#maybe also put the timer next to that

[lookwhatyoumademelou]

.

[kitten4sannie]

𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

pairing: dilf next door! yunho x fem! reader

genre: neighbor au, fluff, smut

summary: you try your next door neighbor on for size when your date cancels on you last minute.

w.c: 3.8k

warnings: yuyu is in his late 40s 🙂‍↕️, controversial spider-man takes LMAO, wine drinking (they are tipsy at most!), brief play fighting, (mostly) dom switch! yuyu but he also whimpers and whines 🙂‍↕️, subby switch! reader, big dick yuyu agenda ‼️, praise/pet names only, teasing (only a lil bit while he talks reader thru it uwu), brief spit kink, kissing, dry humping, fingering, face sitting, size kink >:))), bulge kink, creampie 💕

a/n: hihi i’m back! this fic is dedicated to my bestie tasha @ildangtaek ilyyy :(( and happy birthday againn i hope your special day was as lovely as you are <3 there really wasn’t much inspo for this i just ❤️ dilfs with my whole kitty esp when it’s yuyu uwu enjoy xx

p.s: thank you so very much for 7k followers! it’s still so unreal to me 🥹💕

song recs: new light — john mayer, boy is mine — ariana grande, plants — crumb

“So…you’re not coming…?” you asked your potential date through your speaker phone, slowly sitting back down in front of your vanity mirror, your puzzled reflection staring back at you. 

You listened to his vague explanation about how he wasn’t quite ready to take this next step with you, whatever that meant. All you were going to do was eat dinner and chat, not exchange marriage vows. He hung up before you had the chance to tell him how silly he sounded. Sulking, you shuffled into your bathroom to undo all the effort you put into looking like a five course meal for an undeserving stranger. 

Halfway through washing your face, you heard your oven timer go off. You completely forgot about the pizza you had made in a rush for you and your date to share. Pulling it out of the oven with a small sigh, you couldn’t help but stare at the unopened bottle of wine on the counter. It would’ve been entirely too easy for you to just get drunk, eat the entire pizza, and cry yourself to sleep afterwards, but a tiny voice inside the back of your mind told you to invite your cute neighbor over instead — even if he was a lot older than you. Would that be so bad? 

The phone only rang for a second before Yunho picked up. “Y/N, hey! What’s up?” Was it uncouth to answer right away or to let it ring for a while longer? He wasn’t sure what the younger crowd preferred nowadays, but he was sure that he wouldn’t let an opportunity to chat with his pretty neighbor slip away. 

“Hey, Yunho!” you began, rolling a metal slicer through the thick crust of your homemade pizza. Your neighbor always sounded so happy when you called him. You could practically hear his imaginary tail wagging. Was he like this with everyone? “What are you up to?”

Yunho’s voice sounded a bit farther away and somewhat strained when he spoke again. “Just fixing up my garden. Oh! My honeysuckles finally bloomed!”

“Already? That’s great!” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. He was so cute. “So, uh, long story short, my date canceled on me after I made us pizza...There’s wine too.” You bit into your bottom lip, wondering just how desperate you were about to sound. 

“What a dickhead. Why would anyone cancel on you? I mean, you’re so–” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “Cool, you know…” Yunho set his gardening trowel down onto the bed of dirt below in favor of bonking himself lightly on the side of the head. 

“Thanks, Yun,” you giggled, curling a lock of hair around your finger. You swallowed down your doubt before it overtook you. “Did you wanna, like…hang out?”

Maybe Yunho didn’t fumble, after all. “I’d love to, Y/N.” He looked at the newly bloomed flowers sitting in front of him. It was fate. “I’ll be right over, okay? Wait for me~” 

“See you~” you replied, matching his tone. Once you hung up, you looked down at the comfy hoodie and sleep shorts you had slipped into. You only had a few seconds to wonder if you should change or not before your doorbell rang. 

Yunho’s honey brown eyes widened upon seeing you, his cheeks growing warm. “H-hey, Y/N!” He nervously shuffled his feet, his scuffed Converse squeaking against the rubber doormat. He moved his arm in an odd way; it was clear he was holding something behind his back. 

“I know it’s not technically a date, but I thought I should bring you something…” 

Yunho held out a bouquet of the freshly picked honeysuckles, except now they were delicately tied together with some pretty lace. You looked down at them in disbelief, gently taking them into your arms. Tears threatened to leave your eyes when you tilted your head back up to meet Yunho’s gentle gaze. “Thank you so much…I…Are you an angel?” 

A big cheesy smile spread across Yunho’s face. “Just your friendly neighborhood gardener.” 

And with that, you moved aside to let him in, mirroring Yunho’s infectious smile.

-

“Nice place,” Yunho approved in an oddly soft tone, looking around your cozy living room. Taking a sip of wine, he meandered over to your impressive media cabinet, scanning all the various movies that neatly lined the shelf. “I haven’t seen a DVD in ages…” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes crinkled with amusement. “I didn’t know you were old school.” 

You let out a small snicker, pulling out one of the DVDs to run a finger along the smooth edges. “I’ve always preferred physical copies. Digital just isn’t the same…” You met his wholehearted gaze, your heart skipping a beat. “You know…?” You were so close to him, you were able to notice his pronounced smile lines as soon as his lips curled up. 

“You’re speaking my language, kiddo.” Yunho took another sip from his glass, looking off to the side. He shook his head absentmindedly, reminiscing about something. “Everything was so much better in the early 90s…” 

You pouted, gently elbowing him through his shirt. “Hey, I wasn’t even born yet.” 

“Oh, that’s right.” He took in a sharp breath, holding it for a second. Once he let it out, he just about deflated like a balloon. “I’m old…aren’t I?” 

Scoffing, you mindlessly flipped the DVD around in your hands. “We’re all aging.” You hoped you weren’t looking too deeply into his eyes. “Why does it matter what step you’re at?” 

Yunho was captivated. He hadn’t felt this kind of acceptance in quite some time. “I’ll try to think of it like that,” he voiced softly, reaching up to pat the top of your head. “Thank you.” 

A simple head pat from your seasoned neighbor shouldn’t have affected you the way it did, heat creeping up on your cheeks, the DVD creaking in protest inside your tight grasp. “Y-you better.” 

“O-oh?” Yunho was caught off guard by your bold words, surprised by his body’s immediate response to it. He slowly lowered his glass, trying to casually hide his half-chub from view. “I will then…” 

You tapped your finger rhythmically against the DVD, delighted with the sheepish look on the older man’s face. You wanted to attribute your growing confidence to the alcohol settling inside your stomach, but you knew you would’ve tested the waters either way. And with that, you reached all the way up to pat the top of his head. “Good.” 

There was an electric current of sorts lighting up the edges of Yunho’s brain — one that would spark sooner rather than later. Before he could say anything that might scare you off, he finally took a look at the DVD you had been holding. “Is…is that the original Spider-man?” 

“Thought you would never notice,” you giggled, his long fingers overlapping yours when you handed it to him. “I have one and two. Three doesn’t exist in my mind.”

Yunho was sure he met his perfect match. “We’re watching them,” Yunho decided for the both of you, his eyes widening with excitement. “Right now.” 

You leaned in a bit closer to him. “What are you waiting for? Put it in.” 

He followed suit, being drawn in like a magnet.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” 

-

It took finishing the cheap bottle of wine and movies together for you both to finally let totally loose around one another, though your matching flushed cheeks and sweaty palms weren’t a result of being tipsy. It was simply a side effect of being around each other. You were so engrossed with one another, that you didn’t even bother turning the TV off, simply letting the DVD icon freely bounce into each corner of the screen for what seemed like hours. 

Yunho couldn’t quite finish chewing the crust of his slice of cold pizza before he explained with his mouth full, “Peter knowingly killed Harry’s father. Harry following in the footsteps of his dad and becoming the Green Goblin was inevitable.” 

“You having delusional takes was inevitable,” you shot back, getting so worked up over this nonsensical argument that you almost choked on your own frozen pizza. “I should’ve known that as soon as you said Spider-man 2 was mid.” 

Yunho pressed closer to you, gently reaching up to squish your cheeks together. “Aww, someone’s grumpy.” 

Your body was beginning to overheat. He was so close to you, and he smelled so good, fresh like cool eucalyptus, and warm like burning sage. You almost couldn’t focus on getting under your older neighbor’s skin, your words coming out a bit garbled when you provoked him, “Harry was a terrible Venom, by the way.” 

Yunho let out a sharp, offended gasp. “You take that back!” he demanded jokingly, pretending to lunge at you, his hands instead stopping short of touching your shoulders, his breath getting caught inside his throat when you decided to actually lunge back.

“Never!” It was surprisingly easy to take down someone who was almost twice the size of you, but you knew internally Yunho was letting it happen. You almost wished he would give you the same treatment. 

Yunho fell back against the couch cushion, his limbs sprawled out, except for one of his thighs, the one you were haphazardly sitting on. He began blocking your feeble attempts to tickle him, not putting a whole lot of effort into getting you off of his lap. “Admit it was peak cinema, will you?” He sounded out of breath, but not for the right reason. 

“Maybe if you admit I’m right,” you sighed out, not stopping your pursuit until you finally had his obnoxiously long body pinned underneath your significantly smaller one. Now straddling his hips, you closed your fingers around his wrists to keep him still. You were hunched over now, only a few inches away from Yunho’s reddened face, feeling him move against you, causing friction in between your thighs. You quickly bit into your bottom lip, your brows joining ever so slightly. Yunho wasn’t answering you, just looking up at you with his big glossy eyes. It was driving you crazy.

“Lemme hear you say it…” 

Yunho blew a few dyed dirty blond locks out of his view. Everything was moving so fast a second ago, and now, it felt like slow motion. He watched as your zip-up hoodie slipped down one of your shoulders, immediately distracted by your thighs once he readjusted his own. Your tiny shorts were riding up, leaving little to imagination. “You’re right,” your neighbor exhaled out, his soft breath hitting the bottom of your chin. 

Yunho sure had a big smile for someone who had just lost an argument, fake or not, and that’s when it hit you, or poked you, rather. You had been sitting directly on Yunho’s clothed cock, now feeling it throb against your exposed core through the thin material of your shorts. This sudden discovery could no longer go unnoticed. “That’s…what I thought,” you huffed, dragging your hips forward in a slow, methodical manner, drawing a long, airy moan out of your older neighbor. 

“I-if you do that, I’ll, nnngh–” Yunho tossed his head back into the couch, feeling your equally sweaty hands slipping off of his wrists, your palms pressing into his warm chest. His hands immediately moved to your hips like they belonged there, his fingers so long and slender that they touched at the small of your back. “This is what you wanted all along, huh? You should’ve said something, kiddo…” 

“Aren’t you the one who got hard five minutes into our date? Don’t think I didn’t notice,” you teased him back, trying to distract him from the fact that you were actively leaving a wet patch on Yunho’s tented pants. 

“So, it is a date,” the older man breathed out, squeezing the soft flesh of your hips in between his fingers from underneath your hoodie, purposely dragging you across his manhood, before staying still, like he was testing the waters. “Aren’t I a lucky man?” 

You just about melted from his sudden display of dominance over your body, now needing more, as though you were just introduced to a new drug. “Sh-show me…how lucky you are.” He waited silently below you, quirking his head to the side, before you realized. 

“Please.” 

“Good girl.” It seemed like his hips began to move without his permission, rolling them up into you, his movements disjointed and sloppy. Desperate. He was desperate for you, his lovely little neighbor, the one he had spent countless days and nights yearning for. “Fuck, is this okay…?” he still found himself asking you from underneath his breath, needing more confirmation, despite actively making you grind against him like it was going out of style. 

“Yeahh,” you gasped, just as you completely relinquished your feigned control, Yunho manually guiding your hips along his trapped, aching cock, the frantic pursuit of friction only fueling the already raging fires inside the both of you. “Need more, actually…” 

“More?” Each small sporadic moan he heard coming from above was like music to his ears, more and more arousal shooting through his heated body and straight into his cock. He truly couldn't take it much longer, unless he wanted to bust inside his jeans like a loser. “Tell me…Tell me what you need, baby…” 

Of course, your cute, seemingly innocent neighbor would be the type to make you ask for it. Your cheeks stung, especially now that he wouldn’t stop trying to catch your wandering gaze. “Touch me, Yun...”

“Touch you…? Touch you where?” 

Chewing at your bottom lip, you pulled your tiny shorts up by the waistband, your pussy on full display for him.  “Here, please…” 

“Fuckin’ hell…” One of Yunho’s hands left your hips, gingerly pulling said shorts to the side to reveal your glistening cunt. Yunho had dreamt of this moment for ages, and now that he was finally living it, he was absolutely ready to give his all for the angel sitting on his lap. “Jesus Christ...All of you is so pretty...so perfect.” 

“I’m all yours,” you whispered, running your hands down his warm chest.

Yunho felt his brain short-circuiting in real time. “Fuck, you have no idea how crazy that makes me.” 

The man’s cock pulsed from underneath you, leading you to bite back a moan. “Show me.” 

“Then, sit on my face, angel.” 

Once you were angled above him, Yunho pulled the shorts you soaked up by the inseam, emphasizing the shape of your pussy for his own amusement. He rubbed the pads of his index and middle finger along your clothed lips, knowing he found your clit with his thumb when you let out a sharp gasp. “Right there, hm? Did I find your cute little clit, baby? 

“Uh-huh…” 

He rolled your clit around in slow, teasing circles. “Want me to find your hole next?” Your sheepish, yet eager nods only fueled Yunho’s already raving arousal. 

The unmistakable sound of fabric being ripped was registered by your senses first, before you watched your tiny torn pair of shorts disappear into the depths of the fluffy carpet beside the couch. The cold air that had hit your bare cunt was quickly replaced by your eager neighbor’s warm tongue. “Oh…!” 

Yunho greedily lapped up your arousal into his mouth, mapping out the entirety of your cunt with his lips and tongue, the bottom half of his face already shining with your wetness. The man eventually spread you open with two slender fingers, watching your hole flutter around nothing. “Found it…” He was so overcome with lust, that he sent a wad of spit into your cunt, before plugging you up with his tongue. 

“Yunho, oh my god–” You reached down to hold onto the sides of his head, your fingers curling around his dirty blond locks. 

It was when your hazy eyes met that Yunho began to tongue-fuck you in a vigorous manner, each and every impossibly wet sound your slick cunt made only furthering your neighbor’s desire to make you fall apart. He only ceased his worship to groan, “Fuck, do you get this goddamn wet for everyone?” 

Your thighs were starting to shake. You were close. “Just you, Yunho…” Now that the man was looking back up at you with those big puppy dog eyes, you couldn’t help but tug at his hair. “You look like you wanna say something, baby.” The small, uncharacteristically whiny moan he let out encouraged you to take matters into your own hands, rubbing your cunt along Yunho’s spread-out tongue, your puffy clit routinely bumping into his curved nose. He let out another pretty-sounding moan. It made you smile. “C’mon…use your words…” 

“Cum on my face, please,” he voiced urgently, his lips still pressed to your wet cunt. 

“Fuck, yeah, okay,” you gasped in agreement, only able to grind yourself across Yunho’s tongue a few more times, before he cemented his hands around your waist, forcefully bringing you down onto his mouth. 

Yunho couldn’t make out any of the words coming out of your mouth, too focused on the heavy moans you were letting out in between them. Your clit throbbed against his hot tongue, and once he licked down to your spasming hole, he felt the warm spray of your release hit his tongue. Savoring the taste of you on his swollen lips, he gazed up at you with pride. “That’s my girl.” 

With your legs shaking and your heart pounding, you climbed off of him, watching him sit up and lean back against the couch, his aching cock still trapped inside the confines of his pants. You couldn’t help but lick at your own lips. “Take it out, Yunho…”

Yunho obliged, hastily undoing his leather belt. His sizable cock smacked heavily into his abdomen upon release, leaving a trail of pre-cum behind on his t-shirt. A prominent vein traveled up from the base of his cock to the thick tip where it was an eye-catching shade of pink. It matched the flush on his cheeks and ears. 

Despite being confident about his size, there was a nervous glint in his eyes. “What do you think…?” 

“Pretty…” You were sure you were drooling. 

Chuckling in relief, Yunho patted one of his spread thighs. “Come here, princess. See how pretty it is up close.” 

And you did just that, perching yourself on top of Yunho’s lap like you belonged there. Yunho still couldn’t believe his luck. Not only did he have the privilege of rewatching his favorite movies with his pretty neighbor, but he somehow ended up with you on his cock. He was determined to make it worth your while. “You like being on top, huh?” 

“I just didn’t want to put all the hard work on you,” you pouted, gently running your finger around his tip to collect his arousal, giggling at the way he jolted against your touch. 

“Oh, because I’m like 20 years your senior? Think I can’t handle all this?” he asked under his breath, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass from either side. 

Mewing from his touch, you aloofly licked his pre-cum from your finger, making the man whine in response. “I think you should prove it, Yun,” you whispered near his lips, leaving a chaste kiss against them.  

Yunho’s thick tip entered you first, your cunt slowly stretching open to accommodate his size. “I’ll show you, baby…” Feeling you tense up against him, Yunho made sure he took his time with you, pushing into you inch by inch, diligently studying your face for any sign of discomfort. He did all of this, only for your greedy cunt to swallow up his cock to the hilt. 

You didn’t even know you could feel this full. You were positive he was inside your guts. “Yunho, fuck– it’s so big,” you gasped into his neck. A small puff of air hit the side of your flushed face. 

“You’re just tiny, sweetheart. You can’t help it,” he whispered against your skin, rubbing your lower back in gentle circles. His teeth nipped at your earlobe. “But, you can take it, yeah?” 

You gave him a small nod, but that wasn’t good enough for the man. He pressed his forehead into yours, running his thumb over your bottom lip. “I want to hear you say it, Y/N.” 

When he let out a small breath, you took one in, clutching the sides of his face. “I can take it, Yunho.” 

Yunho began to move before you had the chance to properly ride him, holding your soft hips, using them like handlebars. “Y/N, baby, you’re so tight…” Each thrust he made was purposeful, deep, like he wanted to reach the innermost part of you, and leave his mark there. You were so warm, so hot inside, the man was sure he was going to melt if he continued, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “I’m going to make you mine…” 

You choked out a moan, tightening your grip around him. 

“Yeah?” His lips ghosted along your jaw. “That’s what you want?” 

“Please,” you begged Yunho, digging your nails into his back. “Make me yours.”

Yunho simply couldn’t hold himself back any longer, not while he had you like putty in his arms, your body limp, completely and utterly at his mercy. “There we go, baby…Don’t worry that pretty head about anything, just focus on this cock.” And he made sure you felt each and every inch of it, figuring he was hitting your cervix from the way you gasped for air like there was none left. 

“Fuck..!” you cried, delirious with pleasure. “I’ll cum, I’m gonna cum, Yunho, please, don’t stop–”

His hips matched the quick, wavered desperation of your voice, pounding himself in and out of your squelching cunt. “Fall apart for me, princess…Let me feel it…” He slipped his free hand between your heated bodies, giving your clit a few vigorous rubs with his calloused thumb. 

You couldn’t speak, simply opening your mouth to let out a soundless moan, your body jolting away from his touch. “That’s it…that’s it, my love, let go,” he sighed against your lips, his thumb still swiping over your sensitive clit, his throbbing length reaching places you never could without his help.

Just as your warmth spilled out of you, Yunho held you still within his firm grasp, his forehead resting against yours. He was almost completely out of breath, a few drops of sweat cascading along his temple. “Inside…?”

You nodded desperately. “Inside, please…” 

Yunho indulged in your mutual desire, pressing his hand down against your tummy to feel the space he took up inside you. He filled you to the brim with his hot white release, so much so that it spilled past your joined bodies and dripped out onto the couch. 

He managed to give you a small sheepish smile when your eyes met. “You’ll really be mine after this, won’t you, kiddo?” 

You couldn’t help but giggle, reaching up to caress his cheek. It was warm to the touch. “Good thing you live right next door.” 

© kitten4sannie, 2025.

[sourle]

I actually love the yearning touch au you made like nearly everyone dislikes or just don’t wanna be involved with the reader and that’s something I don’t see much people do! And do you think the reader will snap? Like from to much pressure, or when their being left to die?

Something amidst.

Tick tock tick—

WARNING: Gore, etc(THAT IDK HOW TO CALL SO FORGIVE ME IF I MISS ANY WARNINGS THAT I SHOULD'VE WROTE). I also didn't proof red these, so i apologize for any misspelled or mispronouns

Note: Snapping? Oh no, Dear Soup. No, no, no, no, no..

During one of the rounds, others would leave you behind whenever you hopped on a generator to go spawn knows where. Yet as the round progresses, you can't find where they are.

You limp, barely escaping death. You're low and bleeding from the wound Jason left on your body. You hope Jason did not follow you inside the mansion.

You sob, leaning on the walls near the closed door and sulk into yourself. The wound gasses and bleeds, you sadly don't have any medkit to patch yourself with.

With a heavy weak sigh, you slowly got up. Walking out the mansion careful not to be detected to try and find a medkit.

You hope and wish someone would find you and help, maybe Elliot? No— he would never help.

You reached the high mountain-like place, seeing Elliot and Builderman. Great, just great. Two people you hoped to avoid.

Builderman caught a glimpse of your limping form and furrowed his brows, watching as you climb up the steps to the top.

Upon reaching the top, Elliot let out an annoyed sigh but kept quiet as he sat next to the dispenser. You approached, sitting the opposite of where he sat. You could feel the glare burned on the back of your head and on your side, but you just ignore it, focusing more on resting and healing.

I'll just go once I feel a bit better.

Hearing a shuffle, you saw Shedletsky got to the top and once he met your gaze he put on a grimace but it quickly left his face. He turned to Builderman, mentioning how Chance and Guest is helping Dusekkar.

You decide to get up once you feel a bit better. Though you can't help but listen to them talk a bit longer. You listen as Elliot offers Shedletsky a pizza which he gladly took even as he has more health than you. You just shrugged it off and left. Hearing their relief sigh.

The timer was almost down, seeing as your cooldown finally gone you decided to help the two sentinel protect Dusekkar. Arriving at the graveyard, you took one glance at how tired Dusekkar was and heavily injured Guest is whilst Chance gamble away.

Quickly you took out your gun, aiming it precisely to stun Jason. Letting Dusekkar escape. And without a thank he left with Guest, though you don't understand why Chance lingered.

Seems like Jason precisely or knows how much weakness Chance has and turns his attention to the gamble addict. Chance would still gamble while being chased, he runs up you and—

SPLAT

You choked, feeling the burning pain of the machete making contact with your neck. Unfortunately, it didn't go through. Staying lodged into your neck, half way into cutting it.

Jason tilted his head before pulling it back with a quick motion, deepening the graze of the wound. Blood spray out from the gashing wound like a fountain. Some skins surrounding the wound were torn and some barely hanging.

You choked out bits of blood as it flowed out your mouth. Jason, oh seeing how sweetly nice to see you suffer, left you to bleed out and resume his chase with Chance who, I remind you, still gambles away with a blank face. Though you cannot lie he has bits of guilt etched at the corner of his lips.

You fell to the ground, covering the wound with your hand as if it would stop the heavy bleeding, draining your body from its source of oil.

The time ticked to zero, but— it didn't end.

You've had enough, your feelings were mixing with grief and agony. You just wanted to move on and yet the people around you treat you as if you're the same old you.

The hatred in their eyes and the disapproval glance would keep you awake at night. Spinning your head makes it hurt to the point you can't think of anything else other than your unwelcome presence.

You want to repay, you want it to end. You put more pressure onto your wound, finding the strength in your to get up.

Now. Do it. End it. STOP IT.

Shedletsky looks both confused and worried, the round supposed to end. And yet there they are, still in Yorick's resting place. The other ex-admin and the owner looks as confused as he is, they don't remember any extra rounds for today.

"Where are you?"

The words caught everyone's attention, it echoes through the map with an eerie underlined tone. It sounded familiar, yet he can't recognize it due to the gurgling over the voice, like they're chocking.

Taph was the first to recognize, his body shift with nervousness, hoping it was not the person he knew.

He watched as Builderman , Shedletsky, and Guest left the mansion— to investigate— leaving him with Chance and Elliot. Two time had left long ago.

At first he heard a shout, then screams followed by someone choking on something and Builderman running inside in a hurry. "Everyone go and run out through the ba—"

A sword, specifically Shedletsky's sword, penetrates through Builderman's eye socket. The eyeball hangs on the tip of the sword out of its socket. A glitch seems to seep into Builderman's body, covering his face as the sword was pulled back.

The said support limped before reanimated to life, judging it's due to the glitch. It stares.. no.. it watches Taph's and rest movements. Both Reanimated Shedletsky and Guest peeked on either side.

They're nothing but puppets controlled by the gui. Forced to hurt their once fellow survivors.

The rest didn't stand still as Elliot yelled for Taph to move it as he ran out the back door with Chance.

Taph turns back, the traps triggered by the reanimated corpse. He runs out, following behind Elliot's and Chance, he tries to keep up with their speed but he's slow from his worries. Where are you?

"There you are..!"

That familiar voice echoed and glitched from the owner behind him. It carries cold winter instead of the warm summer it used to have. The tone felt hard and not soft in the way they would always talk.

Taph slowly turns and there you are, standing, watching his movements. Your smile widens once you finally get their attention.

"Tap— THAT HURTS!!?!"

You screech as a bullet hits your head, you cover your face to try and regain your sight. Once you recovered from the injury you saw Chance behind Taph.

"oh. You're with them."

The next second was a blur, all Taph could describe was a chase before his end. The last thing he saw was their face, softening into guilt before they whisper in that ever so warm tone,

"I'm sorry."

[captain-huggy-bear]

In Your Element

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Quinn finally gets an opportunity to each lunch with you at your school, but he arrives a little early and sees a different side to you, when you're absolutely in your element.

Notes: This was a request which I very much enjoyed writing, so thank you:

'For Quinn x teacher reader you could do Quinn going to eat lunch with her at school and getting there early on accident and just admiring her teaching and her getting along with her students and then getting home and just telling her how much he admires her and loves her and wants to marry her'

Not me researching Canadian school grades and ages because it is not the same in the UK (Grade 11 is age 16-17, where as year 11 in the UK is age 15-16 and also the final year of secondary for us)

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Most days Quinn doesn't get a chance to go and visit you at work and he'd never had the opportunity to sit and eat lunch with you during the school day. After all, you were busy and so was he. You had maybe 40 minutes in a day to sit down and eat, then if he subtracted the time in that 40 minutes you needed to tidy your room, put books out for your next class, write the title on the board, sort your powerpoint out and then pee, plus dealing with any dramas your students brought to your door? Well, you probably had 10 minutes to eat...and he, well, how often was he actually available at that specific time of day? It was like ships in the night sometimes, both having highly busy careers in different ways, but you made it work. Partly by taking any moments that you could find and utilising them, both of you had to learn to be a bit more spontaneous and flexible.

Something that was easier said sometimes than done, but your desire to see each other had a way of making bending easier than breaking. It helped that you'd moved in with him before the season started, so at least he saw you at night and in the early hours of the morning.

Today was different, an odd day where the stars had seemingly aligned. Quinn had a free 2 hours in his day just at the right time for lunch with you and you had a free period after lunch which meant you didn't have to spend all your lunch break sorting stuff out for your next lesson. So, you'd agreed to tell the office he'd be visiting and he agreed to bring your favourite sandwich from your favourite deli along with other goodies for you to snack on.

The problem was Quinn hadn't expected to be 20 minutes early, Vancouver traffic being almost non-existent (which was a rarity) and the deli having absolutely no one inside despite it being lunch time (he briefly considered that the zombie apocalypse might have happened at that point). Being 20 minutes early meant he didn't really have anything to do. At first he assumed he'd have to simply wait in the office, but Maria on reception just gave him his visitors badge and walked him to your classroom, ushering him away from the uncomfortable visitors seats.

Your door is shut to keep the noise of the corridor out of your classroom. From the small window in the door Quinn can see the way your 11th graders sit in various states of focus, you're leant against your desk at the front, hands moving as you talk to them. There's something about how relaxed you are at the front of the classroom, the way you seem to be in your element that hits him. He's never seen you teach a lesson before and it strikes him that it seems right, like it's where you're supposed to be.

Maria knocks on the door and he watches as you pause, telling your students something before setting a timer on the board. Watching for a second to make sure they were all on task before walking to the door and reaching for the handle, your face a picture of surprise at seeing him here early.

"Mr Hughes is here to see you, I thought he could sit in the back or help you with the last little bit of lesson."

"Thank you, Maria I'm sure we'll figure it out." You smile warmly at Maria and it strikes him that you probably know all about her, that you've probably spent time with her at the staff Christmas party and eaten lunch together. It hits him that there are people you see every day that he has no idea about because your worlds simply don't cross that often. You know his team mates but does he really know your colleagues? He suddenly feels very out of place.

"You are early." You give him a look that makes him smile sheepishly at you, raising the bag of sandwiches as if that would solve the problem. Still you let him into your classroom, your students narrowing their eyes at the new face before promptly widening at who just walked into their classroom. Still they don't say anything, like you've taught them better, heads down as they continue writing an answer to the question on the board. A timer ticking down the remaining couple of minutes left.

He drops the bag onto your desk before you point to a spare seat at the back, "You can watch if you want...sorry, it might be boring."

"I don't think anything you could do would be boring." He knows the way he's looking at you is probably a little much for a classroom, he can't help it though. You're so pretty in your teacher clothes, there's a different sort of confidence rolling off you, you own the room and it's attractive, the way you command the room even when you're not overtly doing anything.

A quiet little murmur runs through the class at his statement, a few raised eyebrows and David lets out a little 'ohhhh' that you hush with a sharp look. Even that is hot, the fact a single look from you has a teenage boy shutting up, Quinn's rarely seen you like this, in complete and total control, effortlessly. In your pairing you're usually the one who follows while he leads. He orders your drink at a coffee shop or initiates a kiss, this is a different you.

"Go to your seat, Mr Hughes." The raised eyebrow does it for him as well and he thinks if he had to actually respond he'd have stuttered, instead he choses to follow your directions, trying desperately not to look utterly devoted to you in front of a bunch of teenagers.

He forgot how uncomfortable classroom chairs were, still he uses it as a chance to watch from the back corner. You wander the room, green pen in hand for the remaining time on the timer, writing notes on students' work and giving direction here and there. A few times you give warnings to students who haven't worked hard enough, but there's a general sense that this group of students work for you because they respect you. Even the kids who clearly aren't the most academic seem to try for you.

The timer is blaring when it goes off, some sort of lute sound that you clearly picked because it was mildly medieval and fit the vibe of your history classroom. It's ridiculous but it also describes you perfectly, those elements of quirkiness and fun that fit in even into a classroom where students write paragraphs and complete work. Like you have a balance perfectly set.

"Right, times up, so put your pens down..." You march to the front in quick time, nabbing a flashlight that one of your students was playing with at the front before they could even protest, slipping it into your pocket. It's impressive, the way you seem to have eyes on every corner of the classroom, the way you notice things that Quinn definitely would not have.

The student in question puts his hand up in the air and you call on him as if it was expected, "Yes, Rory?"

"Can I have it back at the end?"

"Yes, Rory, you can have it back at the end." It's interesting, the way that that is enough. That Rory seems to respect that it shouldn't have been out, doesn't try to argue that you shouldn't have taken it, but trusts that he'll get it back enough not to press they issue. Quinn's pretty sure Miller has argued with him more over lesser things before.

"Who can explain to me then how war has had an impact on medical development? Bonus points, potentially getting the bonus point duck for the rest of lesson, if you can give me concrete examples from our unit." He's close to putting his hand up to ask about the bonus point duck when you reach into your desk drawer and pull out a rubber duck dressed as Henry VIII.

It's in that moment that Quinn realises he does not know as much about you as he thought. He knew you. He knew the woman he called his girlfriend who couldn't sleep with her feet outside of the bed covers and absolutely had to have the shower on the highest heat setting, but he didn't know teacher you. Never in his life had you mentioned a bonus point duck, never would he have predicted that that was something you even had in your classroom and it's utterly ridiculous and shouldn't motivate a bunch of teenagers at all and yet, suddenly there were 20 hands in the air, a few calling out as if that would make you pick them quicker.

He watches the way you smile, the scan of your eyes over each, the way you bypass those not meeting your expectations until they correct themselves and then you pick a student that Quinn would likely not have picked, a student he knows his history teacher in school would have avoided.

When he thinks of picking a student to answer there are two modes he thinks of from his own high school career:

The one without their hand up, who doesn't look like their listening, the one a teacher wants to catch out

The student who is clearly a nerd, clearly good at the subject and will clearly given an impressive answer, the easy kid to pick

You pick neither. Instead, you go straight to a girl with her hand up but with thick blonde hair extensions in and enough gum in her mouth that Quinn can hear it smack from here. The stereotypical popular girl who probably doesn't care much about school and would rather be at the mall.

"Angel?"

"Well, it's like when there's a war on like World War One then all the government care about is winning the war, right?"

You nod in encouragement and it hits him that you picked Angel for a reason. That you picked a student who likely doesn't like school, likely gets discouraged but who you know can answer and get a confidence boost. It's smart, he does something similar with rookies, where he gives them a chance to do something so he can boost their confidence, can build a relationship with them. Suddenly captaincy and teaching seem awfully similar, minus the gum and the smell of Lynx Africa.

"So like if they don't improve medicine then all their soldiers just die, right? Either outright or later because of like infection like why they funded Florey and Chain to mass produce penicillin in World War Two or like why people were so into the leg splint thing in 1916. So, the governments put more money into medicine because that means soldiers live longer and can get sent back to war and then they can win the war because they still have men alive, but like if they all die you're going to lose the war, duh."

"Beautiful answer and a few specific examples in there, you have earned the duck," You smile widely at her as you walk to plop the rubber duck on her desk and he can see it, the way she seems to puff up in pride, the way a student who maybe would have hated History is engaged because of you.

He's pretty sure he just fell a little bit more in love with you.

"Yo, Miss?"

You sigh a deep sigh as if this interruption is expected, stopping mid walk back to the front of your classroom and turning on your heel, "Yes, David?" Your voice is mildly amused, not impatient or frustrated like Quinn would expect.

"Why ducks?" There's a beat of silence and Quinn watches the way you just stare at David, eyebrows high on your forehead like your considering whether you'll actually treat the question seriously or not.

Then a big smile crosses your lips like you're laughing at yourself before you even say the punch line to a joke. A silly little smile that is so his girlfriend that suddenly both versions of yourself seem to merge together.

"Because ducks fly together."

"C'mon, Miss! Really? Did you seriously just quote the Mighty Ducks when a hockey legend is in the room?" It's your patience with David that smacks Quinn in the face. You could have given him a detention by now or told him off for disrupting your lesson, but you're not. Like you're confident you can bring it back to the lesson soon enough. It makes him wonder if you'd be that patient with your kids, if he's seeing a little glimpse into a possible future where you're this patient with the kids you have with him.

"Well, maybe we should ask the 'hockey legend' what he thinks of my jokes? Mr Hughes?" You ask him because you know he'll back you up, and it's that sense of being needed that makes him sit up a little straighter in the chair he's in and smile widely like he's scored a goal.

"Hilarious as always, although maybe you need a bonus point orca?"

"Oh, do I? The duck not good enough?" There's a little glint in your eye, the one you always get when you're teasing him, playful. It feels like the rest of the world disappears, falls away, like you're the only two people in the room.

"Seems a little too Anaheim like for my taste,"

"You would say that, no taste." As if you're a Anaheim fan when you are in fact a Canucks fan through and through, but you know the statement will get a little rise out of Quinn. You can see the way his brow twitches at the suggestion that you'd pick the Ducks over the Canucks, the sense of male pride being slighted.

"Miss, stop flirting with Quinn Hughes!" It's David, it's always David. David with a wide grin that shows off his braces, David who's waggling his eyebrows at you, typical teenage boy behaviour really but it stumps you. Quinn can see that it stumps you.

There's a beat of silence, like your brain is trying to process what's just happened, and for the first time you're off your game, flustered, a little taken aback like you didn't expect it to go this far. But, then, Quinn was never in your classroom while you taught, never there for you to banter with in front of students. Quinn had proven to be a distraction, a disruptive presence if you will.

Your choice of tactic is perhaps not the best nor the most smooth, but simply to turn back to your powerpoint plastered on the board and pretend that it simply hadn't happened. To move on.

"Anyway, back to medicine," Your voice is a little unsteady, a little less controlled and Quinn feels slightly bad that he put you off your game, but admires the way you push forward.

You turn the slide on your powerpoint, an old cartoon springing up on the board, "I'm going to give you a copy of this source from 1847 about anaesthetic and I want you to analyse it like we've been practicing. If you can do this properly in 8 minutes then I will let you ask Mr Hughes some questions..." You pause briefly, looking directly at David, "Appropriate questions."

There's a bubble of excitement that sees students volunteering to help you hand out glues and copies of the source before all heads hit the desks, hands moving ferociously across the paper while 8 minutes ticks down on the clock. Just like that you've got them back on track and it is utterly impressive, how you managed to completely save a lesson that he'd accidently ruined for you.

You both survive the few minutes of questions at the end, David only asking a few minorly inappropriate ones which Quinn fields with his usual tactic of say nothing and refuse to answer. By the end he's not entirely sure how you handle being questioned all day by hundreds of teenagers and Quinn's a lot more sympathetic to your reluctance to make decisions when you get home after a long day of teaching. He gets it now.

"Have a good lunch, everybody!" You wave the last of your students off at the door, shutting it the moment they're all out and letting out a massive sigh of relief, shoulders slumping.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just tired." The unspoken is there. That your job is hardwork, that getting kids in the modern age to focus on anything for more than 60 seconds might look easier to the outsider but takes more brainpower and more routines and techniques than you can shake a stick at.

Quinn decides to leave it for the moment, you probably don't want to spend your entire lunch break talking about teaching and he's ultimately here to see his baby, not talk about education.

"Sit, I got your favourite," He's guiding you gently, hands on your shoulders to your comfy desk chair, the one he hasn't seen you sit down in at all. You let him force you to sit down, let him sort out your sandwich placing it in front of you with a napkin and your favourite packet of crisps with your favourite drink to boot. It's a little thing but the way he sets it out in front of you, the way he takes care of you helps ease a little bit of the strain of the day.

"Thank you for coming and having lunch with me," You reach for half of your sandwich, exactly as you like it down to the type of bread used, watching as Quinn pulls one of the desks closer to you so he's not so far away. His own sandwich being pulled from the brown paper bag.

"You don't have to thank me. I wanted to see my girl, who's looking extra pretty today by the way." You almost choke on the first bite of your sandwich, cheeks warming even as you cough and roll your eyes at him. Feeling decidedly unattractive after nearly choking on bread.

"You are such a suck up!"

"Oh, so I can't compliment my girlfriend now? That's sucking up? I'm just stating facts. The sky is blue, water is clear and my girlfriend is gorgeous."

"Quinn!" You laugh at him and it's the most beautiful thing he's seen all day. The way your face lights up, eyes crinkling as you twist your head away from him because of how ridiculous you think he's being. When you laugh he can't help it, it makes him grin, teeth on show, sandwich half forgotten in front of him.

"And she can't take a compliment to save her life."

The two of you fall into a comfortable sort of routine, taking bites of your lunches while interspersing eating with conversation about his upcoming roadie and what you're going to send to your mum for her birthday.

He doesn't say anything about your teaching, doesn't even bring up the bonus point duck because he doesn't want to take up your few precious non-teacher minutes with it...and also because he's pretty certain 40 minutes is not enough time for all the things he's thinking.

How does one condense down how much they admire their partner? How does he talk briefly about how utterly amazing you are at your job and how he can't wait to marry you, to have kids with you, to see you be just as patient, just as amazing with them? He can't, so he decides to leave it til later.

He doesn't just eat lunch with you before he leaves the school though, Quinn, ever determined to make your life easier helps you tidy up your classroom and fix a display board that you couldn't reach the top corner of. You can't help but admire him as he stretches up up to staple a bit of border roll back in place, the muscles of his back flexing underneath his t-shirt, the way his hair falls effortlessly across his forehead. It's weird seeing him in this environment, your environment but you can't help but think that he fits in it, like it suits him to be helping in a classroom. Maybe in a different life he'd have been a teacher or maybe you were just waxing poetic in your head.

You walk him out to his car once your done, even though you should be using this time to plan, you can't help but try to get as many moments with him as possible, any little bit of time precious.

"I'll see you at home later?" You ask just in case he'd planned something with the team, fingers twined with Quinn's as you stand by his car.

"Yeah, I should be home already when you get in, figured i'd cook dinner tonight." He wants to make it nice for you, special, because he knows you're going to shy away from his compliments, his admiration...but he feels like he has a lot to say. Good stuff, but a lot and he wants you in a good mood, more receptive.

"Mmm, anything good?"

"Your favourite." You think about the spicy noodle dish he's perfected cooking, the little spring onions on top, the warming broth and it makes you feel almost hungry despite having just eaten lunch.

"And what did I do to deserve this treatment?" You tug him closer by the hands, tilting your head back to look up at him with a sweet smile that makes his heart race just a little bit faster. You're so pretty without even trying.

"Just being yourself, baby." Quinn breaches the distance between the two of you, leaning down to close the remaining space, lips pressing to yours gently, once, twice, a third time because he can't help himself, "Have a good rest of your day and I'll see you later, sweetheart"

Quinn presses one more kiss to your lips, a longer one that lingers, a force behind it that almost takes you off guard, your hands reaching up to grip at the edges of his jacket.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath, just long enough for Quinn to notice and smirk about it, to find it cute that he can still make you react like that.

"Bye, I love you." You force yourself to pull away, watching as he steps into the car.

"I love you too." You watch Quinn's car roll out of the school car park, wave back at him when he turns to look at you from the driver's seat before he's completely gone, before heading back instead to finish off your day.

The rest of your day goes relatively smoothly bar the incident in which a student decided to swallow a battery he had in his backpack to see what would happen, resulting in him being taken to hospital and your last class of the day being unable to focus on anything but that. Still as days go it was relatively stress free and made ten times better when you walked into the apartment to the smell of Quinn's world famous spicy noodles and the way he'd set up the dining table with some candles just to make things sweeter. The lights in the apartment dim and romantic feeling.

He's stirring the dish when you get to the kitchen area, back to you, but head turned at the sound of your feet padding towards him. You don't hesitate to wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek into the centre of his back. Quinn leans back into you with a hum.

"You've really gone all out, huh?" You mumble it into his shirt, moving with him as he takes the pan off the heat and carries it towards the two bowls already laid out on the side. Shuffling alongside him determined to stay close to his warmth despite how inconvenient it was.

"Wanted to surprise you, now get off me and sit your cute ass down." You do as your told, jumping a little at the light swat Quinn gives to your arse as you move away from him. You turn to glare at him as if you're offended even though you both know you'd let him slap your arse whenever he wanted if he just asked.

Quinn serves you first, placing your bowl in front of you with a glass of your favourite thing to drink at dinner before grabbing his own noodles and sitting across from you.

At first it's quiet, the two of you more focused on eating than talking, but every now and then you look up to see Quinn staring at you as if he has something he wants to say. You choose not to rush him, both of you finishing your dinner before you insist that you put the dishes in the dishwasher since he cooked. Still he doesn't say anything and you don't push him.

It's not until he drags you to the couch, pulling you to curl up next to him while some movie plays in the background that he finally speaks his mind.

"You were amazing today..." You're tucked under Quinn's arm, his hand resting on your arm as you press your cheek into his shoulder, soft eyes looking up at him from under your lashes.

"Mm? What at work?"

"Yeah." You let him think for a minute, knowing he has more to say but clearly trying to figure out how he goes about saying it, his fingers tracing light circles on your arm. "I've never seen you like that...so in your element..."

There's a pause in which he shifts, pulling your legs over his lap, other hand gripping your calf. It's the most natural movement in the world, a touch neither of you even think twice about. "The kids love you. You got kids who probably hate school to willing write paragraphs for you and...you're so, so confident in that room, baby..."

"I'm just doing my job..." You hide your face in his shirt for moment, feeling that familiar bashfulness come to the surface. You've never been good at accepting compliments, even from Quinn, and now is no exception even as his words fill you with a giddy kind of happiness.

"I know but...the way you just knew you had it, even when someone was off topic, you knew you could get it back on track, that was so fucking attractive and even the silly things, like the duck!" Your head shoots up so fast at the mention of the duck that you almost knock his chin with the top of your head, the look you give him is nothing short of confused.

"The duck is attractive?"

"Not the duck exactly, but the fact that you wanted to make History fun but also still make sure they're actually learning...and, and it was so you, y'now? So silly but endearing and...I don't know..." Quinn looks away from you, red flush high on his cheeks as he starts to regret ever saying anything, feeling mildly embarrassed about how into you he is. Which he knows is ridiculous because he should be into his girlfriend.

"You don't know? Sounds like you do, you're just embarrassed about how much you love me." You tease him, hand cupping his cheek to get him to face you again, even when he's embarrassed he can't help but lean into your touch a little more, cheek pressed fully into your palm.

"I do love you...watching you teach was like seeing our future."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I thought..." There's that hesitancy again, flush bright on his skin, lip being bitten between his teeth. It's like he's worried he'll mess up if he speaks his mind, which is ridiculous because you love him so much you're not sure anything he could say would change that.

"You can't put me off, Quinn, if you're worried about saying the wrong thing...i'm too in deep to be put off, so, you thought?"

You wait, oh so patient, while he assesses you, judges whether you're telling the truth. Like he needs to double check that you're correct when you say you're in too deep.

"I was just thinking about how you're so patient with your students and how patient you'll be with our kids, y'know?"

"Our kids?" There's a giddy little sensation of butterflies flipping in your stomach, eyes widening in delight at the mention because how many relationships have you had where your exes refused to even consider children, where they didn't want that with you?

"Well, yeah, I'm going to marry you one day." It's so matter of fact as if he'd just said he was going shopping tomorrow or had a game on Saturday. A statement of objective truth as if there was no other option, no other outcome.

"Oh, you are?"

"If you let me. If you don't? I'm never going to marry anyone." You pull back from him, just enough to look at him, mouth slightly dropped open. He's dead serious, lips pursed, brows furrowed.

"Quinn."

"I mean it. I love you, you're so fucking amazing and I...seeing you in your element today made me realise how impossible it would be for me to fall in love with anyone else, to marry anyone else, to have a family with anyone else. I don't want anyone but you."

You let out a shaky breath, smile watery but pleased, full of love and affection.

"I...I guess it's a good thing then that I want to marry you one day. Can't have you dying alone, that would be sad." You're trying to lighten the mood, but the truth is you're so deeply touched, so in love with him that you hope he means it. If he breaks up with you, you're certain it'll break you for good because you were certain he was it for you too.

"Just to be clear this isn't a proposal, you're getting a proper proposal and it will be a surprise."

"You think you're sneaky enough to keep it secret?" Your arms wrap around his neck as the two of you shift, fingers playing with the dark curls at the nape of his neck.

"I think if I want something enough, i'll get it." Quinn's voice lowers in that way that has you raising your brows, cheeks warming as smirks down at you, green eyes peering at you from underneath unfairly long lashes.

"Oh?"

"Oh." You lean back against the couch, lowering yourself flat as Quinn crawls his way over you, arms bracketing your head on the couch beneath you. You reach a hand up to cup his jaw, scruff rough against your palm, the air around you feels charged.

He's the first to move, wasting little time before lowering his lips to yours. A soft press that deepens as your arms drag him closer, fingers curling in his hair tight. You're working on instinct when Quinn's tongue swipes across your bottom lip begging for entry, opening up for him as your legs wrap around his hips.

In that moment you are so very glad that you're never going to have to know what life is like without Quinn Hughes. That you'll always get to revel in the way he presses his whole weight onto you, the way his breath wavers when he pulls back just to catch his breath before diving back into you.

Maybe you're just lucky or maybe fate intervened, but you are so fucking glad you met Quinn Hughes and so fucking glad that he decided a random History teacher was more than enough for him for the rest of his life.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Spicy chatting with Stan and Ford? Consider this ask my vote for that ❤️💙

(Love your writing, I've lurked for a while and finally remembered to follow)

sexting Stan and Ford headcanons

2 part of this

also thank you so much <3 im so glad to know you enjoy my writing !

tagging : @nekovmancer

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Stan Pines

✧ he tries. god, does he try. but his texts are a combination of filthy and absolutely unhinged, it’s straight to “doll im sittin' here thinkin’ 'bout how good you’d look bent over my desk.”

✧ typically sends a blurry pic of his bare chest, captioned, “betcha wanna get your hands on this masterpiece, huh?" and you’re just staring at the picture like. . . gosh, Stan, who took this? did he set a fucking timer? he looks hot though 

✧ so yeah Stanley sends you photos, usually unprompted and always blurry because he’s just an old man, dear, what did you except?? his clothes half-open, pants unzipped just enough to give you a peek of what’s underneath and next message is: “betcha wanna see the whole thing, huh? be a good girl and ask nice.”

✧ texts you in the middle of the day: “gonna bend you over the kitchen counter tonight babe. make you cum on my fingers before I even think about putting my cock in you. whaddaya think?”

✧ he loves it when you’re bold, you send him something like: “what if I sit on your face instead?” and he’s instantly typing back: “doll, don’t threaten me with a good time. ya know I’d keep ya there till your legs give out.”

✧ Stan worships your photos. you send him a quick pic of you in bed and he replies immediately: “FUCK look at you. LOOK at THAT body. im gonna make you regret sending me that when im back. you better be ready for this cock, doll, ‘cause im not holding back.”

✧ a huge tease tbh, he wants you to beg. “tell me what you want, sweetheart. you want me to spread those legs and eat you out until you’re shaking? or maybe you want this thick cock filling you up?“

✧ “you’re touching yourself right now, aren’t ya? cant stop thinkin bout me pounding into you, huh? go ahead, baby. lemme know how bad you want it.”

✧ he’s got no shame about jerking off while texting you, you say one dirty thing, and he’s already: “jesus fucking christ, you’re killin me here, doll. im so fuckin hard right now. If you were here, I’d have you on your knees, taking care of me like the good girl you are.”

✧ Stan’s aftercare starts in the texts. so after he’s talked you through your orgasm, his messages turn soft. “that’s my girl, bet you look real pretty all flushed and satisfied. get some rest, doll you’re gonna need it when I get home.”

✧ Stan LOVES it when you play hard to get. “cmon, baby, don’t leave me hangin’. I swear, I’ll make it worth your while when I get my hands on you again.” but when you finally cave and give him a little, just a little, taste of what you want, his reply is “yeah that’s better, let me see that pussy of yours. you know I can make you feel good. let me prove it.”

✧ as you have already understood, this man is shameless, and he knows he’s good at getting under your skin.

“been thinkin’ about that pretty little cunt of yours, doll. what’s it gonna take to get my face buried there tonight?

✧ if you send him something back, it’s over. he’s going to double down with something that makes your toes curl. “you don’t know how badly I wanna fuck that smart mouth of yours until you forget your own name.” 

✧ the man is a sucker for dirty talk. he loves it when you tease him back, but he’s the most eloquent in his replies

✧ “If I was there right now, you wouldn’t be able to get a single word out. id have you moanin’ so loud they’d hear you down the street. you like the sound of that?”

✧ “you know I could really go for you in that tiny skirt of yours right now. make you bend over and fuck you while you’re still wearin’ it.” damn

✧ he’s a man of action. his texts are short and right to the point. “im gonna make you scream my name tonight, sweetheart. better be ready.”

✧ sends you something filthy right out of the blue. "you’re really makin' it hard for me to concentrate on work, baby. every time I close my eyes, all I can think about is the way you looked last night, riding me till you couldn’t walk.”

✧ if you send him a picture, especially if you’re in lingerie or something that shows just the right amount of skin, he goes wild. “WOAH, sweetheart. you’re gonna make me LOSE IT. I wanna tear that off you and fuck you right here RIGHTJ NOW.” the author's spelling has been preserved.

✧ a lot messages like: “tell me, doll, what color are those panties you got on right now?“

✧ but the minute you call him on his antics in person, he’s all cocky smirks and “ya can’t blame me for wantin’ to spoil my favorite girl, can ya?”

bonus 

Stan: hey doll, you up?

You: it’s 1 AM Stan

Stan: exactly

Stan: perfect time to talk about what you’d look like on top of me 

You: …smooth 

Stan: c’mon don’t act all shy

Stan: you were thinkin’ it too. bet you’re wearin’ somethin’ cute right now, huh?

Stan: or nothin’. nothin’s good too! 👍👍👍

You: why are you always texting me at the most unholy hours?

Stan: unholy?? c’mon sweetheart i’m just here tryna spread a little late night joy

Stan: i was thinkin’ about you though

Stan: well. you. and about how that sweet little mouth of yours looked last night

You: oh my godd

Stan: what?! it’s the truth

Stan: bet you’d look even better right now

You: you’re horrible

Stan: and you’re fuckin’ gorgeous

Stan: now be a good girl and tell me what you’re wearin

You: literally in my pajamas Stan

Stan: cute

Stan: betcha look sweet all wrapped up in blankets… though you’d look sweeter wrapped around me instead

You: fuck

You: Stan! 

Stan: what? i’m just bein’ honest. you want me to lie? fine! i’m thinkin’ about taxes. there. happy?

You: oh, shut up old man 

Stan: nah i’d rather talk about how soft your thighs are. how they’d feel so good squeezin’ around my head. c’mon, sweetheart, gimme somethin’. don’t make me do all the heavy liftin’ here

You: only if you promise to return the favor

you smirk, biting your lip, already excited because god you love playing hard to get with this man. so you let the moment linger just long enough to make him squirm before snapping a photo, of course you were lying bout pajamas and Stan damn knew, he felt 

you send the picture: lacy panties of your favourite colour barely covering anything, paired with an oversized sleep shirt that’s slipping off your shoulder

Stan: holy fuckin shit

Stan: you’re gonna make an old man’s heart give out

You: what, you don’t like it? :(

Stan: don’t like it? baby i’m gonna FRAME this picture and hang it on my wall

Stan: better yet i’m gonna print it out and carry it around so i can show off what’s mine

You: wtf that’s absurd

Stan: no what’s absurd is how hard i am right now. fuck, baby, you’re gorgeous. every inch of ya

You: your turn, old man

You: prove it 

you don’t expect him to actually follow through, but then your phone buzzes

Stan: look at what you’re gonna get, babe. and it’s all yours

a photo. exactly what you imagined: poorly lit, shot from a slightly awkward angle, but still breathtaking and so damn hot. his cock is thick and heavy in his hand, flushed and glistening at the tip, veins are prominent, pulsing down the shaft, and his fingers, broad, calloused, strong, wrap around it like he’s ready to ruin you as he strokes himself 

your mouth goes dry, you blink at the screen, your lip caught between your teeth. hell, you’ve seen him before, touched him, tasted him, but this photo is something else entirely. your fingers twitch like they want to reach through the phone because you’d crawl through the damn screen if you could

your fingers hover over the keys, trying to think of something clever to say, but the words won’t come. thighs clenching instinctively as you just stare at the screen.

You: okay, not bad, old man

Stan: NOT BAD?!

Stan: sweetheart, you’re lyin’ through your teeth. i know you’re sittin’ there soakin’ through those little lace panties of yours

You: please, you think one dick pic is enough to faze me 

Stan: oh, is that right? big talk comin’ from someone who’s gonna be beggin’ for it by the end of this

You: you wish old man

Stan: nah I know. let me paint you a picture, sweetie

Stan: you, spread out under me, that pretty little pussy so wet i can hear it every time i slide in. your legs wrapped so tight around me like you’re scared i’m gonna pull away. and me, fillin’ you up so deep you can feel me in your fuckin’ throat

and there your smugness falters

You: oh god

You: Stan

Stan: what’s the matter? 

Stan: cat got your tongue? betcha you’re soaked right now, huh? sittin’ there with that pretty little pussy all wet, wishin’ i was there to fill ya up

Stan: admit it, baby. your fingers aren’t even enough. you’re mine. every inch of you belongs to me and i’m gonna remind you of that the second i get my hands on ya

You: you’re not winning this old man

Stan: heh sweetheart, i already HAVE

your fingers fumble on the keyboard as you type, cheeks burning

You: please come

Stan: there you go, now that’s my girl 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Ford Pines

✧ he starts out so awkward it’s painful. you’ll send him something suggestive, and he’ll reply with: “Oh. Well. That’s… intriguing.” Intriguing, Ford? seriously?

✧ as we all know, Ford overthinks everything! it takes him forever to hit send because he’s convinced he’ll say something wrong and he’s so fucking nervous

✧ but as soon as he feels comfortable, he’s sending you long, well thought out messages full of science-y talk about how he wants to make you feel, because of course he’s analyzing you in a way. “I’ve been reading up on the physiological responses of the body during… how should I put this?… intimate interactions. Your body would likely respond most positively to the—” and then he gets really filthy without realizing it

✧ but Ford, dear sweet Ford, doesn’t always realize just how much of an effect his words have on you. if he’ll start spouting off his deep thoughts, you’ll send him, “Ford, I swear to god, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to need to change my sheets.

✧ absolutely loves when you tease him, but he also knows how to turn it back on you. “Good girl, now tell me exactly what you’d like me to do to you, in vivid detail. I’m taking notes.”

✧ "I’d have you on your knees, darling. Holding you by the hair while I take you deep, slow. You’d love every second of it, wouldn’t you?"

✧ Ford LOVES playing the “I’m going to ruin you slowly” card. It gets under your skin every time. “You won’t be able to think about anything else when I’m done with you. I’ll have you begging for more.”

✧ you’ll send him a flirty text and two minutes later, he’s sent back an entire paragraph detailing how he’d peel your clothes off and worship you from head to toe

✧ as I said, he’s so damn descriptive, I mean bro literally wrote 3 journals, it’s easy for him. “I’d kiss my way down your stomach, slow enough to make you squirm. My fingers would trace your thighs, spreading you open so I could take my time tasting you, savoring every—” you’re already screaming into your pillow

✧ surprisingly filthy when he gets really needy and horny. long messages about exactly what he wants to do to you or what he wants you to do to him

✧ Ford is a huge fan of getting into your mind before he even thinks about touching you. he wants to know what makes you tick, what gets you wet, what turns you on mentally first

✧ he tries to stay composed, but the second you tease him, his composure shatters. you send him a pic, maybe just a peek of your thighs and he’s breathless: “What are you doing to me, darling? Do you have any idea how hard I am right now? I can’t stop imagining those legs wrapped around me while I’m making love to you, God help me.”

✧ “i would love to feel the warmth of your skin beneath my fingers as I slowly undress you. I’ll start by trailing kisses down your neck, your chest, until I reach the sweet spot between your thighs. Would you let me do that, darling?”

✧ embarrassingly vocal about how much he needs you. you’ll get texts like:

“I can’t concentrate on anything. I keep thinking about how tight and wet you felt around me last night. We need to make love again.” and then, seconds later:

“Please tell me you’re touching yourself right now. I need to know you’re thinking about me while you do it.”

✧ “God, I’d give anything to have my cock inside you right now.”

✧ If you send him a spicy picture, he just about short-circuits. “You’re exquisite. I need to see more.”

✧ “You don’t even realize the effect you have on me, do you? I’d ruin you in the most wonderful ways, darling.” you’re a puddle in seconds.  

✧ Ford loves when you’re explicit with him. if you’ll text him something like: “I want your cock so deep I forget my own name,” you’ll get: “Careful what you wish for, darling. I’ll have you screaming it by the time I’m done with you.”

✧ If you ever send him something too really dirty, all your fantasies and wishes, expect him to stare at your text, blink for a second, then type back: “That’s... unexpected. But I’m very intrigued. You must have an incredible imagination.” 

✧ sometimes Ford gets real quiet after a particularly hot conversation, nervous even. “I shouldn’t have sent that… I’m sorry if I…”

“Ford, don’t you dare apologize. I love it.”

bonus

Ford: Are you still awake, darling?

You: what do you think?

Ford: Well, considering you’re answering me, I’d say yes. I must say, you’ve been a distraction all day, sweetheart. I just keep replaying the way your skin felt under my hands the last time we touched… the sounds you made when I kissed you, your thighs.

You: sounds like you’re the distracted one, Doctor Pines

Ford: You’re the most beautiful distraction imaginable. Entirely your fault.

you smirk at the screen as an idea strikes

You: how’s this for distracting?

you send the picture: legs spread wide, your pussy glistening under soft light with two fingers pressing yourself open just enough to expose everything. you know Ford’s obsessive attention to detail, the way he adores every curve and line of you. oh god he’ll lose his mind over this

but. . . 

Ford doesn’t reply immediately. one minute. two now. the anticipation builds and your stomach twists.

You: …

You: Ford?

You: oh my god, say something!

You: was it too much? too forward?

five agonising minutes later, your phone lights up.

Ford: Darling… You are beautiful. Utterly perfect. Forgive my silence, I needed a moment to… compose myself.

You: five minutes of silence isn’t exactly reassuring, Ford

Ford: I assure you, I was not silent in my head.

You: damn

You: thought I broke you there

Ford: You nearly did. It’s taking all my willpower to stay coherent.

You: old man ur making me blush

Ford: I’m sorry! I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing you, my dear. I’d rather make you tremble with pleasure.

You: you really like it that much?

Ford: I’m obsessed, love. Now, listen carefully. Take those fingers, sweetheart. Slowly. I want you to trace circles around your little clit, soft and teasing. No rushing.

and of course you obey

You: im so sensitive rn Ford

Ford: Good, honey. Yeah, nice and slow.

You: like this?

Ford: Exactly like that. Does it feel good, darling? Tell me.

You: so good im already so wet for you 

Ford: Good. Now, slide one of those fingers inside. Don’t go too deep yet. Just enough to feel it.

You: fuck, Ford 

You: feels amazin

Ford: That’s my girl. Now, add another. Stretch yourself out for me, darling. I want you to imagine it’s my fingers instead. Feel how I’d curl my fingers to touch you just right, all your sweet spots. Don’t stop until I tell you to.

You: :((

Ford: Sweetheart? What’s wrong?

You: it’s not the same

You: you’ve got six fingers, i can’t make it feel like you

Ford: Ah, my darling… that’s terribly unfair of me, isn’t it? You’re right. No one else can touch you the way I can. But I promise, when I’m there, I’ll make it up to you tenfold. For now, let’s keep going. I want you to use your fingers, sweetheart. Make yourself feel good for me, pleasure yourself. Please. Slide them deep and tell me how it feels.

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:04」 — y.jeonghan

» seventeen menu | jeonghan menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ oni!Jeonghan × fem!Reader wc: 5.3k summary: Speed dating never was Y/N’s thing but lucky for her, she just so happened to meet someone worthwhile. He asked her on a proper date which developed into a relationship. After a regular date night, Jeonghan asks Y/N if he can try something new in the bedroom. genres/themes/au: angst/fluff/smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, mention of alcohol consumption, supernatural and horror themes, mentions of: food/drink consumption, coffee; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to the reblogs join my taglists! taglist for kinktober is CLOSED. Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this one was going to be much different but sometimes, the story writes itself. i don't have much else to say so enjoy this piece for kinktober and hbd to Jeonghan! thank you for reading! the next part is Mingyu so stick around for that! as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), deepthroating (f receiving), bulge kink, use of pet names (baby, angel, sweetheart, etc), unprotected sex (use protection pls), oral (m receiving), Jeonghan has a huge d!ck, and I think I got all of it but of course, tell me if I missed any. kinks: Bulge kink + deepthroatingdialogue prompt: ❛❛ I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already wet. ❜❜

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

Dating in this day and age had always been difficult for you. 

When your friend, Voxx, first suggested speed dating, you laughed it off as a ridiculous notion, not wanting to resort to something you deemed so impersonal. Your friend reassured you that it wasn’t that bad and that they had met their partner during a speed date. 

“No, I get that,” you said as you leaned back against their couch, a glass of wine in your hand as they sat on the opposite end of the couch. “I didn’t put much stock in meeting someone on a speed date but Michael has been great and I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.”

You nodded, taking a sip from your glass. “Besides,” Voxx continued after taking a sip of their own glass. “How else do you expect to meet anyone? You never approach anyone at the bar, you hardly speak to anyone outside our friend group except for your coworkers,” they added, giving you a knowing look. You narrowed your eyes before lowering your gaze to your glass.

“You have a point.” 

Voxx smirked, taking another sip of wine. “It’s really not that bad and if you do get someone truly awful, you don’t have to worry about being stuck with them for very long,” they explained. “You only get a few minutes, maybe ten at most.” You nodded silently as you turned their words over in your head.

“Come on,” your friend whined. “You never know who you might meet!”

You sighed, looking up from your glass. “Fine,” you said when you saw the pleading look in their eyes. “I will attend but if it ends disastrously, I’m blaming you,” you added, pointing at them before downing the rest of your wine right as the timer on the oven went off, signaling dinner was ready and it was time for more wine.

Voxx promised to sign you up for the event, taking care of everything but sending the questionnaire for you to look over and fill out. You emailed it back to the event coordinator who was beyond excited that you were attending. Your friend told you they often hosted these events and was always this ecstatic.

The night of the event, you raided your closet, settling on a simple cream colored blouse with a small keyhole cut just above the bust. You paired it with a dark brown skirt, nude colored stockings, and a pair of stylish but comfortable heels in case you would be doing a lot of standing or walking. Grabbing your beige long wool coat to brave the elements, you were ready.

It was a Saturday afternoon which is why you chose to dress in the color palette you did. An evening event would have seen you in a much more extravagant cocktail dress and your red bottom heels you saved for special occasions.

You took the train into the city, getting off at the appropriate stop and making your way to the address provided by the coordinator which turned out to be a bookstore and cafe. You entered through the front door, greeting the cashier who then pointed you to the private room in the back. The main room of the coffee shop was rather large with couches, arm chairs, and tables placed throughout the shop. 

Every wall that didn’t have a window or doorway had a bookshelf lined with books, all separated by genre and organized by author name. It was very organized and tidy. You walked through the open doorway into another, smaller room with love seats, coffee tables, armchairs with a small end table between them. It was the perfect set up and away from prying eyes.

You saw that you were one of the first participants to show up and caught the eye of the coordinator. You only knew who she was because of the picture your friend had shown you. She walked over, smiling warmly at you as she approached. “You must be Y/N,” she said, holding your hand out. Up close, you noticed she had striking red eyes, pointed fangs, and her nails were unusually long and sharp.

As you took her hand, you felt her skin was cold to the touch and it dawned on you that you were now face to face with a vampire. “Uh,” you said, realizing she was waiting for you to answer. “Yes. I’m Y/N,” you replied. She smiled again. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Lucia,” she said. 

You thanked her, forcing a smile as you shook hands. “We’re waiting for the rest of the participants to show up but if you’d like to go grab a coffee and browse the books, feel free. We don’t start for another twenty minutes,” she added, pulling out a pocket watch — because of course she did — to check the time. You thanked her once more, looking past her at the other people in the room.

You noticed nonhuman features, inhuman eye and hair colors but also some that looked entirely ordinary. As you walked out of the room to go up to the counter, you saw a woman sporting yellow eyes with vertical slits and bits of scaly skin peeking out from under her hairline, you realized what you’d signed up for, letting out a small groan of frustration.

You quickly composed yourself as you approached the counter and ordered a simple caramel macchiato, paying and stepping aside to pay. As you waited, you pulled out your phone, shooting a quick text to Voxx, conveying your frustration.

You: YOU SIGNED ME UP FOR A MONSTER LOVERS SPEED DATING EVENT?!

Voxx’s response was instantaneous.

Voxx: I thought you might like to give it a try since your track record with humans hasn’t exactly been that great. You: a heads up would have been nice 😒 Voxx: if I had told you it was a monster lover speed dating event beforehand, would you have still gone? You: …no Voxx: exactly. Now stop texting me, put your phone on silent and enjoy the event! (:

You grumbled to yourself as you did just that, putting your phone on silent and slipping it into your pocket as the barista called out your name, setting your coffee on the counter. With your macchiato in hand, you perused the bookshelves, finding several old novels, settling on grabbing one of your favorites, Carmilla. 

With the book in hand, you returned to the back private room, moving to sit in one of the armchairs while you waited for the rest of the participants to arrive. Among the ones you'd already seen there were a couple more newer faces.

You kept count as the room slowly filled until there were a total of 19 bodies not including the hostess. There were 10 humans including yourself and 9 humanoids ranging from demons to reptilians and you were sure there was even the odd werecreature. The numbers were uneven though, which you thought odd unless there was meant to be one person without a match each round.

You saw Lucia look around and check her pocket watch once more before getting up and moving to the front of the room. She cleared her throat before smiling, looking around at the guests.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted. “And welcome to the annual Unconventional Couple's Speed Dating Event.” A light, scattered applause rang throughout the room, soft but noticeable. 

“Each year, my partner and I host this event to help humans and non-humans come together and meet in a safe environment without the judgment of others,” Lucia explained in a clear calm voice, her warm smile ever present on her lips.

“My partner, Greg, and I met 9 years ago by sheer coincidence and it was practically love at first sight. We decided after being together for four years that we wanted to help others like us meet and potentially find their match.”

As you sipped your coffee, you listened to Lucia's speech. It wasn't as if you were uninterested in dating a monster, it just wasn't something you'd put much thought into before. 

A loud bang rang out, making you jump in your seat along with several others and you turned your head in the direction of the sound to see a tall, and rather attractive, man bent over, nursing his knee. He'd run into one of the end tables by the door upon entering.

He looked up, his paint expression melting instantly when he realized he had all eyes in the room on him. He stood up straight, grimacing as he walked further into the room. “Sorry,” he whispered, moving quickly to take the empty armchair by yours.

Several of the others sent icy glares in his direction before returning their attention back to Lucia who started to speak again, going over the rules of the event. Your attention waned as the man in the armchair next to you shifted in his seat.

“If looks could kill,” he muttered. You threw a glance his way, noticing he was staring past you. His eyes shifted, meeting yours and you knew instantly, he was not a regular man.

He had brown eyes that seemed to glow slightly which bordered on uncanny territory for you. From this close proximity, you could see that he was even more attractive than you previously thought.

He had a medium golden skin tone with reddish brown hair, strands falling into his eyes. From between strands of hair, two small dark brown horns peeked out, the tips rounded into nubs.

He wore a white button down under a caramel colored sweater with dark brown fitted pleated pants and black oxfords. Over the entire ensemble, he wore a light cream colored long coat with brown buttons and a sash that hung untied.

He nodded pointedly past you, bringing you back to reality. You turned, following his gaze to find a pair of icy blue eyes staring at the two of you before turning away to look at Lucia. You turned to look at the man once more. His gaze met yours and he smiled, giving you a wink before he turned his attention to the front of the room.

After explaining the rules, Lucia had ten participants, half the humans and half the nonhumans, sit while the remaining half would be the roaming half. It worked out that all humans sitting would be paired with nonhumans and vice versa.

You were lucky enough to be included in the group that was seated, removing your coat and draping it over your seat as Lucia passed out cards with a list of potential questions to ask. You looked over the card, chuckling to yourself at the logo. You read over the questions, rereading them a few times so you wouldn’t have to keep looking at the card.

Lucia then explained you would have up to ten minutes with your date before the timer went off. You were the second to last in the rotation of human females. The first nonhuman to sit in the armchair next to you was a werewolf named Liam. He was nice enough but he had some rather interesting ideas about his ideal family that you weren’t entirely on board with.

As he got up and moved to the next station, the man from before sat down, smiling at you as he settled back in the chair. “Well, hello again,” he said softly, grinning broadly at you. “Hi,” you said holding back a chuckle as you set your almost empty macchiato down on the table.

“I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself earlier,” he said. “I’m Jeonghan.” You looked up as he held out a hand. You took it, shaking his hand. “Y/N,” you replied. “So uh, tell me Jeonghan,” you started, clearing your throat and glancing at the cards.

“What color would you say best describes your personality?”

Jeonghan’s smile widened as he let out a low laugh. “Color?” he asked. “Maybe a nice deep red. Like a merlot,” he said, smirking at you. “What about you? Any color out there to let me get an idea of who you are?” he asked, tilting his head curiously. “Purple,” you answered quickly.

“Purple? Is that like an eggplant or —”

“No,” you answered, shaking your head. “Like a bright, vibrant, almost neon purple.”

Jeonghan’s eyebrows shot up as he looked you over. “Neon purple?” he asked. “You?” You nodded, holding back a smile. “You look more like a baby pink. Pastels,” he said as he straightened up. You laughed to yourself, nodding as you looked down. “You should see me at night,” you replied.

“Is that an invitation?” 

You lifted your head to look at him. His smirk had grown, looking even more mischievous as time went on. You found yourself holding his gaze. His eyes were so beautiful and there was something behind them that drew you in but you couldn’t place it. He was overall mesmerizing.

“We only have like five minutes left,” he said suddenly, drawing you from your trance. “Right, you said, glancing down at the card again. Your mind seemed to go blank whenever he opened his mouth. It was unlike you and an entirely new experience but it was one you were liking.

“What are you most passionate about?” you asked, reading from the card.

“Sex. Next,” Jeonghan answered, making you choke on your spit. He laughed as you picked up your drink and sipped, trying to quell your cough. “I’m kidding,” he added as you managed to subdue your coughing fit. “That was supposed to make you laugh. Not potentially kill you.”

You waved your hand, dismissing his concern. “I’m fine,” you gasped, setting your cup down. “I’m passionate about food,” he said as you regained your composure. “Food?” you asked, looking up at him. He nodded. “I love food. Good food is important to me.”

“Okay,” you said, shifting in your seat to face him properly. “Your friends are coming over for dinner, what are you cooking?” you asked. Jeonghan smiled as he leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. “What friends?” he joked.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine,” you said, giving in to his teasing. “Do you snore?” Jeonghan asked abruptly,” you looked up at him, alarmed. “What?” you asked. “Do you snore?” he asked again. You stared at him silently for a few minutes before answering. “Only when I’m sick,” you said, looking down at the card once more.

“Do you have any party tricks?”

Your question made Jeonghan laugh loudly. “Take me to dinner first,” he said with a wink. Your cheeks burned as you met his gaze. The line itself was enough to have you flushing but the wink just added an extra amount of cheese to it.

You glanced down once more but Jeonghan leaned forward, grabbing the card out of your hand and sat back as you looked up at him. He crumpled the card in his hand, giving you another mischievous grin. “Ask me something off the top of your head,” he said softly, cocking his head to the right.

Your mind went blank as you stared at him. Being put on the spot like this made you nervous as hell. ‘What could I possibly ask him?’ your mind went reeling as you tried to grasp for something to ask. Jeonghan checked his watch, glancing up at you. He made a soft ticking sound, as if to try and pressure you into asking a random question. One that wasn’t printed on the card.

“I am so sorry,” you said softly. “My mind is completely blank.” Jeonghan chuckled as he set the crumpled up card on the table. “That’s alright,” he said, picking up his coffee and downing the rest of it as the timer went off, signaling that 10 minutes had passed.

You felt your heart sink. You didn’t want the time with him to end. He got up and grabbed his coat before he leaned over as the participants started to move to the next station. “When the next round ends, meet me outside. This is boring as hell and you are most certainly not,” he whispered in your ear before standing up, giving you another wink with a smile before he turned and headed for the last date as your third one sat down. 

The third round wasn’t nearly as entertaining or interesting as Jeonghan had been. He was a shapeshifter named Kai and he was nice, much nicer than Liam, but he was also quite awkward. When the round finally ended, you felt relief wash over you.

Lucia stood at the front of the room, calling for everyone’s attention.

“Now that we’re finished, I’d like you to fill out the back of the card I gave you and write down the names of the participants you’d like to meet again,” she said. “And afterwards, if you’ll stick around, we have a few ice breaker games to get to know everyone a bit more.” 

You looked around as everyone flipped over their cards and started writing. You grabbed your wrinkled one and picked up the pen before writing down one name only: Jeonghan.

Looking up, you saw Jeonghan get up, walk up to Lucia and slip the card into a small box on a table next to her. You saw him briefly exchange words with her before he turned and started for the door. He met your gaze, sending you a wink before he disappeared out the doorway into the main area.

Following your instincts,” you got up and walked up to Lucia. She smiled as you slipped the card into the box. “Are you going to be staying for the ice breaker games?” she asked, sounding hopeful. You forced a smile, shaking your head. “Sorry,” you replied. “I actually had something come up. Family emergency.” Lucia smiled politely. “Of course,” she replied, nodding understandingly.

“Thank you again.” you added. “This was a very informative experience.” You exited the room, returning your book to the shelf and dropping your used mug off at the counter.

Once you were back outside, you looked up and down the sidewalk, hoping to see Jeonghan standing nearby but you didn’t see him anywhere. You felt your heart sink, wondering if you’d taken too long as you continued to look around.

You walked towards the edge of the sidewalk, looking on the opposite side to see if maybe Jeonghan had crossed over. You were getting more and more dejected as you didn’t see him anywhere. You sighed, hoping that Lucia would at least be able to pair you up as you turned and started down the street towards the bus station.

“There you are,” a voice said from behind you. Turning, you saw Jeonghan walking out of the coffee shop and waited as he jogged lightly to catch up. “Thought you had taken off,” he said as he matched your pace, tucking his hands in his coat pockets. You smiled as you walked along. “I thought the same actually,” you said, making him chuckle.

You walked in silence for a few minutes until he skipped ahead, moving to stand in front of you just as you reached the bus stop. “Alright,” he started. “So, I’m sure you wrote my name down. I wrote yours down and only yours,” he added. “So how about we skip the middle and I take you out tonight?” he asked.

Your heart skipped a beat as a smile spread across your face. “Okay,” you said softly, feeling suddenly shy. Jeonghan snorted. “Well, jeez,” he started jokingly. “Don’t go jumping for joy. Wouldn’t want you to die from excitement.” You laughed, playfully swatting at him. “I’d love to,” you replied.

Jeonghan smiled, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Then let’s not wait for Lucia to do her thing,” he said, unlocking the screen and tapping away. “We can just exchange numbers now.” You quickly pulled your phone out and pulled up a new contact as Jeonghan held out his phone. You exchanged with him, typing in your name and number, adding a purple heart emoji.

When you had your phone back in your hands, you read his contact card. His name had the red ogre emoji next to it with the sunglasses smiley face. You shot him a quick text before pocketing your phone. “So what time were you thinking?” you asked, looking up at him as he checked his phone before slipping it back into his coat pocket.

“How about seven?” he asked. “And if you don’t want me to know where you live, let’s just meet there, yeah?” he asked. You nodded. “Meet where?” you asked. Jeonghan nodded towards your pocket. “I sent you the address. It’s a restaurant I love and I’d like to actually share it with someone.”

You pulled out your phone, looking at the notification. You would look it up later to make sure it was actually a restaurant. You trusted that Lucia would vet all the participants pretty well but you could never be too certain. “So, I’ll see you at seven?” he asked as the bus pulled to the stop.

You pulled out your bus pass as the doors opened, several passengers getting off. “Seven,” you agreed, looking back at him with a smile before getting onto the bus, scanning your pass and taking a seat. You waved at him as he stood on the sidewalk. He waved back, smiling as the bus started to roll forward and soon he was out of view as the bus continued down the street.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket and fished it out, checking your messages.

Jeonghan👹😎: you’re really pretty (:

You chuckled as you typed a response back.

You: so are you ;)

Jeonghan’s reply was instant.

Jeonghan👹😎: see you at seven, beautiful

One date with Jeonghan turned into two which turned into a third and after a few weeks, you were dating pretty regularly. Lucia had contacted the both of you a few days after the speed dating event to inform you that you had both selected each other and she passed on your contact details but you already had exchanged them.

Your regular dates turned into something romantic and sexual after a couple months and by the third month, you had agreed to be exclusive. You really liked Jeonghan. He was smart, funny, charming, and a little bit annoying but you liked his teasing.

On the surface, he liked to joke around, tease, and play pranks but under that silly exterior was an extremely caring, loving, and passionate person. You learned on the fourth or fifth date that Jeonghan was an oni. You knew from the start that he wasn’t human but that didn’t bother you in the slightest. If anything, it made him much more alluring and added to his appeal.

You’d never truly considered dating any monsters before but now that you had, you were certain you probably wouldn’t ever date human men again. Your past with dating had been turbulent and rocky to say the least but ever since meeting Jeonghan, things had been so much easier. Your relationship with him seemed to come naturally to the both of you.

In the bedroom, things were beyond amazing. Jeonghan was neither pushy or hasty to make you do anything you didn’t want to. Sex with him was as easy as breathing. All you needed to get into the mood was some playful banter, a few light touches, and some whispered dirty words and you were putty in his hands. He was a skilled lover and you were never left unsatisfied.

After a date night out, you returned to your apartment, inviting Jeonghan in for a moment which you knew would turn into more if you played your cards right. 

“I’m never ordering that again,” Jeonghan said as you giggled, letting him into your apartment as you stood in the doorway. Once the door was shut, you moved to set your purse on the kitchen counter, fishing out your wallet and phone as Jeonghan walked up behind you. You felt his hands on your waist as he pressed into your backside.

“I like this dress on you,” he murmured, lips brushing against your exposed shoulder. “Yeah?” you asked softly, leaning back against him. He hummed in response, pressing a few kisses to your shoulder before you turned around in his hold, reaching up to comb your fingers through his hair. “I think the only thing that would be better is if you took it off,” he said, leaning in to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

Your fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer as your lips parted, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You felt his fingers dig into your hips, pulling them flush against his. Pulling back slightly, you smirked as he tried to chase your lips. “Maybe you should take it off,” you whispered, nuzzling his nose. Jeonghan let out a groan, sliding his hand down to cup your ass before moving to pull your thigh up, pressing his clothed crotch into you.

“Bedroom,” he muttered, peppering kisses along your jaw. “Now.”

You did as he demanded, heading for the bedroom with him on your heels. Once inside, you heard the soft click of the door shutting as you turned on the bedside lamps. Jeonghan was on you in an instant, pulling at your dress, kissing your neck, littering your skin with love bites as he guided you towards the bed. “I’d like to try something new tonight,” he whispered between kisses.

His hands unzipped the side of your dress, hands moving up to slide the straps of your dress down your arms and letting the garment fall to the floor at your feet, leaving you in your lingerie and heels. “What’s that?” you asked as you stepped out of your dress, kicking it across the wood floor.

Jeonghan cupped the side of your neck just under your jaw. “Climb onto the bed,” he said softly. You glanced down at your feet. “My heels,” you started. Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “Shit, right. Let me handle that.” he said, kneeling down to quickly remove your shoes one at a time. He tossed them aside, ignoring the clatter they made as they bounced across the wood.

“Now, sit on the bed,” he said, gently nudging you. You followed his instruction, sitting on the edge of the mattress, looking up at him as you waited for further instruction. Jeonghan leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips and cupping your cheek.

“You know I absolutely love it when you use your mouth,” he started softly. “And I love the way you do it but I’ve really wanted to fuck your mouth for a while now,” he continued. “I’d really like to try it, if you’ll let me.” You nodded, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand over your face and kissing his palm. ��And I promise to reward you,” he added. “Of course,” you answered. “I love trying out new things with you.”

Jeonghan leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. Standing up straight he pulled his tie loose, discarding it on the floor before undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one, keeping his eyes on you. He dropped the shirt to the floor, moving his hands to undo the zipper of his pants.

“Here,” you said, reaching out to grab him by the waistband of his pants.

You made quick work of his pants and underwear, pushing them down his thighs, revealing his already hard and leaking cock. You took him in your hand, opening your lips and taking the head into your mouth. Jeonghan let out a throaty groan, one hand moving to the back of your head.

You moved your head, bobbing and taking more and more of his cock into your mouth. You felt the tip hit the back of your throat as he thrust slightly, making a wet gagging sound. You pulled back, waiting a moment before resuming. 

You felt his grip on your head tighten as he pushed you further down. “Just a little more,” he groaned. “I know you can do it, sweetheart.” You obliged him, sinking his cock further into your mouth until you felt the head push into your throat. Jeonghan let out a loud moan, throwing his head back.

“Fuuuuck, baby,” he groaned, swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. He let out a shaky breath, lowering his gaze to look down at you. The hand on the back of your head moved up to the top, slightly tilting your head back. More of his cock sank into your throat at this angle.

He let out another strained moan as he felt your throat constrict around his cock. He moved his other hand down to your throat, fingers feeling the bulge of his cock in your throat. “Oh, shit,” he whispered. “That’s so fucking hot.” He wrapped his fingers around your neck, squeezing slightly.

After a moment, he pushed your head back slowly, his cock slipping out of your throat.

Once freed, you pulled back, gasping as air filled your lungs. “You alright, baby?” he asked, gently caressing your cheek. You nodded, coughing slightly. “You okay to keep going?” he asked, his voice sounded full of concern. Again, you nodded. “Yeah,” you said. “M’Okay.” 

Regardless, Jeonghan gave you a few moments to recover your breath before letting you continue. “If you need to stop, just tap my thigh, okay?” he asked. You nodded, taking his cock in your hand, you stroked him quickly before taking the head back in your mouth, the weight of his cock heavy against your tongue.

Jeonghan’s hips thrusted forward, burying his cock further into your mouth. You removed your hand, moving your hands to his hips as he set a slow, steady pace. You kept your jaw lax, letting him fuck your mouth at his own pace. Each thrust made that same wet gagging sound at the back of your throat, filling the room with nothing but that sound.

His fingers curled into your hair, tightening his grip on your head as he guided you to move into his thrusts. “Fuck,” he groaned. “M’close.” He slowed to a stop, pulling his cock from your mouth. “Up,” Jeonghan ordered, holding his hand out for you to take. He pulled you up onto your feet before turning you to face the bed, pushing you onto it. He removed his pants quickly before cupping your sex.

“Holy shit,” he groaned. “I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already wet?” he asked. You whined, wiggling your hips. “Don’t tease me, Hannie.” He chuckled, moving to pull your panties down your thighs. “God, look how fucking wet you are. Fucking soaked,” he growled, fingers swiping through your folds before sinking into your cunt. You let out a moan as he slowly curled his fingers.

“Please, Jeonghan,” you whimpered. “Please fuck me.”

You heard him chuckle as he removed his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and cleaning them. “You sure you’re ready for me, angel?” You nodded eagerly. “Please,” you whined. “Please. I can take it.”

Jeonghan chuckled again, grabbing the base of his cock and gliding the tip between your folds, gathering your arousal before pushing the head into your slit, the warmth of your cunt welcoming him as he glided in, unrestricted. Each inch filled your walls, stretching you slowly to accommodate his size. “F-fuck,” you gasped as he bottomed out, tip of his cock kissing your cervix.

“So f-full,” you groaned. Jeonghan gave you a harsh thrust, making you cry out sharply. “You really sure you’re ready, my love?” Jeonghan asked, moving his hands to your hips. You nodded once more. “Yes,” you whined, feeling him retract slowly. “Please just fuck m-me!” you gasped as he snapped his hips forward, filling you in one, sharp thrust.

“Oh I plan to,” Jeonghan said softly. “You might wanna hold on, sweetheart,” he added.

“You’re in for a long night.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[beritybaker]

Preheating, Freezing

My first @steddiebingo fic for round 2! Prompts: Bakery AU, Trapped

Takes place post-Vecna, but in an AU where Eddie wasn't involved. Also - Weirdo Steve Harrington supremacy.

Rating: G | WC: 4,851 | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Coworkers, Crying, Codependent Robin & Steve, PTSD, Head Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort | ao3

If it weren’t for this job, Eddie doesn’t know what he would do. Get a different one, he supposes, but that would suck ass. He likes the one he has. He likes showing up at 4:00 AM after a late-night-turned-early-morning, using the quiet hour of solitude between the drunks and the go-getters to mull over last night’s gig, or the progress he made on his campaign before he had to head out for work. He likes surrounding himself with the smell of proofing sourdough and pies in the oven, and munching on yesterday’s chocolate croissants with an extra-large coffee.

What he doesn’t like is training new hires.

It’s not a common occurrence. The joint is family owned, and small—so small it doesn’t really have a name. People call it “the place by Bradley’s” when they’re talking about where to get a birthday cake, and nobody asks which one when Eddie tells them he works at the bakery. Still, it’s popular enough to get a steady stream of customers until mid-afternoon, and with Chrissy gone for school, he knows they need another part-timer to pick up the slack. He just wishes his morning peace didn’t have to be interrupted for it.

“Hey, Munson.”

“Harrington,” Eddie replies, unlocking the door. He glances up as his newest coworker approaches from the BMW parked on the curb, yawning wide. “Early enough for you?”

“Feel like I’m headed to swim practice,” Steve says through the end of the yawn.

Eddie steps through the door and holds it open for Steve to pass through behind him. “A lot less bread at swim practice, I hope.”

“Definitely.”

Locking the door behind them, Eddie beckons for him to follow to the kitchen. He punches in, grabs a clean apron from the hook by the time clock, and leans toward the rack of cards while he puts it on. When he finds Steve’s name, he mutters, “Aha,” and plucks it from the rack to hand to him. “You ever used one of these before?”

Steve nods, sticks his card into the machine, and puts it back in the rack next to Eddie’s. “Same kind we had at Scoops.”

“That’s right, you worked at the food court. So did I.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Burger King.”

“Oh, wait.” A sly smile makes its way across Steve’s face. “So you had to wear that god-awful red polyester? And I thought we had it bad with the sailor outfits.”

“At least those things looked a tiny bit breathable,” Eddie agrees. “It was honestly a relief when the mall burned down, because I didn’t have to wear that shit ever again.”

Inexplicably, Steve’s smile freezes into an unsettled grimace. “Y-Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, I guess not.”

Okay…weird. Eddie knows that look. It’s the same one Wayne gets when something reminds him of the F5 that came way too close to the trailer park in ’74, or the look his mom would get when her asshole brother came around. Eddie wants to ask why his dumb joke seemed to give Steve a fucking Vietnam flashback, but he holds his tongue. Maybe he was there when it happened, or a friend of his died in the fire. Whatever the case, Eddie’s not about to drag all that shit out of him while he’s supposed to be teaching him how to work the big oven, no matter how curious it makes him.

“Right,” Eddie says. He clears his throat and reaches for a second apron. “So, um…put this on, unless you want to look like a powdered donut. That’s step one.”

Steve obediently pulls the thing over his head.

While he’s tying it, Eddie goes on, “Step two is looking at the list for today.”

“The list?”

He leads Steve to the bulletin board by the walk-in freezer and taps the paper pinned up in the corner. “Everything we’ve got to get in and out of the oven before the morning rush. Some special orders to prep, but mostly—”

“Breakfast stuff?”

Eddie resents being interrupted, but at least it tells him Steve is on the right page. “Yep.” He pulls the list down and reads by the dim bulb above the sink.

“Do you want me to turn on the light?”

“Good god, no. I never turn it on if I can help it.”

“Oh…okay.” Steve stands there looking awkward and useless.

Eddie ignores him, turning his attention back to their morning checklist. He usually thinks aloud, and this morning is no exception. He hopes Steve is listening so he doesn’t have to repeat himself. “Croissants and scones are in the freezer; they can go right in the oven. George made the bagels last night, just have to pull those out of the pantry and put ’em in the case. Muffins: blueberry and…maple flax? Really, Pauline? We haven’t sold more than two flaxseed muffins all month.” He sighs, knowing what he’ll be having for breakfast tomorrow. “Whatever…”

“So we need to make muffins?” Steve says.

Eddie glances up. He’d almost forgotten there was someone else in the room. “Yeah. But we should take care of the scones first. Can you set the oven to four-hundred?”

“Oh,” Steve says again. “Sure.” He turns to one of the two industrial-sized ovens a few feet away, walks over, and stares at it for a moment. Then he turns back to Eddie and says, “Uh…how?”

Trying to suppress a long-suffering sigh (though admittedly not trying very hard) Eddie marches over and shows him, punching buttons with learned precision. “Got it?”

“Yeah. I think so.” Steve lets out a nervous chuckle. “You’re a braver man than me.”

“Why do you say that? You afraid of ovens or something?”

“No! God, wouldn’t that be funny, working in a bakery?” Another chuckle. “No, I just can’t turn on an oven without checking inside first. Cleaning up melted Tupperware isn’t something I want to do ever again.”

Eddie stares at him. “You left Tupperware in your oven?”

“My mom did. My family doesn’t bake much, so she stores it there. One time I wanted to make cinnamon rolls, and let’s just say the fire department wasn’t amused.”

“Well, lucky for us, the only thing that passes through this oven is stuff that’s supposed to be there. Speaking of which”—Eddie whirls and heads back to the walk-in—“let me show you where we keep the stuff that gets prepped ahead of time.” He pulls the handle on the massive door and lets it swing wide. A frigid cloud hits them, and he steps forward. Once Steve is inside too, he props the door open behind them.

“Chilly,” Steve remarks, chuckling yet again. “Would suck to get trapped in here.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t otherwise acknowledge the observation. Instead he points at the shelves at eye level and says, “Right here is where you’ll always find stuff for the day ahead. By the time the afternoon shift is here, this will all be gone, and they’ll fill the shelf back up with tomorrow’s.” He picks up a baking sheet, covered in doughy triangles that are just visible through a layer of frosty plastic wrap. “These are orange-cranberry scones. There’s some blueberry-lemon and cinnamon right there. Go ahead and grab a tray, and we’ll start putting ’em in the oven as soon as it’s done preheating.”

Stepping out of the freezer, the temperature of the kitchen is a stark contrast. With the oven heating up, the whole room has started to get a little stuffy. Eddie puts his tray of scones on the counter next to the oven and goes to open the window. Usually he opens it before turning anything on. That’s what happens when something fucks with my routine. He wonders what else he’s going to forget before this shift is through. Hopefully it won’t be anything important.

The next half-hour is uneventful. Steve takes instruction surprisingly well, always rushing to do whatever Eddie suggests—though at times, he realizes just a moment later that he needs further guidance. Over the course of the morning, Eddie becomes more and more willing to give it, because goddammit, despite his misgivings, the guy’s charm is undeniable. He’s still not happy to be losing his quiet time, but at least Steve doesn’t say more than he needs to. With another set of hands there, Eddie is also more productive than usual, and by a quarter to five they’re left with very little to do.

He goes over their remaining tasks in his head. They’re all easy things: packing up Flo’s usual order for the station, feeding the sourdough starter, putting the muffins and loaves in the case once they’re out of the oven, replacing them with the pies of the day. Last thing to do is put together the cookies for the Wheelers’ party platter, but it’s a little early for that.

Time for breakfast, then, he thinks, and he calls out for Steve, who ventured into the freezer at his suggestion to pull out the unbaked pies. “Let’s take a breather. You wanna pick out a bagel? Bet we could get away with raiding the fresh ones.”

He doesn’t get an answer.

Furrowing his brow, Eddie tries again. “Harrington? Do you want some breakfast or not?”

Still nothing.

He rounds the corner to the freezer and finds the big door shut. Whirling around and around for some sign of where Steve went, he starts to panic. It’s not that he’d be upset if Steve decided bakery life wasn’t for him and skipped out on him; it’s more about the fact that Pauline will definitely blame it on Eddie for scaring him off. His snark is no secret, and he’s pretty sure it’s why she gave him the pre-open morning shift in the first place, to keep his mouth from offending any customers. The last thing he needs is for the manager to have another excuse for her weird vendetta.

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief when he spots an unfamiliar set of keys on the hook beside the bulletin board. Steve is still here, unless he decided to leave his car for some reason.

Turning back to the freezer, Eddie cocks his head in confusion. Did he shut himself in? He reaches out, turns the handle, and pulls the door open. On the other side, he does find Steve, though not remotely in a state he anticipated.

He’s huddled on the floor, with his back to a shelf of frozen butter, and though he jumps about a foot in the air at the sound of the door creaking on its hinges, the startled look on his face does nothing to hide how red and puffy his eyes are. “Munson!” He shoots to his feet, wiping his nose on the back of his hand and sniffling hard. It’s clear he’s desperate to look casual, though his voice is thick and rough when he goes on, “Sorry, man. I, uh…I got stuck.”

Eddie stares, blinking. “You got stuck,” he echoes.

“Yeah.”

Because he’s never been one to shy away from the elephant in any room, he purses his lips and says, “Is that all you were crying about? Getting stuck in the walk-in?”

Steve looks startled all over again by Eddie’s candor. He opens and closes his mouth half a dozen times before crossing his arms over his chest and grumbling, “No.”

Now Eddie is even more surprised. “Okay…then why were you crying?”

There are a few different emotions in conflict on Steve’s face. Eddie spots the ones he expects, with fear and shame taking the lion’s share. There’s also a tiny flicker of something hopeful, though, and he realizes a moment before he speaks that Steve must be debating whether or not to be honest. He huffs, then says, “I miss Robin.”

“What?”

“Robin Buckley. This is the first job I ever had without her, since she left for U of L. I mean, I guess that’s if you don’t count that summer I was a lifeguard, but that was totally different, because—”

“You mean to tell me,” Eddie interrupts, because he knows the beginning of a nervous ramble when he sees one, “that you came to the walk-in to cry because you’re used to working with your friend?” When he sees some of Steve’s fear overtaking his shaky confidence, he hurriedly adds, “Which is totally fine! I mean, we’ve all done it.”

Steve stares. “You have?” he says, with the dull monotone of disbelief.

“Yeah. I mean, not for the same reason, but if you ask around you’ll find that the walk-in is a popular spot for the occasional mental breakdown among staff.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Steve says slowly, seeming to mull over the concept. “We did the same thing at Scoops sometimes.”

“Robin worked with you there, too, right?” Eddie says, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible without sounding patronizing.

A leftover tear escapes over Steve’s lashes and drips down his cheek. He wipes it away impatiently and nods. “It’s where we met. And then she basically got me the job at the video store, because Keith hated my guts. When she left for school…I don’t know. I couldn’t stand being there without her around, so I quit.” He grimaces and shakes his head. “Not the best idea I ever had.”

“So you two went from food service straight into retail? No wonder you’re best friends. You’ve been through a lot together.”

The joke does its job. Steve laughs a bit and says, “You have no idea.”

Glad to have diffused some of the tension, Eddie taps Steve’s shoulder with his knuckles and says, “Anyway, I was looking for you. You wanna have some breakfast?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Steve sighs. He sniffs one more time, but it’s clear his tears have dried up. Before they make it out of the freezer, though, he says, “Oh! I did actually get stuck, though. Is there a way out of here when that happens?”

“Sure. Want me to show you?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Eddie smiles. “That’s what I’m here for.” He takes a step back and lets the door shut with a metallic thud. “It’s really easy. All you have to do is…oh. Wait.” He stares at the lever that opens the door from the inside.

There’s a beat of silence before Steve says, “Everything okay?”

Still with his eyes fixed on the mechanism, Eddie bites his lip. “I, uh. I forgot.”

“You forgot what?”

He turns to meet Steve’s gaze, hoping his apologetic look masks the rising alarm. “It’s broken.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. “So we’re…?”

“Yeah.”

He swallows. “And Pauline—”

“Won’t be here for another half-hour,” Eddie finishes for him.

“But the muffins are supposed to come out in twenty minutes!”

It’s such a strange thing to be concerned about in their current predicament that Eddie actually laughs. In fact, he doubles over, struggling to breathe the frigid air and leaning on one of the shelves to keep himself on his feet.

“What’s so funny?” Steve demands.

“Nothing! It’s just…you’re looking down the barrel of half an hour stuck in the freezer…and you’re worried about the muffins?”

“We worked hard on them,” he says, looking wounded. Before long, though, he seems to understand how absurd it is, and the look morphs into a sheepish grin.

Eddie hates to admit it, but that expression is one of the most adorable things he’s ever seen, and the dopey giggle it’s paired with does his psyche no additional favors. “They’ll be okay with an extra ten minutes. Maybe a little charred, definitely a little dry. That just means Pauline’s vision of a flaxseed empire will crumble.” He snorts at his own pun, then adds, “It’s her own fault for not getting the repairs done as soon as the door broke last week.”

“It’s a safety issue, actually. I’ll bring it up with my mom.”

“Your mom? Why?”

“She’s friends with Pauline. It’s the only reason I got this job,” Steve says. He smirks. “I bet if I tell her about this, it’ll be fixed by tomorrow.”

“Hm. So you’ve got an in with the boss, huh? That could come in handy.” Eddie sinks to the floor, right next to where Steve sat a minute ago.

Steve lowers himself with a groan, joining him. “Don’t get too excited. She’ll only raise hell about the freezer door because it’s a hazard.”

“So that means no raise, huh?”

“I’d say probably not.”

“Damn.” Eddie shoots him a grin. “Well, forcing her to meet OSHA standards is better than nothing. It might be nice having you around.”

“That’s good to hear. I was so worried about fucking up, I hardly slept at all last night.”

“Why? You’re doing just fine.”

Steve sighs. “I guess sometimes it feels like—or, I don’t know, it felt like Robin did most of the work, at Family Video at least. I don’t know shit about movies. Even though she tried to show me some, my memory is total shit, so I didn’t ever retain much.”

“So you’re not into movies. Who cares?” Eddie shrugs. “I’m not that into baking, even though I’ve been working here since my junior year. Everything I do turns out like it’s supposed to, but it’s not like I could bake a loaf of banana bread without the recipe right in front of me. Although,” he says, smirking, “it has given me a lot of ideas for things to add a secret ingredient to, if you catch my drift.”

Steve exhales a short laugh and looks down at his lap, where his hands fidget with the hem of his apron.

“I’m just saying, you probably did a lot more for that joint than Keith’s encyclopedic knowledge of Star Trek ever did.”

He exhales again. “You know about that?”

“Oh, I’m very familiar. One time we got into it over who would win in a fight between Tolkien’s orcs and the Klingons.”

“I have no clue what that means.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Eddie says, waving a dismissive hand. “Just know that he came into that argument with more trekkie trivia than I thought even existed.”

Steve laughs. He actually laughs out loud, instead of letting out one of his nervous chuckles.

It’s a pretty sound, Eddie thinks. Too pretty. The last thing he needs is to start thinking about how cute Steve is, especially if they’re gonna be working together.

Because Steve is cute. He always has been, and Eddie isn’t about to deny it: gorgeous face, melodic laugh, a cleverly self-deprecating attitude that plays Eddie’s heartstrings like a fiddle. None of that changes the fact that Steve Harrington was a cookie-cutter jock in high school, though. He’s the type of guy who would probably kick his ass if he called him cute out loud.

Then again…he’s close enough with some hyper band geek to be weeping over her absence. More importantly, he owned up to the tears, and the potentially embarrassing reason for them. Eddie knows that’s not something his old douchebag friends would’ve ever let him live down. So maybe he’s…sensitive. In a good way.

In a cute way.

“Look, I know I’m not Buckley,” Eddie says, “but maybe I can stand in for her. At least ’til she’s home for Thanksgiving.”

Steve studies his face. It takes Eddie a moment to register that he’s looking for some kind of cruel joke, his wary eyes searching for a sign that Eddie’s putting him on for laughs. Eddie wonders how often that used to happen with his old friends. Lord knows they did it to the rest of their peers, though he hadn’t ever considered the fact that Tommy H might’ve been just as much of an asshole to Steve as he was to everyone.

“I’ll be your work buddy,” Eddie elaborates, trying to sound sincere while keeping his tone light. “You need to bitch about something, you can bitch to me.”

“Okay,” Steve finally says, a cautious smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“It goes both ways, though. You have to let me bitch about management, too.”

“Deal.”

“And I promise that it will be in no way an excuse to get you to tattle on Pauline.”

Steve laughs again. If he’s not careful with that giggle of his, Eddie’s gonna fall in love with him.

They’re quiet for a while. The cold is starting to get to Eddie, but with Steve close to him, it’s not too bad. He checks his watch, starts to comment on how it won’t be long before Pauline waltzes in and frees them, but Steve speaks up first.

“I’m sorry if I was ever a dick to you in high school,” he says, his voice quiet.

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. “Nah, it’s all water under the bridge.” He pauses, thinking. “You know what? Actually, I don’t think you ever were.”

Steve turns to look at him. “No?”

“No,” Eddie repeats, shaking his head. He offers a soft, playful smirk. “You’d have to know I existed to be a dick to me.”

“I knew who you were,” Steve protests. “I bought drugs from you once.”

“What about the bagels?”

His eye twitches, and he frowns. “Bagels?”

“Your order at the bakery. Sesame bagel with bacon, egg, and cheese. To go.”

“You…remember that?”

“Well, you came in every day at the ass-crack of dawn and ordered the same sandwich. Kinda hard to forget.” Eddie smiles, trying to get across that he’s not offended.

“I thought you said you worked at Burger King before.”

“Only last summer, because Pauline hired her nephew and I couldn’t stand him. I was here through most of high school. Had to come crawling back after the mall burned down.” Because guilt is starting to settle into Steve’s features like it belongs there, Eddie goes on, “It makes sense you don’t remember me, though—it’s not like Pauline would ever let me get away with my signature look working front of house.”

Still frowning, Steve says, “I just can’t believe I forgot.”

“You’re the one who said your memory’s shit,” Eddie reminds him with a gentle smile.

Thankfully, it draws a small one from Steve, too. “Good point.” He tilts his head, staring at the floor in front of him. “You know, Robin remembered that sandwich, too. We were in Click’s class first period, and she was so annoyed with me getting crumbs all over the place every day. I didn’t even know she was there.” The last part is so quiet, Eddie isn’t sure he was supposed to hear it.

“And now it takes a crowbar to pry you two apart,” he emphasizes.

“Not true,” Steve says. “She’s in a whole other state now.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Eddie shoots back, with yet another good-natured smile. “I bet you talk on the phone every night.”

Steve blushes. Though he doesn’t answer out loud, that’s answer enough.

“And you can always get in that beemer of yours to go see her. Isn’t it just a straight shot down 65? Can’t be more than an hour’s drive.”

Steve shakes his head, looking for all the world like a lost puppy. “I don’t want to bother her. Besides, I’m okay just talking to her on the phone.”

“Sure,” Eddie says. He shoots Steve a sly grin.

It earns him one in return. “Okay, fine. I’d love to go down and spend the day with her sometime.”

“If you need company on the drive…I’ll be around.”

The tips of Steve’s ears go as pink as his cheeks. “Thanks. I’ll keep you in mind.”

It was an experimental offer; the fact that Steve seems receptive makes Eddie’s heart start hammering, and suddenly he’s desperate to change the subject before he asks him out right then and there. He pushes out all his air in a huff and says, “There’s something else that’s bugging me.”

“There is?” Steve says. He looks uncertain again, though not quite as blue as he did when Eddie mentioned his usual breakfast in high school.

“Yeah. And it might a be a little personal, if that’s alright.”

He narrows his eyes, but he says, “Okay.”

“Earlier, when I brought up the mall burning down…you looked like you wanted to ralph. What was that about?” Eddie asks.

“Oh.” Steve surprises him by smiling and shaking his head. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“I’m trapped in a giant icebox with King Steve, who just got done crying his eyes out because he’s got some kind of weird codependency going on with Robin Buckley, of all people.” Eddie catches his eye and raises an eyebrow. “At this point I’d believe anything.”

“Trust me, man. It’s pretty out there.”

“Try me.”

Steve shakes his head again. “It’s too weird.”

“I’m weird,” Eddie points out. “I’m like, the keeper of weird shit. If there’s something strange afoot and I’m not aware of it, I’m doing a subpar job.”

Fixing him with a wary look, Steve purses his smiling lips. It makes him look like he’s begging for just one more reason to spill the beans. Eventually, he says, “It could put a target on your back if you knew.”

“With who?”

“The feds.”

“Well, now you have to tell me,” Eddie whines, reveling in the short laugh Steve returns to him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to just move on!”

“Okay, fine! I’ll tell you. But you can’t repeat a word of it to anyone.” Steve takes a deep breath, lets it all out, then takes another before he continues. “You remember a couple years ago, when Will Byers went missing?”

Eddie blinks, startled. “Will Byers? What does that have to do with the mall?”

“I’m getting there. You remember it?”

“Sure. Really pissed me off the way people talked about the kid when he came back. ‘Zombie Boy’…like he had a fucking say in the cops thinking that other body was him.”

“You remember the official story?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows and sighs, trying to recall what he heard on the news. “That he got picked up by some drifter, right? He got away from ’em, but he almost died in the wilderness before the Chief found him.”

Steve meets Eddie’s eye and shakes his head. “No.”

“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Then what did happen?”

“He got kidnapped by a monster and taken to this…other dimension, or whatever. I’m not very good at explaining it. But his brother and Nancy Wheeler lured it out—this big fucker, at least seven feet tall, huge mouth for a face—and I fought it with them. Hopper and Joyce found Will and brought him back to the real Hawkins.”

Eddie stares—not in disbelief, because that would require a modicum of understanding, and he’s having some trouble processing what Steve just said. “You…? Hold on. Another dimension?”

“Told you it was weird,” Steve says, shrugging. “Anyway, the mall got attacked by another monster. Different kind, made of melted people, and it possessed Hargrove. The fire was a cover-up.”

“And you…?”

“I was there. Me and Robin, and a bunch of our other friends.” He grins in vague reminiscence. “Weird way to celebrate the Fourth of July, but at least there were fireworks.”

What the fuck? Is he off his rocker? His voice faint, Eddie echoes, “Fireworks?”

“Oh, we threw ’em at the melted-people monster,” Steve explains, dismissive. “Not sure how many I landed, because it turned out the Russians gave me a massive concussion, but—”

Russians?! “Let me get this straight,” Eddie says, turning towards Steve. He needs to see his face, needs to study it the same way Steve studied his earlier, looking in vain for a trace of humor. “Not only are these monsters real, but they’ve attacked people in Hawkins twice?”

“Three times,” Steve corrects. “The fucked-up pumpkin patches were because of the monsters, too. Will Byers got possessed that time.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“You regret begging me to tell you?”

“I’m gonna be totally honest, I’m not sure I believe you after all.”

“Fair enough. But I swear I’m telling the truth.”

“You sure you didn’t, like—”

Eddie is cut off by the clang of the door handle, signaling their rescue. As the heavy door swings open, and Pauline’s expression of apology comes into view, Steve presses a finger to his lips. He smirks once again, rises to his feet, and meets Pauline at the door, greeting her cordially.

It takes Eddie an extra few seconds to join them. He can’t move very quickly, because he’s too busy processing everything he just learned—not just Steve’s story, but the nonchalant and honest way he delivered it. Because it was clear that Steve at least thought he was telling the truth, which means one thing, regardless of whether he was right or if he’d had some vivid hallucinations.

Steve Harrington is way stranger than Eddie would’ve ever guessed.

[telamonisms]

1x1x1x1 x reader..general fluff hcs.. I'm stavrign... reader can be a killr or a survivor any is fine.. there's not enough 1x content

✦I have to agree with you anon, there isn't nearly enough content of 1x, for this, reader is a Survivor.

✦GENERAL FLUFF HEADCANONS WITH 1X1X1X1✦

✦You were convinced that something had to be wrong with you to watch her slaughter all your team mates and still feel so curiously drawn to her that you didn't even try to run. 1x herself agrees.

✦But it was exactly this which had her feel curious about you in turn. He'd at first written it off as you being so terrified you'd ended up paralyzed by the fear. When you kept doing it though, he began to doubt.

✦"You. Why do you not run in terror at the sight of me, weak one?" Had been the words which started it all. Their downfall if you may.

✦When you explained that you were curious about them, they didn't exactly know how to react or process it and just killed you. Oh well there's always next time!

✦Said next time you had a far better luck, able to strike up a somewhat calm conversation with him, asking questions that he'd in turn answer.

✦Until you asked why she seemed to be so against Shedletsky. The Mass Infection that ended you was, at least, mercifully quick.

✦Time to retry! You apologized in case you'd hit a sore spot and she went off. You hadn't expected a trauma dump from the 1x1x1x1 but you kept quiet and listened, thinking through it all about how despite the anger in their words and voice, you could feel how much they needed to let it all out.

✦By the time she was done, the round came to an end, needless to say, now you were pissed with Shedletsky and the next time you encountered 1x in a round you spent your time shit talking him.

✦Something bloomed within 1x's chest that day and from then on he seemed to be far more merciful to you, either avoiding you until you were the last one standing, or straight up fully sparing your life and instead talking more with you.

✦While at it, you also noticed how he seemed to look more towards getting to have conversations with you.

✦One day you asked her why. Why was it that she spared you so, that she seemed to enjoy your talks, that she, when not sparing you, made sure that your death was quick and painless. You told her that it almost seemed like she didn't hate you.

✦"I don't." Came out her answer and you were confused, but isn't she the Creation of Hatred? Shedletsky's hate personified?

✦He explained that "personified" is the keyword, hate is not all he feels, not all he is. Much like with Chance's dog motifs, I could go on a deep dive about how 1x doesn't just feel hate, but for the sake of the headcanons staying on topic, I'll only do so on a separate post if anyone wishes me to.

✦Ever since then, you two have grown closer and closer. You hesitate to put a name to what you two have, but you do kmow that you enjoy eachother's company and care for and cherish one another.

✦Maybe, just maybe, if you all manage to make it out of this realm, there wouldn't be any reason to not keep seeing eachother, spending time with eachother, no longer limited by an artificial timer marking the end of a round, perhaps you two would spend hours or even days in eachother's company.

✦I thank you for this lovely request and I do hope it is a good read. 1x1x1x1 alongside Chance are two of the characters I feel the strongest about. Especially with how much mischaracterization they both get put through and how much of their nuance people take away from.

[niningtori]

freudian | preview(s)

out now!

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, choi soobin x you

summary: freudian - susceptible to analysis in terms of unconscious desires. or, your parents have forced you to be "best friends" with minji, a woman you're convinced was put on this earth to be tailored for you to have a mutual hatred with, since elementary school. she's confident, beautiful, and charming, and her boyfriend, beomgyu, is just as formidable. he's been a pain in your ass, an asshole to you to the most severe degree, since they got together in college. now, you're roommates with minji, but you begin to secretly take interest in beomgyu's best friend, soobin. it's just that... beomgyu's been acting weird these days.

genre: angst (y'all already know...), romance, smut (mdni), lowkey yandere!beomgyu, best friend's boyfriend!beomgyu

warnings: smut (mdni), specfic smut warnings to come but sub!beomgyu and dom!beomgyu probably, lowkey yandere!beomgyu but i feel like it's more like pathetic!beomgyu and pining!beomgyu #tbh, probably the most passive reader ever but also incredibly indifferent towards beomgyu

word count: tbd

release date: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: don't jump me... if y'all don't like this premise then close ur eyes like actually i'm sensitive! also there's no smut in this preview but trust that there will be in the finished product

-

surprisingly, the noise ceases, and you really think standing up for yourself might have just worked out in your favor for once, but then you hear minji and her boyfriend snicker, and then there's the damning sound of their resumed activities. she was loud before, but now, it's like minji is being mauled or something. so much for being well-rested.

-

you wake up the next morning feeling like you got hit by a truck, and you just know you look like shit. you try your best to cover your dark circles, but at this point, who are you fooling? when you finally leave your bedroom, you run into minji’s boyfriend, the one she's been obsessed with since college. beomgyu.

“good morning,” he says with a lazy smirk as he leans over the counter. “did you sleep alright?” god, he’s such a fucking asshole.

“yep,” you mumble as you push past his shirtless body and reach into the fridge for your packed-up lunch.

“really? doesn't seem like it. you look like shit,” he chuckles, and while you don't even spare him a glance, you can just feel the smug look on his face emanating off of him and boring into the back of your head.

“thanks,” you say flatly as you fill up your water bottle. you're unsure why he even talks to you, but if you had to put it into words, it'd probably be something akin to the phenomenon of a cat watching a mouse as it backs itself into a corner. even still, you don't know why he bothers with trying to get a reaction out of you. you've never reacted to his taunts very much, but he still seems hellbent on making life difficult for you.

“you know, maybe if you got some good action, you’d understand why minji's as loud as she is,” beomgyu continues, almost as if he doesn't sense your unwillingness to participate in this—or really any—conversation with him.

“i'll keep that in mind,” you say perfunctorily as you shuffle over to the door and slide on your shoes before shutting and locking the door behind you. you don't see the way beomgyu’s fists clench at your unrelentingly dismissive tone, and even if you did, you wouldn't understand it.

-

“hey," he says tentatively, but you've never been particularly in tune with beomgyu's emotions, so you don't catch the hesitation in his words.

"mm," you hum as you furrow your eyebrows, focusing on preparing your snack.

"you haven't, uh, been around much. everything okay?" he asks gently.

“yep,” you reply as you focus on setting the timer.

“have you been working a lot?” he probes.

“not really,” you mumble as you begin to pour yourself a glass of water. it's late, and you've been with soobin all night, only returning home because you didn't bring a change of clothes for work tomorrow, so your inhibitions are lowered. you're not as guarded as usual, and beomgyu is intent on capitalizing on that.

“you should eat some real food,” he suggests, trying another tactic. “i could… i could make you something, if you want.” this is… weird. beomgyu has never offered to cook for you, and while he's made things before that you happened to like, it was always in service of minji, and he always offhandedly remarked that there were leftovers available to you. of course, you always refused, so his consideration is daunting, to say the very least. finally, you make eye contact with him.

“uh, thanks, but it's fine. i'm tired, so i want to eat something easy and quick before bed,” you say as you redirect your attention to your timer, willing it to move faster so you can eat and get the hell out of here. you push your hair back as you wait, and you unknowingly reveal a darker patch of skin where soobin had unintentionally sucked too hard on your neck. in the dim light of the kitchen, beomgyu’s eyes are immediately zeroed in on the mark. he draws closer, his tall frame looming over yours as he holds your hair back to get a better look.

“what's this?” you balk at his question and his overly-familiar proximity. you try to pull away, but he just steps closer, essentially trapping you between himself and the counter.

“who were you with?” he asks between clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing with a darkness you’ve never seen from him, or from anyone, really.

notes pt. 2: DON'T FREAKING JUMP ME!!! respectfully i'm going to alter my taglist to exclude inactive accs bc i hate tagging real bad and i'm running out of tags but if you want to be tagged in this work lmk!

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (35/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Lets get drunk - with Nightmare Coladas.

Warnings: fluff, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: love you. feedback is appreciated!

You are sitting on the sun bed when Charles rejoins you. He is holding a tray in his hands and as he places it on the floor next to you, you see that it is filled with sliced fruit. In addition to a plate of watermelon, there is a bowl of grapes, strawberries and raspberries.

“A good foundation is essential if you want to get drunk,” he grins and lies down next to you on the sun bed, a healthy distance between you. 

You raise an eyebrow. "Wouldn't it be better to eat something greasy then? Like fries or pizza?” you ask, helping yourself to a strawberry. 

“That's just the beginning,” he defends himself and nibbles on a piece of watermelon. “There are fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets in the oven.”

You have to grin. “Sounds like lunch for a five-year-old.”

Charles shrugs and pops a raspberry in his mouth. “You'll be able to drink like a grown-up in no time.”

“Touché.” 

The two of you lie next to each other in silence, enjoying the last rays of sunshine while you eat the fruit and wait for the timer on Charles' cell phone to beep. The water splashes against the sides of the boat, the smell of the sea hits your nose and if you didn't know that tomorrow is Christmas, you'd think it was a beautiful summer evening. 

“What would you like to drink?” Charles asks. 

You turn your head in his direction. “Do you have any sweet white wine?”

He nods. “I had Thomas bring your cheap wine,” he grins. "He didn't find it at first. Apparently you can only get it in the supermarket and not in a wine store."

You purse your lips. “Hey. The wine tastes good,” you say with mock offence, trying to suppress the thought that Charles sent Thomas out to get your favorite wine. Very thoughtful. “What are you about to drink?”

"There are quite a few drinks. Maybe I'll make myself a cocktail,” he considers, popping a strawberry into his mouth. "Maybe a piña colada? Or a sex on the beach?"

The way the word 'sex' rolls off his tongue makes the blood in your veins run hot. You bite into a piece of watermelon. “When are the fries ready?”

Just as you've said it, Charles' phone rings. He gets up and leaves the sun bed. “I'll be right back.”

You turn to him. “Do you want me to help you?” You're almost on your feet when Charles waves you off. 

“ It's all right.” 

While he disappears into the interior of his yacht, you also leave the sun bed to grab your camera and laptop, but instead of lying back on the sun bed at the back of the boat, you move the party around the bow, where there is another sun bed. From here, you have a wonderful view of Monaco - even if it is still some distance away from you. 

You start to edit a photo of Charles when he rejoins you - fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets on a tray. 

“Here you are,” he smiles, setting the food down. “I thought you'd jumped in the water and swum home.”

"Are you crazy? I'm sure the sea is freezing cold,” you reply and put your laptop to one side so you can grab a nugget. “I've already started editing a picture of you, by the way.”

Your friend plops down on the sun bed next to you. "And?” he asks. “Do I look good?”

You roll your eyes. “You always do,” you reply jokingly, hoping that he can't hear the truth in your words. 

“I know,” he grins and pops a chip in his mouth. "But seriously. Do you think the pictures are any good? For my Instagram profile, I mean."

Charles is a natural model. With his big eyes, deep dimples and beaming smile, he could even advertise haemorrhoid cream and look great doing it.

“Absolutely,” you smile and push your camera over to him. “See for yourself.”

While Charles looks at the many pictures on the small display, you continue to edit some pictures on your laptop. They are all good - thanks to his looks - but somehow none of them reflect Charles as you see him. They look posed, which isn't a bad thing in itself, but you had hoped to capture him with your lens in such a way that you could almost feel the closeness to him and his warmth. 

But you don't tell him that, after all he has to decide for himself which pictures he would like to put on the internet. 

“What do you think of this?” he asks and shows you the display. In the photo, he is standing at the wheel, his sunglasses are perched on his nose and he is smiling broadly over his shoulder, as if someone has said something funny. It's a good picture - objectively speaking.

“It's good,” you reply and bite into a mozzarella stick. The cheese almost burns the roof of your mouth, but you try not to let it show. 

Charles raises his eyebrow. “Just ‘good’?” he asks, looking at the picture again. “Okay, I'll find another one then.”

You shake your head vehemently. "No, Charles. It's a good photo, really,” you assure him. 

He's not buying it. “But?”

You purse your lips and shrug your shoulders. “It - it looks so posed,” you answer honestly. "But maybe it only looks like that to me because I know it's fake, you know? Maybe I just can't see it."

He looks back from you to the display. “I know what you mean.” He presses his tongue into his cheek. "I'll take another one then. They're your photos. And I want you to feel comfortable with them too." 

You smile at him. You didn't know he cared so much about your opinion. "That's nice. Thank you."

Charles pops a French fry into his mouth. "Keep eating. Your wine is cold and just waiting for you to drink it."

You continue to eat in silence - Charles continues to rummage through your camera while you edit some pictures. The silence between you is comfortable and every now and then you smile at each other to reassure each other that everything is fine. 

When the last of the fries has been eaten, Charles stands up. "Very nice. Now it's time to start drinking,” he winks at you as he leaves the sun bed. “You want your wine, I guess?”

You nod. “Thomas shouldn't have made the trip to the supermarket for nothing,” you grin and cross your arms behind your head. You look at him. "But I think one glass is enough for now. Maybe I'd like to try one of your cocktails afterwards."

“Of course, Madame,” Charles replies and bows to you playfully like a servant to his queen. "Can I bring anything else? A pillow, perhaps?" 

You nod, beaming. “That would be great. Then the bed here will be even more comfortable."

Without another word, he disappears, the bowls and plates in his hands, while you close the laptop and put it to the side. You consider whether you should put the camera away too, but decide against it. Perhaps there would be another opportunity to take photos of Charles later.

A few minutes later, Charles reappears. He puts your wine glass down next to you and throws you two cushions. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm sure you'll want to stay here longer."

You look at him in confusion. “Why?”

With a nod of his head, he points to the shore. "When it gets dark - and I mean dark - Monaco lights up beautifully. And I don't want to deny you the sight,” he smiles. "I'm going to make myself a cocktail. Do you want me to bring you your sweater right away?"

“Yes, thank you,” you answer him. “And you really don't need any help?” you ask uncertainly. It's nice of him to go to all this trouble to make you feel comfortable, but you feel a bit like you're taking advantage of him. 

But Charles disagrees. "Stay put. You're my guest on this boat. I'll take care of everything while you lie there and look pretty." 

Before you can react to his words, he has disappeared again. 

Look pretty? Charles thinks you're pretty? 

You try to ignore his words, but they keep bubbling up. When he said he was afraid of losing you, he hit you hard. You would never let anything separate you again. You need him too much for that - and it seems he needs you too. Even if it's not the same way. But that's okay, you tell yourself. You'd rather have a piece of him than nothing at all. 

When he rejoins you, you seem to have almost forgotten his compliment. Or at least pushed it aside. 

“Here,” he says, handing you your sweater before setting some things down behind your head. There are several bottles, an ice bucket and a couple of shakers in the large basket. Then he carefully sits down next to you with his cocktail in hand. As he tastes it, he makes a brief grimace. 

You have to grin. “Too strong?” you ask him. 

“No,” he replies, but from the way he raises his eyebrows and turns his head away briefly, it's clear he's lying. 

“What did you mix?”

“Piña Colada.” He furrows his eyebrows. “But it tastes more like nightmare colada than pineapple.” He stretches out his arm and holds the glass out to you. “Have a taste.”

Without hesitation, you reach for the cocktail - still careful not to let your fingers touch - and sip the drink once. You look at him in amazement. “I don't know what your problem is,” you reply and take a big sip. “It tastes fantastic!”

Charles looks at you doubtfully. “Are you serious?”

“Definitely,” you confirm. “I'd offer you my wine, but you don't like sweet wine.”

“Give it to me,” he says unceremoniously and grabs the wine glass as you hold it out to him. Without hesitation, he puts the glass to his lips and drinks every last drop of the wine. "Sorry. I had to get rid of the horrible taste of that cocktail."

You look from the empty glass in his hand to his face in amazement. "Wow. So you think the piña colada is that bad. If you keep going like this, you'll be drunk in no time."

Charles reaches behind your head into the basket and pulls out a bottle of wine. “That was the plan, wasn't it?” Slowly and intently, he pours some of his dry wine into your glass, careful not to waste a single drop. “Don't tell me I did all of this  for nothing.” He points to the many shakers with a nod of his head. 

You curl your lips into a thin line. “Are you even allowed to drive the boat tomorrow if you still have alcohol in your blood?” you ask and take a sip of his - now your - cocktail, which, contrary to Charles' opinion, actually tastes phenomenal. 

“I don't know,” he replies and sips his wine. “But if need be, you and I can stay here another night.”

“Tomorrow is Christmas,” you remind him. "Your mom would be furious with us if we didn't show up for dinner. And then she'd kill us."

Your roommate shakes his head. "My mom loves you. She'd kill me without hesitation, but definitely not you." He leans back a little and rests his head in the pillow so that he's comfortable but still sitting upright enough to drink easily. 

“I think I'd stand up for you,” you say before taking another sip. 

The Monegasque looks at you, dumbfounded. “You think?”

The way he opens his eyes and looks at you, you can't help but burst out laughing. "Yeah. After all, I don't want to incur your mother's wrath. I like her far too much for that,” you say into your glass and look at him over the rim. 

Charles rolls his eyes. "You're being mean. I'll take you on my boat -"

“Yacht,” you correct him. 

"All right then. I take you on my yacht, where you can even spend the night, make you delicious food and offer you all the alcohol you can imagine - and you think you'd stand up for me?" Playfully hurt, he puts his hand on his chest. “Wow. I thought you'd care more about me.”

You do, you say in your mind. More than you'll ever know.

“Oh, come on.” You snuggle into your pillow too. "How many women have you taken here already, huh? Surely I'm not the only one you've spent a night with here." Realizing your choice of words, you clear your throat. “In a friendly or romantic way, I mean.” Even though you don't want to know the answer to how many women he's had here on the boat, curiosity wins out. 

Your roommate shrugs. “You're the only one,” he replies quietly before taking a sip of his wine. He avoids your gaze. 

Your head jerks in his direction. “Not even Annika?”

“Not even Annika,” he confirms to you. “I - I don't know - I took Annika out for a nice day at sea once, but we  went home at night. This is the first time I've been on a boat with someone other than my family and stayed the night."

His answer relieves you a little. Apparently you're not the next in a line of women Charles is spending the night with on his boat. And the fact that you're the only one, according to him, makes you feel a little happy. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” you start your sentence, “you're also the first person I spend the night with on a boat.” You smile at him. 

“It's not that difficult if you've never been on a boat before,” he replies with a grin. “And I thought it was a yacht?”

You roll your eyes. “Don't make me regret being on a boat on the open sea.”

As the wind sweeps around you and the sun disappears behind the horizon, you pull on your sweater. You feel Charles's gaze on you. “What?”

He shakes his head. "I thought the alcohol would warm you up a bit. But apparently you need to drink more."

You look into your cocktail glass. “I've almost finished your Nightmare Colada,” you defend yourself. 

"But only almost. Drink up, then I can pour you another one."

You raise your glass to your lips. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Leclerc?”

“Maybe,” he grins and pulls a shaker out of the basket. "There's a little Nightmare Colada left, if you like. Otherwise there's still your wine, or Sex on the Beach, or schnapps."

You take the last sip of your cocktail and put the glass down for him to refill. Heat shoots into your face, which is almost certainly due to the alcohol - and definitely not the way he says the word 'sex'. "Your offer sounds tempting. I think I'll stick to the nightmare colada for now. We can always have the schnapps later."

Charles shakes the shaker briefly before carefully pouring the rest of the cocktail into your glass. “I haven't had a schnapps in ages.”

"Why? Is your nutritionist against it?” you ask him with a grin. 

“Yes, actually,” he replies and hands you your glass. "But I'm on vacation at the moment, so I don't really care. That's why I had the chicken nuggets."

You raise your eyebrow. “I thought the chicken nuggets were there so we wouldn't get drunk straight away?”

Your friend shakes his head. "Actually, you had chicken nuggets because, culinarily speaking, you stayed somewhere between canned soup and Big Mac. That's what Lando said anyway." 

The fact that he remembered that warms your heart. A little something you didn't think he would remember. 

"There's also dessert, by the way, if you're still a little hungry. Chocolate muffins,” he smiles. "But maybe we'll save them for later, when we're drunk. They'll taste even better then."

“Muffins?” you ask in surprise. When Charles nods, blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” His voice is soft and warm. He briefly puts his glass to one side and pulls on his white sweater. 

“Are you cold?” you joke, sipping your cocktail. 

“Haha.” He rolls his eyes and adjusts the bandana that is still tied around his head. “Even if the alcohol warms me on the inside, I can be cold on the outside.”

“But make me look stupid for it,” you retort playfully. 

"Sure. It's just pretty easy to drive you up the wall."

“What do you mean -” you start your question, but he jumps up from the sun bed as if stung by a tarantula. 

“There!” He goes to the railing in front of you and holds on tight. “I told you.”

You carefully put your glass to one side and stand up too. When you see what he means, your breath catches in your throat. 

Monaco shines in front of you in the dark and the water reflects the light beautifully. Charles hasn't promised too much. 

You stand next to him with your mouth open, your eyes fixed on the beautiful Monaco. “It is - breathtaking.”

“It is,” Charles replies quietly. You don't notice him looking at you. “Breathtaking.” He‘s almost ashamed at how beautiful you look to him. He has to look away.

The Monaco in front of you glistens and sparkles, captivating you so much that an idea occurs to you. With quick - and slightly swaying - steps, you walk back and grab your camera before standing on the sun bed. The cocktail has done a good job, because the cushion under your feet feels like jelly, so you need a moment to find your footing.

Charles is apparently just as fascinated by the view as you are, because he doesn't seem to notice that you've moved away from him. He continues to look ahead, towards his home, while you take a photo of him. A single photo - and when you look at it on your camera, you could cry. 

“That's it,” you smile. 

“Huh?” Charles turns to you questioningly. “What's what?”

You proudly hand him your camera. “This is the picture.” 

He looks at it briefly before glancing at you. A smile spreads across his face. “I knew it was a good idea to bring you here.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he closes his mouth again before handing the camera back to you.

“Maybe you should hire me,” you joke, sending the picture to your phone and then sending it to him. 

“Maybe I should.” His smile is warm and electrifying and luminous. He's beaming - like the Monaco behind him. 

God, he's the most beautiful man in the world. 

“But first -” he walks around you, staggers across the sun bed and leans forward to fish a bottle out of the basket. “But first - comes the schnapps.”

[ballsandbabes]

GOM + Kagami: Them being Dads

Summary: Stories of our favourite chaotic dumbasses, their dad lifes and the usual chaotic shit

Authors Note: Y/n = your name // GIFS are not mine // Female reader implied // Not really proof read, sorry.

The warm buzz of a Sunday afternoon hung lazily over the Kagami household. A small property with every amenity. You and Kagami bought it together, that was important to you. Kagami earned significantly more than you as an NBA player with the Bulls. Since Kagami couldn't be home often due to his job, time with his family was the most important thing to him. Whenever he could, he played basketball with Tamika, your sixteen-year-old daughter, because, like her father, she showed great talent.

He loved to cook and spoil you, especially you. The smell of grilled meat wafted from the kitchen — your doing, of course. Kagami Taiga, now in his thirties and somehow still as dramatic as he was on the court, paced around the living room like a tiger in a cage.

“I knew it. I saw the signs,” he muttered, running a hand through his still-wild red hair. You peeked out from the kitchen, wiping your hands on a towel. “Babe, you're overreacting. Again.”

“I’m not overreacting! Tamika’s dating his kid. Ryouta’s kid!” he pointed dramatically toward the hallway like Kise himself was lurking just outside. “How does that even happen?! I’ve trained her better than this! Of all the boys in the world, it had to be Ryou? What even is that?”

You snorted and leaned against the counter. “Trained her? She’s not a dog, Kagami. She is your daughter...”

“I meant in judgment!” he protested. “What does that flashy pretty boy's son have that she would like?!”

You gave him a teasing grin. “Well… he’s got golden eyes like his dad, a killer smile, and apparently a six-pack already, hes very strong. Tamika says he plays point guard like a dream. Oh.....AND the genes. He just has good genes.”

Kagami groaned and flopped onto the couch, face-down.

“I’m in hell. What did I do to you universe...Maybe I should ask Midorima for some good fortune...”

At that moment, your ten-year-old son Ren shuffled in with a basketball under his arm and plopped beside his dad. “Dad, why don’t you like Tamika’s boyfriend? He is very nice”

“Boy....BOYFRIEND???? I thought they were just close...Because,” Kagami mumbled into the couch, “he’s Kise’s clone. And I don’t trust anything that shiny.”

You walked over and sat next to them, ruffling your son’s hair. “Yes Taiga, her boyfriend! Ren, sweetheart, your dad is just being dramatic. He thinks Tamika should date someone who plays like Aomine and eats like a garbage disposal.”

“Exactly!” Kagami lifted his head with hope. “Someone like me!”

You chuckled, planting a kiss on his cheek. “You’re too sweet for your own good, idiot. And also ridiculous.”

Just then, the front door creaked open. “I’m home!” Tamika’s voice called out, cheerful as ever. “And Ryou’s just parking his bike!”

Kagami bolted upright. “He’s here?!”

You caught his wrist before he could leap over the couch like a madman. “You’ll behave Taiga.” Kagami grumbled but stayed put, though his entire posture screamed tension. Moments later, Ryou walked in — tall, lean, smiling — and said politely, “Good afternoon, Mr. Kagami. Mrs. Kagami.”

Tamika beamed and hugged his arm. “Ryou brought me a milkshake!”

Kagami stared at the boy like he was a grenade with a countdown timer. You, meanwhile, smirked behind your hand.

“Cute, isn’t it?” you whispered. He glared. “No. It’s a crisis.”

You couldn’t help it — you laughed. Loudly. And as Kagami sulked beside you, defeated by fatherhood and fate, you slid your hand into his and gave it a squeeze.

“Relax. If Tamika’s anything like you, he is already terrified.”

Kagami blinked. “...You really think so?”

You winked. “Oh, I know so. I know you after all.”

And sure enough, as Ryou met his girlfriend’s father’s death glare from across the room, he shifted uncomfortably and said:

“Sir… would you like a milkshake too?”

Kagami’s eye twitched. Fatherhood was going to kill him.

Kise Ryouta, once the golden star of the court, now stood in the middle of the living room with both hands dramatically gripping his blonde hair. His mouth was slightly agape in disbelief. The afternoon was over, when he found out the news. As if he hadn't already been punished enough. Ryou, the younger of the twins by 2 minutes, was dating Kagami's daughter Tamika…and now this? What did he do to deserve that??

“She likes him? My daughter Keiko?!”

You calmly sipped your tea from the couch, watching your husband spiral like a glittery hurricane.“She said he has nice hands, Ryouta.”

“She said he smells like vanilla and she giggled!” Kise clutched his chest like he’d just been fouled mid-air. “That’s Murasakibara’s kid! Avi! He’s seven feet tall and barely speaks! I want someone normal for my precious girl...”

“He’s kind, gentle, and bakes macarons from scratch...And when he talks to Keiko, there's something very honest and deep about it.” you added.

“That’s even worse!” Kise flopped down dramatically onto the loveseat like he was in a tragic soap opera. “What if she marries into that family and my grandchildren are all born dunking and not posing?!”

You burst into laughter. “Ryouta, please. She already dunks. She’s your daughter and mine. Shes good at sports herself.”

He pouted. “She was supposed to be a runway model, not... not... Avi’s girlfriend! He doesn’t even comb his hair! And he calls her ‘small and squishy’ like she’s what..... a pillow!??”

You set your tea down, moving to sit beside your overreacting husband and running your hand through his silky hair. “You're the one who always said out little girl ‘Keiko-chan deserves someone sweet and strong enough to protect her.’”

“I meant a puppy or something, not Mount Everest with a favour for sweets, wearing sweats all day long!”

Just then, the front door opened and both twins walked in — Keiko’s laughter ringing through the hall like windchimes.

“Mom! Dad! Avi gave me a strawberry daifuku he made himself!” she said, cheeks flushed pink. “He even cut it into heart shapes., isnt that cute?”

Kise’s head whipped around like he’d been shot. “HE WHAT?!”

Ryou, trailing behind with his arm casually around Tamika Kagami — who offered a small wave — sighed deeply.

“She’s been smiling like that since third period,” he mumbled. “It’s nauseating.”

Kise stood up so fast the chair nearly tipped over. “Young lady, we’re having a family meeting! Immediately!”

Keiko blinked. “About Avi?”

“YES! About Avi and how we’re going to pray the crush away!”

You were laughing too hard to stop him. As Kise tried to rally the household into an emergency intervention, you leaned over to Tamika.

“You get this every time Ryou hugs you in front of him too, don’t you?”

Tamika nodded, stone-faced. “Once he gave me a ten-slide PowerPoint on why I should never break Ryou’s heart.”

“I included transitions,” Kise interjected from across the room. “With fade-ins!”

You patted his shoulder gently. “You’re going to be so dramatic at their weddings.”

He paused. “...Wait. Both of them? As in… my baby girl… married to Murasakibara’s giant muffin of a son?!”

You only smiled, watching Keiko pull out a pink-iced cookie and say Avi had written her name on it in chocolate. Kise Ryouta gasped so hard, you were sure he’d inhaled half the room.

“This is the beginning of the end.”

You slipped your arm through his, resting your head on his shoulder. “Nah,” you whispered. “It’s the beginning of something adorable.”

And as Keiko hummed to herself, clutching her little heart-shaped snack like it was a love letter, Kise groaned into your shoulder. “I should’ve just had a cat.”

The late afternoon sun poured gently into the kitchen, casting long golden rays across the wooden table where Murasakibara Atsushi sat, munching lazily on a box of melonpan. You sat beside him, a warm smile on your face as you scrolled through your phone. From the living room, soft music played and the occasional sound of laughter drifted in — courtesy of Keiko Kise and your and Atsushis older son, Avi. The two had been dating for almost a year now. It still amazed you how your towering, sleepy-eyed baker of a boy had fallen for Kise’s sparkling daughter. Opposites attract, apparently. Avi baked her strawberry daifuku, and she gifted him designer sweaters and taught him how to smile in selfies. It was such a cute puppy love.

Perfect balance. Then there was Mahiro — your fifteen-year-old, and Avis younger brother. Murasakibara reached for another snack, his hair slightly tousled, when he suddenly said through a mouthful of sugar, “Ne, [Y/N]… Mahiro’s been acting weird lately.”

You smirked and set your phone down. “Weird how?”

“He keeps brushing his hair before school. Like, brushing brushing... Nicely brushing. I saw him using my cologne yesterday. And he asked me if he should switch to contacts.”

You sipped your tea slowly.

“He also left a note in his math book that said ‘Toshi's voice is really calm… like a river.’” Mura paused, squinting in thought. “Is that… like, a code?”

You couldn’t help it — you laughed. He looked at you, confused but not annoyed. Just blinking like a curious cat.

“I already know,” you said, reaching over to poke his cheek. “Mahiro has a crush on Toshi. Kuroko’s son.”

Murasakibara froze mid-bite. “...Tetsu’s kid? But they are only sixteen...they are not supposed to be in love....they should focus on school or sports!”

You nodded.

“The really quiet one who always carries a book and drinks green tea?”, Atsushi asked slowly. “Yep.”, you replied with a sweet smile. He leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded as he processed.

“Huh.”, he stated.“Huh?” you repeated, amused. “That’s it?”

“I mean… it makes sense,” Mura said with a lazy shrug. “Mahiro always was more on the calm side....and he likes calm stuff. He’d short-circuit if he dated someone like Keiko, Kises daughter.”

You snorted. “Fair.”

“But also…” He frowned, ever so slightly. “Tetsu’s kid? That feels… weird.”

“Because it makes you feel old? Knowing you son is dating now?”

“No.” Mura pouted slightly. “Because I used to hold Tetsu with one arm and now our kids are, like… blushing at each other in the school hallway or something....its weird.” You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I think it’s adorable.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he quietly got up and opened the cupboard, pulling out a bag of mini chocolate chip cookies. He popped one in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Do you think Tetsu’s gonna be chill if Mahiro confesses?”

“Babe. It’s Kuroko. He’ll probably just blink slowly and offer him tea. Also Therisa thinks the two are super cute together, she thinks our son is a perfect match for her son.”

“…True.”, your husband exclaimed. Just then, Mahiro came sliding into the kitchen in his socks, hair slightly messy from a nap and face pink for a reason, he’d ever admit.

“Hey, uh… can I go study with Toshi at the library later?” he asked, eyes flicking from you to Murasakibara, then back again.

You beamed. “Of course. Go be a good student, sweetie.” Mura looked at him, then at the half-empty cookie bag in his hand. “…Only if you bring Toshi back and let me make sure he’s not a shady tea wizard.”

Mahiro flushed. “A what...??? He’s literally Mr. Kuroko’s kid, Dad.”

“Exactly,” Mura mumbled, mouth full again. “You can’t see him coming.” You laughed so hard you had to set your mug down. And somewhere in the background, Avi’s voice drifted from the living room: “Keiko, I burned the mochi again…”

Mahiro sighed in embarrassment, seing his older brother and his girlfriend. “God bro, you and Keiko are so embarrassing.”

Murasakibara just grinned — a sleepy, fond grin — and reached out to ruffle his youngest son’s hair. “You’re lucky I like you. Go ahead, study!”

The rain tapped gently against the windows of the Kuroko household — a soft, soothing rhythm that matched the peacefulness inside. Tetsuya Kuroko sat on the couch with a book in one hand and a hot cup of tea in the other, his calm eyes skimming the pages with practiced ease. You watched him from the kitchen, where you were finishing up some rice balls, smiling to yourself. You love your husband and your son. On the quiet days like today, you fell in love with him all over again.

Toshi had just left with Mahiro. Again. Kuroko hadn’t asked about it yet — but you knew. Of course you knew. Toshi wasn’t exactly loud, but love has a way of showing itself, even in silence. The way he sat a little straighter when Mahiro texted him. How he spent fifteen minutes debating which sweater was “too much” to wear to the arcade. The little doodles in his notebook — initials, quiet notes about “his smile,” and “he always waits for me.”

Mahiro Murasakibara. The other quiet kid. A little slouched, a little awkward. They fit together like two puzzle pieces — soft edges meeting perfectly. So when you finally wandered over and sat beside your husband, resting your head on his shoulder, you said simply, “You know Toshi’s in love, right?”

Kuroko blinked and turned a page, voice still calm. “With Mahiro.”

You paused. “You knew?” He took a slow sip of his tea. “He leaves the house, as if he couldn't get to school quickly enough. And he smiles at his phone when he thinks no one is looking.” He looked at you, his eyes kind. “It reminds me of how I look at you.”

Your heart fluttered a little. Even after all these years, he still said things like that — simple and stunning, right from the chest.

“So you’re okay with it?”

He closed the book gently and placed it on the table. “I love our son. That includes who he loves.” You smiled, but there was still a little ache in your chest. “He’s a little scared,” you admitted quietly. “Not of us. But… the world. He told me once he wasn’t sure, if it was okay to be like this.”

Kuroko’s jaw clenched just slightly. Then he stood, went to the window, and looked out at the rain. “Maybe I should talk to him. He is good the way he is. Maybe he needs to hear that from us again. He doesn’t have to be loud to be strong,” he said softly. “And he doesn’t have to hide to be safe. Not here. Not with us.”

You walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist. He leaned back into you, and for a moment, everything was still — the quiet safety of your home, the steady beat of rain, and two parents holding the weight of love between them.

“I think Mahiro’s good for him,” you said eventually. “They understand each other without having to explain everything. That’s rare.”

Kuroko nodded, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. “Like we do.”

Just then, the door creaked open. Toshi stepped in, cheeks slightly flushed, umbrella dripping by his side. Mahiro was with him, taller and slouched as usual, holding a small box of cookies he clearly didn’t know what to do with.

Toshi blinked when he saw the two of you at the window. “Hey.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said.

Kuroko walked over calmly, looked between them, and then gently rested a hand on Toshi’s shoulder.

“Did you bring him over so we can meet your boyfriend properly?”

Toshi froze. Mahiro dropped the cookie box. You barely held back a laugh. “D-Dad—!”

But Kuroko just gave that faint, unreadable smile — the one Toshi inherited. “Welcome, Mahiro. You’re very important to our son. Please treat him kindly.”

Mahiro blinked. “Uh… I… yes. Sir.”

And then Toshi looked at you, flustered and pink, and you just grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

“You’re both cute. Go have snacks. Don’t drop them this time.”

The boys shuffled off awkwardly, leaving you and Kuroko alone again. “I thought you’d be more shocked,” you teased.

Kuroko shook his head, picking up his tea once more. “No. I’ve just seen what love looks like when it’s real. This is the same.”

“Absolutely not. No. Impossible.” Midorima Shintarō’s voice cut through the kitchen like a blade, his hand gripping the countertop like it had just insulted his entire bloodline. His green eyes — sharp as ever behind his glasses — stared in disbelief at the phone in his other hand. You were, of course, sitting calmly at the table, sipping your tea and smiling like someone who’d just watched their husband walk directly into the most predictable parenting crisis ever. Your younger daughter Mika, who was fifteen, watching highly interested.

“She kissed him. Kissed, [Y/N]. In pUbLiC. In front of a convenience store,” Midorima continued, his tone climbing with every syllable. “And no one told me?!”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally the last to know.” He whipped around. “You knew?!”. “I helped pick out the perfume she wore to their second date.”, you admitted sheepishly.

He looked like he might drop dead on the spot. “HOW can you be so calm about this?! That’s Daiki’s son!”

You set down your cup gently and gestured for him to sit before he pulled a hamstring from clenching his moral code so hard. “Yes. Noah. Sweet boy. Surprisingly polite. Calls me ‘Ma’am’ even though I told him it makes me feel a hundred.” Midorima sat slowly, still in shock. “Noah plays just like his father. He’s loud. Arrogant. Unstructured. That boy eats energy drinks for breakfast.”

You bit back a grin. “Midori likes that about him. He's just a bad boy, mysterious and cool.”

“No...Midori just has poor taste.”, he said as if it were a fact. You snorted. “Excuse you — she inherited her taste from me.” You reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his. “You know she’s smart. Grounded. And confident. She doesn’t lose herself just because she’s in love. And not everyone likes attractive, tall, green-haired basketball players with a penchant for a certain oracle radio.”

Midorima got flustered and scowled, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “She’s eighteen. She’s supposed to be studying. Not… kissing Aomine’s son like they’re in some kind of shoujo manga!”

At that, you laughed — a real, joyful laugh — and Midorima tried to scowl harder, but you could see the corners of his mouth twitch. “I talk to Momoi about them all the time,” you said with a wicked little smirk. “We think it’s adorable. She’s been calling it ‘fated rivals to lovers’ since the day they met.”

Midorima looked betrayed. “She KNEW too?!”

“Of course she knew. They flirted in front of us at the school festival. Midori literally said, ‘Noah’s the sun, and I feel like a sunflower when I’m around him.’”

Your husband put his head in his hands and whispered, “This is a karmic punishment for making fun of Aomine’s grades in high school.” You rubbed his shoulder gently. “She’s in young and in love. It’s messy and exciting and a little dumb, but that’s what it’s supposed to be at that age.”

He peeked up at you. “But she’s my little girl…” You smiled and kissed his temple. “And she’s doing just fine. She got the wits of her dad”

At that moment, the front door opened and Midori’s voice rang out, light and glowing.

“Hey! Noah’s walking me home!”, Midori said cheerfully. Midorima immediately stood up like he was going to war. “ABSOLUTELY NOT Mido.”

You casually grabbed the back of his shirt to keep him from storming down the hallway, “Liebling. Sit. Be cool.” He gave you the deadpan glare of a man whose idea of “cool” included statistical analysis and daily horoscope alignments. Moments later, Midori entered with Noah — tall, athletic, effortlessly charming — and Midorima’s glare intensified behind his glasses. Noah, unfazed, offered a polite nod. “Good evening, Mr. Midorima. You look sharp today.”

Midori’s eyes sparkled as she leaned close to him and whispered something that made him laugh. Midorima twitched.

You? You just leaned back in your chair and took another sip of tea. Parenting was chaos. But watching your husband go through this kind of chaos? Delicious.

The sound of a basketball thudding against the driveway echoed through the open window. Again. Again. And again. You looked up from the kitchen sink and saw your son — Daichi, 17, stubborn like his father, brows furrowed like he was trying to dribble the pain out of his chest. Aomine leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a familiar scowl on his face as he watched his son in silence. You knew that look. The one, he used when he didn’t know how to deal with something not basketball-related. You dried your hands and walked over. “Love, you’re thinking too hard.”

Aomine grunted. “I just don’t get it. He’s good-looking. Athletic. Got my three-point shot and your brains. He's basically invincible. Why the hell would Tamika not like him back?”

You sighed and leaned your head against his shoulder. “Because she’s already dating Kise’s kid. Ryou.”. Aomine let out a sound halfway between a groan and a growl. “That stupid blonde show-off’s son? Really? Our son is so much better.”

You laughed softly. “Ryou is a very good kid. Very sweet. Kind of like the golden retriever version of Noah.”

“Gross.”, He looked at you as if you had held a rotten fish in front of his nose. Aomine stayed quiet for a while. Outside, Daichi went for a layup — missed. That was when you saw it: the slump in his shoulders. That little pause. The weight of rejection settling in.

“I told you yesterday,” you said gently, “Daichi’s had a crush on her since middle school. But he never said anything. Just… watched her from the sidelines. Rooted for her like she was his own team.”

“That’s so stupid,” Aomine muttered. “He should’ve told her. Asked her out. Gone for it.”

“Like you did with me?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He looked at you and grinned, lopsided. “No. I bothered you until you gave in.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. Just then, the front door opened and closed. The basketball had stopped. A few seconds later, Daichi appeared, wiping sweat off his forehead and avoiding eye contact with either of you. Aomine straightened. “Yo.”

“Hey Dad,” Daichi mumbled, heading toward the stairs. You stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wanna sit with us for a bit?”

He hesitated, then slowly nodded. You, Aomine, and Daichi ended up on the couch — quiet for a while, the way boys sometimes are when words feel like weights. Finally, your son spoke. “She’s with Ryou now. I was too late.”

You reached out and brushed his hair back gently. “That doesn’t make your feelings any less real.”

Daichi looked at the floor. “It hurts. And I didn’t even do anything.”

Aomine let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Then he leaned forward and said, voice gruff but soft, “You know, when I lost a game in high school — like, really lost — it felt like the whole world sucked. But I got back on the court anyway. Because even when it hurts, it means you care.”

Daichi blinked, surprised. Aomine kept going, his eyes serious now. “It sucks, I know. But this isn’t the last time you’ll feel something this strong. Or this good. Or this painful. So don’t run from it. Just… learn from it. And keep playing.”

You smiled at him. “See? He’s full of wisdom when he’s not yelling at the TV.”

Daichi gave a small laugh — small, but real. Then he leaned back into the couch, resting his head on the cushions. “I still wish I’d told her sooner.” You reached over and held his hand. “Next time, you will.”

And Aomine, ever the protective dad, grumbled, “Next time, it better not be another Kise.”

The Akashi household was always in quiet order — polished floors, elegant bookshelves, everything in its right place. But today, something was off. The air was too still. The silence too… heavy. Akashi Seijuro noticed. He lowered his morning paper, watching as you walked in with two mugs of coffee and a small frown on your face. As beautiful as ever, in his dressing gown and red silk pajamas that matched your dark hair perfectly.

“What happened?” he asked immediately, eyes narrowing. You sighed, handing him his cup. “Rosie’s heartbroken.” Akashi blinked. “Why is that?”

“She’s in love....with....Noah Aomine.”

“…Aomine’s son?”, he said between sips of his coffee. “Mm-hmm.”, you said. He stared for a moment, expression unreadable. “Isn’t he seeing Midorima’s daughter?”

“Midori? Yes. Rosie found out only yesterday. I think she hoped he’d change his mind.”, your voice was full of pity for your daughter Rosabella. Akashi let out a quiet breath and sipped his tea. “Rosabella doesn’t normally misread situations. She is smart.”

“She didn’t misread. She just hoped.” You smiled sadly. “Even the sharpest girls get soft when they fall in love.”

Akashi leaned back, folding one leg over the other in his usual controlled grace. “I’ll speak with her.” You raised a brow. “Gently.”

He gave you a dry look. “Darling...I’m not a warlord, [Y/N].”

“You used to call yourself one.”. “Semantics.”, he just said.

You grinned. Just then, footsteps echoed down the hall, and Akaji appeared, hands in his pockets, head slightly lowered. Fourteen and already so tall, already thoughtful — a miniature version of his father with your smile.

“Hey,” he mumbled. “Is Rosie okay?”

“Not really...she’s upstairs,” you said. “Do you want to talk to her?”

Akaji hesitated. “No. I just… wanted to make sure she was alright.” Akashi eyed him with the same perceptiveness he used in business meetings. “Something else is bothering you.”

Akaji flinched. You walked over and knelt in front of him, gently tugging him to sit. “Tell us mi amor?”

He looked between the two of you, then sighed and said quietly, “I like Mirei. Noah’s sister. We play on the same soccer team.”

You blinked in surprise — and then smiled. “Mirei?? As in Aomines daughter?.....She’s sweet and kind....”

“She’s awesome,” Akaji said before catching himself. “But she’s also… loud. And doesn’t care what people think. I’m not like that.” Akashi steepled his fingers. “You’re not supposed to be like her. You’re supposed to be like you.”

Akaji glanced up, startled. You touched his shoulder gently. “Have you told her yet?”

He shook his head. “She just… jokes with me. Like I’m her ‘cool little genius’ teammate. She doesn’t see me like that. And seeing what happend to Rosie....” There it was. The second heartbreak of the week. Akashi stood and walked over, his presence quiet but commanding. He rested a hand on Akaji’s shoulder.

“Feelings that aren’t returned are not failures, Akaji. They’re proof that you’re capable of loving deeply. That is a strength. Not a weakness.”

Akaji bit his lip, clearly trying not to look too emotional. “But it hurts.” Akashi nodded once. “Good. It means it mattered.”

You gently pulled Akaji into a side hug, and kissed the top of his head. “Daddy is right. One-sided love hurts. But it makes you brave. And one day, someone will look at you the way you look at her — and it’ll be worth all of this.” A short silence fell over the three of you, as you began to speak up again, "I also loved your father one-sidedly. For a long time his only love was basketball. That's why I didn't love or enjoy being around him any less."

Akaji gave a tiny nod. Rosie’s door creaked open upstairs, and her footsteps padded softly down the huge stairs. She paused when she saw the three of you. huddled together. Her eyes were a little puffy. Her expression sheepishly and sad.

“Whats with you guys???........He didn’t pick me,” she said quietly. Akashi looked at his daughter and opened his arms. Rosie hesitated only a second before stepping into them, resting her head against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Don’t be,” he said, kissing her temple. “No one can win every match. But you always play with grace. That’s what makes you my daughter.”

You watched them from across the room — your family, bruised but unbroken. Even in heartbreak, there was elegance here. And more importantly… love.

[zo2mess]

Love Notes On Glass

Summary: Just Adrian’s day off and his morning scavenger hunt for reminders that he is no longer alone.

Warnings: Fluff with implied smut and exhibitionism, that’s all :)

Word count: 1.4 K

Masterlist of my works

Note: It doesn’t really have a story, but I just like to appreciate small things that can hold significance.

The morning sun is peeking through the curtains, casting warm yellow lights over the bedroom, birds outside are already chirping a cheerful melody, and the air in the apartment is an ideal mix of chill and warmth. A perfect morning to spend in bed snuggled under blankets.

Adrian hates mornings like this.

Why? Because on mornings like this, you are usually already gone.

Mornings, where he slaps around the bed in desperate need to find your warm body lying next to him. Mornings, when he refuses to open his eyes because he knows you won’t be staring back at him with that lazy smile.

So even though the morning has all the signs of being calm, it isn’t peaceful. You are not there for him to draw shapes on your back with the tip of his finger or nuzzle in your hair and breathe in the scent of his shampoo you always borrow.

But you will be. And that’s what matters.

It was hard for Adrian to realize that he was no longer alone, at least some nights when you decided to spend the night at his apartment.

With a sigh, he sits up, stares off into the distance, and blinks away the sleepiness from his eyes. But then he notices something on the window. Something isn’t quite right there.

But Adrian knows. Oh, he knows what it is.

Adrian hastily pushes his glasses on his nose, vision clears and he recognizes what is on the window, what is disturbing his morning.

Smudges and blurs that create a perfect silhouette of your body.

And what was the cause of that imprint? Passion, neediness, and one of Adrian’s crazy ideas to do it in front of the window for that adrenaline rush.

All those people on the street outside could have seen a strange guy in the window, touching the glass like it was something sacred. Some smudges don’t mean anything to them, but it does mean a lot to Adrian.

In some way, he loves the fact anyone could see you yesterday. All those creaky old men and noisy women from his apartment complex could have been outside, walking their dogs, and seeing Adrian with you nearly knocking the window out of its hinges.

Ohh, Adrian Chase, that’s one of those guys that will be forever alone!

And Adrian, that creep from the third floor, what a weirdo!

Well, look at the weirdo now, bagging a total hottie.

Maybe he should wave at them next time, and they would knock on his door the next day, begging Adrian to teach them his charms.

No. No, that would be stupid, right? You would probably smack the shit out of him if he pulled off something like that. Plus, Adrian doesn’t have time to teach neighbors flirting methods.

This inner monologue makes Adrian chuckle, frown, and grin like a total idiot as he starts his day.

Even while he takes a quick shower, those scenes from yesterday keep replaying in his mind. Not just the hot and heavy parts but also the wide smile you flashed at him when he let you in the apartment or how gracefully you looked when you washed dishes after dinner. All of it is making him soft.

Steam fogged up the glass door, creating a perfect opportunity for Adrian to draw a big heart on it, along with small little ones and a bunch of xoxo around it.

God, he feels like a teenager. Full of hormones and strong feelings, he just now learns to recognize and control.

And one way to put those emotions to good use is to draw hearts on the shower door as a surprise when you come home from work. Surely, they will stain the squeaky clean glass, but it is worth it in the name of love.

Though it’s not love, right? Not yet, it’s too early. But he has a timer set to tell you he wants you to move in. After all, you already spend most of your time at his place, since he doesn’t have any annoying neighbors. He is the annoying neighbor.

And right after he tells you this, he will feel comfortable telling you he wants to marry you. And to have children if you want. And grow old with you. And have his gravestone right next to yours. And haunt others once you’re ghosts.

Just another 64 days, 5 hours, 41 minutes, and 7 seconds.

Some days he spends practicing his little speech in front of the mirror. Usually holding a toothbrush in front of him like it’s a microphone, mumbling love confessions with his mouth full of toothpaste.

Before he can get to that though, he notices a smudge of concealer on the faucet.  He wipes it off even when he doesn’t really want to. He wants that little part of you to stain his bathroom.

Aww, you were probably in a hurry, trying to mask that hickey on your neck before going to work.

Even if you aren’t here in the morning physically, your spirit lingers through small reminders. Imprint of your silhouette on the window, your concealer in the bathroom, along with your toothbrush next to his.

Adrian secretly loves pushing the brushes together, disregarding even the most basic hygiene, all in the name of making your toothbrushes look as if they're kissing.

He has been doing this ever since you started dating. Every little thing that reminds him of you instantly needs a matching counterpart to mimic the two of you. Matching mugs? Done. Matching keychains of various animals? You got it. Bracelets made of colorful beads in Vigilante colors? Of course.

He even sees the two of you outside in dead mice lying splattered on the road, so more often than not, you get photos of random things followed by a text: Us :)

He is unintentionally retracing your morning, just with a slight delay. First, the bathroom, then the kitchen, he realizes it once he sees your forgotten mug in the middle of the kitchen counter.

He stops near it, water dropping from his wet hair on the marble, and admires the rest of the coffee drying on the porcelain. He can exactly see from which side you were drinking it, in which hand you held the fragile mug Adrian hand-painted for you.

Adrian cleaned the mug and got rid of this morning’s reminder, just so you could leave a new one tomorrow and the day after that. You do the same for him in a way too. When Adrian leaves for patrol before you come home to him, and leaves a half-empty can of energy drink somewhere in the apartment.

It was a never-ending carousel of creating little memories of your life together.

After brewing himself a cup of tea, he hums his way through his usual routine. One of the steps is checking on the closed terrarium plants you got him. He doesn’t need to water them, so the only real duty he has is chatting with those cheerful little leaves.

And for the rest of the day, he awaits you like a lovesick puppy, pacing around the apartment after he got tired of binge-watching Sharknado all over again. He loves his days off, don’t get him wrong. It’s not often he gets to do nothing all day, but god, those hours are stretching.

But when you do come home to him, it’s the best part of Adrian’s day. You will sigh in exhaustion when the front door closes behind you. You will mutter profanities when the zipper on your jacket gets stuck. But when Adrian comes to the hallway to greet you, your eyes will light up along with a smile, and your drained battery won’t matter anymore.

Because the moment Adrian wraps you in one of his signature bear hugs and your warm breath fogs up his glasses, you'll feel that unmistakable sense of home. And Adrian? He’ll know his home just walked back into his arms.

Because home is wherever the heart is, and his heart will always be with you.

[mental-ch-illness]

pro tip for recovering addicts

TW: Addiction, Alcohol dependency

as someone currently working through a moderate addiction to alcohol, there is something that actually really has helped me recently: replacement and going nuclear.

i would like to say that this method is not fool proof, and it will not work for people who have not completely accepted their addiction or have severe addiction. also, i am only dealing with alcohol dependency, so this may not work for others. even if you are struggling with alcohol, this might not work for you, but here's something that has helped me.

going nuclear, so don't even bother with trying to convince yourself it's going to be just one sip or one night. if you didn't trust yourself earlier that day, you probably shouldn't trust yourself now. so i've been doing the Most™ and simply applying brute force against myself. here's what i've been doing.

bought myself a timer lock. i put my alcohol in a cabinet and then use the lock on the cabinet. that way i have to wait to get to it. i can have a drink and then put it back and reset the lock. this prevents me from going back for more before the effects actually kick in. usually i make it a few hours. this method is great if you have a problems with delayed gratification because you can watch the numbers go down. also, you can set it to a longer periods of time to prevent day drinking. it's pretty easy, so you can set it up during those periods of clarity and yet it still holds up once the urges start up again.

i now leave my driver's license in the lock box of my car whenever i go to the store. this helps as i typically go to the store telling myself i won't buy alcohol. then when i'm actually passing by that aisle i find myself picking up some bottles and convincing myself it will be fine. it's not fine. just like above, take advantage of those moments of clarity and lock up your ID.

i've been deliberately diluting my alcohol by making premade mixed drinks. a go too of mine is measuring out three parts fruit juice and one part vodka (so it should be... like... 8% ABV, but don't quote me on that). i typically just mix it into an already emptied bottle of fruit juice. that way, instead of just doing shots of straight vodka, i am forced to actually drink a whole cocktail. there's only so much my stomach can hold, so it forces me to slow down.

i started taking medication to help curb addiction urges. currently, i am on a daily dose of naltrexone (as a pill) to help curb the urge to drink. it's not a cure all, but it does provide a sort of speed bump. not just with alcohol. i've sometimes found myself questioning impulse purchases and the like much more often. there are other medications that can help, so it might help to talk to your doctor.

here's another thing that isn't really 'nuclear', but has helped: i got a snow cone machine... just a tiny one i found on clearance. whenever i got the urge to drink, i'd make a snow cone. i didn't think it would work as well as it has, but i think the dopamine hit from that does help to curb things.

not everyone can quit cold turkey, but everyone should do their best to outsmart their addiction when they can. you'll fuck up, but that doesn't mean that you are a fuck up. it's gonna be okay. maybe not today, or tomorrow, or the next day, but it will be one day.

[matchalovertrait]

Yoltic knows Dulce was in love with Blue Halo Starz, a boy band that is now broken up but still shines brightly in the hearts of fans worldwide. Orange happened to be her favorite member. But Yoltic also knows about Antonio's feelings toward Dulce, and he's doing whatever it takes to keep her off the market for his best friend! Is that really up to him, though? And is he overreacting?

NOTE: No, Blue Halo Starz has never been mentioned before in this legacy. I literally just named them right now 🤔 I wasn't 5 steps ahead this time, lol. But Orange has been mentioned here, his dad (Thorne) was mentioned here, and Ángel met Thorne here!

NOTE: I imagine Orange to have a voice like Buck Dewey from Steven Universe, more soft-spoken. Clip 1. Clip 2. (He's the guy with the sunglasses.)

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

Previous | Next

Transcript

[The Beehive; California, USA]

[It had been a while since Dulce and Dani hung out. They finally settled on a day, but one of the employees at The Beehive called out sick, so Dani had to step in. However, Dulce decided to join anyway and “chill”, help fold clothes, and clean.]

DULCE: Dani, you HAVE to hype yourself up more. Your writing is great. I’m hooked.

DANIELA: If you approve it, then it’s gotta be good!

DULCE: Why, because I don’t read?

DANIELA: No! Because you’re a published author.

DULCE: Girl, I wrote a cookbook, not a literary classic like Pride and Prejudice.

[A timer on Dani’s phone went off.]

DANIELA: We have to head back to the front counter.

DULCE: I’m getting hungry already. What should we order for lunch?

YOLTIC: A Frutiger-aero-inspired two-piece set with three-dimensional bubbles and a bucket hat with grass-like texture. Seems simple enough for the VMAS, my friend.

ORANGE: I knew you’d see the vision.

ORANGE: Hold on. Is that “Dol-chay” Alvarez? Let me go talk to her.

YOLTIC: First of all, it’s “Dool-seh” Alegria. Second of all, no.

ORANGE: Oh, my bad- Wait, why not?

YOLTIC: Uhhhhhh- She hates your music. Sorry to break it to you.

ORANGE: Then why’d she put a song of mine on her Instagram story the other day?

YOLTIC: Oh... Maybe she hates a different Orange’s music? Either way, she’s busy.

ORANGE: She’s talking about lunch.

YOLTIC: She’s a chef, that’s work-related stuff.

[Suddenly, a customer showed up for their appointment, leaving Yoltic distracted and Orange free to talk to Dulce.]

[lives-in-midgard]

It's Christmas Time

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: It's early december, so you and your roommate Bucky decide to start decorating the apartment. What will happen when you find a mistletoe in one of your boxes?

Word Count: 860

Prompts: Roommates + Decorating together + “You like them? They are my favorite.”

From @buck-star Fluffy Winter Event

A/N: Hey! I'm so excited to share my first Christmas fanfic of this year with you all! I hope you enjoy it! 💗If you haven't read my Christmas stories from last year you can find the Fluffcember Masterlist here.

Divider made by @buck-star

Fluffy Winter Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It’s early December which means it’s time to put up the Christmas decorations. After having breakfast with Bucky, you asked him if he would help you carry the boxes from the basement up to your shared apartment. He immediately agreed to help you and was excited to help you decorate the apartment. It will be your first Christmas that you celebrate together in your shared apartment. Bucky is excited but also a bit nervous because it’s been a really long time since he celebrated Christmas, and this time of the year always reminds him of his family. But Bucky is so glad that he has you.

You are his best friend.

The bond that you two share is something so special. You’re always there for each other and can talk about anything. After being friends for a while, you asked if Bucky would like to move in with you. He spends a lot of time at your apartment or you at Bucky’s apartment, so you thought why not move in together. Nothing can go wrong when you move in with your best friend, right? But something went wrong, your feelings for Bucky grew stronger and so did Bucky’s feelings for you. You still haven’t talked about it, but sometimes you had those special moments together, those moments where time stood still and you almost kissed. But every time someone or something interrupted you. Sometimes it was a phone that was ringing, or once it was Sam who knocked on the door, the ringing of the oven timer and Alpine who meowed. But what happens if nothing interrupts you the next time you almost kiss?

After Bucky and you put down the three boxes of Christmas decorations you had in the living room, you began to open them.

“Wow, that’s a lot of Christmas decorations.” Bucky said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, I love Christmas.” You said with a smile and Bucky smiled back at you. While you started to decorate, Alpine walked around and then sat down on the couch. Bucky went over to Alpine and petted her, then he helped you decorate. You have a lot of different types of decorations in different colors. Decorating with Bucky was so lovely, and you enjoyed it a lot. After a while you saw Bucky eating the cookies that you made yesterday, before he got home from his mission.

“You like them?” You asked with a smile.

“They are my favorite.” Bucky said with a huge smile and made your smile grow.

“You definitely have to make more of those, doll.” Bucky said and took another one.

“Maybe we can bake some together?” You asked and Bucky’s eyes lit up.

“That would be amazing.” Bucky smiled and walked closer to you, reaching for your hand. Then Bucky looked at you with those beautiful blue eyes and that smile. He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear and it was like time stood still for a moment until Alpine meowed and Bucky turned away.

“We should finish decorating.” Bucky mumbled and you nodded. You walked over to the last box and gave Bucky some candles. Then as you looked through the box, you suddenly found a mistletoe and held it in your hand. Bucky came back to you and looked at the mistletoe in your hand.

“Doll. You know…I’ve always wondered what it feels like to kiss under a mistletoe.” Bucky suddenly confessed.

“We should do it.” You suddenly said out loud.

“Wait really?” Bucky asked nervously.

“Yeah, how about we do it right now?”

“Yeah, we could do that. Where do you wanna put the mistletoe?” Bucky asked and you looked around the room to find a good spot.

“How about the door to the kitchen?”

“That’s perfect.” He smiled at you, and you handed him the mistletoe and walked to the door. Bucky placed the mistletoe on the wall and then smiled at you. You walked over to him, so that you were both standing under the mistletoe.

“Doll, you know we don’t have to kiss if you don’t want to, right?” He asked one more time to make sure that you really wanted to.

“I know.” You said and moved closer to Bucky, so that there was only a small distance between the two of you. Then Bucky pulled a strand of hair behind your ear and placed his hand on your cheek. Bucky looked into your eyes, and you nodded at him, making him move closer and finally kiss you. His lips touched yours gently and then the kiss became more passionate. When you ended the kiss, you smiled at each other and Bucky took your hand.

“Finally, we weren’t interrupted.” Bucky said and made you chuckle.

“I know right.” You said and you both started laughing.

“I’m so lucky to have you.” Bucky said, pulling you into a hug.

“Doll, would you like to go on a date with me?” Bucky asked as he hugged you.

“I would love that.”

Finally knowing that Bucky feels the same way feels so good and you can’t wait to go on a date with him.

Taglist:

@marvelogic | @eviebuggg @nicoline1998enilocin | @kandis-mom | @sergeantbarnessdoll | @noellez-best-life23 | @beaubbdoll | @sgtgarricks | @ratchildspartan | @scott-loki-barnes |  @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 |

@mrsbuckybarnes1917 | @brnesblogposts | @rogersbarber

[ccrites]

chokehold

listen, I've had this idea in my wips for a while (since the begnining of the year actually) and the fat reader worms have been wiggling in third gear with all the awesome stuff early ( @391780 ) has been putting out lately. So have 6.4k words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him

(also on ao3 if you prefer the formatting there, or if you want to drop a kudo)

.

The second the doors swing back closed behind you, you start feeling the scratchy feeling of doubt at the back of your throat.

It was predictable, really.

A small gym in a small town, heads turn when the hinges creak, not because they’re staring at you specifically, but because it’s a reflex.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to keep the scratchy feeling from turning sour in your mouth. Or make you throw up from embarrassment.

Perhaps your New Year’s resolution should’ve been to start on a home gym type of situation. Buy yourself some girly weights, a mat, and some sort of stepping device, and do those easy exercises every slim, pretty, high-ponytailed YouTube instructor seemed to preconize people out of shape do. Like a hamster on a wheel inside their cage. A rat chasing its own tail, maybe.

No, you promised yourself no more fake promises. Perhaps the money spent on the gym membership (stupid fucking New Year’s promotion) would motivate you to use it, lest it’s just money down the drain. 

You wore the stretchiest, thickest pair of black leggings you owned, hoping no one would see the terrible shape of your underwear through it. On the opposite spectrum of things, you knew the largest hoodie you owned would smother you and make you boil with sweat, so you chose the next best thing: the widest black t-shirt you owned. It was definitely not black enough, the dye faded into a dark gray from use over the years, but it was the only thing that camouflaged your body enough from the others’ sight. God forbid they imagine what your body actually looks like underneath.

The heads pretty quickly turned back around as you started walking towards the empty treadmills. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but the combined weight of at least a dozen pairs of scrutinizing eyes would’ve been enough to make you turn on your heels and back to your car, fuck the membership price.

At the very least, you could convince yourself that walking in place (no better than a hamster on its wheel but oh well) would be enough to get you started. Baby steps, and all.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize the treadmill fucking sucks. Why would anyone suggest looking at a parking lot while suffering instead of the pretty scenery of a park or forest (while also suffering, but still).

The timer you’d set for the warm-up (ten minutes, just like the pretty blonde coach suggested!) crawls by way too slowly for your taste. You’d be all but whooping with joy when it beeps if you weren’t so out of breath and conscious of a gaze on you.

You’d seen him as soon as you walked in.

Between figures of balding men trying to get rid of their beer gut with abs, two thin women whispering to themselves in a corner while trying to look inconspicuous, and a few other, completely average-looking men and women, there he stands, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he deadlifts an impressive amount of black plates.

He immediately looks straight ahead, correcting his stance, as if there were anything to be corrected, in your unathletic opinion. The muscles in his arms bulge even through the thin, grey hoodie, and the ones in his legs coil tight as the weight is lifted off the ground in a slow, controlled motion. Not even a grunt escapes his lips, at least no one you could hear from where you stood, completely mesmerized.

There was always something almost unappealing about overly muscled men. Their wife’s not feedin’ ‘em enough, your granny would grumble when passing by the rows of magazines at the checkout of the supermarket. 

Yet this man.

Yeah, he was muscled. But in a way, he looked… almost normal. Like he was built for strength, not necessarily vanity. Each bend of his legs, each twist of his arms…

You’d swoon if you hadn’t lowered your standards so low he’d trip on them. Accepted it a long time ago. Fats belong with fats, thins with thins, and if there’s a thin with a fat, either one’s getting fattened up, or the other’s getting dumped. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and one you’d rather not be a part of.

You walk with shaky legs to the water dispenser, then get ready to grab the second to lightest weights to try some bicep curls.

You try to remember the positioning from the videos. Rotate in… or out? Should the wrists be like this? You go through ten repetitions on each side, before you think that you should’ve gone for the abs straight away. God knows there’s fat to burn there, and that the flab under your arms can wait.

You turn back from the rack and walk straight into a wall.

No, a chest.

Fuck.

“Sorry there, miss,” says a deep voice. You detect some sort of accent, unable to quite place it right away.

Your eyes run up, instinctively stopping for a second at chest level (holy heavens that’s a Chest with a capital C if you’ve ever seen one) before finally meeting that same pair of eyes you met a few minutes ago, through the mirror.

Double fuck.

“S-sorry, it’s me, wasn’t watching,” you stammer out, gesturing to the weights in a panicked way. “Just, y’know, switching exercises,” you sputter with a nervous laugh, like it was a completely normal thing to switch exercises after one rep.

He chuckles, and you really need to start planning your escape, because holy shit the way his pectorals rise and fall as his chest puffs up is getting a bit too much for your poor little humiliated self to handle, but he doesn’t let you as he speaks in a soft tone.

“I’m getting arms aren’t really your thing, eh?” he asks, not unkindly. Gosh, did it have to be a Scottish accent?

You can’t meet his eyes, they’re too blue, too piercing for your liking. “To be fair I don’t know what’s my thing yet, I’m just starting out, y’know?” you shift your weight on your legs, conscious of the size difference, and not in the way you wanted to be. Your neck is very warm all of a sudden.

He laughs again, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and you almost want the floor to open up and swallow you whole, but the words that come out of his mouth are completely unexpected.

“Figured! A girl with thighs like yours, I’m sure you can deadlift more than me with just a lil’ training. I’m Johnny, by the way,” he adds in passing, as if offering his name is the least of his concerns. “You ever got someone to train you?”

You’re entirely unsure if you’re dreaming or not. Did this Scottish hunk of muscle really just offer to be your personal trainer?

“Never - uh… lifted anything, I guess. Just when moving, my couch and bed and all, but I had a friend help me.” You definitely feel like you’re oversharing and you’re struggling to ignore the weight of the gaze of the two thin women, burning through you as they whisper among themselves, when you realize you hadn't answered the second part. “Oh and, uh– no. I’ve never… trained. Been trained. It’s my first time in a gym since- a while. I don’t want to bother you.”

You finally look up at him, and you’re unable to read his expression. There’s a sort of curiosity, a fascination, that blends fast into a wide-eyed joy that’s so open, so sincere that it makes your head spin as he gently but firmly grabs your wrist and pulls you where his bar stands on the thick mat, ignoring your sputtering protests. “Not a bother at all, lass!” He lets go of you as he bends down and effortlessly racks the barbell, starting to remove plates as he continues. “We can start by measuring your max lift, then the one where you can easily do three reps, then we’ll hike it up till failure, so I can calculate your starting training weight!” he rambles on excitedly. You nervously shift on your feet, conscious of more curious gazes on you, but then he’s back in your bubble, pulling your attention towards him like a magnet.

His smile is like a blazing sun, and you don’t have the heart to tell him to prepare for disappointment.

He’s infinitely patient as he shows you how to place your feet, and the angle of your hips (oh, how you feel your knee weaken at the feel of his light tough through the leggings, nothing short of electrifying, despite being perfectly friendly), the hold on the bar. It’s all a blur till you find yourself bent over in front of him, looking in the mirror at your position and trying not to feel conscious of the way he’s placed behind you. Or let your mind wander in inappropriate places.

“Whenever yer ready, hen.”

You brace yourself, close your eyes for a brief second, wondering how the hell you’d landed on this planet, then breathe in, open your eyes-

The weight is in your hands. Not on the floor. You’re holding it.

You almost drop it when he cheers behind you, warm palms rubbing down from your shoulders to your elbows and back up. “Easy! I told you you’d be a natural! ‘S all in the legs and you’ve got awesome legs, bonnie! Let’s add twenty more.”

It’s a blur of racking and de-racking and lifting once and setting back, and redoing it again and again. You’re out of breath, sweating like a sinner in church, but you’re smiling along with him, finding yourself giving him double high fives, and doing small, excited jumps.

“Next one’s exactly my weight, if y’can lift that, I’ll be losing my bloody mind! D’you realize how well yer doin’ for a first-timer?” He says as he bends next to you, adjusting the bar for the next set of weights. With a wipe of his forearm over his forehead, he crouches slightly down, placing his head right above your shoulder and looking your reflection in the mirror straight in the eyes with a conspiratory grin. “Swear to God, if ye can lift it off the ground, I’m buying you the most expensive drink at the bar next door!” he says, grin blending into a blinding smile, too genuine for your own good.

He’s just friendly, just friendly, just friendly, you say to yourself like a mantra as you position yourself. He stands again to his full height behind you, hands ready under the bar, a safenet.

Deep breath in– hold it…

Slowly but surely, you lift the weight off the floor, your ears ringing from the effort. You see his lips move as he cheers you on, but the blood pumping in your eardrums makes it impossible to hear him. Suddenly, the weight is back on the ground and your feet are off the floor as you’re lifted in a tight embrace and spun around like you weigh nothing.

You yelp and flail but he’s holding you tight, face pressed smack-dab in the middle of your chest, between your tits, rumbling praises about your prowess while you’re trying to figure out whether this can be something that your brain is capable of summoning as a dream.

“Put me down, Johnny, oh my God, put me down!”

He thankfully complies but not before squeezing your ass tighter, and suddenly nothing feels real anymore.

“Jesus, I knew ye were perfect,” he says, pulling back reluctantly to rerack the bar and put back the weights. “I cannot wait to properly start training ye’ tomorrow, but for now, I have a promise ta’ keep, and, uh, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind using those strong thighs as earmuffs with this freezin’ weather. On the way back from the bar, what d’ya say?” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows with a crooked smile that lets you know he’s joking around. (Is he?)

You laugh with him and for a second, you forget what you were here for.

+++

The way to the bar is short. It was just a block away (Good for business, he jokes), but the conversation with Johnny made time really fly by. 

He seems genuinely glad when you tell him you’d decided to head to the gym not just as a New Year’s resolution, but trying to simply become a better you. There’s no condescendence, no talking down, no (God forbid) pity, just an overall nice interaction the whole time. He tells you about being on leave as a soldier (Medical leave, he specifies, a fucked up knee can work in a gym, but it’s a different story out in the field), you tell him about your studies and how that led into a “big girl” job that left you no time for yourself.

“But I’ve always been a big girl,” you feel the need to justify. “Just… gotten bigger as I stopped finding time to move. The desk and the laptop are pretty stationary,” you joke, still trying to make sense of why a man like him (broad, and tall, and strong, and… gosh, just perfect-looking) would even deign to accept being seen with you.

(It’s not a date, you dumbass)

“I happen to like big girls,” is what you don’t expect him to say.

Wait, what?

His blue eyes glue you to your seat, and you respond dumbly. “What?”

“I mean, why do you think I’d offer to train you?” he continues, placing his hand, big and warm over your thigh. It’s squished as you sit, wide and flattened in your seat, yet his hand covers a good amount, almost covering the whole width.

Your brain is short-circuiting but you have to answer something.

“Out of– uh… out of niceness?” you stammer out, feeling your insecurities climb back out of the hole they’d been sleeping in all this time, making you shrink even more, trying to cover yourself as if he didn’t see right through you with that piercing gaze. “To feel good seeing you be the reason I lose weight?”

He chuckles, squeezing your thigh as his head hangs down, almost as if to hide the smile that spreads on his lips.

“Strength training doesn’t work like that, bonnie.” He looks back up, and his eyes are blue, and wide, and so pretty, that you can’t find anything to argue back. “Ye’ think building glutes underneath that fat arse does anything but make it bigger?” He shifts, inching closer as he licks his lips and drops his voice lower. “Ye’ think growing your quads will make this,” he gives an even firmer squeeze, wiggling the fat back and forth, and you tense under his grip, but he’s got you pinned down, “any less wide and soft?”

He presses closer, and the booth has no escape room, you’re practically squeezed into the corner as he pushes his body against yours, bending to whisper lowly in the crook of your neck.

“I did not joke when I said I want yer pretty thighs wrapped tight around my head.”

You can’t be blamed when you don’t remember how you ended up in the back of a cab, Johnny barely taking the time to bark an address to the poor driver and throw fifty quid on the front seat before kissing you absolutely senseless, shamelessly groping your tits with a hand and wrapping the other around your thigh, squeezing you close.

You should probably think more about going home with basically a stranger, no matter how hot, but when he presses his entire palm against your cunt, cupping it over the quickly dampening pair of leggings that didn’t seem so thick anymore, you can’t think at all. He swallows your quiet moans, and hums contently against your lips, taking each gasp for air as an invitation to slither his tongue into your mouth. God, you’d forgotten what a good makeout session was like, and you can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed when you see the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror, instantly looking away when you see him staring. 

Johnny doesn’t seem to mind either, and when he notices you looking in the front again and again, he crowds you against the door behind the driver with a huff, half-climbing over you until his knee is pressed against your core, and the only thing in your field of vision is him.

“Johnny,” you try to say, but it’s getting hard to think, with the way you’re being squeezed in a corner, this hunk of a man of pure muscle pressing against you like a weighted blanket, kissing you like you were a drop of water in the desert and he was a parched man drinking you for his salvation. You feel his excitement pressed against your thigh, and it gives you enough lucidity to try again. “Johnny,” you gasp out again, “aren’t we going a little fast?”

He laughs instead, choosing to focus on the side of your mouth, pressing fervent little kisses down your neck before starting to suckle the delicate skin over where your clavicle is. “I can go as slow as you’d like, bun.” He takes the spot an inch next to the previous one into his mouth and sucks again, this time more forcefully, marking you, and oh God you’re going to have to conceal it before work tomorrow, unless you can find a turtleneck to wear–

The cab driver clears his throat, and you notice that the car is stopped in front of a small apartment complex. Johnny says a cordial thanks as he pulls you out of the car and throws another twenty on the backseat, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and taking all of the thinking out of the equation as he walks you to the entry.

His flat is pretty well furnished, all things considered, but he doesn’t give you enough time to observe the deco as he presses you against the door and slides his hand under your leggings.

“Got me starin’ at that ass the second you walked in, best fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in months, d’ye realize that, bonnie?” he breathes out against your ear as his entire palm cups your sex, and you can only whine as you press your forehead into the crook of his neck. “And by how wet this pussy is, I think you liked starin’ at me, too.”

“You are–” you say, but he curls his middle finger in, spreading your lips and spreading the wetness to your clit, making you choke on your words, “-very nice to stare at.”

“Yeah?” you hear the grin in his voice.

“Mmhm,” you nod, as he keeps the back and forth of his finger, never dipping in too far, just keeping you hungry for more.

“Then how’d ye like to stare down at me as I taste this wet cunt of yours?” he purrs in your ear as he stops moving completely, letting the words process.

Brain.exe has stopped functioning. 

Had you ever had a boyfriend willing to speak filth like that to you when you were down to do the deed, maybe you would’ve gotten enough practice to know what to answer something sensible and intelligible to that, but as it stands, all you can muster is a very dumb-sounding “Huh?” as you stare back at him.

And that, apparently, is the funniest thing in the world to him, because he dips his head down and laughs, almost like a boyish giggle. Not only does that not stop him from kneeling in front of you, but it also somehow gives him more confidence to keep talking like that.

“How about you look down into my eyes as I eat out your pretty little pussy and make you come around my tongue, how’s that sound?” His baby blues bear no trace of maliciousness, no trace of a joke, as his fingers hook around the waistband and trace it around your stomach. You have to make a very conscious effort not to suck it in immediately in preparation for the letdown, but he doesn’t pull them down yet, only moving his hand alongside the edge. Your silence as you try to process what is happening only seems to spur him on instead. “In fact, how about you close your eyes, I close mine, and you hold my head close as I devour you, would you let me do that, pretty girl?”

“I’m not-” you can’t think of any way to properly let him down, not when he looks up with such pleading eyes, so the words stumble out gracelessly. “I’m sweaty, you don’t wanna–”

But he interrupts as he pulls your leg closer by gripping your thigh and squishing it against his cheek “But I do.” He inhales deeply, and your own breath shakes at the sight of how blissed out he already looks. “God, I want it. Let me have this.”

A voice somewhere inside yells at you that this has to be some sort of weird fetish, and that he most certainly won’t be having the same aura of desperation around him tomorrow, when post-coital rationale shows up and he sees your body past the veil of lust, but for now, you think that getting some with Johnny cannot be that bad compared to any one of your past encounters. Might as well enjoy it when you still can.

You wrap your hand around the one he still has around your waistband, and see his face positively light up as you softly caress his cheek.

In the end, you’re the one that pleads.

“Johnny, please.”

Your pants are off you and your leg is over his shoulder before you realize what is happening.

The feel of his warm tongue against your slit makes any thought, any doubt, any fear positively vanish, and the content sigh that he lets out as he licks at you is the same sigh as finally removing a bra at the end of a long day, it’s the sigh of laying down carelessly onto a soft bed after standing up for hours, it’s the sigh of the first bite of the best meal a man has after starving for weeks.

It should be awkward the way his arm wraps around your thigh and sinks into the softness of your stomach, using it to pin you up as he uses his other hand to spread you out enough for him to work his jaw the same way he did when he was making out with you in the car… Yet it’s not. It’s natural, the way his hand squeezes you as he licks, and sucks, and kisses around your pussy, unhurried yet passionate, languidly but firmly, pressing his tongue in, licking around your lips, and maddeningly avoiding the place you wanted him to touch most.

“Johnny,” you moan as he grazes his teeth around your sensitive nub in response. You almost buck out of his hold, but he’s firmly keeping you in place. “Please, don’t tease.”

He hums in response and dives back in, eyes fluttering closed as he ignores your whines. Every time his tongue or lips graze your clit, he works his mouth the opposite way, holding your thigh harder and pressing his palm up as he counters your hip movements with a clever swipe of the tongue. It’s absolutely maddening. “Johnny, please!”

He chuckles as he pulls back, an obscene string of spit lengthening as he pulls back, only breaking when he runs his tongue against his reddened, swollen lips. “Thought ye’ wanted me ta’ go slow, bun.” His eyes sparkle with challenge, but you can also discern a veil of unhidden desperation, of waiting for you to give the go-ahead for him to let loose.

“I’m fine with faster–” you start, but the words dissolve into a barely restrained moan as he hikes your leg up more, getting you closer to him, and immediately singling onto your neglected clit.

His forehead rests onto your belly now, and if you had more than two functioning neurons you’d wonder how he is that he’s breathing, but his hums and moans let you know that he’s perfectly content burrowing his nose in your pussy, nudging at your clit with the tip of it as he licks you with all the dedication you’ve never been shown from a man of his caliber.

He builds it up, and soothes it down, knowing exactly when to put more pressure, or when to teasingly swirl his tongue around your entrance, or to lave broad strokes of his tongue, so much so that the knee that’s not hooked over his shoulder almost gives out on a particularly forceful suck of your clit.

“Easy there,” he groans almost petulantly, as if you’re interrupting him. “Can’t have you fallin’ over when I’m not done wit’ ye.”

“My legs are gonna give out,” you say honestly, trying to catch your breath and avoid having the perfect man at your feet steal it again. “You’re a bit too good at this.” He grins up at you, “Am I?” and you want to give you a playful swat, but instead decide on carding your fingers through his now disheveled mohawk. “Guess the mess on my face speaks for itself… Shall we take this to the bedroom?”

You throw a glance around the apartment, assessing your options. “Couch is closer.” His smile is blinding. “I like how ye’ think.”

It’s now the second time he surprises you by scooping your legs from under you and picking you up like he couldn’t wait any longer and that carrying you bridal-style was the only way he could think of moving you. You yelp out a protest but he swallows it with another hungry kiss, shamelessly smearing your own wetness over your cheek as he walks you both to the couch.

You sink into the cushions where he places you gently without so much as a grunt of effort, and oh God, there they are, the standards are rising.

You reach over to pull him closer as he straightens up, but he only gives you a peck on the lips in return, like he hadn’t been kissing you sloppily the entire time.

“Come back,” you whine, hoping you can get it done before he comes back to his senses, like they all do, but he just smiles and kneels between your feet, hands pressing your thighs apart. The squelch of your lips parting should be embarrassing were he not looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, eyes full of adoration, like a child staring up at the full moon on full display on a clear night’s skies. Maybe you are his moon, his goddess, judging by the lust-clouded look directed at you.

“I did say I was gonna make you come on my face,” he says lowly, the gravel in his voice making you squirm as he places a trail of kisses up your thigh. “And I intend to keep that promise.”

With that, he dives in again, using his forearms to pin your legs open on the couch and his fingers to tease around where his tongue can’t reach. You mewl when you feel his tongue at your entrance, circling it around it briefly before delving in as deep as he could, his right hand stroking your clit rhythmically. The fact that he’s so good at somehow playing all your buttons like a maestro directing an orchestra has you thinking that he must be some sort of womanizer, some freak who does this kind of thing every night, but then his lips wrap around your nub and he gives a firm, long suck, and any restriction that you could’ve conjured up simply vanishes. Your thighs want to close around his head, but you can’t move under the iron grip he has on you.

You fist his hair more forcefully than necessary, and he looks up, wet eyelashes framing his beautiful eyes as he hums in response.

“Please,” you moan, and he hums affirmatively again, closing his eyes to focus on licking and suckling harder. He heard you, he simply doesn’t seem to care. “Johnny.”

“What,” he asks, voice muffled and why is this so hot? 

“I need… I need,” you whine, unable to string the words together, and desperately trying to buck your hips under him, for lack of strength to actually close your thighs how you want to.

That seems to get his attention, and he chuckles, before pulling back with a gentle kiss on your mound. “Guess you’ll have to keep tryin’, pet,” he sussurs, a condescending pat on your thighs before he dives in slower than before.

Oh, the absolute asshole. Now he wants you to work for it?

You think that doing the opposite, relaxing your thighs open and letting him go to town however he wanted would help, but he seems hell-bent on riling you up every once in a while, getting you closer and closer with each lave of his tongue over your poor, overstimulated clit, but never enough to actually push you over the edge.

After what seems like an eternity, and almost, almost starting to think that this was a mistake, halfway ready to let him do this thing before your hip starts to cramp up, you feel a finger nudge at your entrance.

“Fucking finally–” you start, ready to curse him out, but he’s faster than you can think in your blissed-out state, and he slides a second finger alongside the first one, immediately zeroing in on that spot that makes you go cross-eyed and buck under his hold.

“Thassit– there you go, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your clit, and oh, okay, maybe you were closer than you thought, because the rhythmic curl of his fingers doesn’t need to last long before you’re off like an arrow, back arching and thighs squeezing, coming harder than you ever thought was possible. If he were any less skilled at making you completely lose the ability to think, you’d maybe notice that you’d managed to close your thighs almost completely around his head, but he wasn’t, so you don’t, twitching helplessly in the aftershocks of the most wonderful orgasm a man had ever given you.

Limbs that somehow still belong to your body hang uselessly off the side of the couch, and you struggle to catch your breath. You blink lazily, noticing him smugly wipe his face with the back of his hand, his half lidded eyes not any less blissed-out than yours. 

You didn’t believe a man like this ever existed, until now. It aches that this might not be something that would last, so you make grabby hands at him, unable to find the will to speak just yet. 

He laughs softly and gently grabs your arms, kissing from your knuckles slowly up your arm, to the crook of your neck. The patience he has is almost inhuman, as he takes the time to let you regather your senses, matching the marks he made earlier on the other side of your neck. You cup your hand around his head in response, and he smiles at you.

“Ye’ with me, bun?”

“Mmhm.”

“That slow enough fer’ ye’?” He holds himself up, an inch fron your face, and you reach up to kiss him.

“I’m gonna kill you dead,” you mutter against his lips, and he chuckles.

“Let me at least fuck you properly, first,” he whispers, and you notice that he’s long since unbuttoned his pants. You barely get a view of the massive size of him over your belly as he holds himself in his hand, large palm not enough to cover the whole length of him as he strokes himself, angled in such way that his tip rubs against your clit on each downstroke. The word “Please,” is not even halfway out of your mouth when he sinks into you in one swift motion, the rest dissolving into a long, drawn-out moan.

“Fuck-” he grunts, “so tight, cannot believe it.”

He guides one of your legs to wrap around him, keeping it flush against his body with his elbow as his palm grips your ass tightly, the other holding him against the backrest, forearm near your head as he pulls you closer for a sloppy kiss as he starts rolling his hips. You moan into his mouth and he swallows them greedily, leveraging each trust of his hips with a pull with his hand, helping you move in tandem with him, readjusting when your thigh threatens to slip out of his hold. The slaps of his pelvis to yours should sound obscene, his hard muscles hitting against your soft, jiggly skin, but his groans into your mouth are like music to your ears, the fact that he’s vocal about it has you almost reaching your peak again in no time, but he seems to sense it, and slows down immediately.

You try to kiss him harder, but he makes a small noise of protest, muttering something that sounds vaguely like “no, let me, let me just–” and you want to ask what he wants to do, to help him, but he instead reaches down both hands to grab your hips and pull you off the backrest. You yelp as your ass suddenly hangs in the air, his cock speared inside you the only secure point as he pulls you halfway off the couch, but he directs you firmly, “Here, around me,” helping you wrap your legs tightly as he starts thrusting again, harder than before.

“Oh, God, oh God,” you flail around, but each thrust in pushes your back into the cushions, and he reaches behind his back to hold your feet in his hand as he presses his palm near your head for support, spewing more filth as he does.

“That’s it, hold me tight, squeeze my cock like ye’ almost squeezed mah heid off earlier, huh, bonnie? Show me what those thighs can do, fuck-”

Your whole body is jiggling with each thrust, and you don’t have it in you to even feel self-conscious with the way each time he fills you, the tip of his cock nudges against the spongey spot inside, making you mewl in tempo with his relentless rhythm.

“Johnny, Johnny,” you moan, and he bends over to kiss you again, swallowing his name like communion while you chant it like a prayer.

“Don’t give up now, bonnie, keep squeezin’, fuck, I can feel ye’, yer so close.”

You try to get some leverage with your upper body, trying to push yourself up the cushions, but his cock suddenly slips out of you as your thighs almost give out, and an apology is already halfway out your mouth when he kneels back down and burrows between your legs, tongue first with a rushed “Need ta’ taste us, fuck, both of us, together-”

One hand wraps around your hip and over your pelvis, reaching up to knead desperately at your stomach, to pull you closer or push you away, you can’t tell, the other pulling your lips apart to settle his entire lower face against your pussy firmly– before letting go as he starts humming.

Your thighs are free to squeeze around his ears, and he nods encouragingly as he keeps licking, and then you hear it: the sounds of wet stroking. You don’t see him fisting his cock, but you hear it, fast and desperate. As your hand tangles in his hair to pull him closer, and another hum– no, another moan vibrates through your core, it’s the last thing you hear before you’re absolutely gone, gasping out a curse as you tense up in his hold, trembling as you come.

It’s even more intense than the first one, and as you buck out of his hold, he stands up shakily, his hand moving faster and faster around his cock, the angry red of his tip at the same level as your face. You gesture for him to sit down, trying to signal to him that you want to reciprocate despite the post-orgasmic haze and exhaustion, but he shakes his head, and, seconds later, you feel warm wetness land on your belly and slowly trickle down as he moans your name when he comes.

You feel like you still have to give something back, and, when he slumps down next to you with a content sigh, you climb over to place a delicate kiss on the tip of his cock, letting out a huff of laughter when it twitches under your touch.

“Ye’ absolute menace,” he whispers fondly as he pulls you up and tips his body to the side to lie down, using his legs to push you up halfway over him, trapping you between his body and the cushions, yet protectively shielding you from falling over. You place another kiss on his stomach, and you see his abs tense under your touch as your warm breath moves his hairs as you hover for a second, before deciding to shift up and use his pectorals as a cushion. He hums softly as his arm wraps around under yours, reaching to pull the plaid off the back of the couch and settle it around you both. Ticklish, eh? That’s a piece of information best stored for later.

You’re still breathless, absolutely done for. God, best decision of your life, going to the gym. “Now what?” you can’t help but ask. It’s the same fear that always creeps up, the fear that he got to try out a fantasy, and now that he was done with it, he had no need to want to continue anything possibly serious. Not that eating a girl out on a first date, if you could even call it a date, was a sign of a one-night stand, you can’t help but feel awkward and insecure now that it’s all done, despite the comforting cuddle.

He chuckles in response, that same chuckle from earlier in the day, a What a silly question chuckle. Like he’d read into your thoughts and insecurities and found them absolutely laughable.

“Same time at the gym, tomorrow? I want you to squeeze my head off next time.”

“Next time, huh?”

He pulls your leg over his pelvis, trapping his still half-mast cock between his belly and the crook of your knee, hand firmly wrapped to shift you up, almost completely on top of him. When both of you are comfortable and you start feeling the tendrils of sleep pull you deeper, he gives a last, playful squeeze to your ass.

“Next time.”