#but what I WANT is for these two fucks to use words and fix their shit

[luvdwkki]

Lino - Forgiven

Leeknow x Gn!reader

Word count: 4,212

Synopsis: After a fight that left the air between you thick with silence, Minho returns, not with answers, but with open hands and a heart still learning how to stay. 

The apartment was quiet, too quiet, except for the sharp clatter of silverware being shoved into drawers with a little too much force. The clink of metal against metal echoed like tension manifesting physically. Your back was to the kitchen entryway, shoulders rigid as you jammed a spoon into the wrong slot, then yanked it out to fix it with a huff. 

Minho strolled in, leaning against the kitchen countertop with the same grin he always wore like armour. “You know, for someone so particular about where the forks go, you're being awfully violent with them.” 

You didn’t respond. 

Minho tilted his head, still grinning. “Everything okay? Or did the forks insult your family?” 

You closed the drawer a little too hard, turned, and gave him a look. “Do you ever stop joking?” 

He blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Uh… usually when things stop being absurd. So, never?”

You crossed your arms. “Right. Of course. Because that’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? Just crack a joke, dodge the real stuff.”

Minho straightened slightly. “Whoa, what is this?”

“It’s me being tired, Minho,” you snapped. “Tired of talking to someone who clearly doesn’t give a damn unless it’s entertaining.”

His grin dropped. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is being in a relationship with someone who acts like none of it matters. Like I don’t matter.”

Minho stepped forward, jaw tensing. “Okay, that’s not what I’m doing-”

“But it is! You laugh when I’m upset. You make light of everything. And when I try to bring up something serious, you change the subject or make a joke so I end up feeling like an idiot for even trying.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel like an idiot!” he barked. “God, y/n, maybe I’m just trying not to make everything a damn crisis.”

“And maybe you’d rather hide behind jokes than actually admit you feel anything!” you shouted, eyes blazing. “Because that would mean you’d have to actually show up and be vulnerable for once in your life!”

His mouth opened, then snapped shut, and for a second, you thought he might back down. But instead, he scoffed, shaking his head like he was disgusted.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said bitterly. “I didn’t realize this relationship was some kind of emotional interrogation. You don’t like how I talk? Fine. Maybe I don’t like how you turn everything into a goddamn meltdown the second it’s not going your way!”

“You are so full of it!” you shouted. “You twist everything around so I look like the bad guy, like I’m too sensitive or too serious-”

“Because you are!” he yelled, stepping in close. “You act like everything I do is some personal attack when all I’m trying to do is keep us from going completely off the rails!”

You two were inches apart now, shouting over each other, breath sharp and furious, hands clenched at your sides. The apartment felt too small, the air too thick, the distance between you both nonexistent and yet impossibly vast.

“God, Minho, you don’t even see me—”

“And you don’t hear me! All you ever do is come for me!”

You stood there, chest to chest, the heat between you boiling hot and freezing cold all at once.

“I come at you like that because you never fight for me!” You shouted, voice shaking. “You just make jokes until I’m too tired to care anymore!”

Minho stared at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with frustration. “Maybe I don’t fight because I’m tired of being treated like I’m never fucking enough.”

You froze. “What?”

He stepped forward, voice rising. “Yeah, Y/n! I'm tired of being the punching bag every time you decide I’m not fucking good enough! Tired of pretending I don’t see that look on your face when I don’t say the perfect thing. You want me raw? Fine! Sometimes I wish you'd just shut the hell up and stop trying to fix me like I’m some broken fucking project you picked up to feel good about yourself!”

Your breath hitched, face crumpling, but Minho kept going. “Sometimes it feels like loving you is just waiting to get punished for it! You act like you’re some goddamn saint for sticking around, but all you do is hover and judge and fucking nag until I can't even hear myself think. You don’t want to understand me. You just want to fix me so you don’t have to deal with your own pathetic shit!” 

The slap cracked through the room like lightning.

Minho’s head whipped to the side, the sting instant and unmistakable. He froze, stunned, one hand slowly lifting to his cheek. You were already backing away, shaking, tears running freely, your voice gutted and trembling. “Go to hell, Minho.”

You then turned and bolted down the hallway, each step louder than the last, before the bedroom door shook its frame. Minho stood there, motionless, jaw tight, the echo of your hand still ringing in the air.

You had slammed the bedroom door, but it didn’t make you feel better. Nothing did. Not the sound, not the distance, not the silence that swallowed everything after. Your hands were shaking. You stared at them like they didn’t belong to you, like maybe they belonged to someone stronger. The tears wouldn’t stop. They spilled hot and fast as you slid down the door, chest heaving like you couldn’t breathe right.

“Pathetic?” you whispered, voice hoarse. “Fucking pathetic?” You had given him everything. You tried. Every day, you tried. You listened, you waited, you stayed even when he pushed, even when he shut down. You stayed through the silence, through the sarcasm, through the ache of being with someone who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, let you in.

And still… still it wasn’t enough.

You buried your face in your hands and sobbed harder.

Minho hadn’t moved. The sting on his cheek barely registered anymore. The room was dead quiet, but his head was loud, words crashing around like debris. That look on your face. The sound of the slap. Your voice when you said it “Go to hell.”

He swallowed hard, throat dry. “Fuck…”

He hadn’t meant it. Or maybe he had. That was the worst part, he wasn’t sure. He’d been angry, cornered, and every word that flew out of his mouth was meant to wound. And god, had he succeeded.

His hands were still clenched at his sides, white-knuckled. He stared at the floor like it might give him answers, like it might undo what just happened if he stood still long enough.

You had never hit him before. You weren't like that. And he’d never pushed you that far. Until now.

Minho let out a breath, low and shaky, and leaned back against the counter like his knees might give out. You don’t come back from that kind of look, he thought. Not easily. Not without bleeding for it. 

It had been hours. The kind of hours that dragged. No TV. No phone. Just the faint tick of the wall clock and the ache behind your dry eyes from crying too long.

The blanket had slipped down your shoulder, but you didn’t move. Your body felt heavy, like it had absorbed every word, every second of that fight and didn’t know how to carry any more.

Outside the window, the streetlights buzzed, casting pale shadows on the wall. It must’ve been close to 3 a.m. You hadn’t heard him. No footsteps, not a knock, not even the distant creak of floorboards. Maybe he’d gone to sleep. Maybe he’d left. Maybe he didn’t care.

Your heart burned again. You hated that you were still listening for him.

Minho sat in the hallway, the light from his phone long gone, screen black in his hand. He didn’t know what time it was anymore. His back ached from the floor. His legs had gone numb. But he hadn’t moved, not since he’d sat down outside your door an hour ago.

He thought you might come out. Maybe yell again. Maybe just glare at him like you wanted to set him on fire. He deserved that. But you hadn’t made a sound. No crying. No pacing. No nothing. That scared him more than anything.

He rested his head back against the wall and shut his eyes, just for a second.

And whispered into the dark, barely audible even to himself, “Fuck… what did I do?”

The morning light came in soft and grey, filtered through thin curtains and heavy clouds. It crept down the hallway, brushing against the hardwood like it didn’t want to wake the house. Minho woke to the soft morning light and the dull ache in his spine from sleeping against a wall. His mouth was dry. His legs stiff. But he didn’t move.

The door beside him was still shut. He looked at it as if he was waiting for it to breathe. He didn’t knock. Didn’t speak. He just sat there, back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, head leaned gently to the side, listening for any sound from the other side.

Nothing.

The minutes crawled by. Then the hours. The world outside had started moving. Cars in the street, a dog barking down the road, someone slamming a dumpster lid, but here, everything stayed still. Closed.

Minho rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands. His stomach growled. His brain throbbed under the weight of everything he’d said the night before. 

“Sometimes it feels like loving you is just waiting to get punished for it.” He winced at the memory. He could still feel the sting of your palm on his face, the sharpness of your gasp when it landed. He’d deserved that. More, probably. But he didn’t leave. Even when his legs went numb again. Even when his throat begged for water and his body told him to get up, to shower, to move on.

He waited.

Because somewhere on the other side of that door, You were still there. And he didn’t want to miss the moment you weren't angry anymore, just hurt. The moment you might be willing to hear him, even if it wasn’t with words.

Minho sat there for what felt like forever. When he finally heard you stir, a faint rustle of sheets, the soft creak of floorboards, his breath caught.

You were awake.

So he waited… And waited… And waited…

Nothing.

The lock didn’t turn. The door didn’t move. You knew he was out here. And you were choosing to keep him out. Minho's stomach twisted. He stood slowly, limbs aching from staying curled up so long. His body felt like it belonged to someone else. Tight, wrong, heavy. He hovered for a second longer by the door, listening… hoping. Still nothing. So he turned away.

In the bathroom, the mirror was brutal. He looked like hell. Red-rimmed eyes. A fading handprint on his cheek. His shirt fully wrinkled from sleeping in it. He turned the shower on way too hot and stepped in before it could cool down, hoping the scald might burn the tension out of his shoulders. It didn’t. 

He tried brushing his teeth. Couldn’t focus.

Tried making coffee. Left it untouched on the counter.

Tried scrolling his phone. Couldn’t even unlock it.

Every sound from down the hall made his head snap up. Every creak of the floor, every breeze against the door, Minho imagined it was you. Coming out. Saying something. Nothing. Until…

Click.

The unmistakable sound of the bedroom door unlocking. It was soft. Hesitant. But it rang through the apartment like a fire alarm. He froze. Then bolted. His feet hit the floor fast, slipping as he rounded the corner. The door was slightly ajar now. He didn’t even hesitate. He ran to it like you might change your mind and close it again. 

When he reached the door, he didn’t hesitate this time. His hand hovered for only a second before he pushed it open. The room was dim. Curtains still drawn. The air heavy, thick with last night’s ghosts. A sheet draped over the lamp cast everything in a soft, amber hush, like the whole space was holding its breath.

And there you were. Sitting on the edge of the bed. Wrapped in the same blanket, legs folded under you, hands clutching the fabric like an anchor. Your face was blank. Too blank. Like the tears had already run their course, and now you were just... waiting. Not for him. Not exactly. Just for what he would do next.

Minho froze in the doorway, one hand still clutching the knob like it might hold him up. His throat tightened painfully, working around something sharp. “Hey.”

You didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. 

He stepped inside like the ground might shatter under his feet. The door clicked shut behind him, soft but final. Still, silence. It stretched between you like a wire, pulled taut, humming with everything he hadn’t said.

He raked a trembling hand through his hair. “I didn’t sleep.” You said nothing.

“I sat outside your door all night.” He swallowed. “I know that doesn’t fix anything. I just… I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t want to go anywhere else.”

Still no reaction. Your eyes on him, unreadable. He exhaled, shaky, words spilling from somewhere raw. “I said things I didn’t mean. And some of it- okay, yeah -some of it came from a place I don’t understand yet. I panicked. I got scared. But that doesn’t excuse any of it. Not with you...” He paused, breath catching.

“I was cruel. I twisted things. I made you feel small, and I hate that. I hate that I did that to you.”

You still didn’t speak. But something in your stare tightened, just slightly.

Minho’s voice cracked at the edges. “That’s not who I am. At least… I don’t want it to be. Especially not with you.”

Nothing. No words. No movement. Nothing from you. He stood there, hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust himself with them.

“You didn’t deserve any of it,” he whispered. “You never do.” He took a hesitant step forward. Like the space between you was holy ground he didn’t have the right to walk on.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m not even hoping for it. I just… I needed you to hear me. Even if you never say anything back.” The silence roared in his ears. Deafening.

“I’ll go if you want me to,” he added quietly. “If that’s what you need… I’ll leave.”

Still nothing. He nodded slowly, eyes burning. Already starting to turn.

Then you blinked. Once. And your voice, soft, broken, a thread unraveling, sliced through the quiet: “Why do you always do that?”

He stopped cold. Confusion flickering through the pain on his face. You stared at him, still blank, still wrapped in your silence, but your voice sharpened, a blade in the dark.

“Act like it’s your job to leave. Like you’re halfway out the door the second it gets hard.”

He looked at you like you’d just reached in and found the one part of him he couldn’t hide.

And you let the words hang there, daring him to deny it, daring him to prove them wrong.

Minho didn’t answer right away. The question settled over him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

“Why do you always do that?”

He stood frozen in the middle of the room, your words echoing louder than anything he’d said.

“Like it’s your job to leave.”“Like you’re halfway out the door the second it gets hard.”

He looked down, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling too fast. Because you were right. And there was no excuse he could give that wouldn’t sound like another exit strategy. His voice, when it came, was barely more than a breath. “Because it’s easier than being told to.”

Silence again. Not cruel,  just... there. Solid. Unforgiving.

“I don’t know how to stay when I feel like I’ve already messed it up,” he said, softer now. “So I assume I’m not wanted. I tell myself it’s better if I leave before you ask me to.” He stepped closer. One foot, then the other, like the space between you was a chasm he was finally willing to cross. “But I want to stay. God y/n, I want to stay.”

Still, you didn’t move. You didn’t open up. You let him come closer, but not in. Not yet. He knelt in front of you, hands trembling slightly where they hovered near your knees but didn’t touch. His eyes searched your face, raw, pleading, full of unshed apologies. “I don’t want to be that person anymore. The one who runs. Who lashes out. Who breaks things and then calls it inevitable.”

You blinked again, but your expression still didn't soften.

“I know I don’t get to ask you for anything,” he whispered. “But I just… I’m here. I’m still here.”

Your hands clenched tighter around the blanket. You didn’t pull away. But you didn’t reach for him either. So he stayed there, kneeling next to you, his voice nearly gone.

“I’m sorry.”

The silence pressed in again, heavier now. Like a wall he couldn’t climb. Minho stayed there on his knees, eyes locked on yours, waiting for something, anything, and getting nothing. And that was what finally broke him.

His face crumpled. Not dramatic, not loud, just sudden and quiet and helpless. Like something inside him had finally snapped under the weight of everything he hadn’t said soon enough. His shoulders shook as the first sob slipped out, rough and involuntary. He dragged a hand across his face like he could hide it, like he could hold himself together for a little longer, but he couldn’t.

​​“I know,” he choked. “I know you don’t owe me anything. I know that.” More tears followed, harder now. His voice cracked under the pressure of it all. “You don’t have to say anything. I hurt you. I get it. I don’t get to ask you for comfort just because I’m falling apart now.”

He laughed, not because it was funny, but because it hurt too much not to. “I mean, look at me. Crying like this. Like I’m the one who needs saving.” 

And for the first time, your expression shifted, just slightly.

Your eyes widened.

Your face softened.

You’d never seen him like this. Not Minho. Not the boy who always had something to say, always held his ground, always knew when to leave before the storm hit.

But now he was in the middle of it.

And he wasn’t running. 

He ran both hands down his face, like he could scrub the guilt off his skin. His breath hitched. “I just, I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I don’t know how to fix this. I’d do anything. But maybe there’s nothing left to do. Maybe I ruined it. Maybe I ruined you.” His words tumbled out, messy and fast, cracked wide open.

He could barely get the words out through his sobs. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been better. I wanted to be better. But I keep screwing it up, and you keep sitting there like I don’t even deserve your anger anymore, like you’re just… done. And I don’t blame you.”

He leaned forward a little, head bowed, forehead nearly brushing your knee. His voice dropped to a whisper, barely a thread:

“I’m sorry.”

Minho stayed there, trembling, his breath stuttering against the weight of everything he couldn’t take back. He didn’t look up. More like he couldn’t look up. He just kept crying, not loud, not pleading, just breaking in real time. A quiet, exhausted kind of grief that had no drama left in it. Only truth.

You watched him.

And something in you pulled tight. Not in anger this time. Not even fear.

Just… ache.

Because you’d never seen him like this.Not exposed like this. Not small. He’d always been sharp edges and quick exits, not this quiet wreck of a person, folded in on himself like he was afraid he’d disappear.

You didn’t move at first. Didn’t trust the part of you that wanted to, but your hand, without permission, twitched slightly, still tangled in the blanket.  And then, slowly… carefully… it lifted. You didn’t say a word.  Didn’t reach to pull him up.  Didn’t forgive him. But you let your fingers settle gently into his hair. Barely there. Just enough for him to feel it. A touch. A tether. A whisper of something that hadn’t completely died.

Minho froze.

Then crumpled harder, shoulders shaking as he pressed his forehead to your knee like he couldn’t bear it, like that one, small mercy hurt more than anything else. Because it meant you hadn’t turned away. Not fully. Not yet. And that alone was enough to make him fall apart all over again. 

You didn’t mean to speak. You hadn’t planned on it. But the words slipped out anyway, quiet and sharp, rough at the edges. “...What are you gonna do if I say I don’t know how to let you back in?”

Minho stilled.

Slowly, he lifted his head, tear-streaked and red-eyed, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. But he had. Your hand dropped from his hair before he could lean into it, like you were punishing yourself for the comfort you’d given him. Like you couldn’t trust what your body wanted anymore.

You stared at him, your voice trembling, but steady enough to hurt. “Because I don’t. I don’t know how.”

He opened his mouth to answer, but you kept going, not loud, not cold, just… aching.

“I want to. Minho, I want to so bad I feel sick. But I’m scared. I’m angry. At you, at myself. For still caring. For hoping. For letting you sit out there all night like that instead of making you leave.” You swallowed hard, breath shaky.

“I hate that it still matters. That you still matter. After everything you said.”

Minho didn’t interrupt. He didn’t dare. You looked down at your hands, fists twisting in the blanket again like they needed something to hold or destroy.

“I didn’t sleep either,” you said, quieter now. “I just kept thinking about whether you'd actually come in. And what I’d do if you did.”

A pause.

Then, softer still, “I don’t know if I can trust you not to run again. And I don’t know if I can take being wrong about you twice.”

Minho looked up at you like you’d just cracked open the center of the earth. And he didn’t move. Didn’t rush to close the gap. Didn’t beg. He just sat there. His breath still uneven from crying, but he listened. Like maybe this time, he’d finally learned how. Then, finally, quietly, he spoke. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

His voice cracked around the words, like even saying them cost him something. “I don’t have some perfect answer. I don’t know what to say that’ll make you trust me again. I don’t even know if you should.” He looked up at you, and for once, there was no defense in his eyes. No mask. Just Minho, raw and wrecked and trying.

“But if there’s a way to fix it… I’ll find it. I’ll try. Every day. Even if you never look at me the same. Even if all I can do is sit outside your door again.” He reached out, slowly, and opened his hand between you. Not grabbing. Not demanding. Just offering.

You stared at it for a second. Then slipped your fingers into his. You felt his breath hitch, although just barely. When he leaned in, it wasn’t confident. It wasn’t smooth. It was careful. Soft. 

He gave you all the room to turn away, but you didn’t. How could you? How could you when he looked at you like you were the last thing in the world that still made sense? Like he didn’t deserve to be this close, but couldn’t stay away any longer. How could you when some desperate, stubborn part of you still wanted to believe him, even now, even after everything? How could you when every centimetre of space between you was already breaking your heart? How could you when he touched you like a question he didn’t expect to be answered? How could you when you still remembered what it felt like to be safe in his arms?

He kissed you like he didn’t know if he had the right, like the moment might shatter if he breathed too loud. It was slow, trembling, nothing like before but somehow deeper, and when your lips met his, it wasn’t forgiveness, wasn’t certainty. It was need. Quiet and aching and real.

When you pulled back, your fingers were still tangled in his. Your voice barely made it out. “That doesn’t make this okay.”

Minho nodded. “I know.”

You sat there like that, forehead to forehead, the worst still between you, but not untouched. Not unspoken, and for now, that was enough.

It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t healing.

But it was a beginning. And that had to count for something.

Howdy everyone! Im back after like 6 months lol. Sorry for disappearing like that 😀 life just got busy and stuff. BUT im back and ive been writing 😏 Hopefully ill post more than just 3 fics before dipping again but who knows LMAO. ANYWAYS i hope you guys enjoy this and if there are any mistakes please let me know! (i somewhat proofread this at 2am soooooo)

[andy-15-07]

Say Something

paring ✦ Ellie Williams x fem!reader

word count ✦ 1321 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

The snow hadn’t stopped falling for two days straight. A thick, muffled silence wrapped Jackson in a stillness that made everything feel fake, like time itself had frozen. Except for the hospital,where time pressed down like a boot on your chest.

Y/N sat on the edge of a stiff, metal chair in the corner of Ellie’s room. The walls were bare, the window fogged up. Her hands twisted in her lap. Ellie hadn’t said a word in two days. She just lay there, eyes fixed on a point somewhere past the ceiling, bandaged and bruised, her lip split from the fight that led them here, but her silence,that was what really hurt.

Joel was gone.

And Ellie was disappearing with him.

Y/N stood up and crossed the room, slow and careful. She didn’t want to startle her, didn’t want to push too hard. Ellie had always been stubborn,blunt and sarcastic and angry,but now, she was empty. Quiet. A shell.

“I brought you soup,” Y/N said, voice soft, trying. “It’s still warm. I, uh... I made it the way you like. Kinda. They didn’t have oregano, but,”

Ellie didn’t blink. Her eyes didn’t even flick toward the bowl Y/N placed on the bedside table.

Y/N exhaled. “You can’t just stop eating, El.”

No answer.

Y/N sat back down, closer now. She stared at Ellie’s profile, her pale skin, the cuts on her cheek that hadn’t fully healed yet. The bruises were yellowing. Her fingers twitched beneath the blanket like she wanted to curl them into fists and couldn’t quite make the effort.

“People are asking about you,” Y/N said, trying again. “Maria came by. Dina, too. Jesse offered to fix your guitar. Said he found strings.”

Still nothing. Not even a flinch.

“Ellie.”

Her name came out raw, cracked. “Please.”

Finally, Ellie blinked. Just once. Her gaze shifted, slowly, toward the window.

Y/N felt her heart leap,but Ellie didn’t look at her.

“You don’t get to shut down like this,” Y/N whispered. “You don’t get to leave me too.”

That got something. A flicker,barely noticeable,but Ellie’s jaw clenched. Her eyes closed for a second, like maybe if she shut them tight enough, she could shut everything out.

Y/N stood again. Paced now. The hospital room was too small. The air too cold.

“You know what he said to me?” she asked. “Before you came back from Salt Lake?”

Still silence.

“He told me to keep an eye on you,” Y/N went on. “Told me that you’re strong, but you hold everything in. That when it all goes to shit, you won’t talk to anyone. Not even him. So he asked me to be there for you. To stay. Because he knew,he knew,you’d do this.”

Ellie turned her head away.

“I am here, Ellie,” Y/N said, louder. Angrier. “I’m right fucking here. And I can’t help you if you won’t even look at me.”

“Then don’t.”

The words hit like a punch.

Y/N froze. It was the first thing Ellie had said in days.

“What?” she asked, quiet.

Ellie finally turned to face her. Her voice was hoarse, low, but it still cut. “You should go.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. “No.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I don’t care,” Y/N snapped, stepping closer. “You don’t get to push me away and think I’ll just vanish.”

Ellie flinched. “Why not? Everyone else does.”

“I’m not everyone else.”

Ellie looked at her. Really looked. And for a second, Y/N saw it,the heartbreak. The guilt. The fury.

“Joel’s dead,” Ellie said, flat.

“I know.”

“I watched it happen. I heard his ribs snap. I,” Her voice broke and she looked down. “I couldn’t stop it.”

Y/N moved fast, dropping to her knees beside the bed, hands reaching for Ellie’s.

“You couldn’t have stopped it,” Y/N said. “No one could have. It wasn’t your fault.”

Ellie shook her head, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. “I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve,should’ve protected him. I always told him I didn’t need him, but the truth is,he needed me. And I,”

“You loved him.”

Ellie looked at her again. Her eyes were glassy now. Red-rimmed.

“I said things to him,” she whispered. “Before... before we left Jackson last time. Things I didn’t mean.”

Y/N’s hand slid into Ellie’s. This time, she didn’t pull away.

“You had time to fix it,” Y/N said gently.

“Not enough.”

Ellie’s voice cracked. A tear slipped down her cheek and Y/N reached up, wiped it with her thumb.

“I can’t do this,” Ellie whispered. “I can’t feel this. It’s too much. It’s all too much.”

“I know,” Y/N said. “I know it is.”

Ellie’s breathing grew shallow, faster. “I wake up and I hear him calling me. Sometimes I think I see him. I go to say something and then I remember and it hits me all over again like it just fucking happened,”

Y/N pulled her into her arms. Ellie tensed for a second, fighting it, but then something gave, and she sank into Y/N’s chest, trembling.

“I feel like I’m going insane,” Ellie choked. “Like if I let go, if I start crying, I won’t stop.”

Y/N held her tighter. “Then I’ll hold you until you do.”

Ellie buried her face in Y/N’s shoulder and broke. No sobs,just sharp, quiet gasps. Silent grief that wracked her body. Her fingers dug into Y/N’s jacket, like she needed an anchor to keep from slipping under.

“You’re allowed to be hurt,” Y/N whispered into her hair. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone.”

Ellie didn’t answer, but she didn’t push away either.

They stayed like that for a long time. The snow kept falling outside the window. The heater buzzed faintly. Ellie’s breath was warm against Y/N’s collarbone.

After a while, Ellie sat up. Her cheeks were blotchy, nose red, but her eyes looked a little clearer. Her voice, still hoarse, was softer now.

“Why are you still here?” she asked.

Y/N looked at her like it was obvious. “Because I love you.”

Ellie’s throat bobbed. She looked down at their hands.

“I’m not good for anyone,” she murmured. “I break things. I,I ruin everything I touch.”

Y/N leaned in, forehead resting against Ellie’s.

“You didn’t ruin him,” she said. “And you haven’t ruined me.”

Ellie blinked back another wave of tears.

“I feel so... empty without him,” she whispered. “Like part of me got torn out and nothing’s going to fill it.”

“Then let me help you carry what’s left,” Y/N said, voice shaking. “You don’t have to fix it right now. You just have to stay.”

Ellie pulled in a shaky breath. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Y/N said. “Me too.”

They sat in silence again. Not the cold silence from before, but something softer,wounded, but real. Y/N brushed Ellie’s messy hair back from her face and kissed her forehead.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Y/N said. “Just let me stay.”

Ellie nodded. Just once.

Y/N shifted to sit beside her on the bed, back against the wall. Ellie leaned into her slowly, like it hurt to trust her body again. Y/N wrapped her arm around her, drawing her close.

Minutes passed. The light outside grew darker, colder.

“Do you remember that joke Joel told?” Ellie said suddenly, voice small. “About the scarecrow?”

Y/N smiled faintly. “The one about being outstanding in his field?”

Ellie let out a short, fragile laugh. “God, it was so bad.”

“He thought it was comedy gold.”

They both went quiet again. Then Ellie whispered, “I miss his stupid voice.”

Y/N squeezed her hand. “Me too.”

Ellie laid her head on Y/N’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

“Will you stay tonight?”

“Always.”

Y/N listened to her breathing slowly even out. The worst of the storm howled beyond the walls of Jackson, but in that small hospital room, Ellie Miller finally let herself fall apart in someone’s arms.

And for the first time in days, she slept.

[berryispunk]

At Last

Chapter 9 of "Rain Down on Me" for the April Showers challenge by @jolapeno

series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x ofc! reader (Summer)

tags: enemies to lovers, emotional chaos, love confessions, curse words , all the tension, a dance, smut (finally!!), fluff, all the feelings, they are just idiots in love your honor

notes: this is it guys, the grande finale! who's cutting onions here? geez. for the full experience I recommend listening to this , you'll understand why. thanks from the bottom of my heart for loving these both idiots. this isn't goodbye, this is see you later.

word count: ~ 6,9 k

The sun was too warm on your shoulders. The breeze too soft. The music too pretty.

You stood beneath the swaying palm trees, hands clasped loosely in front of you, eyes fixed on the couple at the front—Monica glowing in lace, Will looking at her like he still couldn’t believe she’s his and you felt your heart split clean in two.

You smiled, of course. For Monica. For your best friend, your roommate from that awful first apartment with the flickering kitchen light and the cracked tiles and the way you used to eat boxed mac and cheese off the floor when you were too tired to find chairs.

You remembered every version of her.

The one with a chipped tooth from falling off a scooter when you were seven. The one who cried over boys who didn’t deserve her in the first place. The one who once said, drunk and barefoot on New Year’s Eve, “I don’t think I’ll ever get married. No one knows how to love me long enough.”

And now here she was.

Radiant, steady and so full of love it pulsed out of her like sunlight.

Your eyes burned with tears.

You were happy for her. God, you were so happy. But at the same time, there was this weight in your chest you couldn’t shake. This quiet grief for all the versions of yourself you used to believe in—the ones who swore love like this was coming for you too. That you wouldn’t be the one who messed things up. Who ran. Who didn’t know how to hold on when it mattered most.

You weren’t jealous, not exactly.

It was more like mourning. Mourning what you didn’t have, what you hadn’t been ready for. What you still didn’t know how to ask for.

And then—Frankie, fuck, Frankie Morales. The man who was as infuriating as he was soft.

You felt his gaze on you before you even turned.

Stolen glances, like he couldn’t help himself. Like just seeing you unraveled something inside him. You didn’t dare look back for too long—just enough to feel the weight of it, to let it settle in the hollow behind your ribs, where all the wanting lived, breathing and growing, alive and restless, getting bigger by the second. You exhaled slowly and forced your attention back to Monica.

But Frankie’s eyes on you stayed, you felt it even when you weren’t looking. The ache did too.

Much later, when the sun dipped low and the music turned slow and golden, you found yourself on the dance floor with Will. The crowd had thinned, and his new wife was laughing somewhere near the cake table, her veil tossed aside and her heels abandoned, carefree and beaming in a way you’d never seen before.

“You better treat her right,” you said, half-playful, half-aching.

Will smiled, warm and solid as always. “Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.”

You moved slowly, swaying in the soft light. He looked at you then—really looked. Like he saw something cracking open behind your smile but before he could say something Frankie approached you.

Hands tucked in his pockets. Shirt sleeves rolled. That unreadable look on his face—the one that somehow still said everything. His curls wild and unruly from running his hand through them a thousand times. Something you noticed he did a lot, at least when he wasn’t wearing that damn cap.

“Mind if I steal her for a minute?” he asked, voice low.

Will didn’t answer right away. Just glanced at you, steady and knowing, which made you wonder how much Monica told him. Something quiet passed between you—understanding, maybe or permission.

Then he clapped Frankie’s shoulder and stepped back, leaving only the both of you behind.

Frankie held out his hand and you took it.

And that was it.

The song changed.Fix You floated through the air, slow and familiar, threading its way into every crack you tried to hide. Frankie's hand found your waist, his other hand slipping into yours like it had always been meant to fit there. You started to sway—cautious at first. Stiff. Electric with everything unsaid.

Then something gave way. He pulled you closer—not much, just enough to feel him.

Your heart plummeted as you looked up.

Of course he was already watching you, his warm brown eyes unreadable.

He wasn’t asking, not demanding. Just... waiting. And you—aching, worn thin from pretending—stepped in. Let yourself want it.

Just for this one song, just for this one, fragile moment.

Frankie’s hand was warm at your back. His palm steady against your bare back like he knew exactly how to hold you without making you feel trapped. Like he remembered you—what you needed, what you could take.

The lights blurred behind him. Laughter faded. Glasses clinked in the distance, someone shouted something about tequila—and none of it touched you, none of it mattered.

Not in this soft bubble of music and memory and longing.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. Your eyes stayed on the open collar of his shirt, too afraid to meet his gaze just yet. Not when you were this close. Not when the smell of him—clean skin and sweat and soap—felt like a gut-punch.

Frankie said nothing, just moved in sync with you. Like he’d been waiting for this dance his whole life.

“You look beautiful,” he said eventually, barely above a whisper.

Your lips parted but no words came out. Just a sharp inhale you tried to hide and your cheeks heating.

He cleared his throat like it hurt to say it, or maybe to break the heavy silence between you. The silence that somehow said more than any words could.

You looked up, slow and unsteady, and found his eyes waiting for you. It felt like slipping into something inevitable—weightless, quiet, safe.

But it also stirred up the ache—the impossible kind of wanting that set you alight from the inside.

“How long,” you said softly, “are we gonna keep playing pretend?”

Frankie blinked and his grip on your waist tightened—just enough to ground you, or to steady himself.

“Summer,” he said, voice cracking in the middle like your name was a wound.

You didn’t look away, didn’t even flinch.

Just waited.

The music swelled between you.

Frankie’s jaw clenched. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes like it hurt to look too long.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he said.

You exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for weeks.

“Then don’t,” you whispered.

He didn’t move. Didn’t kiss you. Didn’t pull you closer, even though you could feel the tension in him like a live wire. But his forehead dropped to yours, just barely. His breath warm against your skin. And for the rest of the song, you didn’t say anything else, you just held on.

—

Frankie didn’t remember the last time he danced. Not really, not like this.

Not with someone who made the air around him feel heavier and lighter all at once. Not with someone who looked up at him like maybe—just maybe—he could be more than the sum of all his fuckups.

Your hand was in his. Your other rested gently against his shoulder, and his palm was at the small of your back, fingers curled soft against your bare skin.

You were warm and steady, right here and so incredibly close he could inhale your scent. Something sweet, but also heavy, mixed with sun cream and your body heat. 

This closeness, you, scared the hell out of him. Not the way danger used to—fast and sharp and adrenaline-laced. This was quieter, slower. It crept in like a tide and sat heavy in his chest, because it mattered. You mattered. More than he would ever say out loud. 

And you’d just looked at him—eyes wide, voice steady—and asked how long you were gonna keep pretending. Like you weren’t scared to ask and casually cracked him open with these words.

How long are we gonna keep playing pretend?

His first instinct had been to deflect, joke. Make it easier, being defensive, because that’s what he can best. 

But he couldn’t, not this time. Not when you were looking at him like that. Eyes trained on his, like searching for answers in his face. The reflection of the fairy lights illuminated in them, sparkling like stars and it was dangerously beautiful. 

The silence after echoed in him as you swayed under the glow of the lights and cheap hotel lanterns. Your forehead leaned into his. Your breath soft and steady. You didn’t pull away, neither did he.

And Frankie wanted to say everything.

He wanted to tell you that it was easier when you were bantering. When you rolled your eyes at him and called him out and made him laugh so hard his stomach ached. That it was safer when you hated him a little, or at least pretended to, because then he didn’t have to deal with this: The need. That raw, aching want clawing its way up his spine, tightening every muscle in his body with the sheer effort it took not to devour you right then and there—like you were the best thing he'd ever tasted, and he’d been starving.

Or the way he woke up thinking about you and went to sleep hoping you were dreaming of him too. He wanted to tell you that he’d thought of that kiss every damn day since it happened. That it haunted him. That it made him believe in things he’d stopped believing in a long time ago.

But what scared him most—what rooted him to the dance floor, still and slow and unraveling—was that you weren’t just the fantasy anymore. You were real, in his arms, dancing and it was way worse than anything he made up in his mind. Because he got greedy and wanted all of it, all of you. Even the parts you kept guarded. The sharp ones, the quiet ones. The ones you thought needed hiding.

He wanted you. It was as simple and as complicated as that. And if you gave him the chance, he swore he wouldn’t waste it.

But he didn’t say all of it, not yet. But he held you closer. Let you feel it in the way his thumb traced circles at the small of your back. In the way his forehead stayed pressed against yours. In the way he breathed your name soft, like a promise:

“Summer…” 

You looked up at him.

Slow, careful, brows lifted like you were about to ask something, but you didn’t. Like maybe the truth had finally settled between you—no more dodging, no more games. Just this quiet understanding humming beneath your skin.

And in your eyes?

God, Frankie saw it all. The fear, the ache, the want that matched his own so perfectly it knocked the breath out of his lungs.

It was like looking in a mirror and finally seeing the thing he’d been too scared to name. 

He didn’t move, didn’t dare to. Didn’t even blink. Because if he did, he might miss the way your lips parted like you were about to say something else. Something more.

But then—

“Alright, alright, my turn,” Benny’s voice cut through the moment like a goddamn chainsaw. “I wanna dance with the hot one too.”

Frankie stiffened instantly. His hand tightened at your waist before he let go, reluctantly. You pulled back, blinking, the spell was broken, just like that.

You looked at Benny, then at Frankie, and something flickered in your face—something he couldn’t quite read. Like you were lost for a second. Confused, maybe even a little hurt. But then you smiled. That same sharp, bright smile you always used when you wanted to hide whatever was cracking underneath.

“Careful, Miller,” you said, stepping away, “you keep talking like that, people are gonna think you have taste.” 

Benny just laughed and spun you toward the center of the dance floor, where the music had shifted to something fast and loud—some pop song Frankie didn’t recognize. You danced with him.

Smiling, swaying, laughing at something he said—your body moving effortlessly to the pulse of the music. Frankie tried not to look too hard, tried not to let his gaze linger on the way your hips rolled, the way your dress clung like it had been made for you.

But your eyes kept finding his, over and over.

And Frankie—he just stood there. Hands clenched at his sides. Watching Benny’s fingers settle too easily at your waist. Watching the light catch on your dress. Watching your smile falter every time your eyes locked with his and his blood boiled.

Because the moment had been yours and now it was gone. 

—

He didn’t know how long he stood there.

Long enough for the lights to dim. For the playlist to shift again. For the air to start feeling smaller, louder, hotter. 

He’d lost track of how many times you looked back at him. How many times Benny’s hands touched your waist or your arm or your lower back like it was nothing. Like you were nothing.

And then Benny came stumbling back from the bar, two drinks in hand, cheeks flushed, tie crooked, grinning like he hadn’t just ruined everything.

He handed Frankie a beer, sloshing some on the floor in the process. “You gonna sulk all night, bro? It’s a wedding, not a funeral.”

Frankie didn’t answer and Benny, the idiot he was, clinked bottles anyway, shrugged and leaned against the wall beside him.

“She’s a good time, huh?” he said casually, watching you out on the dance floor with some of the other guests. Smiling, chatting, but still not unguarded. 

Frankie’s jaw tensed.

Benny took a drink. “You think she’d let me hit it? Just once? I mean—” he smirked, “—you’re clearly not doing shit about it.”

It happened so fast, Frankie didn’t even think. Just heard the sound of the bottle shattering as it hit the ground, felt the heat of his fist connecting with Benny’s jaw.

Benny stumbled back, stunned—then came at him like the soldier he was.

The next minute was fists, blood, and chaos. Chairs knocked over, glass breaking. Monica’s screaming echoing through the night. Frankie took a hit to the ribs, one to the cheek. His knuckles split open against Benny’s shoulder. They slammed into a table—furniture crashing, something splintering beneath them. Voices blurred in the background. Someone shouting for security. Then—through the haze—he caught the sound of Will and Santi, yelling, grabbing, pulling.

Hands on his shoulders. Arms locked around his chest and dragging them apart before one of them did something they couldn’t take back.

It took both of them—Will with an arm around Frankie’s chest, Santi holding Benny back by the collar.

Frankie’s breathing was ragged, chest heaving, lip split and tasting blood in his mouth.But he was still burning. It had been a long time since he ticked out like this—since the rage took hold and blurred everything else out. Rationality? Gone. There was only heat in his veins, white and blinding.

“You ever talk about her like that again,” he spat, voice wrecked and raw, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Benny wiped the blood from his nose, eyes locked on Frankie over Santi’s shoulder like he wasn’t finished either.

Then Monica was there—storming across the floor like a fuse had been lit, her dress flaring behind her like a streak of fire.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she screamed, fury cracking her voice wide open. 

Frankie didn’t answer, he couldn’t.His chest was heaving and his fists still clenched.

Monica pointed to the exit, hand shaking with fury. “Get out. Now!”

Will’s grip tightened on Frankie’s shoulder—solid, steady—but it barely registered. Frankie’s eyes didn’t leave the chaos. The wreckage he made.

Until they landed on you. And everything else went still.

You stood there frozen.

Eyes widened in shock and face pale. One hand still curled against your chest like you were holding something in. He didn’t know what shattered more in that moment—your expression or whatever was left of his restraint.He let Will steer him out, defeated. Stumbling and bleeding as the adrenalin wore off and the pain was slowly sinking in.

—

He was slouched low on one of the lobby couches, a tissue pressed half-assed to his lip. His knuckles throbbed—split open and swelling—and his pride felt even worse. Blood on his shirt. Shame in his gut. The buzz of wedding music still faint through the walls like a bad joke.

And then—

Your voice cut through it all.

“Don’t fucking move.”

He looked up and there you were—standing at the edge of the lobby like you’d been summoned. Hair a little out of place, dress still perfect. A small bag clutched in one hand, a first aid kit in the other. And eyes so full of fire he swore he could feel the heat of them across the room.

You crossed the distance without waiting for him to speak.

Dropped the bag at his feet and sat next to him on the couch like you were doing something simple, like laundry or tying your shoes. But your hands trembled just a little when you opened the kit, your breath sharp and uneven when you said, “Let me see.”

Frankie didn’t move, didn’t argue either. What would be the point anyway? 

He let you take the tissue from his lip. Hissed when you dabbed at the cut with antiseptic. You rolled your eyes like he was being dramatic, but you didn’t pull away. Your fingers brushed his jaw—gentle, steady, infuriatingly kind. He wanted to apologize, but the words got stuck somewhere behind the pain and the guilt and the heavy way you looked at him.

You didn’t speak until you were holding an ice pack against his knuckles, your brow furrowed in that soft, focused way he knew too well.

Then finally: “Why the hell did it happen, Frankie?”

And it wasn’t just a question, it was the question.

The one about all of it. About you, him, Benny. Every word left unsaid since the moment you looked up at him on that dance floor with those eyes full of everything he felt too.

Frankie let out a shaky and rough breath. 

“He said something,” he mumbled.

“I figured.”

“About you.”

You were quiet.

“I know it doesn’t fix anything,” he added, eyes on the ice pack now, not your face. “And I know I fucked everything up even worse, but—” he swallowed hard, jaw tight, “—he talked about you like you were nothing. And I just��I couldn’t take it.”

He looked up slowly.

“You’re not nothing,” he said, voice hoarse. “Not to me.”

And in the echoing silence of the lobby, with the soft hum of the vending machine and the ache in his ribs and blood drying under his nails, he realized just how true that was.

Too late, too loud, too fucking much.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at him, eyes unreadable, hands still gently pressing the ice to his bruised knuckles. Frankie could feel his pulse there, thudding under your touch. And for a second, he thought maybe you’d let the silence stretch.

But then you scoffed. Soft, dry. Almost a laugh, except it wasn’t.

“Oh great,” you muttered, flicking your gaze away. “So you punched Benny Miller in the face because of honor. That’s very medieval of you.”

He blinked. “Summer—”

“No, seriously,” you said, shaking your head like you were scolding a toddler. “Was it before or after he asked if I was a fair maiden in need of rescuing?”

Frankie winced. “He was drunk.”

“And you were stupid.”

Your words were sharp, clipped and hit exactly where you intended them to land. But your hands never stopped moving—still cradling his, still careful with the swelling. The contradiction twisted something in his chest.

You sighed. And for the first time, let your voice soften. Just a little.

“I don’t need you to fight for me, Frankie,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I needed you to choose me. And you didn’t.”

Then, like you regretted saying that much, you dropped the ice pack into his lap, stood up, and added—cool and casual: 

“But hey… at least now you’ve got matching bruises to go with your ego.”

You grabbed the little first aid kit off the couch and walked away without looking back.

Frankie stayed behind—bleeding in more ways than one, swallowing down the flood of feeling threatening to break the surface. At least he’d finally said what he never had the guts to before, even if the price he paid for it would leave marks—on his body, and somewhere far deeper—for a long time to come.

——

It was way too late or way too early.

Somewhere in that unbearable space between the two, where everything felt a little too raw, too real. In the distance, a thunderstorm was gathering, thickening the air to suffocating levels, with the hot rain tapping softly against the hotel room windows.

The room was dark again, save for the faint glow of the hallway light bleeding in through the crack under the door. Frankie hadn’t said a word since you walked in behind him. Just sat on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap, eyes trained on nothing.

You didn’t say anything either. Not about the fight. Not about the look he’d given you before Benny cut in. Not about the quiet way he bled like he deserved it.

Instead, you swore like hell.

“God—fuck—seriously?” you muttered, yanking at the back of your dress. “Who the hell designed this thing, Houdini?”

The zipper wouldn’t budge. Your arms were bent at the worst angle, and the sweat from the heat made everything stick to your skin in the most unholy way. You twisted toward the mirror and tried again, growling under your breath when it didn’t give.

Behind you, Frankie shifted in the dark.

“Want help?” he asked quietly. His voice rough, tired. Still bleeding around the edges.

You froze as you caught his reflection in the mirror.

His face was bruised and a little swollen but his eyes were dark and unreadable.

A hundred replies danced on your tongue. Most of them sarcastic, all of them defensive.But you were exhausted. And sore. And done pretending.

“Only if you promise not to go full knight-in-shining-armor about it,” you muttered, not turning around.

He stood up and took slow steps until he was right behind you—close, but not touching. His hands hovered near your lower back like he wasn’t sure if he had permission yet.

You didn’t move.

And then—

The soft tug of the zipper. The cool air on your overheated spine.

The slow, deliberate slide of fabric peeling away, like a second skin surrendering.

You swore you stopped breathing for a second.

Frankie’s fingers brushed the dip of your back by accident—or maybe on purpose—and it felt like an electric shock straight to your lungs. You caught his gaze in the mirror again. His jaw was tight. His eyes trained on the zipper. 

When the dress was loose enough, he stepped back. Didn’t say a single word, didn’t try to touch you again. Just stood there like he was scared he’d ruin something by staying close.

You pulled the dress the rest of the way down and stepped out of it, only in your slip, still feeling the ghost of his fingers all over your skin.

You looked at him over your shoulder.

“You can look,” you said, tone light, almost teasing—but your voice caught halfway through.

Because he was looking but it was different than you thought it would be. This wasn’t lust or cockiness. It was awe.

Like he didn’t know how the hell you ended up here, in the same room as him, half-undressed and heartbreakingly real.

And somehow, that was worse than all the banter. Because it meant he was honest, about what he said earlier, mirrored in his face, written all over it.

You turned away before he could say anything and crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling.

But the heat was back. Not just Florida heat this time.

Him, always him.

You flopped onto your back with a groan, one arm slung dramatically over your eyes.

“Christ,” you muttered, “this state should be illegal. Everything sticks. My hair, my thighs, my dignity.”

Frankie gave a soft snort behind you. “You lost that at the open bar, I think.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—you’re judging me? You, the guy who threw hands at a wedding and got blood on the centerpiece flowers?”

He didn’t answer. You dared to peek out from under your arm, caught the corner of his mouth twitch like he was trying not to smile. God, he was ridiculous. Bloody and bruised and still so stupidly handsome in that wrinkled dress shirt, sitting in the chair next to the bed like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Like being near you might hurt worse than Benny’s punch.

“Besides,” you added, voice lighter than you felt, “at least I didn’t start a fight.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’re really gonna pretend you don’t know why I did it?”

You pushed yourself up on one elbow. Sweaty, bare-legged, with your hair a mess and your heart somewhere in your throat.

“Frankie,” you said slowly, “you can’t just beat the shit out of your friend and then go mute about it.”

He looked away. Jaw tight again.

Of course. That fucking silence again, the one that always came right when it mattered most.

Your chest squeezed, too full of things you couldn’t name or wouldn’t. You swung your legs off the bed and sat up, hands planted on the mattress beside you. “You know what? At least Benny admitted something you didn’t have the balls for.”

Frankie’s head snapped toward you.

You held his stare. Let it land, let it sting. Not caring, or even planning to finally get a reaction from him. 

“That he wanted to fuck me.”

And just like that—The air in the room shifted. Hot, yes, but now it burned.

Frankie stood like he’d been pulled by a string, eyes locked on yours, something wild and wounded cracking through his expression.

Your heart beat hard against your ribs. Your body flushed, not just from heat now but from the weight of what you’d said. The way it sat between you, sharp and jagged and true.

You didn’t look away.

Let him say something. Let him deny it. Let him fucking do something.

Because if he wanted you—really wanted you—then he needed to stop pretending this was just heat. Just proximity. Just banter and bad timing.

Frankie stared at you. Chest rising, jaw flexing. That muscle in his cheek was ticking the way it always did when he was fighting himself.

And then—he breathed out like it hurt. 

“You think I don’t want you?” he said, voice low and rough. “You think I haven’t spent every fucking day since the time you told me you couldn’t stand me in the elevator, trying not to look at you too long? Not to want you too much?”

You froze. No smirk. No witty retort. Just your eyes on him—wide, glassy, unsure.

“I want you so bad it hurts,” he said, stepping forward. “And yeah, fuck yeah, I’ve thought about touching you. About having you under me, over me, in every goddamn way a person can think of another person. But it’s not just that.”

He swallowed. Ran a hand through his already ruined hair.

“It’s not just that,” he repeated, softer now, almost like he hated saying it out loud. “I want you when you’re pissed at me. When you steal my fries. When you talk shit about my playlists and fix your hair in the rearview like you don’t even realize you’re beautiful.”

He looked at you then, like it might be the last time, your heart in your throat.

“I want the part of you that gets quiet when things get too close. The part that thinks she has to hold everything together alone. The part you keep hiding ‘cause someone fucked you up and made you think that’s how love works.”

It hit you like a fucking freight train.

Not the words—though yeah, those knocked the wind out of you too—but the way he said them. The way he meant them. No bravado, no sarcasm. Just Frankie. Standing there like he’d peeled off every layer he’d ever used to protect himself and handed you whatever was left.

You blinked, unsure what to say. You’d seen glimpses of this side of him before—fragments of vulnerability when he told you about the fair, or when he admitted the truth about the bet. But this? This was something else entirely. Raw, unshielded. And he was still looking at you like you were it. Like you always had been.

And something in you just broke.

Your mouth was on his before you even realized you’d moved. Hands fisting in the collar of his shirt, dragging him down, down, down with you as your back hit the bed in a rush of tangled sheets and need. He caught himself on his elbows, bracing above you—but only just.

His breath stuttered. Your fingers found skin. Under fabric, against heat, along the planes of his back like you were trying to memorize him blind. And he kissed you like he’d been waiting forever. Like every version of this he’d imagined couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t careful.It was a goddamn free fall—your mouths meeting over and over, desperate and wet, too much and not enough all at once. Your legs wrapped around his hips before you even thought about it. His hands slid down your sides, over your waist, anchoring you like he needed the contact to breathe.

Skin, sweat, teeth.

You gasped when his lips found your neck, when he bit gently at the spot just under your ear, and he groaned against your skin like he was losing his mind.

Your voice was wrecked when you whispered, “You’re not holding back now, huh?”

And he just shook his head. “No,” he rasped. “Not anymore.”

Then he kissed you again, and this time it said everything else. All the longing, all the fear. All the months of pretending you were nothing but banter and eye-rolls and almosts.

And now—finally—you were this.

And neither of you wanted to stop.

The last piece of clothing you wore hit the floor fast—his followed right after. You’d imagined this, fantasized about what he’d look like beneath all the layers of fabric and bravado, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the reality. He was achingly beautiful—broad chest, strong arms that flexed as he hovered over you, like he was holding himself back with every ounce of control he had.

You couldn’t resist letting your fingers trail over the heat of his skin, watching his lips part, his expression twist—like your touch hurt, like it scorched him. His brows pulled tight, but he didn’t stop you. Didn’t flinch. Not even when your hand drifted lower. And then you grabbed him—hard, steady, impossibly thick—and looked down just to be sure you weren’t imagining it. But no. It was him. All of him. Right there and so fucking beautiful it stole your breath.

He caught your hesitation and smirked—of course he did—but he didn’t say a word. Because then you started to stroke him, slow and deliberate, and he hissed through his teeth and the sound wrecked you.

His hips jerked forward into your hand, chasing the friction, unabashed in his need—and , if anything, it only made you want him more. You leaned up and latched your mouth onto his neck, biting the same way he had, and he groaned—low and rough and not nearly as quiet as before.

You were already dripping, just from watching him fall apart in your hands. He basked in your touch and found your lips again as you kept the movements steady. He kissed you like a man starving. And it lingered, everywhere—on your skin, in your chest, deep in your heat. It meant everything. Every brush of his lips said what neither of you had dared to voice.

Because finally, finally, you were both surrendering to it. Whatever this was—this charged, magnetic thing that had simmered between you for months—it was no longer ignorable. It was alive and breathing. Wild and hungry, but laced with something softer too.

He handled you like you might break—but with firm hands that told you he knew exactly how much you could take. Somewhere between raw need and reverence, his touch burned down your spine, slow and deliberate. His fingers traced your thighs like a map he’d memorized in a dream, and now, waking, couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch.

You pulled him closer, nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, and he groaned into your mouth—deep and broken, like it ripped from somewhere buried. Like he was unraveling piece by piece and didn’t care if you saw it happen.

His hand found your center, warm and steady, fingers teasing before sliding inside with practiced precision. He curled them just right, and your back arched in response, a gasp tearing from your lips. But it still wasn’t enough. It had been too long. You were too far gone to wait.

“Usually,” he murmured against the heated skin of your neck, voice rough and low, “I’d take my time. Spread you open and eat you out like you fucking deserve.”

He bit gently at your pulse point, groaning as your hips bucked into his hand.

“But I can’t,” he confessed, ragged. “I’m aching, Summer. I need you now.”

You pulled his face back to yours instantly, eyes locked.

“I’m yours.” you said, no hesitation, no fear.

His eyes darkened, and then his mouth was on yours, all heat and hunger as he shifted, guiding himself to your entrance. The stretch of him was heaven—slow, deliberate, overwhelming. He filled you completely, and you clung to him like your life depended on it, nails dragging down the muscles of his back as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded.

He cursed under his breath, forehead resting against your shoulder, sinking into you like it meant everything—like this was the only place he'd ever truly belonged.

And when he started to move—slow at first to give you time to adjust—it was like the dam finally broke. Months of tension, of banter and near-misses, of fighting what you both felt, spilled over into something that felt holy in its ruin. And then his speed picked up, and he was everywhere—his breath on your skin, his body pressing yours into the mattress, the low sounds he made echoing in your chest. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, pulling him impossibly closer, needing him like air, like you might break without him.

“Fuck, Frankie—” you breathed, barely recognizing your own voice, wrecked and wanting.

He growled something low, desperate, into your neck—your name maybe, or just a sound, like language had slipped through his fingers entirely. His hips snapped harder, deeper, rhythm losing its steadiness with every ragged breath he took. His eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, every muscle straining as he chased it. You reached up, cupping his face, forcing him to look at you.

“Come on,” you whispered, shaky and soft. “Let go.”

And God, when he did—it hit like a thunderclap. His whole body locked up, and a broken sound tore from his throat, like it cost him something just to feel this much. He buried his face in your neck, clutching you to him as he came hard, shaking with it, like he'd been holding back for a lifetime and finally couldn’t anymore.

You followed a breath later, every nerve lit up, body trembling from the sheer force of it. For a second, everything else fell away—no noise, no room, no reason—just this. Just him. Just you.

When the world settled back around you, it was in pieces. Frankie collapsed against you, still inside, both of you covered in sweat and breathless. The air was thick and warm, and your limbs felt like jelly, tangled around him.

After a long stretch of silence Frankie let out a low, disbelieving laugh against your skin. “We’re idiots,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Stubborn, fucked-up idiots.”

You smiled, fingers curling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck. “Takes one to know one.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes a little dazed, a little raw, like he still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t something his brain made up. “We could’ve had this months ago.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, if you hadn’t been so busy pretending you didn’t care.”

His brows lifted. “Me? You said you'd rather spend ten hours in customer service hell than one more minute with my ego.”

“Only because your ego made it easier to lie about wanting you,” you said, softer now, but not backing down.

That shut him up for a beat. Then his face broke into the kind of smile that made your stomach flip—wide, warm, a little sheepish. “Guess we’re both full of shit.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “But… not right now.”

He leaned in, forehead pressed to yours, that smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth. “No. Not anymore.”

For once, there was no sharp comeback. No deflection. Just both of you, and the quiet truth settling between your bodies like something sacred.

“I wanted this so bad,” he said, the words barely a breath. “You don’t even know.”

You nodded, eyes burning a little. “I do. Because I wanted it too.”

His thumb brushed your cheek. Then he kissed you—not rushed, not greedy this time. Just soft. Sure. Like he finally knew what was his to hold.

And this time, neither of you pulled away.

—

It wasn’t fireworks or fanfare. It wasn’t some grand finale to the will-they-won’t-they saga your friends had long grown tired of placing bets on. When it finally happened—you and Frankie—it just was. Messy and soft and full of that aching kind of love that sneaks in when you’re not looking.

And now, months later, it stuck. Despite everything, maybe because of everything.

Frankie leaned against the kitchen counter in Monica and Will’s apartment, a beer in hand, the muffled sound of rain tapping gently at the windows behind him. The usual crew had crammed into the living room—Monica glowing, round-bellied and blissed out, Will watching her like she was the sun. Benny was three sliders deep, dramatically arguing with Santiago over the best cartoon role models for future children.

You were barefoot across the room, hair loose, laughing like he hadn’t nearly ruined it all once. Like there wasn’t a time you told him to go to hell in a rainstorm and meant every word. Like you weren’t the best damn thing that had ever happened to him.

He didn’t even pretend not to stare.

“So,” Monica said suddenly, patting her belly like she was sealing a deal. “Will and I were thinking… if this kid ends up being an actual demon, we’re gonna need backup.”

Will grinned. “And there’s really only two people we trust to be terrifying enough.”

“Don’t you dare,” Frankie muttered, already knowing where this was going.

“Godparents,” Monica beamed. “Or more accurately, our emotional damage control team. It’s you two, obviously.”

Benny pointed a chip at you. “Yeah. You once told Frankie he had the emotional range of a teaspoon and the charm of a traffic violation. That’s love, man.”

You shrugged, deadpan. “I was being generous.”

Frankie smirked, taking a sip of his beer. “And yet, here you are. In love with the traffic violation.”

You rolled your eyes. “Honestly? It tracks.”

“Perfect match,” Santiago said without looking up from his phone.

Later, after most of the crew had trickled out or passed out in food comas on various pieces of furniture, Frankie found you on the balcony. Rain dusted the city in a soft hush, washing the world in silver.

You didn’t turn when he stepped out, but you didn’t need to. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“Don’t say it,” you murmured.

“Say what?”

“That you’re thinking about the baby thing already.”

Frankie smiled, lips brushing your skin. “Maybe I just wanted to hold you.”

You sighed like you’d been holding your breath all night. “You’re so full of shit.”

But it came out soft, no real heat behind it.

The silence between you stretched, warm and familiar, the rain tapping a steady rhythm. Then you said it. Quiet, offhand. Like it didn’t matter—but it did. God, it did.

“I love you, Morales.”

He froze. The kind of stillness that felt like a held breath. Then:

“Say that again.”

You didn’t look at him right away. Just sighed, eyes on the downpour like it’d give you an out. “You heard me.”

“I did,” he said, voice rough. “I just… I need to be sure I didn’t dream it.”

You glanced over your shoulder, expression soft despite your words. “If this was a dream, you’d probably be shirtless and less annoying.”

He laughed, a quiet breath of disbelief, tugging you closer. “So, you love me and I’m annoying. Got it.”

You shrugged. “I contain multitudes.”

His arms locked tighter around you, mouth brushing your neck. "Yeah," he drawled, smug and warm all at once. "Love you too, not that you ever made it easy."

You didn’t answer right away. Just leaned into him, letting the rain speak for a while. And then you finally whispered, “Don’t make me regret saying it.” 

“You won’t.”

And you didn’t, not even once.

thanks for reading 💌

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tags: @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @dendulinka6 @greenwitchfromthewoods @joelsgoodgirl @copperhalfcent @whirlwindrider29 @picketniffler @noovaarq @inept-the-magnificent @kakiki3 @rav3n-pascal22 @matchalov3

[alealuvshayden]

Sam Monroe - ANGST FLUFF

Sam Monroe x reader

𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙪𝙥, 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙪𝙥

@mvst4far wanted some angst

I COULDNT JUST HAVE SAM AND READER BREAK UP SO YAH

Sam and you had been dating for a while. It had been a cute relationship. HAD. Last week you and Sam broke up. Well.. you broke up with him.

Sam was smoking and using too much and it made you worry. You were there for him. But when that guy was high there was no one who could stop him and even to you, he was rude.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨୧˚

night of the breakup

You were at Sam‘s dad‘s Garage, where he had stayed at this summer. Sam‘s dad, George, was outside, leaving you two lovebirds some privacy, little did he know, you were about to break up with his son.

„Sam i-i cant do this anymore.“ you confessed.

„You cant do what anymore, peachy..?“ Sam asked you with a confused look in his eyes.

„Being with you.“

Sam sat there shocked. He expected everything but that. You were his sunshine, the girl that made his day brighter just by looking at him. He couldnt lose you..

„y/n you dont mean this, baby.“ Sam spoke with desperation in his voice. „You cant go, baby. Not after everything we‘ve been through together.“

You just looked at him with tears in your eyes. Couldnt bring yourself to speak another word. You got up and started leaving.

„You cant fucking do that, y/n! You cant! You cant! Give me a fucking reason!“ Sam shouted with tears streaming down his eyes.

„I cant handle all this anymore, Sam. Y-you smoking.. sniffing.. whatever i cant do this anymore!“ You shouted back at him.

Sam was left shouting, you rushed out, knowing he will lose it. George saw you running out of his Garage. He got back into his garage.

„What was up with your little girlfrie- Sam!?“ George didnt notice Sam crying, as soon as he did he ran over to his son to comfort him.

„Let me go! Let me go!“ Sam yelled at him. He stormed out, got into his dad‘s car and drove somewhere far away to cool off..

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨୧˚

monday at school

It was the first day of school after summer break.Sam had his headphones in, listening to your favorite songs. He had burned a CD just for you two to listen together. Now he was listening to ‚Come back by the five stairsteps‘.

The breakup was harsh, no one at school dared to speak to sam, he was moody. In the halls he watched you walk by, not even taking a glance at his way. Did you get over him this quickly?

Meanwhile your friends were telling you how miserable Sam was, you couldnt bare hearing it and shut them off quickly. As if you were over him. It was stupid breaking up with him and you knew it. It was a stupid miserbale mistake which left you both in pieces.

At lunch you rushed to the bathroom and broke down in the stall. Friends looking for you and you nowhere to be found. Sam noticed you werent present at lunch and worried.

Your friends looking for you until they found you in the bathroom, but until then you were already up and going again. No one noticed that you had just been crying your soul out.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨୧˚

„y/n where were you girl!!“ your friends asked you while giggling.

„Just fixing my hair up, guys.“ you replied nonchalantly.

Then you made your way to lunch, you sat by your usual table, where you would normally sit with Sam. You held his seat open, not letting your friends sit by you. After all, it was Sam‘s seat.

Sam noticed you came back and he saw that you held his seat open, as if you hoped he would sit next to you again. He managed to find some courage and got up, lunch in his hand as he made his way over to you. Tapped you on your shoulder. You turn to see who it was and to your surprise it was Sam. Your Sam.

„Is this seat taken?“ he asked innocently.

You shake your head and look down at your lunch again. Sam slowly sat down and your friends looked at each other. They got up and left, signaling you to stay seated.

„Sam i-.“ you started. Sam interrupted you.

„I know.. i know.. its my fault and i want to apologize to you, baby.“ Sam spoke softly, resting his hand on your shoulder. The feeling familiar yet so strange.

„No Sam really.. i-i shouldve believed in you and not.. just.. leave you. I need you just as much as you need me.“ you continued.

Sam nodded softly with a hint of a smile. He wrapped his arms around you into a deep and long embrace. As if he sensed that you needed it after a crying session. You hug him back. So much comfort in the hug, you had missed it so much even though it was only a week since.

„I love you, peachy. And i get it if you dont wanna be with me anymore..“ Sam declared.

„I wanna be with you Sam… if youll have me…“ you look up at him sweetly.

How could he not take his beautiful girl back? He leaned in to kiss you softly and you kissed him back with love and desperation.

You couldnt break up with each other even if you wanted to. You belonged together.

idk if its cute or sad. sumthing smol🥺

taglist: @divineani @ysrjune @dollfilmz @madsluvsdilfs @hearts4sammonroe

[bullet-prooflove]

Getting Out: Tim Gutterson x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fallmoreinloveeveryday @elenavampire21 @floralfloyd @lamaudite

Companion piece to:

Lucky - Tim's assignment doesn't go to plan.

Stars - Tim's not like the other guys.

Chocolate - Tim saves the last bar for you while you're off base.

The Good Book - Tim makes you a promise you don't think he can keep.

Sharpnel - You make sure Tim has a piece of you when he's airlifted to Germany for surgery.

Germany - You and Tim spend some time together during a three hour lay over in Germany.

Your decision to leave the military is made when Tim is forced to spend the night with another woman. You’ve been negotiating with Hina Faazi, Iraq’s foremost information broker for weeks to get the location of ten captured US soldiers when she takes one look at the man you love and tells you she wants him.

You laugh in her face.

She laughs back.

And that’s when you realise she’s serious.

It gets into an argument in Arabic, a heated one with harsh words and wild gestures. You tell her in as many ways as you can to go fuck herself before Major Maddox steps in, separating the two of you.

“She can fuck him.” He says, tilting his head towards Tim, who’s been struggling to follow the conversation with his passable knowledge of the language. “No overnight stay, she gets two hours at most before she sends him on his way.”

The look on your face must be mutinous because the Major fixes you with a stare that burns through the very depths of your soul as he says.

“Ten lives for a couple of hours with him. You do the math Lucky.”

The problem is you’ve done the math and any way you spin it, it’s an excellent deal, one you’ve made yourself in the past because when you work in intelligence, you use all your assets including your body. The issue is that for you it was a choice, for Tim it’s an order.

In that moment he has no agency, no authority, he’s just a tool to be used in service of his country.

His hand finds yours, squeezing your fingers tightly before it slips from your grasp. He squares his shoulders as he begins the slow march up the stairs of the Iraq speakeasy.

“You must think that I don’t sympathise.” The Major says as you sit at a table near the bar, your eyes fixated on the clock. “But I do. You’ve done this before, you know-”

“It was never forced on me like this.” You tell him as you nurse a glass of whiskey you don’t intend to drink. “What you’re doing is akin to sexual assault, you don’t see it because in your eyes he’s just a man doing his duty-”

“I do see it.” The Major says, throwing his own drink down his throat before using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. “I know that I’ve just sent one of my men, someone who trusts me, who has put their faith in me up there to do something truly unspeakable. The difference is I’m not fucking him so my stake in this isn’t personal. Yours is and that’s why you’ve got you panties in bunch.”

“I’m not jealous.” You tell him directly. “He doesn’t look at her the way he looks at me, there’s no love, there’s no desire, there’s no passion. He’s just providing a function. My problem is, is that you don’t understand the emotional toll that something like this takes. Could you imagine someone ordering your wife to do the same, your sister? You’d want to kill them right?”

The Major tilts his head, his eyes narrowing.

“Are you saying you want to kill me Lucky?”

“That would be an offense wouldn’t it?” You respond, swilling your glass so the ice cubes clink together. “Threatening a superior officer.”

“What do you want from me here?” He questions you. “You want me to go up there and stop what’s happening?”

“I’d say the time for that is over.” You murmur, raising your gaze to the swinging chandelier. “But you can help me contain the aftermath, help him deal with what he’s just been forced to do because trust me, you don’t want to be in Tim Gutterson’s scope and that’s what’s happen if you drag him back to base tonight.”

His eyes widen then because Major Maddox, he’s forgotten what a man like Tim can do, especially when he’s pushed to the brink.

“I’ll get you a room at the hotel that overlooks the base.” He says, summoning one of the men from his security detail to fulfil his wishes. “You can patch him up there, do whatever you need to but you should both be back by 9:00 hours, any later than that and you risk court martial.”

That’s good, it means constant running hot water as well as a little privacy to tend his wounds, because there’s going to be wounds, it’s something Hina is known for with her conquests.

When the clock strikes ten you’re already on your feet. You barely make it up the first two steps before the door opens at the top and Tim appears, tucking his regulation t-shirt into his combat trousers. His jacket is slung over his left shoulder, the name tag torn from the pocket.

A souvenir you realise, of an evening spent ruining a US Ranger.

As he descends the stairs, Hina leans against the doorframe clad in a vibrant silk robe. Her dark hair falls over her features as she lights a cigarette before meeting your gaze and smiling.

“I don’t think he’ll be going again tonight Ilana.” She says calling you by your real name. “I think I exhausted the poor thing.”

You have no doubt in that moment why she chose Tim tonight. You must given yourself away somehow, some unconscious slip you weren’t aware of. The two of you have been adversaries for years, playing this ridiculous game of wartime chess. You’d bested her the last time and this right here is her revenge.

It’s when you get to the hotel and Tim steps into the shower that you see the marks she’s left on his skin. Long, angry scratch rake up his back, each one vicious and deep. He hisses as the heat rains down over them, the blood intermingling with the water as it disappears down the plughole.

“How bad is it?” He asks you as he places both palms on the tiles, watching the crimson stream. “Because it feels fucking awful.”

“It’s gonna scar.” You say frankly, reaching underneath the sink and pulling out the metal first aid kit. It’s rudimentary at best but you’ve worked with less. “But we’re going to do our best to minimise it, make sure you don’t get an infection. Take the time the time you need, I’ll be in the bedroom when you’re ready to come out.”

He spends another thirty minutes in the shower while you sit on the canopy bed, organising and then reorganising first aid supplies. It becomes a game, guessing how much you’ll need for each mark she left upon his flesh.

You don’t hear him leave the bathroom, it isn’t until he sits on the edge of the bed in front of you, the white towel draped over his hips that you realise he’s there. It’s a trauma response, you realise because you did this to him, you put him in that bitch’s path.

“Did she break us Lucky?” Tim asks you, his accent thick as he turns his head so that you can see the profile of his face. “Do you look at me and see what she did?”

“No.” You whisper, your hands coming to rest lightly on his shoulders, your lips brushing over his temple. You can feel the tension ebb out of him as you sprinkle gentle kisses across the slope of his neck, each one a tiny ray of sunshine bringing him back to life. “I see the man I love, the one who had to sacrifice a part of himself to save the lives of ten people.”

“How many times?” He asks you, taking your arm and guiding it around his neck so that you’re holding him. Your cheek comes to rest against his as his thumb lightly caresses your forearm. “How many times have you had to do this in the name of your country?”

“Enough that I’m still surprised there’s anything left of me.” You tell him honestly. “Does that make you love me any less?”

“No.” He whispers, swallowing hard against the ache in his chest. “This war, it’s going to murder us if we let it, our bodies, our souls...”

“I know,” You tell him, placing a kiss on the bite mark she left in his shoulder. “That’s why the two of us need to talk about getting out.”

Love Tim? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[melyxssa]

Go Go Dancer

Description: 1995, New York City: You are a stripper of a famous strip club. What seemed a casual encounter became something more passionate. (partially inspired by the movie “closer���).

warnings: strippers, smut, fingering, oral sex (f receiving) unprotected sex.

Pushing up my

(uh) , in your face, in your face

Keep your fingertips on my waist, on my waist

I'm your go-go dancer, credit card romancer

-“Go Go Dancer” by Lana Del Rey

The echo of the music coming from the club was incredibly loud, as always. But this time was different, a few bands were here tonight, after they played here in New York City. Those kinds of playboy rockstars who have girls lined up to have sex with them, in every town they set foot in: that's why they’re here tonight, probably to flirt, fuck and then disappear with one of us here.

"Who do you think we are gonna see tonight?"

Celine, one of the girls, asked with a smirk while smoking a blunt.

"I reserved Mr. Axl Rose for me, hon'" Riri answers, while fixing her blonde wig in front of the mirror.

"Yeah, keep dreaming babe… do you remember what happened with him and Heidi last year? He’s a dick", Love says while entering the room, removing the money from her red collant.

"Girls, the band is here, get ready. They don't like wigs, high heels and all that shit. Dress sexy but, more elegant tonight. Come on". Our manager Richie informs us, seeing that all four of us already got dressed as some dolls.

"What? No wigs, no platform heels? What kind of band is this then…" Celine says struggling looking for a more decent outfit. She had a point though... what band was this? Richie didn't tell us anything. Ten minutes later all of us got ready, sophisticated enough that we didn't look like some kind of strippers at all.

We walk down the loud hallway of the club and reach the private lounge. Anxiety and adrenaline rushed through our bodies, not knowing who was waiting for us: will they be nice? Or will they be the usual high boy band, arrogant and violent, that just wants a lap dance without bothering to talk to us?

Richie opens the door revealing the huge VIP lounge, leather red couches, mirrors and gold ornaments all over the room, and then four men sitting there, with a champagne bottle already opened on the table, at the center of the room, right next to the dance pole.

"Here are my beautiful girls: Celine, Love, Riri and Y/N...", Richie says and turning to look at us again

"Make me proud."

He whispers and then with a quick wink he closes the door behind us leaving me and the girls in front of the men who were smirking at each other, probably dicing on who gets who.

"Cheers" I say smiling at him, holding my glass to him.

—Third person’s POV—

James was looking at all the four girls in the room, they were all stunning, but since they entered the room his eyes focused on the last one introduced by Richie. Her lines, her curves, her hips, her eyes, and the smile that she gave them, that damn smile made James's head spin.

Lars is the first one to stand up and to grab a glass of champagne, handing it to the tallest one of the girls, Celine. He offered her his hand and grabbed it softly, and she led him to another couch in the room. Jason and Kirk kinda did the same thing with the other two girls, leaving James with Y/N, as he stayed on the couch, with his legs spread open and an arm laying on the headrest of the couch and an almost empty glass in his other hand.

She walks towards the couch and sits right next to him, making sure to expose her legs, enhanced by to the really short dress she is wearing. She leans over the table to grab the bottle and pour some alcohol in one of the empty glasses for herself, and refilled James’, who handed it to her slowly while admiring her, still not saying a word since she got there.

She’s absolutely beautiful, her nonchalant movements made her spark between all the other strippers he has met before.

He was smiling at her the all time, he probably didn't even realize it, cause he would have killed himself at that, thinking that “she’s just a girl, a stripper".

But not this time.

—Y/N’S POV—

James looks at me, still smiling stupidly, before clicking his glass against mine.

”Cheers", he grunts, taking a long swig of the champagne. He sets the glass down on the table with a thud, his eyes never leaving my face. He leans back into the leather couch, one arm stretching along the back of it, his fingers lightly brushing against my shoulder. He tilts his head, studying me.

"So… You're not like the other girls Richie usually sends over, are ya?" James asks, his voice a low rumble. He rubs his chin, feeling the rough stubble there. His gaze drifts down to my lips before meeting my eyes again.

"What's your name again?"

I chuckled, after hearing this phrase like a thousand times.

“Y/N” I simply say, after taking a sip of champagne.

James nods slowly, his eyes still fixed on my face. He smirks slightly.

"Well Y/N, you are fucking gorgeous", he comments with a cocky smile, his voice low and a bit rough. He takes another sip of his drink, his thumb lightly rubbing the rim of the glass, before leaning closer to me.

"Ya been doin' this for a while, Y/N?” His blue eyes seem to pierce into mine, trying to read my thoughts. The music from the club is still loud, but in their lounge, it's a bit muted, letting them talk.

My cheeks burn at his comment, hopefully the blurred lights won't make notice it

"Almost three years now." James nods slowly, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Three years, huh? Well, ya must be damn good at it, then" he says, his voice a low rumble. He leans back into the couch, his arm still stretched out along the back of it, his fingers lightly brushing against my shoulder.

He takes another sip of his drink.

"Ya got somethin' different about ya, Y/N. Can't quite put my finger on it" James murmurs, his brow furrowing slightly as he studies me.

James chuckles, a deep, rough sound. He shakes his head. "I ain't your average rockstar either," he retorts, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light of the private lounge.

He leans in closer, his face now just inches from me.

"Ya know, most chicks are just lookin' for a quick fuck and a chance to brag that they nailed a rockstar," James says, his voice low and a bit bitter. "But you..." he stops what he was saying chuckling at his own thoughts, shaking his head.

He reaches up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek for a moment. his eyes searching mine.

"Guess the booze and the buzz of the crowd ain't the only thing makin' my head spin right now.”

I roll my eyes laughing again, I know he's flirting trying to look interested in me.

"What about a dance?" I say standing up seductively, ending the small interaction between his fingers and my skin. His eyes are focused on me, he doesn’t say a word, he just admires me, it's a different from the other men's.

There’s a voice in the back of my head that says that it seems too good to be true, I have to stop fantasizing.

I shake my head at my thoughts, starting to slowly undo my dress.

His eyes never leave my body, my eyes, my curves, the way my hair falls on my back making my movements seem more fluid.

I let my dress drop on the floor and kick it away with my heel, remaining with just my red lace underwear set.

I bend down on my knees, moving slowly so he can follow all my curves as I dance for him. I move closer, crawling on the floor, while I reach his lap, in manspread position making him appear even sexier.

My hands roam his thighs moving closer to his crotch, teasing it with slow movements, hearing him growling.

I stand up, sitting on top of him, rubbing my body against his, and I lean closer to him feeling his warm fast breath against my neck.

“You can touch if you want.”

I speak softly as I smile, he does the same, and without hesitation, I feel his cold hand on my waist while indulging my movements against his body, his hands moving on my back, reading my bra and slowly untying it, making it fall from my arms.

In an agile but sexy movement, I sit in his lap facing him, as his hands keep tracing my bare skin covered in red lace.

He looks at me, with hungry eyes, admiring every single inch of my body.

“God… who are you...” His voice is low, rough, his grip on my skin is tighter, my arms fall behind his neck, my nails tangling in his blonde hair chuckling at his words, his eyes locking on my lips and then again on my eyes.

“What time do you get off tonight?” James’ low tone echos in my ears hearing his question.

“For what?” I say chuckling.

“I wanna take ya’ out. We can drink something at my hotel too”, he says while rubbing my waist pulling me closer.

“I don’t hang out with client.” His eyes rolled while his head falls back in frustration.

One hour has already passed, noticing the other girls dressing up again, I stand up too, immediately feeling cold without James’ warm body against me anymore. I collect my dress and my purse on the floor.

“What if we pretend that I’m just a guy you met at work and not a client?”, James asks again, smirking at me with a hint of hope in his eyes.

“I heard all about you James, I won’t be another girl who crawls back to you after being a complete dick. Have a great night.”

And with that, I walk out of the room leaving him there with the rest of the band, and an amused smile on his lips. I think this won’t be the last time we see each other…

A few days passed, as always I start my shift at 12am. I’m wearing a pink leather set to dance with, tall clear heels, a lace thigh choker and my signature pink wig.

I walk out the dressing room, my heels clicking on the floor, while I scan the room with my eyes looking for new clients, reaching for an empty pole. My body rubbing on it, while some of the men in front of me throwing money. I tease them, I position myself behind the pole, dancing a bit on the floor as I keep my legs spread open, and then again, I move against the pole, climbing on it, and spinning swiftly. Breathless, I finish my performance, collecting the money as I wink at the men in front of me and blowing them kisses, and I walk away giving space to the other girl after me.

While I was counting the money right next to the bar, a tap on my shoulder caught my attention.

“Y/N, someone’s here for you: Paradise Lounge” Richie says winking at me with an amused smile.

Walking quick towards the room, I fix my wig right before opening the door and there he was. James Hetfield, sitting on the couch right in front of me, smiling at me. I smirk walking towards him.

“I needed to see you again, baby.” His tone gets more serious.

“Why that wig? You didn’t have it last time” he says almost annoyed.

“This is my hair” I tease him sarcastically, as I walk towards the champagne glasses in the corner of the room, facing away from him.

“I prefer your real hair”, he says laying his arms around the top of the couch.

”It is.”, he scoffs at my answer. “Ya’ playing with me?” I raise my shoulders in respond.

I could hear him standing up feeling his heavy steps moving closer to me while I was still facing the wall, my breath now heavy and fast.

“I thought about ya’ for the all show last night. You’ve been stuck in my mind since that night… it never happened to me before…”, his voice low, caressing my ears, I would ask him to repeat what he just said if I wasn’t this proud of myself.

“That wasn’t me” I say in a cold tone, his hands reach my body pulling me by the hips turning me around to face him. His blue eyes are intense as they meet mine, filled with a mix of annoyance and desire.

"I'm not fucking around, Y/N” he says, his voice a little bit louder and serious.

"That wig... it ain't you. I know cause I've seen your real hair before, so fucking stop playing with me”. His grip tightens on my body.

“That wasn’t me”, I say again noticing him breathe heavy, frustrated, almost angry.

"I've never been this fucking crazy about a girl before, not like this. Not a stripper, not anyone."

James's hands pull me against his hard, muscular body, seeing no reaction at his words he explodes.

“Cut this shit Y/N! Give me a real chance to get to know you. Just you, no bullshit, no act", he demands, his voice now low, intense rumble.

I walk away, reaching the table at the center of the room, stepping on it.

“You all try to hide your identity, hiding behind these clothes, wigs and all this bullshits… I saw you, you ain’t nothing like this.”

He steps closer, his eyes now at the height of my belly while I stand on the table, he has to look up at me.

“I want you…” his voice almost a whisper. He leans in, his lips brushing against my belly as he speaks. Making me gasp

"Let me see the real you, Y/N. Give me a chance to worship this gorgeous fucking body.”

His hands now gripping my ass, kneading the flesh.

“What if I don’t?” I say teasing him.

“Now ya’ flirting?” scoffing with an amused tone his voice trembles on my skin.

“Maybe.” He chuckles

“Oh, you know damn well you feel this too," he retorts, his voice a low, confident growl. "The way your body responds to my touch and the way you can't help but bite your lip when you look at me..."

He leans in closer, his stubble brushing against my belly, his breath hot and heavy against my skin. "Don't even try to deny it, Y/N. You want me just as much as I want you" his lips lowering to the fabric of my panties lowering it a bit.

“There are cameras on ceiling, You can not do this.” My voice soft and teasing, seeing him growling as he fixes his cock in his pants.

“Let me take you somewhere else then.” My silent breaks again in our conversation, he smirks moving away from me.

“I’ll ask Richie to let you finish earlier then… I’ll wait for you in the back.” He winks at me and exits the room.

“Shit”, I whisper quickly walking out the door too. I reach for the dressing room where I find Love who just arrived for her shift.

“Wow, where’re you goin’ so fast, girl?” She asks while choosing her heels for the night

“Guess…”, I answer her as fast as I can while changing myself.

“What?” Of course she couldn’t understand what was going on.

“I’m running to a date, actually”, I say nervously.

“No way! Wait, isn’t he?…” I nod.

“Oh my god Y/N… and where is he? What about your shift tonight? Will Richie let you go earlier?” A thousands questions leave her mouth.

“I think he is talking to him right now” my answer left her surprised.

“And you think he will let you…”, the answer was quite obvious.

“Love, he is famous, you know Richie he likes to keep costumers in every ways possible... But now I gotta go, I’ll see you tomorrow night” and with a kiss on her cheek, I walk out the dressing room, in my causal clothes, natural hair falling on my back, just me, as he asked…

I reach for the second exit on the back of the club, spotting him there in front of a black car.

“There she is. Let’s go.” He grabs my hand guiding me inside, letting the driver know to start the engine.

The ride is silent, not too long as we reach his hotel. He guides me on the inside, toward the privates elevator that brings on the suite floor. We walks in to the hallway reaching his room, revealing an amazing open space suite.

James tosses his keys onto the coffee table and turns to face, his eyes already roaming over my curves appreciatively. Without a word, he reaches out and grabs me by the hips, pulling me flush against his muscular body. He leans down, capturing my lips in a rough, demanding kiss, pouring all his pent-up desire into it, letting his tongue sliding inside my mouth, curling with mine.

His hands roam my curves, squeezing and kneading my flesh through the thin fabric of my clothes. He breaks the kiss, only to start trailing his lips down the column of my throat, his stubble scraping deliciously against my skin.

"Fuck, Y/N” he growls against my neck “You drive me fucking crazy."

He starts to tug at my clothes, desperate to feel my bare skin against his own. His breathing is heavy, his heart pounding in his chest as he loses himself in my scent, my taste, my feel.

“Say that you want me, say it” his deep voice deeps in my ear making my body melts at his touch.

“I do, James.” My voice is soft, low at his touch, all of the flirting and dominant energy that I had at the club now completely disappeared, melting completely under his control.

A low growl escapes James's throat at my breathless admission. Without hesitation, he reaches out and practically tears my clothes off. His hands are everywhere, squeezing, caressing, exploring every inch of my newly exposed skin.

He rasps, his voice thick with desire. He leans down, capturing one of my hardened nipples in his mouth, sucking and flicking it with his tongue, making me already moan loud. His hands slide down to grip my ass, lifting me up.

Instinctively, wrapping my legs around his waist, feeling his hard, muscular body against my soft curves. James carries me to the bed, tossing me down onto the plush mattress.

He stands back, quickly shedding his own clothes, revealing his toned and tattooed body.

Crawling onto the bed, he hovers over me, his eyes roaming my naked body hungrily. He kisses me, deep, raw, my hands sliding on his hair, pulling the small amount of the mullet that makes him even more sexy.

My right leg rubbing slowly on his side feels his warm tip touching my inner thigh. His hand reaches for my leg pulling it on his shoulder in a fast movement, playing with my ass cheek too, grabbing it hard, slapping it, making my mouth escape a gasp on his mouth while making out.

James swallows my moans, deepening the kiss, his tongue plundering my mouth, claiming every inch of it. His hand slides from my ass cheek to my inner thigh, teasing me, stroking me, inching closer to my heated center.

He breaks the kiss, panting, his eyes dark and wild as he looks down at me.

"Fuck, I need to taste you", he growls, his voice rough and low. Without warning, he starts kissing a trail down my body, pausing to lave at my breasts, suckling and biting at the sensitive peaks. I close my eyes moaning harder again, while grabbing the sheets pulling it.

Lower and lower he goes, until he's settled between my thighs. He looks up at me, his eyes burning into me as he leans in, his breath hot against my slick folds.

“Keep your eyes on me.” I obey at his command, and try my best to not let my eyes roll back at his touch.

He focuses on my clit, suckling and flicking the sensitive bud, his fingers pumping in and out of my tight channel. He brings a hand up to rub circles around my entrance, teasing me, pushing me closer to the edge.

I pull his hair harder this time, pushing him into my wetness, but I needed more and he knew, the way my thighs start rubbing and tighten around his head. He comes back on me, capturing my lips in a bruising kiss. He can feel my wet heat against his throbbing cock, gasping in my mouth letting me know he can't hold back any longer.

He reaches down, gripping himself and positioning the swollen head of his member at my entrance. With a powerful thrust of his hips, he sheaths himself fully inside me, burying himself to the hilt, a loud moan escapes my mouth. He starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, setting a hard, fast pace.

The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, our moans and my cries of pleasure echoing off the walls. James's hand grips my hip hard enough to leave bruises as he pounds into me even harder, his muscular body tensing and flexing with each powerful thrust.

"You feel fucking incredible. You take it so well for me" he pants, his eyes locked with mine.

He hooks my legs over his shoulders, nearly bending me in half. The new angle allows him to go even deeper, hitting that special spot inside me with every brutal thrust.

He reaches down, rubbing at my clit with rough, fast circles, pushing me harder, urging me towards my peak, reaching my mouth with his left hand, making his thumb slide into my mouth, playing with my tongue, pushing deeper inside, while doing the same with his cock. I could feel my walls throbbing and starting to tight against his hard member, he lays down again between my legs, biting my lower lip.

“Come for me Y/N, come on. I want you to do it.” I couldn’t take this anymore, his dark low voice traveling into my ear was enough to make me come all over his bare dick, with one last loud moan. He wasn’t finished yet, he pushed harder again, his hands gripping the bed’s headboard making it slam against the wall, with a final, brutal thrust, his pubic bone stimulating my clit as he hilts inside me.

While feeling my walls still clamp down around him like a vice, and with a roar, he follows me over the edge, filling me with his cum, pushing deeper to make me feel it all.

Breathless, he looks at me with a smile kissing me again.

“Fuck…” his voice trembles against my lips, while he pull out of me falling next to me keeping an arm behind my neck, an awkward silence falls between us.

“I gotta go-“ I try to say but he interrupts me.

“Stay with me tonight… I want you with me tomorrow at our show.”

-mel

[alibeehaw]

Yet another collab with @dovaldraws because she is amazing and is pushing me through intense art block and burnout and I love her 💕💕💕

[trainingdummyrabbit]

. putting polaris in the same room as wolfe. just to see what they become

OUGH. oouuhhh hhmmm.. thats certainly something t chew on... from my best understanding atm of polaris, they change their appearance+demeanor to most appeal to one's desires-- in an effort to keep them close, i believe..? atleast, this is what my digging about provides me with..

ok so. this very much does shift with time so theres a couple fronts to tackle with This Thang. cause like.

for a majority of wolfes earlier life, her actual singular desire is. To Be Left The Fuck Alone. like yeah, she's incredibly outwardly abrasive and has spent a Lot of her life having Just An Absolutely Terrible Time, but none of that really manifests itself as any genuine want to Retaliate in any way. of her own volition, at least-- she has to be under a Lot of strain to actually genuinely lash out at someone. which is to say, If It Sucks, she WILL Hit Da Bricks. she wants to minimize energy cost as much as possible.

she didnt have a lot of drive. a simple 'get in and get out' is quite literally the most she can ask of . literally anything. so to be placed next to someone who Wants to get her to stay, to forge a connection; its. gonna suck. even if she Did have any prior connections to pull on (which she might, but im not sure. were not really sure.) theres a high chance it actually repels her. she hates reminders like that-- she wants to move the hell on already. (i cant help but wonder why. even With a potential 'what if you got another chance?' implication, the aversion still stands. what do you mean by this.)

but then, of course, this Starkly changes with the introduction of rose. after that? it is comedically easy djhfgdj

not only is there an Actual Physical person that she pretty much just Blindly Trusts, but she also starts having Actual Wants past 'dont talk to me' and 'let me mind my own fucking business.' its tenuous, but she Does start more openly caring about the safety of other people, even if she doesnt really particularly know them. but that's a much more slow, kind of mild thing. the easiest (albeit less thorough) way is to present as someone who genuinely needs help- especially if theyre particularly young. its more distant, but she Will try to help.

and then theres the fucking. Situation. with rose. of course she'd be highly on edge about the entire ordeal (thats just how she Is,) but its not a terribly difficult part to play on the surface level because. well. yeah. she misses her. she Wants for things to just suddenly be okay, it was fine, and they all make it out okay. and if rose says its okay, then its probably okay, because why would rose lie to her?

but then theres the Problems. see, i havent exactly pinned down the precise Details of what happens, but its been like that from the very start. in an attempt to keep wolfe from being pulled into a self-destructive spiral, yet another monster they just Have to put down because As Sad As It Is, There's No Other Option; (and also keep the same thing from happening to anyone else too, i guess,) she finds a way to take that role for Herself-- a self-induced loss of control with the goal of 1) exposing just a Bit more of what exactly was Causing everything, and 2) keeping wolfe from doing the exact same thing for Her. an act that she knows full well she almost certainly wont come back from. and well. she didnt. and on some level, this was the intent.

which Means. if that's the angle polaris decides to go for, they Will have to deal with the fallout of "what was that why did you do that why didnt you tell me anything why would you do that why didnt you let me do anything why did you do that what is wrong with you???"

so um have fun with that one, i guess.

[barley-st-band]

hey does anyone know how we’re supposed to survive it all. asking for a friend

[todayisafridaynight]

arasawa 'but are they You Know' can be so funny check this out. literally any scenario involving ichiban being nosy

[lokissweater]

miss pretty

{single dad!katsuki bakugo x kindergarten teacher f!reader}

summary: katsuki bakugo has never liked mess and always made sure his son and his life reflected just that. with years worth of a sparkling clean and organized home, toys put away and not once scattered about, and a barking knack over any calls of disorder in his life— meeting you, his sons sweet and sugary kindergarten teacher who was the definition of pure and who was for some reason turning his fiery heart into complete goo— was altering his boring strict cycles of no messes around… and for the better.

warnings: cursing, FLUFFF GALORE MY GAWD??, no smut but a lil steamy something, slight angst, afab!reader, katsuki thinks you are an ANGEL, sunshine x grumpy trope, mentions of abandonment, WHOLESOME AFFF, use of y/n, all characters are aged up.

word count: 11.4k

authors note: THIS MAKES ME WANT TO BE A MOTHERRRRR omg this one is sickeningly sweet and i’ve gotten a few requests to do sunshine x grumpy with sir katsuki and i WAS ALLL OVERRR ITTT i hope i fulfilled!!! <333 THANK YOU THANK YOU AS ALWAYS FOR ALL OF YOU BEING SOOO SWEETT TO MEEE I LOVE YOUUUU MWAAAHHH :] <33333

katsuki bakugo hated messes.

“oi!” he grunted, his son’s little head turning to look at him as he munched on his gummy fruit snacks from the backseat. “you better not leave that wrapper in here. take it outside with you when i drop you off.”

“kaaayyy!” his son dragged out happily, completely unphased by his dads snappy personality as he contemplated on which color fruit gummy to eat next.

“and wash your hands too. ask your teacher.”

“mhm!” he chirped.

“and don’t be a brat. pay attention.”

“yup yup!”

and for the most part, his life reflected that almost entirely— raising his son to always clean up after himself and not make bombastic huge messes around the house, begrudgingly understanding that he’s a small growing human, that a little spill of apple juice or two is basically guaranteed… but he just hated mess, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t raise his son right to be a clean and organized man even at five years old— katsuki keeping everything in his life practically spotless.

that was of course, until he met you.

katsuki shoved through the other parents in line as he went up to the front desk in the main office with a grip on his sons little hand, not giving a damn about the glares and huffs of bewilderment he got as there was no way in hell he was gonna wait like an idiot with the rest of them.

the lady at the front desk raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“can i help—”

“where the fuck is room twenty four.”

her eyes bulged open as the rest of the parents in line softly gasped and murmured.

“e—excuse me?—”

he rolled his eyes.

“room twenty four.” he pushed. “where is it?”

“sir— if you need me to help you i’d like you to wait in line until—”

“hah?! absolutely not.” he spat. “if i wait in that fucking line my son’s gonna be late why can’t you just tell me—”

“uh sir if you could—”

katsuki’s son giggled as he continued to spout profanities at the poor front desk lady.

“—sir please no foul language there are children around—”

“i don’t give a shit! just tell me where room twenty four is what the hell is so hard about that?!—”

“oh! that’s my class!”

katsuki snapped his head over, fiery red eyes shooting towards the voice until they landed on yours.

“is he one of my kids?” you smiled sweetly, eyes coming down to look at his son.

“oh—” he let his shoulders relax just a tad as he watched you fix the strap of his sons backpack on his shoulder. “i mean— if your class is twenty four—“

“it is!” you beamed, nudging your head. “i’ll show you where!”

“hiii miiiissss!” his son greeted, happy and silly as he followed you down the hall.

“hi honey!” you gushed, just as excited as he was as you patted over his blonde scruffy hair. “what’s your name?”

“milo!”

“nice to meet you milo! are you excited for your first day?”

“yeaaahh!” he cheered, smile bright as he grabbed your hand.

katsuki’s eyes widened.

“milo!” he snapped lowly. “what’d i tell ya? you can’t grab her hand like that you have to ask—”

“oh it’s alright!” you dismissed, smiling. “i don’t mind it at all! the other kids do it too.”

milo snickered and stuck his little tongue out at his dad, and katsuki rolled his eyes.

“is he yours?” you asked kindly, tilting your head.

“who else would he be…” he grumbled.

“i guess you’re right!” you giggled. “he looks just like you.”

katsuki’s eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, a permanent furrow in his brows as you all rounded the corner.

“here we are—”

“ooo! ooo!” milo hopped up and down. “miss you have race cars?! dad can i please go?!”

he looked over, a mountain of toys scattered about in the classrooms play area, little kids already making a damn mess and the school day hadn’t even officially started yet.

“the hell you asking me for? ask your tea—”

“miss miss can i please go play with the race cars?!—”

“of course my love! go! go have fun.” you smiled, gently ushering him on before milo zoomed over to the play area and crouched down with the rest of the kids.

“oi!” katsuki barked. “put them away when you’re done!”

he huffed under his breath as he watched his son give him a thumbs up and fucking dump the entire bucket of race cars down on the ‘abc’ play rug, taking one in each hand and dragging them across floor.

“he’s so cuteee.” you grinned. “i’m glad he’s not afraid being it’s his first day.”

“oh fuck no.” he mumbled. “milo doesn’t care. the little runt doesn’t have a filter and does whatever the hell he wants without askin’ sometimes.”

he leaned against the doorsill as he watched milo converse with another kid and share a car, satisfaction in his chest that his son was sharing and being nice.

“but i guess he gets that from me.” he finished off.

you nodded. “but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

he pursed his lips.

“in my experience, not really.”

you hummed.

“i think it’s definitely a good thing… i’d rather be assertive of things and not be afraid of what the consequences will be.”

katsuki looked at you, properly this time.

“what’s a kindergarten teacher afraid of?”

you shrugged, a slow playful grin spreading across your face.

“parents.”

he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and you quickly had to look away, a pink buzz to your cheeks at the way his big built arms flexed.

inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate—

“i don’t know how you do it..” he spoke lowly.

“do what?”

“take care of little shits all day.”

you laughed loudly, reeling over a bit as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

“i don’t take care of them! i teach them.” you quipped cutely. “they’re small, but this is when their brains drink up the most knowledge… and i love to see the progress from the beginning of the year compared to the end! i love it all really.”

pure.

katsuki curtly nodded, your sweet positive ambiance throwing him completely off, as he doesn’t think he’s ever met or surrounded himself around someone who’s directly emmitted the feeling of sunshine and rainbows and candy as much as you did.

and his cheeks flared up for some reason.

“oh!” you looked to the time on your little wrist watch and walked inside your classroom. “it’s almost time to start! i have to wrangle them all in their seats heh!”

katsuki swallowed and nodded.

“milo!”

he turned and upon seeing his dad wave him over, milo dropped his toys and bounded to him.

“don’t give her a hard time alright?” he spoke sternly, nudging his head over at you for emphasis. “listen. listen and learn and be the best one in there.”

“kaaayyy!”

“and you let me know if any of the other kids mess with you or you deal with it yourself. you already know how—”

“beat the crap out of them!” he cheered loudly and katsuki’s hand flew to clasp over his sons mouth before his frantic eyes looked at you.

the last thing he needed was someone to call up fucking child protective services on him.

“he’s joking! he’s joking… fuck.”

you giggled hard and clutched your stomach, your pretty smile sending katsuki for a loop.

“no you’re absolutely right!” you waved your hands in front of your face, reassuring. “treat others the way you want to be treated, so if someone’s being mean to you, bite back milo, okay? and also let me know first though!”

katsuki gave you a wobbly tiny smile amidst his branded serious face, looking at his son then and ruffling up his hair.

“okay, go.” milo ran off. “and don’t let me pick you up with dirt all over your clothes ya hear me?!”

“byeee daaaddd!”

you could tell that behind his harsh exterior— the slight purse of his lips, stiff frame and bouncing leg gave away that he was only worried about his kid and his first day of school, a sight you’ve seen time and time again since you started working as a kindergarten teacher, and one that never failed to warm your heart.

“don’t worry!” you sweetly smiled, and katsuki switched his gaze over to yours. “i’ll watch him especially… okay? to ease the nerves.”

he softly snorted, attempting to play it off but internally relieved as he pushed himself off the doorsill and nodded, thankful that the teacher milo got was as kind as you.

“um…” he mumbled. “katsuki.”

you tilted your head. “katsuki?”

“it’s my name idiot.”

“oh!” you giggled, a blush rising in your cheeks again as you tried to simmer it down. “nice to meet you katsuki! i’ll see you after school then with milo?”

he stiffly nodded, the way his name sounded so sugary off your tongue something he’d never heard before in his life or was used to at all.

“…ya gonna tell me yours or what?”

“sorry!” you sputtered, laughing nervously. “sorry it just— flew! you know—”

you stuck your hand out and offered it to him.

“y/n!”

katsuki untangled his arms and firmly shook it, grip strong and one that nearly made you stumble forward as you caught yourself and smiled.

“i’ll see you katsuki!”

out of all of the kids you’ve taught, milo was by far the cutest one.

the little man was like your personal assistant— a little bee buzzing around as he followed you everywhere in the classroom and helped you clean up after the rest of the kids that didn’t, ‘yelling’ at some of them to and cutely scolding them whenever he’d catch them leave some things behind, and was always on watch for you like a security guard with his little balled up fists on his hips, surveilling the classroom for any misbehaving kids or messes that you’d missed throughout the day.

all traits you no doubt knew he got from katsuki, even if you had just met him. it was pleasantly obvious.

“thanks for helping me out today, milo!” you gushed, pushing another students chair in as they all sat down and chattered for lunch. “you made my job a lot easier!”

“really?!” he squealed, big glimmering eyes beaming up at you before he happily chowed down on some apple slices.

and you noticed then milo’s lunch was insane, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut up and molded neatly into the shape of panda bears, his watermelon and apple slices shaped like stars with carrots and celery lined up with a little wedge of lemon if he wished, tiny rice balls on the side for a little snack you figured in case what he had didn’t fill him up— all so considerate and careful…

“wow!” you exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. “your lunch looks so yummy my love! did your mommy make this?”

“nuh uh!” he shook his head, cheeks filled with watermelon. “my dad did!”

you faltered.

“katsuki made this?”

“who’s katsuki miss?” he asked curiously, sipping on his little juice box after swallowing the fruit in his mouth.

you giggled. “nothing! nothing. enjoy your lunch okay?”

you went to stand, but milo’s hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“can you— can you eat lunch with me?” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with some carrot pieces in his hands. “please.. i always eat with my dad but he’s not here…”

your eyes softened and you quickly nodded.

“of course! let me just go grab my lunch and ill bring it over! sounds good?”

“yaaaayyyy!” he cheered happily, arms up as you scooched a tiny chair over from a nearby table and sat with him, laughing at his cute expression.

you knew you shouldn’t use a little kid to pry… but you were guiltily curious as to know if katsuki was married or not for reasons that made you ridiculously flustered and red in the face over.

and you wanted to be respectful in case he was… since the ogling you did at his muscles this morning through his black ribbed tank was the most embarrassing moment of your career and one you hadn’t seen coming at all, it catching you off guard and feeling horrible if katsuki indeed had a wife.

but he didn’t have a ring on his finger…

“milo?” you spoke up softly.

he smiled big. “yes miss!”

“does your mommy make you lunch as well or just your dad?”

he shook his head. “just my dad! i don’t have a mom.”

your shoulders deflated.

he didn’t have a mom… at all?

you slowly reached over then and patted his blonde hair, smiling warmly as his cheeks went pink. “that’s alright! i’m sure your dad makes you lunches like this every time huh?”

“yeah!” he gasped excitedly. “yesterday he made pizzas and cut them into dinosaurs! it was so cool! and then!— and then this morning for breakfast i had waffles that looked like dynamite blasts!”

“oh my goodness!” you giggled, your heart absolutely thumping over the fact that katsuki was so dedicated to his son like that. “man, i wish my lunches were as cute as yours!”

his little eyes snapped to yours.

“i’ll tell him!”

your brows furrowed confusedly. “wha—”

“to make you lunch! i’ll tell my dad to make you lunch!”

your eyes widened and you frantically shook your head, cheeks blazing as you laughed. “oh no my love! that’s totally okay don’t worry about me silly—”

“i’ll tell him i’ll tell him i’ll tell him!—”

“milo it’s okay! i’m a big girl.” you grinned. “i’m supposed to make my own lunches.”

milo grumbled and plopped a carrot in his mouth, begrudgingly chewing as he sat there in thought.

“…will you at least let me share some of mine?”

you pouted at his generosity, wondering how a kid could be so sweet as you nodded and held your hand up.

“of course sweetie! whatever you wa—”

milo plopped all of his peanut butter sandwiches in your palm and grinned, earning a gasp from you.

“milo this is too much i can’t—”

“eat it! eat it! eait it!—”

by the end of the day, you managed to get milo to take back his sandwiches in exchange for one singular watermelon star piece, him still doing his regular duties of being your little assistant and helping you clean up after everyone before the final bell rang signaling the end of class, you carefully making sure each kiddo got their designated backpack (as there was often a mix up) and art pieces they made for their parents to take home— a permission slip for the end of the year field trip tucked away inside their bags.

and the minute you stepped outside with the rest of the kids, you were surprised to see that katsuki was one of the first parents there as he stood directly across from your classroom with crossed arms, an angry usual scowl on his face that made you laugh to yourself as you led your kids to sit down on a bench in a single file line until their parents physically came to get them or their vehicles pulled up.

“milo!” you tapped his shoulder gently. “your daddy’s over there!”

“DAAADDD!!”

milo jumped up and ran across the grass, his tiny arms out as katsuki smiled softly and crouched down to pick his son up and settle him on his lower abdomen, you wringing your fingers behind your back and walking up to them.

“were you a brat?” he grunted.

“nope!”

“did any kids mess with you?”

“nope!”

“did you leave a mess?”

“nope!”

you giggled, and katsuki’s eyes snapped in your direction.

“how was he?”

“he did so good!” you gushed, patting milo’s back as he grinned. “was my little helper and everything! didn’t leave a single mess behind and helped me clean up after everyone else… he even made sure everyone was paying attention and not misbehaving.”

“yeah! yeah! see dad?” milo poked his dads cheek. “i didn’t lie!”

“never said you lied you little runt.” he scowled. “…but good job.”

“thanks!”

katsuki set him down after milo started kicking his legs and saying something about the swings, him instantly running towards the playground and to the slide.

“did he actually do all of that?” he spoke up.

“oh yes!” you quickly nodded. “i’ve never had a kid do that before so it was really nice of him to!”

you detached your fingers from around your back and fiddled with them.

“you teach him well katsuki.”

he scoffed and turned his head, cheeks pink as he tried to regain his composure.

“damn right i do.”

you giggled then, the memory of milo telling you he didn’t have a mother suddenly popping into your mind as you watched him happily slide down the blue slide head first.

“hey i don’t mean to um..” you timidly began. “i don’t mean to pry but—”

katsuki raised a brow at you and you snapped your mouth shut.

“nothing! nothing nevermind—”

“spit it out.”

“no it’s alright! sorry i—”

he glared and you cowered, smiling bashfully as you bit your bottom lip.

“milo… milo mentioned that he didn’t have a mommy? i was just— wondering if that was true…”

“tch—” he shook his head. “that’s what you were afraid of askin’ me?”

“i told you i’m scared of parents…” you slumped cutely, and he chuckled.

“it’s just me and him.” he answered. “his mom’s never been a part of our lives.”

your heart sunk a little, eyes sad as your gaze shifted to milo playing and racing around with another kid.

“don’t do that.”

you jumped and looked at katsuki.

“do— do what—”

“look all sad and shit.”

he hesitantly reached over and planted an index finger to the crease between your brows, the feeling rough as he tried to gently drag it down and smooth over the lines.

“it’s fine.” he grumbled, letting his arm fall to his side. “it doesn’t bother him. at least i don’t think it does.”

“no!” you spoke quickly, a crazed blush on your cheeks. “it doesn’t! and milo speaks so highly of you… especially the lunches you make him.”

his brows furrowed. “his lunch?”

“yeah!” you nodded excitedly. “you prepare it so so well! how do you get his sandwiches to look like little bears? and his fruit?! every time i try to cut mine into stars they always break in half…”

he huffed out a laugh, finding your little whine funny as he reached over and ruffled up your hair, you smiling cheekily in response.

“do you use molds?” you asked politely. “to shape out the bear?”

“fuck no.” he scoffed. “i do it myself.”

your eyes flew open.

“what?! so that’s really just you? and the dinosaurs too? the pizza dinosaurs? and the waffles? the ones that looked like dynamite blasts—”

“jesus christ how much did that kid tell you?”

your face grew hot as you smacked a hand over your mouth.

“sorry!” you giggled. “i just was thinking— that his lunch was really cute and thoughtful…” you took your hand away from your face. “i’m really glad that you do little things like that for milo to make him happy.”

katsuki stared at you, your swarm of compliments and sweetness and sunshine and butterflies almost suffocating as you looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, his throat oddly closing up the longer he stared right back and allowed you to pull him into your world of wonder and abc blocks and puzzles.

but it wasn’t suffocating in a bad way, not at all.

and… maybe he did want you to pull him in.

“dad dad dad!”

milo ran over, sweaty and red faced as he reached the two of you.

“there’s a dead lizard in the slide!”

“a dead lizard?” you laughed, surprised as you reached for his little water bottle from his backpack on the ground and uncapped the lid, handing it over and ushering him to drink.

katsuki didn’t know why the domestic sight of you doing that made him melt a bit.

a bit.

“yeah miss! it was big and gross.” he breathed out after gulping some of his icy cold water. “but i buried him!”

his dads red eyes snapped down to his and narrowed.

“don’t tell me you touched that thing milo.”

“i did!” he giggled.

“oh my fucking god—” katsuki snatched his hand and started pulling him to the car as milo giggled and stuck his tongue out.

“it’s a prank! some other girl in my class did… but i helped with the dirt!”

you chuckled softly as you watched katsuki stop and roll his eyes, coming back over to you with a hyper milo.

“say bye to your teacher ya little runt. and you’re still taking a shower when you get home!”

“but i don’t wanna take a showeerrr!” milo whined, letting go of his dads hand and running to you, you crouching and extending your arms big with a pretty smile.

“bye my love!” you hugged him tight as he giggled. “i’ll see you tomorrow okay? and give your daddy a break. no more digging up dirt and playing with dead lizards.”

“kaayyyy!”

you both let go and he stepped back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before bouncing back to his dad.

katsuki choked on his spit.

“oi!” he barked. “you can’t just kiss her cheek milo the hell is going on with you?!—”

“it’s okay don’t worry!” you smiled kindly. “he’s just being sweet is all! i don’t mind.”

“you sure?” he pushed, milo snickering. “i—”

you waved him off and wrung your fingers behind your back, leaning forward.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning kats!”

and he froze, nodding hard as he quickly took milo’s hand and backpack before walking to the car, his heart completely aflame in his chest and cheeks red as he led his babbling son further into the parking lot and inside the car, buckling him up in his car seat before hopping in himself and starting the engine, unbelieving that he had barely just met you and he was already thinking and acting like a fucking dumbass.

“and then we learned the days of the week! oh!— and we learned numbers! i can count to fifteen dad!”

“that’s good milo.” he responded, pulling out of the schools parking lot and craning his neck to see if he could catch a final glimpse of you and settling once he did, you so pretty and conversing so nicely with another kid until he was out of the lot.

“did you eat all of your lunch? y/n tells me ya shared with her.”

“i did! i did share with her.” he grinned. “she liked my lunch!”

“good.” katsuki gave him a thumbs up through the rear view mirror. “that’s good that you always share. especially with her.”

“yup yup! she’s preeettyyy.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile grew at the corner of his lips as he nodded curtly.

“that she is.”

katsuki continued to drop off his son personally at your classroom every morning before school.

even when it had been a couple of months into the year, at this point many students already used to their route to and out of class and their parents just dropping them off and leaving— them not even allowed on campus as security rounded every corner and told any parents who wished to go in that they weren’t supposed to, as per policy.

but not katsuki.

katsuki didn’t give a fuck as he stormed through the main office and ignored the calls of the front desk lady, her already used to the rude asshole who came through the building every morning as he strode by and down the hall to class twenty four… wanting to see you— his son’s pretty kindergarten teacher that was sweet and joyful and someone who was everything he wasn’t, his mind curious and filled with your giggles and smiles throughout the time that he’d gotten to know you and chat with you in the mornings and the afternoons, loving the way you were with milo and treated him like he was literally your own— always watching over him and making sure he had had enough to eat and drink and that his hands were washed when he wasn’t around.

and even katsuki himself— you bringing him candy bags from their classroom parties or donuts that were passed to faculty in the mornings and saving yours for him, treats he always took and ate with no questions asked even though he wasn’t a fan of sugary shit and junk food, always making the exception for you.

he had never experienced honest help like that… he’d never experienced someone caring enough about him and his son like the way you did so perfectly every single day…

and katsuki feared that he was a little obsessed.

“oh! miss y/n!”

“yes honey?” you responded kindly, opening a juice pouch for another student and handing it to them carefully during lunch.

milo dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a small container, sticking his hand up and offering it to you.

your brows furrowed, taking it from him.

“what’s this milo?”

“it’s from my dad!”

you stopped, heart dropping to your ass as you recounted his words.

from katsuki?

“your— your dad?”

“mhm!”

you shakily popped the lid of the container open, eyes widening and filling with hearts once you saw a mix of star shaped strawberries and watermelon and papayas, drizzled over with sparkling strings of honey and singular little blueberries scattered about.

“for me?” you asked softly, crouching down next to milo. “my love— are you sure this isn’t for you? i think your dad cut these up for you—”

“nope! for you!” he gave you a big toothy smile before stuffing his mouth with crackers. “he told me not to eat it and to give it to you.”

he swallowed and reached up, you tilting down your head so he could pat it just like you always did for him.

“i hope you like it miss! they look like the ones you told me looked cute!”

“i— i love them milo.. thank you!”

you picked up a papaya piece and ate it, entirely dazed and love struck as your tastebuds savored over the sweet velvety thick honey, literally blinking back tears at how thoughtful and kind katsuki was.

he didn’t have to do this at all… yet he took the time anyways out of his morning to do this for you.

and your heart nearly fucking gave out.

after school once you got your rowdy kids to sit neatly on the bench and wait for their parents, you extended a hand for milo and he hopped off the bench and took it, you both walking up to a waiting katsuki as he stood there with a soft smile on his face.

“hi kats!”

“hey.” he picked his son up and settled him over his abdomen, milo’s arms clinging around his neck and chin propped up on his dads shoulder as he was exhausted from a days worth of playing and learning.

“i wanted to um—” you peered up at him. “i um—”

his brows furrowed, and just as he was about to bark about you stumbling over your words, he stopped.

your bottom lip was trembling.

you hurriedly wiped your eyes.

“i wanted to thank you—” hic! “f—for the star shaped fruit this morning—”

“why are you crying dumbass?” he mumbled, reaching over and wiping some tears with his rough fingers.

“because it was so nice!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking as you let him wipe your cheeks. “and— and you put honey over it too! you didn’t have to do any of that for me!”

“tch—”

he flicked your forehead softly, not enough to hurt you but enough to get you to snap out of your hiccups as you sniffled.

“it’s just fruit y/n—”

“but it’s not.” you wiped your eyes again. “not to me anyways…”

katsuki slowly lowered his arm, gaze tracing over your pretty face and perfect hair and the way you cried over something so stupid, his brain unable to process the fact that an act as simple as cutting fruit up for you could make you this happy, and it made him want to see what you saw for once— how you saw the world for exactly what it was and appreciated it regardless of how big or small things were, not snippy or angry or spiteful over everyone and thinking everything was out to get him and his son.

“crybaby…” he grumbled. “i’m glad you liked it though.”

“i did kats.. a lot. thank you.” you wiped the last of your tears and smiled. “i’m sorry i cried.”

what a pretty sweet girl…

he shook his head and hoisted milo up, him completely knocked out with drool coming out of his mouth as katsuki felt it run down his shoulder, barely even noticing that though as his entire focus was trained purely on you.

was it okay if he… asked you out? would it be weird? would you tell him to fuck off?

katsuki internally rolled his eyes at his stupid fucking high school boy thoughts, though it didn’t alleviate the gnawing feeling that if you did tell him to fuck off… that he’d be angrily mortified at his fail and probably lose the right to talk to you since it’d be too awkward to.

but you were just so fucking sweet. all of the time.

“listen uh—” he cleared his throat, face growing hot. “i was wondering if ya wanted to eat dinner with me… sometime.”

you stared, eyes big and shocked and katsuki took it defensively and entirely the wrong way.

“forget it.” he snapped. “forget it i didn’t say shit—”

“no! no no—” you quickly shook your head. “no it’s okay i would!”

he stopped.

“you would?”

“of course!” you expressed sweetly, cheeks hurting from how big you were smiling as you tried to simmer down your giddy squeals. “i’d love to have dinner with you…”

his tense shoulders slowly relaxed, an eventual small smile growing on his face.

“a—alright uh…” he sighed. “i’d prefer to take ya somewhere nice but i don’t really have anyone to watch milo—”

you shook your head again, brows pinched. “oh no kats— we don’t have to go anywhere at all! we can order something in at your place and eat with milo? or— or my place?”

“my place.” he replied. “and i’ll cook.”

he cooks?!

“okay!” you giggled, your hand reaching up and patting over milo’s sleepy head gently. “sounds good!”

katsuki and you agreed on the details of the date after and bid each other bashful goodbyes, swooning as you watched him walk away into the parking lot with a sleeping milo in his arms and feeling like none of this was fucking real, for you couldn’t believe someone as handsome and cool as katsuki would ever be interested in someone like you.

and funnily enough, he felt the complete opposite, stressed and extra snappy as he cleaned the house from top to bottom (though it barely needed it), unnecessarily fixed the positioning of the furniture and made milo put away his toys, him not even whining or protesting like he usually did solely because the little man knew you were coming— pretty miss y/n with the pretty smile and the nicest lady he had ever met, and one he secretly hoped would be his new mommy every time he saw you and his dad converse before and after school, thinking you would fit the role perfectly.

especially after his dad had given you those fruits as a present!

“milo!” katsuki called. “come ‘ere!”

his son ran into the kitchen, toy race car in hand. “what!”

“be good today, ya hear me?” he pushed, face stern as he flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and sautéed vegetables in his frying pan. “please milo. don’t try to be funny and do somethin’ to scare y/n off.”

milo gave him a look.

“scare miss y/n off? dad you’re gonna scare her off not me!” he giggled. “silly.”

“yeah..” he grunted. “you’re probably right but i’m just sayin’. i’m thinking of the time grandma came over and ya put that fake rat in her purse to try and be funny.”

“ohhh yeeeeah!” he doubled over in little fits of laughter, holding his stomach as he did. “i did do that!”

“see what i mean?” katsuki grumbled, snatching the kitchen towel from his shoulder and throwing it down on the counter top, stepping back to peek in the oven. “you better not do that with y/n please.”

“i won’t!” he grinned. “not when she’s about to be my new mommy!”

katsuki choked as his spit went down the wrong pipe, bending over and coughing uncontrollably in his elbow before spinning around and looking at his son with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“the hell you just say?”

“what!” milo tilted his head. “that y/n is gonna be my new mommy?”

his eyes grew even wider as he dropped the pan he was holding on the stove and leaned back, running his hands over his face.

“oh you little runt please don’t say that in front of her, alright?”

he pouted. “why not?”

“you’ll scare her off! worse than when you put that fake rat in grandmas purse!”

“boooo!” milo stuck his tongue out and crossed his little arms over his chest. “whatever.”

“oi!”

“what!”

katsuki’s doorbell chimed and milo booked it to the front door.

“missss preettyyyy!!—”

“milo get your ass back here!—”

katsuki swung the door open and swooped his son in his arms just as he was about to pounce on you in midair, you giggling and covering your mouth as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“i’m sorry—”

“hiii misss y/nnn!” milo greeted happily, dangling off of his dad as katsuki tried to stop him from wiggling out of his grip. “i’m so exciteeeddd!—”

“hi my love!” you gushed warmly, smile wide as you extended your arms and walked forward, taking milo in your arms and setting him on your hip. “how are you? you excited to hang out with meee?”

“yes! yes!” he vigorously nodded. “i wanna show you all my race cars!”

“oh i can’t wait to seeee!” you bounced him on your hip and he giggled, you turning your attention and smiling at katsuki.

“hi kats!”

“the little brat is hogging—”

milo blew a silly raspberry at him before wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck.

you laughed and ran a soothing hand over the little man’s back, katsuki rolling his eyes before stepping to the side and letting you in, shutting the door behind him and leading you over to the kitchen.

and jesus christ you looked beautiful, him noting that pink was what you mainly wore on the day to day as he eyed your small rosy cardigan, you walking through his home and looking around and oblivious to the way he was staring at you like a fucking creep.

katsuki bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your eyes scan your surroundings, stupidly nervous about what you’d think of his house and furniture and minuscule decorations, and annoyed with himself that he’d even give a shit about something like that, trying to occupy himself and ignore it as he looked in the oven and lifted lids of various pots and pans, checking over tonight’s dinner.

“i’m sorry i’m behind…” he grumbled and waved his hand around. “had to clean the house and shower milo since he decided to play in the fuckin’ mud this morning.”

“oh you don’t have to apologize for that kats!” you looked at him worriedly. “you don’t have to apologize for anything i totally understand…”

you hoisted milo further up your hip and grinned. “i’m just happy to spend time with the both of you.”

katsuki felt smoke puff out of his red ears as he nodded and scratched the back of his neck, turning slightly and lifting the lids from his pots and pans again.

“miss preettyyyy!” milo whined. “when can i show you my race cars?!”

katsuki scowled and you laughed.

“now honey! but how about we move some of your toys to the living room so i can spend time with both you and dad? how does that sound?”

“yayayay!!” milo cheered, bouncing on your hip as you smiled cutely and set him down, him running off down the hall and you quickly following after him.

milo talked you through his entire collection of race cars as you both sat down on the living room rug— telling you the model of each and every one, what they did, how fast they went, they places they’d gone, and which were his favorites as you excitedly talked to him about his cars and shifted conversation between him and katsuki, a task he was surprised you did so efficiently, but then quickly realized that that was literally your fucking job everyday dealing with little brats talking your ears off and you attending all of them at the same time.

and when it came around to dinner time, you helped katsuki set up even through his snapping and huffing that you absolutely shouldn’t, you giving him a silly little face as you assisted anyways and set up milo’s booster seat, picking him up and sitting him down before buckling him up while katsuki placed your dishes on the table—

and gourmet fucking dishes at that.

you were bewildered. absolutely bewildered as you gawked over the lasagna platter he set before you, it delicate and fancy looking as he had even draped sauce on your gray ceramic plate in gourmet intricate designs, knowing that katsuki had mentioned to you he was a chef over the several months you’d gotten to know him, but you didn’t know exactly to which extent that chef occupation stretched to.

“kats…” you murmured. “what do you do for a living.”

“i told you idiot.” he passed over a couple of napkins and you gratefully took them, taking one then and wiping down milo’s mouth as he messily ate his cut up pieces of lasagna. “i’m a cook.”

“yeah but what kind? where?”

“why?” he gruffed. “does it look like shit?”

“no!” you giggled. “absolutely not the opposite actually! this is probably the most beautiful lasagna i’ve ever seen in my life.”

“duh.” he responded, but sent you a small smile as he ate. “i’m an executive chef down at a restaurant in the city.”

your jaw dropped. “the city?! you’re so cool kats! oh my goodness!”

his face flushed.

“my dad says his boss is a piece of—”

“don’t say it!” katsuki snapped at his son, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, not wanting to encourage the little man any further.

“milo i told ya not to cuss until you’re ten—”

“ten?!” you giggled loudly and let your hand fall, sticking your fork in your lasagna and eating. “as long as he cusses with you and not at you… i think it should be fine!”

katsuki stopped.

you get it. or you rile up his bad cussing habit. either or he might as well have found his fucking soulmate.

“miss pretty!” milo called.

“yes my love?”

“do you have a boyfriend?”

katsuki smacked a hand on his forehead and you snickered.

“i don’t!” you grinned. “why milo?”

“because i want you to be my new—”

“milo if ya shut your mouth right now i’ll buy you two new race cars tomorrow.”

his son gasped dramatically and pursed his lips shut, eyes big and excited as he tried to contain himself and do as told.

“his new what?” you tilted your head cutely, katsuki’s heart hammering against his rib cage as he stuffed his mouth with food.

he shrugged. “the fuck should i know?”

“but i wanna know!” you pouted, taking your final bites of your yummy dinner.

he swallowed.

“do you want dessert?”

you gasped. “oh my god yes! i do!”

“then i suggest you shut your mouth too.”

you laughed over the table, quickly nodding as you pursed your lips like milo and pinched your thumb and index finger together, running it across your mouth and twisting your wrist like a pretend lock before dropping your hand in your lap, giddy and excited over dessert.

katsuki playfully rolled his eyes and stood, collecting all of your plates and stacking them on top of each other before taking them over to the sink.

“dad!” milo called as he bounced in his seat, katsuki grunting in response.

“what’d you make for dessert!”

“mochi.”

“yaaaayyyyy!” he cheered happily. “can i eat it with y/n in the living room?”

katsuki’s brows furrowed. “the living room?”

“yeah!” milo exclaimed. “so i can keep showing her my race cars!”

he struggled for a moment before eventually nodding. “alright… but don’t make a mess i just cleaned—”

you and milo ended up building a fucking fort once he gave you the all clear, you both saying something about it adding to the ambiance as you used the couch cushions for makeshift walls and milo’s choo choo train sheets for the roof and tent, katsuki before he knew it his entire living room a fucking mess as the three of you sat amongst the scattered about pillows and blankets eating your bits of mochi, milo mainly inside the little tent you made for him as you and katsuki were too big to fit inside with him.

his living room was a mess… but he didn’t mind.

katsuki didn’t mind the mess.

your way of living was entirely different from his, as yours had everything to do with mess due to your full time job with kids— paint all over your hands and face, marker stains on your clothes and sticky glue residue and pieces of cut up construction paper somehow in your hair, all things katsuki despised for years and made sure his house never reflected any of that.

but in that moment, with his living room in complete disarray and the positioning of his couches utterly fucked up? the dishes still in the sink and the table still set?

katsuki didn’t fucking care.

because he had never seen his son so happy. he had never seen him so excited and hyper as you helped him set up and somehow tie fairy lights that katsuki had somewhere up in his attic for holiday seasons around the fort, you looking fucking gorgeous under the dim dark lightning as you read milo one of his favorite children’s books you got from his little shelf in his room— ‘the very hungry caterpillar,’ one of your favorites too as his son followed along with you and giggled whenever you’d make a silly joke only a five year old would find funny.

and katsuki felt warm… that’s all he ever felt when he was around you.

is this what it was like to be a family?

“oh my goodness i almost forgot!” you quickly sat up and handed milo the book, him taking it as you crawled over and reached for your bag. “i brought something for you honey!”

milo gasped and sat up. “really?! what?!”

you pulled out a ceramic cream colored globe with hollowed out stars, a small bulb inside as you scooched on your knees back over to a curious katsuki and milo.

“woah..” his son whispered. “what is it?”

you smiled and reached for the nearest outlet, plugging in the little globe and flicking a switch.

the darkened room illuminated itself then with the soft murmur of a lullaby playing, star shaped shadows slowly shifting around the entire living room as milo gasped and stood, frantically pointing at each moving shadow and gushing while his little mind was trying to process how cool and fascinating this was.

and all katsuki could do was stare at you.

stare at the way you sat back on your ankles and pointed with milo, counting how many stars you could see before it shifted and repeating that for fun, stare at the way both of your eyes glowed with wonder and curiosity, and stare at the way you smiled so gracefully and looked unreal now under the starry lights, his heart on overdrive at how gentle you were and how much you cared about his son.

about him.

and katsuki was sure then he was absolutely sick over you.

you all settled after a while of playing games and eating more mochi, especially milo, the little lullaby knocking him out as he snored next to you in his fort, you and katsuki laying down next to each other as you stared up at the shifting stars.

“i’m sorry i made such a mess in your living room..” you whispered bashfully. “i promise i’ll pick everything up before i leave.”

he shook his head. “don’t worry about it i can pick up. it’s fine.”

you smiled at him warmly before looking back up at the ceiling, feet planted on the blanketed flooring as your mindlessly moved your propped up knees side to side.

“was it hard raising milo on your own kats?” you asked softly, fingers wrung together neatly on your tummy.

“it was at first.” he mumbled. “but i got used to doin’ it on my own.”

you frowned, not particularly happy with the idea that katsuki had to raise a human being on his own without any help or guidance, wishing that he would’ve had someone there to help him every once in a while, or just be there for him.

“you did an exceptional job, okay?” you began. “you should know that... milo is such an honest kid… and he’s so precious too.”

katsuki’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in fear of you noticing his stupid flustered face as he opted for keeping his gaze glued to the starry ceiling, your sugary peachy perfume not fucking helping as he decided to sit up instead.

“he is.” he grunted softly. “don’t know how his mom didn’t see that.”

you faltered and sat up with him.

“what do you mean?”

katsuki eyed you before looking down, hands flat behind him propping himself up as he thought.

“ah… milo happened because of some random hookup i had in college.” he mumbled. “didn’t love her or anythin’, i barely knew her but still told her i’d support her and the baby obviously.”

you nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“i was there through her entire pregnancy and when milo was born… but the minute she got discharged from the hospital and took him with her, i woke up at four in the mornin’ with a knock on my door and milo left abandoned on my doorstep.”

you gasped, hand hovering over your mouth.

“are you— are you serious?”

katsuki nodded.

“she wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, nothing. i went to her house and found out she took the first flight she could to fuck knows where.” he shook his head bitterly. “but i didn’t give a shit about me i’ll raise him i don’t care. it was never about me.

he looked at you. “it was about milo. i didn’t want him to know that his ‘mom’ left him behind like that, and i didn’t want him to think it was his fault or anythin’… shits ridiculous.”

katsuki shifted his gaze back up to the ceiling. “still don’t know how she could ever do something like that.”

the sound of a hiccup make his eyes widen and snap back to you, your eyes filled with fat tears as your bottom lip wobbled, hands coming up to cup over your mouth and nose as you tried to keep it in.

“you’re crying?”

you nodded, squeaky slight sobs slipping past your throat as you strained to keep everything down.

“that’s so cruel.” you cried softly, embarrassingly drowning in your tears in front of him yet again. “you didn’t deserve that at all kats… milo didn’t deserve that you both should’ve had such a good mommy and— and a good support system—”

katsuki pushed himself up and wrapped his big arms around your shoulders, pulling you in and rubbing a hand up and down your back comfortingly.

“you cry over everything y/n.”

“s—” hic! “—sorry—”

he laid the side of his head on top of yours as you shook, somehow feeling guilty of what he told you just because of how much you were crying.

more than when he gave you those star shaped fruits.

“oi…”

katsuki pulled back and looked at you, reaching up and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“don’t cry baby…”

baby?!

you funnily sobbed even more and shoved your face in his chest, him chuckling as he wrapped his arms back around you and gently swayed side to side.

“stop it idiot.” he mumbled. “it’s fine. it happened years ago n’ milo and i have always been alright on our own.”

…but he wanted you now.

now that he knew what it was like to be softly cared for by someone precious like you, to feel what it was like to be warm and fuzzy and sunshine and rainbows and candy all of the time… and katsuki wanted you so. bad.

“i know..” you hiccuped. “and i’m really glad but i just wish you had someone.”

you pulled away and quickly wiped your wet cheeks. “m’sorry i cried all over your shirt—”

“don’t give a fuck.”

you breathed out a laugh and dropped your hands in your lap, looking at your fingers as you sniffed.

you were always crying for him.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

he looked to the side with a blush to his cheeks.

“thanks for comin’ today.”

you smiled brightly and nodded.

“of course kats! how could i not?” you looked behind you to a sleeping milo, reaching over and pulling his blanket a little further up his shoulders. “i want you to know that i wanna be there for you and milo…”

he shifted his gaze to you as you turned back around.

“whether— whether you wanna keep seeing me or not—” you gnawed nervously at the inside of your cheek. “which i hope you do! but— but if not that’s totally fine i just want to be there for you both…”

how were you so pure? so thoughtful?

“why the hell wouldn’t i wanna keep seeing you?” he huffed, grumbly and embarrassed as he pursed his lips. “i’d be stupid as fuck not to…”

you blushed, happy shiny eyes looking at him eagerly like he was everything and more, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him like that whatsoever as your gaze flickered down to his lips and back up.

and you were so pretty.

“y/n.”

“mhm?”

he slowly leaned closer.

“would you be mad if i made a move on you—”

“of course not—”

katsuki lunged and planted his rough lips on yours, you tasting like straight sugar and honey as he placed his big hands on the sides of you head and held you like a piece of delicate glass, kissing and sliding your tongues in each others mouths rather quickly and breathy as he moved one hand from your pretty face down to your waist to grip it.

you placed your hands on the blanketed floor and slowly crawled over to him during the makeout, him reaching and wrapping the rest of his built muscly arms around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap as he ran his hands up and down your sides and back, wanting to feel you as much as he possibly could and squeeze you tight as he gulped your little self down, brows furrowed and lips red.

katsuki pulled away and ran his fiery wet mouth across your jaw and to the spot right below your ear on the side of your neck, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he bit and sucked and still squeezed you, manhandling you in a way and eating you up.

your eyes fluttered open once you heard a slight rustle, your line of sight catching milo shifting a little in his sleep.

“k—kats—” you breathlessly whispered, pushing a little at his shoulders.

he grunted.

“milo—” you pointed. “he’s waking up—”

“the fucks that gotta do with us—”

“kats!”

he groaned and pulled his mouth from you, scowling over to see his son only shifted positions and was now directly facing the both of you, tiny eyes closed as he drooled and was probably dreaming about race cars and his dads shark shaped pb & j sandwiches.

“the little runt is fine—” he shoved his face back in and gnawed at your neck again as you gasped.

“nooo!” you whined and giggled softly. “now i’m scared he’s gonna wake up…”

he huffed and officially pulled away this time, red eyes dilated and half lidded as he looked over your pinky cheeks and shy face, the purple and blue mark he made on your neck making the right side of his lips curve up into a little prideful smirk, you too distracted to notice over the way he clutched and loosened up the hold on your waist repeatedly.

katsuki kept you on his lap and scooched himself down, laying on his back and head on the pillow as he nudged you to lay on him completely over his chest and body, you more than happy to do so as you settled your head on his pecs and got comfortable with his strong arms around you— feeling so safe and looked after.

and you hadn’t expected to sleep over… but you just didn’t wanna leave, and katsuki sure as hell didn’t want you to either as you softly and quietly talked over the small tinkling of the lullaby and milo’s soft breathing, shadowy stars still slowly shifting around you as you easily switched between various topics— ranging from serious to silly as you ran a loving hand over his chest and his on your back, the both of you subconsciously lulling each other to sleep until you were just as passed out on the floor as milo.

since then, katsuki didn’t wanna let you out of his sight.

as if he wasn’t already involved enough with milo’s school activities because of you, this man became a fucking member of the pta and volunteered himself for every single event so as long as you were there, helping you out especially with fundraisers and bake sales as his desserts always sold out quicker than anything else and made bank as he snickered and boasted at the other parents that weren’t selling as much, you giving him a silly glare that never failed to shut him right up as he wanted to be good for you and not upset you.

the front desk lady even went from hating him to loving him, katsuki grumbling and chucking her a bag of leftover fundraiser chocolate chip cookies on her desk as he passed by to drop off milo in the mornings, serving as a ticket way in and to get her to shut up now instead of yelling at him from down the hall.

and he continued to give you yummy star shaped fruits.

except now some days they looked like hearts or little flowers, and he always made his fruit assortments different so you wouldn’t get tired of them and added different dippings like caramel or chocolate hazelnut, you gushing and nearly bawling literally everyday whenever you’d open the container and milo giggling at you during lunch.

you also never went a day without stopping by or staying over at katsuki’s house since your first initial date, your days so much fun and filled with love as you ate lunch or dinner with the two of them, laughing at milo’s sporadic comments or katsuki’s barking and scolding while you either played with milo, helped katsuki clean up the house and him the kitchen or you the kitchen and vice versa, or simply cuddle on the couch with kisses shared amongst you and katsuki— the three of you with milo seated peacefully and comfortable in the middle while you watched a movie or lulled the little man to sleep.

and katsuki had never felt so complete as he started leaving messes behind without even realizing or stressing about it, and he didn’t know when the fuck it was that he turned so soft and sappy— the change a bit strange to those who knew him as he was just a teeny weeny less explosive and angry over small things, and more so when it came to you and his son.

“make sure you keep your little bucket hat on honey, okay? it’s hot today and i don’t want you to tire yourself out milo.”

the end of the year field trip for the kindergarteners this year was a voyage to the local wildlife sanctuary, a gorgeous exhibit that sat right next to the national science museum in your city, its main attraction being the 25 foot koi pond and butterfly wonderland that housed various butterfly species and their little habitats— the kids field trip assignment being to count how many they see throughout the day and pick one koi fish and butterfly to draw on their journals.

katsuki, of course, volunteered as a chaperone.

“single file line please my loves!” you called, hand by your mouth. “and don’t seperate from your friends okay?! everyone stay where i can see—”

“oi!” katsuki barked, snapping and pointing at a rogue kid who decided to break free from the line and run across the grass. “the fuck do you think you’re doing!—”

“kats!” you breathed out a shocked laugh. “you’re gonna get me fired if you talk to the kids like that—”

“shit! sorry— i’m sorry baby hold on—”

katsuki booked it across the grassy lawn and caught up with the running kid on the other side, the rest of your class giggling and cackling as katsuki swooped him up with one arm and dangled him upside down while he kicked and swung tiny punches to his abs, katsuki not even flinching.

“do that again and see what happens brat.” he spat, the little kid not having a single care in the world as he giggled with the rest of the class, all of them deviously planning to piss katsuki off as much as possible since his outbursts were just funny.

“okay okay—” you smiled apologetically at him before taking the dangling boy from his arm and setting him back down, fixing over his clothes and backpack before patting his head and standing upright.

“no more running alright?” you placed your hands on your hips. “don’t we wanna see some cute little fishies and butterflies?!”

“yeeeeaaaahhhh!!” the babies cheered excitedly, each of them immediately returning to their designated spots in two lines as you grabbed your line leaders tiny hands and started the walk down the grassy field to the sanctuary.

“lemme help ya with one line baby—” katsuki went to grab one of your line leaders hands until they burst into a crying fit.

“no! no! i wanna hold miss y/n’s hand!”

katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “what’s so bad about me hah?”

“you’re ugly! miss y/n is pretty!”

the rest of the kids ruptured, laughing as katsuki sent death glares to a literal child, about to spout something nasty until his eyes flickered to your pleading face, his muscles instantly relaxing as he casted his gaze to the ground with a grumble.

you giggled and gave him a sweet kiss to his cheek in gratitude, his face flushing as he eyed your deep blue overalls and pinky shirt and the way your sunglasses sat pretty in your hair on top of your head.

“what honey?” you tilted your head.

“none of your business.”

you snickered and nudged your shoulder with his, looking over at milo from somewhere in the line to make sure he was okay before walking up the front gates of the sanctuary.

the wildlife guide met you once you all were cleared and inside the greenhouse, your kids absolutely restless as they ‘listened’ to whatever the guide had to say and just wanting to break free and run around to look at all of the fishies and butterflies like you had promised, and you not even listening either as you drooled over the way katsuki’s muscles looked under his t-shirt.

“any questions sweetheart?”

“huh?” your eyes snapped to the guide, cheeks pink as you quickly shook your head. “oh! no not at all! thank you ma’am!”

“alrighty then! just please make sure to tell your students—”

suddenly your two perfect lines broke apart as the kids started running around and pointing at fluttering butterflies and screaming, the guide looking like she’d seen a ghost as the usual quiet and serene sanctuary was now the epitome of noise.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” you guiltily apologized. “my kids will settle down they’re just excited is all…”

the guide kindly waved you off before walking back to the main office, you turning and expecting to see katsuki standing next to you, but faltering once you saw he was on the other side and pulling one of your kids down that had climbed up the gates of one of the sanctuaries closed off exhibits.

“oh god..” you mumbled, about to make your way over until you spotted milo in a corner alone, staring at one of the koi ponds.

“milo?” you called softly, walking up to him.

your heart sank once he turned and you saw his little tear filled eyes and wobbling lip.

“oh no!” you gasped, crouching down and taking his tiny hands in yours. “what’s wrong my love? are you okay? is it too hot?”

you pushed some of his spiky blonde bangs back from his sweaty forehead as he shook his head.

“i can’t draw!” he sniffled. “and the koi fishies keep moving…”

your shoulders relaxed in relief.

“that’s okay!” you took his journal and pencil, wiping his wet cheeks as you smiled sweetly. “as long as we’re patient with the fishies, they’ll swim back and you can draw them again!”

you opened his journal and flipped to a new blank page, the both of you waiting quietly until a big chubby koi fish swam by.

“there!” milo whispered and pointed, and you quickly drew what you could, just making out the shape of the body before it disappeared again.

“and now we wait!” you grinned up at him. “the fishy will come back around and you’ll be able to draw it again.”

“kayyy!!”

“and you can draw milo. i’ve seen your artwork in class, remember? you always get a gold star!”

he giggled. “i do miss pretty!”

you ran a soothing hand over his back before passing his journal back.

“now you try honey—”

“i love you.”

you froze and looked up, katsuki standing there with a sincere and vulnerable look in his eye.

you stood from your crouched position and looked at him wide eyed.

“i’m not— i’m not good at this kinda shit at all and i always say somethin’ dumb but i do.”

“kats—”

“and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it but i tried to make it obvious with my stupid shaped fruits n’ shit… and i always thought you kinda just knew…”

milo was too busy focusing on catching glimpses of the koi fish to draw with his tongue peeking out to even realize what was going on next to him.

“you’re so patient baby. the way you are with me… the way you are with my kid. i need that in my life and i can’t live without it at this point…” he spoke genuinely. “your fuckin’ fault.”

you giggled and covered your face with your hands, face hot to the touch and bashful at everything he was telling you.

“come here.”

you listened and walked forward, dropping your arms as you wrapped them around his abdomen and his around your head, squishing you in his big chest as he propped his chin up.

“do you love me too or what.” he frowned. “cause if not this is shitty and embarrassing—”

“no i do!” you giggled, pulling away and giving him a cheeky smile. “i do kats you know that… i love you. so much.”

he smiled and pecked your lips. “good, miss pretty.”

katsuki had heard the entire conversation you had with his son, your words seeping with such tenderness and care, and he almost passed the fuck out when he thought about how much of a blessing you were, something he’d be a fool not to snatch up and take as he nearly fucking proposed to you in the middle of the sanctuary like an idiot, not knowing at all how a person that pissed people off for a living was loved by a woman who was the definition of pure.

because how the fuck did an angry dunce like him, get lucky with an angel like you?

“oh my god that dumbass kid is climbin’ the fence again— oi!”

katsuki quickly kissed your cheek before flying to the other side of the sanctuary, you doubling over in laughter as you watched him fight and tug and pull, your student not budging at all whatsoever and the rest of the kids laughing at how red katsuki was getting in the face.

“miss pretty!” milo tugged at your overalls, and you looked down to see him holding up his open journal, a cute wobbly sketch of a koi fish on the page as he smiled big. “i drew it! do you like it?!”

“wow milo!” you gushed, crouching down to his level and taking the journal, examining his artwork. “this is beautiful my love! see? i knew you could do it!”

“thank youuu!” he responded sweetly, his little cheeks blushing as he looked at you like he had another thing he wanted to say.

you tilted your head. “do you wanna tell me something else?”

“yeaaahhh.” he dragged. “please love my dad… i know he’s mean but— but he doesn’t mean it!”

your eyes softened as milo looked down at his shoes.

“and love me too… because i want you to be my new mommy…”

you quickly blinked back tears as to not alarm milo, surprisingly successful at preventing them from slipping down your face.

“i do love your dad honey… and you. the both of you i love so so much.”

he beamed. “really?!”

you nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i thought i was already your mommy milo!”

the little man gasped and flung his arms around your neck.

“YAAAYYY!” he yelled. “miss pretty is my mommy! i have a mommy now!”

ever since you came into katsuki’s life, his way of living materialized into something completely different.

because now instead of his house being plain and boring and organized from top to bottom without a single thing out of place— it was warm now… happy. and never went a day without smelling like cookies and vanilla as you and katsuki baked with milo any chance you could, set up more pillow forts and tents with starry ceilings, and slept with milo in his room as he snored content in his little bed, you sprawled directly on top of katsuki like he always had you as you both every day intended to leave after putting his son to rest, but ending up falling asleep on the floor each time.

the three of you were a little family.

and katsuki didn’t know why he hated messes so much in the first place.

because mess signified that something had been there, something sunny and tender, something that signified family as you peppered kisses over both your boys’ faces everyday and katsuki drowning you in his rough ones— your man squeezing you so tight all of the time and anywhere, as milo wasn’t just his son now but yours too as you took him to the park or to the aquarium on your days off, the three of you gently living as both of milo’s small hands were occupied now instead of just one.

katsuki’s life looked like it had been generously cherished and lived in for a change.

and katsuki bakugo loved messes.

so as long as they were from you.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @umemiaa @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs @drftnzume @k0z3me @k4zivy @dindjarins1ut @starrnai @tinyray-lovesfood @iloveoldermenn @dazqa @applepi25 @aria-chikage @blu3-l0v3r @rose-tinted-kalopsia @runfrme @unofficialsapphire @dee-writes-anime @megumisluciouslashes @peachyaeger @yourstru1y4ever

[cyber333angel]

sevika making you squirt <3

a/n: sevikas kind of a bully, we dabble into watersports at the end, kind of dubcon but barely, enjoy (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

she had you sat down in between her legs, spread out and flustered while she worked you up with her thick fingers and harsh lips. bullying you with every touch and word that she knows will have you crying and cumming in just a moment, all you had asked for was for sevika to help you out a little but she just had to be so mean.

her orders were simple enough, she had told you to “ keep your legs open and your hands away from your cunt or ill stop yeah?” and you nodded, pliant to whatever she needed you to do, you just wanted to cum. you didn’t think it would be so difficult until sevikas hand we’re down your panties, your quivering legs closing on instinct when ever she would rub your sensitive clit in those mind boggling circular motions.

first rule already broken. but as it’s known, sevika was wrapped around your finger and always bended the rules for you with enough begging. she gave you a warning which was enough to fix yourself and behave before she really had to be strict with you.

with a small grunt from behind you, you immediately open your legs with an apology, “m’sorry vika..!” and she doesn’t praise you in response, you know better. the gentle grip she had on your throat tightened for a moment, feeling the cold metal against your skin only added to the pleasure, her mechanical arm always had that kind of effect on you.

the abuse on your cunt was resumed as she slid her thick fingers back into your sopping hole, thrusting them in and out that pulls the most jarring cry from your throat. “so fucking wet..” and with that you feel a heaviness in chest, you unconsciously buck your hips more into the palm of sevikas hand. “jus wait se-“ your arms fumbling around for some kind of release and you can’t even finish your sentences while sevika is basically laughing at you. “such a needy little pussy.” its all too much, the chokehold she had on your throat, her fingers deep in your cunt and the vibrating murmurs of her voice behind you.

without thinking you break rule two. it was inevitable honestly, sevikas fingers were so deep and slippery inside you along with her course thumb rubbing at your clit.. your hands innocently flew over sevikas, trying to grab a hold of the overstimulation and just calm yourself down for a moment despite your girlfriends stern orders. with your hand on top of sevikas you feel no motion. she stopped, just like she said she would. “what did I tell you hm baby?” placing kisses on your forehead, this fake sweet tone was all a facade for what she was really preparing you for. sevika had told you enough times to listen and just stay still but you just had to ruin it, with a pout you look back to sevika with your please-forgive-me eyes. “m’sorry I didn’t mean to sevi! please-just keep going..” you go on and on about how you’ll be a good girl and will listen properly this time, while she just watches at you blabbering waiting for you to stop.

you get the clue and stop talking with tears in your eyes, just hoping sevika would give you another chance. “good girl. finally taking the fuckin hint.” you try to make yourself small and hide into her hold until your back is against sevikas chest, dropping your head down to listen carefully. “you know i don’t wanna be mean to you baby..ill let you cum but you’ll have to work for it hm?” you perk up with all smiles as you turn around to kiss her on the cheek, chanting “thank you!”s repeatedly.

what you were not prepared for was actually having to work for it to cum, you were so used to being spoiled all the time you didn’t think she would purposely make you do all the work. you were still in her lap as sevikas thick fingers were held still in your cunt, laying there with no movement. she was making you fuck yourself on her fingers. not only was it embarrassing but it was tiring you out already. grinding your hips up and down sevikas digits as your slick runs down her hands. your crying as she holds your waist with her other hand, kissing at your back with humiliating praises. “feels good huh pretty girl? fucking dripping all over me..” the thought of even forming a full sentence was long gone, your head was blurry from all the whining and pleading you were doing. “please! need your help vika, can’t do it like you..” you gave up. you needed her help, needed to feel the way her fingers curled into that spot she knows oh too well in your cunt.

with a few thoughtless weak thrust on sevikas fingers you rest yourself on her chest, hazy eyes struggling to stay open. sevika thought about it and yeah, she’ll give you what you want. you asked for it anyway.

next thing you know your achey legs were on the sides of sevikas thighs in her lap with her hand around your neck, fingers deep and swift in the heat of your pussy. “always fuckin complaining huh, is this good enough for you princess? hm? im making this needy pussy feel good?” you both know it’s rhetorical but god you wished you could answer, it did feel good, unbelievably good. she shakes your throat with her hand and you start to croak. legs twitching across the bed with your back arching off sevikas abs. “stay still, you needed me right? can’t help if you squirm like that baby.”

your babbling incoherent pleads weakly and the feeling of her inside you starts to feel like too much —an invigorating pressure on your bladder specifically. “think im gonna pee vi-vika its too much!” her fingers slip in and out of your sopping hole, moving so hastily that the sound of your wetness was heard all around the room. and sevika was behind you enjoying the sight as if you weren’t struggling to control yourself. “s’not funny sevika I think I’m gonna cum!” damp thighs shaking on top of her legs as you shut your eyes, reaching your hands to clasp at the back of sevikas neck for some comfort. hiccuping and moaning at her.

sevika had her fun and finally gave in to let her baby cream on her fingers, surprised but impressed when she hears the spurts of liquid come out from your cunt. whines filling the air while sevika praises you on and keeps the same pace of her fingers in your pussy, “oh that’s my fucking girl, keep going. cumming so good for me messy girl.” placing a kiss to your temples and rubbing at your sensitive bud as your stream slowed down. now your crying with quivering thighs and soaked sheets while you sit spread out and embarrassed. “attagirl, it felt that good? huh? didn’t know you loved my fingers so much.” you groan sarcastically as you struggle to get up from the woman making fun of you, falling back into her lap with her arms wrapped around your waist. “im just kidding baby.” feeling her wipe your tears away with a smile.

[madamechrissy]

Put it On Me

nsfw- Your boss Nanami counts how many times he can make you cum on break

Your cunt is dripping down your boss Nanami’s Armani gold watch, he's watching it as it soaks his two fingers, pumping in and out of your soppy little hole now. Nanami has ten more minutes of this break, he's counting how many times he can make his pretty assistant cum.

"One.' He murmurs as you're pulsing around his fingers, thighs spread on his desk, trembling. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking your sweetness off them and moaning. Cheeks hollowing. "So exquisite. Bend over my desk, darling."

You eagerly obey, ass in the air, feeling his silk cheetah tie wrap your wrists, his strong muscles flexing behind you. "Nana-mi!" Your back arches when you feel it, his hot tongue lapping up your slit, his huge hands gripping the fat of your ass, your skirt is bunched around your hips as you press into his oak desk.

Your boss Nanami fucks you so good with his tongue you cum all down his chiseled face, earning his satisfied moan as he stands now, pulling on your hair, wrapping it around his fist, gently cupping your face with his other hand. "Two."

Now your boss Nanami Kento is rubbing the fat tip of his cock between your puffy lips, you gasp at it, his breath against your ear as he bullies his cock in your little hole, you're trembling at the stretch. "K-kento... you're s'big I..."

He presses you up high on the desk, cutting off your words, your legs dangling as he bends down he's so huge, his body, his cock, his hands, you feel so small and pathetic, as you're drooling on his desk, his thick cock pumping in and out, heavy balls smacking your clit, you're screaming now, earning a smack on your ass.

"You've got to be quiet, darling.... oh, f-fuck... three." He peeks at his watch with a shaky hand, hazel eyes rolling back when you flutter around him. "You're such a mess, aren't you?" You barely manage a nod, Nanami’s cock slides in easier and easier as you're dripping g down his office floor, he's pulling that cheetah tie, using it as leverage, gasping when you tighten around him.

Your boss Nanami wants to at least get one more orgasm from you, so he presses your head into the desk, watching you drool out of your stupidly open mouth. Your fucked out eyes are so pretty, he lets you know as he bends over you completely, murmuring "four"

Nanami watches your eyes roll back as his tip abuses your cervix. Your orgasm is blinding, your head falling back, he's shoving his cock so deep, stuffing you so full, you can't take it. You're shattering as you cum so hard it hurts, feeling him in your tummy he's so deep. "Cum in me, please." You whisper, he cups your face now, exhaling at how pretty you are, the tears falling down your cheeks glittering under the office lights.

"Want me to fill you up, pretty?" He's pressing on your tummy over your blouse, you nod eagerly, and he's busting his load so deep in you. You're dripping his white sticky cum, trembling in his hold, pussy pulsing as just his cum gets you again. "F-five."

"Wh-what's the numbers?" You ask, dazed and cock drunk, he unties you, the silk leaving your wrists, that watch going off. He smirks, lips turning up at the corner,then turns you and fixes your skirt, kissing your lips.

"How much I could make you cum during my break." your boss Nanami slides your panties up now, his sandy blond hair falling over his forehead as he kisses up your thigh. "Back to work, darling."

Nanami loves his breaks 🥵 Kinda dom Nanami, I don't see it too much aha but that's my head canon for him <3

[heavenbarnes]

I used to date an older guy (like mid 40s) a few years back and I always got stupidly turned on when he fixed stuff around his house?? Like, he just knew hot to do it and did it. No googling, just him and his tools. Feel like it would fit somewhere in your older bf Simon stuff.

god love a fully capable “fuck it i’ll do it” type of man 🫶🏼

you know that your older bf!simon doesn’t believe in hiring tradespeople for a service.

“why would i pay someone to fuck about in my home?”

“they’re not fucking about, si! they’d be fixing the sink”

“i’ll do it”

you have no doubt that simon was more than capable of fixing things around the house but you also wanted him relaxing when he was home.

turns out he couldn’t relax at the thought of another man doing something for you.

so you let him do it, you threw your hands up and waved your white tea towel in defeat as you heard him banging around in the garage for tools.

hearing the faint sounds of grunting and the occasional swear word coming from the bathroom, you thought it might pay to go and see how he was getting on.

fucking hell.

simon was on his back, arms stretched up above him as his hands dwarfed the pipe they were wrapped around. t-shirt riding up, lines of his stomach leading right to his belt, knees bent and boots firmly planted on the floor, you could honestly just-

“oi, you gonna’ stare or help me?”

now how the fuck?

“your heads in the cupboard, how did you know-“

“i always know where you are, pass me the wrench”

crouching down beside him, you handed it over and stayed down there to watch him work. scarred knuckles wrapped around the handle of the tool, other palm flat against the base of the sink so you could see the veins.

he was something else entirely.

“how d’you know how to do all this?”

“taught m’self, come hold this”

you reached over to replace where his palm was so he could have both hands back. “but why? surely other people don’t learn all this?”

“other people don’t care about their sweet’art not having to lift a finger- move your finger for me”

the more you stretched to hold the sink, the more you felt yourself losing traction with it. naturally, simon noticed before you did.

“y’need to get closer, cm’ere”

tools landing to the side of him, two large hands plucked you up till you were dropped in his lap. precarious situation but you couldn’t deny the sink was a lot easier to reach.

you stayed like that, letting simon work in peace as you enjoyed your view. honestly, he could invite you to the end of the world and you’d just be happy to hold his hand.

one hand splayed out on his chest, the other holding the sink, you suddenly felt a tickle forming at the end of your nose. before you knew it, you were pulling your hand back to scratch it- the one holding the sink.

you panicked, realising it could very well land on simon’s head. but it didn’t, it stayed completely still. face screwing up, you leant in again to give the sink a nudge only to find out it was totally fixed.

“what the hell, si? why’d you have me doing all that?”

you saw the smirk on his face as he flashed a look over at you. suddenly, you realised you weren’t the only one enjoying the view.

the hand that didn’t have the wrench came out to give you a pat on the side of your hip.

“c’mon sweet’art, i can’t get anything outta’ this?”

[fakebwitch]

reader being obsessed with rafe’s biceps and he wants to please her

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rafe is obviously aware of how fitnessed and perfect his body is, and he also knows how obsessed you are. when you two fuck your hands are always somehow on his body, from when you ride him, holding yourself on his muscular legs or placing your hands on his chest, or when y’all are doing missionary, your nails dig into the skin of his back as he thrust hard inside you or tighten around his biceps.

speaking of biceps, they were your favorite thing. I mean, you loved every single thing about his body, his back, his shoulders, his abs, his thigh but biceps would do it for you everytime. you would drool every time you see him wearing one of his short-sleeved polo shirts, putting his muscular arm in perfect view, your eyes would carefully observe every single contraction, asking him to open a simple bottle of water or fix something that you had voluntarily broken just to enjoy the sight of his arms at work.

you loved having his strong arms holding you close to him, there was nothing that made you happier when at night, after a long day, his arms wrapped around your figure pulling you towards him, his grip firm as the heat of his body began to expand to yours.

rafe wasn’t stupid, he noticed after a short time your continuous eyes on his biceps, how you somehow tried to always have a hand on them and how you wanted rafe’s arms always around you. he was always ready to tease you about it, you would laugh everytime trying to hide your flushes.

obviously this obsession of yours grows when we talk about sex. having him chocking you while pounding into you, watching at the way his biceps flexed made you clench around his length, or when his fingers were buried inside your tight hole, you would force yourself to keep your eyes open even though all you wanted to do was to throw you head back just to watch the way his arm was contracting at the speed he was using and his veins on full display.

one day he proposed you something that left you in disbelief, not like you have never thought about something like that before but hearing him say it to you was totally different. you had stopped from grinding onto his bulge, looking at him with wide eyes while he just looked at you with his usual cocky smirk, your pussy clenching around nothing just at the idea.

“you’re just so obsessed princess, bet you wouldn’t mind riding it instead of grinding on my dick, would you?” he had proposed to you, his gaze fell down indicating what he was referring to, your hand tight around his biceps. you stared at him for what seemed like hours not knowing what to answer, suddenly you felt like you wanted to disappear. “don’t get shy on me now baby, use your words mhm?” he incited you, his hand moved from your hip to rest on your cheek, slowly rubbing his thumb on the soft skin as you rested your head on it, enjoying his warm touch.

“yeah… i would- i would love that” you answered, you didn’t even know where you had found the courage to accept something so dirty but that you wanted at the same time so much. rafe’s grin widened even more noticing the shyness in your voice, he could feel that you were insecure about it, he was quick to put his lips on yours in a small kiss. “don’t worry baby I got you, just use me like you prefer” he whispered to you a few centimeters from your lips, you bit your lip hearing such words, your most perverse dream was coming true.

“uhh f-fuuck… rafeee” you gasped moving your hips quickly, your head thrown back while you fully enjoyed the pleasure of your clit in contact with his contracted muscle, your moisture scattered all over the area, sliding along the elbow. “I know baby I’m here, keep going” he incited you, he looked at you from below with eyes full of lust groping his cock in the pants, a mess of his own pre cum in his boxer while enjoying the scene of his pretty girl rubbing herself on his biceps.

“i’m gonna- gonna..” your voice broken as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to reaching the peak, your legs began to hurt and your movements slowed down, you felt tears forming at the corners of your eyes worried that you wouldn’t be able to reach your orgasm but rafe was right there, and without you being able to say anything else he put a hand on the back of your thigh, pushing you to continue rubbing yourself on his biceps.

“there you go baby… make a mess all over me”. In no time you reached your orgasm, an almost pornographic moan came out of your lips as your movements stopped abruptly, your cum began to drip on his skin. slimy sounds filled the room while rafe helped you ride your orgasm with some other small push, before you fell in the place next to him, your legs tingled from the effort you had subjected them to.

“that’s it princess, was it good?” he asked you observing your fucked-out expression then moving his gaze to his arm, completely covered with your wetness.

“the best fucking thing ever.”

[mywritersmind]

THEY DONT KNOW IT - LN4

summary : She’s a popstar who’s being oggled by the same grid who doesn’t believe Lando has a chance with her. In a simple quiet conversation, Lando fixes that.

listen up : lando norris x popstar!reader. mentions of sex. reader wrote bed chem!!

word count : 629

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“You hear who’s in the paddock today?” Oscar eyes Lando as he joins the group of drivers. They all look suspiciously giddy.

“No…?” Lando eyes them, It’s Carlos who’s grinning and speaks up first.

“Y/n L/n.” the spaniard whispers.

Lando raises a brow as Alex nods to his girlfriend talking to you, “She’s a super famous singer right? Lily loves her.”

“Very pop.” Charles adds in.

“Very hot.” Franco says as they all turn to him, “What? You were all thinking it.” a surge of jealousy goes through Lando. Obviously he knows people think you’re hot, he’s the fan club president. But Franco saying it makes him want to go over there and kiss you in front of the young driver.

Lando watches you move your hair behind your ear, assessing the little black dress you’ve got on. “Fuck.” is the only think Yuki can say.

“Hasn't she been to a couple races?” George adds, “For any reason or…” Lando wants to yell at them that you’re there for him.

“She’s a fan.” Charles says, “Hangs with Alex in the garage sometimes.”

You wonder if they know how obviously the group is looking at you. You turn and give them a little smile. Most of the guys look away except Lando, who waves.

“What the fuck?” Carlos makes a face.

“Dude-” Max laughs as Lando looks around at the group.

“What?”

“Give up now.” Alex shrugs.

“Excuse you?” Lando crosses his arms over his racing suit, “You think I don’t have a chance?” They all start laughing, “Fuck you, lot!”

Alex grins, “Don’t let netflix hear.”

Carlos slaps his hand onto his friends shoulder, “Mate… she’s just so- and you’re so… it’s not made to be.”

Lando just scoffs, “Don’t pout!” Max laughs, “I’m pretty sure she’s the only girl out of your reach.”

“You don’t know about Nadia?” Alex grins.

Max gives him a confused look but turns back to Lando, except when he does, he realizes he’s already gone and walking towards you.

You smile when you see Lando, he slips his arm around your waist and pulls you in for a quick hug, “Hi.” His eyes linger on you before smiling kindly at Lily.

“I’ll be back, Y/n. Lando keep your distance.” She points to the driver before walking away.

“The guys don’t think I have a chance with you.” He whispers into your ear, his hand still on your waist.

You laugh a bit, glancing at the men who are all staring at you two. “So naive.” he laughs a bit, tilting his head down.

A curl goes into his face and you resist the urge to push it back. “I’m happy you’re here.” this makes your cheeks go a bit pink. Funny, you’ve been sleeping together for months and he can say the tinest thing to get you to blush.

“I’m happy I'm here too. Win for me?”

“What do I get if I do?” His hand backs off your waist a bit, clearly aware of the eyes on you.

You look up at him, his eyes greener than ever, “Whatever you want?”

His brows go up, “Whatever?”

The corner of your mouth quirks, “Within reason.”

“Not much reason between the two of us.” You roll your eyes and back away from him so you’re no longer touching.

“Go run back to your friends and giggle about how a pretty girl kissed you.”

“But you didn’t-” He gets cut off by your lips on his cheek. He’s grinning ear to ear as you walk away, waving a bit.

When Lando walks back to the guys they’re gobsmacked, “Tell me you didn't just meet her today.” Charles practically pleads.

He laughs at their faces, “Have you ever heard the song, bed chem?”