beneath your dress fall, dropping to the neatly knotted tie at your ankle.  One flick of his wrist and it’s undone.  You step out, teetering dangerously for a moment;  you catch yourself on the broad expanse of his back, digging fingers into leather and sinew. 

Jungkook buries a laugh against your thigh, open-mouthed and full of teeth.  “Hold on, angel.”

The other shoe unravels just as quickly and you’re back on solid ground, beaming down at him.  “Thank you.”  A gentle ruffle to his hair follows, the glide of your manicured nails across his scalp easing his cheek to rest upon your leg.  

“Any time.”  He should get up - his knees are beginning to ache - but he’s far too preoccupied with the lace beneath his still wandering hand, intricate patterns woven into a welcome sign.  They trace high across your hips, framing your ass in a way that makes his cock twitch in his suddenly too-tight jeans.  

“Baby?”  It’s indistinct, somewhere above the clouds his head is suddenly lost in.

You’re radiating heat through every limb.  He seeks it out, nosing against the material of your dress in search of more;  he wants to bury himself where you’re warmest, fall headlong into sunshine.  “Hm?”  It comes in an exhale, followed by teeth and tongue.

The clouds part, just a little.  His path is lit - a neon outline beneath your skin.  He follows it without thought, sweeping his hands higher and higher.  

You jolt when he licks a strip up your slit, lace disappearing between your folds.  The material sticks to your cunt, sodden and ruined and nearly transparent, both from your slick and his saliva.  He grins up at you as he repeats the motion over and over, dragging his tongue in measured trails.  

He hears more than sees the way your back hits the door - his grip on your leg tightening to keep you balanced - but he hears and then feels your hands in his hair, tugging gently at the roots.  “Kook.”  It’s frenzied and breathless and he’s hardly even touched you.  It drives him crazy, nails digging crescents into the meat of your ass.  

“Yeah, Pumpkin?”  Repeated verbatim with that same breakneck smile.    

“Need you.”

“Need me?”  He echoes, as if he hasn’t heard you, as if it isn’t glaringly obvious by the way you coat your own thighs, beading prettily over his fingers.  “What do you need me for, baby?”

A part of you hates when he does this.  He knows that.  You like when he’s gentle, full of love.  You like getting your way with him, knowing he needs you just as badly as you need him.  It makes you feel like a queen.  

The queen of his castle - the only woman Jungkook will ever love this way.  How could he deny you?

So he relents, just a little, sliding his thumb beneath the material of your thong.  It catches on your swollen clit and dips between your lips before he’s tugging terribly slowly, at a snail’s pace that has you tightening your grip.  He muffles a laugh when it’s halfway down your legs, caught between your knees.  You’re like Bambi on ice, impatient and shifting from foot to foot in your haste.

“Careful,”  he coos, slipping your underwear into his back pocket for safekeeping before he peers up at you, his face framed by hazy streetlights and his crown of dark hair.  

He feels the brush of your fingers against his temple, the subtle squeeze of your thighs beneath his touch.  “I love you.”

It isn’t reciprocal in words, answered instead with a kiss that leaves you panting above him.  His tongue works you open, dipping into your heat before rising to toy at your clit.  He repeats the motion until you’re shaking, tremors passing through your legs to the hands that hold you in place trapped between him and the door.  

There’s an angel’s chorus filtering into his ears - quiet little gasps that turn lewd, breathless recitals that leave him aching to bend you over and fuck you senseless. 

A single digit brushes your entrance, sliding home in a smooth press of his wrist.  You take him to the knuckle without an ounce of resistance and he grins, triumphant, against your core.  There’s nothing more intoxicating than how much you want him - need him - and he gives greedily, slotting another in alongside the first.  You mewl above him, the sound music to his ears, and he scissors them expertly, watching in rapt fascination as your pussy stretches to accommodate the width of two long fingers.  “Fuck - I love you,”  he hums, awestruck and adoring. 

Something like a laugh bounces off your tongue and descends into a wanton moan before it can right itself.  A tell-tale sign you’re almost there.  Perfect.

He zeroes in on your clit, tongue dancing over it with each drag of his fingers.  He’s curling them now, intimately familiar with the rough bundle of nerves that turns you stupid.  You’re practically dripping down his hand and he’s careful not to let a single drop go to waste, licking his way over his knuckles and back to the source in languid strokes before he returns to toying with the pearl between your legs.  “So sweet, baby.  Like pumpkin pie.”  

You’re trembling, hands like iron in his hair, pulling him closer closer closer.  

“Please,”  you beg.  You’re rutting against him, chest heaving - a world away from the mild-mannered girl-next-door.  It’s so hot he can’t help but take pause, wait just a moment so he can take in the sight.

Poor choice.  He really can’t wait any longer.

He rises in a single fluid motion - even intoxicated, he’s a work of art.  He laughs off the way you watch him, expression an intoxicating mixture of admiration and salaciousness.  “Come here, angel.”  Here, to his arms.  Here, where you belong, cradled against all five feet ten inches of him.  

You’re putty in Jungkook’s hands, far too close to the brink of release to even think of arguing when he rotates you, pressing the full, unyielding expanse of his chest to the small of your back.  

“Look how beautiful you are, baby.”  Debauched words that sound more like love, whispered adoringly into your ear.  Sweet nothings that incinerate every ounce of rationale, leaving nothing but yearning in its wake.  He presses a kiss to your cheek, broad palms heavy at your hips.  

He’s right - you are beautiful, framed within the mirror’s reflection and barely lit by the moon. 

“Pretty,”  you agree, right as one hand shifts, drops and finds a home against your core.  Two digits press, unrelenting, into your cunt and you keen, head dropping against his shoulder like he’s just cut your marionette strings with the scissor of his fingers.  The flat of his palm grinds against your clit and he snickers, the sound deposited into your hair like a gift. 

“That’s right, Pumpkin.  So pretty.”  The P’s pop off his tongue, enunciated with each curl of his knuckles, each blossom he blooms over your neck. 

He fucks you slowly, languidly, unhurriedly - even as you writhe against him, pouting and demanding.  He does it so you’re delirious with need but not so lucid he loses you;  every time you’re about to slip, he recentres your focus and drags you back from the edge - either with a gentle tweak to your clit or a particularly hard thrust of his fingers.  Anything to keep you there, eyes locked with his in the hallway mirror.

“Look at you.  You’re so perfect.”  Praise rains down and you’re smiling, a faraway, feral glint in your eye.  “So fucking sexy for me.  Do you want more?”  His fingers still within your fluttering walls, massaging tight against your g-spot as his thumb adjusts to impose the same pressure upon your throbbing clit.  “Want me to fill you up?  Fuck you silly?”  

You don’t have to speak for him to know your answer - he feels the way you clench around him, eager for something far better.  

“Relax, baby,”  he murmurs, that same messy hand making quick work of his leather belt and the button and zipper of his jeans.  It’s honestly a feat given how insistent you are, grinding your ass over his aching cock like you might die without it.  Your impatience is endearing and intoxicating;  he almost topples you both over in his haste to step out of his clothes, pile kicked aside as you begin to whine, nails digging into the arm that still rests heavy around your waist.  “Don’t worry, angel.  I’ve got you.”   

He does - and not a second too soon.

The head of his cock is glossy, leaking pre-cum over the purpled tip.  It makes it almost easy for him to slip inside you except for the fact that it’s never that easy and the stretch is undeniable, bordering on painful despite how needy you are for him and how well he’s prepared you.   

Every nerve ending is shot as he sinks into you.  He fills you entirely as a groan tumbles off his lips, your ass flush to his hips.  You’re so wet he can feel your slick over his own thighs, coating the base of his cock as you squeeze around him.  A whine of his own pitches, forms in a bite to your shoulder that has you crying out.  “Fuck.  Fuck.”

He’s mouthing over silk, over skin, fingers firm around the column of your neck;  tips press into softness, stealing your breath.  The other hand anchors you against him, slung low over your side with his palm splayed across your ribs.  It’s the only way he keeps you from jolting forward as he ruts against you, fucking into your heat at a relentless pace.  He can read the strain in your limbs, how it grows and grows and nearly snaps in two when he tightens his grip at your throat.  

“You wanna come, pretty?”  It’s heavy, hungry, hoarse - gravel beneath velvet.  You nod senselessly, swallowing thickly beneath the palm that sears heat and try to focus on the same feverish burn that claims your insides and melts your bones.  Jungkook knows exactly which buttons to push, how to light you up like a night sky.  

“Please.”  

It’s an explosion of light and colour behind your eyelids and under your skin.  You’re crying, sobbing, wailing - a wrecked mess caged against his chest as your orgasm crashes over you.  Pleasure washes over you in waves, dripping down your cheeks;  you’re spasming around his cock, gripping him so tightly he nearly chokes as he chases the same high. 

The sounds you make are so pretty, helpless and somehow still desperate for more.  They run on a loop inside his head, stuttering his rhythm as he fucks you through your sensitivity and into another high that has you clawing at his hands.  

You’re out of body, eyes rolled so far back into your head that he can see only the whites.  He squeezes harder at your neck - knuckles blown out, tense, a stark contrast to the mosaic of red that he’d painted earlier  - and you’re a rag doll doing your best, trying to meet his stare as he grins wolfishly at you.  “That’s right.  One more.  One more with me.”

It’s impossible to deny Jungkook or his near brutal pace.  Where skin meets skin, there’ll be bruises, imprints left by the hard ridges of his hips, the shape of his fingers - a reminder of tonight for days to come.  He’ll trace them with his tongue and never let you forget.

“Right there,”  he barks with a sloppy, stuttering roll of his hips.  

Your second orgasm is messy, wet, soaking the silk of your dress and his hand as he works your clit.  A million volts of electricity buzz through your body, from the tip of your ears to the balls of your feet;  he can feel it, passed between the two of you like a livewire.  It launches him over his own peak - a lit match to gasoline.

He fills you with a low groan and a last, purposeful thrust.  He holds you impossibly tight, dragging his hips in small circles as you milk him for all he’s worth, cum slipping past your swollen lips with each movement, despite how eager he is to keep it right where it is, staining your walls and reminding you you’re his.  

Always have been, always will be.

author note.  please note this is a flashback drabble (you might’ve caught the reference in chapter 3)!  this is not present day, sadly.  but did you catch any of the foreshadowing in this?  hopefully!  if not, i'm sorry.  thank you for reading anyway.  i appreciate you!

tag list.  @jalexad @aa-ronpa @kookiesbreaky @celestialflamefairy @xjoonchildx @pars-ley @seokjinssi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @patpus @dazedjjk @koozui @jinhitwhore @always-wishing-for-rain​

[kikis-writing-world]

Who’s The Boss

Summary: Max has a late night meeting with his boss to discuss his recent poor performance. She might have an idea or two on what he can do to keep his job.

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!OC (It is written third person, but there are very few descriptors. Could be read as F!Reader)

Word Count: 3.8k

Rating/Warnings: 18+ SMUT! D/S dynamics (sub!Max, use of “ma’am” and “good boy” honorifics), abuse of power (consensual boss/employee,) oral (f receiving,) squirting, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, role playing, established relationship, aftercare conversation (he’s a vamp and doesn’t really need any, but it’s brought up CUZ ITS IMPORTANT!) Swearing. No beta/editing. As always, if I miss a tag please feel free to let me know! I wanna keep my bbys safe <3

A/N: Idk why I thought I should write Max being dommed? I guess I wanted our vampire frat boy to be put in his place?. Anyway... here it is, I’m only mildly ashamed lol

Max watched as the final person boarded the elevator, finally leaving the office. He’d been anxious all day, uncharacteristically so, for the rest of his coworkers to leave for the night. He nearly felt like shooing Elaine out of the office by the time she was packing up. With the floor empty, he finally turned towards the closed door of the office.

She’d disappeared into the office about 40 minutes ago. The door was closed but the light was on, bleeding through the crack under the door. He steeled himself, not truly knowing what he was going to meet on the other side once he knocked. Grabbing the nearest file folder off the nearest desk, he shook his arms loose and crossed the room. His knock was answered by a clipped voice, calling for him to enter.

She was sitting behind the desk, looking over various papers and reports. Her bottom lip, perfectly painted bright red, was caught between her teeth. The cardigan she’d worn earlier in the day was draped over the back of the chair. The top two buttons of her tight blouse were undone, the third looking ready to pop open over the swell of her breasts. He cursed the desk from blocking his view of her lower half. He’d seen the pencil skirt she was wearing as she walked the office earlier and he would love another look at her bare legs.

“Can I help you, Mr. Phillips?” She drawled. Her voice oozed with boredom and she didn’t even look up at him. Something about his disinterest had him aching to catch her attention.

“Uh, yes, Mrs-”

“Miss.” She cut him off with a sharp glare before he even had a chance to say her name. It was so abrupt, he almost felt like he was slapped with the syllable.

“It’s Miss.” She repeated, eyes boring into him. “I’m not married. What use would I have for some useless husband?” She scoffed, sitting up and giving him her full attention. His eyes dropped to her chest, seeing the way the movement put even more strain on the fabric covering her.

“Well? Are you wasting my time for a reason, Phillips, or are you here to stare at my breasts?” She snipped, eyebrow quirking up in challenge. Her lips pursed, proud of herself for catching him. He might have blushed if he was physically capable.

“It’s my sales numbers.” He grimaced. She was already in a bad mood and it was about to get worse.

“I’ve already seen your numbers, Phillips.” She sighed, standing up. His eyes followed her hands as they smoothed down the front of her skirt. “Have a seat,” she ordered, gesturing to the chair opposite her. He sat as requested, keeping the folder in his lap as she rounded to the front of the desk. The red patent stilettos she wore nearly made his mouth water.

“Now Max,” she paused to perch on the edge of the desk. He fought to keep his eyes on her face and not the long legs on display in front of him. “May I call you Max?”

“Of course.” He nodded, desperate for her approval.

“Max, we had very high hopes for you when you came to us but lately your numbers have been dropping. You’re not quite up to par. What’s going on, buddy?” She asked with an exaggerated pout.

He struggled to answer, not only because he was scared to disappoint but also because she crossed her legs as she spoke. Any thoughts he had about defending himself disappeared, the only thoughts on the smooth inner thigh and scrap of red fabric she’d flashed him.

She tsked, stopped his ambling for a coherent thought. “That’s a shame. You had good credentials, good references, you did amazing in your interview.”

She leaned back onto her desk, both arms stretched behind her to keep herself propped up. He wished beyond wishes that button in the center of her chest would finally give way.

“If you don’t start impressing me, we’re going to have to let you go.” She stated.

Max’s eyes widened, tearing his gaze away from her body to her eyes. “There has to be something I can do. I need this job. I’m better than these numbers, I promise.”

“Hmm,” She hummed, biting her lower lip as she thought. Despite the worry over losing his job, he wondered how it tasted. “There may be something you can do for me, Max.” She decided, uncrossing her legs.

“Anything.” He breathed, and by god did he mean it.

The last thing he was expecting was for her to lift her leg, resting the arch of her foot on his shoulder. The overhead lights bounced off the shiny material of the shoe as it found its perch, the thin heel pressing not uncomfortably into his collarbone. His mouth ran dry as he followed the line of her leg up from her foot to where it disappeared under her skirt. The skirt that had ridden up her thighs as she lifted her leg high enough to pin him in the chair.

“Why don’t you show me that silver tongue you bragged about when we hired you.” She purred.

Max’s jaw dropped and it took his brain a second to catch up. It didn’t help that what little blood he had coursing through his vampiric veins was entirely focussed below his belt.

“Yes ma’am.” He breathed. He tried to move forward, but her leg kept him in his seat.

“You can start there.” She instructed, very glib for what she was asking him to do.

“Yes ma’am,” he repeated. He cupped her calf in his hand, pressing his lips to the inside of her ankle. He kissed it tenderly, eyes on her to see if he was pleasing her. Her lips quirked up, almost imperceptibly so but it egged him on regardless. He kissed her ankle, licking the soft skin. He tested the pressure against his shoulder, moving his lips farther up her leg. When he met no resistance, he continued upwards.

He nipped at the skin of her calf, worshiping every inch of skin she permitted him to reach. When she felt his teeth against her skin, she didn’t jump, but warned him not to bite. He glanced up at her, trying to show his apology in his eyes. She seemed appeased and didn’t say anything more, letting her leg drape over his shoulder as he moved higher.

He reached her thigh, looking up for permission to push her skirt out of the way. Instead of verbalizing a response, she hooked her other knee over his shoulder. Trapped between her soft thighs, he could already smell her arousal. She lifted her hips from the desk, pushing her weight onto him. He slid the skirt up to her waist, revealing the lacy red number that she had been hiding all day. He moved to pull the garment down over her ass, but she stopped him with a hard pull of his hair quickly grabbing his attention.

“Do you really think you’ve earned that yet?” She asked. He could tell it was rhetorical, that he hadn’t earned it. He responded by releasing the lace, which earned him a good boy. He didn’t have a chance to preen under the praise as she pushed his head forward to her core.

He gripped her thighs as he licked at her through her panties. The fabric was already damp and tasted of her. He groaned, gripping her plush thighs tighter.

She sighed above him, releasing her tight grip on his hair to stroke it instead. Her nails dragged along his scalp in the most delicious way.

The lace grew slick quickly, his own saliva mixing with her arousal as he worked at her. It clung to her skin, almost showing him what she looked like underneath. He longed to taste her without the damn barrier between them.

Her hand left the back of his head, but having received no further instructions, he kept licking and sucking at her. He pushed his tongue as deep into her as the underwear allowed, swirling his tongue against her walls before focusing back on her clit. Chancing a glance upwards, he saw that she had unbuttoned her blouse, her hands playing with her nipples through the matching red lace bra. He moaned at the sight.

“Focus.” She chided, although her tone was breathy with pleasure. He obliged, hoping that if he made her feel good enough, she’d give him more. “So easily distracted.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” He muttered, not daring to move away. He heard her breath hitch as his voice vibrated against her. He hummed against her, hoping to recreate the sensation.

Her hips bucked as she gasped. He smirked proudly against her, but a moment later she was pulling him away by his hair again. He looked up at her, licking her taste off his lips as he wondered what he’d done wrong.

“Take them off.”

He barely stopped himself from ripping the delicate fabric into pieces, instead sliding it hastily down her legs. He dropped the red lace to the ground, diving back into her core. He moaned at the taste of her with nothing blocking his way this time. He devoured her like a man starved.

His increased efforts seemed to be working for her, as she leaned backwards onto her elbows with a moan. He wanted to tell her how exquisite she tasted, but was worried taking his mouth off of her to do so would just annoy her. He tried to convey it with his actions, licking as deep into her as he could. He groaned as her juices coated his tongue, dripping down his lips and chin.

Her hand was back in his hair, firm grip directing him up to her clit. He obliged, circling the bud with his tongue. He tried different motions, listening for her reactions to find what she liked best. Anytime she moaned or gasped, he tried to make her do it again and again. His chin was soaked, but it felt like she was growing wetter by the second against him.

“Fingers,” she breathed, a pleading tone to her voice. The sound made him ache in his pants, her in-charge facade losing power as he pleasured her.

He plunged two fingers inside her, her walls fluttering around them as she whimpered. He worked them in and out, crooking them upwards against her muscles as he searched for the spot that would drive her wild. He knew he found it when her hips jerked against him, heels digging into his back as her grip on his hair grew near painful.

“Right there,” she confirmed, voice breaking. “Oh god Max, right there.”

He thanked whatever evil magic behind vampires that he didn’t need oxygen to live. Even if he did need to breathe, he wouldn’t have been able to pull out of her tight grip as she came. As her taste flooded his mouth, he acknowledged that this would have been a valiant death indeed. She ground her hips against him, using him to prolong her pleasure.

He only pulled away as her body went limp, her hand releasing the back of his head as she reclined against the desk, panting to catch her breath. He sat up, devouring the sight of her splayed out in front of him as he licked her from his lips. Her lipstick was smeared so slightly from biting her lips, her skin shimmering with a sheen of sweat. He could see her nipples peaked against the lacy bra. Her legs were still propped on his shoulders, giving him an exquisite view of her twitching pussy. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her as he began undoing his pants.

The sound of his belt clanking open had her looking down at him. She frowned, despite her relaxed stance.

“Oh no, no, no.” She practically sang, stopping Max in his tracks. “You think one little orgasm and I’m going to let you fuck me?” She laughed, breathless. “It’s going to take more than that. Especially if you want me to forgive those awful sales numbers.” She sat up, chest still heaving. She fanned her blouse, trying to cool her body.

When Max’s voice finally returned to him, he asked “What do I need to do?”

She cupped his chin, making sure he kept his eyes on her face. “Such a good boy,” she cooed, caressing his cheek with her thumb. He leaned into the loving touch, craving more of it. “If you want to make me forget those numbers, you better make me soak this desk. Make a mess of those reports and I won’t be able to read the numbers, will I?”

The grip on his chin tightened as she leaned forward, holding in place as she stared him down. “And then maybe I’ll let you fuck me. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am.” He gulped, staring deeply into her eyes.

“Good boy.” She smiled, giving his head a quick shake before she released her grip and laid back against the desk once more.

Max didn’t need to be instructed further. He wanted to fuck her. Wanted to prove that he deserved to fuck her, that he could make her feel so good if she let him. The second she laid back, he dove between her thighs once more.

She was still sensitive from her first orgasm, if her twitching muscles and breathless moans were anything to go by. He eased two fingers back inside of her, searching once again for that spot. She was tighter but wetter than moments before and he throbbed in his pants. He could feel his dick leaking with excitement, but he had to ignore it for now. It would be worth it if she finally let him fuck her.

He sucked her clit gently to start, easing her back into the sensations, but worked up to a feverish pace quickly. She was writhing under him in no time as his fingers twisted inside of her.

He heard objects falling off the desk as she squirmed. She was making a mess and he loved it. Anything that could serve as proof that he was rocking her world was good in his book.

“M-Max, I’m-” She moaned as something heavy clattered to the ground.

He growled against her, massaging and pressing inside her. If she wanted to make a mess, he’d make a mess of her.

He felt her whole body tense up and shake before exploding as she cried out. Her convulsing walls pushed his fingers out of her as she came, warm and wet against him. He moaned as it soaked him, drinking up as much of the sweet nectar as he could as he circled her clit with his fingers. He felt his shirt sticking to him as her cum dribbled down his chin and neck.

As quickly as it happened, it was over. She lay whimpering and twitching on the desk as he sat back against the chair beaming with pride. She didn’t even look up at him as he gently lowered her legs from his shoulders, bringing them into his lap instead.

He caressed her lower legs, grounding her and letting her know he was there as he waited for his next orders. He was almost painfully hard as he waited for her to come back to him, to finally give him the permission he craved. If he didn’t get to fuck her, god he was going to kill something tonight.

She sat up slowly, her hair a mess. She looked like the perfect centerfold of the dirtiest magazine he could think of, eyes hooded and dark. She reminded him of the MTV video vamps he jerked off to as a teenager, only hotter. Teenaged him would have blown his load twice-over by now.

“So, you can follow directions then.” She hummed.

Max couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling in his chest. “When there’s an incentive.”

She chucked with him, leaning towards him. She reached out to wipe his face, collecting her juices on her fingers. “The carrot instead of the rod then.” She smirked before sucking her fingers clean.

“Whichever one gets to fuck you.” He shot back, adding a ma’am as he remembered himself.

“Don’t get cheeky,” she warned although she grinned. “But you’ve earned it.”

Max thought he might faint as she crooked her finger, beckoning him forward. He stood so quickly the chair toppled behind him. He stood between her legs, pressing as close to her as he could. He could feel his pants dampening across his thighs where he leaned into the desk under her. He was trembling with anticipation, but he waited for her permission to go any further.

She caressed his cheek, tiling her face in thought. He nuzzled into her hand, aching for more of her touch, to please her.

“You want me?” She purred.

“Please.” He nearly whimpered.

“How do you want me?”

“Anyway you’ll have me.”

“Good boy.” She grinned, patting his cheek twice. She turned his head, pressing her mouth to his ear to whisper “bend me over the desk and fuck me like your job depends on it.”

He was never so glad for super-human speed. She was bent over the desk, ass on display in a second. He heard her gasp as she was laid flat over the top of the desk, but he could hardly care. He was too busy pushing his pants down his thighs, finally freeing his cock.

He lined himself up, not daring to ask if she was ready lest she take back the permission she’d given. He thrust into her, groaning loudly as he finally sank into her warmth. She moaned, back arching under him. He had to pause, already so close to cumming after the long wait.

“Fuck, Max.” She panted as she adjusted to his size. It only took a second until she was wiggling back into him.

He gripped her hips tightly. Not having been able to bite her, mark her up, he hoped her hips bruised. Hoped she would have a lasting reminder of him taking her over the desk in the days it took to fade.

He thrust in and out, hearing the breath punched out of her lungs with every stroke. Her hands were scrambling for purchase, looking for something solid to hold onto as he fucked harshly into her. He grit his teeth, trying to stave off his own increasing pleasure. He had to make this last. She moaned beneath him, pushing back into his thrusts once she gripped the edge of the desk for leverage.

He was glad he’d had the patience to wait until the office was empty. There was no doubt what was happening in this room from the lewd sounds. Skin slapping skin; moans, grunts and cries. Watching her ass bounce against him, he was glad he hadn’t died between her thighs. He wouldn’t have wanted to miss this.

Feeling bold by the noises she was making, he reached forward and gripped her hair, pulling her head back. She whimpered before moaning his name loudly. He felt her tighten impossibly around him. Taking that as approval, he kept the grip tight.

“God, Max,” she moaned loudly, voice echoing off the walls. “If you could make sales with your dick, we’d be rich.”

He growled through clenched teeth, eating up the praise. Releasing her hair, he wrapped his hand around her neck, pulling her flush against his chest. She whimpered as it changed the angle inside of her, her eyes fluttering closed.

“‘S’at mean I’m keeping my job?” He huffed into her ear before licking a stripe up her neck.

“Seal the deal first.” She shot back. He nearly laughed that she was still trying to hold authority over him in such a vulnerable position. Her legs were shaking, her voice trembling and hoarse.

He released her neck to palm her breast. He squeezed at the soft skin as he nosed along her shoulder. She smelt like sweat and sex, her typical perfume all but faded. He swore he could even smell the blood in her veins, flowing so fast, so hot.

She cried out his name as he pinched her nipple. He pushed her back over the desk, feeling her legs close to giving out. He could feel her getting close to her third orgasm, her walls fluttering around him. He stopped holding back, ready to chase his own release. Sneaking his hand beneath her, it only took the barest flick to her sensitive clit until she was wailing beneath him.

His eyes rolled back as her walls clamped around him. Feeling her walls fluttering around him, convulsing with release, it only took him a few more shallow thrusts until he was joining her. His loud groans bounced off the walls of the small office as he buried himself deep within her. She whimpered softly, reaching back to hold the hand that was clasped around her hip.

As he came down from his high, he pulled his softening length from her. He watched her walls flutter against nothing, his seed dripping out of her. He gripped a cheek in each hand, massaging them. It made the milky liquid drip out of her quicker, spreading over her lips. It was hypnotic.

He stopped himself before any could drip down onto the carpet. He took a kleenex from the box that had miraculously stayed on top of the desk throughout the encounter, using it to clean her up. She whined softly at the touch, overstimulated and spent. He threw the used tissue in the bin with perfect accuracy.

Lifting his pants back to his hips, he rounded the desk to sit in the rolling chair she had occupied when he entered. He couldn’t help but laugh at the goofy sated smile on her face as she remained on the desk. She looked up at his laugh, eyes bright but tired.

“So, do I keep my job?” He asked with a grin, smoothing down her hair.

“Mmhmm.” She nodded, closing her eyes at his touch. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

He laughed heartily at that before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Another round, maybe.”

“Ugh, vampire.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I mean, I didn’t say anything-”

“No, you were perfect.” He promised her.

“‘Kay. Good.” She sighed. “Cause if you needed, I’d move right now. I would.”

“I believe you.”

She groaned as she stood up, stretching her tired muscles. She kicked her shoes off, legs shaky enough without the heels, and padded slowly around the desk, leaning heavily on the furniture for support. Max watched with a smug grin.

“Shut up.” She pouted, sitting delicately in his lap.

“Didn’t say anything.” He argued, wrapping his arms around her.

“You were thinking it. It’s not my fault I can’t keep up with you.” She complained, nuzzling into his neck.

“Nope.” He denied, letting the word pop. “I was wondering if I get to be your… what did you say, “useless husband” again.”

“I was getting into character.” She laughed softly. “You’re always my useless husband, Mr. Phillips.”

“Don’t you forget it, Mrs. Phillips.”

Tagging @wickedfrsgrl​ @din-damn-djarin​ @thisisthe-wayson​ @vonschweetz​ @insideafictionaluniverse​ @driedgreentomatoes​ @computeringturtle​ @gorgeousgrogu​ (you replied to my post about writing this, but I can remove the tag if you’d like)

[hermannsthumb]

hey idk if u take prompts like this but I love ur work; there’s a line in Hozier’s song Talk that says “so I’ll try to talk refined, for fear that you’ll find out how I’m imagining you” where hermann overcompensates for his dirty thoughts about newt by being exceptionally proper

newt’s Himbo energies in this one are off the charts..... (warning for 18+ content later on)

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

The first thing Hermann says upon walking into the lab one ordinary Friday morning, half-asleep, travel coffee mug in hand, most comfortable sweater pulled on, is “What on earth are you doing?”

The first thing Newton says, down on his hands and knees on the dirty lab floor, and peering under Hermann’s small bookcase, is “Looking for my contact lenses.”

This is not what Hermann expected to hear. He deposits his mug on his desk and frowns at Newton. “You don’t wear contacts,” he says.

“It’s something new I’m trying,” Newton says. “I break my glasses a lot, you know. And lose them a lot. More, uh, cost effective.�� He swipes his hand under the bookcase and curses.

“You lost these, too,” Hermann points out.

Newton pops up for a brief moment merely to scowl at Hermann. Or, really, to scowl in Hermann’s general direction. He’s squinting in a way that makes it quite clear he can’t actually see anything. “I’m aware, Dr. Obvious.”

Hermann takes a sip of coffee and settles in against his desk. “It’s Captain Obvious.”

“I was making a joke, you dick,” Newton says. Hermann watches, mildly entertained, as Newton swipes fruitlessly beneath the bookcase a few more times before crawling over to feel under the kitchenette. “I had no fucking clue how to put these bitches in. They just--popped right out. Ew.” He lifts a moldy crust of bread up, squints at it, and tosses it over his shoulder. It bounces off Hermann’s shoe.

“Newton,” Hermann scolds, kicking it away.

“Newton,” Newt repeats in a mocking approximation of his accent. He gropes his way over to Hermann’s desk and comes to a stop in front of Hermann’s shoes. “Do you mind--?”

“What?” Hermann says. “Oh.”

Feeling a bit warm under the collar at Newton’s uncomfortably suggestive position, Hermann parts his legs. Newton dives between them to peer under the desk, thighs jostling either side of Hermann’s ankles, rear stuck out. His shirt is riding up his back. His sturdy back. If he turned over, Hermann would get a glimpse of his stomach, the sparse bit of hair that--or so Hermann presumes--trails down to his waistband. Hermann grows warmer. “Do be careful,” he says, swallowing hard. He taps at Newt’s boot with his cane. One false move and Newton could send him tumbling. Distantly, dazedly, he thinks he ought to move.

“Mmhmm,” Newton says, rear end wiggling, grunting loudly with effort, then, “Oh!” He wraps the fingers of one hand around Hermann’s calf to steady himself as he sits back on his heels and presents a single dusty contact lens with the other. “Got one.” He squints at it, pink tongue poking out between his lips, as if attempting to asses the damage.

“Fascinating,” Hermann says, hoping, vaguely, that Newton doesn’t attempt to cram it back into place without washing it. Newton’s shirt is still rucked up his chest; he’s not let go of Hermann. His hair is a mess. It would be very easy--almost too easy--for Hermann to thread his own fingers through that messy hair, to draw Newton closer, to press that pink tongue and lips to the front of his trousers and hear him make more of those lovely little grunts. Hermann taps his cane against Newton’s boot again. “N--Ah--I have to. Newton. I left something in my quarters.”

“Huh?” Newton says.

“Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann chokes out. “Ah. My quarters--”

Newton releases Hermann’s calf quickly, his eyebrows creasing in obvious confusion. Not without reason. Hermann has not used his full title since the early days of their correspondence. “Right. Sorry.”

“Jolly good,” Hermann says, and, fumbling with his cane, half-sprints away.

Newton’s reverted back to his standard eyeglasses when Hermann ducks back into the laboratory thirty minutes later, his problem taken care of, so to speak. “Failed experiment of the day,” Newton declares. He makes a show of flicking both--filthy--contact lenses into the trash bin, and then following them up with the box of the rest of them. Hermann wonders if Newton waited for him to get back to do that. He also wonders why, if Newton had his glasses on hand, he didn’t put them on before writhing around on the ground. “Oh well. It was worth a test run.”

He has dirt from the lab floor staining the knees of his skinny jeans. Forcefully dredging his mind from the gutter (Newton, scuffed jeans hiding bruises from where he’d kneeled for something else entirely, and something entirely for Hermann), Hermann nods stiffly. “Certainly. Of course.”

“Glasses suit me better, anyway,” Newton says, and tugs them off his face to wave them around.

"Indeed,” Hermann says.

This is hardly the first time Hermann has been caught embarrassingly off-guard by Newton’s ability to inject a healthy douse of sexuality into even the most innocuous behavior. Newton eats with his fingers and moans when he’s really enjoying his food. Newton has never managed to not stick his ass out into the air when he drops something and bends to pick it up. Newton sucks on the tips of pencils when he’s deep in thought, cheeks hollowed, lips puckered and spit-slick. It drives Hermann mad, frankly, sends him spiraling into completely inappropriate arousal in the middle of the laboratory or mess hall or restaurant every time; he’s long-since developed a routine on how to deal with it. Act proper. Act professional. Newton will never know.

It’s hardly the last time today, either. Hermann is around ninety-percent certain he’s imagining it (fantasizing unintentionally, perhaps) when, three hours later, he hears Newton emitting those same little obscene grunts as before, which is why he ignores it at first. Then they grow louder. Then--

“Hermann?” Newton says. A little squeaking huff. “Hey, dude, can you help me with something?”

Hermann drags his glasses off with a little sigh and sets down his chalk. “What is it?”

Another grunt. “Uh. I’m having--a little problem reaching something.”

When Hermann finally turns, it’s to find Newton leaping and swiping desperately at the cupboard above the kitchenette. Just out of reach for someone of Newton’s height. Not out of reach for someone of Hermann’s height. “We really ought to get you a step-stool,” Hermann says, but clacks over nonetheless. He’s not sure what could possibly be in that cupboard that’s so urgent that Newton needs it right away. They never use it.

Newton has not stopped swiping at the cupboard when Hermann comes up behind him; in fact, he’s only struggling harder. Evidently he’s not heard Hermann. “I almost--”

He grunts against as his fingertips graze the metal handle, deep and exertive, just as Hermann chooses that unfortunate moment to take a step forward to attempt to steady him; Newton falls back with a loud oof!, stumbling, ass rubbing fully against Hermann’s crotch, at the same time Hermann reaches out to catch him, on instinct, and ends up with a hand up Newton’s shirt and a grip around Newton’s soft left side.

Newton stares upside-down at him, eyes wide, glasses askew, pink blooming across his cheeks. Hermann stares down at Newton.

“Whoops,” Newton laughs. “Uh. Sorry. Thanks for--” He wriggles out of Hermann’s grip and turns, awkwardly, to pat his arm. Hermann jerks away.

“Of course,” he says. Too loudly. He pushes past Newton and pulls the cupboard door open so hard it nearly snaps off its hinges. “What--ah--what did you need?”

“Box of disposable gloves,” Newton says.

Hermann grabs it and thrusts it at Newt without even looking. He had not expected Newton’s skin to be so soft and warm to the touch. Obscene fantasies come, unbidden and fast: Hermann stroking both hands up that shirt and over that soft, warm body, Newton making those same little grunts and squeaks, perhaps, even, allowing Hermann to grip his waist and bend him right over and rub against him, rock his hips against him-- “Right,” Hermann says. “Well. Ah. Here you are. Newton. Dr. Geiszler.”

Newton’s tongue flicks out over his lips. He smiles. Innocent, and a little confused. Hermann feels a rush of guilt. “Hey, thanks!” Newton says. He rips open the top and pulls out a pair, teeth worrying at his lower lip for a flash of a second in concentration and leaving behind a tiny dent. He snaps the gloves on. “I bet a stool would count as a business expense.”

“Mm?” Hermann says. He cannot tear his eyes away from the dent. He could leave some of his own on Newton--kiss him until his lips are red and swollen, perhaps. Bite at them until Newton comes apart with a cry under Hermann’s fingertips. Until Hermann can taste blood.

“A stool,” Newton says, and Hermann wonders if all of him is as warm as his chest. “I said we could request a stool on our next supply requisition form.”

Hermann shakes his head. His heart is racing. “I suppose,” he says. He tries to push past Newton. “Ah. Yes. Pardon me, will you, I--”

“I can see your boner, Hermann,” Newton says.

Hermann freezes in his tracks. “Excuse me?”

“I can see your boner,” Newton repeats.

“No you can’t,” Hermann splutters, going beet-red, “that is to say--you cannot, because I do not have one.”

Newton points to the front of Hermann’s trousers; Hermann quickly blocks the view with his cane. “Yes you do,” Newton says. He takes a step closer, one hand settling to rest at Hermann’s waist, and flutters his eyelashes. “Is that for me?”

Hermann’s breath catches, and, for a moment, he considers confessing it all, the fantasies, how wild Newton drives him; then Newton’s face splits into a grin. Mortification surges within Hermann. “This is an entirely inappropriate conversation to be having in--in the workplace,” he spits, pushing Newton off and backing away, “as are your--your jokes. Completely unprofessional. Please refrain from--”

Newton catches his arm. “Listen, man,” he says. “Sorry. I’m not joking. Do you want me to blow you or not?”

Hermann blinks at him. “...Are you certain you’re being serious?”

“Well, yeah,” Newton says. 

“Alright,” Hermann says, happily.

[the-ghost-of-jason-todd]

Chasing After

So @grumpycrumpet gave me the following prompt: reigen being v bad at something (like basketball or idk anything srsly) and him like, playing it cool like he doesn't care, BUT HE DEFINITELY CARES, and then one of the psychics (take ur pic my friend) casually uses psychic powers to help reigen out w/o him realizing they helped and he's like, still trying to play it cool but he's like crying with pride and relief tbh. like, yay! he doesn't suck at this thing he didn't mean to care about. time to move on with life. 

This is what I did with it!!!

***

Okay.  Okay.  Reigen can do this.  The afternoon is young and the kids are here and really, it’s just… just forward motion.  One foot in front of the other.  He’s been doing this his entire life, it’s fine, it’s—

With an absolutely horrid scraping sound, Reigen moves his left foot forward.  The blade on the bottom of his shoe catches the ice—why is it doing that???—and Reigen winces, looking around to make sure that no one is watching.

He finds four pairs of eyes on him.  Serizawa politely looks away.  The kids—Tome and Teru especially, though Mob isn’t completely faultless—stare like they have nothing better to do than gawk.  

Reigen’s heart shrinks in on itself, like a cat cramming itself into a box to lick its wounds.  Okay, so much for being incognito with the ‘bad at figure skating’ thing.  Fortunately, there’s one approach that Reigen knows will get him through this—absolutely owning the shit out of the fact that he’s moved a grand total of two feet in the past ten minutes, which is exactly what he’s going to do.

“Oi!  Serizawa! Eyes on me!” he barks.  One of his skates slips an inch or so on the ice and he pinwheels his arms hurriedly to catch his balance—by the time he’s done, Serizawa’s eyes are indeed on him.  He grins. “Check it—bet you I won’t make it to that pole over there by the end of the skating session.”

Serizawa looks to the pole—about a hundred yards around the edge of the skating rink—looks back, looks to the pole… and a slight grin starts to peek out from the folds of his warm winter scarf.  “You’re going to fail on purpose just to take my money.  That’s not very nice, Reigen-san.”

“Posh!  I would do no such—whoa, slippery—ah, no such thing!  Besides,” he sniffs, holding onto Mob’s arm—Mob glides slowly along beside him, encouraging him forward an inch at a time—“I save that kind of strategy for clients. Now, do we have a bet?”

The smile hasn’t left Serizawa’s face, but he nods all the same. “Five hundred yen that you’ll make it?” he asks.

“Five hundred yen that I won’t!” Reigen agrees, at the top of his lungs, and then promptly overbalances and eats ice.

Thus begins the mad un-race for the far-off pole.  Reigen isn’t really trying to sabotage himself—hitting the ice does hurt, after all—but he’s not putting much effort into moving forward, either.  His ankles are unmoored despite the stiff sides of the skates, flip-flopping back and forth as he tries to keep his feet under him.  Melting ice is starting to seep into his pants at the knees, hips, butt… every place that’s hit the ice in the last ten minutes.  His hands hurt already from catching himself.  To make it all worse, more misery on top of misery, he watches the kids get the hang of the motions and push off from the wall, circling each other and laughing.  They look effortlessly happy, while Reigen is stuck struggling just to stay standing.

But Reigen has committed, damnit, and he’ll be damned if he won’t have a smile on his face the entire time.  He won’t ruin this for the rest of them, even if it’s a rather hefty blow to his pride that he can’t even inch forward without a death-grip on the wall.

Only… as he goes, he realizes that his ankles are straightening seemingly by themselves.  His blades stop scraping and start gliding, the right edges catching the ice and propelling him forward.  He can straighten up out of his awkward half-bend, and even—gasp!—let go of the wall.

He laughs out loud at the first smooth push, watching the ice slide by underneath his feet.  He’s—he’s good at this, actually!  God, he could cry from relief.  Somehow he manages not to, but the feeling is there, in his chest—that swell of pride that comes from clawing your way over a learning curve and making it out the other side.

He’s not paying much attention to Serizawa—he doesn’t notice the subtle flicks of Serizawa’s fingers, or the light aura surrounding his skates.  He doesn’t even notice that he’s passed the pole until Serizawa catches him by the elbow, twirling him around.

“I believe you owe me something, Reigen-san,” Serizawa says.  Reigen glances around, stunned that he’s actually made it.  A laugh bubbles up in his chest—at the beginning of this outing he was absolutely convinced that he wouldn’t have a lick of fun, and here he is, keeping up with Serizawa!  He can’t keep the grin off his rosy cheeks.

Play it cool, Reigen, he reminds himself as he catches Serizawa staring down at him, playful grin eating up his face.  “Guess I can’t help myself—I have to be good at everything I do,” he says, reaching for his wallet.

“Hm,” Serizawa hums.  “Then you won’t mind another bet, yeah?”

Interest piqued, Reigen considers the man in front of him.  “What do you have in mind?” he asks.

“Whoever’s it has to pay for dinner,” Serizawa says, and before Reigen can say anything, Serizawa has clapped him on the shoulder, shouted “YOU’RE IT!”, and pushed off toward the middle of the rink.

Without thinking, without psyching himself up or putting himself down, Reigen opens his mouth on a shout and pushes off the wall.  His feet carry him forward, chasing after the man who he’s pretty sure already owns his heart.