#so I just wanted to get it off my chest for a while

[hyunniesamericano]

Ride my face

Pairing: Bang Chan × fem! Reader

Warning: Smut (Drabble)

Chan’s voice is low, wrecked, and there’s nothing sweet in his eyes now—just hunger. Pure, feral hunger.

He’s flat on his back, shirtless, sweat clinging to his chest, curls messy like he’s already been in a fight with pleasure. And he’s ready to lose.

“You heard me,” he growls when you hesitate—not out of shyness, but because his words just hit. “Sit that pretty pussy on my face and don’t fucking hold back.”

You straddle him, knees trembling from the sheer intensity in his gaze. His hands grip your thighs, dragging you down like he’s claiming you—like his mouth belongs there.

And fuck, it does.The second you settle over him, he groans like he’s finally home.

Tongue everywhere. Nose brushing your clit. Slurping, sucking, moaning into you like a man possessed.

“God, you taste like sin,” he gasps between licks, “Gonna make you cum so hard, baby. Rub that cunt on my tongue—use me.”

He keeps going like he needs it to breathe. Like he wants to drown.Like you’re his favorite fucking flavor and he’ll die happily between your thighs.

Your thighs clench around his head, tighter this time, but Chan just groans, desperate and greedy, digging his fingers into your hips to keep you there, grinding your pussy harder against his mouth.

He’s fucking starving for you—tongue dragging sloppily over your clit, sucking it between his lips like he’s trying to milk every last drop of your pleasure.

You feel it—the way his breathing turns shallow beneath you, the way his nose presses deep against your heat.

It’s almost too much for him.Almost.But the low, broken moan that rips from his throat tells you exactly how much he loves it.

You grind your hips a little harder against his mouth, just to test him, and his fingers tighten—desperate, needy.

"What's wrong, baby?" you pant out between gasps, looking down at him with a wicked smirk. "You want me to break you?"

That’s all it takes.Chan growls, a feral, low sound vibrating against your soaked cunt, his eyes blazing as he looks up at you like a man possessed."Fuck yeah," he grits out between frantic licks. "Break me, baby. Fucking ruin me."

You moan in response And then he loses it.Grabs your ass with both hands, forcing you down harder against his mouth, smothering himself in your pussy like he doesn’t care if he can breathe or not.

You swear you hear him whimper, his entire body trembling with the effort to keep you where he wants you—like he needs you to suffocate him with your pleasure.

And it’s working.God, it’s working too well.

Your stomach tightens, muscles locking up as your orgasm slams into you, blinding and brutal, a choked cry ripping from your throat.

You squirm, instinctively trying to pull away, but Chan just growls, low and wrecked, locking you down tighter.

"Uh-uh," he pants against you, tongue never slowing. "Not done. Gimme another. Wanna feel you break on my tongue."

You can barely breathe—legs trembling, vision blurring—as he devours you through it, the overstimulation turning your brain into static.

Every flick of his tongue is too much, too good, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through your entire body until you’re gasping his name, hips jerking uncontrollably against his mouth.

"That's it, baby," Chan murmurs, voice dark and wrecked between licks. "Cum for me again. Fucking soak me. I can take it."

You don't even realize you're crying until he tilts his head just right, sucking your clit into his mouth hard—and your body just breaks again, harder, helpless, writhing against his face while he groans like he’s getting off on drowning in you.

And still, he doesn’t stop.

[laceyfaeryy]

What about Simon on a mission injured, with his pretty little nurse, who everyone knows because of her temper, but is so so submissive with him?

MDNI 18+

cw: brief mentions of gunshot wound, oral (m) receiving

“fuck, i did a bad one didn’t i luvie?” simon grunted as he sat shirtless on the bed, his wound bandaged up. it wasn’t a secret that simon took an interest in you, after all he was mainly surrounded by men and not pretty women like you. “you should’ve been more careful, any deeper and you could’ve bled out badly,” your voice soft but slightly stern, as if you were trying to hide your concern.

a lazy smile formed on his face, “s’not like i could’ve avoided a gunshot wound easily, ‘m not that good.” captain price walked into the room, his shoulders relaxing under the heavy uniform when he saw simon. “bet yer getting a good lashin from the nurse eh? she’s got quite an attitude.”

oh, if only they knew.

you stayed the night at the medical facility, a lame excuse of spending more time with simon. “you’re injured, the last thing you would want is to do some strenuous activities,” you mumbled, trying to keep yourself occupied so he wouldn’t see the faint blush on your cheeks. “awh come on luvie, yer old man is injured and you can’t provide some sort of relief?” his voice soft as he gently tugged you towards him.

“just a few bounces won’t hurt.”

“or you can blow me.”

he winced when you gently smacked his chest, “come on luvie, ‘m a strong man i know my limits.” his large hands gently rubbed along your sides, your thin uniform barely doing anything to hide the shivers. “everyone talks about yer feisty mouth, about time i see it hm?”

it was funny hearing his task mates talk about your attitude, but yet you were all gooey eyed for him whenever he snuck into your room late at night, making you cock drunk. a few thrusts in your little cunt and you would do whatever he says - literally simon says, it was pathetically cute.

“gonna suck my cock pretty nurse? or do i have to fuck it in my hands in front of you?”

he knew exactly what you were going to chose.

“atta girl,” he hissed as you knelt by the flimsy medical bed, his large tatted hand holding up your hair in a pony tail. “gotta stuff that pretty lil mouth every once in a while after givin’ everyone some attitude.”

you gagged slightly when you took him too deeply, drooling all over his cock and making a mess on your hands. “take yer time luvie, no one is gonna see us,” simon cooed softly at the pathetic sight of you. god, everyone knew about how fiery you were but here you are on your knees sucking simon off.

“fuck luvie ‘m gonna cum,” he grunted as his hips thrusted slightly, the feeling of your warm mouth milking him dry. eventually he spilt all of it in your mouth, a string of saliva connecting from your mouth to the tip of his cock.

“such a pretty girl, someone’s gotta tame you hm?”

simon gently smearing the cum that dribbled down his cock along your plush swollen lips, making them glossy. gently he slipped his thumb in, you obediently sucking it. “got yer real good hm?”

tag list: @happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @prettyinpink-bimbo @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone

[bunnis-monsters]

Hiii! Love your work!

If it's okay, I would like to send in an ask for your snow leopard hybrid. He is absolutely my favorite! This is so random but I was thinking of him with an autistic reader who is like constantly playing with his tail and ears. It's just the perfect stim toy because it's all warm and soft. I was thinking like she presses it to her cheeks or chest different parts of her body and bro can't help but get horny from it.

I know it's random and it's cool if you don't wanna do it, this has just been floating around in my mind for a while.

Have a good day/night/evening! :)))

He’s always been pretty patient with you, and tolerates pretty much everything.

You had a bit of an overstimulating day, so now all you want to do is cuddle with your lover.

His ears are soft and fluffy, fun to pet and tug on. With the right amount of scratching, he’ll begin to purr for you.

In all honesty his purring is soothing as well, so you play with his tail as he begins grooming your head. He swishes his tail a bit, smiling down at you fondly when you giggle and reach for it again.

Sometimes you’ll just bury your face into his fluff, too emotionally drained and overstimulated to talk or be playful. When that happens, he’s quiet, and will rub your back or play with your hair if you allow it.

Other, you rub a bit too much. Some days he’s more sensitive than others, and with all the petting and touching, he’ll get hard instantly.

Don’t worry, jerking him off feels nice too, and you like watching him cum all over your hands. He’s very affectionate with you after he’s had a nice orgasm, even more so than usual.

[xoxochb]

“tuesday august tenth, two-thousand and seven at two forty five pm.”

your brows furrow and you lift your head from your book. “…what…?”

percy looks at you like the response to his, abnormal-but-not abnormal for him because he’s percy, statement had the most obvious answer on planet earth. like you’d remember something that happened that long ago.

“you don’t remember?”

“well— well I remember the date, yes, but what the hell happened at two forty five pm?”

percy shakes his head and slumps down against the sheets. “okay… okay…”

“just tell me.”

you take his arm and use it to pull him to rest his head on your lap. obediently, he melts into you, hand rubbing at your knees.

“on tuesday august tenth two-thousand—”

“percy.”

his face nuzzles into your thighs, pecking them. “you kissed me for the first time.”

“and… you remember the exact timing how?”

“four years after that— thursday august eighteenth you gave me my first orgasm.”

oh… so this is the boy you’re soulmates with…

“percy.” you swipe his raven hair out of his eyes, lingering your hands through the tousled strands.

“my sweetest girl.”

he rolls the back of his head to your legs so he faces you. the green waves capture you quickly, drowning you within the sea for eternity.

“do you mark these events on the calendar?”

a slow, bashful almost, smile makes its way to grace upon his lips. “they’re special to me, sweet girl.”

“what else do you have?” you move his strands again, this time reaching down swiftly to kiss his forehead.

“first date, first ‘I love you,’ first time you meet my mom, first time you slept at my cabin, first time we held hands, when I proposed…” his voice trails off and you know there’s likely more than what he’s listed.

you let a slow sigh fill the gap of silence. “I didn’t know you remembered all of that.”

percy shrugs. “I guess I’m full of mysteries.”

“you’re not mysterious at all, you always make me hold your hand while you pee.”

“emotional support.”

“percy—” you crack a grin but stifle a laugh. “you’re a grown man, you can urinate on your own.”

“being able to do something doesn’t mean I want to do it, sweet girl.”

“this is not— y’know what, this conversation is over.”

“so soon?” percy pouts theatrically.

“yes.” you place a kiss to his mouth before slipping out of bed. “I have to use the bathroom now. and you’re not going to hold my hand so stay there.”

“so I get a reward for listening?” percy sits up against the pillows.

sigh.

tousled dark hair, suntanned chest on full display, and those biceps….

no. no.

‘obedience should come naturally, not when rewarded,’ you always say to him.

but maybe you could make an exception just this once…

[foxy-eva]

Come in Handy

Summary: Spencer is very needy so you take care of him

Request: Sub!Spencer and Softdom!Reader where he gets a handjob and whimpers and likes to be praised

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) dom/sub undertones (Softdom!Reader, Sub!Spencer), teasing, use of nicknames, grinding, mild degradation, praising, handjob

Word count: 900

Masterlist

Right when you thought your boyfriend might have finally fallen asleep, you felt him move closer to you, clearly longing for your nearness. Wrapping your arms around him, you pulled him flush against your body while he buried his face in the crook of your neck. 

Spencer’s breath felt hot against your skin and you could feel his heart beating erratically inside his chest. Quickly it became obvious that your proximity wasn’t the only thing he craved. 

“My poor pitiful boy,” you teased when you felt Spencer press his already half-hard length against your thigh. “Are you having a difficult time falling asleep?”

The whimper falling from his lips morphed into a full moan when you rubbed your leg further against his aching cock. 

“Aww,” you cooed. “So desperate.” 

“Need you…,” he whined. 

Your hand met his jaw and urged him to tilt his head so you could capture his lips in a soft kiss. There was hardly anything in this world you loved more than seeing him so needy. 

“Go on,” you breathed against his lips while pressing your thigh harder against his erection.

Almost frantically he began grinding against your leg, the fabric of his pajama pants creating some much needed friction. It wasn’t enough for him, though and you were very aware of that. 

After just a few moments he muttered, “Please…” 

Innocently as ever, you purred, “Please what, cutie?” 

“Please, I need more!” His plea sounded so desperate it made your heart jump. 

To end his suffering, you placed another kiss on his lips before telling him, “Then be a good boy and take your clothes off.” 

Hurried and with little grace he pushed the blankets aside and shed his pajamas, carelessly dropping them on the floor. You leaned over to your nightstand to turn on the night lamp and reach for the lube in your drawer. When you turned to your boyfriend, he was laying on his back, his hard cock resting on his stomach, aching to be touched. 

The tip was already glistening with his arousal when you gently touched him to spread the lube over his velvety skin. Spencer shuddered while his hardness twitched against your palm. Laying down beside him, you kissed his cheek, his jaw, his neck and his collarbone and watched how his entire body broke out in goosebumps. 

“You’re so cute when you’re needy like that,” you praised him. “Let me take care of you.” 

Curious fingertips danced along his shaft before gliding over the tip. They wandered down his length again to tease the soft skin of his balls with featherlight touches. You were aware how sensitive he was but it still amazed you every time you witnessed his reactions. 

His mouth hung agape while a broken moan fell from his lips. When you wrapped your hand around the base of his erection, you gave him a gentle squeeze and watched how two beads of his precum spilled from the swollen head. 

“Your cock is so pretty,” you purred before placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He only whined in response. Then with a firm tone you ordered, “I want you to watch.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened at your words and you noticed how his pupils dilated to the rim. Without hesitation he let his sight drop to where your hand was wrapped around him. 

“You’re so beautiful, Spencer,” you whispered while moving your hand up lazily. “I could toy with you all night.” 

Something between a cry and a laugh escaped his throat. “That would be the end of me.” 

“You’re right,” you agreed. “I won’t be cruel, I promise. You’re always such a good boy for me after all.” 

A content hum rumbled through his chest. Spencer’s eyes were still fixated on your hand and he gasped when you finally began tightening your grip around him. With slow but precise motions you caressed him, swiping your thumb over his weeping tip every time you got to the top.  

“Does that feel good, my love?” 

“Yes,” he whimpered. “So good.” 

Without a warning, you accelerated your pace until Spencer sang your praise in the form of moans falling from his lips. Just for a moment he closed his eyes in an attempt to prolong this feeling but you wouldn’t let him. 

“Open your eyes,” you ordered and he obliged. 

“Fuck, I’m so close!” 

His hips jerked up into your fist almost erratically while you kept stroking him just the way you knew he liked. 

You tilted your head to whisper in his ear, “Come for me.”

It only took a few more moments until Spencer finally let go, falling apart at your mercy, his warm essence spilling over your hand and onto his stomach. The sensation of him pulsing against your palm made you moan together with him. Your hand slowed down, giving him a few more soft strokes until he had nothing left to give. 

“Good boy,” you praised before gently kissing his lips. “You did so well.” 

When you got up from the bed, Spencer whined in protest but was quickly soothed when you returned with a warm washcloth. Gently and with the utmost care you cleaned up the evidence of his desire from his stomach and his now softening length. 

Then, you found your home inside his embrace again. Spencer pulled the covers over the both of you before placing a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“Feeling better?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, already half-asleep. 

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings @spensreid @silversprings-mp3 @person-005 @kittyisick @siriuslyval03 @sleepysongbirdsings @brownbunnyb @thegoodwitchs-blog

[heesimp]

Step dad jay wanting to get his stepdaughter pregnant

this did something to me

++++

“It’s gonna take,” Jay says as he angles his hips to reach the depths of your pussy. “My cum’s gonna take.”

The two of you have been at it for hours. He can’t get enough of your cunt because it’s always so wet and smooth for him. Jay loves gliding his tongue over you and tasting the slick hiding between your walls. It gives him purpose. It gets him out of bed in the morning and he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt when he thinks about your pussy when his wife is trying (and failing) to have sex with him.

Sex with you, though? Sign him up.

Jay is fucking you rougher than he ever has and you can’t say you don’t like it. He’s on a mission tonight, especially when you revealed that throughout the entire time he’s been hooking up with you, you haven’t been on birth control. Condoms only lasted so long because they kept breaking mid-fuck. Jay would inevitably cum so deep inside of you that you’d feel it when you stood up and his cock, covered in both the broken condom and your cum, glistened like it was used as a joystick.

He doesn’t know how many times he’s cum in you tonight. Your mom’s out of town as doesn’t get back until tomorrow afternoon. Jay whisked you away to his lake house secluded from civilization to have private yet exhibitionist sex with you without anyone knowing. Here, he can dote on you like you’re the one he’s married to. He’ll make you wear the special ring he bought you when the two of you are alone so you both can pretend you’re the pretty thing he comes home to every night.

It’s far removed from other people that Jay’s been taking you everywhere—the hood of his car, completely naked on the picnic blanket because the two of you were trying to have a cute date, semi-dressed against his window facing out of the house—the possibilities are endless. He likes knowing that he gets to show you off without anyone actually seeing you. And, you’re allowed to be as loud as you want. You can moan without restriction, and Jay can tell you how much he loves giving you creampies with no remorse.

“Want it, Daddy.”

“Just one more,” Jay grunts. “One last creampie and you’ll be pregnant in no time.”

He pounds into you at a brutal pace with his body slamming right into yours. The sex is always so good with Jay. He knows what he’s doing. He knows how to use his big, fat cock to make you see stars.

“Your tits will look amazing when they’re swollen.” He attaches his mouth around one of your nipples and sucks hard before switching to the other. “Sexy tits, sexy body. Such a sexy girl.”

“Daddy, daddy!”

“Feels good when Daddy fucks you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes!”

“My perfect angel.” Jay hears a moan rip from your chest when his cum starts to spurt from his dick. “Let me give you my cum, baby. It’s yours.”

And you take it. You feel the warm cum touch your walls as he stills above you to finish inside of you. Pulling out isn’t an option right now and Jay lets his cock soften inside of you while he kisses your lips.

“It’ll take,” Jay murmurs. You don’t even know what he’s saying as you’re too fucked out to hear him. “I promise.”

A few days later, neither of you can contain your excitement when you show him the positive pregnancy test.

[merelylillies]

˚｡ﾟ• ━━━━━━━┈꒰ა໒꒱┈━━━━━━━ • ˚｡ﾟ

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

Note: ‘‘Hey so I’m obsessed with Caleb like SOMEONE has to stop me. Despite the header he is NOT an angel. Also I need more Yandere x Yandere content. In general.,,

・・・・・​​⟢

Fandom: Love and Deepspace

Pairing: (Fem.)Reader x Caleb

Content Warnings: Suggestive, Teasing, Flirting, (!) Mentions of Stalking, Yandere x Yandere Concept

✦・・・・・​​・・・・・​​・・・・・​​・・・・・​​✦

Caleb had always been like this since you were children. The question is: whether or not you noticed back then. You did, but he assumed otherwise.

He’d grown up quickly and taken the role of your “big brother”, guiding you with a warm smile and soft words. He thought you’d get whiplash at his sudden shift in behavior when you reunited; so color him more than surprised when you just blinked at his words.

“You don’t need me? Is that what you think?” He asks with an intense look in his eyes. Really, you hadn’t even said anything, he just assumed your stare back at him was rejection. His grip on your arm tightened as he looked down at you, eyes narrowing onto yours.

“I never said that.” You hold his stare. He pauses, gaze sharpening.

“You’re thinking it.”, He takes a step forward, “I know you pipsqueak.” He emphasizes, continuing to walk you backwards.

You let yourself take steps back, your amusement growing as your back approached the wall. Trying to reel in your smugness, you cut him off before he can speak again.

“You know me?”.

You could almost hear a pin drop. Caleb glares back at you almost offended.

“Are you seriously-”

“You are clearly missing something.” You can’t contain your grin.

“What are you saying?” He hisses out. You can hear the hand he propped up against the wall you’re leaning on slowly ball into a fist.

“You’re so convinced that I’m feeling a way I’m not.” You say with amusement barely controlled.

“What you fail to understand is I’ve always been this way pipsqueak.”

“See?” You grin, “This is exactly what I mean.”

You take a step forward, your chest pressed up against his. The action throwing him off guard at the sudden boldness and he straightens up from where he was looming over you.

“You think you’re scaring me, you think I’m terrified, mortified at how you’re acting.”. Your smile only widens when you see the confusion mix in with his firm expression.

“But really, I always knew you were this way.”

You bring a hand to his dress-shirt’s collar, gripping it tight before yanking him down closer to your height, the accessories on the colonel uniform shifting with quiet tinkles. His eyes widen, mouth slightly open as if to say something but nothing comes out. Your free hand goes to cup his face, your thumb running over his cheek gently, while your tone holds back on zero mockery.

“You, on the other hand, despite all your obsession, have failed to grasp that I’m just as bad as you.” You smile, watching his eyes catch that same glimpse they always did when you said something that scratched his possessiveness.

“You don’t mean that.” He states, swallowing harshly, “You have no idea-” he seems almost repentant, but you know better.

“No I do.”

“Pipsqueak, you’re out of your depth,” a chuckle escapes him, his eyes lowering amused, “-you think just because you’re attached to me that you can even understand a fraction of my love for you.”

“Yeah?” You smile back at him, your hand tilting his face up for him to look at you again, maintaining eye contact, “you think so?”

He huffs out a small laugh again.

“I track your necklace Caleb.”

He pauses, his eyes visibly shifting in their stare back at you before he smiles, deceivingly soft again.

“You’re so silly Pips-”

“I’m not fucking kidding.” You laugh back at him, the hand on his collar shifting down to the dog tag necklace you had given him so long ago, slightly pulling on it.

“I wanted to know where you were. In case you ever lied to me about your schedule or the risk of your work.”

“That so?”

“What?” Your finger twirls loops around the necklace chain, the charms jingling, “Does that scare you?”

“If you know me so well Pips, you know I’ve done much worse.”

“And I’ve never stopped you.”

Caleb looks down at your hand playing with the necklace before he meets your eyes again, the look in his half lidded pupils turning a deeper purple; that same shade you loved to drag out of him. He brings a hand to his face, the back of his palm hiding an obsessive, love-sick smile, the one he usually suppressed until he thought you weren’t looking, or when he believed you to be asleep during your sleep-overs.

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath.

“Gods, you really are far gone huh?” You tease, your own expression far from innocent in the way you match his almost deranged adoration.

“You don’t get to give me any lessons Pipsqueak, now that all your behaviors suddenly seem more tactful than coincidental.”

Suddenly despite all your confidence in your equally matched energy, you feel your nervousness rise up again; your stomach knotting and the back of your spine burning hot.

He lowers himself down to your level even more, until your lips are at the same height, his forehead an inch away from touching yours, as he now wears your smug expression.

“All those times..sitting in my lap, constantly calling for me in conversations, taking any chance at touching me..” His smirk only widens, “Kissing me for “practice” as you called it..” his breath ghosts over your lips.

“Nothing more than desperation after all huh?”

You immediately feel the need to defend yourself at his words. “You cannot be talking.”

“Why not? I’m not afraid to admit I yearn for you.” He drawls on as words get caught in your throat.

“Especially, now that I know,” he muses, “that this little lady right in front of me, is into this obsessive side of mine hm?”

“Almost like it..fuels something in her…Gets her going does it?”

You feel your cheeks start to flush at his bluntness, off-put by his calling out.

“You’d preach being the same as me yeah? But based on your reaction, I’d still think you’re out of your league Pipsqueak..”

An uneven breath escapes you and his eyes crinkle at that.

“Would you look at that?” His smirk aggravatingly turning more sharp.

“Pipsqueak isn’t able to respond, looks like she really is obsessed with me.”

That damn smirk.

[sylusxyou]

Hey God, it's me again /ref

Sylus with a reader that has family related trauma. More specifically trauma stemming from an abusive father and due to this they have a lot of trauma responses. Flinching at sudden movements, cowering and hiding when breaking something, frantically apologizing for every little mistake, crying very easily, the whole nine yards. And like these responses come way before Sylus even knows the story behind them

oh my lord... i'm so sorry this has taken me a while. i had no inspiration to write this week, but it finally hit me today. i'm realizing i struggle with requests a bit because once my brain gets started in a direction it's nearly impossible for me to veer it anywhere else... with that said, it may not be exactly what you were looking for but i hope it's close and that you enjoy! content warning: mentions of physical abuse (slapping/hitting), angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, non-mc!reader word count: 2.8k divider credit: @uzmacchiato

Memories of shattered glass, shouting that rumbled through your body, and stinging redness across your cheek flooded your mind. You looked down at pieces of a vase that you assumed was worth more than you’d make in the next 5 years combined. Maybe longer.

As a kid you had learned to reign in your clumsiness. You were always aware of your surroundings and you honed your reflexes to catch or swerve when the inevitable happened. Surely as an adult you should be able to avoid situations like this altogether. You had let your guard down though. You were careless. 

Sylus had invited you over for dinner. When you arrived, he was wrapping up a meeting in his office. Kieran and Luke had instructed you to wait for him in the living room. Luckily, you brought a book with you everywhere you went. Legs a little restless from the drive over, you decided to take a few laps around the living room while you dove into the next chapter. 

You weren’t paying attention and now you were frozen in place, eyes unable to move away from the damage you had done. How were you going to explain this to Sylus? ‘I’m sorry, I was walking around with my nose in a book an ran into the side table.’ What a pathetic excuse. You momentarily considered running off, driving back home, before you had to face him. That was out of the question though. He knew where you lived and surely wouldn’t let you off that easily. You’d have to face the music eventually. 

In the distance you heard the sound of a door opening and closing. Footsteps moved your way and you immediately recognized them. Sylus was coming. Anticipatory tears began to form in your eyes. You stayed in place, refusing to face him as you felt him enter the living room behind you. 

“Is everything okay, kitten? I thought I heard a crash.” His tone of concern only made your tears well up more. He thought you were hurt. The minute he saw what you did, that concern would be replaced with anger, maybe even rage. You were certain of it. 

Your voice was barely a whisper as you replied, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Sorry?” Sylus began walking towards you. “What are you sorry for?” 

He came to stand behind you, his chest not quite touching your back, but close enough that you could feel the heat of his body. Over your shoulder he peered down to the ground, the destruction glaring back at him. 

There was silence between you as Sylus grabbed your shoulders and began to turn you towards him. You wanted to resist, close your eyes shut, hang your head, whatever it took to avoid looking him in the eyes. To delay what you believed was inevitable. It was no use though. You knew it would be better to just accept whatever punishment was about to be bestowed upon you. 

That’s not right. When your eyes fell on his face there was a soft smile. Not the kind he wore when he was playing with his prey. This was the kind he gave you every day when he held your hand or brushed your hair behind your ear. It should have been darker. He should be upset. Maybe he’s lulling me into a false sense of security…

Sylus looked at the small tears falling from your eyes. He slowly reached out his hand to cup your face and brush one of the water droplets from your cheek with his thumb. “Now why are you crying over a broken vase?” 

“That vase probably cost more than my annual salary!” You gasped. 

He chuckled, “Oh, it absolutely did.” 

You looked at him like he was crazy which only made him laugh more. He pulled you into his arms, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other cradling your head. “I don’t care about some vase. Things are replaceable and replacing it wouldn’t even make a dent in my wallet.” 

Sylus pulled back to look into your eyes. “I was worried you had hurt yourself. You didn’t get cut by the glass, did you?” 

His eyes scanned your body as you shook your head. “No, I just wasn’t paying attention and ran into the table.” 

“That’s good.” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “Sweetie, you could burn down this entire place. As long as you emerged from the ashes unscathed, I’d consider nothing lost.”

Warmth rushed through your body. You felt your heart pounding in your chest. This was completely bizarre. You wanted to smile and laugh at the ridiculousness of what he said, to bathe in the words that he used to tell you he loved you without quite saying it. But you couldn’t. This reaction was so far from what you had experienced in the past. It was hard to believe someone could respond to broken property with anything but anger. You couldn’t shake your shock. 

Sylus furrowed his eyebrows as he searched your blank face. “What’s wrong, kitten? Are you sure you didn’t get hurt?” 

You shook your head. “No, I’m okay. I just expected you to be angry.” 

He smiled and leaned down to press a soft kiss on your lips. “I find it very difficult to be angry with you.” 

This made you smile, finally feeling like you could breathe a little. 

Sylus gently squeezed your shoulders and began to moved back. “I need to go finish this meeting but I’ll be out soon and we’ll have dinner. I’ll send Luke and Kieran to come clean this up. Don’t touch anything. I don’t want you getting cut.” 

You nodded and watched him walk out of the room. As you sat down to wait for Luke and Kieran your mind drifted back to the look in Sylus’ eyes. Hardly ever had you been met with such gentleness in your childhood. Years of being attacked and hurt over the smallest mistakes had made your walls impossibly high. The way Sylus treated you made you wonder if it was time to start knocking them down a few layers. 

Some days later you found yourself in Sylus’ kitchen locked in a staring match, stillness between you as hardly mixed batter dripped from his face down to his clothes.

You had been eager to bake him the new chocolate chip cookie recipe you found. He had insisted on helping you. It was his kitchen after all and you were powerless to resist him. You hadn’t wanted to anyway. There was a certain domesticity to baking cookies together that made your heart flutter. If only the shady criminals he did business with could see him like this. 

Sylus’ kitchen was stocked to the brim the state of the art appliances. You had been so eager to try them out, especially the electric mixer. You had to make due with a hand mixer at your apartment, so when Sylus pulled out his fancy mixer you actually squealed. 

After dumping all of the ingredients into the metal bowl you excitedly went to turn on the mixer. However, in your excitement you had failed to realize the difference between your hand mixer back home and the appliance in front of you now. At home you had to use the highest setting from the get go. Here, that was the completely wrong move. 

Sylus wasn’t able to stop you before the contents of the bowl went flying everywhere. You quickly turned the mixer off and looked at him, mouth agape. Both of you had been hit but he had gotten it much worse. 

Everything had gone quiet. His mouth was drawn into a tight line and the only movement from his was the rapid blinking of his eyes trying to see through the mess on his face. 

You began to stutter, “Sylus, I-I’m so sorry! I w-wasn’t thinking. I got too-“

He cleared his throat to cut you off. One of his hands wiped across his face, smearing the not-quite-batter onto his fingers. Suddenly his hand moved towards your face to seek it’s revenge. You quickly turned your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut. 

It was an involuntary reaction, one that made Sylus pause. There was something off about the way you flinched as you turned away. You were afraid and he noticed. 

You hadn’t really thought Sylus was going to hit you. In fact, you were becoming increasingly certain with each passing day that he would rather condemn himself to hell than cause you any pain. You couldn’t help it, though. Sudden movements, especially towards your face, had historically meant one thing for you. It was engrained into your brain. 

When the sting never came, you slowly opened your eyes. Your heart sank when you saw the look on Sylus’ face. 

“Kitten…” his voice was soft and broken, garnet eyes glassy. He knew. 

You gave a pitiful laugh, “Sorry, I overreacted.” The sad excuse for a smile on your lips did nothing to defuse the tension.

“Stop.” His voice was stern, but filled with empathy. He grabbed your hands and pulled you to the kitchen table where you both sat. 

Sylus’ hands squeezed yours like letting go would be the most painful thing in the world. “Will you tell me about it?” 

Avoiding eye contact, you sighed, “I’ve never really told anyone before.” The soft brush of his thumbs across your knuckles kept you grounded. 

Talking about it scared you. It would make it too real and you’d much rather pretend like it never happened. But as you sat with Sylus, the man who you were growing to love beyond what you ever thought possible, you wondered if you had any other choice. If you continued to avoid it, were you really allowing yourself to be fully loved? 

Sylus wanted to know everything about you. It was easy to talk about your taste in music or tell stories of times you’d embarrassed yourself at work. Talking about things like your father and how he abused you, that was much harder. 

As you focused on the feeling of his hands, though, your courage rose bit by bit. When you finally made yourself look Sylus in the eyes, your heart squeezed. The man in front of you continuously surprised you the more you got to know him. He was equal parts strong and soft, dangerous and safe, relentless and patient. He was a man who teared up at the mere thought of someone intentionally hurting you. 

Sylus wanted to love you with everything he could. You wanted to let him. It would be difficult, maybe even painful, to relive the past with him. But you knew at the end of it all he would hold you and show you what it meant to be truly loved. 

“It was my father,” you began, “though he wasn’t always that way. My mom died when I was six and he couldn’t handle the grief.” 

You laughed, though it was devoid of any real humor, “It’s a pretty cliche story to be honest. Dad was buried in grief and started drinking. It was a slow progression, just yelling or telling me I was bother. He didn’t hit me for the first time until I was seven.” 

Sylus scooted his chair closer to you, legs resting on either side of your own. His grip on your hands never loosened and the look in his eyes was a swirl of fury and devastation. 

“Keep going,” he urged. 

You took a deep breath and continued, “I was helping him with the dishes. It was my job to dry them. Of course everything he handed to me was dripping wet. It was inevitable, I guess, that something would slip from my grasp. I shattered a mug. It was one of my mom’s favorites which meant my dad used it almost every day.” 

Your hands were shaking now, but you willed yourself to finish, “I knew he would be mad. By then I was used to being yelled at. What I didn’t expect was for him to slap me across the face. He started apologizing immediately, hugging me while I cried. He promised he would never hit me again. That was a promise he was never able to keep, no matter how many times he made it.” 

Sylus pulled you up from your seat by your hands and sat you across his lap. One of his hands grasped your waist tightly as the other laid in your lap, continuing its soothing strokes across your knuckles. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’m so sorry he ever laid his hands on you.” His voice cracked, the effort he was putting into not breaking down painfully obvious. 

You gently touched your forehead to his and smiled softly. “It’s nothing you need to be sorry for.  You have no fault in this.”

“Still, I-“ 

“It’s okay,” you reassured him as you pressed a finger into his lips, “it got better as I got older. Not because of anything he did. I was just able to learn what triggers to avoid, to get out of the house more, and he started to care less and less about where I was.”

Sylus shook his head. “I want to kill him.”

This made you laugh, “I’m afraid he beat you to it.” 

Sylus eyes widened and you let go of his hand to cup his cheek. “It wasn’t intentional. At least, the police didn’t think so. His drinking was out of control and by the time I was sixteen he had been heavy into drugs as well. I guess his carelessness caught up with him and what he mixed that day killed him.” 

Silence washed over the two of you again. For a few moments you just sat there together. The longer you stared into his eyes the harder it became to hold back the tears. You had tried to keep it light, to let the bitterness outweigh the hurt. But the way Sylus looked at you was disarming. He saw beyond the dark laughter and the emotionless retelling. He saw the pain that plagued you. 

He pulled you close and gently rocked you in his arms. Once the tears started it was difficult to make them stop. So you didn’t try. You let yourself come undone in the arms of the man you loved. Sylus didn’t ask anymore questions, didn’t urge you to continue speaking. He simply held you and whispered words of love and encouragement into your ear. 

‘It’s okay.’

‘I’ve got you.’

‘You’re safe with me.’

‘You’re so strong.’ 

It was hard to tell how much time had passed like this. Eventually the tears ran out and the air in the room felt less heavy. You pulled your face away from his chest, wiping the tears from your eyes. As you sniffled, you took a good look at Sylus’ face. A laugh began to rumble in your chest and, though you tried, you were unable to keep it from bursting from your mouth. 

Sylus look at you in surprise. “Did I miss something? What’s so funny?” 

“I’m sorry,” you giggled, “it’s just, I was so caught up in telling you my story and crying that I forgot.” You grabbed his face with both of your hands. “Your face is still a mess.” 

A wide grin spread across his face. “That’s right and I have you to blame, kitten. If I remember correctly I was just about to enact my revenge.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Mm, yes,” he hummed, “but before I get back to my plan, I need to clear something up.” Sylus leaned in so his face was inches from yours. 

His voice was barely a whisper as he asked, “You know I would never intentionally hurt you, right? Not emotionally and certainly not physically. I would rather die.” 

You gave him a quick peck on the lips and sighed, “I know that. I didn’t think you were actually going to hurt me. It was just an involuntary reaction.” 

“Good,” he replied, “we’ll work on that. But in the meantime…” 

His voice trailed off and the gentle, loving look in his eyes was replaced by something deeply mischievous. “You should run, kitten.”

As you and Sylus chased each other around his kitchen, cookie batter repurposed as a weapon, you felt a part of your heart begin to heal. It had been painful to relive the past, but you knew it was worth it. You were confident that before long, with time spent in Sylus’ warm and caring presence, you would stop expecting pain and start anticipating love.

[thirteenheavens]

omgg authornim can u link the wonwoo boob obsession fic? jst read the ass obsession one hahah

also can i request mingyu being obsessed with boobs(?

From just this?|| Kim Mingyu x Reader

Notes: yesss I’ll link it!!

Mingyu's eyes are fixed on your chest as you move around the room, following your every movement like a predator stalking its prey. "I can't get enough of those perfect tits," he growls, licking his lips hungrily. "They drive me insane." He steps closer, his hands immediately reaching out to cup and squeeze them through your clothes. "You have no idea what you do to me," he says, voice thick with desire.

His fingers trace the outline of your bra, making you shiver. "I want to mark them, claim them as mine," he confesses, leaning down to nuzzle your neck. Mingyu backs you against the wall, pinning you there with his body as he continues to worship your chest. "I could spend hours just playing with them," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin.

His hands move under your shirt, pushing up until your breasts are fully exposed. "Much better," he grins, before leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. Mingyu sucks on your nipple greedily, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as his other hand kneads your other breast. "So perfect," he mumbles against your skin.

He alternates between them, leaving bite marks and hickeys all over your chest while his hands roam your body. "I could just keep you like this all day," he says, moving lower to press kisses along your stomach. His hands slide down to grip your hips, pulling you closer as he continues to worship your body. "Take this off," he commands, tugging at your shirt. "I want to see every inch of you."

Mingyu watches hungrily as you strip, his eyes dark with lust. "You're mine," he says possessively, pressing you back against the wall again. "Every part of you belongs to me." Mingyu's fingers dance across your sensitive nipples, sending shivers down your spine. "So responsive," he murmurs, watching them harden under his touch.

He flicks and pinches them playfully, varying the pressure until you're squirming against him. "Look how eager they are for my touch," he teases, before capturing one in his mouth again. His tongue flicks against the tip as he sucks harder, his other hand moving down to tease your wetness. "I bet I could make you cum just from playing with these," he challenges, increasing the intensity of his ministrations.

"Please, Mingyu," you moan, arching into his touch. "It feels so good." He chuckles against your skin, his hot breath sending tingles through your body. "That's it, baby," he says, switching to the other nipple. "Let me hear those sweet sounds."

His fingers continue their teasing while his mouth works magic on your chest. "You're so sensitive here," he notes, grazing his teeth gently over your hardened peaks. "I love how you react to me." Mingyu giggles playfully, his tongue flicking back and forth across your nipples in quick succession. "They're like little candy," he says between licks.

He wraps his lips around one and sucks hard, his other hand squeezing your breast. "Mmm, so sweet," he moans, releasing it with a pop. The combination of his teasing and laughter makes you laugh too, but your laughter quickly turns into moans as he continues his assault. "You're driving me crazy," you manage to say between gasps.

Mingyu looks up at you with a mischievous grin. "That's the point," he replies, before switching back to your other nipple. "Now let me drive you even crazier." Mingyu bites down gently on your nipple, then harder when he hears your sharp intake of breath. "Like that?" he asks, voice rough with desire.

He soothes the bite mark with his tongue, before moving to give the other one the same treatment. "You're getting so wet for me," he notices, sliding his hand between your legs. His fingers find your dripping entrance, teasing your clit with feather-light touches. "Such a naughty girl," he whispers, nipping at your neck. "Getting turned on from just having your tits played with."

Mingyu's eyes darken with determination as he redoubles his efforts on your breasts. "I'm going to make you cum just from this," he promises, sucking your nipples harder while pinching and twisting the other. He adds more pressure, rolling and flicking your sensitive buds while his free hand grips your waist possessively. "Cum for me, princess," he commands. "Let go and show me how much you love it."

The sensations build and build, your body trembling as you approach your peak. Mingyu watches intently, wanting to see you fall apart completely from his touch on your chest alone. Mingyu's eyes widen in surprise as you suddenly convulse against him, your orgasm hitting unexpectedly hard. "Fuck, that's so hot," he breathes, continuing to stimulate your nipples through your climax.

He holds you steady as your legs shake, a proud grin spreading across his face. "Who knew you were so sensitive?" he marvels, pressing kisses to your flushed cheeks. Your chest heaves with ragged breaths as you come down from the intense high, Mingyu still playing with your breasts as if mesmerized by their power. "I can't believe I made you cum just from that," he says in awe.

[yvaineseleneposts]

Split Ends and New Beginnings

A/N: Just a fluffy piece. It's a slow burn.

Requested: no

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Reader

Words: 7k

Warning(s): none

Nico Hischier didn’t usually tag along for errands like this. A salon appointment wasn’t exactly high on his list of weekend priorities — especially during a rare break in the season. But when his sister Nina asked if he wanted to come with her to get her hair done, he said yes without hesitation.

Time with her had been scarce lately, and he missed her — the normalcy of her voice, the way she kept him grounded when the schedule got too hectic or the noise of his career got too loud. And maybe, if he was honest with himself, there was another reason too. One she hadn’t let go unnoticed.

“You’ll come with me?” she asked. “I swear, you’ll like the place. My hairdresser’s your type, if that’s even still a thing for you.”

He’d just laughed her off. But now, standing inside the small salon with its warm, plant-filled corners and quiet ambient music, Nico understood what she meant.

She was standing at the front when they arrived — effortlessly composed, with a smudge of dark color on her wrist and a teasing look in her eye when Nina introduced them. Her handshake was light but confident. There was no gushing about hockey, no awkward glances. She met his gaze and held it, like she had no idea who he was — or didn’t care.

That alone made him sit up straighter.

“So you’re the brother,” she said with a smile, turning to Nina. “I see the family resemblance. Except he’s got a lot more hair to manage.”

Nico laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been kind of letting it do its thing.”

“Well,” she said, eyes scanning his head like she was already making mental notes, “it’s got good shape… under the chaos.”

He sat quietly while Nina got her hair done, sneaking glances at the mirror, at the way her hands moved — quick, precise, creative. She talked to Nina like they’d known each other forever, slipping between jokes and gentle instructions. Every so often, her eyes flicked to Nico, just for a second. Nothing suggestive. Just... curious. Familiar, almost. He caught himself watching more than once.

As they were leaving, she looked over at him. “You ever think of getting that cleaned up? I do guys’ cuts too. You know, if you ever get tired of that whole shaggy hockey mystique.”

Nico raised an eyebrow. “That an offer?”

“Just a professional observation,” she said, already turning back to the front desk. “But if you want to read into it, that’s on you.”

He did.

____

A week passed. Then ten days. Nico tried not to think too much about it, but he found himself lingering in the mirror a little longer. Pushing his hair back. Wondering if he should do something about it. Or if going back too soon would make him look obvious. When he finally returned, he made up some excuse about needing a trim before a shoot. The salon was quieter this time — no sister to hide behind, just him and the sound of scissors snipping in another room.

She looked up from the chair she was finishing. Her surprise was subtle, but there.

“Back so soon?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Figured I should see what all the hype was about.”

She motioned him over. “Sit down, mystery man.”

As she ran her hands through his hair, Nico found himself relaxing in a way he didn’t expect. The conversation flowed again, naturally — slower this time. She asked about the team, but not in that bright, fan-girl way he was used to. Just interest. Just listening.

He didn’t flirt — not really. She didn’t either. But their words skimmed close to something unspoken, something easy but loaded. The kind of thing that settles in the chest and stays there for a while.

By the time she spun him toward the mirror and he saw himself — lighter, cleaner, more like himself — he wasn’t thinking about how his hair looked anymore. He was thinking about how good it felt to sit still. To be seen without performance. And how rare it was, in his world, to leave somewhere not wanting to move on too quickly.

She handed him a card with his next appointment time scribbled on the back.

“Come back in four weeks,” she said, and then, after a pause, added, “Or sooner, if you feel like it.”

He took the card and smiled.

“Sooner sounds good.”

____

It wasn’t quite four weeks. More like two and a half.

Nico showed up on a quiet Thursday, no hood, no sunglasses this time. The weather had turned brisk, that strange in-between phase where you can still pretend it's not fully fall, but you know it’s coming. He stepped into the salon, instantly greeted by that familiar smell — something warm and botanical, grounding.

She looked up from the counter, surprised, but not displeased.

“You again,” she said, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t I tell you four weeks?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling as he slipped off his jacket, “but I’m bad at waiting.”

She waved him toward the chair. “Clearly.”

It wasn’t even about the haircut, not really. His hair hadn’t changed much. But he didn’t offer excuses. And she didn’t ask. Instead, they picked up right where they left off — no small talk, just a gentle slide into the kind of conversation people usually save for late nights or long drives.

She talked about the salon — how she’d started sweeping floors at sixteen, how it wasn’t what she expected to love, but she did. She mentioned her mom in passing — something about how she used to cut her bangs in the kitchen with sewing scissors, laughing too hard to care about symmetry. She didn’t say much more, and Nico didn’t press.

In return, he shared pieces of the road. Not the headlines or game highlights — she didn’t care about those — but the quiet parts. The way hotels all start to smell the same. The weird comfort of being anonymous in certain cities. The way he still called his sister when the travel started to feel like floating. Their banter softened that day, less sharp, more honest.

“I used to think people like you were untouchable,” she said, combing through his hair near the end. “You know. Hockey players. Athletes. The kind of people who exist on screens.”

“And now?” he asked, voice low.

She tilted her head, pretending to assess the back of his neck. “Now I think maybe you just need someone to tell you when you’ve got product buildup.”

He laughed, but something in her tone lingered — like maybe she had thought he was untouchable, once. And maybe now she wasn’t sure what to do with the fact that he wasn’t.

When he left that day, she didn’t give him a card. She just looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and said, “You’ll come back when you need to.”

He nodded. But the truth was, he already knew when he would.

____

The visits kept happening. Not regular enough to feel scheduled, not close enough to call intentional. But always… just in time.

Sometimes she’d be finishing up with someone else and he'd sit quietly in the corner, watching the way she moved, the way she listened. Other times, it was just the two of them — long appointments that should’ve taken 30 minutes but somehow lasted an hour.

They didn’t flirt, not in the way people usually do. There were no dramatic glances or lines. Just… closeness. Familiarity. Shared silences that felt full instead of awkward.

One rainy evening, she paused midway through trimming around his ear and said, quietly, “You ever feel like your life’s happening somewhere slightly to the left of where you are?”

Nico blinked. “All the time.”

She nodded, not explaining. He didn’t ask, but he remembered that moment more than anything else she said that day.

It would be months before anything shifted clearly between them. But in that slow build — appointment by appointment, word by word — something unshakable was growing. It didn’t need declarations. Just time.

And Nico, for the first time in a long while, was willing to wait.

____

By the time January came around, Nico had been to the salon more times than he could reasonably explain — especially to himself. His hair didn’t need trimming that often. But still, he showed up. Every few weeks. Always with something casual to say, always with the quiet hope she’d still smile when he walked in.

She always did.

It had started to snow that day — not the dramatic kind that shut down cities, just a soft curtain falling steadily, muting the outside world. He came in a little later than usual, the sleeves of his coat dusted white. She was alone in the space, her last client already gone. The lights were low, music playing something soft and piano-heavy through the speakers.

“Forgot I had you today,” she said, brushing hair off her apron. But her voice didn’t sound annoyed. If anything, it sounded like maybe she'd needed the interruption.

“Lucky me,” Nico said, pulling off his coat.

She didn’t ask what he wanted done — she never really did anymore. They both knew the appointments had become something else. He sat in the chair, and she moved behind him, fingers combing through his hair like she’d done a dozen times before.

But something was different this time. He was quiet. More than usual. She noticed.

“Tired?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Long road trip. Weird energy. Hard to explain.”

She didn’t push. Just kept working, the comb gliding through his hair, fingertips grazing the side of his neck.

Then, halfway through the cut, her hand stilled.

“You okay?” he asked, turning slightly.

She was quiet for a beat. Then: “Do you ever wonder if you’re making it harder for yourself? By not saying things?”

Nico froze.

His chest tightened with a rush of recognition — not panic, but something close. A pressure that had been quietly building since the day they met. He met her eyes in the mirror.

“All the time,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was certain.

She looked back at him — not coy, not flirty. Just there, open and vulnerable in a way that felt more intimate than any touch.

“I think I’ve been coming here for reasons that have nothing to do with my hair,” he added, almost a whisper.

A soft smile tugged at her lips. “I know.”

The air shifted. Not with drama or declarations — but with the simple truth of being seen, finally, at the same time.

She set the scissors down, brushed the loose strands off his shoulders. The haircut was technically finished, but neither of them moved. Not for a while. Something had settled between them — warm and fragile. A weightless kind of gravity.

Outside, the snowfall had thickened, soft and steady. The city felt slower, quieter. Nico glanced toward the window, then back at her.

“You done for the night?” he asked.

She nodded, starting to sweep around the chair, but he gently took the broom from her hands.

“Come walk with me,” he said. “Just for a bit.”

She hesitated, just for a second, then reached for her coat. “Alright.”

The cold hit them in the face at first, but it wasn’t sharp — it was the kind of cold that wrapped around you, crisp but clean. They walked without much of a destination, their footsteps muffled by the snow underfoot. The city lights glowed soft gold through the haze.

They didn’t talk at first. Just walked shoulder to shoulder, hands deep in their pockets, both content with the quiet. But Nico felt something pressing behind his ribs. A truth, not heavy, just waiting.

“I leave tomorrow,” he said finally, voice low.

She looked at him, but didn’t stop walking. “Where to?”

“West coast swing. Couple weeks on the road. Then All-Star break, then back again.”

She nodded slowly. “You’ll be gone a while.”

He watched her profile in the low light. “Yeah.”

A pause stretched between them, filled with breath and snowfall.

“I wasn’t sure if I should say anything,” he added. “But… I really like being around you. Talking to you. It’s been the only thing lately that’s felt—” he exhaled, searching, “—normal. But in a good way.”

Her eyes softened. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I know I don’t,” he said, more firmly now. “That’s why I am.”

She stopped walking. Turned toward him. “So what are you saying, exactly?”

He looked down, smiled. Then back up at her with a quiet certainty that surprised even himself.

“I’d really like to keep talking to you. Even when I’m not here.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at him for a moment, eyes searching. Then she reached into her coat pocket, pulled out her phone, and handed it to him without a word. Nico took it, thumbed in his number, and handed it back.

“No pressure,” he said, stuffing his hands back into his coat. “You don’t have to text. Just… if you feel like it.”

She gave a soft, almost amused smile. “I think I’ll feel like it.”

They started walking again, this time a little closer than before.

And as the snow thickened around them, the city blurred into silence — but the space between them felt clearer than it ever had.

____

The first text came the night Nico left.

Nico: Made it to L.A. In-flight movie was awful. The lady next to me sneezed no less than 14 times. Hope your night was better.

She smiled when she saw it. Not just because it was funny — though it was — but because it felt like him. Easy. Familiar. Like he was still near.

She waited ten minutes before responding. Not because she was playing games, but because she read it three times first.

Her: Quiet salon today. One client canceled, another brought her dog. He wore a sweater and judged me the entire time. 9/10 experience.

From there, it didn’t stop.

Some nights it was short — a photo of the pregame meal, a sarcastic “rate this hotel carpet,” or a blurry picture of the sky from the team bus. Other nights, it was longer. He told her about the quiet between games, about the pressure that crept in at 3 a.m. when no one was watching. She sent voice memos sometimes — little rants about weird clients or the music she played in the salon when no one was around.

And then one night, she caught herself staring at her phone. Hoping for the little buzz. Missing it when it didn’t come.

Missing him.

____

It was two days before she said it, tucked inside something else, like maybe if she disguised it well enough, it wouldn’t feel like too much.

Her: Had a long day. Wouldn’t have minded one of our weird hair-salon therapy chats right about now. Guess I’m getting used to having you around.

She didn’t expect a reply right away — time zones and game schedules — but it came quicker than usual.

Nico: You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.

Then, a second message.

Nico: I miss it too. Talking to you. Walking with you. Just… you.

She stared at the screen for a long time before responding.

Her: I didn’t expect to miss someone I barely knew. But here we are, huh?

Nico: Feels like I know you more than most people I’ve known for years.

She didn’t answer right away. She didn’t need to.

Because by then, the silence between texts wasn’t empty anymore. It was full — with everything they hadn’t said yet. And somewhere between his late-night hotel rooms and her quiet evening closes, something soft and real was beginning to take shape.

Not rushed or labelled, but real.

____

The snow hadn’t let up much. It came in waves — soft and endless, like the city itself was trying to slow everything down.

She was in the salon late again. Winter did that — clients shuffled in after work, delayed by weather, and lingered longer than they should’ve. She didn’t mind. It gave her time to think. To wonder if he was thinking about her too.

She hadn’t heard from him yet that day. That wasn’t unusual. Game days were packed. Still, she found herself glancing at her phone more than she wanted to admit.

Just after eight, the doorbell chimed.

She looked up, halfway expecting a walk-in she’d have to turn away. But it was Nico.

Snow in his hair. Backpack slung over his shoulder. Tired, but smiling in that quiet, boyish way that had started to live in the back of her mind.

Her breath caught. “You’re—what?”

He shrugged, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Flight bumped up. Got in a few hours ago. I figured... I don’t know, maybe I’d just show up.”

She didn’t move for a second. Just took him in — real, here, more grounded than he’d seemed on the screen.

“I didn’t expect you,” she said.

“I know.” He took a step closer. “But I wanted to see you. Before anything else.”

A pause. Not tense, just full.

“Clients?” he asked, gesturing at the empty chairs.

“Last one left twenty minutes ago.”

“Good,” he said softly. “I was kind of hoping you’d still be here.”

She reached out then — not fully, just a light touch on the sleeve of his jacket, grounding herself in the fact that he was real.

“I missed you,” she said, quiet like a confession. “More than I thought I would.”

Nico’s eyes softened. “Me too. You don’t realize how much space someone takes up until you’re halfway across the country wondering if they’re thinking about you too.”

She smiled, that familiar tug of warmth rising up between them again. “I thought about you more than I’d like to admit.”

There was nothing dramatic after that. No kiss. No music swelling in the background. Just her walking to the back to hang up his coat. Him watching her like she was the only calm in a world full of noise.

And then — like it was the most natural thing in the world — she made tea. He swept hair off the floor. They talked, slow and close, like people with no reason to rush.

Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, something finally — fully — began.

The salon lights clicked off with a quiet hum, and they stepped back into the cold.

Nico held her coat out without a word, and she slipped into it, the silence between them soft, like a worn-in sweater. No pressure. No question marks. Just two people quietly orbiting the same truth.

“You look wiped,” she said as they reached the curb.

“I am,” he admitted. “But not in a bad way.”

She smiled. “That’s specific.”

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “It’s like… I’m tired, but I don’t want the night to be over.”

They stood like that for a moment, streetlight catching the edge of her breath.

Then he said, “You want to come over? Nothing big. Just a movie. Maybe fall asleep halfway through and pretend we watched the whole thing.”

She gave a soft laugh, but didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. That actually sounds perfect.”

His apartment was quiet, dimly lit, still a bit in post-road-trip disarray. She didn’t seem to mind. Kicked off her boots by the door, slipped into the corner of his couch like she’d been there a hundred times.

Nico tossed her a blanket and set a mug of tea in front of her without asking. She looked at it, then at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Since when do hockey players drink chamomile?”

“Since I started talking to someone who makes fun of me if I don’t.”

She smirked. “Sounds like she’s very wise.”

“Oh, definitely. And ruthless.”

The movie they picked didn’t matter. Something familiar and soft around the edges — just enough story to justify the quiet, not enough to compete with the weight of the day.

Twenty minutes in, her head drifted against his shoulder. He stilled. Not because he didn’t want her there — but because he did, so much, and he didn’t want to move a muscle that might make her leave it.

She murmured something unintelligible. A half-dream sentence. He looked down, caught the way her hand had curled beneath the blanket, one knuckle brushing his thigh like an unconscious tether.

And that was it. No kiss. No rush. Just her breathing even beside him. Him watching the screen but not really seeing it. He reached down slowly, threading his pinky with hers. Not to wake her. Just to feel it. Just to know she was there.

The morning arrived like a whisper. Pale winter light slipped through the edges of the curtains, casting soft shadows across Nico’s living room. The TV was still playing — some looping screensaver, muted and glowing — and the air held that quiet stillness reserved for the earliest hours.

She woke first.

Blanket half-tangled around her legs, head resting against something warm and solid. It took her a second to place it — the slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint smell of cedar and clean cotton. And then her eyes opened fully. Nico was still asleep, head tilted slightly, mouth parted just enough to give him away.

She froze. Her immediate instinct was panic. Not the real kind — just the kind that whispers, God, I fell asleep on him, and Was I snoring? and Did I drool? Quiet mortification in the shape of every self-conscious voice she'd tried to ignore.

She sat up slowly, careful not to wake him. Too late.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then locking onto her. A sleepy half-smile tugged at his lips. “Morning,” he said, voice rough and low.

“I—” she started, brushing her hair out of her face, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to crash like that. I was just... tired, I guess.”

“You’re allowed to be tired,” he said, still smiling. “It’s not a crime.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest, trying to hide the flush creeping into her face. “Still. Not my most graceful moment.”

He leaned his head back on the couch cushion, watching her with that calm, steady gaze that never rushed her.

“Truth?” he said.

She glanced at him. “Okay.”

“I slept better last night than I have in weeks.”

The words settled between them, warm and real.

She blinked. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He reached for the mug on the coffee table — cold by now — and shrugged. “Maybe it was the chamomile. Or maybe it was falling asleep next to someone who doesn’t need anything from me but... this.”

She didn’t say anything for a beat. Then softly: “I liked it too.”

He smiled again, that quiet one she was starting to think was reserved just for her. Neither of them moved for a while. There was no pressure to. The kind of silence that used to feel heavy now felt like peace.

Eventually, he stood, stretched, and offered a hand.

“Come on. I make terrible coffee. You should witness it.”

She took his hand, fingers lacing with his easily now.

“I’ll rate it out of ten,” she said.

“Oh, it’s a three. But the company’s a solid nine-point-eight.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And the point-two deduction?”

“For falling asleep during the movie.”

She laughed, and he looked at her like it was the best sound he’d heard in weeks.

____

It had been a few weeks since that morning on the couch — since that sleepy, accidental closeness started shifting into something neither of them wanted to name too quickly. They hadn’t talked about it outright. Not yet. The tension was still wrapped in light touches, lingering glances, shared meals that stretched longer than they should have.

And that would’ve been enough. Until it wasn’t.

It started small. A missed text. Then another.

Then a day where he didn’t come by, even though she’d said she was keeping the evening free. By the third day, she was trying to convince herself not to care. He didn’t owe her anything. They hadn’t defined this. She wasn’t his girlfriend. But that didn’t stop her chest from tightening when the salon doorbell chimed and it was someone else. Again.

He finally showed up after closing, face drawn from travel and practice and something else he hadn’t said out loud.

She didn’t turn when he walked in. Just kept sweeping hair into the pan.

“I tried to call,” he said quietly.

She nodded, but didn’t look at him.

“I’ve been—” he started.

“Busy,” she said, cutting him off. “I know. I get it.”

He stepped closer. “You’re upset.”

She dropped the broom, turning around. Not angry — just tired in a way that came from caring too much, too quietly.

“I’m not upset that you were busy,” she said. “I’m upset that you didn’t say anything. You pulled back, Nico. And I felt it.”

His face flickered with guilt. “I didn’t mean to. I just… when things get crazy with the season, I go on autopilot. I shut down. And I didn’t want to drag you into that.”

“I was already in it,” she said, voice softer now. “I was already in this. Whatever this is.”

A long pause stretched between them. Then, finally, he said it.

“I was scared.”

She looked at him, unsure.

“Scared that I’d mess it up,” he added. “That if I let this become real, I’d ruin it. That you’d see me in the worst parts of the season — the tired, burnt out, closed-off parts — and decide it’s not worth it.”

She exhaled, some of the tension easing from her shoulders.

“I already see you,” she said. “Even the messy parts. That’s not what I’m scared of.”

“What are you scared of?” he asked.

She hesitated.

“That you don’t feel it as much as I do.”

He stepped in, close enough to erase the air between them.

“I do,” he said, voice low and steady. “I feel it every damn time I see you. Every time I don’t see you.”

Her breath caught. He reached for her, not quickly, but carefully — like asking a question he already knew the answer to. She didn’t back away. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing just beneath her cheek. Then, finally, like it had been waiting in the wings all this time — he kissed her. Soft, but certain. Not rushed. Just right.

She melted into him, hands fisting lightly in his jacket, her mouth finding his like it had known the way all along. It wasn’t perfect — it was breathless and raw and a little shaky — but it was real.

And when they pulled apart, she didn’t look away. Neither did he.

____

One day she decided that she wanted to watch him play. See what all the fuzz was about. The arena felt louder than she expected. Not just from the crowd, but from the way the sound echoed inside her — the music, the announcements, the scrape of skates against ice. It was a world she didn’t quite belong to, not really. But she was here for him.

She sat near the glass, a friend of his had arranged the seat — not center ice, not VIP, but close enough to see everything. Close enough to see him.

She hadn’t told him she was coming.

Not because it was a surprise. Not really. But because part of her didn’t want to make it about her. This was his space. His rhythm. She just wanted to be part of it — to witness it without interrupting.

And then he skated out for warmups, and she caught herself holding her breath. He moved like someone born to it — fast, sharp, effortless. The Nico she knew, but somehow different too. More focused. More contained. But she could still see him in there — the way he tapped a teammate’s glove, the tilt of his head during drills, the quiet smile he gave to the equipment guy.

He didn’t see her. Not at first. But then — during a break in warmups — he coasted toward the glass, wiping his face with his glove. And when he glanced into the crowd, his eyes landed on her.

He stopped. Just for a second.

Surprise flickered across his face, followed by something warmer. Something he didn’t bother hiding.

He skated off again without a signal, but it didn’t matter.

She saw it in the way his shoulders dropped a little. In the way he moved after that — looser, lighter. Like knowing she was there gave him just enough more.

The game was a blur of noise and tension. He played hard. Took a few hits. Made a sharp assist in the second period that brought the crowd to its feet.

She didn’t yell, didn’t cheer like the fans around her. But she smiled when he looked up after that pass, and for a split second — even across all the noise — he looked like he was searching for her again.

____

After the game, the tunnels were a maze of concrete and controlled chaos. She waited near the players’ entrance, hoodie pulled up, pretending to scroll through her phone. A staff member had said he’d come out that way. When he finally did — hair still damp, suit jacket slung over one shoulder — he spotted her instantly.

“Hey,” he said, walking straight to her.

“Hey,” she echoed, voice light. “Good game.”

He stopped just short of touching her — public space, people everywhere — but the look in his eyes said what he couldn’t.

“You came.”

“I did,” she said. “You looked good out there.”

His smile was slow, a little crooked. “I always feel better when you’re watching.”

She rolled her eyes softly, but couldn’t hide the blush.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward the exit. “Let’s get out of here.”

She fell into step beside him, and as they disappeared into the cold night, he reached for her hand — casually at first, like it didn’t mean anything. But it did, it meant everything.

____

It started with a photo.

Nothing dramatic. Just a candid — Nico, in jeans and a beanie, walking out of a downtown café. She was beside him, laughing at something he’d said, their hands barely touching.

Someone caught it. Posted it. By the next morning, it was everywhere.

“Devils Captain Spotted With Mystery Woman — Who’s She?” “Hischier’s Off-Ice Chemistry Heating Up?” “Hockey’s Most Private Star Might Not Be So Private Anymore.”

She didn’t even know until a friend from the salon texted her with a screenshot.

is this you???

Her stomach dropped.

Nico called her five minutes later.

“Hey,” he said, before she could say anything. “You saw it?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry,” he added. “I didn’t think that would happen. I should’ve warned you it might.”

She sat on the edge of her bed, phone pressed to her ear, heart doing something complicated and unnameable. “It’s not your fault. We weren’t doing anything.”

“I know,” he said, quietly. “But that doesn’t matter to them.”

There was another pause — not strained, just full of something new. A shift.

She cleared her throat. “So... what now?”

He hesitated.

And then: “That depends. Are you okay with people knowing?”

She blinked. “Are you?”

“I wasn’t sure,” he admitted. “I’ve always kept this part of my life locked down. But with you...”

A breath.

“I don’t want to keep you a secret.”

The words landed with more weight than either of them expected.

She smiled, even as nerves danced under her skin. “That’s a very un-hockey-player thing to say.”

He laughed softly. “Yeah, well. You’ve been a bad influence.”

A beat passed, warm and honest.

“I want to do this right,” he added. “If you’re in — I’m in. Fully.”

She let the quiet settle between them. Then: “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’m in too.”

They didn’t make a statement. They didn’t need to. But the next time he walked into the arena, she was beside him. Not tucked behind. Not rushed in a back entrance. Beside him.

And when someone called her name — the press had found it by then — Nico didn’t flinch. He glanced at her, then down at their joined hands, and he smiled. Let them see.

He didn’t make a big deal of it. That’s what made her nervous.

Nico mentioned it offhand one morning while she was brushing her teeth in his apartment — toothpaste still in his mouth, voice muffled.

“My sister’s coming into town this weekend,” he said. “And my mom too. I was thinking… you could come by. Say hi.”

She blinked at him through the mirror. “You want me to meet your family?”

He shrugged, rinsing. “You’ve met my team. This feels less scary.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve cut your teammates’ hair, Nico. I wasn’t emotionally invested.”

He leaned against the doorway, grinning. “You’re saying you’re emotionally invested now?”

She tried to glare, failed, and nudged him out of the bathroom with a laugh.

When Saturday came, her nerves hit at the door.

He was calm — casual jeans, sweater, sleeves pushed up, completely unbothered. But she felt it in her chest: that low, persistent hum of what if they don’t like me? or what if I say something weird and ruin it all in thirty seconds?

She held a bottle of wine so tightly her knuckles went white.

“You’re not going into battle,” Nico said gently, noticing. “You’re just meeting my mom.”

“That is a kind of battle,” she muttered.

He grinned and kissed her temple. “Trust me. She’s going to love you.”

His mom opened the door, and the first thing she did was smile — warm and kind, with the same eyes Nico had when he was tired but happy.

“You must be her,” she said in a soft Swiss accent, pulling her into a hug before she could panic.

Dinner was cozy. Real food. Real laughs. His sister teased him mercilessly — which felt like a rite of passage — and his mom told stories that made Nico bury his face in his hands.

She didn’t speak much at first, but every time she looked at him, Nico gave her a small nod, like, You’re okay. I’ve got you.

Halfway through dessert, his sister leaned toward her, grinning.

“He’s lighter around you,” she said quietly. “We’ve seen it. We like it.”

Something in her chest unclenched.

After everyone had left, the apartment was quiet again. She sat on the couch in her socks, finishing a glass of wine.

Nico dropped beside her, thigh brushing hers.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “I think I survived.”

He smiled, and after a moment, added, “My mom already asked if you’ll come next time we’re home.”

She laughed softly. “She’s fast.”

“She likes you. They all did.”

There was a beat of silence, comfortable now.

Then she leaned her head against his shoulder. “It’s weird. Tonight felt... normal.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best way.”

He took her hand, lacing their fingers, then kissed the top of her head.

“Get used to it,” he murmured.

____

The road trip was long — two weeks, five cities, and enough flights to make Nico forget what day it was most of the time. She knew the schedule. He’d sent it to her with highlights, times they might FaceTime, cities that had decent Wi-Fi. But even with the planning, the missing crept in early.

They had been through distance before — in the beginning, when things were still new, still unsaid.

But now?

Now it felt different. He didn’t just miss her presence. He missed the feeling of her. The grounding. The way she touched his arm without thinking, or made fun of his playlists, or stole his hoodies and left them at her place like breadcrumbs.

She missed him too — but not in that dreamy, butterflies-in-the-stomach way. It was heavier. Like looking at an empty chair across the room and knowing it should be filled. By day four, their texts had shifted.

Nico: did you eat today?

Her: barely. salon’s slammed. you?

Nico: protein bar and a pretzel. crushing it.

Her: i miss you in an annoying, obvious kind of way.

Nico: yeah. same. come to pittsburgh?

She stared at the message longer than she should have.

Her: what?

Nico: next game. I’ll book the hotel. flight. everything. just say yes.

Her: nico…

Nico: i know. it’s a lot. but i hate missing you like this. and it’s not just about the game. i want you around. my world feels better with you in it.

She stared at the screen, heart pounding.

It wasn’t just about a plane ticket. It was about what they were becoming — no more pauses, no more halfway in.

She typed, deleted, retyped.

Her: okay. send me the flight info.

The hotel room smelled like him — faint cologne, laundry soap, and something warm underneath it all. He met her in the lobby, ball cap pulled low, hand reaching for hers before either of them said a word.

They didn’t kiss right away. They just held on. A tight hug. Like breath after too long underwater.

“Hi,” she whispered against his chest.

“Hi,” he murmured back, eyes closing.

It was the best part of the trip — not the game, not the hotel, not even the room service pancakes the next morning.

Just this. Being in the same room again and realizing that the missing hadn’t broken anything.

It had only proved what they already knew.

____

She didn’t fully understand the game, but she understood him.

And that was enough.

Pittsburgh was loud. Electric. The Devils played hard — Nico harder than usual — and when the final buzzer sounded and they’d edged out a win in overtime, the entire bench erupted.

He didn’t look for the cameras or the crowd. He looked for her. Found her.

She was on her feet in the third row, clapping, beaming — cheeks flushed, eyes wide. And when their gazes met across the glass, she didn’t mouth anything.

She just smiled like she was proud. That was better than any cheer.

He found her waiting in the same hotel lobby afterward, damp hair from the post-game shower, jacket half-zipped, grin wide.

“I’m starting to think you’re my lucky charm,” he said, pulling her into him.

She laughed softly, fingers curling into his sleeves. “One win and I’m a charm now?”

“Absolutely,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “You’re coming to every road game from now on.”

“You’re not that rich.”

“I will be if you keep showing up.”

They both laughed, but there was something else under it. A look they hadn’t shared yet. A weight. An invitation.

Back in the room, the noise of the world dulled. They didn’t rush.

He kissed her slow, like there was time. Like they could stretch it out across hours. Her shirt came off first — soft cotton, then warm skin — and she leaned into his hands like she already knew the shape of what they were building.

He traced every inch of her like he’d been memorizing her since day one.

When they made love — and it was that, unmistakably — there was nothing performative about it. No pressure. No script. Just quiet gasps, long glances, whispered encouragement.

After, she lay curled beside him, one leg tangled over his, fingers resting over his heartbeat. Neither of them said anything for a long time. Then, in the hush of post-game adrenaline and shared breath, Nico murmured into her hair, “I don’t know how I did any of this before you.”

She lifted her head to look at him, eyes soft, searching.

“You don’t have to anymore,” she whispered.

And he didn’t say it out loud — I love you — not yet.

But it lived in that moment.

In the stillness, in the way they held each other until sleep pulled them under, in the feeling that for the first time in a long while, home wasn’t a place.

It was a person.

Split Ends and New Beginnings

Nico Hischier didn’t usually tag along for errands like this. A salon appointment wasn’t exactly high on his list of weekend priorities — especially during a rare break in the season. But when his sister Nina asked if he wanted to come with her to get her hair done, he said yes without hesitation.

Time with her had been scarce lately, and he missed her — the normalcy of her voice, the way she kept him grounded when the schedule got too hectic or the noise of his career got too loud. And maybe, if he was honest with himself, there was another reason too. One she hadn’t let go unnoticed.

“You’ll come with me?” she asked. “I swear, you’ll like the place. My hairdresser’s your type, if that’s even still a thing for you.”

He’d just laughed her off. But now, standing inside the small salon with its warm, plant-filled corners and quiet ambient music, Nico understood what she meant.

She was standing at the front when they arrived — effortlessly composed, with a smudge of dark color on her wrist and a teasing look in her eye when Nina introduced them. Her handshake was light but confident. There was no gushing about hockey, no awkward glances. She met his gaze and held it, like she had no idea who he was — or didn’t care.

That alone made him sit up straighter.

“So you’re the brother,” she said with a smile, turning to Nina. “I see the family resemblance. Except he’s got a lot more hair to manage.”

Nico laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been kind of letting it do its thing.”

“Well,” she said, eyes scanning his head like she was already making mental notes, “it’s got good shape… under the chaos.”

He sat quietly while Nina got her hair done, sneaking glances at the mirror, at the way her hands moved — quick, precise, creative. She talked to Nina like they’d known each other forever, slipping between jokes and gentle instructions. Every so often, her eyes flicked to Nico, just for a second. Nothing suggestive. Just... curious. Familiar, almost. He caught himself watching more than once.

As they were leaving, she looked over at him. “You ever think of getting that cleaned up? I do guys’ cuts too. You know, if you ever get tired of that whole shaggy hockey mystique.”

Nico raised an eyebrow. “That an offer?”

“Just a professional observation,” she said, already turning back to the front desk. “But if you want to read into it, that’s on you.”

He did.

____

A week passed. Then ten days. Nico tried not to think too much about it, but he found himself lingering in the mirror a little longer. Pushing his hair back. Wondering if he should do something about it. Or if going back too soon would make him look obvious. When he finally returned, he made up some excuse about needing a trim before a shoot. The salon was quieter this time — no sister to hide behind, just him and the sound of scissors snipping in another room.

She looked up from the chair she was finishing. Her surprise was subtle, but there.

“Back so soon?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Figured I should see what all the hype was about.”

She motioned him over. “Sit down, mystery man.”

As she ran her hands through his hair, Nico found himself relaxing in a way he didn’t expect. The conversation flowed again, naturally — slower this time. She asked about the team, but not in that bright, fan-girl way he was used to. Just interest. Just listening.

He didn’t flirt — not really. She didn’t either. But their words skimmed close to something unspoken, something easy but loaded. The kind of thing that settles in the chest and stays there for a while.

By the time she spun him toward the mirror and he saw himself — lighter, cleaner, more like himself — he wasn’t thinking about how his hair looked anymore. He was thinking about how good it felt to sit still. To be seen without performance. And how rare it was, in his world, to leave somewhere not wanting to move on too quickly.

She handed him a card with his next appointment time scribbled on the back.

“Come back in four weeks,” she said, and then, after a pause, added, “Or sooner, if you feel like it.”

He took the card and smiled.

“Sooner sounds good.”

____

It wasn’t quite four weeks. More like two and a half.

Nico showed up on a quiet Thursday, no hood, no sunglasses this time. The weather had turned brisk, that strange in-between phase where you can still pretend it's not fully fall, but you know it’s coming. He stepped into the salon, instantly greeted by that familiar smell — something warm and botanical, grounding.

She looked up from the counter, surprised, but not displeased.

“You again,” she said, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t I tell you four weeks?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling as he slipped off his jacket, “but I’m bad at waiting.”

She waved him toward the chair. “Clearly.”

It wasn’t even about the haircut, not really. His hair hadn’t changed much. But he didn’t offer excuses. And she didn’t ask. Instead, they picked up right where they left off — no small talk, just a gentle slide into the kind of conversation people usually save for late nights or long drives.

She talked about the salon — how she’d started sweeping floors at sixteen, how it wasn’t what she expected to love, but she did. She mentioned her mom in passing — something about how she used to cut her bangs in the kitchen with sewing scissors, laughing too hard to care about symmetry. She didn’t say much more, and Nico didn’t press.

In return, he shared pieces of the road. Not the headlines or game highlights — she didn’t care about those — but the quiet parts. The way hotels all start to smell the same. The weird comfort of being anonymous in certain cities. The way he still called his sister when the travel started to feel like floating. Their banter softened that day, less sharp, more honest.

“I used to think people like you were untouchable,” she said, combing through his hair near the end. “You know. Hockey players. Athletes. The kind of people who exist on screens.”

“And now?” he asked, voice low.

She tilted her head, pretending to assess the back of his neck. “Now I think maybe you just need someone to tell you when you’ve got product buildup.”

He laughed, but something in her tone lingered — like maybe she had thought he was untouchable, once. And maybe now she wasn’t sure what to do with the fact that he wasn’t.

When he left that day, she didn’t give him a card. She just looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and said, “You’ll come back when you need to.”

He nodded. But the truth was, he already knew when he would.

____

The visits kept happening. Not regular enough to feel scheduled, not close enough to call intentional. But always… just in time.

Sometimes she’d be finishing up with someone else and he'd sit quietly in the corner, watching the way she moved, the way she listened. Other times, it was just the two of them — long appointments that should’ve taken 30 minutes but somehow lasted an hour.

They didn’t flirt, not in the way people usually do. There were no dramatic glances or lines. Just… closeness. Familiarity. Shared silences that felt full instead of awkward.

One rainy evening, she paused midway through trimming around his ear and said, quietly, “You ever feel like your life’s happening somewhere slightly to the left of where you are?”

Nico blinked. “All the time.”

She nodded, not explaining. He didn’t ask, but he remembered that moment more than anything else she said that day.

It would be months before anything shifted clearly between them. But in that slow build — appointment by appointment, word by word — something unshakable was growing. It didn’t need declarations. Just time.

And Nico, for the first time in a long while, was willing to wait.

____

By the time January came around, Nico had been to the salon more times than he could reasonably explain — especially to himself. His hair didn’t need trimming that often. But still, he showed up. Every few weeks. Always with something casual to say, always with the quiet hope she’d still smile when he walked in.

She always did.

It had started to snow that day — not the dramatic kind that shut down cities, just a soft curtain falling steadily, muting the outside world. He came in a little later than usual, the sleeves of his coat dusted white. She was alone in the space, her last client already gone. The lights were low, music playing something soft and piano-heavy through the speakers.

“Forgot I had you today,” she said, brushing hair off her apron. But her voice didn’t sound annoyed. If anything, it sounded like maybe she'd needed the interruption.

“Lucky me,” Nico said, pulling off his coat.

She didn’t ask what he wanted done — she never really did anymore. They both knew the appointments had become something else. He sat in the chair, and she moved behind him, fingers combing through his hair like she’d done a dozen times before.

But something was different this time. He was quiet. More than usual. She noticed.

“Tired?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Long road trip. Weird energy. Hard to explain.”

She didn’t push. Just kept working, the comb gliding through his hair, fingertips grazing the side of his neck.

Then, halfway through the cut, her hand stilled.

“You okay?” he asked, turning slightly.

She was quiet for a beat. Then: “Do you ever wonder if you’re making it harder for yourself? By not saying things?”

Nico froze.

His chest tightened with a rush of recognition — not panic, but something close. A pressure that had been quietly building since the day they met. He met her eyes in the mirror.

“All the time,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was certain.

She looked back at him — not coy, not flirty. Just there, open and vulnerable in a way that felt more intimate than any touch.

“I think I’ve been coming here for reasons that have nothing to do with my hair,” he added, almost a whisper.

A soft smile tugged at her lips. “I know.”

The air shifted. Not with drama or declarations — but with the simple truth of being seen, finally, at the same time.

She set the scissors down, brushed the loose strands off his shoulders. The haircut was technically finished, but neither of them moved. Not for a while. Something had settled between them — warm and fragile. A weightless kind of gravity.

Outside, the snowfall had thickened, soft and steady. The city felt slower, quieter. Nico glanced toward the window, then back at her.

“You done for the night?” he asked.

She nodded, starting to sweep around the chair, but he gently took the broom from her hands.

“Come walk with me,” he said. “Just for a bit.”

She hesitated, just for a second, then reached for her coat. “Alright.”

The cold hit them in the face at first, but it wasn’t sharp — it was the kind of cold that wrapped around you, crisp but clean. They walked without much of a destination, their footsteps muffled by the snow underfoot. The city lights glowed soft gold through the haze.

They didn’t talk at first. Just walked shoulder to shoulder, hands deep in their pockets, both content with the quiet. But Nico felt something pressing behind his ribs. A truth, not heavy, just waiting.

“I leave tomorrow,” he said finally, voice low.

She looked at him, but didn’t stop walking. “Where to?”

“West coast swing. Couple weeks on the road. Then All-Star break, then back again.”

She nodded slowly. “You’ll be gone a while.”

He watched her profile in the low light. “Yeah.”

A pause stretched between them, filled with breath and snowfall.

“I wasn’t sure if I should say anything,” he added. “But… I really like being around you. Talking to you. It’s been the only thing lately that’s felt—” he exhaled, searching, “—normal. But in a good way.”

Her eyes softened. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I know I don’t,” he said, more firmly now. “That’s why I am.”

She stopped walking. Turned toward him. “So what are you saying, exactly?”

He looked down, smiled. Then back up at her with a quiet certainty that surprised even himself.

“I’d really like to keep talking to you. Even when I’m not here.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at him for a moment, eyes searching. Then she reached into her coat pocket, pulled out her phone, and handed it to him without a word. Nico took it, thumbed in his number, and handed it back.

“No pressure,” he said, stuffing his hands back into his coat. “You don’t have to text. Just… if you feel like it.”

She gave a soft, almost amused smile. “I think I’ll feel like it.”

They started walking again, this time a little closer than before.

And as the snow thickened around them, the city blurred into silence — but the space between them felt clearer than it ever had.

____

The first text came the night Nico left.

Nico: Made it to L.A. In-flight movie was awful. The lady next to me sneezed no less than 14 times. Hope your night was better.

She smiled when she saw it. Not just because it was funny — though it was — but because it felt like him. Easy. Familiar. Like he was still near.

She waited ten minutes before responding. Not because she was playing games, but because she read it three times first.

Her: Quiet salon today. One client canceled, another brought her dog. He wore a sweater and judged me the entire time. 9/10 experience.

From there, it didn’t stop.

Some nights it was short — a photo of the pregame meal, a sarcastic “rate this hotel carpet,” or a blurry picture of the sky from the team bus. Other nights, it was longer. He told her about the quiet between games, about the pressure that crept in at 3 a.m. when no one was watching. She sent voice memos sometimes — little rants about weird clients or the music she played in the salon when no one was around.

And then one night, she caught herself staring at her phone. Hoping for the little buzz. Missing it when it didn’t come.

Missing him.

____

It was two days before she said it, tucked inside something else, like maybe if she disguised it well enough, it wouldn’t feel like too much.

Her: Had a long day. Wouldn’t have minded one of our weird hair-salon therapy chats right about now. Guess I’m getting used to having you around.

She didn’t expect a reply right away — time zones and game schedules — but it came quicker than usual.

Nico: You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.

Then, a second message.

Nico: I miss it too. Talking to you. Walking with you. Just… you.

She stared at the screen for a long time before responding.

Her: I didn’t expect to miss someone I barely knew. But here we are, huh?

Nico: Feels like I know you more than most people I’ve known for years.

She didn’t answer right away. She didn’t need to.

Because by then, the silence between texts wasn’t empty anymore. It was full — with everything they hadn’t said yet. And somewhere between his late-night hotel rooms and her quiet evening closes, something soft and real was beginning to take shape.

Not rushed or labelled, but real.

____

The snow hadn’t let up much. It came in waves — soft and endless, like the city itself was trying to slow everything down.

She was in the salon late again. Winter did that — clients shuffled in after work, delayed by weather, and lingered longer than they should’ve. She didn’t mind. It gave her time to think. To wonder if he was thinking about her too.

She hadn’t heard from him yet that day. That wasn’t unusual. Game days were packed. Still, she found herself glancing at her phone more than she wanted to admit.

Just after eight, the doorbell chimed.

She looked up, halfway expecting a walk-in she’d have to turn away. But it was Nico.

Snow in his hair. Backpack slung over his shoulder. Tired, but smiling in that quiet, boyish way that had started to live in the back of her mind.

Her breath caught. “You’re—what?”

He shrugged, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Flight bumped up. Got in a few hours ago. I figured... I don’t know, maybe I’d just show up.”

She didn’t move for a second. Just took him in — real, here, more grounded than he’d seemed on the screen.

“I didn’t expect you,” she said.

“I know.” He took a step closer. “But I wanted to see you. Before anything else.”

A pause. Not tense, just full.

“Clients?” he asked, gesturing at the empty chairs.

“Last one left twenty minutes ago.”

“Good,” he said softly. “I was kind of hoping you’d still be here.”

She reached out then — not fully, just a light touch on the sleeve of his jacket, grounding herself in the fact that he was real.

“I missed you,” she said, quiet like a confession. “More than I thought I would.”

Nico’s eyes softened. “Me too. You don’t realize how much space someone takes up until you’re halfway across the country wondering if they’re thinking about you too.”

She smiled, that familiar tug of warmth rising up between them again. “I thought about you more than I’d like to admit.”

There was nothing dramatic after that. No kiss. No music swelling in the background. Just her walking to the back to hang up his coat. Him watching her like she was the only calm in a world full of noise.

And then — like it was the most natural thing in the world — she made tea. He swept hair off the floor. They talked, slow and close, like people with no reason to rush.

Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, something finally — fully — began.

The salon lights clicked off with a quiet hum, and they stepped back into the cold.

Nico held her coat out without a word, and she slipped into it, the silence between them soft, like a worn-in sweater. No pressure. No question marks. Just two people quietly orbiting the same truth.

“You look wiped,” she said as they reached the curb.

“I am,” he admitted. “But not in a bad way.”

She smiled. “That’s specific.”

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “It’s like… I’m tired, but I don’t want the night to be over.”

They stood like that for a moment, streetlight catching the edge of her breath.

Then he said, “You want to come over? Nothing big. Just a movie. Maybe fall asleep halfway through and pretend we watched the whole thing.”

She gave a soft laugh, but didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. That actually sounds perfect.”

His apartment was quiet, dimly lit, still a bit in post-road-trip disarray. She didn’t seem to mind. Kicked off her boots by the door, slipped into the corner of his couch like she’d been there a hundred times.

Nico tossed her a blanket and set a mug of tea in front of her without asking. She looked at it, then at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Since when do hockey players drink chamomile?”

“Since I started talking to someone who makes fun of me if I don’t.”

She smirked. “Sounds like she’s very wise.”

“Oh, definitely. And ruthless.”

The movie they picked didn’t matter. Something familiar and soft around the edges — just enough story to justify the quiet, not enough to compete with the weight of the day.

Twenty minutes in, her head drifted against his shoulder. He stilled. Not because he didn’t want her there — but because he did, so much, and he didn’t want to move a muscle that might make her leave it.

She murmured something unintelligible. A half-dream sentence. He looked down, caught the way her hand had curled beneath the blanket, one knuckle brushing his thigh like an unconscious tether.

And that was it. No kiss. No rush. Just her breathing even beside him. Him watching the screen but not really seeing it. He reached down slowly, threading his pinky with hers. Not to wake her. Just to feel it. Just to know she was there.

The morning arrived like a whisper. Pale winter light slipped through the edges of the curtains, casting soft shadows across Nico’s living room. The TV was still playing — some looping screensaver, muted and glowing — and the air held that quiet stillness reserved for the earliest hours.

She woke first.

Blanket half-tangled around her legs, head resting against something warm and solid. It took her a second to place it — the slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint smell of cedar and clean cotton. And then her eyes opened fully. Nico was still asleep, head tilted slightly, mouth parted just enough to give him away.

She froze. Her immediate instinct was panic. Not the real kind — just the kind that whispers, God, I fell asleep on him, and Was I snoring? and Did I drool? Quiet mortification in the shape of every self-conscious voice she'd tried to ignore.

She sat up slowly, careful not to wake him. Too late.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then locking onto her. A sleepy half-smile tugged at his lips. “Morning,” he said, voice rough and low.

“I—” she started, brushing her hair out of her face, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to crash like that. I was just... tired, I guess.”

“You’re allowed to be tired,” he said, still smiling. “It’s not a crime.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest, trying to hide the flush creeping into her face. “Still. Not my most graceful moment.”

He leaned his head back on the couch cushion, watching her with that calm, steady gaze that never rushed her.

“Truth?” he said.

She glanced at him. “Okay.”

“I slept better last night than I have in weeks.”

The words settled between them, warm and real.

She blinked. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He reached for the mug on the coffee table — cold by now — and shrugged. “Maybe it was the chamomile. Or maybe it was falling asleep next to someone who doesn’t need anything from me but... this.”

She didn’t say anything for a beat. Then softly: “I liked it too.”

He smiled again, that quiet one she was starting to think was reserved just for her. Neither of them moved for a while. There was no pressure to. The kind of silence that used to feel heavy now felt like peace.

Eventually, he stood, stretched, and offered a hand.

“Come on. I make terrible coffee. You should witness it.”

She took his hand, fingers lacing with his easily now.

“I’ll rate it out of ten,” she said.

“Oh, it’s a three. But the company’s a solid nine-point-eight.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And the point-two deduction?”

“For falling asleep during the movie.”

She laughed, and he looked at her like it was the best sound he’d heard in weeks.

____

It had been a few weeks since that morning on the couch — since that sleepy, accidental closeness started shifting into something neither of them wanted to name too quickly. They hadn’t talked about it outright. Not yet. The tension was still wrapped in light touches, lingering glances, shared meals that stretched longer than they should have.

And that would’ve been enough. Until it wasn’t.

It started small. A missed text. Then another.

Then a day where he didn’t come by, even though she’d said she was keeping the evening free. By the third day, she was trying to convince herself not to care. He didn’t owe her anything. They hadn’t defined this. She wasn’t his girlfriend. But that didn’t stop her chest from tightening when the salon doorbell chimed and it was someone else. Again.

He finally showed up after closing, face drawn from travel and practice and something else he hadn’t said out loud.

She didn’t turn when he walked in. Just kept sweeping hair into the pan.

“I tried to call,” he said quietly.

She nodded, but didn’t look at him.

“I’ve been—” he started.

“Busy,” she said, cutting him off. “I know. I get it.”

He stepped closer. “You’re upset.”

She dropped the broom, turning around. Not angry — just tired in a way that came from caring too much, too quietly.

“I’m not upset that you were busy,” she said. “I’m upset that you didn’t say anything. You pulled back, Nico. And I felt it.”

His face flickered with guilt. “I didn’t mean to. I just… when things get crazy with the season, I go on autopilot. I shut down. And I didn’t want to drag you into that.”

“I was already in it,” she said, voice softer now. “I was already in this. Whatever this is.”

A long pause stretched between them. Then, finally, he said it.

“I was scared.”

She looked at him, unsure.

“Scared that I’d mess it up,” he added. “That if I let this become real, I’d ruin it. That you’d see me in the worst parts of the season — the tired, burnt out, closed-off parts — and decide it’s not worth it.”

She exhaled, some of the tension easing from her shoulders.

“I already see you,” she said. “Even the messy parts. That’s not what I’m scared of.”

“What are you scared of?” he asked.

She hesitated.

“That you don’t feel it as much as I do.”

He stepped in, close enough to erase the air between them.

“I do,” he said, voice low and steady. “I feel it every damn time I see you. Every time I don’t see you.”

Her breath caught. He reached for her, not quickly, but carefully — like asking a question he already knew the answer to. She didn’t back away. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing just beneath her cheek. Then, finally, like it had been waiting in the wings all this time — he kissed her. Soft, but certain. Not rushed. Just right.

She melted into him, hands fisting lightly in his jacket, her mouth finding his like it had known the way all along. It wasn’t perfect — it was breathless and raw and a little shaky — but it was real.

And when they pulled apart, she didn’t look away. Neither did he.

____

One day she decided that she wanted to watch him play. See what all the fuzz was about. The arena felt louder than she expected. Not just from the crowd, but from the way the sound echoed inside her — the music, the announcements, the scrape of skates against ice. It was a world she didn’t quite belong to, not really. But she was here for him.

She sat near the glass, a friend of his had arranged the seat — not center ice, not VIP, but close enough to see everything. Close enough to see him.

She hadn’t told him she was coming.

Not because it was a surprise. Not really. But because part of her didn’t want to make it about her. This was his space. His rhythm. She just wanted to be part of it — to witness it without interrupting.

And then he skated out for warmups, and she caught herself holding her breath. He moved like someone born to it — fast, sharp, effortless. The Nico she knew, but somehow different too. More focused. More contained. But she could still see him in there — the way he tapped a teammate’s glove, the tilt of his head during drills, the quiet smile he gave to the equipment guy.

He didn’t see her. Not at first. But then — during a break in warmups — he coasted toward the glass, wiping his face with his glove. And when he glanced into the crowd, his eyes landed on her.

He stopped. Just for a second.

Surprise flickered across his face, followed by something warmer. Something he didn’t bother hiding.

He skated off again without a signal, but it didn’t matter.

She saw it in the way his shoulders dropped a little. In the way he moved after that — looser, lighter. Like knowing she was there gave him just enough more.

The game was a blur of noise and tension. He played hard. Took a few hits. Made a sharp assist in the second period that brought the crowd to its feet.

She didn’t yell, didn’t cheer like the fans around her. But she smiled when he looked up after that pass, and for a split second — even across all the noise — he looked like he was searching for her again.

____

After the game, the tunnels were a maze of concrete and controlled chaos. She waited near the players’ entrance, hoodie pulled up, pretending to scroll through her phone. A staff member had said he’d come out that way. When he finally did — hair still damp, suit jacket slung over one shoulder — he spotted her instantly.

“Hey,” he said, walking straight to her.

“Hey,” she echoed, voice light. “Good game.”

He stopped just short of touching her — public space, people everywhere — but the look in his eyes said what he couldn’t.

“You came.”

“I did,” she said. “You looked good out there.”

His smile was slow, a little crooked. “I always feel better when you’re watching.”

She rolled her eyes softly, but couldn’t hide the blush.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward the exit. “Let’s get out of here.”

She fell into step beside him, and as they disappeared into the cold night, he reached for her hand — casually at first, like it didn’t mean anything. But it did, it meant everything.

____

It started with a photo.

Nothing dramatic. Just a candid — Nico, in jeans and a beanie, walking out of a downtown café. She was beside him, laughing at something he’d said, their hands barely touching.

Someone caught it. Posted it. By the next morning, it was everywhere.

“Devils Captain Spotted With Mystery Woman — Who’s She?” “Hischier’s Off-Ice Chemistry Heating Up?” “Hockey’s Most Private Star Might Not Be So Private Anymore.”

She didn’t even know until a friend from the salon texted her with a screenshot.

is this you???

Her stomach dropped.

Nico called her five minutes later.

“Hey,” he said, before she could say anything. “You saw it?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry,” he added. “I didn’t think that would happen. I should’ve warned you it might.”

She sat on the edge of her bed, phone pressed to her ear, heart doing something complicated and unnameable. “It’s not your fault. We weren’t doing anything.”

“I know,” he said, quietly. “But that doesn’t matter to them.”

There was another pause — not strained, just full of something new. A shift.

She cleared her throat. “So... what now?”

He hesitated.

And then: “That depends. Are you okay with people knowing?”

She blinked. “Are you?”

“I wasn’t sure,” he admitted. “I’ve always kept this part of my life locked down. But with you...”

A breath.

“I don’t want to keep you a secret.”

The words landed with more weight than either of them expected.

She smiled, even as nerves danced under her skin. “That’s a very un-hockey-player thing to say.”

He laughed softly. “Yeah, well. You’ve been a bad influence.”

A beat passed, warm and honest.

“I want to do this right,” he added. “If you’re in — I’m in. Fully.”

She let the quiet settle between them. Then: “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’m in too.”

They didn’t make a statement. They didn’t need to. But the next time he walked into the arena, she was beside him. Not tucked behind. Not rushed in a back entrance. Beside him.

And when someone called her name — the press had found it by then — Nico didn’t flinch. He glanced at her, then down at their joined hands, and he smiled. Let them see.

He didn’t make a big deal of it. That’s what made her nervous.

Nico mentioned it offhand one morning while she was brushing her teeth in his apartment — toothpaste still in his mouth, voice muffled.

“My sister’s coming into town this weekend,” he said. “And my mom too. I was thinking… you could come by. Say hi.”

She blinked at him through the mirror. “You want me to meet your family?”

He shrugged, rinsing. “You’ve met my team. This feels less scary.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve cut your teammates’ hair, Nico. I wasn’t emotionally invested.”

He leaned against the doorway, grinning. “You’re saying you’re emotionally invested now?”

She tried to glare, failed, and nudged him out of the bathroom with a laugh.

When Saturday came, her nerves hit at the door.

He was calm — casual jeans, sweater, sleeves pushed up, completely unbothered. But she felt it in her chest: that low, persistent hum of what if they don’t like me? or what if I say something weird and ruin it all in thirty seconds?

She held a bottle of wine so tightly her knuckles went white.

“You’re not going into battle,” Nico said gently, noticing. “You’re just meeting my mom.”

“That is a kind of battle,” she muttered.

He grinned and kissed her temple. “Trust me. She’s going to love you.”

His mom opened the door, and the first thing she did was smile — warm and kind, with the same eyes Nico had when he was tired but happy.

“You must be her,” she said in a soft Swiss accent, pulling her into a hug before she could panic.

Dinner was cozy. Real food. Real laughs. His sister teased him mercilessly — which felt like a rite of passage — and his mom told stories that made Nico bury his face in his hands.

She didn’t speak much at first, but every time she looked at him, Nico gave her a small nod, like, You’re okay. I’ve got you.

Halfway through dessert, his sister leaned toward her, grinning.

“He’s lighter around you,” she said quietly. “We’ve seen it. We like it.”

Something in her chest unclenched.

After everyone had left, the apartment was quiet again. She sat on the couch in her socks, finishing a glass of wine.

Nico dropped beside her, thigh brushing hers.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “I think I survived.”

He smiled, and after a moment, added, “My mom already asked if you’ll come next time we’re home.”

She laughed softly. “She’s fast.”

“She likes you. They all did.”

There was a beat of silence, comfortable now.

Then she leaned her head against his shoulder. “It’s weird. Tonight felt... normal.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best way.”

He took her hand, lacing their fingers, then kissed the top of her head.

“Get used to it,” he murmured.

____

The road trip was long — two weeks, five cities, and enough flights to make Nico forget what day it was most of the time. She knew the schedule. He’d sent it to her with highlights, times they might FaceTime, cities that had decent Wi-Fi. But even with the planning, the missing crept in early.

They had been through distance before — in the beginning, when things were still new, still unsaid.

But now?

Now it felt different. He didn’t just miss her presence. He missed the feeling of her. The grounding. The way she touched his arm without thinking, or made fun of his playlists, or stole his hoodies and left them at her place like breadcrumbs.

She missed him too — but not in that dreamy, butterflies-in-the-stomach way. It was heavier. Like looking at an empty chair across the room and knowing it should be filled. By day four, their texts had shifted.

Nico: did you eat today?

Her: barely. salon’s slammed. you?

Nico: protein bar and a pretzel. crushing it.

Her: i miss you in an annoying, obvious kind of way.

Nico: yeah. same. come to pittsburgh?

She stared at the message longer than she should have.

Her: what?

Nico: next game. I’ll book the hotel. flight. everything. just say yes.

Her: nico…

Nico: i know. it’s a lot. but i hate missing you like this. and it’s not just about the game. i want you around. my world feels better with you in it.

She stared at the screen, heart pounding.

It wasn’t just about a plane ticket. It was about what they were becoming — no more pauses, no more halfway in.

She typed, deleted, retyped.

Her: okay. send me the flight info.

The hotel room smelled like him — faint cologne, laundry soap, and something warm underneath it all. He met her in the lobby, ball cap pulled low, hand reaching for hers before either of them said a word.

They didn’t kiss right away. They just held on. A tight hug. Like breath after too long underwater.

“Hi,” she whispered against his chest.

“Hi,” he murmured back, eyes closing.

It was the best part of the trip — not the game, not the hotel, not even the room service pancakes the next morning.

Just this. Being in the same room again and realizing that the missing hadn’t broken anything.

It had only proved what they already knew.

____

She didn’t fully understand the game, but she understood him.

And that was enough.

Pittsburgh was loud. Electric. The Devils played hard — Nico harder than usual — and when the final buzzer sounded and they’d edged out a win in overtime, the entire bench erupted.

He didn’t look for the cameras or the crowd. He looked for her. Found her.

She was on her feet in the third row, clapping, beaming — cheeks flushed, eyes wide. And when their gazes met across the glass, she didn’t mouth anything.

She just smiled like she was proud. That was better than any cheer.

He found her waiting in the same hotel lobby afterward, damp hair from the post-game shower, jacket half-zipped, grin wide.

“I’m starting to think you’re my lucky charm,” he said, pulling her into him.

She laughed softly, fingers curling into his sleeves. “One win and I’m a charm now?”

“Absolutely,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “You’re coming to every road game from now on.”

“You’re not that rich.”

“I will be if you keep showing up.”

They both laughed, but there was something else under it. A look they hadn’t shared yet. A weight. An invitation.

Back in the room, the noise of the world dulled. They didn’t rush.

He kissed her slow, like there was time. Like they could stretch it out across hours. Her shirt came off first — soft cotton, then warm skin — and she leaned into his hands like she already knew the shape of what they were building.

He traced every inch of her like he’d been memorizing her since day one.

When they made love — and it was that, unmistakably — there was nothing performative about it. No pressure. No script. Just quiet gasps, long glances, whispered encouragement.

After, she lay curled beside him, one leg tangled over his, fingers resting over his heartbeat. Neither of them said anything for a long time. Then, in the hush of post-game adrenaline and shared breath, Nico murmured into her hair, “I don’t know how I did any of this before you.”

She lifted her head to look at him, eyes soft, searching.

“You don’t have to anymore,” she whispered.

And he didn’t say it out loud — I love you — not yet.

But it lived in that moment.

In the stillness, in the way they held each other until sleep pulled them under, in the feeling that for the first time in a long while, home wasn’t a place.

It was a person.

[pochaccoups]

cw — a fluffy dad!cheol moment with his baby girl (ft. mom!reader)

“Appa, your hair is so long.”

Seungcheol’s daughter’s tiny fingers curl into the strands of his dark brown hair as he carries her from her bedroom to the bathroom. She’s right—it sweeps down the back of his neck, his bangs falling over his cheekbones. It’s the longest it’s been in years.

He sits her upon the counter facing the mirror and asks, “Yeah? Do you like it?” while batting his lashes. You’ve always told him he’s a princess raising a princess.

“I like it because it looks like mine!” she says, grabbing at her own hair. It doesn’t really, except maybe the colour, but she’s three and wants to look like her dad, so who is anyone to correct her?

He smiles fondly, his heart brimming with warmth as he grabs her toothbrush and hands it to her, squeezes a dot of toothpaste on it and watches her little hand make clumsy circles over her teeth. When she’s done, he rinses the sleep from her eyes and pats her delicate skin dry, and then it’s time to do her hair.

By now, Seungcheol has become an expert in hairstyling, probably more than even you are, having taken it on as one of his parental duties. He brushes it out, gathers half of it into one pigtail and secures it, then gathers the other half into another pigtail and secures it.

“What clips would you like, my love?” he asks, shaking the little box of her colourful hair clips.

“Uhhh, these!” she chirps, picking out a pair of pink ones with bunny faces on them.

His heart is doing spins and tumbles over his baby girl, and three years on he still can’t believe that something this cute is his creation. Although, he too can believe it because she’s also your creation. Still, every day he finds himself in awe that you had given him such a perfect little human. And she’s just sitting there, blinking at her reflection in the mirror as he slides the clips into the front of her hair and kisses the top of her head when he’s all done.

“So pretty,” he says, and he’s about to pick her up again until she makes a polite request.

“Appa, can I do your hair now?”

If she asked for the world, he would give it to her.

“Yes, baby, of course,” he says, and scoops her up into his arms. He grabs some of the storage boxes filled with hair bands and elastics, too. “Come on, we’ll go to the sitting room.”

Seungcheol places his daughter on the couch and settles himself on the floor in front of her so that she can reach his head. He’s not sure why he sits facing her, though it might be a subconscious inability to take his eyes off her, but she’s only three and she doesn’t question things too much, so she gets right to work.

Dainty fingers pull his fringe into one bunch at the top of his head and Seungcheol finds himself laughing already. He hands her an elastic and all she can really do is loosely loop his hair through it with intense concentration on her soft features that makes Seungcheol grin.

“Want me to tie it, my love?” he offers, reaching up when she nods to wrap it around his hair a few times. As he does that, she picks out a clip with a pink bow on it and slides it onto the front.

Her laughter bubbles through the room immediately, and Seungcheol’s chest flutters with affection.

“Appa, you look like Kkuma!” she exclaims, and he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket to open his camera, only to find that he, indeed, is a mirror image of his beloved Coton de Tulear. He snaps some selfies, makes sure to get his baby girl’s timid smile in them too.

“Should we go show mama?” he asks. She nods vigorously, so he plucks her into his arms, shuffling to the home office where you’ve been cooped up since 8 a.m. Bothering you is not an issue; you’d given him explicit permission to bother you unless you’re in a meeting, because otherwise your ‘job’ is you sitting there and playing mouse and keyboard.

Seungcheol lets his daughter be the one to knock on the door. In response, they hear a “yes?” in the form of your anticipatory voice. Seungcheol nudges the door open, heart warming at the sight of you in your comfiest attire, your hair pulled out of your face carelessly so that he can see every pretty feature that you graced your daughter with.

“Little princess did my hair,” he announces, pouting, winking, raising his eyebrows like he’s in a shoot. “What do you think?”

You can’t stop yourself from bursting into laughter immediately, nor can you stop yourself from leaving your chair and moving towards them so you can grab your husband’s cheeks.

“Oh, honey, you look so pretty,” you cry through giggles, watching as pink spreads over his cheeks. Affection boils inside you and you don’t resist the urge to kiss him, giving his lips a soft peck. “It suits you, appa.”

“I did it!” your baby squeals. She wants her credit, of course.

“Yes, you’re amazing, my love,” you gush, playing with the pigtails her father did. “Are you gonna do his hair like yours next?”

She gazes up at him with her big bug eyes, and you can only guess that she’s deciding that his current style is old news. “Yeah!”

“Alright then, go and do that and come back and show me, yeah?” you offer, smiling softly as she nods.

Seungcheol turns to leave, but before he can, you grab him by his shirt and bring your lips to his ear. “Don’t even think about cutting it, you hear me?”

He doesn’t have to say it for you to know when your husband has been contemplating a haircut. It’s a little longer, a little harder to manage, and you wonder how, after all the years you’ve spent gushing over his longer styles, he still hasn’t gotten it in his head to let it grow.

You free him, satisfied with image of (feigned) fear on his face. You catch him winking right before he closes the door.

[leo-in-the-pitt]

Look Out For Her

Summary: 4 years later and your almost done with residency. But it feels like your relationship with Jack may be coming to an end too. That is until you’re hurt and he has to come to your rescue, that he reveals his true feelings for you.

Warnings: Established relationship, implied age gap, strong language, sexual assault, mentions of alcohol, possessiveness, mostly fluff

This is possibly a Chapter 1!

———————————————————————

You were half way through your 4th and final year of ER residency. Somehow still learning the ropes of being cheif resident. It wasn’t easy to have the respect of your fellow co-residents and interns when you were in a relationship with Dr. Jack Abbott, an ER attending but, he made it worth it. Most of the time at least.

Getting to this point in your relationship wasn’t always easy in anyway. What started as hook ups, turned into arguements during every shift you worked together until you cut it off. But when 3rd year came around, you guys got close again, he let you in and you let him in.

A year and a half. In your mind, this was the start of forever. At least that’s what you thought.

For the past month, Abbotts been distant and you didn’t understand why. Picking up shifts on the days you were both off, date nights were becoming a rarity, bailing on nights out with your friends.

You had a week off coming up and wanted to see if you could make it up to him, for whatever you did even though you didn’t even know where to begin.

You moved in with him 6 months into the relationship. Everyone told you it was quick but, it felt like the right decision at the time.

You woke up early while he was still at work to go pick up breakfast from his favorite spot downtown. Got home made your famous homemade peanut butter cookies that he loved. Had his favorite movies lined up, ready to play. Even put on lingerie under your clothes, ready for whatever he wanted.

You heard keys in the door and were excited for him to see what was waiting for him.

There he was. Silver curls. Black scrubs. Go-bag over one shoulder. You could look at him forever.

“There’s my favorite guy.” You ran up to him to give him a hg and kiss.

He hugged you back but, swerved his head ever so slightly when you went in to kiss him.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Just had a long night. Not really in the mood for anything.”

“I planned out quite the morning for us.” You smiled at him.

“Think I’m just gonna go hop in the shower then head to bed for a little bit.” He started to walk away.

You quickly turned around to him. “Okay, no, what is your problem? Did I do something? Cause for the past month you’ve been acting cold. Blowing me off ever chance you get.”

He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face you. He looked pissed. You’d only ever seen him angry like that once during a stupid fight you guys had at the beginning of the relationship.

“You left your laptop open.”

“Okay and? I’m I supposed to know what that means?”

“Were you going to tell me that you have a bunch of interviews for attending jobs at other hospitals? Or were you just going to tell me you were leaving one day?”

“Jack everyone goes to multiple interviews. You literally did the same when you were in my position.”

“One of those is across the country.”, he paused, “Were you gonna pack up and fly over there without telling me?”

“Thought maybe you could come with me and we could make a trip out of it actually.”

He put his head in his hands. “Do you want to leave?” His voice cracked.

“What? Why would I want to leave you Jack? I literally have an interview with Robby in 2 weeks for a spot here. I’m just trying to see what else is out there too.”

“But you have everything you could need right here! Why do you wanna give it all up!He raised his voice at you.”

You took a step back.

“Don’t yell at me.” You felt your breathing become faster, chest heavy.

“Why would you not tell me? This is something we should be talking about together. This isn’t just about you.”

“And it’s not just about you. It’s my future Jack. My career we’re talking about.” You said sternly.

“So where do I fit into that future then?”

You didn’t know how to answer. “You know I love you.”

“I sense a but coming here.”

You took a deep breath. “But there’s an emergency medicine research fellowship in California. They’re really interested in me Jack. Like really interested.”

“Sounds like you made up your mind already.” He walked away and went into the bedroom.

“Jack please. I didn’t say yes to anything yet. I still have to go over there and meet with them. I might end up hating it.”

He was throwing clothes into his go-bag. You grabbed his arm and he swiftly pulled away.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to leave? Where are you even going?”

He held both hands up in the air. “I just need some air.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know. I- I just can’t do this with you right now.”

“So if not now, then when. Jack. Come on we talked about this. Never leave mad at each other.”

“I’m not mad.”, he looked down at you, “Just disappointed.”

He grabbed his bag and walked out of the room. You felt the tears start to run down your face.

“Jack please.” You begged.

You heard him pick his keys up off the table and door slam closed behind him.

You broke. Tears streaming down your face. You sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands. Your reached into your pocket for your phone and tried to call him.

Once. Twice. Three times with no answer. Straight to voicemail.

You laid in bed, crying. Eyes already swelling. After went felt like an eternity, you fell asleep.

You woke to the sound of a text message.

Please be Jack.

It wasn’t. Just Langdon.

He knew you were planning Jacks favorites for the morning and wanted to know how it went. You typed out as much of what just happened as you could. He called immediately.

He could hear you crying again.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

“Frank, I- I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where he went. He turned his location off. He won’t answer my calls or texts. I just wanna know that he’s okay.” You voice broke as you tried to get the words out.

“Hey look I’m just gonna come over okay?” Gimme like 20 minutes, I’ll be right there. Please just hold on.”

“Okay.” He hung up.

You got out of bed and threw on one of Jacks sweaters. Beers of the Burgh. Him and Robby went together every year. You hated beer so you never went, just let them have their special guy time.

You went into the bathroom and saw how bloodshot your eyes had become. Splashed some water on your face and went into the living room.

Almost exactly 20 minutes later. A knock on your front door. Langdon.

You opened the door.

“Hey kid.” He always called you could since the first day you met even though he was only 4 years older.

Tears again. You almost fell to the floor. He caught you and lifted you up.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I got you.”

He walked you into the kitchen, had you sit at one of the bar stools and went to get you a glass of water. He knew his way around. Afterall he did help you move in and came over often for movie nights when Jack was at work.

You spent the next hour trying to explain what happened. Talking. Crying. He listened to it all.

“Have you tried to call him again?”

You sniffled. “No, if he doesn’t want to talk to me, I can’t make him.”

“He has to come back eventually you know?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You wiped your eyes onto your sleeve.

“Hey, me and some of the others from work were gonna go out later for some drinks downtown. Probably do some bar hopping. Maybe you should come? Get your mind off of things for a little bit?”

“What if he comes back and I’m not here?”

“Maybe that’d be for the best. Think you both need some time to cool off.”

You agreed. “Yeah sure why the hell not. He never wants to come out with me anyway.”

“Alright, go get ready then.”

“It’s early.”

“Its 5:30 and you definitely take forever to get ready. Plus you gotta unpuff your eyes.”

You quickly turned to the clock on the kitchen wall. Shit, how long were you asleep for? How long was he gone for?

“Okay alright then. Are you gonna stay here?”

“Yeah I’ll just watch some tv or something while you get ready. I’ll drive us.”

You went into the bedroom, scavenging the closet for something to wear. Red dress. Jack picked it out one day when you two were at the mall a couple months ago. You hadn’t worn it yet. You were waiting until he finally decided to go out-out with you. Which obviously never came.

You grabbed the dress, his favorite matching bra and pantie set and went to shower. There was a part of you that wanted him to come home to see you. But at the same time you just wanted to forget about all that happened just a few hours earlier.

Out the shower. Quickly dried your hair. Threw some light curls in it. Jacks favorite hairstyle on you. You didn’t like makeup but, put some mascara and lipgloss on anyway.

You walked into the bedroom to grab your little black heels. And walked back out into the kitchen.

Langdon was laying on your couch on his phone.

“Ugh, told you you were gonna take forever. It’s time to go, everyone’s of there way to the first place.” He sat up and turned around. “Damn kid, you clean up nice.”

“Well thanks Frank.” You gave him a side eye.

“You hoping to run into him tonight or something?”

“I- don’t know, it’s just that he picked this outfit out so, I don’t know maybe I guess.”

It’s almost as if Jack knew you were talking about him. Keys jingled in the door. It’s him.

He opened the door to see you standing there in the dress he picked out.

You both stared at each other while Langdon looked back and forth, unsure if he should leave you two alone.

“You look good. Really good.” He scanned you top to bottom.

Your heart was about to jump out of your chest. “Thanks.”

You turned towards Langdon, “We gotta go.”

“Yeah sure.” He jumped up and walked towards the door. He stopped in front of Jack.

“Gimme a second with her.”

Langdon shook his head and walked passed Jack and out into the hallway.

“Can we talk?”

“Now’s clearly not the time.” You walked into the bedroom, grabbed his sweater off the bed and walked out. “I have places to be.”

“Where exactly are you going anyway?”

“Why does it matter to you? I didn’t know where you were all damn day.”

“I was at the park. The park I asked you to be my girlfriend in.”

“You just sat there in your scrubs all day?”

He looked down at his clothes. “I’m actually going back in tonight for a shift.”

You scoffed. “Typical. Anything to avoid me huh?”

“I’m here now, aren’t I? I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m clearly not Jack. Please just let me through.”

“Just be safe. Okay?” He stepped out of the doorway and out of your way.

“Always.” And you left.

Langdon was waiting in the hall for you. You walked right passed him.

“Hey.” He stopped Langdon. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“I shouldn’t have to.” And with that you were both on your way.

At the first bar you met up with other coworkers. Nurses, coresidents, EMTs. And apparently more people were on the way.

“Didn’t realize how many people were coming tonight?” You yelled over the music.

“Yeah me either.” Shrugged Langdon.

After the first 2 drinks and tequila shot, you realized you had ate all day. And you can’t handle your liquor.

You sat alone at the bar sipping water, looking down at your phone lock screen. A picture of you and Jack at a concert together, happy. He wasn’t into live music but, if it were for you, he’d listen to anything.

“Boyfriend couldn’t make it?”said the bartender nodding down at your phone.

“Yeah something like that.”

“That’s his problem. You look good.”

You smiled. Langdon came up behind you.

“Hey we’re heading across the street. Heard it’s 90s music night over there.”

You got up and went with the group. Thought you’d feel better by now. That you’d be able to distract yourself by talking to everyone, drinking, and listening to the music while dancing. It wasn’t working well.

Here you had 2 more drinks. 2 more shots.

Onto the next bar.

By this time, well over a a dozen people were apart of the group.

Fourth bar. More drinks. More shots. And you could feel it. But the more you drank the more you thought about him.

You went to sit at the bar alone. You checked you phone to see that he turned his location back on. The hospital, of course.

One the nurses came up to you. “Come on girl! Let’s go dance!”

“Yeah I’ll be right there.”

No texts or calls from him.

You took a deep breath and another sip of water. As you got up, you saw a guy watching you from the corner of the room. He winked and nodded his head at you. You politely smiled and went to your friends.

No matter what, Jack wouldn’t leave your mind.

There he was. The guy watching you across the room.

“Hey baby, looking good tonight.”

“Haha, thanks.” You were uncomfortable with how close he was to your face but didn’t want any problems.

“You got a man?”

“Yeah I do a actually.”

He scanned the room. “Guess he’s not here tonight huh?”

“He couldn’t make it. Working.”

“Well that’s his loss.”

Langdon spotted you across the dance floor.

“Hey, you gotta go see Donnie playing darts. It’s crazy!”

“Yeah sure.” You turned to the stranger and half waved goodbye.

“See you later.” He winked at you.

“Who the hell was that?”

“No idea.”

“Come on, stay close.”

“What about the darts?”

“They don’t even have darts here.”

It was now 1AM. You head pounding. Each room spinning. One last bar. One more drink. You lost count.

“Come on, one more tequila shot girl!”

“Yeah sure whatever.” You took it hoping the alcohol would down the feelings out of you.

Everyone was dancing, having a good time. You just wanted to be in Jacks arms, in your bed, in the apartment you had shared for over a year.

You looked over at a couple of your friends. “I’ll be right back.” Those who heard you nodded their heads.

You went outside. Alone. Still carrying Jakcs sweater, you decided to put it on. Not zipping it up but, just wrapping it around your body. You stood up against the wall on the side of the bar. Out of view.

Took out your phone. Stared. And finally dialed Jack’s number. No answer. Try one more time. Nothing.

But the thrid time you left a voicemail.

“Jack, it’s me. Um you probably knew that already, you know caller ID and everything. B-but,” your words one slipping into another, “I think I just want to say I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you about leaving. I’m stupid I know. But I love you. I always have. I- always will. I don’t want to leave you. Ever. You’re it for me Jack Abbott. I don’t want anyone else, or anything else. You’re the person I’ve been looking for my whole life. You make me a better person. I want you forever. Please just pick up the god damn phone. I need to hear your voice,”

You heard the bar door open behind you. The music rushed out into the street before becoming quiet again.

The stranger. Back again.

“Hey you get lost out here?”

“Jack I gotta go, I’ll see you soon.” You hung up.

“Not lost, just needed some air.”

“Yeah, yeah. It can get so hot in there.” He stepped closer to your body. “You know when I said you looked good tonight, baby I meant it.” He licked his lips.

“Thanks again.” You tried to step around him to go back inside.

He blocked you.

“Where you rushing off to? Not like your man is here to take care of you.”

“I gotta get back to my friends.”

“It’s okay I can take care of you out here.” He wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you closer to him.

Your body now pressed against his. Heart pounding in your ears. He grabbed your waist with his other had before reaching down to cup your ass.

You tried to pull away. But his grip was tight. He pushed you against the cold brick wall, pinning you body with his. One hand on your waist. The other holding your arm against the wall. Scraping the skin on the back of your arm right off.

He leaned down into your ear. “Come on sweetheart. I can treat you better then he can.” His hand sliding to meet the bottom of that red dress. “I’ll show you want a real man looks like.” You felt his cold hand on your thigh.

This can’t be happening. Not like this. Not right in front of the bar. Where is everybody? Langdon? Oh god, where’s Jack?

All the thoughts ran through your head.

He kissed your cheek. You flinched.

“Damn sweetheart, wanna play hard to get I see. I can play along with that.”

He let go of your arm. He started to reach for your neck.

You pushed him. Hard. He stumbled back.

“You dumb bitch. You’re gonna have to pay for that.” He took a step towards you.

Pain. Throbbing pain was the next thing you remembered. Then blood. Yours? Or his?

Both.

You punched him. Right in the face.

You used to kickbox not long ago. Guess you still remember how to swing.

“Fucking bitch.”

You screamed. Loud. Loud enough for the security guards to hear you inside the bar. They came running around the corner.

Blood was pouring out of his crooked nose. Blood dripping down your arm from your knuckles.

One security guard grabbed him. “Guess you met you match huh? Come on, got some cops that are gonna love your ass.” He took him away.

“You alright? Come on let’s get you inside and get that cleaned up.” He walked you inside.

———————————————————————

Jack got your voicemail. Almost right after you hung up. He tried to call you back. No answer.

So he called Langdon, who was still inside the bar.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Langdon was drunk.

“Dude I can smell the alcohol on your breath from here.”

“Yeah well you should be here! It’s a great time!”

“Where is she?”

“You gotta be more specific broo”

“My girlfriend. You know the one you’re supposed to be looking out for. She called me. Left a voicemail actually. Sounded like she was talking to someone. Then hung up. Where is she?”

Langdon scanned the room. “Uh I don’t know man.”

“Can you go find her please? She sounded drunk , almost as drunk as you. I’m worried. She doesn’t handle her liquor well.”

“Yeah man, I gotchu, I’ll go find her.”

“Alright call me when you find her. I wanna talk to her.”

“Aye aye captain.”

And Langdon hung up.

He walked around the room. Asking anyone and everyone if they had seen you. No one knew where you went.

That was until you walked back in with security.

———————————————————————

Everyone immediately saw you.

Red dress with blood down the side. Blood running down your forearm. Knuckles bruised and swollen already.

You heard a murmur of “what the fucks” and “oh shits”

Langdon came running over almost immediately sobering him up seeing you like that.

“What the fuck happened?!” He reached to grab your blooded fist.

You winced in pain. Mascara running down you face. “The guy from the other bar.” Yo could barely get the words out.

He looked over your shoulder and saw the guy standing outside with security and blood running down his face.

“Oh I’m gonna go kick his ass!” He tried to get passed you.

“No, no, Langdon, stop, the police are already coming.”

“I don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna break his nose some more.”

“Please, just go get me some ice.”

“What’d he do to you?”

“Ice, Frank, please.”

He went up to the bar for your ice. You could see the police lights shining through the window.

3 police cars. 6 police officers.

You told everyone to stay inside while you went to talk to them. Langdon begged to go with you so you gave in and let him.

At this point, the guy was already sitting in the back of one of their cars. Hands cuffed behind his back.

You told them exactly what happened as you held the ice pack against your knuckles.

Langdons eyes teared up hearing what happened. He was supposed to protect you.

“You wanna press charges?” said one of the officers.

“Of fucking course she does.” Said Langdon.

“I need to hear it from her.”

You shook your head yes.

“You can either come to the station now. Or you can come in the morning.”

“What she needs is to go to the hospital. The hand is broken. Definitely in multiple places.”

“No, it’s not, I’m fine.”

“I’m literally a doctor, how are you gonna tell me it’s not broken? Have you not looked at your own hand?”

You took the ice off. Your hand was basically twice its original size. Fuck. He was right.

“Well that guy wants to go to the hospital too. Can’t take y’all to the same place so where you wanna go so we can send him somewhere else?”

“Can you take me to Pittsburgh Trauma?”

“Yeah let’s go.” You gestured to the police cruiser and opened up the door for you.

“Can I come with?” Langdon asked him.

“Absolutely not. Get a ride or call an Uber. You’re drunk. Drive yourself and I’ll have you arrested.”

“I’ll be right there, okay? I promise you.”

He went back inside the bar.

———————————————————————

All you could think about on the ride there was Jack. How he had to see you like this.

You finally checked your cellphone.

5 unread texts messages. 7 missed phone calls. And one voicemail. All from him.

You presssed play.

“Hey, it’s me. I know you probably don’t wanna hear from me right now and even if you do it’s just the alcohol talking. But look, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted the way that I did. I guess I’m just scared. I don’t want you to go. I can’t afford to lose you. Of course I want you to pursue whatever career opportunities you want, but I don’t think I can live without you. You make me want to be a better man. You make everyone around here better. I love you. I want to spend my life with you. I want to marry you. Have a family with you. All here, all in Pittsburgh. I want whatever you’ll give me. I- I just need to to stay. Please. Look I gotta get back to work but call me back when you get this okay? Love you babygirl. See you soon.”

You didn’t know if your tears where from the throbbing pain shooting down your arm or from his words.

You got to the ambulance bay. You swung your legs out of the car. Feet killing you from the heels. The officer helped you out of the car and walked you inside barefoot.

One of your coresidents spotted you.

“What the fuck? Do I even want to know what happened here?”

“Get Jack, please.” You said practically begging.

You waited for what felt like an eternity from him to find Jack in a patients room.

“This better be important. I was in the middle of something.” Jack snapped his off into the trash.

He looked up and his eyes caught yours.

“What the fu-“ he ran over to you.

He grabbed your arm as you winced and pulled back in pain.

“Babygirl what happened to you?” He leaned down to look into your eyes.

You broke. Immediately tears poured down your face.

“Come here, come here. I got you, you’re alright. No one gonna hurt you. You’re safe with me here.”

He held you in his arms while caressing your hair. The smell of alcohol of your breath obvious. “Come on, let’s go.” He wrapped his arm around you and walked you into a room and sat you down on the bed.

Your coresident ran to get all the supplies needed to clean and bandage you up.

“Get the hell out. I got this. Close the door of your way out.”

It was now just the two of you. Alone.

“Babygirl I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there with you. I shouldn’t have let you go.”

He started to clean the now dry blood off of you.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Do you wanna tell me how this happened?”

So you told him all of it. Every single detail.

“I’m gonna find that motherfucker, I swear to god. I’m gonna break his fucking kneecaps.”

“Jack, calm down.”

“No, he hurt you. I’m gonna hurt him.”

“His nose is already broken Jack.”

“I don’t give a fuck. He’s gonna get way worse than that from me.”

“Jack.” He kept cleaning your hand.

“Jack look at me.”

He slowly lifted his head until his eyes met yours.

“I’m gonna press charges. Whichever ones I can. I want them all.”

There was a knock of the door. One of the favorite night shift nurses.

“Hey sweetie brought you a fresh pair of scrubs and our finest grippy socks. X-rays ready for you. Just come out to the hall when your ready darling.”

“Thank you.”

“You need me to help you?”

“I can get dressed myself. You have other patients anyway.”

“Those patients don’t matter to me. You’re the only one I care about here.”

“Can I just have a minute alone Jack?”

He left you to change.you looked at your fist for the first time since you got to the hospital. Looked slightly better without all the blood.

You went into the hall and the nurse walked you down to xray as Jack waited by your room. Thank god the pain meds kicked in with the alcohol because you could barely open your hand.

As you walked back, you heard yelling.

“You were supposed to be fucking watching her! Not getting filthy fucking drunk and letting her wonder off alone!” Jack was throwing his hands in the air.

Langdon stepped up to his face. “I shouldn’t have to watch her for you. You’re here fucking boyfriend. You should’ve been there yourself. Or better yet, she should’ve wanted to stay at home with you!”

“You think you can judge my relationship? Last time I checked I’m not the one in the middle of a divorce and custody battle.”

“Jack!” You yelled down the hall. “Don’t.”

You walked over and pushed him into your room.

“Frank, I don’t blame you for any of this. I need you to know that.”

“No, he’s right, I should’ve been keeping my eyes on you. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“But it did happen. I’m okay. Or at least I will be. I’m not a kid, you don’t need to keep me on a leash. I shouldn’t have gone out there alone. No ones here to blame except the man who did this okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You hugged him and walked back into your room.

Jack was pacing back and forth.

“I’m okay Jack. You can calm down.”

Another knock on the door. “X-rays are up.”

He walked over to the computer to open them up.

“What do you see?”

“Boxers fracture.” You pointed to the obvious gap between your bones.

“Gotta go get ortho to come set it in place.”

“Can you just do it?”

“I’ve hurt you enough tonight.”

He left and came back with an ortho resident who reset your hand and put it in a brace. “Gonna need another xray in 3 weeks to see how it’s healing. In the meantime just rest, ice and elevate. You got a lot of swelling so take it easy please.”

Just you and Jack alone again.

“Jack can we talk about what you said?”

“Which part?”

“On the phone. Your voicemail.”

He knew exactly which part you were referring to but, wanted you to say it.

“The part where I said I want you to stay?”

You shook your head no.

“Then which part?”

“The part where you said you that you want to marry me. Have kids with me. Build a life with me here.”

“I meant it all. Every last part.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m going to cancel all the other interviews. I wanna stay here. With you.”

“You don’t need to do that for me. This is your career we’re talking about here. You can’t give up these opportunities. They won’t come around again.”

“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for us. Jack you’re more important than some job. This all means a lot to me but, it won’t mean anything if I can’t come home to you every night for the rest of my life.”

He leaned in a kissed you passionately. He pulled away and looked softly into your eyes.

“So Jack Abbott wants to marry me huh?” You said jokingly.

“Don’t worry I’m not gonna pull out a ring right now or anything. You gotta finish your residency first babygirl.”

“Well now I’ll be expecting a ring the day after I’m done.”

“Guess I better start working on that. But for now let’s get you and that broken hand home.”

“Your shift isn’t over for another 3 hours?”

“They’re gonna cover for me. Gotta get my lady home.”

The drive home was pretty silent. He just put your favorite Radiohead album on for you. He helped you out of his truck and lead you upstairs.

He helped you pick out your favorite pajamas and you went to take another shower. Forgot you had been wearing his favorite matching set under the dress when you left. Thought the night would be ending differently for you two.

Of course you were glad that you were on good terms now. But when he put his hand on your back as you were leaving the hospital, you flinched. And he definitely noticed.

Once the booze started to wear off, you started to realize the extent of what happening to you tonight.

You cried again in the shower. Used the hot water to wash away your tears for you. Put some drops in your eyes to hide the redness.

You took a deep breath before walking out to him in the kitchen. He was holding up the breakfast bagel you bought him that morning.

“Didn’t even see that you bought these.”

“You could always just eat it now if you want. Think I’m just gonna head to bed if that’s alright.”

He open the fridge and put the bagel back inside. “Yeah let’s go. I’m just gonna jump in the shower real quick.”

You climbed into bed. Curled yourself into a ball, facing away from where he would be laying. You were holding back tears. You wanted to be strong for him. There’s was already so much going on in your lives. The last thing he needed was to be worried about you more than he already was.

You head the bathroom door open and his footsteps coming closer. You closed you eyes and preteded to be asleep.

He peeked over to see you. Eyes closed. You felt as he crawled quietly into the bed to face you.

“Hey I know you’re not sleeping. We’ve been in the same bed for over a year now. You never fall asleep that fast.”

You let out a cry.

“Hey, come here. What’s wrong?” He put his hand on your back and you squirmed away as fast as you possibly could.

“I-I’m sorry”, you whimpered out.

“Can you look at me?”

You wiped the tears flowing down your cheek and rolled over to face him.

“You wanna talk about it yet?” He knew there was more going through your mind.

You shook your head. “I need you to hold me. Bu-but I’m scared for you to touch me. It’s not you, I- I don’t know what wrong with me right now. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault, okay?”

You sat up, “Can you just put your arm out?”

“Like this?” He put right arm straight out.

You laid down so that his arm was between your head and shoulder.

“Wrap your arms around me, please Jack.”

He brought you as close as you could get to him. You cried into his chest.

“I got you, I got you. Nobody’s gonna hurt you ever again alright?”

You nodded and lifted you head up. He wiped away your tears.

“I love you so much babygirl. So much.”

“I love you too.” You laid back down into his chest.

Jack was wrong you could fall asleep fast. But only when you were in his arms.

Things were gonna be different from now on. Cause you ever trust anyone to put their hands on you again?

———————————————————————

Probably gonna end up making this a short series! Maybe just one more part! Let know what you guys think!

[nickssidewitch]

https://www.tumblr.com/nickssidewitch/781731137745764352/i-feel-like-were-lowkey-runnin-out-of-freaky?source=share

Headcannons of Chris or matt letting their gf sit on their face😋

🥵🍑 Sturniolo Triplets Face-Sitting Headcanons 🔞😩 (Based on Tarot Readings)

☄️ Chris 🌟

He will grab your thighs tightly, his fingers creating indentations on your skin as he holds you down onto his face.

You’d be locked into his grasp, groaning and moaning with every lick and tug and suck on your labia and clitoris, holding onto the headboard of the bed with all your strength as he uses all of his to make sure you’re screaming.

His hands will massage and caress you, starting from your hips, to your thighs, trailing to your ass, kneading it and smacking it to hear the lovely squeals and moans you’ll emit.

He loves to hear the loud noises and feel the tremors that roll down your spine to between your legs where his mouth is going to town.

He’ll definitely take moments to watch your reactions if he can see from where he is, and that’ll be more of his motivation.

He’ll go fast and never even stop to take a breath. That is, until you start tugging on his hair, and he remembers he has to breathe.

If you’re bigger in size and feel concerned about being too big somehow, he definitely doesn’t care. He’ll tell you to suffocate him. He likes the thrill of it all. And it makes you even more delicious.

He’ll try his best to play with your breasts/chest whenever he can. A simple tug and twist of the nipples or a jiggle of the boobs will cause you to moan and whine even more, and that’s exactly what he wants (plus just the added fun of feeling breasts and/or nipples 😭)

When you’re close, he’ll start to feel you tremble even more, and that’s when he’ll hold you down even more! He wants to capture all of it, even get his whole face wet by the end. And if he has a goatee? You’re gonna stain him 😭

Things I can hear him saying:

“More, huh? You want more? I’ll give you more?”

“Too big? Nuh-uh. Sit down right here.”

“Use me like I’m your damn chair, baby.”

“Stay right there”

“Gimme all of it, c’mon”

“Mhm…mhm…yeah…”

“Give it to me.”

“Move them hips for me”

“Fuuuuuck, look at all of that”

“You want me to fuck those titties after? Yeah?”

*muffled speech*

*Blowing raspberries* (he’s so annoying 😭🤍)

💫 Matt 🌐

He has a thing for being smothered by you. 😭 He wants to feel your skin and fat just smoosh onto him. It’s cushiony.

He’ll reach down and jerk himself off while doing it, or he’ll have you facing the other way to do it.

69 seems like a possibility in this case. He wants to feel your mouth on him as well. He wants to see how much pleasure you and him both can handle.

He loves to make you feel good. He’ll take his time figuring you out. Do you like getting your clit sucked more than being licked? Do you like feeling his nose against you? Do you like to be blown on? Those are the things he wants to figure out.

And once he finds those sweet spots, you’re done for 😭 He’s going in, not stopping. He wants you to squirm and cry out for him. He wants to feel your skin get close around his tongue. He wants to drink you up like you’re the only source of water in the desert. And he won’t stop until every single drop is gone.

Things I hear him saying:

“Babyyyy, c’moooon…”

“Look at you on top of me. Isn’t that nice?”

“Doesn’t this feel good? Yeah?”

“This pussy’s so good, you know that?”

“My delicious pussy…”

“C’mon, give me more…”

“More? Please? For me.”

“You need my fingers? I’ll give you my fingers, too.”

“No, no you can take it. Stay right on top of me. You’re not gonna hurt me.”

No, you won’t hurt me, I promise.”

Afterwards: “No I’m not sitting on your face now, honey.”

🪁 Nick 🪻

Quick tongue, quick hands, quick mouth. Not just when he’s on a tangent 😉

He’ll grip your thighs and hold you down, pulling you closer the farther you try to pull away.

He’ll smack your ass with one hand and hold onto the curve of your hip the next. You ain’t going nowhere.

He’ll be working his tongue around the rim teasingly before sticking his tongue inside. He wants to get you eased and teased into it before beginning. He’ll even use his thumb to massage the rim.

He’ll spread you open even more, parting your ass or using his fingers to open your hole up more.

He’ll jerk you off at the same time if he’s able to reach your cock, starting off with slow strokes before speeding up in tight, circular motions up to the frenulum.

He’ll bring you down a bit to suck you off, and if he’s in a more submissive mood, he’ll let you fuck his face.

When you’re finally close, he’s speeding up until the big bang, letting you release all over him, or right down his throat.

Things I hear him saying:

He’ll look up and wave at you before saying “Hiii”

“Look at you… so pretty.”

He’s not that much of a talker or I just don’t hear much other than saliva and sucking and gagging.

“You’re getting close, huh? C’mon, let go.”

[no-144444]

one for leaving- d.ricciardo

꩜ summary: something changes...

꩜ pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem! reader

Daniel had always been around. 

Even as a child, you watched as he carved out his own immovable space in your life. He was persistent, he was fast, and he didn’t often take no for an answer. He was funny. Always laughing. Smarter than anyone realised. The first time he asked you out, he did it for your school formal, and he made a big sign, basically begging you to go. You never thought he’d liked you like that, and you were ecstatic. What followed was years and years of bliss. Years where you got to know him, learning every habit, every trait, every phobia, every fucking twitch of his lip, and what it meant. You pulled him out of McLaren, and you made it alright. You supported him at every race. You waited for him.  

So, you’d think you’d know him by now. You’d think you could… understand him, by now. Losing F1, it was hard, but you’d stood by his side, being the pillar of strength he needed, pulling him up by his bootstraps and reminding him who he was. Reminding him that he was Daniel fucking Ricciardo, and he had a lot more life to live beyond some silly cars. And that worked. 

For a while. 

Then reminders crept in, and the arguments started. You only wanted what was best, and you knew if he continued watching and staring and reminiscing, he’d be miserable. And you were right. A particularly bad day meant he told you your ideas for your (long overdue) wedding were stupid and silly, and you recoiled. He knew you were right to, and he knew this wasn’t your fault.

He just didn’t know how to tell you.  

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice cautious. That’s all you’d been for weeks… cautious. After the fight, Daniel had stepped away from you, and the distance was only growing. He sighed beside you. 

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “Just busy these past weeks,” he shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. You fiddled with your ring. 

“Are you sure? If something’s wrong, you can tell me,” your voice was tender. More tender than he’d even heard it. He was quiet. “Please just let me back in.” 

Something snapped. He looked down, and you felt it. That terrible ache in your chest that had settled all those weeks ago finally opened, at the same time Daniel’s mouth did. “I don’t want to get married anymore,” he admitted, clasping his hands together as he evaded your gaze. It was almost pathetic. He was wearing a shirt you’d washed and ironed, he was sitting on a couch you picked out, having eaten food you’d prepared. 

And he didn’t want you. 

You nodded, attempting to soften the impact the lump in your throat would have on your voice. “Alright,” you slid the engagement ring off your finger and dropped it in his lap. “Anything else?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, emotions overtaking his voice. “I’m so sorry. You deserve so much more than this, than me.” 

You huffed, standing up. “Maybe that’s true,” you shrugged, picking up your plates and taking them to the sink. “But that’s not reality, and I hav- had you.”

“I just-” 

“I don’t really care for your explanation Daniel,” you sighed. “I’ll pack up my stuff during the week, alright?” 

“Alright,” he nodded, following behind you, stopping when he was just a foot away. “I’m sorry-”

“You don’t need to keep saying that,” you turned to him. “You don’t love me anymore, it’s fine.” 

“It’s not though, is it?” he mused, prolonging both of your suffering. “I’ve tried and I just… can’t. I don’t know why. I want to. I really want to, because I think you’re a great person. You’re funny, and you’re beautiful, you’re so smart, and fucking- I don’t know! I don’t understand why I can’t love you like I want to,” he crossed his arms, frustrated. “And it’s not because of you,” he assured you, but your self-confidence was already shot, so it didn’t matter, even if he’d blamed you. “I just… there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Sure,” you shrugged. “That’s fine.”

“Why are you so okay right now?” he asked.  You stared at him for a moment. Really stared. This would probably be the last time you’d see him upclose in real life. A sad smile made its way onto your lips, and you couldn’t hold back the tears in your eyes. “You’ve always been one for leaving Daniel, it was only a matter of time.”

navigation for my blog :)

redbull and vcarb masterlist

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Good Morning

Dad! Bang Chan x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: Sweet Morning time activities Warnings: SMUT, oral (both receiving) unprotected p in v (Plz use protection) fingering. A/N: I hope this was close to what my sweet anon wanted! Thank y'all for your patience on getting these fics out! And thank you so much for your love and support for Dad! Chan. Please comment if you'd like to be added to the tag list. Requests are OPEN

Chan’s lips meet your neck as the sun begins to shine through your bedroom window. You stir awake, the feeling comforting and familiar. You smile as you awake from your slumber, a soft moaning escaping your throat as you feel his teeth graze your soft skin.

“Good morning,” he mumbles in your ear, the deep voice Aussie drawls. Chan’s voice has always been attractive, but mix in his morning voice and your practically a puddle.

“Good morning,” you smile lazily at him as his lips connect to yours in a sweet kiss. At first it's subtle, Chan’s tongue ghosts over you bottom lip, teasing you. But when you don’t push him off he runs his tongue over your lip again, and you separate your lips.

His tongue runs over yours, both of you moaning quietly as the kiss deepens. Your fingers find the ends of his hair on his neck. You can feel him smile against your lips as his hand rubs your side up and down.

“So sweet,” he almost whimpers against your lips.

“Wanna taste,” he mumbles as his lips move down to your neck. You smile as you feel his knee come between your legs, causing your sleep dress to hike up. You feel his sharp teeth drag across your soft skin, no doubt marking your collar bone. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he licks over the spot.

He helps you sit up and drags the sleep dress over your head revealing your naked body. Chan licks his lips as he gently pushes you back against the mattress.

He begins to kiss down your chest, flicking his tongue over a nipple, his cock growing harder in his boxers with every sound you make.

Quiet gasps, little moans as your nails lightly scratch his scalp, all of it making him a desperate mess.

He kisses down your abdomen, slowly, savoring the moment and building your anticipation.  

He notices you squirming and bites down on your thigh as he settles between your legs.

“Ah, Chan,” you gasp. He smirks as he kisses the area, kissing his way to your folds.

“Mm, so pretty,” he praises and you blush with a quiet groan, trying to push his face closer.

“Baby,” you whine your thighs lightly pressing against his head. He rubs them before locking his arms around them and pulling you down slight. His tongue lips a stripe up your soaking cunt, collecting your taste on his tongue and he moans.

“So sweet,” he murmurs as he dives in like a man starved. Your hips jerk at the force of his tongue, your body arching every so slightly, the feeling going straight to your stomach.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp as your eyes shut. Chan looks up at you, one breast in hand as your hips shift under him. His tongue does figure eight’s on your clit, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. Gasps can be heard as he inserts his middle finger, achingly slow, he starts to pump in and out, while still massaging your bud.

“Fuck,” you choke out as your hips roll to meet his thrusts.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly. He adds another finger, his tongue moving impossibly faster.

“Oh God,” you cry out as he picks up the pace with his fingers. Choked out gasps leave your mouth as your head spins, the euphoric feeling close.

“I’m close,” you whimper out. He goes what you can only imagine would be described as super sonic speed, wet sounds filling the room along with your noises.

“Fuck, baby, yes- ah, just like that, oh fuck,” your legs shake as your body explodes, the feeling washing over you as he fucks you through your first high. But he isn’t finished, he slows down, letting you come down but his tongue reattaches to your sensitive bud.

“AH, Chan,” your legs shake with the direct contact and over stimulation.

“Come on baby, one more,” he kisses your thigh as he pumps his fingers. Your hips roll with his thrusts again, his fingers curling to hit your sweet spot.

“Ah, Chris,” you whimper. He keeps his fingers inside you but crawls up to kiss your lips, causing you to taste yourself. His forehead rests on yours as his fingers pump in and out quickly. He feels your walls contract around his fingers, and his own cock starts to become uncomfortable.

Your mouth falls open as your next wave of pleasure hits, your whole body going stiff as it shakes under him. Chan kisses your neck, thrusting in and out of you slowly.

“Fuck,” you breathe out with your chest heaving as you catch your breath. You kiss Chan’s lips passionately.

“Get on your back,” you command and he pulls his fingers out of you cleaning them before doing what you told him to.

You take his cock out of his boxers, the tip leaking and red. You lick your lips before pumping him a few times, a sharp hiss leaving his mouth.

“Ah,” he chuckles at your teasing as your thumb rubs over his slit. His smile is one of the most beautiful things you ever seen and your heart swells before you slowly wrap your lips around his thick cock. A gasp leaves Chan’s mouth as you slowly sink down, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Gnah,” he gasps, as he wills himself to look at you. His hand finding the back of your head, not to force you but just to hold onto you, to help ground him.

“Fuck,” he whimpers as your tongue swirls around him. The saltiness hits your tongue and you moan around him, causing vibrations to be sent through him. His head tilts back as he moans his mouth agape. You pump what little bit you can’t fit in your mouth as you accelerate your speed.

Moans and whimpers leave his mouth, and you start to feel it twitch when Chan gently pulls you up.

“I wanna be in you,” he says before smashing your lips together. You reach down, teasing his slit one last time and he shutters. He lays you on your back, lining himself up at your entrance.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” you breathe as he slowly pushes in, both of you moaning.

“So fucking tight,” he grunts.

“Fuck,” he says as he shifts his hips backwards, only to slam them back into you and you gasp as his cock hits that perfect little spot inside you. His head drops to your shoulder as he ruts into you like a dog in heat. You can feel his hot breath on your collarbone, his groans causing your walls to contract around him, causing him to moan and groan more.

“Fuck, you feel so good. Look at how well you’re taking my cock,” he whispers in your ear.

“Fuck,” his hips speed up faster as his fingers go down to your clit. He starts to rub circles, furiously, against it.

“Fuck, fuck,” he chokes out as he rests his forehead on yours.

“Harder,” you whimper and he obliges, with both his hand and hips.

“Oh shit, fuck I’m close, I’m close.” You whimper as the tightening in your stomach hits.

“Ah, Chan,” your hands go this back, nails scratching down it, as your body explodes. The feeling of your nails pushing Chris over the edge as he comes with you. Both of you riding your high out together as you feel the warmth he spreads within you.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out as Chan pulls out of you out of breath.

“Well good morning,” he chuckles and you roll over to him resting your head on his sweaty chest.

“Good morning,” you say as you press a kiss to it. Chan takes your hand, holding you close to him.

“Y/n,” he asks.

“Hmm?” you watch as he mindlessly plays with your fingers. After a beat of silence you look up at him.

“I love you.” He smiles and your heart skips a beat.

“I love you too, Channie,” you kiss his lips passionately. This is the first time Chan has ever told you he loved you. It's a moment you know you'll cherish.

“Eomma!” Hwan busts through the door and you yank the covers up to make sure you’re covered.

“Appa!” He yells dragging his Wolf Chan plush with him.

 “Breakfast!!” He shouts as he jumps on the bed. You look at your boyfriend before bursting out into fits of laughter.

“All right buddy,” Chan says as he puts your little boy down on the floor.

“Go to the kitchen, I’ll meet you there.” Hwan runs as fast as his little legs will take him.

“Breakfast?”

“Yes please,” you say before kissing him again.

Tags: @breakmeoff

Please do not repost my work

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[grenadehearts]

doing this tiktok trend with kirishima..suggestive smut!

kirishima walks out in pink pajamas, hello kitty’s cartoon face stretched across the pink fuzz. he’s shirtless, fresh from the shower as water droplets drip from his sopping wet hair onto his chiseled, muscular frame. his boxers' waistband is peeking through the hem of his pants, and a cheeky grin tugs at his lips as he says,

"hey, my pretty girl."

you look up from admiring your fresh nail set — acrylics with tiny charms, a pink set with pretty detailed flowers for spring. expensive as hell, but thankfully (like always), kirishima paid. after he soapboxed for a whole hour about it.

"my girl should never pay for anything. and if you wanna pay, just take my card outta my wallet and pay with that."

to which you’d argued,

"but that means you’re still paying...?"

and he grinned wide,

"exactly. but it feels like you are, so a win’s a win,"

before flashing those sharp teeth and that boyish, dizzying smile that made you forget whatever point you were trying to make.

now your eyes trail lazily down his figure, landing on the familiar hello kitty pj pants. you raise an eyebrow, a slow smirk pulling at your lips.

"babe... are those my pants?"

he laughs, the sound low and easy, before throwing himself onto the bed, head resting against the headboard, one arm behind it lazily.

"nah, baby, i went and bought a pair while you were gettin' your nails done. gotta match my girl, right?"

he turns toward you, smiling so openly and bashful it makes you melt.

and that’s when you remember — there was this tiktok trend you wanted to try. and kiri being all soft and cute in matching pants is the perfect time.

"kiri," you coo sweetly, batting your lashes in the way you know sends him wild.

he raises a brow, already suspicious but amused,

"what do you want, baby?"

he says, pretending to hesitate like he wouldn’t do literally anything for you.

"wellll," you drawl,

"i saw a tiktok of this girl showing off her nails over her boyfriend’s... you know."

he cocks an eyebrow.

"know what?"

you huff, grinning.

"how about i just show you. and when we’re done, you can tell me if i can post it, okay?"

kirishima, ever eager to please, puffs his chest a little.

"sure, baby."

he leans in and presses a gentle delicate kiss to your forehead.

you pull out your phone and press record, situating your hand just above your boyfriend’s very obvious bulge — not surprising, considering kiri’s... big.

his whole face flushes when he realizes what you’re doing, his smile faltering into something shy, hands nervously tugging at the hem of his pants.

"hey, baby, what ya—"

he tries to say something, but it quickly dissolves into soft whimpers when your hand circles around his cock through the fuzzy fabric, squeezing gently, coaxing him in your hands — all while showing off your new nails for the camera.

you giggle softly, leaning in closer,

"just showing them how big you are, and how much you spoil me, that okay?"

his throat bobs as he swallows, his whole face a pretty shade of red, his lashes fluttering as he struggles to keep eye contact all while grunting through broken moans, red-faced, as he rasps out in a needy tone,

"fuck, yes — yes, princess, everything you do is okay, fuck— keep on,"

his head tips back against the headboard, one arm thrown across his face to hide how wrecked and flustered he already looks.

you keep stroking him lazily, letting the camera catch how hes getting hard, underneath your touch, all while flexing your nails just like the tiktok you saw.

and just as the audio cuts off, you look over at him with a teasing sooooo? look.

he doesn’t even answer. he just grabs your phone, tosses it somewhere out of reach without looking, and then he's on you — crawling into your lap, face burying itself in your neck, hands sliding under your top, caressing the soft skin of your breasts, need written all over him.

his voice is muffled against your skin, as he whines into you, "fuck, babygirl, don't do that to me..."

masterlist link here.

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