#that damned scarf had to make a return

[star-named-riddle]

Day 17 - Scarf

Yep, that scarf. if you know, you know. Entirely NSFW, a lemon from the very start, no plot, all smut

Also another long one

Lord Voldemort climbed atop his barely coherent paramour, half-mad with desire, the other half mad with the notion he was not the only man to see her like this.

Bella panting, blushing, naked beneath him.

He gathered her wrists above her head, pinning them together with a single hand, her hands and his digging into the pillow, over her tumbling curls. The softness of her hair elicited a memory in him.

The scarf. The damned green, near transparent scarf, had been soft in his hands as well.

His left hand reached through the air, his palm turned up and awaiting. The scarf flew into it, and Lord Voldemort wasted no time in tying Bella’s dainty wrists to the headboard.

“Your husband said you should wear it,” he teased.

The pupils in her grey eyes went wider, and he thought, even if just for a second, that he would like to dive in and get lost in their enticing darkness. And never come up again.

Instead, Bella wrapped her long legs around his waist and pulled him closer with her thighs. He devoured her lips, robbing her of the fleeting moment of control. He rubbed his palms up and down her sides, from shoulder blades to hips, reveling in the way her body spasmed under his.

He rocked against her, teasing her, weaving back and forth across the line of pleasure-pain that ruled her desire. She was swollen and sore, but delightfully pink and wet, he saw as he pulled himself back to sit on his haunches.

He let his fingers caress her inner thighs, delighting in the shiver of her skin. She’d have bruises there in the morning. He had been rather careless in his ravishing tonight. He smiled, thinking of the things he had already done to her tonight. Of her naked body pressed against his, then against the mirror. Of the way he had carried her mellow, sated body to his bed while her mind was still high on pleasure, just to take her again, hard and rough and fast, until she had mewled her pleasure from beneath him, fighting for every breath under his weight.

His own desire stirred again, heat pooling low in his belly, hardening in his groin. He leaned forward, placing his hand steadily over Bellatrix’s mons, palm all pressure while his fingers teased her lips.

Bella’s hiss turned into a hum under his touch. He cast a vibrating charm on his own hand, and watched her struggle to release her hands. Her legs came entirely off the mattress, thighs twisting together over his hand, knees and ankles pressed together, toes curling as she pleaded, with moans and gasps, for him to stop.

He would do no such thing. She had spent the entire evening teasing him with that damned scarf and filthy, delicious visions of herself slipping those damned thin straps off her shoulders. He would have her beg for him.

Bella’s pleading eyes found his. He renewed his spell and her eyes rolled back, a moan breaking loose from her throat only to die against his lips. She went limp, her body slowly unfurling, limbs stretching on the mattress. She weakly returned his kisses.

He could stop now, he ought to, really, as she was utterly spent. And yet, he felt like the scarf hadn’t been put to proper use. With a playful nip of her lips, he whispered a spell into the shell of her ear.

“Tergeo,” he said, a mischievous smile on the corner of his mouth. Bellatrix opened her eyes, and looked at him, content. Her body clean, and fresh, and rid of all evidence of their night.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

Lord Voldemort did not acknowledge her words in any way. He removed his equally clean hand from between her legs, and pushed Bellatrix’s hair off her neck. He gave her a moment of respite, if only to better savour her surprise the next second.

Bellatrix stretched, her hands reaching for the headboard, pulling herself slightly up on the pillows, trying to alleviate the tension of the scarf around her wrists. She looked up, to the green garment that had got her into such trouble. She didn’t dare ask to be released. Knowing her master, and considering her previous teasing, he would leave her to sleep like this.

His low laughter caught all of her attention. Mirth, true mirth, was a rare thing in the Dark Lord.

She turned her head towards him, smiling. She was sated, and willing to bet his laughter meant he was too.

The glint in his eyes was enough to prove her wrong.

“We’re not done, Bella. Oh, no, I’m not done with you,” he growled into the skin of her neck, trailing kisses down the column of muscle there. “We’re merely starting over.” He balanced his body on his elbows, looming over her.

She swallowed a whimper. She felt depleted, and yet her body seemed to awaken again under his gaze.

“My Lord?” she asked, unsure of what else to do.

It was the wrong question. Or the right one, perhaps. Lord Voldemort’s eyes flashed red, and she knew she had stirred something within him. It was entirely the right question.

She expected hungry kisses, possessive hands, even daring fingers, but not what followed.

The Dark Lord parted her legs with his right arm, pulling her left thigh up onto his right shoulder, and then lowered his body into the mattress, settling between her legs. She could not peel her eyes off him as he moved, and he held her gaze as he adjusted her right leg upon his left shoulder.

He kissed the skin of her inner thighs, where it was softest, first one side, then the other, allowing his chin and nose to drag across her swollen core. The gasping scream that earned him nearly destroyed his resolve to tease her within an inch of her sanity. He looked up, watching her breasts move with every heave of her chest. He kissed her lips, and the painful but pleasurable cry that escaped her told him she was entirely too sensitive to tolerate his touch for long. She moved her feet to his back, her heels softly pushing down and away.

This would be torture for her. He caught a glimpse of the green scarf, which she had tangled further in between her hands in a hopeless effort of either setting herself free or pulling herself away from him. The sight of it was enough to have him focus on his goal again.

Teasing.

He wrapped his arms around each of her thighs, pulling her feet off his back while steading her hips. She wouldn’t be able to move. Then, he dove into her. Tongue and lips and all, going so far as to carefully drag his teeth across her sensitized clit.

The sounds that drew from her were delirious. Her body squirmed, trying and failing to get away. He tightened his hold on her, pulling her down every time she managed to gain an inch away from him.

“Master!”

“What?” he asked, taking a deep breath before resuming her torture.

He pressed his tongue against her and sucked. Bellatrix bucked, successfully pushing his mouth off her. He gave her the respite she had earned, head leaning on her leg.

“Stop! Enough,” she said, gasping for air between words, her whole body working for every single breath.

He plunged his mouth into her one last time, reveling in her desperate moans. He gathered enough focus to pry into her mind, and found her on the verge of despair between pleasure and pain.

“Beg!” he ordered, kissing her thighs again. He licked a path up her body then, giving her a second of peace before twisting two fingers into her.

She curled her legs up again, trying to hold his arm between them and twist away from his touch. She was so close, yet it was unbearable.

“My Lord, it’s too much.”

“Beg!”

She didn’t. She wouldn’t. His Bella would not crack so easily. Stubborn and proud, begging did not come naturally to her. And he knew it.

He pushed his body back in between her legs, leaving her core at the mercy of his fingers. He curled his fingers inside, and pushed his thumb against her nub, rubbing it in circles. He felt her inner walls quiver and squeeze his fingers, which prompted him to alleviate all pressure at once.

Her complaint was very audible, and her eyes searched for his, pleading.

“Would you like me to stop now?”

“Mm-mpht… no! Not now!”

“What do you have to say to me?”

Her mind had become an incoherent mess. He moved his fingers inside her, gathering her thoughts and cuing an answer out of her.

“Please…” her voice died in her throat.

“Please what?”

“Please, my Lord, please-”

“Stop?”

“No!”

“What then, Bella?”

He kissed her, his thumb resuming its motion.

“What then, Bella?” he growled low into her ears.

“Master! I nn-need-” her voice trailed off again, giving place to a mewl ripped from deep within her.

“What do you have to say to me?” he asked, kissing her. His fingers teased her, but never touched her in quite the right way.

She pulled her lips from him, inhaling sharply.

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I’m sorry about the scarf, Master,” she said, her wide grey eyes pleading with him. “Make it stop, please, please make it stop, my Lord.”

Lord Voldemort laughed, removing his fingers from her entirely.

“That’s it. That’s a good girl now, Bella.”

He released her wrists with one wave of his hand. The green scarf fell from the headboard, landing on her curls. Her hands came to rest on her chest, angry red lines marking them. She was still panting beneath him, still not done. They weren’t over yet.

He entered her with one long, slow thrust. His hands gathered her body close to his as he pushed deeper. She arched her back under him, pushing herself against him, her body already succumbing to her pleasure. He made sure to rub against her as he thrust, and her pleasure enveloped him completely.

He kissed the last moan off her lips, and abandoned himself into the familiar cradle of her hips.

Also on AO3, together with all the fics uploaded today

#bellatrix lestrange #lord voldemort #hp fanfic #bellamort december #bellamort #smut #bellatrix x voldemort #that damned scarf had to make a return #we're back on track #no delayed fics #next up will be up at 5pm GMT

[gojoscloset]

“You smell sooo good.”

“Thanks! I taste even better.”

with JJK boys (Choso, Toji, Gojo ) NSFW/Suggestive

Choso

He took notice of your new scent and decided to act on it. He complimented you but he did not expect what you had to say in return.

“Thank you! I taste even better.”

You give him a wink and instantly he was a mess. He was at a loss for words, his throat and mouth suddenly became dry and his mind couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you could help him quench his thirst.

Choso’s nonchalant expression switched up to a more shocked one. He looked away, tugging at the scarf around his neck to ease the sudden heat that reached his body. He was thankful for the baggy-ness of his clothes, otherwise a growing tent would be present for everyone to see.

Toji

He didn’t hold back, when does he ever? He caught a whiff of your scent once you got in his proximity and he couldn’t help himself.

“Damn girl, you smell good enough to eat.”

His lips curled into a smirk and made his way closer to you, the sweet aroma enticed him and whatever it was you were wearing was literally good enough to make his mouth water.

“Then why don’t you?”

You dared him and looked straight in his eyes, your innocent expression challenged him and he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, chibi.*” Toji smirked and crossed his arms over his broad chest, he looked down at you, the size difference more noticeable as he closed the gap between you and him. Before you even said anything his mind wandered to all the things he could do to you. How he would bend and fold you and how he would have you at his mercy. He was known to be a demon with his mouth and questioned how you would receive him. Would you really be able to handle it?

“I know what I’m getting into, I think I can take it.” …

Gojo

Satoru invaded your space, as always. He practically placed his nose in your hair playfully taking a deep breath. “Wow you smell delicious, is it new?” He smiled and moved his hands to waft the air closer to him, like you were some kind of freshly baked dessert.

“Thank you! And if you think that smells delicious just wait till you taste me.”

Satoru cocked a brow and gave you a confident grin.

“Hmmm. Sorry princess but I don’t think I CAN wait, you know I have a sweet tooth.” He licked his lips and moved closer to you, taking in your scent once again. “As a matter of fact,I’m craving something sweet right now.”

Authors notes:

*Chibi can be used to call someone shorty.

I came up with the idea because I recently bought hella stuff from Bath and Body Works and I smell so so so delicious and have been getting compliments. LOL

Also I can’t believe I wrote for Toji 🤢 I h8 him but I did it for the girlies lmao

#jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x reader #neptilian.💫 #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru gojō x reader #satoru gojo #choso x female reader #choso x you #choso x reader #choso x y/n #choso smut #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji smut

[recreationalfanfics]

Yandere Adventurer NSFW Headcanons

*You are responsible for your own media consumption*

Mentions of: Dumbification, intimate dreams, bongage, choking, praise and degradation, dry humping, use of the word "slut", masturbating

General:

- First thing to note about Jesse: he is panromantic, meaning he adored his darling for how and who they are. Does he have sexual urges? Yes and those sexual fantasies of his darling develop as he descends into his obsession. Does that mean he feels like he NEEDS to have sex with his darling? Absolutely not. Give him a fleshlight and his darling's undergarments and he's good to go. Would he want to have sex with them? Yes but if they ain't into it, they ain't into it, but that's fine because he just wants to spend every waking minute being with them.

- Jesse is definetly a switch. Yes, he'd love to use his whip to tie your hands above the bed and watch you squirm underneath him in pleasure but he also would love the idea of waking up to see you straddling him and looking down at him with hungry eyes.

- LITERALLY DOESN'T CARE IF YOUR EXPERIENCED OR NOT, HE IS COOL EITHER WAY. If you're inexperienced then he'll try be as gentle as possible, softly guiding you through it and showing where to touch and helping you. Will absolutely stop in the middle of sex if you have any concerns and it's amazing how goes from seductive to listening to you so patiently and smiling softly at you as you speak on your concerns and he tries to reassure you as best as he can or tweak his whole approach and once you're all good, he goes back to being seductive.

- If you're pretty well experienced, he is absolutely excited to see it for himself. Would love to be beneath you even when he's the one domming/topping because he wants to see if he can make you experience an orgasm like you've never felt before or touch you in ways you've never been touched if you let him.

- Jesse would feel an extreme amount of guilt at first. He wakes up in a coldsweat in his tent in the jungle because he had an erotic dream about the two of you and he just pants softly before he rubs his face and tries to shake it out of his head.

"C'mon, Jesse, the hell's wrong with ya?"

- He knows he has feelings for you at this point, he just isn't yet aware of how dark they are. In the beginning, he'd try to wake himself up as fast as he could when he had those dreams but the deeper he becomes obsessed, the more he allows himself to indulge in them.

- You wouldn't know about this either, since he's very good at treating you same as ever. He might be easily flustered around you a lot more but he plays it off as just lack of sleep from researching and adventuring and thats why he's so weird and out of it. But then you look away and he just stares intently at your ass and shakes his head and goes back to what he was doing.

- If you happen to leave an article of clothing or something in the archives of the university you both work at, like a scarf or a jacket or anything else then it is his now. First he would put them over his pillow and cuddle it and pretend it was you but then one night he had one of his damn dreams again and well, he felt absolutely pathetic as he used it to try and get rid of his boner. When he returns it after it loses your scent, he makes up something like that it was in the lost-in-found but really dirty so he took it home and cleaned it. His heart soars when you smiled and thank him but frowns when you ask: "Jesse, you're honestly the most amazing friend anyone can ask for!"

"Aw, shucks, darlin'...That's-...That's real sweet of ya."

- WHEN YOU TWO FINALLY GET TOGETHER, IF YOU WANT TO EXCITE HIM: use the keys you have to get into his house and wait for him nude. He'll come home, tired and exaughster but when he walks in the bedroom and sees you there with your legs spread nice and open for him. He just smiles like a doofus and is quick to strip and jump in bed with you.

Kinks:

Dry Humping: God he will absolutely hump his hips against his bed or his pillow when he thinks or dreams of you. In general, he'd love how sensual and exciting dry humping is. Like, you'll he bent over one of the tables in your shared work spot and you moan softly and desperately as he grinds his hips against you from behind, or maybe you'll wrap your arms around him and grind against his thigh and palm at the bulge in his pants and he'll squeeze your ass through whatever bottoms your wearing. It's like heaven honestly when he looks down at you and your looking up at him, your eyes dreamy and half-lidded but when he hears footsteps of the annoying headmaster, the both of you are talking about the history of some civilization and once he leaves, you and Jesse look at each other and smile. But yeah, you wouldn't even have to be naked for Jesse to want to bend you over the table, just let him hump you from behind and massage your chest as he leaves hickies on your neck.

Fingering: God please just let him shove his fingers in your hole and give you the most pleasure you've ever experienced. His hands are big and calloused from his adventures and sometimes you catch yourself noticing the veins on them. They'll feel so good as he uses them to squeeze your thighs and they'll feel even better once they're inside you. If AFAB, PLEASE LET HIM FINGER YOU IN THE MIRROR. Lean against his chest and moan and beg as his fingers explore inside of you and fuck you so good that you'll keep a hand on his wrist to let him know that he's not done yet. Let him see himself touching that sweet pussy of yours and how he leaves you so nice and wet. If AMAB, him jerk you off and if you'll let him, stretch out your ass. Just him gently whispering about how good his darling is doing for him as he pumps your cock with his hand and praise you for taking his two fingers so well and being so good for your sultry moans and whimpers.

Brat taming: Yandere Adventurer has the whip and the "fuck around and find out attitude". Jesse is a sweet man but even he has his limits, especially if it's his darling trying to tease him sexually or being a little difficult. When he finally gets his hands on you, he will make you absolutely cry as he somewhat mocks you.

"Aw, whats wrong, poor baby? Don't worry, after ya learned your lesson, Jesse'll take care of you real good. Just hold on a lil' longer~"

Pegging: LOOK, IF YOU WANT TO BEND HIM OVER AND TIE HIS HANDS BEHIND HIS BACK WITH HIS OWN WHIP AND RAIL HIM WITH A GIANT STRAP ON, HE WON'T STOP YOU. If you want to grab his lil pony tail and pull it back so you can hear him beg and yell like a whore in his southern drawl, he is down for that. If you want him to get on his knees and suck on your strap on and then grab his hair and face fuck him with it for the fun of it, HE HAS NO COMPLAINTS. But like, only if you want to tho-

Anything that has to do with you sitting on his face: Please let him eat you out. When you're stressed, sometimes he just thinks that maybe you'd be a little less stressed if you just sat on his face and let his tongue take away all the stress from your pretty little head. If you're worried about hitting him, he will reminded you he got trapped in an elephant stampede and survived somehow.

"...A-Are you comparing me to an ELEPHANT?"

"WHA- NAH, I'M JUST- That definely ain't what I meant! See? This is why ya gotta sit on my face so I don't say dumb shit like that-"

".... Have a good day, Jesse-"

"DARLIN', I JUST MEANT TO SAY YA DON'T GOTTA BE AFRAID OF ME GETTIN' HURT!"

Manhandling: Look, he grew up in a farm in the south so he absolutely is able to to toss, choke, and hold you down but since it helped him realize his own strength, he knows how gentle he's gotta be with you too. But yeah him just holding your wrists above your head as he pins you against the wall and his other arm wrapped around your waist so he can fuck you. Or like, 69 you but HE'S STANDING UP. So if you're sucking him off but slowing down, he can grab the back of your hair and bob your head for you as he does his part to make you feel good.

- Bondage: Loves the idea of tying you up and being tied up himself. HE'D BE SO DOWN FOR SUSPENSION but understands if you don't want to do it, but let him tie your hands together and tie your legs apart. Another thing is that he's escaped ropes before so when you tie him up and he acts all whiny and helpless as you tease him, just know that he's actually enjoying it. Also, about those dreams he's had, he's definetly had one where he got stuck in a bunch of tree vines and was suspended from the ground but was exactly crotch level to your face and instead of getting him down, you sucked him off. He walked into a wall the next day and when you asked about his black eye, he tells you that it was a hitman-

- Choking: It goes without saying that Jesse won't try to hurt you, since, after all, he's fucking you so YOU feel good but he does like it when he leaves bruises on your neck from his hands or small indents if his nails and he licks over them when you're both in the bathtub and he's cleaning you up. If you choke him out? Instantly nutting and he's absolutely shameless about it.

Praise/Degradation: If want to be praised, he's got you! He praises you all time in non sexual ways but moments when you're sitting on his lap and he's planning for his latest trip that he decides to be mean and whisper sweet nothings and seductive praise. For degradation, he's a bit hesitant and would want to talk about it since he doesn't think people who love each other should say things like that to each other but if you're into it, watch him slowly enjoy calling you his cockdumb slut. He also likes praise himself, no matter whose being more submissive that session, but if you want to degrade him, he'll hesitantly allow it but the longer he's with you, please call him a manwhore. A pervert who instantly opens his lega for you and only you. Be smug that you got the most amazing and impressive historian underneath you and his eyes are rolled back as you call him some mean names that don't cross over the line TOO much. Whether you're being mean or being nice, he loves it, but he comes to find out that you being a bit mean to him hits different.

- Overstimulation: THIS MAN HAS SO MUCH STAMINA IT IS INSANE. NO TOY CAN OUTDO OR MAKE YOU FEEL HALF AS GOOD FOR AS HALF AS LONG AS HE CAN. Cry as he fucks you through your orgasm, go numb with pleasure as his mouth licks and sucks whatever it can reach, and whimper timidly when you feel his calloused hands grab you and pull you into him because he promises this is the last tine and he'll be done. Alternatively, OVERSTIMULATE HIM. Put him to the test by using so many toys and vibrators on him while having him eat you out or such or bitting into him. Watch as that happy little smile turns into a lip bite as you make him orgasm for the 6th time that night and how he'll hasp in surprise as you get ready to make it 7.

- Dumbification: He loves watching you turn into a babbling mess. He loves having intelligent conversations with you but he also discovered that he loves it when you talk absolute nonsense because his cock is pounding you so good. He will get dumb with you two and soon you both are just two bodies pressed each other mindlessly fucking and he loves it. He loves that all you can do is incoherently beg for him not to stop and that your whines are the only thing that his brain can hear and that the pleasure of his cock being squeezed by you is the only thing he can feel.

#In honour kf my becoming 18 have some smut- #HOPEFULLY THIS ISN'T TOO AWLWARD #yandere oc x reader #male yandere x reader #gender neutral reader #yandere x gn reader #gender neutral nsft #IF IT ISN'T GNC ENOUGH LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTS. #oc: Jesse Reeves #yandere adventurer #yandere adventurer x reader #yandere hcs #yandere headcanons #yandere male #male yandere #yandere smut #smut #tw yandere #yandere x reader smut

[bachiras-toaster]

arcade date with chigiri?! pls i love him so much HSJSJ maybe the rest of the bllk boys even catch him at the arcade and tease him ????

arcade games and cat plushies : ̗̀➛

HYOUMA CHIGIRI x reader

wc. 3.1k

content. literally just tooth rotting fluff :3

Because of Blue Lock, you and your boyfriend weren’t able to hang out as often as you could before. Which is why on the days that he was actually allowed a to leave, he would always visit you and take you on dates. Today was the same, and this time, he brought you to an arcade.

You and Chigiri had been circling the arcade for perhaps an hour or two now, yet it didn’t seem that either of your energies were beginning to quell. In fact, it seemed that the longer that the two of you remained in each other’s presence, the richer your hearts became; this fact grew more obvious when you even began repeating machines and games, returning to certain areas maybe two or three times.

The both of your pockets were overflowing with tickets, to the point where you had even began to drape the large streams of winnings you had across your shoulders like a scarf. As for Chigiri, he would scrunch the papers up and just carry them around like a ball, only dropping them to his feet when he needed to use his hands in a game. The two of you had stayed in the arcade much longer than anyone else had, so it was no wonder why the both of you had accumulated the most successes.

Soon, the both of you reached the air-hockey board once more, and he dashed around to slot another coin into the game.

“Ready for another rematch?” Chigiri grinned widely, reaching for one of the mallets.

“Oh, you’re on.” A wide smile of determination crew on your face as you watched him drop his tickets to the floor and even begin gathering his hair to tie it back. “We’re getting serious now, are we?” You giggled as he pulled a hair tie from his wrist to wrap it around a clump of his hair.

Chigiri smirked, before he then took hold of the mallet once more. “You know I always get serious,” he said, not even missing a beat as he was already smacking the puck at the other end of the board, his eyes intently following his move throughout the entire duration. “Don’t be surprised if you lose again.” He said with a confident snicker.

“You better put a cap on that confidence, because I’m making my comeback!” You cackled, whacking the puck back to his side of the table. “I hope the king’s been practising his kneeling, because I’ve got this one set.”

“Oh is that so…” Chigiri responded with nothing of his usual snicker, instead taking a more calm approach to this match, as if his confidence was at stake from the threat your words were currently attempting to impose upon his. He then began to make several quick passes back and forth, as his eyes remained trained upon the puck the entire time. “I’m looking forward to witnessing your ego crumble, you know.” He responded with a smile.

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but this game is mine!” You announced proudly, sending back the puck that he hit towards you with all of your strength, watching as the flat cylinder was making a line straight to his goal. Your eyes widened with anticipation as it neared the entrance, your irises gleaming with premature excitement.

You were sure you would have screamed your own victory if it hadn’t been for Chigiri intercepting your connection with winning and returning the puck to you. You had been so keen on your brush with the trophy that you hadn’t even considered him hitting it back. So when it was back in your court, you were caught completely off-guard when it ricocheted off the wall and landed in your goal.

“Damn it!” You yelled out

He snickered, his grin widening as he then brought the mallet back with a firm grip on the handle as he returned the puck back to your side of the board.

“Oh, so cocky,” Chigiri spoke, seeming to have thoroughly enjoyed the exchange. However, despite the teasing remark, his tone stayed calm, not even having a hint of hostility or teasing in it. “Seems like your efforts are futile.” he asked, as though expecting a challenge, or some new comeback from you.

“It was a lucky shot.” You told him sourly as you picked the puck back up and threw it against the table to prepare for a second round. “Watch now, I’m locking in and you’re not gonna score any more goals! Your football tactics won’t work here!”

And well, they didn’t, but he won nevertheless, and you watched with shattered disappointment as more tickets began spewing from the slots of the machine, indicating his landslide victory.

“You know, every game has its own little rule set,” Chigiri said, his tone holding a slight sense of satisfaction, although it wasn’t exactly gloating- more so just a friendly jab. As the tickets began to slowly pour out from the machine, Chigiri took notice- his eyes widening as he stared at the steady stream in shock once more. “Wow.” he muttered.

Your eyes remained on him with a wide smile as he began to gather up all of the tickets that he had accumulated into his arms once more. It was irritating that he seemed to be so good at every game in the arcade that the two of you went on, but it didn’t particularly matter at the end of the day as all you knew was that you were having fun. Chigiri saw in your eyes how simply content you were to be in his presence, despite him dominating every single machine, but the fact was that every single one of his tickets was going to be spent on you anyway.

“You ready to exchange our tickets now?” You grinned as he finally picked up the paper hall.

“Of course.” Chigiri responded, although with another smirk on his face as he stared at you, seemingly to have caught on to the fact that the entire time, the way that your eyes had remained trained on him was to no doubt simply that you were satisfied.

When the two of you had put all of your tickets into the exchange machine and were left with the card that displayed your shared winning counter, Chigiri handed the card solely for you to take as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder to pull you into a cute hug while you walked to the desk. You stared down at rhe slip of paper rhat held both of your victories with a wide smile, your thumb tracing over the text lightly.

“What do you plan on spending the tickets on?” He asked.

“I don’t know… We could get anything here!” You told him as you peered at the selection of prizes, the open range of what was available to the two of you being a reminder of how long the two of you hand spent in the arcade.

“Well…” he thought for a moment, staring at the vast array of items as well, before his mind instantly went to the only things that mattered to him in this moment. “How about we get plushies?” He suggested, pointing towards the arsenal of stuffed toys on the shelf. He figured that if anything, you’d find the idea adorable.

“Oh my god, yes!” Your eyes lit up with excitement as you desperately clutched his arm to gesture towards a particular pair that had caught your eye.

“Let’s get those two! The two cat ones!” You squealed, drawing your attentions directly to two plushies that were leaning against each other on the display. Your mind couldn’t help but buzz about how those plushies reminded you of the two of you, and your heart fluttered with the idea of actually getting your hands on the fuzzy cuties.

Chigiri had no qualms with the suggestions, instead following your excited gestures towards the two plushies. “The cats, right?” he turned back for reassurance before approaching the desk, and when you nodded, he made his request to the person by the register.

Once the stuffed animals were taken off display, Chigiri used up the rest of his remaining points to spend it on candy that the two of you could share. He loaded his pockets with lollipops and liquorish before reaching for the plushies, carrying them in his arms back to you as though they were real cats.

Your arms were already out to joyfully take the one cat that you knew was going to be yours, and you squeezed it with all of your might once he handed it to you. Your cheek pressed against the warm fluff of the fuzzy toy, and you cradled the cat like it was your firstborn child.

“So cute.” He whispered when he saw the glow of your smile; he couldn't help but grin as well.

“I love them! They’re so adorable!” You quipped, holding your cat up beside his so you could lay your gazes on the commemoration of this memory.

“Right?” Chigiri agreed, leaning in towards you with his own cat in hand and then moving both toys closer together so that their faces would be side-by-side, their little arms reaching so that they almost looked as if they were trying to touch the other.

He seemed to enjoy the look of having both plushies side-by-side so that they looked like they were cuddling. The two toy cats were left standing beside one another, their tails interlocked as though they were performing the act of holding hands themselves. Chigiri’s eyes remained locked with yours while a smile spread across his face, although he wasn’t sure if it was from finding the cats adorable or from simply staring into your eyes.

“What are you gonna name yours?” He then asked, the corners of his mouth curving up slightly as he leaned against you once more.

“Hm… Akane is very fitting. So whenever I see it, I think of you.” You grinned, holding the cat up to his face.

Although the cat wasn’t actually a deep red like the name suggested, you wanted a title that reflected the nickname given to your boyfriend on the field. The world knew him as ‘the red panther’, so your plushie would mirror just that. It brought him joy thinking about how the plushie had actually been given a name that matched his football title, although he wondered if that would ever cause the toy to be mistaken for him by passer-bys.

"Akane. That's a cute name," Chigiri smiled, looking down at the plushie as you held it up as if it was in fact a cat and not a lifeless toy. “So, what's my cat's name then?" He asked, his voice holding a playful hint as he wondered what name you had chosen to give his plushie.

“It’s yours, you have to choose a name!” You told him sternly, lowering your plushie again to hug it.

“Uh…” Chigiri pondered for a moment, glancing down at the cat toy as he tried to find a suitable enough name. He really did want the name to match his presence or resemble it in some way, as he felt as though this little gesture would be something that he would truly enjoy. “Hm…” Chigiri thought about it, taking a quick glance down at the cat as he shifted his position so that he could wrap his free arm around your shoulders.

“What if I called mine (Y/n) … Would you be offended?” He asked with a smirk.

Your entire face heated up with blush when his arm slinked around your shoulders to hug you, pressing your plushies together with a grin.

“Only if you don’t replace me with that cat.” You commented teasingly.

Chigiri smirked, the side of his head pressing against your own. "No promises." he joked.

The two toy cats remained pressed against one another, the pair of them as if they were a set that had been purchased together.

"I suppose I'll have to take the real version of you over a plushie," he muttered after staring at the prize long enough, his words seeming to carry more than just the playful teasing of earlier, “you’re a lot cuter." He added, his words bringing about a teasing tone once more, but his grip around you was still strong and his cheek still pressed against you.

“So cheesy…” You giggled.

"I may be cheesy, but at least I know I’m a lot more tastier than the alternatives." Chigiri playfully responded, still keeping the joking tone in his voice before adding on another cheeky remark. "Plus, I’m pretty sure plushies don’t cuddle back."

“Well, when you take this plushie back to Blue Lock, you can hug it when you sleep as if I’m there.” You teased.

"Yeah? Will the plushie also complain to me about its back pain? Will it also take up the majority of the bed during nights and leave little space for me?" Chigiri asked, jokingly listing off some of the things you would do when you slept, things that he was already quite used to anyways. "And will the plushie make me have to go to sleep early as well?" He asked just before cracking a grin.

Your jaw dropped before you let out a giggle. “Well, maybe your plushie is just concerned about you getting a full night’s rest before a game!”

"Or, maybe the plushie is just trying to deprive me from the joys of life by trying to force me to take more than six hours of sleep before every match, hmm?" Chigiri suggested, seeming to enjoy this back-and-forth of teasing, although he knew that it was his way of flirting with you.

“Well maybe you could do with a little extra hours of sleep!”

Chigiri rolled his eyes in jest of the comment, making a face as if he was offended as he then leaned his head against yours once more. “And what do you know about sleep?” He asked, the playful, teasing tone clearly prominent in his voice.

“Well, I’ve slept with you a couple of times, so I would say I’m pretty skilled.” You grinned at the suggestive comment. He couldn’t help but snicker as you had made that response, although it took him a few seconds to compose himself as he seemed to be taken aback by the flirty nature of your words. Even though you had slept together several times already, he still was never able to get used to hearing you make such remarks that were clearly intended to embarrass him.

"Well, you do have a point," Chigiri responded after letting out a final breath from his laughs, returning the suggestive comment with one of his own. "Are you implying I keep you awake too often?"

“Not enough.” You shrugged with a smirk.

Chigiri's grin widened as he then leaned in closer to you as though to whisper in your ear, "Is that a challenge then?" he asked, the teasing tone still prevalent in his voice as he tried to match the same nature of the moment, as though he was trying to see just what would happen if it was taken further. “(Y/n)?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you talking to me or the plushie?” You replied, shattering the dark and flirtatious turn that the conversation had taken to return to the friendly teasing, a choice which was received with a chuckle.

"I think I'm speaking to the real (Y/n) and not the toy," he then responded with his own joking comment, his tone remaining playful, but with just the slightest amount of flirtatiousness in it. "Unless... Are you saying you're no different than the plushie?"

“I’m totally different! That plushie can’t give you forehead kisses.”

"That's true, only the real you can do that," Chigiri responded confidently, reaching up to brush back your hair away from your face before tilting his lips closer to your head. "May I?" he asked, leaning only an inch or so away from your forehead.

“You may.” You smiled brightly at your boyfriend, your heart fluttering with compassion.

With your permission, Chigiri planted a soft peck onto your forehead before looking down at you again with so much love in his eyes you could swear he was looking at his world. The distance between the two of you had closed so much that your plushies were pressed between your stomachs as you continued to smile at one another, the atmosphere of each other’s presence filling you with so much desire.

However, right before your boyfriend was able to lean down to kiss your lips instead after staring at you for so long, you two were suddenly interrupted by the sound of excited buzzing as you were approached by a duo that you did not personally recognise.

“Chigiri?!” A voice called out, and your attention was diverted towards a man with black hair and large blue eyes that led the crowd of friends.

“Is this the titular girlfriend you speak so much about?” Another man of the same height appeared behind the one who had previously spoken, this time having a bob cut with a bleached underside.

You watched as the pair approached your boyfriend with wide smiles, eager to find their best friend with what seemed to be his partner.

“What are you guys doing here—?” Chigiri’s eyes widened, holding your hand with one palm as he cradled his plushie with the other, involuntarily shifting you to hide behind him— as if the other two hadn’t already seen you.

“We were also let out of Blue Lock, you know! You think we wouldn’t wonder where you were?” Isagi exclaimed. “We wanted to hang out!”

“Why haven’t you ever introduced us to your girlfriend before?” Bachira swiftly found himself peeping behind Chigiri’s hip to stare at you, giving you a wide and cheese smile— Which you awkwardly reciprocated. “She’s very pretty!”

“You guys…” Chigiri’s entire face had been painted with blush, still keeping you behind him.

You couldn’t help but smile sweetly at the gesture, watching as your boyfriend’s flushed face attempted to hide his flustered embarrassment. So he had been too nervous to tell his teammates about you, huh?

“Don’t just stand there nervously, Hyouma!” You giggled, shifting from behind him to present yourself in a more friendly manner to both Bachira and Isagi. “Introduce me to your friends!”

#blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock #bllk x y/n #bllk fluff #bllk imagines #bllk x you #bllk x reader #bllk #bllk chigiri #chigiri hyoma #chigiri x reader #blue lock chigiri #chigiri fluff #hyouma chigiri

[thefandomdirtymind]

could it be a request from Sanji? where he is the reader's protector because she also sank on the ship and survived with him? And when Luffy offers him to join his crew, he tells him that he's not going to leave without her? I am in doubt if I want them to be a couple from the beginning or to use the best friends to lovers?

A/N IMPORTANT:  HI awesomemikaus ! Thank you for your request ! I choose the Best Friend to lover trope and give it a jealousy twist, I really enjoy working on this even if that was kinda challenging due to a lot of dialogue and dancing around the already existing scene. I hope you will like it and you will send me other request !

Shoutout to : @alienstardustwrites !

Better late than never

OPLA - Sanji

Sanji / OPLA Masterlist and Coming Soon

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.

—

Many situations in life could push people to become close. A mutual friend, a job, a common interest or like in the case of Sanji and you, a major tragedy. 

The abordage by Zeff crew alongside the sank of the ship, as you were both children would have scarfs people way more tougher than you. But, luckily you had each other, keeping you sane and safe while you were stuck on the damn rock in the middle of the sea.

Again those days, as you were both working for Zeff at the Baratie. You would wake up in the middle of the night after your recurrent nightmare, searching the hand of Sanji for reassurance, just like when you were still lost at sea, laying against each other. Of course, as you grow up and are now safe in the security of your own room, you would calm yourself by just looking around you. But, some nights, when the nightmare took a turn for the worst. Sanji had many times, without a word, welcoming you in his bed, holding you until you could fall back to sleep.

Reciprocally, the blond cook would also often reach for you, particularly after a frustrating fight with Zeff or when his own nightmare caught up with him. Those nights, as he inserted himself in your bed, his whole body shaking against you, you would turn yourself, caressing his hair until he relaxed enough to finally close his eyes, haunted by horror you know he survived before you arrived in his young life.

As for the kitchen, your close relationship, often mistaken, had brought few interrogation and funny situations among the crew. Among other things, many bets on when the staff will find you finally making out and when, or an initiation for the new hire consisting of trying to ask you out, pushing the protective instinct of Sanji to often scare the crap out of many new cooks.

“ Sanji, this one was just trying to be nice “ You protested, rolling your eyes as the poor new cook who’s just complimented your dessert returned to his station. 

“ No love, he was flirting and trust me you deserve better than that “ He replied, finishing his own plate. 

“ Should I go tell the same thing to the blond you had spotted at table eight? “ You playfully asked.

“ Oh mon coeur, don’t be jealous, you know you’re the most important woman in my life” He laughs, kissing the top of your head before heading to the heating lamp.

Letting escape a small laugh as you roll your eyes because of him for the second time. Even if you know it was the truth, you couldn’t stop yourself wondering  for how long you will still be that important to him. 

After all, you had eyes and had been perfectly able to see that your best friend is perfectly attractive and with the flirty mouth of his, one day, one of those ladies will respond favorably to his sweet talk. Then what. 

Of course you had tried, one of those nights when you were safe between his arms, to share with him your fears. But, half-asleep, his thumb doing a small circle in the middle of your back, he kissed your forehead before encouraging you to sleep. 

“ You’re out of the line ! Go serve the tables. Out ! “ You heard Zeff shout. 

Turning your head, seeing Sanji unhappily removing his cook uniforme, you sigh, sharing with the man a compassionate gaze as he passes the door to the dining area. 

—

You didn’t expect him to come back with such a large smile on his face, nor having such an acid and strange feeling in your stomach when you heard him talk highly about the ginger angel he was serving. You had seen him inflating himself over some woman before, but not like that, not with that look on his face. 

Without realizing, your mood became sour and your answer was more short and sharp than usual. 

“ Y/N how much time before the eclair are ready” 

“ They will be ready when I say they will be ready Patty !” 

“ Damn girl, I hope your pastry is sweeter than you because for once I enjoy more Sanji than you right now” The blue haired cook replied, passing behind you.  

“ Fuck you Patty ! “

The blond cook had too had his own taste of your temper, having his own full blow as he was entering the kitchen at the end of the shift. 

“ Hey Y/N did see the face of Zeff when I gave him the I Own You note” He laughed, not noticing at first your gloomy attitude. 

“ Don’t notice no, must have been too busy, you know cooking and covering your part. “ You stiffly answered. 

“ Y/N are you okay ? Did you have a fight with Zeff or Patty ?” Sanji asked, concerned by your attitude. “ Jamie is at the bar today should we go take a drink. Or, I can mix you one here if you want“ He offered, trying to reach your hand in reconfort.  

“ No, i’m fine and I’m neither in the mood to been overprotected or had a sad party above a drink “ 

“ Y/N…what happened ? “ Sanji asked, now really concerned.

“I’m fine I tell you ! You, go take that drink , find that gorgeous perfect ginger angel and Let me breathe “ You end up shouting, exiting the kitchen. 

Hesitating to chase after you, his own humor darkens. Sanji ends up smoking alone at the small table of the kitchen, sharing with the new chore boy his old dream about finding the all blue, while you will finally have the good word to describe it in your novel. 

“ So that girl earlier was your friend ? “ Luffy kindly asked. 

“ Yes, my best friend even if the word is weak, she is way more than that for me” Sanji replied, memories filling his mind as the white smoke danced before his eyes. 

“ Oh so you and her…are like soulmate or lover?“

“ Damn If I had a Berrie every time I heard that” Sanji laugh” Y/N and I are…We are…it’s complicated “ He finally exclaimed, finishing his cigarette. 

“ I don’t do complicated but you should join my crew ! “ 

“ Join your crew “ Sanji chuckle “ Y/N and I are like a package deal chore boy, I would never leave her behind “ 

“ Bring her with you, she seems fun ! “ 

“ Well, she is, when she’s in a good mood “ He replied, his gaze fixed on the rotative door of the kitchen, his mind fixed on you.  

—

That night, as you were trying to sleep, you heard the familiar sound of your door open and softly close,before feeling the bed bend under the mass of another occupant. 

“ A Nightmare Sanji ? “ You simply asked. 

“ No, more a concern keeping me awake. You seem really upset today” 

“ That’s nothing “ You brush away, keeping your turn back to him.  

“ The chores boy has offered me to join his crew “ Sanji confessed, chuckling a little but still serious. 

“ So you leaving ? “ You asked, your heart falling in a pit in your stomach, a sour taste filling your mouth.

“ No, Zeff needs me, needs us…but I admit I had thought about it for a moment. Finding the All Blue Y/N, but I can’t, I own the old men our lives ”

Turning yourself around, meeting his clear blue eyes, you gently inserted yourself in his arms.

“ You don’t want to talk about today ? “ Sanji insisted, his arms adjusting themselves around your lying form. 

“ No, I had a talk with Jamie, it was enough, now I just want to sleep and forget today, all of it” You replied, your eyelid becoming heavier, the reassuring warmth of his body putting you gently to sleep. 

“ What, Jamie? Why did you come talk to me ? “ 

“ Sanji, please “ You pleaded, your head filling the crook of his neck trying to find a comfortable way to sleep.

“Do you want me to leave ?” He strangely asked. 

“ No, please stay, i’m really comfortable “ 

“ Goodnight Y/N ”

“ Night Sanji “ 

—

The next morning was for Sanji, one of the strangest of his life. Waking up by your side wasn’t new for him, but, as you were still asleep, the light of the sun illuminating your features beautifully, he advanced a hand to caress your hair. Scaring away the new cooks  who try to seduce you and shut down bets about your romantic life was always fun and game, after all you were way too good for those wannabe cooks. So,why he couldn’t stop to think about you and Jamie, and why he felt so uneasy and angry about it.

Leaving a kiss on your forehead before heading to his own room to change. The strange feeling following him like a cloud,didn’t dissipate, even when he was keeping himself busy helping with the morning prep. He soon regretted, as the day became even more unusual, ( stitching up with Zeff an unconscious swordsman with moss hair)  and dangerous ( Jumping in a fight with Arlong and his fishman attacking the restaurant. Keeping an eye on the kitchen to make sure you were safe ), to not take a moment more to keep you against him while he could. 

But the most difficult of all was his own personal battle with Zeff. Why the stubborn old man couldn’t see that his place was there with you and him. 

“ Little eggplant, for how long will you hide your head in the sand? Staying here is abandoning your dream and if you don't take a good look in front of you you will miss the best treasure here. “Zeff argued, watching Sanji angrily collecting the plates.

Anger bubbling like lava into his stomach, the pile of dirty dishes in his hand, trying to keep himself busy even during the verbal fight, Sanji faced his mentor. 

“ You need us Old man and you don’t know what you talking about “ He replied, his contradicting feeling flashing a sweet vision of your sleeping self.   

“ I know what love is little eggplant, you can play the friends card all you want, but I know she’s the one who'll keep your nightmare away. When she will have a partner, little eggplant, do you think they will allow you in their bed ? “ The chef asked, knowing perfectly where to push his proteger to make him move. 

“ She would never leave me behind “The blond said, his lips a tight line, trying to ignore the invasive thought that, just yesterday, you had preferred talking of your problem to Jamie than him. 

“ She will not, but a mermaid like her deserves to be loved and cherished, little eggplant. If  you don’t, somebody else will. You will not be able to keep her to yourself forever. Take her with you, treat her right and find the All Blue.If it’s my permission you need, go, she’s in the kitchen “ 

“ Fine ! “ Defeated Sanji shouted, putting down the piles of plates, before kicking a chair,  heading for the kitchen. 

You were indeed where the old chef had said, cleaning slowly your station since every cooking activity had been shut down since the attack.

“ Y/N love, make your bag the old man don’t need us anymore, we will find the All Blue. “ The blond cook said, gently taking off your hand the dishcloths.

“ What...what’s happened ? “ You asked, confused. The last time you had seen Zeff and Sanji was after the Fishmen had left and the old chef hadn’t said a word about kicking them out.  

“ We will take the offer of the chores boy and leave this place “ He simply answered, collecting his knives. 

“ Sanji...I think it’s better if I stay here “ You confessed,every fiber of your body protesting against the choice you made. 

“ What...Y/N “ Sanji stops,facing you, his heart skipping a beat. “ It’s our dream…” 

“ I know, but those days I...Sanji I can do it anymore… watch you flirt with all those women ,wondering ,which one will be the one who will fascinate you enough to take my place. That ginger girl will be lucky Sanji.” 

“ Nobody will take your place, Y/N, please I need you “ Tears rolling of his eyes, his heart arching as the words of Zeff making more and more sense “ I can’t do it without you “ 

“ Sanji, you’re the best cook in all the east blue you…” You sadly smiled, your own tears rolling on your cheeks, but your encouraging speeches had been quickly cut by his warm lips against yours giving you the longest due kiss of existence, his hand cupping your face. 

“ No, I can’t because nothing makes sense without you” He answered, his arms embracing you. “ If you stay I stay, if you go I go. I’m really late I know but, I love you, I think from the time on that damn rock, when you were just a little girl in a torn dress to now. Je t’aime Y/N “ 

Emotions were colinding in you like an avalanche as you reach for his lips, smiling uncontrollably against his mouth. 

“ Better late than never “ You whispered between two kisses. “ I love you too. But I swear if you call me Madam or one of those generic nicknames you used, I kick your ass.” 

“ No worries, I had a better one for you Mon amour “ Sanji laughed, kissing your cheeks. 

Lost in your own bubble of happiness, you didn’t hear the double door opening until the intruder shouted. 

“ CREW, THE BOSS MAN WINS THE KISSING BETS WITH THE LOCATION - IN THE KITCHEN IN FRONT OF THE FUCKING PASTRY !- “ Patty shouted, returning without another word in the dinner room. 

Bursting in laughter, holding you thigh, Sanji meet your gaze, the unanswered question floating around you. 

“Sanji, let’s find the All Blue together” You said. 

—

As the Merry Going  was slowly leaving the Baratie dock,  Zeff and your colleague shouting goodbye and advice. You couldn’t believe you were finally off to write your novel and travel the world, Sanji by your side. It had taken you a long time to finally see and admit your feelings to each other but now that it was done, you couldn’t wait to live that next chapter of your life.

“ I have talked to Luffy and we have a room for ourselves, our own bed. “Sanji happily said, taking your hand. “ No more nightmare night and I can’t wait to wake up by your side everyday” 

“ Me too” You simply responded, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss. 

—

BONUS: 

Few years later, as Zeff was opening a letter you had sent him from the Grand Line by special Seagull post, a small card fell on the table. In the photo, a little girl, not much older than one year old was holding a whisk, laughing, his characteristic almost white blond hair covering one of his eyes, and your cute nose already distinct in his tiny face. In the bottom of the card, you had written Zelinda (Vinesmoke) Y/L/N . 

Crushing under his thumbs the fat tears of joy menacing to roll on his cheeks, Zeff takes the picture and puts it on the message board, his old heart full of love for his two love birds.

---

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[kay-jaye]

aziraphale is pretty sure attempting to sneak a demon into heaven is a bad idea.

forget the fact that he’s the supreme archangel. forget the fact that the second coming is not going at all according to plan—his plan…the ineffable plan? forget the fact that he and crowley haven’t had a moment alone that wasn’t interrupted by muriel or maggie or nina or a legion of demons or the end of the world.

forget the fact that crowley hasn’t taken those wretched sunglasses off since…

it’s definitely a bad idea.

crowley is wearing a cream-colored suit over one of those turtlenecks with a gold version of his usual scarf, saying something about heavenly bees, but whatever joke he’s trying to make falls flat because all aziraphale can think is, i could appoint you to be an angel, you could come back to heaven, and isn’t that the pinnacle of cruel irony?

he understands why the disguise is necessary; it’s the not-so-subtle rub-in-the-face from a bitter demon squeezing his heart into a fist. it’s the prick of unease in the back of his mind that something isn’t quite right, the floor is at an odd angle, that book belongs on a different shelf. at the same time, it’s the you’re gorgeous he’s longed to return since before the beginning, sitting behind clenched teeth every day for 6,000 years. and it’s the realization that this was not what he imagined at all.

“this the one?” crowley asks, flipping through a file laid out on michael’s desk. “supreme archangel, and they’re still keeping secrets from you, huh?”

aziraphale would appreciate it if crowley would refrain from certain reminders. “yes, that’s it.” he looks around the pillar he’s taken to leaning against, waiting for the inevitable repercussion of being caught in the act. his suit is newer, sharper, grayer, but at this rate, all the worrying his thumbs have been doing to the fabric of the jacket is bound to have him looking his normal self. he supposes crowley sees something similarly foreign whenever he looks at him.

“wait, these are—”

“i know.”

crowley’s frown deepens as he rummages through the papers and documents and photos that aziraphale spent so long staring at, debating if coming back to beg crowley for help was worth the knife wounding his pride, and whether crowley would simply twist it instead and tell him to fuck off.

(he did, at first.)

too many things on the tip of his tongue—another apology, a frustrated yell, the heavy memory of crowley.

“you were right,” he settles with a sigh.

the demon pauses, considers him, then closes the vanilla folder, dragging the projected holograms back into the file. aziraphale braces for an “i told you so” or the self-deprecating laughter that’s made an increased appearance in wake of his leaving. the damn sunglasses render his expression unreadable, a book aziraphale regarded himself as an expert on, but now he isn’t so sure he’d ever gotten the words right to begin with.

then crowley is smiling at him. no sneer, no malice. crowley’s smile is small, two parts sad and muted expectations, and aziraphale feels like he’s being offered something important, more than a title, more than a job, more than the opportunity to fix the unfixable, though he certainly tried, and he’ll be damned before he lets it go. it’s still angry, but it’s so much realer than anything aziraphale has felt up here for months, and aziraphale knows. he knows they need to talk, and even if they’re just as irreparable as heaven and the whole system, he knows which one he’ll be devoted to mending.

“can i get that in dance form?”

and suddenly aziraphale knows what it is to soar without wings.

he doesn’t get the chance to respond before michael’s approaching voice sends him into a panic. aziraphale hopes the click of heels on white porcelain tile will drown out the sound of their own shuffling as he lunges for crowley, who just manages to grab the file they came for, and pulls him around the pillar.

there aren’t many good hiding places in heaven. why would there be? it’s supposed to reflect truth and dispel lies. the good thing about being an archangel, however, is the ability to alter heaven’s layout, although minutely. you want a desk? there. you want to lengthen the hallway from uriel’s office to yours? done. you want a slightly darker corridor leading into the wall a few feet to the left of michael’s desk? aziraphale does.

he almost shushes crowley’s quiet yelp of surprise when he frantically presses the demon into the alcove out of sight, and aziraphale feels the punched-out exhale more than he actually hears it.

it’s deja vu. they’re back in tadfield manor except crowley’s holding a folder containing plans for judgment day trapped between them, and aziraphale’s the one with his hands clutching lapels like they might leave with another stinging don’t bother. the moment is dangerously loaded because fuck, aziraphale has no idea where crowley’s sunglasses got thrown in his haste, and crowley’s looking at him, really looking at him, without dark lenses to hide the way his eyes flicker down or the split-second fear that flashes across them.

aziraphale is crushing their chests together, and crowley is caving under him, and jesus isn’t here yet, but there wouldn’t have been room for him anyway.

“angel,” crowley breathes, and aziraphale knows it’s a slip of the tongue because crowley hasn’t called him that since they last parted ways.

aziraphale’s mind is a constant loop of yellow, yellow, yellow, and it takes every ounce of remaining self-control in his body not to lean forward and do what he should’ve done months ago. he doesn’t have quite enough left to pull back though, so he’s stuck on the verge of never knowing how to ask for what he wants, always too good at backtracking for their own safety, afraid to do it now because he really thought last time was the last time, and he doesn’t know if crowley can take another rejection.

aziraphale doesn’t know if he can either.

any sound of michael has disappeared.

aziraphale reckons this is the part where he’s supposed to say something like, “i’m not nice. nice is a four-letter word.” aziraphale reckons crowley might even agree with him. he doesn’t feel nice; all these millennia of you go too fast for me, crowley, and i don’t even like you.

their noses bump as crowley shifts his head. “aziraphale,” he says. it makes the angel want to cry. “‘s alright.”

so crowley’s catching the bullet this time, and that’s all it takes for aziraphale’s grip to loosen. he steps back—all too familiar a motion—and watches the demon smooth himself out.

“crowley, i—”

“nah,” he interrupts, waving the file in his hands. “talk later, remember?”

aziraphale relaxes, wonders what miracle gave him this and who performed it, wonders which stars aligned and whether crowley knew about them. the angel nods.

neither speaks again until the elevator doors are closing and the angel disguise has fallen away.

crowley, in all of his too-tight pants and infinite patience, doesn’t even look at aziraphale when he says, “dance later, too.”

#good omens #good omens fic #reverse wall slam #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #crowley #supreme archangel aziraphale #um the last one got some unexpected but very appreciated attention so here's another #kayjaye writes

[bakugotrashpanda]

Touya x Reader Word Count: 1.4k

!!: angst

A/N: this started out when I realized I didn’t write anything for Dabi’s birthday and then saw /tartaufraiz’s art on twitter and my brain took off with it. It wasn’t supposed to be this much angst, but I started listening to Logical (Olivia Rodrigo) and uh. Here we are. Just kind of wrote with this one, hopefully everything's in order and makes sense.

Your ex shows up the day after his birthday.

Punching in the code to your apartment, the front door to the building swings open with a creak. You pull your scarf down from your cheeks and let the semi-warm air heat them up. Giving your boots a good couple stomps to get rid of the snow and ice built up underneath, you head over to the elevator. 

You shuffle your grocery bags around and hit the button, sighing as you regain feeling in your face and fingers from the cold.

“You’re late,” a voice you had hoped to never hear again rings out to your right. Closing your eyes you pray that when you turn no one will be there. Deep breath in. Hold. And out.

Ding.

Metal doors in front of you slide open. You should get on – spam the door close button. Ignore what should be a voice in your head. Ignore the way your heart beat a little faster. 

But you can’t.

The elevator closes.

You turn to the stairs. Slow down. The little voice in your head warns you that you’re not ready to see him; you need to prepare yourself – put your walls up again. Turn faster, idiot. An even louder voice in your head screams at you. Consequences be damned, you need to see him.

When your eyes land on him, built up exhilaration clashes with years of pent up and pushed down sadness. White hair partially covers eyes that stole your heart and years of your life. His dark blue windbreaker won’t do much to keep the cold out, but then again, he always ran warm when you dated. He takes a deep drag of his cigarette before standing.

Your words are automatic. How many times had the two of you fought about lost security deposits because of smoke damage? “You can’t smoke in here.”

He arches an eyebrow but stubs the cigarette out on the stairs. “That’s the first thing you say to me?”

You sigh. “Touya, what’re you doing here?”

He shrugs and meanders over to you. Standing side by side he hits the elevator call button. “You didn’t wish me a happy birthday.”

“And?”

“Wanted to make sure you weren’t dead or something.”

“Could’ve been a text.”

He scoffs. “You’d’ve answered?”

Ding.

You get in the elevator and Touya follows. He pushes your floor before you can. It takes off with a slight jolt. Mechanical whirring fills an ever-growing tense silence. Questions and arguments you’ve wanted to have with him swirl around your mind.

In a desperate attempt to break the unbearable tension, you blurt the first thing that comes to your mind. “I thought you’d be busy in some other woman’s bed right now.”

Smooth. 

So fucking smooth.

He lets out a short bark of a laugh. “That was yesterday. Ya know, on my actual birthday.”

The elevator shudders to a stop and you leave first. Touya trails behind you silently like a shadow.

You finally ask what he’s doing here when your keys are in the door.

“Guess I missed hearing from you,” he says and leans against the wall.

“We broke up years ago.” The tang of bitterness in your voice betrays the calm demeanor you hope you’ve been projecting.

“And?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

He nods at your almost unlocked door. “Are you going to invite me in? Or do your neighbors get a front row seat to whatever you got to say to me?”

You bite your tongue but turn the key, opening the door for him. With a grand sweep of your arm, you wave him in. The subtle scent of his cologne washes over you as he passes. 

Still the same scent he wore when we were together.

You plop the grocery bags on the counter and shuck your winter coat and scarf. When you return from hanging them up near the front door, you see him quietly unpacking your bags.

It’s a domesticity you rarely got from him before. When you were together you would’ve asked him for help unloading the groceries and gotten into an argument about it which would lead to another fight about splitting chores evenly as well as how money was spent. 

But here he is, your ex, in your kitchen putting food he’s not going to eat away without being asked and without complaint.

Folding the bags neatly, he opens the fridge and stops. From the entrance to the kitchen you can see something in his eyes. A myriad of emotions pass over his face – his brows pushing together. A question on the tip of his tongue. Lids lowering as he thinks. A slight frown. An unhappy sigh.

You know what he saw. And you have no excuse for it.

Should’ve kicked him out when I had the chance. 

Touya pulls out a small cake. It could fit in the palm of his hand. Pearly white frosting adorned with a single glazed strawberry. 

A habit you never cared to break. 

An accidental annual purchase.

A birthday cake. 

A secret now out in the open. 

“It’s-

“A habit,” you interrupt. “A bad one.”

“So you do think of me.”

The Touya you dated your first year of college would’ve been pleased — strutted around like a peacock and teased you a little. Not enough for you to get mad, but enough to start riling you up. But this one, the man in front of you now… you can’t quite put your finger on it. Is it a spark of hope in his eye? Maybe a quiet determination as he figures out where you stand? Or is it sorrow as he reminisces about the past?

Regardless, you can’t lie. Not to him. “Of course I do.”

“You miss me.” It’s not a question but rather a statement, and it pierces through the shoddy walls you surround yourself with. “Say it.”

You jerk your head up to find his eyes locked on you. “What?”

“You heard me. Say it. That you miss me.” His voice is rough, and the cake… that stupid little cake still sits in the palm of his hand. 

“I do. I miss you.” If he looked closely, he’d find traces of himself hidden in plain sight. A coat in your closet. A book on your nightstand. A lighter next to your candles. “And what about you?”

It’s the first time all night you’ve seen him hesitate. “We could try again.”

“We didn’t work Touya,” you smile sadly. “Maybe in another life we could’ve been happy, but not this one. It’s too late.”

Too much was said and we can’t take it back.

He sets the cake on the counter amidst your forgotten groceries and opens cupboards until he finds what he’s looking for. Taking a single candle, he gently places it next to the strawberry and lights it. 

“Make a wish,” you murmur.

A smirk ghosts across his lips. “I always wish for the same thing.” He bends so he’s level with the candle. The warm flame illuminates the contours of his face and reflects off the piercings he’s accumulated over the years. With a quick gust, the candle goes out leaving a wispy trail of smoke behind. You both stare at it. 

In the past, you would’ve hugged him and peppered him with kisses – asked him what he wished for and then told him not to tell you or it wouldn’t come true. He would’ve kissed your forehead and told you that superstition was stupid. But that was then and this is now.  

Uncomfortable familiarity settles around you like a wet blanket. You cross your arms over your chest. 

“You should go,” you whisper. Or else one of us will do something we both regret. You take a risk and flick your eyes up to his. Your pain is reflected in his gaze.

“Answer your damn texts next time.”

“Maybe,” you shrug. That would require unblocking his number.

He mimics your shrug. “Then maybe I’ll be around again.”

“Goodbye, Touya,” you roll your eyes and let out a little laugh.

He approaches you like you would a wounded animal. Carefully. Tenderly. Reaching out slowly so that it can run away if it wants to. But you stay there and let his hand find your waist, a familiar warmth spreading under his contact. His other hand cups your cheek, and ever so slowly, he leans in. 

You meet him halfway for a chaste kiss. He doesn’t push for more, knowing he’s pressing his luck as it is.

And as soon as it starts, it’s over. His thumb brushes your cheek one last time before he pulls away.

“Until next time.”

“Goodbye, Touya.” 

Picture in banner by takuya_n on unsplash

#dabi #dabi x reader #touya #touya x reader #angst

[sluttyten]

You In My Arms

Chapter 8: All I Want

full masterlist || haechan masterlist || YIMA chapter index

summary: the first date with the girl who reigns in his dreams these days, and Haechan makes a big realization (and a few smaller ones)

length: 7,997 words

tags: exhibitionism, slowburn, friends to lovers, handjobs, blowjobs, public sex, fingering, general perversion, smut

previous chapter || next chapter  (Coming Soon)

“There’s no way you’re actually doing that!?” YangYang laughs loudly, staring at Haechan where he’s standing in the doorway of their shared bathroom. 

Haechan doesn’t look away from his reflection in the mirror as he readjusts his collar and checks his hair. 

“Why do you find it so hard to believe?”

YangYang appears in the reflection over Haechan’s shoulder, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips wide. “Dude, seriously? It’s because you’ve been friends for years. You fucked all of the other girls in our group of friends, but never once did you show an interest in her. And now, suddenly, you’re taking her out on a date?”

Haechan meets YangYang’s eyes in the mirror. “You know, sometimes we’re just blind and dumb when it comes to who is right in front of us. And sometimes it just takes a little extra time to make a move once you realize you have feelings for someone.”

And that brings a twisted look to YangYang’s face. “Gross. Don’t get mushy and emotional on me now, Haechannie.” He shakes his head and walks away, calling back over his shoulder, “So actual feelings are involved? This isn’t just you trying to, like, wine and dine her before finally marking another of our friends off your list?”

Haechan takes one last sweeping look at himself in the mirror before he shuts the light off and turns away. 

“First of all. I didn’t sleep with that many of the girls we were friends with in school. The girls in my dorm block, absolutely.” There was a reason he’d had to learn to avoid all of the girls that lived on the floor below him. “But Karina and one of Mark’s friends were the only ones we were actually close to. So, no, this isn’t me just trying to mark someone else off a non-existent list, dude. I like her.”

And if he doesn’t hurry up, he’s going to be late to their first date. 

Haechan doesn’t usually feel nervous about things. He tends to just bulldoze ahead and then feel regret later instead of nerves at the start. But he feels a little flutter of something as he returns to his room to apply some fragrance, to grab his phone and wallet and a scarf and his coat. 

When he turns around, YangYang is lurking in his doorway now. 

“Damn, what now, Yang?” He hisses, startled at YangYang’s silent appearance. Haechan starts to step around him, but YangYang moves too, blocking his path with a hand to Haechan’s chest. 

“Don’t break her heart, man.” His voice is low, a warning. This is the most serious Haechan has seen YangYang in a long time. “I like having her around too much. She’s a great friend, and if you fuck this up and suddenly she doesn’t want to be friends with any of us anymore….” He cuts himself off, shaking his head before he moves on, spitting, “Don’t scare her off with your pervy shit. She’s a good girl.”

Haechan just grins at that, heart leaping in his chest. Amused, he says, “YangYang, I know things about this woman that would make your hair curl. Don’t worry, I’m not scaring her off or breaking her heart.” 

He slaps YangYang’s arm, and with a laugh, he finally steps around him and heads for the door. 

Without his own car to drive, Haechan walks the several blocks from his apartment to hers. It’s a twenty minute brisk walk, and the cool air of the evening as the season takes its turn towards winter is calming. Twilight has fallen, giving the city a blue wash. Streetlights come on, the stars try to make an appearance. It’s chilly enough that Haechan thinks he can almost see his breath, and he tucks his hands into the pockets of his coat, hiding his nose and mouth beneath the curve of the scarf he has wrapped around his neck. 

She’s waiting for him outside her building. 

She’s bundled up against the cold too. A puffy coat and a hat with one of those fluffy baubles on top, which altogether makes her look absolutely adorable. 

Haechan laughs as he approaches her, lifting a hand up to play with the bauble. “You look cute,” he beams, unable to look away as she smiles back at him. Her hand reaches up for his, pulling it down from where he’d squeezed the fluffy ball at the top of her hat. 

“You look nice too, Donghyuckie. And you smell nice.” She doesn’t let go of his hand. 

Her palm is warm against his, though her fingers are cold, so he laces their fingers together and brings their folded hands into the warm pocket of his jacket. That seems to throw her off slightly, because when he looks over at her, she’s just blinking, staring quietly at the pocket their hands have disappeared into, a glow appearing to her face that wasn’t there before. But then she moves closer, her hand squeezing his inside the pocket of his jacket. 

“So where are we going?” She asks. 

“Dinner.” Haechan starts to walk away, and she follows, sticking right by his side. “And then afterwards, a friend of mine is having a free concert by the river. He’s really talented, so I thought that might be fun. Dessert after that, if you’re interested.”

She nods, her face bright as she holds Haechan’s gaze. “Are we walking everywhere, or do we wanna take my car?” 

Haechan drives, but they take her car. She chatters in the passenger seat, selecting music on her phone for them to listen to, and Haechan keeps one hand on the wheel while the other rests on his thigh. He keeps fighting the urge to reach over and take her hand. He likes the feel of her fingers between his, her palm warm on his. He likes the way that her perfume mingles with his at their wrists. 

He likes her. Plain and simple. 

She talks so much that Haechan wonders how nervous she really is. She looks calm on the outside, but then she’ll excitedly ramble to him about this story from her childhood for five minutes. It’s charming and cute, and Haechan listens intently to the story about her childhood stray cat that her parents wouldn’t let her keep, the one about her first trip to the beach that she could remember, the one about her memories of her first day at university and seeing Haechan then. 

He’s never heard her first impression of him before, so it’s fascinating to hear it now and to see the light smile on her lips as she talks about him, eyes distant with remembrance. 

“First day of orientation,” she giggles — his heart soars at the sound — and she looks ahead through the windshield. “I was so nervous because I didn’t know anyone in my orientation group, and my single acquaintance from high school that I knew there was in a completely different room, and I walk into the room they put us in. Everyone was either talking or sitting quietly by themselves and looking nervous, and I was one of the last ones to enter the room, and there were only a few seats left, so I just remember I booked it for the first one I saw. I remember looking around at everyone, at the student life volunteers who were orienting us.” Again, she laughs. “Do you remember that Xiaojun was actually one of them?”

Damn, Haechan had forgotten about that. He’d been a year ahead of them before he switched his major. 

“But then I was looking around the room, and I saw you just like two seats away from me.” And there is her smile, like she’s pleased but embarrassed, and he wonders if her cheeks are filling with warmth of her embarrassment, if so Haechan wants to feel beneath his fingertips, to cradle her face in his hands as he kisses that sweet smile. But he keeps his hands to himself and just listens. “Once we started the icebreakers, it became quickly obvious that you were pretty extroverted. You were chatty and funny. Back then your hair was like this light honey-brown and your face was still squishy and cute.”

“Are you saying my face isn’t cute now?”

She rolls her eyes. “I know you know that’s not true. Your face was just rounder then.”

Haechan remembers. At freshly eighteen, he’d still been a little round and soft. He’d come to school that autumn wearing the weight of his mother desperately trying to stuff her eldest son with as much love and food as she could before he left the nest. He’d been tanned from spending his last months of freedom on the beach. His hair was only that light because he’d been trying to impress someone who, as it turned out, had no interest in him at all. 

But Haechan remembers orientation too. He remembers when they were broken down into even smaller groups. Haechan, her, the person between them and one on either side of that trio were put together. She’d been a little quiet and withdrawn, and Haechan had tried to fill the silence (and talk over the only other guy in their group who’d thought he was in charge but who only came up with bad ideas),  but he remembered her. He’d noticed her looking at him with this soft look in her eyes, the way she’d laughed along with all of the things he said. 

“I remember you too.” Haechan nods as she quickly argues that there’s no way that he remembers her. “It’s true! I do remember you. You were quiet and cute, smart and you laughed so easily. You’re the one that came up with the idea that let our little group win the free snack vouchers, remember?”

She stares at him. 

“What? Am I wrong?” Haechan glances over at her, then back at the road. “They put our orientation group into smaller groups, we were together in ours, and we were told to problem-solve. There was one smarty-pants who kept throwing out shitty ideas, I kept making jokes, the other two didn’t contribute much at all, and in the end you came up with the solution. We won snack vouchers, and I kept complimenting you on your idea. Right?”

She nods. “Right.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Haechan laughs, noticing that she’s still just looking at him. “What?”

“I just…. Honestly, I didn’t think you noticed me at all until I started hanging out with the group months later.” She bites her lip and looks out the windshield again. “I remembered everything from that day because that’s when I first started crushing on you, but I never expected that you’d remember me from then.”

They arrive at the restaurant then, and Haechan pulls into a place to park. 

“You impressed me,” Haechan admits. “And then I kept seeing you around campus. We had a class or two together that first semester. When I wasn’t doing too great in the Psych class we had, I thought about approaching you to ask if you wanted to join my study group. Not that I had one, but I knew you were smart and nice, so I thought maybe I could at least study with you. But I always talked myself out of it, and then next thing I knew, I went to meet Renjun for lunch on campus one day, and there you were sitting and talking with him and Jeno.” Haechan shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips as the memory replays itself in his mind. 

He couldn’t believe two of his closest friends were apparently friends with this girl. He’d watched from a short distance for a moment or two, watching her laugh with Renjun, watching her excitedly turn to tell Jeno something. Her mannerisms were so cute, and when Haechan finally realized he was being creepy by just standing there watching, he approached the table. She’d looked up at him with wide eyes, her lips parted softly, and she’d let out a little “oh!” of surprise. 

After that, the rest was history. 

They’d become acquaintances who had friends in common, and then their overlapping friend group kept growing until it was common to hang out together. They’d gotten to know each other better, and Haechan had become preoccupied with other people to crush on and lust after, namely Shotaro’s girlfriend, and he’d completely forgotten to realize his feelings growing for her. Until a few months ago. 

Dinner is nice. 

They share dishes, drink some wine, laugh and talk and probably make lovey eyes at each other quite a bit. Haechan knows that he is. Every time she laughs, he feels like he smiles so dopey. Every time that her foot brushes against his beneath the table, his heart lurches. By the time the check comes, Haechan is fully enchanted with her. Of course, he already knew that he really, really liked her. He knew that he wanted to end this night with finally getting to be with her. But now he knows he definitely wants it more long term than that. He feels like a silly young girl in a fairytale, picturing an entire future just after a first date. 

The walk back to the car is the longest three minutes of his life. 

He’s holding her hand, but it’s not enough. 

He keeps looking at her flushed cheeks, at the shine in her eyes, and at her lips which are stained a slight shade darker by the wine. And he wants to kiss her, to hold her against him, to keep her warm tonight,  and taste her on his tongue in every way. 

When they reach the car, Haechan can’t hold back anymore. She reaches for the door handle of the passenger side, but Haechan puts a hand on the doorframe, and with his other hand he pulls on their intertwined hands. 

She faces him with a bright smile, with a giggle. And like she knows exactly what’s happening, her eyelashes flutter and she tilts her head, and when he leans in to kiss her, she moves to meet him. 

This kiss is better than the last. 

Haechan feels like he’s had to wait another eternity from that night to this one, though it’s only been somewhere around a week. But every hour felt like an eon, and now it’s all coming to a point right here in this moment when she presses her body against his, her hands sliding around beneath his coat to hold onto his hips, to draw him against her as she leans against the side of her car. His fingers dive into her hair, braiding through the strands as she opens her mouth to his kiss. 

He kisses her until he’s breathless, until she’s sighing his name against his lips, their breath clouding around their heads. 

“Are we still going to that concert?” She asks, brushing her lips along his jaw. “Or do we want to skip and go right back home?” 

The latter option sounds really good. 

But Haechan wants to do this date properly. 

“Concert first.” He suggests, leaving a too-short kiss on her tempting lips. “Then back to… to yours? To mine?”

“Mine,” she says with certainty. “My roommate’s gone for the weekend. And I’m sure YangYang is still at yours.”

Haechan nods and then laughs. “He threatened me when I told him I was taking you on a date tonight. He told me I’d better not scare you off with any of my pervy shit because you’re a good girl.” He kisses her again, laughing as she tries to slip him some tongue and keep him right there, but he pulls back. “I told him that you’re not as much of a good girl as you would’ve had all of us believing.”

“I’m a good girl,” she insists with a wide, mischievous grin that reaches her eyes. 

“Bullshit, baby.” Haechan kisses her one last time before he reaches around her to pull on the door handle. “Get in the car, and after the concert is over, I’ll get my evidence that you’re absolutely not the innocent good girl most of our friends think you are.”

She just smiles as she slides into the passenger seat. 

Again, Haechan is sorely tempted to drive back the way they came, to go back to her apartment instead of onward to the park beside the river. But he’s taking her to the concert specifically because he said he would, even if now she’s making that decision so hard to stick with. 

As soon as he’s settled in the driver’s seat with the car turned on, she slides her hand over to his thigh. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, trying to keep his tone casual. 

“Nothing.” She just smiles, trying to look innocent, but that mischievous gleam in her eye gives her away. “How far of a drive is it?”

He types it into his phone, his toes curling in his shoes as she starts moving her hand up and down on his thigh. His GPS presents the answer, the automated voice announcing that it’s about a twenty minute drive. 

“I can work with that,” she chimes, leaning her head against the headrest to look over at him. “What do you say, Haechan? You’ve been wined and dined, can I finally get a taste of you?”

Her hand slips higher, fingers brushing right along the center seam of his pants, over his balls, fondling as she finds his stiffening cock. He groans, dropping his head back. Is he meant to be able to say no to the offer? Not that he wants to say no. Sure, he’d wanted to do that whole proper date thing, but if she’s offering a handjob or road head right now, he can’t turn that down. 

“Let me get us out of this parking garage, and then you can do whatever you like, angel.” Haechan hears a little shiver in his voice, excitement and arousal as he grips the steering wheel and twists in the driver’s seat, putting the car in reverse. “Just wait a minute, and then you can….”

She palms his cock again. 

“You know,” she says, “I’ve been thinking of doing this since seeing you in Mr. Moon’s car. Specifically giving you a hand while you drive, I mean. Like I told you earlier, I’ve had a crush on you since orientation, so I’ve dreamed of jerking you off many, many more times before then. Among other things.”

It takes every ounce of his willpower to not look away from the car’s rear window as he backs up and tries checking his blind spots. He can’t look at her right now, no matter how much he’d like to. It’s too risky at the moment. There are too many fancy parked cars he could bump or back into, too high of a possibility that another car or a person walking could come along to hit. He focuses on backing out of their parking spot, and then passing along the curving path of the parking garage towards the exit below. But still her hand is kneading at his thigh or brushing the seam of his pants which is quickly growing strained as his swelling cock presses against it. 

The moment that they’re out of the parking garage, her hand flies to his belt. When they’re sitting at a stoplight two seconds later, she’s unfastening it, fumbling it. Haechan takes his hands off the wheel and his eyes off the red light in front of them to help her undo the belt and the button and zipper of his pants. Her hand slides inside, and he moans the moment that her fingers wrap around his cock and draw him out into the open. 

Her eyes gleam in the streetlights. 

“No road head,” she explains. “It seems a little too risky at the moment since I don’t know how you’ll react, or how quickly you’re gonna cum.” 

Haechan sneers. “What? You think I’m gonna last, like, five seconds or something? Baby, I think you already know better than that.”

She just smiles up at him. Her thumb slides in circles around his tip, and clear fluid is already gathering there, smeared around beneath her fingertip. 

The light changes to green and Haechan steps on the gas. 

And she starts moving her hand on him. 

“You’re gonna make such a mess, aren’t you, Haechan?” She’s teasing him, and the worst part is, that he knows she’s right. He does tend to make a bit of a mess, especially when he’s sitting in a car still fully dressed. He’s gonna get it all over his pants, but at least he’s got a coat that’ll cover the front of his pants when they get to the park. 

She strokes his cock slowly, but that doesn’t mean that every single motion doesn’t unfurl pleasure from the base of his spine, sending tendrils of arousal through his veins. 

Haechan does his best to focus on the road, to not just melt into the heat of her palm around his cock, to not dissolve when she leans over and drools spit down onto him to ease the glide a little more. 

“Fuck,” he curses, loosening one hand from the wheel to lay it against the back of her head. But she sits up instead of sinking her pretty lips around him. He doesn’t move his hand, just braids his fingers through her hair, tugging lightly when she squeezes her hand around him on the slow upstroke. 

Haechan blows down the streets of the city. 

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t run any red lights or stop signs. He doesn’t crash into any cars, curbs, or pedestrians. So he must be doing something right even as his focus starts to slip. 

A knot of pleasure is tightening between his navel and his cock. 

“If you haven’t cum by the time we get there,” she sighs, leaning closer to touch her lips to his neck — his cock twitches, a blurt of precum leaking from the tip — and she continues, “Then as soon as you put this car in park I really want to sit on your cock, Haechannie. It just looks so wonderful. Since you sent me that first video, I thought so. You’ll fill me so well, stretch me so nicely, and I bet you’d like to cum inside me like that wouldn’t you? With me riding you in the car? Like that video you stole from Renjun’s phone.”

Haechan’s hips jolt off the seat, driving his cock up into the tight fit of her fist. That video…. So hot. He’d thought about it and watched it quite a few times since he sent it to himself. The way the girl in the video’s ass had bounced, how her pussy had swallowed Renjun’s cock so nicely, and Haechan knew that his own cock was bigger than Renjun’s and it would’ve stretched that pussy even nicer. He’d fantasized too often about that, getting ridden in a hot, sweaty car, cumming inside her with his cum then dripping down her thighs. He’d wondered for a few weeks after Thailand, wondering who the girl had been, wondering if Haechan could track her down and get to experience that for himself. Of course, by that point, he’d already kind of started to realize he might have feelings for the beautiful woman who currently has his cock in her hand, so he’d given up on that brief fantasy. 

She kisses Haechan’s neck again, her hand massaging just right beneath his cock tip. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Like you told me, you’ve gotten off to that video so many times. It’s your favorite.” Her teeth skim his skin, and Haechan’s heart thunders, pleasure arcing through him. 

“Wouldn’t it just blow your mind, Haechan, if I told you that I’m the girl in that video?” 

His mind goes blank. The world whites out for a second as his orgasm pulses through him. Only a self-preservation instinct keeps him from crashing the car as Haechan cums in sticky white ropes all over her hand and her steering wheel and his lap. 

She’s the girl in that video?

She’s the girl riding Renjun in the car with the gorgeous ass and beautiful pussy, the one who’d ridden Renjun’s cock like a professional cockrider? The one with Renjun’s handprints on her ass, cum spilling down her perfect thighs beneath the sundress. 

It makes sense, now that he actually thinks about it. 

He knew that she’d fucked around with Renjun during that period of time, but for some reason, he’d never considered that she was the one in the video. Then that must mean that she was also the girl in the other pictures and videos. How many times had he watched her without knowing it was her? How many times had he cum, fantasizing about her body and her moans without realizing they were hers?

It’s the sound of the center console popping open that breaks Haechan out of his daze. She’s rummaging through the contents of her car’s center console until she comes up with a pack of wet wipes. 

“What are you doing?” Haechan asks. 

“Cleaning you up.” She pulls a wipe out, cleaning her hand off first, and her wrist, then she tries to wipe his cum off her steering wheel. 

He’s silent for a moment, but then he asks, “Is it really you in that video?”

She looks up, barely more than a cursory glance, then says, “Yes. It’s me. He told me he’d told Jaehyun about the night that he and I exchanged orgasms during the movie, and Jaehyun wanted to watch us together. I was horny, he was willing to show off, so we fucked right here in this seat.” She points to the spot she’s sitting. “In the back of a parking lot on campus. That was my one request when he asked me if we could fuck for Jaehyun to watch, to do it somewhere semi-public.”

“Who’s the pervert now?” Haechan teases, but his heart is pounding in his chest, just picturing the scene from an outside perspective: her and Renjun in this car on campus. It would’ve been so easy to catch them. But right now it’s more than that, he wants to be in Renjun’s spot more than ever — to have her riding him in the passenger seat of her car in broad daylight. 

“All of those pictures and videos in Renjun’s phone…. All of them with a girl, those were me,” she admits quietly, still wiping down little spots in the car. “We weren’t a thrupple, I never got physically involved with Jaehyun, never even got to watch the two of them together, but every time that Renjun and I were together there was either photo or video or audio evidence. Sometimes we called Jaehyun and he would listen in or tell us what to do. It was all really hot.”

When Haechan looks over, she’s squirming in her seat a little. 

He’s still driving, but according to the GPS they’re almost there. She takes a new wipe to dab gently at the cum on the front of his pants. 

She tosses the used wipes to the floor at her feet, and then she shifts in her seat. 

Haechan glances over at her, curious, watching as she rearranges herself until her chest is against the center console. His heart picks up a thunderous pace. “I thought you said no road head?” He asks, moving his hand to the back of her head again. 

“Hey, Lee Donghyuck. It’s not too late for me to change my mind again. Keep your mouth shut or else I won’t do it.” She threatens, but he can tell that she’s going to do it regardless of what he says right now. She’s licking her lips, eyes fixed on his softening cock still wet with his cum. “You just keep your eyes on the road. Focus on getting us to our destination in one piece because now that we’ve talked about that video, I really, really have my heart set on riding you when we get there.”

Haechan does exactly as she says. He looks ahead at the road, noticing that they have just one more light, just one more right turn after that, and they’ll be in the parking lot. 

Her tongue swipes along the side of his cock. 

She makes a soft hum, and then she licks again, and then, as they pass over a slight bump in the road, she sucks the soft head of his cock between her lips. 

“Fuck!” Haechan groans, risking a look down. 

It’s worth it. Even if he’d crashed the car right then, the glimpse he’d caught of her with her pretty lips spread around his cock, her eyes watching his face, it would’ve been worth it. 

She sucks his cock, bobbing her head, tongue working to clean the cum that had spilled down his length from his previous orgasm. And she keeps moaning, humming with these little sounds of delight. His fingers tighten in her hair, and he can feel the blood rushing to his cock once more, him growing hard on her tongue. 

As he turns the car into the parking lot, he tugs at her hair. “We’re here,” he says.

She sits up, letting his cock fall from her lips as she wipes at the corners of her mouth. 

The parking lot isn’t full, but there is a decently sized crowd. Haechan pulls into the first open spot he can find, which just happens to be in a perfectly private spot. There’s a streetlight nearby putting off a silvery glow, making this spot just public enough to satisfy the woman in the passenger seat’s exhibitionist nature. 

“Well, angel?” He asks as he puts the car in park and pulls the key out of the ignition. “Are you all talk or are you gonna come sit on my cock like a good girl?”

For a moment, he thinks she’s actually about to tell him no as she glances out the car windows. Which would be fine, of course. If she didn’t actually want to ride him right now and had just been saying that to rile him up, that’s fine. They’ll just go watch the concert. 

But then she’s moving, hiking up the long skirt she’s wearing tonight, stockings on beneath it, and she’s slipping over the center console into his lap. 

Haechan’s hands move to her hips. His breath catches in his throat as he looks at her, both of them face to face. There’s a glimmer of saliva at the corner of her lips, and he lifts a hand to wipe it away with his thumb. 

“You’re so beautiful.” The words come out without him meaning to actually say them. 

“Are you just saying that because I just had your cock in my mouth?” She smiles, mirroring his position by lifting a hand to his face as well. “Or because I’m offering to ride you?”

Haechan shakes his head. “Secret third option: I’m saying it because it’s just true.”

By the streetlight’s glow, Haechan watches her face take on a flustered expression. She shifts in his lap, her thighs and ass moving against his thighs, her knees bump against his hips. Her thumb slides along his cheek, drawing connecting lines between his moles. 

He likes holding her just like this. Having her close and warm in his arms, the gentle fragrance of her perfume lulling him into a calm state where he could just sit here and look at her forever. He forgets that he has his cock out still and that she’s in his lap because she wanted to ride his cock. Her eyes are sparkling, her expression bright, and her hand on his cheek is so light that he wants to just lean into it. Of course, he still wants to feel her around his cock, still wants to have her moaning his name while he makes her feel good, her breath gasping against his lips as they rock this car and draw attention to themselves. But he’s perfectly content like this too, and that thought kinda surprises him. 

Haechan is almost always horny, always thinking about sex. But right now, he’d be fine with just tucking his cock away again, taking her hand and going to enjoy the concert. 

“Can we do this later?” He asks quietly, afraid of breaking this fragile moment. Her thumb twitches on his cheek, her mouth twisting a little, so Haechan quickly explains, “I want to do it right the first time. When we have sex for the first time, I don’t want it to be cramped in the car when there’s a concert happening nearby. The general public is right there, any random stranger may walk by, but…” He lifts his hand up to cup her hand against his cheek, which he leans into. “I want to take my time with you, babe. Just us.”

She smiles. “That’s a romantic notion, Lee Donghyuck.”

“I told you not to call me that.” But he isn’t so sure that he means it. He likes the way his name sounds from her lips, the way that her pretty mouth forms those sounds, curling into almost a smile around the Lee, a circle around the Dong, and then with another smile as she finishes out with the Hyuck. He would like the sound of anything she called him, honestly. 

“Oh, sorry,” she teases, leaning closer until her lips brush his ear. “Daddy?”

Haechan laughs. 

He pinches her cheek. “That’s not quite right either, but I like the attempt. Let’s go enjoy the concert, angel, and then I’ll take you home for some proper romance.”

She opens the driver’s side door, sliding out onto her feet, and Haechan takes an extra moment to stuff his cock back inside his pants, to grab the car keys and his phone, and as he pulls himself from the car, he checks to make sure that his coat covers up any of the stains from where his cum dripped earlier. He grabs a folded blanket from her backseat, and tucks it under his arm. 

He takes her hand again, and this time she hides their hands in the warmth of her coat pocket as they walk towards the site of the show. Haechan leans into her, arms knocking together, and he starts talking, telling her about how this is his friend Doyoung, who he met through one of the music courses he took as electives during university. Doyoung is attempting to launch his career, and he’s been signed to a company, though he’s still working to make a big name for himself. 

It’s a small stage with a decently sized crowd. Haechan notices that plenty of other people brought chairs for the lawn in front of the stage or they’ve brought blankets to sit on or wrap up in. Someone got a food truck for Doyoung that sits nearby with words of encouragement on the signage. They’re selling hot coffee, hot chocolate, and some warm snacks. 

They find a good spot to sit, and Haechan wraps the blanket around both of them as they sit down on the grass. She snuggles up to his side, drops her head onto his shoulder. The bauble on the top of her hat tickles his chin, but he doesn’t complain. He just lets her get comfortable, and when she shivers a little more, Haechan unwraps his scarf from around his neck to bundle it around her instead. 

“No,” she protests, trying to untwist it, pushing it back into his hands. “You’ll catch a cold.”

Stubbornly, Haechan just places the scarf once more around her, winding it in loops around her neck. “I’ll be fine. You’re the one that keeps shivering.”

She frowns at him from above the pile of the scarf. “That’s because someone had the bright idea to have an outdoor concert in the middle of winter.” 

“Do you want me to grab you a hot chocolate or a hot coffee?” Haechan offers. 

She shakes her head no very quickly, dropping her head down onto his shoulder again, and clinging tightly to him beneath their blanket, her hand twisting in his sweater. “Nope, you can stay right here. You can keep me warm.”

He’s going to do exactly that. He wraps both of his arms around her, drawing her closer. 

The concert starts just a few minutes later. Doyoung emerges on the stage and sings his heart-aching ballads, his sweet love songs, brighter sounding covers of pop songs. Haechan is surprised to find that there is a group of girls going wild for Doyoung, singing and dancing along to his songs, which means that even though he’s not a big name yet, that’s the beginning of his fanbase. 

Beside him, snuggled against Haechan’s side, his date tonight hums along to the pop songs. 

As the concert begins to draw towards the end just an hour later, Doyoung takes a pause on the stage to scan the crowd. Haechan notices the way he squints against the lights, his hand flexing around the microphone set in the stand. The fangirls go wild, waving and calling for his attention, but Doyoung keeps looking around until finally his eyes meet Haechan’s. He grins brightly and leans into the mic. 

Haechan’s heart begins to race. 

He’d told Doyoung he was definitely coming tonight after the invitation went out. He’d mentioned he was bringing a girl out for their first date, and Haechan had only told him that to tease his hyung, to tell him that Doyoung really needed to give his best performance to impress Haechan’s date. But judging by the gleam in Doyoung’s smile where it reaches his eyes, Haechan is about to face the repercussions of telling Doyoung about this. 

“I have a friend here in the crowd tonight,” Doyoung says, his voice magnified in the winter night. “He’s here on a first date with a girl he’s known for years and only just gotten the nerve to ask out. In his honor, our last song of the night is going to be a sweet love song! If you know the words, sing along! And even if you don’t, it’s a great song to dance with your lover.”

She sits up, lifting her head from his shoulder, and she turns her head. Haechan can feel her eyes on him. He glances slyly at her, just looking at her from the corner of his eye as he faces Doyoung on the stage. The music starts, and all around them in the crowd, couples get to their feet. An elderly couple that had been sitting in the back on a bench starts slowly dancing together as Doyoung begins crooning into the mic. 

“Do you want to dance?” She asks quietly beside him.

Haechan doesn’t hesitate to push the blankets from his shoulders, rising to his feet, and reaching back down for her hand. She keeps the blanket draped around her shoulders, still bundled in her hat and his scarf too, but she lets Haechan pull her to her feet. He brings her hand up to his shoulder, holding her gaze, and she brings her other arm up to curl around the back of his neck. 

When he slides his arm around her waist, pulling her body against his, he relaxes. They don’t really dance. Not properly. They just sway back and forth with their arms around each other, a juvenile dance in comparison to the grander style that some other couples are dancing right now. Haechan lowers his head to rest his forehead against hers. 

This isn’t much really, but it’s the best first date he’s ever been on. 

“How would you say I’m doing?” He asks, his heart beating a little nervously in his throat. “On a scale of one to ten?”

She’s quiet for a couple seconds too long. “Well, right now I’d say a three.”

His heart drops down to his stomach. 

“For the dancing alone, Haechan. Don’t stress.” She smiles, tightening her arms around his neck in a way that presses their chests closer together, and he wonders if she can feel his heart pounding. Her words only slightly put him at ease, but when she laughs, it does help a little more. 

“Do you want some professional ballroom dancing from me?” Haechan asks. “You want me to twirl you and sweep you off your feet?” He bends her backwards, and she shrieks out a laugh that has him quickly pulling her back up securely against him as heads turn their way.

She moves her head to the side, her laugh warm now where her lips press against his cheek. 

“No need for that. Just hold me like this. And as for the rank on a scale for the overall date,” her voice is warm and bright, a lighthearted tease as she says, “Definitely a solid nine and a half.”

Haechan nods, suppressing a shiver of arousal as her lips skim along his jaw. “And the half a point deduction?”

“Because it’s too fucking cold. I’m having fun, I like this concert, but I’d so much rather be back at my place in my nice warm bed. With you.” And with those words, she kisses him, her fingers pressing into his hair and against the back of his neck.

He kisses her too. Hungrily, deeply, wanting nothing more than to tear that blanket from her shoulders, spread it out on the ground, and lay her down on top of it to get to feel her body warm and bare beneath him and around him. He wants her now. 

“Fuck me,” he mumbles, cursing himself for choosing not to go through with it in the car earlier, cursing himself for not just doing dinner and then taking her home. Haechan just wants her right now.

Specifically, he only wants her. 

No one else around but her. Fuck the whole exhibitionist and voyeur thing they’ve been doing. He doesn’t want to share her right now. He wants her all alone with just him in the privacy of a bedroom, tucked between soft sheets that tangle around their legs and wrinkle beneath their bodies as he drives himself into her again and again. He wants to feel her moans where their chests press together, to feel her body reacting to him in uncontrollable bursts — the hiccup of her breath when he strokes just right inside her, the twitch of her thighs against his hips, the way she’ll squirm and circle her hips as her orgasm approaches, her pussy squeezing around him trying to draw him deeper, deeper….

The whole rest of the world fades away. 

The singing, the music, the crowd, even the wintry chill. 

Everything is her. 

Her breath, her perfume. The heat of her mouth and her body. The feel of her hands in his hair, her body in his arms, the throbbing of their hearts. Her voice just a breathy sigh of his name, lips making the syllables of his name sound perfect. “Lee Donghyuck,” she sighs, “Can we go?”

As if he could deny her anything she asked right now. She could ask him for murder and he’d probably do it. The stars, the moon, the whole damn galaxy and beyond. 

Is this what it is to be in love?

Is he in love?

He lowers his mouth to her throat, lips moving along the column of her throat, tongue tracing along the rapid beat of her pulse. Her fingers tighten in his hair with a quiet gasp. 

A million moments flash in his mind. The past, the present, the possibilities of the future. Her. 

Damn it. He’s in love. 

He doesn’t spare another glance towards the stage. Doesn’t pay attention to anyone he passes by as he pulls her along to the car. Or maybe she’s pulling him. Either way, they’re racing quickly towards where they parked the car. 

Luckily it’s a shorter drive from here back to hers than it had been from the restaurant to here. 

“I want to fuck you in your bed. Properly.” Haechan gasps as she pins him up against the driver’s side door of the car. Her lips are on his again, her hands gripping the front of his coat. “Just wait ten minutes, babe, and—“

She kisses him quiet, and he lets her. For now. She can take anything she wants right now. But as soon as they’re in her apartment, he’s going to be in charge. He’ll have her gasping and sighing and being such a good girl for him. 

“I’m so tired of waiting,” she whines. She drops her forehead to his chest. “Do you know how long I’ve liked you, Haechan? How long I’ve wanted you like this? I feel like if we don’t fuck within the next thirty minutes I’m going to explode.”

Amusement and arousal swarm through Haechan’s mind, obscuring any other possible forms of thought. 

Here she is, whining for him to fuck her. 

“Get in the car.” He swats a hand down against her ass. “The sooner you do that, the sooner I’ll have you home. How was it that you phrased it? Back at your place in your nice warm bed. With me. Passenger seat, princess. Keep your hands to yourself, and we’ll get there much faster.”

Of course, she takes his instructions to heart, and no sooner has she buckled her seat belt and he’s backing out of the parking spot than she’s got her hands on herself. 

She makes it difficult to focus on driving when he can see her hand on her chest, her other hand lifting the long hem of her skirt revealing an utter lack of panties again. His hold on the steering wheel slips, the car swerving as he turns out onto the main road. 

She keeps her hands to herself certainly. Warming herself up, getting herself ready for him. 

The world tonight is painted in hues of lust. In vivid lusty reds smeared like lipstick over skin and smooth silky shades of black, shimmering yellows and golds of headlights, the amber and orange of streetlamps flashing over bared skin in the passenger seat. Green lights spark through Haechan’s consciousness, only noticing them long enough to keep speeding forward, his hand inching across the center console to her bare thigh. Electric blue blur of the letters on the radio display in the dashboard, spelling out the titles of songs that Haechan can’t even hear over the sound of his own pulse and the sound of her voice growing raspy with lust around each sigh and moan, the soft whimpers of his name as her fingers move. There’s the purple shadows in the indents where his fingers press in, spreading her legs, pulling her thigh toward him so when he next glances over he can see it. The pretty shade of her pussy around her fingers. 

Haechan could paint a whole new world with the colors he sees right now. And in that world it would be only him and her, this woman in the seat beside him right now. 

She cums on her fingers, his name on her lips. 

Haechan is no artist or poet, but in that moment, as he pulls up to park at her apartment building, as he looks over at her where she’s all but melted into the passenger seat with a satisfied smile on her lips, he thinks he could be. 

He could paint a portrait of her like she is right now and hang it in the Louvre. He could write poems for her, about how she looks right now, how she makes him feel, and he would happily hear them read across the world.

He wants them all to know. Every single person. 

He’s in love. 

previous chapter || next chapter  (Coming Soon)

a/n: I'm genuinely so excited for y'all to read this chapter and the next one! I know how long you've all been patiently waiting for this slow burn to reach the peak where you finally get the burn, and I swear to you that it's finally coming in the next chapter. This chapter gave you just that little taste. But what do you think! Please let me know all your thoughts because I'm loving the feedback (both the compliments and the critiques! Keep them all coming!) Thank you so much for reading, and I really can't wait for next Tuesday to come for y'all to get the next chapter 😉

#haechan #haechan smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct #lee haechan #yima #nct dream #nct 127 #nct 2023

[misshoneyimhome]

Hey for intern! x Willy maybe a guy asks intern out infront of everyone and she can't really say no cause she doesn't want people to catch on to her seeing anyone and William is fucking pissed. Bonus points if the girls make her go out on this date and Willy is following them. Just shows up after the date and fucks her silly saying she is his

Oh yes, bb! 😉 So I chose to combine this ask with this one, as I thought it might go well together... hopefully you get my idea 🙈🤍 cause yes, that scarf is for multiple purposes 🙌🏼🙃

Warnings; 18+ smut; fingering; unprotected sex (p in v), mild bondage?

Word count: 3.2K

・✶ ｡ﾟ

Everything that kills me makes me feel alive I William Nylander 🖋️⚡️ [intern x willy]

"Hey, the boys are on their way," your manager announced just before you positioned yourself with your phone ready to capture the Toronto Maple Leafs players arriving for tonight's home game.

"Great, I'm all set," you simply replied, smiling as you then awaited their entrance.

This was easily one of your favourite tasks as an intern, even if it wasn't officially part of your job, you were always happy to step in when needed. Watching the guys stroll into the arena in their best attire was nothing more than a visual treat.

First up was John Tavares, looking sharp in his classic outfit with grey dress trousers, a light blue shirt, a matching tie, and a beige blazer.

Then next came Max Domi, opting for a slightly less formal look without a tie and sporting a slightly unbuttoned shirt with a relaxed vibe.

"You're looking good, Maxi," you said, flashing him a sweet smile, which earned you a cheeky wink in return.

Following him was William Lagasson, sporting a more casual look with a beanie, shooting you a quick smile.

And finally, your secret crush, William Nylander, entered the scene. He wore a dark blue suit with white stripes, giving off an almost Italian mafia-esque style, complemented by a pair of trainers and a sleek grey turtleneck shirt. His long blonde hair was slicked back, AirPods in his ears, while casually holding his phone. You had to mentally remind yourself not to stare too obviously – but that was easier said than done.

Shit, he was gorgeous.

However, what caught your eye about his outfit tonight was the small silky scarf elegantly wrapped around his neck.

And as he neared, William noticed you behind the camera and couldn't resist glancing up from his phone, flashing you a confident smirk.

You were aware that when players entered with headphones, they usually preferred not to be disturbed, staying focused on the upcoming game. Yet, as William approached and seemed to be heading your way, you simply couldn't resist.

"Looking quite good, Don Juan," you chuckled lightly, playfully winking at him.

"Seems like you're a fan?" he quipped, lightly tucking on the fabric around his neck.

"Well, they didn’t nickname you 'Willy Styles' for nothing," you teased, gesturing towards his scarf and then back at him.

"Happy you like it..." he spoke softly, ensuring no one else was nearby before whispering, "I always want to look good for you, just like you always look so damn good for me, baby."

In that moment, a tender connection passed between you, causing a rush of sensation that forced you to discreetly clench your thighs together, as you felt your beating vagina almost cream your knickers.

William's smile always had that effect on you. And especially since you'd become more intimately involved, he knew precisely how to push your buttons.

God, you hated him for it. Just as much as you loved him for it.

However, you had to brush off his playful remark. It wasn't suitable given the situation – you were at work, and your "situationship" had to remain casual and at distance.

"Come on, lover boy, keep it moving," Calle Jarnkrok then chimed in from behind as he too entered, prompting William to offer you another wink before sauntering away towards the locker room.

It was one of those moments where you wished you and William could openly flirt. He looked incredibly handsome tonight, and you couldn't help but feel an intense desire for him. But you simply couldn't act on it.

And neither could William.

Despite his habit for pushing the limits, he also knew where the line was drawn. And every passing day made it harder for both of you to maintain composure and professionalism, especially given the increased numbers of time you’d slept together by now.

However, tonight wasn't about either of you.

It was about Captain John Tavares and his 1000 points ceremony, which swiftly diverted your attention from your feelings for William.

And the night turned out to be fantastic. Despite the busy atmosphere for you and the rest of the staff, it was an incredible experience. Even with the loss against the Rangers, the arena buzzed with energy, and the crowd cheering loudly for the players.

Then following the match, the cheers gradually died down as the players headed back to the locker room, and you and your co-worker Melanie found yourselves engrossed in lively conversations with the team's family and friends.

Which wasn’t unusual for you to do. Over the past few months, you’d grown rather close with many of the partners, just like most of the staff members had done as well over time. It was simply a result of spending so many hours, days, and weeks together as a team and a crew.

And this closeness also led you to get to know one of Stephanie and Mitch’s friends, Jared. He'd been around the rink for a while now, and you'd had a few conversations while he’d waited for Mitch to finish training.

Tonight, however, Jared decided to take things a step further. Finding you both attractive and intriguing, he boldly asked you out on a casual coffee date - in front of everyone.

To say you were surprised by his sudden interest would be an understatement. And what made matters slightly worse was recalling that just last week, you had told Steph you weren't seeing anyone at the moment, as you hadn't wanted anyone to know about your forbidden relationship with player in number 88 on the team.

So, standing there, in the hallway with all eyes on you and the handsome man before you, you felt trapped and uncertain how to respond. Yet, naturally, Steph nudged your side, offering an encouraging expression.

"Come on, y/n���" she whispered with a light chuckle, and you knew you had to give in.

"Sure, why not," you flashed a bright smile at Jared, prompting excitement from Stephanie and a few other girls.

However, not everyone shared the enthusiasm about your answer.

Across the room, William's intense gaze bore into you. His eyes aflame with emotion, jaw clenched, his hand formed into a fist as he processed your acceptance of Jared's invitation.

It was the first time he had truly considered that your secret relationship wasn't just something hidden; it also meant the potential for you to openly date someone else. Someone with whom you wouldn't have to sneak around, keeping things casual and under wraps.

He felt jealous.

No, he felt more than just jealousy. He was frustrated, envious, and almost angry at the thought of you being with someone else. The mere idea of another person touching or kissing you turned his stomach.

But despite his attempts to come off as calm and composed, his reaction didn't escape the notice of his close friend and teammate.

"Hey, take it easy, Willy," Calle said softly in Swedish, making sure no one else would understand. "We all know you care for her, but she's not yours to date."

William knew his friend's words were meant to be sensible. Yet, he couldn't shake off the irritating feelings he had about you and Jared.

And the irritation persisted into the following day, where William was aware you had plans to meet Jared for a coffee date. Yet, despite his efforts to distract himself during morning skates and weightlifting workouts, thoughts of you with another man still lingered.

So, instead of heading home, although he knew it might seem immature and a bit of a douche bag move, William decided to go to the coffee place where he expected to find you with Jared. And as he queued up, hearing your beautiful laughter resonate through the room, he tried his best to remain hidden form your view. However, he did purposefully eavesdrop while waiting for his coffee, overhearing your conversation. He listened intensely as you shared your aspirations about your career in marketing and public relations, your upcoming completion of education, and your desire to travel to Europe.

William's heart sank as he almost froze upon hearing Jared mention his wish for a family and how you, too, had thought about a future with children. It was something William had dreamt about as well – having a family of his own.

It was a moment where his worlds collided as the barista called out his name, jolting him back to reality – he was a Toronto Maple Leafs hockey player who wasn't allowed to share his dreams with the one he desired the most: you.

Gathering his thoughts, he then took his coffee and quietly left the shop just before he stole a glance in your direction, but you were too engrossed in conversation with Jared, oblivious to his presence.

And as the evening passed without any word from you, William grew increasingly anxious. Had you developed feelings for Jared? Was his chance with you slipping away?

The uncertainty ate away at him.

And not receiving a response to his texts heightened William's urge to remind you of something.

Meanwhile, across the city, you had just finished a shower, contemplating your day as you blow-dried your hair.

The date with Jared had been pleasant, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. He was nice, shared your interests, and had a great sense of humour, but there was no spark.

It was nothing in comparison to what you felt with William. And it made you realise that perhaps you'd never experience the same emotions for anyone else.

This revelation saddened you a bit, especially considering you still had six more months of your internship. And what if the MLSE offered you a position afterward that you couldn't refuse, limiting your options? Or what if William ended up moving to another team? It would of course solve the forbidden aspect of your relationship, but it could also mean that he’d have to move far away from you.

The thought of various potential outcomes in your future, none of which involved being with William, made you feel queasy. And you knew you had to remind yourself that despite the enjoyment, it was temporary. Nothing more could ever happen.

That was until your train of thought was abruptly interrupted by a knock on your front door, and without much consideration, you went to check who it was, wearing nothing but a towel.

And as you cautiously opened the door, you were greeted by the sight of your handsome Swedish lover standing in the hallway.

“Willy,” you said softly, slightly surprised, as you opened the door fully. “What are you doing here?”

His expression appeared serious as he confidently stepped forward, invading your personal space.

“I've come to remind you of who you belong to,” he said in a dark and husky voice, entering your studio apartment and closing the door behind him.

You were taken aback. You had never seen such a serious and smug expression on his usually cheerful and flirtatious face. Yet, it intrigued you, and a small gasp escaped you as he drew closer, wrapping his arms around your slender body.

"This we don’t need," he murmured seductively, his fingers deftly undoing the knot of your towel before resting firmly on your hips.

Your arms instinctively reached for his chest, then slid up to encircle his neck as his hands found your bare ass, lifting you effortlessly into his embrace, where you wrapped your legs around his hips in response.

This had almost become routine by now. Your mouths met in a fiery, passionate kiss, tongues intertwining as you both lost yourselves in the moment, while he carried you towards the bed, your lungs emptying for air.

And as he laid you down, a large smirk spread across his lips as he admired your curvaceous figure before him.

Your eyes locked intensely with his, conveying nothing but pure desire. Thoughts of Jared were long gone from your mind, completely consumed by the man standing before you. Anticipation coursed through you, your body tingling in sheer eagerness for what he had in store for you.

And with a mischievous grin still playing on his lips, William retrieved a small piece of fabric from his pocket - the scarf you had commented on during his arrival yesterday. He had been thinking about something since your brief shared moment the previous night, and tonight felt like the perfect opportunity to bring it to fruition.

"Hands above your head," he commanded firmly, and you complied without hesitation.

You were aware of William's penchant for asserting dominance, but tonight, it seemed to intensify a notch. As he leaned over your exposed body, he skilfully used the scarf to bind your wrists together securely.

“Willy,” you moaned softly, your eyes fixed intensely on him.

“Shh, baby, I promise I’ll do you good,” he whispered darkly into your ear. “Far better than he ever could.”

Another soft gasp escaped you as he left you lying on the bed, your senses heightened as his fingers tenderly caressed your skin. Standing by the foot of the bed, he then undressed himself to his boxers, his gaze never leaving you, making the atmosphere charged with intensity even though he had barely touched you.

“You look fucking incredible like this... completely naked and ready for me,” he spoke roughly as he knelt on the bed, spreading your legs further with his body.

"Yes, Willy... I'm ready for you," you cried out softly, trying to maintain your hands where he had commanded.

But William noticed your desire to move your arms. So, while positioning himself over you, he held your wrists down with one hand, teasing the inside of your thighs with the other.

The anticipation was almost torturous, something William was well aware of. Your restrained whimpers escaped your lips as your breathing grew incoherent.

His gentle touch left you yearning, until you felt his fingers teasing you through your folds.

"Oh, yes, baby, so wet for me..."

And more soft cries escaped you as you felt him painfully slowly slide two fingers inside your entrance, gradually stretching your walls.

"Yes, Willy... Please, more," you pleaded, and with a smirk on his lips, he granted your request.

Thrusting deep into your core, he worked his fingers, slightly curling them to heighten your pleasure before withdrawing, leaving you feeling void and empty.

"What?" you cried out in disappointment.

"Not fun to be teased, huh? How do you think I felt when I saw you on a date with someone else..." William's voice carried a tinge of frustration as he pushed his fingers inside you once more, pumping a few times before pulling them out completely.

"Willy... please," you gasped, feeling thoroughly teased. "I only want you..."

The fusion of your words and cries seemed to captivate his thoughts, prompting him to release your wrists. And then he stood up, shedding his boxers to unleash his pulsating cock, already dripping with pre-cum from being aroused all day, consumed with the desire to fuck you senseless.

Then returning to the bed, he knelt down, seized your legs, and forcefully drew your hips closer to him. Placing your feet on his shoulders, he positioned the head of his cock at your entrance before pushing forcefully inside you.

"Fuck!" You let out a loud moan as he thrust deeply and vigorously into you, finding a steady rhythm.

"Yeah, that's it baby! You belong to me," he uttered with a deep breath, continuing his relentless pounding, causing your cries to intensify, as he maintained a strong and unyielding pace, not even allowing you a moment to adjust. However, your juices provided him easy penetration.

It was all so overwhelmingly stimulating; your mind struggled to focus as William's body connected with yours, his hands securing your ankles against his chest.

"You're mine, understand?"

The room echoed with moans as sweat glistened on your skin. And though you desired to move your hands, your body had surrendered entirely to the man driving into you, and you sensed the impending rush of a powerful orgasm about to peak.

However, just as William felt your walls tightening around him, indicating your imminent climax, he decided it wasn't how he wanted you to reach that peak.

Abruptly, he then halted his motions, swiftly withdrawing and releasing your legs. Leaning over you, he untied the scarf, before swiftly turning you around onto your hands and knees and entering you from behind.

"Fuck, yes!" You moaned as he pounded deeply once more, feeling the entirety of his cock filling you.

But for William, this still wasn't enough. With his right hand seizing your hair and his left arm enveloping your torso, he pulled you onto your knees, your back against his chest.

The tug on your hair was gentle, not forceful, and soon his hand shifted, wrapping softly around your neck to steady you against him while he continued his passionate thrusts.

And instinctively, your free hand sought to grip him while the other held onto the hand supporting you around your body.

In this intimate position, your bodies pressed together, exchanging warmth and sweat as William's member glided in and out of your wetness. His lips and teeth found the sensitive curve of your neck, prompting you to lean back, resting against his muscular chest.

"Willy, I'm about to come," you exhaled heavily.

"Me too, baby… come with me," he moaned against the sensitive skin of your neck.

And in just a few more thrusts, both of you surrendered to the sensations, closing your eyes in sheer pleasure as orgasms rippled through your bodies. Minds went blank, and the room filled with loud, ecstatic moans, as he shot his cum into you, your legs trembling, on the verge of collapsing were it not for William's firm grasp keeping you upright.

And instead of letting go, he held you close to him.

Not ready to part from your embrace, he kept himself buried inside of you, ensuring his release covered your walls completely. Then with a deep grunt, he slowly pulled out. You could almost sense the mixture of fluids trickling down your thigh as he gradually separated from your body.

A comfortable silence filled the room as you both, still breathless, disentangled from the position, and William gently guided you to recline with him on your backs, pulling you in for a tender cuddle.

And while resting in his arms, your head nestled on his shoulder, a thought suddenly struck you, prompting you to gaze up at him.

"Willy?" you softly inquired, meeting his eyes.

"Uh-huh?"

"Did you follow me on the date?"

William paused for a moment, acknowledging how it might seem a bit stalker ish. But he couldn't really deny the truth; he had indeed followed you.

"Yeah..." he admitted tentatively, locking eyes with you. "I'm sorry, y/n/n… I know it's not right for me to ask this, especially since we can't be public about our… you know, relationship. But I just can't stand the thought of you being with someone else..."

His breaths were heavy as he poured out his heartfelt confession, and you couldn't help but smile lightly, taking in his words.

"Willy, I don't want to date anyone else… I meant it when I said I only wanted you," you reassured him.

"So, does that mean... we're, like, together?" he asked with a soft smirk.

"I suppose it does," you replied, flashing him a wide smile. “But still in secret of course…”

“Of course,” he whispered softly, before sealing your announced relationship with a soft kiss.

#my asks #intern x willy #18+ #william nylander imagine #wn88 imagine #nhl hockey imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl smut

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 11)

Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten

Eight weeks.

It’s been eight weeks since the tour. Y/N grows more anxious with each passing day, waking from terrible nightmares alone. She finds Haymitch sitting on the couch, with a bottle in hand.

“You need to sleep,” he says after a long moment.

“I can’t,” she argues.

“Come here.” Haymitch waits until she is settled, with her head in his lap, before throwing the blanket over her. “Close your eyes.”

She nuzzles against his thigh, utterly exhausted but unwilling to return to the horror of her dreams.

In truth, that’s why he’s forsaken the warmth of their bed for the couch. They’re coming up on a Quarter Quell…and anything can happen in a Quarter Quell. He knows that better than anyone, after being reaped with double the tributes.

He peeks down. Her eyes are closed; breathing too fast, her muscles rigid. “You’re safe.” Haymitch murmurs, “it’s just you and me.” These whispers continue until she snores lightly.

He wakes with a hand still twined in hers and a kink in his neck, from sleeping upright.

Y/N doesn’t stir as he stretches and yawns to the patter of little feet on the second floor. Haymitch stumbles into the kitchen, flipping on the burner to start breakfast.

“Honk.”

He turns with the spatula in hand. Surely he is dreaming, or perhaps the years have slowly driven him insane. But he knows for certain that damn goose is not in his house, again. And if it were, it sure as hell wouldn’t have the audacity to honk at him.

“Get,” Haymitch warns, shooing the beast out through the back door. It wails at him all the while, rousing Y/N.

She rubs her eyes, trying to make sense of the scene. “Louie?”

“Honk.”

“Don’t say his name.” Haymitch grunts, closing the door harshly behind the animal.

Y/N laughs, “how’d he get in here?”

“I had the sliding door open for some fresh air.”

“Smells good,” she takes another whiff.

“I made breakfast.”

“Thank you,” she forces herself from the cushions. Brushing past her husband toward the bathroom.

Haymitch is in a better mood when she returns. Everest and Arista are seated at the island, scarfing down pancakes as Haymitch fills them in on the goose fiasco.

“I turn around and he’s standing there.” Haymitch points to the exact spot.

Arista gasps, resorting to his full name, “Louis.”

“Had to chase him out with the spatula.”

Everest chuckles, around a forkful of eggs.

“You didn’t hit him, right Daddy?” Arista looks up with those big eyes, the same color as Y/N’s.

“No,” Haymitch sighs, “I didn’t hit him.”

Y/N comes to collect her plate, standing beside Haymitch, opposite the kids.

“You can sit down.” He smirks, watching her take the first bite.

“I’m ok,” she bumps his hip with her own. They are fuller now, at seven months pregnant. “I’ll just hang out here with you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Stay with me forever.

“Hey mom,” Everest calls her attention.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think we can plant some of the seeds Peeta gave me?”

The geese have done a number on their garden.

“Yeah, we can do that.” Y/N agrees, wanting to soak up as much time with them as she can before the baby.

They haven’t talked much about names. Even the crib resides in one of the spare rooms, untouched, unprepared.

————————————————————————

“Oh, Katniss.” Octavia, of her prep team, has tears in her eyes at the sight. “You look beautiful.”

The Capitol has chosen this dress; the dress. The one she’ll be married in, though it needs quite a bit of alteration.

“Is that my dress?” Y/N chokes out. She thought it might be strung up in a museum somewhere, immortalized as one of Snow’s trophies, or sold to the highest bidder. She thought she’d never see it again; not now. Not on Katniss.

Katniss opens her mouth to speak. Though it isn’t her choice, she feels sick.

“She can’t wear this dress.”

“It’s what the people chose, dear. Because you’re a family,” Flavius explains. “Don’t you want Katniss to feel the way you did on your special day? We can always alter it again to fit your daughter, when the time comes.”

“No,” Y/N breathes, this can’t be happening, “no, where’s Cinna?”

“I’m here.” He emerges from the hall, scraps of ivory fabric draped over one shoulder.

“I need to talk to you, please.” Y/N is visibly shaking as Cinna follows her to the sitting room, closing the glass door so Katniss has no chance of overhearing. But she can still see them.

Her mentor’s frantic explanation, Cinna’s steadying hand at her shoulder as he listens. Gaze changing quickly from sadness to anger, mirroring Y/N’s. Cinna nods, one final time before Y/N squeezes his upper arm in parting.

“We’re going to make some changes.” The stylist says upon his return.

“Y/N,” Katniss calls from the pedestal, unable to go after her. “Wait.”

“I’ll be back.”

“I’m sorry.” Katniss apologies, for whatever she’s done.

“No, don’t be. It’s-” Y/N breaks off, “nothing. I just need to see Haymitch.” She rushes out before Katniss can get a word in.

Cinna begins sketching out a few new additions, taking away the old, making it new.

“Is there something wrong with this dress?” She asks, itching to remove it.

Cinna shakes his head, even he has trouble looking at her in it now that he knows. “Nothing we can’t fix.”

Katniss recounts the events to Peeta later that night, he doesn’t fully understand either.

“It’s like she was afraid of the dress…or what would happen to me while I was in it.” Katniss looks down at her hands. “Maybe something happened to her.”

Peeta swallows hard, the more they learn about the Capitol, the more reason he has to believe… “I think a lot of things happened to her.”

————————————————————————

Commander Thread arrives within the week. Tearing through the hob, taking away what little they have and screwing down a big metal whipping post in the square.

The chaos is not missed by the inhabitants of victor’s village, Katniss least of all. Pushing her way through the crowd to find the source of the tortured screams echoing out into the streets.

Interrupting Gale’s punishment earns her a black eye, with a gash underneath and one lash to the outside of her thigh, on the eve of the big wedding. When she stands again, she is faced with the barrel of Thread’s gun.

The first person to rise to her aid is the last person who should be standing between Katniss and a bullet. Shoving Katniss behind her with one arm, the other held protective over her growing child. Explaining who she is and talking him down. Thread recognizes her, Katniss too after a moment; if he kills them it will be his head on the chopping block.

Haymitch is fuming when he finds them there. Furious with both Y/N and Katniss for putting themselves in harm’s way. Peeta arrives on scene, another person for Haymitch to shove behind him without a second thought.

“You sure Snow wants four dead victors? Because that’s what we’re looking at here.” Haymitch reasons, holding both hands in the air. “It’s bad enough that you marked up Katniss’ face on the eve of the big wedding. My wife is carrying the most eagerly anticipated baby in Panem, all this stress isn’t good. Let it go…and we will too.”

“Fine,” the commander licks his lips, “but next time it’s the firing squad.”

“Excellent idea.”

The flogging is broadcast to the nation on a five second delay, cutting out just after Katniss jumps in.

No one sees past that point except the president. Again, the victors of district twelve have proven themselves to be a united front. A family of agitators beyond reason, who consider themselves above the law. Snow knows exactly what he must do and Plutarch already has a plan.

“It’s what we gamemakers like to call a wrinkle.”

————————————————————————

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the seventy-fifth year of the Hunger Games.”

Everest and Arista are off playing with Madge and Y/N’s parents, leaving the eldest victors of district twelve to sit silently in front of the projector.

“It was written in the charter of the games, that every twenty-five years there would be a Quarter Quell, to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against the Capitol. Each Quarter Quell is marked by games of a special significance.”

Y/N skates her thumb over Haymitch’s knuckles hoping to comfort him.

“On this the seventy-fifth anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell.” Snow pulls the card free from its envelope. “As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.”

“What?” Y/N leans forward, surely she misunderstood.

Haymitch grips his glass with enough force to shatter it, broken shards falling to the floor. He is bleeding, but he can’t feel it. The anger, the fear, the rage swallows the initial bite of pain.

“The victors will present themselves on reaping day; regardless of age, situation, or state of health.”

Y/N examines his wounds, scarlet pooling across his palm and fingers.

“Leave it, angel.” Haymitch warns, needing it to tether him to reality. Proof that this is more than a nightmare.

“I need to check on Peeta and Katniss.” Y/N remembers, pushing past the clouded lens of her own mind. “Let me take care of you before I go.”

“I need you to leave it.” He says a second time.

“Ok- I,” there are no words. Not as she stands, or presses her lips to the crown of his head and leaves. Instead she focuses on her steps, one foot in front of the other.

Haymitch stays there, unmoving, allowing his blood to stain the pristine fabric of the couch’s armrest. The front door creaks open, enough to startle him to action, he doesn’t want his children to see. Instead he tosses the throw blanket over the evidence.

“Where’s Y/N?” Katniss demands, identifying herself as the intruder.

“Ah, it’s just you.” Haymitch whips the fabric off, using it to gather the broken glass. “Take a seat.”

“We have to save them.”

“Finally done the math, have you?” Haymitch muses.

Promises are easier to make than keep. Asking for Peeta and Y/N to live is essentially asking each other to die. That’s not something that Haymitch can bring himself to do. But he does agree to volunteer for Peeta; with a sneaking suspicion that Katniss will do the same when it comes down to it.

Y/N is good, kind and selfless. Katniss has known it from the day they trained together, on the mat of the tribute center, what feels like a lifetime ago. The same way Peeta is good, willing to stand by her, comfort and protect her, at his own expense.

“Haymitch!” The sound of it is awful, wretched from Y/N’s throat.

“What’s the matter?” Haymitch stands immediately, as does Katniss, rushing toward the entryway.

“I went to check on Peeta,” Y/N flies into his arms, closed eyes shining with tears.

“You’re ok,” Haymitch murmurs, smoothing down her hair.

“But I couldn’t find,” Y/N opens her eyes to find the very person she’s been losing her mind over. “Katniss.”

Haymitch releases her. Relieved that the cause of her anguish is nothing more than a misunderstanding.

“Katniss.”

Katniss embraces her, holding fast, like it might save her, like it might change anything. In Katniss’ mind there was always some understanding, that Peeta is to Y/N as she is to Haymitch.

They fit together crudely, like an ill crafted puzzle. Even still, Katniss can no longer deny that Y/N loves her just as fiercely. No different than her own child. “Sorry I scared you. I just had to get out of there.” My mom’s screams…Prim’s questions.

“It’s ok,” Y/N pulls back to look at her. Stroking her thumbs over the blotchy apples of her victor’s cheeks. “We don’t know who they’re gonna pick.”

Katniss nods, allowing Y/N to fuss about her. Needing it just as badly, though she would never ask.

“But we know all of the victors and depending upon the reaping, I have some ideas for potential strategies and alliances-”

“You know it’s me.” Katniss says finally, voice breaking over the last word. “If the only choice is you or me in that arena, I’m the one Snow wants dead.”

“We don’t know that, sweetheart.” Haymitch scrubs his unmarred hand over his face.

“And he’d prefer you dead over Peeta.” Katniss points out, not in the mood to sugarcoat.

“You’re right,” Haymitch admits. “We know the bowls are rigged, but we don’t know how. If they want entertainment and shock value, it’s gonna be us together.” He flicks a finger between himself and Y/N. “Or you and Peeta together. We’re all star crossed lovers now and I promise you, we won’t be the only ones. It’ll be lovers, siblings, friends. If Snow’s doing it to punish us.” Now the finger is pointed at Katniss. “He’s sending in Y/N and Peeta. If it’s simply to eliminate their problems, that’d be you and me, kid. And we won’t have any idea what their angle is until reaping day.”

Part 12

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating

#haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy x you #haymitch fanfic #haymitch x y/n #haymitch abernathy x reader #haymitch abernathy x y/n #haymitch abernathy x yn #haymitch abernathy fanfic #haymitch abernathy #thg haymitch #the hunger games #the hunger games fanfiction #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

[wooahaes]

interrogation room

pairing: non-idol!96z & gn!reader

genre: fluff. goofy silly fluff

word count: ~0.8k

warnings: n/a just a silly interrogation of reader's housemates

daisy's notes: yes this IS a prequel to the seokmin fic-

“You may be wondering why I’ve summoned the three of you here today—”

“We all live here.”

Despite Wonwoo’s interruption, you took a deep breath. You pulled up a picture of yourself that you’d taken maybe a week ago, zoomed in specifically to the flannel you had been wearing there. Of course, you wanted to hold this interrogation until Soonyoung was home—but he hadn’t answered your texts, and this was the rare moment that most of you were in the same space and didn’t have anywhere to be.

“I left my flannel on the couch,” you said. “It’s one of my bigger ones so it’s extra warm and comfy… And now it’s missing.”

“Didn’t it get thrown in with the laundry?” Jun looked around. “It’s your favorite.”

“Why was it on the couch to begin with?” Jihoon piped up. “I thought we agreed—”

You shook your head, “That’s not the point right now, we can bitch about leaving clothes out later.” You turned your attention to Wonwoo, who had been quietly observing after that earlier remark. “Wonwoo?”

“I know of the flannel,” he said. “But if I wanted to borrow it, I would have asked.”

You nodded slowly, turning the thought over in your mind. He had a point. Wonwoo borrowed clothing from you before—a hoodie you owned, and a scarf another time. He’d always made a point of asking before he took things from you, and usually made sure you saw him returning them. “Okay. Jihoon—”

“I don’t wear other people’s clothes.”

Jun furrowed his brow. “You wore my hoodie yesterday?”

Jihoon’s face started turning red. “I don’t wear other people’s clothes often. I wouldn’t have worn your flannel anyway.” 

You marked Jihoon down in your mind as ‘occasional liar when embarrassed.’ You would focus on him again later, let him cool off first before you really turned the heat up on him (by literally asking again and promising you wouldn’t be that mad if he lost it). 

Before you could turn your attention to Jun, your phone went off. When you pulled it out, it was Soonyoung, saying something about how he had his own flannels. Why would he borrow one of yours? Which was fair enough: sometimes you and Soonyoung had similar fashion tastes. He wouldn’t need to borrow your flannel when he probably had one similar enough to it to pull his outfit together. 

“Jun.” You looked up. “Did you take it?” 

“It’s your favorite one,” he repeated. “I wouldn’t take it without you knowing.”

Wonwoo, despite finding a little amusement in how serious you were taking all of this, tapped your arm. “Are you sure it isn’t buried in your closet? I’ve seen it. We could lose Jihoon in there—”

“It’s not that bad!” You pouted. “But yes, it’s not in there, because I organized the damn thing while looking for it.” 

“Why do you need it so badly?” Jun spoke up. “I’m sure we’ll find it, but you’re acting really serious about this.”

For a moment, you debated not telling them. Yet you let out a sigh. “It’s my lucky flannel… and I’ve got a date on Saturday, and I really want it to go well because he’s really sweet, and—”

Jun waved a hand to stop you before you. “We’ll help you find it.”

“Is it Seokmin?” Jihoon asked after a moment, and when you nodded, he, too, nodded to himself. “I see.”

Despite the way your heart warmed at having your housemates care for you, you pouted. “Okay, so one of you had to have accidentally grabbed it. So that means—”

The door suddenly opened with a chime, and the four of you turned to see Soonyoung making his way inside. His headphones were on, and he was bobbing his head to whatever song he was listening to. He paid little to no attention to any of you as he stopped to slip out of his clunky shoes and into his house slippers, eyes pinned to his phone as he stepped up. 

“YOU!” 

Soonyoung’s head jerked up, pulling his headphones off. “Huh?”

Flannel thief located. “I asked you if you’d seen it!”

“Seen what…?”

Jun leaned back in his chair enough to peer around Jihoon, “You’re wearing their flannel. It’s been missing for days.”

Soonyoung stood still for a moment, looking down at himself. The flannel still had one of your favorite pins attached to the breast pocket, a clear sign that this was your flannel he’d accidentally stolen. “... Isn’t this mine?”

Soonyoung: Exit pursued by four housemates yelling. 

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @staranghae @synthetickitsune @weird-bookworm

#wooahaes.fall23 #wooahaes.fic #seventeen imagine #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt x you #seventeen fluff #jun fluff #junhui fluff #soonyoung fluff #hoshi fluff #jihoon fluff #woozi fluff #wonwoo fluff #junhui x reader #jun x reader #hoshi x reader #kwon soonyoung x reader #woozi x reader #lee jihoon x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x reader

[ladamedusoif]

Cookies (Tim Rockford X F!Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 26

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Word Count: 1455

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Established relationship (Reader is Tim’s wife); workplace sex; fingering; unprotected but safe PiV sex (Reader is on birth control); no use of Y/N; no physical descriptions of Reader; strong language; when we say “fuck the police” this is what we mean

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boys Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist!

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up with my work.

Tim kisses you on the cheek as he heads down to the precinct on Christmas Eve, overcoat in hand.

“I hate leaving you all, baby, but…”

You wrap him in a tight embrace and return his kiss. “Tim, you’re a good man. I’m sure Corinna appreciates you taking the Christmas Eve cover, so she can be at home for her baby’s first Christmas.”

Your husband’s ears pink up a little at your praise. “I guess. And older cops did it for us, too, when the kids were tiny.”

He looks over your shoulder into your mother’s kitchen, where your daughters are excitedly asking their grandma whether the Christmas cookies are cool enough to decorate. You turn and smile at the scene.

“I love you, Detective Rockford. We’ll save you some cookies. Come home safe.”

***

The cop at the front desk is thanking his lucky stars as he sips his umpteenth cup of filter coffee. It’s almost midnight on Christmas Eve, and - other than a couple of minor call-outs for the guys out in the patrol car to break up bar fights - he hasn’t had to book a single person into the cells.

It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

And then the door buzzes. He sighs in exasperation and checks the CCTV. A woman, wearing a winter hat and carrying a tote bag. He presses the button to let her in.

“Hello there, ma’am. Now, I have to warn you, as it’s Christmas Eve we don’t have a full complement of officers in tonight and - oh! Hi there, Mrs R!”

You smile as you take off your hat and scarf, and hand him a small tin. “Hey, Bryan. Tim in his office?”

“Sure is. Hey, these some of your famous cookies?”

You’re already climbing the stairs to your husband’s office. “Maybe. Open it and see if Santa thinks you’ve been a good cop this year.”

***

Tim’s at his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up and tie slightly loose, flipping through some papers with his glasses on. The desk lamp bathes him in a warm light, highlighting his handsome features, and you pause for a moment to take him in before you knock on the door.

He looks up in surprise before a broad smile spreads across his face. “Hello there, miss. What brings you to the precinct on a Christmas Eve?”

You carefully close the door and turn the little lock on the handle, before pulling down the blind. You reach into your bag and produce another cookie tin, sauntering over to Tim’s desk and placing it in front of him.

“So, everyone was tucked up in bed at home, and would you believe it? I met Santa Claus, leaving gifts for the girls.”

Your husband chuckles and pulls you onto his lap. “That so?”

You nod. “The man himself. And you know what he said?”

Tim shakes his head, eyes twinkling. You lean in and kiss him softly.

“He said that Tim Rockford had been a particularly good boy this year, and he should get an extra special gift.”

Tim’s eyes turn to the cookie tin. “The cookies?”

You shrug, reach for the tin, and open the lid. “You could say that, I guess. They’re part of the gift.”

He bursts out laughing when he looks inside and takes out a gingerbread man perfectly decorated to resemble - well, him. White shirt, black pants, dark hair and moustache, tie, and even a pair of shoulder holsters.

“Your handiwork?”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Damn right. Why wouldn’t I make cookies that look like the most delicious man I know?”

He eyes you up suspiciously, but a smile plays on his lips. “You said the cookies were part of the gift.”

You stand up and move his paperwork out of the way, clearing enough space on the desk so that you can sit up on it. “The other part is under my coat.”

Tim’s eyes widen as he reaches for the buttons on your knee-length woollen coat, unbuttoning them eagerly and pulling the coat open.

His mouth falls open. “Holy fuck, baby.”

“You like what you see?” You fight against all the anxieties and insecurities that haunt you about your body, focusing on the look of astonished desire that’s burning in your husband’s eyes.

Tim’s eyes roam over you, taking in the dark red bra and matching, high-waisted panties trimmed in black lace, the sheer black stockings. He carefully eases off your coat and throws it to one side, running his big hands gently over the soft skin of your shoulders as he slips down the straps of your bra.

“I love what I see.” His voice is a rapt whisper.

He slips his hands to your back and waist and pulls you tight to him as he kisses you deeply, moaning as you twine your fingers through his dark, grey-streaked curls. You bring your hands to his belt buckle, working it open and undoing his pants so you can palm his cock, already hardening under your touch.

Tim brings his mouth to the side of your neck and begins to softly bite and lick the sensitive skin, working his way down to your breasts as one hand holds you in place while the other tugs aside the lacy fabric that covers your pussy. “I fucking love what I see,” he grunts, pulling down the cups of your bra to expose your breasts. “I love you. My sexy fucking wife.”

You whine as two thick fingers trail across your folds before settling on your clit, working it steadily in the way only he knows. “I’m going to get you good and wet for me, my love,” Tim murmurs, encouraging you to lift your hips so he can ease off your panties.

“Mmmm… and then what are you going to do to me, Detective?”

He slips his fingers into your cunt, pulling a delighted gasp from you. “And then, Mrs Rockford, I plan on fucking you hard right here on this desk. But only if you come for me first.”

A hook of his fingers and you’re squealing with pleasure as Tim spreads you out in front of him, standing between your thighs as you continue to stroke his dick. He fucks you over and over with his fingers, watching you writhe and buck as you near your climax.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “You look so beautiful like this, all spread out and ready to come on my fingers. Can’t fuckin’ believe you’re mine, sometimes.” Your pussy tightens around him and he knows you’re about to come.

“Tim…Tim, fuck, I’m - oh, fuck, baby.” He keeps fingering you through the orgasm, sucking on your nipples as he extends the wave of pleasure running through you.

You reach up and undo his tie and unbutton his shirt, hitching up his under vest so you can feel the soft, warm skin of his belly against yours as he pushes himself inside you and begins to fuck you. You hitch up your legs around his waist to hold Tim in place, slipping your hands under his shirt and gripping his broad shoulders firmly as he takes you on his desk.

“Feel good?”

“Fucking incredible, Tim - you?”

He leans his head against your chest and flicks his tongue over your nipple. “Baby, you always feel amazing but this - fuck, this is so fuckin’ good. Feels so tight and wet for me. Listen to that.”

For a moment the only sound in the office is the lewd wetness, skin on skin, and your pants and moans.

“Can’t believe you did this for me, baby,” Tim grunts, speeding up his rhythm and making you whine, arching your back. “Came down here in nothing but lingerie, ready to fuck me…fuck, you’re incredible.”

You giggle a little. “Got lonely at home, my love. Needed to have my man.”

Tim’s faltering rhythm tells you he’s nearly there as he buries himself deeper inside you. “You’ve got him, baby. All yours. All…”

And he’s there, spilling inside you as he collapses on your chest.

***

Cleaned up but still a little dishevelled, you sit on the floor of the office and eat some of the cookies, accompanied by weak coffee.

In the distance, you can hear chimes signalling the hour.

“Hey. It’s midnight. Merry Christmas, Detective Rockford.”

Tim kisses you, tasting of ginger and sugar and spice and all things nice.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs Rockford. And thank you for my extra-special gift.”

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x f!reader #tim rockford smut #detective tim rockford #merge mansion #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal

[emchant3d]

part two of Eddie forgetting about Valentine's day 🥰 part one here

The entire weekend is weird. Steve keeps giving him these looks like he’s waiting for him to do something, or say something, or pull something out from somewhere, but every time Eddie tries to hedge into a conversation about it, the damnedest thing happens.

Steve gets embarrassed.

His eyes flit in that flustered way of his, his cheeks go red, and he avoids Eddie’s gaze. And he’s used to seeing Steve a little worked up, sure, that’s nothing new, but the little bit of shame that dips into the expression each time about kills him.

So maybe it’s not the best choice, but he stops asking. He lets Steve deflect it. Keeps telling himself that Steve will talk about it when he’s ready, that if he just keeps being patient, he’ll get his answers.

By the time Sunday evening rolls around, Steve’s stopped looking like he’s waiting for some kind of sign to drop from the sky, so Eddie feels a little better about letting it go. Steve had spent some time with Robin that afternoon anyways, so it’s entirely possible the Wonder Twins worked out whatever it was Steve was stressing about anyway.

And that’s another odd thing - Eddie and Robin are pretty close. Not as close as Robin and Steve, obviously. No one could ever touch that relationship or be as important to Steve as Robin is. That’s a place in Steve’s life that Eddie will humbly step aside for, but like. Eddie and Robin are chill. They’ve bonded about being little baby queers in bumfuck Indiana, there’s a connection there, but she’d given him a look so full of disgust that afternoon that it had thrown Eddie for a loop. He has no idea what that’s about.

But Steve had seemed more settled. Centered, even, and while the quiet joy he’s used to seeing in his baby hasn’t fully returned, he doesn’t seem as silently devastated when he thinks Eddie isn’t looking. 

It’s something, and he’ll take what he can get.

By the time Tuesday rolls around, he thinks maybe they can just move past whatever weirdness had consumed them the last few days. He’s already making plans for the weekend - maybe he’ll take Steve up to Indy and go back to the bar they’d visited in the fall that Steve had loved. He’d gotten hit on by what seemed like every man in the building, but his boy loves attention and more than deserves it, so Eddie can suffer through watching it - especially when it means he gets to pull him close under all those wandering eyes.

These thoughts get him through the day. A couple of people called out, and he wonders briefly why it seems so extra busy at the store, why they’re so short-staffed, but he shrugs it off - he won’t pretend to know the ins and outs of the Hawkins music scene. 

By the time he gets home, he’s exhausted. He debates just crashing, but no - he’s behind on planning, and if he doesn’t get his notes cleared up tonight, he’ll put it off until he has no time to get them down in a way that’s coherent. He’ll still pull a kickass storyline out, obviously, but it’ll lack that certain je ne sais quoi that makes it an Eddie Munson Hellfire Special. 

So he heats up some food and scarfs it down while standing in the kitchen, wishing he were with Steve because his baby’s in a cooking mood lately and whatever he would make would blow this can of Chef Boyardee right outta the damn water. But he’ll see him soon, he’s sure, and he lets his vague plans for Steve carry him to his bedroom where he tosses himself into a chair.

He snags his latest notebook and flips to an empty page, snatching up a pen and tapping it rapidly on the desk. He runs through the last session in his head, reminding himself where they’re all at.

Mike was holding his own in battle while Jeff was trying to revive Dustin, Lucas was making a convincing argument about using Gareth’s goblin character as a projectile, and Eddie’s mulling over how to make that sound badass and not just fucking ridiculous as he writes the date in the top right corner of the page. He taps the tip of the pen to the first line on the sheet, ready to start scrawling in his chicken scratch, when he stops. Frowns.

Looks at the date again.

Squints at it.

Because surely - no. 

Oh, fuck. Oh Jesus H. Christ holy fucking shit, no.

But it glares back at him in its righteous fury, bold and bright against the page in his own messy handwriting, the ink deep red and accusing.

February 14.

It’s fucking Valentine’s day.

“FUCK.”

Panic squeezes his chest and his heart drops out of his ass as he scrambles to his feet, tangling in the legs of the chair and almost going sprawling over the carpet. He rights himself, barely, snagging his jacket off the bed and shrugging it on.

No fucking wonder Steve had looked so disappointed, so hurt. Eddie forgot his baby’s favorite holiday of the fucking year.

And it’s not that he forgot, he thinks desperately. That’s not what happened. He has plans. He has a song he’s been working on and a florist he was planning on calling and chocolates he was going to buy - dark, because that’s Steve’s favorite, and with cherries, because Steve fucking loves cherries and Eddie knows this because he’s a good fucking boyfriend. He knows when Valentine’s Day is. It’s not like it fucking moves. He knew it was coming, knew February was creeping along at a steady pace, knew the fourteenth was approaching. 

It just didn’t click, is all. Dates don’t fall in line for him like they do for a lot of people. He struggles to remember schedules, always has, due dates and important days and holidays, those are no exception, though Eddie desperately wishes they were.

He pats his pocket, hears the jingle of his keys and tears out of the house and throws himself into his van. 

God, no wonder Robin was looking at him like he was a monster. He is. He made Steve sad, and if there’s anything Robin Buckley will never allow or forgive, it’s someone hurting Steve. Fuck, he’s going to have to grovel to her so fucking hard.

Not that that’s his priority. Might not even be something he needs to worry about if Steve doesn’t forgive him for being the dumbest person on the fucking planet. No, he has to get to Steve’s house, has to apologize, has to explain. Has to make it up to him.

one more part!! still working on it 💕

edit: part 3!

people that asked to be tagged: @swimmingbirdrunningrock @zerokrox-blog @m-owo-n

#steddie #steve/eddie #steve x eddie #steddie drabble #steddie fic #my fic #steddie valentine's

[crab-crab]

Ravio's New Clothes

“Mr.Hero!” was all Legend got before his arms were full of purple and gold and his back was hitting the ground. 

Legend cursed as he lay sprawled on the grass while Ravio clung to his front. They’d just reached Legend’s house after being spit out by the most recent portal and the vet was craving the comfort of his own bed and the warmth that Ravio brought. Said man had finally pushed off of Legend and was staring down at him with that same familiar hood. 

He pushed at Ravio so that he could sit up and batted at the hands that reached to help “Get off me you overgrown rodent” Legend grumbled as he was finally able to stand and brush the dirt from his tunic while Ravio’s laughter rang out in front of him. “Hello Heroes! Please come in come in!” As the rest of the chain moved into the house with suppressed laughter (Sky) or not suppressed laughter (Warriors) Legend took the time to look at his roommate. 

He could feel his ears turning red. Instead of the ever-familiar floor-length purple robe and bunny hood with the blue stripped scarf, Ravio had on something new. The merchant seemed to have finally settled and decided to use the rupees he hoarded because his new outfit left Legend speechless. He wore a closer-fitting tunic that split just above his hips. The tunic had billowy sleeves and the gloves Ravio wore covered his hands and middle and ring fingers. The merchant's pants were baggy and comfortable looking and freed up movement by having open space along the insides of his legs and were those leggings??

Legend could feel the moment that all coherent thought screeched to a halt. Ravio looked comfortable and cute, Legend just wanted to-

“What do you think?”

He looked up to see that Ravio was in front of him now, having finished seeing the other heroes in, and was watching with an amused smile peeking from between his hood and scarf. Oh, he knew. Ravio could tell what Legend was thinking and he wanted to watch him suffer! Two can play at that game Legend thought as he stood straighter and dragged his gaze up and down over Ravio, relishing when he saw the smile wobble and the faintest pink tint peeking from the rabbit hood. 

Ok, Link, you can do this. Saying something suave. Just don’t say cute.

Ravio was rocking back and forth on his heels, the ears on his hood would twitch every so often and Legend could feel the merchant’s gaze sliding over him in return, serving to make Legend’s thoughts stutter.

Don’t say cute, don’t say cute, DO NOT SAY-

“Cute”

-

-

-

Damn it, Link!

Legend could feel his face light up as Ravio started to hop in place and a grin replaced his previous smile. He could hear Warriors cackling from the house and just knew there were rupees being passed around. 

“Terrible! Horrible! Cold!” Legend sputters and he knows his face is getting redder as he tries to cover his earlier slip as Ravio bounces closer and closer. “They’re poorly crafted!” He squeaked and he could physically feel the heat radiating from his face. Ravio had stopped in front of Legend and his grin was clear as day. Oh, what Legend wouldn’t give to see under that hood right now, to know what Ravio looks like, if his eyes light up when he smiles, if his hair is messy from wearing his hood all the time, if his ear’s flush when embarrassed.

A light pressure against his cheek drags Legend from his spiraling thoughts to witness Ravio pulling back and hiding behind his scarf. “Thank you, Mr. Hero” Ravio hums and all Legend can do is watch as the merchant turns and scurries back into the house. Legend was left to process the interaction, jumping into movement when “I didn’t know the Vet could be left speechless!” Came from the house and sent Legend marching into the house shouting “I’m going to leave you speechless when I throttle you with your own scarf!”

#crab writes #ravioli #ravio x legend #Ravio #lu legend #linked universe #Ravio gets new clothes and Legend bluescreens #I love these two idiots #dumb rabbit men

[missmaywemeetagain]

Fireside - A Pink Scarf Universe Story 💗🧣💗

A/N: Apparently, I am not able to stay too far away from our darlin' Reader and Elvis, no matter how hard I try! I just love them too much. So, here is a sexy little blurb taking place in February 1970. I hope you enjoy, and maybe if this gets enough likes and traction, I'll release more and grow the "Pink Scarf Universe" lol, who knows?

If you haven't read Pink Scarf, read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist (though honestly you could probably read this without knowing their story it just won't be as fun for you without the background info 😂).

I will also say this isn't as heavily edited and revised as PS, but hopefully it's still readable...

TW: MINORS DNI 18+ SEXX. PS Daddy E is back! The usual filth with these two. Fluff. A tinge of angst at the beginning. 😏

Word Count: 4.4k

Fireside

Graceland, Late February 1970

Shivering as you make your way across the lawn, you pull your arms across your coat in tight, feeling a bit insolent and annoyed that you even have to trudge out here in the middle of the night. But Elvis had insisted, in that spontaneous way of his, that he must have a campfire tonight, of all nights, even though they all had just returned from his second engagement in Las Vegas and were all beat to hell with exhaustion. So, he and the guys had all tasked at building what you considered to be a too large and dangerous fire in out on the back lawn.

Perhaps you might be feeling more understanding if you hadn’t just spent two weeks away from him—the longest amount of time you’d been apart since August. You’d been sent home early after catching the monster flu that had been going around, which had turned quickly into a terrible bout of bronchitis. The desert air had done you no favors, and Elvis, along with the doctor, had sent you home to Memphis despite your protests. You were furious because Elvis, too, had caught the flu, but in that stubborn way of his had insisted on performing through it like an insane person.

“All these folks paid good money and flew in from all over to come see me, Satnin. I ain’t gonna disappoint them,” he’d said to you as you both coughed and raged with fever.

You were so mad he’d sent you home during your first engagement as one of his back-up singers that you were still stung by it. But you were also finding yourself increasingly needy for him along with your moodiness.

Which is why you find yourself out in the cold, sniffling, desperate for your fiancé to come inside and shower you with attention instead of living it up out in the cold with the guys he just spent a solid month with.

Your grumpiness is fueled as you approach the roaring flames and spot Elvis in his low Adirondack chair, laughing it up with the guys. You don’t like the feeling of jealousy that creeps over you at his attention being pulled away from you by these men. It’s silly, you know, just as you know it’s part of the package. Elvis’ light and charisma demands attention whether he means it to or not but having been away from him the past few weeks made you miss him in a way you haven’t felt before.

Part of you can’t escape how handsome he looks in the firelight, his smile wide and crinkling his lovely blue eyes. And that damn laugh of his is so contagious and musical that it almost—almost—pulls you out of your funk.

That tether between you has been pulled tight for too long and yanks you towards him out here in the cold. You stand over him sullenly for a moment until he raises those soulful eyes up to yours.

“Why ain’t you in bed, Satnin? You shouldn’t be out here. You’ll catch another chill,” Elvis says in what to him is a caring way yet to you feels almost dismissive. But he must see the needy look in your eyes and the tears brimming there because his voice softens and he adds, “Come ‘ere then,” and lifts the heavy blanket over his legs. A sense of deep relief falls over you as you slide sideways into his lap, throwing your legs across his, his warmth cocooning you. He pulls the heavy blanket up over you both and you snuggle into his chest.

Yes, this is what you need, you think, collapsing into him, his spicy familiar scent enveloping you, the heat of his body burning into yours. One arm circles around your back and his other hand rests on your thigh, pulling you ever closer. God, you missed this. You missed him. To think you spent so many years near him but without him… No wonder your brain concealed so much from you for so long—this yearning you feel is nearly unbearable and he is already yours.

You sigh into his neck, and he presses his chin down to look at you. “What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers in your ear, his hand slipping under your coat to rub comforting circles at your waist. His slender fingers are cold, but you don’t care in the least.

“Missed you,” is all you can eek out in your sensitive, tearful state, your hand clutching at the front of his coat.

“Aww, darlin’, I’m right here,” he says, kissing the top of your head, then pressing his fire-warmed cheek to your cool one.

You can’t help but pout, your mood worn from weeks of being sick and without him to comfort you. It’s not like you to act this way—for years you built a stoic shell around yourself to cope with Jack being gone all the time—but Elvis managed to break that shell into pieces last summer. Since then, you’ve found yourself feeling every little thing and unable to hide it from him. Perhaps it is because he is so finely tuned into you that he just knows when something is off, but you can’t seem to hide things from him even when you’ve tried.

“Mhm,” Elvis tuts in your ear, “you’re still sore that I sent you home, ain’tcha? I’m not gonna be sorry about that, honey. You were too sick and the doc was right—that Vegas air was doin’ you no good.” He shakes his head.

You huff stubbornly and bury your head into his long neck. Of course, logically, you know they were right to send you back, but you are still upset and not just about that. You can’t seem to voice exactly what you are mad about, only realizing that you are annoyed and sad and small and needy in a way you’ve never been before. And this overwhelm seems to steal your ability to express any of those emotions in words. You’re not sure what exactly you need, other than being as close as possible to the man you love.

“Oh, don’t you be obstinate, now,” Elvis warns quietly, the slightest edge of temper in his voice. Your only response is to cling to him harder, to nuzzle yourself further into the warmth that emanates off him.

He says nothing for a moment, staring into the fire, but you can sense the gears turning behind those pretty, worn eyes. Finally, he seems to come to some conclusion because his countenance shifts and he forces your chin out of his neck with his finger so he can look you in the eyes.

“Is all this because you need Daddy to take care of you?” he asks quietly, firmly. His voice is low and rumbles right down to your toes, the words setting every one of your nerves on fire along the way.

A whimper escapes your lips. You are suddenly grateful for the inky darkness of the winter’s night, at the heat of the fire, because they conceal the blush that suddenly blotches your cheeks as Elvis stares deeply into your eyes. The gaze has you squirming to get off his lap and you want to pull him into the house where you need him, but his large hands clamp down firm.

“Be still,” he commands sternly, but only loud enough for you to hear.

Your heart is galloping at the implication of those two little words.

“Now are ya gonna be a good, quiet little girl for me?” Elvis asks, his hand gripping your chin so you have to look at him. His face is the picture of controlled calm—it’s only the flames dancing in his darkening eyes that gives him away.

You hadn’t realized just how badly you needed him to take control until this very moment.

You manage to nod solemnly as all the blood in your body seems to rush into your core. You don’t know what he has in store for you, but the fact that he is not making any attempt to leave the company of the men surrounding you makes you nervous (and maybe a little intrigued).              

Elvis releases your chin and pulls the heavy blanket up over your shoulders, encouraging you to snuggle back into him by tightening his hand around your waist. The warm wool now covers you both from head to toe, and it is only then that you start to glean why that might be important.

You rest your head on his collarbone, waiting with bated breath, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart begin to quicken under your hand as you slip it into his coat. You’re unable to help the impulse to place a fluttering kiss at the pulse point on his elegant long neck, and his lip curls up in response. Before long, he begins drawing small circles with his fingertips up the inside of your thigh, and when reaching the hem of your dress, he slips under without compunction. You stiffen as he continues, unhurried, up, up, up until he reaches your panty line.

Your eyes widen and you wonder if Elvis is really going to do this with all the guys around. It’s bold, even for him, even with the blanket tenting and concealing his movements. A snake of apprehension in your gut is overrun by the thrill of the risk. The conversation around the fire flows on without either of you, and the crackle of the flames conceals a lot, and for that you are grateful.

The light brush of his fingers over the cotton of your panties makes you jump despite yourself, and in response, Elvis grips your waist hard, stilling you.

“Be good,” he orders through clenched teeth, “or I’m gonna stop and leave you to fend for yourself. Or maybe I oughta pull this blanket off and let the guys enjoy the show.” His lip quivers up slyly at that.

The threat stills you either way.

Elvis chuckles darkly. His fingers resume their teasing, dancing over the cotton at your core delightfully as you attempt to stay as still and quiet as possible. He is maddeningly patient, doing this until you can feel the throb of your pulse blossoming between your thighs, and it has you oh-so-quietly panting into his neck. But it’s not until he feels the fabric dampen under his touch that he finally slides his naughty, slender finger underneath, grazing through your slick and up to your sensitive bud, forcing you to bite down to keep from keening loudly.

Fuck, you’ve missed him.

By now, he knows how to play you like an instrument, his instrument, knowing exactly how much pressure to use as he circles your clit again and again, enough to get you sufficiently worked up. His casualness suggests he has all the time in the world while you’re sitting in his lap beginning to shudder from the pleasure coiling low in your belly.

Occasionally, he’ll stop, just to listen to your desperate breathlessness, your carnal wanting of him quelled by trying to be a quiet, good girl like you promised. A hint of a smirk plays on his face, making you want to crush your mouth to his or slap him for his teasing. Instead, you settle for clawing at his shirt.

The wetness that gathers between your legs has your panties soaked and sticking to you now, which might be embarrassing except for the fact that you are so damn needy for him, you couldn’t care less about your ruined underwear. Elvis discovers this fact as he finally dips lower, running the length of his finger back and forth through your sopping, swollen folds, taking his sweet damn time.

You tense. You are nearly ready to come undone just from his teasing, but you know that’s not what he wants. That’s not the game he’s playing. You raise your head from his chest just long enough to give him a pleading look.

He's doing a decent job of keeping his handsome features neutral, looking to a casual observer as though he is following the conversation around the fire and not driving you to madness under the blanket. But knowing him as you do, you can see the tiny giveaways that he, too, is flustered: the way his nostrils flare with his increased breathing rate, how his brilliant blues gleam with arousal, the way his plump lips part when he finally presses his middle finger deep into you.

Your wetness devours him readily. To hide the gasp and roaring flush on your cheeks, you pull the blanket up even farther. You clutch at his chest and your nails scrape his skin. After a few agonizing minutes, there’s no helping the instinct to grind your hips against his hand, wanting him deeper, wanting to consume him.

But while he smirks and is pleased with your desperation, he also will not relinquish control. He stills completely, one hand gripping your waist hard as a reminder of who is in charge. Your warm, wet heat clenches around his finger.

“Be good and stop squirmin’, little one,” he whispers low in your ear, “and maybe Daddy will keep finger fuckin’ you ‘till ya come.”

You stop moving but whine in response to those dirty words coming from his perfect pouty mouth—you just can’t help it—but it’s so quiet he can barely hear you. Your reward is another finger sliding deep into your heat. He picks up the pace in an unforgiving way. Gasping, you bite your lip when he curves those fingers just so, hitting that spot deep inside that is only his.

The blanket barely moves, and you have no idea what magic he is using to keep things so incognito, especially considering he naturally has so much energy that his limbs are usually vibrating uncontrollably. You still feel completely on display, though, especially when the pad of his thumb begins massaging your bud in time with his expert fingers pumping in and out of you.

I’m going to come undone, right here, in front of all the guys, you think in horror. You have no clue how you are going to keep quiet and still and good if that happens. Panic begins to build behind your arousal because you just know that coil is going to burst and you’ll cry out in ecstasy any second now (but a dark part of you is even more aroused by the scandalous nature of it all).

Elvis must sense the change in you because he edges you right up to the point of no return but not over. He halts his ministrations. You clutch desperately at his expensive shirt, certain you are going to shred it to pieces by the time this little game of his is through. Your heart pounds hard and fast against your ribcage, in time with his, and you wait to see what he has in store for you next. Because even though a part of you is embarrassed by this game, you are drinking in every drop of attention, relishing his command over you, needy for every morsel he deems to give you.

He’s considering his next move, you think, by the way his eyes narrow slightly and his grip on you shifts. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you almost moan for the loss of them, but catch yourself at the last second. Brazenly, he wipes his sticky fingers down your inner thigh, his eyes dancing with amusement as he does so.

You gape at him. He can’t be finished, you think dismally. He can’t leave me like this.

No, you don’t think so, not with the way you can feel his hardened length pressing into your hamstring.

He kisses your temple sweetly. “Now listen carefully, little girl: Imma need you to shift onto one of Daddy’s legs for a second. Nice and slow now, don’t call attention to it. And hold those ruined panties of yours to the side. I wanna feel that pretty little kitty weepin’ for me,” he rumbles in your ear.

Oh my goddd... The urge to moan long and loud fills you but you just nod instead.

You follow his directions and move your weight so one of his lean, muscled thighs is between yours. The rough fabric of his pants scrapes your bare pussy as he bounces his leg a few times, sending a cascaded of shivers into your belly. His pants will need to be dry cleaned for the soaking spot you’re leaving there, and part of you feels a sense of pride to be marking him in such a way. Mine.

Holding the blanket up to your shoulders dutifully, you stare at the golden flames licking into the air in front of you. No one seems to notice or care that you have shifted.

That’s when you feel it. The slow, deliberate way he undoes his belt, the ticking of his zipper. You blush furiously, then feel the spring of his heavy cock being released. Before you can react, he unceremoniously and quickly lifts you fully onto his lap, lining you up then impaling you down upon his length.

You cover your surprise and choke with a cough—not unusual considering you’re still recovering from bronchitis. Thank god you are as wet as you are because, even so, it’s a damn tight fit with him having been away these past few weeks. You have to keep yourself from rolling your eyes into the back of your head because he’s finally filling you the way you need him to.

Yes, this is what you wanted. This is what you needed. You just didn’t expect it to be in front of all his (albeit unaware) friends.

By the way Elvis grips your waist and from the soft grunt that escapes him, you know he’s struggling to contain his own reaction to your heat, despite the air of control he’s been exuding. He adjusts you how he wants you: leaning your back over his chest, your legs draped over his, his chin resting on your shoulder. With the way the seat of the chair tips down to the ground and with blanket pulled all the way up, nothing looks amiss.

You close your eyes and sigh, relishing the feel of him stretching you, his cock buried deliciously deep inside you. He envelops you in his arms, one under your breasts, the other at your lower belly. His warmth burns into your back, but he does not let you move. Those wiry but strong arms have effectively pinned you to him. Almost frantic, you try for some semblance of friction, anything at all to ease the tension, but he just chuckles at your near-silent gasps, holding you fast against him.

Finally, once you relent and relax, Elvis swivels his hips, again and again, in a slow rhythm not unlike one monumentally famous performance on TV in the beginning of his career, the one that sent the church ladies off their rockers and the teenage girls fainting. Suddenly, you want to giggle at the fact that his damn hips resulted in both his skyrocketing career and in his censorship because those same hips have certainly become even more skilled in the many years between then and now, but for different, more scandalous reasons. Maybe those church ladies had a point, after all, you laugh quietly. And it causes you to clench around his cock.

Then you hear a low growl in your ear: “What a dirty little girl you are, letting Daddy take you like this in front of all these men. Bein’ so good for me. You like this, baby girl?” Each statement is accentuated with a shallow but pointed roll of his pelvis.

You bite your lip, nodding. His dirty talk has molten heat flooding down your limbs and directly into your cunt. With the warmth of the roaring fire coupled with the passioned heat at your back, your arousal grows with each small movement, each scandalous word, and has you feeling like you might combust before this is all said and done.

So desperately do you want to ride him within an inch of his life, but he won’t allow it. No, this is his show, and you give into him, fully resting back onto his chest. He rewards you by finding your clit again, massaging it in slow time with his barely moving cock. The result is both torturous and delectable, working you into such a state that you dig your nails so hard into his clothed thighs that he hisses.  

“Fuck, little one, you feel so good,” Elvis breathes jaggedly into your ear. He presses a hand to your lower belly, then rolls his hips up. In this position, he’s big enough that you both can feel him there. “Takin’ my cock so well.”

You do your level best not to mewl, to stay quiet for him. Instead, your breathing pants through your nostrils and you try to keep your wits about you, trying to stay good as he fucks you so slowly within an inch of your life. Fucks you with all the guys around, who seem none the wiser.

He must feel you begin to flutter around him, your climax drawing ever closer. You feel like you’re about to burst because you need to scream, to moan out his name, do something that will let you release this pressure, but you tamp it all down as far as you can.

“Daddy’s gonna make you come now, sweetheart,” he purrs.

“N-not h-here,” you breathe out, panicked, knowing you can’t hold on much longer.

“Yes, here,” he chastises. “Right in front of ev’rybody. You’re gonna come so hard, baby, cuz Daddy treats you right, doesn’t he?”

You almost sob at that and nod, that coil poised to explode at any moment.

“But you’re gonna be good and so, so quiet cuz it’s just for me baby. You ain’t gonna cry out or move a muscle, okay?” he whispers and though he’s commanding, you know he’s close to losing control himself by how labored his breath is and how tightly he’s holding you.

You nod, and he flicks your clit with expert, rapid precision. “Now, lil’ one. Come now.”

That’s all you need. Quite suddenly, you are consumed by fire as hot as the one blazing in front of you. Your body tenses, then shudders violently in his lap and he holds you to him as you careen over the edge, lost to the dark night. It takes every ounce of self-control in you to not cry out, resulting instead in your huffed breaths. Long nails bite into his arms, clamoring for some outlet for your pleasure. Your eyes close, stars dancing behind them. Your walls clench and flutter around his length and you feel his slow rhythm begin to stutter.                                                        

“Fuck, baby, Jesus fuck, so good for m-me. Daddy’s gonna fill y-you up now. All mine. Aw, h-hell.” He pulses inside you, covering his own orgasm by biting deep into your shoulder, so hard you can feel it through the heavy winter coat you’re wearing. His thick, hot arousal throbs and coats your insides and you ride him through it with the tiniest rocking of your hips, feeling lighter than air but also grounded by him.

That’s what life with Elvis is like, you think. He grounds you to him, to his orbit, and sends you both shooting to the moon and the stars.  

Completely blissed out and spent, you fall into him, and he slumps back in the chair. As you come back down to Earth, you feel your breathing sync with his. You close your eyes and revel in the wonderful way he’s made you feel, this man you are so wildly in love with.

You’re no longer upset.

You’re just glad to be back in his arms.

Elvis nudges you and you realize you may have dosed off, as he is now soft inside you and the fire has dimmed some.

“I think you made quite the mess, lil’ mama,” he whispers, nipping at your ear.

Indeed. You can feel the cool pooling of your collective arousal coating you and his lap.

“I made the mess, huh?” you whisper back with a roll of your eyes.

“Oh, most definitely.” You can feel his boyish grin as he kisses your neck.

“Sure. And how exactly are we supposed to get back in the house without everyone knowing we had sex in front of them?”

He pauses and then you can feel the vibration of his chest as he starts to chuckle, that way he gets just before he has a laughing fit.

“Oh, don’t you dare start, E,” you warn. It’s contagious, of course, and you feel your own laughter bubbling. “You didn’t think this all the way through, did you, love?” you shake your head.

“That’s what I have you for!” he laughs.

“Well, I guess we’re just gonna have to sit here and simmer in our juices until everyone decides to go to bed, now won’t we?” you try to whisper sternly, but giggles escape at the complete ridiculousness of the situation.

“Not in our juices!” he cries with laughter. He’s completely beside himself, pressing his forehead into your back in an effort to hide his amusement.

“What was that, EP? Thought you both fell asleep over there,” Lamar says.

“N-nothing!” Elvis hiccups. “Just go about your business! Y’all must be getting’ tired, right? Time to go inside! Time for bed!” He flails his arms in the general direction of the house.

You are both trying, quite unsuccessfully, to hold back your laughter, and the guys are looking at you two like you’ve grown horns.

“Um, sure, EP? I guess it is getting late,” Charlie throws out.

Quizzical, the guys grumble a bit and begin to mosey their way towards the house.

“You comin’?” Lamar shouts.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it! We’ll get there!” Elvis calls, shooing him away, then dissolves into another peal of breathless laughter.  

“Okay, Crazy,” Lamar mumbles.

Elvis is sniffling and snorting by now. Your face is red and tears poke at the corners because the more he laughs, the more you laugh.

“I love you, Satnin,” he says, kissing your cheek gently once everyone is gone and your giggles have subsided.

“I love you, too, baby boy.” You press your forehead to his. “Now please tell me you have a handkerchief or something cuz otherwise you’re gonna need to wear this blanket around your waist to get inside.

“Anything for you, baby, anything for you,” Elvis says, holding back another peal of laughter.

And you know it’s true.

*

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[holylulusworld]

Peacock

Summary: It's your birthday and you end up eating alone.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Warnings: angst, trust issues, abandonment, Ransom being a douche, unrequited feelings, being lonely during birthday/Christmas, having the blues,

A/N: This is the alternative version of Dinner for one. I decided to turn it into a story too but with a different ending.

Written for: Winter Break Advent: Day 22 – Quote: "We click. There aren't that many people that you just 'click' with; and when you find those people, you don't just let them go."

“Anything else, sweetie,” the elderly waitress at your favorite café asks. Her name is Dolores, and she’s always kind. She knows it’s your birthday and brought you a cupcake with a burning candle for free. “Happy birthday.”

She watches you glance at the cupcake. You sniffle and try not to cry. This stranger showed more interest in you and your birthday than anyone else in your life.

“Thank you,” is all you get out. You blow the candle out, wishing for nothing but to not feel the aching in your chest any longer. “That’s so kind of you.”

“Don’t sweat it, sweetie. You’re my best and favorite customer,” she smiles and refills your cup. “Chamomile, your favorite.”

“Again, thank you,” you fake a smile. She’s so kind, and you don’t want to be ungrateful. “This made my day.”

“I’ll bring you your order later. Eat the cupcake and remember, not all days are bad. One day the sun will shine for all of us again.”

Damn her, she read you like a book. “I guess,” you drop your eyes and look at the cupcake again. “It just doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“It will,” she insists and walks off, whistling a tune.

“Maybe—” you swallow thickly when the man you had hoped to never see again waltzes into the café, smirking like nothing has changed. He holds the door open for two girls, and two of his buddies. “Why?”

This can’t be. Today out of all days he had to come here. Your favorite café. Ransom always hated it and now he’s here, on your birthday after he broke your heart.

He straightens his hair and puffs his chest. Showing off his expensive coat and the scarf you bought him for his birthday. He looks like a peacock wanting to impress the ladies. You giggle as he looks stupidly handsome and like an idiot at the same time.

His eyes dart from the table the waitress orders toward your table. For a moment, it looks like he stiffens when his eyes meet yours. He clears his throat, and turns away, acting like he didn’t see you sitting alone at the table.

“Hey, Ransom,” one of his buddies punches his upper arm, “isn’t that the mouse you dated some months ago?” The guy points at your table. You try to ignore him, and the girls looking in your direction.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Ransom snaps at his friend, adding another crack to your fragile heart. He can’t even admit that he used to date you. “I don’t date girls like her.”

“Dude, it’s her,” the other man insists. “I remember the pout and her mousish behavior. I bet she must be a bomb in the bedroom, if not you wouldn’t keep a girl like her around.”

“Listen, I don’t know that woman. Can we eat now, or do you want to ask me if I dated half of the people at the café,” Ransom gets louder, making you flinch.

He seems to be embarrassed by his friend’s question. Of course, he’s ashamed of dating you. You’re not one of his wealthy buddies or the spoiled girls hanging on his every word.

You exhale sharply as he continues to explain that he would never date someone like you. He even makes fun of the sweater you’re wearing. Even though he told you he found it cute not so long ago.

Self-cautiously you look down on your body, regretting that you decided to wear your favorite blue sweater with snowflakes today. You try to look away, or not listen to their words, but it’s impossible to not see Ransom staring your way.

“Sweetie, I got you birthday cake,” right when you want to flee out of the café, the waitress returns with three of her colleagues. They start singing Happy Birthday, and the lump in your throat grows.

The guests at the café get up to join the waitresses. They sing Happy Birthday and clap their hands, making things worse for you.

Ransom and his friends get up too, laughing and joking as they pretend to sing with the other people. You’re close to running out of the café and leaving town to forget about this awful birthday.

A few weeks ago, you were in love and believed you’d spend your birthday with Ransom.

 Now you are in the same room, but miles apart.

You’re living in different worlds, and this will never change. He’s got a huge trust fund, and you struggle to make ends meet sometimes. When you met Ransom he knew that you still got to pay back your study loan.

“That’s,” your voice cracks when they place a birthday cake in front of you. “Very nice. I-I’m overwhelmed.”

“I hope you enjoy your cake,” one of the waitresses sing-songs. She smiles, and hands you a fork. “It’s a red velvet cake. Your favorite.”

People sit back down and finally turn their attention toward their lives. You release a shuddery breath as the waitresses and some guests expectantly look at you. “That’s a beautiful cake,” you sniff. “But I already got the cupcake.”

“It’s a gift from one of the customers,” Dolores whispers. “We got instructions to serve you the cake when you come here today.”

“What? I don’t understand. Why would anyone buy a cake for me? I don’t know many people in town.”

“Well sweetie, he must be wealthy,” the waitress from earlier giggles. “This is the most expensive cake and he wanted extras. Just enjoy.”

“I rather not,” you doubt whoever bought the cake wanted to be nice. Gifts always come at a price. And you are not willing to be in anyone’s debt. “Can you take it back? Maybe tell the person who ordered the cake for me they can eat it.”

“Sorry, no returns,” she coos and points at the cake. “Dig in, miss. It’s free and very delicious. Look, the cook used leaf gold for the decoration. You don’t want us to throw it away, right?”

“No.” You hate this. All of it. Someone bought you a cake and expects you to eat it, just like the waitresses. “I’ll try it later.”

“She still got the cupcake. Maybe she can take the cake home,” Dolores jumps in. She offers to put the cake in a box for you to take the cake home. “Right, sweetie. You will take it home.”

Dolores tells the others to go back to work. She gives you a sympathetic look and walks away to get the box.

You shift in your seat and try to focus on the cupcake and your now cold tea. It’s not how you imagined spending your birthday but it’s better than to hide at your apartment and think about Ransom, and your breakup.

Ransom watches you eat the cupcake. He frowns as Dolores puts the cake in a box. You don’t look his way any longer. You finish your cupcake and drink your tea. When you get up to leave, you thank Dolores and reluctantly take the box with the cake.

It takes all of your strength, but you manage to pass Ransom’s table by and not look at him. You exhale sharply as one of his friends calls you mouse and cups his crotch.

“Y/N, open the door!” Ransom is fuming outside of your apartment. “Why did you refuse to eat the cake I ordered for you? I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Like bringing these people to our place? How could you, Ran? How?” You sniffle. “You walked around the café I showed to you like a peacock to impress these women. Why did you come to the café? And why did you buy the cake?”

“Babycakes,” he sighs deeply. “I’m…we…I let their words get to me. I was a fool to believe I could spend a day without you.”

“You laughed about me at the café!”

“Please let me in,” he pleads. “I came to the café to talk to you, knowing you’ll be there. Frankie and the others waited outside. I must’ve talked about this place, and they wanted to try it out. I’m sorry for their behavior.”

“Just go away, and take that cake with you,” you open the door to push the box with cake into his hands. “We are done, just like you said.”

“I said we should take a break to think about our relationship,” he looks at the box in his hands. “I got scared, Y/N. You know that I have commitment issues and trust issues. But…I wanna get better.”

“You want to hurt me even more to make fun of me with your friends,” you sniff. “I’m done with people walking all over me. I won’t have it.”

“Please don’t give up on me, Y/N. I’m not the best boyfriend and I got flaws but…” He shrugs. “We click. There aren't that many people that you just 'click' with; and when you find those people, you don't just let them go.”

“You let me go,” you tap your heart. “You broke my heart and now you stand on my doorstep asking me to take you back?”

“If you can forgive me, I promise to heal your heart…”

You take the cake out of his hands and jerk your head toward the door. “I’ll eat the cake, and maybe, I’ll call you. For now, I want you to leave me alone.”

Tags in reblog.

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