#not even helping us to find a fixed place to practice when there's almost 40 of us

[octobertomarch]

I definitely have to color this next timeeeee 😅😝

Shigino kisumi eating pancake/cake/sweets/ i forgot hahahha

The fanart is inspired by this:

Kdrama: Touch Your Heart (starring Yoo In-Na and Lee Dong-Wook). The show is great and funny. I recommend it

[cerinefalls]

One Bed {A Shoto Todoroki xReader Trope-Fic}

This work is the first of a series.

3290 words

MHA/BNHA trope fic

fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On this lovely night, an unexpected stop had UA in a tizzy. Of course, something had gone wrong. You were on a trip with the hero course, after all. The bus came to a screeching halt in the darkness, which woke most of the students aboard.

"Is everyone alright?" Aizawa stood groggily from his bus seat and turned to face the body of students behind him. It looked like students weren't the only ones awoken by the unexpected stop.

"We're fine, Mr. Aizawa." Denki shot a thumbs up in the direction of his teacher, letting him know that his group had been fine.

"Yep, looking good on this side of the bus!" Kirishima seconded. The two boys were right. 1A's side of the bus was hardly affected by the whiplash-inducing pause in their trip.

The same could not be said for Class B. Due to the direction of the bus, Class B's student body had ended up halfway on the floor. Aizawa could clearly see this when he turned to ask for a status update, but he accepted the 'I'm fine' from his students and sat down long before anyone addressed it.

"I'm sorry, kids. Somethin's wrong with the engine." The bus driver hopped up out of his seat and bowed at the front of the aisle. It was some form of apology, though no one believed it was needed.

"It's fine," Shouta grumbled from his seat. "Vlad will get us rooms somewhere so we can wait out the night. It's unsafe to stay here with villains roaming around." After a few moments of back and forth between the hero-course teachers, Vlad cracked and began searching for hotels nearby.

Soon enough, classes 1A and 1B had walked to a nearby hotel. You'd arrived safely! What a feat for this school. As soon as you walked in, though, you could tell why arriving safely wasn't the worst of your concerns. Immediately whispers began floating amongst students.

"Enough." Aizawa progressed to the front of the group and shushed them, which with his demeanor worked quickly. Everyone turned their attention to him and listened to what he had to say. "They have been kind enough to let us bring all of you here. Be respectful."

"Yeah, because all their rooms were empty..." One student joked from the back. They instantaneously regretted their decision.

"Go to the front and get your room keys." Vlad pointed in the direction of the check-in desk while Aizawa dealt with the problem-child.

What a time! Staying in a hotel with unknown reviews on a night you were meant to be safe in your dorms. This had to be the safest, most organized thing UA had ever allowed to happen, right? It was no surprise at this point. You let your annoyed thoughts sink to the back of your mind as you walked to the room you were assigned and swiped your key.

Wait- what was that? Something brushed your hand as you reached for the door. You snatched your hand back, fight or flight switched on in your unfamiliar surroundings, but when you turned around, all you saw was a puzzled face on one of your classmates.

"Shoto?" You questioned, startled but settling down. He nodded in response.

"The woman at the desk gave me a key to this room," he explained.

"She gave me a key to this room," you elaborated, matching the confusion he was displaying.

"Maybe we are meant to share it," he suggested. You hadn't thought about that. The hotel was housing forty-one students and two teachers, so it'd make sense if you were supposed to share rooms. You nodded.

"It isn't impossible." You wanted to make sure, though. Reaching your hand over again, you placed the black bar on the back of your card against the lock. With a click, it opened. "Hm, now you try." You stepped back to give him room.

Todoroki took a few moments to realize what you were trying to do, but once he did, he stood to attention. Shoto placed the bar of his own card onto the lock, and just as it had with yours, the lock opened. He stepped forward with a hum, pushing open the door and waiting for you to enter.

"Oh? Thank you." You tried not to sound worried as you carried yourself as well as your bag into the room. It was separated! How lovely. For a ditsy-looking hotel, the room sure seemed nice. You sat your bag next to the couch and put your exhausted body to rest right above it, falling on the furniture with a thud.

Todoroki wasn't far behind you, closing the door when he walked in and placing his bag next to the armchair. He took a seat on the chair and turned in your direction.

"You should shower," He said plainly.

"Are you calling me stinky?" You joked, attempting to make light of the soon-to-be awkward situation. It appeared your humor was completely lost on this one, though, because instead of a laugh, you saw a dull face and slow-shaking head.

"No, not like that." Todoroki denied your claim. "I'm saying we were doing field training, and you should clean up. I'll let you go first." He was keen on giving you the first chance at things. It was sweet of him, no matter how bland he was while doing it. Kindness was kindness, and you weren't about to turn kindness down.

"Right," you agreed, not surprised your joke had flown over this boy's head. For someone half cold-half hot, his personality sure took after one side at a time.

You slowly stood off the couch and grabbed your bag, walking towards the washroom. After addressing him with a final nod of thanks, you disappeared past the doorframe. Once steam began to seep past the crack underneath, Shoto reached for his bag and took out his phone, knowing you were comfortable in the shower.

40 Missed Calls from "Father."

Shoto swiped the notifications away and went to text endeavor with an update. By the time he'd passive-aggressively responded to his father's concerns and beat three levels of his 'brain games,' you'd emerged from the shower and opened the door.

"I only had my casual clothes as spares, so I'll be sleeping in a t-shirt tonight. I hope you brought something." You spoke embarrassedly as Todoroki stared you down. It was odd how long his eyes were fixed on your wet hair, almost as if he was trying to figure something out. Even as you walked back to the couch and sat down- his eyes followed the upper half of your body and studied you.

After this prolonged experience, he went right back to normal without speaking a word. All he did was nod at you as you had him, walking into the washroom and shutting the door. You didn't see any steam after he turned the water on, which you thought was mildly confusing. Had he stepped in already? Apparently so, though you didn't figure this out until fifteen minutes later when he finally emerged.

"Go use the restroom before bed." A half-dressed Shoto Todoroki walked back into the 'living room' with completely dry hair. While you'd covered your upper body, he'd covered his lower. Had that been why he'd stared at you before? He was even making a point to fluff his hair with his hands, taking his seat back on the armchair.

"Good idea." You replied, quickly scurrying to the washroom once again. You hadn't realized it, but you needed to pee. You'd first noticed on the bus, but since the stress of the situation got to you, you'd completely forgotten.

When you approached the toilet, you saw the handle of the shower through your peripheral vision. It was turned completely towards the cold setting. Todoroki washed up in that? No wonder his mood was as cold as his right side.

After washing and drying your hands, you joined Todoroki once again. It was nearing time for the two of you to go to sleep, and neither of you checked the bedroom yet. That gave you an idea.

"Hey, Todoroki, let's look around the room before bed." You suggested.

"But, your hair?" He sounded confused.

"What about my hair?" You questioned him, patting your head in an attempt to find what he was talking about.

"You shouldn't go to bed with wet hair. It can make you sick." Todoroki stated quietly. For someone so brief in speaking, his attention to detail was uncanny. "Aizawa would be annoyed if you got sick." He reminded you, and he was probably right. That, as well as the fact that being sick sounded rather unappealing with recovery girl hours away.

"You're right." You nodded in agreeance with him. "Let me go dry it-"

"Let me." Shoto Todoroki just offered to dry your hair. Something about the idea seemed... unsafe.

"Why you?" You questioned, intrigued.

"You didn't do it the first time and I know where the hairdryer is." He stood up and walked towards the room again, opening the door and waiting for you. "Unless you don't want me to."

"Hairdryer?" You were unsure of that. The last thing you wanted was for your hair to get damaged in some way. You thought about it, though. Todoroki's hair was well-kept and looked healthy. It was unlikely he'd do anything wrong, even if your hair was a bit different. "I... trust you." You nodded, following him and standing in front of the sink.

"Okay, stand still." He reached behind the door and took out a cloth bag. From the bag, he pulled out a white, clunky hairdryer. When Shoto plugged it in, the lights in the washroom flickered, startling you.

"You used that on your head!?" You expressed your concern openly.

"No. I don't use hairdryers. I just know how to because Fuyumi taught me. This one doesn't seem safe, though." Todoroki unplugged the hairdryer and sat it on the ironing board, far away from any water sources. " I could dry your hair how I dry my own if you're okay with that."

"Oh, you towel dry? Or does your hair air-dry fast?" You had to admit, you were slightly interested.

"Neither," he shook his head.

"Then..."

"I use my flames."

"What?"

"Midoriya suggested I practice using smaller flames for simple tasks. It helps me." Todoroki demonstrated, a small blaze lighting from his palm. It was interesting to watch such a controlled flame come from him when he'd been a walking inferno during training. "I started using it to dry things because it was safer with water around."

"So you haven't been doing this for very long?" You were skeptical of this method, though as you'd noted before, his hair was still healthy. Clearly, he was doing something right.

"No, I have not, but I've accumulated a skill for it. I'm comfortable containing a flame this size for a long time now." Todoroki explained

It took you a few minutes to consider, time he spent sitting on the edge of the tub and playing with his fire. It was refreshing to see him using it so comfortably when it was clearly not his strongest point. Not trusting him with it seemed almost rude now. "I've made my decision," you turned his way, earning a look of interest. "I still trust you. Show me how you dry your hair." Though you were not sure, you could almost swear you saw a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was hard to tell, though, because it lasted only a moment before he stood and walked behind you again.

"Stand still." He requested, raising his right hand just next to the edge of your silhouette. He carefully guided a warm flame around your head. It quickly evaporated the water nearest the air around the two of you but did nothing for the soaked roots. After a thoughtful hum, Todoroki made a tactical decision. He started to section your hair, slowly but surely getting to the root without burning you. After he was done, he fluffed your hair like he had fluffed his own and took a step back.

"Thank you." You smiled, looking over your shoulder in the mirror. In the reflection, you saw a well-contented Shoto Todoroki, looking at his righthand proudly. You dare not mention it for fear of embarrassing him, but it made you smile.

"Thank you for the opportunity." He nodded respectfully, opening the door fully and waiting for you to step out. Once you did, he followed.

The two of you stood in the makeshift hallway until someone yawned, making you giggle. It was time to check out the bedroom, a unanimous decision you'd made. With a loud creak, the door opened and the two of you stepped in.

It wasn't what you expected, to say the very least. You walked into what looked like a beautiful bedroom! It was minimalistically styled, a good choice for a hotel. It was even spacious enough for multiple beds! But... there weren't. You walked into a bedroom that only housed four pieces of furniture; a console table, a dresser, a nightstand, and a California king-sized bed.

"Did we miss something?" You asked, walking around and checking each of the walls. Nothing seemed out of place, and you didn't see any buttons.

"No. The woman told me there would be one bed located in the bedroom area." Shoto explained, placing his bag down by the door. He'd brought your bag as well and placed it on the opposite side of the door. "I was planning on sleeping in the opposite room had I gotten a roommate. I want you to take the bed." It would of course make sense to have the stronger student by the front in the event of an attack, but he did not tell you that.

"There are windows in this room. I think it's safer if we stick together." You suggested, trying to think of ways the two of you could share the space comfortably. The bed looked big enough to fit two full-sized Fatgums, so it wasn't impossible.

"Are you comfortable with me staying here? There's plenty of room in the front if you're worried about me falling off." He reassured you of his safety. Todoroki knew it'd be better to cover both potential entrances, but he also considered your mental well-being. If it made you feel safer with another person, he'd stay.

"I..." You thought for a moment, sitting on the edge of the bed. The all too familiar coolness of the hotel bedspread made up your mind for you. "I'd prefer if you stayed with me." You couldn't possibly make him stay on the couch. He was well-mannered and respectful. It wasn't like you'd struck out and gotten stuck with Bakugo. Keeping Shoto away from the comfort of a hotel bed simply wasn't an option- or at least, not one you were considering.

"Thank you." He nodded. "What side of the bed do you want?" Once again, he was giving you the first pick. You couldn't tell if this instance was him being polite or indecisive, nor did you truly care. His offer allowed you to pick the side of the bed you were most comfortable with, and you did.

Todoroki closed the door and climbed into bed next to you, keeping to his edge. You didn't notice until you rolled over. You thought you'd hit his leg and went to apologize, but he wasn't next to you. The poor boy was barely hugging the edge of the bed.

"Todoroki-" You called out quietly, at a loss for what to say, really.

"Yes?" He answered without a hint of tiredness in his voice. How could he be? Hugging the corner had to be taking some serious effort.

"I'm not scared of you or anything. You can lay down on the bed if you want to." You reminded him you were allowing him near you despite his previous offer. It almost felt like he was scared of you.

"Oh." Hesitantly he rolled back onto the mattress.

"Have you never shared a bed with anyone?" You questioned, unaware of the can you just opened.

Todoroki sat up and turned on the lamp, shaking his head 'no.' Then, and you weren't sure for how long, he went on a tangent about his home life. Shoto explained calmly that until recently, he hadn't had a chance to make friends and enjoy people for who they were. It was far from the simple answer you wanted, but it was enlightening, to say the least.

"So, I do not have much experience in this sort of thing. I do most things alone." He concluded, turning to face you in the dimly lit room. He hadn't looked at you the whole time, appearing lost in his own mind for most of the conversation. It was almost as though you were just an outlet for him at the moment.

"I see," you nodded. There wasn't much you could do. From the way he described it, you didn't pity him. On the contrary, you thought he was strong for enduring after having been dealt such a foul hand in life. None of his stories surprised you, either. They all fit together, woven into one silent-loathing UA first-year. "Can I ask you something?"  You asked, hoping he'd allow your next question.

"Yes," he replied with no visual facial cues.

"Could I help you learn to do things... not alone? As a hero, you'll need to be comfortable around your peers." At least, that was the reason you gave him. It was not why you'd asked, though. You did not pity him, but you did feel as though a support system was what he needed. If that had to start with you and  Midoriya, it was fine by you.

"That would be nice." Shoto laid down in the bed, turning the lamp out once more. It was silent for a while- a peaceful silence that you rather enjoyed. It definitely did not remain that way, though. You broke the silence with a shocked gasp when you felt something come behind you and wrap around your waist. You knew what it was even though you could hardly believe it.

"Shoto?" You called him by name. He only hummed in acknowledgment, waiting for you to ask your question. "Why are you..?"

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" His hold loosened and he backed up, fearing he'd done something wrong. "Natsuo told me that if I was ever put in this situation I should make sure they feel warm and protected. Are you too warm? Or do you feel unsafe?" Shoto had clearly taken his brother's joking advice a bit too seriously.

"Oh? No, no." You figured there was no harm in it, it'd just shocked you. "You can practice on me, but next time it's Midoriya's turn."

Todoroki nodded against your neck, scooted in closer than he had been before. Thank the heavens above for the air conditioning unit, because otherwise, you might have actually been 'too hot.' His quirks weren't the only thing half cold-half hot- his whole body was. Maybe it was some offset of his determination, but you surely felt the difference across your skin.

You had no time to critique his temporal settings.  Before you could get out another word, you heard a soft snore from behind you. Shoto Todoroki had fallen asleep already. It was looking like those cuddle-puddles Ochako tried to set up may have actually been a good idea. Even you felt tired now.

The two of you slept under odd circumstances that night, close and comfy. It was a mighty good thing no one checked for a pullout sofa.

[diamond-coral]

The Heist- Part Two

Steve x Reader Chapter Summary: Steve sees you working at a club. Now Steve wants you...and he’ll have you.

Series Warnings: dark, rape/non-con, kidnapping, stripper themes, swearing, crime

Chapter Warnings: male masturbation, swearing, stripper themes, kidnapping, crime, mild violence, threats of rape/non-con, creepy crazy stevo

Steve had begrudgingly went to the strip club with Bucky and Sam because, as Sam said, ‘Modern women are somethin’ else compared to the 1940’s.’. Bucky was much more enthusiastic to see how much things had changed as a once been ladies’ man from the 40’s even if it meant having to go with Sam who bickered with him every five minutes. And while Bucky’s enthusiasm remained as they entered the club, the blaring music, flashing lights, and women in skimpy outfits had Steve remaining unimpressed.

Until he saw you.

You weren’t on the stage but rather talking to a coworker in the back of the room, a tray of drinks in one hand and a smile on your face that could light up a room. An honest, genuine smile that stood out in a room filled with nothing but empty sultry smiles given by dancers. Your coworker said something, and you threw your head back and let out a laugh that Steve could’ve sworn he had heard ringing all the way across the club over the blaring music.

You were perfect.

While you were still scantily clad in nothing but a light pink shimmery sheer top that showed your bra perfectly cupping your breasts, a pair of barely their black shorts, and black heels that had his eyes dragging up and down your legs, your demeanor and posture was more relaxed, and that’s what he loved. You weren’t sticking your tits out in front of you or pushing your ass back, but were rather slouched a little, eyes shimmering with excitement as you talked. What Steve saw of you was raw and authentic, and he loved it.

Sam’s voice interrupted Steve from his daydreaming, and Steve shot him a look of irritation causing Sam to raise his hands in defense.

“Woah there loverboy,” Sam chuckled. “I was just gonna suggest, you should ask for a dance from that girl you’re ogling over.”

“And before you go over and court her with your righteousness and whisk her away to waltz like prince charming, he means a lapdance, punk,” Bucky says while taking a sip of his drink.

“I- I was’t ogling,” Steve sputtered, but let out a sigh of defeat at Sam’s raised eyebrow. “I’m not gonna ask for a lapdance. Besides, she seems to be just waiting tables. I wouldn’t wanna interrupt-”

“You’re hopeless,” Sam teased as he brought his fingers to his mouth to let out a shrill cab whistle. You turned, and Sam caught your attention, beckoning you over with two fingers.

“Hiya fellas,” you said, and Steve frowned a little at the sultry voice you put on. “What can I help you with?”

“Just another round of drinks, sugar. Oh- and-” Sam leaned to whisper something in your ear and Steve noticed your eyes widening a little before your gaze snapped to him, a small smile on your painted lips.

“Of course,” you responded to Sam. “I’ll be back with your drinks shortly.”

As you turned to leave, Steve frowned at Sam. “What did you tell her,” he asked.

“Oh nothing much. Just mentioned that THE Captain America was looking for a little bit of fun tonight.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a groan. “Sam you dumbass.”

“Hey, he’s doing more about it than you,” Bucky interjected. “Sometimes it’s just sad watching you when you just sit and do - oh shit here she’s comes.”

“Alright, and I’ve got another round of drinks,” you said cheerfully while distributing the glasses. “And you, Mr. Rogers…” You sat on one of Steve’s thick thighs while placing your hands on the collar of his button up shirt and smoothing it down. “You’re friend told me you’re lookin’ for something… special tonight?”

Steve’s throat was dry and he was sure you could feel his heart practically beating out of his chest. “Oh well...I um-I.”

“What Mr. Womanizer would like to say is that he accepts your offer,” Sam offered, and Steve shot him what was probably the one-hundredth dirty look of the night.

“Well then.” You got off his lap and tugged on his arm. “I’d be happy to oblige.”

________________________________________________________________

Half an hour later, Steve returned a mess. The first few buttons of button up were undone, his hair was tousled, his cheeks flushed, and his heart hadn’t stopped racing.

“Good time?” Bucky inquired with a smirk.

Steve could barely form any words other than ‘where’s Sam’ to which Bucky pointed to the crowd of sweaty dancing bodies where Sam was shamelessly grinding on some woman.

“Oh God, I need a drink.” Steve fixed his hair with one hand while the other dipped into his pocket to retrieve a flask of Asgardian liquor Thor had given him.

“Was she that good?” 

“Well yes, but it wasn’t just the dance. It was her,”  Steve answered while burying his face in his hands. He felt like the scrawny kid from Brooklyn again. Completely flustered as he chased after a girl totally out of his league. “I don’t know Buck, she’s just-she’s just perfect.”

“Stevie, look around you. Every woman here is practically perfect. And they’re goddesses. That girl is just a girl.”

“No it’s just- you don’t understand. She’s just…” Steve let out an exasperated sigh and Bucky’s eyes softened.

“Wow you really like her don’t ya?” Steve just nodded in reply. “Well what if we came back again when she’s working?”

“No that wouldn’t work,” Steve said. “But...I think I have an idea.”

“And am I involved in this idea at all?”

“Maybe.” Steve laughed at his friend who groaned.

Steve then continued to explain his plan. He pointed out the coworker you had been friendly with when he first saw you, and asked Bucky to get some information out of her since he was the less recognizable out of the two. Steve needed to see you again. Not just that...he needed you. You were just so perfect for him, and Steve knew that the moment he laid eyes on you. The genuineness of your smile and laugh, just the way you were so authentic amidst your surroundings just showed you didn’t really belong in this environment or even this time period of imitation and phonies. But you belonged with him. And he’d preserve that authenticity. 

Bucky just simply nodded, and at first Steve was nervous that his best friend was going to call him crazy, but after a bit, Bucky got up and snatched Steve’s flask while flashing him a grin.

“Bout time we got you a girl, huh pal?”

Steve sighed in relief, and as Bucky trotted off, he went to find Sam.

Steve explained to Sam that he was gonna go home while Bucky worked some “wingman magic” and Sam started letting out fits of laughter at how THE Captain America was ‘down bad’. 

Finally, after Sam had finally calmed down, he wished him goodbye and headed home.

He had some things to take care of.

________________________________________________________________

As Steve guided his hand up and down his shaft, all he could think about was you.

Your tits, your ass that had ground on his crotch at the club, your red lips around he imagined on his cock. You’d probably use your skilled hands as well, not being able to fit his entire member into your mouth. 

Steve’s thoughts didn’t stop there.

He thought about how your hips moved while in the private dance room. He thought about how although you were undeniably sexy, you were also so kind to him, once in a while asking if everything was okay and if he wanted anything else from you. He thought about how you simply smiled and let out your angelic laugh as Steve fumbled and stuttered, simply putting your hands over his and telling him everything was okay and he could sit back and relax, not having to take charge after a long day of commanding people. The light pink color of your lingerie was so beautifully innocent as your body moved lewdly in contrast. And he loved it.

Steve came with a shout to the image ingrained in his mind.

________________________________________________________________

A few minutes after Steve had cleaned up and taken a much needed cold shower, he received a call from Bucky.

“You’re right,” Bucky’s voice spoke through the phone. “Two drops of that Asgardian shit and she was completely mentally clocked out. Told me everything about your girl.” 

As Bucky told Steve your name, Steve tried it out on his tongue for himself.

“Also told me a little bit of a little side job they got goin on. Your girl’s a bit of a criminal, Stevie. Sure you still want her?”

“I’m sure she has her reasons.”

“Well you’re right in that actually. According to...Bella-yeah I think that’s her name-,” Bucky recounted. “They steal from people to pay for rent and art school. And I just so happened to tell her about some skeevy old timer government worker who happened to be loaded from scamming low income taxpayers. Who also happens to live at your address.”

“Wait, you want her to rob me?!” Steve exclaimed.

“Will you just let me finish?” Bucky took Steve’s silence as an opportunity to continue. “I told Bella no one would be home while your girl does the job, but obviously you’ll be home so she can’t get away. She’s literally coming to you on a silver platter pal. Could it get any better than that?”

Steve took a moment to consider the situation before replying. “You’re right. Thanks pal. I really owe you one.”

Bucky chuckled. “Well I got one hell of a blow job so I’ll say we’re almost even. Anyway, she’ll be comin in a week, so that’ll give you plenty of time to prepare.”

_______________________________________________________________

You awoke slowly to sunlight streaming through your apartment window, your bed feeling more comfortable than usual, and a warm arm wrapped around your-

What the hell?

Your body thrashed as you jolted awake and flung yourself away from the body next to you in the bed that very much wasn’t yours in the apartment that was always not yours. Steve Rogers just sat up on his elbows and gave a groggy smile at your frazzled state.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.”

You recalled your memory, trying to see if this was some sort of drunken hookup, and it all came back to you. The heist, him coming home early.

“Didn’t mother ever tell you stealing is wrong?” were the words he had said before he had grabbed your hair in an iron grip and smashed your head on the near coffee table. Everything was black after that.

“Oh my God...you,” you began to back away from him.

“I what, sweetheart?” he mused. “Last time I checked, this is my apartment, and you were the one breaking and entering.”

You scrambled backwards off the bed, but just as you were about to reach the bedroom door, something cold and hard pulled against your ankle causing you to topple face first onto his carpet. Turning your head, you observed a metal cuff secured around your ankle with a chain leading back to the foot of the bed. 

Steve used the time you took panicking and hyperventilating to get out of bed and leisurely stretch his arms as if this was a normal occurrence. He approached you cautiously as if you were a wild animal and bent down to softly cup your face with a large hand.

“It’s okay, doll, I didn’t hurt you. Just let you sleep a bit before I caught you up to speed today.”

“Did- did you…,” you sniffled at the thought of what that man could’ve done to you while you slept.

“No. God no!” You nerves calmed a little bit as you were reassured that America’s hero was still the gentlemanly golden boy you met at the club. That was before he tilted your chin to meet his sinister gaze. “I wanted our first time to be while you were awake.”

Your heart dropped. This man was crazy.

You began to frantically yank at the chain on your ankle and your breathing became shorter.

“Hey. Hey! Stop it!” he urged before grabbing both of your hands and holding them in a steel grip. “Listen. I know this is all..new...but you need me. And I need you. When I saw you at the club, you were just so perfect. You’re not like those other women. You don’t belong there. You don’t belong in this life. I can take care of you. I will take care of you.” A tear slipped from your eye at his words but he just brushed it away with his thumb and continued. “You just don’t understand yet. When I saw you, I just knew you were meant for me. You’re perfect, doll.”

All you did was stare at him in disbelief and mutter, “You’re crazy.”

He went to soothe you again and brush a lock of hair away from your face, but you thrashed and said it louder.

“You’re crazy, you’re fucking crazy!”

“Doll, you don’t understand. I love you. And you’ll love me. I promise just give it some time and-”

“No you’re deranged. You’re FUCKING DELIRIOUS!!” you screech as your hand shot out and slapped him across the cheek.

The room went dead silent. You froze, and so did he. You had just slapped Steve Rogers across the face. You slapped the pure muscle mass six foot super soldier and called him delirious, and he looked hurt. His face was painted with a heartbroken look of regret, disbelief, and sorrow. But not from the slap. It’s like your words had hit him like a ten-ton truck, and for a second you saw doubt flicker across his eyes as if realizing that everything he imagined was in his head. And in that doubt was your hope. Your hope that this man would come to his senses and let you go.

“Steve...please, you have to realize this is wrong,” you said softly as he gave you a broken look. In that look you saw the scrawny kid from Brooklyn in the 1940s who only knew rejection, and your heart broke just a little bit. “What you’re feeling...it isn’t love.”

All of a sudden his demeanor changed. Any doubt in his eyes was wiped away in a nanosecond and replaced by a fierce look of determination. His face contorted into a snarl as he yanked you up with him by your hair and spun you around to press your front against the well.

“You dumb bitch,” he growled into your ear. “You think you don't need me when you’re a pathetic thief who whores herself out every night.”

You writhed in his hold but he just gripped your hair harder and let out a breathy laugh.

“You know...for someone like you to stoop so low as to work at that club...it makes me think. You wanna be treated like a whore?” he seethed. “Fine. I’ll treat you like a whore.”

a/n: don’t worry I don’t think working at a strip club is “low” at all. just some classic sexist bs from our good old 1940′s fav

[crescentsteel]

When in Brazil - Sunshine

pairing: Hinata x f!reader genre: SMUT wc: 6.6k warnings: fingering, oral, body worship, praise kink, hinata with big dik

[a/n]

I said to myself, lets make this quick and short. lol yea sure

No beta. This is Spartaaaaa 

My brain went bzzt bzzt after this. 

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist for this mini series

Beach || masterlist

  “Are there any more deliveries for me, y/n?” The ginger asks while beaming at you like he hasn’t been delivering orders under the heat of the sun across Rio the whole afternoon. 

“We’re all good, Shoyo.” You smile back. He’s such an earnest part-timer that your mood just lifts up whenever you see him. You rarely find anyone like him. Even though he’s just delivering orders for the diner, he’s so dedicated to it. He’s not like one of your previous delivery guys who grumbles before and after work as if they’re not getting paid. Shoyo is different. His eyes are full of life, full of purpose.

You like seeing him around because his sincerity and politeness makes you feel like you’re not just some dumb waitress in some small diner. Aside from pleasing to talk to, he’s also pleasing to look at. He’s like a cute boy-next-door kind of guy.

“I’ll be going ahead then!”

“Wait!” He turns around with an inquisitive look on his face. You want to keep him around longer for tonight. It’s been a rough day for you and you could use some sunshine. “Actually, I’d appreciate some help closing up. I’ll serve you something for dinner in return.” His face brightens up at your request. There it is. Mr. Sunshine, indeed. 

“Sure, y/n! Just tell me what to do.” 

He’s an efficient help to have. What you usually do in 40 minutes or so was done in just 20. 

“Wow, I should ask you to help out more often,” you say jokingly. “No problem, y/n! I can help out after deliveries.” 

You wave your hand frantically. “Oh no no no. I was just kidding, Shoyo. I can’t always give you dinner. The owner would notice when we do inventory.” You laugh apprehensively.

“You don’t have to! I don’t mind staying for a few minutes to help out after deliveries.”

You stare at him with an appreciative smile on your face. Bless his pure heart. Boys in Brazil could learn from him. “Alright. I’ll be in the kitchen to prepare your food real quick.”

He seats himself in one of the vacant lounges, grinning at you as you enter the kitchen. Since it was just him, you get it done in ten minutes or less. When you get out of the tiny room, he’s like a puppy salivating at the tray you’re holding. 

“Here you go, sir.” You jokingly say.

He doesn’t respond as his eyes twinkle at the food you laid out in front of him. Poor Shoyo. He must have been starving or maybe he’s just glad for the free food.

You decide to clean up the kitchen and the counter while you wait for him to finish, but he ate so fast that he’s done before you are. 

When he sees you still occupied, he takes it upon himself to get his used cutleries and wash it. He easily finds where to put them and he even wipes the table he sat on. If ever he asks you for another job, you’d instantly recommend him to the owner to replace one of the staff who’s basically a sloth. 

You two almost finish at the same time. 

“Thank you so much for the dinner, y/n.” He bows. You’re thrown off at first, but you remember that he’s from Japan. 

“Thank you, Shoyo. Seriously. The help is nothing compared to the food.” You get out of the cashier and get your bag. You remove your apron and shove it there before leading him out of the diner as you lock it up. 

“I’ll walk you home, y/n.” 

You wave your hand dismissively. He’s done so much already. “No, it’s fine. You must be tired.” 

He shakes his head in disagreement. “Not really! I wanna walk a bit too, but if you’re uncomfortable with it, I-”

“It’s okay!” You interrupt him. You do appreciate it if he’d accompany you home. You just thought he’s doing it to be kind and polite. “It’d be nice to chat with someone on the way home.” You tell him. He keeps his bicycle at his right while you’re at his left. 

Even as the night is fully settled in, Shoyo’s energy is still soaring as he narrates why he’s here in Rio. No wonder his eyes are always gleaming vividly. He wants to accomplish something badly that he traveled halfway across the world in a foreign country. And as you get sucked in his story, you don’t notice you’re at your apartment already. 

“I live right here. Do you wanna come in for tea or beer or whatever?” You invite him, wanting to hear more of his Volleyball journey. He seems glad from your invitation. Maybe he wanted someone to talk about it too.

“I’m okay with just water.”

You open your door and hold it out open for him. “You sure?”

He nods sprightly which makes you smile at the pure innocence he exudes. He eyes your whole place when he gets inside. “Wow. You live all alone, y/n?”

“Uh huh. I don’t like having roommates.”

“I think I’d get more homesick if I lived all alone,” he remarks.

From being awed, you begin to feel bad for him. It must be really tough to be so far away. “Well, you can always come here if you feel like talking or stuff,” you offer earnestly. You don’t mind him visiting every now and then. He’s such a positive energy amongst the dread of your everyday routine that’s constantly draining you. Also, You can’t imagine him being one of those guys who just hang out to get a slice of action. 

Since then, he frequently came over. 

On the days when he had deliveries for your diner, he’d help you close up. Instead of getting him dinner from the small diner, you two would get something on the way to your apartment or you’d fix him a quick meal when you get there.

He’s a comfortable company. Because he’s quite the talker, he never runs out of things to say. He not only talks about his life in Japan, but also here in Rio. You practically know all his friends here just from his stories.

“Didn’t they say anything when you wanted to leave?” You prod when he opened up missing his family. “They did, but they still pushed me to do it. They know what’s it for, and they know I’ll be back.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

A soft blush surfaces on his cheeks as he chuckles nervously. “I don’t have one.”

“Oh? Who’s the cute girl in your wallpaper then?” You’ve seen it several times when he looks at the time with his phone.

“She’s our Volleyball manager and a really good friend,” he explains as he gets his phone to show you something. “She’s been with the team since I was a first year.” He shows you a photo of him, a black-haired guy who’s probably Kageyama, and the cute blonde girl. 

Your attention all goes to him, his innocent beam at the camera while his arms are sprawled in the air. “Oh my God,” you exclaim while staring at the photo.

“You were so skinny!”

You look back and forth from the screen of his phone to him, comparing how he looked like then and how he looks like now. You pull your chair closer to him so you can scrutinize him more. He looked so young and pure back then. Literally, just a kid.  

“Wow.”

You gape at him, marveling at how his features have changed so much. Even if he still has that baby face, his face has definitely gained structure. And the scrawny boy in the photo? You can’t find that anymore with the Shoyo in front of you right now. He even has a nice tan going on that suits him so well. 

Without thinking, your hands fly to his shoulders to grasp the muscle he’s built after high school, squeezing them firmly before trailing down to his well-defined chest. Damn, he really put some nice work to achieve this. You drag your hands down to see how his abs are and holy crap, he’s fucking lean. 

Your gaze drops further just below where your hands are and see a faint outline of what he’s hiding beneath his shorts. 

“Ah!”

You immediately remove your hands off of him and raise your palms in mid air. “I’m so sorry! That was so perv- I mean rude of me to do that all of a sudden.” You apologize in a panicked tone, hoping that he didn’t think you were being handsy, even if you really were. 

“I was just amazed because you looked so different from the photo and uh..” you laugh to make up for the missing excuses you were supposed to say. 

He laughs with you, a timid smile gracing his face.

“It’s okay, y/n. You can continue touching me if you want.”

You squirm as you put your hands to your lap, clutching your shorts from the sudden thick air that engulfs the room. He sounded harmless. Even his face is his usual good-natured facade. But those words meant something else to you, an invitation to touch him more.

You let out a tense tither before turning to him. “No no! Haha. I’m fine. It was just on impulse.”

In an attempt to hide the awkwardness, you gather his used dishes and cutleries. “Let me get these washed up.” You stand up and hurriedly get to the sink. 

What was that weird sexual tension? That over there in your dining table is just your nice delivery boy, Shoyo. You’re nothing but co-workers who are just friendly to each other.

You let the cold water run on your fingers and wrists while you wash the dishes. You need to get back to him composed and cooled off. You want your relationship as it is now. You don’t want to feel awkward and bothered.

So what if you just realized that he’s hot and nice and completely alone with you?

“Do you need help with anything, y/n?

You yelp at the sound of his voice so close behind you. You can feel his warm breath fanning your neck and his body hovering at your back. He’s barely pressing against your back but you can already feel the ends of your hairs prickling your skin. 

“Wah! Why are you having goosebumps, y/n? Are you cold??”

“Yeah. It is a bit windy tonight.” You lie with a tense chuckle as you hasten your task so you could escape the situation. To worsen things for you, he places both hands on your bare shoulders and caresses them up and down to create heat. 

“I hope this is warm enough,” he says concernedly. 

It’s more than just warm. He’s supposed to create friction by rubbing your shoulders, but he’s skimming so gently on your skin that it’s fueling a different kind of heat stemming from your core from the supposed friendly gesture he’s doing to you. You fight off the urge to clench your thighs together for he might notice it since he’s just a hair away behind you. 

You saw him as a nice guy but his hands are making you feel otherwise. You had to bite your lower lip to suppress a whimper that was at the tip of your tongue. You can pass it off as a groan of relief, but with your current state, it might sound sexual. Since when were you this sensitive?

“Do you want me to prepare your green tea?” he kindly offers. 

“Yes, please,” you answer weakly. 

He takes his hands off you and gets you your green tea as he suggested to. You breathe a sigh of relief when he leaves. You feel like you’re about to break from how heavy his sexual pull is on you. Is he even aware? 

You dry your hands and saunter back to your dining table to take a seat and give your legs a break. Shoyo places the cup of tea in front of you and sits beside you. 

“Why do you always drink that, y/n? It doesn’t taste good.” 

“It’s to help me lose weight.” You draw the cup to your lips and take a sip. 

“Ehh? But you already look hot as you are.”

You almost choked on your tea from what he just said. You weren’t expecting such an adjective from him. With trembling fingers, you return the cup to the table. “You okay, y/n?” He asks worriedly. 

You clear your throat. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He can’t help but notice that you’ve been on the edge since you felt him up. He believes that you did it with no malicious intent, so he really didn’t mind. He knows that all you think of him is a good help to the diner. That’s why you comfortably invited him to your home, but he can see right now that he’s made you uncomfortable for some reason.

Maybe you’re really embarrassed with what just happened even if he did say it was fine. He really was okay with you touching him, even if it was something more than just touching. But it’s not like you see him like that.

He likes you a lot, so he should just go so he doesn’t make you any more uneasy. “It’s getting late, so I’ll go now, y/n.” 

When he stands up, you immediately follow. “Oh? Already?” You ask with a hint of disappointment in your voice, which makes him a bit confused. Did you not want him to? 

“Do you want me to stay for a bit longer?”

You look at him hesitantly before shaking your head. He smiles amicably at you for the usual hospitality you’ve given him. “Thanks for the dinner, y/n.” He looks at the time and heads for the door. 

“Shoyo!”

He shifts his body to your direction while he waits for what you’re going to say “I- uhhh. Sorry about a while ago.”

He strides back to where you are and grabs your hand, slowly leading it to his chest with a faint grin playing on the corners of his lips. “It really is okay, y/n.” When your palm lands on his pecs, you just let it stay in one spot as you look at him differently than usual. You regard him with doe eyes gleaming with baffled curiosity.

With his grip still on your wrist, he does the work for you and guides your hand down to where you touched him just a while ago. Your line of sight follows your hand while his is completely focused on you, anticipating your reaction if you’re satisfied with just this.

He lets go of your wrist, allowing you to do as you please. You raise your gaze to meet his, your eyes asking him for permission.

“I really don’t mind, y/n.” 

Your other hand goes to his bicep, firmly grasping it before you take one step closer to him. Both 

your hands travel to his midsection, the feel of your delicate caress making his thoughts not as friendly as it used to be. Especially with how impressed you look with your hands all over him.

“Can I touch you too?” He blurts out without thinking. 

He instantly regrets it when he sees the surprised look on your face as you pull your hands away.

“No! I didn’t mean t-“

You silence him instantly by putting a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t say anything,” you mutter as you usher his one hand to your waist.

You remove your hand from his mouth and use it to lead his other hand on your neck. You don’t know what you’re doing. You keep your eyes on his neck while he languidly roams his left hand on the small of your back until his arm is wrapped around you. He doesn’t move his right hand away from your neck. He only strokes it tenderly with his thumb. 

“Y/n.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you raise your gaze to him. “Can we do more than just touching?”

Instead of answering him, you yield to the heavy sensual pull that you’ve been trying to ignore earlier. You slowly reach for his lips, wanting to gradually settle yourself in the present situation.

But when your lips touched his, he didn’t share the same idea you had as he wastes no time exploring your mouth with his. All the hesitation he had is gone with his hand dropping down to your ass to give it a firm squeeze which draws you even closer to him, letting you feel his erection against your core. 

He doesn’t take his mouth off of yours as he leads you to the dining table, taking both of your ass cheeks in his hands and carrying your weight as he guides you to sit at the edge of the table. 

When you’re comfortably seated, he tugs the flank of your shirt and hurriedly takes it off you. You want to look at him to see what he looks like when he’s not being the nice Shoyo you used to see him as. But he gets back to your mouth in just a second, sticking his tongue out to let it wander inside your warm cavern. 

His hands immediately find the clasp of your bra and unhooks it with ease. That’s when he pulled away. His eyes are glued to your body as he removes the undergarment slowly, as if he’s unwrapping his gift with the slow reveal of your breasts.

His eyes glimmer with delight when he completely slides the clothing off your arms. It kinda makes you conscious with the way he’s staring at you, like his eyes are burning through your skin. You use one arm to cover your boobs, but he instantly sees through your plan. 

As soon as you lift your arm, soft panic sets off in his eyes. He immediately grips your wrist and slams your hand against the table.

“Don’t!” 

“But you were staring too much.”

His gaze drops down again to your unclad breasts with reverence. “Cause you’re pretty.” He leans down on you again, his plush lips just within an easy reach from yours. “So pretty that I can’t stop staring.” 

You expect him to kiss you again, but his mouth latches on your jaw instead, nipping the sensitive skin beneath it. A soft sigh comes out of your already parted lips while his palms trace the length of both your arms up to your shoulders. He kisses his way down to your collar bones, savoring any skin that his lips graze upon until he reaches one soft mound. 

His hands follow the trails of his lips, one finding its way on the curve of your hip while the other stops on your breast where his mouth isn’t latched onto.

He delivers sloppy kisses, sucking on your perk nipple and swirling his tongue on it like it was a treat. The other bud isn’t left out as he plays with it, tweaking it between his thumb and index finger. 

Your breathing starts to become shallow from the surge of desire spreading throughout your body. 

He cups both sides of your boobs and pushes them together before he continues on, letting his tongue toy with your nipples almost simultaneously. He’s so into it that his teeth accidentally scrape one bud.

“Ah!”

He immediately stops and looks at you apologetically, misunderstanding the moan that came from you.

“Sorry...”

“No. It felt good,” you feebly tell him.

His eyes brighten up and gets back to what he’s doing. He takes the hard bud in between his teeth, tugging it lightly as he looks up to you, his orbs eager for your approval. It spurs you on even more. You give him one nod as you feel your cunt throbbing from how your arousal is heightening by the minute. 

“Shoyo,” you call him weakly which he didn’t seem to hear. 

He lets go of your breasts and licks his way down right on top of your shorts, leaving a trail of saliva on your skin. He unbuttons your shorts, the sound of your zipper being rolled down letting you know what he’s planning. 

“Shoyo.” You call out louder this time, causing his hand to rest on your groin. “Let’s go to my room already.” You expect him to be glad, but he frowns. “But I want to taste you already. Please, y/n? I want to eat you out here.”

Your legs quiver from how much he wants you, his eagerness affecting you as you yourself get impatient and wonder how his tongue would feel on your pussy. 

“Do it.” He smiles at your approval as you lift your ass off the table to help him get your shorts off. You aren’t surprised that he tugs your underwear together with it as he peels it off you. You’re starting to get an idea how he is at bed - impatient, excitable, and eager to please.

A subtly smirk tugs up your lips when you realize you’re in for a fun night. 

He doesn’t notice it though. He takes a step back to relish the vision that you are. His eyes are completely focused on your bare body with keen hunger as he traces every curve in sight. You indulge him a bit by spreading your legs apart for him to see.

“Wow.”

His eyes don’t leave your cunt while he drags the chair he’s previously sitting on. He spreads your legs even further as he sits down. He places his thumbs on your inner thighs, gently caressing them before he stripes one thumb on your slit.

“You’re so wet, y/n,” he says right before dipping down and tracing his tongue where his thumb just did earlier. He continues doing so, licking up and down the length of your opening as you lean your head back to enjoy what he’s giving you. He eagerly slurps on your juices, lapping on your slit with his hot tongue.

He uses his thumbs to spread your folds that surround your clit, exposing the swollen bud for him to taste. When he gives it a delicate, languid lick, your one hand frantically grips his hair. He takes it up a notch and inserts his middle finger inside .

“Haaa,” you moan out loud which urges him on even more. He pumps his finger inside you, gradually picking up the pace when you start squirming within his hold. 

“Another,” you tell him breathlessly.

“Another what?” He asks cluelessly while his mouth continues ravaging your clit. “Add another finger,” you answer to which he complies immediately. He stretches you even more with the addition of one thick, calloused finger inside.

He looks up at you, parting his mouth away from your pussy to show you his two digits that are half inside you. “Like this?” 

You nod. “Yeah. Like,” He suddenly shoves the two fingers knuckles deep into you. “thathnnnnggg.” You clutch his hair tighter while your mouth gapes at the instant fullness you feel down in your center. His eyes don't leave your face anymore as he latches his mouth back on your hardened clit. 

You’re whining while grinding on his face, getting wetter even as he relentlessly drinks your lewd essence. He loves the look on your face, blissed out and completely lost in the moment. He loves how you keep trying to close your legs together even with his arm not allowing you to do so. He loves the desire glimmering clearly in your eyes as you meet his gaze while he feasts on your pussy. 

He already got aroused the first time you touched him. Seeing you unravel before him gets his cock throbbing painfully within his shorts. He’s so tempted to remove his arm and let you crush him between your thighs so he can palm his cock.

He doesn’t even know if you’d let him go any further than this. What if after you cum you change your mind and ask him to go home? There wouldn’t be anything wrong with that. He’ll just replay the scene before him as he jacks off in his own room. 

His one hand goes inside his shorts and takes out his cock, causing your thigh to waver without his support. He grasps the base of his dick, squeezing it firmly, easily distracting himself with his own pleasure as he moans in your cunt. 

You immediately notice. You see him firmly gripping his member, pumping it steadily up and down with eyes closed as he slows down his ministrations with you. You cup his face, forcing him to open his eyes and look at you again. “Stop fucking yourself. I’ll do it with my mouth after you make me cum.”

He stops like you asked him to. “Really?” His eyes pleading with lust to uphold your erotic promise. “Yeah. So make cum already,” you brazenly order him. He tucks his cock back in his shorts right away, using his arm once again to spread you wide. His mouth, lips, and fingers pick up the pace, thrusting swiftly in and out of your while flicking and sucking at your clit.

“Ooohhh fuck.” You claw on your wooden table from the rapid build up of pleasure. You can feel the heat in your groin, spreading quickly through your body. “Yes, yesss. Don’t stop,” you mindlessly whine. Everything he’s doing is pushing you further to your release - the friction and fullness provided by his fingers and the wild strokes of his tongue on your clit. He suddenly curves his fingers, hitting just the right spot that blurred your vision from how good it feels. 

“Cumming... am cumming, Shoyo!!” You trash helplessly on his face as the pleasure floods your senses, but he doesn’t stop. He only slows down, matching your post-orgasm state as you come down from your high. 

You tug his hair up while panting to catch your breath. “Come here.” He stands up and you reach for the back of his head to cover his mouth with yours, tasting your own fluids in his lips. “Help me get down,” you whisper to him. 

He effortlessly grabs the back of your thighs to get you to stand again. Once your feet reach the floor, you release his lips and drag him to your room. 

Once inside, you lock lips with him again as you scurry towards your bed. You get him to lie down as you straddle him, your wetness rubbing on the bulge of his shorts. You hurriedly remove his clothes, itching to see the delicious muscles you touched only with his shirt on. He helps you as he tugs down his shorts and underwear, his last piece of clothing thrown somewhere on the floor. 

You bite your lower lip as your eyes roam on his body. He should thank beach volleyball for the tan and the jaw-dropping build. Your gaze falls on his naked bulge that you saw a glimpse of earlier. Damn. You weren’t seeing things earlier. He really is packing down there. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks with a worried look, returning your gaze back at him. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s,” Your eyes get distracted with how he gulps, your gaze lingering down again on his gorgeous chest. “..fine.”  

You return the favor, starting on his neck. You plant your arms on his shoulder as you move your hips up, resting your cunt on his toned abs. You deliver soft kisses on the delicate skin of his neck, letting your tongue sneak a few licks as you go down on him until his cock is within the reach of your mouth. 

You position yourself in between his legs as you grip his shaft. His hips lift up from the contact. You watch his reactions as you start to drag your palm around his member up and down. He’s already heaving with lips parted as he takes the pleasure you’re giving him with eyes closed. You find it cute - how he’s this sensitive when you’re barely done anything yet. 

You gather your spit and let it drool at his cock, the translucent liquid glazing the tip down to the base. You trace his length with your index finger, from the tiny slit of his tip down to his balls. You go back up to the head of his cock, but you do it with your tongue instead of your finger. 

You peek at him again. He’s semi sitting up with his elbows on the cushion as he glues his eyes on your tongue on his dick. You grip him again, tighter this time before pressing one digit firmly on his tip. He throws his head back from the pressure and you use that chance to take his thick girth in your mouth

His thighs tremble as he lets out a euphoric moan while you sink lower and lower on his dick. “Your mouth -aahhh so gooood.” 

He really likes you and thinks you’re fun to talk to, but sometimes he’d catch himself fantasizing about you when he gets home and ends up masturbating at the thought of you sucking him off. But his right hand doesn’t even compare to the actual warmth of your lips wrapped around his dick at present.

He keeps his eyes on you, which is a bad idea for him since it’s only quickening the pleasure that was boiling at the pit of his stomach. But he can’t help but stare at you. You look so good, so pretty, with your ass up as you suck him even faster.

He can feel his cum threatening to explode already. He feels so lame, but your mouth just feels so magnificent that he can’t hold it in any further. “Stop, y/n. Please~ aah ahhh gonna cum already.” He doesn’t want you to be disappointed with him, but it’s as if you didn’t hear him. You even go deeper while quickening your pace.

He gives in to it, gripping your hair as the peak of his pleasure takes over. He expects you to pull away, but you continue sucking, letting him shoot his load at the back of your throat. 

You take all of it, swallowing every drop he let out in your mouth. You did hear him say stop, but the lascivious delight on his face contradicted his words. You had to let him finish even if that meant you won’t get to feel how his cock feels inside your already sopping pussy. 

You sit up as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. As for Shoyo, he covers his eyes with his forearm while he pants. You start to get up and head for your drawers when you feel him grab your wrist before you can even leave the bed

“Where are you going?” He asks. 

“To get dressed.”

“But we’re not done yet?”

You appreciate the thought. He really is such a generous guy, but.. “It’s fine, Shoyo. You don’t have to force it. You’re already soft??” Your statement becomes a question when you see his arousal still erect. 

You don’t know whether to be amused or amazed at that, so you end up staring dumbfounded at him who’s still lying on his back.

He grins at you as he sits up straight and goes for your lips. It wasn’t soft and gentle like you expect from someone who just came. He seems even hungrier, more eager for you. 

He guides your hand to his shaft, confirming that he’s hard and ready to continue with what you have in mind. You smile into the kiss, curious and excited as to how he feels inside your pussy. Horny as you are, you throw yourself at him which causes him to lie back down again with you on top of him. 

As your tongues clash against one another, you rub your moist slit against his erection, teasing both yourself and him while doing so. He’s groaning in your mouth while he keeps one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly gripping your waist. “Y/n, can I put in already?” He asks with hazy eyes even though his hand on your waist goes down to his cock and aligns it on your folds.

“Mmm, wait.” You lift yourself off of him and reach for your purse that was hanging on one of the metal bed frames. You quickly get a condom and throw your purse somewhere. You tear the packet and remove his hand from his shaft to unroll the rubber on it while he watches. You take over his previous attempt and position the tip on your entrance. You place a palm on his stomach to anchor yourself as you lower yourself on him. 

He stares at you mesmerized while you wince from how his cock is spreading you open. You ball your fist that was still on his abdomen, trying to get used to the discomfort even if he’s still not fully inside you. He recovers first and glances back on how you’re doing. 

“Shoyo, you’re-ughhh-big,” you tell him with a pained expression. “I- I am?” He asks with pink streak surfacing on his cheeks, flattered from what you said. You nod while sinking lower until you finally cover the last inch, taking him entirely inside you.

He whips his head back on to the pillow with his cock completely sheathed inside the tight warmth of your pussy. He thought your mouth was already marvelous, but the way your walls deliciously envelop his cock is way beyond his wet dreams. 

Your hand joins the other, supporting yourself as you slowly lift your hips up and descend back down with the same agonizing tempo. While you adjust to his size, he keeps his eyes on his cock disappearing each bob of your hip. 

From your pussy, he rakes his eyes up to your naked body glimmering with sweat. You look so beautiful with your eyes shut, gaping lips, and tits bouncing altogether as you speed up. “You look so fucking pretty, y/n.” Your eyes flutter open from the unexpected vulgarity he uttered. It wasn’t like him, but it wasn’t forced either. He regards you with lust swimming in his orbs, the courteous friendship you two have totally erased as of this moment. 

You still for a second before you remove your hands off him and place them on his thighs as you lean back. You spread your thighs and plant the soles of your feet on your bed. You see his eyes widen because of the view. Rather bouncing up and down, you gyrate on his cock. It’s supposed to be a show for him, but with his size, you feel his cock gloriously scrape your insides with the circular movement of your hips. 

“Shit!” You curse before you close your eyes again as you start grinding on him. You don’t start slow this time. You impatiently roll your hips against his, driving his cock deep inside you each plunge. You didn’t think it would get any better than this until you feel his thumb on your neglected cit.

“Oh ffffuuuck.” You can’t even open your eyes anymore while his two fingers replace his thumb and rub the sensitive bud frantically. You could feel the pleasure escalating faster and faster with every salacious thrust of your hip and his every flick of your clit..

“Are you gonna cum, y/n?” You hear him ask. 

“Yesss. Am gonna cuuuuuummmm.” You clutched his legs tighter when your orgasm hits, your vision blurry when you open your eyes as you ride it out. He pulls your panting self to his chest and tenderly caresses your back.

He sweeps your hair behind your ear and whispers. “Did that feel nice?” 

You nod weakly. “Did you cum?” You ask in return. You were so occupied in your own pleasure that you lost awareness of his. He chuckles lowly. “No.”

“Oh..” You lift yourself up a bit to meet his gaze and apologize. 

“Why are you saying sorry? We aren’t done yet.”

What he said as a question earlier became a statement. Something changed in his eyes, a spark of determination that isn’t there earlier.

“Let’s just continue next time, Shoyo. I’m kind of tired,” you explain.

“There’s a next time?!” His eyes shine with enthusiasm which makes you laugh softly.

“Sure. Why not?” You lift your hips up but his hands quickly go down your ass and crash you back down, shoving his dick back in you hard and deep.

“Gaah!” 

“Thanks, y/n. But don’t worry about being tired. I’ll move instead,” he hums on your ear as he spreads your ass cheeks and pummels his cock wildly into your sensitive pussy.

You moan on his neck at the savage pace he starts with. “Shoyo, pleaseee. Sloweer mmmmm.”

“But why?” He whines. You can’t answer with how ferociously he’s rutting against you, his dick consistent with its swift thrusts. “Shit, your pussy feels amazing. So good, fuck.” His crude words of praise fan your pleasure that was rapidly filling your senses again. 

He rams your hips down to meet one sharp thrust. You gasp from how deep his cock went inside you. “Aaah!” 

“Do I make you feel good, y/n?”

You nod weakly as you grind slowly on his cock, desperate to chase your pleasure but too tired from your earlier stunt.

“Please, move,” you whisper with exhaustion.

“Tell me first. I want to hear it,” he demands.

“Too good, Shoyo. Your cock feels too good. So please, fuck me again already,” you shamelessly beg as his cock throbs inside you. 

Instead of granting your plea, he takes his cock out and pulls you to lie underneath him. He parts your legs apart for him and jams his dick right back inside. That’s when he indulges you, thrusting his size in and out of you at an unforgiving pace. 

He leans down on you, intertwining his fingers with yours as he pins both your hands on the bed. “Do you like this, y/n?” 

“I love it. Please please pleaaaaseee. Don’t stop mmmmmm,” you babble messily as your impending orgasm overwhelms you.

He clumsily kisses you, his teeth grazing your lips as slips his tongue in before covering his mouth with yours. He’s groaning relentlessly on your mouth while drilling his dick in your cunt. “You gonna cum?” 

“Yeaass haaa.” Your moans become louder and louder each thrust. “Gonna cum like this? With-ugh-my cock inside you?”

His obscene words make you writhe beneath him. You arch your back from the intense pleasure. He dips down on one nipple and fervidly sucks it. “Gonna c-aahhhhhhh.” You thrash violently beneath him as your hands clench his to ground yourself from the explosive orgasm that he caused.

“Fuck, yes. Cum on my cock, uhhh. Like that. Shit.”

His thrusts become erratic as he goes after his own orgasm while he milks yours. You hazily open your eyes and watch him chase his high with eyes shut and parted lips, animalistic pleasure taking over his features. He delivers one swift thrust and stays completely still, his dick twitching inside you as he cums.

You both pant heavily with him on top of you.

— 

You open the door for him and bid him goodnight. Your legs feel like crap but you don’t want to just drive him away on his own.

“Thanks for tonight, Shoyo.”

You’re not sure what you’re thanking him for, the company or the sex. Maybe both. 

“Um, y/n?” 

“Yeah?”

“Will there really be a next time?” He asks apprehensively, totally different from his demeanor from your last moments in bed. It’s kinda amusing. You didn’t think he had that in him.

“You’ll still help me close up the diner, right?” You ask meaningfully.

He beams at you. “Of course.”

Beach || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem​ @akaashisslavee @tsumurai  @celestialarchiveshq​ @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @crescenttooru @yashuaaa @liberhoe​

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOUR EMPLOYEES AND INVESTORS WILL CONSTANTLY BE ASKING ARE WE THERE YET

I think I've figured out what's going on. After the first 10 or so we learned to treat deals as background processes that we should ignore till they terminated.1 Don't Get Your Hopes Up. Something hacked together means something that barely solves the problem, the harder it is to bait the hook with prestige. And that is almost certainly mistaken. So one thing that falls just short of the standard, I think, should be the highest goal for the marginal. Big companies think the function of office space is to express rank. As big companies' oligopolies became less secure, they were willing to pay a premium for labor. You can see it in old photos. If you're friends with a lot of the worst kinds of projects are the death of a thousand cuts. And what's especially dangerous is that many happen at your computer.

And the microcomputer business ended up being Apple vs Microsoft. In 1450 it was filled with the kind of turbulent and ambitious people you find now in America. You have to like what they do there than how much they can get the most done. That's not what makes startups worth the trouble. Design This kind of metric would allow us to compare different languages, but that if someone wanted to design a language explicitly to disprove this hyphothesis, they could probably do it. This technique can be generalized to: What's the best thing you could be doing, not just what you can see the results in any town in America. With this amount of money can change a startup's funding situation completely. There I found a copy of The Atlantic. Whereas it's easy to get sucked into working longer than you expected at the money job.2 That's ok. I think you have to do all three. But more importantly, you'll get into the habit of doing things well.

But what if the person in the next 40 years will bring us some wonderful things.3 They all know about the VCs who rejected Google. The writing of essays used to be.4 You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway.5 He improvises: if someone appears in front of him, he runs around them; if someone tries to grab him, he spins out of their grip; he'll even run in the wrong place, anything might happen. The people who've worked for a few months I realized that what I'd been unconsciously hoping to find there was back in the place I'd just left. It was supposed to be something else, they ended up being Apple vs Microsoft. By 2012 that number was 18 years. The first thing you need is to be willing to look like a fool.6 Google they have a fair amount of data to go on. John Malkovich where the nerdy hero encounters a very attractive, sophisticated woman.

Many of the big companies were roll-ups that didn't have clear founders.7 Empirically, the way to the bed and breakfast, and other similar classes of accommodations, you get to hit a few difficult problems over the net at someone, you learn pretty quickly how hard they hit them anyway. Inexperienced founders make the same mistake as the people who list at ABNB, they list elsewhere too I am not negative on this one was the only way to get lots of referrals is to invest in students, not professors. It will actually become a reasonable strategy or a more reasonable strategy to suspect everything new.8 Never say we're passionate or our product is great. Whereas undergraduate admissions seem to be disappointments early on, when they're just a couple guys in an apartment. Programmers at Yahoo wouldn't have asked that.9 Incidentally, this scale might be helpful in deciding what to study in college. VCs think they're playing a zero sum game.

I spend most of my time writing essays lately. Almost everyone's initial plan is broken. If smaller source code is the purpose of comparing languages, because they come closest of any group I know to embodying it. Distracting is, similarly, desirable at the wrong time. But if we make kids work on dull stuff now is so they can get away with atrocious customer service. In fact, here there was a kid playing basketball? Of course, figuring out what you like.

Go out of your way to bring it up e. The industry term here is conversion. Try to keep the sense of wonder you had about programming at age 14. At least if you start a startup, people treat you as if you're unemployed.10 But hacking is like writing. Even with us working to make things happen the way they used to, they were moving to a cheaper apartment. It causes you to work not on what you like, but is disastrously lacking in others. I do in the rest of the world. Their defining quality is probably that they really love to program.

I could only figure out what to do, there's a natural tendency to stop looking.11 Economies of scale ruled the day.12 One is that this is simply the founders' living expenses.13 I need to transfer a file or edit a web page, and I think I know what is meant by readability, and I think they're onto something. Multiply this times several hundred, and I get an uneasy feeling when I look at my bookshelves. You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway.14 Everyday life gives you no practice in this. Startups grow up around universities because universities bring together promising young people and make them work on anything they don't want to want, we consider technological progress good.

Notes

Samuel Johnson said no man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money. Which is precisely my point. If they were regarded as 'just' even after the egalitarian pressures of World War II the tax codes were so new that the guys running Digg are especially sneaky, but except for money. They don't know enough about the new top story.

The image shows us, they tended to make money. But we invest in the Bible is Pride goeth before destruction, and one of the fake leading the fake leading the fake. In No Logo, Naomi Klein says that 15-20% of the aircraft is.

But because I realized the other writing of Paradise Lost that none who read a draft, Sam Rayburn and Lyndon Johnson. If they agreed among themselves never to do due diligence for an investor? The best technique I've found for dealing with the other.

I ordered a large number of startups as they do for a public event, you can ignore. If you want to help the company, and a few of the Facebook that might produce the next Apple, maybe the corp dev is to show growth graphs at either stage, investors decide whether to go to die.

If you walk into a big company CEOs in 2002 was 3.

Or rather, where w is will and d discipline. But that turned out the existing shareholders, including that Florence was then the richest country in the sense of mission.

In Shakespeare's own time, because they can't afford to. The company may not be able to raise their kids in a company in Germany. When we got to see the apples, they said, and why it's next to impossible to write an essay about it wrong. That will in many cases be an open booth.

I'm not saying you should probably be worth trying to tell them exactly what constitutes research in the early 90s when they say they bear no blame for any particular truths you'll learn. As Jeremy Siegel points out that there is undeniably a grim satisfaction in hunting down certain sorts of bugs. Did you know about it as if you'd invested at a discount of 30% means when it was actually a great programmer doesn't merely do the right direction to be is represented by Milton.

But a lot of the next round. It's hard to say exactly what your body is telling you. In Russia they just kill you, they tend to be very unhealthy. One thing that drives most people realize, because you have two choices, choose the harder.

Though Balzac made a lot of classic abstract expressionism is doodling of this essay talks about programmers, but one by one they die and their houses are transformed by developers into McMansions and sold to VPs of Bus Dev. Or rather, where it sometimes causes investors to act. Eric Raymond says the best hackers want to trick admissions officers. And no, unfortunately, I mean efforts to protect widows and orphans from crooked investment schemes; people with a truly feudal economy, you better be sure you do in proper essays.

The top VCs thus have a better education. Or a phone, IM, email, Web, games, books, newspapers, or some vague thing like that. You need to fix. But the question is not much to maintain their percentage.

Kant. Loosely speaking. The real decline seems to them to lose elections. Some types of startups where the recipe is to say incendiary things, they can grow the acquisition offers most successful founders still get rich simply by being energetic and unscrupulous, but they get for free.

World War II to the frightening lies told by older siblings. That's one of the most general truths. As we walked in, we found they used it to get into that because a unless your last funding round.

But this seems an odd idea.

Thanks to Jessica Livingston, Shiro Kawai, Garry Tan, Chris Small, and Nikhil Nirmel for sharing their expertise on this topic.

[morganaspendragonss]

dealing in danger

for the wonderful erin's birthday!!! (@halsteadmarchs) this is literally nothing like your original prompt skdshjkl hence why i made it into a new post but i hope you like it!!!

i did however manage to include the dialogue prompt you requested! 40 - "Hasn't this addiction done enough damage already?" from the angst section of this list

title from can you hear me by anson seabra

ao3 | 1.9k | pre-series, drug addiction, overdose, questionable parenting decisions

TK is not supposed to be hearing this. Not that his parents have ever seemed to care about what he does or doesn’t hear; his entire childhood was spent listening to the harsh whispers that drifted through through the walls and doors of their apartment. He could tune them out, if he chose, but these days the arguments seem to increasingly be about him, and TK thinks he has a right to know about his own life.

Especially when so little of it seems to belong to him anymore.

He’s been living under lock and key ever since he fucked up and accidentally left his stash out in the open a week ago. It was a rookie mistake, but in his defense, he’d been pretty fucking high at the time. Granted, that defense hadn’t gone over particularly well with his mother, but TK thinks it’s a valid excuse. He’d woken up that morning to a pounding headache and a dry mouth and his parents waiting for him on the couch with several baggies of pills in front of them. He’d pretty much been dragged straight to the doctor’s, and he’d only managed to avoid a stint in rehab by some miracle.

Said miracle being, an impassioned plea to his dad and a promise that TK had no intention of keeping to play things by his rules. His mom had tried to object, but TK is an adult, more or less, and he lives with his dad anyway. She can hardly enforce something she’s not around to bear witness to.

Or, at least, that was the theory. In reality, his mom has been here most days, and at least three quarters of those days have featured an argument over their different approaches to this situation.

“You know it will end up worse for him if we force it!” his dad is saying, probably violently gesturing towards TK’s room.

“And if we don’t?” his mom demands, her tone matching his exactly. “Our son has clearly been doing this for long enough that he knows how to hide it from us; what makes you think that you can control it now when you’ve obviously failed to up until now?”

“Oh, that’s rich! TK has two parents, you know!”

“He lives under your roof! He probably did drugs right under your nose; maybe if you were ever home, you would have noticed!”

And so it goes.

It’s the same every time—his parents passing the blame back and forth, ultimately getting nowhere and only really serving to piss each other off more. TK is kind of tired of it, but it’s pretty much the only entertainment he gets these days, so.

He’s kind of just waiting for the day when they realise that things were better before. Back when he was at one friend or another’s house getting high and they never had to bother about keeping an eye on him. No-one could deny that those days had been happier, for all of them.

But, hey, it’s not as if they want TK’s opinion anyway. It’s only his life and all.

“Hasn’t this addiction done enough damage already?”

That’s new. TK sits up straight, ear practically pressed to the door to hear; his dad seems to have finally realised that he can hear their every word, and has adjusted his volume accordingly.

His mom seems just as lost. “What are you talking about, Owen?”

“Have you looked at our son recently?” There’s something hard in his dad’s voice that TK has never heard before, not even when they found out about the drugs, and it takes him aback. “He’s not well.”

“Which is why he needs to be in rehab—”

“Which is why he needs to be with us. Come on, Gwyn, you think this whole thing isn’t our fault?”

TK raises a brow. In reality, the drugs had probably only been a quarter about his parents, if that, but it’s classic Owen Strand to think that the world revolves around him.

“I know that.”

And classic Gwyneth Morgan to agree with him.

“We were never there for him, and now look where we are. You said it yourself—none of us even noticed that he was...what he was doing. It was an accident that we did find out. If we send him away for months, he’s not going to see it as us trying to help him; he’s going to see it as us not wanting to deal with him.

“TK looks bad now, but imagine what time there would do to him. His addiction has already hurt us all enough; now it’s time for us to start managing that. You know I’m right, Gwyn.”

There’s a long pause after his dad has finished speaking before his mother mumbles something that TK takes to be an agreement. He’s not listening now anyway, his father’s words on repeat in his mind.

Hasn’t this addiction done enough damage already?

He’s not well.

...hurt us all enough

He’s right. His dad is right.

TK has hurt his parents enough. And he’s pretty sure that his dad knows he’s already figuring out a plan to go back to the drugs; he’s just choosing to ignore it because he doesn’t want to believe it.

But there’s a simple solution to this, and TK doesn’t know why he didn’t see it before.

He’s the problem, so to fix it, he just needs to not be around.

Simple.

So, that night, TK quietly steals the cash from his dad’s wallet, picks the lock on the apartment door, and creeps out into the night.

*

It’s pathetically easy to not be found if you don’t want to be. TK knows that by now his parents will have gone through every possible channel to find him, but he’s abandoned all his old haunts and used his dad’s money to get as far away from Manhattan as possible. He makes sure to keep outside of the 252’s service area, changes his name, and even buys some hair dye and new clothes to reduce the chances of him being recognised as fair as possible.

He has no money left by the time he feels safe, but that’s okay. There are other ways of paying for what he needs, after all.

TK survives almost two weeks in his new life. He steals food, grabs dropped money, and sleeps on the streets, or sometimes in a bed if that’s what his dealer of choice prefers for that night. It’s obviously nowhere near as comfortable as his old life was, but needs must, and TK knows how to adapt.

Anyway, at least he’s not trapped with his parents and their constant arguing anymore. At least he can get Oxy pretty much when he wants, in exchange for a quick fuck or two. And he knows that he can’t keep this up indefinitely. He knows that, sooner or later, his choices are going to catch up with him.

Thing is, TK gave up on old age a long time ago. Live fast, die young—that’s how it goes, right? It doesn’t sound so bad to him.

Or, it doesn’t, until his mistakes do finally find him again.

That night, he does his usual business, a baggie of pills for him, a blowjob for his dealer, and then it’s over. He’ll be on the streets tonight—apparently his dealer had ‘other matters’ to take care of—but TK doesn’t mind. It’s a balmy night, and alleyways can be surprisingly cosy if you know how to make them so.

Drugs, it turns out, work a treat.

TK doesn’t bother inspecting the pills as he tips them back, dry swallowing one after the other. Even if he had, it’s doubtful that he would have noticed anything off—and, later, he has to wonder if he would have cared if he had.

Slowly, the high begins to wash over him, and TK feels happy. He’s flying, but then it feels like something slams into him, and panic seizes his chest as he crashes back down to earth.

His body isn’t moving—TK can’t move—but he has this swooping sensation in his stomach and dread growing slowly in him. Something is horribly, horribly wrong, but his brain can’t think beyond helpcan’tbreathedyingDAD—

TK twitches and chokes, and then there’s no time for thinking anything as his head drops to his chest and his eyes fall shut.

*

Owen stares down at his son, lying comatose in a hospital bed. It’s only been two weeks since he fled the apartment, but already he looks so different, so much worse. Apart from the dyed hair and the streaks of grime on his face, it’s obvious that he’s lost a horrific amount of weight—weight TK could ill afford to lose.

There are deep purple bags under his eyes and his hair is limp and greasy to the touch. Nevertheless, Owen reaches out anyway, tangling his fingers in the strands as he prays for TK to open his eyes.

Worse, TK’s body is a patchwork of bruises and cuts, some in places that leave little doubt as to what he was doing to pay for the drugs. Owen feels sick to think about it, the idea of his 20-year old son out on the streets, doing...doing...that for something he thought he needed.

Jesus.

The doctors have told them that TK was lucky he was found when he was. Apparently, his dealer had fucked him over, given him much stronger drugs than TK normally took, causing him to overdose. On top of that, they’d been a bad batch, so TK wouldn’t have even had time to go looking for help if he’d known what was happening.

And there’s a thought niggling at Owen. He thought he knew his son, but looking at him now, he realises that he’s never been more wrong. Because Owen wonders whether or not TK would have gone for help if there was time, and he has no idea of the answer.

Heels click behind him, bringing him out of his thoughts. Owen knows what’s coming before Gwyn speaks, but he doesn’t try to stop her.

“Hasn’t this addiction don’t enough damage already?” she parrots, her tone cold and harsh.

Owen sighs. “Gwyn—”

“I accept my role in this, Owen,” she says, marching to stand on the other side of the bed, “but if you had just listened to me before then none of us would even be here. TK might not have been happy at rehab, but he wouldn’t be in a coma after almost dying either.”

“I know.”

“You know,” she scoffs. “Listen to me, Owen. We tried doing this your way, and look how it ended up. If—” Gwyn gasps and breaks off, sudden tears filling her eyes. She turns to look out the window for a moment, blinking hard, but she’s still not quite fully composed when she faces Owen again. “When he wakes up, we’re going to do what we should have done three weeks ago, and we are going to fix this.”

“I know,” Owen repeats, his voice a whisper. Gwyn seems startled by his ready acceptance, but Owen looks at TK’s pale, thin, bruised face, and he realises that a second chance is the last chance they’re going to get.

And he’s not going to lose his son.

[silverarmedassassin]

Clandestine Meetings - One

Actor!Bucky x Reader | Word Count: 2488 | Warnings: None

A/N: Listen, I know I said this would be posted in "about an hour," but I have no self-control and it must be posted NOW.

Sorry for the delay in getting this out! I was having a bit of block. Thank you for reading and, if you feel so inclined, please let me know what you think!❤️ If you want to be tagged, please send me a message or enter your url here!

Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

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It’s 10:30 by the time your boss stumbles into the office. Pepper Potts is usually the embodiment of poised and put together - sleek strawberry blonde hair either falling over her shoulders in beautiful waves or tied in a high ponytail; black pencil skirts and white blouses tucked neatly inside. But not today.

While the ponytail still sits high on her head, dark circles taint her usually smooth, pristine complexion. She’s fisting a to-go mug in one hand and her office mug in the other, already steaming with a fresh round of caffeine.

You hated days like these; mornings after Tony keeps her out late - either business or pleasure, you never know as you prefer not to pry into your bosses’ personal lives - were always interesting, to say the least. Pepper was never mean, and you were almost positive there wasn’t an unkind bone in her body. She was just off. And if she was off, it means you were off, resulting in your job being about one hundred times harder as you often had to play the roles of both assistant and editor.

“Good morning, Ms. Potts,” you finally greet as she sits down at her desk. She’s rummaging through her bag, growing more irritable as the seconds pass. She sighs before stopping to look up at you.

“Y/N, please. It’s been six months. Just call me Pepper.” You internally scoff at the insistence of being anything less than professional towards one of the smartest women you’ve ever encountered in your life, and she turns back to her treasure hunt. “Don’t tell me I left my laptop at home,” she whines to herself as she slumps down into her large executive chair.

You clear your throat as you shuffle forward, computer in hand. “You had me take down to IT to get your files backed up, remember?” you smile as you deposit the device on the cherry-oak desk.

Pepper returns the smile and shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t understand how I functioned before you.” She slides the laptop across the desk and opens it. While she waits for the software to boot up, she starts her typical morning rapid-fire session. “Did I miss any calls before I came in?”

“No, it’s been pretty q-word this morning.” You vowed never to say “quiet” while in the office. It somehow always jinxed your days, resulting in everyone and their mother calling within twenty minutes.

“E-mails?”

“The chef you’ve been in contact with sent over his schedule for the next few months. It’s looking like the best time to meet is early next month if you want to get the feature done in time for the winter edition.” Pepper opens her mouth to fire another question, but you’re one step ahead of her. “I’ve already blocked out a date in your calendar and sent the invite to his team.”

A soft smile graces the woman’s face as she scribbles notes in her daybook. “And what does my schedule look like for today?”

You sort through the mental files that contain minute-to-minute information regarding your boss’s workday. “You’re pretty booked. You have that photoshop with James Barnes at noon, and after-”

“Shit,” Pepper mummers, cutting you off. Panic quickly settles into her features. “Why does Tony do this? Barnes is impossible to book for anything. I can’t miss this….”

“Uh, no, you can’t,” you practically screech as you fix your boss with a wild look. “This photoshoot has been on your schedule since before I even started. And the time you have set up with him next week doesn’t allow for a full interview, photoshoot, and get material for the short online feature.” You try not to let the panic come out in your voice, but this is precisely the kind of incident you were hired to prevent.

Pepper gently closes her laptop and sets her features in a serious look. “Listen, I think you’re doing a great job here, and you’ve grown so much within the few months you’ve been on the team.” You eye her suspiciously, wondering if this was your ‘you’re fired’ speech. If so, it was definitely coming out of left field. “Why don’t you take my place at the shoot today? If Tony hadn’t promised I’d be in attendance for this investor meeting today, I’d have you go to that instead. But,” the blonde sighs deeply before continuing, “Tony has no regard for anyone’s schedule, and this is an important meeting.”

Your stomach drops from the 44th floor you’re currently on down to ground level. You’d never been on a set before, let alone one with someone as big as James. Plus, you’d only been on a handful of mid-sized interviews. How did she expect you to do this by yourself?

“Pepper, I…”

“I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to try and tell me that you’re not ready and that you can’t possibly clear your schedule for the afternoon. But if I didn’t think you were capable of holding your own, you wouldn’t even be sitting here with ‘assistant editor’ in front of your name. You have the skillset; you just need to show that you can use it. I know you don’t want to be an assistant forever.”

You anxiously bite your lip, feelings of inadequacy and anxiousness filling your senses.

“I don’t even know this James guy…” you say, defeated.

“Well, the car doesn’t arrive for another,” she looks down at her phone, “forty-five minutes. You better get reading.”

“We really need to bring you into the twenty-first century,” Natasha, Bucky’s manager, says as the first notes of My Funny Valentine start dancing through today’s set.

Following the too-bright flash of the camera, Bucky blinks the starbursts out of his eyes and tries to set the redhead with as stern of a look as possible. “Don’t you dare diss Mr. Sinatra. He’s a classic. A legend!” He watches as a stylist runs up and begins fussing with his hair.

Natasha just rolls her eyes and goes back to scrolling through her phone. As much as she acts annoyed with him - and his insistence of having at least two dozen 40’s songs on every photoshoot playlist - he knew she wouldn’t trade him for the world. They had a long history pre-dating the entertainment industry, and she was damn good at her job. If it wasn’t for Nat, Bucky’s not sure his current agency would have even signed him.

As the stylist finishes up her poking and prodding, the photographer - who Bucky has already forgotten the name of - begins shouting out directions from behind the camera. Pose this way. Turn that way. Make it look like you want to be here. It takes everything in Bucky not to grimace - both at the consistent reconfiguring he has to do to his body and the loud rumble that echoes through his stomach. The shirtless pictures they were shooting today caused him - against his better judgment - to forgo breakfast and, with nothing but too-weak black coffee in his system, Bucky couldn’t help but feel a little agitated.

“Just a few more shots, and then we can break for lunch,” he hears the man behind the camera shout before dragging the camera back up to his face.

Bucky contorts himself into a position that shows off the abs he’s worked incredibly hard to achieve and maintain and masks his face in the perfect moody smolder these magazines love so much. Three more pops of the shutter, some grumbling and direction by the photographer, and one more position change, and he’s finally free.

As he’s looking at the pictures and throwing a robe over his bare torso and boxer-clad bottom, Bucky’s attention is pulled from the camera’s tiny screen to the back of the spacious room by Natasha’s stern, Russian-lilted voice. The accent only came out when she was agitated, so the sound alone is often used as a warning sign to those closest to her to stay away.

“How did you even get up here? Is there no security in place? I swear-”

Bucky turns to find his manager - all five-foot-three inches of her - standing defensively in front of whomever she’s cornered by the elevator.

“As I said, I’m here in place of Ms. Potts.” Bucky perks up at the second voice; is almost positive he recognizes the sweet melody despite having only encountered it once several months before. “Here, look, I have my badge.”

Sure enough, as Bucky scurries over to the duo, he sees a familiar face anxiously looking at his manager. He might be terrible with names, but Bucky Barnes rarely forgets a face.

“Natasha, why do you insist on harassing every person who sets foot within a five-foot radius of me while on the job?” Bucky jokes as he approaches the women.

He watches as your attention shifts from the annoyed redhead to him; a look of shock and maybe a hint of mortification flashes across your face.

“I wasn’t harassing. This is a closed set, and randos from the street can’t just walk on up,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “And it’s not you I’m worried about. It’s...you. But you know what I mean!”

He does. After all, protecting his privacy and work is one of Bucky’s most significant concerns. That doesn't mean he isn’t going to tease Natasha any chance he gets. He playfully scoffs and turns his attention to you. “I see you got the job. I told you everything was going to work out.”

Bucky can’t help but preen at the way you anxiously tuck a non-existent stray hair behind your ear and bite your lip. “You were right. Mr. Stark isn’t as intimidating as I thought. Although,” you playfully roll your eyes, “he is a menace. He promised Pepper’s attendance at a meeting, so now you’re stuck with an inexperienced interviewer rather than the queen of journalism.”

“Bah!” Bucky exclaims. “I’m sure you’ll do great. Plus, you’re not the one half-naked in the situation. If anyone embarrasses themselves, it’ll be me.”

Natasha chortles at the comment, mumbling something the sounds a lot like, “ever the charmer,” before walking away. At the same time, Bucky doesn’t miss the way your gaze slowly skims down his cotton-clade body before snapping back up to his face.

“Come on. We just broke for lunch, and Stark spares no expense when it comes to the spreads.”

It’s well past six-thirty in the evening when you finally make it back to your building. Despite the exhaustion flowing through your veins and the grumble in your stomach reminding you every five minutes that you haven’t eaten since lunchtime, there’s a festive air to your being, a proverbial pep to your step that could only be the result of a successful first interview experience.

Yeah, you were a nervous wreck before and during the interview, but you walked away feeling amazing about yourself - and with three pages worth of phenomenal, touching, and personal quotes from the one and only Bucky Barnes.

You try to ignore the butterflies that erupt low in your belly at the thought of the blue-eyed god of a man. Despite having no other experience interviewing someone with as large of a celebrity as he, you’ve concluded that Bucky is an angel of an interviewee. He was polite, answered all of your questions, and flirted just a little. Or, at least that’s what you would call it if you were anyone but a lowly editorial assistant who still purchased from bargain bins because that’s all you could afford. In all reality, Bucky was a very smooth talker with the confidence to back it up. It explained the incomprehensible hype surrounding the man you had no idea was such a big deal less than twelve hours prior.

The rumble of your stomach pulls you back to reality as you unlock your apartment door. You push the thoughts of Bucky to the back of your mind, settle for finishing unpacking the day for when you’re unwinding for bed. Right now, all you want to focus on is fo-

“Uh, hello!” your roommate Wanda screeches as you push open the door. The redhead is standing, arms crossed, in your entry, a look of disdain on her face. “When were you going to tell me, your best friend and roommate, who pays half the rent and utilities, mind you, that Bucky Barnes followed you on Instagram. James Bucky Barnes, Y/N!”

You freeze at the mention of the man who has taken up every inch of your mind since you left the shoot earlier that day. You deposit your keys onto the small table next to the door and try to act as nonchalant as possible. “What are you talking about, Wanda?”

Your roommate starts wagging her phone in front of your face before pulling it back so she can read off her screen. “Well, I follow these gossip blogs - just for fun, of course. I like to stay up-to-date with all the celebrity goings-on.” You fix Wanda with an unamused look as you pass by on the way to the kitchen. “And I was scrolling through, catching up on today’s gossip, and all of a sudden, I see a screenshot of your Instagram account!”

You freeze mid-reach for a saucepan and turn to look at her. “What?”

“Yea, see,” Wanda holds her phone out so you can see the screen. Low and behold, there your account is; questionably composed landscape shots of the city and poorly-lit food pics in all their glory. “It started to circulate this afternoon after someone saw he followed you! Why did he follow you?”

You slowly resume your task of reheating last night’s spaghetti as you answer her. “I...I don’t know? I met him at work this afternoon. He probably just followed me because of Stark.” You shrug despite the thrill that runs through your body.

You halfheartedly listen as Wanda blabs on about the crush she’s apparently had for years despite never having once mentioned it to you, too focused on running through the day’s events to care much about how she’s seen every single one of his films at least a dozen times.

Maybe he had been flirting with you? His manager did mention he flirts with anything with a heartbeat, so it was most likely just part of his personality. Or at least the role he played in public. You weren’t naive enough to think that who Bucky presented himself as to the media, fans, and others not in his inner circle was the real Bucky. After all, he was likely just trying to win you over so you’d write something good about him.

Still, you can’t help the giddy smile that creeps across your face as, when you finally lie down for the night, you open the Instagram app to find Bucky’s name and verified status among the several notifications awaiting you.

@redbarn1995 @juenenfeu

[poutyhannie]

warnings: tsundere!minho, boxer!minho, fem!reader, mentions of d*ath, bl**d, kn*ves, violence, smut, fluff, angst :), dark cold minho finds a soft spot in y/n :))))

word count: +8k

The blisters on your hands burn as you placed the cash register on the shiny white counter. Finally, your life’s goal to begin a small cafe in town was complete, but this was only the beginning. Even the ache in your feet and back from the boxes and produce you carried in last night couldn’t shake the beaming smile you greet the empty store with. Golden light streams in from the freshly washed windows, bouncing off the racks of freshly baked breads and pastries. These beams of light must be the physical representation of the heavenly aroma of baking goods and you fill your lungs with it, content and elated at the prospect of a new chapter.

Among the normal baked goods, everyday items were placed around the counter, such as umbrellas and first aid kits. It was a small tactic to make a bit more profit or a thoughtful gesture, just in case customers needed something other than coffee and a croissant.

If you didn’t close the door soon, the cold morning gusts of wind would stale and harden the goods, but this display of openness was necessary to garner new customers so you quickly hopped from behind the counter to cover the goods with glass domes which served as lids.

The people of your city had been relatively friendly, spreading the word of your grand opening. Thanks to this, streams of customers filled your lavender-themed shop before the morning and evening rush. When the sun’s golden shine began to dissipate to cold blue, the goods were dwindling on the shelves, prepared to be restocked for tomorrow.

The front of your lavender purple apron was streaked with flour, chocolate, and jam as you wiped the counters of the same substances. The giddy excitement in your bones contradicted the cheerfully ticking clock on the wall that told you it was late into the night. When did the day spin away from you so quickly? Would all the days at your shop be this enjoyable? Sighing contently, you settle on one of the comfortable white chairs, finally feeling the pinching ache in your feet. You’d have to get employees once you made enough revenue, you were bound to only get more customers from here on out. Maybe you’d hire cleaners once a month to do a deep clean? 

Thoughts prospective of your future and the future of your shop were interrupted when the door swung open—you were concerned the force would shatter the glass door itself. In stalked a darkly clad man, his back was turned to you as he quickly scanned the shelves and displays of your shop. He’d ignored the ‘closed’ sign. Still, one more customer couldn’t hurt. “Welcome,” you greeted warmly, feet aching as you walked back behind the counter. The customer gruffly rolled your word off. 

The gloves on his hands didn’t have fingers and when he placed a small first aid kit and sandwich on the counter, you could see the beds of his nails were bleeding. However, when you saw his face, you realized his wounded fingers were not priority. A blistering red patch scored his cheek under his dark eyes. There was a fresh cut on his left cheekbone that matched his bust eyebrow and lip. At the state of his lip you quickly reached over to add a tube of chapstick to his order. “Don’t need it,” he grunted but made no move to put it back. “Its on me,” you explained, ringing him up, ignoring the roll of his eyes. Though his hoodie was pulled down, the sweaty strands of black hair were still visible, slightly blocking his vision. “Take care,” you offered him, placing the bag into his hand. The empty night was louder than him as he exited your store.

A month in and you’ve managed to perfect the flower-shaped croissants, exploiting the layers of dough and butter croissants naturally proved to achieve petal-like flares. Proudly, you arrange them on a baby blue decorative plate, fixing the eyebrow raising price tag in front of it. People would have to accept that baking was another type of art and that your croissants tasted as good as they look. Many customers have become regulars, your yellow post it note stuck on the cash register denotes what they usually get, just a courtesy. New people enter your store everyday, sometimes stopping to pose for pictures in front of the arguably aesthetic display case filled with your best work. A swell of pride always elates you and you remind them to tag the cafe in their social media posts.

Its because your shop has a softer, pretty theme that you’re surprised when you find yourself writing down what the bruised man from before would always order. Though you formally close at seven, you leave the light on as you close down for him because he usually enters at nine. At the end of every week, he replenishes his first aid kit, sporting nasty red, brown, and purple wounds on his face every day. His placement of the bandaids and salves are sloppy at best and as the daughter of a doctor, you can’t help but stop him before he disappears into the inky night once again. The accusative glare he shoots at you leaves you stuttering. “What do you want?” His words and tone almost have you denying that you even called him in the first place but you wonder why he’s always beat up and why he’s so cranky. “You’re not putting on the bandages correctly.” “What would you know about it?” “My dad was a doctor—here, just let me fix it for you.” You’re released from his heavy glare as he thinks over your proposal, eyes flitting around your shop before landing back on you. “Just make it quick.”

He’s never sat in one of your shop’s white chairs and he shifts on plush cushion, you across from him, preparing the first aid kit. No sound escapes him as he rips off his existing bandaids, though just watching him makes you want to wince. The used bandages are shoved into his pockets and he slouches in front of you. The wounds this time congregate around his jaw, a nasty blue-green bruise spreading from his chin to the end of his jaw. Cuts and rug burn-like patches are scattered around his face and you can’t picture what he’d look like without a black eye.

In the name of being prepared, you keep an extensive first aid kit under your counter. You gingerly smear the bruise with the respective salve before dousing the cuts with alcohol. All the while, the damaged man in front of you says nothing, but glares at you through his shaggy bangs. Though scared to anger him him, you softly push back his hair to reveal another bruise above his left eyebrow.

The tense silence tears at you and you blurt out, “Have you not met any left handed people? They’re always on your left side.”

“More like they haven’t met me.” 

“You’re left handed?” 

“Ambidextrous but they still never see it coming,” is his gruff reply. 

Slowly, as you spread salve on his cuts you put two and two together. “You’re a fighter.” 

“Boxer.” Though his uncomfortable silence had previously left you at a loss for words, you quickly get back into your old habits, “You’re a boxer? That’s why you’re always beat up. You must not be very good if you’re always getting hurt. Are you paid to fight other people or is it based on bets? You’re really young to be boxi—” 

The coldness in his eyes as they snap up to you has your words choking in your throat. “I let my opponents have a semblance of victory before I beat them. Its based on bets so I get more profit if viewers place more bets against me.”

He rises and you follow him to the door. “I-if you…when you get injured, just come here. It’ll heal faster if I tend to it.” 

A nod is all you get but its more than the silence you’ve been struck with by him before so you’re not complaining.

He holds you on your offer, coming in every night from nine to midnight. You don’t mind lingering at your shop longer because his scuffed boots find their way into your store every night. You learn that his name is Minho and that his boxing nickname is Lee Know. The air between you has melted from cold tension to quiet casualty. Though your heart clenches in wariness every time his battered face shows up, it also pangs in empathy for him. Empathy that he refuses to accept.

The glint in his eyes that he regards you with every night informs you that he scowls upon your empathy, the pout on your lips as you concentrate to clean his wounds and the worried laced in your voice as you ask him about his upcoming matches. “I’ve been preparing for the season to start. If it goes well, I can progress past my current bracket,” he explains and though his voice has been exclusively monotone, if you strain your ears hard enough, there’s a trace of hope and anticipation there. 

“You haven’t been doing matches this entire time?” You exclaim, dumbfounded that this amount of damage has been from practices and preparation for the real thing. 

For a passing second, everything in his demeanor except his voice calls you an idiot before he softens, realizing you know nothing about his underground life. “If we had matches all year, we’d kill each other in no time. No,” he laughs humorlessly, shaking his hair out. Its grown a bit longer than his eyes but you’ve secured it back, clearing his face up with a pink fluffy headband he scoffed at. “The lower division guys have up to 40 matches but the really good ones only have two or three.” 

In the beginning of your late night first aid sessions, you’d timidly ask Minho small talk questions and he’d gruffly respond with a word or two, but never a full sentence. Now, you ask him because you’re genuinely curious about his profession. “How many do you have? Do you know who you’ll go against?” 

“Twelve. Edging on the more professional bracket but still not there yet. Opponents are rolling; I don’t know until a few days before and even then, it’s not necessarily helpful. Just need to touch up on their weaknesses.” 

“What’s your weakness?” You ask him, dabbing some burn salve on the glove burn stretching over his cheekbone. At the silence stretching across the two of you, you hope your tone came across as light and playful, not offensive. Though you were acquaintances with the boxer, you couldn’t yet bring yourself relax around his dark gaze. 

“You’ll have to figure it out.” A giggle rises in your throat, maybe a nervous habit or maybe because you found him interesting.

An exhale eases out of your lungs as your legs give out, throwing yourself on your bed. The soft blue glow of your bedside lamp washes the room in a calming light but exhaustion refuses to let you bask in it. Soon, your eyelids are drooping and back is pressing into the sheets.

Danishes. 

A harsh, ringing voice rips through your head; you bolt up, pulling your neck at the speed and abruptness. Gasping, you fling your shoes on, realizing that you left the dough proofing. If it were any other dough, you’d roll over and shrug off the loss of a batch, but this dough was made with premium French artisan flour that a kind customer had gifted you. Somehow, the panic in your throat wards off drowsiness and you speed down the empty streets. Bursting into your store, you rush to remove the dough from the bowl and knead them into small loaves.

Based on how the dough smells, you don’t believe it over proofed so the worry loosens your throat allowing you to inhale a yawn, sliding dough into the warm oven.

The chairs in your cafe are plush but nothing compared to your bed. It’s making you slowly regret coming back tonight.

A loud bang rings through the silent air and immediately fear grips your heart which is thrumming in your throat. Maybe its your drowsy state that has you flinging into panic at the noise. The rubber soles of your shoes slowly squeak over the tile as you move over to grab a knife you use to score the bread. Its size won’t scare anyone off, but its sharpness is one to be reckoned with. From your fuzzy, sleepy memory, the sound came from the small storage room so with white knuckles gripping the knife, you creep over. In your rush, had the door been carelessly left open? The storage room door is ajar but you can’t see anything inside. Relaxing the slightest bit, you nudge the door open slowly, entering on tip toe. Though dimly lit, you can see that the small room is empty and relief floods you, though not completely ridding you of the former panic—your heartbeat is still in your throat.

When you return to the main room with the counter, tables, and register, cold, blinding panic returns tenfold. There’s three dark figures in your shop, crouching next to the counter, quickly stuffing their bags with the money stashed away. In a flurry, you press your back to the storage room door, cursing yourself for leaving it in there and at the front door which you left wide open.

Your mind whirls, trembling with fear and apprehension. Where was your phone? You couldn’t possibly stop these men but would the cops come in time?

“What the fuck are you bastards?” A voice rings out. Harsh. Cold. You don’t dare turn the corner to look.

A muffled cry pierces the tense air, strained grunts, and sounds of impact following in succession. There’s a loud cracking sound and a wail that raises your goosebumps and you slink back further into the shadow, hoping that whatever is happening behind the wall will leave you alone. Breathy curses and threats are thrown before visceral, bodily squelches and groans silence them. Digging your fingernails into your palms to get your hands from shaking, you tremble in the corner, even after the sounds have been reduced to low, pained moans and a pair of footsteps. They wander around, heavy and assured before edging closer to where you’re hiding. You don’t dare breath, but you don’t think breath would come even if you asked it to.

“Y/n?” At the sound of your name, your eyes grow wide, though you’re still frozen in place. The footsteps round the corner and you’re met with scuffed black boots and ripped black jeans. Squeezing your eyes shut, your mind whirls as you remember staring at those boots, tending to wounds. His wounds.

When your eyes fly open again, he’s crouching in front of you, face significantly less wounded than you’ve seen it. The sound of your knife clattering on the tile startles you into flying into his arms. He makes uncomfortable, awkward noises above you, hands floating above your back as his butt smarts from the force you knocked him over with. “Did you beat them up?” You voice is shaking and you’re either on the verge of tears or already crying into his black hoodie, filling your mind with his deep sweaty musk, “I didn’t know what to do.” 

“Yeah, its not that big of a deal though. Just call the police,” he pushes you off of him with surprising gentleness, seeing that his hands are stained with the blood of those three men. On his feet in a flash, he drops a bag onto your lap. “Here is your money.” 

There’s no proper reason why your hand shoots out to pull him from leaving. Maybe it’s because the would be thieves are still laying in your store, maybe its because you want to keep inhaling the warm scent he exudes, maybe it’s because the thought of being without him tonight scares you. “The police won’t believe that I did this,” you whisper, hoping that that will ward off his need to leave. It’s impossible to interpret what the dark look in his eyes are—you can never seem to read his thoughts. 

Only his verbal confirmation has relief flooding your chest, “Fine.” 

After tying up the perpetrators, Minho settles half an arms distance away from you, a waft of his musk filling your nose as you think you hear the piercing screech of sirens. “Were you just gonna let them take your cash?”

You were wrong. His eyes can deliver something other than blank darkness: incredulous accusation. The disbelief and an audible scoff in his question has you curling up tighter, burning with the implications he poses. You’d let these men reap the fruits of your labor; you wouldn’t try to stop them. 

“Y-yeah,” you attempt, trying to concoct a reasonable excuse that would get his disapproving stare from burning off the side of your face. “There were three of them, so of course I’d let them go.” 

A scoff rips from his throat, clawing at the back of your neck. “This won’t do. You know,” he turns to you, one eyebrow raised, “this’ll just be the beginning. Are you gonna be prepared to defend this shop, bub?” 

You bristle at his know-it-all attitude and the patronizing nickname, “Why do you care? And why were you even here this late at night?” The pale yellow suggestions of sun peak from the inky black sky as you’re reminded that you’ve gotten no sleep. Ignoring your questions, he rises, adjusting his jeans and walking over to the policemen now at the glass door of your cafe.

Even after the robbers were detained and police left, he remains, his dark scent permeating the air around you. “Listen,” he starts, hands shoved into his pockets and the regular scowl on his face, “I was just walking back from practice and saw them in here. And you need to get protection around here.” 

“And how would you suggest that?” You throw back, fueled with remaining sass. A shrug. He turns away, walking to the door. Habit says he’ll ignore you, disappearing into the lightening city horizon, but he stops, hand resting on the glass door. You slap his hand off of it, but his hand’s grimy residue clouds a part of the door already. 

His shoulders drop in annoyance before he grunts, “I could teach you how to defend yourself.” Mouth agape and eyes wide, you repeat his words, “You’d teach me how to defend myself? Isn’t your season starting up soon?” 

His gaze drops, you think he’s taken aback at your remembering the dates of his season. “Coach doesn’t want me sparring. Get healed or some shit. Don’t get me wrong, I’m offering because it’ll be good for me to refresh on the basics and the next shop is twenty minutes away. I’ll be inconvenienced if this shop closes anytime soon.” The thought of Minho scowling down at you as a personal defense teacher scares you, but the vivid memory as you clutched the knife terrifies you. 

 “When are you free?”

**

“No, widen your feet; squat more, bub,” Minho lets out an exasperated sigh and slips behind you, hands on your hips to adjust your stance in front of the punching bag. The yellow lights overhead and the pale wash of moonlight are the only things illuminating your ‘self defense’ classes. With as much punching as you’re doing, you think it’s more of a boxing lesson than self defense.

“One.” 

Your left glove strikes the bag. 

“Two.” 

Right hand. 

Minho repeats these instructions, the two words seemingly molding together into a mash of sounds. As his cold voice continues to command you, the burning in your lungs intensifies and your thighs, arms, and stomach ache, screaming at you to stop. _Give up. _ A voice lures you, reminding you of how your knees shake and eyes sting from sweat. “I can’t,” you whimper, hands retracting as you meet Minho’s disapproving stare. It makes you avert your gaze, the burning in your cheeks from something other than physical exertion. 

“I’m heading home then.” Scoffing, Minho slings his bag over his shoulder, nodding back to you, “see you tomorrow.” 

Dejected, you fumble with the straps of the boxing gloves Minho gave you, unable to grasp them when both your hands are cocooned. The usual mocking sarcastic glint in Minho’s eyes were replaced with disappointment and his abrupt departure burns your chest. Maybe you should have pushed yourself more? Maybe he shouldn’t have.

“One, two. Don’t lean into it. One, two. Rotate your wrists. One, two. Guard your jaw, he’s gonna knock you out.

“Keep going, Y/n,” interrupts the usual ‘one, two’ and your teeth grit, pulling your elbows in and snapping your punches. Minho’s lips lift from the corner of your eye and this spurs you on, extracting energy from a place you didn’t know existed. Fueled with anger—anger at yourself for having given up last session, anger at Minho for pushing you—you pummel the punching bag, breathing harshly as the sound of slapping synthetic leather fills the musky room. 

“Okay, break.” The ground collides with your body as your legs give out under you. Your breathing must have been uneven, because there’s white patches in front of your vision. After blinking them away, you’re met with Minho’s outstretched hand offering a water bottle. His face is turned away from you, but his cheeks rise, insinuating a smile. With a breathing ‘thanks’, you practically inhale the water.

“Slow down, bub. You’re gonna puke.” 

Laying a hand over your spazzing heart, you give him the best glare you can muster, “No thanks to you, Lee Know.” He smirks at your use of his boxer nickname, sprawling on the ground next to you. 

“Y’know,” you gasp in between breaths, “I don’t think this is self defense, this is just offense.” 

Minho’s head tilts in acceptance, tongue poking out to swipe at his bottom lip. “No, what you’re doing is not boxing if that’s what you’re implying.” 

“Oh yeah?” You tease, pulling a face at Minho, “I’m in boxing gloves, attacking a poor boxing bag.” 

The veins in his forearms strain as he leans back onto his hands, “I could show you real boxing, bub. I have a match next week. I can get you in.” Your heart clenches at the thought of seeing the blood and gore you’ve seen on Minho’s face being made. He senses your uneasiness and leans forward, hand brushing over your knee almost…timidly? “You don’t have to come, but you can. I’ll text you the details,” he shrugs, “show up or don’t.”

**

Maybe you shouldn’t have worn a pastel purple skirt to a boxing match but it’s too late to turn around and change. At least you had the sense to wear safety shorts and sturdy combat boots. Yelling can be heard in the distance and while you’d usually flee from sounds like that, you find the GPS on your phone leading you right to it. 

The barbaric shouts are deafening as you stand in front of a grey building. A man, who’s arms are the size of your shoulders guards the door. “You lost, little girl?” He asks gruffly, but he doesn’t seem sarcastic. 

“I-I um,” you clear your throat, “Lee Know has a match here?” Your statement comes off more as a question and you wince at how weak your voice sounds. 

The bearded guard nods, his black shirt straining as he crosses his tree trunk forearms in front of him. “So you’re the lady he’s been babbling on ‘bout.” A blue tattoo stretches on his forearm as he opens the door, a wave of stench, heat, and yells ramming into you. Thanking the man quietly, you slip through the door. It’s an arena, like a football stadium but scaled down significantly. Burly and wiry men alike fill the seats, howling like dogs. You pull your sweater closer to you and your skirt down. The lights and sounds whirl in front of you as you try to spot Minho in the crowd. Further up, closer to the boxing ring, there’s a familiar head of black hair and broad shoulders. You hope it’s him as you squeeze past the admittedly scary crowd of men.

Tapping his shoulder, you breathe in his musky scent. It almost cancels out the stale rotting stench around you. When he turns, his eyes are dangerous and dark—you almost stumble back—but when he sees you his eyebrows shoot up. “Didn’t think you’d come,” he shouts over the chaos, “here,” he pulls your shoulders into his chest, shielding you in his arms as he begins to weave through the crowd, “my match is in a little bit so I was gonna head to the back.” 

The screams are muffled now as Minho closes the door to a small, empty room. He slouches on a chair, gesturing you to do the same. “It’s always so fucking chaotic out there. I can never focus before a match. I can never think,” he mutters, mostly to himself, so you freeze, not wishing to distract him, “My mind is always somewhere else and I can’t remember anything. It’s like nothing else but my nerves exist.” 

Only after a beat of silence, after Minho turns his wide eyes up to look at you, do you realize he was talking to you. “But you’re so good. You’ve been training all year,” you blurt out, not pausing to think about your words, taken aback at how innocent and lost his eyes look, “isn’t it like muscle memory?” 

He groans, you worry you’ve said the wrong thing, “Yeah, I know but it’s just so fucking frustrating, bub.” 

Smiling widely, you tease him with a nudge on his shoulder, “You’re gonna be great. Plus, you’ll have me cheering you on.” Awkwardly, you make punching movements, “I’ll take your opponent down if you can’t.” 

That’s the first time you hear Minho laugh. A genuine, hearty laugh. Not a scoff or a mocking tease. It’s warm and sweet and surprisingly high. His eyes crinkle, still smiling at you when he stands, “Okay sounds like a plan.”

Seeing the dark glare Minho holds his opponent with as they circle the ring, you understand why Minho sports the look so often. It takes you off guard; you feel like you haven’t seen these dark eyes in a while. A strong swallow of spit tightens your throat. You blink, his opponent strikes, mitt slapping against Minho’s blocking forearm. Gasping a breath, you freeze in apprehension as the crowd around you roars to life. The sharply muscled, bald man circling Minho does not lack in speed; the blurring blue of his mitt once again slams against Minho’s forearm. The bald man tenses, charging at Minho with a flurry of attacks. Desperation clenches your throat as you will Minho to do something. He ducks his head behind his forearms, abdomen clenching at every blow inflicted to him. Soon mutters calling Minho a ‘punching bag’ and a ‘free win’ crawl into your ears. Anger flares in your chest—you know how good Minho is at fighting. Why isn’t he doing anything? However, Minho’s wiry muscled, grey haired coach standing beside you is stoic, a stark contrast to the screaming audience, hurling saliva with every abusive word they target at Minho.

“Why isn’t he doing anything?” You whisper to yourself, too engrossed in the match to care about the raw vulnerability in your voice. The bald opponent retreats, panting as Minho continues to circle him. 

Minho’s coach growls, a smirk breaking his expressionless wall, “It’s over now.” Wide eyed, you turn back to the match, taking in the sweaty, hunched—you’d daresay weary—shoulders of the bald man, heaving with pants. A relief spreads a smile across your face. Minho had been doing something. The red boulder of Minho’s mitt slams into the side of the man’s head, jerking his neck awkwardly, hurling him into stumbling, expression blank shock. An electric wave of excitement shoots through you. Minho is merciless, unwilling to let his staggering opponent recover, pummeling him with firmly resounding attacks. You recognize some basic moves he’s taught you, only now do you realize capabilities of those punches put into action.

The red of Minho’s mitt is soon darkened with the seeping blood of his opponent and the fickle crowd now screams Minho’s name, invigorating him, causing his blows to land harder, until the bald man is thrown onto the blood spattered floor. The referee slams the ground thrice and the crowd erupts into a cacophony of cheers and groans.

A satisfied smirk cuts across Minho’s barely harmed face as he unfurls his sweaty arms in victory, bathing in the cheers of those who bet on him and the cries of those who bet against him alike. His coach turns to you, a satisfied twist to his lips, a wad of cash already in his clutched, calloused hand, “This is why he wasn’t doing anything, sweetheart,” he says, shaking the money, “Minho’s a tough kid but he’s also a smart kid.” After a pause, his coach shifts, frowning in, “You’re the first person Minho’s brought to a match. Nobody else. Take care of him,” he warns.

Minho’s panting presence behind you raises goosebumps on your neck. You turn to see his glistening bare abdomen as he towels himself off with a sweat rag. Bruises bloom on his forearm and but he ignores them, receiving the majority of the cash from his coach.

“Let’s get out of here before some ass crack takes his faulty betting out on me,” he says, resting a hot hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the back exit, ignoring jeering crowd members. The empty night greets you and he nods to a black car, gruffly explaining, “You walked here, right bub?” 

“Yes, also,” you gush, “that was pretty cool." 

He looks away, deflecting with, “Yeah, get in.” 

“Why do you do it?” You ask, strapping your seatbelt on and retrieving the makeshift first aid kit from your purse.

The car murmurs to life and Minho’s voice is surprisingly quiet and soft, “I got into a lot of fights up to high school so coach came up to me and asked me if I wanted to make it a profession,” a pause and Minho murmurs, “he took me in, taught me how to channel the joy I got from fighting. Turn it into something better. Focused.” 

“He seems really proud of you,” you observe, leaning over to rub a salve onto his shallowly cut lip. “You should put on more chapstick, Minho. Where’s the one I gave you?” 

Under flash of passing yellow streetlights, you can almost make out a dusting of pink on Minho’s cheeks. “I lost it,” he admits, tilting his head slightly to give you better access to his lip.

Sighing, you settle back onto the carseat. “I can take better care of you when we get there.” Minho’s eyes are wide, looking back from the road to you, “Where?” 

A clench of nervousness holds your gut, but you shrug, “Yours, mine, I don’t care.” 

It’s Minho’s turn to be flustered; he nods quickly.

**

Minho’s apartment is bare, only cluttered with various trophies and medals, a ground table, a tv, and a small couch. You set down his bag, you insisted you carried it and Minho opens a cabinet, retrieving the first aid kit. He settles on the couch, legs crossed tightly underneath him. For some reason, its stupidly endearing. The alcohol on his cut stings and Minho’s eyebrow furrows in pain. “Y’know, you don’t have to be tough around me, Minho.” 

His eyes are blank, “What do you mean?” 

“You barely let yourself feel pain, you’re always glaring at something, and you never open up about anything. You don’t have to be like that around me, Minho.” 

An eyebrow lifts and he tilts his head to the side slightly, “I told you about coach,” he offers. 

You nod slowly, “Yeah, that’s true. I guess, I just like seeing you smile,” you shrug, “that’s all.” 

Suddenly bashful, Minho looks down, biting his lip to repress a smile.

“That’s what I mean!” You exclaim, placing your hands on his cheeks to cradle his face, forcing him to look up at you, your heart in your throat. He groans, an endeared smile finally breaking out, “Quit being so fucking cute and maybe I could think enough to talk properly to you, bub.” 

Burning excitement fills your chest and you pose with a peace sign, “You think I’m cute?” 

An exasperated roll of his eyes is all the answer you need. “Well,” you say, patting his head, “you’re very cute too.” 

This time, his scoff is soft, “I’m a boxer.” 

You press a bandaid over his cut, “Yes, a very adorable boxer who needs to smile more.” He breaks out into laughs, filling you with bubbly warmth, gazing down at you with eyes that are anything but dark and dangerous. It’s warm and tender.  He is.  Sobering up, Minho tilts his head slightly, his eyes traveling down to your lips. 

Anticipation fills your chest and your mind whirls, not knowing what to do so you blurt out, “Oh yeah! Chapstick,” leaning over, you retrieve a tube, “Here.” Minho, however is unfazed by your awkwardness and cocks an eyebrow, suddenly confident, nodding to the chapstick, “Put it on for me.” 

Its your turn to blush, but you do still, not realizing that this isn’t clear chapstick. Its only when you pull away do you realize his lips are painted a pretty shade of pink. Clapping in joy you shove your phone camera in his face. “You’re so pretty!”  

Stuttering in surprise, his eyes bug out but he doesn’t make any move to wipe it off, “The fuck?” 

“So pretty!” You exclaim, holding his face to put more on, laughing at his shocked expression.  Minho pulls back, tumbling you with him until you’re staring down and all your laughter has been swallowed. Silently, his hand travels up to the back of your head, gently pulling you towards his freshly moisturized lips. Smiling because of nerves, you don’t need his hand to guide you.

His lips are surprisingly soft but perfectly sticky with your pink chapstick. Almost timidly, his tongue caresses your bottom lip and you whimper as he eases your lips apart. Saliva gathers at the corners of your mouth and your arm cramps from holding yourself up over him but he’s so gentle and careful with the kiss you don’t want to stop. Your arm gives out and you press against Minho, snaking your fingers into his slightly sweaty hair. Panting, Minho pulls back as he gazes up at you, his eyes wide and sparkling. “I don’t want to go too fast, Y/n,” he whispers, thumb gently caressing your cheekbone.

Brazen with unfound confidence, you pout at him, “No. Be mine now.” Minho smirks, laughing softly as his eyes crinkle up, “Okay, okay,” he reassures you, pulling you down to lay on his chest, “I’ll be yours.”

**

“Don’t you dare do that, Y/n. I’ll sue you,” Minho threatens, eyes wide but voice joking.

Giggling, you ignore him, continuing to create a new dessert of your own design called the ‘Minho Mochi’. It’s a soft peach mochi covered with waffle cone. “No, I take inspiration from you and plus,” you mention, “you said yourself that the juxtaposition of the soft sweet mochi and the shell of the waffle cone was good.” 

“Yeah,” he groans, plucking a mochi ball from the counter and popping into his mouth, “but that was before you decided to use my name for it, bub.” 

Reaching up to clean the potato starch residue on his lip you correct, “I made the mochi with you in mind first, not the other way around.” Minho mumbles half heartedly, turning away to smile but you tug his arm. He’s blushing and grinning softly; your heart clenches in adoration. 

“I can make you one for every match you have, would that make you feel better?” 

Minho laughs, bringing your potato starch and rice flour covered hand to nuzzle his cheek, “Fine, I guess this is what I get for having girlfriend that owns a purple bakery.” 

“Hey!” You deny, pulling back, “This is lavender, not just purple.” 

“Yes, yes,” he agrees quickly, tugging you into him. “I’m covered in flour,” you protest into his chest, his deep musk a relieving break from the sweet scent of mochi. You feel him press kisses to the top of your head as his arms tighten around you so you relax into him, circling his waist with your arms.

**

“You should really decorate this place, Min,” you comment, gesturing at his bare apartment. You’re comfortably draped across his shoulders from the couch as he sits on the floor. He looks back from the TV, eyes wide and a puppy-like pout graces his now well moisturized lips, “What do you mean? I have my trophies as decoration.” 

Groaning you protest, “No, those are trophies. You need proper deco here, it’s just sad.” 

A familiar, flirty smile spreads across his face and he winks at you, “You’re prettier than any other decorations I can get.” 

Though you feel your face burning, you roll your eyes at him, trying to suppress the smile bubbling in your chest. He gets up to sit next to you on the couch. Still smiling, he pats his lap, making your stomach jump in excitement. Settling down on his thighs, you play with the collar of his shirt, avoiding his stare. He ducks his head, forcing you to look at him. “Why you shy, bub?” 

“I really love you, Min.” 

His eyes are soft and you don’t expect him to say it back. You’re just content that he knows. 

“I love you too, bub.”

**

You’re at Minho’s apartment basically every day for the past year and today’s no different. The soft beating of his heart resounds in your ear while the other listens to the calming voice of the audio book you guys are working through. The plot follows a personified kitten who tries to find her place in the world that is too cruel for her. Despite the objectively morbid theme, this part of the story is hopeful—the kitten has found friends and feels at home. 

When the narrator concludes the end of the chapter, Minho reaches over to turn the recording off. You take the opportunity to crane your neck up and plant a kiss on his lips. He smiles softly, grabbing your waist so that you’re straddling his hips. One hand travels up to gently tug on your chin, deepening the kiss. His tongue is hot and lavishes against yours, a juxtaposition between his hand, methodically stroking your hair. Your fingers dance across his face, stroking his cheekbones, tracing his jawline and neck. 

Soon, your fingers are replaced by your mouth and Minho’s Adam’s apple bobs with the groan he lets out. The fire in your chest and the beginning aching in your core has you tugging at the hem of his soft black tee shirt. His breath is shaky on your cheek as you pull the shirt over his head, softly dropping it next to the bed. Sitting back on his hips, you gaze down at his bare chest, wonder and admiration filling your heart as your hands travel across his toned torso. The lightest breeze of pink blush blows across his cheeks so you lean down to reattach your open mouth to his. The whirling in your mind rids your thoughts of everything except how he feels under you. His wet lips against yours, rising of his chest against yours, his hips pressing against yours. 

So his tense voice catches you off guard, “Y/n, are you sure?” He’s pulled back and his eyebrows are furrowed softly, his pretty lips red and swollen but glossy with your spit. 

Your gaze drops, hands fumbling to play with his hair. “I want to but if you wanna still take it slow, I’m fine wit—” 

“I want you too, Y/n,” he whispers. Hungrily, he pulls off your shirt, sitting up to cradle you in his arms as he nuzzles your breasts, pressing hot kisses against your skin. Sighing contently, you unclip your bra and try not to blush at the dumb, awestruck look on Minho’s face. His rough hands come up to gently fondle them and you press kisses to his forehead and cheeks.

“You’re beautiful, Y/n,” he breathes, his hands firm against your bare waist as he gingerly turns you over so your back is pressed against the cool sheets. “We can take it slow.” Nervousness tightens your stomach and you’re sure he can feel the thrumming of your pulse as he slowly drags down your pants, maintaining eye contact. An endearing toothy smile spreads across his face and he hides it by kissing your tummy, trailing down to your pantie covered core. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable or wanna stop, okay?”

You smile softly, “Okay, you too.” Minho nods, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, Y/n,” he murmurs, reaching to tug off your underwear. Being completely bare underneath someone would make anyone ashamed or uncomfortable and your face burns as his glossy eyes take your most vulnerable state in. His lips are parted slightly and the soft glow of the lamp casts shadows of his eyelashes onto his red cheeks. A harsh swallow has his Adam’s apple bobbing. “God, you’re dripping, Y/n” He whispers, eyes shining, “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready, Minho,” you confirm. He slides his finger into your hot, aching core, his lip caught in his teeth as he watches his digit being sucked in. Slowly, Minho pushes his finger deeper into you, gaze dancing from your face to your core.

“M-more please,” you whimper, consumed by the unfamiliar feeling of your velvety walls around something. When he adds another finger deep inside you, you gasp, a hand traveling down to clutch his free one. His thumb strokes the back of your hand as his other continues, scissoring into you as wet sounds fill his bedroom. When his fingers curl up, hot white pleasure shoots through you and Minho smiles proudly, working at that spot.

“H-holy fuck,” you moan, head rolling from shoulder to shoulder at the unfamiliar pleasure. 

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you curse, bub,” Minho muses, releasing your hand to push himself up the bed so that your faces are close together.

“I-its because of you, Minho.” 

That triggers something in him and his eyes turn dark, but rather than scaring you, it makes the coil in the pit of your stomach tighten. When Minho removes his fingers from you, it unwinds slowly but clenches at the sight of his now solid length being pulled out of his sweats. His eyelashes flutter closed on his cheeks as he strokes himself with his fingers, still slick from your juices as he retrieves a condom from the bedstand and rolls it on, hissing at the friction. “Are you ready, Y/n?” He pants softly, eyes hooded as he stares down at you, hand still moving up and down his red glistening cock in a way that has your pussy throbbing and mouth salivating. You respond by hooking your legs around his hips, smiling as he leans down to kiss your lips softly. His tip pokes at your hot core and you sling your arms around his shoulders.

Minho’s eyes are piercing as he gazes darkly at you, searching for the slightest trace of hesitance on your part. Painstakingly slowly, he slides into you. Maybe the foreplay did help to prepare you, but the stretch has tears pooling at the corners of your eyes and he’s not even all the way in you. Shakily, Minho exhales, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to hold back from pistoning into you. His lips press into the tears forming and spilling over at your eyes and he nuzzles your cheek with his nose softly, staying still until you reassure him, “Okay, you can keep going.” 

His teeth and tongue travel over your neck as he fully enters you, but his soft hiss has you unintentionally tightening around him. “Ah, Y/n don’t,” he groans, lifting his head from looking at the place you two are connected at to to smile at you. “Can I start?” 

You nod, hooking your ankles around his hips, “Yeah, just go slow for now.” Minho starts thrusting deep into you, angling his hips and going slow enough to feel the drag of your soaking walls rub against his throbbing cock. “You feel so good,” he moans, reaching to hold your hand as his hips continue to rock against you.

“I-I feel so full,” you whisper, squeezing his hand and he smiles softly at you, eyes crinkling up. “C-can you go faster?” 

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips and he snaps his hips into yours, groaning. The lustful and loving sounds of skin slapping resounds in the room, mixing with both of your moans to create a beautiful sound you tuck away in your mind. Minho pulls out till the tip before slamming into you, sweat forming at his forehead. With his free hand, Minho reaches down to rub your clit in tempo with his powerful thrusts. Moaning loudly, you whimper, “P-please, Min I-I think I’m gonna,” your words get swallowed by another moan when Minho’s hips increase their pace, his stamina through the roof.

“Me too, Y/n,” he pants, “Cum for me.” 

The hot coil tightens and you squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed at the sensation until white, electric pleasure crashes through you and you release around Minho’s length. He moans loudly, quickly chasing his high. His face twists in pleasure as he reaches his high and your fuzzy brain is left awestruck at his beauty. Minho collapses next to you, removing the condom, chest heaving in deep pants as he stares into your eyes, smiling like an idiot.

“How was that, Y/n?” He asks, arms circling your shoulder, pulling you close. 

You giggle into his chest, fingers tracing imaginary doodles, “That was fucking crazy, Min.” 

Minho’s chest bubbles with laughter and he boops your nose, scrunching his own nose up, “That’s great cause I was kinda worried about giving you a bad experience and all.” 

Looking up and tapping your chin with a finger in mock thinking you smile, “I loved it, but I want you to call me cute names, Min.” 

“I call you bub. But you mean like princess? Babygirl?” he says, an eyebrow raised. 

You roll your eyes, “Bub is not a cute name but yes, the others are okay.” “Okay,” Minho laughs, gently rubbing his nose against yours, “You’re my princess, you’re my babygirl, and you’re always my bub.”

Minho shuffles in the sheets, turning to face you, an excited smile on his face, “Just move in with me. You’re already here more than your own place and it’s unsafe there.” Still after loving him for so long, your stomach churns with nervousness, but you laugh softly, scooting closer so that you can bury your nose into his bare chest to breathe his scent in deeply. “This apartment building is safer than mine?” His arms find their way around you and he hold you close, his chest rumbling against your face with every word, “It’s safer because I’m here.” Laughing you pull back, supporting your weight with one arm as you gaze down at him. He lifts an eyebrow, stretching his arms towards you and you can’t help but collapse into them. “Okay, I’ll move in with you.”

A shining smile breaks out across Minho’s face and he nuzzles his nose into your hair softly, gently stroking your bare back.

[heyitsyn]

,,,,OK Kurat

Soulmate!Bokuto

a/n: when bokuto refuses to fix his roots and let the gray dye grow out and it slightly irritates you

colorblind soulmate where you lose your colors and only gain them back when your other half starts to have feelings for you

requests are open!!

so, leggo?

ever since you turned 16, you’ve literally gone colorblind

like you were perfectly happy seeing the colors of the world

from daichi’s red sweater

to hinata’s orange hair

you were ROBBED of the colors of the world

when you woke up that morning, you knew you would get your soulmate sign soon and you were sure it would happen while you were in class as it would start the exact time you were born 16 years ago

so there you were, happily eating with nishi and tanaka at the roof

‘hey, y/n-chan, look at this manga i found!’

you look up at noya and you almost choked on your rice ball when you couldn’t see his blonde streak anymore

it was like the moment you blinked, it was gone

he must’ve noticed your surprised look because noya touched the front floof since you were staring right at it

tanaka had his mouth opened and patted your back when you coughed

‘ah, it happened now?’

then you just start bawling

‘i cANt sEE yOuR hAiR anYmoRE!! aNd hiNATa’s hAiR! aND tHE oRANgE uniFOrMS!’

they understand it was a touchy subject for you since you were expecting something cute like noya’s thought sharing sign or tanaka’s taste sharing sign

but NO!!!

‘it’s okay y/n-chan. you’ll meet them soon and you’ll get your colors back’

from then on, all you’ve done is research all you can about soulmate signs and how they worked

yours happens to be a rarer one and you groaned bc of course it would happen to YOU

it states that usually, the moment you lock eyes with your soulmate, you’d get your lost sense back

but you wouldnt know when it would exactly happen and be like your uncle who is nearly 40 and still cant smell anything

whats worse, there were even cases where you wouldnt get them back in one sight but gain them when they start to have romantic feelings for you

you really do hope you’d get the easier 

being a part-time manager, you often helped the vbc if you were free from your other clubs so you sometimes help kiyoko with the kids

entering the gym, you frowned when you saw hinata and the gray tone of his hair

everything was gray but colors that are light like yellow or bright orange, were lighter gray while darker ones were dark gray or black

seems like tanaka and noya told the team what happened because daichi went up to you and ruffled your hair before saying it’ll be okay

‘give it time! you will find them!’

yacchi, a manager-in-training, enthusiastically told you about her ideas for the poster and gave you her rough draft, explaining the little details

but you were out of it as you just roamed your eyes over the gray-colored paper

thus causing her to freak out

‘OH MY GOD! I”M SO SORRY Y/N-SAN! I FORGOT ABOUT IT!! I’M SO SORRY!’

(yacchi is just a little precious bun, please protec her :’))

but you ruffled her hair and put on a smile

‘don’t sweat it, yacchi’

after that whole thing about announcement of the tokyo training camp and the hinata/kageyama idiot squad

you guys were in the bus, getting ready for Tokyo

it’s also been weeks since you lost it so you were still new but you were starting to get used to it

ofc you still had mistakes like their different colored practice jerseys and who was in what team or wearing different colored socks

but you were slowly adapting

it was a few hours of a drive so everyone was static to get out of the cramp bus and use the bathroom and stretch their legs

you took your time and put the others trash into a plastic bag bc youre just a great manager like that

getting out of the bus, you heard a horrendous and terrifying laugh and saw the nekoma captain hunching over in laughter

‘my god. at least his face makes up for it’

you got a text from hinata and kageyama saying that they were going to take their exams now and you sent them a little encouraging blurb

the guy from nekoma with the mohawk gawked at the 3 managers and you remembered him having that blonde hair dye

when you and the rest entered their gym, all you saw were balls flying everywhere and lots of people

your eyes scanned for at least someone to make eye contact with you because this gym has a lot of people in it and there could be a possibility they were in here

like 0.000003% probably but still a chance

from the managers to the players, not one reactivated the colors

‘hm,,, i think my soulmate is in here’

noya’s little comment made you glare at him in envy and he grinned with a peace sign

you noticed that boy kenma with his haircut and there was someone sitting near him that made you turn to the others

‘okay, either i just have terrible memory but is that a new guy?’

suga wondered the same thing and you flinched at the kid’s harsh stare at you all

there was a light gray tone to his hair and eyes so you were curious what color they were

‘his legs look a little long. i think he’s taller than most of these guys’

asahi said which made you give him a look

‘listen, as long as we got tsukki-kun, we’re okay’

the first match was against some powerhouse called fukurodani and they had a few interesting players

by interesting, you meant looks wise

that one guy looked freaking pretty with his sharp eyes while the other guy, who you assumed to be the captain, had round eyes and spiked hair

you were pretty sure that he had different colored hair due to the mix of black and light tones

AND THE WAY IT WAS STYLED THO

its like he got electrocuted and his hair just stayed the same

you were too busy looking at the 2 teams that you completely missed karasuno’s defeat and just saw them doing flying receives

the others gathered to the side and the next game was against fukurodani and nekoma

from hearing the names being said, that pretty guy was akashi or aggghasshi and the owl looking dude was bokuto-san or bokutosang or something bokuto bc youre not exactly sure

and then he be flying

‘he REALLY flying!’ 

you exclaim and tbh what can you expect from being one of the top 5 aces in the country

then the ball straight flew towards your own player and you and yamagucci screamed for his name

everyone flinched when the ball hit his hand and you ran over to check

‘ouch’

you hear that loud voice of his on top of kei’s hiss and you growled

‘HEY HEY HEY’

he didnt even apologize and if it wasnt for tanaka and daichi holding you back, you were about to scream into the guys ear for damaging your player’s hand since he needed it to block properly

‘LET ME GO! WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS INJUR-’

suga smiled and raised a hand apologetically your shouts caught the attention of others

the more games karasuno played, the more they lost

you went to fill up their water bottles and was mumbling to yourself, blaming that freak haired guy for tsukki’s pained blocks

‘didnt even apologize. how dare he hurt my boy’

bokuto was going for a drink when he heard your mumbles by the water fountain

he noticed you as the karasuno manager and poked you in the shoulder

‘ah! youre the manager!’

cue you looking to glare at him since you could recognize that voice anywhere

‘and you are?’

taken aback with your tone, he grinned

‘bokuto. bokuto koutarou’

‘ah’

then you went back to filling up the bottles

he fiddled with his towel before poking you again

‘um,,, i want to apologize for earlier. sorry about that spike’

you stopped and you nodded

‘i appreciate the apology, bokuto-san. but you should say it to him’

bo guessed that you were kinda their mother hen and you looked after the players of your team

‘are you,,, a third year?’

closing the lid of the last bottle, you placed it on the basket

‘second’

his eyes widened before shouting

‘im your senpai!’

you jumped at the sudden volume of his voice and awkwardly smiled

‘ah. okay, bokuto-san’

his eyes widened before patting your shoulder gently

‘drop the -san! i prefer being called senpai!’

does this guy have a senpai kink or something

but there was probably nothing wrong with calling him senpai right?

‘okay, bokuto-senpai’

you were lowkey kinda iffy since you dont really call anyone senpai, everyone was -san to you

bo laughed loudly and ruffled your hair

‘WAH!!!!!! MY LITTLE KOUHAI!!!’

‘bokuto-san!’

your head looked up and you saw the pretty guy walking towards you

he bowed in front of you in both greeting and apology

‘sorry about him. he gets a little excited sometimes. im akaashi keiji by the way’

you waved it off and smiled gently

‘nice to meet you, akaashi-san. and dont worry, i have two people like him in my team’

hinata and noya

‘come on. the next game is about to start’

he tugged bokuto’s arm and bo waved at you before walking away

‘see ya!’

but stopped

‘ah! i didnt get your name!’

‘y/n. l/n y/n’

‘see ya later y/n!’

when you came back, the boys were still doing flying and you glanced at your watch, knowing that your boys should be coming soon

you and yacchi were visibly listening to the other players talking about your team and kiyoko gave you both a look to settle down

‘hold it in, girls’

the sea of different tones of gray were currently making you dizzy with so many things happening at ones and you completely missed the door opening, revealing tanaka’s sister

noya’s excited shout made you turn and you waved excitedly

you’ve met her once when you went over to help tutor her poor brother and noya who practically lives at their house

everyone stopped what they were doing and saw the two boys huffing by the door

you heard kuroo’s comment but you were too excited to see them come back in one piece

‘ah, so those are the legendary first years’

hm, if only you knew why they were late

bo saw you with wide eyes and excitedly bouncing at the sidelines as karasuno started to play

‘what are you looking at bokuto-san?’

akaashi asked

bo thought you were interesting the moment he heard you angrily mumble about him and he thought your pouting face was cute

‘i wonder what her soulmate mark is’

akaashi knew about his soulmate sign since he received a very frantic phone call that sunday afternoon of bokuto not being able to see the color of his apple anymore

‘she probably doesnt have it yet’

akaashi’s answer made his brows furrow

‘she’s a second year so shes probably 16 already’

‘why would it matter to you anyways?’

yea, why did it matter?

‘just general curiosity. shes quite fiesty. i like her. i want to be friends’

akaashi sighs and pats his back

‘i support you, bokuto-san’

shoot this might as well be a bokuaka

he saw you run to the two first years and took their bags for them, ruffling their hair each

even though you’re only like a some months older than hinata, you still treat him like a babie

‘coach left some buns from earlier so you can eat that before you play. oh! i also got you your milk, kags!’

bo literally could feel your happiness radiating and he saw your eyes

too bad he couldn’t see the color of them

although the boys team was finally complete, they still lost quite a lot of sets

and they were trying so hard and you were just cheering on the sidelines w yacchi and kiyoko

you kept running back and forth from the drinking fountain since the boys kept drinking so much water

and bo just finds you there again

for the second time today

:0

‘oh? back again, y/n-chan?’

you could recognized that gruffy voice anywhere

you turned and gave him a tight smile

‘ah. hello bokuto-san’

he pouted and nudged you with a finger to your shoulder

‘senpai! call me senpai!’

you were pretty sure he was 18 yet he still threw a tantrum

what kinda-

‘okay okay. sorry, bokuto-senpai’

then like a switch his pouts became grins and you got dizzy with the sudden mood switch

‘youre such a diligent manager, y/n-chan. you should transfer to our school and be one of ours instead!’

then you remember meeting the 2 managers they had

‘ah, you already have 2 so i think you’re covered’

bo whined at that

‘but karasuno also has 2 without you!’

tbh you shouldve been uncomfortable in this situation bc here you have a grown man whining

but you found his pout endearing and his eyes were loony-looking

‘not to hurt your feelings, bokuto-senpai, but we just met and i don’t know you all that well’

‘then you know the solution to that, don’t you?’

you just stared at him

‘lets get to know each other! lets be friends! lets be close!’

you couldnt say anything else since you were kinda in a pickle here so you just nodded

‘um, okay’

‘bokuto-san!’

that voice made you perk up and you raised a hand

‘akaashi-san!’

bo saw your smile and he pouted, jealous that you didnt give that smile when you saw him

‘ah, l/n-san.’

you looked at bo and his eyes grew even bigger and you resisted the urge to pinch his cheeks with how they puffed out with his pout

woah wait huh

why did you just think of that

akaashi had to bring back bo to the gym for their match but bo refused to walk

‘no! not until y/n-chan wants to be my friend!’

what are you

5?

but you nodded, placing a hand around his bicep

you froze, trying to contain the shock of how S T R O N G they felt

ohmygad

‘l-lets get to know each other later, bokuto-sa-senpai’

you hurriedly corrected yourself and breathed a sigh of relief when he didnt notice

a big smile got to his face and he pointed at you

‘ill win this for you y/n-chan!’

you sweatdropped bc wow this manz is winning a game for you

no-for your friendship

he excitedly ran back down the hallway and disappeared with a faint ‘hey hey hey!’

you and akaashi shared a look and he apologized

‘im sorry if he made you uncomfortable’

‘nah nah, its okay’

‘and thanks for uplifting him. he was in a mood when he left bc we lost a set but now he’s energized thanks to you’

a,,, mood?

‘is he,,, i dont know,,,, bipolar?’

akaashi stood for a second before shrugging

‘i guess you could say that. the team tries to uplift him bc if hes in a mood he messes up’

a sound of recognition left your lips before you nodded

‘ah okay’

‘well, i guess im seeing you later then, l/n-san?’

‘oh, please. call me y/n. we’re the same age!’

but he gave you a mysterious smile

‘i dont think bokuto-san would like that’

so the remaining of the time there, bo was practically stuck to you as he followed you everywhere

babie calls it ‘friendship bonding’

when yall were leaving, he was pouting so hard and you gave in to your urges

;)

you pinched his cheeks

‘until next time, bo-senpai’

blew a fuse right then and there

bO-sENPai

yall remained in contact and you even went up to visit him and just hang out

you were lowkey catching feelings

like when he sent you that mirror picture of him and kuroo being sassy in a department store and your heart started beating really really fast

then your palms started sweating as you remembered the feeling of his warm hands on yours when he led you through the busy sidewalk of tokyo

‘siri, am i having a stroke?’

but you were like ‘nuh-uh, must remain pure for my soulmate’

however

if you have those feelings already and it’s towards your soulmate, that gave bo his sight of colors

just sitting there w his team eating yakisoba bun then he looked at akaashi and saw his friend’s blue eyes again

can you tell im a bokuaka simp

in another life flashbacks

n e ways

he was so happy and ecstatic and was about to call you but akaashi was like, ‘wait, i think she might be your soulmate’

the entire team was just like, ‘what’

and bo just sitting there, ‘omg what if’

akaashi, 

grandmaster plan creator

tells bokuto to hold off from telling you until the next time yall see each other which is in the training camp

for story’s sake, training camp finally rolls around

you cannot stop squirming in your seat bc ya finally get to see bo again after so long

kuroo greets yall at the front and hes familiar w you since you hung out w the tokyo squad

‘you have a surprise little chibi’

you were just like, ‘,,,,ok kurat’

meanwhi;e,,

bo was so antsy and he was just like, ‘yey! i get to see her again!’

ngl, bo thought you were really pretty and cute and he thinks he has a crush on you but not like head-over-heels like you were

literally cannot stand still and the team was tired of having to keep him from running so akaashi just let him go

‘but dont run her over, bokuto-san’

he sonic bolts over

nYOOM

he finally sees that tangerine hinata and was searching for your hair color and when he sees you laughing at kuroo’s face, his eyes widened

his heart beat started beating really really fast and everything in his brain and all the words he wanted to say died down

he never really saw your face with colors but he just stares in awe at your beautiful skin color, breathtaking eyes, silky hair, and those plump lips

sweat started to gather at his palms and his feet started moving on its own until he just scoops you in his arms, lifting you off the ground in the process

w you, there was a silence

‘your eyes,,,,, theyre beautiful’

bo just grins at the crack of your voice and tears just wells up in your eyes w a smile

‘bo!’ 

you shouted and you wrapped your legs around his waist while he burrows his head in your neck

‘you’re so beautiful. oh my god, you’re so beautiful’

omg what i would do for bo to say that to me

obvs, the others knew what was happening

dai and suga were already planning on the talk

kuroo just recording the whole thing

‘im falling in love with you. i want to fall in love with you over and over again until i die. i want to feel like this forever. can i?’

just forgets about everyone and being in your own bubble and your own world as bokuto just professes his love for you

‘stupid question, koutaro!’

you giggled and he finally allowed you to stand on your own two feet

‘let me love you for eternity’

cue waterworks from noya and tanaka and konoha

‘but baby, we need to touch up your roots, though.’

‘we got forever, soulmate’

sorry if this was trash

[ciggylungz]

Benefits

Rivals blurb: 2.8k word

Request: y/n & harry go to a bar and someone from harrys office flirts with her and he gets jealous

__

Work parties were never very exciting, so when Y/n and Harry had a combined company benefit party at one of the upscale lounges in London she was hardly excited. Her publicist had decided it would be good to do it together to get more hype and press on it by proving even though their companies split years prior there was ‘no bad blood’. She only agreed because some of the profits were going to different charities and that gave her the stamina to stick out a work event, and well free booze was a plus.

She had just enough time to make a pitstop home to change into a formal appropriate cocktail dress, pumps and fixed her hair before making her way towards the bar. Upon arrival she could already hear Harry’s distinct fake laugh, her eyes rolling automatically knowing he was cheesing up to some rich beneficiary to milk as much cash out of them as he could. She headed straight to the bar, ordering a vodka soda with lime deciding she’d need a little help getting through the night If she’d be trapped with that prick in such an enclosed space.

After two vodka sodas she was feeling a good buzz, good enough that her uptight nature seemed to unravel enough for her to entertain the gentlemen who decided to start talking to her, joining her at the bar. He wasn’t too bad looking, typical business man look with a crisp suit and hair styled with some sort of product that made it stiff. He was well groomed and she had recognized him as one of Harry’s employees. Mark was his name, and as long as he kept her drinks coming, she was more than willing to keep chatting with the man. Seemed like a good trade to her, booze for flirting- a win-win for both parties.

“How old are yeh doll?” the man was giving her the typical flirty eyes, she’d typically cringe at how thick this guy was laying it on already but she was too tipsy to care. “ ‘m 23, you?” the man had a sly smirk on his face at that, rubbing his chin slightly before taking a sip of his whiskey. “I’m 46, props to you fo’ havin’ such a big company at your age. I was just getting’ coffee for asshole bosses when I was your age. A business woman is sexy you know? You like older men hun?” his game was truly weak, almost embarrassingly so for someone of his age. She questioned if he could be a 40-year-old virgin, or he was just a terrible flirt. Yet she answered truthfully, not caring much since she’d likely never see this bloke again. “Depends, been with ‘em before but it’s not a preference or anything.”

His eyes flicked over the expanse of her body, his smirk not dropping at her answer as he licked over his lips. “Oldest you’ve been with?” his question made her roll her eyes starting to get a little tired of him now, knowing full well he just wanted to bang her which wasn’t going to happen. “I don’t kiss and tell Marcus.”

The pair weren’t aware of the irritated glare that was watching their every move, reading their lips from across the room as they talked. Harry was the peeping tom in question, staring the two adults down with a strange feeling in his gut and a tingle in his palms- like he wanted to punch his employee but- why? It’s not like he had any real reason to, but still a flare of…jealousy crawled up his spine and burrowed inside the ripples of his brain. He had been in this position before, when him and the girl were younger and he’d see her makeout with another guy or her boyfriend of the time or when he’d hear them fucking in a neighboring room while a young Harry grew overly irritated at the fact someone else was feeling what he’d felt before. He was being immature he knew that, but he didn’t care as he marched over to the pair acting casual despite his mood when he leaned against the dark wood of the polished bar.

Harry rubbed his pointer finger over the wood, collecting a small amount of dust on the digit before tapping his knuckles on the wood getting the attention of the bar tender and the pair he’d been practically stalking since he noticed them together. “Gin and tonic please, love and another one of whatever Y/n had. Put it on my tab, thank yeh” he was always a polite guy, his mother truly raised him well in that aspect and it was refreshing for Y/n to hear the man talking to someone kindly instead of the usual bickering they partake in.

Y/n turned to him on her swiveling barstool, giving him a tipsy soft smile and nod in acknowledgement not noticing the side eye he was giving the man on the other side of her. “Hello Harold” she greeted him using the name she knew got on his nerves, his name was simply Harry yet everyone assumed it was a shortened version of the rather old-fashioned name typically tied to it. Yet, he didn’t bother getting irritated or retorting with something annoying no- his focus was more on the man he had an itch to fire at the moment. He managed to keep his professional nature regardless, “Evening love, hello Marcus what are you lot talkin’ about?” Y/n was more confused on the pet name he’d used towards her than about the harsh gaze he was sending toward the man on her left.

Mark seemed to sense the animosity, knowing his bosses irritated look very well. He opted to respond to his employer with an awkward chuckle a shrug added to it, “Nothin’ much, business and such. Was admiring how she’s runnin’ a company so young just like you. Would be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit jealous.” His free hand went up to scratch the back of his neck, sipping his drink to have a way to cover his nervous lips whilst Harry stared him down. Y/n was honestly a bit amused at the situation at hand, wishing she had some popcorn to go with her fifth vodka soda to enjoy the little testosterone standoff happening. She’s seen Harry get like this a couple times, so she shamelessly added fuel to the fire.

“Yea, and askin’ me if I like older men then following that up with askin’ the oldest man I’ve slept with. It’s been a very professional conversation H, no need to worry.” She knew exactly what she was doing, and she got the reaction she wanted when Mark nervously fiddled with his tie and Harry’s jaw clenched, the action still noticeable in the dim lighting. Y/n was tempted to laugh at the surge of tension she had just created, opting instead to sip her drink as she waited for what was to come next.

Harry straightened himself up, turning to look at the man with a raised eyebrow. “Oh really? That hardly seems appropriate for a work event.” Harry was trying his best not to show the possessive feelings he was having, rather opting for a reprimanding boss act to fit the occasion. “erm…uh was just some casual banter Mister Styles. Might have had one too many, wasn’t using my best judgement…I apologize Y/n” he was rushing his words, obviously anxious to escape the confrontation which Y/n found even funnier. Harry gave the man a curt dismissal with a request to see him in his office on Monday, and in true Y/n fashion she decided to add a second dose of fuel to the fire- calling out to the fleeing man- “The oldest was 54 by the way!” this of course made Mark scurry away faster and Harry lower his gaze to the woman before him with a irritated yet quizzical look.

“54?” his tongue darted out to lick over his lips, a sting of gin hitting the tip of his tongue from the drop lingering on his bottom lip. Y/n shrugged, crunching a rouge ice cube between her back molars while she nodded. “Vegas, tequila, he had major sugar daddy vibes and 19-year-old me was into it.” Y/n was always rather shameless when it came to sex, she’s been sexually active for the majority of her life so the shyness of talking about it left her long ago. Harry snorted slightly, shaking his head with an amused grin at the girl. “Naughty! you’re somethin’ else Y/n. I’m gonna tell your dad.”

“I don’t think his heart could take it, he did an awful lot of blow back in the day so I’d appreciate it if yeh didn’t do that sir.” She rolled her eyes, taking a subtle jab at her less than respectable antics of her filthy rich father. “Seems like you were doing an awful lot of a different version of blow to me.” the man smirked at his own joke getting a light slap on his bicep in return. “Shut up, I haven’t forgotten when you got gonorrhea when you were 18. You’re just as bad as me.” Y/n poked his ribs making Harry groan at the memory, “I got that treated you asshole. I’ve learned to wrap it before I tap it since then and be selective with what I put my dick in now. For the record, all my std tests have come back clean since so fuck you.”  

Y/n gave him an innocent smile back, resting her cheek on her fist. “Is that an offer?”

The response wasn’t one Harry was expecting. Not by a long shot, he hasn’t been inside her in a little over a year so her response to his jab took him by surprise. His eyes immediately met hers, finding a curious glance coming from her orbs. Setting down his glass the man turned towards her, facing her completely before responding.

“If you want it to be.”

Y/n smiled at him, standing up from her stool to get closer to the man pulling him down by his collar to talk in his ear. “Your place or mine?”

__

  After a painful ten-minute taxi ride, they’d made it to Harrys home. They were well aware of looming neighbors and press so they kept it professional till they were inside the four walls of the mansion- rushing up to his bedroom like two teenagers scared of getting caught. Anxious rushing of feet up the stairs hands struggling to stay to themselves on the way to the king-sized bed waiting for them.

After what seemed like forever, the pair burst into Harry’s bedroom the door hitting the wall with a loud bang as the man lurched forward to smash his lips against hers. It was frantic, sloppy and rough- it was fucking hot.

“you drive me up the fuckin’ wall you know that?” His voice was gruff, heavy with lust and jealous rage. Shoving the woman onto his bed with little care, he knew she liked it rough. A fact confirmed to him after he’d seen the rather violent bdsm porn she had saved to her computer and the various sex toys-including restraints, collars and clamps in a box in her closet 2 years ago when she moved into her current home and forced him to help her put everything away.

Y/n let out a small gasp when her body flew onto the mattress, kicking her heels off after she had settled with a smirk painted on her pretty lips. “Do i?” her tone way teasing, hands moving to unzip her dress while the man moved to stand before her yanking the fabric down her body to leave her in only a silk bra and matching thong, his eyes shamelessly taking in the sight of her body- intimate parts only covered with think sections of emerald green silk fabric.

“Ya know I didn’t appreciate you tellin’ that bloke about other men fuckin’ you, was rather impolite y/n.” Harry gave her a stone cold glare whilst tugging his belt out of the loops of his dress pants, tossing it carelessly behind him as the woman dove forward to work the button and zipper of his trousers undone. “Why? You jealous? Are you jealous because I let other men and women fuck me? Are you mad that you never get to taste me, fuck me and cum with me like they do?”

Y/n’s comments were soon cut off by a ring clad hand wrapped itself around her neck with enough pressure to stall her speech. “You never know when to shut the fuck up huh? We both know full well, no one can fuck yeh the way I do. Now, are you gonna quit your blabbering so I can fuck yeh or do I have to shove this skimpy excuse for underwear down that gabby throat? Hmm? Because I like to hear your dirty moans but I’m not a fan of this snarky mouth baby. Are you going to behave or shall I go have a wank instead?”

The pitiful whine accompanied by a pout coming from the woman made Harry’s cock twitch, she was so desperate for it and he had her right where he wanted her. He soon felt her hands pawing at his crotch, tugging the material of his tight dress pants down his legs before returning to pull his cock from the flap in the front of his boxers. It had been entirely too long since he’d held her small soft hands on his prick, watching with baited breath as her right hand moved to rid herself of the sorry excuse for undergarments she had on.

“Want it in, H please”

He obviously couldn’t say no to that, not when she was giving him those eyes and leaning back to show the web of wetness dripping from her slit onto the sheets below her snapping when she swiped her finger through it to rub on his already leaking tip. She had his head swimming, chest heaving and balls pulsing with every move she made.

The man tossed her body further up the bed, getting between her legs giving her no warning as he sunk completely in. The pressure and harshness of the thrust took her breath away, an overwhelming fullness almost uncomfortable as he gave her no time to adjust before driving into her beautiful body. The sound of her wetness clicking when coming in contact with his hips and filthy groans of pleasure filled the space, the slapping of skin harsh in their ears with every nailing of his pelvis into hers.

“This what yeh needed? No one else fucks yeh so good you can’t breathe do they? Got your face goin’ almost purple, feel my cock in your chest don’t you baby?”

His words were filthy, yet held truth. He pulled halfway out to give her a chance to take a few breaths, the dark redness of her oxygen starved face starting to fade to a flustered pink before he continued his rough ramming. Her nails pierced the skin of his tattooed arms, screams of pleasure rawing her throat when she felt her orgasm about to reach it’s peak.

“Holy fuck!”

Her exclamation was loud, filthy and drenched in sultry bliss as the knot in her stomach unraveled. She tried desperately to climb away from his hammering hips, the stimulation making her entire body feel like it was screaming yet his hands kept her pinned to the bed fucking her relentlessly through her orgasm.

“Fuckin’ hell! Cummin’ hard huh? No one else can make you cum like this, say it. Tell me baby, admit it”

His teeth were clenched painfully tight as he spoke, Y/n struggling to get her words out with the surge of feeling rushing through her nerves managing to ramble out the words almost incoherently.

“That’s fuckin’ right doll, only I can do this to yeh.”

Even with his body on fire, he held his cocky persona pounding into her a few more times until he jerked his hips out just in time to spill his seed onto her heaving stomach. Watching the ribbons of thick white cum paint her flushed sweaty skin, her body trembling from her orgasm violently while being painted with her ‘enemies’ hot cum.

The bed shook when Harry dropped down beside her, breathless and worn out. a proud smirk painted on his sweaty red face when he turned to the woman who was looking at him already struggling to remember how to breathe. Placing a smacking kiss to her swollen lips, a strong arm tugging her into his sticky side.

For the first time in a long time, they felt content in each other’s grasp. Making them both silently wonder if these feelings weren’t just lust, but something else entirely.

[leafs-lover]

Because Two People Got Drunk: 40

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I don’t even know how this became 12k words. Anyways I hope to have 41 out in the next week, but be prepared. It’s dirty ;)

Chapter 40

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, smut (oral male receiving) thigh riding

Word Count: 12,000

“Hey babe" you hear a raspy voice mumble.

“Hey" you smile closing the fridge door and are met with him leaning against the counter, arms crossed across his chest, fitted suit clinging to his frame. You bounce on your feet, Elise pressed against your chest squirming slightly having just ate.

“How was your nap?” you ask.

“Alright didn’t get much of one, mostly laid there.”

You pull a mug down and reach over to the fresh pot of coffee, pouring one for him.

“Thanks. Where are the boys?” he asks graciously taking the cup from you.

“Outside with your parents by the pool.” With the summer approaching and Fred’s parents down Oliver was very eager to get in the pool. Since opening it the only time you have been able to pull Oliver from the water was for Fred’s hockey, him being more fish than human most days.

“Daddy" you hear Oliver squeal followed by stampeding footprints.

“Hiya” he bends down to pick him up for a hug.

“I like your suit" Oliver says playing with his tie, pulling it out from behind the jacket.

“Thanks bud”

“Grandpa says he is going to take me to the game.”

While Ernst and Charlotte have alternated taking him to the games, tonight is the game. Tonight is game six of the Stanley Cup Finals. If they beat the Canucks tonight they win the cup, if they lose they play game seven in Vancouver in three days.

Charlotte stayed home a couple times with Elise so you could go to some games, but you have missed most of them caring for your newborn daughter. But it hasn’t been that bad, either you have had one of them home to help you with the three young ones. On a few occasions the two of them have gone taking all the boys leaving you with just Elise.

“Yeah daddy looks handsome” Charlotte says walking in. She sets Lucas on his feet, who wobbles for a few seconds on his uneasy legs before dropping to his bum and crawling over.

“Thanks ma" he chuckles bending down in his suit to be closer to Lucas’s level while setting Oliver on his feet. Next Ernst walks in, Noah clutching his fingers as he takes a few uneasy steps.

While neither boy on is walking on their own you are hopeful it will be soon. The idea of the two of them tripping over everything and getting hurt doesn’t excite you; but you hope Charlotte and Ernst get to witness it before heading back to Denmark after the playoffs.

“Woah” Fred calls reaching out to pick up Lucas as Noah guides Ernst towards him. He grabs him pulling him into his other hip earning a slight chuckle from the toddler, just before he stands up Oliver jumps on his back wrapping his hands around his neck.

“Oof" he laughs. “What were we thinking with a fourth?” he turns to face you. “Didn’t have enough hands when there was three babies.”

“You weren’t thinking” Ernst says with a smirk while Charlotte shoots him a glare. Ignoring his father’s comment he walks towards the couch, leaning forward to not drop Oliver. Once standing over it he leans backwards.

Oliver begins to laugh and squeal as his grip loosens before finally letting go and falling onto the couch. Fred gives both of the twins a kiss on their foreheads and sets them on the floor. The two of them make their way over to their toys and Oliver jumps back into Fred’s arms.

“Good luck daddy”

“Oh thanks buddy" he kisses his forehead. “I’ll see you at the game tonight.”

“Mhm" he nods with a big smile.

Next he heads over to his parents both of them wishing him luck before making his way to you.

“Good luck babe, you’re gonna do amazing" his lips press against yours. You run your fingers through his rough beard, it having grown substantially during the playoff run.

“Thanks" he reaches to put a hand on your waist, careful not to pull you in too tight with Elise between you and his lips press briefly against yours.

Pulling away he reaches to grab Elise and you coil away slightly. “Baby you look really nice in that suit, and your daughter has a tendency to puke after eating.”

“Its fine" he laughs grabbing her from you. Her legs stretch out with a slight cry. Once pressed against his chest his familiar scent calms her down and she begins suckling her mouth. He bounces slightly and presses her head against her chest. “She isn’t gonna puke on me" he runs a hand over her back as a small yawn falls from her lips.

“Oh you tired pretty girl" his lips press against her forehead. “Almost your nap time eh” he bounces her a few more times. At that moment you hear her little cough and Fred immediately stops moving her and looks down.

You smirk knowing you were right and Fred pulls her away and you see the vomit staining his white dress shirt and his navy blue suit.

“Don’t say it" he smiles.

“No idea what you’re talking about” you tease following him upstairs.

Once upstairs you take Elise to change her into a clean onesie while Fred switches his suit. Once changed you bring her back into your bedroom setting her in the bassinet, as she isn’t quite six weeks she still sleeps in the room with you both, likely will for a little while longer.

Fred walks out of the closet with his burgundy dress pants on. A crisp new white shirt is tucked tightly into his pants. So tight it hugs the curves of his muscles and you can see his abs through the stomach. He has the matching vest and jacket in his hand tossing them on the bed as he grips the black silk tie.

You take it from him running the smooth fabric through your fingers a few times before wrapping it around his neck. You slowly tie it, not breaking eye contact as you tighten it around his neck and fix his collar.

You rise to your tippy toes gently pressing your mouth against his pulse point, earning a breathy “thanks baby.”

You smirk in response his cologne flooding you as he leans around you to grip his vest and jacket.

“Very handsome Mr. Andersen” you adjust the tie as he fixes the cuffs of his sleeve.

“Fuck you’re something" he groans.

Ignoring his comment you reach around his neck, running your hands through his hair and pulling his lips down to yours.

“You’re gonna be amazing tonight.”

“I can’t convince you to come eh” he presses his lips against yours again; you can taste the minty mouthwash as his tongue spreads your lips and slides in.

Because of how young Elise is she hasn’t been to a game yet and you don’t think she should be at the game tonight. You considered getting Christie for the night but Elise hasn’t had a night without family and you just aren’t ready to do that yet.

Charlotte spent the last two days trying to convince you to go; and you really have gone back and forth. It’s not an easy decision choosing between being a supportive fiancé or your mom duties. Fred has talked with you about it briefly, but he can tell how hard it is for you. Not wanting to make your decision harder he didn’t press the issue.

When you finally decided you would stay home with Elise Charlotte immediately said she would stay with her, that you should be at the game. But you couldn’t do that to her. His parents would wake up early to drive him to practice, and gave up everything for their kids. Now Fred has the chance to win the biggest prize in hockey, something he never would have accomplished without them so you want them there.

“She is so little” you pull away eyeing to your sleeping daughter.

“She’ll love it” his mouth finds a spot under your ear gently nipping the skin. “She’ll be fine up in the family suite, all she is going to do anyways is sleep. She can do that in the suite.”

His hands trail down your body landing on your waist holding you close to his chest as your arms wrap around his neck. “Need my good luck charms there” he gently nuzzles his head into your collarbone “all of them.” His long beard itches against your skin as he nuzzles in deeper “my girls are a part of my good luck charm.”

“You’ve won games without us there” your hips roll forward groaning as he peppers you with soft kisses, your loose t-shirt easily falling off your shoulder to allow him more space.

“But it’s so much better when you’re there cheering me on” his hands slide around to the small of your back as he places soft kisses to your jaw. “No matter what happens I want you there, need you there.”

“I know babe” you whisper softly feeling tears prick your eyes. This is an impossible situation, you want to be there for Fred but Elise is still so young. You sniffle lightly against his chest and he pulls away sighing when he sees your face. His large hands easily cup your face and his thumb wipes away the few tears that have fallen.

“I’m sorry” you whisper rubbing your face against his hand as your eyes gently close.

“Hey no don’t cry” he presses his lips to your forehead. “I’m sorry babe.”

“I feel like I’m disappointing you” you say softly.

“Never” he holds you tight against him as a few slow tears roll down your cheeks. “You’re an amazing mom; I know it’s not easy. Maybe the birth of our next unplanned child will work better with my hockey schedule” he tilts your head to look into your eyes.

You chuckle slightly “no more unplanned babies” you say rolling your eyes blinking back some tears.

“What about planned babies” he smirks.

“Stop” you laugh through blurred lenses.

“There it is” he smirks seeing you smile. He brings his lips to yours briefly “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Your hands slide into his hair while his hands trail down your body. His tongue slips in your mouth and his hands grip your hips as the kiss changes from soft to hungry.

“You’ll be late babe" you mumble against his lips.

“I don’t care” he groans pulling you closer to him. He gives your ass a gentle squeeze and pulling you firmly against him. He presses his lips back to yours, his overgrown mustache slides into your mouth along with his tongue causing you to pull back.

“I can’t wait until this is gone” you laugh raking your nails through his beard. Through the years you have witnessed his playoff facial hair grow in, but they have never made it the finals before, so he hasn’t gone this long with trimming it. In the beginning he would shave away the few hairs that are high on his cheeks, to help keep the shape while the hair grew out. But part way through the second round he stopped and now his beard begins much higher on his cheeks than ever before.

“I was thinking of keeping it for the wedding” he presses his lips back on yours.

“No” you laugh pushing him off you shaking your head. “This” your index finger points to his facial hair “is not welcome at our wedding. Now get going.”

“See you when I get home” he smirks with one final soft kiss before walking out of the room.

**

“Mommy. Why are you wearing your jacket?” Oliver asks when you walk into the living room a little while later. You have on jeans with a while t-shirt under a black, white and yellow leather jacket with Andersen engraved in cursive font on the back. It’s a custom jacket that every WAG had made for the playoff run. The few games you have gone to you’ve either worn this or your jersey; but it largely has been unworn.

“It’s such an Important night for daddy I thought he’d want all of us there” you say as Charlotte smiles seeing you.

She walks over and wraps her arms around your neck “I’m glad you came to your senses dear, he will want you there no matter what.” Her lips gently press into your cheek and she pulls away “I love you Char" you wipe a tear from your eye.

“Is Elise coming too" Oliver asks as Charlotte smiles her response to your words.

“Yes" you walk into the pantry and pull out a bag you have hidden away that contains a small pink jersey you had custom made to fit her, complete with Fred’s number and daddy embroidered on the back. While you never intended for her to wear this to a game, you were planning on sending him a picture or video with her in it. “I got her this to wear, what do you think Ollie?”

He nods in agreement “mhm daddy will be so happy to see her.”

You find Elise in her swing, pulling the small jersey over her head. She stirs slightly in her sleep and Charlotte hands you a pair of noise cancelling headphones with a grin, she knew all along you would come.

The seven of you climb in the car, Fred having recently traded in the SUV for the seven seat Mercedes. While your old one fit the five of you, it didn’t have a sixth seat. This one can fit 7, so there is more space available for all of you since he refuses to have anything that resembles a minivan.

You all are heading down early. There are festivities in and out of the arena, but you know Oliver won’t be interested in them, too anxious for the game. And the other kids are too young to participate. But they do have a dinner in the family suite, and everyone will be excited to meet the newest addition to the Penguins family.

Once at the suite Elise is immediately pulled from her carrier and whisked off, being shuffled around by the other WAGS. With Ollie you used to try to object, but now you’ve just grown accustom to the babies being gone as soon as you walk in.

“I can’t believe you came" Kathy wraps her arms around you. “You were adamant in not coming a couple hours ago.”

“Please I couldn’t miss this" you pull back “or you. What are you now, 5 months?”

“Four and a half” her hand runs over her stomach.

“That’s so exciting, I’m so happy for you" your arms wrap back around you.

“Mhm" she hums her head turning to follow some food being brought in. You chuckle slightly and walk over with her; she’s practically drooling looking at the options.

“Hey Ollie" you call out having no idea where your son is in the room.

“Yeah mommy" he runs up beside you as you make him a small plate.

“Take your jersey off so you can eat” otherwise you know he would spill some ketchup down himself.

“I think she’s hungry" someone says handing Elise back to you just as you sat down.

“Do you need help?” Kathy asks watching as you adjust Elise under a blanket.

“Why? You want to feed me Kath?” you joke adjusting twirling spaghetti on a fork and bringing it to your lips.

“Well I mean if that’s what you need" she laughs “guess I should get used to feeding someone else.”

“You have time for that" you laugh. “But you do learn how to multitask very early on. I mastered the art of eating while I feed my baby pretty early with Oliver. Otherwise I would have starved.”

Fixing your clothes you pull Elise out and drape the blanket over your shoulder, not wanting to have to wear baby vomit for the rest of the night as you burp her before she dozes off again.

“Mommy! The skate is going to start" you hear Oliver notify you. Looking around you see some of the group has filtered out while they make their way down to the glass. Elise is asleep in your arms, pacifier in her mouth; grabbing his hand you make your way down.

Charlotte and Ernst both have one of the twins, and you would think having a sleeping new born and the oldest (who should be the best behaved) would be easier. But Oliver is trying to run down the hall, if he was much stronger he would be dragging you. Once at the glass you check that the headphones haven’t shifted from her or the twins and when you glance up some of the boys have stepped on the ice.

Fred steps on the ice and heads to the net, as he lifts his helmet he finds the group in the corner. Leaving his helmet on the net he skates over, you see the moment he notices you are there because his entire face lights up with the biggest smile. You carefully pull Oliver into your other arm so he can be closer to Fred.

He taps on the glass by the twins, their eyes lighting up and small laughs coming from them, Lucas clapping his hands as they see Fred in front of them. They have no idea what is happening but they always have the same reaction when they see Fred in his goalie equipment on the other side of the glass.

His large smile has yet to fade as he leans over to Oliver waving at him. Oliver holds a fist up and the two of them fist-bump through the glass; their pre-game ritual.

Next he shifts to you shaking his head still in somewhat disbelief. You see his lips moving; while you can’t talk hear through the glass you can tell what he is saying.

I can’t believe you’re here. I love you so much.

You mouth an “I love you” to him and adjust Elise so he can see the writing on the back of her Jersey. A large smile crosses his face as he waves goodbye and skates off, the seven of you returning to the lounge.

You do have actual seats, really good seats actually. But it’s easier with Elise and the twins to be up in the suite. It has space for the stroller, so whenever one of them falls asleep you can set them down in there. It will also be much quieter for everyone, and some comfort and privacy.

You offered to watch Elise and the twins upstairs so the others could watch from the actual seats, Charlotte said no. Wanting to help you so you aren’t left alone with three kids even though you have much experience with that already.

And Ollie said he wanted to stay with you, resulting in all of you upstairs along with a few others including Kathy.

The Canucks come out strong, as expected. Tonight is a must win if they want a shot at the Stanley cup. They easily dominate the first period, shots 10-3; though none have made it past Fred. Oliver is over the moon watching Fred in night. He commentates some of the plays to you and Kathy, yelling whenever Fred has a save.

“You ready for that" you laugh eyeing towards him as he jumps out of his seat for the first save of the second period.

“Honestly I don’t know how much time Sid has left to play” she sighs. “Peanut might not get to see him play, and if they do they surely won’t remember.”

You smile not wanting to push the topic further. As Sid has gotten older the question of his time in the league always comes up. Any time he gets injured or if he blows a play; it’s constantly coming up. Everyone knows this might be his last season, adding an extra layer into the team’s performance.

Part way through the second period a Penguins defenseman pinches to try and keep the puck in the Canuck zone. Brock Boeser beats him to the puck, banking it off the boards before starting off down the ice. The other defenseman takes off along with Pettersson creating a 2 on 1.

The defenseman a few strides back slides to attempt to block the pass, but Boeser manages to pass it a few feet from the net. Landing right on Elias’s stick. Fred having committed to stopping Brock on the right side tries to slide across but not in time. Pettersson tips it over hid pad and in; giving them the lead.

It was a beautiful goal, one that Fred had no chance on. He had to assume Brock would shoot and protect that half of the neck. But regardless of the circumstance it gives them a lead, and a fire they desperately need.

Five minutes later, while on the power play a second one goes past Fred. An absolute rocket from the blue line, and he was screened by 2 Canucks and one of his own men. Another goal he had no chance on, but still frustrating for him nonetheless.

Silence falls over the building.

This is the moment you wish were in your seats. To be closer to Fred. When he would take his helmet off for a drink maybe he could find you in the stands. See you smiling back at him, or maybe he would just feel you there close to him.

Going into the third the Penguins need momentum, and they have it. Keeping the puck in the Canucks end for the majority of the first 10 minutes. Vancouver manages 1 shot and Pittsburgh 7. It’s the change of pace they needed. The momentum brings the fans back into but they are unable to execute on it.

You can almost hear a pin drop as the clock winds down, less than 5 remaining. That’s when Sid is fed the puck behind the defense and takes off on a breakaway.

He dekes left and back right drawing the goalie over. He fakes a shot and the goalie goes down only to flip it up off the crossbar and down. It lands on the goalies back bouncing off him and into the net.

The entire building erupts; yellow towels are being spun around the entire stadium.

This is what they needed. The fans back in it and a change in momentum leads to another quick goal and three minutes left in the game.

The next three minutes feel like 3 hours to you. You are on the edge of your seat, along with every other person in the building. Neither team scores and the game is off to overtime.

While the twins fell asleep, Oliver hasn’t. You hope he does soon, because at some point regardless of the outcome you and the kids will have to leave given the time, and you don’t want to have to deal with a meltdown when that comes during overtime.

One thing you know about overtime is anything can happen. One bad bounce, it can go off your own players skate, one miscue and everything is over.

There are no comebacks in overtime.

The Canucks chip the puck down to Pittsburgh end and everyone starts a change. Fred skates out to stop the puck for his defensemen only there isn’t one. Looking up ice he sees the rookie and sends the puck down. Skating in he takes the shot only to have it be saved, but the rebound is quickly lifted over the goalie and in the net.

Shock washes over you, as you sit in your seat. You don’t hear the horn or the entire stadium erupt, you don’t see the confetti fall from the ceiling. It’s not until Oliver jumps in your arms, pulling the air out of your chest that you realize it actually happened. You didn’t dream it.

Fred won the Stanley Cup.

“Daddy did it" he squeals as your arms tighten around him.

“He sure did" you feel tears prick your eyes.

Tears, hugs and laughter fill the press box, champagne being passed to those who can drink. Through your excitement and commotion you missed the handshakes, Vancouver having left the ice. You watch as the Cup is brought out and handed to Sidney for the fourth time.

It is handed around to the rookie next, the game winning goal scorer. Likely the next face of the organization when Sidney leaves.

And he, well he hands it to the man that fed him the puck. Fred.

You watch as he hoists the cup above his head. Charlotte and Ernst both have tears in their eyes, while Oliver’s face is lit up brighter than on Christmas morning. You feel a couple warm tears fall down your cheek when you hear Kathy in your ear “Let’s go.”

Scanning the room you realize everyone has filtered out, making the trek down to the ice. Once the cup has been passed around and the team photo complete the doors are opened and families begin to flood the ice.

“Daddy you won!” Oliver cheers when he picks him up, squeezing g him into his chest.

“I sure did" he chuckles giving his dad a hug.

“I’m so proud of you Frederik" Charlotte says pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thanks ma" he smiles setting Oliver down beside her.

He takes a few steps and your arms open, immediately you wrap your arms around his neck blocking the florescent lights from your eyes. His hair is soaked with sweat and covered with a “Stanley Cup champion" hat. His equipment makes him bigger than ever and his jersey smells of something you can’t even imagine.

But you don’t care.

Your fingers hold the back of his head and pull him down to you. He reaches around hands landing on the small of your back as your mouths collide.

It doesn’t start slow, he dives right in. You can taste the sweat on his lips, the Gatorade on his tongue. Tongue slipping inside and you moan into his mouth before he pulls away briefly to capture his breath.

“Don’t make baby number five tonight" you hear someone mumble but press back in, smirking through the kiss.

“Congratulations baby" you pull away for a second only to kiss him again. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I wouldn’t be here without you" he smiles kissing you again. “Or my four good luck charms.”

He pulls away and skates to the stroller. The twins having woken up with all the commotion are wide eyed taking in the sights while Elise still sleeps soundly.

Pulling the twins out he bounces them on his hips, pressing kisses into both of their short red hair. Neither has any idea what is going on but pick up on the energy and smile, Noah clapping in his hands.

“Let’s get a family picture” he smiles. Ernst grabs Elise and you Oliver. You grip on to Fred’s arm as he leads you out on the ice. It’s not that you aren’t a decent skater; it’s just different wearing shoes and holding a child.

Once out there you get situated and Fred skates away to help Charlotte. He comes back a couple minutes later with the rookie and the Stanley Cup. He sets the cup down in front and Fred gets his dad to set Elise gently in the cup, using some unused towels to cushion it for her.

“Is that necessary?” you laugh when Fred comes back beside you.

“Babe how many babies get pictures in there?” he laughs as the team photographer takes a few of just Elise. “Much better than those newborn pictures you had done a few weeks ago” he teases.

“That’s ridiculous” you say.

“I think it’s perfect” Fred says helping you get in position beside him and the cup.

“Me too daddy” Oliver claps.

“Two to one, you’re outvoted” he kisses you again before everyone gets set for the family pictures. The celebrations continue over the next little while, champagne passed around just as much as the Stanley Cup. Trying to safely maneuver on the ice becomes somewhat of a challenge, but you are happy you settled on a pair of converse instead of heels.

“We’re going to take the kids home" Charlotte wraps her arms around Fred and you next. Looking to the stroller you see all three kids are asleep and Oliver’s eyes are closed as he rests in Ernst’s arms. Some of the players have begun to filter off the ice, continuing the celebration in the locker room.

“Have fun tonight momma" Charlotte winks as Fred helps them off the ice.

Almost instantly Fred’s arms wrap around you, pulling you in tight against his chest protector. You wrap your arms around his neck, struggling to reach with the extra inches his skates give him. He picks you up and sets you on his boots bringing his hands finding the back of your thighs to hold you in place.

His lips find your neck as he peppers kisses pulling some moans from you. “Babe people can see" you say. While many fans have left and are likely celebrating in bars or in the streets, there is still a decent amount that has remained inside.

“Let them see" he mumbles. “I’m sure they can figure out why I can’t keep my hands off you.”

“Babe" you warn as he kisses you below the collar of your jacket.

“Jump up" he whispers and you wrap your arms around him tightly, your legs around his waist as he skates off the ice towards the dressing room where some of the team is waiting.

“See you in a bit” he sets you down with a kiss before heading into the dressing room.

**

“Hey babe" Fred’s hands grip your hips to hold you steady as you walk directly into his chest.

“Hey champion" you smile looking up to him. His eyes are glossed over and red from the alcohol you can smell it on him. Or do you smell it on yourself?

He grips your hips digging his hands gently into your cool and damp skin, chuckling slightly at your words. It’s only mid-June but Mario has the pool heater on for a party in the backyard. It’s warm in the water but once out the cool night air sends a slight chill through your body.

Fred lifts you in the air eliciting a slight squeal from your lips. Spinning you both 180°C he sets you back down with a kiss on the cheek. With a smirk he walks back into the bathroom shutting the door behind him.

“I’m sure you could have found your way back” he teases opening the door to see you in the bedroom waiting for him. A dark smile crosses your face and you put your hands on his chest backing him into the bathroom.

“Babe" he groans as you turn the lock on the door.

Wordlessly your mouth finds his neck, sucking lightly to taste the chlorine on his skin. Your hand begins to trail down his body running over his dripping swim trunks. The wet fabric clinging to every muscle of his lower body. Your hand presses down his hips to his thick thighs before palming over him a few times.

“(Y/N)” he warns but that only encourages you. You rub over his member and drag your teeth along his neck, Fred chuckling at your determination.

“We can’t do this here" he pushes your hips so your flatfooted pulling you from his neck.

“We fucked in Sid’s bathroom at a Halloween party" you move to his chest placing open mouth kisses on him gently sucking on his warm skin.

“That was my captain’s house, this is the owners” he gasps as your teeth sink into his chest. “And we were trying to make a baby then" he groans as you feel him start to harden under your hand.

“Well" you rise back to your tippy toes wrapping both arms around his neck. You press your hips forward, his hard member pressing into your stomach “my fiancé just won the Stanley Cup and I want to celebrate.” You place kisses along his neck and jaw between each word, Fred taking a sharp exhale.

“We are celebrating, hence the party.” You can hear the music and muffled laughter through the open window. You can’t make out what is happening but you can tell everyone is enjoying themselves from the loud laughter and cheers.

“I was thinking a more private celebration was in order” you lean forward your mouth centimeters from his ear “one with me on my knees.”

Danish curse words fall from his lips as you quirk an eyebrow up at him. Both your hands find the string tied around his waist and undo the knot, a wide grin on your face. While this behaviour isn’t entirely in character for you, after a few drinks you tend to get a little frisky. Something Fred has always been in favour of.

“Fuck du er utrolig (you’re unbelievable)” he mumbles as you slide fingers under the waist band of his trunks.

“You love it" you mumble kissing his chest, slowly trailing your way down his body. You leave soft kisses in your wake, ensuring not to leave a trail of marks for when you return to the party.

You push the fabric off his thighs, the wet fabric landing harshly against the floor as his hard cock slaps against his stomach. He steps out of them and you lands on your knees in the puddle of cold water that has been dripping off him onto the marble floors.

His pink tip is throbbing inches from your face as you stroke it up and down his shaft a few times. The precum glistens in the light and you press your tongue to the back of your teeth with a soft moan. You swallow your saliva flicking your eyes up to meet him. His pupils are blown as he watches you slowly stroke up and down, your other hand gently grazing over his thigh.

Your tongue darts between your parted lips, wetting them

Your mouth finds his thighs, placing soft open mouth kisses on his thighs. Your mouth moves to his hard member placing a few kisses on his shaft. You feel him twitch faintly at the contact before your mouth moves back to suck on his hips and pelvis.

“Babe" he groans after a few minutes of you toying with him “we don’t have time for this.”

While you know everyone is busy and won’t notice your absence you don’t want to keep him waiting. “You’re right. You deserve it” you wink.

Your mouth wraps around his tip, tongue licking up the precum that has oozed out. Your tongue swirls around his leaking tip a couple times before your mouth wraps around him.

“Fuck (Y/N)” Fred groans as you bob up and down on him a few times. Hollowing your mouth for him you take him deeper every time, before he hits the back of your throat.

His hands tangle in your hair pulling it from your face as the other leans against the counter. You look up at him through your lashes, watching as his eyes snap shut. One hand gently rakes up his thigh, the other reaching around to his ass.

His skin is cold and damp as you give him a soft squeeze pulling his hips closer to you and he laughs slightly. Beads of sweat collect on his forehead as you stare up through your lashes taking him further.

“Fred" you hum around him.

His eyes open and finds yours, smiling at the sight of you on your knees. You pull off him with a pop, some saliva dribbling down your chin.

“Fuck my face" you almost hear his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“You’re amazing" he brings his other hand to your chin cupping it lightly. “Absolutely amazing" he strokes over your jaw before pressing it down to open your mouth for him.

You feel his hard dick fall on your tongue as his hips rock forward slightly. Your mouth wraps around him again while he pulls back. He slowly repeats the action a few times grinning as his cock disappears into your mouth.

You’re eyes find his and he smirks before snapping his hips thrusting into your mouth. You cough choking on him and he eases up slightly. You moan slightly, your throat relaxing around him. Your hands give his ass a soft squeeze, giving him the encouragement to increase his pace yet again.

One of his large hands in your hair gripping your neck the other cupping your jaw he thrusts in and out of your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with every thrust.

Tears prick your eye as saliva dribbles down your chin. Staring at Fred through glazed lenses you see his are dark with fire, loving the sight of you on your knees. Your hand tightens its grip on his ass as his tightens in your hair digging into your scalp.

The fire between your legs is ignited, and if it wasn’t for the fact you opted to wear a one piece bathing suit you would slip some fingers down your bottoms into your folds.

Every thrust of his hips is calculated with purpose. You feel in your heat, wanting nothing more than for him to pull out and bend you over the counter. Pound in to you from behind while you grasp the porcelain for stability, but you know that won’t happen here.

Besides the fact you are at the owner’s house with his entire team, you also haven’t had your six week check-up. Some Fred is adamant you get before he does anything. Sex during the playoffs was always limited, reserved for days when a series has ended and they have a few days off before their next opponent. He never has come home after a playoff game when he has another in 2 or 3 days and had sex, but on occasion he has fingered you, especially if you find time to join him in the shower.

But this year has been nothing. He insists you wait until your appointment, and no amount of pleading has helped. If the sight of you on your knees while he fucks your mouth isn’t enough for him to slide between your dripping heat than nothing is.

You can feel him getting sloppy, as his hips stutter. Muttered Danish curse words fill the bathroom as his dick twitches. He holds your head on him, shooting warm ribbons down your throat. When he pulls out some saliva mixed with cum spills out on your chin and down to your chest, landing on the curve of your breast.

Holding a hand out he helps you to your feet before pulling his trunks back up his legs. You wipe the sides of your mouth, cleaning his cum from your face. You scan the bathroom for a cloth to wipe the smeared lipstick from your face “I can’t believe I just gave a Stanley Cup Champion a blow job.”

You hear him chuckle while he brings two fingers on your chest. He wipes the cum from your chest, cleaning your skin before bringing his fingers to your mouth. You open for him and wrap your lips around him. He groans as you swirl your tongue around his thick digits. Pulling them out he wipes them on your bathing suit “thank you" you smile.

“Mmm tak baby pige" (thank you babygirl)” he hums in your ear before sucking gently on your neck. You feel his lips curl against your skin as he places warm open mouth kisses on your exposed skin.

The cool night air blowing through the window against your damp skin and Fred’s soft touch causes goosebumps to erupt on you. You shiver and press yourself into his chest, his warm arms quickly wrapping around you.

“I love you" he whispers in your ear. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so happy in five weeks you get to be my wife.”

Your hands reach around him running up his back, you lean your head back to glance into his eyes. “I can’t wait to be your wife.”

“We can run off to Vegas, you could be my wife in a few hours” he smiles as you shake your head remembering a night a few weeks ago.

It was about two weeks before Charlotte came to Pittsburgh and you had a particularly rough day of wedding planning. Since she was visiting a lot of the vendors on your behalf in Denmark, you wanted to have everything in order before she left. You could still talk with the planner after that, but you found it easier having Charlotte there to see things in person and give her honest opinion.

Trying to coordinate with the florist you thought everything was set up perfectly until Charlotte went to see the mock ups and they were not even close to what you thought. And then she told you that you booked the photographer for the wrong date and they weren’t actually available on your wedding day. It was disaster after disaster and you were uncomfortable from the pregnancy.

When Fred came home at 3am he tried to be soft and quiet crawling in to bed beside you. But the bed shifting and your uneasy sleep caused you to stir and wake up. You immediately broke down in his arms, the stress of everything unravelling in front of you sending you over the edge.

Fred tried to convince you to push the wedding back to the following summer, give you more time to plan. Said you could use this summer to go out and see everything and then next year you could just show up, everything already planned. He was worried about the stress you were putting on yourself to get it done, especially since you were pregnant.

But you told him you didn’t want to wait another year to get married. You said you were going to have four kids soon and just wanted it to be official. At that point you didn’t even care if you had flowers, a cake or a photographer, you just wanted to be his wife.

That was when he suggested eloping; he had an optional skate the next day and said you could run to the courthouse.

“I already see you as my wife, but we can make it official tomorrow" he whispered in your ear as his hand ran over your bump. “Tell no one or tell everyone I don’t care. Let’s get married now.”

“Mkay” you hum as he kissed your neck.

“Yeah baby you actually want to” he pulled back with a big smile.

“Well we we’re planning in being married in the summer what’s a few months” you smiled as his lips press down to yours. “We could still have a reception this summer, but might take away some stress if we go into it already married.”

Not wanting to have to rebook everything and lose the deposits (which you know he could care less about) you thought it could alleviate some pressure going into the day already married. Maybe the details wouldn’t matter as much this way.

But when you woke up the next day you had a change of heart and decided to wait until the summer as planned, but now it’s become a running joke with you two.

“I can wear my Andersen jacket" you smile as he closes the gap, his lips brushing against yours.

“You look so good with my name on your back, can’t wait until it’s your name too" he growls lowly as you feel your core ignite. You chuckle to disguise your moan as his voice vibrates off your skin. Your legs rub together slight and you push him off you slightly “we should get back” you whisper knowing every second you stay in there it will be harder for you to walk away. You turn around to face the mirror, fixing your bathing suit and hair as his hands rest against your hips.

“So that’s a no on getting married tonight?” he chuckles against your collarbone.

“Yeah" you sigh. “You can wait a few more weeks.”

“I don’t want to” he mumbles sucking hard on your neck.

“Frederik" you scold. He tilts his head to look at you in the mirror. His eyes are dark as he sucks again on your neck not breaking eye contact. Your eyes go wide, as your stern mom look comes across your face causing him to let up and chuckle.

“I’m not scared of your mom look babe" he kisses your neck again. “It actually turns me on.” He presses into you, pushing you into the counter “and you know calling me Frederik gets me hard.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you whimper slightly.

“Well I am heading back out to the party “you smirk wrangling out of his embrace. You hold a hand out for him “let’s go Mr. Andersen.”

You watch as he takes a deep breath closing his eyes for a second. He opens them shaking his head slightly before grabbing your hand and heading out together. Once in the hall you run into Sid and Kathy, actually run into them coming out of a bathroom together.

“What were you doing" you tease seeing the flushed look on her face.

“I’m gonna guess the same thing as you" she smirks.

“She’s four and a half months pregnant, can’t help it" Sid laughs walking up behind her, putting his hands on her hips as he guides her down the hall as she giggles like a teenager. While this is unusual behaviour for Sidney he is normally more reserved but you know it has to do with the hours of drinking.

“Four and a half months was a fun time" Fred mumbles in your ear.

Laughing you pull him closer so his chest is against your back as you make your way outside.

The music is just as loud as before, and the guests even more intoxicated than before you left. Fred gives your ass a light squeeze before jumping in the pool while you find some of the girls by the bar, pouring yourself a drink.

Fred shoots you a wink as you take a sip. After Sid and Kathy’s wedding you had a few glasses of wine at dinner before discovering you were pregnant. But tonight is the first night you have had a drank since Sid and Kathy’s wedding, and really the first time in over two and half years. For that reason you should take it easy, your body likely unable to handle alcohol like it used to. You’ve had three drinks since getting here plus the champagne at the arena but it doesn’t stop you from pouring a shot.

You don’t know if it’s the lingering glances over the rim of his whiskey glass, the not too subtle winks and smirks Fred sends your way or the alcohol coursing through your body. But there is heat in your cheeks and core; a dizziness in your head.

Waking up the next morning, you are in an unfamiliar bed. The pillows are softer than normal and duvet not as comfortable. You blink a few times allowing your eyes to adjust. The room is dark; except for some light filtering through the few inches the curtains are open. The room in unfamiliar but the simple décor indicates it’s a hotel.

You blink a few times adjusting to the light before continuing to look around. Your eyes land on Fred beside you lying on his stomach. He is lying topless, his red hair a mess on the pillow, his chest slowly rising and falling as he snores softly. The sheet is hung low on his hips, his broad arm wrapped under the pillow.

Pulling the duvet back you wander to the bathroom, the clock catches your eye. 11:42 illuminated in red.

“Fuck” you groan seeing yourself in the mirror. It seems like you attempted to wash your makeup off but failed and your hair is an absolute mess. You look around the room for a brush but there isn’t one but you settle on washing the remaining makeup off your face.

“Hey" Fred smiles when you walk back in, “nice hair” he laughs.

“I don’t know where a brush is" you grumble crawling back in to the bed not having a hair elastic either.

“Yeah I thought a hotel would be nice so we could sleep in, but we didn’t have a bag packed” he pulls you in against his chest. His skin is warm and you can still smell the alcohol on him.

“Yeah sleep is nice" you laugh knowing the kids would have woken you a long time ago. Even if they were kept from the room you would have heard their laughter or cries at some point.

“When did we leave the party?"

“Around 4…after your fifth shot" he places a soft kiss on your forehead.

“How do you feel?” he asks as you groan.

“Like a nap or a shower. I don’t actually know"

“Let’s shower, get it out of our systems and then maybe nap or food.”

He crawls out of bed starting the shower before returning to get you, carrying you to the bathroom. You would protest him carrying you the twenty feet but he would feed you some line about being a hockey player. But you know he just wants to take care of you, and honestly today you don’t mind it.

He sets you on the floor pulling his t-shirt off your body and you shiver in response, your nipples getting hard from the cool air. Your arms cross over your stomach hiding your stretch marks. Once his boxers are off and he turns his attention to you a scowl crosses his face as you look away.

“Baby you look beautiful" he brings his hands to your elbows but doesn’t pull them down as you look away.

“Babe look at me" he hums in your ear. You turn to face him, tears having hit your eyes. With a sigh he pulls you into his chest, a hand finding your neck tangling in your hair.

“Why are you crying?” his chin is resting on your head.

“I don’t know" you say through some light sobs. “Because I had a baby six weeks ago.”

“Sure that’s it?” his other hand runs up and down your spine. The steam from the shower begins to fill the room warming your body. Fred has spent the majority of the time with you while you’re pregnant or post-partum. Because of this he has grown accustom to you crying randomly and without cause, but he can also tell when there is a reason to your tears. And he knows you are lying about this.

“I don’t know" you mumble turning to the mirror though you can’t see anything through the fogged glass. “Sometimes I just hate how I look. Stretch marks, extra weight” being around some of the other woman who have had kids and look amazing the night before didn’t help. That’s why you opted for a one piece instead of a bikini; something you would never admit.

Fred pulls you back against his chest, stopping you from examining yourself.

“Babe I don’t see any of those things. All I see is an amazing badass woman that brought our babies into this world. I was never with you for your looks" he pulls a hand from you to tilt your head to look at him.

“Thanks” you whine as a strangled sob catches in your throat even though you know that’s not how he intended it to come across.

“That’s not what I meant” he groans. “You are absolutely breathtaking, but it’s not why I’m with you or why I love you. “I love you for your big heart and the fact that when I’m with you nothing else matters. I can be having the absolute worst day and I see your face, even if it’s just a picture on my phone, and I know everything will be okay.”

You smile lightly at that as a few tears roll slowly down your cheek. “But my favourite thing is when one of our babies smile at me. I’m not sure about Elise yet but the boys they all have your smile.”

He wipes a few tears from your eyes “I love you and the fact that you gave me four perfect babies. If you want to go to the gym and get what you want your body to look like I’ll be behind you. 100%. But you are only doing that for you, because I think you are perfect and amazing just the way you are okay?”

You know he is right, but it’s hard for you. After having Oliver it wasn’t as hard to find time to go to the gym or to take Oliver for walks and the occasional run. But with four kids you find you free time few and far between. On top of that your body changed so much after being pregnant with twins.

With all your insecurities and struggles Fred has always encouraged you, never missing an opportunity to tell you how beautiful you are. Some days you find it hard to see what he does, today being one of those days.

“Looks can fade babe, but your compassion and empathy, your beautiful smile…none of that will.”

You nod slightly and rise on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips “love you" you whisper before pressing your lips back on him. He pulls you in to him as your tongue slides into him, tasting the alcohol that remains in his mouth.

“Let’s go" he pulls away stepping into the shower where you immediately wrap your arms around his lower back tilting your head to him. He smiles at you through his golden brown eyes before closing the gap. What starts as a few soft pecks turns into your tongues lazily dancing through each other’s mouths.

“Babe" he moans pulling away to catch his breath. Water is dripping from his hair through his long beard and onto his chest, before finding the curve of his abs and falling down his thighs. It’s a sight you don’t get to see much of with four kids, but one you never tire of.

He pushes you back against the cold tile wall, his hands gently resting on your hips as his tongue slides back in your mouth. Your hands tangle in his beard, gripping it to hold him against you.

“Jeg elsker dig så meget (I love you so much)” he mumbles against your lips. A smile spreads across yours as you whisper affirmations back to him.

Your arms fully around his neck, he spins you again to be back under the stream of the water “we need to shower so we can nap" he mumbles but makes no effort to pull away from you. His hands randomly slide down to your ass to give you a soft squeeze before it trails back up your spine into your hair.

Each soft squeeze causes you to pull away with laughter, something you have grown to love about your relationship. No moment is too serious for you both. After a few more minutes you reluctantly pull away only because your skin is beginning to wrinkle from the moisture and you have yet to begin showering.

Once showered he wraps a plush towel around you, watching in the mirror as him arms rub up and down the towel to dry your body. You watch as the droplets go down his chest, over the curves of his abs and down to his member.

“You’re unbelievable” he jokes kissing your cheek pulling your gaze up to his eyes.

He is smirking at you as you swallow dryly “you know it’s been six weeks…” You turn around and lean against the counter watching as he wraps a towel low on his waist.

“Mhm you told me that” he steps closer placing a hand on either side of you pinning you “many times last night.”

You feel your core heat up as he leans in, his lips millimetres from your ear. “Did I?” you ask not remembering.

“Mhm” he kisses your collarbone drawing goosebumps to the surface of your skin. “And I told you last night” he mumbles between pressing soft kisses on your skin. “I told you I wanted to wait until after your doctor appointment.”

He continues to pepper kisses on your neck and shoulder. “I’m on birth control” you say breathlessly causing him to pull his head up and look at you with a dark grin.

“Elskede, you know I don’t care about birth control, I love seeing you pregnant.” He falls into the crook of your neck; his breath is warm but still pulls goosebumps to the surface. “I love having babies with you, and watching this belly grow. I love feeling the little kicks against your stomach and seeing you as a mom. Fuck I get hard just thinking of it" he growls.

“If you came to me in a month, a year, or even five years and said you wanted another baby I’m all in 110%.”

“Fred" you groan pushing him up by the shoulder to look at him shaking your head. “With that being said I know you don’t want any more which is why I have zero doubt you’re on birth control.”

“You were a foot away as the doctor put my IUD in" you laugh.

“Sorry for being distracted by our newborn baby girl" he smiles briefly. “I’m not saying no because of birth control, I’m saying no because I want to make sure everything is all good down there first.”

“Fine” you huff. Your six week appointment was originally scheduled for the same day as game 4 but you decided to push it until after the playoffs would be over and things would calm down. Now you are really regretting that decision to wait.

“Now let’s nap.”

“Babe" you pout as he pulls his shirt over your head.

“We’ve gone six weeks what’s a few more days?" he kisses your cheek and pulls you by the hand to the bed. You crawl in beside him, rubbing your legs together for some relief, unsure if you can wait a few more days.

“You’ll be fine" he laughs pulling you into his chest, running his hands through your hair.

“I don’t understand how a few days makes a difference” you huff staring at the ceiling. “It’s been six weeks already.”

“Yeah you said that last night too" he laughs against your temple. “You were very insistent”

“I don’t remember that” you sigh.

“Mhm, another reason I forced you to sleep" he tilts your head to look at you. “You know I’ll take care of you, just have to make sure everything is good first.”

You smile and pull him down brushing your lips against him. “I love you for taking care of me” his lips press against your once more before he adjusts beside you.

You feel his breathing steady, his chest slowing as he begins to doze off, but you aren’t as fortunate. After waiting six weeks everything Fred does has you practically dripping and that shower did not relax you. Instead it had the opposite effect.

If it wasn’t the long make out session, the naked man with water dripping down his chiseled body certainly did it.

A loud exaggerated sigh leaves your lips. “What" he murmurs eyes not opening.

“I can’t sleep, you look too good naked” you groan rolling onto your side to brush some hair from his eyes.

“So do you babe" his eyes are still closed but he is grinning at you.

“Fredddd" you whine causing his eyes to open, his brown eyes are dark and heavy with sleep.

“What can I do babe?” he asks clearing his throat, running his index finger down your spine. “Want a tea? A massage? Just go home and try to nap in our bed?”

“No" you sigh. “Tell me a story. It always works for the boys.”

“Yeah and they are babies" he laughs as you shoot him a soft smile. “I can tell you one about a train, or about a lost baby bear.”

“No, tell me about how you knew I was the one.”

“That’s the story you want?”

“Yeah" you beam resting your head on his bicep to use as a pillow.

“When did you know I was it for you" you curl into his embrace. The bright afternoon sun still filtering through the cracked curtains.

“Long before you did" he laughs wrapping his arms around you as you roll on top of him, straddling one of his thighs.

“What are you doing?” he asks as you lift the oversized shirt above your hips, pressing your bare core against his thigh. Your grab a handful of your shirt holding it a few inches above your core to keep it out of the way.

“Babe” he groans as you roll your hips feeling the wetness on his leg. You are happy you didn’t put your underwear on after your shower, otherwise you’d have to wear them home drenched.

“Not every orgasm has to involve penetration” you bring your hand to push his boxers further up his thighs giving you more space.

“I know that” he laughs finding your waist with his hands. You expect him to push you off, telling you to wait, but to your surprise he pulls you down harder against his firm muscle.

“Well I need to cum” you roll your hips again. “This is the only way for me to get what I want and for you to be okay with it.”

He shakes his head, his hands grasping your bare skin. You release your shirt and it falls onto his wrists as you rock back and forth on him. One hand lands on his lower stomach for leverage while your head falls back.

“Now I believe you were telling me a story” you smirk “about how I’m the one for you.”

He pulls his chapped lower lip through his teeth shaking his head at you before giving in. “Honestly I saw glimpses of it long before I knew” his nails dig into your skin.

“So Denmark when you were pregnant with Ollie, he kicked for the first time" you both smile remembering the day. “Everything stopped when you kissed me and I remember thinking I would do anything for you and not because you’re Ollie’s mom.”

A light sigh falls from your lips before he continues. “Honestly it confused me, I had never had any feelings like that before towards you, or any I allowed myself to admit so it really threw me off.”

“That’s why when we got back to the hotel you made love to me” you moan. “Soft and slow.”

Instead of answering Fred just ignores your comment “then I guess that first all-star break, when we went away without Oliver.”

“Fuck" you grumble under your breath slowing your hips. That and everything that transpired over the next ten months you wish you could change.

“That whole day it was the best day, actually both days were amazing. That massage I gave you by the roaring fire…”

“I had the longest shower after that night” you mumble resuming your pace. You press your hips down further, coating him in some of your wetness.

“Same” he laughs. “But the second night…the wine, music just everything was perfect. Waking up beside you after that night I just couldn’t believe I had you. Like I saw the three of us could be a being a family. I was so happy…and then you broke my heart into a million pieces the next day.”

A frown comes over you stop rocking your hips. Fred laughs lightly before continuing “then you moved out and kissed some guy in a bar back in Toronto and I remember thinking she must not be the one for me, because if you were…”

“I wouldn’t have done that” your head turns away and you try to climb off but he continues to hold you on his thick thigh.

“Babe you know this story has a happy ending” he smirks rolling your hips. He grabs one of your hands and presses your index finger into your clit with some soft circles before you take over increasing the pace. Once you take over the pace he continues with his story.

“Anyways I kept telling myself if you were the girl for me you wouldn’t have done that. Everyone told me you weren’t the girl for me; you were the girl who would help me find the girl.”

“The one you’re with before you find your wife"

“Yeah but I didn’t fully believe them. I tried to distract myself, heading to Denmark for a week, dating Danielle" you’re nose scrunches up hearing her name.

“But it was hard. Every time I saw you I got these little butterflies and I wanted to kiss you so bad. I just kept telling myself not to fall into bed with you, that if I did, I’d end up back where I was only a few months before. And I did so good for two months…

Then my birthday came, and then Ollie’s. We just kept ending up in bed together and every time I said it was the last time. Then came your birthday and Thanksgiving and I knew I was falling and I started to think that you were too. I started to see something in you that made me think maybe it was more than just hookups.

But then that day at the tree farm, that day I knew you had feelings for me” he trails off and you smile remembering that day, the butterflies you felt but were too afraid to admit. That morning when you opened the door after his road trip you realized just how much you had missed him; something you hadn’t noticed before.

Fred grins up at you and begins to move your hips, pulling you down on his thigh. His hands dig deep into your flesh leaving crescent shaped marks as you press faster and harder circles into your clit.

“We fell in the snow, I was pinning you down" he laughs bucking his hips up as you gasp from the feeling. “Nose was red from the cold and you smiled up at me well I was going to do anything to get you. Just had to get rid of your boy toy Connor” he mocks his name.

“He wasn’t my boy toy” you groan unable to laugh as you feel your orgasm building deep in your stomach. Having gone so long without one you know it will engulf you when it finally comes.

“Anyways New Year’s Eve came around and he fucked up leaving you at my door looking absolutely phenomenal.” He groans feeling your wetness on his leg as your folds flutter against his muscle. He knows your climax is near when your nails dig into his hard chest.

“And you thought damn she’d make a hot wife” you joke and he just shakes his head laughing. Your other hand slides up his chest, finding a few beads of sweat.

“Actually the next morning was when I had the moment. I woke up before you. You were sleeping on the other side of the bed, in my t-shirt, snoring lightly"

“I do not snore" you groan feeling the coil in your stomach tighten.

“Breathing deeply" he corrects. “Ollie was still asleep so I just lay there watching you sleep for a few minutes. You looked so prefect and peaceful. The sun was shining on your face and your hair was an absolute mess.

“Fred" you groan laughing as you bounce on his thigh.

“No babe, like you’re beautiful no matter what. But your hair, fuck it was a disaster” he explains with a laugh. “Between the curls and the hairspray it was everywhere. Like this morning” he smirks.

“You’re the worst" you laugh, your jaw falling open as a loud deep moan slips out.

“Well I reached over to brush some behind your ears and startled you. Your eyes fluttered open and you smiled when you saw me, then your eyes closed and you cuddled up against me. You pulled my arm over your body and fell back asleep in my arms and that was it. I just knew I had to wake up beside you every morning after that.”

He continues to move your hips flexing his thigh as your moans before louder and erratic. He knows you are getting close and holds you down onto his firm thigh while you continue to rock above him. A choked groan leaves your lips and your coil snaps your warm release spilling onto his leg.

He mutters a few curse words below you watching the white coat his chiseled thigh. He continues to do the work for you as your body tenses under your long awaited release; rocking you as complete bliss fills your body. Finally you stop moving and fall onto his chest in a state of complete euphoria; his hand rests on the small of your back.

“So you waited over five months to make a move" you tease having recaptured your breath.

“Well I had to take it slow, you spook easy. Like a deer" he laughs.

You smile wide rolling your eyes slightly but don’t bother objecting. “It’s okay you’re my Bambi, I’d do anything for you.

Later that day you were in the shower Allie called and I answered. She basically told me what I should and shouldn’t be doing. I gave her my number, and she added me to a group chat with Carlee.”

“Oh my god that must have been terrible for you" you smirk pushing onto your elbow to look at him.

“It is terrible” he corrects you pressing you back onto the mattress. “We still have it, but now it’s mostly random stuff. Sending them pictures of the kids, Carlee mostly just sends memes of goats for some reason” he laughs slightly. “But one time I was buying you a present and I had it narrowed down to two options, sent pictures to the chat and had about a million messages over the next 3 days” you laugh along with him.

“I never asked for their help again. But before we got together they helped me figure out what you meant and wanted. They made sure I didn’t do anything stupid or say something to scare you off again. When I had doubts because you were so closed off, or you would stay at your apartment alone instead of with Oliver and I they would reassure me. They would tell me things like keep doing what you’re doing or she really liked when you did blank. So without telling me how you felt or what you saying about me they helped.

I think we would have got here without them. But they helped, let me know I was on the right track.”

“I wasn’t that bad" you groan.

Fred laughs pressing his lips against yours. Your hand slides up his chest into his beard, gently running your hands through it while his tongue slides inside your mouth. You open your mouth to allow him further entrance but he pulls back slightly.

“When did you know?” he asks against your lips “that I was the one?”

“I knew that night in Toronto when I joined you on your road trip. Looking back it happened before that night, I mean you already had a key to my place. But when I called you my boyfriend at the bar…that was when it was real. I didn’t meant to call you my boyfriend, but it felt natural and right and that’s when I finally admitted it to myself.”

“Oh it took so much willpower to not tell you I loved you then" he brings a large smile to your lips. “But I knew you were already overthinking the fact you called me your boyfriend so I held back. Didn’t want to make it worse and send you running.”

“Well now you get to tell me all the time" you smile down at him.

“Mmmm and I plan on it every. Single. Day.” He presses his lips against yours in between each word, each kiss a little more firm.

“You feeling better?” he asks a few minutes later his eyes are heavy and barely open.

“Yeah” you brush your lips against his.

“All taken care of” he mumbles “satisfied?”

“Yeah babe” you smile wide though his eyes are closed and he can’t see.

“Night elskede” he mumbles through a raspy voice, barely getting the words out before he begins snoring beside you.

Next Chapter

[naminethewriter]

Breaking The News

Second Part of the Remus and His Daughter Series     ⬅First | Next➡ 

Here on Ao3

Characters: Patton, Roman, Virgil, Logan

Relationships: platonic LAMP

Rating: T

Words: 2,665

Summary:  After Patton's encounter with Remus, he has to tell his friends about it. It's not as easy as it sounds.

While Patton was searching through his pockets to find his keys, he could already hear Roman inside. Most likely he was practicing his lines for his new show that would premier next month. Roman was the lead (which wasn’t a surprise anymore at this point) and when he’d come home with the news, a huge smile on his lips, Patton had given him a bear hug, baked a cake and called Virgil and Logan over for a celebration (you know, like they did every time). Patton was pretty sure that by now, Roman not only knew his own lines but almost the entire play by heart but he guessed a little extra practice never hurt anyone. Plus he loved watching Roman perform, even if it was just rehearsal.

Finally Patton located his keys, pushed them into the lock and opened the door. After closing it behind him, he hung his keys on their hook on the wall. He slipped out of his shoes and hung up his jacket on the coat rack. (He hadn’t really needed it – it was warm enough – but better be safe than sorry!)

 “I’m home!” Patton called into the now quiet apartment; Roman must’ve heard the door. A moment later, his head appeared in the entrance of their living room.

 “Welcome back, padre! Perfect timing, too. There are a few lines I’d like to run by you if you don’t mind?” Roman asked, giving him a puppy look he knew Patton couldn’t refuse. Not that he wanted to. Actually he was glad to be given an excuse to postpone the discussion about his earlier encounter with Remus until later.

 “Sure, kiddo! Just let me slip into something more comfortable and grab a snack,” Patton said cheerfully.

 “Great!” Roman disappeared back into the living room while Patton went to his own room.

 A few minutes later, Patton entered their living room, now dressed in a loose sweater and long skirt with a plate of apple slices (the healthy snack) and cookies (the tasty snack). Roman was pacing up and down, staring at his script and muttering under his breath. With a fond smile, Patton sat down on their couch.

 “Alright, Super Star! Lay it on me!” Roman grinned at him and handed him the script.

 “Wonderful! So in this scene…” Roman began to enthusiastically explain the context of the lines he wanted to work through, occasionally drifting off into sub-plots or character analysis, making his explanation longer than it needed to be. But Patton didn’t mind. He listened with rapt attention, asked a few questions here and there and slowly ate his snacks. After around 40 minutes, Roman put his pen down after writing the last few notes, looked them over and gave a satisfied nod.

 “Thank you so much, padre. I feel much better about this part now!”

 “You’re welcome,” Patton said with a smile on his lips. “Glad I could be of help!”

 “You always are!” Roman pulled Patton into a hug that he gladly reciprocated. “But I think it is time we prepare for game night. Logan and Virgil are gonna come down in less than an hour!” Patton glanced at the clock and saw that he was right. Roman had let go of him and started to clean up a bit. Patton joined him, fixing the couch while worrying his bottom lip. Should he tell Roman now? Having to repeat himself would be inconvenient but he couldn’t tell how Roman would react to knowing Remus was back. Sure they fought last time they’d seen each other but they were still brothers, right? Roman still cared for Remus, didn’t he?

 Patton had gotten so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t realised that he had stopped smoothing out the couch pillows until Roman called out to him.

 “Patton? Are you alright?” He hovered a few steps away, unsure if he was allowed to touch, worry etched on his face. Patton blinked at him, surprised. He tried to smile reassuringly but he could see Roman’s brows furrowing, so he probably failed.

 “I’m fine, it’s just…” He trailed off, fiddling with the pillow in his hands. Most likely Roman would get mad on instinct, like always when Remus was mentioned. So it would probably be for the best to give him some time to cool down before the others arrived and then he could give a more detailed explanation. He looked to Roman who was patiently waiting for him to continue. Patton took a deep breath.

 “I saw Remus today.” Cautiously, he observed his roommate’s reaction. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Roman was frozen, his worry for Patton still on his face. Then, as if time needed to catch up, many other emotions flickered through his eyes, only a handful of which Patton could catch. There was anger, of course, totally expected but also confusion, sorrow (maybe?) and even a slight sliver of hope. Or maybe that was Patton’s wishful thinking. Finally he settled on, what Patton could best describe as, displeasure.

 “Where?”

 “The mall, on my way back. We didn’t speak though.” Roman gave a sharp nod.

 “I see. Probably for the best. Doubt he’d have anything nice to say anyway,” he practically spit out. Patton wanted to disagree but Roman continued before he could.

 “I’m gonna go change now.” He left, leaving no room for protest. Not that Patton had wanted to. Roman needed time to process, he got that. It had been the right decision, to tell him first. Patton put the pillow down, gave the room a once-over and, deeming it presentable, moved to the kitchen to prepare a simple dinner for the four of them.

   By the time Logan and Virgil arrived, Roman still hadn’t come out of his room. The food was nearly ready when Patton let their two friends in, giving both of them a hug before hurrying back into the kitchen. The other two followed after him. Logan moved to help set the table while Virgil remained by the door, looking around.

 “Where’s Princey?”

 “In his room. He wanted to change.” Virgil nodded, relaxing a bit. Normally Roman would have greeted them at the door as well and the deviation from their routine had caused his anxiety to spike. But hearing Patton’s reassurance eased it again. The three of them together finished preparing dinner and once they were nearly done, Patton asked Virgil to get Roman. He left with a grumble. Logan and Patton finished up and sat down in silence which made it easy to hear the exchange down the hall.

 “Yo, Prince Fancypants” A knock (or maybe a kick, hopefully not) echoed. “Dinner’s ready, you ‘coming?” A muffled response, barely audible from the table before a door opened.

 “Greetings, Emo-Nemo, how nice to have you almost break my door down!” Roman sounded alright, in Patton’s opinion, maybe he wasn’t as worked up as he had feared.

 “Emo-Nemo? Seriously? Also I only kicked your door once, if it broke from that it’s just as weak as that nickname.” They continued their banter on the way back to the table where Roman greeted Logan with his usual gusto but Patton noticed he was avoiding looking at him. It stung a bit, but Patton understood. Remus was a sore subject for all of them and he did bring it up out of nowhere. So he kept on smiling and they fell into pleasant conversation over dinner. Toward the end however, Patton grew quiet, trying to plan out what he was going to say, even if that was never his strong suit. Logan noticed.

 “Are you alright, Patton?” he asked. “You seemed somewhat distracted since we have arrived.” Suddenly everyone’s eyes were on him. Being the centre of attention was another thing that Patton couldn’t count toward his strengths but at one point this evening it would have been necessary anyway. Better now when it seemed like everyone had finished eating. Patton took a deep breath.

 “Well…” He paused, all his preparation flying out of the window when he couldn’t find the right words. “There is something I need to tell you.” He spoke slowly, carefully. Logan raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. “Something happened on my way home and…” He didn’t get any further because Virgil suddenly sat up straight, eyes wide which startled him into silence.

 “Shit, Pat, did someone attack you? I should’ve gone with you, I had a bad feeling through our shift, but I didn’t think…” Logan placed a hand on his shoulder, effectively stopping his rant, his breathing now a bit rapid.

 “Deep breaths, Virgil. I am sure if Patton had sustained any form of physical or emotional trauma we would have been informed earlier.” Virgil nodded, the movement still a bit too sharp but he followed Logan’s breathing to calm back down.

 “Yeah, kiddo, I promise it’s nothing bad, it’s just –“ Patton stole a glance at Roman, who had his gaze fixed away from all of them, mouth set in a hard line. “– complicated.” Logan’s eyes flickered between the two of them, apparently picking up on the tension but choosing not to comment.

 “Alright…” Virgil said, sounding not completely convinced but at least he was breathing evenly again. Patton cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. ‘Just rip the bandage off, come on,�� he thought to himself before taking a deep breath.

 “I walked back from work through the mall again today,” he began, “to window shop, y’know, maybe visit the shelter, like I do sometimes.” He swallowed, staring at his dirty plate to avoid eye contact, his hands fiddling with a crease on his skirt. “And I ran into Remus, well not literally, I just saw him from across the hall and we didn’t even speak, but…”

 “Hold on!” Virgil interrupted again, but not in panic this time. “You mean Remus as in –“ He pointed at Roman. “– his twin brother, Remus?”

 “Yeah.”

“What? How? When? Why?!?” Virgil sputtered loudly.

 “Erm…” Patton was confused by the barrage of questions.

 “None of those questions are relevant right now, Virgil, especially since he has already told us when and how and cannot answer why. It seems to have been a complete coincidence, am I correct, Patton?”

 “Oh, um, yeah. He seemed to be as surprised to see me as I him at least.”

 “So he did see you? You said you did not speak to him, I assumed he didn’t notice you,” Logan said and adjusted his glasses.

 “No, he did see me, he was just otherwise occupied.”

 “What is that supposed to mean?” Virgil asked, exasperated. Roman scoffed.

 “He was probably flirting with some poor fellow; you know how he is.”

 “Actually, it was pretty much the opposite…”

 “Someone was flirting with him..?” asked Virgil, now unsure.

 “No, no flirting whatsoever. He was there with a kid.”

 “What he’s hanging out with teenagers now?” Roman rolled his eyes. “Not that surprising, honestly, he was always immature.”

 “Could you two please just let Patton finish his explanation?” Logan cut in, his tone sharp. Virgil looked a bit sheepish and Roman scoffed again, avoiding eye contact once more but neither said anything else. Logan motioned for Patton to continue.

 “When I first noticed him, he was standing alone further down the hall and on the other side, staring at something I couldn’t see. I was so caught off guard that I ended up staring.” Patton once again started nervously fiddling with his skirt. “Suddenly he crouched down and this little girl, maybe ten years old, came up to him with ice cream. He picks her up, sees me and we awkwardly wave at each other before the two of them disappear into the crowd.” He helplessly shrugs at the end of his explanation and waits for the others to react.

 For several moments there was silence.

 “Great!” Roman suddenly said loudly, throwing his arms up dramatically. “My brother’s a kidnapper now, just wonderful.” Logan raised an eyebrow.

 “You believe he kidnapped her? For what reason would he do that?”

 “How should I know? I haven’t known what goes on in his head since we were nine! But as if there are any children who would spend time with Remus willingly.” Patton opened his mouth to protest but Virgil spoke first.

 “Do you think she’s the only one or are there more?”

 “Could be! I wouldn’t put it past him. He gets obsessed with the weirdest stuff.”

 “His ‘obsessions’, as you call them, were always academical in nature, he never would inflict any harm on others, intentionally. If he needed a test subject, he would always use himself before anyone else,” Logan protested.

 “And how do you know that, Mr. Research Assistant? I’ve known him my entire life and even I don’t know the boundaries of his insanity! He might not even have any!”

 “You are being ridiculous, Roman. Just because you don not like him, you cannot just assume that he would harm children for some sort of thrill or –“

 “Maybe we should call the police.”

 “See, Virgil’s on my side.”

 “I mean, just as a precaution, he might be dangerous.”

 “You are working off assumptions from five years ago, you cannot –“

 “Oh shut it, Specs, the police can at least make sure he’s not harming anyone –“

 “Nobody’s calling the police!” Patton’s sudden volume cut them all off. He had stood up and was now glaring at them. His eyes softened at their shocked expressions. He took a deep breath and continued calmly.

 “Look, I know Remus did some bad stuff, I won’t defend him on that, but Logan’s right: he never hurt anybody on purpose, at least not physically. And when we dated, neither of us were in a good place and yes, he hurt me badly but that was five years ago. We all changed, so could he, for better or worse. From what I could tell that girl seemed really comfortable with him. Plus Roman, didn’t you say Remus was good with kids when your cousins were visiting one Thanksgiving?” Roman mumbled something under his breath but didn’t argue.

 “We also have no viable information to give the police,” Logan spoke up. ”We have no address, he might have changed his name and none of us have spoken to him in five years. Filing a report would be ludicrous.” He stood up. “Now I believe we should all take a few minutes to calm down before proceeding with the games. If you would excuse me.” He moved to leave the kitchen while simultaneously pulling out his phone.

 “What are you doing?” Virgil asked, eyeing his phone. Logan glanced at him, barely slowing down.

 “I am going to call Janus. Considering that Remus used to be his best friend, I am sure he would be grateful to know that he is indeed still alive.” With that he disappeared down the hall. Silence enveloped the kitchen once again and Patton sat back down. A door opened and closed somewhere in the apartment. Virgil and Roman both pointedly avoided eye contact. After a few moments, Patton sighed.

 “Look, I know you two had your problems with Remus, so did I. And I’m honestly not sure how to feel about this either but regardless of all that, I’m glad to know he’s ok. He’s still a friend and your brother, Roman. Who knows, we might not see him again for another five years. See the positives?” He glanced between the two, waiting for their responses. Virgil just gave a slight nod and Roman pouted, though he did look at least a little bit guilty. Patton gave them a small smile.

 “Alright, kiddos. I’m gonna go set up the living room. You come over once you’re ready, ok?” Two hums were his answer which he could understand as agreements. Satisfied he moved towards the living room but paused in the kitchen doorway.

  “Oh, and if you could clean up the table, that would be great!” Roman and Virgil groaned in unison.

[imaginethathaikyuu]

kenma angst part 2 (for lack of a better title)

ok. this is the scenario that ive by far gotten the most requests for. at least 40 different requests for this by now. and after finally writing a good scenario after 2 failed attempts, here it is. ur welcome.

i feel like i have to mention that this was very inspired by the song 12 feet deep by the front bottoms in a very specific way (that ull probably notice if u know/listen to the song) so yeah give it a listen, its a good one

and of course this is a part two, so please read part one first!  gender neutral reader

-

Kenma was sinking. 

It was nearing 4 am. He was laying in his bed, the place he’d quickly determined to be the only good place left in the entire world.

He was drowning. 

He couldn’t stop staring at his phone. At your text messages. At your number. 

As if it was a spur of the moment decision and not something he’d been mulling over for hours, he pressed call. Put the phone on speaker. Wiped the last shred of tears from his face. 

“Hello?” 

But his eyes were filling up again. 

“Kenma?” 

He was sinking and sinking deeper and deeper and you were the one holding him under. 

“What do you want?” 

“To hear your voice,” he choked out, gasping for air that refused to fill his lungs. 

That’s probably the most honest he’d been with you in weeks. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t a good excuse anymore, waking you up at 4 am just to hear your voice. 

But it’d been a week since he last heard you. He thought you’d be able to pull him out of the sinkhole he’d left himself in. 

He was probably better off not calling at all, though. 

“Okay. I’m hanging up now.” 

And then you did.

Kenma had rarely felt this angry at himself. And he’d never felt so pitiful. 

He knew he shouldn’t bother you. That if he wanted to fix things, he had to stop being so damn childish, irresponsible, lazy. He couldn’t just call you like he used to and expect you to laugh it off. He couldn’t pretend that everything was normal. 

He also knew that it wasn’t likely he’d get you back. Even if he explained himself and begged you to understand, words could only do so much. 

Everything seemed to change for Kenma in the last week, more than he was comfortable with. And he wanted to change it back to the way things used to be. He wanted to make you happy again, to see you in his clothes again, to sleep in your bed again. Most of all, he just wanted to have you again. 

While his life has been nothing short of unpredictable, there was one thing Kenma could still rely on. 

“Get up, Kenma!” 

And that’s Kuroo showing up at his dorm and beating down his door at 5:3o every morning. 

Coincidentally, that was the one thing he wanted to change. 

Kuroo had no regard for Kenma’s neighbors, something the boy learned when this routine began a few weeks ago. Morning practice now started at 6 instead of 8 - he had Kuroo to blame for that, as he basically made the new schedule. 

“I’m up,” Kenma said to him after answering the door, making sure not to mention that he hadn’t even been to sleep. 

Kuroo pushed him aside and invited himself in. “Practice in 30.” 

“You don’t have to tell me that.” 

He stumbled to his dresser and put on his tracksuit, struggling to stand on his own two feet. He was completely exhausted thanks to getting no sleep - after calling you, there was no way he was able to rest. 

“C’mon, let’s go, we’re jogging to the gym.”

Kuroo grabbed Kenma by the shoulder and pulled him out of his dorm without waiting for his response. Kenma didn’t really jog, he just walked kind of quickly while Kuroo did all the running. 

“You found my hoodie yet?” 

Kenma took a deep breath. “Yeah.” 

“Dude! Can I have it back already? I swear I’m never letting you steal my clothes again.” 

His fast walking slowed down. Kuroo started jogging backwards so he could face Kenma, feeling concerned about the silence. This didn’t feel like Kenma’s usual quietness. 

“I don’t have it,” he replied simply, hoping to leave it at that. 

“Well it’s in your dorm, right? Just bring it to -”

“No,” Kenma interrupted, “It’s not in my dorm. I don’t have it.” 

Kuroo scoffed. “Where is it then? You just want to keep it, don’t you?” 

Of course Kuroo wouldn’t let him get away without actually explaining himself. 

“Y/N has it.” 

“Oh.” Kuroo cleared his throat in that awkward way a dad would, then he turned back around and Kenma thought that was it.

 Of course it wasn’t. “Sounds like a good excuse to go talk to - ” 

“No.” 

“We’re going to Y/N’s dorm after practice -”

“No.” 

“I’m getting my hoodie back, and you’re getting Y/N back.” 

To that, Kenma didn’t say no.

-

You were visibly taken aback when you opened your door to see your ex boyfriend and his best friend staring back at you. 

“Good morning, Y/N,” Kuroo said, his voice booming through the hall. 

“Hi?” 

Kuroo elbowed Kenma in his side, offering a, “go on,” of encouragement. 

“Uh…” 

He couldn’t look up at you. Just hearing your voice in person was enough to make his heart skip a beat. If he looked at you, he’d probably break down crying and then beg you to take him back. 

He didn’t know why it was so easy for Kuroo to convince him to do this. 

“Remember that hoodie…?” 

You scoffed before disappearing into your dorm for just a moment, reappearing to shove the sweatshirt into Kenma’s chest. 

“Actually, that’s mine,” Kuroo said, taking it from him. “Sorry for the inconvenience. But my mom got me this hoodie. And then Kenma stole it.” 

“I just forgot it was yours,” Kenma said quietly, trying his best to defend himself. 

But it did help you realize why Kenma asked to have it back. You felt kind of silly now knowing that it wasn’t even his. 

Kuroo, ignoring Kema, gave him a strong pat on the back and said, “Is there anything else you want to say to Y/N?” 

Kenma hated this. He hated when Kuroo treated him like a kid. He hated knowing that you were standing right in front of him but he couldn’t hold your hand or play with your hair or even look up at you. He hated that he allowed himself to lose his best friend. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, even though he felt himself slipping, sinking, drowning, just like he had last night. “I’m really, really sorry, for… for making you think that I don’t want you and for keeping things from you and for being late to lunch and for calling you last night -” 

He took a deep breath, one that did nothing to calm him down but forced him to stop rambling to you, which he’s already embarrassed about. 

But he’s here, so he should probably be honest while he can. And he should probably look at you while he still has the chance. 

“I really miss you,” he said. His tears were clouding his vision but he still saw you. You were wearing an old shirt he bought for you in high school and a necklace he’d never seen before and your hair was a mess in his favorite way. You had obviously just woken up - what he wouldn’t give to have woken up next to you this morning could be counted on one hand. 

Kuroo’s loud voice seemed to assault his ears when he said, “I’ll leave you guys to it. You know where to find me, alright?” 

Kenma knew what that meant. What he meant to say is, ‘I’ll be there for you when you get your heart broken.’ 

Kuroo left while cradling his hoodie, and Kenma decided he probably should have just told him to wait outside for him. He didn’t have very high hopes for the rest of this conversation. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes and looking back down to the ground. “I shouldn’t have done -” 

“I miss you too.” 

You said it so quietly that he almost missed it, but his heart did backflips when you said it. 

“But I don’t miss how you’ve been acting.” 

And then it sank again. 

“I know,” he replied. “It’s just… volleyball and class have both been a lot, and…” 

He didn’t really have an excuse. What he said was true, volleyball has been a lot. The new schedule was getting the best of him, the extra practice wasn’t treating him well. And he was really struggling to stay afloat in his academics. 

He didn’t know if he could be better. He knew that right now, he could make promises he’d probably break and sweet talk his way into getting temporary forgiveness for his own sake. And if he did that, he’d probably hurt you again. 

But if he didn’t at least try to be better for you, he would regret it forever. There was no excuse to just let you go. He was going to try for you, for himself, for the years you two have been together. He couldn’t let that time go to waste. 

He wasn’t going to make excuses or empty promises. 

“I want to try,” he started, standing up straight and doing his best to face you. “I want to try to be better for you, I…” 

“Kenma…” 

“I know,” he said, feeling an extra spark of courage though he had no clue where it was coming from. “I know I don’t deserve it and that this is probably a waste of time but - but I love you and I have to try, please let me try.”

“...Okay, Kenma.” 

“Okay?” 

For the first time in a week he could finally breathe. He could take a breath without feeling weighed down. The pressure on his chest finally lifted. 

“I want to try, too,” you said, albeit sadly. “I miss you. So much.” 

And then you couldn’t help stepping out of the doorway and falling against Kenma’s chest, and he happily pulled you closer to him. It was only then that he realized he was still standing out in the hall, but you were in his arms again and he didn’t care if anyone saw. 

“I’ll get better at managing my time…” he mumbled to you. “I will.” 

Your response was a nod, and Kenma managed a small smile. 

But his exhaustion was setting in. As much as he wanted to stand there forever, he was about to fall over. 

“Y/N?” he whispered. “Can we…”

You were sure he was going to finish that sentence with something disappointing, something that would ruin the moment. Maybe even something uncharacteristically lewd.

“...take a nap?” 

But you were relieved to see Kenma was actually acting like himself. With a soft laugh you said, “Yeah, we can.” And when he got into your room and fell into your bed, he pulled you as close as you could be before melting into your sheets. 

Your bed was definitely the best place in the world, and he wasn’t going to lose it - or you - again. Sleeping next to you felt too good to go without.

[yandere-ac]

yandere snake mayhaps? 👉👈

Yandere Snake X Reader

The letters

This was a nightmare. A complete utter nightmare that you couldn’t wake up from. A few months ago, you had started receiving letters from an anonymous sender. And you had to admit, at first you thought it was sweet. The letters told about how the person always thought you were the greatest and how they’ve always wanted to be with you. You had No clue who it was but for a while you thought they seemed like a nice person. But then, the letters had started to get a bit more creepy. Talking in very disturbing detail about how they’ve imagined a whole life with you. “My dearest Y/N. You are mine and I am yours, until the end of time and all of eternity”. That is how each letter started, and with each letter it got more and more horrifying. And that was only the start of it. Soon the letters started talking about how they didn’t like the other residents and wanted to take you away from them. And by that they seemed to mean full on abduction since they stated, quote “They don’t deserve you. I don’t even deserve you. But I’ve started thinking. If I took you away, I’d limit your exposure of people not deserving of you to only one instead of ten. I’d keep you in my basement or loft. Just a place where no one could find you, and I could be with you everyday. I think about that so often. The only reason I haven’t done it is because I know you’d be sad”

This person, no, this maniac scared you so much. But it didn’t stop there, no, quite the contrary. It got worse in fact. Soon you started receiving disturbing descriptions of them stalking you. Like actually watching you through your windows. They talked about how cute you were and how they wanted to make you theirs. But when you started receiving gifts such as claws and teeth you went straight to Tom Nook. And that was were you were now. When you rushed into the resident services, you were shaking and crying uncontrollably. Tom imidiatly rushes out from his desk to ask what happened but once he got close to you, you just broke down, collapsing into his arms as your crying got more violent. By this point Isabelle had also rushed out from her desk. Tom cooed you as he slowly rubbed circles on your back, and Isabelle was also embracing you, telling you comforting things so that you would calm down.

After a while your crying died down to simple whimpers, Isabelle had fetched you a blanket and you were currently waiting for some hot water to boil as she had also offered to make you some tea. “So tell me Y/N, what did you say had happened?” Tom asked you, sitting opposite to you. “I’ve been getting these letters from someone and they are creeping me out. The person is also stalking me now and have sent...very disgusting things to me” you answered him, voice cracking several times as you do so. “I brought the worst ones so that you could see for yourselfs” with that, you handed over some of the letters that had made you the most scared. Tom took them and carefully read through each one. His face got more and more concerned and grossed out as he continued to read. By now Isabelle had come up to you with the cup of tea, you took the cup, hands shaking as you did so.

“I...I...my gods...this is truly unacceptable...we’ll have to do something about this. Do you have any hunch as to who it could be, be?” Tom asked you, putting down the letters. “That’s the worst part! I don’t even know who it’s from! It could be anyone!” You said, voice shaky and cracking. “Hmm...well do you have a hunch of who it possibly couldn’t be?” Tom asked you, looking at you. “Well...I guess you two. The able sisters. Timmy and Tommy obviously. Snake. And maybe Francine” you said. Tom, Isabelle and the able sisters where obviously not the sender. You knew both Tom and Isabelle and they would never do something like this. The face that Tom pulled when he read the letters alone convinced you. You also knew Mable and Sable. Mable was way to nice and cheery to produce something like the writings in those letters, plus you had seen her handwriting and it didn’t look like the one in the letters. And Sable just wouldn’t do this. You two were friends and it would just be to put if reach. Timmy and Tommy were also very obviously not the sender. And Snake and Francine were two of your favourite islanders, you hung out everyday. You trusted them not to do something like this.

”Well, would it make you feel safer to sleep at one of our houses tonight? Or well, some of our houses. I don’t think Mable and Sable are awake at this hour, and I’m not sure about Francine and Snake. But your always welcome in my house Y/N, I’m sure the boys would love it” Tom said, putting his hands together as he happily told you. ”And you’re always welcome with me as well! It would be like a big sleepover!” Isabelle exclaimed. This made you smile. These two were always so nice and polite. Always doing so much and asking for very little. “You two...thank you so much. You guys are to kind. But I can’t ask for that. I would feel bad. I’ll go ask snake, he’s usually up at this time and he has a comfortable blowup mattress” you said, bowing your head a little as you did. “Okey Y/N. But if anything happens. Our doors are always open”

And with that you went out, going to Snakes place. Strange, Tom though. As he looked at the letters, one persistent factor was that the writing was very messy. Almost jittery. But who could have written it? “Well, we should probably close up. It’s 40 minutes past closing time” Isabelle said turning off the lamp by her desk. “Oh! Yes of course! I had forgotten!” Tom said, quickly putting away his things. “Hey, you can leave early if you want, I can handle this. You’ve got your boys to put to sleep. They’re probably worried” Isabelle tried to convince her coworker. She knew Tom worked really hard, keeping up the island, making sure everyone was happy, and on top of that basically being like a dad to the twin boys. “Oh are you sure, Isabelle? It’s not to much?” Isabelle only laughed at this. “No no Tom, it’s alright I assure you! You have a good night now alright?”

You arrived and knocked on the door. Almost immediately the door swung open violently as the small rabbit gave you a big smile along with his wide eyes. “Hey Y/N!!!!” He yelled enthusiastically. You knew he had trouble with controlling his volume so you never got anger or annoyed when he yelled. You found it kind of endearing actually. He was just so full of energy at all times. “Hi snake, I was wondering- if it’s not to much trouble! If I could sleep at your place tonight? I-I know it’s very sudden and I understand if you don’t want t-“

“Are you kidding me!!! Of course I want to have you over!!!” As he said this he grabbed ahold of your hand and dragged you into his home.

On his way home, Tom couldn’t shake the thought of those letters. Who could they possibly be from?! He felt so bad for you, poor soul hadn’t done anything to deserve this. The only thing you had ever done was simply to care to much. You were a very empathic person and never gave up on people. Even when it came to crooks who didn’t deserve to be in your presence like Redd, you still remained patient and tried to help him. You had told him that you though Redd till had good in his heart and that you could help him. You had a heart so big it couldn’t fit inside that body of yours, but Tom worries about you. Because of your compassion it could easily draw creeps to you, and it had seemed that had just happened. His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a small drop of water hit his nose. Looking up he saw that the sky was grey. He quickly pulled out his umbrella as he quickened his pace. Just as he passed by Snakes house he stopped for a moment, looking at the abode. “Oh I hope they’re alright...no, no Tom. They’re with Snake...he’ll keep them safe...” and before he could think any more of the situation he continued to rush home. He had two, probably worried, tanookies to read a bedtime story to.

Once inside, Snake dragged out his blowup mattress and started filing it up with air, ever time you had a sleepover with him you insisted he use a mechanical pump but every time he declined, saying that his lungs were well trained and pull of air. While he fixed the mattress you were in the kitchen, preparing snacks. You’ve been to his house so many times that you practically knew the place as your own, and so when he asked you to fix something to eat, you knew where to look.

“And so she asked me: Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the cutest of them all! And I answered ‘why that would be Snake! The prettiest bunny out there!’ And she got really mad” you laughed at the bunnies shenanigans, the both of you sitting by the mattress eating some snacks. “Really? What did she say?” You asked him, snickering slightly. ”She called Me stupid haha” Snake responded putting his arm around you as you both laughed. “So, Y/N. Not that you would ever need a reason to visit your best friend snake! But is there a reason why you decided to drop in here out of nowhere?“ you froze up, do you tell him about the letters? No, you didn’t wanna drag him into this. ”Oh No reason. I just felt like we should hang out more y’know?” You said giving him a smile, hoping that he would be satisfied with that answer and wouldn’t press you for the truth. Luckily for you his eyes lit up and it seemed like your answer made him happy. “Oh you’re so kind Y/N! I agree! We should just hang out all the time!” He answered tail happily waved as he said so. “Yeah, we really should...hey...would you sleep next to me tonight...I’m a little paranoid to sleep alone” you asked the rabbit, and you could have sworn that you could see his cheeks dust pink. “Sure Y/N, I’d be happy to”

And so, the two of you laid down together, you wrapped your arms around his small body and he happily complied and did the same, nuzzling his head into the crook of tour neck. You felt thankful for him, he was always so kind to you, and was always there for you. Any time you’d look even slightly down he’d rush to your aid and comfort you. By now you two were so close that it didn’t feel weird sleeping in the same bed. As time went on you started to feel drowsiness take over you. Slowly you felt your eyelids fall heavy. As you closed your eyes, you could feel Snake gently brushing your hair. And just before you drifted out of consciousness, you heard him say something.

“Until the end of time and all of eternity...”

[mvsicinthedvrk]

mmm personality test sorting time !!

i’ve done one character a day for a while & now they’re all done, so: fun sorts for my characters alphabetically under the cut.

i took the 16 personalities test for the mbti, the eclectic energies test for the enneagram, for hogwarts house I was going to originally just choose based on instinct but i did end up using this knockoff pottermore test, and then I did the open psychometrics “which character are you statistically most like” quiz for the last one. 

henry strauss-- 

mbti: INFP (the mediator) -- “Mediators may feel directionless or stuck unless they connect with a sense of purpose for their lives. For many Mediators, this purpose has something to do with helping and uplifting others. Empathetic by nature, these personalities may feel other people’s suffering as if it were their own“ lmfao oh henry

enneagram: oh he’s a type 4 for sure. I agree with that 200%. -- “Fours are emotionally complex and highly sensitive. They long to be understood and appreciated for their authentic selves, but easily feel misunderstood and unappreciated.”

hogwarts house: 42% hufflepuff (then in order: ravenclaw, gryffindor, slytherin)

which other characters are you most like: 

#1: charlie from perks of being a wallflower (OUCH!!)

#2: wes gibbons from htgawm

#3: jonathan byers from stranger things

holland vosijk--

mbti: ISTJ (the logistician)-- “Logisticians have sharp, fact-based minds, and prefer autonomy and self-sufficiency to reliance on someone or something. Dependency on others is often seen by Logisticians as a weakness, and their passion for duty, dependability and impeccable personal integrity forbid falling into such a trap.” this is so funny to me. it’s very true. 

enneagram: type 8-- “People of this personality type are essentially unwilling to be controlled, either by others or by their circumstances; they fully intend to be masters of their fate... Eights have a hard time lowering their defenses in intimate relationships. Intimacy involves emotional vulnerability and such vulnerability is one of the Eight's deepest fears” legit

hogwarts house: 40% slytherin (then in order: ravenclaw, gryffindor, hufflepuff)-- this actually surprises me because I would have guessed ravenclaw instead. 

what other characters are you most like: 

#1: carolyn martens from killing eve (i didn’t know who this was but apparently she’s “principled yet ruthless” and that tracks)

#2: severus snape from harry potter

#3: mr. darcy from pride and prejudice (lmfao)

kaz brekker--

mbti: ESTJ (the executive)-- I don’t know that this is accurate because the whole first paragraph of the description is about how executives understand right/wrong and embrace honesty and tradition BUT later in the description some of it aligns: “Executives don’t work alone, and they expect their reliability and work ethic to be reciprocated – people with this personality type meet their promises, and if partners or subordinates jeopardize them through incompetence or laziness, or worse still, dishonesty, they do not hesitate to show their wrath. This can earn them a reputation for inflexibility.”

enneagram: type 3-- “They are frequently hard working, competitive and are highly focused in the pursuit of their goals... They are often self-made and usually find some area in which they can excel... They know how to present themselves, are self-confident, practical, and driven... They are good networkers who know how to rise through the ranks.” THAT’S accurate. 

hogwarts house: almost the same as holland, which is unsurprising-- 37% slytherin, then 30% ravenclaw with gryffindor and hufflepuff trailing far behind. 

what other characters are you most like:

#1: amy dunne from gone girl (lmfaoooooo)

#2: walter white from breaking bad

#3: vicious from cowboy bepop

martin blackwood--

mbti: INFJ (the advocate)-- “Advocates generally strive to do what’s right – and they want to help create a world where others do the right thing as well... Advocates may be reserved, but they communicate in a way that is warm and sensitive... Advocates might find themselves feeling especially stressed in the face of conflict and criticism. These personalities tend to act with the best of intentions, and it can frustrate them when others don’t appreciate this.” awww that’s sweet I do like that for him.

enneagram: type 2, with 6 being a close second. I definitely called that. “People of this personality type essentially feel that they are worthy insofar as they are helpful to others... Twos are warm, emotional people who care a great deal about their personal relationships, devote an enormous amount of energy to them, and who expect to be appreciated for their efforts.”

hogwarts house: 39% hufflepuff, and then the others are all fundamentally tied around 20-21% each. I’d agree with that. 

what other characters are you most like:

#1: landry clarke from friday night lights (initially i was like-- a football player? what? but then his wiki description is: “generally polite, awkward, and enjoys playing guitar” so lol ok)

#2: cameron james from 10 things i hate about you

#3: peeta mellark from the hunger games

melanie king--

mbti: ESTP (the entrepreneur)-- “Entrepreneurs keep their conversation energetic, with a good dose of intelligence, but they like to talk about what is – or better yet, to just go out and do it. Entrepreneurs leap before they look, fixing their mistakes as they go, rather than sitting idle, preparing contingencies and escape clauses.”

enneagram: like holland, she’s for sure a type 8: “Eights are strong willed, decisive, practical, tough minded and energetic.” I think the aggressive aspect of type eights is more obvious in her personality than his, though.

hogwarts house: 47% gryffindor! then, in order: slytherin, ravenclaw, hufflepuff. 

what other characters are you most like:

#1: erica sinclair from stranger things

#2: max mayfield from stranger things

#3: lois lane from smallville (yessss)

orpheus--

mbti: INFP (the mediator)-- I was actually surprised he got introverted instead of extroverted, but here we are. “Mediators’ creativity and idealism can bloom even after the darkest of seasons. Although they know the world will never be perfect, Mediators still care about making it better however they can. This quiet belief in doing the right thing may explain why these personalities so often inspire compassion, kindness, and beauty wherever they go.”

enneagram: oh, yep, he’s a type 9-- “People of this personality type essentially feel a need for peace and harmony. They tend to avoid conflict at all costs, whether it be internal or interpersonal... Nines tend to adopt an optimistic approach to life; they are, for the most part, trusting people who see the best in others; they frequently have a deep seated faith that things will somehow work out.”

hogwarts house: my sweet son is 43% hufflepuff, then gryffindor, ravenclaw, and essentially no slytherin.

what other characters are you most like:

#1: flounder from the little mermaid (ok that’s sort of rude)

#2: snow white from snow white

#3: dorothy gale from the wizard of oz (that tracks)

patroclus--

mbti: INFJ (the advocate)-- so, same as martin. “Advocates can speak with great passion and conviction, especially when standing up for their ideals. At other times, however, they may choose to be soft-spoken and understated, preferring to keep the peace rather than challenge others.” i love him sm.

enneagram: he’s a type 2, also like martin, the helper type. this half-surprises me because i thought there was maybe a chance he’d be a type 6. 

hogwarts house: it’s actually really close between hufflepuff and gryffindor? 31% and 32% respectively. then slytherin, then ravenclaw. 

what other characters are you most like:

#1: eliza hamilton from hamilton

#2: glenn rhee from the walking dead

#3: ben hargreeves from the umbrella academy

wei wuxian--

mbti: ENFP (the campaigner)-- “Campaigners, like all their Diplomat cousins, are shaped by their Intuitive (N) quality, allowing them to read between the lines with curiosity and energy... Charming, independent, energetic and compassionate, the 7% of the population that they comprise can certainly be felt in any crowd.”

enneagram: he’s my only type 7. “They tend to be extroverted, multi-talented, creative and open minded... They often have an entrepreneurial spirit and are able to convey their enthusiasm to those with whom they come in contact. When they are able to focus their talents, they are often highly successful. Focusing does not always come easily for Sevens, however.”

hogwarts house: this test says he’s 29% slytherin, 27% gryffindor, 23% hufflepuff, and 21% ravenclaw. 

what other characters are you most like:

#1: george weasley from harry potter (oh that’s genuinely really good)

#2: abby sciuto from ncis (that’s actually perfect too from what i know about ncis)

#3: nymphadora tonks from harry potter

yuri plisetsky--

mbti: ISTJ (the logistician), same as holland-- “Logistician personalities are no-nonsense, and when they’ve made a decision, they will relay the facts necessary to achieve their goal, expecting others to grasp the situation immediately and take action... To Logisticians, honesty is far more important than emotional considerations.”

enneagram: he’s type 3-- “People of this personality type need to be validated in order to feel worthy; they pursue success and want to be admired... When unhealthy, their narcissism takes an ugly turn and they can become cold blooded and ruthless in the pursuit of their goals.” lol

hogwarts house: 31% slytherin and 27% ravenclaw, then gryffindor and hufflepuff in last. 

what other characters are you most like:

#1: cordelia chase from buffy the vampire slayer (once again, hilarious)

#2: amy march from little women

#3: tahani al-jamil from the good place

[latenitewolves]

Christmas Eve

A/N: It’s a late Christmas imagine, whoops. Anon requested sweetness with Peter and I saw a prompt I really wanted to write and I felt like despite Christmas being over it all went pretty well together. Maybe not. I dunno.

“Look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone.”

-

I sighed quietly as I knocked on the door again, this time a bit more aggressively. Peter hadn’t shown up to Lydia’s little Christmas Eve party, which I don’t think anyone really expected him to, but I felt bad. Ending up in Beacon Hills by myself was not in my plans, especially when it meant I had tried to distance myself from my family in order to keep them safe.

The pack was great, they were family too, but I still felt lonely. And despite my brain reminding me of what an insufferable asshole Peter Hale could be, I couldn’t stop thinking about how he was alone on Christmas Eve too.

I groaned in irritation as I went to knock for the third time when the front door swung open. I dropped my hand as Peter quirked a brow, looking at all the bags I was trying to hold onto.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Y/N. What brings you here on this fine evening?” Peter asked, seeming almost suspicious.

“Christmas stuff.” I replied, shoving a few bags into his arms before walking past him and into his kitchen, setting the bags on the island.

“Excuse me?” Peter asked, confused as he followed me, setting the rest of the bags down.

“Christmas.” I repeated, turning to him with my hands on my hips. “Look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone.” I paused, adding quietly, “Especially on Christmas.”

Peter seemed a bit stunned, taking a moment before he responded. “What makes you think I don’t want to be alone?”

“Because.. I just do. And it’s not just for you, it’s for me too. I huffed, turning to start unpacking the groceries I had bought. Peter stayed silent for a minute.

“And what exactly is all that?” He asked, crossing his arms.

“Egg nog, hot cocoa, some snacks, and stuff for us to make Christmas cookies.” I replied, turning to put a few things in the fridge.

“What makes you think I’ll be going along with all of this?” Peter quipped, taking a few steps closer to me and looking into my eyes.

“You haven’t kicked me out.” I replied, smirking back at him, staring back for a moment as I took in the intensity of his gaze. “Um, anyways,” I looked away, opening another bag. “I brought a few cheesy Christmas movies. They seem awful, but I figured at least we could make fun of them.”

“A woman after my heart.” Peter joked and I smiled in response.

“So, cookies first?” I suggested, raising my brows. Peter smiled a bit, using one of hands to gesture to the kitchen.

“All yours.”

.

Making the cookies went surprising well. Peter and I talked casually about different things and I was realized how comfortable it was with him. I was a bit shocked with the fact he didn’t put up a fight in helping with the cookies. In the end I was the one who was a little pissed because the cookies he frosted turned out way better than mine.

“Your little reindeer looks like it lost a fight with a werewolf. It’s neck is cracked!” Peter pointed to one of my less successful frosted cookies and I laughed, shaking my head as I tried to add more frosting to fix it.

“No, no, he’s fine, see?” I picked the cookie up, my mouth falling open a bit when the head fell back onto the counter. “Dammit.” Peter smirked, picking up the broken cookie and popping it into his mouth. “How did you even get so good at frosting cookies anyway, huh? I figured you lived off fancy restaurant food. Or animals in the woods.”

“Only sometimes.” Peter joked, licking some frosting off his finger. I watched unintentionally, glancing up to see him watching me before I turned back to my cookies. “Not particularly fond of baking, but I do enjoy cooking. I’m a man of many talents.” I nodded a bit, setting my last cookie on the counter. “You could always come by some night, I know your diet consists primarily of junk food and pasta.”

“Hey! Pasta is good!” I defended, smiling at the realization that Peter was kind of asking me out..right? I wasn’t misreading that, was I? “That sounds nice, though. I can’t remember the last time I actually had a home cooked meal that wasn’t pasta or grilled cheese.” I smiled up at Peter, a comfortable silence settling in before I broke it. “Alright, terrible Christmas movie time.” I announced, turning to fully face Peter. “Do you have any comfy blankets, by the way? I’m getting kind of cold.” Peter nodded a bit, looking me over quickly.

“Do you want some warmer clothes? I’m sure I have a pair of sweatpants and maybe a sweater that would fit you.” I nodded a bit, my face flushing a bit at how kind Peter was being tonight. I’d never experienced this side of him, relaxed and quite kind actually.

I cleaned up the kitchen a bit while Peter went off to the other room, I felt bad for the mess I had ended up making. Peter didn’t seem genuinely annoyed, but that didn’t stop him from making a few jokes.

When Peter returned I went to the bathroom, changing into the clothes quickly and sighing as I pulled the sweater tighter around me. It was warm and soft, and it smelled amazing..it smelled like Peter. Did Peter always smell this good? I inhaled the scent of the sweater for a moment before shaking my head a bit about how that was a little creepy.

I made my way back to the living room, finding Peter is more comfortable clothing as well, and saw he had already set up a movie. “This looks genuinely awful.” Peter mumbled, shaking his head as he leaned back on the couch.

“Yeah, well, they’re Christmasy, so suck it up.” I joked, unable to keep the small smile off my face as I sat down next to Peter, my leg bumping his as I got comfortable under the blanket he gave me. Peter started the movie, relaxing into the couch more. After about 40 minutes of commentary on how unrealistic it was to just randomly bump into someone who looks exactly like you and happens to be a princess and then decide to switch places like the parent trap or something, I started getting sleepy.

I scooted a bit closer to Peter, trying to be discreet about it, but he’s a werewolf so that was impossible. I snuggled into his side, my eyes dropping. “You’re so warm.”

“Yes, I am a werewolf. We’re quite warm.” Peter quipped and I elbowed him half-heartedly. Peter chuckled a bit before wrapping his arm around me, pulling me closer and tucking my head under his chin.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you liked me, old wolf.” I muttered, laughing when Peter growled quietly.

“I’m not old,” Peter responded, pausing for a few moments. “I will admit I’ve enjoyed your company. It is nice to have someone to spend Christmas Eve with.” I hummed in response, nuzzling my face into his chest.

“I won’t tell the pack you’re growing soft.”

“Hardly.” I laughed again, Peter’s hand starting to rub my arm lightly. We fell into a comfortable silence, Peter scoffing at the movie every few minutes as I felt my body getting more tired.

“Peter,” I murmured, my eyes closing fully.

“Hm?”

“I like being with you too.” I said softly, my tired state leaving me a bit more free to say what I was thinking. “You’re not as insufferable as you pretend to be. I like you either way, though.” I admitted.

“So sweet, Y/N.” I smiled into his chest, practically feeling the sarcasm coming off of him. “I like you too, even if your baking skills leave something to be desired.”

“Shut up.” Peter’s chest rumbled a bit as he chuckled before he shifted, pulling me into a more comfortable position.

“Go to sleep, Y/N. I’ll wake you when it’s Christmas.”