#the most STARTLE you get out of him is a really bad twitch and a sharp inhale followed by quick but also slowing breathing as he calms

[minophus]

I always wonders, does sisyphus ever get like nightmares. If she does, does she scream when waking up or just indure it and wakes up remembering it? Luv ur art btw \(^ヮ^)/

hmmmm... probably, but i think 1. He probably doesnt remember his dreams all that well save for the occasional prophetic vision once in a milennia 2. If he did remember, he'd probably just startle awake and lay there for a few hours picking it apart

[pieandflannel]

₊˚⊹♡ body swap pt.3 👥

₊⊹ ʚ ₊⊹｡ ⋆ ˚ ⋆ ｡˚ ₊⊹｡ ₊⊹ ୨♡୧ ⊹₊ ｡⊹₊ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ˚ ⋆ ｡⊹₊ ɞ ⊹₊

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: your and dean’s curiosity gets the best of you, leading to some unholy bedroom tings.

cw: 18+ smut, pwp, filthy asf, sex toy play, cowgirl, missionary, unprotected p in v & creampie (wrap it up silly), language, teasing/mocking, slight praise, sub!dean, shy!dean. not really proof read. you’ve been warned.

word count: 2347 (this is the most I’ve written on tumblr yet whoop whoop)

julia yaps: a shower is needed after writing this thanks to yall pervy lil fucks (jk i luv uuuu) hope you enjoyyy <3

check out part one & part two

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“i see curiosity got the best of you… need some help with that?” you offered with a smirk as you stepped closer and closer to the bed. eyeing your own body that dean was occupying. you weren’t going to lie, seeing yourself sprawled out like that, in such a.. pathetic way had you feeling some type of way, was that the dean brain talking? it’s not like you cared at the moment really. right now your main focus was to show dean just how fun the bunny toy can be.

”y/n i can explain..” dean panicked as you walked closer, he knew he did bad by invading your privacy, but you weren’t going to scold him, after all you did play with his dick like ten minutes ago.

“shh it’s okay you don’t need to explain” you sat down on one side of your bed, your fingers lingering above his inner thigh, his breath hitching at the gentle contact.

“give me the toy, come on, don’t be shy” you spoke in a slow and soft but dominant tone. dean with slight hesitation passed the toy over to you, as the vibrator came in contact with your hand, a devilish smirk grew on your face.

you kicked your slippers off and got more comfortable on the bed, “open your legs for me” you commanded and dean surprisingly obeyed, shyly opening his legs enough for you to check out the beauty in between. for the first time you were honestly feeling proud of your own body, shame it had to take a god damn body swap hex for you to open your eyes that you looked like a sex bomb.

“now i’m going to insert it and turn it on, so don’t get startled okay?” you explained to him before circling the tip of the toy around the clit. dean let out a shaky breath, his eyes dilated from arousal.

you slowly slid the tip up and down between the folds, spreading the glistening wetness all around. come on, you had to mess with him a bit, he’s gotta see what it is like to be an owner of a clit. you could tell dean became impatient, his hips bucking up slightly every time the tip got close to the entrance. you couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle. “someone’s needy” you mocked.

“shut up” he spoke back in a mumble.

“now now, that’s no way to talk to someone that wants to help you feel good now is it?” you cooed at him. gently pushing the tip of the toy in the entrance before pulling out, and repeating it until he let out a desperate whine. god teasing him was so fun.

“you really want to try this out don’t you?” you let out a chuckle, honestly a little surprised at dean’s curiosity, but you don’t really blame him. dean looked absolutely pathetic when he gave you the doe eyes and a nod. god he was so breedable like this.

you slowly pushed the toy inside him, he let out a soft whimper as he felt the toy stretch him out. you didn’t wait long after that to switch the toy on, he let out a sharp gasp, gripping the bedsheets. you couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction, so pathetic and breedable for someone that claims to be a big scary hunter.

you gently moved the toy in and out, the bunny ears rubbing the clit in such a way you had him moaning, head tilted back. he definitely flicked the bean before this, there is no way he’s this sensitive simply because. that little whore.

his hips grind against the toy as whimpery moans continued to fly out his mouth, fuck you could feel your dick twitching in your pants at his little reactions. he was squirming around the bed and whining under his breath. how could you not get hard from that right?

“there’s my good boy, you’re doing great” you praised him as you turned the toy onto a higher mode. his legs began to shake, his back arching. “oh god, f-fuck” he moaned, closing his eyes as the pleasure intensified. knuckles turning white from his harsh grip on the bed sheet.

you knew your body well enough to know when you’d get close, so when you felt him getting close, you turned the toy off and stopped pumping.

leaving him on the edge, whining and crying. “oh come on~ please i was so close” he begged, his walls pulsing around the toy.

“oh i know you were, it is my body after all” you chuckled, pulling the toy out and putting it away to the side and casually positioning yourself between his legs.

“but how bout we.. yknow-” you looked down at his swollen clit and lips. your cock was already hard again, restrained in the pjs. “-make this interesting”

dean looked up at you with slight wide eye at your suggestion, but damn he wasn’t going to lie that the offer wasn’t tempting as hell. i mean it’s not like it’ll hurt anyone right? both of you are consenting adults, though in each others bodies, but still, consenting. and curious.

“well if you’re okay with it, so am i” dean replied honestly. you were glad he was on board with this, this situation was lowkey fucked up but at least you were in this together.

he cleared his throat, “um..why don’t you lay down and-“

“you want to ride me?” you interrupted him with a little smirk on your face. dean wasn’t used to being this flustered, but you brought that out of him right now, especially when it was easier while being in his body.

“could you not– j-just shut up… yes, yes okay?” a blush forming on his cheeks as he couldn’t form his answer without stuttering like the shy little girl he currently was.

“just lay down will you?” he mumbled as he pushed you to lay down, your back hitting the mattress. all you could really do was smirk, oh you were so going to enjoy this.

the bulge in your pants was evident, dean couldn’t help but look down at you with a shaky breath. “what’s the matter sweet cheeks? you nervous?” you teased him, resting your hands behind your head with a smug expression, getting a small glare from him.

his fingers hooking at the waistband of your pants and pulling them down, you lift your hips to help him take them off. “this is so weird..” he mumbled, a cute rosey shade on his cheeks.

“only if you make it weird” you shrugged, but you were right. it would only be weird if the both of you decided that it is. but you two have been through some real weird ass shit, so this is literally nothing.

as your pants were off and dick was out, dean’s eyes widened a bit as he had a first class third person view of his dick. you noticed his smug little smirk in the corner of his lips, clearly proud of himself. “i must say, you do have a nice cock” your words make him look up into your eyes.

“you couldn’t help yourself could you?” dean asked with a small amused smirk. you just grinned and shrugged.

he took a deep breath before climbing on top of you, taking your cock and aligning it at his entrance. he looked down into your eyes, looking for any signs of hesitation or doubt. “wait wait wait” you spoke, making him freeze in his tracks. did you change your mind? shit he made it weird didn’t he?

“dean is this your first time having sex?” you jokingly asked him as you passed him the bottle of lube. “even when you’re wet, lube is your friend”

dean let out a relieved sigh, grabbing the bottle and squirting a good amount on your dick, gently lathering it up with his hand. your breath shook at the sudden slow motion of his hand. “feels nice huh?” he asked with a smirk, purposely gripping your cock a bit tighter as he spread the lube all over your shaft. your mouth flew open as you let out a shaky breath. it did feel good, shit it felt great. and you wanted more.

“fuck, just sit on it already” you spoke out in a direct tone. dean chuckled at your impatience but he also couldn’t wait much longer. he positioned you at his entrance yet again, hand sticky with lube, slowly he sank down on your cock.

your toy looking so silly right now comparing to the girthiness of the cock, dean let out a soft moan as his walls stretched out nicely, feeling himself wrap around you. both of you cursed under your breath. the new sensation feeling oddly refreshing.

your hands rested on his waist as you looked up into his eyes, lips parted slightly. you gently started guiding dean’s hips, making him grind and ride you, the wet squelching sounds softly echoing in the room every time he sank back down on your cock. “oh wow..” the both of you managed to say almost in sync.

dean’s pace picking up in no time, both your hips in rhythm with each other. the constant exchange of moans and whimpers could probably be heard from the closed bedroom door. your grip on his hips tightening as he let his hands rest on your chest.

one of your hands found it’s way between his legs, your thumb flicking and circling at the clit, adding the extra something to dean’s experience. he threw his head back as sparks of pleasure rush through his body. “you like that?” you smirked, continuing to play with the clit making him lose his rhythm, thighs starting to shake. “aww too much for lil dean to handle?” you cooed at him.

“alright then, my turn” you spoke before lifting him up with ease and flipping him over, it was so fun having dean’s strength. you wasted no time, towering over him and positioned yourself between his legs, aligning yourself at the entrance and sliding back in with ease.

you rolled your hips slowly, thrusting in and out, firstly trying to figure out a good pace. dean wrapped his arms around your neck, pulling you closer, and kissing you in the heat of the moment, but holy shit was it amazing. you and him kissing as you’re inside of him. man was this fun.

your hips picked up the speed and you had him moaning into your mouth in no time, you on top of him, giving it to him raw. “i- i think i’m close” dean spoke as he pulled away from the kiss for some air. you grabbed him by the hair and tilted his head back, latching your lips onto his neck. “good” you growled against his skin. the animalistic need to mark him up awakening from deep inside you.

dean dug his nails into your back as you started to thrust at a brutal force. his legs wide open which helped you bury yourself balls deep inside him. “i’m close too” you whisper into his ear before biting and kissing his neck teasingly.

“you want me to pull out?” you asked, slightly panting at this point, it was quite a workout for your hips. “it’s your pussy you decide” he replied breathlessly.

“fuck, fine, do you wanna know how it feels to get creampied?” you rephrased the question. at first he was a bit speechless at your offer but he nodded eagerly without much thought. “yes”

his eagerness making you let out a chuckle, your thrusts becoming much more sloppier as you got closer to the edge. you fisted his hair again and gave his neck a lick where you left marks. but be assured, his nails left red marks all across your back, a little exchange you could call it.

your body tensed up and suddenly you felt a huge wave of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you moaning against his skin. you shot your load inside him and continued to pump yourself dry. he followed you right after as he felt the warm cum fill him up. a pretty white ring decorated your shaft every time you pulled out before pushing back in.

both your hips eventually stopped moving, heavy breathing coming from the both of you. you let your forehead rest against his, eyes closed as you came down from your high.

as the both of you catch your breath and open your eyes, you realised you were back in your own body, underneath him. as he was in his. “oh my god, dean we’re back in our bodies” you let out a sigh of relief with a smile.

the spell was broken.

dean looked down at you with a relieved smile himself. “guess all it took to break the spell was to have sex huh?” dean smirked. he sat up, finally back in his body. “see, sex solves everything” he added cockily.

his body still in between your legs, his cock buried deep inside you. the view was beautiful but he had to pull out. his white load leaking out as soon as he does so. “but you gotta admit it was fun” he raised his brow.

you giggled “yeah it was, no wonder guys jerk off so much” your words making him roll his eyes in a playful way.

for a long second there was silence. none of you spoke, just looked into each others eyes. stealing shy smiles.

“okay, why don’t we get you cleaned up?” he offered as he got up from the bed, pulling up his pants and getting some tissues from your nightstand.

“oh and um, nice piercings you got there by the way” dean couldn’t help himself from commenting on them, adding a cocky wink.

“might if i played with them from time to time?” he smirked.

“i fucking knew the first thing you’d do is check out my tits” you shook your head with an amused smile.

this was the last part! hope you enjoyed this mini series (if you can even call it that)

thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3

tags: @jensino @emeraldcrs @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @missus-ackles @littlesoulshine @deanswifeyy @slut4jackles @h8aaz @bruisedfig @angelicjackles @losers-clvb @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @rositaslabyrinth @deanspookiebear @tinas111 @bejeweledinterludes @miss-marmalade @pinksatinpanties @multiversefanfics @cupidzbunny @heartrendercastiel @sunnyteume @mrsanakinwinchesterpoldark @krabog @that-stanford-girlie @pwin098 @twelveyearsofit

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[taegimood]

alright i need y’all to buckle up and hear me out cuz this is gonna be a long one…. bunny hybrid!soobin.

bunny hybrid!soobin w his long white ears that flop down instead of standing up just like his chikai chibi hat ❤️‍🩹

bunny hybrid!soobin who’s soooooooooo shy and nervous when you first bring him home… nervous twitching little tail and warm cheeks, bad at making eye contact, shifting awkwardly in one spot in the living room cuz it’s not home to him yet 🤧 also easily startled but you come to realize later that that’s just part of his personality so you try not to sneak up too much even on accident <3

he’s SO HUGE but such a baby !!! it takes him a while to warm up to you but not in any nasty way, just shy and hesitant, and you always give him space while making it known that the option to join you or be close to you is always open to him and eventually he starts to take it 🥺

at first he would sit stiff as a board on the complete opposite end of the couch from you LMAO but eventually over time he gets comfortable coming closer, until eventually his favorite thing becomes laying his head in your lap while you stroke his ears or sitting on the floor by your feet and leaning into your legs (but don’t point it out to him or he’ll get too shy and retreat).

i know that for rabbits, especially males, there’s not really a specific mating season because they literally will just want to breed any time of the year (lol rip 24/7 horny soobin) — but for hybrids, since they are.. hybrids, literally.. then let’s say that they do go into a regular heat, and let’s say that soobin’s is coming fairly soon after you first take him home.

only a month or two has passed so even though he’s comfortable with you now, he’s still a little reserved and shy with certain things, and so for his sake you’re dreading the coming conversation as you sit him down and gently try to bring up the topic of a breeding partner. the way he would get SO red, tail twitching and leg bouncing in his seat.. he’s refusing to make eye contact as he fiddles with his fingers in his lap and stammers “i-it’s okay, i-i don’t need one..” ears drooping forward to shadow over his face cuz he’s too busy looking down at his hands 😖

you’re gently trying to convince him that he does need one or he’ll be miserable, that it’s totally normal and expected and most people find breeding partners for their hybrids every season so it’s nothing to be ashamed of !!! you say most people because the other percentage are the ones who let their hybrids use them instead COUGH HACK but he doesn’t need to know that

you try to explain that there are services and programs just for this reason and it would be so easy peasy, just for a couple weeks, but soobin is NAWT HAVING IT as he suddenly springs up from his seat and darts out of the room — having gotten progressively redder and more jittery over the course of your attempted convincing.

he’s never bad or disobedient, would normally never run away like that while you’re in the middle of talking to him, but he just got SO unbearably embarrassed and shy,,,,, not to mention: the guilty filthy shameful (in his mind) secret that he has…… and that is, he actually doesn’t want it to be anyone else but you.

he feels safe with you, he trusts you, he’s already bonded to you more than you realize and part of the reason why he got so freaked out and ran away was because all his mind kept going back to was BREEDING YOU INSTEAD 😩 and little do the two of you know, but all the adrenaline from his little freak out ended up kickstarting his heat EARLY and when you find him later in his room after giving him some space for the day, he’s feverish, sweating and whimpering and writhing around uncomfortably in his blankets, hugging one of your sweatshirts to his face as he breathes in your scent. (a sweatshirt that you thought you’d lost, but turns out he had secretly taken for himself).

“binnie!!!” you’re rushing to him immediately cuz you’re so worried but that was a mistake or was it because the second you touch him, the second your scent fully wafts over him, there’s no going back. eyes shooting open and pupils blown out as they lock onto yours, and the next thing you know you’re face down in his blankets as he’s pounding you from behind, chest pressed flush against your back as his hips slam against your ass over and over and over again and he’s whining and whimpering into your ear, telling you how he didn’t want anyone else, didn’t want some bunny girl, he just wanted you, and he keeps apologizing but he can’t stop 🤧

you can finally admit that you fucking love it though because surprise surprise, you ALSO had some filthy secrets of your own and there was a part of you already that sometimes wondered what it’d be like to let him use you instead; on nights when it was hard to sleep and you’d lay awake in bed thinking of his big, gentle frame and pillowy lips, his soft eyes that contrasted so harshly with his strong hands and the outline of that huge cock in his pants that you tried so hard to pretend you never noticed.

it was especially difficult on nights when you could hear him from his designated room, his soft moans and little gasps as he would touch himself that never left your head — eventually causing even your own hand to wander into your panties with a mind of its own.

the kicker was that one time when you were relaxed together on the couch petting his ears as usual and thought, would he like it if i scratched behind them too?

….liking it is an understatement, because the moan that he let out as a result was enough to cut the evening short, him hiding away in his room from sheer embarrassment while you didn’t catch a wink of sleep that night, because all you could think was: i want to hear it again.

for a while after that he would get jumpy when you tried to touch his ears and you were worried you did something wrong to make him scared of you or something, but in reality he was just scared of HIMSELF and was convinced that he’d have to dig a hole and die of embarrassment if he ever moaned like that in front of you again. but don’t worry, the distance didn’t last long cuz he’s just too weak for you and can’t resist your nightly head pets <3

but i digress;;; basically the both of you just wanting each other so bad and not even knowing it, both feeling so guilty and shameful over it until now. now.. right now, as his big cock is buried so deep inside of you that you can’t think of anything else even if you wanted to; right now as he’s fucking you with so much desperation that the bedframe is gashing the paint right off of the rattling wall.

there wasn’t even the chance for clothes to fully come off, but you have plenty of time, and after that the two of you end up barely leaving his room for his entire one or two week heat other than for necessity because you know what they say about rabbits….

as fucked out of your mind as you are, you take such good care of him between waves with what energy you have left — placing wet cloths over his forehead and wiping the sheen of sweat from his neck and collarbones to ease his fever, trying to clean up as much cum and mess as you can before the next round hits, keeping his damp hair from his dazed, half-lidded eyes that watch you so gratefully, poor baby so vulnerable and exhausted between the waves of frenzy… and after everything’s finally over and it passes, he treats you like a FUCKING QUEEN trying to make up for battering you to death with his monster bunny cock all that time <3 you literally Cannot Walk

side note moablr is always talking abt soobin w a breeding kink but imagine BUNNY SOOBIN ???!!!!! holy shit logically he knows it’s not possible to get you pregnant but THAT DOESN’T MEAN HE WON’T TRY 😫 balls deep inside you babbling on and on about how he’s gonna breed you so good and fill you with his babies and he’ll do so well for you he promises - cums BUCKETS, thick and sticky and so much everywhere but cough anyway this is a whole other can of worms

after that first heat your relationship is obviously different but you’re always willing to give soobin whatever he needs. you learn very quickly that those pretty bunny lips have an oral fixation, always wanting something to suckle on; good thing you have tits !! and fingers 🥰

you’re laying on the couch watching a movie and he’ll walk over, just hovering hesitantly, fiddling with his hands, bunny lips pursed as if he wants to say something but isn’t… you immediately know what he wants and sigh with an endearing smile, murmuring “c’mere,” and opening your arms to him. he grins shyly and immediately flops on top of you, nestling into your arms, nuzzling his face into your chest before gradually his lips start suckling lightly at the part of your breasts he can get at, and then he’s pawing at your tank top, eventually getting it pushed down enough that your tits are free and he just lays there sucking and licking at your nipples for ages while you watch your movie, the occasional little moan slipping past his lips as his hips shift against you.

eventually you have to literally pull him off of you when you get too sensitive and he’s so whiny and sad. sighing and running your fingers over his lips instead; caressing your thumb over his pouty bottom lip, swollen from all the suckling, his glazed eyes watching you in anticipation, and as you slowly push your thumb past his lips he immediately moans and obediently begins to suck on that too, eyes sliding shut as his hot tongue swirls around it.

which brings me to soobin sucking on your fingers with barely-open eyes as you ride him — he’s so blissed out, fucked out look on his face as he drools around your fingers, hands weakly reaching for your plush thighs, your waist, your tits; just so fucking content as he lays there and takes everything you give him, moaning around your fingers with half-lidded eyes and his soft pretty bunny ears splayed out on the pillows, framing his handsome face <3

soobin always being too shy to go full out cock monster on you unless he’s desperate for it, so you like to purposefully get him to that point by cockwarming him, chilling on the couch not letting him move as you sit and read your book or play on your phone; he’s trying so hard to be a good boy and wait for your direction, but with the way your warm pussy keeps tightening around him he just can’t take it anymore and desperate frenzied soobin is unlocked as he flips you over and fucks you into the couch cushions like a madman.

and a final thought for now is tugging lightly on his ears or his tail whenever he’s getting too ahead of himself and it only makes him more of a whiny mess; he’d spend the whole day with his mouth buried between your thighs if he could, so tug on his soft ears and it gets him all teary-eyed as you’re holding his face back mere centimeters from your cunt that he wants to bury his face in so badly </3

if your nipples are too sensitive at the moment to handle his oral fixation or if your hands are too busy doing something else, then you can always find soobin between your legs, mouthing at your pussy and humping the air or the couch as his little whimpers send delicious vibrations up through your core.

aaaaanyway.. i love hybrid aus man. just soft sweet bunny soobin who loves and trusts you so much and always wants to be inside you, close to you, connected to you in some way. just so so happy to be yours ❤️‍🩹

p.s… i may or may not have hybrid thoughts for other members as well 👀

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: this fic exists in all her glory because of you guys and how much excitement and love you showed ace and willy from the start 🤍 i’m overwhelmed by the response to the blurbs before they even got a full fic and i’m so excited to be putting this out in the world. many thanks to @youunravelme for being the ultimate bestie and hype girl 🥰 i can’t wait to see your reactions!

part 1 word count: 31.9k

tw: pregnancy, mentions of vomiting and gagging, mentions of nausea, dirty talk/innuendo, oral sex (f receiving, brief m receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, come play, nipple play, minor depiction of labor

summary: accidentally pregnant, your relationship with william nylander grows and deepens from fuck buddies to more over the course of a year

“I’m going to need you to say something.”

Your fingers are twisted together so tightly the skin is turning white from lack of blood flow. Your stomach gives an anxious lurch and you swallow heavily, difficult around the lump of emotion clogging your throat.

William Nylander, forward for the Toronto Maple Leafs and your fuck buddy of the past seven months, just blinks at you from his spot sprawled in his armchair. His jaw is slightly slack and he runs a hand through his hair, fingers digging into his scalp.

“Huh,” he mutters, more to himself than anything and you almost want to scream.

But you bite down on the inside of your cheek and resist, knowing he needs - deserves - a minute to process the bombshell you just dropped.

Sensing your anxiety, Pablo hops up onto the couch and drapes his paws and fluffy blond head on your thigh, tongue lolling out of his mouth. You smile faintly and untangle your fingers to scratch at the top of his head, the knot in your chest loosening with each pass of your hand over the dog’s soft fur. Getting to spend time with Pablo and Banksy is one of your favorite things about the arrangement you have (had? You’re not sure where you stand at this point) with William. Growing up, you’d never been allowed to have a dog, so getting to play with your fuck buddy’s pets is the best thing.

“Sorry,” William says suddenly, startling your attention away from Pablo. He clears his throat and shakes his head a little, like a kid clearing a drawing from an Etch-a-sketch. “Sorry,” he repeats and this time his lips twitch up at the corners, not even close to a full smile or even the smirk he likes to give you when he knows you’re about to come. But it’s amusement on his face and not anger, which is the emotion you’d most been worried about.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, hand cupped over Pablo’s head. “I know…this wasn’t ideal. The pregnancy or the timing, but I couldn’t…you kept texting and I felt -“

Bad. You felt bad for ghosting him the past three weeks. Every time William had texted, you’d glanced at the words on your phone’s screen with a wave of guilt and swiped the notification away.

The positive pregnancy text had thrown your life off its axis and you’d retreated into the safety of your own apartment to process and decide what to do.

“Yeah,” William huffs a laugh, “I wasn’t expecting this when you finally reached out again.”

He puts a slight emphasis on “finally” and you cringe a little. But you’ve had three weeks to process and William’s had three minutes, so you’re more than happy to let him have his moment.

“It was shitty of me,” you admit, resuming scratching at Pablo’s ears. The dog yawns and relaxes further onto your thigh, making sure your jeans are covered in light dog hair. “I was freaked out. But like I said, I’m not expecting you to be any more involved than you want to be.”

It hadn’t taken long for you to decide to keep the baby - a few minutes, really. And then you’d remembered that there was a professional hockey player out there that needed to be told he was going to be a dad. And you’d promptly started ignoring all of his messages, feeling increasingly guilty with each unanswered text.

Really, William’s taken the news a hell of a lot better than you thought he would. There wasn’t an immediate demand of a DNA test or a proposal, both of which would’ve pissed you off for different reasons. Instead, he’d gone quiet, a dazed look in his eyes.

“I know, Ace,” he laughs more genuinely now, the nickname rolling off his tongue and warming you from the inside out. He can’t possibly be that upset if he’s still using your nickname. “You said it like four times during your monologue.”

“I ramble when I’m nervous,” you mutter in defense of yourself. “I was nervous. I’m still nervous because you really haven’t said anything and I know I dumped this on you right before the playoffs start.”

There’s still a week before the start of the playoffs, a few more games left for the Leafs to play. But they’ve long since clinched a spot in the dance - that’s part of the reason you’re sitting here. February had been a major playoff push for the team to gather as many points as possible and you’d found yourself in William’s bed nearly every night that he was home. At some point, the condom must’ve broken or you’d forgotten to use one, because your period hadn’t appeared when it was supposed to.

A second line on the pregnancy test though?

That had appeared right away.

William snorts a laugh and the noise startles Pablo on your lap. The dog lifts his head and looks around for a moment before settling down again. You stroke at his ears.

“Yeah, less than ideal timing, Ace,” he scrubs a hand over his face. “But I’m glad I know. Fuck, a baby?”

There’s no heat in his tone though, just disbelief, and you nod.

“Yeah, a baby,” you nod. “Sometime in late November.”

It’s quiet for a beat and you can see William doing the math in his head and his lips curl up in a little smirk when it clicks. He laughs, “this is a result of the February sex marathon?”

His laughter and the easy way he’s accepted the news makes the remaining vestiges of your anxiety fade away and you manage a faint laugh of your own. “I think so. I’m eight weeks next week,” you shrug, “so that puts it right around the All Star break.”

“I knew you couldn’t resist me in that jersey,” he teases and you roll your eyes.

“I’m a simple girl,” you shoot back. William grins and you smooth your hands over your thighs. “So, um, I’ve taken up a lot of your time. I’m going to head out. Let you, like, get ready and stuff. You’ve got a game tomorrow, right?”

“Mhm,” William nods. “Detroit’s in town - your favorites. You want to come?”

You’d actually love to go to the game, since the Red Wings are your hometown team and your dad’s favorite, so by default your favorite. But you find yourself shaking your head, even though the fact that William remembered that they’re your team is making your heart do a funny little flip.

“I’m okay, thanks though,” you rub at the side of your nose. “I need to…well, now that I’ve told you about the baby, I need to tell my parents.”

They’re not going to be thrilled, but at a certain point they’ll get over it, especially when the baby actually gets here and they can be grandparents that spoil the shit out of the kid.

“Oh shit,” William’s eyebrows lift closer to his hairline, realization dawning on his face. “I’ll have to tell my parents too.”

You’re ready to tell him that he doesn’t have to say anything, not if he doesn’t want to. But he continues, a smile lifting the corners of his lips, “they’re gonna be thrilled. But hey, before either of us starts telling people, let’s figure some plans out? I’ll take you to dinner on Sunday, we’ll talk?”

He leans forward and taps the coffee table in an absent pattern. “I want to be involved, Ace, I do. I just, you know, can’t figure it all out right now.”

“I know,” you murmur, tears welling in your eyes. “I’m glad you want to be involved, because honestly, I’m terrified.”

Pablo yawns on your lap and you resist the urge to gather him up in your arms and squeeze him like he’s a stuffed animal. William catches the dog’s action and reaches out to scratch at his ears.

“Lazy bum,” he mutters with an affectionate smile. His fingers tap against yours, tangled in Pablo’s fur. “We’ll figure it out, yeah? We were a good match in bed so why not in parenting too.”

A watery laugh startles out of your mouth and William looks delighted that he was the cause.

“I don’t think those things really correlate,” you say.

“Guess we’ll find out,” he replies and squeezes your fingers. The last of your anxiety settles and you find that you’re really glad that William is going to be the dad to your kid.

——-

The Leafs lose in overtime and you can’t help but feel excited for your Wings, even as you’re texting William that he played a good game.

His response is delayed, coming in after you know he’s home from the arena, and it makes you laugh out loud.

WN88: oh so when i’m a loser you can text me, but when i was hard up to get my mouth on your pussy, it was radio silence? i see how it is 🙄

You: And here I was, thinking I was being sympathetic. Never again!! LGRW!

WN88: that’s actually the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me, ace. take it back

You: Nope, can take the girl out of MI but can’t take the MI out of the girl 💁🏼‍♀️

WN88: i was gonna bring the dogs to dinner tomorrow, but not anymore! you’ve lost privileges

A huge smile is on your face as you text him, the conversation flowing easily. Historically, you and William don’t text like this, or at all really other than to coordinate when and where you’ll meet up. You’ve always gotten along with him and had fun, your little no-strings hook up arrangement wouldn’t have lasted half as long if you didn’t.

But it had always been just a hook up, when William needed a little extra “luck” for a game or you were feeling particularly hard up for an orgasm. You’re not dating and you’re basically just acquaintances, bordering on friends. Not that you’ve ever hung out with him beyond the occasional dinner or breakfast after a hookup. You can count on two hands the amount of times you’d stayed at his place and vice versa.

While you scroll back up through your messages with William, you decide that the sex part of your relationship should probably end. It’s already going to be stressful enough navigating a co-parenting relationship, why add the extra emotional attachment of sex into the mix?

Especially when he’s being kind of adorable over text and your hormones are going wild.

Especially when you were already developing a little bit of a crush on him.

He sends a picture of the dogs, flopped on the couch in a little pile, and an invite that has you feeling soft at his thoughtfulness - “we can do dinner at my place if you want? you can hang with the emotional support freeloaders and wear sweats”

You reply with a thumbs up, trying to avoid thinking too much about William and how wonderful he’s been in the past twenty-four hours.

He’s just your baby daddy, maybe your friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.

——-

William orders in from Sugo - so typical of him and it makes you smile when you see the bag on the counter. Until your stomach churns with a wave of nausea and you run off to the bathroom with an embarrassed cry, hovering over the toilet for a few moments. You gag a few times, but don’t actually throw up, which is a small miracle in and of itself. Ever since you took the damn test, your symptoms have been loud and proud.

“You okay?” He asks, forehead furrowed in concern, when you get back into the kitchen. You notice that he’s got the food put away now, either in the fridge or hiding in the oven, and that small gesture makes tears well up in your lash line.

You nod, cheeks heated, “yeah, I am. Sorry, it’s just,” you wave your hand in the air to encompass everything, “smells make me nauseous. Flavor makes me nauseous. It’s been a really unpleasant few weeks.”

William hands you a seltzer from the fridge and you accept it with a small smile. The fizz settles your stomach and the cold can feels good when you lean it against your cheek.

“Guess I should’ve asked before I ordered Italian,” William comments dryly. “Got a lot to learn.”

“I should’ve mentioned it,” you shoot back, sitting on the bar stool closest to you. “I’m good with just like toast, honestly.”

He shakes his head, “no way. You need to eat more than that. Can you handle plain pasta?”

Mercifully, you can, and twenty minutes later William’s returning from the lobby of his building with another Sugo take-out bag and plating up the plain buttered pasta for you both.

“You can eat what you ordered originally,” you protest, thanking him after taking the bowl he offers you.

“Nah,” he shakes his head and drops into the same armchair he’d been sitting in when you told him about the pregnancy two days ago. His bowl is the same size as yours, but looks smaller in his huge hands. You can’t help but stare at the veins that crisscross the backs of his hands and up his forearms. “I’m not going to make you nauseous if I can help it. I’ll eat it tomorrow.”

“You’re being so nice,” you hiccup, tears falling down your cheeks, overwhelmed. You swipe at your face. “I don’t think any other guy would be so nice in the same situation. You haven’t even asked me if I’m sure it’s yours.”

William shrugs and shovels a forkful of pasta into his mouth. After he swallows, his eyes crinkle up at the corners, “it’s not like you did it on purpose. I’ve always wanted to be a dad, why not now and with you?”

He pauses and adds, “besides, you’re not a liar. And I think I kept you so busy in my bed, when would you have had time to sleep with someone else?”

Banksy hops up onto the couch and curls up at your side, looking at you with big eyes, begging for pasta. You rub the dog’s ears, loving that you get their comfort every time you’re here.

“There’s a million reasons,” you point your fork at him, blatantly ignoring the fact that he’s right and that you were only sleeping with him for the past few months. “We’re not together, you’re Toronto’s golden boy and I’ve just baby trapped you…”

You trail off when William starts laughing and you scowl him.

“Ace, that’s two reasons and they’re both shitty,” he teases you. “I think we established that you didn’t baby trap me. A condom broke, we forgot one. Either way, we’re both to blame. And who cares if we’re not together, we’re friends, we can co-parent.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” you mumble, eating a bite of pasta.

“It wouldn’t be easy even if we were together,” William runs his socked foot over Pablo’s back, the dog sprawled on the floor in front of him. He hesitates and squints suspiciously at you. “Are you trying to talk me out of being involved? Do you, uh, do you think I’d be bad at it?”

“I…what? No!” You exclaim. “I’m just…I’m just trying to keep everything realistic. If anyone is going to be bad at it, it’s me!”

Your chest starts to feel a little tight and William abandons his bowl to the coffee table so he can come sit next to you on the couch and wrap you up in his arms. The hug feels good and you melt into his touch like you had so many times before. He smells good, warm and cozy, and you press your nose against his chest.

“I don’t think I said it the other day,” he says quietly, more serious than he is usually. “But I’m really excited about this baby. And I’m glad we’re doing it together, even if you are a Red Wings fan.”

“I’m really excited too,” you whisper wetly. “And scared.”

Banksy climbs onto your lap and cuddles up between you and William, making him laugh into your hair.

“I’ve kept these two alive, how hard can a baby be?” He teases.

“Oh yeah,” you push away from him, the hug and being surrounded by his scent making you lightheaded, “it’s definitely the same thing.” You hesitate and then ask, “I have my eight week ultrasound next week. Do you - want to come?”

William’s eyes light up. “Thought you’d never ask, Ace,” he beams and his smile softens and the air crackles like it used to and William’s hands are on your upper arms, sliding up to your neck and then curling around your jaw and he’s leaning in. You could lean in too, fall so easily into his arms, but you blink and press your palm flat against his chest, fingers flexing against his pec and keeping him at arm’s length.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur in response to the confused look on his face. “I think…I need to keep this just co-parents, Willy.”

There’s a split second of disappointment on his face, but it’s gone as fast as you can blink, and he’s nodding at you. His thumb caresses the edge of your jaw. “I got it.” he agrees easily. “We just focus on being friends and the best parents we can be.”

You’re not sure why his words leave you a little melancholy, but you chalk it up to hormones and from there it’s easy. You both settle back into the couch with your pasta and the dogs, chatting about the upcoming playoffs and the filming William will be doing for the Amazon Face Off series.

“Yeah, it’ll be pretty cool,” he says, feeding Banksy a piece of linguini. “Me and Pasta, we’re the focus for an episode, I think.”

“You guys know each other from when you were kids, right?” You prop your head on your palm, elbow leaning against the back of the couch. Both dogs are on your lap, a warm, heavy weight that’s got you half way asleep.

“Teenagers, but yeah,” Willy grins. “It’s fun, you know, battling against friends in a rivalry.”

“I can’t even imagine it,” you reply. “If I had a guy running me into the boards at top speed during a game, I don’t know if I could be friends with him off-ice.”

“We compartmentalize,” William shrugs. He hesitates and you brace yourself for whatever’s coming next, but it’s honestly a relief when he says, “I’m not going to talk about you or the baby, when I’m filming, is that okay?”

Everything in your body relaxes and you nod. There’s no way you want to be mentioned or shown on an Amazon documentary, you’ve seen how some hockey fans act on social media, that’s not a stressor you need in your life right now.

“That’s totally fine,” you reply. “I definitely do not want that kind of attention. I’m not even going to make some announcement on my own social media. Like, not to hide you or anything, but I’m not here to be seen as some puck bunny, baby trapping gold digger.”

You’re slightly out of breath when you finish the sentence, a little stunned when you realize how forceful you’d been. Clearly, there was a part of you that’s worried about the perception.

Willy smirks at you. “Been thinking about that a lot, huh?” He asks. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to subject you to the fan base either. My private life is my private life. But the guys are definitely going to want to meet you.”

You’d very briefly met Ryan Reaves and Calle Järnkrok on the same night you met Willy for the first time, but haven’t met anyone else since. The thought of meeting all of his friends and teammates is daunting and the apprehension must show on your face because William nudges your thigh with his knuckles and forces you to look at him.

“The guys are chill,” he reassures you. “And you don’t have to meet them any time soon, if you don’t want to. I don’t know when I’m even going to tell them. I kind of want to keep this just for us right now.”

“I like the sound of that,” you reply quietly. The little bubble you’re in with William and the dogs is so domestic it almost hurts. Popping it is going to be a painful reality check.

——

The next day, William leaves for a back to back in Florida and they lose both, which means he’s in a funk when he meets you at your apartment before your ultrasound on Thursday.

He has a few hours in Toronto before they leave for Boston and you feel guilty that he’s using up that free time on the doctor’s appointment. Especially because it seems like he’s struggling with something.

“So do we find out if it’s a boy or a girl at this one?” William asks, standing in front of you as the TTC rumbles to life and zips off towards your stop. He’s got one arm up, holding onto the bar for stability and you can’t help but appreciate the ease of his movements. He’s still wearing his sunglasses, even though it’s fairly bright in the car.

You shake your head. “That’s twenty weeks,” you explain with an authority that’s due to obsessively Googling pregnancy the last few weeks. “This one is just a general physical and medical history. We’ll get the hear the baby’s heartbeat though, and probably find out the due date.”

“You said November, right?” William asks and you nod.

“That’s my best guess,” you pause to press your lips together as nausea rises in your throat. William reaches into his pocket and wordlessly hands over a ginger candy. You take it with a grateful smile and pop the candy into your mouth, nose burning as the ginger hits your sinuses. The nausea fades though.

“I did a little reading on the plane,” William grins sheepishly in explanation, reaching for your hand as the train comes to a stop and the doors open. He keeps a firm grip on you through the crowds, not letting go even when you’re back above ground and heading towards your OB/Gyn’s office. His fingers are warm and calloused around yours, his touch familiar and comforting even if it triggers a Pavlovian response to get you aroused. William leads the way, allowing you to turn off your brain for a moment and just follow along, safe in the knowledge that he’ll get you where you need to be.

The appointment itself is fairly boring and William waits in the hallway while you’re examined, excusing himself without needing to be asked.

He gets called back in when it’s time for the ultrasound, so he can hear the heartbeat, and you both cringe when your doctor pulls out a condom-covered probe.

“What’s that?” William asks and then he blinks when it dawns on him where exactly the probe is going.

“Transvagjnal ultrasound,” Doctor Knight informs him cheerfully. She looks like she’s enjoying his discomfort - sadist. “Before twelve weeks this is the best way to get a sense of how the pregnancy is progressing.”

You frown and involuntarily try to press your legs together, but your feet are hooked in the stirrups and it’s impossible. All that happens is a clanking noise as you jostle the metal. William’s little “oh” breezes past your ear and he shuffles back a step, so he’s almost behind the exam table. Thank god there’s a sheet draped over your knees and hiding your lower half.

Not that he isn’t intimately familiar with that part of your body.

Dr. Knight applies a liberal amount of lube to the ultrasound probe and you brace for the insertion, biting at your lower lip. There’s an initial sting, but nothing as thick or long as William’s cock, your brain helpfully supplies that thought and you nearly groan.

“Relax,” Dr. Knight laughs and you mutter, “easy for you to say,” under your breath in reply.

William runs a soothing hand over the top of your head and you crane your neck back to look at him. His upside down smile is soft at the edges, reassuring and nervous. He mouths, “yeah, relax” at you with a lift of his eyebrow and you have to bite down on your tongue to avoid the burst of laughter that bubbles up in your chest.

The probe feels strange and you hold your breath while Dr. Knight moves it, searching for a heartbeat. It takes a few seconds and you swallow anxiously, reaching back for William’s hand. He grabs it without hesitation, squeezing twice in quick succession.

“There we go,” Dr. Knight murmurs, just as the steady, rhythmic thumping heartbeat fills the room. “Nice and strong.”

Tears fill your eyes and roll down your cheeks, an overwhelming rush of love taking your breath away.

That’s your baby.

“Whoa,” William gasps above you, squeezing your hand again and lowering his face down next to yours. He brushes his lips over your temple, soft and sweet. “That’s our baby.”

“Yeah,” you agree on a wet laugh, “that’s our baby.”

Dr. Knight lets you study the image on the monitor for a few more minutes and then you’re given multiple printouts of the sonogram and William’s back in the hallway so you can get dressed.

You schedule your twelve week appointment with William at your side, asking if it can be early so he can come too. Once that’s done, he plants his hand on your lower back and guides you to the elevator and down to the lobby.

“I can’t…” you hesitate, grinning at the sonogram in your hands, “I can’t believe that’s our baby. Like it just feels so real now.”

“Yeah,” he nods, tapping at the little blob on the picture that’s the baby, “November 25th will be here before we know it.”

It’s so scary to think about, how fast time is going to move, how much there needs to be done before then. But William shoots that grin at you, the one that made you a little weak in the knees all those months ago in the bar and got you into his bed, and you find yourself grinning back.

“Let’s go get you some lunch,” he says, leading you out to the sidewalk. “I gotta tell you something.”

You’re nervous until he confesses sheepishly that he told Ryan Reaves about the baby while they were down in Florida and that the Amazon cameras had caught the moment.

“I just kind of blurted it out,” he shrugs a little. “But I spoke to the coordinator, asked if they would cut that from the episode. She was great about it, it won’t be included. But that means the guys are definitely going to know pretty soon. Reavo can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Oh,” you murmur around a mouthful of chicken soup. It’s bland and perfect. “I mean, I guess that’s fine? It’s really up to you when you tell your friends and stuff. I’m just glad Amazon’s not going to include it.”

William reassures you they won’t and that’s that. It doesn’t really matter to you when he tells his friends, you’re going to be nervous when you meet them anyway. And then William drops another bomb.

“Y’know. My birthday is the first, my parents will be in town for the playoffs,” he hedges. “Alex and my sisters too.”

You blink at him, spoon halfway to your mouth, broth dripping back into your bowl. “You, I’m sorry, you want me to meet your whole family in the middle of playoffs? On your birthday? Oh my god, to announce that I got knocked up and that we’re not even together? Do you want them to hate me?” You’re aware of the rising panic in your tone, the frenetic way the words are spilling out of your mouth, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

William holds a hand up at you, the universal gesture for calm down, and says, “okay, yeah. So when you lay it out like that, it doesn’t sound great.”

You open your mouth to continue, but he shakes his head and interrupts you, “but they’re not going to hate you. I can promise that. I don’t hate you, so they won’t. In fact, my sisters will probably love you and my mom will just be so thrilled to be getting a grandkid, the only thing that would turn her off is if you’re a murderer or something.”

“Gee,” you mutter dryly, “the bar is really high.”

“Just think about it,” he says, gathering up the garbage on your table. “You’re going to have to meet them eventually.”

He’s not wrong, you’re just scared as shit that they’re going to think you’re some kind of gold digger who baby trapped their son.

But either way, you promise to think about it and by the time William drops you back off at your apartment with a good-bye hug and a strip of the sonogram images in his pocket, you’re ready for a nap.

It’s been a long morning and you can feel the telltale soreness in your eyes that means you’re doing too much and you’ll likely pay for it in a few days with a migraine.

But, knowing that it’s not going to get easier the long you wait, you decide to be a big girl and call your parents.

You FaceTime your mom, knowing she’ll be home for a quick break to grab lunch before going back to the antique store your family’s owned on Main Street since long before even your mom was born.

Surprisingly, when she answers, you can see that she’s still in the store, the original Lingermore Antiques sign hanging on the wall behind her.

“Hiya, honey,” she greets you with a wide, if slightly confused smile. You never call her randomly in the middle of the morning, so you can’t blame her. “What’s going on?”

Something unlocks in your chest when you see your mom’s face and you feel like a little kid again, excited to tell her and nervous all the same.

“Hi, mommy,” your smile is smaller and feels slightly strained at the edges, your heart beating fast in your chest. You prop your phone up against the fruit bowl on your counter and sit back a little.

“Mommy, huh?” She laughs. “You only call me that when you’re trying to butter me up. What trouble did you get yourself into?”

You should ask if your dad’s around, tell them both at the same time, but you can’t resist and you hold up the strip of sonogram images, letting them unfurl. A hesitant smile plays at your lips and you watch your mom’s face reflect half a dozen expressions in seconds as it registers what she’s seeing.

“Surprise,” you say, half-sheepish, half-excited.

“Oh, honey,” your mom breathes, eyes wide, hands clapped over her mouth. Her eyes look wet and you can’t tell if she’s angry or sad or excited. “You’re pregnant?”

You nod, your nose burning from holding back your own tears. “Yeah, eight weeks today. Clean bill of health from my doctor,” you pause, knowing her next question will be about the dad, before continuing, “I’m due in November.”

Your mom blinks silently as she processes and you try not to feel a little hurt. It’s a shock for her, you know, especially since your last long term relationship ended nearly two years ago and as far as she knew, you weren’t seeing anyone. Technically, you’re not seeing anyone, but explaining a long-term hook up situation to your mother isn’t something you really want to do even though you’ll probably have to at some point.

“I didn’t…” she starts, lips twisting to the side. Her gaze is locked on the sonograms you’re still holding up to the screen. “You’re seeing someone? Seriously?”

“Ah,” you rub at the dip of your Cupid’s bow and your mom frowns at you, catching the tell from childhood that you were about to lie.

She full names you and you wince, course correcting.

“No,” you admit. “We’re not seeing each other, but we’re friends and he’s going to be involved. He’s really excited about the baby, mom.”

Her next question is also expected. “Does he have a name? Are we going to get to meet him?” The skeptical look is fading and you can see the excitement start to glitter in her eyes.

“Yes, he has a name,” you smile, lowering the sonograms - your arm is starting to hurt. “And yes, you’ll get to meet him, eventually. Is Dad around?”

Your mom pinches her lips together at you, clearly wanting to say something else, but shifts slightly to the side so she disappears from the screen, calling out your dad’s name. You laugh and he appears a few moments later, holding a huge silver candelabra and a cleaning cloth.

“What’s going on? Oh hey, is that my little starfish?” He beams at you through the phone, leaning in slightly. His reading glasses slip off his forehead and he huffs a good-natured scoff before pushing them back up.

“Hi, daddy,” you return his smile, biting your tongue at the way your mom is practically vibrating with excitement behind him.

“‘Daddy’, huh?” he laughs loudly and turns to your mom. “What trouble did she get into now?”

Jeez, you didn’t think you were that transparent and predictable.

“Just wait,” your mom laughs, tipping her chin back to the phone.

That’s your cue, you suppose, to lift the strip of sonograms again.

“What’s - “ your dad starts and then cuts himself off, looking between you, the sonograms, and your mom in disbelief for a few seconds. “You’re pregnant?”

He’s so choked up his voice cracks on the second half of the word and then suddenly, all three of you are crying and you’re repeating the story you’d told your mom. Only this time, you cop to William’s identity.

That stops your dad, die-hard Detroit Red Wings fan and season ticket holder since 1972, right in his tracks.

“Who? Who’s my grandbaby’s father?” His serious tone is at odds with the slightly manic glint in his eyes.

“You heard me,” you shake your head. “Don’t be weird about it, please.”

Your mom gets bumped to the side as your dad leans in closer to the screen, grinning like a fool. “Mom and I are going to drive up this weekend and have dinner with you two,” he says it like it’s a done deal.

“Joke’s on you,” you counter. “Will’s off to Boston for the playoffs and frankly, I’m embarrassed that you don’t know that, Mr. Hockey.”

He cocks his head at you and tips it in concession. “You’re right, starfish. You get a reprieve now, but we do want to come and meet him.”

“I know,” you nod. “But when you do, please behave. This is, um, kind of a lot for us to navigate. We’re happy, but we’ve got a lot to work out and he doesn’t need the Spanish Inquisition from you.”

“We’ll be on our best behavior,” your mom speaks over your dad, who’s saying, “I just want his thoughts on the strength of the division.”

After a little more chatter, mostly your mom asking how you’re feeling, they both tell you they love you and “the future 2042 first round draft pick.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you mutter wryly, hanging up after promising to send a picture of the sonogram.

———

You text Willy a good luck the next morning, but don’t hear anything back. Not entirely unusual, but a little strange.

You keep yourself occupied with work and making lists of things that you need to get for the baby, things you need to discuss with William. The lists make you feel better.

And then that spirals out into anxiety the next day when you still haven’t heard from Willy and he’s not on the Leafs’ lineup. Both teams are taking the ice for warmups and you’re watching from the couch, shoulders stiff and a tell-tale ache behind your right eyeball. You rub at the inner corner of your eyebrow and jab blindly at your phone, calling William.

He answers on the last ring and sounds awful. “Hey, Ace,” he greets you. “Sorry about the lack of responses.”

“Are you okay?” You bite down on the panic that’s rising in your chest. “I thought you were playing? What’s going on?”

It feels strange to be so worried about him, when you hadn’t paid too much attention to his health during the regular season. But now there’s the baby to think about too and you want William to be okay.

“I’m fine,” he grunts down the line and then laughs, a more muted version of his usual, “well, not fine, obviously. I’m still at home. Migraine finally kicked my ass.”

“Migraine?” You repeat. You hadn’t known he suffered from them too.

“Yeah,” he replies and you can hear fabric rustling like he’s shifting around in bed or on the couch. “Started feeling it during the Panthers game. Played through it, but now I’m paying for my stupidity.”

You can hear the strain in his voice and you know it can’t be easy for him, and he must be in some serious pain to not play in the playoffs. This is what all hockey players live for and they don’t take the opportunity for granted.

“Do you need anything?” You ask softly, your own temple giving a little throb in sympathy.

Willy exhales into your ear and replies, “I’m okay, thanks, Ace.” He pauses and you wait. “Do you, no pressure, want to come over and watch with me? Could be nice to have some company while I suffer.”

It doesn’t take long for you to make up your mind and you tell him that you’ll be there soon.

It’s nice, because he only lives a few blocks away from you, so you change and head over after grabbing some supplies. Ice cream and Excedrin and a two liter of Coke - you’ll need all of them if your own migraine develops further which you hope it doesn’t, but either way, it’s all good stuff to have around for Willy. And the ice cream is always good when you’re watching a game.

William greets you with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, dark circles under his eyes and his hair a mess. He looks like a man in the middle of a crisis. And still, you feel like a perv for appreciating how hot he looks in his glasses.

“They’re losing,” he says seriously, heading back to the couch and TV. He doesn’t even acknowledge the bag on your arm. Pablo and Baksy scratch at your legs and you lean down to pet them.

“There’s so much hockey left,” you reply softly. “Meanwhile, Leafs Twitter thinks you’re dead.”

You hadn’t been able to resist scrolling through the hashtag and you wish you hadn’t. There’s a lot of negativity out there in the Leafs-sphere.

“Just dead enough to not be able to play,” he grumbles, running a hand over his face. His eyes go wide and he swings his head to look at you, “shit, I’m sorry, Ace, I’m being a dick. Do you want anything?”

You’re in the kitchen, putting the Excedrin in a cabinet and the soda in the fridge before putting a scoop of vanilla in a bowl for yourself.

“No, no,” you wave him off and curl up on the end of the couch with both dogs and your ice cream. “Pretend I’m not even here. The dogs and baby and I will just be silent emotional support.”

William’s mouth curls into a tiny, delighted smile. “Baby. I like that you’re a ‘we’ now, you know. Two for the price of one.”

It takes a second to process, but when it does, your jaw drops and you let out a loud burst of laughter that has William joining in a second later. “Oh my god,” you gasp around laughter, “that’s such an insane way of putting it, but I kind of love it?”

“My brain is so scrambled right now,” he complains, nudging at your thigh with one hand. “You are a two for one deal right now!”

“I guess I am,” you shake your head. “A package deal.”

“Buy one, get one free,” your baby daddy grins.

“Free gift with purchase,” you shoot back.

William pauses, thinks, and shakes his head. “I got nothing, you win,” he teases.

You pat at your stomach, flat and covered by the soft fabric of your sweatshirt, “I do like my prize.”

He winks at you and your stomach twists, not unpleasantly.

The Leafs lose game one and win game two and by the time game three rolls around, both you and William are stressed beyond belief. He’s still not cleared to play, the lingering headache and double vision making him a liability on ice, and you know it’s driving him crazy to have to keep missing time.

The morning of game three, William calls while you’re on the way to work.

“Hey,” you greet him, crossing the street and flipping off a driver that skirts slightly too close to you. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, fucking pissed I’m out another game,” he says and you can hear the eye roll that accompanies his response. “But hey, are you going to come over to watch the game tonight?”

That’s a thing you’ve been doing now, spending every night for the past week hanging out at William’s place, whether or not it’s a game night. It’s been really nice, spending time with him and getting to know him while he’s been dealing with the not playing stress. It’s actually made you even calmer and confident in your decision to tell him about the baby, because he hasn’t been a total rage machine when things haven’t gone his way.

You knew he was chill and laid back, but getting to see how passionate he is about hockey and his team is just adding an extra layer to how much you like him.

“I…yeah, if you don’t mind. I’d like to come over,” you find yourself saying.

“Cool,” you can hear him whistle for the dogs before he continues, “I should warn you. The Amazon guys are going to be recording and Alex is coming over too.”

“Alex? Your brother?” You swipe into your office building, palms sweating. You’re still trying to decide if you want to meet William’s family on his birthday.

“Uh huh,” Willy laughs. “He’s excited to meet you and promised not to be weird.”

“You told your family about me, about the baby?”

“Just Alex,” he promises. Not that you could blame him for telling his whole family, he has that right. “He’s excited to be Uncle Al.”

“Oh,” you gasp a little, free hand slipping to rest on your stomach. The baby’s going to have aunts and uncles and so many people excited to meet them. As an only child, you hadn’t really thought about William’s relationship with his siblings, but now you’re realizing that they’re important to him and if his brother is the only one he told, well, he and Alex must be so close. Something inside your brain clicks and you want to be part of his family, but you’re a little surprised when you hear yourself blurt out, “I’ll come to your birthday dinner, if that’s still okay?”

William laughs in your ear warmly. “Not the current question, but yeah, it’s okay. I want you there to meet everyone. Tonight though? If you come, I’ll tell the Amazon people not to get you in the footage.”

“No, it’s okay,” you don’t want everyone to have to worry about making sure you’re not included in the footage when they’re trying to film and you don’t want to get in the way of Willy’s time with his brother. “I’m going to stay home tonight, but we’ll talk, okay? Enjoy your time with Alex.”

“You sure?” William sounds almost like he wants you to change your mind and join, but you nod even though he can’t see you. “Ace?”

“Sorry, yeah, I was nodding,” you giggle. “Forgot you couldn’t see me. I’m sure. I’ll see you on your birthday, okay?”

——-

William’s birthday rolls around faster than you expected, sandwiched right in between games 5 and 6. Boston is leading the series 3 games to 2 and Toronto feels like a powder keg waiting to explode.

So of course having birthday dinner with your baby daddy and his entire family is the perfect way to spend the night.

You’d called him first thing in the morning, wishing him a happy birthday and congratulating him on the win the night before. He’d sounded tired, but excited and determined. Dinner plans had changed, he tells you, instead of going out to eat in a city that’s definitely not going to leave him alone, his dad is cooking dinner at home.

“Just bring yourself and the baby,” William had said, as if you weren’t a package deal.

By the time you’re outside William’s door, juggling the bottle of wine for his dad, the bouquet of flowers for his mom, and the small wrapped birthday gift for the birthday boy himself, you’ve worked yourself up to the point of nausea.

William pulls open his front door and both dogs are at your ankles immediately, clingy as usual when you’ve been over here. He greets you with a big grin and leans in, almost as if he’s going to kiss you, but course-corrects at the last second and kisses your cheek.

“Hey,” he says, sounding a little breathless. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” you return his smile, anxiety receding. “Happy birthday, old man.”

“I’m only a year older than you,” William shoots back, nudging Pablo and Banksy back into the condo with his foot and guiding you inside with a hand on your lower back. “You look good by the way.”

“Oh,” your cheeks heat up and you look down at your body. You can feel the slight bloat of your stomach, a tiny swell between your hipbones that hadn’t been there a few days ago, and it’s strange, but you don’t think it’s visible to others yet. “Thank you, but you already knocked me up, you don’t have to sweet talk me anymore.”

He rewards you with a bright laugh and you feel the warm pride that comes with making him laugh.

“I’m not going to stop, Ace,” he warns you with a twinkle in his eye. “So just accept it.”

You shake your head and juggle the wrapped gift box into his hand. “This is for you, I honestly had no idea what to get you. So…” you trail off with a little shrug and William palms the box easily, fingers spread wide.

“I’m gonna love whatever it is,” he reassures you. “Everyone’s in the kitchen, you ready?”

“No,” you reply honestly and are rewarded with another laugh.

He promises to stay by your side until you’re comfortable, but “they’re going to love you and they’re gonna be thrilled about the baby. Besides, it’s my birthday and my damn team is down in the series, they can’t be mean.”

You reward him with a little giggle this time and his hand slides from your lower back to your hip and squeezes. He’s tactile, William Nylander, and it’s something you didn’t realize you missed until you didn’t see him for all those weeks.

“Hey,” Willy announces loudly when you get into the kitchen, “this is Ace.”

With a small smile and a wave, you correct him with your real name, “Willy just calls me Ace. It’s nice to meet you all.”

A kitchen full of blonde Swedes all turn to look at you and give you a once over. It doesn’t feel unkind or judgmental, so you try not to fidget. William conveniently left out what, exactly, he told his family about you. To fill the silence, you lift the bottle of wine and flowers, “um, I wasn’t sure what we were having, but I figured a good cab goes with everything. And these are for you,” you pass off the flowers to William’s mom, Camilla.

She smiles warmly at you - God, she and her son have the exact same face - and it eases your nerves. “Thank you, this is very sweet,” she has a slight accent rounding her words and that seems to break the ice a bit.

William’s dad - Michael, he introduces himself - approves of the cab, commenting that it’ll go perfectly with the Italian food he’s making.

The red sauce simmering on the stove smells delicious and you tell him so, even as the smell makes your stomach lurch a little. William must notice something in your expression, because he hands you a piece of crusty Italian bread for you to nibble at. You pick at the bread and his siblings introduce themselves, Alex’s grin a shade shit-eating compared to his sisters’.

“Welcome to the family,” Alex says, giving you a one-armed hug.

“Yes!” Camilla beams, stirring at something on the stove. “Willy never brings girlfriends home, you’re special.”

You bite down on your tongue and look over at William for guidance, he’s six inches away and dipping a piece of bread into the sauce pot. He looks up and, with a mouthful of bread, cuts in for you, “ah, Ace isn’t my girlfriend, Mamma.”

Camilla and his sisters all look at him, heads cocked ans matching expressions of confusion on their faces. Alex clearly knows the situation and Michael looks between you and William, something dawning on his face.

“Then you just brought a friend to your birthday dinner?” Michelle, William’s older sister asks. To you, she says, “not that we’re not happy to have you here.”

William clears his throat and his lips curl in a sheepish little smile, “Ace and I are having a baby. In November.”

It’s like all the air is sucked out of the room.

The only noise is Pablo and Banksy prancing around, their nails clicking against the floor, and the quiet bubble of the sauce on the stove.

“William,” his mother’s eyes are wide, “you are not dating? But there is a baby?”

He nods and you can’t help but feel like he’s being too calm about the whole thing. You twist your fingers together in front of you, mouth opening and closing, but nothing comes out.

William’s sisters are all staring at you with wide eyes. Ella, the youngest, has a big smile on her face.

“I’m - we’re - pretty excited,” William says, a smile on his face. He dips his piece of bread back into the sauce and his dad nudges at his hand, muttering about double-dipping. It almost makes you burst out into laughter, how normal that is, how it’s the one thing his dad is reacting to.

There’s another beat of silence and then Camilla bursts out a torrent of rapid-fire Swedish, William and Michael joining in with hand gestures and more excitement than you’ve seen in a conversation in a while.

Your heart kicks anxiously against your chest, the idea that you’re causing an argument between William and his parents overwhelming. A cool hand tugs on yours and you blink, looking over at Ella.

She grins toothily, distracting you, “I love your dress.”

“Oh, thanks,” you look down at the silky midi dress, tiny flowers covering the fabric, “it’s AllSaints, I figured I needed to wear it before I don’t fit in it any more.” Your sentence trails off in an awkward little laugh.

You don’t realize it while it’s happening, but William’s siblings have formed a sort of semi-circle around you, guiding you into the living room and before you know it, you’re sitting on the couch with Pablo draped over your lap and Banksy curled up on top of the vintage Frye boots you’d found thrifting.

Steph tries to pull Banksy onto her lap, but the dog whines and refuses to move, making her laugh and comment, “I guess they’re being protective of the newest Nylander too.”

“They have been super clingy every time I’m over,” you reply, softly stroking at Pablo’s ears. The rapid-fire Swedish is still going strong from the kitchen and you chew at your lower lip anxiously.

“Are you going to come to the game tomorrow?” Alex asks curiously, lounging comfortably in the armchair.

You shake your head. “No, um, I don’t actually go to Willy’s games,” you cut yourself off before you can expand that it was part of the lucky charm superstition that had developed early on in your situation and then became a way to keep yourself at arm’s length from the superstar.

“Well you should!” Ella chirps from her spot at your side. You immediately like Willy’s youngest sister, her cheerful smile bright as she steals your phone from your side and enters her cell phone number. “It’ll be fun to have the whole family there, cheering Willy on.”

But I’m not family, you want to say, I’m just the baby mama.

Before you can counter Ella, William is at your back, warm hand on your bare shoulder. He leans against the back of the couch and his breath tickles your ear when he whispers, “everything okay, Ace?”

A shiver runs down your spine and you nod, warm all over from William’s proximity and his siblings’ ease.

“Good,” he murmurs, and then louder, for his family’s benefit, “you have full permission to tell any of these idiots to back off, if they’re too invasive.”

That sets off his siblings and they all talk over each other, wonderful chaos that draws attention away from you. Which, based on the wink William shoots your way, was exactly his plan.

Whatever William and his parents were discussing, it’s changed the mood and when you’re all at the table eating, Camilla squeezes your wrist on her way to her seat. You look up at her and she’s smiling warmly again, her eyes twinkling in the same way that William’s do.

“With Willy,” she comments idly, “I was sick every day until twelve weeks and then,” she snaps her fingers, “like that, magic, I was eating everything in sight and so horny.”

“Mom!” William’s voice goes high pitched and you feel your face burning.

“Oh, um,” you can’t manage to find words and then suddenly, everyone at the table is snickering and it’s contagious so you’re giggling too.

And just like that, the ice is broken and you’re part of the family.

Camilla and Michael are happy to share stories about William growing up and his siblings round it out with the more embarrassing ones. Pablo and Banksy circle you like two furry, protective helicopters, and Ella becomes like a shadow too.

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” she comments when the night is winding down.

“You have three,” Jackie deadpans, slicing up the chocolate cake William had just blown out the candles on.

“Yeah,” Ella licks a smudge of frosting off of the side of her hand, “but none of you are having a baby. So, Ace is my favorite.”

You laugh, accepting a slice of cake from Jackie, and tuck your feet up underneath you. “I mean, I think I’ll probably be happy to have you babysit whenever you want,” you say, attempting a small bite of cake, for luck. The chocolate is rich and sweet and your stomach rejects it almost immediately. You pinch your lips together and William rubs at the spot between your shoulder blades absently.

You lean into his touch and let the conversation flow around you, a yawn fighting to escape.

After cake, William opens his gifts, grinning like a fool when he sees the hat you got him. Navy corduroy brim, cream colored fabric, and bold navy letters proclaiming DAD on the front.

“Shit, Ace,” he says, scraping back his hair and settling the hat on his head, “I love this.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek and you shrug.

“I honestly wasn’t sure what to get you,” you reply, patting your stomach. “I don’t know what tops a baby.”

Willy laughs. “No, the hat’s good. Can’t wait to wear it out.”

By the time you leave, Willy insisting on waking you home, all of his siblings are following you on Instagram and his mom’s enveloped you in no less than four hugs. Ella and Steph have insisted on going for breakfast in the morning and you were happy to find that it was an easy thing to agree to.

“Sorry,” Willy says at your front door, “I probably should’ve told them before today or warned you that I hadn’t. But I told you they’d love you.”

“You did say that,” you murmur. “I really like your family.”

Willy twists his lips, like he’s going to say something, but seems to think better of it and instead kisses your forehead. “Get some sleep, okay? I’ll talk to you later,” his breath is warm and chocolatey.

“Okay,” you reply, resisting the sudden, strong urge to tangle your fingers in his shirt and keep him with you. You chalk it up to hormones and the biological impulse to keep your baby’s dad where you can see him. “Happy birthday, Willy.”

“Best one yet,” he teases.

——

The Leafs tie up the series, a win with Willy scoring both goals, and then again, Willy’s the only one to score in their Game Seven loss.

You experience a roller coaster of emotions, so you can’t even imagine how he’s feeling.

He carried the team on his back even though he missed three games and you couldn’t be more proud of him and his effort. But at the same time, you know he’s probably beating himself up for missing those three games and not doing enough.

Willy’s quiet for the first few days after they get bounced, texting you just enough to know that he’s back home. But then he does his exit interviews and all of a sudden, it’s the second week of May and Willy’s on summer break.

On the morning of your twelve week appointment, Willy is at your door three hours earlier than he needs to be, the hat you got him for his birthday pulled low over his eyes.

“Hey,” he says, offering you a small smile.

“Hi, stranger,” you greet him, waving him inside your place. “How’re you doing?”

“It sucks,” he shrugs, “but we weren’t good enough to win. Boston’s got our number every fucking time.”

You know he doesn’t want platitudes or empty words, so you just step into his space and wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. He relaxes under your touch and rests his cheek against the side of your head. With your face buried in his chest, your senses are filled with his scent, warm and comforting and familiar.

“Hey,” he perks up a little, “if we win next year, we can put the baby in the Cup.”

“Yeah,” you smile against his chest just thinking about it, “we definitely can.”

When he steps away from the hug, you’re surprised at how cold you feel from the loss of his body heat and you almost shuffle closer to tuck yourself against his side.

“How about some lunch before your appointment?” Willy suggests. “Or are you still nauseous?”

“Nope,” you announce happily. “Turns out this Nylander babe is pulling the same shit as its dad. Nausea was basically completely gone when I woke up the other day and now I’m starving. I had three fried eggs for breakfast.”

Willy laughs at your huge smile and chirpy announcement. “I’m glad to hear that, Ace,” he makes himself comfortable on your couch and adds, “hungry and horny, what a way to start the second trimester.”

You freeze. He’s right, but you don’t want to admit to that. You’d woken up the other day completely starving, for both food and William himself, wet between the legs and needy.

“Shit,” William grimaces, “sorry. That was overstepping a friends slash co-parent boundary, right?”

“No, um, it’s fine,” you shrug, trying for chill. “It’s not like we don’t know how the baby got in there.”

But now all you can think about is the ridiculous sex you were having with William, the positions and fun and how many orgasms you were getting. It’s enough to make your chest flush up to your neck and thankfully, William doesn’t point it out.

Instead he makes sure you’re fed and hydrated before your appointment, holding your hand while Dr. Knight runs the ultrasound over your stomach. Everything looks good, baby’s measuring about a week ahead of schedule, and now your only decision is whether or not you want to know the sex at your twenty week appointment.

You debate it all the way back to your apartment and land on being surprised when the baby is born, arguing successfully that it’s the only real surprise in life and you don’t mind setting up a gender-neutral nursery.

Within the next few weeks, your belly pops all of a sudden and you can’t stop stroking the curve, pulling your shirts tighter against the swell so you can see its shape.

On the first morning the belly pops, you text William a picture right away.

You: Look at this! *photo attached*

WN88: damn, ace! there’s really a baby in there!

You: Now I actually look pregnant and not like I had a huge lunch lmao

WN88: can you feel any movement?

You: Not yet, internet says most likely around 18-20 weeks, but could be later since it’s my first

WN88: *gif of Alien bursting out of Ripley’s chest*

You: 😒

WN88: 😇

———

youunravelme Tweet June 1

pretty sure i just saw willy nylander at sugo with his girlfriend

leafsbaee Tweet June 1

willy styles at sugo, fork found in kitchen

ownabanks Tweet June 8

just met pablo and banksy 🥹 and ofc willy styles! he was with a girl but she was really trying to pretend that she wasn’t with him. but like no way she wasn’t bc the dogs kept going to her side

misshoney Tweet June 10

okay am i crazy? or did i just see william nylander wearing a hat that says ‘dad’ on it???

reply from youunravelme: no because i saw him wearing a ‘dad’ hat too??

reply from m1234: willy styles in his dad era?!

reply from figmuffin2: it’s not like he’d ever confirm anything so we shouldn’t speculate

rachaelgreenwannabee Tweet June 18

not william nylander in a pretty heated conversation with his girlfriend at sugo. she def looks pregnant

reply from mhafanthings: guys we really shouldn’t comment on his personal life! what if she’s not pregnant?

reply from guccigem: he’s been spotted all over toronto with the same girl? and she’s holding her stomach like she’s pregnant so why shouldn’t we speculate?

reply from youunravelme: can you IMAGINE how cute that baby will be??

——

“I’ve said it once and I’m saying it again,” you grumble. “I’m not moving in with you.”

William scowls at you from across the table, the most annoyed he’s ever looked in the entire time you’ve known him. “It would be easier. Especially when the season starts up again,” he shakes his head, repeating the same argument you’ve been having for a couple of days now.

“Yeah, okay, but I also need my own space,” you shoot back, again, repeating the same argument you’ve been having. “I’m not giving up my place to live with you. That’s not a long term solution, what happens in the future, when…”

You trail off, cranky just thinking about William in a relationship with someone else. You cross your arms over your chest and scowl, leaning back in the seat. The bump is bumping today, your forearms resting on top of it.

Baby was measuring big at your sixteen week appointment the other day and per Camilla, Willy weighed nearly four and a half kilograms at birth. After you’d done the conversion in Google, your eyes had nearly fallen out of your head and you’d snapped at William that if the baby was ten pounds at birth, you were kicking him right in the balls.

Willy shakes his head, ignoring the implied end of your sentence. “Temporarily, at least! So I know you’re okay and if anything happened, we’d be together,” he rubs at the bridge of his nose, dislodging his glasses a little.

“You live three blocks away and are out of town half the time,” you point out petulantly before plucking an onion ring from the basket on the table and dragging it through a mix of buffalo sauce and blue cheese dressing.

“You’re going to have heartburn,” Willy points out reasonably, making your stomach clench a little with how much he pays attention.

“Okay, but did you consider that your child is craving buffalo sauce?” You shoot back, shoving the fried goodness in your mouth. The mix of flavors is exactly what you’ve been craving and it’s so worth the pain later.

Willy snorts and pushes a napkin your way. “We’re starting that early, huh?” He laughs. “Seriously though, Ace. For my peace of mind, will you consider moving in?”

“I’ll consider it,” you allow, “but it’s not going to happen, Will. I need to be in my own space, to get a routine going from when baby’s born.”

It’s been a circular fight at this point and you’re not sure how it’ll end up being resolved. You need to keep your apartment and keep your space from Willy so you can make sure you’re not overly attached to him. If you’re living with him and even more entangled than you already are, it’ll be harder when one day he find someone he really wants to spend the rest of his life with.

“I get it, Ace, I really do,” he leans forward, palms flat on the table, and his hair falls over his forehead. His eyes flash warmly. “But it’s my baby too and you’re, well, you’re you. I want to help take care of both of you.”

He sounds so sincere and so firm, your nipples tighten painfully and you have to swallow against a lump of emotion. The way your hormones are wreaking havoc in your body is insane.

“I’ll think about it,” you promise, pushing away from the table. “But first I have to pee.”

William laughs and you can feel his gaze on you as you wander off. On the way back, you detour to the bar for another seltzer for yourself and a beer for Willy. It’s not overly crowded, but you do have to wait for a few minutes before the bartender reaches you.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” a deep voice echoes at your side.

You look over and there’s a tall, dark haired man looking at you like he wants to eat you. A giggle bubbles up in your chest - oh, this should be good. The last time a guy hit on you on the TTC, he’d gone paper white when he clocked the bump.

“But,” he continues, undeterred, “I was just wondering if you could help me find a way out. I got lost in your eyes.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, more because the line is so cheesy than because it actually worked. “Does that…do you have success with that?”

It’s so different from William’s opening line at the bar all those months ago - “Brave of you to be wearing a Red Wings shirt in a Toronto bar, I respect it.” - and you can’t help but feel bad for the girls this guy has tried that line on.

He looks momentarily frustrated, but the smile is back a half second later and he’s saying, “if it gets me your name and number, I’ll consider it a success. I’m Mark.”

The bartender puts your drinks down on the bar and a warm arm drapes over your shoulder, William’s cologne filling your senses. “Hey, Ace,” he kisses the side of your head, “thought you got lost.”

His arm is heavy on your shoulders, his hand curled down protectively with his fingertips almost grazing the top swell of your breasts. You lean a little into his side and his free hand comes up to rest on the bump, his favorite spot. His hand splays out wide, as if he’s trying to cover as much of the bump as possible.

“I thought I’d refresh our drinks,” you laugh lightly, looking up at him and clocking the tight set of his jaw. His fingers flex on your stomach and it clicks - he’s jealous.

And he’s being extremely hot about it.

Mark does a double take and realizes just who’s in front of him. “Oh man, Willy Styles!” He yelps, eyes going wide.

William’s mouth is a flat line, completely opposite from his usual fan interaction face. He nods at Mark and draws you closer to his side.

“It’s so cool to meet you,” he sticks his hand out to shake and you have to bite down on your tongue to smother a laugh when Willy doesn’t move his hand from your stomach. Mark doesn’t seem to realize and just keeps chattering, “can I buy you a drink? I told myself if I ever met you, I’d congratulate you on the epic game six and seven performance. Like too bad some of your other teammates couldn’t get this shit together. That chirp on Marner? You read him for filth.”

Your jaw drops at Mark’s audacity and William scoffs, tensing at your side.

“The guys and I win as a team and lose as a team,” Willy says stiffly. “Don’t talk about shit you don’t know about.”

Even Mark looks a little surprised, confused as to why he’s not getting the typical fan experience from Willy. As if he didn’t earn the attitude by offending Willy’s friends and teammates.

You loop your arm around William’s waist, squeezing him gently. He looks down at you and you cock your head, tipping your chin slightly back towards the table your stuff is still at. He frowns and you marvel quietly at the fact that you can have a whole silent conversation with this man.

Willy clears his throat and tips his chin down at Mark. “Enjoy the night, man,” he says roughly, “we gotta get back to our dinner.”

“Oh yeah, no worries,” Mark nods like a bobble head, hitting on you completely forgotten in the wake of meeting Willy. “Can I - can we get a picture?”

Finally taking his hand off the bump, Willy grabs up your seltzer and his beer in one hand and gives Mark a sarcastic grin, “no.”

“You were a little rude back there, killer,” you murmur, Willy’s arm on your shoulder guiding you back to the table.

He’s quiet for a beat and then blurts out, “come home with me to Sweden this summer.”

“Huh?” You blink at him. The complete change of topic is a little confusing.

“This summer,” he explains, setting the drinks down on your table, “we’re doing a big family trip. Back home to Sweden for a bit, Saint-Tropez, Monaco. Come with me.”

You take a sip of your seltzer, just to buy a minute to think. A whole trip with William and his family? While twenty weeks pregnant? You rub at the side of your nose, shaking your head slightly.

“I have a job,” you sigh. “That doesn’t allow for fucking off to Europe for three weeks.”

It’s harsher than you mean it to sound and William squints at you, tapping his fingers on the table.

“Sorry,” you continue, sheepish. Your hand floats to your stomach again. “That was harsh. But the sentiment stands. I have vacation time, but I can’t take it all at once like that.”

“Can you work remote?” He asks. “I think you deserve a break before the baby gets here.”

There’s something else in his tone that you can’t quite decipher and your head is too fuzzy with pregnancy hormones to try too hard. You trace your fingertip in the puddle of condensation forming on the tabletop and cock your head.

“I’ll ask, but no guarantees,” you warn. But Willy doesn’t seem to care, his smile brightening his whole face.

“You’re gonna love it. It’ll be a great trip, Ace,” he promises, clinking his beer against your seltzer. “Sweden’s life-changing.”

——-

The rest of June feels like a blur. Ella graduates college and invites you to the celebration. You get the go-ahead from your boss to work remotely from Europe for July, but only if you promise to bring her back legitimate Swedish candy.

Willy immediately texts you the flight confirmation when you let him know, leading you to suspect he’s had the ticket purchased for a hot minute.

Your parents finally get to meet Willy at the end of June too, a visit that everyone is looking forward to after it was rescheduled because of a quick boys’ trip Willy had taken at the beginning of the month.

The morning your parents are expected in town is a gorgeous late-June day and you wake up with the feeling like an ice pick is lodged in your eyeball.

“Fuck,” you whine, nausea rolling your stomach for the first time in weeks. Your vision is blurry when you manage to wrench your eyelids open and black spots dance around the edges of your vision.

You press your lips together tightly and close your eyes again. Even the slight movement to shift onto your side is enough to get pain stabbing through your skull.

The worst possible timing for a migraine.

Baby gives you a little kick, just to add to the moment, and you pat at the spot. “Not today, kid,” you mutter, knowing you’re going to need to figure out how to get back to feeling normal by the time your parents show up. If they follow their usual travel plan, they’ll be at your door by 5, bearing dinner even though you told them that you were going to cook.

You shift the pregnancy pillow between your legs and press your face into your regular pillow, trying to block out even the faintest hint of light.

The next thing you know is a warm hand against your cheek, a calloused thumb brushing your cheekbone, and Willy’s voice soft in your ear.

“Hey, Ace,” he murmurs, a hint of panic coloring the edges of his words, “what’s going on?”

Your brain feels fuzzy and slow, your whole head sore. “Mig’rne,” you mumble, barely even sure if you’re audible. “Hurts.”

“Yeah, I know,” Willy strokes your hair back from your forehead and you wince, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. Your neck and shoulders feel stiff and tight. “What do you need? How can I help?”

“Ice mask, pl’se,” you reply and the gentle pressure of Willy’s hand on your head is gone, his footsteps getting softer and then louder as he leaves and comes back.

He gently lifts your head, pulling the frozen migraine relief mask over your eyes and you let out a sign of relief, immediately feeling a little reprieve from the stabbing pain. You reach blindly for his hand and lace your fingers with his. He squeezes them gently and brushes a kiss over your cheek, “better?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Can you stay?”

You don’t have the energy to explore why you feel better with Willy’s hand in yours, just the clingy, needy grasping for comfort.

“As long as you want,” he promises, stroking the backs of your knuckles with his thumb. “Did you cancel on your parents?”

“No,” you whine, the ice freezing your brain in the best possible way. “They were already on their way. I’ll be fine.”

You’re not sure if that’s a true statement, but it’s going to have to be. You can’t put off Willy and your parents meeting any longer.

With his hand in yours, you drift off to sleep again, waking up to a warm pack on your head. The worst of the stabbing pain is gone, leaving a heavy ache and the feeling almost like your brain is too big for your skull. It’s bearable, as far as your migraines go.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” Willy laughs from the floor next to your bed, reaching up to tug the mask from over your eyes. You squint at him, the room still too bright even with your blinds drawn. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” you reply honestly, pushing up into a sitting position and pausing when nausea rises again. You haven’t eaten anything since dinner last night, so the combo of empty stomach and migraine is really doing a number on you. “How long was I out?”

“Four hours,” Willy consults the lock screen of his phone. “I’m kind of impressed.”

Your mouth fills with saliva and you widen your eyes at him, frantically tossing the pregnancy pillow to the side and lurching off the bed. Your brain rattles around in your skull, the pressure making your eyes hurt as you bolt for the bathroom and drop to your knees in front of the toilet. Nothing comes up, but you gag and spit, groaning when William’s hand pulls back your hair and rubs between your shoulder blades.

“Go’way,” you groan, reaching behind your back to swat at him. “‘S gross.”

“It’s not gross,” he counters, helping you stand when you’re done. “I’ve seen way worse on the ice. Mouthwash?”

You nod and slump against the wall. Your head is pounding and your vision is blurry. The Listerine stings as you swish it around your mouth, waking you up more.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” you say after spitting.

He smirks at you. “Ace, I’ve seen you puke before,” he laughs, guiding you back to bed with a hand on your elbow and a hand on your stomach. He taps the bump, hoping to finally feel a kick. You can feel the nudge, but he doesn’t seem to be able to feel it from the outside.

“What? When?” You frown, trigging a sharp jab of pain to your temple.

“Do you want to go to the couch?” He asks. “Back in November, after we won the Calgary/Vancouver back to back? We went out to celebrate and you got wasted on the Bay Breezes, tried to give me a blow job and accidentally made yourself vomit.”

Horror dawns on your face and you stare at him with wide eyes. “I have no recollection of that, oh my god. And you still wanted to sleep with me after that? What’s wrong with you?” The questions come out rapid fire and you barely notice Willy grab up the pregnancy pillow and your blanket. He guides you out to the couch and sets up a nest for you.

“You were cute,” he shrugs. “Plus I had three goals and an assist in those games. You’ve been the ace up my sleeve all season.”

“Jesus,” you groan, feeling mortified on top of in pain. “I can’t even look at you now. Give me back my key and leave me. I’ll drop the kid off with an intermediary.”

Willy lets out a laugh, grinning. “I’m not leaving, I’ve got parents to meet and impress. Make sure they’re happy with the guy who’s gonna be raising their grandkid.”

You groan again, ignoring the throbbing pain gripping your entire head. Your vision isn’t improving and you still feel nauseous. It takes a minute to decipher the time on your cable box, but when you finally see the numbers and realize it’s already after three, you get a lurch of anxiety. The baby kicks in solidarity and you feel comforted by that at least.

“Can you,” you start, pausing, trying to organize your thoughts. You’d wanted to do so much to get ready for your parents’ visit, but now it looks like you’re not going to manage much. Thank god you’d cleaned the place over the last few days.

“What do you need?”

“Um, honestly? An ice cold McDonald’s coke and salty fries,” you reply, looking up at him with wide eyes. “The tried and true migraine cure.”

“No excedrin?” He asks, settling the ice mask back in your freezer.

“Nope,” you curl up in the blankets, cricketing your feet together. “Can’t have it while pregnant.”

“Coke and fries, it is,” he replies with a mock salute. “I’ll be right back.”

He’s halfway out the door when you call his name. When he turns back, you smile winningly and ask, “could you get me like three chocolate glazed Timbits?”

“Part of the migraine cure?”

“No, baby has a craving,” you reply with a pointed rub of your stomach.

Willy lets out another delighted laugh and promises to be back in a few. You wave at him as he leaves and once the door locks behind him, you roll briefly onto your back, stretching out a bit before swinging your legs off the couch and standing shakily. Just because your parents are going to bring dinner doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have a little something ready for them.

You ignore the ache in your head and pull together a quick charcuterie board, wrapping it in plastic wrap and storing it in the fridge.

By the time Willy returns, you’re back on the couch as if you never left it. Except for the fact that your head feels even worse and you think you’re sweating a little.

He stops short when he sees you, squinting suspiciously. “What did you do?” He asks, depositing your food cures on the coffee table.

“Nothing,” you reply reflexively, like a lying toddler. You snake a hand out for a french fry and moan involuntarily when the salt hits your tongue. “Oh my god, this is perfect.”

Willy’s shaking his head. “You got up and did something, you’re paler than when I left,” he stabs a straw into your Coke and hands it to you.

“Okay, maybe I made a quick charcuterie board,” you admit after the first hit of perfect, sugary Coke hits your bloodstream.

“Your parents definitely wouldn’t have cared that there was no charcuterie board, Ace,” he says firmly.

You shrug. “I care. I’m feeling better, I swear. Once I finish this stuff, I’ll be in peak form.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says dryly, pulling a bouquet of flowers out of the brown paper bag he had set on the kitchen counter. “For your mom,” he replies in response to your unasked question. He takes a chocolate bomb cake out next. “Your dad, you said he’s got a major sweet tooth.”

“I did say that,” you murmur quietly, trying not to get emotional that he was listening and remembered. You take a sip of Coke and eat a few fries.

Willy putters around your kitchen, cleaning the few dishes that are in the sink and wiping counters. “I didn’t know you get migraines,” he comments idly.

“Mhm,” you hum, sitting up and crossing your legs. You really are feeling better, even if your brain continues to throb inside your skull and your vision is still blurry. “I used to get Botox to treat them and probably could’ve continued with it while I’m pregnant, but I didn’t want to risk anything. I’ve been getting them since I was seventeen? No, eighteen. I was eighteen.”

“You just developed them?” He asks, stealing a Timbit and laughing when you swat at his hand.

“No,” you rub at your temple, the couch bouncing slightly when Willy drops to sit next to you. “I fell, hit my head on ice coming out of a jump.”

“A jump?” Willy’s eyebrows lift into his hairline.

You hate admitting this, especially to a professional hockey player who knows The Tessa Virtue personally, but “yeah, I used to figure skate competitively. Won a couple of national championships, but I never got to the Olympics. I fell before I could qualify.”

Willy looks nauseous himself at the thought of you hitting your head on the ice. He runs a hand over his jaw. “And you got concussed?”

You nod minutely, still jostling your brain. “I was knocked out for like ten seconds. I still have no memory of how the fall happened,” you give him a wry smile. “But the occasional migraine is a good reminder.”

“Shit, Ace. That’s fucking terrifying,” he reaches out to stroke your knee, raising goosebumps on your skin.

“I’m okay,” you assure him. “They’ve gotten a lot better as I’ve gotten older, even without the Botox. This is only the second one I’ve had since I got pregnant.”

Willy’s fingers are tracing over your kneecap and you can’t focus on his words.

“Next time it happens, let me know right away and I’ll come take care of you right away, okay?” He’s bossy and you find yourself nodding.

“I can do that. Can you get me the migraine cap again? I want to get rid of the last of this before my parents get here,” you pop the last of the fries in your mouth, with a Timbit chaser.

“Coming right up,” he jumps off the couch and you can’t hide the smile that pulls at your lips when he tugs it gently over your head again. “Get a nap in, I’ll wake you up before they get here.”

You yawn and curl back up around the pregnancy pillow. “You’re going to be the best dad, Willy,” you say sincerely, closing your eyes and letting your body relax.

“Thanks, sötnos,” he murmurs so softly you barely catch what he says. Before you can think to ask what the word means, the exhaustion tugs you under.

The next time you wake up, you notice two things: your migraine is reduced to a manageable soreness and there are more voices in the apartment.

You crack an eye open and lift the edge of the migraine cap, startled to see Willy and your parents sitting and chatting at your kitchen table like a bunch of old friends.

“Oh my god!” You gasp, drawing their attention. Willy gives you an apologetic look, knowing what’s coming out of your mouth next. “You said you’d wake me up! How long have they been here?”

You struggle against the blankets wrapped around your legs, wincing when your hand swings up and smacks into your head inadvertently.

“Honey,” your mom helps pull the blankets from your legs, laughing, “relax. Will has been wonderful, so polite, so charming. We’ve only been here an hour or so.”

An hour or so, per the time on your cable box, means nearly three hours and you groan. You can only imagine what they’ve been discussing.

“Yeah, Ace,” Willy chimes in, bold now that he knows your mom will back him up. Traitor. “You needed the rest. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“He’s right, starfish,” your dad pipes up. Another traitor. Willy looks delighted at the nickname. “We’re here for a few days, we don’t mind missing the first few hours.”

You frown and your mom wraps you up in a hug, whispering in your ear, “don’t be mad at him, honey. He was very apologetic that you were asleep, but adamant that he wouldn’t wake you.”

“Oh,” you melt a little, your annoyance fading. “Well. That was nice of him.”

Willy looks at you from around your dad, grinning. “Am I back in your good graces?” He asks, eyes dancing and you can only imagine the embarrassing stories your parents have been telling him.

“Yeah,” you laugh, leaning into your mom’s side while she strokes your hair, “you’re back in my good graces, Nylander.”

“Good, we can dig in on the charcuterie board I made for your parents,” he replies nonchalantly and it takes a second for his words to click.

But when they do, “oh my god!” you yelp. “Liar!”

Your parents make some confused noises, until Willy laughs. “Kidding, sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Ace made the charcuterie board when she was supposed to be resting on the couch,” he hits you with a stink eye and you roll yours back at him.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, climbing out of your nest and joining Willy and your dad at the table. Your dad kisses the side of your head when you take your seat, tugging off the migraine cap and tossing it to Willy so he can put it in the freezer. It feels too coordinated for men that only met each other a few hours ago.

It’s nice though, everyone getting along and making sure you’re okay. Willy has his arm draped over the back of your chair while he and your dad discuss the season. It’s domestic and easy and it scares the shit out of you because it’s not always going to be like this.

“Baby’s measuring big,” you tell your mom in a separate conversation, showing her the ultrasound from your last appointment. “I blame Willy, his mom said he was almost ten pounds at birth.”

Your mom snorts a laugh. “Oh, honey,” she pats your hand sympathetically. “You were nearly nine. Eight pounds, thirteen ounces and the chubbiest little cheeks you’ve ever seen. So if that baby is measuring big? Both of you are to blame.”

“You owe me an apology!” Willy crows, breaking away from his conversation with your dad. “You keep blaming me, but it’s your fault too!”

“Son,” your dad laughs, “when a woman is pregnant, everything is the man’s fault. Even things that aren’t.”

Willy nods his head in agreement. “I guess that’s fair. Hear that, Ace, you can blame me for everything until November,” he winks at you, laughter dancing on his features.

You catch your parents looking at each other, little half smiles playing on their faces. You know what they’re thinking and you ignore it, not wanting to deal with your own feelings right now.

Instead, you shoot Willy a wry grin and say, “don’t be surprised when I take you up on that.”

——-

The rest of your parents’ visit goes as expected. They love William, are beyond excited for the baby. Your mom is planning on coming back to Toronto to help after the baby’s born and she was a little surprised when you said you didn’t want a baby shower, but understood when you told her that you weren’t trying to publicize the William Nylander of it all, that you didn’t want the scrutiny from friends and family who wouldn’t be able to resist posting about the news.

Early July is spent packing for Sweden and making sure it’s okay to travel. Your OB gives you the go ahead at your twenty week appointment, just a few days before you’re scheduled to fly out.

“Just wear compression socks and make sure you stay hydrated,” she tells you. “It’s perfectly safe to fly.”

“Sexy,” you mutter at the thought of wearing compression socks, but you do as you’re told and before you know it, you’re tucked into a window seat next to Willy for the eight hour flight.

It’s an uneventful flight - Willy sleeps for most of it, with his hand splayed over your stomach protectively. He still hasn’t been able to feel kicks, but you’re pretty sure it will be any day now since the movement you feel is intensifying. You’d think the constant touching would get frustrating, but honestly, you want him touching you more. It’s been impossible to keep your lust for him tamped down, to the point where you’re using your fingers or vibrator multiple times a week to take the edge off of your arousal.

Willy’s insistence on being shirtless all the time doesn’t help.

By the time you land in Sweden, you’ve finished one of the ARCs you “borrowed” from work and polished off two ginger ales, which means you bolt off for a bathroom the second you’re in the terminal, leaving Willy to head to baggage claim by himself.

He meets you outside the bathroom with all of the bags, your vintage, quilted Vera Bradley duffle slung over his shoulder. The bright pattern makes you smile and the contrast between your bright luggage, including a hot pink Away roller, compared to Willy’s black Tumi luggage feels even more pronounced in the middle of the Stockholm airport.

“Ready to go?” Willy asks brightly, wide awake after his nap on the plane, and so clearly excited to be back home.

You nod, a yawn catching in the back of your throat, and follow him towards the exit. “I can take my duffle,” you tug on the strap and get waved away.

“I’ve got it, Ace. It’s too heavy for you to be lifting,” he looks over his shoulder with a smile. “You’re carrying the most important thing anyway.”

“Right, the all dressed chips for Ella,” you nod, deadpan, as you pat your tote bag. Willy snorts and you grin. “Oh, you mean the baby,” you giggle, smoothing your hand over the bump of your stomach, seemingly larger than it was before you left, “I guess that’s pretty important too.”

“Have you even thought about doing stand-up?” Willy replies dryly. “You’re a regular comedienne.”

You beam and tilt your chin at him, doing your best impression of the kid-drawn Panthers crest, “it’s all part of my charm, Willy.”

He shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips, and leads you outside where Michael is waiting for you. He’s leaning against the side of his car, waving when he spots you both.

“Välkommen till Sverige, kiddo,” he smiles, wrapping you up in a hug before helping Willy put the bags in the car.

The warm welcome makes your heart clench, the Nylanders’ constant inclusion of you more than you could’ve ever hoped for before you met them. You’re so lucky that this is your baby’s family.

“Let me help,” you insist after greeting Michael with a huge smile. Both men roll their eyes at you and Willy practically folds you into the backseat himself. You feel spoiled and it’s almost too much concern, but as soon as you’re sitting, a wave of exhaustion hits and you slump back against the seat. As much as you’ve enjoyed the second trimester energy, not sleeping on the flight did take it out of you.

You close your eyes for a minute and the next thing you know, the car is moving and you can hear Willy and his dad in the middle of a conversation. Letting your eyes stay closed, you roll your head to the side so your cheek rests on your shoulder, half-listening to the Swedish that you don’t understand. Every once in a while, you catch your name. But Willy’s tone is so soft and warm, you know it’s nothing bad. Or at least you hope not.

Whatever he was saying, when the car stops in front of the house, Willy reaches back and nudges your knee. “We’re home, Ace,” he says, excited like a kid of Christmas morning. For a brief second, you catch a glimpse of what he must’ve looked like when he was little and you can imagine what your baby will look like.

It’s a gorgeous, sunny day and you feel all the stress melting off of your body. It’s well after lunch and you’re starving, but you don’t have a chance to even express the thought before you’re being ushered into the house by Ella and Camilla, wrapped in hugs and rapid fire questions about the flight.

The rest of Willy’s family has been here for a few days, so they’re all settled back into their routine. But they fold you into that routine as if you’d always been there, Camilla dispatching Willy to put your luggage in his room - “He will stay with Alex or in the guest room,” she murmurs to you, “his mattress is the best, our spoiled little prince, so now it is your bed for the trip.” - and sitting you down at the table for lunch.

Ella picks at the chips you brought, explaining that the rest of the siblings are scattered to town and will be back for dinner. “Can we feel the baby kick yet?” She leans forward on her elbows, hopeful smile on her face.

“Not yet,” Willy returns, changed out of his airplane clothes and into a pair of shorts and a linen shirt, unbuttoned nearly to his belly button. You can’t stand him sometimes. “Do you want to change, Ace, or have lunch first?”

“Lunch,” you laugh, already halfway through a slice of rye bread spread with sautéed mushrooms. “This is amazing.”

Camilla smiles and piles more mushrooms onto your plate. “They’re good for you too,” she says, adding pickled beets to the plate and then starting another plate for Willy. “Sit,” she points at him, “you’re making me nervous with the hovering.”

He steals a chip from Ella and drops down into the open seat next to you, his foot nudging yours. When you look over at him, draped obscenely in that chair, he leans in and quietly asks if you’re okay. You nod, reassuring him, and can’t help but melt a little when he reaches out to rub your belly, hand warm through the thicker fabric of your sweatshirt.

“Bet I feel the nugget kicking before we leave for Saint-Tropez,” he says, giving the baby a deadline of four days.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “That’s just before the twenty-one week mark. I don’t think you will.”

“Make it interesting?” Willy’s eyes dance, his fingers flexing on your stomach. The baby rolls around under his touch.

You raise an eyebrow at him, aware that his mom and sister are around and watching the both of you with knowing smiles on their faces. You have to ignore it for your own sanity.

“Like an actual bet?” You lick a drip of beet juice off the side of your thumb. “Okay, winner gets to name the baby.”

“Risky,” Ella pipes up, “what if he chooses a terrible name?”

You shrug and cock your head, “he’s not going to win. Mother’s intuition.”

“We’ll see,” Willy shrugs, rubbing his hand over the bump. He leans in and talks directly to your stomach, “if you love me, you’ll kick right now.”

You wait, holding your breath for a moment, but nothing. Baby’s settled happily into one position for the time being.

“Would’ve been really fucking cool if that worked,” Willy laughs.

After lunch, you get a minute to change and get a tour of the house. Willy’s bedroom that’s now your bedroom is decorated in calming blues, his trophies and medals displayed on the walls. He left your suitcases at the foot of the bed, which looks like a dream with a pile of pillows and a light comforter. Honestly, you’re looking forward to a good night’s sleep later.

“I’m going to stay on the couch out here,” Willy points to the comfortable looking sectional in the little loft area next to the stairs and just steps from the bedroom door.

“You don’t want to sleep on an actual bed?” You ask, seated on the edge of his bed and tugging off your compression socks to swap them out for a regular pair.

Willy shakes his head. “Couch is fine, it’s closer to you if you need anything in the middle of the night,” he says simply, completely unaware of the somersault your heart just did.

“Alex’s room is right down the hall,” you murmur, trying not to let on how sweet you find Willy’s concern.

“Too far,” he shrugs. “You’re not changing my mind, Ace, so don’t even try.”

He nudges your knee with his, smiling at you and holding out his hand to pull you to your feet. You let him, rolling forward a little on the balls of your feet as the new center of gravity in your body takes over. Willy keeps you balanced, free hand on your stomach.

“Okay,” you sigh, pretending to be burdened. “I guess I’ll let you sleep wherever you want in your own house.”

“How generous of you,” Willy responds dryly. “Want to head into town? We can walk around and I’ll show you some of the highlights.”

You nod, “that sounds like a perfect plan.”

Ella tags along and it’s nice, getting her life updates and being asked for advice. As an only child, you’ve always wanted siblings and getting to be friends at least with Willy’s sisters is a special treat.

As you walk around town, Willy laces his fingers with yours quietly, never saying a word about the physical contact. He points out different shops and the three of you dip in and out of the stores, grateful for the air conditioning as well as the shopping. In his free hand, Willy holds the bags from a few purchases you made already. You’re a sucker for some shopping and luggage weight limits are never going to stop you.

You all meet up for dinner in town and finally sitting down makes you totally aware of the throbbing in your legs and feet. Shifting on the chair, you wince a little, stretching your legs out in front of you.

“You okay?” Willy murmurs close to your ear and you nod.

“I think I overdid it with the walking,” you laugh sheepishly. “I forget how heavy the bump is.”

“Our giant baby,” Willy laughs affectionately, rubbing at your shoulders. You giggle and lean into his touch, drunk on the chill energy of Sweden and the way Willy’s scent is enveloping you. Everything in your body is screaming for him, the hormonal tug strengthening as the night wears on. You get a second wind and join the conversation happily, laughing and chatting with the Nylanders, Willy’s free hand always on a part of your body.

By the time the check comes and the brothers fight it out with Michael over who gets to pay, your energy levels have dipped again and you’re leaning on Willy’s shoulder, eyelids drooping shut.

Camilla says something to Willy in Swedish and the next this you know, he’s looping an arm around your waist and pulling you to your feet.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he laughs warmly, letting you snuggle up against his side on the walk to the car. He smells so good, like sun and sweat and cologne, you can’t help but bury your face against his shirt.

“That’s how I got here in the first place,” you quip on a yawn. Willy’s fingers press lightly against the side of the bump, keeping you close.

He’s quiet after that, a warm and steady presence at your side. Back at the house, he guides you to your room with a hand on your lower back, making sure you’re okay going up the stairs.

“I’ll be right outside,” Willy reminds you once you’re ready for bed. “If you need anything. Don’t try and go down the stairs in the middle of the night, okay?”

You smile tiredly, “I won’t. I’m pretty sure once I crawl under those covers, I’m going to be out like a light.”

Willy drops a kiss on the top of your head and wishes you a good night, but before he can leave the room, you call his name. He turns back and leans against the doorframe, effortlessly sexy and all your brain can focus on is the lizard instinct of mineminemine.

“Thanks for convincing me to come,” you say softly. “I’m excited for the rest of the trip.”

“Me too, Ace,” he grins. “Me too.”

——-

That night, you sleep for fifteen hours and feel like a completely new human being when you finally wake up. The house is quiet and there’s a brief spike in your anxiety when you realize how late it is.

You get dressed quickly, swapping your pajama shorts for denim, and slipping into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face.

Camilla is the only one in the kitchen, making sandwiches, when you enter the room. The floorboard squeaks under your bare feet and she looks up, clearly a little surprised.

“Sorry,” you wince. “I didn’t…I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Oh,” she laughs lightly, “don’t worry about that. They’re all outside, in the back,” she waves the knife in her hand in the general direction of the backyard, “playing volleyball or something. It’s a lazy day.”

You feel a little bit better about the late start then, if you weren’t holding up plans. The baby kicks and nudges and you smooth your hand over the spots, smiling.

Camilla notices and clears her throat, “little one is active? All of mine were like that too. Moving and bouncing and never letting me rest.” She chuckles. “Not much has changed.”

“Once the movement started, it never really stopped,” you agree. “Willy can't wait to feel it and I really think it’ll be any day. Do you need any help?”

“No, no,” she shakes her head. “Get some breakfast, a coffee. Relax.”

A comfortable silence fills the kitchen as Camilla preps and you get a light breakfast made. Camilla’s quiet humming as she builds sandwiches combined with the laughter from the Nylander siblings outside is making it feel like you’re in some kind of sitcom, but better since it’s your real life.

“It’s hot today,” she says. “And the lake is cool, I would change into your swimsuit and get outside as soon as possible.”

You’re happy to take her advice and in less than ten minutes, you’re wandering out the back door in your cutoffs and bikini top, the bump proudly displayed. You’ve always been fairly neutral about your body - neither hating nor loving it - but pregnancy has made you feel confident. Even though everything is bigger, you like to showcase the bump and not wearing a shirt over your bikini feels natural.

As you get closer to the group, the volleyball goes rogue and flies in your direction. Instinctively, you bump it back with your forearms, the contact stinging your skin.

“You okay?” A chorus of six voices rings out and you laugh, catching the matching looks of concern.

“I’m fine!” You call back and Willy jogs towards you, bare torso shining with sweat, his chest hair matted to his skin. You bite your tongue and swallow, lust sparking to life in your lower belly and your bikini bottoms growing slick. You’re really regretting that “let’s keep this relationship as friends and co-parents” line in the sand right now.

Willy skids to a stop in front of you, his jaw loosening and his eyes flickering from your face to your tits to your bump and back again. The tops of his cheeks are pink, but you chalk that up to the sun, and his lips quirk to the side.

“You look good, Ace,” his voice is low and makes your stomach twist, your clit throb. “Haven’t seen the bump bare like that.”

Your hands glide over your skin, slippery with a layer of Neutrogena SPF 75 - you’re not taking any chances with melanoma - and Willy’s eyes track the movement.

“Been a little cold back home to bare it,” you shrug, laughing. “Luckily, my baby daddy’s funding a Euro adventure so baby can feel some sun.”

You wink, the tease sliding out easily and Willy barks his famous laugh. His gaze keeps slipping down to the bump and you feel warm inside at the attention - and the way the front of his swim trunks is straining doesn’t hurt your ego either.

“Let’s get you set up right in the sun then,” Willy nods towards a cluster of chairs under a patio umbrella. “You can cheer me and Jackie and Michelle on.”

“Who’s winning?” You ask, wandering over the the chairs, purposefully swaying closer to Willy as you walk.

“Not us,” he laughs, holding your elbows as you lower into the chair. You let out a little huff when your ass makes contact with the seat, folded a little more in half than your body is used to these days. It’s not uncomfortable, but you shift and lean more on your side so the bump isn’t pressed against your thighs. “How about a kiss for luck? Like the old days?”

Willy winks at you before you can respond, jogging back to the net and serving up the volleyball in a perfect arc.

The move is hot enough that you think you might honestly come just from watching that alone.

Later, after joining everyone for a dip in the lake, where Willy is constantly paddling around near you to make sure you’re okay, you have to ask Jackie to reapply the sunscreen on your back. If Willy gets his hands anywhere near you, you’re pretty sure you’d jump him right out in public. It’s pathetic and it’s your own fault.

By the time you’ve showered and gotten ready for bed, you’re so keyed up a stiff breeze could probably give you an orgasm.

With the bedroom door shut and everyone in bed for the night, you let your fingers glide over the swell of your stomach and dip into the wet mess between your legs. A shaky sigh escapes your mouth, your entire body relaxing back into the mattress when your fingertips ghost over your clit.

You close your eyes and picture Willy, the pleasure coiling low and hot in your stomach. Every pass of your fingers over your clit brings you closer to the edge, arousal dripping down the curve of your ass and soaking the shorts you’d been too impatient to push off before starting. It feels like it’s been a million years since you’ve had an orgasm, even though it’s just been a few days, but your fingers and vibrators are barely enough when you’d gotten used to Willy’s fingers and tongue and cock.

Imagining that it’s his thick fingers in your cunt, you rub at your clit faster, breathing hard. You’re just there, almost -

“I almost forg- shit! Fuck, sorry, Ace,” Willy’s voice cracks and your eyes fly open, hand still buried down the front of your shorts, fabric distorted. A little shriek leaves your throat, your entire body frozen.

Your heart pounds in your chest, in time with the throbbing of your clit, and you feel stupid, slow to react.

“Sorry,” Willy repeats, belatedly throwing a hand up over his eyes to protect some of your privacy. Not that he hasn’t seen every inch of you already. His free hand digs into the pocket of his sweats, drawing your attention to the growing impression of his cock against the front of them. “I didn’t realize you were -“ he breaks off with a dry laugh, “I was going to give you these.”

You’re still frozen, like a rabbit in a trap, watching Willy’s hand as it withdraws from his pocket, a crumpled napkin and a few matchboxes in his grip.

“What -?” you manage to choke out the word, clit throbbing against your fingers, arousal pooling under your ass. Your orgasm is fading in and out, just the sight of Willy, shirtless and hardening in his pants, enough to bring you close again.

“From the restaurant?” His voice ticks up at the end, his hand finally coming down from his eyes. His gaze is locked strongly on your face. “For your journal? With the garbage?”

Your junk journal, you realize.

“You,” you clear your throat, “you noticed that?”

Willy laughs and the sound shoots right to your core, making you painfully aware that you’ve still got your hand down your pants. Slowly, you withdraw it, wet fingers resting on the lower curve of your belly. His eyes track that movement too, pupils dilating.

“Yeah, I noticed it, Ace,” he replies, voice a warm rasp. The matchsticks rattle in their boxes. “I notice everything about you. Plus, it was really hard to miss the four inch thick notebook that you keep on your coffee table.”

“Oh,” you murmur, overwhelmed, “yeah. It’s, um, it’s a lot.”

He settles the so-called junk on the dresser next to your sunglasses and pile of jewelry. “I’ll…let you get back to, um,” he laughs, uncharacteristically hesitant and tongue-tied. You can’t find words either, biting at the tip of your tongue.

At the door, Willy curls his fingers around the doorframe and looks back at you. He doesn’t hesitate, “if you need me, Ace, all you have to do is ask.”

The door closes behind him with a soft click and you’re left alone in the room, needy and wanting.

For a moment, all you can hear is your own harsh breathing and you know you’re not going to be able to find an orgasm on your own tonight. Or any night again, if you’re being honest.

You look at the pile of matchboxes and napkins on your dresser and on autopilot, you swing your legs out of bed and pad to the door. There’s no hesitation in your movements and you poke your head out of the room, your eyes immediately finding Willy lounging on the couch. The glow of the TV flickers across his face, the volume a low hum.

He looks up at you, head tilted in a silent question that you’re all too happy to answer.

“Will,” you whisper, “please, I need you.”

Before you can blink, he’s off the couch and in front of you, cupping your face in his hands, grinning. “Though you’d never ask, Ace,” he murmurs, dipping his head to kiss you long and deep, reminding you of everything you’ve been missing.

His tongue traces your lower lip and your mouth falls open, giving him access to suck gently at your tongue. You whimper into Willy’s mouth, clutching at his bare shoulders while he walks you backwards toward the bed.

“Missed you,” he mumbles against your mouth, thumbs stroking against your cheekbones. “Been torture, seeing you look so goddamn gorgeous and not being able to touch you.”

The backs of your knees hit the mattress and buckle, your hands on his shoulders the only thing keeping you upright. Fire floods your veins, arousal soaking your panties and sticking the fabric to your cunt. You whimper, curling your fingers around the back of his neck and pressing yourself closer to him. The bump provides a barrier, but you can feel his cock against your thigh and you’re desperate for him.

“Willy,” your voice cracks and he nods.

“I know,” he glides his hands down your side, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “I’m going to take care of you, okay? You relax and I’ll do all the work.”

Your shirt is over your head and tossed to the floor, bare breasts exposed to the cool air of the room. Willy’s hands cup them reverently, their new size filling the palms of his hands and spilling out around his fingers. He tweaks your nipples and you moan, the sensation shooting right to your clit, a powerful burst of pleasure.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hips thrusting involuntarily against your thigh. “Knew these got bigger, but they feel so good. Such perfect tits, Ace, and all because you’re having my baby. Our baby.”

His fingers knead your skin and you drop your chin to your chest, surrendering to the pleasure of his touch. You don’t have enough blood flow in your brain for a coherent thought other than it feels so good to have Willy’s strong, calloused hands on you again.

Willy keeps playing with your tits, bending down to get his mouth on them, licking and sucking at the swell of them. You whine and bury your hand between your legs, fingers immediately coated with your arousal.

“I need…” you murmur, choking on a gasp when Willy sucks one nipple into his mouth and laves the pebbled bud with the flat of his tongue. His fingers pinch and roll your other nipple and suddenly your knees are buckling with the strength of your first orgasm, gushing over your fingers and soaking down your thighs. “Oh my god,” you whine, rubbing your clit with slippery fingers.

“Did you just come?” Your baby daddy laughs against your breast, pressing a nipping kiss against the underside of it. “All I had to do was suck these pretty nipples and you’re coming? Oh, Ace, I’m going to have fun with you.”

“Please,” you murmur. “I need more. Missed your touch, Willy.”

“Just my touch?” He glides his hands from your tits and over the curve of your belly, splaying his hands as wide as they’ll go to see how much he can cover. “Did you miss my tongue? And my cock too? The cock that gave you this baby.”

You nod, feeling like a bobble head, untethered from reality with Willy’s hands all over you and his mouth running on overdrive. The dirty talk was always one of your favorite parts of hooking up with him.

“I need everything,” your voice is breathy, needy and desperate to your own ears, hitching when Willy strokes your belly and leans down to kiss the peak of it. The scrape of his stubble tickles against your skin and you instinctively reach your hands out to bury in his hair, accidentally leaving a wet smudge of your come on his forehead. “Sorry,” you whisper, wiping at the smudge with the palm of your hand gracelessly.

Willy chuckles against your belly, making the baby react and roll around. “Ace, baby, if I’m not covered in your come by the time we’re done, I haven’t done my job very well,” he teases, kissing just below your belly button and making you shiver. You clit throbs and your cunt clenches around nothing.

You barely know how to respond, tightening your grip on his hair.

“I can’t fucking believe how gorgeous you look,” he guides you down onto the bed, your legs instinctively coming up to wrap around his waist, trapping him in place. Your belly rises between you, your increased heart rate making the baby restless.

“All round and perfect with my baby. I���ve been waiting for your okay, Ace,” he continues, his hands hot on your stomach and slipping down to the waistband of your shorts. “Seeing you in that bikini earlier? Took all I had not to strip you bare and fuck you outside.”

You whimper when his fingers hook in the band of your shorts and panties, tugging them down. He steps away and peels the fabric down your legs, leaving you completely naked in front of him. The thick outline of his cock in his pants makes you breathe hard, cunt spasming when you remember what it feels like buried deep inside of you.

“Do I have your okay?” Willy murmurs, the backs of his fingers running up and down your inner thighs, fallen open to the sides and spread wide for him.

“Yes, okay, okay,” you chant, completely unselfconscious for him. You’ve never felt anything less than gorgeous when having sex with Willy, but this is something else. You’re more aroused than you’ve ever been and Willy’s eyes are nearly black with desire. “Please, need your touch.”

Finally, his fingers find the seam of your cunt and you hiss, tossing your head back and bucking your hips up into his light touch. You’re so wet you can barely feel his fingers glide through the mess, collecting your arousal and smearing it over your skin.

Willy clicks his tongue and coos sympathetically. “So wet, have you been this wet all these weeks? With nothing but your little fingers and toys to satisfy you?” He circles your clit and you clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle the wail that falls from your lips. Willy’s eyes twinkle.

“That’s a good girl,” he pushes his sweats off with his free hand, cock springing free. You nearly drool at the sight of it, thick and red and leaking at the tip. You’ve missed the feeling of it in your hand, on your tongue, stretching your cunt. “I’m going to give you all the orgasms you’ve missed, a reward for growing our baby so nicely.”

A sob catches in the back of your throat, Willy’s fingers working expertly over your clit. He hasn’t missed a step, all of your little tells and favorite spots clearly at the front of his mind. Your legs bend and kick, toes curling with each tight circle bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come on, Ace,” Willy mutters, cheeks flushed and sweat beading at his temples. His forearm tenses. “Show me how pretty you are when you come for me.”

He pinches and twists your clit and you’re coming again, gripping the sheets in white knuckled fists, moaning his name wantonly.

Your vision is blurry and your chest heaves, Willy’s praise muffled by the pounding of blood in your ears.

“Too much,” you mumble, “don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

It’s more pleasure than you’ve been able to manage, different when it’s Willy giving you the orgasm. Your thighs are spread wide by his bulk, the stretch in your hips nearly painful but so worth it.

Willy slips two fingers inside of your cunt with ease, curling and pumping them and you’re coming for a third time, tears running down your temples and dampening your hair.

“You’re so tight and hot and wet, Ace,” Willy mumbles, more to himself than to you. His fingers never stop moving and you can see his cock bobbing with each pump of his hand, his whole body tensed as he milks your orgasm from you. “Never imagined it could get better, but pregnancy agrees with you.”

“It’s so easy,” you whine, breathless. “Easier to come now, but I haven’t had you. I should’ve said sooner.”

You’re not even sure if you’re making sense, all thoughts completely gone from your head. Your entire world is narrowed down to Willy and the pleasure he’s giving you.

“I think you have one more for me,” he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your hip bone, nipping at the spot with his teeth and then flattening his tongue over the spot. “One more on my tongue, I want to taste how sweet you are when pregnant with my baby.”

His words spark a liquid want in your stomach and you nod, squirming on the bed, damp sheets sticking to your sweaty skin. It should be uncomfortable, being on your back for so long and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but you never want it to end.

“Yes, yes,” you babble, lifting your hips as best as you can with the extra bulk of your stomach. Willy kisses the lower curve of your bump and then lower and lower until he can wrap his lips around your sore, sensitive clit. He sucks lightly and you wail, bucking your hips into his face, covering your mouth with your hand.

Willy’s tongue traces around your clit and you bite down on the palm of your hand, muffling a scream. He chuckles, the vibration sending your whole body spiraling towards another orgasm, and strokes gently at your inner thigh.

You crane your neck, trying to see his head buried between your legs, but the swell of your bump blocks part of the view. You whine his name and he lifts his face from your cunt, peering at you from around the bump. His hair is a mess, the lower half of his face shiny with your arousal.

“I’m gonna take care of you, Ace,” he promises, kissing your hip, the side of your stomach, your belly button. “Just relax and play with those perfect tits of yours.”

“Just fast, please,” you moan, his fingers sliding into your entrance again, stroking at your inner walls. “It’s too much.”

“Let me enjoy you,” he replies lazily, resting his cheek on your thigh. “I need to make up for lost time.”

You hiccup a gasp as his fingers press on your g-spot, firm and insistent. “Four’s too much,” your voice is slurred from the pleasure, your hips arching into his touch. You let your own fingers dance over your sensitive, puffy nipples, contradicting your own words.

He laughs and drags his teeth over your thigh, licking sweat from your skin. “Four’s not enough,” he counters. “You’re growing our baby, you deserve to be spoiled.”

Any argument you could make is gone, Willy’s mouth back on your cunt, his tongue flat against the seam and making you kick your feet with pleasure. He dips his tongue into your hole, licking you clean as more arousal drips from your body. His nose bumps against your clit and you pinch your nipples in response, groaning with the pleasure-pain sensation.

His hands are all over you, gripping your ass and holding you closer to his face, reaching up to caress the sides of your stomach, sliding over the sticky wetness of your cunt. It’s just pure sensation, lips and teeth and tongue and when Willy nips at your clit, you have to swallow back your scream, core clenching and orgasm hitting more powerfully than before.

Your cunt spasms and Willy’s licking you through it, the gush of your orgasm soaking his face and hands and shoulders.

“Oh my god,” you wail, hips working over his face, heart thumping painfully hard in your chest. Your fingers dig into your skin, nipples painfully tight while you squirt all over William.

“Good girl,” he rasps from between your legs, his ass bouncing as he grinds his hips into the mattress. “Taste so good, god, I can’t believe it’s been months since I drowned in you.”

You can’t catch your breath, aftershocks of your orgasms making your body tremble. Your arms flop out to the side and you’re completely spent. The itch for an orgasm has been satisfied, finally, and you blink sleepily up at the ceiling.

Willy continues to nudge his nose against your clit, licking at you lazily while he humps the bed, one hand braced on your hip and the other snaking down to fist his cock. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging until he hisses and grunts your name.

“C’mere,” you mumble, trying to get him to lift up. “Put it in.”

You don’t even want another orgasm, you just want him to feel good finishing inside of you instead of in his fist.

He ignores you and comes with a desperate moan of your name against your cunt, his hips twitching and spasming as he makes an even bigger mess on the bed.

“Next time,” he gasps breathlessly, leaning on your thigh and giving you a cunt drunk smile. “If you want.”

“I want,” you reply honestly and there’s relief in the line of his shoulders, a sweet something in the kiss he plants on your belly. You both settle into a comfortable silence, breathing together. Willy’s fingers find their way to the bump, come-smeared and soft as they trace nonsense patterns. It should be gross, you should feel some kind of embarrassment at the state you’re in, but instead it just feels right.

Eventually, Willy gets up and wipes himself off with his sweats, manages to get you cleaned up and in fresh sheets without waking anyone else up (another thing you realize after the fact, how loud you’d both been in a house full of Willy’s family, but you’re too sated and sleepy to be concerned for long).

“Stay,” you lace your fingers with his, still naked and curled up under the fresh sheets. You could’ve found new pajamas, but your skin still feels like it’s buzzing, the baby rolling around happily, and you’re too warm from the inside.

Willy’s entire face is soft when he looks between your interlaced fingers and your face. He squeezes your fingers gently, “as long as you want, Ace.”

He tries to slip into a pair of boxers and offers you a shirt, but you shake your head. “Just you,” you say quietly, something warm clawing at your chest. “I just want…I need to…”

You can’t articulate what you need from him, a primal need from somewhere deep in your soul, but luckily Willy seems to get it. Without another word, he crawls into bed with you, tugging the sheets up around your bare shoulders, and letting you curl your naked body around his. Your belly presses against his side, your leg draped over his lap. Willy’s hand rubs slow circles on your lower back, his other hand resting lightly on the side of your belly. It’s so easy to notch against his side, to press your nose against his chest and inhale the scent of his sweat.

Baby moves and nudges, settling in a way that you’re so used to by now you can ignore it and let your eyes flutter shut. William’s heartbeat is steady under your cheek and you tighten your arm over his ribs.

You’ll have to talk about this eventually, the shift that you’ve let happen by sleeping with him again, but that’s a problem for a different version of you.

Right now, you’re just at the edge of sleep when Willy mumbles, “gimme five and I’ll give you another.”

“Huh?” You breathe into his chest, confused.

“You’re nudging me,” Willy yawns. “I’ll give you whatever you want, but I need a second.”

You shake your head. “I’m not nudging -“ Your eyes fly open and you lift your head off Willy’s chest at the same moment he seems to realize the same thing.

“Is that -?” He asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” you nod rapidly, tears welling up. “That’s, I’m being kicked. Can you feel it? You can feel the baby?”

You’re both wide awake now, Willy’s hands on your stomach as you push up into a sitting position. The baby pokes at your side, right where Willy’s left hand is splayed and you watch as a look of shock spreads on his face, quickly giving way to glassy-eyed wonder.

“That’s the baby,” he murmurs, looking from your belly to your face, smiling wider than you’ve ever seen him. You’ve been feeling kicks for weeks, so it’s beyond exciting that Willy can feel them now.

“Yeah,” you nod, wiping tears from your cheeks. “That’s the baby.”

“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, laughing when his palm is kicked again. “Oh my god, that’s crazy.”

A wet laugh shakes your body and Willy looks up to capture your mouth with his in a sweet kiss. You kiss him back for a second before he breaks it and shifts down so his mouth is next to your belly.

“Hi, kiddo,” his lips are pressed to your skin, muffling his words, “I’m your dad.”

You press your hand to your mouth, muffling a little choked-off sob. You still can’t believe that this man is your baby’s dad.

His eyes twinkle when he looks up at you, looking too perfect to be real with those blue eyes and that perfect mouth pressed to your belly. Your heart kicks in your chest, skipping a beat.

“Just so you know,” he laughs, thumbs stroking an arc over your skin, the baby jumping under his touch, “Mama and I are in Sweden and that means your name is gonna be Banksy Junior if you’re a boy and Pablo Junior if you’re a girl.”

You bark out a delighted laugh at his tease, pushing at his forehead. “Both of your dogs are boys,” you grin, tears still falling down your cheeks. You press your hands over his.

“Pablina, then,” he jokes, still grinning like a fool.

All you can do is return his huge smile, feeling something shift as you sit up in the bed for another hour, Willy’s hands never leaving your belly as he talks to the baby and waits for a kick or nudge in response.

———

By the time you leave for Saint Tropez two days later, you’ve gotten another seven orgasms and the rest of Willy’s family has been able to feel the baby kick at least once.

Willy’s unable to keep his hands off your stomach or your ass or your tits, stealing little kisses here and there. It feels normal and natural and you’re confused that it feels so right. But you can’t and don’t want to stop him, enjoying his touch and craving it. His family must notice how he’s constantly touching you, but no one has said a word. You’ve caught a few glances between his parents and sisters, but then the baby will kick and you’ll offer up your belly for them to feel, even though Willy’s hands are usually already there.

You and Willy share a room in the Saint-Tropez rental, curling up in bed at the end of the night and waking up in the morning to soft yellow sunlight and an hour of peaceful quiet to feel the baby move around together.

“It feels real now,” he says one morning, head propped up on his palm, fingers dancing over your stomach to follow the baby’s movements. “Not that it didn’t before, but…”

He trails off and you know what he means. The first time you felt the bubbling feeling of the baby’s early movements, you’d been hit with the lightning bolt realization that there’s a baby inside of you. Before being able to feel movements, the baby felt a little more abstract. But now it’s a concrete little being, joining you in just a few short months.

“I like that you can feel it now too,” you reply, stretching out on your back for a few seconds. That’s getting harder now, the bump having grown in the last few days.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says slowly and you cut him off with a tease - “Ooh, dangerous.” - that he rolls his eyes at. He reaches up under your shirt and tweaks your nipple, making you yelp. “Are you done? Anyway, like I said, I was thinking and I know you won’t move in - I’m not asking you to,” he says firmly, squinting at you as you open your mouth to protest. “But things are going to get chaotic when the season starts again and will you at least stay with me during November, so when you go into labor I’ll know?”

“I…” you pause, swallowing back your initial urge to say no. You do understand where he’s coming from and you know you’ll want Willy to be the first to know when you’re in labor. “Can you stay with me? At least while you’re in town? I’ll probably sleep better in my own bed.”

He agrees easily and you both feel like you’ve won a compromise. It’ll be nice to have him around when you’re that pregnant anyway.

Saint-Tropez is exactly what you think of when you imagine a European vacation.

The days are slow and lazy, full of good food and even better weather.

You spend your time on the beach or by the pool, this time tossing the Neutrogena bottle to Willy so he can reapply sunscreen to your back and belly. His hands linger on your skin and your bikini bottoms grow damp without you stepping into the pool or ocean - something Willy is all too happy to tease you about in hushed whispers against the shell of your ear at dinner.

He’ll snag junk from the restaurants with one hand, pockets full of matchbooks and napkins and receipts, while stroking at your inner thigh under the table with the other.

On one of your last days of vacation, you and Willy head back to the villa in the middle of the day, leaving his parents and siblings on the beach with only the thin excuse of you getting overheated as the reason why you’re leaving.

You’re fairly confident that none of them believe the excuse, if the eye rolls his siblings throw your way are any indication. But Willy had spent a solid hour toying with the strings on your bikini bottoms while you tried to read and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I need you to go hard,” you demand, losing the skimpy fabric of your bikini to Willy’s roving hands, and climbing onto the bed. “Before I’m too big to really enjoy it.”

“Hard isn’t gonna be a problem, Ace,” Willy teases, kicking off his own bathing suit and stroking his cock with a tight fist.

You roll your eyes at him and get on all fours with your ass facing him. It’s easier this way, without your growing belly to work around. Neither of you has a problem with Willy taking you from behind and you wiggle your ass at him in invitation.

“He’s got jokes, everyone,” you tease, leaning down on one elbow and snaking your free hand down to your clit. It’s already stiff and swollen, eager to be played with. You’re not quite used to the feeling of your tits and belly hanging so heavily, but it is nice to have a little extra room to breathe without the baby all wedged up in your ribs.

Willy’s hand lands on your ass in a spank that jolts you forward and draws a happy shriek from your throat.

“Oh god,” you press your forehead to the mattress. “Do it again, please.”

He complies, your skin stinging with the impact. “Fuck, Ace,” he grumbles from behind you, hands on your hips and dragging you back. “You get so fucking wet when I spank you. Little glutton for punishment.”

“I’m wet all the time,” you whine, fingers slipping over your clit. Arousal is making a mess of you. “We established that and I need you to take care of me.”

“Bossy thing,” Willy shifts behind you, biting down on your ass. You hiss and he chuckles against your skin, soothing the spot with his tongue. “Be good and I’ll give you what you need.”

You nod and Willy’s fingers tighten on your hips. He sucks in a breath and you wiggle your ass in his face again, tits swaying heavily. Everything’s grown in the last few weeks and you’re not sure how long you’ll be able to hold this position. Willy seems to get your sense of urgency, but he still takes his time dragging his fingers over your skin, pulling your cheeks apart and spitting between them.

You gasp at the contact of his warm spit against your tight hole, grinning into the comforter when it slides down into the mess of your cunt.

“I just need you to fill me,” you complain, pressing back against the fingers he’s using to play with your cunt. He smears arousal all over you, dipping his fingers into your entrance to get them even more wet. Two fingers is an easy stretch for you, but you’re craving more and say so, getting a third as a reward.

“You’re so goddamn tight, Ace,” he grunts, fucking three fingers into you at a rapid pace. You keep playing with your clit and an orgasm blindsides you with its intensity. Willy groans as you come around his fingers, clenching down on them. “Jesus, you’re gonna strangle my cock with that perfect little cunt of yours.”

“Please,” you pant, dropping down to both elbows for balance. Your clit is left bare to Willy’s mercy and he rubs the heel of his palm against it, making you keen. “Oh god, more, please.”

Willy laughs and you can feel him move, his hand gone from your cunt and replaced with the head of his cock notched at your entrance. You arch back against him as best you can with your changed body and he slips the tip in, the delicious stretch making you sigh.

“Had my cock in this perfect cunt a dozen times over the last week and you’re still begging for it?” The question is rhetorical, falling from his mouth in a rasped grunt as he feeds his cock into you inch by inch. You drop lower onto your forearms, tits and belly brushing the bed, wailing as the angle changes. “You’re so gorgeous, sötnos, so pretty and pregnant. Full of my baby and my cock.”

His words are drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and your own babbled cries of his name. Willy’s thighs rub against the backs of yours, his hips smacking into your ass as he thrusts in and out. You try and meet him thrust for thrust, but it’s too much work and easier to submit to the pace he’s setting.

One of his hands tightens on your hip briefly before rubbing up your side to cradle your belly. He drapes himself over your back, deepening the angle his cock is hitting, and curls a hand around your breast, toying with your nipple. His chest hair grazes your back and it’s too many points of contact, too much stimulation, and you’re coming again, clenching around his cock and screaming his name into the mattress.

“Fuck, fuck,” Willy groans, cock thickening inside of you before he’s coming too, filling you with hot spurts of come. It’s messy and hot and perfect, the sensation of getting Willy’s cock bare a pleasure now that you’re not worried about getting extra pregnant. He catches his weight with his hands flat on the mattress next to you, hovering over your body while his hips work through the last of his finish.

“God,” you groan, reaching back to rub at his hip, scraping your nails through the coarse hair at the base of his dick. “If I wasn’t already pregnant, I’d say that would do the trick.”

Willy’s laugh vibrates through your body and he pulls himself out of you with an audible win and a wet squelch. You clench experimentally, a little dribble of come leaking out of your stretched entrance.

“Oh, she’s got jokes, everyone,” Willy repeats your earlier tease, dropping down to his side next to you, bouncing the mattress a little. You roll onto your side and stick your tongue out at him. The playfulness feels just like the early days of your hook ups.

This time though, Willy reaches down between your legs, teasing your entrance and pushing his come lazily back inside of you as it drips out. His fingers plug you up for seconds at a time, as if he actually were trying to get you pregnant.

“My jokes are better than yours,” you counter, reveling in the feeling of his fingers toying with your cunt.

“Debatable,” he grins back at you, rolling closer to press a kiss to your bare shoulder. “Do you want to head back to the beach or walk into town?”

“Town,” you reply, dragging your fingers through the hair on his chest and stomach. His stomach muscles jump under your touch. “I want to buy that dress I saw the other day even though I won’t be able to wear it for months.”

Your free hand smooths over your stomach, appreciating the round curve of it - twenty-three weeks, more than halfway to the end. Time feels like it’s moving at warp speed, but you still have today to enjoy.

And when Willy sucks your clit until you’re orgasming again, you certainly do enjoy it.

———

When you’re back in Toronto, you go back to your usual routine, except with the addition of Willy in your bed again.

There’s still a few weeks before training camp starts again, but his workouts are ramping back up and you’re getting a picture of what your fall is going to look like. You take Pablo and Banksy for walks during the day to soak up the warmth and fresh air while it lasts. Willy is in and out of your apartment for drive-by orgasms in between workouts and skate sessions.

You order furniture to turn your spare room into a nursery, swatching paint samples on the walls until Willy snatches the brush from your hands and orders you out of the room, ranting about paint fumes.

It’s all back ordered because you took a very Nylander chill approach to buying furniture, but at least you have a car seat.

Halfway through August, Auston Matthews is named the Captain of the Leafs and Willy’s excited about it, telling you that there’s going to be a whole team barbecue, wives and kids too, before the season starts. He asks you to join him while he’s balls deep in your cunt, knowing you won’t say no.

By the time the barbecue rolls around, you’ve worked yourself up about meeting his friends and teammates, cancelling on Willy no less than three times.

He shows up at your door anyway, grinning and looking like a snack with his South of France tan and blonde hair gleaming.

“I mean,” he drawls when he steps into your apartment and sees you in nothing but a bra and panties, “I appreciate the look, but I don’t want any of those jackasses seeing you like that.”

“Oh, ha,” you deadpan, hands planted on your hips. “Nothing looks right ever since your kid decided to have a growth spurt. I’m huge!”

Willy’s gaze roves over your body, from where your tits are spilling out of the cups of your bra to the curve of your belly, and a slow, hungry smile spreads across his lips.

Before he can say anything, you hold your hand up at him and scowl. “Do not start, Nylander. We need to leave now and I have nothing to wear,” to your horror, you can feel tears well up in your freshly eyelinered and mascaraed eyes.

“Hey, okay,” he holds up both hands like you’re a spooked horse and takes a step towards you, “do you want me to run out and buy you something? It’s casual, you can wear whatever you want, Ace.”

“But I want to make a good impression!” You wail, cradling your stomach with both hands. “I’m already the dumb bitch that baby trapped you, I can’t be dressed wrong too!”

You haven’t felt insecure about your relationship, or lack thereof, with Willy in a while. But something about meeting all the Leafs and their wives and girlfriends is making every old insecurity rise to the surface.

Willy wraps you in a tight hug and kisses the top of your head. “You’re not a dumb bitch and you didn’t baby trap me. Show me what the options are, I’m sure they’re not as bad as you think,” he says calmly. “And I want you with me, I’m the only one that counts.”

The firm pressure of his arms around you is grounding and you inhale a shaky sigh, feeling a little better.

Twenty minutes later, you’re dressed in a floaty floral sundress that you forgot you’d ordered a few sizes up from Abercrombie in a late night shopping binge and you’re tucked into the passenger seat of Willy’s car.

“Sorry about my meltdown,” you murmur, turning the air-conditioning vents more in your direction.

Willy laughs and reaches for your hand. “You can have as many meltdowns as you want, Ace,” he reassures you. “You’re carrying my baby, that gives you a total get out of jail free card for any and all behavior.”

“That’s sweet,” you reply, popping a piece of gum into your mouth, “but you probably should hold me accountable for some behavior. I could turn into a real brat.”

His eyes dance with laughter. “Good thing I know how to deal with you when you’re bratty,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over the backs of your knuckles. You shiver a little at his rough tone and press your thighs together.

“Don’t,” you warn him.

“I’ll behave,” he promises. “Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a Scout,” you mutter.

The barbecue is in full swing when you get there, music and laughter drifting from the backyard. You hold onto Willy’s hand for support and he bumps your hip with his.

“Everyone’s gonna love you,” he says quietly. “Plus, there’s no pressure of meeting Tessa since she and Mo begged off with the terrible excuse of just having had a baby.” He rolls his eyes dramatically and elicits a giggle from you.

“That’ll be us in a couple of months,” you remind him.

Willy shakes his head and leads you into the house. “Nah, our kid’s gonna be partying with the team right away,” he jokes.

And from there, it’s a flurry of meeting the guys, who are all perfectly polite - almost as if they’d been warned ahead of time. Ryan Reaves and Calle Järnkrok pull you into hugs, both congratulating you on the baby before giving Willy back clapping hugs too.

Mitch Marner and his wife, Steph, are all smiles and easy small talk when Willy introduces you. You chat about summer vacations and about the baby, fielding questions about how you’re feeling.

Considering it’s his house and his party, it takes you a little bit to meet Auston. Officially, anyway. You’d seen him across the bar on the night you and Willy first met, but hadn’t interacted.

You know what he looks like, obviously, you’re a hockey fan and a Toronto transplant - his face is all over the city - but you hadn’t expected him to be so tall or for his smile to be so charming in person.

“I’m Auston,” he says warmly, holding a hand out for you to shake. “But you can call me Papi, everyone else does.”

He winks and you giggle, Willy suddenly appearing at your side as if by magic. His arm drapes heavily over your shoulders and pulls you against his side.

“She won’t be doing that,” he replies lightly, with a hint of tension underlying his words. His hand drapes over your shoulder, fingers curling towards your breast in a possessive claw.

You nudge his side with your elbow, frowning up at him, but Willy ignores you and Auston studies you. A slow smile curls his lips, something lighting up his eyes.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” he laughs, having some kind of silent conversation with Willy before turning to you and asking about your job. You’re glossing over the more exciting parts of working in marketing for a publishing house while Willy’s hand is rubbing distracting circles on your stomach. The baby jumps under his touch, as usual, and Willy keeps tapping at the kicked spots - his way of playing with the baby lately.

Someone shouts for Auston and he excuses himself, but not before winking at you and commenting, “if you ever need a stepdad for the kid, get my number from Willy.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Willy snaps with an eye roll, drawing you closer to his side. Austin’s laughter echoes around the backyard as he jogs away.

“You’re being very grouchy with your friends today,” you comment lightly, turning to face him. Your belly presses against his and he sighs, cradling it with both hands.

“You know,” he pivots the conversation, “you look fucking incredible in that dress.”

“Mm, thank you,” you hum, noting that he completely avoided your comment. “Later you can peel it off of me and see how good it looks on the floor.”

Willy laughs at your tease and leans in to kiss you as if he can’t help himself, right in the middle of the backyard with his teammates all around. You flatten your palm on his chest, curling your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, and return the kiss, knowing you’re just setting yourself up for more hurt later, but unable to stop yourself.

Your nipples tighten and chafe against the cups of your bra and you whine a little into Willy’s mouth. He nips at your lower lip and pulls away.

“Why wait until later?” He asks, letting his hands wander from your stomach to your ass. “The Cap’s got like fifteen bathrooms in this place, he won’t know if we have a little fun in one.”

“Absolutely not!” You hiss, cheeks flushing hot at the thought. “We’re at basically a work event!”

Willy chuckles. “Want me to eat you out in the backseat of my car then?” He cups and squeezes your ass cheek, the hem of your dress fluttering around your thighs. It feels like every eye in the backyard is on you.

“No,” you whisper, trying to step out of Willy’s gravitational pull.

“Shame,” he clicks his tongue. “I really want to eat you out right now. Bet you’re already soaked for me like always, huh?”

He’s right, not that you’d admit it, but you can feel your underwear growing damp and your willpower wavering.

“Slip away, there’s a bathroom off the kitchen,” he kisses your cheek and strolls off, not a care in the world.

You exhale harshly and rub a hand over the back of your neck, thighs rubbing together. It’s not a difficult decision to grab a bottle of water off one of the tables set up and wander into the house. You find the bathroom easily enough and knock once on the closed door.

Willy’s voice dances through the wood, teasing, “what’s the password?”

“What if I were one of the guys?” You ask, hissing through the wood, your face close to the door. “Open up.”

The door pulls open under your face and you stumble forward a bit, Willy’s hands strong around your upper arms as he steadies you. He tugs you inside the space and closes the door behind you, flipping the lock.

“I know it wasn’t any of the guys,” he laughs, pulling your body flush against his. “And you haven’t given me the password yet.”

Willy’s hands are on your waist, tugging at the fabric of your dress so it lifts inch by inch, exposing your thighs. He nudges your legs apart with his foot, lifting his leg so he can press his thigh tight against your cunt.

“Oh!” You gasp, rolling your hips over the firm muscle. Your hands lock around his neck to use for balance as you grind down. “More, please.”

“Good enough,” he laughs, dropping to his knees and pushing your dress up over your belly before you have a chance to process. He kisses just under your belly button, bumping his nose against the same spot when the baby kicks. You look down at him, blocked by the growing swell of your stomach, and feel your heart lurch with emotion for him. You can’t label it, won’t label it, but it’s there.

You lean back and brace yourself against the vanity edge, already breathing hard and he’s barely touched you. You mumble, “fast, Willy, someone’s going to notice.”

“No one will notice,” he nips at your inner thigh, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties and tugging them down to your knees. He looks at the wet fabric and grins up at you. “Ace, baby, you have to tell me when you’re wet so I can take care of you.”

Willy leans in and licks a stripe through the seam of your cunt, circling the tip of his tongue around your clit and any response dies in your throat. Instead you let out a moan, angling your hips into his face.

His hands are hot on your ass, holding you in place while he licks and sucks at your clit, stiffening his tongue and thrusting it into your soaked hole. Willy hums against your clit, vibrating your body and stoking the heat low in your belly.

“Oh god, right there, right there, Willy, oh my god,” broken chants fall from your lips, your fingers white knuckling the edge of the counter as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, hard.

His hair tickles the underside of your belly as his head moves, finding new places to put his mouth. You try to spread your legs, but your panties are restricting around your knees and all it does is give Willy a tighter space to work with. He buries two fingers into your cunt from behind, his thumb pressed up against the tight muscle of your ass, rubbing gently.

Static fills your brain as your orgasm builds and breaks, covering Willy’s face. Your cry echoes in the bathroom for a second before you clap your hand over your mouth to muffle it. Willy keeps stroking you through it, mumbling against your clit.

“Christ,” you mutter, slumping back against the counter. “You’re so good at that.”

Willy’s head pops into view as he leans back, a wicked grin on his shiny, wet face. “Thanks,” he laughs. “It’s easy when you taste so good.”

You kick weakly at his leg, shaking your head. He gently cleans you up with toilet paper and tugs your panties back into place, kissing you when he’s back standing. All you can taste is yourself on his lips.

“I’m going to miss this,” you sigh absently, not really thinking.

Willy, rummaging around in the medicine cabinet for some mouthwash, catches sight of you in the mirror and frowns, “you’re that horny that waiting another hour or two until we get home is bad?”

You startle a little and shake your head reflexively. Your lips roll in and you hesitate because you can’t say what really prompted the admission - that one day Willy’s going to find someone else he wants to spend his life with and you’ll just be the mom of his first kid - so you shrug and reply, lighter than you feel, “I’ll be so big in a couple of weeks? This won’t be, like, logistically possible.”

You watch out of the corner of your eye as he swishes and spits, wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and turns to you with a serious look in his eyes.

“Ace, I’ll have sex with you in any position you want,” his serious tone is a contrast to his words and it makes you smile a little. “As long as you keep giving me the okay, I’ll keep giving you orgasms.”

“Okay,” you reply softly, still feeling that pit of loss in your chest. But Willy grabs your hand and kisses your palm, winking at you before he leads you out of the bathroom and back into the party.

By the time you’re back home, tucked up under your blankets and against Willy’s side, your phone is full of new numbers and you have a lunch date planned with Sanna Järnkrok for the next weekend.

It’s a nice feeling, to have been so welcomed by Willy’s friends and teammates, and you tell him so.

“Told you they’d love you,” he mumbles, smug.

———

nilliamwylander Tweet September 3

saw willy in west coast kids with his girlfriend. she’s so pregnant!

willystyleslover Tweet September 3

I JUST MET WILLY!!!! outside of love me do baby and he was holding a coffee and he looks so so good omg! i asked him for a pic and his girlfriend took the photo - she’s really quiet but nice!

reply from youunravelme: this is def the same girl he was with in june??

reply from leafsbaee: and the girl that was in the pic aryne posted a few days ago? of all the wags together?

reply from willystyleslover: YES! same girl for sure, she didn’t say much but she was friendly enough and holding the dog leashes. they were so cute too!

reply from youunravelme: i wish he would hard launch but that’ll never happen

mhafansthings Tweet September 7

pretty sure i just served willy styles girlfriend? she ordered a venti iced with cinnamon dolce syrup and cinnamon cold foam and muttered that she was going to get busted for the caffeine levels. maybe it wasn’t her tho bc she was wearing a ratty red wings hat 🤷🏼‍♀️

———-

“Anders?”

“Nah.”

“Axel?”

“Nope.”

“Freya?”

“That’s Pasta’s kid’s name.”

“Oh, right! She was adorable. Um, Elsa? Greta?”

“Ehh. Greta, maybe?”

“Bjorn?”

“Ace, how Swedish do you think I am?” Willy’s laugh fills the small room, making you giggle.

You shrug and scroll through more baby names. “Swedish enough that you’ve got two passports,” you sigh. “This is hard.”

You’ve been throwing around baby names for days now, the start of your third trimester making things feel extremely real. Willy’s building a crib, cursing up a storm as screws roll around the floor.

“It doesn’t have to be a Swedish name,” he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, squinting at the instructions laid out on the floor. “Do you see this piece?”

“There,” you point at it with your foot and Willy mutters a thanks. You rock a little in the glider chair, free hand caressing your belly, bigger and more in your face than ever, baby rolling away in the decreasing space. “I want it to be Swedish, that’s your heritage.”

He shrugs again and taps your foot, circling your ankle with his fingers. “Our names aren’t even that Swedish,” he laughs. “They could be German or English or whatever.”

You frown and keep scrolling the baby name website, ignoring him as he gets back to building. Last weekend, you’d done almost the exact same thing in his place, sitting cross legged on the couch and shouting names to him while he’d built a crib and changing table in his space room. The crib at your place is the last piece of furniture that needs to be built, everything else having come in one piece. You lean your head back against the cushion and look at the pale green walls of the nursery - gender neutral and making you feel like you’re in a fairy tale forest - thinking.

“Linnea?”

Willy makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “That’s nice, I like that. Linnea Nylander. Linnie.”

The baby’s getting Willy’s last name, per your decision. He’d asked if you wanted to hyphenate it, but you’d shaken your head and insisted on his last name, for a reason you couldn’t really articulate. It just felt right.

“Good, I’m pencilling in Linnea for a girl,” you pretend to write it down, scribbling your hand in the air to make Willy laugh.

“One down,” he says, propping up the two crib pieces he’s managed to get attached. “One to go.”

“Unless we want middle names?”

He groans, “we can’t even agree on first names. Let’s table middle for when the kid is born.”

You nudge a screwdriver towards him when he pats the floor looking for it. “Okay, yeah, that’s a good idea. Boy names, boy names. Let’s see,” you scroll back to the website, shifting in the chair and sending the baby on another movement frenzy. You get a kick to the ribs and wince. There’s still over eight weeks until you’re due and you can’t imagine the baby having less space than it already does.

“No,” you tap through the list while Willy works on the other half of the crib. “Nope, too hard to pronounce.” He chuckles at your monologue and you look up to watch his muscles work while he builds the piece. If you had gotten more than a handful of hours of sleep last night, you’d probably ask him to fuck you silly. But right now you’re too comfortable to move.

“Oh,” you cock your head to the side, “Gunnar?”

“Gunnar?” William repeats, leaning back to look at you. He doesn’t frown or shoot it down immediately.

You roll the name over in your mouth, “Gunnar Nylander. Meet Gunnar.” You like the way it sounds.

“Y’know,” Willy says slowly, “Gunnar’s my dad’s middle name.”

Your eyes well up, “that’s perfect! I like that he’ll share a name with your dad.”

Willy nods, his focus distant and he mouths the name, a smile ticking at the corner of his mouth. He scoots closer to you and rests his chin on your knee, reaching for your stomach. “Did we name you, kiddo?” He asks, fingertips tracing over the skin that’s exposed by your shirt riding up.

“Kick once if you’re a Gunnar and twice if you’re a Linnea,” you laugh. You get a frenzy of movement in response, Willy’s hand pressing into your skin to feel the movement better.

“Inconclusive,” Willy teases. “I can’t wait to meet you.”

———

You’ve been to plenty of hockey games in your life, but never while 34 weeks pregnant and the size of a small whale.

The guys lost their season opener against Montreal, but won game two against New Jersey. Both had been away games that you’d watched from the comfort of your own couch, but now it’s the home opener and all the Nylanders are in town and Willy had explicitly asked if you would come to the game.

“But only if you’re feeling up to it,” he’d said, legs tangled with yours under the covers. Your agreement that he stay with you for the month of November had quickly turned into a fifty-fifty split of where you felt like spending your time. More often than not, you were at his place, cuddling with the dogs.

And you had been feeling up to it, but god, lugging around the giant belly was starting to get old. Nothing fits right and you constantly have to get up to pee.

It’s worth it though, to sit with Willy’s sisters and cheer for the Leafs. He scores less than a minute into the second to tie the game at one and you jump up from your seat as best you can to scream for him.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, out of breath, dropping back into your seat. “Maybe I’ll only do that again if he scores again.”

Ella laughs and pats your arm. “I don’t know how you’re not home in bed,” she cocks her head at you. “You must really love Willy to come to the game.”

On her other side, Jackie nudges Ella and coughs. You squint at Willy’s youngest sister, her motivations not exactly subtle. She’s been digging into your feelings for Willy since you’d all been back in Sweden.

You shrug and rest your hands on the top swell of your stomach. “I mean, yeah,” you admit lightly. “He’s my friend and my baby’s dad, of course I love him.”

The words feel strange coming out of your mouth, the first time you’ve really strung them together in that order and in the context of your feelings for Willy. Strange, but not wrong.

Ella’s response is swallowed up by crowd noise as Matthew Knies scores to give the Leafs a lead in the game. You cheer from your seat while everyone else jumps up around you.

“I’m just saying,” Ella continues, settling back into her seat, the arena still buzzing around you, “Willy should know that you love him.”

She says it with more meaning than you had given the word, more gravity than you want to admit to so close to giving birth. You shake your head at her.

“He knows,” you say, whether or not that’s true. You’re not hormonally stable enough to have that conversation. To distract Ella, you grab her hand and press it to the side of your stomach, “Baby’s kicking, all that hockey adrenaline from daddy’s goal.”

She squeaks as her palm is kicked. “So crazy!! I can’t believe we’ll be meeting baby in less than two months,” she shakes her head and taps her fingers against your stomach gently.

“I know,” you reply, tracking the on-ice action as you speak. “I’m just glad we’ve gotten the nurseries and everything ready.”

The Leafs Ladies (as the group chat you’d been added into proclaims them) had very sweetly surprised you with a mini baby shower/lunch during the pre-season. Your mom and Willy’s mom, along with his sisters had also been invited. It was overwhelming in the best way, a shocker since you’re not dating Willy. But Aryne Tavares, the leader of the group since Austin’s single, had insisted on the party, telling you that as long as you were putting up with Willy, you were one of the girls. It had made you cry and the tiny Leafs onesie had made you cry even harder.

You’d also gotten to meet The Tesse Virtue and hadn’t made an ass of yourself. You even think you might be friends with her now since she’s a new mother and you’re rapidly hurtling towards the same situation. It’s surreal, for sure.

“If you and Willy lived together, you wouldn’t have to buy two of everything,” Ella comments and gets poked again by her sisters.

“You’re gonna get someone in trouble,” you laugh. “Me or you, that’s yet to be seen.”

The second half of the second period is a quieter affair, no goals after Knies gave them the lead and the Leafs still up by one, so you take the time to wander off in search of a snack. Back at your seat, you scroll through social media during the intermission, finding it extremely strange when your Twitter algorithm feeds up Tweets about fans spotting you in the arena. You wrinkle your nose and tap away from them - you and Willy haven’t been secretive about things, getting caught multiple times out in public by the fans, but it’s never not going to be weird. Your Instagram has been private for months now.

Mitch scores early in the third, extending the lead, and then Rakell scores for Pittsburgh, cutting the lead to one.

You’re on the edge of your seat, baby moving around like a maniac in your stomach, fingers twisted together as you watch the last few minutes of the game. By the time Willy puts the puck away in the empty net, the arena is primed for the explosion of noise. You scream, struggling to your feet and dancing along to Maxine Nightingale. You’re wrapped up in a Nylander hug, screaming even louder when Willy’s named third star of the night.

After the game, you head down to meet up with Willy and he’s shirtless when you spot him, naturally.

“Hey there, superstar,” you beam, stepping into his hug. You get a face full of chest hair and you think you can die happy.

Willy ducks his head and kisses the corner of your mouth. “Hey yourself,” he laughs, giving you a once over. “Is that my jacket?”

“And your jeans,” you shrug unashamed. “I wanted denim and leather and none of my stuff fits, so auxiliary closet it is.”

“Looks good on you,” he says, palming your ass. “I’ll finish up and we’ll head home?”

You nod. “Your family’s going to pick up some food and meet us there,” you let him know, shifting your weight from foot to foot. Your back is starting to stiffen up, so you lean against the wall and stretch until it pops.

“I’ll be fast,” he promises, squeezing your hip and disappearing back into the locker room.

While you wait, you chat with the girls and players as they leave, congratulating Mitch on his game winner before he leaves.

“Look who it is,” Austin’s voice is loud and delighted. “Hot mama!”

“Hi!” You laugh, accepting the huge hug he offers, enveloped in the warm, spicy scent of cologne and sweat. “Great game tonight.”

“Thanks,” he replies warmly. “Nice to know you and my future stepkid are out there supporting me and the boys.”

The tease makes you smile, even as it makes your spine stiffen, “don’t tell Willy.”

“Don’t tell Willy what?” Speak of the devil. He appears behind Auston, dressed in his suit again, bag on his shoulder. He raises an eyebrow at the Captain and scowls. “Are you being an ass again?”

Auston holds his hands up and smirks, “just appreciating the support of my future wife and stepkid.”

Willy’s face goes stony and you get the sense that the joke has been told more often than you realize. Willy shoulders past Auston, purposely smacking his shoulder against the other man’s, and wraps his arm over your shoulder possessively.

“Fucking enough with that shit,” Willy snaps. He’s tense against your side and you wrap an arm around his waist, squeezing gently. “I don’t wanna hear it again.”

“You got it, Willy,” Auston’s face is serious, his lips turned down in a deep frown. He cuts his gaze to you, but you’re not going to apologize for Willy. They’re grown men and truthfully, you don’t think you should get any more involved than you already are.

Auston gives a little two fingered wave and disappears down the hall, leaving you and Willy alone.

“Jackass,” he mutters under his breath and you turn slightly, your belly bumping against his side.

“Hey,” you draw his attention, “it’s just a joke. You know I’d never date Auston.”

Willy nods stiffly. “Yeah, but you know…” he trails off, shrugs one shoulder, “you never know.”

You think about your earlier conversation with Ella. Willy has to know that you’ve got feelings for him, you don’t think you’ve been very subtle and he’s not totally oblivious. This has to be some kind of possessive, feral instinct because you’re pregnant with his baby.

“I promise,” you murmur, resting your hand on his chest, “I’m not going to date Auston, ever. He’s just going to be the kiddo’s fun uncle. Nothing more, got it?”

Willy’s shoulders loosen and he gives you a faint smile, even though his eyes are still tight at the corners. “Yeah, okay,” he drops an easy kiss to the top of your head. “Let’s get you home, been a long night, huh?”

“Very,” you reply, relieved that the moment has passed and you’re on your way to the car. “Did you know that Leafs’ Twitter thinks I’m not fashionable enough to be with you? Even though I’m not with you and I’m literally wearing your clothes!”

He chuckles, but his fingers tighten on your shoulders. “You’re kinda with me. You know, sitting with my family, having my baby…”

“Well, yeah,” you hedge, feeling like you’re wading into murky waters, “I guess. But we’re not…and either way, they can’t call me unfashionable when I’m in your clothes. I guess the semi-exposed bump makes the fit trashy instead of classy.”

You tug at the hem of your white tee, a sliver of belly exposed when it rides up as you move.

“Fuck them,” Willy scoffs, holding your hand to help you into the passenger seat of his car. “I love when the bump is exposed. It’s hot as hell, you’re hot as hell.”

“If you want me to ride you, you just have to ask. We’re so far past the need for flattery,” you fall back into a teasing innuendo, feeling like it’s safer territory than wherever you were wandering off to before.

Willy squats down to kiss the exposed inch of your belly. “It’s not flattery when it’s the truth, Ace,” he rubs at your stomach, a smile on his face when he gets kicked on the palm. I know you said not to call you a MILF, but you’re a MILF, baby.”

You roll your eyes, quietly pleased. “This MILF was promised food and is going to get hangry any minute,” you say, lifting his hand off your stomach and pushing him gently so he’ll get the hint.

“Yes, ma’am,” Willy salutes and jogs around the front of the car to get in the driver’s seat. He lets you play with the radio until you find a station you like and once you’re out of the arena parking, he says, “seriously, Ace, thanks for being here tonight. It means a lot to me.”

“I’m always going to be your biggest fan, Willy,” you murmur, the smooth ride of the car lulling you to sleep. “Pregnant or not, I’m always rooting for you.”

——-

October is a speed run of games and travel and nesting and before you know it, it’s Halloween.

You’re officially twenty four days away from your due date at this point and supremely uncomfortable, but you’re invited to the Leafs’ party and figure it’ll be one of the last times you leave the house for something that’s not a doctor’s appointment or actual labor, so you convince Willy to dress up as Bleeker to your Juno.

You sing the Sabrina Carpenter song around the apartment as you get ready - “Getting into character, Willy.” - and he laughs when you struggle to pull the striped shirt over your stomach.

“Should’ve gotten a size up,” he says, tugging at the fabric twisted up in your bra strap.

“Your giant baby grew in the two weeks since I bought this,” you grumble, breathing hard. The baby is settled up in your rib cage and you haven’t been able to get a full deep breath in days.

Baby Nylander is still measuring big and you’re starting to get anxious about giving birth. It was all fun and games six months ago when you had no bump. But now you’re facing down reality.

The party is fun, Willy’s costume shorts are obscenely small and tight, and somehow you end the night on your knees in front of the couch, choking on Willy’s cock.

“Ace, Ace, baby,” Willy grunts, bucking his hips into your mouth, “stop, wanna come inside you.”

You release his cock with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting your lips to the head. “I’m going to need help getting up,” you laugh hoarsely and Willy happily complies, helping you onto his lap and speared onto his cock.

“Feels good,” you sigh, sinking down on him. It’s harder than usual, both his cock and the position, but Willy makes it easy for you to sit on him and orgasm twice in quick succession while he alternates sucking and licking your nipples. Once he’s happy that you’re satisfied, Willy finishes inside of you, holding you on his cock to keep his come inside.

Willy drops his forehead to rest on your shoulder, kissing all the bare skin he can reach. You tangle your fingers in his hair and scratch his scalp lightly.

“You always feel perfect,” he mutters into your skin. “Perfect fit, just wanna stay here forever.”

“Not kicking you out any time soon,” you clench around his softening cock. “I could take another before you leave for the weekend.”

Willy’s laugh vibrates your whole body and sends the baby into a frenzy. His hands find each spot, tickling lightly. You genuinely think you’d be happy staying in this spot forever.

Unfortunately, there’s hockey to play and last minute details to finalize. You pack your hospital bag and Willy is in and out of the apartment, racking up wins. Baby drops and your belly hangs low, making you uncomfortable no matter what you do. Your hips hurt and you waddle everywhere, assuming the stereotypical pregnant woman pose of one hand on your lower back and one bracing your belly.

When he’s home, Willy spends most of his time behind you, holding your belly up so the pressure on your pelvis is lessened. You slump back against his chest and complain about round ligament pain and Braxton-Hicks.

“You don’t have to come tomorrow,” Willy mumbles into your hair. “You could go at literally any minute.”

Alex signed a one-year deal with the Leafs yesterday and tomorrow is his first game, at home, playing with his brother. Today is your due date.

“No, I’m definitely coming!” You protest. “Your whole family is going to be there, I want to tell baby that they were there too when Daddy and Uncle Alex played together for the first time.”

You’d seen your doctor two days ago and she hadn’t thought you’d go into labor on your due date. You’re only about a centimeter dilated, so it will probably be another couple of days before anything happens. So, you’re going to the game.

“Stay in the family room at least,” Willy shifts, lifting your belly a little higher and you sigh in relief, your body relaxing. “I don’t want you in the middle of the crowds when you’re this pregnant.”

‘This pregnant’ is like carrying around an extra large watermelon under your shirt - nothing fits, your entire body is uncomfortable and the baby’s measuring at over eight pounds. Your skin feels stretched to its limits, sore and itchy even after Willy’s rubbed lotion into it. You keep knocking things over because you can’t comprehend how big your belly is and Willy’s gotten clocked in the head more than once as you’ve tried to pass him while he’s laying on the couch. You stepped on poor Banksy’s tail once because you can’t see the dogs when they’re in your blind spot and cried for an hour because you felt so bad.

“The last thing I need,” he continues, “is to be worrying on the ice about someone knocking into you.”

“I’ll stay in the room,” you assure him. “I don’t know if I’d even fit in a regular seat at this point.” You smooth your hands over your stomach and wince when the baby stretches in the minimal space left. The fact that you have just days left of this pregnancy is crazy.

The game goes off without a hitch, a win where Willy scores and you still don’t go into labor. You’re exhausted by the time you get home and curl up to sleep for as long as your bladder will let you.

Your parents come into town the day after the game, to stay with you while Willy is in Florida, just in case. They coddle you and your mom makes you walk around Toronto, one foot on the curb and one off, because she says that’ll help get labor going. All it does is make your back hurt even more.

You watch the Leafs lose to the Panthers with Pablo and Banksy curled up on your lap and your stomach cramping sporadically during the third period.

“Well, it’s three days past your due date,” your mom says, rubbing muscle relaxant balm into your back. “I would bet there’s a baby in the next few days.”

“I can’t wait,” you stroke the dogs’ ears. “I’m so ready to meet this little nugget.”

Your back pain worsens and your pelvis hurts, belly hanging lower than it had been. The baby’s definitely dropped and a little voice in the back of your head is telling you this is labor getting started. You can’t get comfortable on the couch or in bed, so you wander around your place, dogs trailing at your heels. You’d sent your parents back to their hotel when Willy had texted that the plane was leaving Florida and now you’re wondering if you should’ve asked them to stay. A cramp ripples across your stomach and you wince, sucking in a sharp breath.

It’s a Braxton-Hicks, but worse, and you’re pretty convinced that you’re in labor.

There’s still fifteen minutes in between contractions when you start timing them, so you relax a little, confident that you’re going to be okay until Willy gets home. It’s only a four hour flight.

And then your water breaks with half an hour still left in the flight.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, bending over the back of the couch. Your feet are soaked and the floor is splattered with amniotic fluid. The dogs are curled up in their beds, which you’re a little grateful for because you don’t want them trying to like, lick it up or something. Another contraction hits and you groan through it, swaying your hips from side to side while you’re bent over the back of the couch.

Time ticks down slowly and you chew at the inside of your cheek, wondering when the right time to call your parents is. Willy texts when he lands and you know it’s only another half an hour for him to get home.

“Okay,” you mutter to yourself, “we can make it a half an hour. That’s nothing.”

You wish you had slept a little more, but there’s nothing you can do about that now. Standing for so long is hurting your feet though, so you waddle off to your bedroom, leaving the puddle on the floor, and change into a clean pair of sweats before sinking down onto the mattress. Your hands are in your stomach, rubbing in circles and pressing in when another contraction hits.

With your eyes closed, you focus on the breathing you’d learned in Lamaze classes, shifting in your position and spreading your knees to open up your hips a little.

Eventually, you hear Willy’s key in the door and the thump of his bag falling to the floor. He’s quiet, clearly thinking you’re asleep, and you don’t want to call out and scare him. But it happens anyway when he comes into your bedroom and sees you sitting on the bed.

“Fuck!” He yelps, jumping back a step. “Ace, shit, are you okay? What’s going on?”

He looks tired and rumpled from the flight and you wince, “my water broke about an hour ago.”

Willy’s eyes widen and his jaw drops. “I…what? An hour ago?” He’s at your side in a handful of steps, hands on your cheeks. You nod, tears filling your waterline because thank God, he’s finally home and you’re not alone. You’re terrified, but Willy’s here, so everything will be okay.

“I think we still have a while,” you whimper when another contraction hits, bending slightly at the waist. “But, um, we should probably head out.”

Willy nods. “Yeah, yes. Okay, let me change quickly and we’ll drop the dogs off at my place, with Al. You don’t want them here alone,” he’s rambling and you’ve never really seen him ramble. It’s endearing and your heart clenches with so much love for him.

You watch from the edge of the mattress as Willy changes quickly, dumping his suit in a pile on the floor and finding jeans and a sweatshirt in the drawer you’d cleaned out for him. He kisses your forehead as he passes you.

“I’m going to put the dogs and bags in my car and I’ll come back up for you, okay?”

You nod and Willy shakes his head, stopping short in the doorway to your bedroom. “I can’t believe we’re about to have a baby,” his voice is rough, full of emotion.

“Yeah,” you reply, crying, “baby makes three, right?”

Willy looks like he wants to say something else but you groan with another contraction and that spurs him into motion.

Less than ten minutes later, you’ve dropped the dogs off with Alex, who grinned like an idiot from the sidewalk and shouted ‘good luck’ to you, and you’re on the way to the hospital. Contractions are picking up and your breathing is shallow.

Willy grabs your hand and squeezes your fingers. “You’re going to be amazing, Ace,” he doesn’t take his eyes off the road, driving with one hand, “I’ve never met anyone stronger.”

“It’s starting to really hurt,” you bite your lip, free hand curled around the bottom of your stomach.

“It’s okay,” he lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the tips of your fingers over and over again. “We’re almost there.”

He’s true to his word, you’re parked less than fifteen minutes later and Willy’s got his arm around your waist while he guides you into a wheelchair and leaves you to check in. A nurse appears and after that it feels like a flurry of activity to get you in a room, into a hospital gown, and settled in a bed with a monitor strapped to your stomach.

“VIP treatment,” Willy teases, breaking off into a yawn. “That’s what happens when you have a baby with a Maple Leaf.”

“That’s what happens,” you groan, reaching blindly for his hand, “when you get to the hospital at 4 in the morning.”

“That helps,” Willy scrubs a hand over his face and you watch his body sag a little as the adrenaline drains from his body. He’s got to be so exhausted, but he doesn’t say a word.

He holds your hand through contractions, feeds you ice chips when you ask for them, helps you out of bed when you want to walk around. He’s the perfect partner.

The sun rises and you FaceTime your parents, laughing when your mom screams in excitement.

“Do you need us to come over? Or get the dogs from your place?” Your mom rapid fires questions at you. “How are you feeling? Oh, I should’ve known something was happening last night.”

“I’m okay,” you breathe heavily through a contraction and nearly drop your phone. Willy wraps his hand around your wrist to steady it. “We dropped the dogs off with Alex, so don’t worry. We’ve got it under control and we’ll let you know when there’s a baby to come love on.”

Your mom looks concerned but she accepts it, both your parents wishing you luck and telling Willy to keep them updated.

He grins, “check your phones, I already created a big ass group chat with my parents and siblings too.”

“Oh, nice name for the chat,” your dad comments, “Baby Nylander Hype Squad. Now, what’s a hype squad?”

“Dad,” you groan, clutching at the sheets. “Later, we’ll talk later.”

“Right, right, we love you, starfish,” your dad blows a kiss on the screen and you can hear him ask your mom what a hype squad is again as the call ends.

Willy grins at you, “my dad wanted to know what a hype squad is too. But Ella took over the explanation. They all say good luck too, by the way.”

You nod, panting through a contraction, the pain intensifying. “Up, I need to get up,” you whine and Willy helps you out of bed so you can lean your forearms on the mattress and sway from side to side to alleviate some of the pain. Your belly hangs low and your ass is hanging out of the back of the hospital gown, but you barely pay any attention. You’re having a contraction every five minutes now and they’re stronger too.

Willy tugs the thin fabric of the hospital gown closed over your back, covering your ass, and digs his thumbs into the muscles of your lower back at your command.

Time blurs together in a haze of contractions and nurses checking your cervix. At some point, Willy leaves the room and comes back smelling like French fries.

“Sorry,” he brushes your hair off your face when you scowl and ask about it. “I was starving, but didn’t want to eat in front of you.”

“I want a big ass sushi boat when this baby is out,” the end of your sentence lifts on a moan and Willy nods.

He calls Auston from the corner of the room, the giddiness in his voice clear as he’s telling his friend and captain that you’re in labor and he won’t be making it to practice today. The call ends quickly when you call for him, desperate for a hand to hold.

And then all of a sudden it’s the middle of the afternoon and you’ve been labouring through twelve hours of contractions and the nurse is snapping her gloves and telling you that you’re ten centimetres and ready to push.

[nonushu]

stained but loved - chwe hansol

genre: fluff, comfort | wc: 430 | warnings: crying over spilled food lol | bf!vernon x reader a/n: i feel like vernon would drop spaghetti on your outfit by accident

there's a sting of disappointment in you as vernon leads you outside the restaurant. it doesn't linger any less when you enter the cool evening air.

"it's really not that bad," he tries to reassure you, his hand gentle on your shoulder. he pulls you away from the exit, trying to distract you from looking at your outfit.

"you're right," you mumble before peering at the bright red stain. "it's really bad."

vernon shakes his head and steps in front of you, using both his hands to make you gently face him. his leather jacket creaks slightly as he moves, the black material contrasting with his perfectly styled hair.

his dark eyes search yours, that apologetic look of his that makes your heartache. but the corners of his lips twitch as if he's trying to hold back a laugh.

"y/n, please," he says tenderly. "it's just spaghetti sauce."

"that is now stained in the fabric!" you bite your lips, tears welling up no matter how hard you try to hold them back. "i just wanted to look good for you." you whisper, your voice cracking.

vernon's eyes widened, a small smile tugging at his lips. seeing him, you can't help but feel your smile threaten through the pout.

"and you do," he says firmly, thumbs brushing against your cheeks, wiping away the stray tears.

you sigh. "no, vernon—"

"and a little spaghetti sauce isn't going to change that," he interrupts. "you looked pretty when you walked in, and you're still pretty when we walked out."

he faintly steps back, taking the sight of you under the soft glow of the moonlight, and knows he's fallen in love again. everything about you makes his heart swell, the way the light reflects on your skin and how your hair catches the breeze.

and here you are, on the verge of more tears and a spaghetti-stained outfit, yet you're still the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

"i think i just fell in love with you again," he blurts without thinking.

you blink, confused and a bit startled but it makes you forget about the stain. he shook his head again, quickly brushing off his spoken-out-loud inner thought.

"uh, babe, i'm really sorry about the spaghetti," vernon squeezes your hand, his thumb tracing patterns on your skin. "so, what do you say we forget about the spaghetti 'n walk around? get some ice cream?"

you nod, a small grin forming through your own tears. "y-yeah, okay," you agree. "you're paying for the dry cleaner, though." you say, hand tightening in his.

“fair enough,” he chuckles, leading you away.

[garbinge]

HARMONY AFTER THE STORM

Tyler Owens x F!Reader // Word Count: 2.7k Summary: After a long day, you wind down back at the motel and share a sweet moment at the parking lot bonfire with Tyler Owens. Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Fluff. Established relationship. Light angst (based on details of the heaviness of storm chasing). No use of y/n. A/N: Trying out somethin a liiiil new layout wise for my fics! Tyler Owens brain rot is in full effect and this fluffy little number makes my heart warm.

Your phone speaker hummed as music vibrated against the bathroom sink while you washed the day off in the shower. The motel’s water pressure wasn’t the best, but you weren’t complaining, you were happy there was hot water and soap left. You were always the last of the crew to shower, while that ran the risk of running out of hot water, it also awarded you the most peaceful shower. Everyone was gone, outside gathered around bonfires, maybe fixing up equipment. Point was, it left you alone to decompress with your music and sometimes you’d sneak a shower beer in as well, you were a southern girl after all. 

After a day of chasing storms, getting dirt practically embedded into your skin, the chaos of all the voices, the engines, the winds, this was your peace, your grounding. The soft music buzzing as you swayed back and forth as the water fell down your body. Washing down the drain along with the dirty water was all your anxiety from the day. While you loved chasing tornadoes, you also fully were aware of the effect it had on your psyche. You weren’t as easy as the others in the crew. Boone loved the thrill, he was crazy in the best way possible. Lilly was a free-spirit, she would go wherever the winds blew her and thrive effortlessly. Dani and Dexter, they were too smart for their own good, every equation, every problem, they’d smile through finding the solution. And Tyler, well, he was a good combination of it all while also just plainly and simply loving it. The clouds, the storms, he found beauty in them. For him it was passion.  For you, you did enjoy it, the thrill of it all, the problem solving, the fact that it kept you on your toes moving.  And you couldn’t lie, the storms were fucking beautiful when you really looked at them. But for you the reasoning was more difficult. You wanted to help. But that came with a heavy burden, but for you helping outweighed all those bad moments. That’s how it was for everyone in the crew, you just felt like the mental images of wreckage stayed with you a little longer than everyone else. Which is why these showers were your favorite, it helped you process it all. 

“Hey baby, it’s just me!” Tyler called out as he entered the motel room. “Just lookin’ for Lilly’s drone repair case!” His eyes were looking around the room, there were tons of bags and things scattered across the floor, the beds, and anything resembling a table. His announcement out to you was just so he didn’t startle you with his presence, but he knew very well how important that end of the day shower was to you which is why he wasn’t paying much attention to the open door of the bathroom. 

Between the music on your phone and the shower you didn’t hear him come in. Just continued your swaying, letting the water bounce off your face. As the song changed, you began to mumble along, your voice echoing against the bathroom acoustics despite you only lowly singing with the speaker. 

As Tyler bent down to grab the case, his eyebrows furrowed, the left side of his lips twitched up in a smile, his mouth open as he let out a whispered chuckle. There was a lot crossing his mind at the moment. It was obvious you hadn’t heard him come in, not because you were singing but because you were singing and hadn’t acknowledged him. As he heard you mumbling the country music from damn near a decade ago he couldn’t help but grin. It was music you’d both listen to when you first started dating. The song was one he hadn’t heard in ages but when it filled his ears now, and your voice joined along with it, he couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. His head turned towards the bathroom door that was wide open as he stood up straight, the drone case now in his hand resting at his side. The frosted shower curtain tried its best to censor out what was behind it, but your blurred silhouette could still be seen as you moved your hips back and forth to the beat. That grin on Tyler's grin didn’t fade, if anything it grew bigger. Dropping the case on the bed before walking over to the bathroom, he leaned his shoulder on the open door frame as his arms crossed, and his right foot crossed over the left. Seeing you like this made his heart happy, he was no stranger to the weight your storm chasing days had on you. His mind couldn’t help but jump back to those first few years of your relationship, ones that were littered with memories of late night drives, line dancing and stepping on eachother’s feet, camping out in the bed of his truck in the middle of the Arkansas farmland plains. It was crazy that all this time had passed and you hadn’t done any of the things that made you fall in love with each other for what now he realized felt like a really long time. Your lives were consumed with this and while he knew you didn’t mind, it didn’t stop his own from wandering. His head fell down with one more smile, opting to not say anything to you and ruin your post-chase ritual. Pushing off the door frame, he grabbed the case and left the motel room to rejoin the group outside. 

Your hair was still damp from the shower, but you had fresh clothes on and felt like a new person. Quickly you tossed your shoes on, grabbed your phone from the bathroom sink and made your way down the stairs to join the crew. At this point, they had all gathered around the bonfire, leaving the rest of the repairs and work for tomorrow. Guitars of some of the chasers from other groups were playing as the groups gathered with their beers and mingled. It was one of your favorite things about being on the road like this, just random people joining together all in the common interest of storms. But these moments weren't always about twisters, they were about comradery, they were about friendship, laughs. It was memories in the making.

As you reached into the cooler, you pulled out two cans of beer. The condensation and melted ice falling off them in drops as you made your way closer to the bonfire circle. While there weren't many empty seats left around the fire, you knew you always had one reserved for you. You spotted Tyler before you even trekked down the stairs of the motel, his laugh was loud and could be heard from miles away. Your eyes had found him in the crowd almost immediately so once you were on the ground level, all you needed to do was make your way over to him. 

“Hey.” It came out as a whisper in his ear while leaning over the back of the chair he was reclined slightly back on. Your hands fell down against his chest, the cold beers you got for both of you were resting against him now. He stopped talking and looked up at you, his hand instinctively reaching up your arms and guiding you to sit down in his lap which you did without hesitation.

“Hey country girl.” His left hand caught your back as you moved down onto his legs, his other hand resting over your legs that dangled off the side of him as well as the chair. 

As your face scrunched up in a humorous and unclear look, you adjusted yourself in his lap, Tyler providing you support as you did so. 

“Country girl?” You questioned him, still confused as to what he meant. You were a lot of things, nickname wise, to him. He’d come up with something for everything over the years but this was one you hadn’t heard. 

He didn’t answer you, just smiled and placed a quick kiss on your arm before taking one of the beers from your hands to crack open before continuing his conversation from before you arrived.

And if that wasn’t enough, Lilly’s voice was taking you away from even thinking about what Tyler had said. “We fixed the drone!”

Tyler's head was resting on the side of your arm, chatting with the person to his left, although to you it was behind. Your time was being occupied by leaning forward a bit to talk with Lilly who was in the seat to Tyler’s right. She was catching up on the details with Cairo, the drone that had been just as much a part of your crew as each human member. You were so invested in the conversation that you almost missed the familiar strumming in the faint distance. It took you a few seconds but your head turned and took in the guitar players nodding and tapping their feet to the song you were just singing to while you showered. 

Your lips began to curve up, you felt Tyler’s hand move up your back, rubbing it over your shirt. As you looked down at him, your smile still only slightly curved and your eyes knowingly doing all the talking for you, his own grin widened and he looked down away from your gaze with a laugh. 

“Tyler Owens, were you spying on me?” You whispered it, only wanting this to be a moment between the two of you. 

“It’s possible.” He cheesed even harder as he looked back up into your gaze again. 

With a shake of your head, you looked away so you could roll your eyes before nestling in closer to him. Your side was falling against his chest, but your head found its comfortable position rested on his shoulder as you sunk down a bit more. “You told them to play this?” 

“I did.” He said it so matter of fact while looking over at the guitar players, his hands coming around you tighter as he held you as close to him as possible. “I came in to grab somethin’ for Lilly. Called out to you and everythin’.” His shoulders moved your face up and down as he shrugged. “Just as I was about to leave I heard this song start, and some pretty little voice joinin’ along with it.” You felt yourself get a little warm as he said it, a mix of fluster and a little embarrassment. “Got me thinkin’ about when we first started hangin’ out.” 

“S’why I listen to it. It reminds me of you.” You knew Tyler felt a little warm in the cheeks too. 

Both of you closed your eyes and just let the music consume you. His head relaxing slightly on yours as you both slightly moved to the beat. You felt his lips against your temple a couple times as the song went on. Each one saying how much you meant to him. 

As the song began to wind down, Tyler hummed. “We should do some of the old stuff we used to do again.” 

You let out a slight snort, one that made Tyler laugh as well as he waited for some explanation. “Tornado wranglers by day and country line dancers by night?” 

“Was talkin’ more about the truck bed camping and late night drives.” While both of you had done the line dancing thing, it by far wasn’t your favorite event. Thinking about it, you both might have gotten more injured there than you did chasing tornadoes. 

“We could do that.” Agreeing, you still kept your eyes closed shut, enjoying the last bits of the song, reimagining the old memories you shared while now thinking of how you could make them new. “Would be a nice change of pace.” 

“I could join you next time in the shower, too. If you’re just looking for a change of pace.” His eyebrows raised as he opened his one eye to peek over at you for your reaction. 

“Could work.” A smirk played at your lips in response. It was then that you realized the song was starting over and you opened your eyes to look at Tyler as your brows grew closer together. “How many times did you ask them to play it?” You were sitting up now, trying to figure out what Tyler was up to.

His arms were still wrapped around your body despite you moving up. “Told ‘em to play until you danced with me.” 

With a similar eye roll as before, you stood up now, your hands filling the space where his just were on your hips in a slight show of attitude. Those damn blue green eyes were looking up at you with the most tender and sweet look attached to them. One that you couldn’t bear to let down so you extended your hand out for him to take it. “Let’s go, Owens.” 

His hand gripped around yours in seconds and when he stood up, he raised his arm with yours to twirl you around until you spun against his chest. Your free hand raising up to brace for impact on his pecks. “We gotta work on your balance if we’re gonna be going line dancing.” He teased you before starting to walk with you practically connected to his chest to a more open area of the lot. After a couple steps, he was turning his body away from you to lead you through the crowd, his hand still connected with yours as you trailed behind him. Once the more open area was in your midst, he turned towards you and you wrapped your arm over his own so your hand was resting on his shoulder but you were leaning more into him than a more traditional slow dance hand placement. Your other hand still hadn’t let go of his own even as the swaying began, but you did feel his other arm caress your lower back to the beat, not only in a romantic way but one that kept you both moving on rhythm. This wasn’t where you expected your night going, but you were damn enjoying it, that was for sure. 

“I know this is hard on you.” His words weren’t the ones you were expecting, so as your fingers moved from his shoulders to get tangled in his blonde hair, you frowned despite knowing exactly what he was saying and looked down to make a joke out of it.

“Pretty sure I haven’t stepped on your foot once yet.” 

“No,” he laughed before getting serious again, “I just meant, I know the chase, it can wear you down.” 

You nodded in agreement but shrugged up at him, your fingers moving from his hair to lightly trace his cheek. “Stuff like this makes it easier.” 

He dipped his head in acknowledgment of your words before letting the music take over for a bit, but you weren’t going to leave it there. You wanted him to really understand that you meant what you said. 

“You know you still keep me on my toes, Owens.” You spoke to him, still shocked by how the night had progressed. 

“Good, because I don’t need you stepping on mine.” He looked down when you accidentally misstepped causing both of you to come closer together in laughs. He drew you closer, the embrace was one that spoke so much with such a small gesture. It was reassurance, the feeling of never wanting to let you go or let go of the memories you two shared over the years either. 

And that’s when you rested your head on him, now with your bodies completely against each other, your arms wrapped around his neck, realizing this moment would be added to that list. To seal its impression you lifted your head to look up at Tyler, your eyes moving from his to his lips and then brought your interlocked fingers to the nape of his neck to bring his face closer to yours. The soft, intimate kiss was your souvenir from this moment, your way of embedding this memory right along with your other cherished ones.

Dividers by @realitycanbewhateveridesire ♥️ 🌪️ Twisters Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @cinderellasmissingshoes (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

[heavenlybodies333]

Call me and I’ll come - S.S.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x you

You should have known better by now.

Should’ve known that getting your feelings hurt was just part of the deal when it came to Sebastian Sallow.

Because he never promised you anything, did he? He never said he was yours, never whispered I love you when his hands were all over you, hot against your skin, when he fucked you like he actually meant it.

Sebastian Sallow was not a good person.

That was fine, though, because neither were you.

Whatever this was between you—this thing—that was built on the kind of pleasure that left bruises and bite marks and bad decisions. It was never meant to be sweet. Never meant to be kind.

And yet, there he was. Playing at chivalry, walking Poppy Sweeting back to her dorm like she was something to be protected. Like she hadn’t spent the past seven years getting under your skin, all sunshine smiles and Holier Than Thou bullshit.

You weren’t sure why you even followed them. Maybe it was the way Poppy's laugh rang through the corridor, soft and sweet, like she wasn’t the most insufferable person on the planet. Maybe it was the way Sebastian looked at her—really looked at her—as if she were saying something worth listening to. The thought made your stomach churn. You had him first. Had him beneath you, above you, inside you. You should’ve been the only thing occupying that wicked little mind of his.

But no. He was escorting her back to her fucking Hufflepuff common room like some noble gentleman. Heart-of-gold-ass-bitch. God, you hated her.

So you had a little fun.

Just a little.

Legilimency was easy when your target was oblivious. You slipped into her mind without so much as a whisper, poking at her thoughts, nudging her attention away from whatever painfully dull story she was telling him. Watching her stumble through sentences, lose her train of thought, look almost dizzy with confusion. Sebastian’s brows furrowed as she trailed off mid-sentence, blinking rapidly.

“You alright?” he asked, concern evident in his tone. That made your teeth grind. So concerned for little Miss Perfect.

Poppy nodded quickly, but she was uneasy now. You could feel her nerves, the confusion settling deep. You kept at it—poking, prying, twisting little intrusive thoughts through the cracks of her consciousness.

Poppy winced, pressing a hand to her temple. “I… I don’t know. I just feel a little—”

You rolled your eyes. Pathetic. You got bored of that real quick. Whispering under your breath you sent a nauseating little hex and she was doubled over, face paling, gagging.

Sebastian stepped back, startled. “Poppy?”

“Uh, I think—I think I need to go lie down,” she groaned, turning away hastily.

You strolled up behind Sebastian just as Poppy stumbled off, pouting mockingly. "Aw, hope she feels better."

You barely kept the smirk off your face as Poppy disappeared into her common room, her face pale as she clutched her stomach. Whatever. She’d be fine. Maybe next time, she’d learn not to bat her pretty little lashes at your Sebastian.

Not that he was yours.

Sebastian turned to you the moment she disappeared, a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. His lips twitched in amusement, but his eyes were anything but.

"Yeah, okay, princess, we’re really gonna pretend?"

You folded your arms, feigning innocence. "Not sure what you mean, Sallow."

"Cut the shit," he scoffed, stepping closer, the scent of fresh pine, something unmistakably him filling the space between you. "The second she started looking like she might kneel over, I knew you were up to something. And then—what? you just coincidentally show up the moment she leaves? Please."

You rolled your eyes. "Please," you mimicked, voice dripping with mockery. "What, am I not allowed to take a little evening stroll?"

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Right. Because you, of all people, just love late-night walks around the Hufflepuff dorms. Admit it, you’re jealous."

That word. Jealous. You bristled at it, anger flashing hot through your veins.

"Of what, exactly?" You sneered. "Little Miss I-Save-Orphaned-Dragons? Please. You think I’m worried about you wasting your time with a boring little goody-two-shoes like her?"

His jaw tensed, and fuck, you loved getting under his skin.

"You’re so full of shit," he muttered, voice dropping an octave. "What was it? You didn’t like seeing me with her? Didn’t like the thought of me walking her back? Maybe—" he took another step closer, and you refused to move back, even as your breath caught in your throat— "maybe you didn’t like knowing she actually enjoys my company without having to spread her legs first."

The words hit like a slap. You felt them crack through your ribs, shatter through your lungs. But you weren’t about to let him see it.

"Wow," you let out a sharp laugh, masking the ache blooming in your chest. "That’s rich, coming from the guy who can’t seem to keep his hands off me."

Sebastian tilted his head, brown eyes dark and unreadable. "Yeah?" he mused, his tone almost taunting. "Maybe I should try. Since it’s not like you’re anything special."

You sucked in a sharp breath.

"Fuck you," you spat.

Sebastian smirked, slow and lazy, his words venomous. "You already did. And if I recall, you come crawling back every single time."

Your vision blurred red. Your nails dug into your palms, the sting barely grounding you. You wanted to hex him. Wanted to make him hurt the way his words made your chest feel like it was caving in.

But instead, you took a step back.

"Go fuck yourself, Sallow."

And then you turned on your heel walking away, fists clenched, heart pounding, body burning with fury and something you weren’t ready to name. Jealousy.

Behind you, Sebastian let out a sharp exhale.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, voice laced with something that almost sounded like regret.

You were drunk when you called him.

Drunk and pissed off and reckless.

You’d heard about it from Imelda—how Sebastian had actually taken Poppy on a date, how he’d sat with her at The Three Broomsticks, bought her a drink, showed her a good time. How they sat together at dinner.

You refused to look at him for the rest of the day. You ignored him in class, in the halls, in the library. You ignored him even when he tried to get your attention, knocking his knee against yours under the desk, whispering your name when the professor wasn’t looking. You ignored him all the way up until tonight.

Right up until the moment you floo-called him from your room.

The moment he picked up, his voice came through the flames, exasperated but familiar. “What do you want?”

“Come over.” You softly demanded.

He sighed. “I’m busy.”

You leaned in, let your voice drop lower, silkier. “Didn’t ask if you were busy, Sallow. I said come over.”

A pause. He wasn’t even pretending to think about it—the sound of him moving, the clink of his belt as he got dressed . “Give me ten.”

You grinned.

Of course he’d come. He always did.

It didn’t matter how much he flirted with Poppy, how much he tried to pretend there was something there. It didn’t matter if she was sweet and kind and everything you weren’t.

Because at the end of the day, when you called—he answered.

Always.

Not even a minute later, there he was, disheveled, eyes swirling with something that looked like relief. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie loosened like he had rushed here.

You smirked. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re such a fucking piece of work, you know that?”

You didn't bother responding as his dark eyes bore into yours. Tilting your head slightly, biting your lip before yanking him inside, fingers wrapped around this tie as the door slammed shut behind him.

Yeah. Poppy Sweeting didn't stand a fucking chance.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: raw, next question.

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[blondejellykitty]

₊♡ ˚⊹ intruders in the cabin ₊♡ ˚⊹

୨୧ toby rogers x reader ୨୧ after your long walk through the forest, the stranger's cabin approaches but so does the dark... find part one: strangers in the woods. a/n: (1.5k words) sorry this took so long! i had so many different ideas of how this would go but i ended up liking this one best 🩷

After the long trek from within the forest, the encompassing trees merged into the dark distance. Ahead of you and Toby, who you came to know lived out here for his job, was a two story cabin. It wasn't overly large but you could tell it wouldn't be cramped inside.

You both were coming out of the forest from the right side of the house. At the front of the house was a small porch area with an old weathered metal stool. There were two dirt tracks from a vehicle winding into the forest. Toby offhandedly pointed to it as he walked up the porch stairs mentioning that that's the only way to get to an exit road.

He pulled out a silver key that was beginning to rust out of his jean pocket. His hand twitched a few times as if he had a bad hand cramp before roughly shoving the key into the lock.

Said wooden door was roughly shoved open hitting the wall behind it with a thud. The roof lights took a few seconds to come on after he flicked the light switch but he seemed to know where to go without them anyway. You hesitantly follow him into the old house.

It's not as if you had any other choice really. How else would you find your way out to the woods in the dark?

The interior was just as aged as the rest of the place. There were two brown couches one opposite the tv mounted on the wall above the fireplace, the other was on the right of the tv closing the living room off from the kitchen. There was a coffee table in between the two couches that had seen better days.

The kitchen table didn't look much better, there were four chairs although one had a bent leg and was sitting on an angle. So was one of the wooden cabinets barely hanging onto its hinges.

What else would you expect from a park ranger? Though it was a bit odd for someone your age to be doing this kind of job but then again the job market was rough so you gave the guy some slack.

He led you to couches where you sat on the nearest seat. Although it didn't look like it, the couch was more comfy than it looked. You almost melted back as you took in the rest of the room's details.

Most of the pictures and wall decor had a layer of dust on it, with thick cobwebs in the corners of the tall ceiling. There were worn marks from frequent use on the stairs opposite the front door, leading to the second floor of the cabin.

The creak of the fridge door opening startled you from your observations. Toby's head was peering into the fridge. "What'd you want? We've got gross pulp juice or flat cola?"

Not particularly your favourite choices in the world.

"Oh, there's some redbull cans- never mind their Bri- uh. My roommates." You were practically telepathic thanks to your customer service job but you could only just make out what he was mumbling about.

"I'll just have the juice, thank you" He hummed in agreement as he pulled out two glasses and poured you both a glass of the bulb orange juice.

He went around the other couch sitting down and leaning over to place your drink on the rackety table.

As he drank his eyes never left you, as if trying to soul search you. Under such intensive eyes you picked at the ends of your shirt, an odd habit you picked up during your time at school.

"So, do you live here alone?" Another habit of yours rose to the surface, filling the awkward silence. A habit you picked up at work.

"No, i have roommates"

He literally just mentioned it. Ugh you idiot, honestly.

"Right, you did mention that. Sorry" You quickly reached forward to grab your cup, raising it quickly to your mouth.

He laughed a bit, more like chuckled at your misfortune before muttering 'it's fine'.

"So why're you walking the trail you know before you got lost?" He emphasised the lost part as if he knew you weren't really. You gulped uncomfortably.

"I wanted to clear my head, walk with nature- that kinda thing." He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Walk with nature? What the hell does that even mean" You scoffed.

Clearly this guy hadn't read many self care books.

"You know, like to get away from what's bothering you" He shrugged nonchalantly and placed his empty cup down.

"I usually try to get away from the forest with all my problems" You somewhat snorted, also placing your half drank cup down.

A surprisingly easy quiet washed over you both. You were finally able to fully take in the fidgeting man in front of you.

He really was quite attractive. His hair had the slightest curl to it and he had the nicest eyelashes. His jawline too was perfect for his face. Not to mention his build too, he clearly had a runner's body but slightly more muscles in his arms, he- he was smirking too. He definitely saw you check him out. Opps.

"Would you like to share?" His voice jolted you out of your embrassing trance, you only just managed to not let it show.

"Share what?" He stretched his arms a bit before leaning one on the back to the couch with the other one falling back next to his legs.

"Share your problems, why you were out 'with nature'" His voice held a soft yet joking tone.

"Oh uh, it was just my boss- ex boss now"

"Oh, yeah?" He sat up a bit, more interested in what you had to spill.

"Yeah, he was a bit of a dick. Fired me which majorly sucks" He let out a 'oof' sound as he blew out air in a sigh.

"Right-o that sucks, damn you're having a worse day than me" You tried not to laugh, a tight smile the result.

"Happened yesterday actually so between us, you're having a worse day so" You dramatically shrugged and he laughed along.

"Fair enough" His voice teasingly defeated.

After a bit more back and forth talking about anything under the sun for a good while. He got up grabbing both your cups and retreating to the kitchen once more, asking if you wanted a refill.

As you were about to answer, a light shone through the gaps in the curtains. Toby was frozen in place before quickly darting over to you.

He roughly grabbed your upper arm pulling you up and into him. You whimpered an 'ow' out before he forcefully pulled you away from the couch and towards the stairs.

"What the fuck, let go of me!" Your voice spiraled the more confused you got and the longer he gripped you tight.

He merely lowly grunted in response, almost pushing you up the stairs. He got you about half-way up when the door slammed open.

Two men around the same height walked in and stopped at the view of you two. The man who walked in first had dark hair, a tan jacket over a red checkered shirt. In his hand was a black and white mask.

The other man had lighter hair, an off-yellow hoodie and fingerless gloves. In his hand was a black ski mask looking hood.

They were covered in blood except their faces. The masks however were dripping in blood, most of it falling onto the wooden floor.

A scream rang through the dimly lit cabin. It wasn't until Toby's hand violently covered your both did you realize it was coming from you.

Your now muffled cries seemed to awaken the two new men out of their distraction.

"What the fuck Toby? We were gone what three- four hours and you bring a fucking stray here?" The man with the yellow hoodie angrily ran his hand through his messy hair while the other man shook his head in disbelief before collapsing down onto the couch.

"She got lost, besides she's pretty" His stuttering heightened the more the man glared at him.

"I don't care whether she Helen of fucking Troy Toby! You know the rules"

Your attempts to get free were futile, with Toby's arm wrapped around your middle and his hand covering your mouth. Your wriggling and jolting did nothing but push you into him again and again.

He grumbled under his breath before flipping you around to face him. He held both your wrists in one hand while his other wrapped around the back of your head.

You could feel the sting on your arms and neck from his harshness. Your wide eyes watering in fear and the cold air. Your jarpled words mixed together to form a barely cohert sentence. Thoughts too scattered to comprehend the situation.

Toby's eyes were blank but his bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

"Well, it seems like you are having a worse day than me huh?" You blinked in confusion.

You opened your mouth to respond when his hand shifted to your hair pulling at the roots. He pushed your head towards his shoulder. Then in a split second he smacked your head towards the hard, cold wall.

[unlistedly]

yan ! college friend(?)(✿◡‿◡)

You always enjoyed the campus library, where everyone minded their own business. Everything was quiet, with the occasional chair squeaking, and the keyboard sounds. Everyone always kept to themselves.

Or they used to.

"You're here early again," a voice broke the silence. You turned to see Li Wei, the friendly engineering student from your economics elective. His smile was sharp, wide and directed towards you. You internally sighed, giving him a small smile. It's not that you dislike him, but he gets.. weird sometimes.

He's a Chinese student, who started to pester you when he caught you staring at him in one of his volleyball matches. He was another one of those well off kids who didn't really have a big group of friends but hell - did he have people trying to invite him h ere and there.

"Just catching up on some reading," You replied curtly, hoping he’d take the hint, "Need anything?"

Instead, he settled into the chair across from you, setting his bag on the table with a thunk. "Mind if I join you? I have a test tomorrow. Studying with you helps me focus." He said, staring at your face - smiling a bit widely. He had a toothy grin, his canine fangs were much more visible than the average person.

Helps him focus? You blinked, resisting the urge to sigh and just reject him right there. His presence was… tolerable, you supposed.

Li Wei had been persistent since midterms, always offering to help with assignments, waiting for you outside class, and—most unsettling of all—showing up in places he had no reason to be, like your favorite coffee shop or the park where you went to clear your head.

You chalked it up to coincidence at first, maybe he was just another college student with the same interests - heck, same favorite places aswell?

But now…

His hand rested casually on the edge of your notebook, his fingers brushing the corner of your paper. You pulled it away instinctively, your pulse quickening. Haah.. you can't let your mind roam for one damn second near this guy.

"Ah? Sorry, did I startle you?" He leaned back to his seat, looking at you worriedly.

"N.. no," you muttered, packing your things. "I should go."

Li Wei’s smile faltered, just for a moment, before stretching wider. "Y/Nnn, " He said a bit louder, making some heads turn, "I just got here though." He said, reaching out for you across the table.

"I work better alone." You quickly shot back, taking a step back while looking around at the people staring. You stood up, facing him with a small smile as you threw your bag over your shoulder, but as you turned, his voice stopped you.

"It wont be bad promise! I'll stay quiet, I won't disturb you! I-i'll buy you some coffee! Anything you want. Desserts, or - or- just, anything."

You paused, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. His voice carried an edge of desperation that made your skin prickle. Slowly, you turned back, meeting his dark, pleading eyes.

"Maybe another time?" you replied, trying to keep your tone even, polite. You didn’t want to make a scene, heck you were already hating the attention, if you could you would've told him months ago to stop bothering you but - he always feels … off.

Li Wei’s smile twitched, but it quickly came back as quick as it left, "Fine," he said, voice low. "If that’s what you want, Y/N. " He smiled, with his hands in his pockets.

It was what you wanted, but the way he said it made the air feel heavier, like the room had shifted around you. You forced a small nod and walked out, feeling his gaze follow you every step of the way. Quickly you scurried away, anywhere - just away from here.

You tried to shake off the lingering unease from earlier. Maybe Li Wei was just awkward.. Maybe he didn’t mean to come across as so intense. B.. but - It wasn’t your responsibility to fix that right? Like, it must be obvious at this point, you don't like him. Sure, he had a lethal face card and a "good" personality but you couldn't just shake off the thought of him being a bit odd.

Your dorm building came into view, and you let out a relieved breath. As you reached the door, you fished your keys from your pocket, only to freeze when you noticed something out of place—a small bouquet of F/C flowers, sitting on the doorstep.

You crouched, hesitating before picking it up. A card was tucked neatly inside the arrangement. It was an elegant-looking card, one you'd see in those cute romance movies.

"I’m sorry if I came on too strong. Please let me make it up to you. – Li Wei."

It was written in cursive, with small hearts around it. You stared at the flowers and picked them up. You've never seen this brand before.

Wa-a-a-ait. Your stomach churned. How did he know where you lived? Did he ask a friend? No, he's never seen them. Maybe he just had someone deliver these? Probably…. ?

You glanced around, suddenly hyperaware of every shadow stretching across the pavement, every darkened corner. No one was there, but the hair on the back of your neck stood on end. If it was someone else, maybe you would've considered it but no, this is Li Wei. He's an … creep oddball.

Just get inside.. and it'll be fine.

You hurried into the room, shutting the door firmly behind you. Not noticing him around the corner, staring as you entered your room.

He's glad the person he asked gave the correct room, it was a bit hard to hear their words when they were missing a few teeth. But what could he do? They didn't wanna answer him at first! Maybe he'll buy you some dessert tomorrow, cheesecake? Yea, that sounds good - maybe this time you won't run.

should i contnunuere

pt 2

[myloveobbsessed]

Ｙｏｕｒ Ｇｅｎｉｅ

•••

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Characters: Jafar x GN!reader

Notes: none

•••

You ride on your camel through the vast andy desert. Suddenly your eyes catches sight of something twinkling in the sand. Thinking it might be dropped money you stop your camel and get off. Trudging towards the glimmering object.

upon closer Inspection you realize it is not money. after staring atte object for a moment you pick it up. You examine the lamp wondering how much it'll go for sale. Seeing some sand still on it you rub it off.

You let out a startled gasp when something suddenly flys out of the lamp causing you to take a few steps back.

“Ah! Finally I'm out of that hell whole!”

You watch as Jafar comes out and stretches a bit. A weird-looking being and a bird emerge out of a lamp. After a moment he turns around to face you the two of your gazes meet as you both examine each other.

finally your lips part to speak “What are you?”. The genie’s brows furrow. “I am the most powerful Sorcerer in the universe!” you just stand there staring at him still confused.

“Okay ‘Mr.most powerful Sorcerer in the universe’ what are you doing in a lamp?” Jafar growls lowly moving closer to you. “You will wish me free from these shackles so I can reign supreme”

You give a slight tilt with your head in question. “Wait…so…your like a wish granter?…wait a genie?” a small smile spreads on your face as you begin to realize what he is. “Wow I thought those were myths..I guess not huh”

Jafar narrows his eyes at your lack of immediate obedience, clearly expecting a more terrified or awed reaction. Instead, you just continue examining him with curiosity, taking in his grand, imposing figure and the red glow of his eyes.

“A myth?” he scoffs. “Foolish mortal, I am no mere legend—I am Jafar, the greatest sorcerer to ever live! Now, make your first wish and rid me of these chains!”

You cross your arms, unconvinced. “Mmm… tempting. But if you’re so powerful, how’d you end up in that lamp in the first place?”

Jafar’s jaw clenches. The bird who you assume is his familiar or companion lets out a loud squawk. “Bad life choices,” it mutters under its breath.

Jafar shoots the bird a glare before turning his attention back to you. “Irrelevant! What matters now is that you have the power to set me free. So, mortal, what will it be?”

You rub your chin thoughtfully. “Let’s say I don’t wish you free right away. What happens then?”

Jafar narrows his eyes. “Then you get three wishes, and I remain shackled to this lamp.”

“Hmm… three wishes does sound nice.” You grin. “How about a test run?”

Jafar glares, his frustration evident, but he begrudgingly folds his arms. “Very well, mortal. What is your first wish?”

You tap your fingers against your arm, pretending to think hard. “How about… something simple. I wish for a nice, cold drink.”

Jafar stares at you in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“What? It’s hot out here.” You gesture at the vast desert around you.

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Jafar waves his hand, and poof! a golden goblet filled with chilled, shimmering liquid appears in your grasp. You take a sip, your eyes widening. “Oh wow, that’s actually really good.”

Jafar looks insulted. “Of course it is. I am Jafar. Now, enough games! Make your final wish and set me free!”

You smirk over the rim of your goblet. “Hmm… nah. I think I’ll hold onto my last two wishes for now. Y’know, really think about them.”

Jafar lets out a long, exasperated groan. “You insolent—”

“Hey now, is that any way to talk to your new master?” You flash him a teasing grin, twirling the lamp in your free hand.

Jafar’s eye twitches, his fists clenching. The bird beside him snickers. “Ohhh, I like this one.”

•••

[spr1ngbunnypvrin]

🐾 Demihuman Cat!William Afton Headcanons 🐾 (I'm not so normal about this idk why)

If William Afton were a demihuman with cat ears and a tail, I imagine his personality would have a mix of his usual sharp wit and a more feline nature.

Touch-Averse but Secretly Craves It: He acts like he doesn’t want anyone touching his ears or tail, but if someone he trusts scratches behind his ears, his body betrays him—his tail flicks, his ears twitch, and he might even let out a low, involuntary purr before realizing it and snapping, “Don’t you dare tell a soul.”

Unpredictable Affection: One moment, he’s distant, giving you a look like, "Don't touch me, peasant." The next, he’s curling up next to you, arms crossed, muttering, “You’re warm. Don’t move.” And if you do move? He glares like you’ve committed a crime.

Sharp Reflexes & Silent Steps: He moves way too quietly, and it’s unnerving. You turn around, and he’s just there. He doesn’t mean to sneak up on people (or maybe he does, for fun), but his cat-like agility makes it easy.

Tail as an Emotional Indicator: No matter how well he controls his expressions, his tail always gives him away. Flicking? Annoyed. Slowly swaying? Amused or scheming. Wrapping around someone’s arm? He’s comfortable but pretending he’s not.

Dramatic Reactions: If you step on his tail by accident, prepare for the most exaggerated reaction. He’ll yelp, glare at you like you’ve committed an unforgivable sin, and act like he’s dying—until you apologize and give him attention.

Instinctive Need to Knock Things Over: He won’t admit it, but if something is precariously placed on a table’s edge, he’s tempted. Sometimes, when he’s alone, he’ll just… slowly push something off a surface. Just to see it fall.

Hisses When Startled: It’s rare, but if something truly catches him off guard, he’ll hiss before he can stop himself. If you tease him about it, he’ll get flustered and definitely try to gaslight you into thinking it never happened.

Super Soft Fur: His ears and tail are ridiculously soft. If you manage to touch them (and survive), you’ll realize they feel like the finest velvet. He hates admitting it, but grooming them is a guilty pleasure.

Imagine—when he smirks, you catch a glimpse of slightly sharper-than-human canines, adding to his already mischievous and unpredictable charm.

Fangs & Smirks: He doesn’t always show them, but when he grins in that smug, knowing way, the little flash of fangs makes him look even more teasing—like a cat that just knocked something over and is proud of it.

Biting Habit: He has a bad habit of lightly biting things when he’s deep in thought—like the tip of his glove, a pen, or even (if you’re close enough) your sleeve. It’s never aggressive, just an unconscious feline quirk. If you point it out, he’ll stop immediately and give you a very defensive look.

Playful but Dangerous? If he gets really comfortable with someone, he might teasingly act like he’ll nip their fingers when they try to touch his ears or tail—just enough for a light, harmless scrape of fangs. But if you’re someone he doesn’t trust? He’ll bare his teeth in a silent "Back off."

Heat Sensitivity: His ears are weirdly sensitive to temperature changes. If it’s cold, they get chilly fast, and if it’s hot, he gets extra grumpy. He might even press his ears against your palm absentmindedly, only to realize what he’s doing and immediately act like it never happened.

[ohmyamor]

6:47pm

You stare with your mouth open wide at the small device clutched in your hands. 

Fingers twitching, you bring the lit-up screen concerningly close to your face, squinting your eyes at the picture at on your phone. 

“Is his hair...purple?” you whisper out loud. 

Not that there was anyone else in the room with you, but still. You weren’t sure if you could believe your eyes.

The sudden ringing sound signaling you were receiving an incoming call startled you out of your trance. Taking a glance at the caller id, you can’t help but snort. 

Speak of the fucking devil. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi sweetheart,” Jongho’s voice rang out through your speaker. 

“You don’t deserve to call me that.” 

You listened as Jongho sputtered, letting out an incomprehensible string of words. 

“Huh?”

“You don’t deserve to call me ‘sweetheart’ after what you did,” you repeated. 

“I’m sorry, did I do something to upset you? Or bother you? I know I haven’t been able to stop by, but you know how it gets when promotions start. I promise you baby, as soon as I get the chance I’ll rush over to your place and we can spend as much time as you want together. I’ll event take you to that cafe you’ve been wanting to try,” Jongho rambles through the line.

A small smile worms its way onto your face. You almost start to feel a little bad about scaring him like that, but another glance at the picture on your phone has you feeling betrayed all over again. 

“Honey? Are you there?” 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were going to dye your hair purple,” you pout. 

“I-what?”

“And I had to find out through pictures of your stage today. Seriously, I can’t believe you would do this to me jjong.” 

A laugh of disbelief rings through your speaker. 

“Is that what this is about? You’re pouty because I didn’t show you my hair color?” 

As soon as he finishes speaking, Jongho begins to let out loud laughs that echo throughout your room. 

“Don’t laugh at me! This is serious!” you argue. “I thought I was the love of your life! But you didn’t even tell me you were finally going purple. And when did you even get a chance to do that? We literally video chatted last night and you were at the dorms with the guys.” 

More laughs come from Jongho’s end. 

“I wanted it to be a surprise, especially because I know how much you’ve wanted me to do a fun color with my hair. And for your information, I had to wake up super early today to get it done.” 

You sigh and click your tongue. 

“Just because you look hot with purple hair doesn’t mean you’re off the hook Choi.” 

Jongho hums. 

“I’m willing to deal with the consequences.” He’s quiet for a moment before speaking again. “So, you think I look hot?”

A smile makes it’s way onto your face and you can’t help but roll your eyes. 

“You’re always hot, but something about the purple...,” you trail off. “Very nice.” 

Jongho lets out a small giggle and you can’t stop the fuzzy feeling that blossoms in your chest hearing him laugh. 

“Well I’m glad you approve. And I can’t wait to show it to you in person. I miss you baby,” Jongho’s voice becomes softer towards the end of his sentence. 

“I miss you too, but you and the guys are doing absolutely amazing this comeback. Seriously, you guys always do freaking amazing, but this comeback you guys are really glowing, so continue to go out there and make me and atiny’s proud,” you cheer him on. 

Although you can’t see him, you know Jongho well enough to imagine the smile that most likely sits on his face from your words. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” 

Distantly, you can hear what sounds like Hongjoong’s voice calling for the boys. 

“I have to go now, but I promise to text you when I get back to the dorms. I love you,” Jongho says. 

“I love you too, jjong. Get some rest.” 

After hanging up the phone, you spend a few more minutes scrolling through Twitter and saving some of your favorite pictures of Jongho. You’re about to get up and begin getting changed when an idea strikes you. 

You send one last text to your boyfriend before going to the bathroom. 

Should I dye my hair purple too? We can match ;)

When you come back, Jongho’s reply makes you laugh. 

Don’t mess with my heart like that baby. 

But if you do, please give me a warning. 

                                         ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

RIBOS HOW ARE WE DOING???

bc im not okay lol I woke up to those pictures and immediately spammed my friends. 

i think he’s genuinely trying to kill me but its okay 

[anywaymuahahahaha]

Manager For A Day ! Chapter 2: Welcome Your New Manager

☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄☆⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄☆

With the gates open, and Manager Kirby in charge, Merry Magoland was officially open for business! Kirby quickly zipped through the crowds of the park, gripping Magolor’s beloved managers hat tightly. Kirby had been here many times before as a guest, running from one attraction to the next without a care in the universe. But now, being here as Manager Kirby…everything felt different. '

“Manager Kirby!”

Assistant Waddle Dee trudged over; a clipboard clutched tightly to his chest with an especially exasperated look on his face. 

“There you are! Do you have any idea how much work there is to do?”

“Work?...Right, work! What’s first on the agenda, Assistant Waddle Dee?!” Kirby beamed.

Assistant Waddle Dee let out a long, peeved sigh, before shaking his head. He adjusted his grip on the clipboard he held tightly, angling it away from Kirby’s curious gaze. 

“Typically, after the gates open, the first thing Manager Magolor will do is entertain the guests who are waiting in long lines.” 

“Entertain?… What does he do?” 

“He usually juggles or does magic tricks but if he’s in a really good mood he’ll tell some of his famous jokes.” 

“Wow, Magolor can do all THAT?!” Kirby exclaimed.

Assistant Waddle Dee huffed, clutching his clipboard a little tighter.

Hmph. You come here so much, yet you can’t remember Manager Magolor’s talents? Unbelievable.

“I can tell jokes, too! Watch me!”

Kirby scanned the park, eyes darting from one group of guests to another. Then he spotted the perfect audience! A small group of waddle dees looking especially antsy as they waited outside the Checkerboard Chase ride. With a determined grin, he took off, ready to wow them with his comedy skills. Assistant Waddle Dee rolled his eyes, eager to see what would happen next.

“Maybe after this, we can stop by the café!” one of them said, pulling out a small camera and snapping a picture of some flowers.

“Look at the balloons over there!” their friend pointed excitedly toward a colorful balloon cart.

“Wow, look at those colors! I have to get a picture!”

Waddle Dee lifted the camera to his eye, lining up the perfect shot, only to be met with a face full of pink.

“HI!!” Kirby shouted.

“AH!” Waddle Dee yelped, startled so badly that the camera slipped from his hands, then hit the ground with a heartbreaking crack!

“Noooo, my camera!” he cried, scrambling to pick up the shattered pieces.

“Kirby! What’d you do that for?!” 

“Ah! I’m sooooo sorry!” Kirby shrieked, bouncing back a step. “I, uh…”

The flabbergasted Waddle Dee shot him a bewildered glare as they crouched over the remains of their broken camera. Bits and pieces lay scattered on the ground, and no matter how carefully they tried to reassemble it, the damage was done.

Kirby winced a bit. 

“Oooooh… that’s too bad about your camera…” He awkwardly knelt beside them, hands fidgeting. Silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Then, in a desperate attempt to smooth things over, Kirby forced a grin.

“Hey! Wanna hear a joke?”

Waddle Dee’s eye twitched. ”…Excuse me?”

“It’s really funny!” Kirby blurted, rocking back and forth on his heels.

The Waddle Dees exchanged uncertain glances. One of them muttered, “Is he serious?”

Kirby cleared his throat. “What’s the most dangerous dessert?”

The Waddle Dees just stared. Kirby spread his arms wide, beaming.

”…Whipped cream!”

Silence. An unbearably heavy silence.

Kirby’s grin weakened. “Hehe… get it? Whipped cream?” He let out a nervous chuckle, glancing around, hoping for even just a pity laugh. Instead, he was met with the deadpan stares of two very unhappy customers. One Waddle Dee sighed. Another picked up the shattered camera lens muttering “I told you we should have to gone to Wondaria.”

Kirby gulped. And then…

“Hey! Watch this!”

Before anyone could react, he scooped up the broken camera pieces.

“Wha- hey! What are you doing!?!” Waddle Dee cried, scrambling toward him.

The other Waddle Dee stiffened, eyes darting between each other in horror. Kirby, meanwhile, clutched the fragments with a nervous grin.

“It’s okay! I’m the manager!” he blurted out.

Then (in what could only be described as a terrible decision) he tried to juggle them. It went as well as one would expect. Two seconds in, he tripped over his own feet. His grip slipped. A rogue piece of the camera went flying…

SMACK!

…Right into poor Waddle Dee’s face.

Kirby slowly lowered his arms. ”…Oops.”

“Kirby, what in the world is wrong with you?!” Waddle Dee cried, throwing their hands up in frustration.

Nearby, a few park guests had started to take notice. Some whispered to each other. Others just…stared.

Kirby’s hands twitched at his sides as he heard it. A hushed voice, barely more than a whisper:

“This guy’s the manager?”

Another Waddle Dee responded just as quietly, but the words still reached Kirby’s ears.

“I thought Magolor was the manager!”

Kirby’s stomach twisted into knots. He could feel all the eyes on him.

“I…I am the manager!” he blurted out, voice cracking slightly.

“That would be Interim Manager, actually.”

Assistant Waddle Dee approached, clipboard in hand, already looking like he’s had a long day.

Assistant Waddle adjusted his clipboard, cleared his throat, and addressed the group with a tone dripping in professionalism.

“On behalf of Merry Magoland I sincerely apologize for this… unprecedented display of incompetence you have just witnessed.” He shot a pointed glance at Kirby, who shrank slightly under the weight of his stare.

“Please rest assured that this is not a reflection of our usual standards. Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond our control and a baffling lapse in judgment, Kirby here has been appointed as Interim Manager for the day. As you can see, this decision has led to catastrophic results.”

He sighed, smoothing out his smock and adjusting his cap. “I assure you that corrective action will be taken immediately, and we will do everything in our power to ensure that this kind of recklessness never occurs again under this establishment’s name.”

Assistant Waddle Dee turned back to Kirby, his voice still calm but his expression anything but. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a very serious conversation with Interim Manager Kirby about proper workplace conduct.”

Kirby gulped.

“In the meantime, you can visit our guest services desk, and we’ll gladly reimburse you for your camera. Again, my sincerest apologies. Please enjoy the rest of your time at Merry Magoland!” He waved the guests off with a friendly smile. Probably the first time Kirby has even seen him smile. Then he turned around and his smile completely vanished. He locked eyes with Kirby as he stomped over.

“Kirby!” he snapped. “This is not proper managerial protocol.”

Kirby shrank under Assistant Waddle Dee’s intense gaze. “I… I thought the guests would like it,” he mumbled, slouching slightly under the weight of his small words.

He then let out a long, frustrated exhale and ran a hand down his face. “Well, they didn’t. And now, were financially liable for damaging their property…which is going to come out of my paycheck….”

Kirby stared at the ground, fidgeting his little stubby hands. “I…I just wanted to help…”

Assistant Waddle Dee pulled out his clipboard, flipping through some papers before tapping his pen against it. His tone remained terse, though there was no disguising the edge of impatience bubbling just beneath it. He glanced at his watch, then shook his head with irritation.

“Kirby, look. You clearly gave it your all, but let’s face it. This isn’t going to work out.” His voice was sharp, his gaze sharper. Kirby’s infinite stomach somehow found a way to sink.

“Being a manager is a lot of work. Maybe someday you’ll be able to handle these responsibilities. But…” He paused and took a few steps ahead of Kirby, looking back at him with discontent. “Not today.”

Kirby’s gaze fell to the floor as a teary-eyed frown took over. Assistant Waddle Dee’s words rang like a loud, angry bell in his mind.

“I have no choice but to retrieve Magolor from his office.” He continued as he sauntered away.

Kirby snapped up and nearly warped to Assistant Waddle Dee’s side.

“NO!” He yelped, his voice nearly squeaking like a toy.

“No?” Assistant Waddle Dee turned back slightly.

“I-I mean…There’s no need to get Magolor! I can do it! Sure, I had a little slip-up, but it won’t happen again! I promise I take this manager’s stuff very seriously!” Kirby hollered, flailing his arms around desperately.

Assistant Waddle Dee remained blase, his expression unfaltering as he watched Kirby, arms crossed, and clipboard clutched tightly.

“Please,” Kirby pleaded, his voice trembling withresolve. “Magolor trusted me! He appointed me as manager! I can’t let him down!”

Assistant Waddle Dee’s grip on his clipboard tightened slightly.

For a moment, his expression remained.

Magolor trusted Kirby.

Kirby.

But not him.

The thought crept up before Assistant Waddle Dee could stop it, hitting him in the face like an apple off Whispy Woods. He had been here working tirelessly, making sure the park always ran smoothly. He knew the park like the back of his little orange hand.

And Magolor still chose Kirby.

This shouldn’t have bothered him. He knew Magolor had a history of making …questionable decisions. There was probably no thought put to this at all, and Kirby simply got lucky being the only around at the time. Maybe it wasn’t that deep. But…hearing Kirby talk about Magolor’s trust like it was some kind of sacred gift…made it sting a bit more than Assistant Waddle Dee was willing to admit.

With a sharp sigh, he slightly loosened his tense grip on his clipboard and brushed off the intrusive thoughts.

“Fine. But be aware if this happens again, I’ll have no choice but to inform Manager Magolor.”

Kirby tensed at his words but offered a small, confident nod to Assistant Waddle Dee.

“I won’t let you- or Magolor down! You can count on me!” He quipped.

With a small huff, Assistant Waddle Dee flipped through some papers on his clipboard before tapping his pencil against it. His head remained low, but his eyes stayed focused on Kirby.

“Nevertheless, we have now wasted a significant amount of time, and you’re about to be late for the morning Stamp Rally. I strongly advise we leave at once before any more delays occur.”

“THE STAMP RALLY?! OH, BOY!” Kirby took off running like his life depended on it.

Assistant Waddle Dee adjusted his clipboard under his arm with a sigh. “Unbelievable.”

Wow, this manager’s business is tough! How does Magolor do this everyday? Kirby pondered.

As Kirby approached the gigantic, oversized manager's desk in the heart of the plaza, he started to feel a deep sense of dread when he saw just how many guests were awaiting their stamps. His excited skips slowly dulled to a slow saunter, his smile beginning to tremble. Assistant Waddle Dee close behind, loudly tapped on his clipboard once again. 

“I assume you know how the Stamp Rally works, Manager Kirby?” he asked, his tone rather pointed.

“Sure, I do!” Kirby chirped happily. “Magolor stamps my card and gives me a prize based on how well I did! It’s my favorite!”

Assistant Waddle Dee sighed. “Right. But you aren’t here as a guest… and Magolor’s not here.”

He took a small step forward.

“And you’re manager, remember?”

Kirby froze.

“Oh! Right… ha… I guess I forgot about that…” He let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his head.

Assistant Waddle Dee did not look amused. He sighed as he led Kirby to his post.

“It’s quite simple, really. As you know, when you win a game, you earn a medal based on your placement, bronze, silver, gold, or platinum. Bronze medals are worth the least amount of stamps, and platinum medals are worth the most. Makes sense?”

“Well, sure, but-”

Before Kirby could finish, Assistant Waddle Dee suddenly turned away, pressing his hand to his ear as if listening to something on his headset.

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Got it. I’ll be right there.”

He turned back to Kirby, smoothing out his smock with his hand.

“Kirby, an urgent matter has arisen that I need to attend to. You’ll have to handle the Stamp Rally on your own.”

Kirby’s eyes went wide. “Wait…alone?!”

“Just remember what I told you about the medals, and you’ll do just fine.”

“But I!? what if!? can’t you just-?!” Kirby stammered.

Assistant Waddle Dee was already stepping away, flipping up his clipboard as he walked. “Well, you are the manager! You can handle it.”

He shot Kirby a quick glance over his shoulder, expression unreadable, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Best of luck.”

And with that, he was gone.

Kirby stood frozen as the crowd of guests stared expectantly at him, waiting. His brain scrambled to remember what Assistant Waddle Dee had just explained to him.

Okay… okay… medals. Bronze… bronze is worth… less? Or more? No, wait, less. But how much less? And then silver is… more than bronze? Or is it less?

He squinted at the line of guests, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Gold is good. That one’s easy. But then there’s… the other one. The special one. What was it called again?

Platimum? No, that didn’t sound right.

Plantinum? Plasti—no, not plastic. Plaid? Platypus? Oh no, I already forgot! 

“ASSISTANT WADDLE DEEEE!” Kirby yelled, but alas, he was long gone. 

Kirby sighed, his stubby hands trembling. He gulped, standing frozen as the crowd of guests stared expectantly at him, waiting.

He had been in front of crowds before. He had saved Dream Land so many times. He had faced monsters, intergalactic threats, and reality-warping deities. And yet, nothing had prepared him for the terrifying sight of dozens of Waddle Dees silently watching him, holding up their stamp cards.

His brain scrambled. What was he supposed to say again? What had Waddle Dee told him? There wasn’t any more time to waste thinking it over. It was time to begin!

“Okay! H-here I go!” 

There were a lot of guests. A lot of them. His smile trembled just a little. This was no game booth. This was the real deal.

Alright, Kirby you can do this! With a confident nod, Kirby climbed onto the stool behind the front desk and planted himself at the center of the action. Before him stood a sea of Waddle Dees clutching their stamp cards and looking around anxiously. It didn’t take long for them to realize something was off.

Manager Magolor was nowhere in sight.

Heads tilted. A few Waddle Dees blinked in surprise as they spotted Kirby behind the counter.

Kirby picked up Magolor’s signature stamp and turned it over in his hands. He looked at the crowd, cleared his throat, and flashed a big, proud grin.

“Hi everyone! I’m Kirby!” he announced. “Um, Manager Magolor’s a little tied up at the moment, so I’ll be running the Stamp Rally today!”

There was a pause, then the crowd subtly shifted forward, some Waddle Dees practically trembling with excitement.  

“Okay! With that, let us begin!” He puffed out his chest, then glanced around. “…Who- uh… who’s first?”

For a second, no one moved. Waddle Dees exchanged glances. Then, in a sudden burst of energy, at least five of them lunged forward at once, stamp cards raised.

“Me! Me first!”

“No, me! I was here before you!”

“I won the most games; I should get to go first!”

Kirby panicked a bit as he watched the group tiff. 

“Please! One at a time!” Kirby said nervously. He locked eyes with one of the Waddle Dees and pointed the stamper towards him. 

“You! Come on up!” He said with a smile. 

“Ha!” The chosen Waddle Dee triumphantly smiled and stepped up, placing their card neatly on the counter. Kirby held up the stamper dramatically and….

“Uh.” He squinted at the stamp card. “What exactly do I…” he panicked as his eyes scanned the familiar card. 

“Right here!” Waddle Dee proudly pointed to his card with smug delight. 

“Oh, right! Okay! One stamp for yoooou!” With a confident nod Kirby raised the stamper high and then….

STAMP! 

Kirby flinched. He stood frozen, shoulders tensed, and eyes squeezed shut as if he were bracing himself for an explosion. He cracked one eye open. 

“Um…” a small voice said. Kirby looked down at the Waddle Dee, staring at him with perplexity. 

“Aren’t you gonna give me a prize?” 

Kirby blinked. He looked down. The stamp was perfectly placed on the card. Clean. Centered. No ink on the desk. No accidental stamping of faces. Perfect! 

He let out a tiny breath of relief.

“Oh! Uh, yes! One prize coming up!” He fumbled for the prize box behind the booth, knocking over a stack of cards before finally presenting the Waddle Dee with a little plush Maxim Tomato.

The Waddle Dee gasped with delight. “Thank you!!”

Kirby smiled. “You’re welcome!” He waved as the happy guest trotted away.

The next Waddle Dee was already pushing forward, card in hand.

They stepped forward with the confident swagger of someone who had done this plenty of times. He slapped his stamp card on the counter like he meant business.

Kirby leaned in and blinked. The card was absolutely packed!

“I got all platinum medals,” they said proudly. “That means I get the deluxe prize.”

“Wow! That’s a lot of medals! Congratulations!” Kirby adorned their card with a plethora of stamps. “Okay’ Let’s see what we’ve got…” Kirby flipped through the prize bin and proudly held up the same plush Maxim Tomato he gave the previous guest. “Here you go!”

The Waddle Dee looked at it, then back at Kirby, his smile faltering just a little. “Oh… I thought the deluxe prize was something…better…”

Kirby froze. “Wait!! hang on!” He quickly tossed the tomato back in then grabbed the next thing he could find; a shiny blue Merry Magoland brand water bottle. Kirby cleared his throat, put on his most confident face, and presented it with a dramatic flourish; chin up, eyes closed, grin wide…just like Magolor! 

“A deluxe prize! Just for you!” he said, doing his best Manager Magolor impression, complete with an exaggerated hand wave.

The Waddle Dee looked at the bottle, then up at Kirby with gentle eyes. “Oh… thank you, but I think the deluxe prize is something a bit better than this….”

Kirby’s grin twitched. “R-right! Of course! No problem!”

He dove back into the prize bin, digging past plush Maxim Tomatoes and shiny Energy Drink bottles, pawing deeper with increasing panic. Then his hand brushed something soft. Velvety.

He paused. His eyes widened just a little, a subtle sparkle flickering across them.

Carefully, like uncovering buried treasure, he pulled it out.

A collective gasp rippled through the line.

It was a…Manager Magolor plushie! -complete with his big top hat, an embroidered winking grin, and of course, his big sparkling bow tie. 

The Waddle Dee lit up. “Yes! That’s it! That’s the one!”

They nearly ripped the plushie out of Kirby’s hand as he handed it over. 

They cradled it with both arms and turned to the crowd, practically bouncing with joy.

“Thank you, thank you! I finally got one!” he called out as he ran off, grinning from ear to ear holding his new prize high in the air.

Somewhere in the line, another Waddle Dee muttered, “Lucky…”

Kirby watched the happy guest disappear into the crowd, then glanced down at the plush still in his hand. He shook himself back to attention, stamper at the ready.

“All right! Who’s next?”

Another eager Waddle Dee stepped up, handing over their stamp card with a big, hopeful grin.

Kirby gave it a quick look, stamped their card and smiled. “Great job! Here’s your prize!”

He handed Waddle Dee the standard maxim tomato prize. They took it and stared at it somberly for a moment. Kirby frowned.

“Is something wrong?” 

“Oh… I thought… maybe… I could get a Manager Magolor plushie…like they got…” they said softly.

Kirby blinked. “Oh… uh…Well…” he chuckled nervously as the wide-eyed Waddle Dee looked at him with yearning. “I…I would, but…you don’t have quite enough stamps for that one yet…my apologies,” he explained gently.

Disappointed, but understanding, Waddle Dee nodded but their expression crumbled. Their lip trembled. Their eyes began to water. 

“It’s just that…It’s so cute and…I’ve always wanted one…”

Kirby’s heart sank. He looked at the little tomato keychain in his hands, then at the poor Waddle Dee’s watery eyes. He knew the Manager Magolor plushie was a prize for platinum level stamp card holders only. Rules were rules.

But still…

Kirby peeked under the counter, hesitated, then ever-so-quickly pulled out another Manager Magolor plushie.

“Here… just this once,” he said softly, handing it over hastily, nearly shoving Waddle Dee off so no one would see. 

Waddle Dee’s eye’s widened with wonder as they held the coveted plush manager. The soft, stuffed toy was of impeccable quality. Hand-made by Magolor himself, each had a unique number, and his signature embroidered under the cape in gold thread. It was one of the hottest commodities in the park. You can’t buy them anywhere. Not even Kirby had one.

“Really?! I can have him?!” His tears of woe had turned to tears of joy.

Kirby nodded. “Yeah, go on, take it! Just consider it a gift from Manager Kirby!” He said with a charming wink.

The Waddle Dee squeaked with joy, hugged the plush tightly, then ran off cheering.

“THANK YOU, MANAGER KIRBY!!!” They shouted as they ran back over to their group.  

Kirby smiled to himself. It felt nice to make someone so happy. Magolor did this kind of stuff every day, it was no wonder he’s always in such a delightfully good mood.

“Phew. That was close!” Kirby sighed. 

Then he turned back to the line.

Every guest was staring at him.

Stamp cards held out. Eyes glittering. Arms reaching.

Kirby’s smile weakened. His balance felt unsteady. 

What have I done?!

As Kirby stared in horror at the mob standing before him, another guest stepped forward. They were incredibly small, so little they had to stand on their tippy toes just to peek over the counter. Their round face, hidden behind the Elfilin mask they were wearing (which was way too big), was slowly sliding down their face. They clutched their stamp card with both tiny arms and blinked up at Kirby with wide, sparkling eyes that shimmered like a fresh batch of gem apples.

They cleared their throat, their tiny voice coming out as soft as a whisper.

“Can I have one too… pretty please, Manager Kirby?”

Kirby hesitated. They didn’t have enough stamps. Not even close. He couldn’t just give out the plushies for free. That’s not how it works.

But...

Kirby glanced at the bin behind him. Then at the guest. Then back again.

Their mask had slipped halfway over one eye, and they were still peeking up at him with quiet, hopeful determination.

Slowly, reluctantly, Kirby reached into the bin and pulled out another Manager Magolor plushie.

He leaned over the counter and handed it to them, whispering, “Here… take it!”

They gasped, holding it as if it were the most prized thing they’d ever touched. With a muffled, high-pitched “Thank you!” they gave the plush a squeeze and scurried off, the mask bouncing as they went.

Kirby’s heart nearly melted into a puddle.

But unfortunately for Kirby, puddles didn’t last long in Merry Magoland.

“Manager Kirby!” “I want one too!” “Over here!” “Me next!”

The shouts came first. Then a sea of round feet and wiggling, stubby arms surged forward, swallowing the booth in a tide of chaos. Stamp cards waved like little flags. Some guests were already climbing onto their tiptoes, trying to get closer, faces glowing with anticipation. Kirby blinked as a dozen hopeful eyes sparkled back at him. Then two dozen.

Then more.

They were surrounding Kirby on all sides, each one clutching their stamp cards and silently begging with their whole being.

He gulped. “Here we go.”

The next guest walked up.

Stamp. Plush. “Thank you!” “Next!”

Stamp. Plush. “Thanks, Kirby!” “Next!” Stamp! Plush! “ALL RIGHT!”  “NEXT!!”

Stamp!!!! Plush!!!! “You’re the best, Manager Kirby!” “NEXT!!!!!” Stamp!!!!!! Plush!!!!!!!! “At long last!” “NEEEEEEXT!!!!” At this point, Kirby wasn’t even checking for stamps anymore. Manager Magolor plushies flew from his hands like missiles. It was a full-blown plushie giveaway extravaganza, and Kirby was the machine behind it.

Plush. Smile. Repeat. Plush. Smile. Repeat. Plush! Smile! Repeat! His brain was itchy. His cheeks ached from excessive smiling. His body felt like pudding. His arms moved faster than his mind could even keep up. Then, in the midst of the chaos….He suddenly saw…

…Himself!?

There stood a familiar round, pink, smiling face Eyes wide, arms ready, stamp card in hand.

Kirby froze. He rubbed his eyes and leaned closer in disbelief. 

“Is… is that… me?”

He stared, unblinking. 

Woah am I crazy?! What is happening?!?!

He looked at his own stubby arms. Then back at the identical puffball staring at him.

The other “Kirby” tilted its head ever so slightly. Kirby leaned in closer, eyes widening. 

And then, the round pink head tilted back, and a giggling Waddle Dee peeked out from behind a Kirby mask.

“Haha, fooled ya!” they giggled.

Kirby let out a small, startled yelp, flailing back a few inches before clutching his chest. “Ohhh! Right… the souvenir masks!” He blinked a few times, then burst into a relieved laugh. “I thought I was seeing double!”

The Waddle Dee kept giggling as Kirby handed over a plushie. “You really got me,” He admitted with a sheepish grin.

“Thank you, Manager Kirby!” With a beaming smile, the Waddle Dee skipped off into the plaza, their perfectly round Kirby mask covering their face.

The line kept moving. The plushies kept coming.

And Kirby? He kept going. His arms were aching, but he wasn’t about to stop now.

This was for Magolor!

If he was going to step up as manager, even just for a day, he was going to give it everything he had. Not far from the crowd, a familiar figure quietly weaved through the plaza.

Assistant Waddle Dee, dressed in his crisp, clean uniform and signature blue cap, walked past crowds of cheerful guests, his clipboard tucked close to his side. His pace was calm, but his eyes moved carefully, scanning the flood of identical plushies clutched in nearly every pair of hands.

He slowed to a stop beside one guest who was sitting under a tree with their plushie.

“Excuse me, where did you get that?” he asked, his voice cool and polite.

“Oh!” the guest beamed. “Manager Kirby is giving them away to everyone!”

Assistant Waddle Dee didn’t blink. “Everyone?...” He said.

“That’s right! I only had a bronze medal, but he gave me the deluxe prize anyway! Manager Kirby is the best!”

His gaze shifted, locking onto the booth across the plaza where Kirby was still hard at work. Another plush flew over the counter, followed by an enthusiastic cheer.

He stared.

Just for a moment.

Then he gave the Waddle Dee a friendly pat on the head.

“Thank you! Enjoy your time at Merry Magoland!”

Then, he turned and walked away, slipping between the trees near the edge of the plaza. His cap dipped low as he vanished into the shade, quiet as a breeze.

Nearly every guest now had a Manager Magolor plushie in their hands. Some were chatting excitedly, others were busy showing off their plushies to friends, and some were already posing for souvenir photos with them. The park was bursting with energy in every corner!

As much as Kirby wanted to celebrate how well things were going, he had a job to do, and he wasn’t about to let Magolor down. He puffed out his cheeks and grabbed the next plushie with determined focus. He was so focused that he barely noticed when the crowd began to thin out. Finally, only one guest remained.

Kirby reached for another plushie…But felt nothing.

The bin was empty. He had given out every single Manager Magolor plushie. They were all gone. Kirby gasped. 

“They’re all gone?! Oh, no…” Kirby sighed regretfully and turned to face the guest.

“I…I’m sorry. We’re out of plushies.” He muttered sadly. 

But Waddle Dee just smiled. In fact, he looked familiar! This was the original Waddle Dee who had started it all, still holding his beloved Manager Magolor plushie tightly with both arms.

“That’s okay, Manager Kirby!” he said gently. “I already got mine. I just came back to say thank you.”

Kirby blinked.

“You really made my day! Merry Magoland is my favorite place ever and today has been my favorite day ever! Thank you, Manager Kirby! I’ll never forget this!” 

Kirby mustered up a small grin with what little energy he had left.

“Th-Thank you! I’m always happy to help put a smile on your face!” He gleamed, channeling his inner Manager Magolor a bit. 

Waddle Dee gave a cheerful little wave and waddled off back into the plaza.

“Have a great day at Merry Magoland!” Kirby waved cheerfully as he watched him take off. The moment they were out of sight, an overwhelming sense of peace set in. The silence almost felt like a reward. His wave slowed, then stopped as he turned around. With a quiet thud, he slid down to the floor in a tired heap. He let out a long, relieved sigh. He was happy he could make so many guests smile today, but now that all the excitement was over, the exhaustion of it all began to take its toll. His arms were heavy, feet sore, his brain… mush. Being manager…even for a day…was harder than it looked. Kirby let out a big yawn and rubbed his eyes.

I’m just gonna close my eyes. Just for a second…

Juuuuuust a second…

Then…

“KIRBY!”

With a startled gasp, Kirby jolted awake in a panicked frenzy. He sat up, still a bit disoriented from sleep. Once his vision cleared, he froze in horror. Booths were in ruins, trees were on fire, masks were strewn all over the ground, some of them trampled under careless stomps. Kirby rubbed his eyes, blinking a few times hoping he was just seeing things again.

“KIRBY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” A voice from above boomed. Kirby looked up and saw Magolor floating overhead, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“M-Magolor? You’re back!” Kirby stuttered, rising unsteadily to his feet.

Magolor turned around and observed the destruction with his trembling hands pressed atop his head.

“Kirby…How could you let his happen?” he said, his voice cracked with despair.

“Magolor, I don’t know I- I” Kirby couldn’t find the words. “It…It was an accident I promise- “

“I trusted you, Kirby…” Magolor said, his head down low. “I believed in you.”

His words stabbed Kirby like an ultra-sword. He took a shaky step forward.

“Magolor-“

“Just stop!” Magolor’s angry voice boomed. His tone beginning to sound eerily familiar.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you in charge…” He said, his hands beginning to conjure a sphere of energy. Kirby didn’t move. In fact, he couldn’t move. Magolor edged closer to him, his eyes glowing red as his hands crackled and glowed with magic energy.

“Magolor, please I tried my best!” Kirby pleaded. But it was too late, Magolor raised his hand and with one swift push he launched a deadly burst of magic right at Kirby.

The blast got closer and closer and then…

SMACK!!!

“Kirby?....KIRBY!” A warped voice crept through his consciousness.

“KIRBY!!!”

With a yelp, Kirby popped upright, blinking rapidly in confusion. He looked around. The sky was blue. The park was intact. No smoke, no fire… Kirby sighed in relief.

Phew. It was just a dream.

His relief was short-lived, though, as he looked up to see a blurry figure standing over him, arms planted firmly at their sides.

“Magolor?...” Kirby said, still groggy.

“Nope. Try again.” The familiar voice barked. Finally, Kirby’s vision cleared and revealed Assistant Waddle Dee to be the one standing there.

“Do you have any idea how long it took to wake you up?!”

“Assistant Waddle Dee!” Kirby exclaimed. “Was…the park just on fire?”

“On fire?” He raised an eyebrow. “What are you even talking about?”

“Hehehe, nothing…”

Waddle Dee took a deep breath, clearly trying to stay composed. “Kirby, let me ask you something…and please, think carefully before answering. Did every guest you encounter today have the proper number of stamps required for the deluxe Manager Magolor doll?”

Kirby’s nervous smile dissipated. Waddle Dee stepped closer, lowering his voice with a sharp edge. “Because we are now completely out of deluxe prizes. That was supposed to last the entire weekend. And now they’re all gone.”

Kirby said nothing. His cheeks turned red, and he lowered his gaze to the floor, arms held close to his round body.

“And while you were napping on the job,” Waddle Dee continued, pacing now, “I was making final preparations for the show which we’re now running late for?”

“Wait, did you say, show?”

“Yeah, that’s right! The show! Let’s go!” Assistant Waddle Dee spun around, grabbed Kirby’s hand, and yanked him forward with a shove.

Kirby’s eyes widened. “Wait… a show? I can’t put on a show! I’m not prepared!”

Waddle Dee huffed. “Relax, they’re not here to see you. You’re just introducing them.”

Kirby blinked. “Oh… ohhh. That’s not so bad.” He let out a breath of relief, shoulders relaxing just a little. “Wait. Introducing who, exactly?”

Waddle Dee kept walking. “Mr. Dooter.”

Kirby froze in place. “M-Mr. Dooter? The same guy who tried to steal the Lor’s right wing and attacked me and my friends?!”

“He prefers ‘professional entertainer’ these days. But yes.”

Waddle Dee grabbed Kirby’s hand and tugged him forward again, but Kirby dug his feet into the ground.

“Wait! Why is Mr. Dooter here?!” Kirby yelped.

“He comes here every week. Does a magic show in the Plaza Pavilion. It’s a big hit with the tourists.”

Kirby blinked. “Mr. Dooter... does a magic show…here?”

“That’s what I said. Now, your job, Manager Kirby, is to introduce him to the audience.”

“What do I say?...This is Mr. Dooter! He’s big and does magic!?”

“Don’t be absurd. There’s a script. Manager Magolor wrote it himself. All you have to do is read it.”

He shoved a folded piece of paper into Kirby’s hands. Kirby looked down at it, eyes narrowing.

Before he could say anything else, Waddle Dee gave him a gentle push. “Come on. We’re almost at the stage.”

They rounded a corner, and Kirby’s stomach dropped.

The plaza pavilion was packed. Hundreds of guests buzzed with excitement, their eager eyes focused on the stage ahead. Lights blinked, music played, and a spotlight burned bright at the curtain’s edge, waiting for him.

Kirby took a small step back. He clutched the paper tighter. His heart thumped in his chest. Another crowd... Another moment where all eyes are on him.

Behind him, Assistant Waddle Dee stood silently, watching. His face was calm and composed, but there was something off about it. Too calm. Too still. His eyes narrowed just slightly, focused, unreadable, like he knew something Kirby didn’t. There was no more time to waste. Kirby stepped onto the first stair leading to the stage, the script trembling slightly in his hands. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

“It’s Showtime!”

☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄☆⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄☆

[callsigncurse]

meet me in the woods (jake seresin x reader)

Evergreen Falls, Oregon. A small town with a mysterious past and strange folktales, surrounded by forest and ocean. You're here because of your best friend, Natasha Trace, but it feels as though something else drew you to this picturesque little town. Pairing: Jake Seresin x Fem!Reader Warnings: This is an AU where mythical creatures exist. Werewolves are the main characters presented, but others are mentioned and may make an appearance later in the series. There are mentions of death (parental; reader's and Rooster's) and use of pet names, such as "pretty girl", "sweet girl" and "darlin'." Words: 4.7K

[part one of the evergreen falls series]

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From the moment you crossed the border from California to Oregon, you knew that this was where you belonged. The forests, the skies, and the overall vibe were different from anything you'd ever known, and you wanted more than anything to stay.

However, it was easy to get lost. Your GPS had all but given up on you, and it took you until it was nearly too late to find your exit. It was hidden in the trees, and when you merged onto it, you wondered if this was a mistake and if it was leading you right off a cliff or something.

Despite that, you kept driving. The highway exit ended up leading you to a gravel road, and that gravel road led you to a sign. It was white with dark green writing, pointing you forward.

Evergreen Falls, 3 miles ahead

Population: 5,135. 

A Great Place to Be!

You'd breathed out a sigh of relief, because this was exactly where you'd needed to go. You were excited; you had been driving for hours, and your body ached from sitting in your car for too long. You couldn't wait to get to town and get out of your car.

Thankfully, those three miles streaked by, and a break in the trees led you to the most beautiful little town you'd ever seen.

Nestled beneath the Pacific Coast mountain range, Evergreen Falls practically sparkled. The buildings all looked like they'd been freshly painted, with red brick inlay that hinted at them being a little older than this century. The streets looked new, but the streetlamps were definitely older and well taken care of.

The road took you to a street sign labeled Main Street, and you pulled your Jeep to the side of the street to park. After taking a moment to study your surroundings, you noticed the little businesses up and down the street. A boutique, a coffee shop called Top Bean, a realtor's office, and what looked to be a vintage record store. It really was a lovely little town, and you smiled to yourself.

Climbing out of your car, you grabbed your bag and stretched. It was cooler here than when you'd gotten into your car to leave California, but it wasn't too bad. Refreshing, even. It was a change, and that's exactly what you needed. You let yourself relax for a moment, feeling the wind ruffle the skirt of the sundress you'd thrown on back in California.

"Well, I've never seen you around before."

You whirled around, pressing a hand to your chest as your heart leapt inside your chest. You hadn't seen anyone on the street when you'd gotten out of your Jeep, so the voice had startled you.

He's standing with his hands in his pockets, a rather lanky gentleman wearing a godawful Hawaiian shirt over a white t-shirt. The ensemble was completed by a pair of grease-stained blue jeans and scuffed cowboy boots. You knew from your best friend's description of her friends that this was Bradley Bradshaw.

His lips twitched, making his mustache move in an amusing way. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. We just don't often get folks traveling through here. 'Specially not beautiful ones."

Cocking an eyebrow, you studied the man for another moment before you spoke. "So, you're Rooster." You had the pleasure of watching him narrow his eyes, staring at you suspiciously. "Or do you prefer Bradley?"

"How in the hell?" He steps closer, peering at you like he's trying to figure out who the hell you are. "How do you know my name? Have we met before?"

You just laugh. "It's nice to finally meet you, Bradley." You take a look around, your eyes drifting back over to the coffee shop. "Natasha told me all about you and your flirty ways."

"Goddammit, Phoenix. And you," He points his index finger at you and says, "You little shit, you scared the hell out of me." He gripes and then gestures for you to follow him. "She's working at the coffee shop today, and so is Coyote."

He opens the door for you, and you're met with the scent of coffee and the sounds of soft chatter. Natasha is behind the counter, and when the bell above you chimes, she finally looks up, locks eyes with you, and says your name. And then she's coming around the counter to launch herself at you, and the two of you almost tumble to the ground in a mess of flailing limbs and excited screams.

Bradley and the other barista are watching all of this with amusement, and neither man makes a move to get between you two.

"I can't believe you're finally here!" Natasha pulls away first, looking at your face like she's afraid you'll disappear if she looks away. "When did you get in? How are you? I thought you were still in California; you're weeks early!"

"I wanted to surprise you!" You explain excitedly. "I just couldn't wait anymore, so I packed everything up and headed straight here. The movers should be somewhere behind me; I think they said they're like forty minutes behind."

Nat's face is bright; she's basically glowing as she pulls you tight to her. It's the first hug you've gotten in days, and you tuck your face into the crook of her neck. She smells like baked goods, coffee, and the perfume she always wore in college when you first met her.

"God, I missed the way you smell. It's like the best thing ever." You tell her, pulling back so you can see her face again. "I'm so glad I'm here. I missed you so fucking much."

She laughs, and Bradley clears his throat from behind you. When you turn around, his arms are crossed over his chest, and he's looking at the both of you with amusement. "Guessing you two go way back?"

The barista that Nat was working with—Javy, it says on his nametag—snorts. "Obviously, Rooster." He smirks when Rooster's answer is a quick flash of his middle finger.

"We went to the same college." You explain, "Nat was studying business, and I was studying to become an English major. We bumped into each other at the campus coffee shop and became study buddies for the rest of our college years. I recently went through some changes, and I wanted to find somewhere new to live. Start over fresh, you know? So I decided to come here so I could live near my best friend."

Nat's hand slips into yours and squeezes gently. "It's seriously been way too long. That was mostly my fault; I got so busy trying to get this place up and running that I never had time for anyone or anything else."

"I can forgive you if you make me a Red-Eye Special." A concoction the two of you had come up with your junior year, the Red-Eye special was a latte with two extra espresso shots, mocha sauce, and topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings.

She lets your hand go, a big smile on her beautiful face. "That's actually one of the most popular drinks here. I put it on the menu to make sure I always remember the best friend I ever had."

Bradley huffs indignantly at that, and it sends you both into a fit of giggles. While she goes to make your drink, you move to the bar top to sit and watch her. Bradley follows, taking a seat beside you. "I'll take a mocha frappe, Phoenix."

"You got it, Rooster."

You sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, taking in the coffee shop. It's exactly Nat's aesthetic, you think to yourself. There's band posters everywhere, a vintage jukebox in the corner, and the walls are all painted different and funky colors. The furniture is all well-worn but clearly loved. The pictures she'd texted you when she first opened didn't do the place justice. It was amazing.

"Hey Nat, how come you never told me about your absolutely gorgeous best friend before?" Bradley pipes up from beside you, prompting an eyeroll from you and Nat.

"I've mentioned her a lot over the years since I got back from college, Rooster. You're just a terrible listener."

They were still squabbling amongst themselves when the bell above the door suddenly chimed, announcing the arrival of a newcomer. Curious, you lean back on your chair slightly. Peering around Bradley's back, you catch sight of the person walking in through the door.

He's tall—ridiculously so. Like way over six feet, taller than Bradley's type of tall. His golden hair gleams under the soft light coming in through the windows, and his skin is a beautiful shade of tan. He has a slight beard, and the hair is a few shades darker than the hair on his head. More honey-colored than gold, you think to yourself. He's wearing a gray t-shirt with a dark green flannel; the sleeves are rolled up, and you take a moment to study his strong arms. His hands are massive too, and you know they'd dwarf yours. He's incredibly attractive, nearly angelic in his perfection.

Nat looks over her shoulder, offering a bright smile to the absolute god that just walked into her coffee shop. "Hey, Hangman. Want your usual?"

The man they call Hangman nods as he steps up to the counter, already pulling money out of his wallet. He slides a small stack of bills across the counter to Javy, dropping another bill into the tip jar afterwards.

He doesn't say a word as he passes behind you to the very last bar stool to wait for his order. You can't help but turn slightly in your seat, watching as he walks past you. Something about him seems so familiar to you, but you know you've never seen him before. You'd remember that face.

It's like he can feel your eyes on him because he turns his head, and suddenly you can see his eyes. They're green, a gorgeous shade of worn seaglass, or maybe green like the evergreens the forests around here were thick with. But whatever shade they were, they stole your breath.

He doesn't say anything at first; he just watches you, and the corners of his perfect pink lips lift. He's not totally smiling, but it's enough to get your pulse hammering wildly.

Your own answering smile is sweet, and he swallows thickly as he studies you. He seems to be contemplating something, and then his beautiful lips part. "Hi."

Everyone around you freezes. Bradley and Nat stop their good-nature squabbling, and Javy is openly staring with his jaw dropped. They'd only heard this man talk a handful of times in the last few years, and here you were, the newcomer, drawing him into a conversation.

You're paying zero attention to what just happened around you because you're too busy looking at him to notice. "Hi."

"I've never seen you around before." He remarks, his voice soft. It's got a nice gravel to it, deep and warm. "Are you new to town?"

You find yourself nodding, "I just got here. I came from California. San Diego, to be more specific." Your heart is still thrumming, and it's almost like he can hear it because he smiles. It's wide and boyish, and you're breathless.

"Will you be staying for long?" He gets up from his seat at the end of the bar and moves closer. You have to tilt your head back in order to see his face, but you don't mind.

"I'm moving here, actually." You explain, "I'm now the proud owner of the cottage over by the river. The one on Meadow Lane."

He nods slowly. "I know it. Nice place, not too far from the falls. I remember when the previous owner moved away to a bigger town; he just gave the place to the realtor, Beau Simpson. His office is across the street, in case you need to talk to him about anything."

Nat clears her throat, sliding your coffee across the countertop to you. "That place is nice. But are you sure that's where you want to live? There are plenty of houses here in town that aren't surrounded by the woods, you know? That place is kind of creepy looking at night."

You shrug, breaking eye contact with the beautiful man to look at your best friend. "I fell in love with the house, Nat. It's perfect for me—just the right amount of secludedness, but close enough to town that if I need anything, I can just run and get it. So yeah, I'm sure."

You turn your head again, and he's still watching you. The small smile returns to his lips when your eyes catch his once again. Holding your hand out to him, you say your name, and that smile widens. It's devastating in its beauty.

His hand dwarfs yours when he takes it, and it's unbelievably warm. His palm and fingertips are rough from work, you assume, and you love the way it feels against your soft skin. "Jake Seresin, but sometimes the others call me Hangman. I think I'd like it if you called me Jake."

There's a moment where you're so lost in his eyes that the rest of the world fades away. Something between you snaps into place—something entirely ancient and primal. It almost feels like something is now tying you to him, like a silver, shining chain stretching from somewhere in you to a similar point in him.

It feels like you loved him before, in another life.

"Hello, Earth, to space cadets." Javy is snickering, and Bradley is waving a hand between your faces to catch your attention. "The two of you just went someplace else."

Something that sounds eerily like a growl comes from Jake's direction, but when you look back at him, he just offers another soft smile. He looks suspiciously innocent, but you don't comment on that fact.

Nat comes over just then, sliding a small bag and a to-go mug across the counter over to Jake. "There, here's your order, Hangman. The scones are fresh, just how you like them."

Jake makes a sound like a happy little hum. "Thank you, Phoenix. Much appreciated."

He stands up from his seat next to you, the bag and cup cradled in his large hands. "I have to be getting back now. I'll see you around, right?" He's looking down at you, those bright green eyes searching your face. His expression looks strangely anxious, like he's afraid he's never going to see you again.

"Yeah, of course." You stand too, looking up at him. "Maybe you can show me around town sometime?"

He quickly switches the coffee cup into his other hand, balancing his to-go bag of baked goods on his arm. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out what appears to be a partially crumpled business card. 

Jake Seresin  Woodworker & Carpenter Office: 75 South Pine Ave. Evergreen Falls, OR

"Here, my cell is on there. Call me when you get settled, or if you just get bored and need a break from Bradley's terrible jokes."

Bradley makes another sound from behind you: "Fucking rude."

"That sounds good." You answer softly. "I'll see you around, Jake." Your heart flutters when his smile grows wider, and you think maybe you'd like to keep seeing that smile every day for the rest of your life.

"Bye, darlin'." He murmurs, turning away and making his way out of the coffee shop.

When he's gone, you turn back to the stares of your friends.

"What?"

It doesn't take long for you to receive the keys to your new home. The realtor that Jake had mentioned, Beau Simpson, "Cyclone to my friends," he'd said with a wink, was a helpful guy. He'd made the process of buying your cabin extremely easy, and you'd bunked with Nat for a few days while he got the place ready for you. You had the keys in your hand just four days after arriving in Evergreen Falls.

Night was falling, and you had just brought in the last box of your things from the moving truck. Nat's friends—Javy, Mickey, Bradley, Reuben, and Bob—had introduced themselves to you and offered to help you move in. Even Bradley's godfather—Maverick, he'd told you to call him—had taken a quick look around the place in case anything needed fixing.

Luckily, the place had come somewhat furnished, so you didn't really need to buy anything besides a new mattress. The rest of your stuff from your tiny apartment fits easily in your new home.

Bob and Bradley had already carried your new mattress in; Javy and Mickey were arguing over the way your bed frame was supposed to be put together; and Reuben and Maverick were looking over a leaky faucet in your bathroom. Nat and Maverick's wife, Penny, were putting away dishes in the cupboards of the kitchen.

Bradley was perched on your couch, trying to figure out how to get your WiFi to connect to your smart TV while Penny's daughter watched. She was giggling at him while he was muttering something to himself about 'stupid fucking technology' when your phone chimed.

Jake: It sounds like a circus over there. 

What Jake had failed to mention was that when you moved in, the cabin half a mile down the road was owned by him. Not that you particularly minded, but it was nice to know that a friendly face was close by in case you needed something.

You'd texted him your number the night you'd met him, and it was a nice surprise to see him reach out. You smiled to yourself, worrying your lower lip between your teeth for a moment before you answered.

You: They mean well. I'm almost all moved in; I just need to get my bed together and fix the hole in the floor of my front porch, and I'll be all good to go. Jake: I can fix that, if you want. I can drop by tomorrow morning after my run. You: That'd be great! Thank you so much, Jake. Jake: No problem, pretty girl. You: Pretty girl, huh? That's sweet. And thank you again; that was sweet of you to say. See you tomorrow, Jake. Jake: Sleep tight.

The rest of the evening was spent tidying things up, sharing pizza, and goofing off with your newfound friend group. It had been pretty late when they all filed out of your new home, and you'd dragged yourself to your room and onto your new mattress for some rest. It had been a long week.

Maybe it was just the whole 'being alone in a new home' thing making you anxious, but before you fell asleep, you could've sworn you heard howling from somewhere out in the forest behind your new home. Before you can really think anything of it, sleep grabs ahold of you and drags you down deep.

The sound of knocking ends up dragging you out of a dream. You can't quite remember what it was about, but then you remember the howling from the night before, and you wonder if it has to do with that. The sun is filtering in through the window, but from the look of it, it is definitely still early.

You're still sleepy-eyed when you go to answer the door, and your hair is a little messy. You assume it's Natasha, or maybe Bradley, coming over to bug you. But when you open the door, you're met with the strong and tall frame of Jake Seresin, standing right there in your doorway.

Shit. You'd forgotten he was coming over to fix the porch.

You brush a lock of hair away from your left eye and tilt your head back, immediately melting when you see his face. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." He answers. He looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes, but he's smiling faintly. And then you watch as his gaze falls to your shoulder. Your too-big sleep shirt had slipped down, revealing more skin to him. His gaze is appraising as his eyes drift over your form, down to your bare legs. He must've liked what he saw, because the apples of his cheeks were pink now.

After clearing your throat, you could feel your own face heating up. "I woke up a little late and forgot you were coming. Sorry about me looking all, you know, messy."

"You look beautiful." He says in response. "I like this just as much as I liked that sundress you were wearing the first day I met you." He says it sweetly, and you can feel your pulse fluttering in your throat.

"Thank you, Jake." You murmur, "You're very kind." Your face is shy and pink. You wonder where this guy has been hiding himself all your life. "Um, I'll just run upstairs and get dressed. Feel free to come in if you want."

You don't wait for him to come inside; you just open the door a little wider and scurry away toward the stairs. It's not that you distrust Jake—just the opposite, in fact—you trust him a lot. Probably too much, considering the fact that you'd only had 1.5 conversations with the guy. Standing around in your little PJs is probably not the best move. You know you should probably look semi-decent while a man is working on your home.

You hurry into your bedroom, quickly swapping out what you're wearing for a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a t-shirt. It's the middle of summer and warm this time of year, but it's not nearly as bad as California. You hurriedly tug a brush through your unruly hair, trying to get it to settle down, and then hurry into your bathroom to brush your teeth. Your face is flushed when you look in the mirror, and you do your best to settle the sudden onslaught of nerves you're feeling.

When you come back down the stairs, Jake is standing in front of your fireplace with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He's studying the photographs on the mantle above it—the photos of your family. Your mom and dad were in the majority of them, and Jake muses over how much you look like them both.

"Are you close with them?"

Stepping into the living room, you wrap your arms around yourself. It hurts you to think of them; the pain is still fresh even months later. "I was." Your voice is tinged with sadness, and he turns his head when you come up beside him. "They died earlier this year in a car accident. They were on their way home from a concert when a drunk driver hit them head-on."

After a long moment (where you think you've said the wrong thing), he slowly wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently toward him. You go to him without question, resting your head against his chest while his hand rubs your back in slow, soothing circles. You can feel his sorrow; he doesn't pity you, but he is sad for you.

You let yourself be comforted. You've only known him a few days, but it feels like he's always been with you. It's strange and probably insane, but you feel like there could be something there.

You really hope there's something there.

There's a feeling of light pressure against your skull, and you tip your head back so you can see his face. The smile he gives you is sweet, and your heart feels a little less heavy than it had a moment before.

"I should get started on the porch. Maybe after I'm done, I can take you out to breakfast? The hole isn't too big; it shouldn't take me more than an hour to fix it." He's smiling at you, and you can tell that he's nervous, too.

You nod, your eyes meeting his, and there's that feeling again. That pull between you is like a long chain connecting you to him, and it feels like it's always been there, even though you just met him for the first time a few days ago. You can't help but wonder if he feels it, too.

You let him go, and he grabs the tool bag he'd left by your front door. Not knowing what else to do, you drift out behind him with the intention of sitting on the porch swing. You just want to be near him, plain and simple.

You settle down on the swing, one leg bent on the seat while the other works to push you slowly back and forth. Jake is already at work, measuring and cutting things with a precision that amazes you. He's shed his flannel, leaving him clad in only a black t-shirt that looks worn and soft. You watch the way he moves, his arms when he lifts, and the way his chest and back fill out that t-shirt in a way that makes your mouth dry.

You haven't dated in a long time. You had so much going on with school, finding a job in your field, and then your parents' deaths that it was hard to make a solid connection with anyone around you. Plus, a lot of the time, the guys you met were either total jerks or just really weird. But Jake? Jake seemed different. He was quiet, kind, and helpful, and there was something there. Something deep-seated and amazing is just waiting to be unlocked.

Your phone chimes from where it's sitting on the porch swing next to you, and you pick it up to see a new text from Bradley.

Bradley: Hey, you. Are you up yet? You: Yeah, I'm awake! What's up? Bradley: The group is planning on going on a hike this afternoon to the falls, maybe swim a little, and have a picnic. You interested? You: Sounds awesome. Who all is going? Bradley: Everyone, just about. Maverick sometimes tags along, but he's taking Penny and Amelia out for their own day trip. You: Jake's with me; should I ask if he wants to come with me? Bradley: Good luck with that. Jake is kind of a lone wolf. Bradley: Also, why is Jake Seresin with you??? You: Carpenter services. He's fixing my front porch. I bet I can convince him to come with us. Wanna meet up at my place so we can all walk there together? Bradley: Yeah, we'll get there around 12. Javy and I are bringing food; Nat's bringing drinks. Think you could pick up some paper plates and napkins? You: On it.

"Hey, Jake?" He hums, looking up from his handiwork to meet your eyes. "The group is planning on coming over today at noon so we can all go to the falls and swim. Do you think I could convince you to come with?"

He looks like a deer in headlights for a moment, his eyes wide when he stares at you. "You... want me to go with you?" He asks slowly, his tone strangely disbelieving. It was like he couldn't quite believe that you'd extended the invitation to him.

"Well, yeah. Of course I do. And I'm sure everyone else would love to see you, too." You stop swinging, your head tilted in a way that kind of reminds him of a little deer. "Please? It'll be a good chance for you and me to hang out for a few hours. Plus, socializing would be good for you. I hear that you can be quite the recluse."

He snorts but doesn't say anything for a long time. You're almost afraid that he's going to say no to you, and then he sighs. "Alright, I'll go. But as long as you make me a promise,"

"Hm?"

"Never go into Evergreen Forest by yourself, especially at night." He seems anxious when he says it, standing up from where he's been working to cross over to you. "It's easy to get lost if you're not familiar with the area. People have up and gone missing because it's so easy to get turned around in there."

He crouches down, laying his hands on your knees. Even crouching, he's so tall that he's face-to-face with you. You're a little distracted by his eyes, and by the way his hands are deliciously warm and rough against your skin. "It's okay to go if at least one of us is with you, but you should never go alone. Okay?"

Normally, if a man tried to tell you to do something, you'd immediately roll your eyes and do it anyway. But there's an edge to his voice, and it sounds strangely desperate. So you look him in the eye and nod. "I promise."

[cellophaine]

Idk if I’m Doing this right lol. Anyways I wanted to request a Matt Murdock x Sleeping!reader something based on the reader that kicks hits and moves around a lot while being in deep sleep cus I know I do like really bad, one time I like hit my sister right in the nose when I was young lol anyways it would be funny to see like a Matt’s perspective on that and his reaction and maybe the reader denies it when she wakes up and they laugh about it

Unexpected

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Ngl the dialogues are a little rough in this one.

Author's Note: I hope I did your request justice!

Share and feedback are welcomed!

GIF Credit: @cinnamurdock-blog

Matt's night was going great. Hell's Kitchen was unusually quiet and relatively peaceful, which made him suspicious of what might go on underneath the false pretense. But it seemed like his neighbourhood was on its best behaviour tonight. Matt wasn't going to complain. He was grateful for it, as his mind kept circling back to his apartment, where you were. You finally felt comfortable enough to agree to stay the night at his place, and nothing could make him happier.

After a quick round in the more troubled area, Matt decided to cut his patrol short.

A course of excitement thrummed in his veins as Matt laid gentle steps on the creaky staircase. He listened to the steady heartbeat in his bedroom, waiting for his return. The silence accentuated your heavy breathing. He gently slid the door to his bedroom open not to wake you and made his way over. He felt around for your position and found you lying face down on the pillow, the blanket wrapped around your limbs in a way that couldn't be comfortable for you. With gentle hands, Matt turned you onto your back, straightened your limbs, and placed the blanket on you in a way that wouldn't suffocate you. He smoothed the hair on your forehead away before pressing a tender kiss on you. His lips curved into a soft smile at the smell of his shampoo on your soft strands.

After a quick rinse, Matt hurried back to the bedroom to find you in the same position he left you in. He carefully slipped underneath the blanket and shifted until he could comfortably wrap an arm around your torso. After a still moment of more contemplating, he pulled himself even closer into your welcoming warmth, and his heart swelled as the ache in his chest finally eased at the proximity between the two of you. Matt burrowed his face into the nape of your neck and took a deep breath, allowing your scent to envelop his sense. Sleep came to him easily, settling over his heavy eyelids.

Matt woke from the deep slumber to the feeling of you slipping out of his hold. He was startled wide awake when that was followed up with a dull hit of your elbow on his cheek, just a touch below his eyes. Bracing himself up on one elbow, Matt listened to the deep and steady draws of your breaths, a clear indication of your unconscious state.

Matt shifted back, allowing more space between you so you could freely move in your sleep. Still, he wanted to hold you in whatever capacity was available, so he put his hand on the crook of your elbow; his rough palm met your soft skin. He let the steady rhythm of your breathing lull him to sleep again.

That didn't last long as your hand met his face in a sharp smack just a few moments later. It hurt a little this time, but the sting only made Matt chuckle to himself at the irony. In your oblivious state, you managed to get some good hits on him than most people who tried much harder with much more malice. Besides him, you slowly returned to the position he found you in when he first got back. He turned your face sideways so you would be comfortable without blocking your nose. Matt lowered his head to place a kiss on your temple and flinched slightly as you twitched again underneath him. He resigned to the other side of the bed, woefully a little further away from you. He faded in and out of sleep at your spontaneous kicks, hits and moves throughout the night, crushing his hope of cuddling you.

The enticing scent of coffee teased his acute sense of smell, prying his tired eyelids open. Matt was greeted by your cheery mood once he made it out of the bedroom.

"Look who's finally up."

There was a teasing smile in your tone; he could hear it so clearly.

"What time is it?"

His words were muffled with a yawn.

"12:11."

You stood up from the couch and walked toward him; your soft steps on his floor felt feather-light. The rich aroma of roasted bean wafted to him as you got close, and he swiftly swiped the mug from you, taking a sip despite your playful protest. The taste was sweet, even though Matt knew you shared a similar taste in coffee. Slightly bitter with a touch of creaminess.

Maybe the sweetness came from you.

"Hey! Get your own coffee."

He chuckled, which turned into another yawn.

"You have no right to complain, sweetheart. Especially when you're the reason I couldn't sleep well last night."

Matt took another sip.

"What do you mean?"

"You moved … quite a bit in your sleep."

He pointed to the cheek you hit, prodding the prickled skin.

"I came home last night with no scratch, and I woke up with a bruise."

He tsked as you stood on your tiptoe to take a closer look at the pink patch on his face.

"Who knew I didn't need to go out to get beaten up?"

He said it with a cheeky smile. You huffed, putting your arms around your chest.

"Uhm, objection. I didn't do that. My sister could attest to it. We shared the same tent during our camping trip just a few weeks ago, and she said I stayed put the whole night."

Matt pursed his lips, pretending to mull over your claim.

"And guest what?"

His brows rose, beckoning you to continue.

"She's a light sleeper."

You playfully pushed on his shoulder.

"So it can't be me, Murdock. Your speculation has been disproven."

He chuckled, shaking his head.

"Objection. That's hearsay. The evidence is clear on my face where you assaulted me. Your sister has no credit on this case."

You gasped, placing a hand on your chest in a pretense of shock.

"How dare you use your big lawyer words against me?"

"How dare you?"

He retorted. You held it for a moment before bursting into laughter, feeling the air lighten at your repartee. Once you had settled down, you touched his cheek, the pad of your thumb smoothed over the bruised skin.

"I'm sorry. It seems like I'm still a little bit of a kicker."

Matt leaned into your hand, his eyes closed at your gentle caresses.

"It's okay. You're a cute kicker. I forgive you."

Matt leaned forward to peck your lips, and you sighed happily once he pulled away. You pondered.

"Maybe next time I can roll myself up in a … blanket burrito so I won't hit you?"

At your suggestion, Matt only smirked, and you knew almost immediately where his mind had gone to.

"If you want to me to tie you up, just say so."

You blushed at his suggestive tone, your hands wrapped around his neck as his arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you flush against him.

"Do you have time for a little … demonstration?"

You bit at the inside of your cheek, feeling his hands lowered to your barely covered bottom.

"For you? I always have time."

Matt picked you up and brought you back to his bedroom, the plans for your day temporarily forgotten.

*Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!* Follow my side blog to receive notifications whenever I post! @cellophaine-archives

[127luvr]

Hi can i ask for a male reader x doyoung, where they're both in school and they have an assignment to sing a duet, but doyoung just really chose m!r so that they can spend more time together. Then they kiss?

kiss ♫⋆｡♪ ₊

kim doyoung x male reader

doyoung had never questioned his life in music. he knew from a young age where he was headed--what path in life he wanted to pursue. he breathed music like it was his lifeline. it was the one thing in his life he never second-guessed. he knew he was good at it. at singing--at reading music--at conducting his class for an assignment--at teaching it when he became a student-teacher.

he was born for this.

you weren't as lucky.

the passion for music came from watching a performance of your school choir by chance. you were convinced that you were destined to pass by the auditorium at that very moment--destined to hear the way the ensemble blended their voices together so seamlessly--as if it was a body of water collectively sending waves to shore.

it was too late in the year to join the ensemble you heard, but you managed to squeeze in to one of the beginner classes. it was one of the things in life that you took seriously. staying after school for any extra help from upperclassmen. staying behind to see the rigorous practices that the advanced classes had. while you were graced with a natural talent for music, you still had so much to learn.

which is why you were the most excited when they assigned duets. the only strict rule being that it had to be someone that was in the choir program.

doyoung had taken a liking to you. watching you from the corner of his eye when you sat in one of their after-school practices. he watched the way your pencil followed along the sheet music as they sang, circling the dynamics on top--and underneath--the staff. he watched as your body followed the conductor's baton--watched as you sang along subconsciously to your voice part in the song. he knew without a doubt that he had to choose you for a duet.

he just wasn't entirely sure if it was for his own selfish reasons or for your raw talent.

"(y/n)?" you feel a light tap on your shoulder, the sudden sensation startling you. your binder slips out of your hands when you turn to doyoung, his nearness surprising you further. you can't help but gawk at him, ignoring the way your sheet music spills out of the binder on the floor. doyoung's eyes fall to the floor, his lips twitching slightly as he goes to pick it up for you. you are still watching him as he bends down, his long fingers quick with gathering your materials. you manage to look away as he straightens his posture again, holding his hands out to hand you your binder. "i know we aren't really familiar with each other, but did you want to team up for the duet assignment?"

he was one of the upperclassmen. one of the singers that stood out to you when you watched them practice. the critiques he received from directors were nitpick-y. always something about rounding out his vowels--looking more expressive. it was clear that they only picked on him for small things because they weren't able to find anything he was bad at. he didn't need to improve--but he did need to be pushed just like his classmates.

"yeah!"

you quickly realize that doyoung isn't in it for the music. he knows the song inside and out from the get-go. leaving you to scramble and learn the song even when you're not practicing together. this only makes you wonder what he was in it for. why he chose you of all people?

your practices were usually done in the school practice rooms. preferably one with an old piano in it--sometimes you weren't as lucky. but you watched as doyoung's eyes moved faster than his fingers, reading the music as he played the black and white piano keys. you were almost jealous of his talents. envious of his ability to multitask so effortlessly but he interprets your gaze differently. patting the space on the bench next to him so you could sit--instead of standing with your back to the wall, stiff.

"i like to learn the notes by playing them and then singing them. makes it easier to correct. do you want to try?" your hands hover over the keys, scared to play any of them incorrectly. if you were being honest, you only knew the name of the notes on your phone, where the keys were labeled. "here, i'll show you."

you don't expect doyoung to put his hands on top of yours, guiding them to where he was previously playing. but the piano is the last thing on your mind. instead, thoughts of doyoung's soft skin and dainty fingers replace any and all rational thoughts from your brain.

"the note in between these black keys is d. if you look at the piano you will notice that the pattern repeats over and over again, so the notes only go a, b, c, d, e, f and g. and then back to a. the black keys are semitones--flat or sharp. it just depends on what key we're in, you know?" doyoung finally takes note of your flushed face, his hands immediately clammy on top of yours as he watches you chew your bottom lip anxiously. "(y/n)? did you get any of that?"

"uh-"

"is there a way for me to keep you concentrated?" your gaze drops down to his pouty lips, subconsciously licking your own as you stare them down. this doesn't go unnoticed by doyoung--who has been yearning for your affection since your practices together started. "kissing you?"

for a moment you thought you had shared your thoughts out loud--only to find that your lips were still shut. doyoung was the first to bring up a kiss. that could only mean that he wanted to. that it crossed his mind before it crossed yours. he leans in, with his hands still on top of yours. you're aware of his nearness. the way his cool breath hits your cupid's bow. the way he smells like baby powder--and a little bit like sweat from being in this room for so long. your eyes finally meet again which causes him to tilt his head, raising his eyebrows as if to ask you for a second time.

"here?" but you're the first one to close the gap, the first to meet your lips together. completely disregarding the glass door. completely disregarding that someone might walk by. but none of it matters--not when doyoung's lips feel heavenly. and he's drinking you up like you're a glass of iced tea on a hot summer day. you almost don't want to pull away. wanting to stay in his warmth even if the positioning was awkward. "we can practice at my place next time."