#blonde roast coffee

[omgcoffeecompany]

OMG Coffee Company

Website: https://www.omgcoffeecompany.com/

Address: Ocala, Florida, USA

OMG Coffee Company represents four generations of coffee roasting experience. From your first experience with us, you are welcomed as a part of our family. We roast your coffee to order and deliver it to you fast.

Our coffee company represents thirty years of passion for the perfect cup of coffee. We offer an array of the finest mountain-grown gourmet coffees to consumers, wholesalers, and coffee shops across the country.

We hand-select beans from coffee-producing countries, and our Roastmasters roast them to perfection.

We create a direct trade by partnering with our coffee growers and building friendships with them.

We roast our coffee beans to perfection and ship them on the same day as your order, promising you fresh Coffee every time.

We deliver the best customer service possible.

We are direct importers of Jamaica Blue Mountain Coffee, one of the most sought-after coffees in the world. This superior Coffee has been satisfying the expectations of the most demanding connoisseurs for generations.

What makes us different?

Like many other down-to-earth coffee lovers, we were tired of choosing between stale inexpensive grocery store coffee and painfully overpriced boutique brews. If you want the best fresh-roasted coffee in the world, try us. You won't be disappointed. Our direct-to-consumer model and common-sense commitment to roast-to-order freshness make quality coffee accessible to anyone with a computer and a mailbox.

Hand-packed Coffee:

Our hand-packed coffee service offers the highest-quality beans from around the world, freshly ground and sealed for maximum freshness. Our expert roaster will ensure your coffee is packed to perfection, giving you a delicious cup of coffee every time. Enjoy your favorite coffee with the convenience of hand-packed coffee from our store!

Fresh Roasted Coffee:

Our freshly roasted coffee is the perfect choice for any coffee lover. Our beans are carefully selected from the best sources and roasted to perfection. Enjoy the rich flavor and aroma of our handcrafted blend, with a smooth finish and no bitter aftertaste. Whether you prefer espresso, latte, cappuccino, or just a cup of black coffee, our selection will ensure you get the perfect cup every time. Enjoy the full-bodied flavor of our freshly roasted coffee and let it transport you to a world of flavor.

From Roaster to You:

Our From Roaster to You service offers freshly roasted coffee beans sent directly from our roasting facility to your door. Each order is customized based on your preferences and arrives within days of roasting, ensuring you get the freshest and best tasting coffee possible. Enjoy the convenience of freshly roasted beans delivered right to you!

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/OMGCoffeeCompany/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/omgcoffeecompany/

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[zodiacsea]

my white girl pet peeve is if i order my iced latte with no ice i don’t want the extra space filled with milk. please. it’s okay to leave it less full.

[quicktimeeventfull]

idk if youre still doing that whole food asks thing, but 9 and 2 for mello?

hello and thank you!! i’m very happy to do it as long as people wish to send asks! 🍢 2. their coffee order for the plain coffee, i think mello likes a light roast with chocolate notes (on the nose, but true) or the blonde roast if he’s at starbucks specifically. if he’s getting a fancy drink, he likes chocolate cortados or those lattes with nutella mixed in. he also drinks a lot of triple shot expressos but that’s more to stay awake than to actually enjoy his drink. 9. the last thing someone cooked for them i am so very invested in matt/mello & i think matt does most of the cooking, partially because mello isn’t that great and partially because he tends to have more time. the two of them have approximately zero dollars and matt is pretty good at making tasty, filling, and very cheap food. so: the last thing matt made for him was ‘polenta’, but with cornmeal rather than actual polenta — much cheaper, and easier to find. matt talked about sort of vague, rambley while stirring the pot, and mello sat there and half-listened, absently playing one of matt’s games. (he promised not to save.) mello likes this a lot because its nice and warm and filling and sweet. food-based character asks

[phinnkipper]

The name’s Blonde. James Blonde.

Get it ‘cause, like, blonde roasted coffee beans… heh heh heh… yeah… >\\\<

[bluepoodle7]

#Starbucks #StarbucksUnsweetenedBlondeRoastIcedCoffee#RefrigeratedUnsweetenedFlavoredIcedCoffeeReview

I tried the Starbucks Unsweetened Blonde Roast Iced Coffee and it was okay.

This just tasted like a smooth non sweet black coffee without creme and sugar added to it.

This was lightly bitter tasting with a water and coffee taste.

I tried this before I put this in my oatmeal.

I would drink it again if I added sugar free coffee creamer and monk fruit.

Got at Kroger.

[heavenly-angell]

im so happy with myself. i made a blonde vanilla latte at home, and it's perfect 𔘓

[garish]

i’ve discovered starbucks blonde roast and i think i’m becoming a coffee girlie now 😔

[givemebishies]

Hey, write your usual/favorite Starbucks/coffee shop order in the tags!! I love tasty drinks and I’d love to hear about yours! ☕️ 🍵🥤🧋

[themslash]

epic coffee moment

[v6quewrlds]

❝ slim shady, j. burrow. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: your boyfriend is cool, calm, collected, and now platinum blonde? though you're mentally conflicted, you can't help but feel drawn to his new look.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: requested by an anon! this was supposed to be sunday’s game day fic but here it is today instead lol i am a proud og supporter of the buzz cut and it comes out in this fic. i will die on the "joe says cock not dick" hill.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, sexual content, handjob, romantic dick sucking.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.1k.

You hummed to the rhythm of a song you couldn't quite remember, the office's background noise muffled as you waited for your coffee to brew. The sleek, black machine hissed and spat, the scent of dark roast filling the air. You checked your phone, scrolling through the mundane emails and notifications that had accumulated since your last break. Your thumb hovered over the screen, ready to dismiss the unimportant.

Then you saw it: an image sent from Joe. Your boyfriend's name illuminated on your screen as your lips broke in a quiet smile. Curiosity piqued, you tapped it open, expecting one of Joe's rare but charming selfies with his usual wide blue eyes and awkward poses.

But your eyes widened when the image loaded—instead of the familiar mess of dirty blonde hair, you found a bald head with a wide smile. The message beneath read, "New look what do you think?" Your jaw dropped as you stared at the screen, the buzz of the office around you fading into white noise.

Your mind raced with questions.

Why hadn't he told you? What was the occasion for this dramatic change?

But the office was not the place to get into this. You had a meeting in about five minutes and the coffee was finished brewing, the aroma now taunting you with the promise of a jolting caffeine rush you desperately needed.

With trembling fingers, you typed out a text, trying to match the easy light-heartedness of his message. "Why the fuck are you bald?" You decided to add an unimpressed emoji to remove any ambiguity from your words.

Joe's response was swift. "It'll grow back?" He wrote with a laughing emoji. "Got bored. Thought I'd try something new." You could practically hear the nonchalance in his voice and you couldn't decide if it pissed you off or intrigued you. The dryness of his text was typical Joe—always questionably calm. But this was a surprise you weren't quite ready to laugh off. You took a sip of your coffee, the heat scalding your tongue as you thought about his new look.

The day dragged on, your thoughts inexplicably drawn back to Joe's bald head. You had seen him in every hairstyle imaginable—undercut, grown out, and even a questionable middle part that you had mercifully convinced him to abandon under the guise of bad luck—but this was a step beyond. You tried to focus on the spreadsheets and emails, but the image of Joe's egg head kept popping up in your mind.

By the time you left the office, your curiosity had morphed into something else entirely. An excitement you hadn't felt in a while, a thrill that made your pulse quicken. You drove home, your hand subconsciously tracing the steering wheel as you imagined running your fingers over his newly shaved scalp.

The anticipation grew as you pulled into Joe's driveway. You took a deep breath before letting yourself in, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the warmth that awaited you inside. "Joe!" you called out, your voice echoing through the house.

"In the kitchen!" his voice responded, and you could hear the smack of a fridge door closing. You kicked off your heels, the sound of your bare feet padding against the cool, tiled floor.

As you entered the kitchen, you saw him standing by the counter, a protein shake in one hand, and his phone in the other. Your eyes scanned upwards from his broad shoulders, taking in the stark contrast of his bald head against his muscular physique. He looked up and caught your stare, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You bleached it," you murmured, the words leaving your lips in a breathy exhale. The kitchen lights reflected off his pale scalp, giving him an unexpected edginess.

Joe chuckled, leaning against the counter. "Surprise," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Your hand flew to your mouth. "Oh my god," you whispered. "It's... it's not just a buzzcut, it's—"

"Platinum," Joe filled in, taking a sip of his shake. "Figured why not go all out?"

Your eyes roamed over his features, now so sharply defined without the hair to frame them. His strong jaw, the crinkles of his eyes, his stubbled chin—it all looked more pronounced. And you had to admit, incredibly sexy. The shock was giving way to something else, something warm and fluttery in your stomach.

He watched you, his gaze expectant, a smirk playing on his lips. You stepped closer, reaching out tentatively to touch his head. The warmth of his skin was unexpected, and you couldn't help but let out a small giggle. He leaned into your touch, his eyes crinkling as you traced your fingers over the smooth surface.

"I can't decide if..." you said, trying to find the words. "If you look like you should be in a shitty boy band or if you're channeling Slim Shady."

Joe's smirk grew into a full-blown grin. "Slim Shiesty," he quipped, his voice low and playful. "You know you love it." He teased, his chest rumbling with quiet laughter as he took your hands in his.

You felt your smile widen, your heart racing. You didn't know if it was the caffeine from the coffee or the sudden realization that you were incredibly turned on by his new look. The way his muscles flexed as he held onto your hands, the glint in his eye as he watched your reaction—it was all too much.

Your eyes drifted to his lips, and you leaned in, capturing them in a kiss that was equal parts surprise and desire. His grip tightened, and you felt him pull you closer, the coldness of the countertop pressing into your back as his body molded against yours. His free hand roamed your waist, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin just above your hip bone.

"So you like it?" Joe murmured, his breath warm against your cheek as he leaned into you. You felt the heat from his skin and the tension coiling in your belly. You couldn't believe it, but you were insatiably attracted to this new look for him.

"Yeah," you breathed into Joe's ear, your voice silky with want, "I guess so."

Your hands slid down his body, tracing the planes of his chest before coming to rest at the waistband of his sweatpants. He leaned into your touch, his breath hitching. The kitchen light crafted an artificial halo as it bounced off the dye in his hair, and you found yourself craving more of him.

Without breaking the kiss, you tugged at his waistband, and Joe's laughter turned into a groan as your hand found its way to his cock. You wrapped your cold fingers around it, feeling it twitch and thicken in your palm. He pulled away, his eyes dark with hunger. "What do you think you're doing?" he murmured, his voice gruff.

You smirked up at him, your eyes full of mischief. "I'm just... indulging the new look," you said, your voice a seductive purr. You sank to your knees, your eyes glued to his. The kitchen floor was cold, but you barely noticed as the heat between the two of you grew.

Joe's eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his cock twitching in his pants. "Babe," he said, his voice thick with lust. But you were already untying the drawstring, his dick springing free, hard and eager.

You took him in your mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as you tasted his surprise and arousal. He was an intoxicating mixture of salty and sweet, and you moaned around him, your tongue swirling and teasing the head. The kitchen light danced over your dark skin and cast shadows across Joe's face as he watched you.

He tangled his fingers in your braids, gently guiding your movements, setting a pace that made him groan. Your eyes flew open to meet his, the blue of his irises burning into the brown of yours. Your cheeks hollowed as you took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing with the effort. The taste of him filled your mouth, the smell of his cologne mixed with the scent of the kitchen's citrus cleaner.

Joe's hips involuntarily bucked forward, pushing him further into your throat, and you gagged lightly, your eyes watering. He stilled, his hand coming up to cup your face gently. "You okay?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper from the effort of holding back just long enough to indulge in the pleasure you were giving him.

You nodded, your mouth still full. You pulled back with a pop, your lips glistening with the sinful mixture of his precum and your gloss, your eyes gleaming. "Yeah," you murmured, licking your lips. "Perfect."

Joe's gaze was intense, his eyes locked on yours as you took him in your mouth again. He groaned, his grip on your braids tightening, his thumb caressing your cheek. The sound was like a symphony to your ears, the sight of him lost in pleasure pushing your own desire to new heights. You bobbed your head, your rhythm increasing, your tongue flicking and dancing around his shaft.

You felt a rush of power, the kind that only came from knowing you could make him lose control. His breath grew ragged, his hips jerking in time with your movements as his stomach tensed. One of his hands gripped the counter as he cursed under his breath. You could feel his muscles tensing, his legs quivering slightly, and you smiled at the sight of him slowly losing it.

The sound of your mouth moving over him was the only noise in the kitchen, the slick sounds of your saliva mingling with his groans. You reached up and took hold of the base of his cock, your mouth releasing him as your thumb danced over his angry tip. He swore, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought the urge to come.

"Babe," he warned, his voice strained. "If you keep doing that..."

But you were beyond listening. The thrill of his impending orgasm was intoxicating, and you were determined to push him over the edge. You bit your bottom lip with a smirk, a knowing glimmer in your eyes as you watched your boyfriend throw his head back. With a surge of boldness, you kept your seductive gaze on his face as you licked a slow, deliberate stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, tasting him fully.

Joe's knees buckled slightly, now reaching to grip the counter with both hands to keep steady. "Yeah, suck this cock, beautiful," he hissed, his voice a desperate plea.

At the sound of his command, you didn't relent. With a wicked smile, you took him back into your mouth, your other hand now stroking the velvety skin of his balls. The sensation was too much for him, and he let out a strangled groan, his entire body seizing. You felt the warmth of his seed fill your mouth, and you swallowed, your brown eyes round as they stared up into his.

You pulled back, your chin glistening with spit, your expression smug. Joe looked down at you, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with passion. "You're crazy," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. "But I fucking love it."

He helped you stand to your feet, your eyes still locked. The kitchen light cast shadows over his bald head, giving him a mysterious allure that had your heart racing. He leaned in and kissed you, his tongue tracing your teeth and tangled with yours, sharing the taste of himself. It was a kiss filled with passion and a hint of appreciation, one that left your knees weak.

You broke the kiss with a giggle, wiping at your mouth. "You know, I think the bleached look really suits you, Slim," you said, your voice filled with a teasing lilt.

Joe's eyes lit up, his smirk growing as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Yeah? Maybe I should keep it then."

You playfully slapped his chest. "You better not, I didn’t say all that," you said, though the breathlessness in your voice betrayed you. "But for now, I can deal with it."

The two of you pulled apart, and Joe took a step back, looking down at you with a grin. "Deal with it, huh?" he challenged. "We'll see about that." His words were met with a confused look from you, but before you could ask him what he meant, he took a swing of his protein shake, set it down, scooped you up, and threw you over his shoulder.

"Joe!" you squealed, laughter bubbling up from your chest as he carried you out of the kitchen. You smacked his ass playfully, but the truth was, you were thrilled. The excitement of the unexpected was like a drug, and you were eager for more.

[jujutsukatsuki]

Katsuki knew from a young age that he wanted to be the best. He would sacrifice what he had to go get there. Even if that meant losing the people closest to him.

You knew from a young age that you wanted to be Katsuki’s. That you’d stand by his side and love him forever. You’d sacrifice whatever you could to be his.

It worked for a while. You pined after him. He shoved you away.

“Oi! Get off!” He barked and tried to shove you off of him. Katsuki had just won the UA festival and you met up with him after.

“No! You won! You did so good!” You squeal and squeeze the blonde tightly.

Katsuki knew that you and him could never happen. You were the annoying girl who lived across the street. The girl he was forced to play with when your moms would have coffee together on Saturday mornings.

You knew that you’d have to chip away at the icy exterior to make room for yourself in his heart. He wasn’t just Dynamite. He was Katsuki. The boy who lived across that street. The boy you’d spend Friday nights roasting marshmallows with in the winter time with the use of his quirk.

His time at UA came and went. With lots of bumps in the road, he always seemingly found himself at your doorstep. Disheveled. Bleeding. Nearing exhaustion.

“Sit still.” You whisper softly as you stitch him up. You went on to become a doctor, thanks to Katsuki. You saw the difference he was making in the world and you wanted to do it too.

��I am.” He said gruffly and took another swig of vodka. He looked down at your concentrated face. The way your brows furrowed as you carefully threaded the needle. He wouldn’t ever admit it, but every time you were finished healing him up, he craved the hug you’d give. Like you were holding him together.

As Katsuki moved up in the world, did you. He was the number two hero. You were a top doctor at your hospital. There was a day that seemed to be like any other. Some petty robberies, a few check ups. The day was normal for you both.

Until a huge explosion shook the hospital and sent everyone in a panic. Three villains came in and started causing destruction, and chaos. You quickly started to help patients that were laying in the rubble, you didn’t care that the villains were close by you. You put other people before yourself.

That was the last thing you remember before waking up in someone’s arms. Soft water droplets we’re hitting your face. You scrunched your brows together, your eyes felt heavy as you slowly opened them. Your vision slowly focused as you saw the spiky blonde holding you. Tears mixed with remnants of black from his eyeliner slowly ran down his cheeks and onto your face.

“Come on. Wake up. Please.” His voice was hoarse. You wanted to laugh, to tell him you were right that someday all the yelling would get to him.

“Y/n please. If you wake up right now, I’ll marry you. Just please get up. I can’t do this without you!” You’ve never heard katsuki this upset before. When you’ve finally become coherent enough to slowly move, you gently wrap your arms around him in a hug.

“I’d never leave you Suki.” You whisper to him. For the first ever, he hugs you back. His hand grip the tattered up doctors jacket like you’d fade from existence. He buried his face in your neck as you both hold each other.

Katsuki takes you to his apartment that night, he says it’s for your safety just incase. You can tell he’s lying. Which is why when he shows you the guest room to let you lay down and rest, you turn and lay in his bed instead. The corner of his mouth turns up into a smile before he lays with you.

You know that katsuki will never love you like you love him.

Katsuki knows that you will never understand his love for you. That his love isn’t something he can put in words. He doesn’t know how to translate his love into something you can understand. But he’ll work at it. Because he loves you.

[madhattervanessa]

Crush

Summary: Your hot neighbor, Simon Riley, has returned from abroad again and this time, you decide to be brave and confess your feelings to him.

Warnings: Porn WITH Plot I guess lmao, some spanking, hair pulling, but nothing actually heavy, mutual masturbation, nipple play, fingering, p in v, creampie

Words: 3698

Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

next Part

-

It’s absolutely stupid.

You twiddle your thumbs before planting both hands on the counter again.

Stupid.

Crushing on your neighbor? Forgivable.

Crushing on a hulking man like that, with those soft brown eyes, his stupidly beautiful blonde lashes around them, his deep baritone, his strong hands-

Totally forgivable.

Crushing on a military man who is barely home and barely talks to you?

That should be where the line starts.

Still.

Your cheeks warm immediately when you hear the familiar heavy footsteps coming down the hall towards your door.

Maybe the note had been stupid.

Oh god.

What if he thought it was stupid?

The knock on your door doesn’t leave you much room to think.

You do know him. So this shouldn’t be too awkward.

It’s just Simon.

So, you open the door, chin already tilted up to adjust to his height.

“Hello, love.”

“Hi”, you breathe out, already nervous.

“You mind if I come in?”

You step aside for him, eyes never leaving him as he gets inside.

He mutters a thanks, slowly making his way inside. When you shut the apartment door, he is already turning towards you.

“I-”, he starts and you look down to the scar splitting his lip when he licks over it. “-I didn’t know you uh-” he furrows his brows before starting over. “I like you like that as well.” He scratches the back of his neck and meets your eyes again. “Bloody childish way to say that, huh?”

You smile at him, suddenly feeling very warm and gooey inside, at the sight of this intimidating man looking like a boy talking to his school crush.

“I did leave a note so- I guess we’re kinda even on that.”

“Right.” He sighs.

“So… Coffee?”

“Yeah, that would be nice, I- I brought those croissants you like.”

“So you were coming to confess anyways?”, you tease. You win a little chuckle.

“Just a thank you for keeping the landlord off my ass, love.”

You hum and watch as he opens the door again.

“You comin’, then?”

“Yeah, just, one second. I got a new roast at the shop that you will like.”

“Alright. I’ll leave the door open.”

“Okay.”

-

He is looming over you as you switch out the beans in his grinder before you pull the espresso shots for your coffees.

“You alright?”, you murmur, not looking up as you fill the metal pitcher with milk.

“Yeah. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“I know you can handle a broken bone with a smile, Simon. The bar is in hell.”

He huffs. You glance at him to find him leaning against the corner of the kitchen counter, still watching you intently.

“So it is.”

You steam the milk for his latte in comfortable silence.

“Why me?”

You smile and set the pitcher down, briefly knocking some air out of the foam before you continue assembling your drinks.

You can hear the rest of the question he has in his head.

It’s not that Simon is a particularly nice man, nor was he in town for long since he had moved into the building 2 years ago.

“I’m pretty self-sufficient, you know.”

You’re met with silence again. He is watching your hands as you pour pretty patterns into the coffee.

“I like spending time with you when you’re here. I miss you when you leave.” You shrug, keeping your question of, is that not enough? to yourself.

“You know I’m not…” A good man. Enough. Loveable. Able to love anyone.

You’d heard the line often, especially on the veteran’s evenings in the small community you had amassed.

You just hum and turn around. You blow over the hot coffee in your hands and take a first sip.

Your eyes meet his again and just like with the grumpy, scared cat in the alley a street over, you blink slowly, trying to communicate that this is enough, it’s okay.

He pushes off the counter and carefully takes the cup out of your hands. He holds onto one of them as he sets the cup down on the counter behind you.

You are holding your breath, startled and hopeful as he stares down at you.

You don’t dare blink as he leans in closer, and just barely tilt your chin up to his. His hand feels clammy as it holds onto yours.

Your eyes close and you wait, your heartbeat quick in your chest as you feel his breath on your mouth.

Soft, dry lips meet yours in a peck, a shy press of lips against lips.

You inhale shakily through your nose and grip his hand harder as you pull back a little. 

You wet your lips and carefully sneak another look.

Simon’s eyes are still closed and you watch, transfixed, as he rolls his lips, as if to taste you again, before he opens his eyes, too.

You grab his shirt and tug, silently demanding another.

He hums and dips his head for another kiss, this one more insistent.

You let your tongue lick over his lip. It makes him grunt and pull at you, forcing you on your tiptoes as you keep kissing, slowly working each other’s mouths open in an unhurried exchange.

When you part, you can feel your heart in your throat.

He’s pretty. 

His thin lips are slick and shiny with your combined spit, his brows slightly furrowed as he looks at you.

“Can we fuck?”

You bite your lip at him, waiting for his answer as you watch the words wash over him. There’s just a minimal pulse of his pupils and a barely-there intake of breath.

“Thought I was going to take you out a few times, first.”

“I think the brunches and buying me coffee counts.”

“Tha’s different, love.”

“Is it?”

You fiddle with the hem of his shirt, still looking at him.

He doesn’t answer, just keeps looking.

“So, that’s a definite no?”, you murmur. He takes a deep breath.

“Let me ease into it.”

You smile at him and nod.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

His gaze lowers to your lips. 

You stop yourself from leaning up towards him, simply tilting your chin up a little. 

You wait for him to close the gap.

You don’t have to wait long.

He bumps into your chest with his, his head tilted as he kisses you again, carefully pecking at your lips with his, once, twice, then three times, before he licks your bottom lip.

The pressure makes you walk back a little until you bump against the kitchen counter.

His hand that has been holding yours moves to hold on to your hip instead. His other is moving your face to his liking. You let yourself be guided, losing yourself in the sensual kiss you share, the movement of your tongues against each other.

You let the hand that was holding on to his shirt wander up, over his hard stomach to his chest, until you reach his neck. You gently hold on to him, struggling to breathe before he finally pulls back again.

You’re panting slightly as you open your eyes again.

He groans, closing his eyes again and pushing his forehead to rest against yours.

“Fuck”, he murmurs, his nose nudging against yours, lips brushing slightly before he puts a little distance between the two of you.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Feels like you’re testing me.”

“I’m not. Just… letting you go as far as you like. I just-” You exhale shakily, looking at him, again. “I just want to be close to you, Simon.”

He nods and bends towards you to kiss you again. His hands wander down to your thighs. You gasp into his mouth as he lifts you onto the counter.

He steps forward, between your legs, before pulling you flush to him. You can feel him straining against his jeans, his hard cock pressing offensively against your sweatpant-covered center.

“Close ‘nough?”, he murmurs against your lips and you hum out a soft sound. You let your feet tangle behind his legs, urging him closer until he presses up hard against your clit.

“Mhm”, you moan. He looks at you, his breath stopped, before kissing you again- this time he’s rougher and the way his hips move up against you has you moaning into his mouth.

“I want you”, he groans, grinding his cock into you a little harder. “Want to do right by you.”

“Shut-”

He kisses you, again, silencing your protests. His hands are holding your hips, helping him grind against you. You are fisting the collar of his shirt, tugging him towards you as you nip at his bottom lip with your teeth.

He grunts and there’s an aborted moan that slips from his mouth into yours.

You grin and go to do it again but he holds you back by your throat, a gentle but warning touch. It makes you look up at him, mouth still open with a smile stretching your cheeks.

“Careful.”

“Or what?”

“You don’t want to get into a game of escalation with me, lovie”, he rumbles, his hand dropping. His thumb rasps over the seam of your pants and you gasp into his mouth.

“Don’t want to escalate just- mhn- just want you to stop treating me like glass, Simon.”

He hums and presses another short kiss to your lips before pushing his thumb down against your clit. 

“‘m treating you like something precious, love, not like glass.” He watches, eyelids low as you strain against him, already dizzy with the pleasure shooting up your spine from watching him rut against your thigh while he slowly pleasures you through your thin sweatpants. 

“I know you’re a tough birdie. Don’t ‘ave to prove it to me.”

“Don’t have to prove anything to me, either”, you challenge. 

He grunts wordlessly before pulling you forward again, your ass almost slipping off of the counter. You hold on to his shoulders in shock as the room spins around you. 

“Bedroom”, he just murmurs and you nod before cradling his head, and kissing him.

He only drops you when you have finally arrived in his bedroom.

It’s an awkward scramble once he has set you down. 

You’ve just flung your panties off when he is on you again, his stubbled face rubbing against your chest. He scratches his teeth over your skin, following it up with a lick over it. He is smearing the width of his tongue up over your breast until he reaches your jaw. The filthy gesture makes you gasp.

He tastes the sound with his mouth, leaning down into you, his hands on the headboard behind you. You have to hook your legs over his thighs to make room for the hulking man.

He blocks out the window behind him and you can’t help but stare at him as he licks his lips before spitting in his hand. You follow his hand down to his cock and swallow hard as you watch him stroke himself, coating himself with spit.

“Want you to touch yourself”, he whispers, so quiet, yoou almost don’t hear him.

He tugs your hand down to his mouth. He doesn’t look away from your eyes as he pushes two of your fingers inside his mouth, then guides them down to lay atop your pussy.

“Show me what you like.”

Your gaze drops down to his cock and you start rubbing your clit without a single thought. He watches intently and you see his hand squeeze a little tighter around his cock.

“Simon.” 

“Yeah?”

“I want you to play with my tits”, you breathe out.

“Fuck.” He stops stroking himself, immediately. “You want me to suck on your pretty tits, love? Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He leans in and licks at your nipple, his other, still slick hand, roughly grabs the other to let your nipple roll under his thumb. Your eyes roll back at the feeling.

It’s perfect. 

You slide two of your fingers inside of your pussy and Simon does something magnificent with his tongue on your breast. It makes you cum- quick and easy. Simon stays right where he is, continuing to lick and suck at your nipples as you whine and ride out your orgasm.

You jump when one of his broad thumbs nudges against your clit.

“Simon-!”

“I want to see you cum again”, he groans. You barely lift your hand away from your pussy when he speaks up again. “Put your fingers back inside your wet little pussy.”

“Si-”

He groans and there’s that glint in his eye, like the one you saw when you bit his lip in the kitchen.

“Simon, I want you to fuck me, please.”

He lifts his thumb to his mouth, sucking your slick off of it.

You reach out to stroke his cock and he makes a small sound as you stroke him with your slick hand.

He presses closer. You guide his cock until the tip of it nudges your pussy.

“Wait, are you- don't we need a condom?”

“I have an IUD and I got tested last month, it’s fine”, you whisper.

You know Simon doesn’t fool around when he is away but he says it anyway.

“I want you to fuck me bare, Simon. Want you to come inside of me”, you add, your hand still stroking him.

He groans again and his hips rock forward. You gasp as he leans forward, covering you with his body. He moves you, angling your hips up before he pushes another inch inside. 

His lips swallow your moan.

He is big- you saw, but now that he is pushing his hard cock inside of you, you feel like he is splitting you apart. 

He stops halfway and you release a breath into the small space between your mouths. He gently strokes your hip and nudges his nose against yours before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Alright?”

“Yeah.”

He rocks his hips back and forth, slowly pushing another few inches into you. It makes you gasp into his ear- the sound results in a strong thrust that rocks you up the mattress.

“Fuck, Simon-”

You look down to where he is fucking into you, hypnotized as he stops about halfway, every time.

He sits back, his eyes trained on you as he fucks into you a little harder. His hands wander over the sides of your body until he stops at your hips. He pulls you into his thrusts, fucking you hard but slow. It makes you mewl and you blush at the unfamiliar sound escaping you.

“Simon”, you whimper and he furrows his brow. “Come here”, you sigh.

He wraps his body around you, using his other arm to pull you closer. It pushes your tits up into reach for his mouth. You whimper and arch into him more as he greedily licks at your nipple again, repeating what he had done earlier.

He folds you up further until your thighs are completely resting on his waist, his legs basically underneath your ass. It makes him stroke against something delicious inside of you. You don’t even get to say anything before you’re already coming again.

And then, he starts to fuck you. It’s a chaotic shift, the way he suddenly starts using his grip on your hips as a counterweight to thrust into you, mercilessly giving you the rest of his cock.

You can hear how wet your pussy is and the way it parts for Simon as he fucks into you. The wet, rhythmic squelch seems embarrassingly loud in the room.

“Fuck, love- feel so good-”

You hear the sounds coming from your mouth as if they weren’t your own- hoarse, high-pitched mewls, breathy uh-uh-uh’s, as he ruts into you. When you clamp down on the meat of his shoulders with your nails, you hear him groan.

“That’s it-”

You’re overstimulated at this point but the friction is making you see stars in the best way. When Simon slows down, you sob with relief.

“Made a right mess, didn’t you, love”, he breathes, his own breathing barely stunted while yours is ragged. When he leans back, you open your eyes only to find your legs shaking without his waist to cling onto.

He ushers you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you.

You grumble, barely any strength in your body left to keep it tensed enough to follow him.

You sigh and rest your head on his shoulder, your nose pressed into his neck.

“You need to come-”, you slur.

“‘m letting you catch your breath first. Y’alright?”

“Yeah. Great, actually.”

He hums, obviously not believing you, and the suspicious sound makes you giggle.

You let your hands wander, admiring the broad plane of his chest, the scars crossing it.

He tilts your chin up to his again. His kiss is gentle, barely making your lips part. You can feel one of his hands stroking down your back until he can grasp one of your asscheeks in his hand, kneading the soft skin as he keeps kissing you. You gasp and bite at his bottom lip, smiling as you wait for his reaction- only for a loud smack to reverberate through the room. Your ass burns from his hand and you groan, pushing your forehead against his as you grind your cunt against his cock.

“You like that?”

“Yeah”, you breathe, chest already heaving from the excitement of making Simon use his strength against you. “, do it again.”

He growls and kisses you, his broad palm rubbing over your reddened ass cheek before smacking it again. You gasp into his mouth and lean in closer, rubbing your tits against his chest. Your whole body suddenly feels restless, your cunt rubbing up against his cock while your hands roam over his body, feeling up his arms, his shoulders, his chest.

Simon bodily hauls you up and pushes his cock inside you again. Your legs shake as you try to control how quickly you sink down on him. 

Another smack to your skin makes you whimper and collapse onto him, his cock bottoming out inside of you. He grabs your thighs and you barely manage to lift yourself enough to start to ride his cock.

The sound Simon whimpers into your mouth as you roll your hips is worth ignoring the growing soreness in your muscles. 

“Fuck, that feels good”, he groans. It makes liquid heat shoot through you and you double your efforts, folding your legs over his thighs. Your eyes snap open as he rests his forehead against your collarbone, his hands losing their tight grip on you.

You reach up to cup the back of his head, fisting his hair as you try to concentrate on setting a good rhythm for him. But the way his cock fills you out is starting to make you quiver, the pleasure already mounting up to being overstimulating again.

You’re gasping into each other’s open mouths as you ride him. 

You can feel him tightening his grip on you before he starts to meet your thrusts, effectively bouncing you up and down in his lap. It makes you shake, the angle hitting something disastrous. 

“Fuck, Simon- I can’t- I’m going to cum- a-again”, you whimper. It makes him moan into your mouth and you stutter in your motion as you feel him get even harder, his thrusts short, aborted. You mewl at the feeling and dig your nails into his scalp and his shoulder.

He growls and sinks his teeth into the skin of your breast as he cums. You clench around them and feel a few tears slip over your cheeks as the last few thrusts make you cum one final time.

You collapse into each other and you let your lips brush over his temple before resting your head on his shoulder again.

He is gently stroking your back, not even minding the sweat clinging to your skin.

When he wraps his other arm around your hip and lifts the two of you, you just sigh into his skin. He gently lays you down on his bed.

“Going to be right back, love,” he murmurs before pressing a kiss against your temple. You just sigh and nod.

As soon as he isn’t covering your body anymore, you can feel yourself shivering from the sudden cold. You huff before grabbing the comforter to cover yourself. The faint sound of a window cracking open makes you bury even deeper into the blankets.

“Hey. Eyes open for me”, he grumbles and you startle awake with a confused “huh?”. 

Simon is sitting on the bed, holding out a glass.

“Drink something.”

You groan and bat at his hand but he just wraps it around the cool bottle of water.

“Brat”, he murmurs and you open one eye to glare at him before popping the lid open and gulping down some water. After handing him the leftovers, you watch as he immediately downs it all in one go. He sets the bottle down on the nightstand and just looks at you for a moment.

“Come on. Gotta go shower.”

You close your eye again.

“I’m cold.”

“I’ll keep you warm. Come on. Up.”

You go willingly into his arms.

He is still naked, still warm, and you sigh as you get up into his warm embrace. You stumble towards the shower together. He makes you check the temperature and adjusts it until it’s boiling hot and just to your liking.

When you return from your shower, the afternoon sun bathes the bedroom in warm light.

“You still want your coffee and croissant? Or d’you want to take a nap first, princess?”

You grab the shirt he'd discarded and throw it on before turning towards him.

“Maybe we can… do coffee and croissants on your couch?”

“Yeah, alright. You mind if we catch up on some shows I've missed out on?”

“I’ll probably fall asleep.”

“Alright love”, he murmurs, before pressing another kiss to your temple and wrapping his arm around your waist to lead you towards the couch. Halfway there, he just picks you up bridal style, letting your snuggle into his shoulder while he presses another kiss to your forehead.

-

Thanks for reading!

Requests are open and always appreciated

[mead-iocre]

Ducky Turn! | Vivianne Miedema x Reader

You watched as Viv walked into the press conference room, trailing slightly behind Jonas. She was chatting animatedly to Connie, one of the Arsenal staff, and holding a reusable coffee tumbler in one hand. You also know that inside that tumbler is Viv’s favourite coffee "Morning Bliss," a small-batch, artisanal coffee roaster that you had bought from one of the local coffee shops in your area. She would sometimes bring a small bag of coffee beans to training or match days, and when you would ask her where she’ll find supplies to make the coffee, she’ll reply back with a“if there’s a will, there’s a way”. It’s become the only brand of coffee that Viv drinks.

Every morning, Viv likes to indulge herself in what she calls her “ritual”. The dutch begins her ritual by carefully measuring out the perfect amount of Morning Bliss beans. She prefers a medium roast, with notes of caramel and toasted almonds that allow the perfect balance of sweet to the bitter. She would grind the beans to perfection and then use the fancy sleek, stainless steel drip coffee maker that she had treated herself to a few months ago. As she waits for the brewing to complete, she would bask in the stillness and the quiet that is a rarity these days– or at least during the last 3 years. 

Viv would then pour herself a cup, inhaling deeply as the steam rises and the aroma fills the empty kitchen. As she takes that first sip of her perfectly brewed coffee, Viv could not help but smile. For her, starting the day than with a cup of her favourite coffee is the second best thing to start the day. The first is–

She hears the pitter patter of little feet before she sees her. 

“Mama!”

Evelyn, or Evie for short, is the best parts of you and Viv. Everyone says Evelyn is a spitting image of you—from the blonde curls that tumble down her back in unruly waves, to her vibrant hazel eyes, flecked with hints of green and gold. Evelyn has your nose, petite and slightly upturned, and dotted with the same freckles across her cheeks that Viv loves to kiss every night before bed. 

You say it’s too early to tell what kind of person your daughter will grow up to be, but you swear she’s Viv's mini me. They both have the same stubbornness (although Viv would argue you were also a contender), the same outgoing personality, and the same sheer curiosity for the world around her. Like you, your little girl is always eager to explore new places and try new things. Whether it's taking the dogs out on new hiking trails, or embarking on a family camping trip, her adventurous spirit knows no bounds.

During her ballet class, Evelyn loves to wear colourful ribbons and bows in her hair. She keeps the same ribbons in her hair during football practice too. When she laughs, her nose crinkles up in the most adorable way, just like Viv. She loves to burst into a song or hum the tune of her favourite music, just like you do. She is your pride and joy, and your greatest accomplishment in life.

But she is also a whirlwind of energy that leaves a trail of chaos and laughter in her wake wherever she goes.

Viv recognises that gleam in Evie’s eyes and the furrow in her eyebrows as she glances at the last two steps leading to the kitchen.

Her daughter was going to jump.

Viv hastily puts her cup down and lurches forward, catching the tornado that is her child. There is not a day that goes by where Viv does not thank her athleticism for being able to keep up with her little daredevil. 

She grasps her fearless little girl under her arms just before she can land the short distance to the ground. “Mama, Ducky jump!”

“I saw that, Ducky” She settles Evelyn on her hip, pressing a few kisses to her rosy cheek still warm from sleep. “But I’d rather not see that again. How many times have I told you you can’t jump from there”

“But I jump, Mama. Like a duck jumping in water!” Ducks are the little girl’s latest fixation– she loves going to the pond to watch the ducks, she loves to talk about ducks, she loves her duck stuffed animals etc. Viv thinks your daughter’s fascination with ducks was inevitable. When Evelyn was born, she was sweetly bundled in a light yellow blanket with a matching yellow beanie to warm her little head. Your private midwife briefly commented about how Evelyn little lips were constantly pursed in a pout whenever she slept, like that of a little duckling. Ever since then, “Ducky” became one of her nicknames.

Evelyn points one little chubby finger towards the kitchen counter where a plate of bite-sized waffles await her. 

“Waffles!” 

Viv snags the plate of waffles off the counter and deposits her duck-obsessed child into her booster chair. She hands her a fork and takes a seat on the chair right beside her. “Waffles yellow– like duckies, Mama!” 

Viv smiles endearingly at her daughter, all cherubic face and bouncy curls. “Just like duckies, Evie” 

——————————

Now at the press conference, you watch as Viv and Jonas take their seats in front of the press, politely saying a few greetings to some familiar faces. Viv’s eyes meet yours briefly and she offers you a quick wink. 

Jonas leans forward in his seat and starts the press. “Hello, everyone. Let’s get this started then– I’ve got Vivianne Miedema with me today”

Being married to a footballer had it’s perks– free match tickets, the cool events, club merchandise, and the occasional Adidas billboards of your wife which your daughter loves to excitedly point out every time she spots one. However, sometimes it seems not everyone understands the difference between the Viv, the mum and wife, versus Vivianne Miedema, the footballer. 

“Everyone” being your toddler. 

She still hasn’t fully grasped the fact that her Mama can’t be on her beck and call, especially while she is at work. At the age of 3, she can’t tell the difference between the football that she plays at school and the football that her Mama plays. To her, it’s exactly the same. 

After all, during her football practice if she looks to the sidelines where the other mummies and daddies are watching and yells for her Mama, her Mama will come running. In Evie’s mind, if she wants Mama, she’ll go to Mama. 

You glance down at the little girl tucked in your arms. She was all buzz and energy throughout the match, crawling from lap to lap, jumping, dancing and shouting. It was no surprise that she was starting to doze off now. You were standing off to one side of the room, leaning against the wall to support the weight resting on your front. Evie was curled up in your arms, her eyes tiredly blinking open and closed a few times. Her tiny body was limp in your arms, her breath was evening out, and just like when she first came into this world, her little rosy lips were formed into a pout.

Just like a little duckling.

But despite your soft whispers to try to and lull her to sleep, your stubborn child was determined to fight the pull of slumber. You knew she wanted to see her Mama, just as she always did after a match. It was their routine, and Evie hated breaking routines. 

“First question for Jonas…” You tune out the press for a brief moment, reaching out to adjust the yellow noise cancelling headphones that were slipping off of Evelyn’s head when all of a sudden she opens her eyes and sits up in your arms. You didn’t have to guess what had woken up your child when you hear it. “– now a question for Viv Miedema…”

What was once a sleepy and tired toddler is now gone. In it’s place is a little girl who has realised her favourite person is in the room. Her eyes were now bright and alert, craning her neck to follow the sound of her mama’s voice booming from the speakers around the room. 

“…don't really think I celebrate goals but all the girls came up to me and they were taking the mick out of me because they were like 'You were actually celebrating’–“

You should’ve anticipated it. You should’ve know it. But by then it was too late.

“Mama!” 

Your daughter yells for Viv, lurching forward with her arms open and fingers pointing towards where Viv was sitting at the front of the room. You had no choice but to crouch down so you could stead your suddenly wiggly child. 

“Ducky, that’s enough” You speak in a hushed but firm tone. You knew that if you were to use your “Mummy voice” it would likely result in tears, and your daughter was not a quiet crier. “Mama is working right now”

But Evie was very determined to get to her mama, hastily trying to tug away from your hold on her arm. You knew heads were turning towards the both of you.

“Want Mama!” 

“Evelyn–“ You try to hug her, wanting to pick her up and run out of the room before she causes anymore distractions. Right now she was the epitome of an incoming toddler tantrum. Her chest heaved with each shaky breath, her small shoulders rising and falling with the weight of her emotions. Her cheeks flushed pink with frustration, and her fists clenched at her sides. 

“No no no no!” Her favourite word as of late and she was proudly demonstrating that she knew just how to use it. "No NO!"

Her big, doe-like eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Her bottom lip quivered as she stood cocooned in your arms, but furiously squirming away from your hold. In your daughter’s mind, being told that she can’t go to her Mama right now was the most devastating thing in the world, and the injustice of it all was threatening to overwhelm her.

“–Liefje” 

You look up as the sound of your wife’s voice and the familiar nickname echos around the room through the microphone. You crane your neck and you spot her now standing up from her chair, holding the mic to her mouth. She gives you a knowing smile. Viv always knows what to do.

“I’ll take her, Liefje. Give her to me” Viv waves a hand, beckoning you both closer. 

You pick up your still teary, pouty daughter and hoist her up to your hip. You walk the short distance towards the front of the room where Viv and Jonas are waiting. 

“Looks like Mama wants you, ducky” You murmur softly in Evie’s ear, pushing the curls of hair away from her eyes. Like a switch, your daughter perks up in your arms, twisting her head towards where you were heading. You could feel her little legs kicking the air in excitement. What a mood switch. 

You stop by the side of the small stage, placing Evie on her feet and quickly grab her hairband that was in your pocket. “Wait one second, Ducky. Let’s fix your hair.” There were cameras around and you would imagine that 10 years from now, your daughter will never forgive you if you let her stand in front of the cameras with a bird nest on top of her head. 

The hairband dangled from your fingers as you attempted to tame Evie’s unruly locks into a neat ponytail. But your daughter was having none of it. She wriggled, clearly eager to get to her Mama, as she batted your hands away.

And like always, Viv knew just what to do to keep your daughter from fussing. Temporarily. “Hi Ducky”

“Mama!” Chuckles round the room when mother and daughter exchanged waves of greetings to each other as if they hadn’t seen each other for days when in reality it had only been a few hours. 

You sighed, a hint of amusement twinkling in your eyes as you gently combed through Evie’s hair with your fingers. “Almost done" you coaxed, your voice gentle and patient as you worked to wrangle your little girl’s wayward curls. You settled on just pushing the front pieces of hair away from her eyes with the hairband. “All done. Now you can go to Mama” 

Evie did not need to be told twice. 

Her little legs pumped furiously and her curly hair bounced behind her. She ran around the table, past Jonas’ chair, to where Viv was standing waiting for her. Viv swings her daughter up to her hip and you watch as Viv leans close to whisper by her ear– most likely prompting Evie to greet the journalists and cameras. Your suspicions were confirmed when your little social butterfly happily waves a hand and bellows a little “hello!”

Your smile widens when her greeting is echoed by all the journalists, some waving back just as eagerly as your toddler. 

Viv then proceeds to sit back down, placing Evie on her lap. Your wife adjusts her chair and shuffles closer to the mic. “Sorry for that everyone…” 

She gestures to the toddler who is currently conspiring with the Arsenal manager. “This one is going through a phase where I am her favourite person, and I’m making the most of it until she realises her Mummy is more fun than me” 

Laughter rings around the room, but all you give the grinning dutch at the table is an eye roll. You know Evie loves you, but her bond with Viv was something special. Evelyn is Viv’s little shadow. 

One of the journalists kindly gestures for you to take the seat next to him in front row of the table and you thank him as you take a seat. 

“Right then. Let’s continue…” Jonas starts the press again, and this time, your toddler is happily sitting on her Mama’s lap. 

———————————-

So far the press is continuing on as normal. Journalists are prepared with questions for Viv and Jonas. “My question is for Viv.” You crane your neck to see a journalists a few rows behind you hold a hand up. “You have broken countless records in England. Arsenal literally put you on a pedestal with a temporary statue outside the Emirates Stadium, a first for a female player. Do things like that matter?” Viv leans forward towards the mic. “No not at all. I’ve already had five great years but I indicated to the club that we have to do better. Other players have done that too. Hopefully the club can bring in some reinforcements this summer– 

“AH!” Evie leans up, her little head nearly clashing into her Mama’s chin if it weren’t for Viv’s reflexes, and speaks directly into the mic. She giggles when it echos back. 

You wince as the mic feedback rings loudly in the room. 

“–Ducky, this mic is not for you. Mama’s trying to answer the question” Viv whispers but it obviously gets caught by the microphone and broadcasted to the entire room. You press your lips together to conceal your giggle as you watch your wife attempt to coax your daughter into letting go of the mic stand. Unfortunately, it seems your daughter is very fixated on the microphone because she tries to grab for it again. 

But Viv is faster. She hauls Evie off her lap for a second, turning her around so she is facing Viv and not the mic. 

“Ducky turn!” Your daughter whines loudly. She is clearly displeased at being turned away from her new toy. She pouts, twisting her body back around, and points at the mic. “Ducky turn! Ducky turn!”

You never though you would say this, but maybe there are consequences in teaching your daughter how to share and take turns. 

And your wife seems to think the same. “Well…at least you all have proof that we are teaching her how to take turns properly” She chuckles endearingly at the pouty toddler on her lap. 

“Okay” Viv relents with a sigh. “Ducky gets a turn.” She lifts Evie and turns her back around so she is facing the rest of the room, the press, and her shiny new toy– the black microphone. 

You shake your head as you watch your wife visibly soften. Evie has Viv wrapped around her little finger from the day she was born. Viv is almost always unable to deny her daughter anything, even if she claims to be the more stricter parent out of the two of you. 

“Since it’s Ducky’s turn, why don’t you have a go at answering the questions then?” Viv pulls the chair closer towards the table so Evie can reach the mic more comfortably. She directs the question to everyone in the room, clearly giving the reporters permission to ask Evie some questions. 

Not a second later, a few hands are up in the air. You smile at the sight of these very professional reporters taking the time to entertain your daughter’s antics, no matter how silly they may be. 

Jonas playfully gasps and leans into his mic. “Wow Evie, look at that! So many people want to ask you questions” 

“What do you think, ducky?” Viv asks the grinning toddler in her lap. “Which question shall we take?”

Your daughter cutely scrunches her face in concentration, one chubby little finger tapping her lips as if she was contemplating the secrets of the universe. You watch as she scans her choices of eager hands, and then points to a man sitting by the front row. You watch as Evie lean up to whisper something to her Mama and then turns back around with a shy smile. 

“Evie will take a question from the man in the front row with the yellow tie” Of course, it’s the yellow tie. Anything yellow is guaranteed to win your daughter over.

“Hello Miss Evelyn. My question for you is: what did you think of your Mum scoring two goals today?”

You watch as Viv pulls the mic closer towards Evie, giving her a nod of support when your daughter turns to her for encouragement.

“Uh…” You cringe internally as your daughter presses her mouth as close to the mic as possible, practically gnawing on it, and the sound is magnified by the speakers. The press seem to take it to stride, a few coos of encouragement sounding around the room. “…I like duckies”

“Oh! That’s nice” Bless the journalist. You doubt that bit would make it to the final draft of the article. “Ducks are quite nice, aren’t they?”

Your daughter nods and hums into the mic, wriggling from her spot on your wife’s lap, clearly eager to talk more about her favourite subject. “Duckies yellow!”

You watch as the journalists couldn't help but be charmed by Evelyn’s enthusiasm, their professional demeanour melting away as they listened to your spirited little girl. Some even leaned in closer, eager to catch every word she says, the cameras capturing the moment.

“Ducks are yellow, clever girl! But let Mama have a turn now, please” You try to stifle your laughter behind your hand as Viv has to practically wrestle the mic away from Evie, grabbing both of her little hands in one of hers to settle the mischievous toddler. 

———————————————

Viv was more than happy to continue the rest of the press with her daughter in her lap, even if she has to routinely stop and grab a little hand as it beelines for the microphone. Viv lets Evie babble into the microphone a more few times and she couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride in her heart. She may be a footballer on the pitch, but her greatest joy was sitting right here in her lap, eager to share in her world, one stolen microphone at a time.

“Do you want to say anything to Mummy?” Viv points you out for your daughter to see. It was already nearing the end of the press conference. "Anything to say to Mummy before we finish?”

Your daughter thinks for a moment, her face titling to the side and her nose adorably scrunching up in concentration. Thinking about what to say to your Mummy is a very big task for a 3 year old. The room goes silent as everyone waits with baited breath. 

“…I- I love you, Mummy” 

Hey, my loves!

It's been while since I posted and that's mainly due to life getting in the way + not being inspired to write. By some miracle, I somehow managed to finish writing this short little fic (featuring a different player this time– surprise!). This was inspired by seeing that cute video of Alex Morgan and her daughter doing post-match interviews lol

hopefully this will only motivate me to keep on writing.

I appreciate all of you, thanks for being patient

-- kisses, butter

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Dark Lord (Part One)

Summary: The reader gets caught stealing from the infamous Dark Lord Winchester. Instead of killing her though, he offers her a job for some reason...

Pairing: Dark Lord!Dean x employee!reader

Word Count: 2,500ish

Warnings: language, briefly mentioned torture/killing

A/N: Think of this as a slightly magical AU set in the present day. I might pick this up again if there seems to be interest in more!...

________

“I don’t care what the hell you do to me, I’m not-” You cut yourself off when a blonde woman in her thirties and sky high heels held out a cup of hot coffee. “Is that…espresso?”

“It’s a roasted blend from Guatemala, boss is big on it lately. He’s so boring and never let’s me give him anything but straight black but I like to serve all our guests something nice.” She set the cup in your hand, an artisanal drawing of a W set in the center. “It has notes of hazelnut and caramel.”

“Thank you?” you said, her eyes lighting up. “Is this…poisoned?” 

Her face fell so fast you felt awful for the way tears prickled her eyes. “Everyone always asks that. It’s just nice coffee.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, taking a sip and smiling. “It’s lovely.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, turning to leave the dark room you were sat in.

“It really is good coffee.” She perked up a little, nodding once. “It’s just…I couldn’t help but ask.”

You held up your chained hands, the woman giving a sad smile. “Dark Lord Winchester is really the sweetest man I’ve ever met. I have no idea why everyone that he has come in his office thinks he’s going to kill them.”

“He kills people all the time…over nothing…” you said. She laughed and your stomach dropped.

“Oh no, Lord Winchester doesn’t do that! I’ve never seen him kill a soul that didn’t deserve it. Well, maybe a few but I seriously doubt he’ll kill you! He doesn’t tend to kill women as often, just a little torture. I’m sure you’ll be fine!” You withered into your seat when she left.

At least you had good coffee before your demise.

You jumped when the door crashed open, hot coffee spilling over yourself. It dripped down your shirt and soaked into your jeans, your skin stinging when a blur passed your periphery. You swallowed thickly as a man in a black bomber jacket, dark gray t shirt and black jeans walked in front of you.  He crossed his muscular arms as he leaned back against the desk, peering down at you.

He looked like he wanted to kill you. Or fuck you. Or both.

“Hi, Dark Lord Winchester,” you squeaked out. He bent at his hips, leaning down, watching you slump down even further. “Oh fuck, just kill me now.”

“Not yet,” he hummed, straightening with a hard set jaw. He looked down his nose at you, making you feel like an ant under his mighty six foot one muscular frame. “My security caught you stealing from one of my warehouses. I’m told it was a prescription drug.”

“Yes, Lord Winchester,” you said quietly. You looked at your wet clothes, waiting for him to drag you down to his dungeon and rip you apart.

Instead a cell phone was tossed in your lap. You scrunched up your face and gazed up at him, Lord Winchester still staring you down. 

“Uh, is this my last call or something?” you asked. He breathed deeply, looking over your head. 

“Two options. Option one. I will kill you for stealing from me.”

“I’d like to hear option two,” you said quickly, Lord Winchester glaring at you.

“Option two. You work for me. I need an assistant and perhaps I’ll find you valuable enough to keep you alive long term.”

“Option two,” you said, nodding your head. He stood up straight and hummed. 

“I thought so. You’re dismissed,” he said. You glanced down at your cuffs, Lord Winchester ignoring you. He walked around behind his desk and sat, glancing at his computer. “Do not make me ask again.”

You scurried out of the chair, grasping the empty mug in one hand, cellphone in the other. 

“Y/L/N.” You froze, back to him. Fuck, he’d changed his mind. He was just toying with you. He was going to- “Get up to speed this afternoon. I expect you here to start eight am sharp.”

“Yes, Lord Winchester.” Quickly you left, pulling the door shut behind you. You let out a sigh, your overly friendly coffee bearing companion rushing around the corner with a smile. “I told you he wouldn’t kill you! Boss made me promise not to tell. I’m Donna by the way. Deputy Head of Security. I volunteered to be your new hire buddy!”

You blinked slowly at the blonde, tilting your head, her eyes drifting downward in alarm. “Oh no, you’ve burned yourself! Let’s get you out of those cuffs, to the infirmary and into a fresh change of clothes. Lord Winchester wants to go through all of your HR paperwork today and a brief tour before sending you home.”

“I uh,” you put a hand against your head, shaking it out. “Why did he give me a job and not kill me?”

“He must like you. Normally he kills people or tortures them or makes them pay him back with hefty interest. Oh!” She pulled out a thin envelope from her back pocket, handing it to you. “This is your offer letter. It’s not really an offer, more of you have to accept or you die sort of thing but he wanted to make sure you got this.”

You felt like you were in a strange dream as you tore it open, slowly walking by Donna’s side down a hallway. “So Michael is our staff doctor. He’ll check your arms-”

You nearly fell when you’d read the salary on the offer letter. Donna caught your waist, alarm written all over her face. “Oh my god. I’m calling for-”

You shoved the paper in her face, taping the bolded line. “Is this a joke? He’s paying me this much?”

Donna laughed, urging you to walk forward again. 

“Six figures? Six figures?!” you screeched, Donna shaking her head. “What-”

“Working for Lord Winchester is lucrative but…there’s an expectation of discretion. I mean, he is the Dark Lord of the land. It’s not the sort of job you want to slack off at.” 

“Wonderful.”

It was late, well into the evening, when you’d finished with your tour. You were in the lobby of Lord Winchester’s fortress, rubbing your eyes. Michael had given you a pair of scrubs to change into while your stained clothes were sent to the launder. Thankfully he’d deemed your skin only irritated from the hot coffee, not burned. Most of the day had been in HR, Donna sitting in to help guide you through your options.

Options like free healthcare. A pension. On-site housing. As his assistant, or “Personal Executive to The Dark Lord” as your title in the payroll system stated, you were expected to live in the fortress and move in this weekend. All covered and utilities paid for by the company. 

A chef that cooked all your meals, if you were so inclined. Shuttle services to and from school in town with a tutor available after school to help with homework. A grand library for kids to study in and for the adults to further their own educational studies if they chose. There was even an inter-company softball league that got quite competitive. 

Dark Lord Winchester on paper was the best fucking boss in the world.

A throat cleared behind you, making you jump and drop the stack of papers in your hands. You spun around, Dark Lord Winchester standing there.

“Sorry, sir,” you said, kneeling down, attempting to pick up the papers as quickly as possible. To your surprise, he dropped to one knee, leaning his body and grabbing a folder that had your company credit card inside. He held it out to you, deep green eyes watching you as you hesitated to take it.

“If you’re going to work for me, you can’t be scared shitless all the time.” You snatched the folder, his eyes raising briefly before he stood tall. He held out a hand, your own eyes wide. “This is where you put your hand in mine and I help you stand up.”

You swallowed, doing as told, his strong arm effortlessly pulling you up.

“Look at that. You touched me and didn’t turn to dust,” he chuckled. You only stared, Lord Winchester looking over your head. “Let me make something clear to you. I treat my employees extremely well. In return, I expect their best work and their loyalty. If you show up to work and do a good job, there is no reason to fear me.”

“How do I know I’m doing a good job?” you whispered. He looked down to you, pursing his lips.

“You’re the damn Executive Assistant to The Dark Lord. You ask a question, you do it with confidence. Ask correctly and I’ll answer.”

“How will I know I’m doing my job well?” you said, holding his gaze this time. 

“Any woman that would risk stealing from the Dark Lord, knowing very well what I do to thieves, to get medicine for their kid brother? That is the kind of woman that I know will do spectacular in this job.” 

You parted your lips, Dark Lord Winchester glancing at them before looking away. “How do you-”

“I know lots of things.” He checked the dark rolex on his wrist, frowning. “It’s late. I’ll drive you home myself. Wait on the front steps.”

You watched him go down a different hallway, your head going a million miles an hour.

What the fuck was happening?

You stepped outside and five minutes later, an older black Impala, very nicely taken care of, pulled up, Dark Lord Winchester behind the wheel. You slid in the passenger seat, a wonderful aroma in the air. He drove you home in silence save for the soft rock music playing through the speakers.

Your face burned when he drove that beautiful car through your less than glamorous neighborhood and as soon as he pulled to a stop in front of your very small rental, you were getting out. 

“Y/L/N,” he chided. You stopped halfway, Lord Winchester reaching into the backseat and pulling over the back a large white bag. “For you and your brother. Dinner and his medication for a few months. Michael will be able to refill it when it’s up and can schedule a physical with him to check if his treatment needs to alter. Please apologize to your brother from me. He’s likely frightened being alone judging by the way every light is on inside.”

You shook your head, your lip tugging up. He narrowed his eyes as your smirk grew. “What is that look for?”

“Dark Lord Winchester my ass. You’re a good person, aren’t you?” He scoffed. “Nah, I’m starting to see this for what it is. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you’re nice deep down.”

“I’m not nice,” he growled. You took the bag from his hand, softening your smile. “Do not think I’m kind.”

“Oh, of course not,” you said, holding up the bag. You got out, closing the door behind you. But you bent down, leaning into the open window. “Thank you. He…his asthma’s been getting worse lately. This will really help us. All of it will help.”

He was quiet, looking out at the dark road. “A car will pick you up at 7:30. Movers will come by Saturday morning to pack up your things.”

“Goodnight, Lord Winchester,” you said, stepping back.

“It’s Dean,” he said, revving the engine, making your heart race. He took off, your chest still thumping when you went inside. 

“Kyle! I’m home with dinner!” You called. Kyle came rushing out of the hallway, a blanket pulled over his head. “I’m so sorry I’m late, buddy. Did you get scared?”

“No,” said the twelve year old, doing an awful job of hiding his relief. “What’s for dinner?”

“I’m not sure. Why don’t you find out for us?” You handed him the bag, Kyle rushing back to the kitchen with it. “How was school?”

“Fine.” He said nothing more as you entered, pleasantly surprised to find a balanced dinner of chicken, vegetables and some sweet potatoes inside. “Is this take out?”

“No. I uh, got a new job today,” you said, opening the box that had his medicine inside. “Hey. Got you a refill.”

“What’s your new job?” he asked, taking a plate from you and scooting into his spot at the small two seater table.

“I uh…work for Dark Lord Winchester. We’re, uh, moving on Saturday to live at the fortress. You’ll have your own room and there’s some other kids that live there too for you to play with. He uh, actually wanted me to tell you how sorry he was for keeping me late tonight.”

“Really? Cool.” You rolled your eyes. “Does he actually wear a skull mask and a black cloak?”

“No,” you laughed. “He looks very normal. Maybe you’ll get to meet him someday.”

“Cool,” he said again, frowning when you pointed at his untouched vegetables. “Y/N-“

“Eat them or Dark Lord Winchester won’t be happy…” you chided, Kyle shrinking down into his seat, reluctantly taking a bite, a flash of surprise on his face.

“These are way better than when you make them!” He started to scarf down the brussels sprouts as you sighed.

“I’m not dead and you’re eating veggies for once. I’ll take that as a win for today.”

The Next Morning

“Good morning, Lord Winchester,” you said as you rose from your desk outside his office on the far end of the second floor, dressed in skinny jeans, a bright yellow sleeveless blouse and an oversized blazer. Dean looked you up and down, his eyebrows raising. “HR said the dress code-“

“If I wanted everyone to wear suits, I’d have everyone wear them. Your outfit is fine. You’re probably not going to wear heels with the running around you’ll do,” he said, entering his office, waving for you to follow after. His legs looked long in the dark denim that clung to his thighs. He wore a white long sleeve Henley shirt with a navy button up over top, sleeves rolled up his forearms. “If you would stop staring at me could we get started?”

Your face flushed as you sat in the chair opposite his desk, Dean sitting with a groan and greedily sucking down a cup of coffee. 

“So your job is to make my life easier,” he said, opening his laptop, frowning at it. “I get a lot of…requests from my department heads. I need you to be a buffer between me and them for the day to day. I also need you to handle pop ups and act as a sounding board for myself.”

“HR went over the expectations with me,” you said, Dean grunting as he drank more coffee again. 

“Great. I need you to start with brainstorming ideas for how to rescue my brother from Crowley. We’ll meet after lunch to discuss.”

“King of The Dark Lands Crowley?” Dean hummed. “Isn’t he…”

“A demon? Oh yeah,” he said, giving you a barely there smile. “Shouldn’t be a problem for a little thief like you.”

________

A/N: Read Part two here!

[warping-realities]

Familly Group Chat

Written version of my last video. At some point I'll make one of the first one too! Hope you like it!

Michael was one of the many “middle kids” of John and Louise Bennet; in fact, he was the 4th of 7, just a few minutes younger than his twin brother, Tobias, with whom he shared that typical inscrutable and unexplainable bond that only twins have. Even though the relationship among all seven Bennet boys was super strong, having been raised under the strict rules of the holy Catholic Church by their parents, they were all scattered across the country, so the only way to keep in touch was through the family group chat on an app. That morning, the 23-year-old blonde man, skinny but toned from constant running, had just finished taking a hot shower and putting on his favorite pair of skinny black jeans, which his modern startup job not only accept but even endorsed as part of the dress code. He was about to start brushing his teeth when a new message notification popped up on his phone.

“Message from Tobias, here we go…” he muttered to himself, knowing his twin would only send a message at that hour if it was to roast someone. And sure enough!

“Hey bro, did you see the good morning message Mom posted in the family group?”

“Not yet, man.”

“Well, brace yourself! I have no idea where she finds this stuff!”

As he opened the family group while heading to the kitchen to make his usual black coffee, Michael couldn’t help but chuckle at the cheesiness of the good morning image Mom had sent.

“Dude, do all moms have a group to share this crap?” he typed to his brother in the private chat.

“Has to be! But you better reply, you know how she gets… soon she’ll be whining about how she raised seven ungrateful kids or some nonsense,” Tobias replied. Thinking about that, Michael rushed to respond to their mom. Louise was really kinda needy now that only the youngest still lived with her. However, when he opened the family group, he couldn't help but laugh out loud at the reply Tobias had sent—an even tackier image than the one their mom sent.

“Dude, you’re the worst! Where the hell did you find that image to reply to her?” he shot back to his brother.

“Well, maybe I’m in the mom’s group!” He replied before sending something completely different. “Hey, what’s going on? Someone saved as Dad 0.2 just join the group. What the hell is this?”

Hurrying to check that message, Michael quickly opened the family group and was shocked to see an unknown person had joined, which shouldn’t be possible without an access link or an invite from one of the group admins, their parents. The private convo that followed between the brothers was frantic and freaked out.

“Dad 0.2 removed Mom from the group… what’s going on?”

“I don’t know… how does someone just waltz into a private group and kick someone out???”

“Dad 0.2 changed the group name from Bennet Family to Bradley Boys! What the hell is this?”

“He’s sending a video, what’s happening???”

“I don’t know, bro, let’s just open it and see.”

The video showed a dude in his forties, but he looked really good for his age, easily passing for someone younger if it weren't for the crow's feet around his eyes that showed he was used to smiling, and his extremely muscular physique screamed years of hardcore workouts. With light brown hair and a well-groomed beard, he was rocking just a pair of sweats that showcased his powerful muscles in a spacious but Spartan room, with minimal furniture or decor.

“Alright, guys, it’s time to send our good morning videos! Who’s next? How about you, Jeff? I’m dying to rest my head on those muscle pillows of yours, babe!” the stranger said, flexing his arms.

“WTF?? You seeing what I’m seeing, Tobias? And who the hell is Jeff?” Michael quickly texted back to his brother.

“I have no clue, man, this is so weird… wait a sec… Dad 0.1 just sent a video, what the hell is this?”

“I think we better check it out…” Michael shot back before opening the video from the contact that also showed up for him as Dad 0.1.

“I’m dying to see you too, Buck! Counting the seconds until you’re back, babe. The bed feels empty without you here! Who’s next? How about our firstborn? It’s on you, Wyatt!” That was impossible; the face on the screen was undeniably their dad, but he had gained a solid 50 pounds of muscle and lost a good amount of fat. Not to mention the carpet of hair that now covered his formerly smooth chest.

“Is that really Dad? No way… how?” Tobias sent back.

“I don’t know, man! This is so bizarre… how did he bulk up so much… it doesn’t make sense… and who the hell is Wyatt?”

“He mentioned firstborn… but no… that can’t be…” Tobias typed before they both received another notification. Upon opening the video, they were in for another surprise.

“Hey there, bros! Ready for a new day? I’m already warming up waiting for my workout buddy—where you at, Maverick, little bro?” said the muscular dude, barely in his thirties, dressed all in black and flexing in a gym locker room.

“Dude… that’s Will!!! But he’s never set foot in a gym,” Michael texted Tobias. William, the oldest of the bunch, was about to turn thirty, and he had the chubby physique of an accountant used to long hours behind a desk, drinking coffee and munching on donuts—that was literally his life… or should be. But if there was anything that video showed, it was that Wyatt had never put a single sweet in his mouth.

“I don’t even know what to say… but there’s more coming!” Tobias replied, apparently just as stunned. As the new video arrived, they rushed to look.

“Ha! I’ve already left you in the dust, Wyatt! Looks like the baby bro is now the big bro! Don’t take too long, or I’ll be late for school, and my coach is gonna flip, right, Griff?”

“Dude, that’s Martin on steroids! That kid looks like he’s tripled in size! Is this some kind of prank? Some deep fake?” he asked in shock. Martin, the youngest, was already a more athletic kid, being on the wrestling team, but with that size, he’d be better suited for the offensive line on a football team, if he wasn’t already too big for that, and who the hell was this coach he was talking about?

“Michael, I’m just as lost as you. But it looks like this isn’t stopping…” Tobias commented as another video popped up in the group.

“You’re gonna have to do a ton of push-ups for not calling me Coach Bradley, kid! No Griff or Griffin while I’m your trainer! And if you’re late for school, it’ll be suicide day! Speaking of late, where the hell are you, Chase? Bet you left Hunter hanging at the beach.”

“Tobias, that’s Gordon! How the hell is he a coach? He’s a math teacher!” Michael texted in disbelief, seeing their second oldest brother looking way older than he should, with thinning hair as if he had been overdoing the steroids, which seemed totally possible, he thought, seeing the massive bodybuilder rocking just boxer briefs and a tight tank top, flexing his powerful muscles in some dimly lit room.

“Tobias? Tobias? Damn… there’s more coming!” Michael texted anxiously as he opened the next video.

“Ha, you know me too well, bro, but The Chaser is on the scene, Hunt’s got to face me!” That was Carl, but just like the other family members, he had gone through a transformation that left him almost unrecognizable. He had turned into a mountain of muscles covered by a thin layer of bronzed skin, clad only in a tiny yellow short, shades, and a backwards cap. Sitting in a car, flexing his muscles and grinning. Michael didn’t even have time to send a new outraged message to Tobias when another video came in.

“Too bad I’m already way ahead in my workout, little bro! You sure you want to take me on? Hehehe. Speaking of challenges, which twin’s gonna fire the next shot? Trey or Micah?” said the bronzed, muscular dude sporting Hugh’s modified look, the brother just below the twins in age. Watching this, Michael’s shock wore off, and he resumed chatting with his twin.

“What the hell is going on??? What are they doing at the beach? They should be in college!” But the reply didn’t come. Worried, he called out for his brother.

“Tobias? Tobias?”

“Who the fuck is Tobias, bro? I’m already sending my video, Micah! Big T is once again taking the lead! At least The Grand Finale is all yours!” was the twin response.

“Tobias, you guys must be messing with me!” Michael sent before opening the family group, where his brother had just sent another video.

“Trey here, leaving the little twin eating dust as always. And like always, I can’t tell what’s more badass, the view from my window or the sight the girls get when they check out my bod! What do you say, Micah, who’s used to seeing pretty much the same thing when you look in the mirror?” said the guy who in no way could be his twin brother, while grinning and showing off his muscular physique in front of his sunny apartment window. Totally lost, Michael sent a message to him.

“Tobias… Trey… I’m not doing any of this, this is insane!” he sent without realizing that autocorrect had changed his brother’s name.

“Dude, we’ve been doing this for years! It’s a Bradley tradition, what’s the problem now? You know how our das freak if we don’t join in. One of them is gonna call you if you don’t send it soon!” he replied. And Michael didn’t even have time to formulate a response to that new absurdity.

“Crap, video call from Dad 0.1,” he muttered to himself, refusing to pick up. But it seemed his phone had a mind of its own because the altered version of his dad popped up on his screen without permission.

“Micah, your dad is far away and wants a video from his boys. Trey just told me you don’t want to do it. What’s the harm in sending it? All your brothers already have, don’t be a buzzkill,” said the man with a serious and slightly disappointed expression.

“Dad, I… what the hell?” Michael started to respond, only to be cut off by the sudden entrance of a third person in the call. How was this possible? How was all this even real???

“Chill out, Jeff! I think Micah’s scared of looking like a weakling in front of his brothers.” It was the guy from the other video, grinning and crossing his arms while looking at Michael with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“What??? I… no… weakling!” For some reason, that challenge sparked something inside him, a primal urge to show what he was capable of, and even more, to show that man what he could do. He wanted… no, he needed to prove himself to that man. Show one of the most important people in his life that he wasn’t some weakling!

“You’re gonna see who the weakling is, Dad!” Micah shot back with a grin before sending his own video.

“Last of the Bradley boys here, you bunch of exhibitionists!” he said, shyly smiling. Unlike his brothers he didn't like to show off his physique without a greater purpose, he kept hitting the gym for the joy it always brought him, mainly because it was something that connected all the brothers and their two dads. The boys didn’t know who was whose dad, and to them that didn’t matter one bit. The Bradley boys were a united front; even though each had their own place, they all worked together at the gym their fathers had founded many years ago, even those who had other jobs like Griff or were still finishing school like Maverick. Even when it came time for college, they preferred to stick around instead of crossing the country, which was why Hunter and Chase still lived with their fathers. Their upbringing had been liberal, but there were still well-established boundaries of respect. Even though a much greater degree of freedom was present now that they were all adults, provocative acts had become more common, with the guys and their parents occasionally sending more explicit videos. In fact, the bond among them was so strong that whenever one of them was away for some reason, it had become family tradition to send those good morning videos.

“We’re looking forward to your return, Dad!” he said in the group, joined by his brothers and other father. They were answered by Buck, affectionately known by all as Dad 0.2.

“I’ll be back this weekend, boys, and I want the whole family together! But until then, at least we’ll have our little moments every morning. To wrap it up, here’s one last video from me for you to think of me as much as I think of you!” he said, winking and provocatively massaging his pecs.

“Come on, Dad! We don’t need this at this time of the morning,” was the response from his sons, even though they were all exactly the same kind of man as Buck Bradley.

[peachsukii]

delicate (isn't it?) ꒰ tangled hearts series - kiribaku x fem!reader ꒱ ⇢ the three of you passionately spent an entire night together, unable to keep your hands off one another. the next day, things are...different, to say the least. you're nervous about what your "friendship" looks like from here onward.

꒰ tags & content ꒱ hints of past abuse (emotional/physical) in a relationship | fluff & emotional comfort, establishing a relationship ⋆ ˚ʚɞ — takes place after the first night spent in their home. ｡‧˚ʚ cross posted to ao3  | wc; ~1.4k ɞ˚‧｡ ✿ tangled hearts masterlist ✿ ↶ | previous entry (a quiet life) ↷ | next entry (twisted in bedsheets)

A soft peck to your forehead stirs you from slumber, fluttering your eyes open to the beautiful blonde before you. You’re about to slur his name in confusion when Bakugo put his finger to his lips, silently telling you to stay quiet. He points behind you to a sleeping Kirishima, blissfully snoring as the sunlight highlighted his features through the sheer curtains of their bedroom.

Bakugo bends over to your face, whispering as quietly as he can manage in your ear, “Makin’ breakfast, I’ll come get ya when it’s done.” He leaves another kiss on the shell of your ear before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

The night’s - ahem, activities - replay in your mind like a pay per view movie. You’d never been touched like that before in your life, desired and worshipped like a goddess gracing their presence. It was the perfect mixture of passion and lust, pure euphoria from start to finish.

Exactly how many times did you cross said finish line?

…You lost count after three.

You had not expected to be waking up in their bed, nestled between the two of them - to have Bakugo making you and Kirishima breakfast in the afterglow of your amorous affair. Had you wished for it? Absolutely! Did you think it would ever come true? Not in your wildest dreams.

It was a silent pining, something you didn’t assume either of them reciprocated. They’d been married for years, how were you to know they’d be open to accepting you into their relationship? It wasn’t something you talked about, it was spontaneous.

Well, you haven’t actually talked about it…yet.

Would it be awkward to bring it up over breakfast? Bakugo didn’t seem phased at all this morning. He’d assumed you’d stay asleep when he kissed your forehead, simply admiring you curled up beside Kirishima. Did he do that because he wanted to? Does he feel obligated because you stayed the night and slept together?

Endless intrusive thoughts are cycling through your head when Kirishima stirs next to you, silencing your inner critic when he throws an arm around your waist, tugging you into his heated body. He nuzzles his nose in your hair from behind, sighing contently.

“Mornin’ darling,” he mumbles, voice groggy with sleep. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah, thank you.” You don’t think your cheeks could flush hotter than they are now, especially after the ‘darling’ pet name in his husky ‘just woke up’ voice. Kirishima’s yawning behind you when Bakugo re-appears in the bedroom doorframe.

“Breakfast’s on the table, get your asses down there while it’s hot.” He smiles at the two of you before turning to head back downstairs. Wiggling out of Kirishima’s grasp, you swing your legs to the edge of the bed, the aroma of whatever Bakugo’s made lingering in the air. Kirishima trails behind you lazily as the two of you tread downstairs to the kitchen. Bakugo’s finishing pouring coffee into three mugs as you sit at the table, eyes widening at the buffet he’s managed to prepare in such a short amount of time.

“Holy shit, Katsuki!” you exclaim, blinking dramatically to convince yourself it’s real. “What’s all this for?”

He smirks proudly. “‘s nothin’. I enjoy cooking for people. Usually it’s just Ei, so I might'a overdid it.”

The table is full of options - a full dish of baked eggs, a stack of homemade pancakes, a plate of bacon and sausage links, a bowl of roasted peppers, another plate with cooked salmon, and three small servings of rice.

How long has this man been awake?! It’s only - you take a quick glance over at the stove to confirm the time - 8:15am.

He hands you one of the cups of coffee and ruffles your hair playfully.

“Are ya cold?” Bakugo asks, motioning to your bare legs. “ You can grab a pair of my sweats from upstairs. I tossed your wet clothes into the wash this mornin'.”

You’d forgotten that you’re only wearing one of their t-shirts and underwear. Oops.

“Oh, thank you! I’m alright, it’s warm enough in here,” you say quietly. “But, uh, if you want me to wear pants, I-”

“Oh no, sweetheart, no one said that,” Kirishima chimed in cheekily. He takes a sip of his coffee as your cheeks grow rosy.

The three of you enjoy the breakfast spread in silence. The unknown anxiety in your gut is growing, afraid that this means you've somehow tainted the friendship you've built with them.

"Somethin' wrong?" Bakugo questions, eyes narrowed at your visible worry.

Wow, he catches on quick. You nervously fidget with your shirt, eyes locked onto your plate. "Umm...no? Well, not wrong. I'm just...confused," you begin to say.

Kirishima gently interrupts you by outstretching his hand to your wrist across the table. "Everything's okay!"

"It's...been awhile since I've dated, let alone slept with someone. I don't wanna make this weird."

Bakugo can't help but roll his eyes at your assumption. "It's not weird. We've never done shit like that before, either.”

That makes you feel a touch better, easing your worries enough to continue the conversation.

"Okay, so then...what, uh...what are we?"

Both boys simultaneously roseate as they look at each other, exchanging a silent conversation with their eyes.

"What do you want us to be?" Kirishima proposes, giving you the option of choice. "No pressure at all. It doesn't change a thing."

What exactly did you want? This was a foreign situation - to all three of you, of course - but did you want something more than just friends with benefits? To date them, or keep it at a one night stand with your best friends?

"To be honest, it felt nice to be wanted again. My ex was never...actually, we don't have to talk about that."

The two of them shifted their expressions into concern as you've never mentioned your love life before. Your change in tone hinted that it wasn't a happy experience.

"You don't have to tell us about 'em. It's in the past and that's where it can stay if it's what's best for you."

Bakugo's reassurance makes your heart soar, not expecting such a kind understanding with little insight. Taking your inflection as a clue was more than enough for him to understand the delicate, and potentially painful, memory. You finally look up from your plate and nod in thanks.

"This is different, but it's...comfortable. I don't know what to call it, though.”

“Jus’ keep it simple,” Bakugo asserts, shrugging his shoulders. “We can hook up or date. Or none of the above, once an' done deal.”

Even though his words are bold, his face is redder than the tomatoes in his garden. Kirishima's biting his lip, head turned away from the conversation to hide the heat creeping across his face. It’s honestly adorable how flustered they both are about this - about you.

"We don't need an answer now, either! We can table -," Kirishima begins to explain as you interrupt him.

"I want to be with you two."

Both of them trade stares once more. It was impressive how well they could communicate without words. Bakugo snickers, grin settling on his lips. Kirishima's toothy smile appears when he sees his husband's joy.

"Wanna be our girlfriend?" You can't help but laugh at their dual question, comical how they happened to ask at the same time.

It was an easy answer. "Yes, I'd love that - both of you."

They get up from their seats at the table and rush over to smother you with kisses and hugs, excited for this new stage in your lives. Bakugo halts for a second following the whirlwind of affection, kneeling down to be at eye level with you.

"Fuck whatever his name is and how he treated you, alright? We'll treat ya like the goddess you are."

You can feel the tears welling in your eyes at his words and bite the inside of your cheek, praying they won't fall. All you can respond with is a soft 'mhm.' He brushes your cheek with his thumb, pinching it lightly before returning to his seat.

The silence no longer feels heavy as you finish breakfast, enamored with your newfound relationship. Who would have thought you'd find not one, but two people who want to shower you with love?

Taking that job transfer was the best decision you've ever made.

⋆ ˚ʚɞ — the triad is a-go!! 💜🌟 ✿ wildflowers; @maddietries