#she has some minor matting in places so i think she might not be? or maybe she has neglectful owners | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aetheternity · 4 years ago

Text

So sweet, just for me

Synopsis: Just some stories where reader takes care of Virgin! Armin.

Disclaimer: Unprotected sex, blowjobs, Sub Armin and sexually experienced Y/N are all present in this. Minors exit now.

☆☆Just Summer Things☆☆

Sweat coursed down the expanse of every inch of your body. Or maybe it was water you weren't really sure. A set of carefully trimmed nails shivered and shook beside your head, digging into the grimy tree bark. Locks of sun kissed blonde hair stuck to parts of your neck, face and collarbone as you coaxed Armin's breathing down. Forehead resting uncomfortably against the bark and your ass firmly seated against his hips.

"How do you feel sweet boy?"

"I-I.." He panted, pulling his face back a little. Blue doe eyes full of lust and the sweet shine of tears.

His cock currently pressed delicately against your g-spot during what started out as a normal water balloon fight. Between the boys and the girls of course. You guys had all come out during late afternoon, Sasha and Connie started tossing water balloons and teams formed accordingly.

At some point you'd run off to what you thought was a safe zone only to find Armin perched in the bushes. Contemplation etched into his soft features.

"Move slowly ok." You encourage. You were surprised by how big he was sure but the warning was more so this could last for a while.

He nodded where you were still holding the back of his head. His nails cautiously unlatching from the tree moving instead to sink into the fat of your hips while at the same time his once snugly nestled cock began to move. The sweet drag forcing your toes to curl and your eyes to shut. A small exhale cresting off your lips.

A breathy moan fell from his trembling lips as he pulls you in closer. Wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing around you like a lifeline.

You'd met Armin only two years ago through Jean and continued to crush on him for the entirety of those two years. Until today when he'd admitted to you that he was a little ashamed of being a virgin while consistently having to listen to Eren, Connie and Jean's conquests.

You told him they were probably lying about at least half of those stories but it only got you a small smile. So you decided to do him one better and offer to take his virginity.

It wasn't selfish. It was a win win. He would receive a conquest story to tell and you would get what you'd been craving since you'd first seen him in Jean's apartment shirtless and trying to help fix the messed up drain.

"Feels good?" You chuckle huskily

"Oh my God.." He huffs into your skin.

His hips worked themselves up a little faster. A slightly clumsy pace forming but he was new at this so you weren't mad.

"Armin slow down baby, I don't want you to get ahead of yourself."

"I-i'm sorry.. j-ust feels amazing.."

One of his hands hesitantly snaked up your shirt. Skittish in the way he palmed at your breast. Though he quickly eased up when you replied to the affection with a little mewl.

It felt surprisingly amazing for you as well. Considering the situation and the fact that Armin had never done this with anyone. This really was his first time.. What a weird thing to tell people. My first time was at a water balloon fight against a tree.

You hummed when the pleasure started to sit in your stomach. Legs trembling a bit as he pumped inside you a little faster. Any other time you would've just thrown your head back and relaxed, especially since his dick was so perfectly filling right now but-

"Armin, slow down." Your breathing was a little raspy.

He replied with a whimpery moan, thighs shaking against your sides. You reached an arm around grabbing his hips with your hand to slow them. It seemed to catch his attention because those soft doe eyes were wide.

"You'll get to cum baby I promise you, ease up a bit it's not a race." He nodded in affirmation and you smiled warmly.

Silk strands warm under your guided fingers as he pulled all the way out and slowly eased back in. A collective united moan exiting both your mouths. You'd shut your eyes but they worked themselves back open at the almost unnoticeable twitch of his cock head.

Your favorite part.

"Mm baby so close.." You whisper, your lip coming to tuck itself under your teeth.

A small chorus of yes's and little gasps fall from his open mouth. His skin somehow easing out of tomato red and into surface of the sun red.

You pull him close making sure his eyes were open. "I need you to cum for me ok? But make sure no one hears you." You say, and fuck is it gorgeous watching him come undone. Just like you'd imagined so many times before.

The tears once welling in his eyes spilled over like a faucet. Choked moans and harsh gasps worked their way off his lips. One of his hands flew back up to the tree where his nails soon dug the bark clean off. His hips stuttering through his entire orgasm. You were almost worried when his climax ended. The way he went silent except for his wild breathing.

"Armin?"

"Fuck.." He sighed

You couldn't help but giggle. "How was your first time?"

He gasps and rolls his eyes still stuck in euphoria. When he pulls out you take the opportunity to turn around. Working your panties up over your hips and pulling your fluttery skirt back down.

"Please, please let me do that again sometime.." He huffs finally managing words. You bring his lips to yours in a chaste kiss that honestly doesn't last long enough for you.

"Only if you promise to stay my good boy." You reply pulling his shorts up till they rest comfortably on his hips.

"I promise." He remarks, almost too eager. "Oh! Wait you didn't get to c-"

"Hey, where did you guys go?" Armin practically separates from his skin as Connie and Jean round the corner. Water guns tucked in their grasp.

"When did you guys get those?" You asked nonchalantly.

Jean shrugged, "We made the game more interesting."

Connie shook his head running back around the corner as Sasha's battle cry sounded.

"Hurry and get back we need you out there Armin." And with that Jean was gone too.

You picked up Armin's discarded water balloon, placing it in his open palm. "See you out there, lover boy."

☆☆Showing Armin how to do Yoga☆☆

"Why's Armin coming over here so early again?" Sasha asked rolling over onto her side. The bag of cotton candy once perched on her thighs flopping over and nearly spilling its contents.

"To do Yoga!" You replied with a laugh sitting the bag upright next to her.

She groaned dramatically. "But it's six thirty am on a Saturday."

"No one told you to get up with me." You remark, pushing the coffee table to the edge of the room.

She holds her once displaced bag up for you to see. "It was calling out to me." She sighs, hugging it to her chest.

A knock on the door takes your concentration. As you pull it open you call back to her, "Well since you're up, you might as well join us."

"Nope!" She quickly scurries away with a wave of her hand. Cotton candy stuffed under her arm.

You shut the door behind Armin as he stares down the hall that Sasha had disappeared down. Your grin is bright almost devilish as it slowly spreads across your face.

"Seems like it's just the two of us." You mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

You watch as he thickly gulps with a nod. Bite able Adam's apple bouncing but you pretend you don't notice. Your mat is already laid out on the floor but you can't stop yourself from bending over to smooth out the corners. Barely paying attention to Armin until you hear a small cough or maybe him choking it's not very clear.

He's holding his mat in his arms defensively across his chest. Silk strands of blond hair fluttering when he blinks. His cheeks a beautifully vibrant pink.

"I-I wanted to th-thank you.." He says, blue eyes trained where they stared at your mat. "For.. the- um.." He gestures and you can't help but giggle.

"The sex?"

Now his eyes find you. Blown wide as his pink lips part over a word that never succeeds in leaving his mouth. Your feet pat over the floor as you close the distance between the two of you. His cheeks warm under your delicate grasp and you hold his face almost as though you're sure he'll shatter.

"You're so cute, please never change."

You're almost scared it sounds condescending but the soft rosy color trudging up to the tips of Armin's ears says he doesn't agree.

You turn back to your mat with a smile but just before you sit on it you add, "And you never have to thank me for sex, I'd do it with you anytime."

He nods once as if responding to you and then twice as if he's confirming that you did indeed say what he heard. The soft plap of his mat on the floor reminding you of what you were both here for.

"Ok, let's begin then." You take a deep breath, adjusting the scrunchie holding your hair in place. "First we wanna stretch alright, so I just need you to reach up above your head with both hands and reposition your feet."

You demonstrate using yourself and Armin awkwardly copies. Slender fingers curling towards the sky as he slowly relaxes his shoulders. You can't help but let your mind wander a little as a glint of light flickers off the steel rings decorating three of his gorgeous digits.

You had fingered yourself last time the two of you were together and now you were craving him. Wondering what the warmth of just one of those inside you would feel like.

"Spread your legs more." You encourage, meanwhile it nearly has Armin doubling back. "Dirty boy." You tease

You stand in front of him gently kicking his legs apart. Easy enough. And he responds to every bit of your touch like he craved you too.

And well you wanna tell yourself that you had actually had completely innocent intentions when you'd invited Armin over here today. He genuinely had never done Yoga before and you knew Sasha was gonna be here. So yeah, you'd love to say you wanted nothing but to relax Armin in this encounter.

But you couldn't even keep a straight face while thinking it.

"Can you bend your knees a little?" He squats, carefully coming back up. Arms reaching out on both sides as you coaxed him. "A little lower sweetie." You say as his ass hovers inches over the mat.

And oh to be the mat.

You step back until you're completely back on your mat. "I'm sure your arms are tired, you can put them down now." You wave him off and he lets out a smooth exhale. "Feel relaxed yet?"

"A little." He replies with a confident smile.

"Then you're ready for the next part." You clap "I need you to bend over and touch your toes alright."

He shuts his eyes, pretty lips parting over your choice of words. What you wouldn’t give right at this second to be a mind reader. His back arches, ankles locking together as you demonstrated. "Good, good boy. Back straight." You sink your thumb into his black athletic shirt to touch his spine. And he hardens with your touch. "Don't be shy, it's just me." You mutter, breath heavy.

Fuck! Touching his back muscles this up close and personal made you wanna sink your nails into them. Leave lines up and down his soft supple skin as a mark that you'd always be his first. No one else would ever get that privilege.

"I-I.."

Shit.

"Ok, you can stand."

You pretend not to notice the way he shifts his sweats as he stands. This time you vow to actually stay on your mat.

"You should know this position." Your legs spread on one end of the mat while your hands came down to lay flat near the opposite end. "Try it."

Carefully he gets into the position you're currently doing but not without peaking at your figure. His blond hair dipping towards the mat and you can't help but smile at how cute he looks.

"Now we're gonna slowly curve our bodies down until our pelvis touches the floor." You say, head curving up toward the ceiling. For once Armin has immediate trouble, hips dangling weirdly over the ground. His arms trying and failing to steady himself.

"What's the matter? Wanna try a different position?"

"N-no it's nothing.."

You plop down on your mat, crossing your legs and gesturing for him to do the same and even without his reluctance you already know what's wrong. He slowly but surely rotates his hips, spreading his legs. His hardened dick print on full display.

You don't even try to hide the slow slither of your tongue wetting your lips. You quickly turn your head before crawling your way over to a very very flushed Armin. Sweat glistening perfectly over his pale skin.

"W-wait Sasha!" He panics, his arms flailing a bit as he backs up slightly.

"Shh it's ok, she definitely fell back asleep the second she went back in her room." You reply crawling towards him again.

"But you know I c-can't keep q-uiet. Wh-what if she h-hears!"

Your hands inched past his now loosened sweats to gently squeeze his hardened cock through his boxers. Both his hands flew to his mouth giving you a new gorgeous view of those pretty rings.

His eyes roll unfocused with every sweet glide of your hand. Tears already starting to brim along the edges of his warm eyes.

“Do you always wear those rings for physical activities or is it just for me?”

��I-I just forgot to take them off..”

“Did you?” You can tell your smile is shitty. Just from the way his eyes dart away from yours "You've never been blown either have you?" You ask getting back on topic.

"N-no." It's a muffled response but it hits your ears loud and clear.

"Another story for the growing journal then." You tease

You honestly can't help yourself. Lips curving and confining his tip like a vise. Precum salty where it stains your tongue. His gasp bouncing off the wall so elegantly. So fucking perfect. But even though Sasha is a heavy sleeper you were still worried she'd wake up before you finished.

So as much as you wanted to tease.

"Can I pull these down baby? I know your dick wants some relief."

He complies, oddly quickly. And you pull his sweats and boxers down just enough to hug the tops of his thighs.

And his dick is gorgeous. You hadn't actually seen it before but fuck was it pretty, standing tall and leaking before you.

You inch forward spit dribbling from your lips to be collected in the hand that was working his slender shaft. It had Armin's hips bucking up to greet you. His sweet whines egging you on.

And slowly but surely.... "Oh my fucking god."

It was an adjustment. Not as smooth as you would've liked because of the weird angle but you'd taken a little more than half of his dick in your mouth. A mildly painful fit made up for by the angelic cries of Armin just above you.

"Pl-please.. oh God please.."

He couldn't tell what he wanted to hold, hands shifting to the top of your head, the floor and his rolled up sweats all in less than a minute. You swore you could hear his heartbeat through his chest every time you swallowed his cock again.

You wanted to speed ahead so bad, see him just as flustered as he had been last week when he had his cock buried deep inside your pussy but it was obvious he wasn't going to last long either way.

Disorganized syllables flooding off his lips with the occasional whimper of "thank you" and "yes". His throat heavy with every curse word he knew stuck in it. Breaths quick and uneven as you coaxed him down your throat. Vibrations coursing past your lips to meet his already sensitive sex.

"I-i'm.. gonna cum.. mmm soooo close! Gonna cum!"

His choked breaths fell over your forehead and in the next second he was emptying every bit of his stress into your mouth. Eyes clouded like Armin wasn't even in there anymore. And you drained him of every drop, reaching between his legs to squeeze his balls.

When you pulled off of him he let out a deep exhale. Body still shaking as he looked at you.

"Thank you so much." He grinned hazily

"God, I wanna be as many of your firsts as possible." You breathe out a laugh.

☆☆The one where Eren walks in☆☆

It wasn't often you came back to the same guy. Every now and then you had one night stands and that's all it ended up being. You'd always been fine with that.

But Armin made you stay. His shaky fingers, nervous tongue and tear stained cheeks so oddly addictive. Intoxicating in how innocent he stayed despite having two sexual encounters with you.

And now here you both were having your third in his bed. Bodies melded together in the heat of both your sweat. Eyes fixated on only each other as his head tilted up like a hungry baby bird to pull you back in every time you fled.

And you indulged him as much as possible because fuck he was the cutest thing. Your hands gliding over his back and up to his shoulders to pull him impossibly closer. Spine curving deliciously when he grazed over your g-spot.

"Armin.. there." You breathed

Your free hand slid between your bodies making space for those slender fingers to work over your clit.

"Flick it." You encouraged, he immediately did as he was told earning a moan of approval.

"Good boy." You hum, lip trembling where it curves under your teeth.

The once soft pink of his face deepened with the compliment. A little smile decorating his gorgeous features. Just another thing to add to your growing folder of mental images.

"There honey.. keep going." You cooed over the little whimper fluttering off his lips as you hugged his cock. "You remember that spot right? The one that you hit when we were outside?"

"Yeah.. I think it was.." His hips remained delicate as he slid right into place. One leg up as he slotted his cock inside you. Heat pooled in the lowest depths of your stomach with the hesitant prodding of his tip to your g-spot. Eyes curving up to yours for further instruction.

"Mmhm that's it.. hit it a little harder ok."

It was all sorts of clumsy but he rammed your g-spot full force. An apology made its way to his throat but eye contact and the choked gasp that left your mouth soon proved it wasn't needed. You spread your legs a little further for him and he grabbed your waist smoothly working your hips over his dick.

"You're doing so well." You giggled taking a hold of his face. "And you're holding out much longer this time."

"Y-yeah but I'm almost there.." He sighed, fingers working at your clit a little faster. Right in time with the faster tempo of his hips.

"Fuck, you feel soooo good." He drawls

His lips parted, eyes flying north. You hugged him a little tighter as his chest pushed you up and down with each thrust. The once gentle drag of your nails now much rougher. As you let it slip just how much you were enjoying this.

Let your mouth fall open for the words circling your brain. Stomach heavy as Armin fucked you with intention. You brushed beads of sweat back from his face. His hair going up with it, clumping together atop his head.

"Mm gonna cum.." He moaned, head lolling with the intensity of his full body tremor.

"Hey Armin-"

"Eren!" Armin nearly shot up as Eren pushed the door open with zero warning.

Armin's free hand stayed on your clit completely stagnant. Tip twitching inside you, he didn't even have time to cover his mouth. Moans and whimpers pouring out from his still parted lips. Every bit of your fifteen minute effort now seen and heard by Eren who stood in the doorway with a raised eyebrow.

"Hey Eren.." You greeted, pulling your hand away from your upturned lips. Meanwhile Armin's face is buried deep in your shoulder blade. Where you already assumed he'd be staying for the next hour.

"Uh huh.." Eren replied, slamming the door shut. "Mikasa, he's busy let's go!" You heard him call as his boots clicked down the hall.

You don’t say a word till you hear the front door open and close, “You ok?”

“Any chance Eren didn’t hear that?..” He whispered

“Not in hell or on Earth love.”

‘Then no..”

#aot x reader #aot smut #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #snk smut #armin arlert x reader smut #armin smut #armin x you #armin x y/n

565 notes · View notes

wri0thesley · 4 years ago

Note

Nat. NAT. I just saw your concept about naoya "training" his wife by just throwing her in the room and just watching her struggle to defend herself... Until she ofc breaks and begs him to protect her🙈 you have a MASSIVE brain, the biggest and horniest brain nat can you please write this concept for the event😭😭 maybe w 45 and any other dark or spicy add ons that you see fit!

traditional discipline - naoya x fem!reader (3.3k)

naoya has had enough of you, and resorts to an unusual method of discipline.

warnings: not sfw/minors dni. DARK CONTENT. unhealthy relationship/marriage. fearplay, dacryphilia, finger-sucking, cock-sucking, punishment, threat of violence and death. dubious consent. afab reader with fem pronouns.

[a/n: this concept literally wouldn’t leave me alone. i’m sorry to all of the readers who are naoya’s wife i’m always so horrible to them]

The room goes quiet as Naoya hauls you out of it by your upper arm.

It’s an easy mistake, a simple slip-up; accidentally talking over your husband. But it’s one in a slew you’ve been making recently, despite Naoya thinking that you were polite and well-bred and knew your place. He’s sick of it, to be quite frank; he doesn’t have time to be correcting you when you should already know how to behave.

You’ve done accidental, small things since the two of you were married. Denying him when he rolled you onto your back at night. Not standing quite as far behind him as you should. Pouring tea for other people before him. He’s given you swift reprimand with both his words and his hands, but . . . it’s clearly not sinking into your pretty little head, is it?

He warned you about this.

“Next time,” he’d growled to you, when you’d laughed too loud at a joke that one of his brothers had made and not laughed at one of his, “I’m going to teach you a real lesson.”

He tells you about the ‘training and discipline room’ on the Zenin estate later that night. A room that the family use for honing cursed techniques, both for practising and for learning purposes, when someone needs to be brought down a peg or two. It’s full of cursed spirits – all the way up to grade two, which makes your blood run cold.

Of course, you have cursed energy. You even have a careful little technique; one that would wrap your enemies up in vines, if you’d ever been allowed to train to use it for anything other than keeping your well-appointed garden neat and orderly. Naoya would not have married someone without either of those things, lest they not bear him fruitful children--

But you have never been allowed to use it for anything more.

The women of your clan are pretty decoration, with no need to learn anything other than how to behave and how to please their masters-and-husbands. You would be useless, thrown into the den of the wolves like that.

“Please don’t,” you’d said to him, your voice all soft and gentle, trying to be appeasing. “Please. I promise I’ll try harder.”

Naoya had taken your chin between thumb and forefinger, the grin across his face very sharp as his light eyes took in the pleading in your own gaze. You remember how the light had hit his earrings, the look of satisfaction at your begging and having you utterly and completely under his thumb.

“Be good,” he’d breathed, all slow and drawling. “And I won’t have to, will I?”

And he’d bid you to get on your knees for him and show you just how good you could be. Starting with your mouth.

So you know where he’s dragging you, down the labyrinthine halls of the estate. You try and pull back, feet sliding on the tatami mat, your voice pitching as you say;

“Naoya, please, I’m sorry--”

“Women should be seen and not heard,” he says to you. “Don’t make a fuss like that. You earned this.”

Your eyes are filling with tears, hot fear clawing its way up your throat.

“I’ll do anything,” you say to him, despite knowing that it’s a dangerous bargain to give him. He almost considers it for a moment, pausing – but then, his fingers just dig harder into the softness of your bicep (you’re going to bruise), and he tugs you.

“You’re making a scene,” he says. “If you don’t stop, I’ll leave you in there even longer.” You try to wrench your arm out of his grip, all of your self-defense mechanisms going into overdrive as you recognise the door he’s leading to you too. You’re breathless, so frightened you think that your heart might stop.

Naoya opens the door and pulls you in. You almost stumble at the flight of stairs, but he clicks his tongue at you in annoyance.

“So clumsy,” he drawls. “And here I was, under the impression I was marrying a graceful, lovely, credit to her family--” More steps, until he’s gotten you in the middle of the floor. He gazes around him, and you hear the low hum of a hundred cursed spirit’s voices murmuring the same things, over and over again. “The only time you’re a credit to them is with your legs spread.”

“Naoya,” you whimper, torn between pushing yourself into him for the comfort and protection that you know he can offer, or trying to tear away from him and escape the room yourself. You know the second option won’t work – he’s far faster, far stronger than you – but it’s hard to think of anything when you feel like your very survival is teetering impossibly over your head.

“If you run,” he says, still in that cold, uninterested drawl, “I’ll break one of your ankles.”

You don’t think he’s bluffing. Naoya says a lot of things, yes – but he’s also reckless and proud enough to mean them. You stand there, next to him, feeling yourself begin to tremble.

“W-why aren’t they attacking yet?” You ask him, voice very small. He looks at you pityingly.

“They’re afraid of me, obviously,” he says to you, very slowly, like he’s explaining it to somebody very stupid. “I didn’t get this good at everything by not training myself, darling.” He lets go of you, finally, a whistle escaping his pursed mouth as he rocks on the balls of his feet. He’s supremely unconcerned by your fear. “When I’m gone, they’ll come out for you.”

Your eyes fill with tears.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask him, desperation leaking into your cracked voice. “I can’t—I can’t protect myself--”

Naoya narrows his eyes.

“You should have thought about that before you were such a pain,” he replies. And, without further ado, he turns around and begins to ascend the stairs again. You turn with him, moving forward, stumbling in your haste and ending up sprawled at the bottom of the stairs with your hand pathetically fisted into the hem of his hakama.

He looks down at you with a disgusted sneer on his face, and you hate that even with that expression his features are still unmistakably handsome.

“Let go,” he says. “Have some dignity.”

“Please,” you repeat. You can feel a fat tear spilling from the corner of your eye down the curve of your cheeks. You know the ‘dignity’ statement is a dig; the fact that you’ve heard his family members calling your clan power-hungry undignified gold-digging whores, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you can see the beginning of shadows spilling out too far into the main floor of the room. “Naoya. Please.”

He kicks out at your wrist, face twisted in distaste, and you let go to avoid it being stood on and crushed under his strength. You cradle it against your chest, looking up at him still all desperate and afraid.

“If I helped,” he said to you, “you’d never learn your lesson.” He takes a step up and turns away completely from you, as if you’re nothing more than an ignored child on the street. “It will be good for you, beloved wife. Character-building.” You hear the smirk in his voice and you hate him.

You want to strangle him. You want to beg him to protect you. You want to tear him limb from limb, but you want him to let you bury your head in his chest as he dispels the spirits with ease. You want--

The door slams shut behind him. He’s too cheerful as he throws behind him;

“Good luck!”

And you are left alone.

It takes a moment before anything slithers out from the shadows, and you clap your hand over your mouth to stop yourself screaming. The first cursed spirit is a hunched over creature with the face of a Pierrot clown, mouth stretched impossibly wide with gaping black abyss where eyes ought to be. It’s whispering something over and over to itself, but the wide mouth is so crowded with teeth that it comes out as an incomprehensible noise, dripping drool as it begins to move horrifically slowly towards you.

Oh, God. You’re not supposed to look at them, are you? You dimly recall something about many sorcerers wearing glasses so the creatures can’t tell where their gazes are, but this one has already got the scent of you; those dark pits staring at your crumpled form.

Everything you’ve ever been told in passing about jujutsu and cursed spirits and cursed technique just seems to flow out of your mind to be replaced by mind-numbing fear. You’ve not been trained for this; when your clan had arranged your marriage with Naoya, you know that they’d expected fine silken kimonos and traditional food and you being a pretty trophy on the arm of the future leader of their clan. You know they’d be horrified if they saw what was happening.

More of them are melting from the shadows, the whispering and moaning reaching a terrifying crescendo. You’re trembling. Your heart is beating so fast inside of your chest you think it might break free of your ribcage and sputter out onto the floor.

The Pierrot monster is close enough that you can see the six hands it drags on the floor are all tipped with claws that are sharp as blades. You scramble up the stairs on your ass, too afraid to turn your back on the creatures. You realise you’re shouting, but it seems just as blurred as anything that the cursed spirits are saying. You’re crying, too – howling, whimpering, so scared you’re surprised any noise is able to come out at all.

You’re going to die.

It hits you with cruel certainty as you reach the top and throw your weight at the door, only for it to not give an inch. You scramble at the heavy wood, not caring about your careful manicure (Naoya wants you to be a credit to him, and that means manicures and facial treatments and a fancy bathroom full of soaps and creams that he expects you to use and that he slathers, too, on himself). You hear a nail break but you can’t bring yourself to worry about that when the Pierrot monster is dragging itself up the flight of stairs, one step at a time. It makes a hideous sliding thump, like it’s both wet and heavy – and you notice, too, the scent of blood invading your senses.

Your tear-blurred eyes can see all of the other monsters, too – not quite as close, but still too close for comfort. Too many eyes and not enough eyes, too many legs, claws and teeth and misshapen bones and blood leaking from holes. What are you supposed to do?

Naoya has left you here, alone, to teach you a lesson. You hadn’t realised the lesson would culminate in your death, but with all of the spirits so close to you, you cannot see any other way.

All of the fight goes out of you and you sag against the door, a broken sob escaping your lips. Your throat is dry from hoarse screaming.

You are going to die. You hope it will come quick; you hope the Pierrot monster will tear you limb from limb and you’ll die in instants from the shock. Your voice whispers Naoya’s name one last, hopeless time.

Will he find another wife? Will they even bother covering up your death, or will they spin some rumour or lie to your family and the whole of jujutsu society that you brought it upon yourself?

You would do anything to be rescued right now. You would crawl on your hands and knees behind Naoya for the rest of your life, refer to him only as ‘Master’, fulfil every single thing he ever asked you with no more than a meek nod of your head. Pull out your tongue so you couldn’t make any more mistakes.

But the time for pleading seems to have gone entirely, and you are useless and stupid and weak as you run out of tears, eyes burning. All you can do, you think, is wait for death.

The door swings open behind you and you’re dragged backwards, onto tatami, by powerful hands gripping your shoulders as it closes once more with a massive clunk that echoes in your ears--

And you find yourself strewn out on the floor, face caked with dried tear-tracks, a trembling, pathetic mess looking up at your husband’s face.

He leans against the door, listening to you scream. He can hear his name mixed in with sobs and screams and pleading; saying that you’ll do anything, you’re sorry, you’ll never disobey him again you’ll take any punishment he metes out with a smile on your face, if he just helps you. He hears you call yourself weak and pathetic and useless around the tears clogging your throat; he hears the thump of you hitting the door and the sound of your nails scratching down the wood, uncaring of anything other than getting away from them.

Yes, he thinks as he opens the door for you and you fall, shivering and sobbing, in front of him. Yes, he thinks you’ve learnt your lesson.

You’re so pretty, he thinks, closing it once more (he sees the cursed spirits begin to creep back to where they came from at the very sight of him, now their preferred victim is protected), with your eyes all glassy and wet. You’re extra pretty looking at him like he’s a conquering hero who’s saved you from certain death – which he supposes he is.

You cling to his arm, pulling yourself up, burying your face in his chest as your hands cling to him like you’ve been lost and he’s the first familiar thing you’ve seen in months. Your tears soak his kimono, but . . . he finds himself not really minding, as big, lean hands pet you gently on the back.

“It’s alright now,” he soothes you, murmuring low. “Your husband has you.”

“Please, please, ‘m so sorry--” You’re mumbling into him, whimpering, your shoulders shaking. “Please never m-make me, again--”

“Shhh,” he continues, gently beginning to move towards his chambers. You cling to him, adrift in a sea of your own fears. “It’s better now. You’ll be better now, won’t you?”

He receives a fierce nod for that, your fingers twisting into his clothing. It’s nice, having you so wrapped around him; seeing him as the strong protector that he knows he is but you needed reminding of. You’re still mewling little pleas into him even as he unlocks the door to his bedroom and gently pushes you in. Letting go of him even for a moment seems to cause you physical pain--

Good. You should feel like that. You should feel incomplete without him at your side. Naoya rewards you with a rare, soft smile.

“You know why you had to be punished like that, don’t you?” He purrs to you, petting your hair and carefully drawing back so he can look at your face. Your lips are all swollen from crying and biting; he thinks you’ve never looked quite so kissable as you do right now.

“Yes,” you nod, fiercely. “I’m sorry. I’ll do a-anything, I promise. I . . .” You swallow, your eyes filling with tears again. Naoya has been hard since the moment he heard you call out his name from inside the training room, your voice filled with choked tears, and watching them well up again does nothing for the stricture against the fabric. “I needed you.”

“And I saved you,” he says, arching an elegant brow – to which you nod again, and your hands drift towards him like you’re aimless without him in front of you to serve. “I’ll protect you, darling, as long as you learn your place.”

“I will!” That’s said with such conviction that he can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I will. N-Naoya . . .” Your voice trembles a little. “’m willing to do anything for you. J-just please . . . not again.”

“Shh,” he reaches out and deigns to touch you, to gently and soothingly rub his thumb over your cheek, where the tears have dried. “If you’re really going to be so good for me, I won’t have to, will I?” You stumble forward onto your knees and Naoya’s brows shoot up in surprise as your hands tug at his hakama.

“Please let me show you how grateful I am,” you whisper, your eyes wide and bright and desperate. “Naoya, please, please, please--”

Oh, there’s something so gratifying about you like this, begging to suck his cock. It stirs between his thighs again, reminding him that he’s painfully stiff; and you are here, a willing mouth, scared out of your skull and desperate to please him. He’s smirking at you but you do not register it as such; all you see is the smile of your rescuer.

Your protector.

Your husband.

“Say what you want to do to me, darling,” he tells you, keeping his voice as sweet as he can make it. “You’re a big girl. You can use your words. What do you want to do, to show me how grateful you are that I saved your paltry life?”

You’re pouting; your mouth is sweet, pretty. He wants to pry your jaw open and fuck the back of your throat, and his body roars as your fingers tug on the hakama again and your meek, soft voice whispers;

“Please let me suck your cock.”

“You have a dirty mouth,” he coos to you, leaning forward to brush a finger over your lower lip. “Not befitting of a woman of your station. I suppose that means that it’s up to me to keep you quiet, hmm?”

You obediently open it, letting his finger gently rest on your tongue for a moment.

Desperate to please, your mouth closes about it, your tongue gently swiping over the pad, your cheeks hollowing a little as you suck on the digit inside of them. Naoya’s smiling again, the victorious grin of someone who’s gotten exactly what they wanted. He pulls his finger out and thrusts back in with two, whispering to you;

“Do you think you deserve my cock, after what you put me through today?”

You shake your head, but you don’t stop lavishing attention on the fingers in your mouth, a string of drool falling from the corner of your mouth as he presses his third finger inside of it. So warm, and wet. He needs his cock to be inside of you or he thinks he may embarrass himself.

The fingers are pulled out, wiped on the hakama fabric, before he says (the carefully adopted tone almost disinterested);

“Take them off, then. Don’t make your promises empty words. I wouldn’t appreciate such thoughtlessness in a wife.”

You’re eager, stripping off his clothes. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of his cock; elegant, flushed, hard and straining with a light upwards curve that he knows will hit you in the right place at the back of your throat to make you gag.

“Wait,” he says, as you lean in to bring him to your lips. “What do you say, darling?”

Your eyes (still brimming with tears, he notices – and fuck, he loves how you look teary-eyed and pouting. He has to make you cry more often) meet his, but the look in yours is worshipful so he doesn’t chide you for having the insolence to meet his gaze directly.

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For saving me. For letting me suck your cock. For everything.”

Naoya is smiling.

“Good girl,” he says, placidly, as you place a delicate kiss on the head of his cock and slowly envelope it in the warmth of your mouth. “Very good.”

741 notes · View notes

matwith1t · 4 years ago

Text

A/N: Hiiii!! More writing! Yay! This was a fun one!! It’s 98% fluff with 2% angst, but I promise it has a happy ending 🙂 Thank you all so much for your encouraging words!! I cherish them all & hold them close to my heart 🥺 Any and all feedback is appreciated! I hope you enjoy !

Summary: From your first date, first kiss, first hockey game of Mat’s, first I love you, to your first fight…You always learned something new about him.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂 | Mat Barzal x Reader

Warnings: One swear word & brief allusion to smut // WC: 11.6K // Fluff & Slight Angst

It was your first date.

A blind date.

The nerves got the best of you, so you arrived at the coffee shop early. What if the subway line you had to take was late? What if you missed a stop? What if you took a wrong turn down a street? Twenty minutes might be a bit too early, but it was the only way to ease your anxiety.

You don’t even know the last time you were on a blind date. Your friend, Hayden, had set it up. After a drunken confession over a shared bottle of wine, you admitted you were scared that you were running out of time to find your person. And that’s when an idea clicked in her mind.

She said she had a friend––Mat––who was tired of flings and wanted to really date someone. You waved her off, the idea of being set up seemed too middle school for you. But after she showed you a picture of him…you gave her the go ahead to send him your number.

She contacted Mat, and he said that he was all in for a blind date with you.

You tapped your foot on the pavement as you stood outside of the coffee shop entrance you agreed to meet at. After scrolling through your social media a few times, you clicked on your messages. Were you at the right coffee shop? You clicked on his name, and triple checked that you had the correct place and time.

“Uh, Y/N?”

At the sound of your name, you peered up from your phone and saw a nervous looking boy––a boy you recognized from the picture your friend showed you on a drunken Friday night. With a nervous breath, you offered him a tight lipped smile, “Mat?”

He visibly relaxed at your confirmation that he didn’t walk up a stranger. He ran a hand through his messy styled hair and easily smiled, “Yeah, I––Hi.”

“Hi,” you let out a small laugh.

Oh my God, this is so awkward, you thought to yourself. This was why blind dates were only met for middle school. A blind date was not meant for anytime after that.

While you hadn’t even spent five minutes in his presence, your mind already jumped to the worst conclusion of this not working out as either of you planned. While dating might not work out, maybe you could get a friend out of this.

Mat took a step around you and opened the door, “Should we head in?”

With a nod, you thanked him for holding the door open. Walking in, you were instantly engulfed with the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and the sound of hardworking espresso machines. The shop was bustling with city goers, but there were enough empty tables that you didn’t feel the need to rush to save one. You let out another deep breath as you felt Mat’s shoulder slightly brush yours as he stood next to you in line.

“What are you getting?” He looked down at you.

You tilted your head as you read the menu board that hung behind the counter, “Maybe one of their house lattes?” You then moved your gaze to look up at him, “What about you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, eyes not nearly looking at the menu for as long as you did to decide on a drink, before his eyes landed back on you with a smile, “An iced coffee.”

His smile was infectious. His smile was pretty. And you felt your stomach twist in knots the more you paid attention to the way his smile affected you.

“Also, you can––uh––get whatever you want,” his checks turned a bright shade of red as he stumbled over his words, “I’ll buy.”

You shook your head, but before you could say anything, the two of you were at the front of the line.

Mat was first with his order––an iced coffee––and then he turned his body to look at you, “And whatever she’s having.” You smiled in appreciation and gave the barista your order. You were about to move out of the way, and wait for Mat to be done paying, but he asked you another question, “Do you want anything to eat?”

You felt bad having him pay for coffee and something to eat. It was a coffee shop in New York after all, but the sound of your stomach making a high-pitched grumble sold you out. You felt yourself grow hot with embarrassment, and asked for a croissant. Mat tacked on two croissants to the order and swiped his credit card as if the steep price for two coffees and two pastries in a New York coffee shop wasn’t a concern.

From the two details Hayden had told you––which were his name and age––you knew he was young like you. If you wanted to splurge on a day like this, you needed to budget ahead of time correctly. While you were appreciative of Mat paying for you…it was a blind date. And you didn’t expect him to put so much effort into it

Maybe he budgeted his money better than you.

With your croissants on a plate, the two of you found a place to sit by a window. You tapped your fingers on the wooden table top. It was still awkward, you thought to yourself, as you counted down the seconds until your drinks came. Mat seemed to feel the awkwardness in the air too, but he braved his way through the weird atmosphere.

“So…” he nodded his head for ten seconds straight, eyes darting around the coffee shop, as he cut through the silence, “Where are you from?”

You answered his question, rambling a bit to fill the void, and then asked him the same question. It went back and forth like that for maybe thirteen minutes until your drinks were brought out to your table. Thankful that you had something to sip on if there was a lull in conversation, you circled your hands around the hot mug.

But the conversation never hit a lull; it was fun not knowing anything about Mat before you met him. And he seemed to enjoy it as much as you. You struggled to drink your coffee in a reasonable amount of time to save it from growing cold because of how much the two of you consecutively talked.

“So what do you do?” You took a sip of your lukewarm coffee.

He raised an eyebrow, “What do I do?”

You hummed a simple mhm at him as you swallowed down your drink, “Like, for work,” you set your mug down on the table and leaned forward, “What’s your job?”

“My job…” Mat muttered under his breath as he leaned back on the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes flickered down to see the slight flex of his muscles, and when you reconnected eyes with him, he smirked, “I play hockey.”

You scrunched your eyebrows together, “Hockey?”

Mat nodded his head, the smirk on his face growing, as he kept silent. The two of you had been doing so well in avoiding silences, but you caught yourself in one. So, you took a sip of your drink, in hopes he would say something more about his job. But he continued to confidently sit back in his seat.

Not enjoying the sudden awkwardness, you added a futile point to your conversation, “I––I have some friends who play hockey. Only on the weekends though. Kind of like a rec league? Or just a pick up game––”

If you thought his smile was infectious, all you had to do was hear his laugh.

It was soft, a little more high-pitched than you imagined, as he slightly shook his head back and forth. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as his eyes shut for a few seconds. As his soft laughter settled down, he scratched the bridge of his nose, eyes glimmering under the natural light that shined through the window next to him.

It was a glimpse into how he sounded when he felt happy. And you wanted nothing more than to hear a real––eyes screwed shut tight, nose wrinkling, head tilted back––laugh from him.

Mat mirrored you; he leaned slightly forward, forearms resting against the table as his smile slowly transformed back into a smirk, “I play professional hockey.”

Professional hockey…But he looked so young. The only rational explanation you could think of in your head was that he played hockey for a minor league team in New York.

With a nod of your head, you took another sip of your drink. The hour you had spent with Mat flowed easily, but for some reason, finding out that he was some sort of professional athlete produced a feeling of insecurity inside of you.

You took another long sip of your coffee.

“You’ll have to come to a game,” Mat’s confident voice dropped to a hesitant whisper, “If you want to.”

Setting the empty mug down on the table, you bit the inside of your cheek to conceal your growing smile. You let out a silent deep breath, collecting your thoughts, because if he wanted you to come watch him play, that meant he had to see some sort of future with you.

Whether the future be two and a half weeks, five months, or four years…He saw you in his life somehow.

“I’d like to see you play,” you assured him.

His eyebrows animatedly rose up, almost getting lost under the loose strands of hair that fell a little too perfectly against his forehead, and smiled wide, “Awesome, that’s––Okay, yeah, I’ll text you about it.”

Neither of you could hide the smiles on your face.

After sitting at the table with empty coffee mugs for quite some time, the only reason why the date ended was because Mat said he had to go dog sit for one of his teammates. Regretfully, both of you brought your empty coffee mugs to the counter, and walked out the door with smiles, laughter, and a promise from Mat to text you about attending one of his games.

As you made the journey back to your place, you didn’t know the last time you felt this giddy after a first date. While you learned surface level information about him; you also learned the sound of his laugh, and that he wasn’t too fond of dogs.

And you couldn’t wait to learn more about him.

–––

It was your first kiss with Mat.

A nervous first kiss.

It came close to a month after your first date, and admittedly, it was probably the longest you had waited for a first kiss, but Mat had a streak of away games that kept him from New York and the two of you had only hung out in public. While a first kiss walking through a park had been romanticized one too many times, it would have left you in a daydream––but whenever it felt right––someone always came up to Mat to talk about hockey. While he wasn’t approached in public often, it seemed like whenever he was, it ruined the moment.

Maybe it was a sign he would be better off as just a friend.

But that thought always disappeared whenever he gently slid his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers and giving your hand a squeeze. And just like the first time you held his hand, there was an explosion of ecstasy in your chest. A good tightness in your chest you felt whenever he held your hand.

You were at a bar with Mat and some friends, your fingers interlocked and resting on his thigh, pressed close up to his side. A smile lit up your face whenever you felt his chest lightly shake with laughter or his thumb softly graze the top of your hand. The only part of the night where your smile tugged downward was when everyone decided to call it an early night.

As if Mat felt the same disappointment, he whispered in your ear, “I’ll take you back to your place.”

You wished he would ask if you wanted to get ice-cream at the parlor a few blocks over, or ask if you wanted to stay at the bar, but you knew he had an early morning tomorrow. All you wanted was to spend more time with him, and if him making sure you got home alright was how you spent more time with him, you would take it.

After tabs were paid off and goodbyes were said, everyone was off in their separate directions. Except for you and Mat.

Surprisingly, the streets weren’t that crowded for it being the early evening in New York, but Mat tugged you close to his side; fingers still intertwined. The walk to the subway was full of quiet conversation of observations the two of you made down the street with a few small laughs. And when you were on the platform for your train, your laughs turned to whispers.

“If Beau was a little too much, let me know,” Mat leaned down to whisper softly in your ear, “and I’ll beat him up.”

A soft chuckle left your lips as you leaned your head against his bicep, shaking your head, you looked up at him, “You said that last time. He’s nice, I like him.”

Mat hummed, “Sometimes his teasing goes a little too far.”

His voice was light-hearted, just like how Tito sounded when he teased Mat whenever he whispered in your ear throughout the evening, but there was an underlying uncertainty in his voice. Almost like he was concerned that if Tito teased you too much you wouldn’t want to spend anymore time with Mat. But that was quite the opposite. Whenever a best friend poked fun at the other, it was almost always meant in good nature, and it also showed that Mat confided his feelings about you with Tito.

You mirrored his soft hum, and squeezed his hand, as you shrugged your shoulders, “I wouldn’t mind more of his teasing,” you smiled up at him, hoping that he caught the hidden meaning behind your sentence; you seeing a future together with more interactions with his best friend. “My friends are the same way.”

Mat raised his eyebrows, and you ducked your chin into your chest out of nervousness at his next words, “So is that our next date? I meet your friends?”

Next date.

The thought of going on countless more dates with Mat caused an electric jolt to shoot down your spine. And when you flicked your eyes up to stare into his, you felt as if you were caught in one of your dreams. His eyes were already gazing on you in awe, with the corners of his lips lightly tuned upward into a soft closed lipped smile.

He moved his head closer to yours, it was just a centimeter of movement, but you noticed it. And you held your breath as you looked down at his lips, hoping that you would finally have your first kiss with Mat.

But like all of the people who interrupted the two of you whenever you were on a walk in the park, the harsh breaking sounds of the subway coming to a halt caused Mat to move away and stand up straight.

Mat cleared his throat and you let out a sigh at the ruined moment.

The train stopped, you waited until people were off the train car, and Mat swiftly tugged on your hand to make sure that the train didn’t escape before you had the chance to get on. The train car was empty, also a very rare sight on a still relatively early evening in New York. You made your way to sit on one of the empty seats, but your stretched out arm snapped back into Mat’s chest as he held tight onto your hand.

“Do you not want to sit?” You looked up at him as he gripped onto the pole in the center of the subway car.

Mat shook his head as he dropped your hand. But you didn’t have time to be sad at the loss of contact for long because Mat curled his arm around your waist, “Too dirty,” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled you close to his chest, “And we’ve been sitting all night, kinda wanna stand.”

You rolled your eyes at him and pressed your palms flat against his chest as the train jolted to a start.

Standing in silence with Mat on the empty subway was more relaxing than it should have been. Because while the unpleasant sound of the subway on the tracks echoed through the tunnel, with your head resting on Mat’s chest, all you heard was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You could feel yourself dozing off as his thumb rubbed soothing circles on your hip, but your senses heightened when he trailed his hand slowly up your back. The feeling of his fingertips making contact with your spine caused goosebumps along your skin. And you swore your breathing stopped when you felt his hand trail up your neck, his fingers cradling the back of your head with his thumb on your cheek.

Hesitantly––hoping that you knew what was to come in the next few moments––you looked up at Mat through your eyelashes.

His bottom lip was pulled between his teeth as he stared down at you with a crease in between his eyebrows. With your hands still firmly placed on his chest, you could feel the deep breath he let out through his nose.

“I like you,” Mat blurted out.

You let out a breathy chuckle at his admission. You knew that he liked you by the way he always held your hand and how he liked to call you more than text, but to hear him verbalize his feelings felt nice.

You bit the inside of your cheek to contain your smile as you saw his head move a centimeter closer to yours, “I like you, too.”

Mat glanced at your lips, and then at your eyes, and even with a slight nod of your head, Mat still hesitated as if he was waiting for you to pull away. But you weren’t going to pull away––you didn’t want to pull away––because you had been waiting for this moment where your heart hammered in your chest, and your breath got caught in your throat.

And as you felt him let out another shaky breath, you closed your eyes and leaned up on your toes to press a kiss to his lips. His lips touched yours gently at first, a tender brush, as if he anticipated being electrocuted by a spark. But when nothing happened, Mat tucked his lower lip between yours in another gentle, but lingering kiss.

You had plenty of first kisses before in your life; there had been first kisses that had been harder, more rushed, more chaste…but never had you felt a first kiss that was so simple and right than you did with Mat. Your lips were merely pressed together, but you could still feel him everywhere.

There was something so innocent about the kiss, as if both of you were afraid to mess up.

The two of you separated just as softly as you’d come together, just enough room to where you could peer up at him and still feel his breath across your face. Then the two of you laughed. Shy, whispery giggles that had more to do with nerves rather than humor. And as the two of you continued to stare into each other’s eyes, it was as if instinct kicked in and Mat’s lips were back on yours.

This time, your lips met with more certainty, eager to feel. A soft sigh escaped your lips when Mat parted his lips further and you felt the tip of his tongue. The hand that had previously cupped your cheek, was now on around your lower back as he pressed you close to him. And to keep yourself steady as the subway car went around a bend, one of your hands gripped his shirt as the other clutched onto his bicep.

As the two of you shared your first kiss on an empty New York subway, you learned a few more things about Mat. You finally learned what his lips felt like pressed against yours, and that he was absolutely terrible at navigating the subway after the two of you missed your stop.

With the way he made you feel during your first kiss, you couldn’t wait to feel that spark of joy again.

–––

It was your first hockey game.

Your first New York Islanders hockey game where you knew a player on the ice…and more importantly, where a player was your boyfriend.

“Oh he will love it,” Hayden smirked at the #13 jersey you wore as the two of you walked with the crowd toward the arena, “I still can’t believe you thought he was a minor league hockey player.”

You lightly knocked your shoulder against hers as you let out a small laugh, “How was I supposed to know he played for the National Hockey League?” You raised your eyebrows at her, “You literally only told me his name and that we were around the same age when you set us up.”

She tipped her head back in laughter, “I thought you paid attention to sports!”

“I do!” You mirrored her smile as the two of you took out your tickets to be scanned, “But you can’t see what they look like under their helmets clearly.”

After the two of you passed security, you found yourself amongst a sea of white, navy blue, and orange as you walked to your seats, “I still can’t believe he didn’t tell you he played for the Isles.” She snickered, “He has way too big of an ego to let that slide.”

You felt your stomach churn with embarrassment as your whole body heated up.

While Mat said that he played professional hockey on your first date, he conveniently left out that he played for the New York Islanders. It was a week and a half after your first date when you found out that detail. Mat was away for a few road games, and as the two of you were texting, he casually slipped in that you should watch the game on T.V.

You thought he was joking because you didn’t think that they broadcasted minor league hockey games on television. But he called you to give you his NHL TV login and informed you to tune in at 7 PM for the New York Islanders game. Again, you thought he was joking, but you tuned in anyway.

The shock you felt through your body was unlike anything else you felt when you heard the announcers talk about how amazing Mat Barzal has played for years as an Islander. And when the camera focused in on him for a few seconds, you scrambled to text Hayden for confirmation.

But now, nearly three months into your relationship, you had found a time where your schedule worked with Mat’s to go to one of his games. He asked if you wanted to sit with his teammate’s significant others, but you said you would be more comfortable with Hayden for your first hockey game of his.

As the two of you sat down a few rows behind the Islanders bench, you tugged the sleeves of your #13 Barzal jersey over your hands. He’s your boyfriend, you thought to yourself as you felt self-conscious wearing his jersey, no need to be nervous…other people are wearing his jersey too.

But those other people didn’t share intimate moments with him. Other people didn’t know how his calloused hands felt as they delicately touched your skin. Other people didn’t know he slightly snored when he napped.

Sure, other people idolized him as a hockey player, but you were always in awe of him when you learned a specific trait about him that he didn’t share with the rest of the world.

“Do you see him?” Hayden leaned over to speak in your ear as she pointed to Mat skating on the ice, “Right there.”

With a hockey stick in his hands, Mat skated in circles to practice his puck movement. The face you admired so much was hidden under his helmet, but you could clearly see his number and last name on his jersey.

You smiled wide and nodded your head, “This is exciting.”

Hayden laughed at your eagerness to have the game start as you practically bounced in your seat. Soon enough, the players finished their warm ups and skated toward the bench. One by one, they hopped off the ice.

“I’m gonna call out his name,” Hayden smirked as she cupped her hands around her mouth.

But with wide eyes and embarrassment already in the pit of your stomach, you pulled her hands away from her mouth, “Don’t you dare––”

“Looks like he’s already found you,” Hayden’s smirk widened as she waved her hand at who you presumed was Mat.

You whipped your head around to the bench and saw Mat, with his helmet off, awkwardly half-turned around on the bench as he sat next to a number #18 and #27. And like every time you saw him, a smile that you couldn’t contain instantly made its way onto your face. You picked up your hand and animatedly waved at him with a beaming smile.

Mat lowered his head for a moment, hair slightly falling onto his forehead, and when he picked his head up to wave at you, you saw his cheeks twinged with pink coloring.

Feeling too excited watching your boyfriend play live for the first time tonight, you couldn’t help but turn your shoulder toward him as you showed off the #13 on your sleeve. When you dropped the hand that stretched out the sleeve to show him his number, you expected to see a smile as wide as yours on his face. But instead, you saw his eyes wide open and mouth formed in a straight line, jaw slightly clenched, as his chest expanded; taking in a deep breath.

Confused, you tilted your head and looked at Hayden, “Is he not happy that I’m wearing––”

Letting out her loudest laugh of the night, Hayden bent forward and clutched her stomach, “Oh, you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Hayden had known Mat longer than you, so you knew that she knew things about him that you weren’t privy to yet. But her comment intrigued you.

“What do you mean?”

She just shook her head as her shoulders still slightly shook.

You turned back around in hopes to see Mat, but when your eyes landed on the bench, you saw Mat being jostled between the two players he sat next to. And upon further inspection, you read the last names on the jersey’s; Beauvillier and Lee.

Lee was still elbowing Mat when Tito turned around with a wicked smile. He cupped a hand around his mouth, “Nice jersey! He loves it!”

Tito’s voice fell a little flat among the crowd that started to fill their way to their seats, but you still heard him. And his comment only spurred on more laughter from Hayden.

At this point in your relationship with Mat, you were used to Tito’s teasing. And in the time you had been in the arena, you had grown accustomed to Hayden’s laughs. You didn’t think too much of their actions, your mind still wrapped around how all you wanted was for the game to begin.

And soon enough, the game started.

You were on the edge of your seat for the entire first period, clutching Hayden’s hand anytime Mat was shoved from behind or slammed into the boards. The second period was just as thrilling, and even though a penalty was called on Mat, he caught your eye briefly before he sat down in the penalty box. And the third period…While you stood up and cheered with the rest of the arena whenever the Islanders scored, no amount of excitement in the first two periods felt as exhilarating as when you watched Mat score.

With Hayden, you leaped up and hugged her tight as you cheered with a blinding smile.

“He scored!” You held her at arm's length away before turning your attention back on the ice.

His line-mates gathered him up in a hug, patting his helmet, and then he skated out with a wide smile. Mat was on his way to high-five his teammates on the bench, but before he held his glove out for them, he quickly pointed in the general direction of where you were sitting.

To anyone, it looked like he was pointing toward the Islanders bench, or even at the fans. And while there was an increase of cheers from your section at Mat’s little call out, you knew he was pointing out one specific fan in the crowd.

After the third period ended––with the Islanders winning by three––fans could either be heard still celebrating, or seen walking up the aisles to beat the traffic. But you and Hayden stayed in your seats, and especially paid attention to Mat who was out on the ice giving a post-game interview. His voice boomed through the arena, but all you could focus on was his heavy breathing and how his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead.

With most of your section cleared out, you and Hayden walked down to the row right behind the glass that was closest to the ice. Not one to shy away from being heard, Hayden pounded her fist against the glass and shouted your boyfriend’s name, “Mat!”

She continued to pound on the glass and call out his name until his post-game interview ended. And when the camera cut, Mat’s eyebrows automatically rose as he skated toward the two of you with a smile.

Through the glass, you waved at him, “You played so well! So amazing––And that goal?! You were so incredible.” His wide smile slowly transformed into a smirk as his eyes darkened just a bit, “That was so much fun.”

Mat chuckled and shook out his hair, “‘I’m glad you had a good time.”

“You two!” Hayden called out. You and Mat both broke eye contact with each other to see your mutual friend standing a few rows up with her phone pointed at the two of you, “Smile! It’s your first hockey game together.”

You let out a soft laugh as you turned around and leaned your back against the glass, standing up on your tiptoes so you didn’t look shorter next to Mat who wore skates. And as if he was physically next to you, and not separated by plexiglass, you leaned your head towards him and smiled wider than you had ever in your life.

After Hayden finished taking more than enough photos to commemorate your first hockey game of Mat’s, you spun around to face him again. From behind, you heard an usher say that it was time for fans to leave the arena, but you clearly heard Hayden say, I’m with her and that’s her boyfriend.

You rolled your eyes at Hayden and scratched the bridge of your nose as you stared at Mat through the glass.

“I need to change,” He chuckled, “But I’ll meet you outside? Hayden knows where the exit is.”

You nodded your head vigorously, “That sounds good, yeah,” the smile you had when you took your picture together never left your face, “I still can’t believe how well you played, it was––Oh my God. I can’t wait to come to more games.”

The smirk Mat had on his face as you praised his performance morphed into a faint smile as he poked the glass with his glove where your face was, “Keep the compliments coming when I’m off the ice.” You rolled your eyes at him as he waved at you, “I’ll see you soon.”

You raised your hand to touch the cold glass, “Bye,” you whispered as your fingertips slowly trailed down the glass as you watched Mat skate away backwards.

Feeling like you were on top of the world, you spun around with a lovesick smile on your face, ready to meet your boyfriend at the exit. Walking up the aisle and out of the arena, Hayden sent you the pictures she took of you and Mat. And as you waited by the exit Mat said Hayden knew, you set your lock screen and home screen to one of the pictures taken just twenty minutes ago.

When you heard the familiar laugh of your boyfriend, your ears perked up and you put your phone in your bag. And when you saw him walking out in his game day suit with Tito––who shoved Mat’s shoulder––for the hundredth time that day, you smiled.

Standing up from the stone ledge you sat on with Hayden, you rocked on your heels as you waited for Mat to come closer. And once he wasn’t too far away, you sped walked over to Mat as Hayden walked more slowly behind you as she snorted at your eagerness.

While you found it fun to watch Mat skate around the ice having the time of his life, there was nothing you enjoyed more than hugging him. You almost didn’t see his glowing smile––one that showcased all of his teeth––before you barreled into him.

Arms wrapped tightly around his waist, you hugged him impossibly close to you, “That was––Ah!––I’m still not over how fun that was,” you pressed a kiss to his neck before tilting your head up to look at him, “I know I already said how good your goal was so good––And I’ll stop after this––But really, that was so cool how you skated around those defenders and––”

Both Tito and Hayden’s laugh caused you to stop complimenting Mat on his goal. You caught a glimpse of Mat’s glare on his two friends, and then turned your head over your shoulder to see them hanging off each other as they laughed. You felt Mat’s hands tighten around your waist, the tips of his fingers felt like they burned a hole through your clothes and scorched your skin.

“Oh don’t––Don’t mind us,” Hayden wiped a few tears away from the corners of her eyes, “Please, carry on––”

You scrunched your eyebrows together in confusion.

“Barz, will––He’ll––” Tito’s face went red as he found it harder to breathe through his laughter. But once he calmed down, he chuckled, “Don’t stop praising him, he loves it.”

Mat flipped off his friends as he raised his hand to where the 13 patch was on your shoulder. With a small smile, he tugged on your sleeve a few times, “Hayden, send me the pictures you took,” he yelled over to his still laughing friends before he pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

As the night continued on, the four of you celebrated the win and Mat’s goal with drinks at a bar. As you leaned your head on Mat’s shoulder, you learned how fun it was to attend one of his games. And you learned that the rush of joy you felt course through your veins when you saw Mat succeed was unparalleled to any feeling of happiness you had ever felt with a partner.

And late that night in Mat’s apartment, as your hands wandered through his hair, over his biceps, and across his chest…He trailed his lips across your cheek, down your neck, and down past the valley of your breasts…You also learned that Mat liked to be praised in more ways than one.

–––

It was your first I love you.

The first I love you that you said to a person where you felt the sensation of those words taking over every crevice of your body…but like your first date, those words made you anxious and light-headed at the thought of admitting it.

Love.

Love was a commitment; a feeling that shouldn’t be taken lightly when in relation to two people who mutually cared and respected each other. It was a word you cherished, a feeling you craved nothing more in the world; and it was exactly how you felt about Mat.

Eleven months into your relationship with Mat––that you didn’t even think would get this far––you knew you were in love with him. There were times the sentence almost slipped past your lips, and there were moments where you thought he would say it too…but like your first kiss, both of you were hesitant.

Since the day you met him, you learned something new about him each day, and you didn’t want to stop getting to know him.

“So, what are you doing with your break?” You spoke through your phone as you waited at a street corner for the light to change with a group of people.

Mat scoffed, “This is hardly a break,” he bitterly whispered into his phone, “Literally not even a five minute water break.”

You gripped the brown paper bag of small groceries in your hand as your heart ached at his exhausted voice. Mat explained to you that the Islanders were going through some sort of bootcamp to get them out of their losing slump. But the bootcamp was on top of their already packed schedule of games and practices.

“And they can do this?” The light changed and you moved with the crowd, “It doesn’t seem fair.”

Mat let out an exasperated breath, and you could picture him running a hand over his face, “I miss you.”

Him changing the subject wasn’t lost on you, but with the limited time Mat had and how drained he sounded, you knew better than to press the subject further.

“I miss you too,” you smiled softly as you dodged a few people walking down the opposite direction of you on the sidewalk, “I just bought stuff for dinner tonight though, so that’s––”

But your sentence was cut off as someone rudely knocked into your shoulder hard––Watch it, they sneered at you––and caused you to stumble into a few people walking next to you.

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologized to the people you crashed into. They smiled in appreciation, knowing full well that if it wasn’t for the person who bumped your shoulder, the accident would’ve been averted.

“What was that?”

Mat’s worn out voice from before disappeared as he now sounded on high alert.

“Nothing,” you let out a sigh, because while you knew it wasn’t your fault you stumbled into people, it still felt embarrassing, “But as I was saying, for dinner––”

“No, that––I heard someone yell at you,” Mat’s voice was low, insistent on what he heard on your end, “What happened? Are you okay?”

You sucked in a deep breath, “Yeah, someone just bumped into my shoulder.” Because while it was New York, and you had been bumped into plenty of times before, it had been a bit of a rough day. But you didn’t want that one thing to tip you over the edge, especially when you knew Mat was having it worse than you, “It’s fine, I’m fine. The eggs didn’t crack so it’s a win.”

Mat didn’t laugh at your attempt at a joke.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He paused before his voice dropped to an earnest whisper, “If you need me I can leave to come get you.”

“But practice––”

“No,” Mat cut you off, “If you need me I can leave.”

You thought about it. You thought hard about just waiting off in a park for Mat to come pick you up. But the subway station you needed to enter came into your eyesight. Even though he couldn’t see you, you shook your head, “I’m fine, I’ll just need a hug when I see you later.”

At that, Mat let out a breathy chuckle, “You and me both.”

You smiled, the familiar feeling of love that started with the squeeze of your heart spread through the rest of your body.

“Dinner at your place?”

“Yeah, my place tonight,” you answered him, “How much longer of this practice?”

You could hear the eye roll Mat gave off with his irritated voice, “Three fucking hours.”

Even though you weren’t a professional athlete, you rolled your eyes with him at how ridiculous all of the intense practice sounded, “As much as I want to keep talking with you,” you dreamily smiled to yourself because there was nothing you loved more than hearing Mat’s voice, “I know you said if players were late they have to run laps after practice.” You grimaced, “And I’m about to go under for the subway.”

Mat let out a sigh, he didn’t want to stop talking with you either, “Yeah…Running laps is the penalty.”

“You should be used to those.”

Mat scoffed at your comment, ”I’ll see you later at your place.”

“Mhm, bye Mat,” you hummed as you began to make your descent below ground, “I love you.”

“Wait, what––”

You ended the call and slid your phone into your bag as you took out your subway card. Easily, you swiped your card past tourists, and walked through the turnstile to the platform back to your place. While the rest of the day wasn’t on your side, the subway was, because your train pulled up right as you got to the platform.

While there were still seats available for you to sit in, you had grown accustomed to standing in the middle of the subway cart. You hooked your elbow around the pole, so that your hand wasn’t directly touching it, as you thought about the day on your way home.

It started off normal; waking up, getting ready for work, arriving at the office. But then small things started to happen; you forgot your laptop charger back at your apartment, someone had accidentally taken your lunch from the communal fridge because they thought it was theirs, and then someone spilled coffee on your freshly printed reports. But then the day got worse; Mat texted you saying he wouldn’t be done practice until late, your co-worker best friend said they were leaving the company for a new job, and then that stranger hit your shoulder.

But hearing Mat’s voice made your day a little better.

Knowing that he took time out of his grueling schedule to check in on you made your heart flutter even more with love.

Love.

Your eyes widened as the grip you had on the handle of the paper bag dropped. Your grocery bag fell to the ground just as fast as your heart. Because the last sentence you said to Mat replayed in your mind like a broken record.

I love you.

You didn’t even realize that you had said those words. You clutched those words close to your chest; held them so tight as if it was a secret Mat didn’t already know. And now all of a sudden…Your secret was out in the open.

The bile churning in your stomach caused your body to overheat and you wanted nothing more than to be out of the subway. You picked a loose piece of skin by your thumb so hard that it started to bleed. You swore under your breath as it began to sting, and curled your hand into a tight fist––with your thumb on the inside––to put pressure on the cut.

Unable to stand still with your anxiety, you got off a stop early and walked the rest of the way back to your apartment.

You had nearly walked into several people, almost walked across the street on a red light, and more or less banged your forehead against your front door. You thought you had unlocked the door, so when you turned the door handle, stepped forward, and walked into the wooden door…you saw that your keys had fallen to the ground.

Once you properly unlocked the door, you quickly walked into your apartment and hastily set the grocery bag down on the island. With shaking hands, you buried your face into them and let out a muffled whine. Because how could you let those words out so casually? How could you have been so careless?

Mat had three more hours left of practice. And that left you with three hours in your apartment alone.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at your phone to see if he was still coming over. So you cleaned. You changed out of your work clothes––into a pair of athletic shorts and one of Mat’s Islander shirts––and deep cleaned as much of your apartment as you could.

And it was when you were bent sideways, windex and paper towel in hand, as you scrubbed the inside of your microwave that you heard a key in your door. You felt your heart freeze and you scrubbed the microwave even harder.

The creek of the door echoed through your modestly sized one bedroom apartment just as loud as your heartbeat pounded in your ears. The door shut the same time you heard the thump of his practice bag hit the hardwood floor.

And if you listened closely, you could hear him let out the same anxious deep breath as you.

Mat ever so slowly made his way out of the little hallway, and when you saw him appear in front of you––still bent at your awkward angle––it was as if you saw him in a different way.

Mat inhaled deeply, and then in one breath, his shoulders relaxed as he smiled at you, “I love you.”

You stared into his eyes enough times to know they were hazel, but where he stood in your kitchen, his eyes were dark brown. They weren’t illuminated with flecks of gold or green like you had seen in the past, but they were warm and inviting as his eyes captivated you in a different way than ever before. You loved his eyes.

You ran your fingers through his hair enough times to memorize the feeling how soft it felt, but his hair was a little longer in the front than usual. And with him looking like he ran right off the ice to be with you, his loose strands of scraggly hair fell messily against his forehead. You loved the way his hair framed his face.

Everything about him…from the slight stubble on his face that came close to breaking the Islanders facial hair policy, to the way he never got mad at you when you stuck your cold feet under his warm legs when you sat on the couch together. From his annoying traits, to the quirks only you knew about him, you loved everything about him

You released a breath you didn’t know you held because this…this was what it felt like to feel in love. It was fresh and exciting with hearts pounding. It was desire pouring through veins. It was a give and take; intertwined lives.

As the two of you stood in your kitchen, you learned what it felt like to feel entirely at ease with your place in the universe. For better or for worse, love is learning everything there is to know about a person.

And you couldn’t wait to learn how he loved.

–––

It was your first real fight with Mat.

And it terrified you.

The day had felt odd from the start; your routine not flowing like usual. And as the day continued on, you didn’t know what caused the negative feeling in the pit of your stomach to grow with every hour that passed. And even at the end of the work day, when you were in your own apartment, the feeling still lingered.

Already in a bad mood, you should’ve known better than to turn on a hockey game. But you knew that seeing Mat, even if it was through a T.V. screen, would make you feel better. He always made you feel better.

But he played a careless game.

It wasn’t even that he was playing bad, because honestly, he was playing really well. By the end of the first period he had two assists and handled the puck well. When the second period came around, he had scored his own goal. But Mat being Mat…he let the goal get to his head. The newfound confidence he had led him to be more aggressive with the opposing team’s players and more mouthy with the referees.

And with only six minutes left in the third period––the Islanders trailing by a few points––Mat dropped his gloves and instigated a fairly bad altercation with another player. You turned the television off before you could see Mat skate away to the penalty box.

Around an hour later when Mat walked through your apartment door the two of you stared at each other. You were curled up on the couch with a book, and he stood at the opposite end of the couch in his game day suit. He squinted his discolored left eye, his swollen bottom lip was bruised red, and you saw a few dried spots of blood on his face.

Neither of you were in the best mood, but that still wasn’t an excuse. Maybe you each expected the other to comfort you on your bad days…but that wasn’t the case for either of you now.

“I wish you were more careful,” you whispered up at him. You were still on the couch and he stood stiffly at the opposite end from you, “I don’t get why you have to fight.”

Mat let out an irritated breath out through his nostrils, “Did you even watch the game?”

Stunned by his attitude, you shut your book and rolled your eyes, “Of course I did. But that doesn’t mean––”

“Then you should know why I got in a fight.”

With a scoff, you flung the blanket off you and stood up. You mirrored his stiff position––jaw clenched, arms glued to your sides, and eyes narrowed in at him. The couch being the only barrier between the harsh words you threw at each other.

“That has nothing to do with what I said,” you huffed out, “I said you should be more careful––”

“I heard what you said,” Mat interrupted you with a snap in his tone as he shrugged off his suit jacket, “But I can’t control a fight if it happens.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “I watched the game, Mat. I saw that you started it.”

“So it’s my fault?” He didn’t look at you as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, “Look, I don’t expect you to understand everything that goes on on the ice––”

“Excuse me?”

Mat rolled his eyes and his already irritable tone of voice sharpened, “Maybe if you cared a little less you wouldn’t be mad.”

His words felt like a punch to your gut. If you cared a little less. The squeeze of your heart was different than what it felt like when he told you he loved you a few months ago. Because instead of a warm tingly feeling that lifted you up, you felt a harsh burn throughout your body that made you want to shrivel up and hide.

Mat was one of the people you cared most about in the world.

But with both of your bad attitudes, like water and oil, your words caused more separation.

Your response was harsh––If I cared a little less, then who would care about you––and it sparked Mat’s short temper. He told you there were other people, people who wouldn’t make a big deal if he got in a fight because it was hockey. The yelling continued, intentional words of hurt shouted between the two of you. And soon enough, with both of you too blinded by rage, neither of you remembered why the argument even started in the first place.

“There are other people,” Mat spat out as he breathed heavily, “People who know me better. If we weren’t together, there would be other people who––”

His cruel words caused complete and utter devastation to flood your body. And you let the anger and agony of Mat’s ill fated words overtake every logical thought in your mind.

“If you don’t need me, then what are you waiting for?!” You threw your hands up as your shrill voice cracked as bad as you felt your soul shatter. Chin wobbling and chest heaving with erratic breaths, you repeated the question. Although this time, your voice was a whisper as the destruction of your words caught up to you, “What are you waiting for?”

Mat ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he squeezed his eyes shut. And in a hurry, he scooped up his suit jacket from the couch and turned around. His heavy footsteps echoed through your silent apartment as you followed him to the door.

You choked on your words, “Where are you going?”

With his hand gripping the doorknob, you saw his shoulders tighten as he took a deep breath, “I can’t be with you.”

It felt as if the world froze, but at the same time, everything felt like it went too fast. A whirling sensation of grief caused you to lift your hand to cover your mouth. I can’t be with you.

You felt dizzy, unsure of if you wanted an answer to your question, “Are you…Does that mean just for now?” You bit your bottom lip as you tried your hardest to sniffle back your tears,”Or as in, you don’t want to be with me…anymore?”

Mat’s shoulders expanded in another deep breath as he mustered up the courage to turn around. Part of you wished he didn’t turn around because the heartbreak on his face looked just as bad as you felt. His chin wobbled like yours, lips pressed together in a firm line to keep his emotions to himself. His eyes were bloodshot, wide and scared like a child afraid of thunderstorms. And like yours, his chest heaved with small breaths, failing to keep his breathing under control.

“I don’t…” he shut his eyes tight and rubbed the corners of his eyes with his thumb and index finger, “Just for now.” Although his answer relieved only a sliver of anxiety you felt in the middle of your chest, it looked like he was still going to leave, “I need to leave before either of us say anything else we regret.”

Blinking rapidly, you still felt a few tears roll down your cheek as you nodded your head just as fast. You hugged your arms around your stomach and anxiously tapped your foot, “Will you…Are you coming back?”

A flash of pain crossed his face as he sucked in another deep breath, “Don't wait up for me.”

Before you could process his vague answer, his hand pressed down on the door handle and he was gone before he put his jacket back on. The door closed gently, but you would have rather it slammed shut so you would have that sound echoing in your mind instead of your insecurities.

Still hugging your stomach, you bit the inside of your cheek and slowly made your way back to the couch. As if it took all of your energy, you picked the blanket back up, wrapped it around your shoulders, and tucked yourself into the far corner. You sat alone, cold feet tucked in between the cushions, as you leaned your head back on the couch and let out a sob.

You purposefully said words to hurt him, and he had done the same with you. While the two of you had arguments before, they were never this blown out of proportion. There was never any screaming, there were never any tears, and neither of you had ever left the other’s place without reconciling. But with this fight…There was shouting, tears fell from both of you, and Mat left your place without a promise to come back.

You don’t know how many hours had passed as you stared at the wall ahead of you. But it was enough time for your cries to settle down and for the sound of a key to echo your silent home. And just like earlier in the night, Mat stood at the opposite end of the couch as you sat curled up in a blanket.

As the two of you stared at each other in silence, you learned what it felt like to sit in purgatory; not knowing if Mat was to come back that night or if you were to go days without seeing him. You learned what raw heartache truly felt like without his presence when all you wanted was a hug. And when he moved to sit next to you on the couch––finally receiving a hug from him––you also learned that he was just as sorry as you and didn’t mean any of the words he said.

You never wished to learn what a life without Mat truly felt like.

–––

The nerves you felt were worse than your first date with Mat. They had been with you for months, but they were now at an all time high that caused your hands to shake. And just like the nerves you felt before the blind date, they caused you to be twenty minutes early to the venue.

What if there was traffic? What if the piano player you and Mat hired brought the wrong sheet music? What if there weren’t enough seats? While you were twenty minutes earlier than your scheduled time that was designed to make sure you already arrived early to avoid any mishaps, it was the only way to ease your anxiety.

As you fiddled with the dress you always dreamed of wearing on this day, you inhaled a shaky breath as you stood in the private room alone. You needed space to concentrate on the fact that in less than a few hours you would have a different last name.

“Y/N?”

A light knock on the door and the call of your name caused you to whip your head. Hurriedly, you made your way to the door and leaned your shoulder against it as you made sure it was locked.

You cleared your throat, “Yeah?”

“It’s just me,” you saw the locked door handle jiggle as you heard a soft laugh on the other side, “Mat’s not with me.”

“I don’t trust you.”

You heard another laugh, this one more gentle, as Tito reassured you, “He knows about your superstitions, he wouldn’t try and sneak a glance.”

You thought about turning the best man at your wedding away, but the more you thought about it, the more you trusted him when he said Mat wasn’t with him. Mat knew you had certain superstitions you didn’t mess with; like lifting your feet up when you drove over railroad tracks or how you threw salt over your left shoulder if you spilled it.

He had learned all of those things about you.

The click of the lock coming undone caused you to hold your breath. Slowly, you cracked open the door and peered out the tiny slit with one eye. Tito had his face pressed close to the crack and you saw him close up. He didn’t pry the door like you thought, so hesitantly, you opened the door as you looked both ways to make sure your fiancé was nowhere in sight.

With the door fully open, Tito’s smile was brighter than you’d ever seen it before. He let out a low whistle, “Are you sure you I can’t marry you?”

Tito’s teasing had been a constant in the years of your relationship with Mat, and for better or for worse, it was about to extend into a lifetime.

You shoved his shoulder with your left hand, the engagement ring Mat picked out for you sparkling slightly in the light, “Shut up.”

“But really,” Tito slid both of his hands into the front pockets of his pants as he shook his head in disbelief, “You look beautiful. Mat won’t know what to do.”

“Hopefully he’ll say I do.”

Tito chuckled at your comment and then the two of you stood in silence. But when he slightly bowed his head and awkwardly rocked on his feet, you knew there was a purpose for his visit when he looked up at you.

“There is…Mat…” He took a deep breath, preparing himself for your answer, “He wants to talk with you.” Your eyes bulged out of your head as you immediately stepped back into the private room and went to slam the door shut. But Tito stuck his foot out in time to stop the door from slamming shut, “He’s not here––he’s still out there talking with people, but he heard you got here early early started sweating, and he just wants to hear your voice––”

You shook your head behind the door, “No.”

“C’mon,” Tito pleaded with you, “I’m sure it’ll calm you down to hear him––”

“What if he sees me?” You exasperatedly said, “Even if it was an accident. That would––”

“He won’t,” Tito’s voice held just as much firmness to it as he had confidence in his best friend, “He knows you too well to break your superstition.”

He knows you.

Hearing Mat’s voice would calm you down, but the anxiety of him accidentally seeing you before you walked down the aisle was too much. It was almost too much nervousness for you to handle on your own, so with a deep breath and a silent prayer that this wouldn’t blow up in your face, you whispered to Tito that Mat could talk to you.

Tito had spun around to retrieve Mat before you could finish your sentence. He rushed away from you, afraid you would back out on your word. But just as fast as Tito ran away, you slammed the door shut and relocked it.

You turned around and leaned your back against the door. Pinching the bridge of your nose to relieve some of the stress, you let out a deep breath. With only a few moments to yourself, you did a few breathing exercises before a shallow knock sounded from the other side of the door.

“Uh, Y/N?”

You could pick out his voice from anywhere, and you let out an audible sigh of relief, “Mat?”

He also let out a deep breath, and you could picture his shoulders relaxing at confirmation he didn’t walk up to an empty room. You turned around and placed your hand softly on top of the door handle; resting your forehead on the door you whispered, “I’m so nervous.”

“So am I,” Mat let out an airy laugh, “We’re the ones who decided to marry each other, yet we’re both a mess.”

You replicated his laugh and it went back to silence. You had spent years together with Mat, but no silence had ever been more poignant than this. You could hear his love, almost feel it, but you couldn’t see him. Not yet.

It was his trembling voice that broke through the silence, “Can I hold your hand?”

“Mat––”

“I’ll turn around,” he rushed out, knowing how strongly you felt about this superstition, “You can stay behind the door––just with your arm sticking out––We can both turn around so we make sure we don’t chance anything, because I––” he cut himself off, calming himself down with a single breath, “I really need a hug, but we can’t do that.” He let out another deep breath, “Please?”

You loved him more than anyone else in the world, and in turn, you would do anything for him; including holding his hand.

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, and you were positive he could hear it, “Turn around.”

And with a click of the door unlocking, you opened it just a sliver of a bit open and turned around yourself. You stuck your left hand out for him, and in an instant, his hand found yours. You felt tears well up in your eyes out of happiness, because even though you could feel him now you still couldn’t believe you were going to spend the rest of your life with him.

You filled the silent void with your voice and added a futile point to the non-existent conversation. But you wanted him to know this about you, “I showed up to our first date twenty minutes early.”

Mat chuckled as he repeatedly stroked his thumb on top of your engagement ring, “I know.”

You squeezed his hand, “You know?”

Again, Mat let out another soft laugh, “I was thirty minutes early to our first date.” You felt your wide open mouth transform into a smile, “I was across the street and saw you waiting.” He lowered his voice, “I was so scared.”

You were convinced that was maybe the only thing he didn’t know about you, but he proved you wrong. Time and time again he proved himself to know you better than you knew yourself.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” you whispered.

“You know me better than anyone else.”

The way he continued to trace around your engagement ring caused your heart to squeeze; it only made you more excited for when there would be a second ring on your finger, “There has to be something.”

You felt your heart pound against your ribcage as a few beats of silence passed over. From his drawn out silence, you knew he had something, you knew he was debating on whether to tell you or not.

“The picture we took together at the first hockey game you came to,” you could hear the shy smile on his face, “I’ve kept it in my locker since then.”

You felt your heart melt and chin wobble; this was something new you were learning about him.

“And I…” He let out a nervous laugh, and ever since the first time heard the sound of it, it was infectious, “I have it with me now in the inner-pocket of my jacket.”

A lone tear trailed down your cheek as you tried to sniffle the rest of the tears you felt behind your eyes away. It was your wedding day, of course you were going to cry, but you didn’t think it would be this soon.

Mat’s hand briefly dropped yours as you heard a crinkle of photo paper being taken out of Mat’s jacket pocket. You felt the corner of a piece of paper hit the palm of your hand a few times. Gently, and without looking down, you took the picture from Mat’s hand. And when you brought the picture up to your face, you squeezed Mat’s hand hard as an audible gasp left your lips.

The two of you looked so young. Which made sense considering the picture was taken a few years ago. You smiled at the memory as if it happened yesterday; you in your #13 Barzal jersey, tilting your head toward Mat as if you were leaning your head on his shoulder if the plexiglass wasn’t there. Hayden had taken a hundred pictures of the two of you, but this was different than the one you kept framed at your office.

You looked the same, but Mat looked different.

He still had his hockey stick in hand, but instead of looking at the camera like you, his head was faced down toward you. His eyes were locked in on your smile, wide in admiration. His closed-lipped smile was bashful, but you could clearly see the happiness radiating off him. That day, while you looked into the camera, still high off excitement from watching him on the ice; he looked down at you with all the love he held for you in his soft eyes.

“I even take it with me on road games.”

Tracing your fingers down the worn down, slightly torn up, and bent edges of the picture, you felt another tear roll down your cheek.

While you wanted nothing more to look at the well loved photograph of the two of you in love before either of you knew it, you didn’t want to cry too much before walking down the aisle. You handed the picture back to him so he had it for safekeeping, and squeezed his hand again.

“I love you so much,” you breathed out.

“I love you, too.”

As the two of you continued to hold hands until Mat was called away in order for you to start the last of your wedding preparations, you learned that Mat cherished the small moments. Whether he wanted to memorize the first time he fell in love with you by carrying around a photograph from early on in your relationship, or how he wanted to hold your hand before the two of you committed to a lifetime together…You learned more about him in those moments than ever before.

And when Mat would eventually slide a ring onto your finger––and you to his––it felt as if the rings held a promise heavier than til death do us part. From the moment you met Mat until now, the most important thing you learned about him was how good of a friend he was to you.

You couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life as his friend.

561 notes · View notes

britishboystm · 4 years ago

Text

Yoga Antics | Fred Weasley 18+

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut 18+ (minors dni!), unprotected vaginal penetration, male masturbation, kissing, swearing, fluff

WC: 2.9k

Summary: Y/N gets into yoga. Now Fred wants to get into Y/N...

A/N: A little something something while y’all wait for the next chapter of TDWM. Enjoy ya horny bastard!

•••

Stress management was something that you had grown to value a great deal in your free time. Even more so when you wound up marrying a Weasley twin.

It wasn’t that you didn’t absolutely adore your husband. You loved him with every fibre of your being. It was true however that sometimes you just needed a moment to yourself to unwind and recuperate, especially when living with such a hectic personality like Fred.

On the hunt for new tactics to tend to your mental health, you came across yoga, a muggle activity that Hermione had been raving about once her and Ron came back from her hometown during the Christmas break. She had said that her mom got her into it and how it made her stress levels drop drastically.

Admitly, you were skeptical at first. The idea of twisting and contorting your limbs to relax your racing mind seemed ridiculous. A simple spell should have been able to do the trick just fine, but alas one did not exist for such a thing, so you were left with not much to work with.

Hoping to persuade you, Hermione handed you a book from across the kitchen table while Ron and the twins laughed about some absolute nonsense in the living room of your home.

“Trust me Y/N. I’m usually a cynic myself about these things, but when I tell you yoga changed my life,”

She quickly glanced over at the boys to make sure their attention was averted elsewhere before leaning in so only you could hear.

“You would not believe the sex I’ve been having. Ever since I started doing yoga, I’ve been able to do things with my body that I could never imagine even in my wildest dreams.” Your eyes expanded instantly upon hearing her saucy confession. It was very unlike Hermione Granger to be so flippant about something as personal as what her and her husband did behind closed doors.

“Hermione!” You squeaked out as you shot your hands up to your flushed cheeks, embarrassed at the thought of your brother in law and best friend/sister in law in any kind of compromising situation. The image was now ingrained into your brain, an image you could easily do without no less.

Hermione lightly giggled but quickly covered it up with a cough when she noticed Ron and the twins look over at the two of you with interest.

“Everything alright ‘mione?” Ron asked, clearly oblivious to the raunchy conversation taking place between the whispering women.

“Nothing, go back to whatever you were doing.” She spoke, pursing her lips to hide a smirk. He gave her a look that read what are you up to over there? but quickly dropped it when he turned back around to continue the conversation he was having with his older brothers.

“I’m serious though, it has been an absolute godsend. I’m sure you and Fred can both get something out of it.” Your cheeks grew an even deeper red at the thought of what all of that might entail.

“Thank you for the advice Hermione. I’ll keep it in mind.” Maybe you would give the book a quick look through, if you were able to find any time during your insanely busy schedule.

“Love, time to head out?” Ron spoke as he stood up from the couch and brought over his finished cup of tea to the sink for washing later.

“Yes, we best be going. Remember what I said Y/N.” She nudged the book further towards you and got up to pull you in for a warm embrace.

“I’ll see you soon.” You spoke, giving her a warm friendly rub on the back before she went over to the door to get her ballet flats on.

“Y/N, always a pleasure.” Ron came over with a dopey smile, opening his arms to give you a big bear hug.

“Bye Ron.” He then headed over to Hermione, giving her his arm to hold on to as she struggled to get on one of her shoes.

“Only thing I’m good for, it seems.” Everyone laughed as Hermione rolled her eyes and smacked him the chest playfully.

“Oh shut it Ronald,” She jeers before opening the door.

“Bye!” The couple speak in unison as they head out the door, Fred closing it behind them.

“Well, I best be off too. I think I’ve left poor Angelina with the kids long enough.” George let out a sigh, bracing himself for what he knew he would be coming home to.

“Good luck with that mate.” Fred chuckles as he pats his brother on the shoulder.

“Bye love,” George speaks as he comes in for the usual kiss on each cheek with you.

“Bye George. Tell Angie we say hi.”

“Will do.” And then he makes his way out the door, Fred once again closing it behind him. He then turns around and looks down at you, a sly smirk dancing along his lips.

“Alone at last.” He groans before picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Gah! You big idiot, if you drop me I swear to Godric!” You screech out. Fred let’s out a laugh before abruptly bending his knees, pretending to lose his grip on you. Your hand comes in contact with his back with a loud smack.

“I’m serious Fred, don’t do it!” He chuckles again before plopping you down on one of the couches in the living room. He shifts about so he was now straddling your waist. His hair, which he had been growing out, covered his face slightly. You brought your hand up to caress his light stubble ridden cheek.

He sighs out in contentment and flutters his eyes shut, leaning into your touch and kissing the knuckle of your thumb.

“Hi.” You say sweetly with bright sparkling eyes as you begin to twirl his fiery red locks between your delicate fingers.

“Hi.” His soft voice makes your stomach flutter. To this day you still experienced the same excitement you would get when you first started dating Fred back in school.

“Can we have sex?” He asks out of the blue.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his request. Ever since you tied the knot, the mystery and suspense your sex life once had began to simmer. Being upfront about both of your wants and needs became a part of the beauty of your marriage. No secrets were kept and no childish games were played. If one of you wanted it, all you had to do was ask.

“Only if you carry me, ‘m tired.” You spoke, going back to playing with his hair.

“Works for me.” His face lit up as he lifts you up off of the couch and carries you bridal style up to your shared bedroom.

You had to admit, Hermione was right.

The morning after that visit, you began to read tidbits of the book she gave you.

Not wanting to answer a billion questions, you kept the material out of your husband's sight. You knew he would become super curious and make you explain everything to him, and having just begun learning yourself, you decided it was best to keep it hidden away. Again, this concept was feorgein to the wizarding world so you couldn’t blame him.

It really did work out perfectly. Once you felt that you had gotten the hang of it, every morning after Fred left for the shop, you would set up in the living room and practice your yoga.

It honestly felt awful at first. Your body was so tight and tense that you had almost given up completely after your first time doing it.

But not wanting to throw in the towel so early, you kept it up until you began noticing a slight change in your body. Little things like being able to touch your toes or go into a deep lunge were gratifying and it almost became a bit of a drug to you. Not to mention it helped you sleep like a baby.

Fred was also starting to notice a difference. Knowing you were tight all over, sex usually consisted of fairly mild positions that didn’t put to much of a strain on your body. But that one random night in which you were suddenly able to bring your legs up to wrap around his neck as he pounded into you set off alarms in his head.

You had done something and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

That was a while ago.

Since then, you had fully converted to a life of zen, and yoga was your remedy to all of the worries that plagued your mind. Mornings were becoming easier and easier to face as Fred would shut the door behind him and you would pull out your yoga blocks and mat.

And this morning began like any other. The sun seeped through your white translucent curtains which made Fred groan in irritation. He hated getting up in the morning.

He turned over to face you and slowly opened his eyes, watching you shift about and slowly begin to wake up yourself.

“What time is it?” You spoke, nuzzling your face into his bare chest.

“7:15.” He was able to croak out in his scruffy morning voice.

“Off to work then?” You asked, finally looking up at him with this innocent and soft look that never failed to make him turn into a puddle of emotions.

“Off to work indeed.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, flopping on to his back to allow himself to wake up more.

“You're going to be late if you don’t get a move on.” He smiled at this before deciding to scoop you up into his arms so you were now laying on your stomach on top of him.

“George can manage for a bit can’t he?” He asked as he moved your crazy morning hair out of your eyes so he could get a better look at you. Your chin rested against his sternum as you rolled your eyes.

“Remember last time you tried to pull that stunt? He threatened to hex you.” Fred winced at the memory.

“Better not then huh?” He grimaces slightly, already knowing the answer to his question.

“Well unless you are willing to have your hair be green for the next year, then yeah I wouldn’t. Now stop stalling and get your arse up!” You say, pinching his hip which makes him arch up slightly underneath your touch.

“If you do that again I may never get out of bed.” His smirk would usually get to you but no one could ever get between you and your yoga sessions. Even Fred Gideon Weasley.

“Nice try Casanova, that isn’t going to work this time,” You lifted the sheets off of both of you and got out of bed to take a shower.

Later that morning, Fred ran over to you, pressing a kiss to your temple before grabbing a orange from the fruit bowl and rushing out the door for work.

You smiled knowingly, waiting for at least a minute before jumping up from your spot on the couch and ran back into your bedroom. Never in your life had you been so excited to wear spandex.

Once your setup was organized, you quickly got into child’s pose, hoping to give your begging joints and muscles a gentle wake up. It felt so good that the groan you emitted covered up the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Fred was back.

He had come from downstairs, having forgotten important paperwork he had to fill out for some possible investors. But the heavy package of documents seemed to have slipped his mind for a second time when he came across your arse stretched out in the bent over position.

His trousers tightened almost instantly and his finger had to come up and tug at his shirt collar that had suddenly become too tight.

Unaware of his presence, you continued your late morning with no care in the world. Feeling satisfied, your body moved up into a downward dog. Your lower legs and ankles gasped out in gratitude as you slowly leaned deeper and deeper into the upside pose.

That’s when you saw him.

Between your legs, you were able to notice a pair of brown dress shoes, one tapping away impatiently. Your eyes went wide and your throat let out a squeak, making you collapse to the floor and quickly turn to look up at your amused and very turned on husband.

“So this is what you’ve been doing when I’m away?” Your cheeks were all flushed, partly from the blood rushing to your face when you were upside down and partly due to Fred looming over you in a dominating stance.

“Fred I-.” You quickly tried to cover your tracks. Explain that it was a stupid thing Hermione told you about and that it didn’t matter.

“Hush love, I’m not mad.” He said through a relaxed chuckle.

“You’re not?”

“How could I? You are so fucking fit babes.” Your cheeks burned stronger and your eyes flitted down to the mat beneath you.

“Hey dove, no need to be shy. I liked what you were doing there. What was it anyway?” He was now crouched in front of you, lightly tracing his thumb against your cheek.

“Yoga, supposed to make you feel less stressed and more flexible.” You could see the gears turning in his head.

“Oh so I have yoga to thank for the amazing shagging we have been having recently then?” His comment made you giggle, making him swoon in return.

“Show me more. I want to watch.” God he knew how to make your stomach twirl. His face was no longer soft, but rather dark and naughty. The lust that was connecting the two of you caused your leggings to dampen. You shifted, now feeling slightly uncomfortable with sitting in your own wetness.

“What, you feeling uncomfy? Here I’ll help.” Before you could respond, he laid you on your back and dragged you towards him along the mat, his hands gripping the back of your thighs.

“Shall I take these off then?” He asked, an eyebrow raised in question. He was playing a game and he knew he had already won.

“Yes please.” Your voice was breathy and soft. He aggressively grabbed the waistband of your legging and tugged them down your legs.

Once they were in a wet mess somewhere in a corner of the living room, he bent down between your legs to pull you in for a kiss. Your hands went up to his hair and your legs wrapped around his torso, slightly grinding up into him.

His lips detached from yours and he looked down to notice your desperate actions.

“Awe love, you all worked up now?” He was obviously teasing you. Hell if anything, he was more bothered then you were, but he was always better at keeping his emotions below the surface.

“Want you to show me what you were doing again. This time in your undies babes.” You nodded urgently and turned yourself around, going into a cow position.

His heavy breathing and warm palms on your arse cheeks made his presence very much known.

You pushed back slightly, hoping he would get the hint.

“Patient, I’ll deal with you in a minute. Want to see more first.” Gaining some power, you got up and pushed him back, indicating for him to move onto the couch, giving him a front row seat to what would become his favourite show.

You pulled out every suggestive pose in the book. At one point, when you were able to look over at his reaction, his tie had come undone along with some buttons and his hand was fisted around his cock.

He looked heavenly sitting there, one arm draped along the top of the couch and his head thrown back in pure pleasure. He should have been back to work by now but neither one of you cared.

“Fuck, keep it up love.” You wanted his finish, not his hand so you stopped your performance and crawled over to him, kneeling between his spread open legs.

Without speaking a single word, your mouth opened wide, your tounge stretched out in a plea for his cum.

“You want me down your throat darling?” You nodded, eyes shut in patience. His groans increased and your palms began to sweat as anticipation grew all through your body.

But nothing came.

One of your eyes opened in confusion only for you to be met with him coming off of the couch and pushing you back into the mat once more. He stretched your legs open wide and moved your thong to the side. There was no time to adjust as his length rammed into you. Instantly gripping his biceps you let out a cry of submission and pleasure.

“Feel so nice and warm. Want you nice and wide for me when I finish yeah? Are you going to finish with me little dove?” You could only let out a wail of acceptance as you sobbed.

His drilling quickened and quickened until you both finally were able to come as one, something you had yet to achieve in your relationship. He let out a surprised laugh at the accomplishment before collapsing on top of you in exhaustion.

“Thank Merlin for yoga.” He spoke through heavy breaths.

#fanfiction #fanfic #fred weasley #smut #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter #harry potter smut

694 notes · View notes

ren-therose · 4 years ago

Text

Mornings Like These

Dad!Peter Parker X Mom!Reader

Summary: Peter and you are parents, raising your kids out of your home and the rebuilt Avengers Headquarters. Needless to say, your kids came with some...unique quirks.

WC: 1.3k words

Warning: Minor FATWS spoiler, Mentions sex, but mostly just cute kids and fluffy parent content

A/N: So, I am a nanny, if you can't tell by my depth of detail. The family I currently am working for has a baby and a elementary kid, and they are both SUPER CRAZY. So much energy, so much love, and a little mischief. The baby is crazy strong and a busy bee, while the brother is non-stop moving. I love my kids so much, and they were my inspiration for this.

Big, chocolate eyes were looking up as you, while you wiggle your fingers. Two small hands reached out to your index fingers, gripping on tightly as you smiled down at the baby laying below you. He was wearing a red Spider-man onesie, no doubt one of many your team had gifted you. You probably had at least 12 Spider-man related onesies, but you didn't mind. Benji held quite a resemblance to his father. His hair was a little lighter, but his curls were quite prominent on the back of his head. His eyes, so big and warm, reminded you so much of your husbands, the way his lashes would flutter when he sleeps.

But the thing that he really resembled was how strong this baby was. A lot of people don't realize how strong babies are, ultimately underestimating them. You were right not underestimate his strength, except he is no ordinary baby. As he laid on his changing table, gripping your finger, the two of you faced off before the daily struggle you would both face.

It started with poking him all over, getting him to relax. He loved it when you played with his feet, nibbling all over his toes and up to his chucky thighs. You would blow on his tummy, making him laugh and grab your hair. When you were loose from his grip, you would then carefully unsnap his onesie, trying to be discreet with your actual intention. He continued to wiggle his way out, which ultimately helped in your favor. Now was the difficult, free of his restraints, he started rolling around, not unlike an alligator, as he attempted to make his escape. When you turned to grab a new diaper, he made his move, practically launching himself off the table. Quick reflexes wasn't your superpower, in fact, you didn't even have one. Your dad thought it was funny calling himself a mechanic, but you soon inherited his title. But when you became a parent, some type of spider-sense developed in you too, and you became even more inept with catching babies and hurtling objects.

Speaking of spidey-senses, Peter suddenly appeared in the doorway, his own brown curls slightly matted to his face, as though he had just been running.

"Did you catch him?" he panted, looking frantically for the baby. You turned around, revealing that the baby was holding onto your arm like a sloth. He was smiling like he had just succeeded in a heist, which in a way, he did- he stole our hearts (cheesy but true). Peter laughed as he walked over to the dangling baby, grabbing him and the diaper from your hands. "I am so sorry, I was trying to get the spider monkey off the walls and ready for daycare." He glanced back at you to see your response. You quirked your brow up, leaning your head to the side. "Dressed?"

Peter turned back to Benji, pulling his onesie back on the happy baby and holding him out to you. "No, but I got this one changed!"

You groaned, wishing that Peter wouldn't always be so sweet on the kids, but you knew that even you weren't immune from their love and charm.

"Toni! Get your butt in here NOW!" You yelled, marching down the hall to the other room. As you were walking, you felt someone drop behind you. Turning around, you saw your oldest smiling at you with a toothless grin. "Hi mommy."

"Girl, if you don't get into your clothes now, we are going to have a problem," you say cooly, ruffling your daughters hair as she ran past into her room.

"Daddy said that I could go with him to the tech lab today!" Toni beamed, but the look you had on your face was not one of excitement. Turning around, you caught Peter trying to sneak by you with the baby, but you had already caught up to him.

"What did you tell Toni about going to the tech lab?" you hissed. Peter jokingly covered the babies ears, whispering back "I couldn't think of anything else! She wouldn't get down."

You scooped Benji from his arms, strumming your finger back and forth across his tummy, eliciting a laugh from the baby. Kissing his chubby cheeks, you sighed as you used your other hand to pull Peter in by the collar of his shirt.

"You are gonna fix this problem, because I checked our schedule and we will have about an hour of free time at work, but if you take her to the tech lab, she won't leave us alone," you defended, leaning into his lips. His hand met your back as he kissed you with a little more force than usual. Times of passion and heated kisses grew slim, but were a special task when given the chance.

"Fine. But only because office sex sounds great," he grumbles against your ear, before smacking your ass and walking away. You yelp as you turn watch him enter Toni's room, hearing her squeal as he picks her up and starts tickling her.

"That wasn't the offer!" you call out, hearing him playfully roar at Toni.

You roll your eyes, happy that he was so good with handling both of the kids. You kissed benji once more on his squishy cheeks, going into the kitchen, thinking about the rest of your day.

Baby on your hip, you started brewing coffee and making everyone's breakfast. Everyone had a pretty set breakfast when it came to their weekday routine. You would make coffee and bagels for you and Peter while the baby stayed on your hip. As the bagels toasted, you would get out the cereal and milk for Toni to pour herself. Then you would strap the baby in their high chair with a bottle of milk, while you did up the bagels. Setting the bagels down on the counter, you would go back to the coffee maker, pouring sugar and creamer in mugs with the coffee (Peter never grew out of his love for sweet coffee). By the time the coffee hit the counter where three chairs were placed, set for two adults and one kid, they were filled by you, your husband and your daughter. You on the edge with the baby, feeding him squeeze pouches, soft bars and yogurt (he was a hungry baby), while you leaned over to read Peters latest file. As your head rested on his arm, he kisses the top of your head before taking a sip of the coffee you made. When you looked over at Toni, she was coloring a Captain America picture, while eating her cereal.

"Baby, who is that for?"

"It's for Uncle Sam! Look, I made him brown!"

You almost spit out your coffee, and Peter choked on his bagel. You both turned to look at the coloring page and stifled a laugh. It was indeed Captain America, but it was of Steve, not Sam. Well, it would have been of Steve if she hadn't colored him with a brown crayon.

You went over and ruffled her again, the curls frizzing out a little more. Plopping a kiss on her forehead while you squished her face, you smiled at her art.

"You know, that might actually be Uncle Steve."

"You know, the one I defeated when I met your mom for the first time," Peter interjected. You shot him a warning look as he stuck his tongue out at you. You looked through the book, trying to find Sam as Captain America, he was towards the back of the book, probably because of his rebranding. It had only been a decade or so that he was Cap, while Steve was Cap for 80 years or something.

Pointing to the page, you said "Do you want to color this one for him too?"

Toni nodded eagerly as she began drawing again. As you walked back over to your seat, you stopped behind Peter and wrapped your arms around his chest. He rested his head against your chest as your hair fell around his face.

"We are so showing Sam when we get to work," Peter snickered.

"Bucky might pee himself," you laugh.

#peter parker #spiderman #spiderdad #peterparker x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker dad #parents #kids #parent au #baby #daughter and son #mcu #marvel #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader

398 notes · View notes

gaiuswrites · 4 years ago

Text

Thread the Needle | Yoga!Din

Pairing: Modern!Din x Yoga Instructor!Reader

Rating: Explicit (minors, goodbye)

Word count: 3.5k~

Warnings/tags: Yoga!Din (yes, he gets his own warning), hurt/comfort, language, smut, good ol' fashioned cunnilingus, piv

Notes: ✨ HI FRIENDS ✨ Yoga!Din rides again. This idea has been stewing (pun intended, you'll get it later) in my dumb brain for a while now and I've finally decided to write it. Technically, this takes place a little farther into the future (perhaps when the pair is more of an item, and less of a fuckbuddy fling, but thorough plot? We don’t know her). Anyways, enjoy! Cheers x

He doesn’t mean to be dramatic, but it’s the most agonizing sixty minutes of his goddamn life.

He’s seated on his mat, legs folded into a fucking pretzel—lotus pose, a calm voice inside his head corrects—and he’s steaming.

She isn’t here.

He is—Din, for all his faults, showed the fuck up to class but she didn’t, and in her place there’s some smelly old bat, this woman’s wrinkly ass – sits bones – plunked down at the front of the studio— occupying her spot, where she should be.

His eyes stalk the movements of this other woman as she putters around the studio—the godawful stench of something earthy wafting behind her— and it looks wrong. It feels wrong; like a violation somehow—of the space.

Of their space.

“The light in me recognizes the light in you,” they all utter in unison like a fucking hippie cult, and he books it out of there, swiping his mat up with an aggressive slap and rolling it under his arm.

“Hey,” he calls out, pacing towards the front desk. The receptionist— Riley? Kylie? Din can never remember—glances up from her phone, bright eyed.

Poor thing.

“Who the fuck is that?” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder towards the studio, the gaggle of ladies trickling out of it already gossiping and clucking away. Din doesn’t mean to sound accusatory; he doesn’t mean to be this intense. It’s not this girl’s fault, he knows that— but she’s in proximity and she’s shit out of luck.

“M’sorry?” she sputters, blinking up at him.

Breathe, that same voice coos—he can feel the tickle of it behind his ear.

“Our usual Wednesday instructor,” Din begins again, clipped. “Where is she?”

“Oh," she shrugs, "she called in sick.”

With a furrowed brow he pitches forward, craning over the desk. “Is she okay?”

The girl— Miley? —all but flinches back from him, a quizzical expression wormed onto her. “Uhm, yeah she has the flu—nasty one, too, but she’ll probably be back by ne-"

Din doesn’t linger long enough for her to finish. He’s wheeled around, striding from the building, the tinny chime of the bell ringing out as the door creaks closed behind him. The women exchange waggling glances in his wake, tittering in mouthwatering delight—more juicy fodder for their post-yoga soiree.

///

He doesn’t remember driving there. He made a quick stop to the grocery store— their grocery store, now— to pick up what he needed and before he knows it, he’s at her front door, bringing his fist down upon it in hard raps.

He hears movement—can sense it there, can practically imagine it: her lithe body tip toeing over— no, she’s got the flu, maybe it’s more of a shuffle—and peeking through the peephole. There’s a weighty pause and then—

The slow, dubious clicks of unbolting locks, the turning of a handle, the yawn of the wood as it opens.

Her voice is made small with disbelief and exhaustion. “Din?”

“Can I come in?”

She cracks the door ajar, standing in the frame of it now, a thick blue comforter slung over an arm, and she can’t quite mask the stupefied look etched onto her face.

He’s never done this. She’s never done this. He’s been to her place twice—three times, if he counts them fucking in the car in her driveway—and he’s certainly never showed up unannounced.

“Uhm, I-”

“Great.”

Din pushes past her, plastic bag swinging heavy at his side.

“W-What?”

She’s left gaping, mouth and eyes opened incredulously, ogling the way he struts through her entryway, before finally having the wherewithal to close the door. “Hey, what are you-”

“You need to keep your fluids up,” he says roughly—as if it’s obvious—making a beeline towards the kitchen.

She follows after him, bunching the throw snuggly around her shoulders. “Din,” she utters feebly, “I really don’t think you should be here right now.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Please, I don’t wanna get you sick."

He thunks the bag onto the granite countertop, producing two cans.

She doesn’t know why she bothers, it’s not like he’s listening to her anyways. If she’s learned anything about Din Djarin, it’s that he’s nothing if not stubborn—impossibly immovable. He’s tossed his jacket off, slinging it over the island, a determined glint in his eye as he prowls around the kitchen, opening cupboards at random.

“Seriously, I don’t want you catching this. I feel like shit… Oh my god, I look like shit,” she groans in realization, burying her head in the blanket, hermitting herself away.

“You look fine,” he replies gruffly, delving through the drawers in search of a can opener.

Frumpy sweats and a baggy t-shirt with some faded logo on it that’s absolutely hanging off her. Hair tossed up and sloppy, coiled into a loose bun, errant pieces rebelling every which way. A little pale, maybe. Tired eyes. Messy.

Beautiful, he meant. She looks fucking irritatingly beautiful.

Din continues to rifle through her cabinets and he exhales in frustration, “Jesus, where do you keep your pans?”

“Bottom right,” she points begrudgingly.

He grunts, finding one big enough and sets it down on the stove.

She can’t stop fussing over him; making comments here and there, asking if he wants anything, needs anything—water, kombucha, tea, a beer, a snack—if she can help in any way possible—and it nearly sends him over the damn edge.

“Would you quit it and just let me take care of you?” he grits out, and her mouth clamps shut with a pop.

She’s quiet after that, picking anxiously at a thread poking out from the blanket she wears like a shawl—observing as he empties the cans into a large pot, lights the gas stove, and brings it to a boil. She gives him space, stationing herself by the kitchen table, leaning a hip into one of the four chairs there.

Honestly she does try to keep to herself; she tries to accept what Din is doing for her, but she can’t help it. As soon as she sees him ladling the soup into one of her favorite cups—it looks so tiny in his grasp— and bringing it over to her like a goddamn patron saint, she breaks.

“You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yeah well, you need to get healthy so you can take your class back from that fucking fossil.”

“Din,” she admonishes.

“Baby,” he gives her a pointed look and she gnaws at the inside of her cheek, a blush blotting her clavicle. “She fucking smells. Now sit your pretty little ass down-”

“But-”

He presses a hand to her shoulder, forcing her to sink into the chair with a soft oomf, and places the bowl in front of her. “Don’t fight me on this. Drink the fucking soup.”

She huffs, glancing down, and then back up to Din.

“Progresso?”

He grunts.

She blows at the steam rising from the hot liquid. “Chicken noodle?”

Din crosses his arms over his chest and plops back onto the island.

“Classic,” she praises, mumbling into it.

She loathes to admit it, but the first sip tastes like heaven. It soothes her raw vocal chords, worn hoarse from nights of coughing, and seeps deep to warm her cold bones.

Din remains mute through the whole affair, staring owlishly as she spoons it down, slurp for slurp, until he’s satisfied she’s finished. When she does, she arches an eye brow at him— mouth pressing into a thin line. Happy now?

He tips his head and pads over to her.

“Wait, no you don’t have to-" He swipes it from the table, the spoon clanking against the ceramic rim. Din moves to the sink and she groans.

“Just leave it,” she whines, but he ignores her—stubborn stubborn stubborn— he’s already got soap on the sponge and the water running. Again, she huffs and rises to her feet, hem of the blanket trailing behind her.

“Thank you,” she gives in a hushed tone.

It’s so strange— being taken care of in her own place. She doesn’t know what to do, where to go. It’s ill-fitting, foreign, and she can only hover there, buzzing like a pesky insect beside him.

He’s wiping the dish off with a towel when he chances a peek back at her, practically stuttering when he does.

She’s swaddled in that fucking quilt, awkward and impossibly sincere and precious just standing there—watching him play house in her home. A brush of color has sprung up on her cheeks—more light in her eyes, too—and Din, try as he might, can’t pry himself off her.

She’s sick—she’s sick and gorgeous and he wants her. He wants her to feel better, he wants to fuck her, he wants to hold her. He’s overcome with it.

He swallows.

Fuck.

He abandons the bowl and rag in the drying rack and turns to her, her eyes widening, glassy and bloodshot, as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear— knuckles trailing down her jaw.

“Din…”

Her tongue skips over her lip—mocking him—damp and full and begging to be taken by his own, and her breath catches as he drags a thumb across that plump flesh, enrapt with the way her mouth parts so effortlessly for him—so fucking supple. Din’s gut twists and his blood thickens in his veins—the air between them rippling with something velvet and carnal.

He takes a step towards her. Her throat bobs.

“You’re gonna get sick,” she pouts in protest, rutting her palm into his chest, but there’s no fight in it. The blanket slips from her shoulders, hitting the ground with a dulled splat.

“Din,” she tries again, “I don’t want you to-"

He leans in, cradling her cheek, murmurs fanning over her face. “I’ll risk it.”

And he dissolves the gap, sealing her mouth with his in a tender kiss. It’s almost chaste at first, how they rove tentative and unhurried over each other—an innocent exploration— all until his tongue darts out to touch along her lip and she whimpers into him, letting Din dip into the dark cavern of her mouth. She tastes warm, like comfort and broth and rainy days, and he sighs as she brings her hands up to weave into his hair.

Neither of them fight for dominance like this—their tangle of soft sounds is perfectly balanced— Hatha; effort and ease, breath and body. He pushes, she relents—she surges forward, Din bends. They dance like this, slow as tar, until she catches his bottom lip between her teeth and tugs.

It’s like a switch has been flipped.

He seethes, inhaling sharply as his hands slide possessive and greedy down her body, grabbing fistfuls of her waist hidden under all the oversized layers, and crushing her into him. She’s making these airy noises, panting and urgent and fuck if it doesn’t tear him apart—viscerally, from the inside out.

Din walks her backwards, step for choreographed step, foxtrotting until she bumps into the kitchen table. He breaks away from the kiss to reach past her, frantically pushing away the unopened mail and receipts and loose change, the jingling of her keys cutting through the wanton quiet as they clang onto the tile, and he hitches her up to sit there with one fell swoop.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he husks, inbetween the bites he’s searing onto her neck. “Please, just lie back for me sweet girl.”

“Din, I-“

He silences her with a nibble to her ear, coaxing a breathy yelp out of her. “Lie back, baby.”

It doesn’t take much convincing after that. She acquiesces, Din’s wide palm splayed on her breasts, guiding her to recline back onto the table. He makes speedy work of her sweatpants, yanking them down her legs and flinging them off to land in a crumpled heap.

He sinks to his knees, pulling the cradle of her hips to the edge of the table before parting her thighs. The gloss of her cunt, wet and glistening for him, makes his hardening cock jump up to his stomach, and she twitches as soon as the cool air brushes against her.

“Fuck me,” he groans, whispering into her heat like he’s pained, like the sight alone is torturing him—like it’s slowly but surely ending his fucking life.

Din breathes her in with a sigh, that summer fruit tang— the scent of her aching and pulsing for him— and he starts tracing up and down her inner thigh with his tongue and teeth, nibbling along the path there until he’s at her apex. He’s dimpling her pliant skin with his calloused fingertips, strong hands wrapped under her knees, keeping them splayed as he kisses along her outer lips, nipping at her hip bones, teasing everywhere but where she needs him most.

It’s devastating—debilitating—and she’s shaking now. Every muscle, every fiber of her, convulsing with anticipation—with the promise of being dissected, of being torn apart and stitched back together again. She’s already got a hand covering her mouth, muffling the sobs he’s drawing out as he toys with her— playing her like a fucking fiddle.

Din’s eyes flit up to find her like this, brow pinched tight and cries stifled, and he chuckles— he fucking laughs— heady and ambered into her legs.

“You doin’ alright up there, teach?”

“F-Fuck you,” she hisses out with a weak whine.

God, she’s fucking perfect.

“You need something, sweetheart?” He smirks— she can feel the shape of it against her thigh, the way his stubble grates along her skin— and she can only mewl, speechless. Pathetic.

“Yeah, I know what you need...” Din hums, before finally - finally - taking mercy on her.

With one single drag, he tongues a broad stripe up her slit.

The noise that rips through her sounds like she’s being strangled— it gets caught in her throat like a trapped animal in hot car— a desperate little thing clawing to get out. Her nails scrape against the wood, leaving nicks in the chestnut lacquer. Immediately, she cants up to him, searching for his mouth hungrily and Din all but obliges as he clasps onto her hips, keeping her still while he fucks into her.

He’s carving her out— hollowing her; burying himself in her folds, nosing against her mound. He laps her up in kitten licks, delving the muscle of his tongue in and out of her, leaving her weak and gasping. Din laves up and down and side to side in clever little swivels, before he reaches her clit and sucks.

Her fist shoots from her mouth to grip his wavy locks, grinding shamelessly against his face.

“O-Oh my god, Din - fuck - Din. Oh fuck oh fuck-"

He loves it when she gets like this; that serene and tranquil exterior— the one that can quell a studio full of strangers into a haze with only the sound of her voice, that voice he can’t get out of his fucking head, the one that got them into this mess in the first place— shattered, mutilated beyond recognition and all she has left is her need— her wild, unbridled need.

Her need for his tongue, for his fingers, for his dick. Din Din Din, she only wants him— only needs him.

He slips a finger into her, easing past his knuckle in one movement, and her chin tips back, crown of her head digging into the table, hair mussing against the wood grain.

Her nipples have pebbled through her shirt, her pretty feet arched and contorted, and she’s heaving - writhing - like this above him.

He adds another digit, pumping in and out, the squelch of her pussy sounding lewd and obscene and fucking divine as he grazes her clit with his teeth, pulling at it.

“Fuck-” she rasps, legs quivering on their own accord— instinct and reflex demanding she tremble— and Din moans into her sex, feeling her walls constrict around his fingers, and he curls them up as he thrusts, hitting against that spongy patch insider her that makes her vision go white.

“Din, I- I’m—"

She can’t manage the rest. Instead of words, she cries— high pitched and wounded, as if she’s barely making it out alive. Her legs clamp around his head, bracing him there, and she cums— she loses it for him— her slick coating his nose, his lips, the hair speckled around his chin. She soaks him, and it leaves Din rocking his hips and humping the fucking air— as randy as a teenager, ravenous for anything, even if it’s just the friction of his pants drawn tight around his erection.

He takes her through her orgasm, lapping at her softly until she’s warbling—a slew of nonsense babbling out of her— and he leans back on his heels to admire his work, eyes singeing into her cunt made puffy and swollen pink, fluttering at the loss of him.

He plants one final kiss to the cleft of her pussy before shifting his weight back up to his feet, slotting himself between her.

Fuck, he isn’t as young as he once was— he feels his age in the ache of his knees. All the yoga in the world can’t erase his scar tissue, can’t undo time.

But he thinks maybe—if he’ll let himself—that she makes him feel younger. Lighter.

He squeezes her calf and begins to move away when she whimpers, bolting upright to palm greedily at the bulge pressing painfully against its constraint, her fingers fidgeting with his zipper and Din— in an uncharacteristic show of strength and self restraint— gingerly clasps onto her wrists, holding her still.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and her eyes snap up to meet his. “This isn’t about me.”

“No, but-”

“You don’t- we don’t have to-"

“Din,” she pants, grabbing onto the waist of his jeans and pressing her center into him, smearing herself along the denim there, her pearled clit catching on the rough fabric. Her eyes have gone jet-black with desire, obsidian lust burning through them. “Din, fuck me. Please fuck me, plea-“

Shit.

He’s never moved so fast in his goddamn life, unbuttoning his jeans in a flash, untucking himself— throbbing, leaking already—from his briefs. He gives himself two rough jerks, his blunt tip prodding at her entrance, before pushing into her with a gasp.

Fuck, she’s warm— not just warm, she’s hot. She’s molten, and she’s milking him for all he’s worth, gripping around him, fucking strangling his cock with how wet she is—how tight. God, she’s a fucking dream—a nightmare too, undoubtedly.

“Fuck baby - shit - you’re—hnng-” He groans—can’t even form a real sentence—all of his blood has rushed out of his brain and straight to the juncture where their bodies meet.

His eyes flutter deliriously at the feeling of her stretching around him like this and for a passing, fleeting moment, he considers the fact that he should be gentle with her— that she’s not feeling well, that she’s probably sore with body chills and God knows what else and that she should rest—

But once her knees are split apart and legs spread long— so fucking flexible, fuck she’s killing him— his well-met concern all but abandons him.

He fucks her hard— so hard she falls back, that unforgiving surface bruising into her spine. He probably hurts her a little—just how he likes, just how she loves.

Din plows into her, digging into the meat of her thighs, slamming into the pussy that takes him so fucking well, the pussy that feels like it’s made for him— like she’s made for him— and the table shudders with each roll of his hips, scraping it inch by inch along the tile, knocking against the chairs with loud, clattering bangs.

“W-Wait— wait wait wait-“ she pants, hands scampering up to his arms.

He slows his thrusts until he’s stilled inside of her, worry creasing around his eyes. “W-What? Are you okay—what’s wrong?”

“T-The table," she whines, “it’s from fucking IKEA. I built this piece of shit myself— there’s no way it’s gonna stay standing with you fucking me into it like this.”

Din barks out a laugh, throaty and genuine, and for the second time today, he comes to the conclusion that she’s perfect.

“Bedroom?” she nods down the hall.

“Bedroom,” he growls before scooping her up, lifting her off the table, her legs scrambling to hook around his waist, forearms bracing around the broad plain of his shoulders.

“Din!” she squeals in surprise, “I can walk, you know.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, giving her a bounce and a light slap to her ass. “You’re sick.”

///

“Onions,” he mutters, leaden eyelids nestled shut.

He didn’t mean to stay over this long—well past sunset, later than he’s ever allowed himself—but how could he be expected to leave? After she came on his cock - twice - and he had filled her up until his cum was gushing from her, extricating himself out of this exact position of woven, spent limbs and sweat stained sheets sounded criminal.

“What?” She cranes groggily up at him.

“The sub. She smelled like onions. And patchouli.”

“Hey,” she tuts in mock offense, “Brenda is nice.”

“Good for Brenda. Doesn’t make her smell any better.”

“God, you are so rude,” she laughs, shaking her head as she nuzzles into Din’s side, lips curving into a sleepy grin against his chest—right above the aching thump of his caged heart.

Taglist (I apologize if I missed anyone!):

@radiowallet @pedros-mustache @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamers @greatcircle79 @iamskyereads @imnotinlove-thisisnotyoursong @fan-of-encouragement @read-and-rec @helmet-comes-off @keeper0fthestars @hellabaybee @ourmotherofyearning @krissology

#yoga!din #I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL #modern!din #modern au #din djarin smut #din djarin x female oc #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #smut #mando x fem!reader #mando x you #mando x female oc #hurt/comfort #fanfic #one shot #star wars fanfic #pedro pascal #din djarin au

343 notes · View notes

barzzal · 4 years ago

Text

between halls and thin walls → part two

summary: friends who fool around almost never work. almost.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: swearing, sex toys, masturbation, sexual/suggestive themes, and yenno, mathew :(

↳ genre: angst, smut, roommates au, best friend’s best friend, friends with benefits, 18+ minors dni*

↳ length: series; part one, part two (5.9k), part three, part four, part five, part six

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: listened to a lot of beyoncé for this one !!

note: part two’s here!! and i know it’s late for an update but i just wanna thank everyone for commenting on the first part �� really glad that you guys liked it. reading your tags are everything to me it means a lot! happy reading <3 (gif used: mine)

You come out of your bedroom dressed and ready for work. Your handbag was slung over the depth of your forearm as you headed for the kitchen and the other, scrolling past emails on your phone, admittedly bracing yourself for the mess you know will eventually greet you.

To your surprise, what you see instead were Mat Barzal’s guns rippling through the jet black sweater he had worn last night. A memory that sent your mind to less than eight hours ago, before eventually landing on what happened shortly when the two of you had woken up.

“Thank god you haven’t burnt the house down.” you kid, placing your handbag atop the island.

Mat spares you a quick glance, rolling his eyes whilst he lets you watch him whisk some eggs for breakfast.

“Like it?” he cocks, pertaining to how your eyes were pinned hard on his biceps that he was, for the most part, effortlessly sporting. It’s true, though. He didn’t need to flex because it was just there.

“Coffee or Juice?” he asks, as the kind friend and roommate that he is.

Anthony, as surprising as it was, takes incredibly long showers. If people hadn’t known him well, they’d easily think he’s abusing himself there. But you’ve got to admit that not having him around felt nice for you didn’t have to feel so seen with Mathew.

‘Course, there’s nothing more, like a fix-in on the side, to your set up. You just appreciate the feeling of not having to lie to Beau about all the ugly concealed underneath all the innocent gazes you and Mathew exchange.

“Coffee.” you answer shortly, realizing that you forgot the material you need for today’s meeting.

“Where are you going?” Mat asks when he catches you receding out into the hallway. You didn’t bother looking back, “Forgot something!”

He gets back to whisking the eggs when a chime comes off his phone. He takes it from the counter, placed just before the plates he left to dry last night, absent-mindedly putting the bowl he was holding onto the island, toppling over the green juice he has prepared for himself.

“Shit.” he curses as soon as he sees it for it was already spilling all over the place, making the mess you’ve been secretly anticipating the moment Mathew said he’d make breakfast.

Panicking at how you’d see he’s successfully screwed such a no-brainer task, Mat grabs the first thing he sees on the marbled surface and uses it to clean the mess he’d made.

“Huh.” he muses to himself, realizing that the silk fabric didn’t do much in helping him clean up. He tosses it over the sink carelessly and grabs a few napkin rolls from one of the cupboards.

So much for making an effort to feed Anthony Beauvillier.

“Now, that was fast.” you say with a smirk once you’ve entered the kitchen, startling Mathew as he continued cleaning up after his mess.

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” he sarcastically laughs, discarding the paper towels onto the sink along with the used ones.

Thankfully, your stuff was at the other side of the island so it was very much safe from all the chaos happening at the other end of the marbled surface. However, your laugh dies down the second you realize that your handkerchief was no longer where you’ve last put it.

“Hey,” you call on Mathew, “What’s up?”

“Have you seen my handkerchief? I know I left it somewhere.” you anxiously ask, eyeing every corner of the room hoping to see Nana’s handkerchief, the one she gave to you on your 18th birthday.

“What does it look like?” Mat asks, now holding a pan in his hand as he prepares breakfast.

You proceeded to describe your grandma’s handkerchief in the most specific and perhaps excruciating detail Mathew has ever heard someone talk about something as mind-numbing as a handkerchief.

Despite that, Mat lights up the moment it hits him, not realizing the bigger mess he’s about to walk into. He rejoices at how he knew exactly what you were looking for, “Oh! You mean this?”

With clueless eyes, you watch Mat go over the sink after he wipes his hands dry, fishing out an all too familiar fabric from the sink. Once your eyes land onto the cream colored silk handkerchief, with details carefully sewn by hand, drenching in what seems to be Mat’s morning drink, your heart falls to the pit of your stomach.

“What did you do??” The sudden rise in your voice startles an unsuspecting Mathew. You eagerly went over to his side and hastily snatched the smooth fabric off his hands, “It’s ruined!”

“What? I didn’t know it was yours!” Mat’s eyes are wild with confusion. Puzzled at how you were so fixated on the useless fabric. It didn’t help him anyway. There’s nothing much left to do but to throw it. It’s garbage.

“You ruined it!” you lash out, letting Mat get eaten up by the sudden anger bubbling inside your guts but he was rather quick in defending himself, “I didn’t know it was yours since I grabbed the first thing I could find. Why are you getting upset over a shit-ass handkerchief?”

Your mouth falls and you shake your head, finding his defensiveness quite appalling. “You’re an ass.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was yours.” he explains, “Come on, it’s just a stupid handkerchief I’ll just buy you a new one.” he tries to laugh the tension off, sporting his signature grin.

Mat take shots of the stunned expression on your face, “Stupid?” you repeat what he said, your eyes already starting to sting with tears. Clearly, you were far too overwhelmed to even acknowledge Mathew’s half-assed apology.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” your words bite and that’s when things took a turn for the worse.

“I said I was fucking sorry! What the hell do you want from me? Shit a fucking hanky?” he rans a hand through his hair, “Do you realize how childish you’re being right now?”

Outraged, and perhaps disappointed by how he was too high up his horse, your voice takes up a higher tone, entering what seems to be an early screaming match between you and Mathew.

“Could you just–” you breathe, “for one second– stop being so goddamn stupid and get over yourself!?” were words that welcomed Anthony the moment he stepped into the kitchen, towel wrapped around his waist, a grin on his face visible as he poured himself a glass of water, inviting himself in the screaming match you and Mathew have exclusively put forth for him.

“Stupid is not when you’ve already apologized a hundred times! Stupid is being such a crybaby and a bitch about it!” Mathew retorts, gaining his better end of the argument.

“What a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Anthony chimes in, a hand resting on his chin, adoring his two best friends upon getting used to the best worst duo he’s ever known in his life.

“Shut up, Beau.” you say, throwing him a glare.

“Well, beautiful is definitely not in Y/N’s dictionary.” Mathew chides with a smirk, enough to earn himself a scoff from you.

“You know what? I don’t have the time for this bullshit.” you cuss, finally retreating, your already heavy heart taking a better hold on your thoughts, blocking your ability to even come up with a clever remark to come back at Mathew.

You throw the delicate, yet already ruined piece of fabric towards his way as hard as you could before marching out of the kitchen and head off for work.

“Fucking unbelievable.” Mathew curses under his breath once he catches the silk linen, shaking his head as he turns his attention back to the morning task at hand.

You were fucking unbelievable.

Once the boys were left alone, Tito raises a brow, briefly looking back after your footsteps, “What happened here, anyway?” he asks, having realized what must’ve caused such a heated argument so early in the morning.

“I used this handkerchief to wipe the whole thing off and she just went ape shit! I mean–” Anthony cuts Mathew the moment he recognizes the thin cloth he was holding.

“Woah, woah. Wait a minute, you used this?” he muses, stressing on the possibility of what might have been Mathew’s biggest mistake of the day, his eyes darting between him and the fabric.

With furrowed brows, admittedly weirded by how Anthony reacted almost the same way you did a while ago. “It’s just a handkerchief, man. I can go buy her a bunch if that’s what she wants.” he says defensively.

Anthony shakes his head wildly, his irises now dilated as he examined the stain already sitting on the material. “No no. Oh god no.” He says, snatching Mathew’s phone from the counter to google quick remedies that might remove the said stain from the already ruined cloth.

“What do you mean no? You guys spend way too much time together, you’re beginning to be as weird as her.” He scoffs, sipping on a glass of water.

“No, you dumbass. This was her grandma’s!” Anthony says, eyes fixated on the delicate handkerchief. Remembering how you’d told him how long it has been in your family that having Nana give it to you after all the years you’ve spent admiring it from afar meant so much to you than anything anyone could have possibly given you.

“So?” Mat casually replies, closing his arms to his chest before adding, “Is she dead or something? Didn’t you guys visit her for the Holidays?”

“What?? Why would you even say that?– You’re such a jerk.” Tito shakes his head, appalled by how Mathew easily shrugged the matter off when he knew full well how sentimental he himself could be.

“Well, how am I supposed to know?? If that thing’s so important I wouldn’t leave it on top of some random shit lying around!” He counters, defending himself for reaching for the nearest cloth he could find when he did whatever he does best when he’s in the kitchen.

Tito clicks his tongue and looks at Mathew exasperatedly, “Tell me, where did you find this exactly?”, to which Mathew only answered with a quiet voice, “It may or may not have been placed on top of her purse…” he avoids Tito’s gaze, finally catching on how he was the one in the wrong.

“See? Jerk. Now, go figure out how you’ll take the stain off.” Anthony demands, his voice embraced by a definitive tone. One that made Mathew know he wouldn’t be able to persuade him into letting this go.

Tito takes one good look at Mat’s catastrophic attempt to feed the house, striding his way out of the kitchen, “And make sure you apologize!” he adds, footsteps receding into the hallway, leaving Mathew scratching the back of his head out of guilt and frustration.

You have spent the following days either avoiding Mathew or ignoring his existence completely. Anthony talked to you the night that incident happened and assured you that he would do his best to have it fixed. You didn’t want to bother him nor take time off his already busy schedule, but you were just so bummed to even say a word.

That night, you spent the entire evening in your room, facetiming your mother, saying how much you’re missing home. You can’t bring yourself to tell her about the handkerchief. For some people, and that people being Mathew, it might’ve been just some silly thing but Tito knew how much that small piece of cloth meant to you.

Mathew, on the one hand, was for sure guilty to his bones. He didn’t see you that night nor the nights that followed. He didn’t think much of it but when he found himself searching for that same handkerchief in the hopes of replacing it only to find out that it was nowhere to be found in the market, was when he did realize that ruining the one thing that held you closer to home was the last push your non-existent relationship with him had to have for you to finally lose any ounce of amour nor civility you once had for him.

Anthony wasn’t a stranger for said changes either. He began waking up to a still apartment enveloped by a wall you profusely built between you and Mathew. You even unknowingly shut Tito out in the process as well. It was like you were grieving. Like, it was a whole different kind of heartbreak he knew he can’t get you out of that easily.

You tried making it up for your best friend of course. Knowing that you haven’t been yourself since that day. You thought about the possibility of having taken the whole thing too seriously that you might’ve overreacted a bit. Nonetheless, no matter how much you try to push it in the back of your head, Mathew’s mere presence began irking you in ways it never did back when you used to enjoy the bickering you exchange with him, especially in bed.

“Thanks for dinner, belle.” Anthony politely says, earning a smile from you so effortlessly upon hearing the pet name he uses for you. Something Mat only shrugged off, trying to piece out the same gratitude, “Thanks, y/n.” he genuinely adds. But as expected, he had nothing.

You pick up all the empty plates, including Mathew’s, who was sitting in front of you while Anthony sat at the end of the table. Tito hurriedly wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes the plate from you, “Let me help you with that.” he says with the same kind eyes that has never failed to win you over.

“Yeah. Okay, sure.” you shortly answer, leading the way towards the kitchen, leaving one Mathew Barzal feeling small and alone at the dining table.

𖥸

If there was one thing you’d gladly acknowledge after all the years of watching people kiss Mathew’s ass was that he was is really good. He’s fast and he can do unimaginable damage on the ice. There’s no denying that he deserves to be the face of the New York Islanders. But we know you don’t care about any of that. The only thing you care about was how unbelievably good he is at everything he does that not even you or your pink rubber toy could suffice.

He was just that damn good.

As your eyes shut whilst you mount your pleasures on your own, biting your lips to choke in your own moans, Mathew handling you was what circled your mind since you started defiling yourself in the bathroom. You let your arousal be washed away by the warm water trickling down your skin, envisioning Mat’s rough hands grazing your body, touching your core like his hands were meant to do nothing else but that.

It was wrong and pathetic, but you couldn’t think about anything else. You and Mathew have been avoiding each other for days. The dynamic went so much worse than when you weren’t sleeping together and you know that Tito was bound to notice it soon. Thankfully, the boys were on another roadie for a week so you had quite some time to think things through about your current sitch with Mathew. You didn’t like any of it because it felt like you gave a fuck (which obviously, you didn’t). You just feel obligated to sort things out with the biggest ass that ever lived because you didn’t want to involve Tito into the mess you’ve wrongfully made yourself.

You hop off the shower feeling unsatisfied. You haven’t gotten laid since the last time you were with Mat. Which is sad, not just for you but also for her. You’d think considering the boys aren’t around you’d bring someone home, maybe even one or two. But just thinking about going on bars alone so you could find a potential bone-mate is already far too tedious and you weren’t in the right state to do so. You had so much going on at work, anyway. And you can always use a wand to scratch an itch. Neither would satisfy you more than how someone-who-will-not-be-named could, but you might as well be pathetic without having to hook up with some random dude whose name you’ll eventually forget in the morning.

You opted to wear an old pull-over you borrowed (took) from Tito years and years ago and partnered it with some leggings so you’d be comfortable enough for the rest of the night. You have nothing else to do and you are already fed up with your workload that watching a crappy movie off of Netflix doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

With a giant bowl of popcorn and two bottles of beer in your hands, you march your way into the living room, ready to spend the night binge watching romantic comedies, crying and laughing in between. Or maybe just fall asleep on the couch while your comfort TV series is on.

The boys won three games out of the four that they had during the trip and you only saw the ones they won so you were thankful that you didn’t have to sit at home alone watching their faces fall after that OT lost against the Flyers. Anthony phoned you that night and you can just feel the relief in his voice that you didn’t have the time to see it. They weren’t playing like they should. Thankfully, they were able to bounce back.

Your eyes were beginning to grow tired halfway into the movie when you hear the front door open, followed by luggages dragged into the house tirelessly.

“Y/N?” Anthony calls out.

You hit the movie on pause and hurriedly make your way towards the hallway. “You’re home already?”

They were already taking their coats off when you met them halfway, Tito was putting his away while Mat had just taken off his toque and was running his hands through his hair, unconsciously meeting your eyes upon hearing your voice.

You quickly break it off when you give Tito a quick embrace and plant a small kiss on his cheeks, “I texted you.” he says, eyebrows quirked, surprised that you didn’t know.

In an effort to avert any more of his questions you immediately point towards the movie you had on, “Haven’t checked my messages, sorry.”

“So, you guys ate dinner?” you ask, passing Mat a quick look. One that came as a surprise because he wasn’t even hoping to hear a word from you given the way you two left things a little too on the edge, screwing with the whole thing even more.

Mat avoids your irises and faintly nods.

“Big win tonight huh? Told you, you can do it.” you say with a beaming smile, nudging Tito with your hips as you get back to watching your film. “You gotta do what you gotta do, babe.” he winks, lugging his stuff around towards his bedroom.

“Barz, don’t stay up, Trotz needs us first thing in the morning.” he looks back, reminding Mat who was already standing in front of his door, “Yeah. Sure.” he replies shortly with a tired voice.

You and Anthony bid your own goodnights whilst Mat mutters a quiet “Night.” when you nodded his way, clearly not enjoying any of the first awkward encounters he’s yet to have with you. Seven days is quite a reasonable time for your anger to dissipate, a short yet seemingly long period of time that’s just enough to kill off whatever guilt Mat had initially felt before you parted ways.

𖥸

“Alright, I’m off.” Tito casually declares, putting on his watch. “There’s food in the fridge, and tell Mat to go easy on my beers.” he gives you a knowing look as he bends down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

Tito had been seeing some mystery girl for quite some time now. He hasn’t told you anything spicy in particular but by the looks of it, you could already tell that she has him towed.

“Good luck, loverboy.” you say, swatting his hand away and pushing him out to the door. The two of you cringe at what you said, sharing one last laugh before you watch him disappear out into the hallway.

The apartment was cramped the whole day because Anthony and Mat had the day off. Tito had plans for the night, obviously. As per you, you had plans lounging in the living room, switching through channels in the hopes of stumbling on a show that isn’t half as bad than the rest.

Thankfully, a Sandra Bullock film was on HBO.

The Proposal, to be exact.

You decide to dive in the film with a cold bottle of beer on your hand. There was no way you’d be washing down the effects of a naked Ryan Reynolds with a glass of water. You haven’t gone mad.

The film was already at the part where Sandra was proposing to Ryan when you hear Mathew’s door open. You haven’t talked since the night they came back home other than the small nods you exchange upon passing by each other. All of which are mind-numbing and impossible to swallow. The awkwardness has not dissipated completely unlike what you presumed. You were just grateful Tito was always around that you didn’t need to be alone together.

Alarmed by another impending awkward encounter, you clear your throat and turn up the volume a little to remain focused on the film, investing your sole attention to it even if you have seen the movie countless times.

Mathew, in his sweats and a gray shirt on, carefully makes his way out the hallway and into the common area after snatching a glass of water from the kitchen. You see him move further into the room but you make sure that he knows you weren’t paying attention. You take that he must’ve been thirsty and needed a drink but you don’t see him move further in the corner of your eye like he was making his way back in his room. It almost seemed like he was actually waiting for you to look his way.

Hesitantly, you follow your gut feel and see him standing a few feet away from you. “Yes?” you ask when you catch him staring.

Mat blinks a few times, “Hi.” he takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the awkwardness circling the two of you.

When the only thing he gets from you is a tight lipped smile, he shakes his head and proceeds to walk where you were seated.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, his voice deep and clear enough to send your mind elsewhere.

Regardless, you contain yourself and return a polite smile, “No. Not at all.”

“So, what are we watching?” he sits once you gestured onto the other end of the couch.

“The Proposal.” you answer before throwing a question yourself, “Aren’t you supposed to be resting now?” you shake your head, absentmindedly chuckling. Not intending to make him feel that you’ve forgotten about what he’d done weeks ago.

“I couldn’t sleep.” he props his back and lets himself sink in the cloud couch, his legs spread wide eating up most of the space left for the two of you to share. “Oh. I only like him when he’s Deadpool” he points out, cringing at how you were watching another one of your romantic comedy films.

You roll your eyes, admiring how he’s trying to break the tension between the two of you despite his unsolicited sentiments, “I like it when we were on not-speaking terms.”

Mat mocks you for a while but decides to watch the movie so you let him be and get back to the film, letting a giggle slip every now and then. Something you thought Mat wouldn’t notice.

Watching the remainder of the film went with ease. ‘Course, Mat would steal a few glances here and there (ones he thought had gone unnoticed), but overall the quietude between the two of you was bearable. Almost like it was just two buddies hanging out.

Although, not long after, your eyes were torn away from the huge flat screen when Mat spoke, “By the way,” he looks at you and calls your attention.

Puzzled, you watch him take something from his pocket, “Here.”

Once you see what he has in his hands your heart froze. Mat carefully hands you the cloth with an apologetic smile; his eyes soft with a hint of hope as he watches your reaction.

“What– How?” you ask in bewilderment, failing to comprehend how he was able to fix the handkerchief. It looked the same as before. All of its details were in place, it was good as new. You were holding Nana’s handkerchief.

Mathew didn’t bother to dance around and just offered you a quiet chuckle, evidently enjoying the wide smile painted on your lips. “Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.” he apologizes, shielding you from all the strings he had to pull just to get that cloth fixed up.

You hold the smooth and delicate piece in your hands as you look at Mat, letting your feelings get a better hold of you, “Thank you.” you say, unknowingly reaching out, your arms wrapped around his neck as you give him a quick peck on the cheek.

Mathew’s hand instinctively finds your back to support you, startling himself in the process. Nonetheless, the thought was easily shrugged off by how close your faces were, your smiles fading once you meet each other’s gaze. You feel the same rush you felt the night you and Mat got involved for the first time. Your hand was placed rather endearingly on his cheek, your faces, just like all the other times, unreasonably close to each other. Mat then clears his throat and only looks you in the eye.

Afraid that the innocent hug would lead to something more, perhaps another mistake to be jotted down on the board, you breathe a laugh and break away, “Uh, thanks again. It really means a lot.”

Mat must’ve sensed that you were being cautious so he puts his guards up and returns a chuckle, “So… we good?” he asks, reaching out a hand your way.

Your fingers slide into his, gliding its way perfectly, your hands fitted well with his despite the obvious difference in proportion. His grip tightens in the most comfortable way possible.

A smile breaks off his lips once he hears you answer, “We’re good.”

“I should probably get some sleep.” Mat tells you the moment you pull your hand away.

“Are you gonna be okay here?” he adds.

You looked at him, not wanting him to be obligated to keep you company, “Oh, yeah. I’m a big girl.” you say, making Mathew grin, shaking his head.

“Alright. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

Not picking up on whatever sloppy insinuation Mat has thrown out carelessly into thin air, he hears a simple “Mkay.”

Thus far, letting him know that his subtle invitation was far from being RSVP’d.

𖥸

“You’ll be in your room?” Mat scoffs, staring at the ceiling while he lays on his bed, “The fuck was that, Mat?” he scolds himself for always coming up with the worst things to say.

Mathew would be lying if he’d say he hasn’t thought about you (or doing you) for the past week of not being around home. But he definitely wouldn’t deny that the roadie kind of made things easier for him because then he didn’t have to stomach seeing you walk around the flat looking like the hot piece of ass that you were in his eyes.

Mat knows he needs to pull his shit together. He wasn’t some 13 year-old boy raging with hormones. He needs to control himself around you and he could only do that once he learns how to push this whole thing between the two of you behind him.

What happened with you and Mathew shouldn’t have happened at all. It was just a moment of weakness, and he hated that he’d let his dick (and apparently, him being one) ruin the relationship he once had with you.

Before that night, seeing you do yoga and work out on the terrace was just seeing you drenched in sweat, and in your work out clothes looking icky and constipated. Something he’ll later on tease you about and he’ll end up catching the water bottle you throw in his face. But now, after all that fucking, seeing you sweaty and all worked out in the same yoga pants is just like walking into a porn commercial. Like the ones they show before the actual porn. In fact, he doesn’t even have to watch any of it. Tents and Boners were pretty much sponsored by you from then on. It’s sick, and he knows it.

However, the tension he feels with you is palpable that he’s even certain that you feel it too. But how can he be wrong? He sees how your eyes blink a few times when he’s fresh out the shower, he sees you follow his trance when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, and you never fail to slide him shadowed hints with every touch you “accidentally” pass at him. The kind that’s short enough to remain innocent but not so much as to keep him at bay. Mat hated everything about it. He hated that he wanted you– and he hated that he thinks he might be right about you wanting him too.

All that self-loathing aside, did he regret it?

That was one of the things he feels bad about. Because as much as he wants to lie and push it aside, he didn’t regret any of it. He didn’t like you that way and just thought about you sexually but he just wishes that you could push past this and just be friends. He was still sexually attracted to you, yes. But he knows he’d eventually get over it and be back on his game. That is if he can ever find someone who’d be as good as how you were the last three times you’ve let him be with you because it would really help him a lot if he could stop picturing your mouth getting stretched by his cock every time he hops into the shower.

Mat was pulled from his thoughts when he heard a knock on his door. The shy banging sound made his heart beat rapidly in an instant, knowing full well that the two of you were alone in the house and that Tito was, in no way, going to be home for another hour or two.

A faint knock follows the first one before he gets to the door.

“Hi.” you greet him, a moment unfolding like it was déjà-vu.

“Hi.”

“Did I wake you?” you sheepishly ask, your hands balled into fists before eventually settling down to hug your own build, unsure of where to put your hands exactly.

Mat quickly shakes his head, “No. I couldn’t sleep myself.”

You offer him a smile, acknowledging how he’s been nothing but good to you ever since they got home. Of course you wanted to get your hands on him being that you were completely dry and horny ever since you’ve ignored him completely, but you haven’t gone mad and you weren’t a complete neanderthal. You can keep your hands to yourself and act like a decent human being.

“I’m sorry for making things weird between us.” you say, your eyes heavy with guilt. “But I’m only apologizing for being so unreasonable for the last couple of weeks.” you reiterated.

To which he only answers with, “You shouldn’t be. You have every right to be unreasonable– and I know that I’ve been a giant prick that day. It’s what I deserve.” he bites his lower lip, scratching his brow as he continues, “That’s why if there’s someone who owes someone an apology, it should be me. What I did was pretty crappy, so… I’m sorry.”

Like all the other times, Mathew towers over you wearing the same confidence he does when you’re around. Your bodies were reasonably apart from each other but close enough to mean something else if someone had walked by. Mathew was still in his room while you were out in the hallway, separated by the thin line made by the door frame.

You feel Mat’s steady breathing and everything went still. He looks down at you, pretty eyes drowning yours. His messed up bed hair ridiculously makes up for how dressed down he was. No, actually, he looks fine even when he is. And all of that sight instantly makes your throat dry as you feel something curl in your belly, enough to make your hands sweaty as the thought of tasting his lips again cruised your mind entirely.

Mathew was no stranger to the said feeling either. He watched you punish him more at how plump and inviting your lips were. Or how your hand brushed on your clothes as you remain uncomposed under his gaze.

Mat was becoming accustomed to how the two of you meet. Same time, same place, only this time, a different hallway. He steps further and crosses the line that divides the two of you, making you take a deep breath as his scent floors every nerve in your body. Waking what has been awake ever since that moment you shared back in the living room even more.

“Yeah, okay.” you gather yourself, “I– I should probably head back.”

Just by how his shoulders dropped, you knew you had said the wrong thing. And you hated that you did. Mat clears his voice and swallows, breaking off his gaze, “You probably should.”

“Good night, Mat.” you smile, trying to regain yourself.

“Good night.” he replies as he watches you turn your back before finally closing the door behind him.

Frustrated for he was already starting to feel things more than just being “sorry”, Mat leans against the door and runs a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath and tries to get you out of his head.

He was about to walk away from the door and sleep off his frustration when he hears your faint footsteps on the other side of the door. He rests his head back on the wooden surface and sighs, “You’re still out there, aren’t you?”

There was a total silence for a moment, devoid of the knowledge of how you had your fist, ready to knock yet again, suspended in mid-air.

Mathew hears you deny sheepishly, “No.”

You hear him let out a small laugh, knowing that he was trying to contain himself.

The door sprung open again, and for a second you thought how what you’re about to walk into will start another mess for you and Mathew. But how could you possibly think about it that way when you have nothing else but this man standing at the other end?

A friend that took no seconds to waste as he finally lets his thirst and perhaps foolishness, get the better hold of him once he cages your heated face in his hands, crashing into your lips as fast as he’d taken you to his end of that thin gray line that has once irkingly parted him from you. A gray line you’re both willing to cross if that meant sharing another night in between halls and thin walls.

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #mat barzal smut #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl smut #hockey smut #letters to barzy #barzzal imagines

498 notes · View notes

theramseyloft · 3 years ago

Text

8/30/21 Loft Notes

Got the trash out, cans rebagged

Cleaned up and refreshed Cheeto and Cotta's feed station.

Dove palace is clean.

Lulu is 8 weeks.

Flint is 6 weeks and getting his first shots tonight.

CT4-1 is 3 week old.

And SC3-2 is 2 weeks.

Who ever said an armpit application of ivermectin is less traumatic on the birds than dipping has never had to handle Pants and Todoroki.

Both tippler boys put every ounce of their strength into trying to break or dislocate which ever wing I was trying to hold up.

Having to hold body down, wing up, and feathers back so you can see bare skin with one hand to apply by dropper with the other while a furiously strong bird is fighting to bend the wrong way to get put of your grip is a little slice of hell That said, it was much easier on the other birds.

Either tipplers in general or these specific two are fucking nuts.

I have full two hand control over them in a bucket and can much more easily prevent them from hurting themselves.

I do mean Pants and Todoroki are absolutely batshit!

Scared ferals put up less fight thinking they are going to die if they don't than these two angry over a minor annoyance.

Patron: "The person who told me that breeds MOFs, every one of which he probably hand raised. If the ivermectin sheep drench works otherwise then you could figure out a different location to access skin. Avio Ekto/Endo drops recommend under the feathers on the back of the neck."

I've experimented with endo ecto drops.

Don't waste funds on them. I can tell you conclusively they always leave enough lice to continue the infestation.

I have not tried the Ivermectin application, and there is no way an outside source of lice can reinfest them in my QT room, so it's ideal for experimentation.

Patron: "That's the experience I had with Scalex. GLPR uses it, but it never completely got rid of the lice on my birds."

I really have to be paranoid aF about parasites.

It may be easier to apply on either side of the base of the neck for fractious birds like Pants and Todoroki.

I'll try that next week.

Patron: "I suspect some populations have become resistant."

Very likely.

It may be that the dosages for a lot of these OTC were initially accurate.

And they have not been updated as resistance is gained.

Permethrine is hard to develop resistance to because it isn't just neurotoxic.

It's also caustic until it dries.

So lice are fucked both ways on contact, but that's also why you have to be very careful mixing it.

Woo!

Charlie has gotten a LOT stronger!

God bless Pants, doing the Angel Wing Strut like he just returned victorious after beating my ass.

Domino got dose 4 of the Ro-sec-metro nidazole combo.

Three days remain.

Satin tread Danica.

Scan is loudly declaring himself a cock.

I've washed the window mirror swing and weight stones.

Replaced the screen, mats, and bricks.

Mucked the back 1/3 nest boxes.

And sifted the back 1/3 of the sand

Satin just tread Suki

I just noticed I haven't seen Hoss today.

There are a lot of birds, and she's inclined to hide from me, but I can usually find her after a few minutes.

I checked the garbage bag, just in case.

Thankfully not there...

Well shit.

I can't find her.

The last time I remember seeing her for sure was that entire week it just poured buckets.

She may have ducked out when I was trying to get in with a heavy bag of feed I was really having to fight to keep from ripping in the middle.

Most places are closed right now, but I'm going to call around to the shelters and any place that might intake a pigeon and see if any one has found her.

She's always been kind of terrible, so I didn't think anything of Nettle doing absolutely all of the feeding.

She usually keeps as far as she can away from me, so I didn't think anything of not seeing her either.

Huh

Tha fuk's going on with this Suki peep?

It might be spread?

I guess we'll have to see when their tail and shields come in more.

Wukong is a weird mix of T-pattern and light check.

On his right side, he looks T-pattern, but like some one colored in light check at the center of his shield.

The left side has a much more even gradient from light at the center of the shield to T-pattern at the upper edges.

We'll have to see in a few days whether or not the peep is Spread

Cotta's pre-bedtime ritual

We spent $92.10 at Foys on 200g. Metronidazole powder ($24.00), 100g. of Avionidazole ($29.00), Carnitrix 10 tabs, 50ct. ($28.00), and shipping ($11.10)

Bringing our PayPal Balance to $99.80

50 notes · View notes

butterflydm · 3 years ago

Text

wot reread: the fires of heaven (chap 41-chap 42)

spoilers through the fires of heaven; minor further spoilers about how two characters will part ways next book and not see each other for a very long time after that

1. The Maidens are all keeping the secret of Rand and Aviendha hooking up pretty close to their hearts, it sounds like? Rand is pretty sure that Egwene hasn’t found out, anyway. Of course, the Maidens think that Rand and Aviendha have slept together A LOT more times than the actual one (1) time that they have, lol.

2. Apparently, “Min was the only woman who had not made him feel as if he were standing on his head half the time” (emphasis from the text). This is, of course, not something we’ve gotten to witness on-page yet, lol. But at least we know some things about MIN that RAND likes, anyway, even if Min doesn’t seem to like anything about him (except his ‘silky hair’ and that he’s not completely hideous to her sight). Anyway, once they are finally in the same place again, I will note whether or not Min ever confuses him, as he claims here that she does not.

3. Aw, he thinks if he could be friends with the Aiel chiefs, it would ‘especially’ be Mangin, because Mangin’s sense of humor reminds him of Mat. (once again, Perrin is the Other Friend lol). Rand likes Mat’s sense of humor (I figure if I’m going to keep track of Things People Like, I might as well add Mat to the list of people I’m tracking). And he’s worrying about Mat. :-(

4. Egwene hesitating to use the One Power as a weapon... I wish I could see inside her head. Is it because she’s afraid it might make the Wise Ones realize she’s not a real Aes Sedai? Is she worried about Moiraine’s disapproval? We know she currently has no issue breaking the ‘lying’ one of the Three Oaths. I’m as perplexed about her feelings here as Rand is. Rand senses eyes on him, feeling like they’re Moiraine’s, but it’s Egwene. He feels like there’s very little difference between them right now.

5. Rand’s got a big tower with a big ol’ spyglass on top so that he can take a peek at the situation ahead in Cairhien! I love Rand financing tech upgrades for Randland. Though he and I both like it best when they don’t have to be battle-related. But also: still very cool. Rand, Mat, and Elayne are all experimental sorts and would be very cute engineers together. Rand is more of the philosophical ‘what if’ sort, Elayne wants to be the hands-on inventor, and Mat can figure out the logistics.

6. It still throws Rand off, to see young men a couple of years older than him bowing and scraping to him. But he’s learned how not to let it show. He doesn’t make his discomfort their problem.

7. Couladin has Cairhien under siege. Rand notes that Cairhien flies his Dragon banner and the banner of some Tairen High Lords, but none of Cairhien’s own Rising Sun banner. Is this the first place we learn that Asmodean put the Dragons on Couladin’s arms? Did Rand find that out off-screen or am I just not remembering it lol?

8. Rand also sometimes gets battle memories (but his are all from LLT and not a whole bunch of people, like Mat’s) but he tries not to think about them.

9. Oh, this whole goodbye set-up between Rand and Mat is so sad, even though I know it isn’t actually the final goodbye before the Great Cauthor Drought. The way that Mat talks himself up into it, the way he had to keep talking himself into it, even as he insists that he doesn’t feel the ta’veren pull anymore. And Rand deliberately setting something of a trap to try to figure out if Mat’s secret really battle-related, like he suspects he is, which is sad on Rand’s part because he wanted so much earlier in the book for Mat to trust him with his trauma and now he’s tricking it out of him in order to potentially use him in the future.

10. “Always leave a way out, unless you really want to find out how hard a man can fight when he has nothing left to lose.” He is able to, single-handedly, come up with a battle plan that is basically what Lan plus several experienced Aiel clan chiefs came up with. “There was no such thing as fairness in war. You took your enemy from behind, when he least expected it, when and where he was weakest.”

... I am having ‘viper in the bosom’ thoughts about post-canon Mat right now. Oh, wow, I think that might be a fic idea. I’m gonna write that down and be right back. I probably won’t finish/post the story until after I finish my reread but... yeah. Having A Thought right now.

“Victory settles a lot of arguments in most men’s heads.”

11. Rand’s resignation to Mat leaving is also Real Sad. Ugh. I’m so sad because this feels like a preview of the actual time they split up and then we get the Drought except I’m pretty sure that time will be worse because I think that one wasn’t even meant as a goodbye, it was a ‘see you soon’ and then they didn’t and I’m sad

It’s also sad that both Mat and Rand feel like Egwene isn’t on their side and that telling her anything is the same as telling Moiraine and the Wise Ones. And it;s also again funny/sad how completely Rand and Mat are on the same page about this and yet how they can’t share their trauma with each other.

About leaving Rand behind: “he felt a little sad about that, and a little foolish for feeling sad, yet a man had to look after himself.” and “if he could forget that Rand could channel -- and he had not thought of it once in days; days! -- then it was far past time to be gone.” Just getting to witness how Mat processed Rand being a man who could channel has been such a fascinating treat during this reread.

12. Mat considers just sneaking out without telling Melindhra, since she did basically just claim him as hers without ever actually asking him and he’s not sure how willing she would be to accept a goodbye.

13. The goodbye is so reluctant and awkward, with Mat basically memorizing the way Rand’s hand feels in his (very evocatively too, noting the roughness of the calluses and the distinct ridges of the heron brand in his palm) - “Rand half-stepped around actually putting an end to it” -- I am IN PAIN. All seven clan chiefs and three Tairen lords, btw, were forced to wait outside Rand’s tent for the entire time that he was saying goodbye to Mat, lol, yeah, Rand has priorities thanks.

14. Mat whistles a song about dancing with death as he leaves, and Rand will soon order Asmodean to play him a song about death. The boys are so sad about their separation and so repressed about it. Rand literally orders Asmodean to play him the saddest song that he knows.

15. Anyway, then we get the reveal that Rand did deliberately send Lan into the tent first to try to scope out Mat’s battle-knowledge and confirm his suspicions about Mat’s memories. “with only a few minutes to study the maps, he laid out close to the battle plan that Rhuarc and the others made. He saw the difficulties and the dangers, and how to meet them. He knows about miners and siege engines, and using light cavalry to harry a defeated foe.” Lan doesn’t try to question Rand on why Mat might know those things, but Rand wouldn’t have answered him anyway, as he feels he doesn’t have the right to share “what little answer he had”.

16. He’s so bitter and self-hating about realizing that he’s capable of using the knowledge in Mat’s head for his own advantage. He has been so so protective of Mat over the course of the books so far, so this really is a very big breach against his own boundaries. He’s so disgusted with himself for it that he unfavorably compares himself to the Seanchan. Oh, and Lan bows to Rand for the first time. He doesn’t see a sheepherder anymore.

17. “I’ve planned a hundred battle this size or more and given orders that led to ten times as many” -- LTT thought that Rand doesn’t want to claim as his own. He wants to believe that he’s only in on the battle planning as a ‘polite fiction’ and doesn’t actually understand any of it. So, you know. Just like Mat.

18. Rand already misses having Mat there. It’s been five minutes. He hasn’t even left the camp yet.

19. lolz more pipe smoking. literally everyone in this war meeting is smoking a pipe.

20. “Tears were a luxury he could no longer afford, not even inside.” BABY.

#wot #wheel of time #wot reread #the fires of heaven #wot book spoilers #wot spoilers #cauthor

10 notes · View notes

saltedpeppermintmocha · 3 years ago

Text

how sweet it is (to be loved by you) - todoroki x reader [chapter 2/8]

Summary:

You are the head baker and owner of a struggling bakery. When pro hero Creati comes in for a wedding cake, of course you accept.

As a business owner, you are excited about the boom in profits resulting from the publicity of working a hero wedding.

As a baker, you are ecstatic to work on an extravagant cake - your most ambitious one to date.

As a woman, you are terrified as you begin to grow feelings for the one person you REALLY cant: the groom.

NOTES: NO infidelity, NO cheating, NO divorce!

Chapter One

MATURE : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT // 18+

Four Months Before the Wedding

“Hello.”

His voice is deep and his words soft-spoken. He politely kicks his winter boots against the mat at the front door and takes another step into the bakery. The movement causes flakes of snow to detach from his hair and flutter to the ground around him. It’s almost magical, like a scene from a fairytale. Wow. You can’t help but stare.

The man is tall -more so than you’d thought from the rare interview you’ve seen of him- and impeccably well dressed. His expensive-looking navy coat is long and chic, somehow managing to fit both his smaller waist and powerful shoulders. It’s probably tailored. You idly think of your coat hanging in the back: an item you’ve had for about five years now that definitely looks its age. What wouldn’t you give to be one of these rich people that for some reason seem to be visiting your bakery recently.

That thought brings you back to reality. Right. Pro hero Shouto is in your bakery.

Why is he in your bakery?

It slowly dawns on you. Rich people. The wedding. “Oh, you must be here for the cake.”

“I am.” He nods, looking around the little front area. You feel a little self-conscious, hoping that everything he sees is up to his standards. “Forgive me, were you about to close?”

“No no!” You wave your hands as he turns to look at you. “It’s okay! This actually works better, we can discuss everything without being interrupted.” Walking over to the door, you flip the sign over to ‘closed’ and gesture towards the seating area. “Please take a seat. I’ll go grab my stuff and be right back.”

Turning on your heel, you head for the back room without another look back at the hero. Instead of going straight for your wedding binder and notebooks, you lean against the nearest wall and place your head in your hands.

Oh my god. Shouto Todoroki is the groom.

Somehow, this wedding is an even bigger deal than you thought. Obviously, any hero wedding became an important event, but you had thought (hoped, even) that maybe Creati was marrying a civilian or a lesser-ranked hero. The wedding would still be a big deal, but you were confident in your ability to handle it. Shouto Todoroki, a beloved hero in the top 15, is definitely not what you were expecting. This wedding is bound to be huge in a way that you definitely had not prepared for.

The hero profession is a solitary one. Pro heroes rarely date, and if they do it is a very secretive affair. It is extremely dangerous to date a hero and those brave enough to try become an instant target for villains. This target only gets bigger the higher the hero’s rank is, and most top heroes don’t even try.

Thinking about it, you can’t really think of any of the top 10 heroes other than Creati (apparently) who are in a relationship. Sure, there were rumors about the number six hero Deku and the number twenty-four hero Uravity, and Endeavor must have had someone if he has kids but-

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

Todoroki is, well, a Todoroki . He is Endeavor’s son. The terrifying number one hero will probably be at this wedding. The number one hero will probably eat your cake. And if it’s both Todoroki and Yaoyorozu’s wedding, you can bet that a bunch of other big-name heroes will be there as well. Your vision swims as pressure pushes on your shoulders. How can you even begin to deliver a cake up to this caliber? You might be good, but you’re just one person.

You’re going to need to block off more days.

After what is probably a suspiciously long pause, you manage to calm yourself down enough to push off the wall to grab your binder and notebook. You pause before heading out to the front area, taking a deep breath to steel yourself before walking out.

Todoroki has found a small table near the window. He has partially turned away from you, face resting on his palm as he looks out to the snowy street. He has taken off his scarf and coat, both draped carefully over the back of his chair. How does he manage to look so elegant while doing something so normal?

You pinch your thigh. Stop it. You can’t think this way about him. You have to be professional. He is a client. He is a married man .

“Sorry for the wait!” You call out, heading over. He turns to look at you as you sit across from him, placing the binder and notebook on the table. You take this opportunity to introduce yourself properly. Up close, you find him even more handsome than before. Those dual-toned eyes are calm and watchful, and his sharp features have a symmetry to them that would not look out-of-place on a Vogue Japan photoshoot.

“Nice to meet you.” Todoroki gives a polite smile, shaking your hand when offered. It’s quite cold. “I believe Momo has already spoken to you about the general idea.”

“Yup!” You nod, taking the moment to open your notebook. “Unless things have changed, we’re still going for a five-tier cake.” Glancing up, you wait for him to nod before continuing. “What design are we thinking of?”

You look down, ready to write quick notes on whatever design has been chosen. This is the part you’ve been both excited for and dreading the most. Normally, you are extremely excited to get a design and to work to bring that design to life. You live for the expression you see on the client's face at their first look at the finished product. This time though...you’re nervous.

The design that is chosen will either make or break your next few months. If the design is easy and normal, you will be able to complete it on time with confidence. If the design is unusual and complicated, you honestly don’t know what you are going to do. This cake has to be perfect down to the smallest details, and you have to balance your time between the cake and running the store. Maybe you can hire another baker on a contract for help. Hmm.

After a few moments of no response, you look up. “I don’t know.” That normally blank face seems unsure. His mouth pulled into a small frown.

“You...don’t know.” You blink. That’s a bit weird. “Okay...I just thought that you would have a bit more input.” He is the groom, after all. You didn’t think Yaoyorozu was the kind of woman to insist that only she had input in these matters. Wait. Was that rude to say? You decide to push past it for now. “No matter, as long as we can get the full contract done for today I’ll be happy. I’ll need the design elements as soon as possible though if we want them to be completed on time. Some parts will probably need a lot of planning. Do we know the flavour or flavours yet?”

“No.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth. Calm, be calm. “ Okay. I’d like to set up a taste test of the top requested flavours, so that you can get an idea of how the cake will actually taste and make the final decisions. I’ll need to do that as soon as possible.”

“I understand.” He nods, a bit stiffly.

“Do you...have a date in mind?”

He gives you a surprised look, two-toned eyes flickering over you. “...for the wedding?”

You sit up straight. “No!” What the hell? Did he think you were propositioning the groom to his own wedding? “You obviously have a date for the wedding. For the taste test!”

“Oh.” He replies simply, not seeming to understand the absolute absurdity of his own question. “No, I will likely not be involved with that. I only came today as a favour.” A favour?

Todoroki takes note of your confused expression and explains. “They got held up by the villain attack.” Oh, that makes sense. Yaoyorozu must have gone to help the others. The U.A students tend to appear whenever possible to help each other out. You think it’s sweet that they have such a strong bond after graduation. You don’t really talk to anybody you went to school with anymore.

His explanation does give your meeting a bit more context. If Yaoyorozu is ‘in charge’ of the cake, and Todoroki did not expect to even be meeting you, you can’t really get too annoyed at him that he doesn’t have the answers. At least he showed up and didn’t leave you wondering if you’d been stood up by the heroes. In the end, you decide to table the question about the cake tasting date, but underline it in your notebook. You’ll need that, soon.

The rest of the meeting goes smoothly. The two of you go over the contract in as much detail as possible. While it is extremely unorthodox for you to leave blank spaces in your contracts, you are sort of forced to do so in the areas of flavors and design. In the end, the hero couple is paying over double the amount you would normally charge for the cake. You can’t imagine any crazy design or flavour going over that cost. Neither hero seems like the crazy type of client. You’ll be fine. Hopefully. If you’re wrong then...well...you’re kind of screwed. The publicity has to be worth it.

After only about an hour of discussion (you really don’t have too much to go over, with Todoroki knowing nothing about the design or flavours), the meeting is over. You close your notebook, stand up and offer a hand to shake to end the meeting. Todoroki stands, shaking your hand with his cooler one. He assures you that somebody will reach out to you soon about the needed elements. You hope you’re right.

“I am sorry that I kept you after hours.” He says as he gracefully slides on his coat, glancing outside. “I hope you don’t have too far to walk.”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry, I actually live upstairs.” Something flickers in his face that you can’t catch.

Then he nods. “I see.” He wraps his scarf around his head, somehow managing to look both cute and attractive. He heads towards the door, the bell chiming as he opens it. “Goodbye then.”

“Goodbye!” You smile and wave. “Be safe out there!”

You watch as he leaves, completely still until you can no longer see the red and white hair out the window. Letting out a deep breath, you sink back down into the chair.

Well, that sure was something.

----

You’re not sure exactly what prompted the suddenly quick response after so long of nothing, but some of the information you need comes the very next day.

It’s early morning. The store has just opened, you can hear the slight bustle of your loyal morning folk as they come to get their breakfast. Your morning worker -a young man named Tanaka who is almost scarily jolly in the morning- welcomes everyone with his juxtaposition of a voice: booming yet somehow soft.

You have been down at the bakery for hours now, getting the first round of bread, pastries, and other necessary items complete before opening. It’s a lot of work, but you can’t complain. At least you still have work. You have just finished a batch of your personal favourite, rosemary goat cheese croissants when your phone rings in your pocket.

Pulling your phone out of your pocket (the thing has been covered in flour before, it’ll be fine), you check the contact name.

[ Contact: C Manager ]

Your eyes widen, and you instantly accept the call. With one careful eye on your ovens, you walk over to a nearby wall and lean against it. “Hello?”

"Good morning.” The soft voice of Yaoyorozu chimes in on the other end. You straighten a bit, surprised to hear the hero directly. “My apologies for Shouto the other day. I understand he wasn’t too much help to you.”

“No no, it’s okay!” You gesture with your hands, realizing afterward that she obviously doesn’t see it. “He was really kind, and we still got some work done.”

“I see.” She hums thoughtfully on the other end of the phone. “Well, he did mention that you were getting stressed about certain elements of the cake. Is that correct?” Oh no. You hope she doesn’t think you’re being rude.

But she doesn’t sound annoyed or frustrated at you. If you had to guess, her tone sounded more amused than anything. You bite your lip before answering. “Ah, well...I don’t want to pressure anyone. I just need to get started on certain things or it won't be done in time.”

“Yes, I understand.” She responds. “I figure I can give you some of the design ideas now if that works?”

Oh, hell yes! “That would be wonderful!” You can’t help but smile. Finally. “Do you want to meet somewhere?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’m caught up in this-” She pauses as a loud sound comes through the phone. “ thing at the moment. Will you be amenable to me giving you the details over the phone?”

“Oh, yea! That’s okay.” You push off the wall and rush towards the office area, grabbing the newly named ‘Y&S Wedding’ binder with your flour-covered hands. It’s fine. You anchor the phone between your shoulder and your face and grab a pen with your other hand, opening the notebook to the ‘design’ page. “Okay, what do you got?”

The cake turns out to be pretty normal as far as wedding cakes go, which you are extremely thankful for considering everything. It is a five-tier cake, classic white with cascading pink flowers and green stems/leaves. That is...definitely doable. You can ace this. Thank god. Relief hits you hard in the chest as you write it down.

“Is there anything extra that either party would like to be added?” You ask, your tone dipping into complete professionalism as your mind has a mini-party at the relatively easy design. You doodle a happy face beside your notes.

“No, that is alright,” Yaoyorozu replies. “It was a struggle already to talk him down from some of the crazy cake designs he had in mind to something more...appropriate.” A pause. “Not that any of the ideas were bad per se, but I don’t think the wedding is the place for a giant All Might statue cake.”

Your mind-party screeches to a halt. What?!

“He...wanted an All Might cake?” You ask in disbelief. That doesn’t sound like Todoroki at all. Maybe it was a way to ‘get back’ at Endeavor? There have been plenty of rumors over the years about that relationship, but they team up enough now that most have been pushed to the side.

“Yes, well, he adores the man.” She says it with a fondness that seems almost inappropriate considering your current state.

You think of the calm prince-like man from the day before. Could he really be that big of a fanboy of a hero like All Might? It just doesn’t compute. They were so different. You really can’t picture it. Still, it’s not like you really know Todoroki. Maybe he has some secret obsession or something.

Somehow, you feel like you’ve gained some insider knowledge. The press would pay a good amount for something like this. Not that you ever would go to them, ew. Actually, would they even believe you if you did? It was so absurd.

You realize that you have disappeared into your own thoughts. A big no-no when on the phone with a client. You pull yourself back. “Thank you for the design! I will get to work right away. Do we have any idea when we can do a cake tasting? That is the last big milestone here.”

“I’m sorry.” She responds, sounding truly apologetic. “It’s...difficult between all of our busy schedules. I promise I will work to get something set up.”

Well, honestly that is all you can really ask for. You thank her for the information and her time. The two of you say your goodbyes, and hang up. For a moment you stare down at your notebook in surprise. This is not how you expected things to go. It’s early, and you have a lot to do today. You already can tell you will be partially distracted, your brain trying to figure out the specifics of the design.

You smile. In the end, finally, you have something you can work with.

------

1 Week Later

Ten minutes before closing (of course) , the bell above the door chimes. You can’t see who has walked in, your back to the door as you wipe down a table. You take a brief moment to close your eyes and breathe before turning around.

“Good evening!” Your customer service voice is normally on point -the stuff of legends really- but this time it becomes higher-pitched at the end.

Shouto Todoroki stands in your doorway. Again.

After the last meeting, you truly didn’t expect to see the man again until his wedding (maybe not even then). He didn’t seem to have any input in the cake decisions, nor did he seem to care about not having any input.

“Oh, hello again.” You smile, fighting to keep your voice steady as you shove the cloth in your apron pocket.

“Hello.” His mouth ticks up in a soft smile.

“Were we supposed to have a meeting today?” You ask, pulling your phone out of your pocket to look at the date. No, you don’t think there was a meeting scheduled. You see Todoroki shake his head in your peripheral vision. The hero politely kicks his shoes on the mat and takes a few more steps into the store. Heterochromatic eyes look around for a moment before catching on to something to your right.

“Then what can I do for you today?” You ask politely, following his line of vision to your display case. “Here for a snack?”

Those eyes look straight back at you. “I want to order another cake for the wedding.”

What?! Your heart plummets. Another cake?! This late?! When you’re already having trouble getting the specifics on the first one?!

Todoroki seems to notice your panicked expression, hands going up in a calming gesture. “Not a large cake, but one of those small specialized ones.”

Your panicked thoughts pause. Wait. “Do you mean… a groom's cake?” Please be a groom's cake. You can make a groom's cake.

He nods. “It’s a surprise.” A surprise? For Yaoyorozu?

“Uh, sure. I can do that.” You reply. “Hold on a sec.” Instead of going for your physical notebook in the back, you decide to simply bring up the note app on your phone. It’s not as professional, but it works in a pinch. “Is there a theme?”

“All Might.”

You blink slowly, mouth opening in surprise. All Might?!

The conversation with Yaoyorozu comes to the forefront of your mind. Is he...really just an All Might fanboy? That seems so wrong, somehow. You narrow your eyes at his blank expression, considering him.

“...you must really like him, huh?” You whisper.

Todoroki tilts his head a bit to the side, eyes narrowing in confusion. “He is a very good teacher.”

...is that enough to get an entire cake based off of the man?!

A long moment passes where you both stare at each other, neither seemingly sure of what to say. Eventually, as the professional you have to break the tension. “Well, okay. I can definitely do that. Groom's cakes tend to be relatively small and fun. What elements are you looking for?”

“I will leave that up to you.”

“Uh, are you sure?” That is a lot of power he is just handing you, especially when he seems to care so much about the retired number one hero.

“You are very highly recommended by the Uraraka’s.” Do the Uraraka’s know everybody?! “I don’t really...have an eye for design either way, and as the wedding gets closer I feel like I may become too busy.”

“That makes sense.” You mumble, writing down on your notebook app. Weddings are normally difficult things to plan, and you can’t imagine the amount of stuff necessary for a large hero one. If he wants you to design the smaller cake, you can do that. Your mind is already pulling together a few ideas. Similar to the large cake, you’ll need to make this one amazing. “What budget are you thinking?”

“Is 50,000¥ enough?”

Startled, you look up. 50,000¥ was a lot for a groom's cake. You want to tell him so but said groom is no longer in your line of vision. Glancing over to your right, you find the hero looking into your display case. He seems to care very little about the amount he just mentioned (ugh, rich people) so you simply say. “Um, yeah...that’s enough.”

You walk closer to the man, wondering why he seems so interested in the unsold pastries. “You are about to close, but there are so many left.” He looks up as you get closer. “How much longer will they last?”

Stopping to stand about a foot away from the man, you also look into the display and frown. “Oh...yeah, they are probably going to be thrown out, sadly.”

“Why?” At his soft voice, you glance over at the hero. Your eyes lock with two-toned ones.

“I try to sell the leftovers at half-off the next day, but they still barely sell.” You shrug. “I try to give as much as possible to the local shelters, but it isn’t always possible.” Looking outside at the hail coming down, you know you won't make it there today.

“Do you always make too much?”

“No.” You sigh, looking back at the sad, unbought pastries. “We used to be much busier, a year or so ago, but that chain bakery opened down the street and took a lot of my customers with it. Sometimes I still find myself baking as if it’s as busy as it was a year ago, just on habit really.”

There’s a long silence. Then, “I’ll buy them.”

Your eyes widen as your head swings towards the hero. “What, all of them?!”

“Yes.” He nods.

“No no no you don’t have to do that.” You find yourself saying, hands waving uselessly in front of you. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you or anything, it’s okay. You don’t have to-”

Todoroki shakes his head. “No, I want to.”

He looks straight at you, eyes telling you that he won’t back down from this. And well, you’re really not sure why you are refusing him. Maybe it’s the worry that he thinks of you like a charity. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The next five or so minutes are spent with you packing up every last dessert and pastry into bags. Todoroki will need to use both arms to carry them, but the man doesn’t seem concerned. You are about to put the last rosemary goat cheese croissant away when he interrupts. “Wait, can you leave that one out?”

“Oh, sure.” You reply, placing it on a napkin as you close the paper bags on the counter with a piece of tape.

Todoroki reaches forward, his hand grabbing the croissant with one hand and bringing it to his mouth. One bite, and small parts of the flaky pastry flutter to the ground. You don’t mind, it makes you happy that the croissant lasts the entire day. Also, his wide-eyed expression is adorable.

He chews a bit more and swallows. “It’s good.”

“Thank you.” You smile. “You don’t have to say that, you know. I won't be offended or anything.” Okay, a bit of a lie. You adore those croissants.

“I’m not lying.” He insists, two-toned eyes staring straight at you. “It’s really good.”

His eyes are a bit more intense than normal. You look away, your cheeks warming a bit at the complimentary words. Shit, no. Married man. Nope. Not going there, even for a second. “Well, thank you.” You even your voice and continue packing the bags, keeping your eyes away from the man.

Once done, you carefully slide the bags across the counter towards him. “Here you go. Do you need help taking them anywhere?” Your professional voice is back.

Todoroki gives you a weird look, taking the bags in his hands. The croissant he was eating is mysteriously gone, although you notice a small crumb on his cheek. You look away. “No, I will be okay.” His deep voice echoes a bit in the small room.

After a brief moment, he walks towards the doorway. “Thank you for coming!” You call out, not moving from behind the counter. It’s safer here. “I’ll get started on the groom's cake right away! If I see you again, I’ll run my ideas by you.”

“I’ll come again.” Todoroki looks back with a small nod. “I hope you have a good night.”

The hero leaves as quickly as he appeared, disappearing out of sight only moments after he exits the bakery. If you had a chair behind you, you would sink down into it. As it is, you rest your hands against the counter in exhaustion.

These heroes were taking a lot out of you. Damn.

-------

2 Weeks Later

You stare up at the imposing building ahead of you, dread pooling in your stomach. The building itself was a hotel, tall and beautiful in architecture. That doesn’t matter too much though, you’re not exactly here for the hotel. No, you are here for the fancy-as-hell restaurant at the top: Eragawa.

Even the elevator to the restaurant is fancy. Luckily you are alone in it, so you are able to stare and judge your reflection in the mirrored walls without anyone seeing you. You frown, using your free hand to try and pat some of the flour off your shirt and organize your hair a bit. It doesn’t work, you already look extremely out of place.

It’s not like you wanted to be here at this fancy restaurant in your work slacks and shirt covered in various ingredients. The day had started normally, with you planning to spend your free time getting caught up on overdue paperwork. However, a text early in the morning ruined that plan.

[ Contact: C Manager ]

C Manager: Creati will meet you at Eragawa today at 7:30 p.m for the taste test.

Truthfully, you were starting to get a bit annoyed. The manager never asked your opinion, or even if you were free at the time they wanted you to be. They would always just make plans without you. You understood that Creati must have a really busy schedule right now, but damn . Still, it’s not like you could refuse. You had been waiting for this for a while now.

You: Okay. Thank you!

So, you had spent the rest of the day busier than ever. In between baking and managerial duties, you had to make a variety of cakes and icings in different flavours. Since you didn’t have any idea of where to start, you picked the most common flavours for her to try. It was... a lot to do on your own, and not for the first time did you wish you had some sort of assistant.

By the time you had everything ready to go, you had just enough time to make it to the restaurant. Knowing how impossible it had been trying to get this cake tasting appointment in the first place, you didn’t want to risk anything by being late. You had no time to shower or even change out of your work clothes. You simply grabbed the container of cakes, threw on your old coat, and ran out the door.

Now, though, you wonder if maybe it would have been better to be a bit late. The elevator door opens on the top floor, revealing a modern-looking restaurant in dark colours. You clutch at the handle of the container and look around. Wow. Nobody here looks like they would be caught dead in anything not a designer brand.

The hostess looks you over with a critical eye as you approach, but smiles and welcomes you nonetheless. “Good evening! Welcome to Eragawa, how can I help you today?”

“Um, hello.” You smile awkwardly back. Even the hostess is dressed nicer than you, damnit. “I’m with the Yaoyorozu group?”

The hostess blinks slowly at you. “Of course. Please wait here for a moment.” She turns to disappear into the back, another host taking up her post. You shuffle to the side of the waiting area and look around. The restaurant just screams ‘posh’ with its white tablecloth and candles and napkins folded into roses. You’d bet those glasses are made from actual crystal too. Damn.

The elevator door opens again as a group of well-dressed men and women walk in. You lean into the wall, trying to make yourself invisible to the other customers. It doesn’t work, and a woman in a fancy dress looks down her nose at you as she passes. The host takes them immediately to their table. Figures.

Eventually, the hostess you were talking to returns. “Please come this way.” You notice her smile is a bit larger this time as she leads you through the dining room. Quite a few patrons give you odd looks as you walk by, clearly not used to someone covered in powder walking through the area.

The hostess leads you past the dining room to a hallway in the back. You have just enough time to wonder if you are being taken out back like some sort of mafia movie before she stops at a door. She turns and opens it, bowing low as she gestures for you to go inside.

You walk through, eyes wide. Somehow, the private room is even more extravagant than the dining room. It’s dark and modern, like the rest of the restaurant, with giant windows overlooking the city. A beautiful crystal chandelier hangs from the tall ceiling. In the middle, two people sit at a round table. They look up as you enter.

Yaoyorozu’s eyes widen as she takes you in. You offer her a sheepish smile, before glancing at the other person. He looks at you with a carefully blank face, but you know he must be thinking something by the way those heterochromatic eyes flicker up and down over you.

Both of them are dressed beautifully. Yaoyorozu is in a gorgeous maroon dress and Todoroki in a light-blue button-down shirt and dark pants. They look properly dressed for this occasion.

Somehow, you feel even more embarrassed. Your cheeks warm a bit as you take a step into the room. “Um, hello.” You attempt a smile. “Sorry if I’m late, I just closed the bakery. Hello again, Yaoyorozu, Todoroki”

“Were you unable to get someone else to close the shop?” Yaoyorozu asks. If someone else were asking, you’d assume it was some sort of dig. Instead, she honestly just sounds concerned.

“I would if I could.” You reply, placing the cake carrier on the table. “Unfortunately, it’s just me.”

The two of them share a look that you can’t decipher. You just hope that you haven’t somehow embarrassed them. “Anyways,” You begin, trying to lighten the mood. “I come bearing the best gift of all, free cake!” Not much of a reaction there. Maybe a free cake to a rich person isn’t as great. Hm. “I’m actually glad that both of you could make it, this way we know for sure that the cake is up to your standards.”

Yaoyorozu looks at the carrier on the table. “Should we wait until after dinner?”

“Ah, I actually have food at home.” You lie, wringing your hands in your lap. There was no way you are staying here. It is too awkward. “If you like, I could leave it with you and head out? I won’t be able to stay though.”

“I see.” Todoroki replies, sharing another look with Yaoyorozu. “Then, shall we begin?”

The cake tasting goes...weirdly. While you have brought a wide variety of selection, the two come to a decision within the first three cakes. Their final decision doesn’t even come from one of your options but is rather a mix of a few they haven't tried yet. In the end, they decide on a vanilla cake with both a strawberry and matcha layer in the middle. They decide on it quickly, too.

“Do you want to try the samples I have?” You point to your cake options with strawberry and matcha. It’s a smart move. For all they know, you suck at these flavours.

However, Yaoyorozu simply shakes her head. “You are recommended by the Uraraka’s.” Her mouth ticks up as she looks over at Todoroki. “Plus, Shouto brought your desserts to the agency a few weeks ago. They were a resounding hit. I am confident in your abilities to pull this off.”

You turn to Todoroki, eyes wide. “You did?!”

He nods. Your mind blanks for a second at the implications. A bunch of heroes eating, and liking your desserts. That is really cool. Still, there is a very different matter at hand. “B-but those are pastries and desserts, not cakes.” You try to get them to see sense. The cakes are right in front of them, why are they messing about?

“It will be okay.” Yaoyorozu nods. “And, well, to be honest I do have another meeting I need to attend.”

Wait, what?

Didn’t they want to have dinner? Why is she leaving? You blink in confusion as the woman stands up. She looks over to Todoroki first, smiling, before turning to you.

“Good night you two.” She says kindly as she turns, walking out of the room with only the clicking of her heels audible. The door closes softly behind her. You stare at it for a moment, mind a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief.

“What just happened?” You turn back to look at Todoroki. The man is also wide-eyed, staring at the door. “Uh, are you okay?”

That seems to shake him out of it. Heterochromatic eyes shift to you. “Yes.” He nods. “We should also leave.” The hero stands up, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. It’s the same long navy one you admired the first time you met him.

“Um, okay?” You reply, confused. Oh god, you hope you haven’t done something to somehow ruin their entire night. Dread curls in your stomach as you pack the cakes back up into the carrier

Todoroki leads the way back to the elevator. Yaoyorozu is no longer in sight, probably long gone by now. The staff seems as confused as you feel as you leave, sending odd looks to each other. Your stomach tightens a bit more.

It’s only when you reach the elevator that something clicks in your head. You were dining with two heroes, who both suddenly started acting weird. Really, there is only one explanation you can think of: there’s a villain nearby.

Your heart pounds heavily as you enter the elevator, clutching the carrier tighter in your hands. If there is a villain nearby, why didn’t the heroes evacuate the restaurant? Maybe it’s not safe. Maybe they have to wait for more heroes or a hero with the right quirk?

Despite having lived in Musutafu for most of your life, you’ve never been too close to a villain attack. You have always counted yourself lucky in that way, but maybe your luck is running out. You glance over to Todoroki at your side. The hero doesn’t look any particular way, that blank mask still on his face.

The two of you exit the elevator and head out of the hotel lobby. There is a distinct lack of heroes or police outside, which surprises you. Yaoyorozu must have called for someone, right?

Todoroki leads you across the street to the nearby sidewalk. “What do you need me to do?” You whisper as you finally come to a stop. “Do you want me to call the police?”

“The police?” He looks down at you, tilting his head slightly in confusion. Then his eyes narrow. “Is something wrong?”

Is something... not wrong? You look back up at the hotel, where everything seems completely normal. There is no screaming, no fighting, nothing. Oh.

As the panic subsides, another layer of embarrassment begins to creep in. Were you really freaking out over nothing??

“I-uh, thought that since we booked it out of there so fast, something had to be wrong.” You look away and try to explain, face warming. “Maybe like a villain or...something.”

“Ah.” He replies. “No, nothing like that.”

“Then...why did we leave?” You risk a glance back up. Todoroki is still looking down at you, expression once again soft.

“You were uncomfortable.” He replies simply.

You can’t even deny it. “So we left?”

“So we left.”

Well, damn. That’s sweet. “But...what about your dinner?”

He pauses, looking around. “Where do you want to go?"

“Uh, I have food-”

“Don't lie.” He interrupts, looking back at you. “You spent your whole day working and baking these cakes. You didn’t even have the time to change before coming here. There is no way you had time to make food.” That’s the most you’ve heard him say at once. Huh. And well, he’s right.

“I could have leftovers?” You attempt, knowing that you’ve been beaten. Your shoulders slump a bit as you consider arguing more. Who are you to be eating with a hero anyways? But...you are tired and hungry. All fight drains from your exhausted bones as you look up at him. You think about potential places as you look around. Honestly, you haven’t been to this part of town much (other than a few fancy dinner nights with your ex, but you don’t want to think about that). Todoroki waits patiently as you think.

“Well...I know one place.” You finally say. “But I’m not really sure if it’s your style.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs. “I’m sure it's good if you like it.” Oh god. Why does he say those things? You hide your flushed face by walking away. The hero falls into step beside you, seemingly content to let you lead the way.

Walking with Todoroki at night is an ethereal experience. You know it will be a part of your dreams for years to come. Both of you are quiet, taking in the scenery as you walk. It’s cold through your thin jacket, and you shiver a bit at first. It’s a bit weird, but after a few moments, the temperature seems to rise. You put it down to scientific anomalies.

“There it is.” You point out a small stall half-hidden on the street. The two of you make your way over to the small. You keep one eye on the hero, ready to abort at the smallest sign of hesitation from the man. This is definitely not his usual scene.

When you are almost there, the man pauses. You turn, looking up to his face. “Todoroki?” The hero looks surprised, eyes wide and staring at the name of the stall.

“It’s perfect.” He responds, before starting to walk again. His pace is faster than normal, and you have to actually speed up to keep beside him.

As you finally make your way up to the soba stand, you call out. “Hey Haru!”

Haru -a middle-aged man with a bald head- looks up, smiling big when he sees you. “Hey! I haven’t seen ya sorry face ‘round here in a while. How’ve ya been? Come ‘ere to chat with this old man?” His eyes then catch on Todoroki. “Ah, I see.” His smile ticks up into a smirk.

Your own eyes widen. “No! It’s not what you think, Haru. We’re just here to eat.”

Haru doesn’t look like he believes you but lets it go. “Havin’ the usual then?” You nod. He turns to Todoroki. “And fer you?”

“Do you have cold soba?” The hero asks, taking a seat on the stool next to you.

“Hah! Do I have cold soba?” Haru replies sarcastically. “‘Course I do!”

“Haru makes the best soba on this side of the city.” You say, looking up at Todoroki. The hero looks down at you, and his expression makes you pause. His face is soft and kind, eyes glittering with delight. He smiles.

Your stomach flutters. You push it away and smile back.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x you #todoroki shouto x y/n #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #j writes #bnha fic #bnha fanfiction #reader-insert

35 notes · View notes

imagines-r-s · 4 years ago

Text

sticking it - j. farabee

prologue

a/n: this prologue just has a lot of information needed to continue the series, but i hope you enjoy!! (also the gif is a visual of what the dismount mentioned is, in the gif it’s only a triple)

taglist: @butgilinsky @barbienoturbby @sunsetholland @lovenhlboys @sortagaysortahigh @hockey-racing-fubol

warnings: mention and description of injury (very brief), sadness, pretty angsty ngl, but there’s happiness in here too

sticking it masterlist

wc: 2.6k

(gif not mine)

From the first time you stepped into a gym at the age of 3 to now, standing in this arena, you knew this was the place you were intended to be. You quickly leveled up in the sport of gymnastics and quickly excelled in the sport. Although there were many hardships - both mentally and physically - along the way, you never wanted to stop. Your one and only love was this sport, always has been. Always will be.

As you progressed in your gymnastics career, your first coach, Michelle Watson, saw great promise in you and wanted to help you move up to where she knew you could go. Her brother had an elite gym in Philadelphia and he was willing to train you, so you and Michelle moved to Philadelphia to get you the best training possible. Your family was close enough with Michelle to know that you were in good hands.

Working with the duo of Michelle and Marcus proved to be one of the best decisions of your life as you quickly became one of the top athletes in your sport. Eventually, you moved up to elite, which meant that you were in the division that would go to the biggest types of competitions in this sport. The biggest competitions with the toughest competition.

With the Olympics fastly approaching, it was the only thing on people’s minds. Even with there still being 15 months until Trials actually started, every meet from now on counted. Having to get a certain all-around score to qualify for the next meet, every skill counted. Even the smallest of deductions could set you apart from the group that qualifies and the group that doesn’t.

Your family supported all your decisions, but especially your cousin, Kevin. He was undeniably marked as your top supporter, he never once doubted that you would be able to make it to the Olympics one day and he knew that you would go through hell to get there if you needed to. When Kevin went to the Flyers, he happened to get an apartment in the same building that you did, which was also close to your gym and his rink.

Kevin was able to support you and be there for you just when you needed someone. Whenever you had the time from the season, you were able to go watch some of his games and meet his teammates, who were just as supportive of you as he was. There were more times than none that you would end a showcase or meet and have at least five hockey players waiting for you with a bouquet of roses and a good job.

Kevin was always there with a good job hug and your favorite kind of fruit snacks, TK and Karly with a simple bouquet of roses, and then Nolan with his pep and smack talk on the other girls competing.

Your teammates were always there right beside you. You made some of the best friends from gymnastics (and some of the worst enemies), Nicole Carter was the teammate that you were closest with. Always making jokes about both of you would have an equal amount of silver and gold medals to add to your collection.

Now here you were at the American Cup, which wasn’t the most important meet of the lineup to Tokyo, but you had to keep a watch out for competitors and make sure that you caught people’s eye when competing. During warm-up you did make sure to talk to some of the girls, not everyone was able to have a close teammate, so you wanted them to know that someone there was rooting for them. You were always a team player, even in such an individual sport like this, except for Kathryn Davis.

Kathryn Davis had always been one of your closest competitors, you weren’t going to say you were the best out there - you weren’t - but at least you kept a good attitude about how well others were doing. Kathryn was not like that, if you were her competition in any way, she would drag you as quick as she could. Starting rumors, talking bad about you during interviews, or distracting you before your routines were her go-to ways of getting to you and there were many occasions where you had to calm down one of the other athletes because of something she did.

Today you weren’t letting anyone get in your way. Although it was a minor meet, there was still a lot on the line. The plan for your beam routine was to bring out a new skill that had never been landed in major competition, a wack plan? Maybe. But since it was a smaller meet if you didn’t land it, the score wouldn’t affect you as much. Your plan was to go through your routine and do a 3.5 twisting dismount, the highest competed had only been a triple twisting dismount, so if you did land it today the skill would be named after you.

With the event lineup for the meet going vault, bars, beam, then floor, you were starting on floor and ending on beam. Going into auto-pilot for the first three events, you didn’t take note of your scores and you hardly even realized that you were getting ready to salute the judges on beam. Taking a deep breath before you mounted the beam, you started your routine.

The core parts of a beam routine were flight series - where you got at least some air time in whatever skill you were doing, jumps, turns, dance, and the dismount. When all three of your flight series were landed and you finished your jumps and turns, you were ready for the dismount.

Taking a few steps to do the round-off, you were now at the end of the beam and could do the twisting part of the dismount. Taking off you started twisting, keeping an eye out for the mat (even if it is a blind landing), you started opening up from the twist to make the landing. The only issue was it was obvious you didn’t get enough height, so the mat was closer than it had been whenever you had practiced many times before, and because of that you landed a triple twist while still turning.

You knew immediately something was wrong, the popping noise that you weren’t supposed to hear was kind of a dead giveaway, but you turned and saluted the judges like usual, and as you took a step, all the pain from whatever you had just done came to your leg causing you to curl up into a ball holding your knee.

You could hear Marcus and Michelle becoming louder, but the pain in your knee somehow drowned out everything around you. There was commotion all around you and you felt Marcus reach under your leg to carry you back down, away from the beam. Eventually medical got to you and you were ushered away in a wheelchair towards the ambulance.

“y/n, look at me, okay? It’s going to be alright, we’re getting you to the hospital and then we’ll get everything figured out,” Michelle said, holding your hand as you were taken towards the Emergency Room.

“I need you to call Kev, please,” you assumed Kevin had heard what had happened and you didn’t want to stress him even more since you knew he had been at a game and probably heard while he was there.

“I will, hun, I will,” the doctors got you in a hospital room where they would do what they could right now. With the pain meds, you were able to ignore the pain for a while. Your mom had called you from back home to check in while you waited on Kevin to show up to the hospital.

“Hey, short stack, you doing alright?” Kevin said as he walked into the hospital room, you took note of TK and Nolan behind him.

“You only call me short stack because you’re literally a giant,” you giggled, “hey, Tiki Bar. Hi, Patti Lapone.”

“Can I get whatever she’s having?” Nolan interrupted. The three of them stayed in your room as you waited for the doctor to come back with more information about the scans and tests that they ran. The boys were mostly enjoying the fact that you were giggling the whole time, but they were just glad that you weren’t in pain about what was going on. When some of your giggling died down, they realized that eventually you would have to terms with what happened. Kevin knew that you might not come back from this one as easily as you hope to, he had seen so many peoples careers end this way. He didn’t want you to have to go through that.

“y/n y/l/n, hi, I’m Dr. Brady and we needed to consult you about the results from the scans. Are you sure you want everyone in here when you hear?” Dr. Brady asked cautiously, knowing this was not easy news to break.

“Yeah, they’re fine in here,” you nodded taking note of how Kevin had walked over to the side of your bed, anxiously waiting to see your reaction rather than whatever the results were.

“Ok, well with the injury you got today, you will need surgery as soon as possible, which will be in about three weeks. From there it will be 6-9 months of recovery, which includes physical therapy and mobility work, the time will depend on what your physical therapist decides is best-”

“Wait, so I’ll be out for like 10 months?” you asked.

“Yes, could be more, could be less. It really depends.”

“So, when do you think I could consider going back to training?” the air in the room felt tense, you were the one out of the loop here. Everyone around you already knew what was going to happen and that you coming back might not be an option.

“It would all depend on what your trainer thinks is best right now and there is no guarantee you will be back to your old self after the surgery,” the doctor said with a solemn look on his face, as he was the one who had to break the news.

“Um, ok. Yeah. When would I be able to go home?” you quickly jumped to the next topic of discussion, which Kevin was shocked about, as were Nolan and Travis.

“Well, we have to get you pain meds, crutches, and a brace, but once we do that we’ll be able to discharge you. Okay?” you simply nodded. The room went silent as you Dr. Brady walked out.

“y/n/n? You okay, hun?” Michelle said quietly, getting more nervous when you simply nodded.

“Yeah, I just want to go home.”

Kevin, TK, and Nolan knew that you weren’t okay, so they all decided to take you home and make sure you got everything situated while having to deal with this. Finally making it to your apartment after being discharged, you decided to try and take a shower, which proved to be difficult, so you just left the issue for tomorrow. Changing out of your competition leo and into comfortable pajamas, you made your way back out to the kitchen where the guys were talking.

“Kevin said he plans on staying here just in case you need anything, but if you want us all to stay we definitely can,” Travis said when he saw you walk into the room.

“Oh, if you guys want to, it's cool with me, I’m fine either way. I just plan on going to bed right now. So goodnight, I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow,” giving them a soft smile before making your way back towards your room.

Going into your bedroom was already bound to be a difficult task. Although the room was simple, a lot of the things that you had on your wall were from gymnastics, pictures from gymnastics meets, medals and trophies littered your room in a way that usually lifted your spirits up. But walking into your room using crutches and the knee brace keeping your knee secure made you hate everything in the room at that moment.

Knocking over your crutches, you ripped down a poster that had your schedule for the next season leading up to Trials, the picture of you and your teammates was next, finally the goal board you made when you were 10 came tumbling down to the ground, the trophies that you had spent such a long time working for were in the process of being thrown across the room when a pair of arms quickly pulled you into their chest.

You didn’t notice that the guys had rushed into your room or that your vision was now clouded from the tears, but everything hit you at once. As Kevin held you, you simply sobbed into his chest. The dreams that you had worked so hard for were now crumbling down. You realized that all the time and hard work you had invested would have nothing to show for it.

Eventually Kevin realized you had stopped crying and he looked down to realize that you had fallen asleep. He gently picked you up and put you in your bed, leaving your crutches right by your bed, so if you needed them you could get them.

“Do you guys mind helping me pick up everything? She’ll regret it if we don’t,” Kevin asked the two boys in front of him who were very happy to help. All of them were glad that they had the day off and planned on staying here and doing what they could to help you out later.

You anxiously waited the few weeks before you had to get the surgery, you hardly left your room and when you did, you went right back to your room. Everyone wanted to give you time to grieve and accept the possibility that you might not have a comeback. But once you had your surgery, you actually had to go to physical therapy.

Physical therapy was awful the first month. You genuinely felt bad for Adrian, your PT, for having to deal with you. He obviously had to put up with a lot of negative energy and you just added it to it. “You know, I am aware that you were an athlete. I’m going to assume every doctor has said you won’t make a comeback?” he paused waiting for your response, and once you nodded he continued. “Ok, well I can’t promise anything, but once you actually start working, this won’t necessarily get easier, but you accept it. Now if you’re constantly dwelling on how ‘your dreams are crushed and you’ll never be the gymnast you once were’ then that is exactly what will happen.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Nope, no buts. You got hurt. It happens. But you already accepting that as the loss of a sport you love so much will not cut it in my book. That energy is not needed, especially if you ever want to go back. Now either accept the worst and get this over with as soon as possible, or actually start working towards your dream again. Those doctors try not to give people false hope, but y/n, you have to realize I know you have it in you to go back there and prove them all wrong. And if you’re doing this just to spite them, then so be it. Let’s get to work now.”

And you did get back to work.

You were able to start light conditioning about 5 months after and were able to start doing basics 2 months later. “Ok, y/n, I’m going to be straightforward with you, your knee is looking better. But don’t do anything too crazy to where that changes. So the plan now is to start easing back into training, no big skills, no big landings. But you can start working. And I know about a certain meet in March that will be your comeback meet, I’m telling you now.”

#sticking it #joel farabee #joel farabee x reader #joel fatabee imagines #philadelphia flyers #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #hockey imagines

111 notes · View notes

olivemac · 3 years ago

Text

1300 miles | chapter four | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, pretty girl, Sarge), smut [f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), PIV, slight dom!Bucky, praise kink, very slight somnophilia], minor angst, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

Tags | @mrs--barnes

Citation | Vernon, Justin, Dessner, Aaron, Mitchell, Anaïs. “Latter Days.” How Long Do You Think It’s Gonna Last? Jagjaguwar/37do3d, 2021.

A/N | This only took 800 years to finish. Sorry for the wait. Hope it’s worth it. Xoxo

A/N, pt. 2 | Made some very minor edits to the previous chapters – nothing that changes storyline, etc.

series master list | AO3 link | full master list

🎶 1300 miles playlist 🎶

_____

previous chapter

_____

After breakfast, Bucky returns the borrowed motorcycle to Sam and grabs his backpack from Sarah's house. Sam only badgers him about if for a few minutes.

"So, you're abandoning us for Jo?" he asks Bucky teasingly.

Bucky grunts in reply. "It's not like that," he says.

“I get it,” Sam shrugs. “After eighty years, you’re finally getting some.” Bucky glares at him. “Just remember, bros before hoes,” Sam concludes, laughing and clapping Bucky on the back. Then he adds, "Don't tell Jo I said that."

Bucky's been debating how much he should reveal when he finally says, "I really like her, Sam."

Sam smiles. "Good," he says. "You deserve someone who makes you happy."

Bucky returns the smile.

"Come on," Sam says, "I've got errands to run in town. I'll drop you back at Jo's place." Bucky tosses his backpack into the bed of Sam's truck as Sam tells him, "Just remember, we promised AJ and Cass we'd take 'em out on the boat on Saturday morning."

"I'll be there," Bucky says.

_____

Bucky stays with Jo for the next two days, wearing sweats during the day while he lounges in her apartment – something he isn't used to, just lounging – and sitting alone at the end of the bar at night, watching her serve drinks with Danny.

They're inseparable for those 48 hours. There's an impending deadline – a sense that they need to fit everything they can into the next few days before Bucky returns to New York.

He slips out of her bedroom Thursday morning, still smiling from the night before, to find her practicing yoga in her living room. Bucky stops and leans against the wall to watch Jo move from one pose to the next, his eyes lingering on her hips and backside. When she moves into downward dog, she spots him from between her legs.

“Morning,” Jo says, sinking deeper into the pose and working to keep her feet flat against the mat. She notices the smirk on Bucky’s face. “Enjoying the view?” she asks.

His smirk only grows. "I am."

She walks her hands across the mat to meet her feet and stands. Before she can turn around, Bucky is behind her, his front pressed against her back and his hands on her hips.

"Best part of the twenty-first century," he says, "is skimpier clothing." His thumbs rub upward across the soft skin of her exposed belly until they're moving beneath the band of her sports bra.

Jo laughs and turns in his arms. "Not the medical or technological advancements?"

"Nope," Bucky says, "definitely this." He pops the band of her sports bra with his thumbs, then pulls her even closer, one hand sliding down her back.

"Breakfast?" she asks.

Bucky hums. "I'd rather eat something else," he says with a smirk, leaning down to press a kiss against her neck.

Jo laughs loudly. "No," she exclaims, "you can't expect sex after you say something so cringeworthy."

Regardless, she lets Bucky lower her to her yoga mat and hover over her prone body.

"You were saying?" he smirks against her lips before kissing her.

Jo hums and snakes her arms around Bucky's neck, pulling him closer. His lips move across her jaw and collarbone down to the tops of her breasts. Bucky pushes her sports bra up carefully to reveal her breasts before taking a nipple between his teeth. Jo scratches her short nails across his scalp and holds him to her chest. He worries his tongue over the hard peak and around the barbell ends on each side of her nipple.

“Bucky,” Jo sighs, arching her back.

Bucky smiles against the skin of her stomach as he kisses lower. He likes hearing his name on her lips. After not having control of himself for so long, he likes that he has this small amount of power over someone else, this ability to make Jo fall apart so easily.

He peels her leggings and underwear down and off before lowering his face between her thighs. He blows warm air across her cunt, making her tremble.

"Open your legs a little more," Bucky says, pressing his large hands against the inside of her thighs. "Good girl," he praises as her legs fall further apart. Jo sighs again as Bucky looks up at her. "You're beautiful like this, doll," he says. Then he licks a thick stripe across her folds.

Jo keens and her back arches off the mat. His tongue meets her clit as his hands grip her thighs, holding her open. Jo reaches down and cords her fingers through his thick hair, pulling slightly. Bucky moans against her cunt and continues to circle his tongue across her clit before sucking it between his lips. Jo rocks her hips against Bucky's face, and he reaches up to take her hips in his hands and guide her movements. She pulls his hair again, harder this time, and Bucky grunts. He alternates his movements against her clit until she's coming hard against his face.

"Bucky," Jo moans, her mouth falling open.

Bucky pulls back and slides up her body. When he kisses her, she can taste herself on his lips. She snakes her hand into his hair and holds him close against her mouth, kissing him deeper.

"Favorite meal," Bucky smirks when they finally break apart.

"That's it," Jo says, laughing and pushing at his shoulders, "leave. Get out. Go." She points to the door.

Bucky laughs. "You wouldn't," he says, with mock hurt in his voice, as his fingers tickle against her sides.

Jo squeals and squirms against his onslaught. "Fine, fine," she shrieks, laughing, "you can stay! But no more of that!"

"What? No more of this?" Bucky laughs. He rolls onto his back, pulling Jo on top of him to straddle his face, and rips another two orgasms from her before he finally releases her, helps her redress, and follows her to the kitchen to start breakfast.

_____

In the late afternoon, before the bar is set to open, Jo takes her guitar out onto the balcony to practice. After a while, Bucky sets down the book he was reading and joins her. He watches cars and pedestrians pass below them on the street while Jo plays a song with a sleepy pace and melancholy lyrics on lost innocence. Bucky thinks it sounds pretty in Jo's soft tone.

Stacked yourself against the odds

Talking back to an act of God

You and your clever mouth

You were laughing when the lights went out

When Jo finishes and sets her guitar aside, Bucky pulls her chair closer to his and leans in to kiss her, cupping both her cheeks softly in his hands.

"What was that for?" she asks, smiling.

Bucky shakes his head, then says, "Sam said you had a record deal."

"So, you and Sam were talking about me, were you?" she teases.

Bucky looks sheepish, but Jo just smiles.

“Yeah, I had a record deal. Years ago. In Nashville. Then Danny got hurt, and we didn’t know for a while if he was going to make it or have long-term complications or what. So, I came home. He got better. We bought the bar. I still get to do what I love, and I get to be with the people I love,” she shrugs.

Bucky can sense a "but" coming.

“But…Danny blames himself for me not following my dreams. When the truth is, even if he hadn’t gotten hurt, I would have come home. I had an ex tell me once that I'm only happy when I'm failing." She rolls her eyes.

"And now?" Bucky asks.

“I’m just waiting to fuck this up,” she whispers.

Bucky snorts. "If anyone is going to fuck this up, it'll be me, doll," he replies. "I'm a 107-year-old ex-assassin who can barely use a smart phone and hasn't dated in eighty years."

Jo cocks her head to the side and says, "We could fuck this up to together?"

Bucky smiles. "Deal." Then he kisses her, his hand cupping the back of her head and his tongue sweeping into her mouth.

_____

When things are slow at the bar on Thursday night, Jo grabs her guitar and plays an acoustic set for the small crowd of regulars. Bucky watches from his seat at the end of the bar top, nursing his beer. The thought that this is somehow all too good to be true, that he doesn't deserve Jo or any of this, creeps back into his mind. He takes another sip of beer and clenches his vibranium fist, willing the thought away. By the time Jo's eyes sweep the bar to meet his, the thought is gone.

He follows her up to her apartment after closing time, and when the door is locked behind them, he pushes her up against it, his arms on either side of her head, caging her in. He takes a moment to admire her, her green eyes shining with a mixture of amusement and lust. He leans down and nudges his nose against hers, his breath soft against her lips.

“You gonna be good for me, doll?” he whispers.

Jo nods.

“Say it,” Bucky says, his voice dark.

“Gonna be so good for you, Buck,” Jo whispers.

Bucky smashes his lips against hers, rough and demanding. Jo moans into Bucky's mouth. His kiss is all teeth and tongue, and his hands wander to her hips and down to her thighs to lift her into his arms. He doesn't stop kissing her until he has her on her bed.

Bucky presses hot kisses against Jo's neck, then tugs her faded Nirvana t-shirt up and over her head. The rest of their clothes follow quicky until they're both naked. Bucky kisses between the valley of her breasts and licks at the tattoo beneath her sternum before taking one nipple into his mouth. His flesh hand comes up to pluck at the other nipple, and Jo cries out. Bucky pulls his mouth from her breast with an obscene pop and scratches the stubble of his cheek across her tender flesh.

Jo's hands thread through Bucky's hair, and she tugs him back up to her mouth for a kiss.

"Thought you were gonna be good," Bucky mumbles against her mouth. Jo whines. She can feel him smirking.

His hand comes up to graze against her cheek, and he kisses her softly, taking his time now. He's demanding, but gentle, and Jo feels as if every inch of her heated skin is on fire. But she wants more.

"You can be rough with me, Sarge," she whispers.

"Yeah? You like it rough?" Bucky flips Jo over onto her stomach. "On your knees," he growls, pulling her hips up.

When she's on her knees in front of him, he uses his flesh hand to push her chest further into the mattress. His vibranium hand holds her hips in place as he slides into her without warning. Jo gasps and shudders.

“You look so good taking my cock like this,” Bucky praises. His grip on her hip tightens as he guides her back and forth over his cock before holding her still and slamming into her, setting a swift pace. Jo keens and her walls flutter around him.

"Harder," she gasps.

"What do you say?" Bucky warns through gritted teeth. His right hand moves upward to tangle into her hair, wrenching her head backwards.

Jo whines, "Please."

When he pulls himself almost completely from her body, then slams back in, Jo's eyes roll to the back of her head, and she sobs. She's consumed by the feel of him.

Bucky leans across Jo's back and whispers in her ear, “You’re doing so good, pretty girl.” His right hand slips down beneath her body to toy with her clit. "Fuck, you're so wet."

Jo cries out, and her body shakes. Bucky feels the way she tightens around him.

“I got you," he whispers against her ear, "I got you.” His soft tone clashes with his rough movements and makes Jo’s head spin.

Jo comes with a cry of his name, and it sends Bucky over the edge. His vibranium hand whirs as it clenches her hip, holding her still as he spills inside her with a low groan. He falls onto his side, pulling Jo with him and holding her tightly.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Not at all,” Jo replies, squeezing his hand.

He presses gentle kisses against her shoulder until she slides from the bed to clean up. Then he slips into a dreamless sleep.

_____

Jo wakes Bucky up Friday morning with soft kisses across his jaw.

"Hmph," Bucky grunts, not ready to open his eyes.

"Danny and I are going for a run," Jo says. "Do you want to join us?"

Bucky cracks one eye open to look at her. "Why?"

"Because I like you, and I like spending time with you," she says, rolling her eyes.

The corner of Bucky's lip pulls up and he opens his other eye. "No," he says, "why are you going for a run?"

"Not everyone has the metabolism and stamina of a super soldier, Sarge," she says, poking him in the ribs. “Some of us need the exercise.”

"What's in it for me?" he asks.

Jo rolls her eyes again before answering. "You can run behind me and stare at my ass in tight leggings."

Bucky hums and slides his vibranium hand down Jo's back to cup her left buttock.

“How long do we have until this run?” he asks, letting his other hand trail up and down Jo’s right side.

“Half an hour,” she answers.

“Good,” Bucky says, rolling her onto her back and hovering over her as Jo laughs.

They end up being a few minutes late to meet Danny.

When they finally emerge from Jo’s apartment, Danny is standing at the bottom of the stairs with Greta. Jo reaches out and scratches the dog behind the ears.

“Morning,” Jo greets Danny.

Danny yawns before responding, “It is indeed.”

“Late night?” Jo asks.

Bucky doesn’t hear Danny’s response. He’s too caught up watching Greta sniff his vibranium hand. When she seems satisfied with her inspection, Bucky strokes the top of her head. There was a dog at the small farm where he stayed in Wakanda, and it was nice to have the company at night when his brain wouldn’t shut off and he kept reliving everything he had done as the Winter Soldier. He wonders if maybe he should get a dog. Or maybe a cat.

“Hey,” he hears Jo say from beside him.

He turns his head to find her watching him curiously.

“Where’d you go?” she asks. “Looked like you were stuck in your head.”

Bucky shakes his head and give her a reassuring smile. “I’m here,” he replies.

“Good,” Danny says, turning toward the door, “Because we’re not gonna take it easy on you on this run, Barnes.”

Bucky sees Jo roll her eyes and smirk behind Danny’s back.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky says. “How far are we running?”

Danny’s smirk mirrors Jo’s. “On Fridays, we run until we're hungry, and then we stop for beignets,” he says.

And that’s just what they do. They run three miles in the park before heading to a local cafe. Jo grabs a table for them on the patio while Danny pops inside to order after insisting on paying; Bucky joins him to help him carry their orders. Outside, Greta laps water from the cafe’s outdoor dog bowl, then curls up at Jo’s feet and waits for Danny to come back.

When Bucky and Danny join Jo at the table, their arms laden with plates of beignets and fruit and coffees in to-go cups, Bucky sits as close to Jo as he can. She's wearing an olive-colored sports bra and matching leggings, and she shivers in the cool early morning air. Bucky hesitates before shrugging out of his hoodie and handing it to her. Jo's smile and the sight of her dwarfed by his sweatshirt is worth exposing his arm in public.

Bucky's phone vibrates from the pocket of the hoodie Jo is now wearing. She pulls it out and hands it to him. It's a text from Sam: "Don't forget about Saturday morning."

Bucky responds, assuring Sam he'll be there, and sets his phone on the table next to his plate. Jo glances down and snorts.

"Why is Sam your phone background?" she laughs.

Bucky purses his lips. "He thought it was funny. And I haven't gotten around to changing it. I'm good with tech when it comes to covert missions, not," he holds the phone up, "this."

Jo laughs again and takes the phone from his hand. She holds it in front of his face to activate the facial recognition, and then opens the camera app and takes a picture of the two of them.

Danny reaches across the table for the phone. "Here," he says, and their breakfast shifts into a photoshoot that leaves them all in stitches from laughing so hard at their own antics. Even Greta gets pulled into some photos. At one point, Jo pulls a piece of hair from her ponytail across her upper lip like a mustache, and, for some unknown reason, Bucky suddenly thinks it's the funniest thing he's ever seen.

He probably has a hundred photos on his phone now, just from breakfast. He watches as Jo scrolls through them, and when he sees one of her laughing with her head thrown back, he says, "That one." Jo smiles and shows him how to set it as his background. Bucky takes his phone from her and looks at the picture again. It's perfect.

They're almost done with breakfast, and Bucky has forgotten about his bare arm when a teenage boy approaches their table.

"Hey man," the boy says to Bucky, "You're Sergeant Barnes, right? You work with Captain America? That's so cool, man," he says, barely taking a breath. His excited energy reminds Bucky of Peter Parker. "That shit with the Flag Smashers in New York," the kid continues, "that was crazy. You're, like, a real hero, man."

He moves closer to Bucky to snap a selfie, then holds his fist out, and Bucky knocks his own fist against it, hesitantly.

"Thanks," Bucky mumbles, not used to the praise.

"Tell Captain America it's cool he looks like me," the boy says, pointing to his skin, before heading inside the cafe.

Jo just smiles at Bucky, watching the blush creep down his neck, but Danny says, "You should start charging for pictures." Jo rolls her eyes, and Danny laughs. Bucky can see the similarities between the two of them, and for a moment, he misses his own sister.

"Ready to head out?" Danny asks, breaking Bucky from his thoughts.

"Yeah," Bucky says, standing, "yeah."

When they're two blocks from the bar, Jo slows down.

“My legs are sore. Carry me?” she pleads jokingly, and before she can argue that she was only kidding, Bucky's bending down in front of her and pulling her onto his back, guiding her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Jo laughs.

"You're going to spoil her," Danny says, but Bucky just smiles.

Inside her apartment, Jo pulls off Bucky's hoodie and returns it to him.

"Looked better on you," he says and kisses her gently. "I need to head back to Sarah's," Bucky continues. "Sam and I promised AJ and Cass we'd take them out on the boat tomorrow morning, bright and early."

"I'll drive you," Jo responds, and she's grabbing her keys before he can protest.

_____

Bucky returns to the bar on Saturday night with Sam in tow. Jo's band is playing, and the smile she gives him from the stage when he enters the bar makes up for Sam's constant teasing throughout the day. He likes watching her like this. She’s free, uninhibited, beautiful. Too good for me, he thinks. The thought has been creeping in more and more lately.

Later that night, after Sam has left and the bar has closed, Bucky lets Jo lead him up the stairs to her apartment and into her bedroom.

"Let me take care of you," she whispers, running her fingers beneath his t-shirt. Bucky nods and allows her to strip his clothes off before he helps her out of her own. Jo maps each scar on his body with her fingers and her mouth, and Bucky's heart swells at her tenderness.

She pushes him backward onto the bed and tries to take his cock in her mouth, but Bucky stops her. He's not ready to give up that control just yet, worried he won't be able to stop himself from being too rough with her. When she straddles his hips and sinks down on his cock, he holds her hips with his hands and guides her movements. He guides her own fingers to her clit and watches as she falls apart above him before flipping her onto her back and driving back into her. When he comes, it's with a shout of Jo's name, and he drops his head against her shoulder, panting.

As he holds her while she sleeps, the thought he's been having – that he doesn't deserve this – returns, and Bucky lays awake brooding.

When Jo wakes on Sunday morning, Bucky is gone.

_____

next chapter - coming soon

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sergeant barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x ofc #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes romance #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x original character #bucky x original female character

22 notes · View notes

achliegh · 3 years ago

Text

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @the-most-slyterin-hufflepuff & @punkkkboi

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death/suicide, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 12:

Jesus, Take the Wheel

It was 11 o’clock in the afternoon when Remus and Sirius got home, Reg was sitting on the couch under a blanket like the vampire he was on his laptop.

“Reg! We’re home! I’m glad the house is still standing!” Sirius goes over to the blanket before Reg can pull it off and hugs him super tight so the blanket makes him look like a little child dressed as a ghost. Remus smiles at them, walking past to set his bag by the basement stairs where they like to keep off their hockey stuff.

“Get off me! I can’t breathe!” Sirius lets go and Reg punches him in the shoulder after he slams his laptop closed and takes the blanket off. “Jerk.”

“Hey, you cut your hair.” Sirius grabs his baby brother's face and makes him turn his head to one side and then the other examining his hair. It looked really good on him, Sirius has always wanted to do something like this with his hair but always chickens out because of what the media will say. “It looks really nice, I’m a little jealous. I have always wanted to have my hair like that.” He ruffles Reg’s hair and gives him a sloppy kiss on the forehead like he knows Reg, acts like he hates, loves. “I am going to shower, I smell like bus, I’ll be back!” He passes Remus on his way upstairs and gives him a peck.

“I take it you won?” Reg stands up and follows Remus into the kitchen, Remus looks in the sink to see all the dirty dishes the trio had left because they didn’t want to do it. Reg was just kinda awkwardly floating around Remus as he worked on the dishes and Re had an idea that something was up.

“Okay, something is bothering you.” Remus turns around and leans on the counter to find Reg just messing with a fork left on the counter, spinning it on a prong. “Spit it out.”

“I just- I don’t know, I have kinda been… looking into some stuff that maybe I’m not just-” Remus has lived with Reg long enough to be able to pick up on his panicking. So he watches as Reg balances from one foot to the other, squeezing his hands into fists and opening them again.

“Hey, hey, Reg it’s okay.” Remus walks over to him and smiles, he doesn’t touch him but he lets him know he is there for him by looking him in the eyes for a moment and smiling. “You can tell me anything, I will be there for you no matter what.”

“I don’t think I’m… Maybe I’m not cis?”

“Here.” Finn dumps his bag onto Logan as he pulls out his keys to open the apartment. “Do you think Leo is waiting for us like a little puppy?”

“No.” Logan rolls his eyes and shifts the bag on his shoulder. “But we should definitely get a dog.” The door opens and all the lights are off, Leo’s boots are by the welcome mat so that means he is home. The tv is still on the NHL station playing highlights from what looks to be the Penguins and the Knights.

Walking over to the couch Finn smiles at what he sees, Leo wrapped up in a blanket with his hood up and his arm over the edge of the couch. His phone is on the ground below his hand, Finn picks it up and places it on the coffee table as Logan turns the tv off. They already dropped his stuff off at Dumo’s and will be staying the night but going back tomorrow morning. Finn reaches out and runs the back of his pointer finger over Leo’s soft face.

Leo might be a manly-man but he still can’t grow facial hair properly.

Finn moved his hand to push the hood down from Leo’s head and kiss his forehead, expecting to feel his soft hair but instead he felt prickles. He jolts his hand back from the shock and puts it over his mouth as he silently freaks out over the short hair. He waves his hand behind him until he grabs Logan's arm from where he was texting his parents that he got home safe and yanks him down so he lands on his ass next to where Finn is squatting.

“He has no hair!” Finn whispers-yells into Logan's ear. Logan spins around on his now sore tailbone and looks at Leo’s uncovered head. “Oh my god why does it look good!” Logan leans forward and notices a tattoo they have never seen before.

“Is that a strawberry? He has a strawberry tattoo.” Logan lighty pets over the inked fruit and smiles. “Aww how soft of him.” They both get up. “ We should let him sleep, nothing we ever do is too loud to wake him up. He SLeeps like a brick.” Logan takes Finn's hand as they grab the bag and start to unpack most of it.

Leo sleeps for a good hour before his body tells him to get up. Slowly sitting up he notices the tv is off and hears chattering in the kitchen. Standing up as quick as he can and slipping on his blanket a little he stumbles over to his boys and engulfs Finn in a hug. Surprising him.

“Good morning sleeping beauty.” Finn hugs him back.

“Let me in!” Logan scurries over to them and Leo opens his arms to hug both his boys. He picks them up a little and squeezes them, causing Logan to laugh and Finn to suffocate.

“Leo- I can't breathe.” Finn smiles but also can’t breathe. Leo lets them down and gives them both welcome home kisses. “Your hair looks great by the way, so short it shows off your face.” Finn ruffles his hair and accidentally bumps Leo's thigh.

“Ouch, that hurt a little.” Leo backs away a bit and puts a hand on his thigh. The boys looked at each other quizzically, causing Leo to pull up the leg of his shorts to show them his new tattoo.

“Oh my god! What is that!” Logan and Finn both bend down to get a better look at the blob of ink under the clear film. “Okay… for real what is it? Your ink sac is in the way….”

“Ew don’t call it that.” Leo smiles and looks down at the said blob. “It’s a pinup, she is actually based off that picture of Logan in your jersey, she has a mix of y’alls features and is also the only color tattoo I have… because she is so special.” Leo has the sappiest look on his face as he describes her. “You like?”

“I love… we should name her! I vote Matilda!” Logan smiles proud of the name he thought of.

“No, we need a better name! I like Veronica.” FInn and Logan continue to argue over names as Leo feeds his aggressive fish that Clay graciously named ‘Finlo… get it because Finn and Logan. Because it's red like Finn and mean like Logan!’ The name stuck somehow.

“Guys, guys. She can have two different names.” Leo smiles at them and leans against the counter. Watching them narrow their eyes at each other until one of them looks away.

“Fine! But can we have sex now? You know what your tattoos do to me, and now that you have one that has something to do to me.” Finn sighs and walks towards Leo who spins them around with a hand on either side of Finn. “whoa.”

“Sure we can, but we can’t fuck up her face… so I want to watch you and Lo.”

When Thomas walks in the door he is met with the cutest sight. Clay is asleep on Nolles chest on the couch with a back of frozen peas on his ass. Walking in and giving Noelle a kiss, he sits down next to them on the ground, reaching to grab Clay’s hand that is squished under him. He gets Clay’s hand and kisses the back of it.

“How long has he been asleep?”

“He was just pacing around the room and running to the window like a dog every time one of the neighbors slammed their car doors. It was really cute, but then I could tell his back and booty were hurting so I made him lay down and ice. He was not happy with me.” Noelle smiles and pets his hair back as Thomas leans in for another kiss, which she happily accepts.

“We need to sit down and talk with him about our sexlife, he definitely wasn’t what I expected in bed. A lot less ‘I want to be in control’ than I thought. He was very submissive and basically let me do what I wanted to him.” They both look down at the sleeping man. “He really really liked being fucked though. He said he has only been fucked once before, I think, but if he loved it that much then why has he never done it again?” Noelle furrows her brows in a way that means she is looking deep into the meaning of something.

“We just need to talk with him, I don’t think he would ever keep a secret from us unless it's really bad. I trust him, he obviously trusts us enough to A) Let you fuck him and B) Let us call while it is happening.” Noelle nods after a moment and sighs.

“We should wake him up, I want to use those peas for dinner tonight.”

“I’ll do it, he will probably jump on me.” Thomas smiles and scoots down until he is face to face with Clay, nudging him with his hand for a bit as he watches as those big puppy dog eyes open. They blink a few times and then finally focus on Thomas. “Hi.” The smile on Clay’s face blooms happiness in Thomas’ chest and before he knows it, Clay is off of Noelle and into his arms.

“Mm missed you.” Clay mumbles into Thomas’ neck and breathes him in. He smells like his cologne and a hint of sweat. Clay loves it. He pulls away a little as Noelle kisses both their foreheads and walks to the kitchen with the bag of peas in hand. Looking back to Thomas, Clay gets comfy by sitting between Thomas’ legs and hooking his ankles behind his back. His arms around his neck, just pressing their foreheads together as Clay’s still sleepy eyelids close.

“You’re so warm.” Thomas pulls away to cup Clay's face and smiles when Clay leans into one of his hands, keeping his eyes closed. His naturally curled lashes rest on his smooth cheeks. “You’re so beautiful.” Clay’s eyes open and he turns slightly red.

“No one has ever called me beautiful before…”

“You are, you are so beautiful.” Clay is looking at Thomas with a mix of millions of emotions flashing across his face.

“I don’t know how to respond.”

“You don’t need to. But that means I should keep telling you until you do know how to respond.” Leaning in their lips meet and they both smile.

Everything felt so right.

A week passed, Thomas and Noelle were busy with work and school, leaving Clay alone for most of the day. It was starting to take an effect on Clay as well. Yes He would walk around town with Tina when he was bored and his friends were busy or sleeping. He would hide William in places that he knew would make Thomas scream and run away. He also continued making little origami hats for William.

Tina hasn’t left his side recently and Clay really appreciates him greatly for that.

“Tina! Food time!” Clay puts Tina’s food in his bowl as William continues to tunnel his way through Clay’s hair. He doesn’t know why but William loves crawling in his hair. Thomas hates it because William scares him when he goes to Kiss Clay on the top of his head… and there is a snake there.

Clay goes to put William back in his enclosure, while he is closing the lid to the enclosure he hears the front door open and Noelle and Thomas call out at the same time.

“We’re home!” Noelle takes off her boots and hat and shakes out her hair from the snow flakes in it. Yesterday was the first snow Clay has ever seen, it was adorable. He ran outside in his shorts and sweatshirt. Standing in the middle of their tiny front yard and staring up at the gloomy yet bright sky as the flakes of snow land on his face.

He was looking up in awe while being barefoot on the damp grass since there wasn’t enough snow to stick and stay. He danced around getting his feet and legs all muddy. Thomas took a couple pictures of the flakes landing on Clay’s hair and eyelashes because Clay wants to remember this for the rest of his life.

They picked up the pictures on the way home today, Clay wants to add them to his little knick-knack collection. Clay is like a penguin in the way he loves to bring people he loves, little things from bobble heads to rocks and sticks that look like wands.

Thomas and Noelle both had a box that was almost already full.

“Hi! I missed you.” Clay runs into the room and hugs them both, giving them a bunch of smooches. “How was today?” Clay hovers around them as they unpack the groceries and the pictures, Thomas hugs him from behind and kisses his ear, making Clay laugh by biting it.

“Today was good, but we need to sit down and talk about our sexlife tonight.” Thomas mumbles in his ear and Noelle nods in agreement.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course not, we just need to talk about what you like and don’t like.” Pinching his cheek Noelle smiles at him and Clay instantly relaxes, but he’s worried about what they will ask.

“Can we just talk now? I'm pretty open to everything. I’ll do anything you want me to!” His heart starts to pick up because he doesn’t want them to leave him because of things he doesn’t like in bed… he can always suck it up for them. Because he really likes them.

“Clay there has to be somethings you don’t like, I mean I personally don’t want to ever bottom. It scares me and yes I trust you both but it’s not something I’m interested in.”

“I like so be in charge during sex, so being bossed around really isn’t something I’m into. I also don’t really like anything like impact play… just no thanks.” Noelle hands Clay the can of Kiwi Apple Redbull he asked for earlier. He just holds it while he thinks.

“ I guess maybe… I don’t want to be tied up… unless you want me to be! Then I will!” He holds his Red Bull to his chest, really wishing it gave him wings to fly away from this conversation.

“Clay, we aren’t going to ask you to do anything you don’t want too, that’s why we are having this conversation, because communication and boundaries are important.” Thomas let’s go of Clay and walks over to where Noelle is trying to reach a cup on the top shelf that he puts there out of habit. He gets it down for her and they turn back to Clay. “You okay?”

“Umm I- I need to…” he’s trying to think of an excuse to leave because he wants to believe that they won’t leave him if he says no to something they do want but a voice in the back of his head sounding scarily like Ashley is telling him they will do whatever they want to him and he has to like it… or they will leave and find someone else. “I need to go to the barn!” Clay takes his RedBull and the keys to his new pick up and sprints out the door. Leaving the people he… really really likes behind.

He gets into the truck and turns it on and starts driving, with no place to go. Jesus, Take the Wheel by Carrie Underwood comes on over the radio and he listens to it for a couple of seconds before shutting the radio off as he pulls into a parking spot. He gets out and starts walking like his body is on autopilot. He doesn’t realise where he is until he is unlocking the door to Finn and Leo’s apartment with the key Finn gave him.

“Hey Clay.” Finn waves from the couch as he reads his book that Clay doesn’t care enough about to actually look and see what it is. “Leo’s in the kitchen.”

Clay walks into the kitchen after kicking off his boots that he doesn't remember putting on. Leo takes one look at him and knows.

Handing him a spoon, Leo points to the recipe he’s making from his mother's cookbook.

Chicken and Dumpling (minus the chicken)

Clay and Leo work silently together making this soup. Eventually Finn tells them he is going to pick up and take Logan home from the tattoo shop where he just got his half black and grey Japanese style sleeve done. He leaves the apartment.

“Should I tell them about Ashley?”

“If you feel comfortable enough too.”

“And if I don’t?” Leo looks at him and wraps a supportive arm around his shoulder as he stirs the simmering soup.

“They will understand.” Clay stays for dinner that night, eating with Leo and Finn. Clay and Finn talk about flesh pedestrians that Leo doesn’t believe in but add his thoughts into. After they finish eating Clay decides to go back home… yeah, home.

He walks in the front door and is suddenly off the ground in a vice grip hug.

“I told him you went to Leo’s but he didn’t believe me!” Noelle shouts from the other room, as she finishes chucking some socks in the dryer because Thomas would somehow manage to burn the house down.

“I was so worried! Are you okay? Did we upset you?” Thomas has set Clay down and is examining every inch of him. “You smell like soup.”

“I ate soup.” Clay smiles and hugs Thomas again, much softer. “I’m okay, I just am not used to people caring about what I like in bed. With my last girlfriend I was just told to take what she gave me and like it… so I’m sorry for just running out like that.”

“Hey it’s okay, but a text would have been nice.” Noelle joins in the hug and smiles at him. “Do you want to tell us anything else about her?” Clay shakes his head and Noelle and Thomas share a worried look but then nod because it’s not their story to know. “How about we go have a cuddle in bed and fall asleep to some terrible ghost hunting show? Yeah?”

“I’d love that.” And I love you. Clay thinks that in his mind for the very first time as he watched them walk to the bedroom. He loves them.

“I’ll have water too, thanks.” Finn was out at lunch with Sirius, Remus, James and Thomas. They all haven’t been able to hang out outside of practice recently so it felt nice.

“So, how are the boyyyyssss?” James puts his elbows on the table and flutters his eyelashes at Finn and Thomas who can’t help but chuckle.

“Leo is doing great, a little cold but great. He recently got a new tattoo that is a pinup girl of me and Logan mixed together and phew… it’s really hot.” Finn smiles and feels his phone go off but decides to ignore it for now. “How about Clay?”

“Clay and Noelle both got new tattoos, clays is vampire bites on his neck and Noelles is a Medusa with tentacles for hair on her Bicep. Pretty sexy.”

“I’ve always wanted a tattoo.” James smiles at the waitress who brings them their waters and straws, he shoots the straw wrapper at Sirius and then gulps down half his water. “I always chicken out though.”

“We should get together sometime.” Sirius flicks some of his water and James while he offers to get a tattoo with him. “What about you? Do you want one?”

“I’d rather have a piercing than a tattoo but I’m not against getting one.” Remus continues looking at the menu as he sips his own water.

As the conversation dies down a little Finn checks his phone, it’s a snap notification from Leo. Finn goes to open it thinking that it’s probably a video of him and logan having another stupid contest. What he is met with makes him choke on his water and start coughing but so he doesn’t miss anything he saves the video to chat.

The video is kinda dim but you can clearly see Logan, beautiful Logan, with his hands tied wrist to elbow behind his back as they stand in front of a mirror. Logan’s face is resting cheek to Leo’s chest so Finn can see his panting and whining. His hair is long enough it’s covering his eyes and most of his nose. All he can see of Leo is part of his chest that Logan is covering, the arm holding up the phone, his smirk that shows off his dimples… and his other hand that is currently fingering Logan.

He can see a bunch of Leo’s tattoos but it’s so dark he can only make out the Egyptian beetle on his neck. He watches as Logan jerks a little from what he knows is Leo hitting his prostate and at the end it looks like Logan whines ‘Finn’ but he has his volume off so he can’t hear it.

Fuck… now he can’t wait to get home.

#leo knut #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #james potter #thomas walker #Clayton Bruss #o'knutzy #o’knutzy #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast

22 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

Text

Still Clean

CW: Referenced noncon and incredibly fucky attitudes/beliefs around spice and his own body from an abuse and assault survivor still very much normalizing it, minor attempting to initiate spice with adult due to trauma (adult reacts with a Big No), trauma response

TIMELINE: Chris’s first few days in the shelter, before he picks his name. I would say this is actually shortly after the first time he speaks to Jake.

The first shower is… different.

Baldur has taken showers before, of course. At Sir's, although mostly he had baths, soaking in the big old claw foot rub with Sir's fingers gently circling his scalp to lather up shampoo he'd ordered to bring Baldur's hair to a high shine, make it soft to touch.

H had showers in the big room at training, frantically scrubbing cheap soap into his scalp and skin, hoping if he moved fast enough he wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye. He's showered with other trainees who kept their gaze down, just like him, or handlers who would stare.

If you were lucky, all they did was stare.

223499 was pretty, they all said so. Too pretty. He knew what that meant. So he got clean as fast as he could, and it didn’t really matter, because nobody ever stays clean in training.

This, though, this is different.

For the first time in his whole memory, he’s going to take a shower alone.

The boy makes his careful way out from underneath the bed while everyone else is downstairs. He listens, at the doorway to the room he is in, head tilted. The sound of silverware scraping on plates, people talking over each other but not angrily, just… talking. Someone laughs, and then everyone laughs.

The boy swallows against a sharpness, like a bit of glass has lodged just over his heart. He would have liked to do that, he thinks. He would have liked to belong to someone who laughs, not at him, like Sir, but because something is funny without hurting anyone.

His neck is itching - they cut his collar off, and he feels naked without it, even in the big shirt they've given him to wear over the tight, soft black pants the woman who found him helped him put on in her car, in the rain. He hasn't taken them off yet. They feel like his trainee shorts. They feel like home.

While they are downstairs, he tiptoes out into the hall, wincing at the slightest little creaks of old wood beneath bare feet. His stomach gnaws on itself, empty and aching for something, but he won't leave the safety of the space behind the bed, not yet. Have to wait.

Wait for what?

He doesn't know.

Still, he knows that he smells - like sweat, a pungent sharp odor that he is sure must bother the other one who sleeps in the room, although the other one never says it. He knows.

He's only been dirty like this once, in memories he is almost too terrified to hold onto. Locked in the white room alone - alone and alone and alone- until he was screaming for someone to come in and help him, talk to him, touch him, do whatever they wanted if he could just stop being alone-

The boy's fingers slip up under the hem of his shirt as he creeps along, finding the warmth of his abdomen, twisting his fingers and tapping them. The soft soothe of controlled sensation calms the way his heart wants to race.

No more white rooms. The woman said that, to him - no more white rooms.

His eyes dart back and forth. The pills have worn off, and it's been so long since he could see with all his thoughts that he sees everything now, in a rush of detail he can't quite grasp onto.

He can see the pattern of the woodgrain in the floor and the way the old walls are painted with a heavy matte paint and photos hung there of the woman and the younger man and some people the boy hasn't seen. He is aware of a room that he passes and all the detail of the two beds inside - where the two girls sleep, the ones who he has only seen once in a brief glimpse. He knows their voices, though. They're laughing downstairs.

Another room, where the man, the one who might own him now, sleeps at night. Messy, a room that looks comfortable. It smells like the cologne the man wears. Baldur likes his cologne, a little too strong but it smells, to him, like something good. He sees the little hook to pull down a ladder to where the owner of everyone here sleeps in the attic and he sees the bathroom door has peeling paint over older, darker paint and he sees the towels are worn but fluffy hanging inside and-

And he is in the bathroom.

In training there were no baths, only showers. At Sir's, the shower was on one side of the bathroom and the old clawfoot tub on the other. Here, the bathtub and shower are the same, set into a notch in the wall. The shower curtain has dinosaurs on it and the boy hums, letting his fingertips reach out to slowly run down the silky plastic.

Tyrannosaurus rex. Stegosaurus. Triceratops…

He knows which is which, the knowledge dances around inside him, but he doesn't know why he knows it. He had a favorite dinosaur, once. He thinks.

He can almost see bookshelves full of dinosaur things, little plastic figurines that he could run his fingers over and feel the rough texture of their scales and skin built into the plastic. Tiny white-pain teeth there felt sharp if he pushed his little fingers into them, pretended the dinosaur would bite him.

Line them up by height, from tall long-necked to tiny little runners.

Dinosaurs are birds, now. But crocodiles… crocodiles and alligators haven't changed in millions of years, because they're already perfect, a voice murmurs, somewhere inside. Flush with excitement. A man's voice, maybe. Do you see? They didn't evolve more because they're absolutely perfect. We just don't get them, so we think they’re ugly, but we don’t know what ugly is, do we?

He winces, at the headache that rocks through him on the heels of the man's voice. It slips beneath the surface and the buzz of other thoughts takes over.

The boy doesn’t remember bookshelves anymore - or anything at all.

False memories are a common result of proprietary training procedures and should be ignored. That voice he knows, and there isn't any headache with that thought. Handler Petrus can live in his head without it hurting - it is the other voices that hurt.

The boy carefully closes the door to the bathroom, and with a thrill of fear at doing something so absolutely not allowed… he locks the door.

Baldur, darlin', are you allowed to-

No more locked doors, the woman said that, too, but she didn't say he couldn't lock them himself.

He pulls the shirt off over his head, steps out of the pants, peeling them away from his legs. He looks at the hamper, then puts the pants into the trash can instead.

The knobs are old and look like glass but feel like plastic, and water thunders from the faucet in a tremendous rush, ice cold when he puts his fingers underneath to feel it. He shivers in the chilly bathroom, and stares at it, listening and listening. It sounds like something. He can't remember what.

He's humming again, low throaty noises, settling his nerves. Not an allowed sound. His hands twitch in a memory of the black baton used to teach him to stop, and he goes silent.

Silence is better than stammering. Easy, just repeat, again and again, until the other thoughts are gone. But with the medicine gone from his system there are so many other thoughts, his mind running on so many tracks, that he can't drown it all out.

The water starts, slowly, to warm to the touch. The boy rocks, just a little - just the teeniest bit, no one is watching him, no one will know - as he enjoys the way it grows from cold to cool to warm to hot.

Then he turns the big knob in the center, and the shower kicks on, sending a cascade of hot water with a soft sssssssssssss to the tub.

The boy's hair hangs in greasy hanks over his forehead, and as he steps in, his eyes scan immediately for shampoo.

He finds something - he can't read the bottle but it is short and squat, a clear lime green. The liquid inside smells like mint and something else he can't name, and he breathes it in, eyes closing, before he rubs his palms together to lather and then moves his hands to his hair.

The air smells so good, around him, and when he catches himself humming again, he tries to keep it soft, rather than stop.

No one is in here. It’s just him, all by himself, and he smiles into the water, letting the shower beat directly onto his face, the water pressure gentle and low, falling like warm rain.

Days of oil and dust from under the bed wash out of his hair and down his skin, and he scrubs and scrubs the last remaining hints of Sir's hands and mouth with the bar of white soap that sits in a little dish attached to the tiled wall. There is a small matte green bottle, too, and it smells like the shampoo but it is thick and heavy and he thinks this must be the conditioner - so he uses that, too.

The smell-

He wants-...

On impulse, he rubs the conditioner over his entire body, all at once, determined to make every inch of himself clean. His back, right at the small of it, his stomach below his navel, his collarbone and neck, ears, even dipping between his legs with a thrill of the forbidden things he isn’t allowed to do right down his spine…

He would be in so much trouble in training, if they saw. And worse with Sir - there would be a game, to teach him never ever to break a rule again.

He isn't going to get in trouble, here - no one is in this room but him.

He isn’t trying to do things he’s not allowed to do, exactly. He just wants it all - all of him, every inch of him - to smell like the mint, chase away the memory of the things he is made for and doesn’t want, to wipe away all the remaining sense he has of the places his Sir liked to touch him most.

No Sir, here. Just him. Just himself, and the things on his hands that can make him feel almost… almost clean.

He is in there so long that the water turns back to lukewarm and finally to cold, and the boy is shivering as he steps back out onto a shaggy bath mat, which he realizes matches the curtain - it has a T. Rex on it, and he grins at that, rocking side to side, water running in rivulets down his body. Flash of teeth - oh he should brush his teeth, they’re fuzzy and gross like, like back in training when he would be locked in his room for days and days and days-

Baldur pads silently up to the sink, frowning, tapping on the porcelain before he pulls open a drawer, finds an unopened toothbrush, and forces it open.

Sir used toothpaste that tasted like cinnamon, and Baldur hates cinnamon but it didn’t matter what he hates, not to Sir.

But this… this toothpaste just tastes like mint and mint alone. He closes his eyes, rinsing his mouth, running his tongue over his teeth again and again as he feels them - solid, strong, and smoothly clean now.

He looks, he thinks, like a whole different person. Baldur stares in the mirror, blinking, at his own green eyes, the narrow chin and high cheekbones, eyebrows so light they seem to fade into the paleness of his skin. Smattering of freckles, he presses at those with his fingertips, hesitantly, gently. Clean, wet hair right now the color of an old penny and when dry, the same as a brand new one, flopped over his forehead, curling just a little under his ears.

Clean.

Clean, with no hands on him, no mouth. Just clean.

For now.

He will have to be good for the man, or the woman, whenever they get tired of his hiding. He knows that. There will be a new collar, sooner or later. But for this moment in the bathroom, he feels clean.

Like a real kid, like the ones he saw coming on field trips, who laughed and shoved each other and shouted and walked with awkwardness but with an understanding that their bodies didn’t come with a price tag.

Then he realizes he doesn't have any clean clothes to change into. Breath hisses out of him as he towel dries his hair and then wraps a fresh towel around his waist, but it's fine. There are clothes for him on the bed.

He just.

Just has to get back to his bedroom, and then hide under the bed. Right back where it's safe, where it's dark.

He twists open the door - the knob is a little slippery under his fingers, he hears the soft click of it automatically unlocking - and as the door swings open, he comes face to face with the man who might own him now.

Or rather, face to collarbone. He has to raise his chin to look the man in the eyes.

"Oh. Uh. Hi," The man says, in a deep voice. "Hey. I didn't know-... I figured you'd already-"

Baldur shivers, the chilly winter air in the house suddenly cooling every bit of damp still on his skin.

It had been nice, to be clean, for a few minutes anyway.

He looks up at the man - blond hair and nice jaw and soft blue eyes, this won’t be so bad, he doesn’t look mean like a handler or cruel like Sir - and Baldur lowers his hand down to where his towel is tucked over itself just above his hips, lips parted slightly. Into training, he knows this, it's what he's made for. It’s easy.

Tilt the head just so much, to let his hair fall over his eyes the right way, give a slight little smile-

The man’s eyebrows raise, and he puts up both hands, and the boy wonders what part of him the man will want to touch first. "Oh, uh, no, you don't-"

Bite his bottom lip, just a slight press of teeth into soft skin-

The man steps forward, and the boy’s breath hitches in. He can do this. He can, he’s trained for this, and if he screams inside his head and not out loud no one will ever know to punish him. H

is fingers hesitate, pressed into the soft cotton towel. He tells himself to let it all slide away, to slip beneath the white light and let his training take over. If he just goes away inside his head, it will be over, soon enough.

"Hey, little man, we definitely don't need-"

The boy drops the towel to the floor, wondering how long it will take to not smell like mint anymore, and says in a low, husky voice - his shoulders are tense, it had taken days to get his voice just right, days and days of saying it over and over again until he never stopped screaming in pain, “I want this. I want you.”

There’s a breath of silence, the man staring at him - at his face, the boy realizes, and no one’s ever just looked at his face before. Then he says, in a strangled voice, “Absolutely not.”

The boy swallows. Is he-... is he supposed to-

“Sir?”

“I’m not sir. And absolutely the fuck not could you possibly want-... no. No.” The man steps back, and back again. The blood rises in the boy’s face, he feels the heat there burning with something like embarrassment, or shame, except he’s not supposed to have shame anymore.

But he does.

“I-I want-”

“No you don’t. No, you-... you don’t. No. We’re not going to do that, here. You will never-... Jesus Christ, I just-. Shit. What worked with Kauri? I just-”

The boy stares, slowly comprehending that he has… he’s done it wrong, somehow, and the man doesn’t want him to. He doesn’t want to. The boy breathes in, and out, and it’s with worry and relief. “I-I, I don’t… know… how to, to clean,” He says slowly, worriedly. “Or to do-... anything. I-I’m only, only good for-”

“No, you’re not, you’re just-”

But they said-

The boy’s breaths are coming faster, close to panting, now, his heart pounding against his chest. His face still burns red, and his eyes flicker away, away from the look on the man’s face that he can’t read. He has to be, to be still, and be good, but he doesn’t want him to be good…

He can see the door to the room they put him in.

The boy’s eyes flicker back to the man’s, then to the door of his room. He moves, carefully, to crouch back down and pick the towel back up. The man doesn’t stop him, only watches as the boy wraps the towel back around his waist with shaking hands. He’s going to be in trouble. Somehow he messed this up, and he’s not sure how, and… and…

“I, I, I-I like your sh, shower curtain,” The boy blurts out, and then flees down the hall back to the room, throwing himself inside and slamming the door shut, scrambling across to the bed and grabbing a pair of pajama pants that were there on the blankets. He drops to his knees and crawls underneath to the little nest he’s made along the wall of blankets and pillows, curling up naked but for the towel, under a blanket, shivering, staring from under the bed at the door.

He hears, dimly, the man say, how the fuck do I keep screwing this up? and then the sound of stomping feet down the stairs. The boy rocks, under the bed, rocks and rocks where he is safe to rock and no one will stop him or hurt him, tapping on his own skin, just to feel a little calmer.

At some point, he falls asleep.

He’s good at falling asleep whenever and wherever, now. Nothing could be worse than trying to sleep curled up on the cold tile floor with the bright white light. Here in a warm soft circle of blankets, it’s almost impossible for him to be awake for long.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s night - the other man here, the soft quiet one, is already asleep, breathing deeply in the other bed across the room. There’s a small night light plugged into a wall, throwing a dim, warm, gentle yellow glow in a small circle around itself.

Folded and laid carefully just on the floor, an arm’s length away from the boy, is a t-shirt. He has to squint to see it, but his eyes widen as he realizes the front of it has the outline of a T. Rex holding a mug of coffee. There are words, but the boy carefully doesn’t see them as he grabs at the fabric - soft, ancient and washed a hundred times, it feels almost like skin - and pulls it to himself.

He pulls it on over his head, and then pulls the pajama pants on up over his legs. Soft, soft, soft. He runs his fingers back and forth over the slight change in texture from the design, just a little rougher than the soft cotton around it. Pulls the neckline of the shirt up over his nose, breathes in. It smells a little like the man’s cologne, mixed with laundry soap.

Is it his shirt? Did he give the boy his shirt, even after he wasn’t good the right way?

He pulls it back down and some of his hair falls over his eyes.

He smells mint.

Still clean.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump, @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth, @cubeswhump

314 notes · View notes