#his fail athlete fuck it up on the pitch

[cemeterything]

hey babe i know you want to punch the wall in a fit of impulsive rage that you'll immediately come to regret when your knuckles split and tear on the brickwork, but i just wanted to remind you to make sure you use proper technique so you don't do any permanent damage to your wrists, alright? and come find me when you're done so i can clean your wounds with antiseptic and bandage them so they don't get infected. okay. love you.

#🐉 #it stresses me out so bad when people punch the wall with bad technique #im sitting there yelling KEEP YOUR WRISTS STRAIGHT! DONT TUCK YOUR THUMB INSIDE YOUR FIST! like a coach watching #his fail athlete fuck it up on the pitch

[itsclydebitches]

ok ok ok but imagine trent's daughter, Phoebe and Henry, on a playdate or exploring stadium together? Like how have these kiddos not become friends??

YOU'RE SO RIGHT, ANON.

Headcanon time:

During a weekend training Henry is visiting again, Roy's sister is sick so he's justifying the Best Uncle award Phoebe gave him last year (it's very glittery), and Trent's babysitter unexpectedly bailed. So they all trail into work with kids that day and Rebecca is like, "Excuse me this is not a fucking daycare."

She says this while giving them all a kiss.

Pheobe: "That's a bad word, Ms. Welton, you owe me a pound."

Henry and Phoebe immediately race outside to play with the team but Trent's daughter, who is both younger and has never played football before, is just the shiest little bean about joining in. Trent, expert in anxious parenting, is prepared to run damage control with her favorite coloring books but Ted holds him back and within ten minutes Phoebe is showing her the ropes while Henry is Very Seriously working to tie her hair back for her.

Henry: "Excuse me, Mr. Independent sir, but can I borrow another hair-tie?"

Trent: "... how do you know my name?"

Trent, internally: Wait. Mr. Independent isn't my name??

Trent, with shorter hair than in Season 2: "Never mind that. How do you know I have hair-ties?"

Henry, answering both questions: "Daddy."

[Trent.exe has stopped working]

Rebecca, shouting across the pitch: "Give her pigtails, Henry! There you go!"

So the crimmlet learns some football and Trent, after recovering from his Omg Ted Talks About Me to His Son panic almost sorta kinda cries about it. By this point the himbos are absolutely in love with the trio and would die for them, no hesitation. (Dani actually says this, which is mildly alarming for the kids). After some super secret techniques are shared -- Phoebe: "This is how you kick the ball into someone's face. Uncle Ted loves it!" -- they all decide that they should probably get some actual training done. Besides, Henry just brought up the West Ham game he went to and... uh...

Yeah. Best to scoot them on out of there. Unconditional love doesn't trump hatred of West Ham, unfortunately.

The stadium houses a team of pro athletes and a massive staff of sleep-deprived professionals, meaning that there's plenty of food to go around for lunch. Ted (childhood personified) and Trent (a domestic mess post-divorce) are both happy to let the kids pig out on snacks. A growled "Fuck that" from Roy sends them off to the kitchen downstairs.

Do stadiums have kitchens? No idea. Probably not. This one does!

Trent, carryout aficionado: "So... does anyone know how to cook?"

Roy: "Do I fucking look like I have time to cook?"

Trent: "This was your idea."

Roy: "Shut up."

Ted: "Hmm. I'm afraid I'm more of a baking man myself."

The kids have been sitting at the counter, heads ping-ponging back and forth as they watch their three guardians fail the basic task of feeding them. Luckily for their faith in adults, it's about this moment that the crimmlet remembers that this is Ted.

Biscuit Ted.

Did you know that Trent Crimm used to be in a band? A metal band? That for six months in college he rebelled in the only way he knew how - artistically - and screamed everything he was keeping bottled up inside until he learned to purge himself through vicious prose instead?

His daughter inherited his lungs.

A six-year-old's high-pitched screaming + the reverberation of a primarily metal space = Significant Pain. Ted's, "Holy moly, Ms. Banshee!" is barely audible and Roy just nopes out of the situation without a shred of guilt. Phoebe and Henry -- immune to loud noises in the way only children can be -- exchange a A Look over the top of the crimmlet's head. Because she's screaming for the biscuits Ted gives her every week.

Henry hasn't had his Dad's cookies in six months.

Phoebe hasn't had them at all.

Now the screaming is joined by Very Indignant Yelling.

Trent: "Ted just make them some fucking biscuits."

Ted: "Right because that's healthier than the vending machines!?"

But one sugary meal is worth saving their eardrums, so.

There's an immediate change in tune when Ted asks who's gonna help him lick the bowl. Instant peace. Baking with three kids is messy, to put it mildly, and Ted isn't entirely sure how flour got into Trent's hair, but it definitely has more white streaks in it than it did this morning. Without thinking, he reaches up to smooth some of the flour away, fingers dragging gently through a lock and brushing his cheek in the process.

[Trent.exe has stopped working x2]

Crimmlet, tugging his pantleg with little flour handprints: "Daddy can the biscuit man stay forever?"

Trent, voice strangled: "... sure, honey."

Higgins pops in to find an absolute disaster of a kitchen and the normally unruffled Trent with cheeks the color of maraschino cherries (what's that about?). After getting caught up on events -- what they're willing to admit to, anyway -- he gently informs them that he could have fixed the kids a meal not made out of sugar and butter. Ah well. Too late now.

Higgins: "Also, Ted, shouldn't you be coaching the boys?"

Ted: "I'm sure Beard has it well in hand."

[Hard cut to the team seated semi-circle around Beard. He's lecturing on the drugs they can take without tanking their careers. Many are taking notes.]

The one good thing about a sugar high is that the crash comes right afterwards. Pheobe managed to get the crimmlet on her shoulders and the three of them raced off to explore the stadium, burning with short-term energy. Trent is mildly concerned about them sneaking out, but Ted reassures him that there's security at every exit. You know, to keep any... uh...

Trent: Press out?

Ted: Not all the press.

Trent: Oh, so I'm an exception am I?

Higgins, still standing there, forgotten, thinking about the book Trent is writing and how yes, he's literally an exception??

Ted: Trent Crimm you are not only an exception, you are exceptional.

[Trent.exe has stopped working x3]

Higgins, internally: OHHHHHHHHH

Later, there is a brief moment of panic when they can't find the kids -- Roy: "Don't worry. I once lost Phoebe and she turned up in my neighbor's bathtub with a new haircut." Ted: "Huh. That there's a story for another time." -- but Will ushers them quietly into the storeroom where they're piled like puppies on a bed of clean laundry, fast asleep. Ted snaps a picture and immediately sends it to the Richmond group chat. The himbos all come running to see the wholesomeness for themselves.

Will, whispering: They're so cute!! ... wait, now I need to do the laundry again :(((

Dani: No. Do not. Their beautiful, sleepy essence will help us win games.

Will: ... weird, but alright.

Henry's getting a little big for this now, but Ted manages to lift him bridle style and gently presses a kiss into his hair. Trent tenderly picks his little girl up, hand cradling her curls.

Roy slings Phoebe over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She doesn't stir.

Rebecca sternly tells them that they're never to do this again, but also if she doesn't see the trio soon they'll regret it. Here's the ten pounds I owe Phoebe. Also there had better be some biscuits left, Ted.

Henry only wakes when they're back at the apartment, Beard flipping through nature documentaries while Ted kicks his legs up into his lap. Henry squeezes between the two of them.

Ted: "You have fun today, kiddo?"

Henry: "Uh huh."

Ted: "Hey, what's Trent's daughter's name anyway?"

Henry: "Oh... I never asked."

Beard tuts. "Why you wanna know so bad?"

Ted: "I just figure I should know his kid's name before I ask him out."

[Trent, twelve miles West, suddenly and without any warning getting hit with an absolute fuckton of feelings]:

#Ted Lasso #Trent Crimm #Tedependent #Roy Kent #Rebecca Welton #Leslie Higgins #Henry Lasso #Pheobe #Trent's daughter #Ted Lasso fic #crack treated seriously

[erodasfishtacos]

~ MLB Curious Gazes ~

prompt: four different situations where people have run into or hung out with MLB!H - told from their perspective.

word: 6k +

warnings: language, mentions of sexual content

If you enjoyed this please - reblog, like, recommend, comment, and inbox me to chat about it!

please consider donating to my kofi - my work is FREE and it is a great way to show support!

enjoy!

-=-=-=-=-=-

The Doctor’s Office

Aubrey couldn’t believe her eyes as she sat in her uncomfortable, too small chair in the empty waiting room at the OBGYN office in the early hours of the morning. 

She was sitting alone with her baby boy sitting in his carrier on the floor - it was his nine month checkup and it was taking forever to be seen.

The woman was sitting, scrolling on her phone when out of her peripheral she saw an extremely - like extremely handsome man step into the area with a carrier.

Aubrey was a married woman but holy shit this guy was hot- without even trying is the thing. 

He had on a New York Yankees Nike hoodie and a pair of Nike athletic shorts with some calf length Blake Nike socks and trainers.

In the carrier was a fresh little baby, couldn’t be older than three months who was bundled up with a sunflower headband on.

The man was multitasking with a curly haired toddler on his other hip as he finds a seat a little bit down from Aubrey on the opposite side.

His wife was standing up at the check-in and of course it made sense that she was absolutely beautiful as well even though Aubrey could relate to how tired she looked.

The woman still had a small bit of her pregnancy bump left signifying that the baby was indeed very very new to the world.

She keeps glancing over at the man, he looks so familiar but she would remember if she had even met someone that handsome.

Then the context clues hit her, his hoodie, his toddler son was also in a little Yankees hoodie that matched his fathers and Aubrey googled quickly.

Her eyes flitted throughout the recent articles.

Styles’ Alleged $65 Million Dollar Bonus

Hot Head Harry Styles - how he managed to start three bench clearing brawls in one game!

Breaking Records and Bats - Styles manages to break his own record in the same season followed by breaking a bat in celebration

Holy shit.

She could help but watch them - this was much more interesting than reading a magazine.

Aubrey didn’t follow baseball but Harry had turned celebrity status and was this well known cocky dickhead to the media - women and men loved and drooled over him for his looks and his skills.

Right now, he sat down with his two babies - the boy looked exactly like Harry, it was quite unbelievable from the curly locks to mossy green eyes that was copy and paste.

Harry was currently tucking an applesauce pouch between his lips and guiding the boy's small hands to hold it for himself.

“Good job,  ,” He murmurs in the dead quiet waiting room as he tucks him further into the crook of his arm.

Harry looks up to his wife who joins them, she is a bit in awe when Aubrey sees him palm a bit at her bloated belly and whisper, “Y’look gorgeous today, mama.”

Aubrey couldn’t help but frown, she wished her husband did that.

YN sits down, leaning her head on his shoulder - Aubrey didn’t know her but she seems tired - of course she was a new mother.

The silence is broken when a nurse comes out and with an apologetic face says, “I’m sorry, we are running really behind today. It might be another thirty minutes,” before shutting the door again.

Harry kisses his wife’s forehead before wrapping his unoccupied arm around her shoulder, a flashing gold band on his ring finger.

Aubrey zones off for a little when her son wakes up, rocking the carrier a few times before he settles again.

She’s brought back to the couple when she hears a sniffle comes from Harry’s wife and his face turned towards hers, hand rubbing her shoulder reassuringly.

“Mama, she’s so healthy. There’s nothin’ to worry about, did a perfect job growing her in y’belly. I know these check-ups make you anxious but nothin’ is gonna be wrong,” He soothes, a near whisper because of how quiet the room is and he didn’t want to disrupt.

“I just don’t know if she’s been getting enough milk, it’s so hard to tell,” YN replies sadly, like she’s disappointed in herself.

“Y’kidding me? She’s our chunkiest baby - look at those little rolls. She’s on y’tits more than any of the boys including me,” He jokes softly, obviously trying to make her feel better.

It seems to work a little bit because she lets out a light giggle with a roll of her eyes, “No one is on them more than you.”

Harry shrugs unashamed before replying seriously, “Everything will be okay. She’s perfect and healthy.”

The curly haired little boy gets a bit squirmy with the wait after he finished his pouch, asking to be set down which his father does.

Harry is watching him carefully, his nervous but still adventurous little two and a half year old, as he toddles around the waiting room.

When he spots Aubrey and her carrier, he wanders over looking up her with wide curious eyes, he points at her son and squeaks, “Baby?”

Ever the diligent father, Harry is up and next to his son, Aubrey is a bit starstruck if she’s honest when he talks to her.

“M’sorry, he’s a curious little one,” Harry smiles at her, going to pick Ezra back up to guide him away from bothering her.

Aubrey waves her hand though, lifting the visor to show the sleeping baby, “Yeah, he’s a baby. That’s Dominic.”

The boy gazes at the baby before lisping, “Bry!”

Aubrey isn’t sure what he means but his father clarifies, “You’re right, Dominic is a baby just like your little sister Briar.”

“Okay,” Ezra shrugs and goes back to his mom to inform him of what he just discovered before crawling up and cuddling into her chest.

Harry nods, “Thanks for indulging him.”

“No pro-problem,” She stutters like an idiot and Harry smiles a bit like he knows but doesn’t say anything else before going back to his family.

A few minutes later when a high-pitched cry resounds through the room, Harry is carefully cradling his daughter who Aubrey notes looks nothing like him but like her mother even though her features were still so little.

“Shush, darlin’,” Harry coos with a soft drawl, leaning in to kiss at the newborn’s button nose.

Briar roots at her father’s chest, smacking her plump lips, and squeaking in frustration when she doesn’t find a nipple. It makes Harry chuckle before he glances at his wife and his smile falters a bit, “Sweetheart, did y’bring a bottle?”

Aubrey watches his wife shake her head, she is facing away from her so she can’t see her expression but gauging Harry’s it seems that she may be upset, “No, I completely forgot. I didn’t bring my nursing blanket either - I’m going to have to go the bathroom. M’being such a bad mom.”

The observer feels a pang in her chest, she can definitely relate to not always feeling like she is a good mother because of little mistakes she makes like forgetting diapers, buying the wrong formula, forgetting to bring a pacifier.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice is firm, “Y’not going to talk like that when s’the farthest thing from the truth. S’okay, we have four babies, we’re both goin’ t’forget things sometimes, okay? Here, let me help you.”

Aubrey wishes she had a husband who was as empowering, supportive of his wife.

He hands the whimpering baby over to his wife, he’s then tugging off his hoodie. Aubrey tries but fails to divert her eyes when his shirt rides up revealing  a glimpse of his taut abdomen and a light dusting of hair leading into his shorts, obscene tattoos covering his hipbones .

Harry maneuvers the hoodie over his wife’s shoulder, helping her tug down her loose shirt and nursing bra, and guiding his newborn to his wife’s breast until she latches and starts suckling hungrily.

“There y’go mama,” He whispers encouragingly before tugging Ezra back onto his lap to rock him a bit as he’s getting whiny - ready for a nap soon and not liking being in an unfamiliar place for too long.

-

Aubrey is buckling Dominic into his carseat when she spots the other family exiting the office. 

Harry’s wife looks much more relaxed, a smile on her face, and her arm tucked around her husband’s narrow hip, they’re parked close to each other, and Aubrey climbs into her small sedan - blasting the aircon.

She watches the parents strapp their kids into a massive, tinted and brand new cadillac escalade that was no doubt over a hundred thousand dollar car but who could expect them to be driving around a mid-level minivan?

After the kids are secured and they close the doors, Harry presses his wife up against it with his arm resting over her shoulder against the window. He is whispering to her, their mouths close before he ducks down to connect their lips.

His hand comes back to her deflating baby bump like he did in the doctor’s office, hand massaging the skin with adoration that was visible even to Aubrey as she sat in her car watching them.

Later on in the week, as she sits on her couch, a video pops up on her timeline. It’s a sports report she was about to skip until the name caught her attention. 

The sports reporter stated, “Harry Styles was fined an alleged sixty thousand dollars at last night’s game after getting into a verbal altercation when the second base man purposely tripped him.”

It flashes to the man she just saw in the doctor’s office in a form-fitting Yankee’s blue and white striped uniform with a helmet on as he ran at an impressive speed from first to second, stumbling when the baseman put out his foot.

Harry recovers quickly enough to touch the base to be considered safe. 

After that though, he’s pushing himself up and brushing off the dirt, then he’s charging towards the man who fucked up the play. 

He has no fear as he gets in the man’s face, veins on his neck standing out as he shouts. They don’t play the audio but you could tell Harry was cussing this man up and down.

It flashed back to the reporter speaking to another, “Nearly every team in the league reports that Styles is an absolute nightmare to play against from his skill to his downright arrogant and cocky attitude. He’s not someone I’d find myself wanting to hang around.”

“I agree with you there, Tucker. He has a right to be proud with all of his broken records and achievements but being a bit humble would do this man so good. I feel sorry for his wife and kids. He probably just spends all day bragging about himself.”

Aubrey clicks off the video, if only everyone in the world just saw the Harry Styles she saw just a few days ago - well they’d all change their minds on what kind of person he is. Especially what kind of husband and father.

--

The Charity Event

It was a charity event at Madison Square Garden in Time Square. 

It was for all Major League Baseball teams who had qualified for the playoffs and of course, The New York Yankees were there.

There were tables filling the whole stadium, extravagant in white linen tablecloths, multiple bars, and it was black tie dress code. 

It was a private event and it was not open to the public but after the dinner there would be awards given out and that would be broadcasted.

Nicole was there with her husband, Trent, the left outfielder with an average batting score. He wasn’t the most popular on the team by far - well everyone got outshined by Styles. 

She couldn’t help but be a little bitter that Harry had gotten a $60 million dollar bonus (the biggest bonus ever gifted but also the Yankees were not taking any chances at losing their star and their ultimate money-maker). Trent got a measly bonus of $100,000 which was nothing in baseball terms. 

The wives and girlfriends of the Yankees players did not like YN one bit. It really wasn’t fair because she was always lovely, kind, and friendly. It didn’t matter because they were all spurred on by jealousy of what she had.

Nicole couldn’t help by gaze at Harry as they sat at the same circle table towards the podium where the awards would be presented after dinner. He was in a sharp all black suit with a small team logo pin of the lapel.

She couldn’t deny how stunning YN looked in an absolutely stunning dress. It was a one-shoulder with sparkling black stripes against a tan background, it fit like a glove and accentuated her stunning legs with a high slit. ***

It blew Nicole’s basic black Gucci dress out of the water which made her even more infuriated at the woman. She knew she was being irrational and if she hated her so much, why couldn’t see stop staring at the couple?

Nicole could get away with it by looking past them at other tables but to be quite honest, the two were much too wrapped up in each other to be aware of any of their surroundings or people watching them.

Trent was off bullshitting with all the other players while the Styles’ sat at the table and Harry waited for people to approach him - like the cocky asshole that he was. He would give them a minute of his time before becoming visibly bored and returning his attention back to his wife.

As the appetizers arrived, Trent finally sat down with a grunt, giving his wife literally no attention as he dug into the salad like a slob. 

Across the table, Harry looked down at his plate, picked out all the tomatoes and stabbed them with his fork. He then brought his hand over to his wife who giggled and let him feed her the three little tomatoes for his salad.

“Don’t like tomatoes, Styles?” Henry, third-baseman, jokes as he watches him feed his wife without any shame.

“I love ‘em, m’missus just really like the little grape ones,” Harry shrugs casually - like that didn’t just sound like the most whipped thing that he could say.

Trent probably couldn’t even guess Nicole’s favorite color - let alone know something so minuscule like YN like the little tomatoes that come on house salads. 

Throughout the whole dinner, it was quite disgusting how infatuated these two were with each other - Harry had at least one hand on her body at one time - her thigh, shoulder, even cupping her neck in a way that was almost too intimate for the setting.

At one point, Harry notices that YN is a bit quiet - sipping on her glass of water and he pulls back from the conversation, murmuring, “Y’alright, mama?”

Nicole bites her lip hard at the cute pet name, feeling even more dislike towards YN - why couldn’t she have had someone like Harry?

“D’you think the babies are okay? Ezra’s been so anxious lately,” YN replies quietly, there were no phones allowed at the event and had to be left at home or at the door.

Harry kisses her temple, “Y’know Ezzie is good with m’mum, doesn’t get as anxious as he used to at sleepovers. Y’know East and Cash are probably on a sugar high.”

YN nods, agreeing and Harry jumps right back into the conversation but she notices that he keeps looking over at his wife to check on her.

Trent accidentally knocks her elbow hard and just grunts out a bland, “Sorry.”

The topic changed to traveling for games. Ellie, another wife of a player who was nice to YN were chatting about how stressful it is.

“I know, loading all three boys up is rough when we do decide to travel to games with H,” YN says to Ellie, a small smile on her face.

“Ugh, I know. Lily and Parker are the worst flyers! They usually end up throwing up or not being able to nap at all,” Ellie groans about her two little ones she has back at home.

YN let’s out a laugh that just irked Nicole to not end.

“It's going to be even harder when we have more kids,” YN laments like she’s bothered.

“Oh? More kids?” Ellie squeaks with excitement, clapping her hands together.

Nicole reaches a breaking point, jumping into the chat,“Really? More kids? Don’t you think you should focus on the ones you have? Or do you think because your husband makes an unfair amount of money, you can just have as many as you want? Hire nannies and act like you take care of them?”

Before YN frowns, about to respond when Harry interjects with a booming, displeased voice, “First off, why don’t y’mind your own fuckin’ business. My wife and I can ‘ave any many kids as we want, last time I checked.”

He continues with tense posture, all of his previous calmness disappears, “Second off, don’t take it out on my wife tha’ your husband got a shit bonus, we all know tha’ why y’pissy. And don’t act like y’dont have a nanny for your one kid while we don’t nor ever will have one.”

Nicole sneers, “You’re a cocky bastard.”

Harry smiles in faux charm, “Of course I am, dear. I’ve got a fucking beautiful wife, three healthy babies, the most records broken in history, and the fattest bank account in this room.”

“Alright, alright,” Trent interrupts and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he doesn’t defend his wife. Instead he shoots Harry an apologetic look for his wife’s behaviors.

Harry just scoffs at the couple, rudely rolling his eyes, and tugging his wife in for a kiss that’s a bit too intense but he can’t help himself, smiles against her lips when his wife pinches his thigh playfully.

He says (not quietly at all), “All these women are jealous of you, hm? S’cause you’re so beautiful and such a fuckin’ catch.”

Nicole feel a sharp pang in her chest at the indirect comment - fucking asshole.

Deep down, Nicole is unfavorably realizing that somehow YN has it all - a loving husband, who is seemingly head over heels four her, three well-behaved children, and everything she could ever want - sitting on Harry’s $600 million dollar net worth, on top of being gorgeous.

She didn’t have that. Trent and her were on the rocks constantly, has definitely cheated on her, their kid is a literal nightmare, and they’re both so reckless with money they have no savings.

It made her jealous to see Harry whispering in YN ear to make her giggle- lips brushing her ear, his hand splayed across her bumcheek while they waited for drinks at the bar, she even hears them murmur ‘I love yous’ at least twice.

Then the lights dim, spotlight on a podium in the front of the room, an older man in a crisp navy suit taking the stage.

“It is an honor for me to announce ‘Player of the Year.’ The decision by the board of Major League Baseball wasn’t a hard one. The statistics and records broke continuously by the man has led us to only one option.”

Everyone watches all the other players in room deflate a bit because they realize the award is going to Harry yet again.

 “He is again breaking a record tonight, he is the first player to earn this achievement four years in a row. The duality of this man when it comes to pitching a curveball or hitting a homer is truly remarkable.”

It makes all the players even more irritated than they already are when they look over at Harry who’s sitting back, manspreading, hand on the back of his wife’s neck gently, and a cocky, unbothered grin.

Like this award wasn’t the biggest accomplishment he could earn.

One of the players from an opposing team at a different table mutters to one of his teammates, “Fucking arrogant asshole. The only thing this award does is feed his gigantic ego.” 

“Such a douchebag,” The other agrees, jealousy tinges his voice.

“I’ve most likely made it obvious who the the recipient is this year. The New York Yankees pitcher with the most strikeouts to date and top-scoring hitter - Mr. Harry Styles!”

The crowd erupts in applause, whistles, and a standing ovation because despite his unsavory demeanor - no one could deny he was a legend.

Before he gets up, Nicole watches as he cups his wife’s cheek - locking her lips in a kiss before she has to give him a playful shove when he tries to slip some tongue.

When Harry gets up to the stage, he shakes the hand of the announcer and takes the award from him, setting it on the podium.

“Fourth year in a row has a nice ring to it,” Harry gives the crowd a dazzling white smile that have his dimples digging into his cheek.

The crowd whistles and coos.

Nicole notices YN getting teary-eyed as she watches her husband accept the award.

“I want t’thank a few people tonight. I want t’thank m’wife and the mama of my babies - YN. She’s supported me from when I was in college with no other career path but baseball, unsure of if I’d fail or not, she stuck through it.”

She can sense everyone’s eyes dart over to YN who is still staring up at her husband - who is giving her a gleaming smile right back.

“We’ve been through some really hard obstacles in our first years as a couple but she’s the reason for all this - the fact that she always believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”

The audience is respectful, quiet as he publicly tells a story of his deep love for his wife.

“I want t’thank m’three babies. Easton, Cash, and Ezra. They inspire me to be a better better man and a good role model - even though I think y’all agree they won’t be if they watch too much how I play when I’m out in the field.”

The crowd erupts in laughter at Harry poking fun at his own antics that he’s most famous for. He goes on to thank the team, coaches, Nike, everyone on the professional side of career.

When he’s done, everyone stands back up to congratulate him, patting him on the back as he returns to his seat.

Nicole watches as Harry sits back down, chuckling as he swipes a tear off his wife’s cheek, “Why y’crying, mama?”  

“I’m just so proud of you. Everything you do for me and our babies. The best husband, best daddy. My heart is just full,” She murmurs, clearly not meant for others to hear but Nicole was eavesdropping.

Harry’s eyes darken with something Nicole can’t identify but does notice his hand creeping a bit further up her thigh.

He leans into whisper something into her ear before she sees his lightly nip at her lobe before pulling back to join into the conversation.

-

After the lights come back up, Trent abandons her to go shoot the shit with other guys.

When she trails off to the bathroom, down a long hallway from the main area - she hears a rustling from behind a door labeled with a plaque that says ‘executive meeting room’.

Nicole pauses confused, all these offices and other rooms were strictly off limits during events obviously. She was confused to hear someone in a room that was not supposed to be in use.

Then she realizes it’s not just someone - it’s two people.

“S’good, sweetheart. Give it t’me so good.”

And she knows right then and there all she needs to know about who’s in that conference room and what they were doing.

“Be quiet, you’re being too loud,” YN scolds back, the walls were clearly thin because she could hear the exchange.

“Make y’cunt not feel like heaven then,” He remarks back, his voice slower and more soft than it would be in front of people.

God, Trent and her haven’t slept together in ages - let alone has spontaneous hookups or dirty talk like that ever.

When they all end up back at the table before the closing speech for the night, Nicole spots a nicely sized mark under Harry’s jaw that he’s wearing with pride.

YN had her lipstick wiped off and was much more clingy as the night rolled on which Harry seemed to thrive on.

As she and Trent are on their way home, Nicole speaks into their silence, “I don’t think our relationship is working.”

Not after she saw love and happiness at that event table tonight - she wanted that kind of love not settling for some cheating asshole.

-

The Little League Game

It was a cool autumn evening, it was an important game - if you could call it that for the little league team that Kayla had her son on.

The goal was to determine which team would move onto the playoffs, even though most of this was all in good fun because it was for eight-year-olds and it wasn’t serious.

Kayla couldn’t lie and say that she didn’t spend some of the time curiously gazing at the New York Yankees player who would come to watch his son play.

He wasn’t at every game due to his schedule but it seemed like he came to whatever ones he could with his wife and other three kids.

They had taken the bench on the bleachers right below her so she had an up close and personal view of the family when they’ve never sat this close before.

As the kids warmed up, Harry had his youngest son who looked to be about four sit next to him, squished between his dad and mom happily.

Their middle son was next to his mom on the other side, looking to be about six, and he was wriggling impatiently in his seat - eager to join the other kids in the jungle gym.

The baby girl who looked about a year and a half old didn’t look anything like her brothers - it was obvious that she was a spitting image of her mother (who was stunning).

She was curled up in her mom’s lap, asleep with her face squished against her mother’s chest - a pacifier suckling fiercely between her puffy lips.

“Mama, please,” The curly haired boy begs with greedy puppy dog eyes as he keeps glancing back to look at the other kids.

“You stay right where daddy and I can see you, yes?” YN murmurs, brushing back his unruly curls that where getting long, “And what are our rules?”

“Stay where you can see, don’t talk to strangers, and be nice to others,” He recites perfectly, Kayla was a bit blown away by his manners.

She watches baseball. It was hard to believe their children were so mild mannered when their father was the exact opposite - at least on the field.

Harry was rustling in the diaper bag for something as his son looked at him with wide, concerned eyes, “My baby, daddy.”

“I know, Ezzie. M’lookin’ f’your baby,” His father replies softly, the polar extreme of his normal brash, crude language that had a nasty tone like he couldn’t bother giving people the time of day.

“Daddy, please,” The youngest whines, his little hand grasping at his father’s tattooed wrist as he gets to his knees to help his dad look.

“Left inner pocket,” YN murmurs offhandedly as she makes sure Cash gets to the playground safely with his friends.

“Say ‘thanks mama’,” Harry coos to his son as he manages to tug out the baby doll and hand it to the awaiting little boy.

“Thanks mama,” He replies instantly with a gapped smile as he nuzzles right back into his father’s side as if he can’t get close enough.

“How are you feeling, Ezra?” His mother leans over to ask, keeping the baby close to her chest.

“M’happy, mama,” Ezra replies simply before starting to babble to himself as he plays with the babydoll.

Kayla watches Harry and YN swap a fond look at their son but she couldn’t help but wonder why they asked him that? He seemed fine so why did they feel the need to do that?

The game is going okay, Harry stands up to cheer and whistle when Easton hits a two-base hit but YN smacks his thigh and motions to their sleeping baby.

He looks at her sheepishly before sitting back down, kissing her cheek in apology, and peeking down into the fleece blanket to watch his daughter sleep for a moment.

Then it seems like Easton starts to lose momentum after he pitches two home-runs, his face pinched in disappointment as the other team scores but Harry is attempting to keep him motivated with encouraging shouts.

Easton struggles from then on, he strikes out for his final three turns, doesn’t catch two pop-ups, and his pitches start to get a little shaky. It’s obvious in his facial expression he’s getting upset because he’s breathing heavier like he’s trying not to cry.

Kayla feels a sense of dread for the little boy, his father who’s the best baseball player in modern day history is watching his son not do well during an important game.

 Because of what she knows of him from his temper and attitude on the field - she worries that he’s one of those father’s who will hound their kid for doing poorly.

“Oh, c’mon East,” Harry murmurs softly when his son stumbles over a ground ball before another kid picks it up and throws it in - their son smacking his glove down against the ground in frustration.

“He’s getting himself worked up,” YN notes as she watches her oldest kick his cleats in the dirt with a quivering bottom lip.

“I know,” Harry replies to his wife, “Wish he wouldn’t, he’s gettin’ upset out there, I can tell.”

“Sad?” Ezra squeaks, clambering onto his father’s lap and stating, “Hold me, daddy.”

Harry obliges easily, gathering up his small son before his attention is directed back onto the game - it was down to the last few minutes and unfortunately Easton pitched a ball that resulted in a home run for the other team.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, running a hand through his messy locks before he’s setting Ezra back down on the bleachers, “I’m going to go talk to him. Do you want to meet back home?”

YN nods, leaning down to tuck the baby into the double stroller before buckling Ezra in as well, “I’m going to go get Cash and head out. Why don’t you take him out for some ice cream? I love you.”

“I love you too, mama,” He replies, kissing her softly before kissing both of his kids foreheads and stepping down the bleachers - ignoring all the adults who are staring at him with a starstruck expression as he heads to the dugout.

It cleared out fast, nobody sticking around after the loss that ended with them not continuing on to the championship, and Easton was sat on the bench - he was stoic and there was a hard, angry expression on his face that reminded Kayla of what she saw Harry look like when he played.

As she gathers up her son and makes sure he’s got all of his equipment, Kayla stands and chats to a few of the moms before she’s heading to her car - which happened to be parked next to a sleek Masserati crossover, who would let their muddy kid go in there? Rich people, she guesses.***

Kayla pops the trunk to her van with her key as they get closer, she notices that Harry also has his up and Easton is sitting on the tailgate with his eyes looking down at the pavement. She tries not to appear as nosey or eavesdropping as she tucks her items into the back.

“Sweetheart, s’okay. Y’did so so good tonight,” Harry assures his pouty son, he squats down to start to untie his son’s nike cleats but continues to make eye contact with him. 

“No, I didn’t, Daddy!” Easton whines, tears finally starting to bubble over the surface as he begins to sob with a shuddering chest, “I gave up home runs and then I missed ground balls!”

“Whoa, bubby,” Harry simpers after he tugs off the shoes and throws them carelessly into the back before standing up, “Y’did amazing, are you kiddin’? You did three innings of strikeouts, hit two of y’own homeruns. Y’played like a professional, way better than daddy.”

Kayla’s heart aches a bit when she sees Harry sit down next to him before hugging him harshly into his side, thumbing at the tears that are running down his son’s sweaty cheeks with soft reassurances.

“Daddy, are you mad I didn’t win?” Easton asks shakily, keeping his head buried into his father’s side and his small hand clutching into the fabric of his hoodie.

Harry chuckles lowly, “Daddy would never be mad at you f’anythin’, definitely not a baseball game. Remember what mama and I said? If at any point y’want to stop playin’, just let us know and we can find something else, yeah? Just like how Ezzie does art classes.”

Easton seems to calm down after a few moments of Harry rocking him and reassuring him of what an amazing son he is.

As Kayla drove away that night, her perspective on the all-star baseball player definitely changed. It was refreshing to see someone to not hold their child to an unreasonable expectation just like she thought Harry would.

--

The Campfire

Austin was the shortstop on the baseball team, he’d brought along his girlfriend, Chelsea, to the frat party to celebrate another win.

Everyone was in whispers that Harry was bringing his new girlfriend but nobody knew who she actually was because it was just a rumor.

It was surprising because Harry wasn’t a relationship kind-of man. He wasn’t into hookups much - always said he needed to focus on baseball.

Many of his teammates were envious of how many girls were constantly coming up to Harry at parties to flirt and try to get a dance in but he had always rejected them.

Harry had never showed interest in any of these girls at the parties, never seen him disappear upstairs with one or really entertain a conversation over a beer like they’d expect.

Chelsea pokes his shoulder and nods towards the entrance when Harry walks in with his arm around YN’s shoulder.

Most were in a little shock because they seemed like such an unlikely couple - YN had written some scathing articles about him and it was no secret he hadn’t been a fan of her.

“Holy shit, Harry’s dating YN?” Chelsea whispers to Austin as the group of party-goers cheer and whistle at the allstars appearance.

“Guess so,” Austin replies with a shrug, tugging Chelsea into the kitchen for a drink.

Later on that night, there’s a bonfire on one side of the backyard and a volleyball net on the other where a group was gathering to play.

Austin and Chelsea are on the opposing team of Harry and YN - she can’t help but watch them with curiosity because of what a surprise it is that they’re dating.

Even Austin has been watching because Harry’s acting in a way that he’s never seen throughout his time on the team with him.

Harry is just all over YN which was confusing how he went from not being remotely interested in the college girls to being a lovestruck puppy.

When she throws the ball up to serve, Harry reaches over and pinches her bum which makes her squeak and accidentally drop the ball which has him cackling as she glares at him.

As they change positions, he crowds up behind her, and massages her hips, leaning down to murmuring something in her ear.

She blushes wildly before smacking him off which has him laughing hard and kissing the back of her head before taking his position.

After Harry jumps and spikes the ball hard, earning them the winning point, YN turns around and wraps her arms around him to hug him tightly.

Harry wraps his arms around her shoulders, returning the hug before pulling back to kiss her lips in a soft peck.

Chelsea elbows Austin, “Who’s that and what did they do with Harry?”

Austin shakes his head, “I really don’t fucking know.”

The group migrates over to the fire as they might become cooler and the stars are high up in the sky, the fire flickering orange and yellow crackles of sparks.

Harry plops into a chair, pulling YN right onto his lap, and she wriggles until she’s comfortable. Chelsea notices him tap her thigh as if telling her to cut it out, too much motion right on his crotch.

Jake, one of his teammates, says in a teasing tone, “YN, I’m surprised to see you around these parts . I clearly remember a strongly worded article about how stupid frat parties are.”

YN takes it in stride, smiling as she replies, “And this party just proves my point.”

The group laughs easily, they enjoy YN’s sharp wit and comebacks as they get to know her. Austin can’t help but to notice how quiet Harry is.

Normally, he’s the life of the party, loud and making his presence known to everyone but not tonight. He has his chin propped on her shoulder and she’s cuddled back into his chest.

Austin can’t make out what Harry is saying but he’s constantly whispering in her ear and accentuating each time with a squeeze to her thighs.

“Are you guys official?” One of the teammates asked bluntly, a few beers deep by this point in the night.

Harry replies instantly, a possessive squeeze, “She’s mine and off the market, s’don’t even think about it.”

“Well I don’t think it matters because she’s turned down the whole baseball team by this point. I think everyone tried to ask her out at least once,” Steve jokes as the others agree.

“Tha’s m’girl,” Harry murmurs to her before teasing his friends,“Who’d want to go out with any you? You’re all dickheads.”

Everyone continues to joke around, it’s nearing midnight and that’s right about when Harry gets in his prime - like the party just started.

But not tonight.

YN’s eyes start to flutter shut as everyone banters and drinks around the fire, obviously not used to these late night parties.

“I better get this one t’bed,” Harry states after a few minutes, thumbing at YN’s cheekbone as she tries to stay awake.

“I’m okay,” She mumbles weakly, head still heavy against his shoulder.

“You’re coming back though, right?” Kyle asks expectantly, brows furrowed.

Harry shakes his head, “Nah, m’in for the night when she is.”

All the players look at him with a bit of a dumbfounded look, Steve shooting out, “Who knew you’d be so pussy whipped, Styles?”

Chelsea’s eyebrows raise at the crude comment, waiting with bated breath as Harry’s jaw clenches as it seems like he’s biting his tongue.

“Goodnight,” Harry says in a tone Austin has never heard before - agitated and almost…offended.

When Austin and Chelsea are sneaking up to his room for a late night hook-up, she overhears Harry and YN in his bedroom.

At first, she thinks they’re in an actual argument but as she listens to them - it’s not the kind of arguement she thought it was.

“You’re always the little spoon,” YN groans from behind the closed door.

Harry squawks, affronted before huffing back at her, “S’my favorite, please spoon me, darling?”

“You’re so fucking spoiled,” YN giggles as Chelsea assumes they move into a position where Harry’s the little spoon.

“Mm, I like feelin’ y’tits against my back, s’nice,” Harry hums with a boyish tone.

Chelsea doesn’t even realize she’s smiling until Austin drags her from her stupor. 

All she knew was that Harry Styles really really fancied that school reporter.

-=-=-=-=-=-

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[oblivious-nuisance]

ꨄ 𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃

— ft. bokuto kōtarō

a/n: or that one in which bokuto fucks you senseless after a match. this was supposed to be a piece for his birthday, but my schedule and lazy ass teamed up for a pretty writer's block sesh. to make up for it tho this is like 2.5k words. porn with almost nonexistent plot bc i love and missed y'all <33 not proofread bc it's too long :(

warnings: smut, fem!reader, risky locker room sex, so much foreplay jesus, virgin!reader, size kink, praise kink (so so much), slight breeding kink :), daddy kink, bo is actually very soft

"i— bokuto, sir— ah!"

"you really wanna get caught, don't you sweetie?" he breathes heavily from his place on the floor, with your legs thrown over his sturdy shoulders. he licks his lips before diving right back in, his tongue darting back in between your folds to toy with your clit, eliciting another high pitched moan from you.

"and please— mmm, fuck, you're gushing— please call me kōtarō, you're makin' me sound old and saggy."

"if that's the case," you say in-between pants, "then prove me that you're not that old and saggy." you taunt playfully, courage overtaking your body for a brief moment before you feel a thick, wet finger tease at your hole, your entire resovle crumbling just as fast as it built itself up.

if you knew that coming all the way down from the bleachers to wish the athlete a happy birthday would've landed you in this position (with the man's head buried in your heat), you would have thought twice about your speech.

or your hair.

or your obnoxiously short skirt.

or, most importantly, the fact that you are still a virgin.

the feeling of a slicked digit sliding into you brings you back to the present and you try to cover up the whimper that you let out as he pumps it in, your walls pulsing mesmerizigly around him.

"you were saying?"

it's his turn to grin as he tries to nestle another finger inside, facing a little bit of resistance as he presses up, searching for that spot that makes you breathless and stretching you out in the process.

only he faces something he wasn't expecting.

"k-kōtarō, wait!"

he looks up to see your flushed cheeks, your open mouth and bleary eyes, and then he realises.

oh.

bokuto tries to hide his grin but fails as he tenderly pulls his fingers out of you, patting your cunt with contentment as he gets back up and traps you between him and the locker that you've been leaning on for the past half an hour or so. his eyes are wide and his hair disheveled, but the words that come out of his mouth are gentle.

"you feeling good?"

"i, uhm. yeah." you reply, breathlessly.

his tone soothes you greatly, making you subconsciously lean into him, his warm hands caressing your shoulders, fingers reaching for your chin and lifting it up so that now you're looking him in the eye.

"nothing hurts?"

"nothing hurts."

"good." he looks down sheepishly and then back up again and he swallows heavily.

"may i— may we keep going?"

"please." you whine and nod shyly and he laughs, kissing your cheek once, twice, before sliding down to mouth at your jaw, hands gripping your waist tightly as his lips make their way down your throat, nipping at the skin, littering marks all over the surface.

you're moaning softly through it all, nails digging into the skin of his biceps at the forgein feeling of his wet mouth, that has now migrated to your collarbones and chest, his attention moving to your breasts.

"lemme take this— off." bokuto grunts as he accidentally pops a few buttons while trying to take your blouse off, granting him enough access to your black bralette.

"nice." he whispers, more to himself, as he slides the lacey garment down, instantly attaching his mouth to one of your nipples and you squeal.

"you that sensitive, huh?" he cocks his head to the side, nipple still in his mouth and you urge yourself to turn away in order to hide your face, that has heated up at the sight.

"shut up..." you say, with a pout.

a dangerous glint takes over bokuto's eyes as he detaches his mouth from your breast and leans close to your face, his warm breath on your skin making you shiver.

"big words for a big girl, hm?" he chuckles close to your ear, nipping at your earlobe afterwards just to see you crumble in his grasp. "well, there's only one way to find out." he says as he goes to slide down his shorts along with his boxers, and your lungs stop working from the sheer sight that you're presented with.

his shaft is nothing to fucking sneeze at, the skin a beautiful blush compared to the rest of his body, the fat pink head turning purple with how hard he is. the veins are prominent and he's leaking so, so much precum that your mouth waters, his ripe, fat balls hanging heavily, no doubt full to the brim and longing to be taken care of.

and he's, he's so—

"big." you breathe out and quickly slap a hand over your mouth, blushing furiously because no, you did not just say that out loud.

bokuto laughs at your reaction, and before you can hide your face in embarrassment, he leans over to kiss the tip of your nose playfully.

"no need to worry about it, i'm used to that reaction." he smiles and then his expression turns into a pout just as quickly when he notices your pale face.

"what's wrong? oh, you thinkin' it won't fit?" you nod, because even looking at the sheer size of him made your feet feel like jelly. "it'll fit just fine, i'll make it fit. but i also need you to stand still and take it like a good girl. think you can do that, princess?"

"yes, daddy." you glup, answering without thinking too much about it, but judging by his expression, the man is more than pleased with your response as he preps you one more time before lining himself up.

"atta girl." he groans deeply against your shoulder as he starts pushing in at an agonizingly slow pace, doing his best to hold back so that he doesn't hurt you.

you claw at his back in search for support because there's so much of him to take, you're not even sure he's gonna fit. the lower half of your body feels weird, pain clouding your mind momentarily as the breath gets knocked out of your lungs, legs shaking and chest heaving and god, it really feels like he's splitting you in half.

"hey, relax, relax..." he soothes as he kisses your shoulder, warm palm caressing the back of your thigh. but you notice the strain in his tone, how hard he's leaning on the door behind you. you notice the way he pants and how his brows are furrowed, sweat beads gracing his forehead, and you realise just how much he's urging himself not to thrust up and ruin you right now.

"y-you like this, daddy? like how i feel?" you moan, accommodating to his size and grith, even daring to wiggle your hips a little, making you both whimper.

"baby, d-don't go around saying stuff like that, i—" he halts, breathing heavily.

"you?"

"i won't be able to control myself, fuck." he curses as you tighten at the thought of him just letting go and making you cry on his cock.

"but i want you to fuck me. i want you to fuck me real good." you say and he looks up, only to see your innocent gaze, your warm cheeks, your twinkling eyes and your pretty mouth open, huffing small breaths.

and just like that, he's gone.

"alright, okay, fuck fuck fuck—" he pants as he hooks his hands underneath your thighs and hoists you up, using the locker door behind you as support. you squeal and wrap your legs around his middle, bokuto taking that as the green light to start pounding you.

"the way you deserve, baby."

your chests are pressed up against each other, your hardened nipples grazing his skin and making him suck on your neck a little harder as the sound of skin slapping echoes in the empty room.

his thrusts are strong and desperate, his big hands gripping the soft flesh of your thighs hard enough to leave bruieses, and praises never stop leaving his mouth. choruses of "yes, baby, just like that." and "you're so tight, so fucking tight."

the fat tip of his cock is reaching places inside your body that you weren't even aware of until now, breathy moans coming out of your mouth almost by instinct as your gummy walls pulse around his thick length, your sticky arousal surely making a mess of you both.

"look at her, greedy pussy's sucking me right back in." he gasps as his gaze settles on where your bodies connect, a mixture of both yours and his juices smeared on your thighs and his pelvis.

you try to avoid his gaze, slightly embarrassed by how forward he is with his praising, and also because of how it spurrs you on even more.

he tsk's and brings a hand to your face, grabbing your cheeks and squeezing, turning your head back to look at him, his golden eyes wide with lust and want, something carnal laying behind the bright irises.

"i want you to look at me while i'm gonna be fucking load after load into you, or you're just gonna sit back and take it, you got it?"

"y-yes daddy."

"that's my girl." he giggles and kisses your cheek, picking up his pace once again, fucking you with earnest, the promise of his cum painting your insides never leaving your mind as you marvel in the sudden softness of the atmosphere, anticipation burning in your chest.

as he repositions you and throws your legs over his elbows, the angle changes and you shudder and scream, because somehow he's reaching even deeper than before, and you feel yourself becoming lightheaded with pleasure as your orgasm is quickly approaching.

"daddy, i— fuck, right there! fuck, fuck, fuck."

"good girl, good fucking girl— fuck me, you're tightening. you like being praised, huh?" he gasps, not being able to take his eyes off of you.

your eyes are almost crossing, mouth agape and pink tongue lolling out slightly, drool gracing your lips and the corners of your mouth, sweat glistening on your tense neck and collarbones, his eyes falling to your exposed chest, flushed breasts bouncing in time with his strong thrusts. drifting lower, he marvels on the way your cunt is stretched out by his thick length, a white ring of cream gracing the base, some of it already leaking towards his ripe balls.

"i'm gonna cum, i'm gonna cum, fuck." he moans, loud and clear and guttural, and that is all it takes to send you over the edge.

a scream rips out of your chest as you cum, your tight cunt spasming and squeezing around bokuto, who in turn follows suit, painting your inner walls milky white.

bokuto doesn't pull out instantly, opting to gently put you back down on the ground and rest his sweaty forehead on your shoulder as the both of you come down from your combined highs.

at some point you can feel his cock, now soft, slipping out of you, some of his cum along with it.

he pays no mind to it for a moment as he starts trailing kisses along your shoulder and neck, his mouth reaching yours and melting into a soft, but strong kiss, warm hands massaging your waist comfortingly.

"all good, princess?"

you can't help but blush at the nickname, wondering half-heartedly if it's going to settle on his lips from now on.

"i, uhm. yeah. that was—"

"—quite entertaining, if i do say so myself."

you shriek and try to hide behind bokuto's big figure, because the voice that you just heard belongs to someone who hasn't been in the room until now.

three sets of eyes are looking at the two of you from the open door, gazing at your vulnerable state.

the realisation hits you hard as a truck: you forgot to lock the door, too busy with trying to devour each other after you first stepped in the locker room.

you're sure that you're blushing furiously, your cheeks burning with embarassment because oh my god, the three of them caught us—

"well," hinata sighs. "you're quite the sight."

you look trully wrecked, hair disheveled and wild, neck covered in bruises and breasts still out, your skirt ruined, cum oozing down your thigh and panties around your sock clad ankle.

sakusa's expression is blank, a hint of curiosity hidden behind his gaze. his arms are crossed as he's leaning against the doorway, not missing the way you glup as you stare at his bulging muscles. hinata is cracking his fingers, a glint of determination present in his eyes, following your every movement and reaction.

atsumu, bold as per usual, makes his way towards you. he licks his lips and his eyes sparkle dangerously as he nods at the white trail on the inside of your thigh, grinning mischievously.

"ya better not to let any of that go to waste." he says as he reaches out, a lithe finger picking up bokuto's cum and bringing it back into your twitching hole, the squelching sound that your pussy made as it slid in spurring him on even more.

you can only sigh and nod, breath quickening because of his movements, hearing when the door creaks shut, but failing to notice the other three men eyeing you hungrily. sakusa's hands twitch and hinata's eyes widen, bokuto's cock steadily hardening yet again at the sight.

you close your eyes in pleasure, atsumu's fingers speeding up their pace, and your mind can only wonder about what lays before you as you can hear three other pairs of footsteps making their way towards you.

©oblivious-nuisance - all rights reserved

no translations, edits, copying, reposting etc.

#*hq #haikyuu #*hq fanfiction #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu bokuto #bokuto haikyuu #bokuto #bokuto kotaro #bokuto x reader #bokuto kotaro x reader #*hq smut #haikyuu smut #bokuto smut #bokuto kotaro smut #lyn.txt #everything.nice

[mytheoristavenue]

Creepypasta Proxy Headcanons

A collection of proxy hcs to satisfy my hyperfixation. Featuring Toby, Tim, and Brian.

Warnings: Mention of death and murder

Toby

- Currently 24 years old.

- Suprisingly mature. He’s grown up a lot since coming into The Operator’s employ.

- Quiet and withdrawn. Toby struggles to keep all of his disorders in check, and depression is his most severe symptom of all of them. Some days, its hard for him to even eat, so he usually only eats once or twice a day. He tends to have a short fuse, but his default is mostly pretty somber.

- Sensitive. At first, The Operator, in an effort to make Toby more comfortable with Tim and Brian, had made him pretend that he’d gained amnesia from the incident. The truth is, Toby remembers everything, every excrutiating detail. He remembers how his body lunged forward when Lyra’s car t-boned a truck that had failed to come to a stop at an interstection. He remembers how angry it was when he found out that the other driver had walked away unscathed, while his sister died over the span of days. Even after nearly seven years, Toby can still recall the feeling of his fathers blood spurting against his face, and the way it weighed on his lashes as he accidentally smeared it against his left eye. For several months, his cohorts were fooled, but one day, Tim had intruded on a private conversation between Toby and The Operator, and discovered the truth. Now, Tim often uses Toby’s past to bully him, under the guise of motivation. Nothing infuriates Toby more than hearing someone joke about his sister, or his mother. 

- Very athletic. Although he was pulled from school early, Toby had always wanted to go out for sports, and he had even made it onto the Jr High track team his last year, but he left before the first meet. Growing up, he recalled Lyra being on the softball team and they would often practice her pitching on Sunday evenings. Toby is the mist agile of the Proxies, and the fastest by far. He has a lean body type, as a result of working out more often than eating, and he has a lot of power behind his swing.

- Toby and Tim are always in competition to be The Operator’s favorite. The truth is, HE will always be partial to Toby. Afterall, Toby was HIS most succsessful project. Loyal, perfect, and ever improving. This causes thick tension between the pair.

- Toby’s favorite member of his new family is Sally. From the moment he met her and heard her story, he felt a connection to her. Though he hadn’t gone through the aweful things that she had, he understood how it is to be abused by a male family member, and to feel like his freedom hangs from that person’s hand. Toby tries to make time for her as much as he can, coloring with her or anything else he has time for. He’s made it his mission to be the older brother she never had, and to make sure nothing hurts her ever again.

- The Operator, as well as other members of the family desperately try to help Toby control his issues, especially his speech, and the hard work does pay off, but when he gets worked up, his stutter gets so much worse.

- “Sh-sh-shhh....ut the fuck up-up, Tim! I-I’ll fu-ucking kick your as-ass!”

Tim

- Currently 27

- Suprisingly petty. Any bit of level-headedness that Tim once had has eroded away over time, and he tends to be veyr spiteful, specifically towards Toby. Tim feels like Toby has replaced him as The Operator’s right hand man. He is right in that respect, but it is his own fault.

- Dark sense of humor. Tim ofter bothers Brian and Toby with his jokes. Obviously, one has to cope with the line of work that he is in, but he often uses Toby’s past as a punchline, or cracks jokes about defiling female victims that they’ve just nuetralized. It disgusts Brian, and always results in altercations with Toby.

- Tim is the least athletic in the trio. He has too many health problems to run from long periods of time, unless absolutly necissary. He has a fair amount of upper body strength, and when he does his mandatory workouts, he focuses on his torso and arms.

- Tim and Brian are no longer friends. Brian hates Tim’s addiction to his medication. At first he tried to use the excuse that he needed them to kept his mind straight, but he was later caught rummaging through a target’s bathroom cabinet and consumming every pill he found. Brian disowned him after that.

- Tim has entirely rejected the name ‘Masky’. His intended alter ego was named ‘ The masked man’, and he resents how urban legend, as he says, ‘cutified’ that.

- “Don’t you want to make Lyra proud?! If you couldn’t save her, the least you could do is excel at your fucking job so her sacrifice doesn’t go to fucking waste, you little worm!”

Brian

- Currently 29

- Very calm and collected. Brian tends to keep to himself, letting others do the talking unless necissary. Although, he takes absolutely no shit off of Tim or Toby. 

- He tends to side with Toby during his and Tim’s arguements, if he gets involved at all. Sometimes, he has to step between the two and seperate them, and he’s always the one to call Tim out on his crap.

- Brian hates Tim’s sense of humor. Brian, doesn’t like killing women or children, but he will if he has to, and Tim often makes jokes about commiting sexual crimes against both types of victim. He also gets  irritated when he makes fun of Lyra or tries to use her as an excuse to motivate Toby to work harder. 

- Mildly fit. While Brian’s not as spry as Toby, he’s in much better shape than Tim, as he has healthier habbits. He jogs nearly every morning, and quit smoking years ago. He does smoke canabis fairly often, but he doesn’t consider weed a drug. He also rarely drinks, as alacholism runs in his family, and he is a lightwieght. 

- Brian is no longer friendly with Tim. It saddens him, considering how close they had used to be, but he had changed too much for his comfort. It had mostly been Tim’s addiction that drove them apart. Brian gave so much time and energy to helping his friend quit pill popping, even confiscating his stash at one point, which resulted in an altercation. The last straw was last year, when Tim had seemed to have quit, and Brian caught him rummaging through a victim’s medicine cabinet, and devouring everything he found. That incident ended in an overdose that almost took Tim’s life. 

- Brian doesn’t really care to be called ‘Hoodie’. He wasn’t really perfer it, but it doesn’t hurt his feelings or get him worked up the way it does Tim. Honestly, he’d perfer not to be spoken of by outsiders at all but, easy come, easy go.

- The family member Brain enjoys the company of most tends to be Eyeless Jack. Jack, like himself is also a pothead, so they sometimes smoke together on their freetime. Brain appreciates having a friend that he can vent to, or just simply sit with, and Jack is glad to listen.

- “Both of you, that’s enough. Tim, you fucked up the mission, get over yourself and leave Toby alone. Toby, shut up and go cool off.”

#creepypasta #ticci toby #hoodie #masky #marble hornets #proxy #slenderman #slender proxy #Headcanon #hcs #creepypasta hcs #sally williams #mh masky #mh hoody #mh headcanons

[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer is left waiting at a bar when he gets in some trouble, and meets a woman who offers to help him out in more ways than one.

Category: SMUT (18+)

Warnings: Language, virgin!Spencer, car sex/exhibitionism, handjob, brief mention of edging, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, degradation kink, minor voyeurism kink, dirty talk (If I missed anything, please let me know!)

Word Count: 7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hi, there!! Most of you have been extremely excited about this one since I shared the idea for it a few weeks ago, and so I’m glad to finally get to release it for you!! There’s a playlist here for you to check out if you’d like some ~vibes~ and over on @mercy-midnight I shared a few visual inspirations last night, so check them out if you want! Thank you for all your enthusiasm over this fic, I hope it lives up to your expectations!! 🥰

***

I've always loved the rain.

And it was definitely going to rain soon. How soon, I wasn't entirely sure, but as I made my way into the bar, taking one final breath of fresh air before it would inevitably be taken over by alcohol, greasy food, and way too much cologne, I could smell it. Cool and fresh, waiting to serve as some type of fresh start, to wash away all the hard shit and give me a clean slate.

The gaudy ring on my finger was one of those hard things I wished I could wash away. At least, it had been for a long time. Patrick never asked for it back after he left, and I'd had every intention of pawning it off, but I started noticing—after a few nights out where I'd tried to get hammered and nailed—that it scared everybody off.

I guess no one wanted to fuck a married woman—and a drunk married woman at that. Even if she technically wasn't even married anymore. Which I found all particularly odd considering my experience with men in the past has proved to provide me with extremely low standards.

It'd turned out to be a blessing in disguise, though. Sure, it might have taken me longer to completely get over Patrick and the mess he left me, but rather than losing myself in the lonely company of strangers, I forced myself to reflect and move on, to take each day in stride and take time for myself. Could I have just taken the ring off and gotten laid? Absolutely. But being on my own like that was the wakeup call I didn't know I'd needed.

And now, almost a year later, the ring sat tucked away in my jewelry box until I wanted it— usually when I knew I was going to the bar with every intention of getting hammered and not nailed. There were the occasional persistent players, but they were few and far in between, and if all else failed I resorted to smiling sweetly at them and lying, saying my "husband" was a cop. That shut them up pretty quickly, and by that point I was ready to leave anyway.

Like I said, blessing in disguise.

After a long day at work being called in on a Saturday, a few drinks at Waterson's sounded like a perfect way to end the night. I'd gone home, showered, ate dinner, and got dressed before taking a walk down the block and crossing the near-packed parking lot. The air was quite muggy despite it only being around forty degrees, which was the first indicator of rain. The second was the smell, of course, which I'd always been fond of, and the cobbled pavement had some type of haze around it that served as the final confirmation of my theory.

Honestly, I was hoping to get caught in the rain on my way home. I couldn't tell you why, exactly, just that the idea of walking home in the rain gave me the most excitement I'd felt in a long time. Life was great at the moment, of course, but between work and my less than ideal commute there on the train every day, I think I was due for a little excitement.

That excitement, naturally, started once I opened the door to the bar, taking a step inside and quickly being smacked in the face with the smell of fried everything. A small smile crossed my lips as I went in further, jumbled conversations, glasses clinking, and music humming softly behind the sharp snaps of pool balls being shot forward with the cue completing the picture.

I walked up to the bar to find Carla standing behind it, and I smiled at her. "I didn't know you were working Saturday," I called to her as I approached.

The brunette looked over at me and beamed, her teeth as perfect as ever. "Y/N, I didn't know you came in on Saturdays! How've you been?"

I took a seat at one of the barstools, nodding as I set my wallet and my phone down. "Alright... Work's a bitch, of course, but when is it not?"

"Yeah, I hear that. There's only so much relentless flirting I can take." We shared a good laugh at that before she nodded. "What can I get you?"

"A beer?"

"You got it."

I turned around then, surveying tonight's crowd. Waterson's was decently sized— definitely not as big or popular as the other bars in the city, but it got enough traction on the weekends, and even on Tuesdays when they had open mics. As my eyes wandered, they passed over all kinds of people. Women in tight clothes and men all over them, large groups of friends over by the pool tables who were betting and yelling with large smiles on their faces, old men by themselves in some of the tucked away corners... Anyone you could think of, name it and they were there.

One scene in particular caught my eye, though, and I thought about leaving it alone, but my gut twisted when I noticed how obviously uncomfortable the person was and how there was no one around who seemed to care enough to say or do anything.

Sitting alone at a rather large table was a guy who... no offense to him or anything, but he didn't look like he belonged here, not alone anyway. With a formal button-down short sleeve, meek stature, and a pair of glasses sitting atop his nose, he was an easy target for the two men that were towering over him as he sat, eyes averting them while they conversed. It could have been nothing, but occasionally the man in the glasses would flinch or look around nervously like he was waiting to be rescued.

Not that I wanted to rescue anyone or anything tonight. But he reminded me of someone being stood up, and from experience I knew how embarrassing that was, especially in a space crowded with other people who could obviously see what was happening to you. I hated Patrick for standing me up time and time again, and it wasn't until this waitress once intervened and offered some advice that I started to understand just how fucked up it was. That didn't make it hurt any less, of course, when he inevitably said he was moving across the country and dropped divorce papers on my desk at work, but still... The talk gave me some clarity.

Whether or not this man was actually being stood up or not, it was obvious that he was uncomfortable, and I figured he could use some help.

And I had just the plan.

I watched the scene until Carla came back with my beer, at which point I turned to her with a smile and got money from my wallet.

"Hey, could I get another?"

***

"No, you specifically told me 8pm..."

"I'm pretty sure I told you 9..."

I sighed, glancing around briefly at everyone and everything around me before speaking again, almost yelling into the speaker over all the noise. "Maybe you meant 9, but you told me 8, so I'm here. Alone!"

"Hey, look, I'm sorry, Kid, alright? But we're not gonna be there until 9, so... keep yourself busy until then? Let loose, have a couple drinks..."

I could hear the smirk in Derek's voice just as easily as I could picture it in my head as I sighed out a, "Fine," and hung up. The whole situation significantly raised my blood pressure, not to mention my anxiety— It wasn't hard to see that I stood out here. Bars were most definitely not my scene, and the only reason I'd agreed to go in the first place was so that I could try something new. Expand my horizons, as Penelope had told me right before I caved and agreed to accompany her and Derek on their little outing. I'd even drove my car here, a move I rarely made, as a start.

But now I was sitting alone at a booth, a glass of water in front of me and this twisting sensation in my gut that usually came to me when I didn't know what was going to happen.

I leaned back in my seat and sighed, staring down the glass of water as my cellphone tumbled around between my hands. All I had to do was wait here for an hour and remind myself over and over that eventually I'd be with people that I knew, people that I felt comfortable around. Only an hour.

One hour...

One hour, one hour, one hour... It was a chant in my head that went through different pitches and speeds until it was interrupted by a loud, "Hey, you!"

It could have been for anyone, but it was right next to me, and I knew when I wasn't wanted somewhere.

Sure enough, I turned my head to see a rather large man, a football player-type if I had to guess, wearing a grey tee shirt that hugged every muscle. There was a beer in his hands, and someone next to him, another man slightly shorter but still definitely athletic, held what looked to be a glass of hard liquor. By the looks on their faces, it was obvious that they were looking for a fight.

And it was also obvious that I was the easiest target in the whole bar.

One glance at the clock across the room and above their heads told me that I still had 54 minutes until my friends showed up, and that meat I'd either have to give these men whatever they wanted, tell them I was just about to leave, or attempt to pull the "I'm a Federal Agent" card, which I knew would probably get more laughs from them than a simple, "Sorry," and an exit.

I was about to run through every outcome of tonight's events in my head when the bigger guy spoke again, making me jump.

"Hey, m' talking to you!" He was drunk, most likely toeing the line between sobriety and a fist fight if I wasn't careful.

"I—Is there something you need?" I asked, hoping that if I could get this over with quickly, they'd leave me alone and maybe I could get out of here...

He mocked my voice in a way I'd heard more than once while growing up, and though I knew it was childish of him, saying more about him than me, the action got to me more than I cared to admit. Call it intuition, but when a nearly-drunk guy two times your size starts picking on you like a kid and you know he's just looking for a fight, the odds aren't very good when you're someone on the smaller side like me— Federal Agent or not. And he wasn't an unsub. He wasn't someone I could pick apart and just hand over to my team once I pushed back his defenses. If I picked this man apart, he'd likely throw a punch at my face.

Of course, I could get him arrested for assaulting a Federal Agent, but... Obviously I didn't want to get punched in the face.

As soon as his mumbled mockery of my words ended, he punctuated them with his own. "Yeah, I'm thinkin' I need you to find a new place to sulk. Go to the library or somethin'."

His friend laughed beside him like he'd just said the best comeback anyone's ever heard, and that alone almost made me laugh. Though, I knew that might have gotten me into more trouble.

Speaking of, I probably should have just got up to leave. That would have been the perfect time to say, "Okay," get up, and drive home. Sure, Penelope and Derek would have probably given me crap about chickening out, but I'd have avoided getting beat around or ridiculed further by these morons, so it was overall a win, right?

But my stupid mouth didn't agree with what my brain was thinking. "Oh, well, um... I'm waiting up for some friends, they should be here soon—"

"You have friends?" the other guy retorted before I could finish, and he looked proud of himself for it.

"Look, I don't care who you're waitin' on, pal, Right now you're alone, so I want y—"

I didn't see it coming. I couldn't have seen it from a mile away, never dreamed of anything like this happening in a million years. It was certainly not one of the possible outcomes to the night that I'd had in mind. And actually, even if I'd had any time to prepare for it, seeing the woman walk up to us with two beers in her hand and the biggest smile on her face, I still wouldn't have believed what was happening.

She blocked me from the men's line of sight, sitting herself promptly on my lap as she set the drinks down. "Hey, babe, I'm back with our drinks," she chirped, leaning forward and stopping just under my ear, whispering. "If you play along, I can get them to leave you alone..."

She didn't even give me any time to process, quickly pulling back, but not before kissing me firmly on the cheek, leaving my face in a warm flush as she turned back around to survey the men, who I'd quite frankly forgotten about once she pressed her soft lips to my skin and set her hands on my chest.

What the fu—

"Who're you talking with?"

Her voice was so... low and smooth, and it sent a flood of warmth throughout my whole body. If I could have bottled up her voice to drink, I would have. But instead, I settled for the beer she'd brought, grabbing it and chugging down four big gulps even though I hated it.

"You're with this... loser?" the bigger of the two men said, and truthfully it was the first time all night I'd well and truly felt inadequate in front of them. Sure, I knew I'd stood out, that physically I was weaker than them, but I also knew that deep down they were just drunks looking for a fight. I was better than that, regardless of whether or not they'd almost bullied me into leaving the bar.

I didn't have a problem with who I was, but when it came to women, I was pretty much a total wreck. I'd only ever kissed someone once, and much like back then, this woman was absolutely stunning and completely out of my league.

The man was right to be suspicious.

"Excuse me?" my savior retorted, standing up off my lap and removing herself from me completely. I exhaled, trying hard not to look like I was just as shocked as they were as she tore them a new one. "This loser happens to be my fiancée. And I'd watch what insults you're throwing around— You're the ones going around some bar picking on someone you don't know like you're middle schoolers. Now grow the fuck up and back off before I take your drinks and shove them so far up your asses you'll still be able to taste them."

Truthfully I was surprised when they didn't back down. The bigger guy scoffed, his eyes raking the woman up and down with a wicked glint in them. "Y'know, maybe if you ditched him and got fucked by a real man, you wouldn't be such a bitch."

And once again, I was stunned by her ability to quip back quicker than lightening. "Maybe if you weren't such a childish prick, you'd actually get fucked in the first place. Now back. The fuck. Off..."

While I should have been more grateful that her words got them to scoff and turn away, a small, absolutely random part of me wanted to hear her yell at them some more. The longer she did it, the warmer my body got, and the second I started to put together why that was, I chugged more of the beer that was currently resting in my shaky hand.

It was even worse when she turned around to face me again, her radiance and beauty intimidating me in an entirely different way than those men. She wore a simple black dress that complimented her figure extremely well, minimal makeup and jewelry, and her hair was pinned back, showing off her neck and collarbone.

If she hadn't just helped me out, with the way she was looking at me I probably would have wondered if she was... trying to pick me up.

The thought made me all warm again.

"Y—You didn't have to do—"

She stepped forward and sat on my lap again, and I swallowed hard, the beer almost slipping from my hand entirely. "Don't worry about it. You looked uncomfortable, and those boys were absolute meatheads. But they are still here, so we should probably keep up the act, huh?"

I couldn't tell if she was joking or not. Either way, I set the beer on the table, though my hand still kept it firmly in my grip as I looked down at the ring on her finger. "I—I wouldn't want to get you in trouble... with your husband..."

"Oh! Uh, funny story," she laughed, leaning in and running her hands over my shoulders, most likely to keep up the façade. "I'm not actually married. Or engaged. I um... I wear this to deter people from trying to take me home."

I actually laughed a little, though my stomach still flipped at her touch and her proximity. "And that... actually works?"

She laughed with me, bringing her hands up to cradle my face as she tilted her head and looked me over. Her pretty, pillow-y soft lips quirked into a smile before her eyes flitted up to mine. She looked like she was entranced, like she was in a dream, and honestly I felt the same way. Because there was no way in actual Hell this was a real thing that was happening to me, right?

"Not always," she answered in a whisper, her face inching closer to mine. She smelled a little like beer, but mostly some type of fruit, probably pear. I didn't eat pears, but maybe I should start...

A gentle tug at the roots of my hair pulled me out of my thoughts, a soft sigh escaping me at the sensation. The woman laughed, brushing her nose against mine for a moment before pulling away and grabbing her beer. "So, since we're engaged, I feel like I should know a little about you. At the very least, your name?"

"O—oh," I laughed nervously, swallowing as she sipped her beer. And I tried not to let it get to me, but the way her lips wrapped gently around the bottle had my mind going a mile a minute, laser focusing on one image in particular of those perfect lips wrapped around something else. I wondered if she could hear the longing in my voice when I whispered my name. "Spencer."

With the beer still in her hand, she lowered it and rested it on my knee as she smiled. "Mmm, and what's my last name going to be?"

The thought of actually marrying this woman infiltrated my thoughts as I answered, louder this time, "Reid."

See hummed again, using the hand that was currently massaging the back of my scalp to gently tug at my hair again. "Y/N Reid... I like the sound of that."

I do, too, is what I thought, and I almost said it, but she started talking again.

"So, Spencer, what do you do?"

I would have gone into my entire spiel, but she was so pretty, and so close, I didn't want to scare her off. So, I simply stated, "I work for the FBI..."

Her eyebrows raised, and I felt her hand slide down my neck and settle on my shoulder. "Really?"

"Y—Yeah, I'm a profiler. We aid law enforcement in catching serial killers."

"So, Agent Reid, huh? That's hot..."

I should have just left it alone, because it was common knowledge that if a woman has any reason to call you hot, you just let it happen, right?

Well, like I said, when it came to women I was a complete wreck.

"A—Actually it's Doctor... I, um... I have 3 PhDs."

As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted them, but the hunger in her eyes deepened and her free hand roamed my shoulder and the front of my chest as she scooted even closer, her mouth coming up right under my jaw. "Mmm, even hotter..."

This time I didn't hold back, my voice audibly whimpering as I sighed out a simple, "Oh..."

Y/N pressed a featherlight kiss to my neck before dragging her lips to my ear again. And I'd been so hyperaware of her proximity to my face that I hadn't even noticed she'd set her beer down and took that hand to rest firmly at my hip, her palm pressing into my lower stomach. I only felt it when that hand moved over, the tips of her fingers hovering just above the buckle of my belt.

"Tell me something, Doctor," she whispered just under my earlobe. I was nothing short of putty in her hands as my brain tried to focus on what she was saying over the more prominent desire to focus on the way she pressed her whole body into mine. She was everywhere, taking up every ounce of air that found its way into my lungs, and I'd never breathed in anything sweeter. "Are you saving yourself for marriage?"

I found the question odd at first, but remembering the circumstances of our fake situation, my body suddenly flared to life at her implications. "N—No..."

Her hips shifted against my lap, and I swear I could have fainted on the spot as she hummed in my ear, "Good."

***

I certainly didn't expect for the night to end the way it did.

I mean, I knew I was going to be wet when I got home, but damn. We hadn't even made it out of the bar before my panties were soaked through at the thought of fucking my fake fiancée. Who worked for the FBI and called himself Doctor...

Not to mention he was fucking dreamy as hell with those honey doe-eyes and pouty lips... And his hands? I had taken one look at the one tightly holding his beer bottle for dear life and instantly went white-hot with desire, visions of them disappearing inside of me swimming in my head.

And then he had to fucking whimper when I called him hot.

Yeah, I definitely didn't expect the night to go how it did, but I wasn't mad about it in the slightest.

After explaining to him that I'd walked, and that my house was only a few blocks away, we decided to just hop in his car. Though, by the time we got there, I think we were both so eager to "get to know each other a little better," as I'd said before we actually left, that we didn't even make it out of the parking space.

Spencer fumbled around with his keys for so long, and he kept dropping them, so I just said fuck it and kissed him when he came up the third time. The sound of his keys hitting the ground for a fourth time excited me almost as much as his the way his hands trembled as they rested on my forearms.

"Pull the seat back?" I mumbled against his mouth, sliding my hands down the sides of his face and over his shoulders.

He let out a strained, "Uh huh," and fumbled around with that too, his urgency and nerves all rolled into one adorable spectacle that had the pit of my stomach in desirable knots. The seat sprung backwards, and I laughed lowly as I climbed over the center console and right into his lap, my dress riding up incredibly high.

The way Spencer looked up at me then, his eyes just as pouty as his lips as they practically sparkled with adoration and need, gave me this feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time— something that filled my bloodstream with fire and made me feel... wanted.

And that's not to say I hadn't slept with people since my divorce, but every time it happened there was hardly any connection besides the obvious need to get off. Here, with Spencer, it was different. And realistically I knew it was most likely the fact that a beautiful woman came to his rescue and pretended to be engaged to him just to get some morons off his back, but... In his eyes I saw this vulnerability that I'd never gotten with another partner. He was open and willing to take advantage of our situation to the fullest extent, sure, but within that was a pure longing to be close to someone after going so long without that connection.

I knew that look so well because it was exactly how I felt. We wanted to have sex with each other, that much was obvious, but less so was the fact that we could feel each others' loneliness. It was a shared bond that ran deeper than sexual desire, and in his eyes in that moment, I knew he could see it in me.

"D—Do you know... what it's like to feel alone, even... when you know you really aren't?" he asked as though he was reading my mind. His voice was soft, so curious and hinted with a little sadness that it made me want to hold him tight and rock him to sleep more than anything.

Still, I nodded. "Mhm... After my husband left I haven't... really been the same. I act like it's okay, and I... I really am better now that he's gone, but I just... I've spent most of my life with him, and now it's like I don't know what's out there beyond... loneliness."

It wasn't the most sexy conversation in the world, but Spencer reached out, his hands less shaky, and ghosted them over my bare arms. He looked up at me with those pretty eyes and let out a relieved breath before he spoke. "I kinda know what you mean... Not to that extent, but... I get it."

Seeing that he was more comfortable with me, I leaned in closer, bringing my fingers to brush the underside of his jaw. "And that's why you make the perfect fiancée."

I felt the laugh leave his lips before I kissed him, soft and steady, and reassured that I was in this for as long as he wanted me to be. Obviously we weren't actually engaged, but the connection that came with a real engagement felt pretty damn close to what we had going on.

And he conveyed that in the way he kissed me back, stronger than he'd been before and most certainly more skilled than he'd let on. His tongue expertly caressed mine with just the right amount of pressure and precision, and it made it easy for me to fall into him. Over time we grew more hungry, but for the most part our dance of mouth and tongue was so slow and intense, it felt like we really had known each other forever.

Eventually though, I did feel him grow harder underneath me, and the feeling kickstarted this more primal urge that caused me to groan into his mouth and rock my hips forward. Spencer's hands rested firmly at my lower back the whole time, though when I moved, I could feel him tense a little, like now that it was actually starting to happen, he was suddenly nervous again. So I brought my hands around my back to grab his wrists, gently sliding them down over my ass as I pressed myself into him and nipped at his bottom lip.

"Mmm, your hands are so big," I purred as I kissed my way over his jaw. "They feel so good all over me..." He relaxed a bit at my reassurance, but I wanted to give him more. So I helped him slide his hands underneath my dress, feeling him shiver under me when I assisted him in squeezing them into my skin. "You can touch me however you like," I whispered into his ear. "I'm all yours, Doctor..."

He squeezed my ass then, of his own accord, and I hummed happily before kissing my way back to his mouth, running my hands through his hair.. "Just like that, baby, whatever you want..." He swallowed my words with his tongue, taking a deep breath and inhaling me like I was his only source of air. Respectfully, I gave it all to him, happy to be of service as long as he wanted me— and in that moment, I hoped it would be forever.

Maybe that was cheesy. But he was an excellent kisser... And I was sure there'd be something equally as excellent waiting for me once I got the clearance to get my hands down to his belt.

Thankfully, that clearance came pretty soon. I would have waited as long as he wanted to, but with the way his hips jolted upwards and the needy whine that erupted from his throat at the contact it provided, I knew now was the time.

So I smiled over his lips and then kissed his jaw again, one of my hands staying threaded in his hair while the other snaked down his chest and lower, undoing each button on his shirt as I went down... "Forgive me if I'm feeding into the stereotype by asking you this, Spencer," I said, leaving small bites on his neck in between words. "But have you ever done this before?"

His hands continued kneading my ass as he let out a shaky breath. "N—No. But I've um... I've p—practiced..."

"Hmm, how so?" I wondered, sucking a big hickey into his neck. Meanwhile my hand traced along the waistband of his pants, not quite dipping underneath but teasing the skin just above the material.

"U—Um, well... I regularly t—try to edge... myself, just... I—I want to last longer, and... And I thought it would help..."

God, the images of this man lounging in bed, training himself to last longer in the event that he had sex with someone? I groaned into his neck, taking the initiative to move my hand lower and gently palm him through his pants. "Fuck, that's so hot..."

"Re—really?"

"Mhmm... You really wanna make a girl feel good, huh?"

"Of course..."

"So eager to please?" I cooed, starting to undo his belt. He gripped my ass tighter like he was holding on for dear life, like he'd some how fall out of the car if he didn't hold on to me tight enough. The way his fingers dug into my skin brought me almost the same amount of joy as the sound he made when I finally snuck my hand down the front of his pants and pulled his dick out, gently stroking it and getting a feel for him. "Obedient?"

"Y—Yes, Y/N, please, oh God..." he jumbled out, his hips bucking into my hand. I sighed into his neck, kissing him again as my hand slowly jerked him off.

"Is this how slow you go?" I asked, making sure to memorize how every ridge of him caressed my hand. "Hmm, you wanna draw it out? Feel every ounce of pleasure as you possibly can before you come?"

He didn't answer so much as he let out a loud, whiny breath that sounded very much like a broken, "A-hh."

"I'm clean... On birth control, too... So what do you say we trade this hand in for something a little more... wet..."

Spencer grabbed my underwear then, pulling at the fabric and bucking his hips again. Taking it as a good sign, I adjusted myself so that I could slide them to the side and hover above him. Meanwhile I pecked at his lips and he did the same, meeting me with urgency and anticipation.

And when the head of his dick finally came in contact with my pussy, he threw his head back and exhaled, exposing his neck and the front of his chest, which was lightly glossed over with sweat already. The only source of light in the car came from the neon bar lights and one single streetlight outside, which gave us this dark, aesthetic lighting that only made what we were doing even hotter.

I sank slowly onto him, letting out the longest sigh of my life until he bottomed out in me. "You doin' alright, Doctor?" I asked, pulling his shirt open some more to get a better view of his skin.

He sat his head up a bit and looked at me, breathlessness in his eyes. "F—Fantastic. You f—eel so good..."

I ground my hips in slow circles, nodding down at him with a wicked grin. "Feeling's mutual, babe... You stretch me out so good... It's like we're a perfect match."

The moment I started lifting myself only to sit back down, Spencer shut his eyes, his hands roaming my ass and my thighs as I rode him. It looked like he was concentrating on lasting, and I was going to tell him not to worry about it, but then he opened his eyes and started to speak.

"Will, um... Will you be m—mean to me? Please?"

I halted my movements for a moment, taking in what he just said, but then it came to me immediately. And my discovery turned me on way more than I would have liked to admit.

So I grinned and circled my hips again, leaning forward to practically crawl up the front of his body. My hands tangled in his hair as I studied his face, which was ridden with worry and maybe regret at what he'd just confessed. But I kept circling my hips all the same, clenching myself around him as I spoke against his lips.

"Ohhh, did hearing me insult those guys in the bar turn you on?" I drawled, gently pecking his lips.

"Uh huh," he breathed in response.

I smiled, rocking my hips a little faster and feeling him start to relax again— The worries he had about his desires faded into nothing as I gave into them, feeding them with an open palm and embracing them with great pleasure. "I bet you just couldn't wait for me to take you outside and fuck you after that, huh? For me to treat you like a needy little slut..."

With every word and every quick rock of my hips, Spencer started to pick up his breathing. He leaned back completely and let me take care of him, gave me every green light, every go-ahead... I never got to be like this in bed before, and the fact that it came so naturally sparked this confidence within me that was hard to quell once it got going.

"Is that what you wanted?" I asked him, picking up my pace and bouncing steadily back on his dick. "You were so desperate to get fucked, too, you couldn't even make it out of the parking lot before you gave into me... And now everyone in the bar could see us out here..."

He groaned out at that, his hands digging into the flesh of my thigh, which already burned from straddling him like this, but considering everything, a little burn never hurt anyone.

"Ohh, you like that too, huh? The thought of everyone seeing us?"

"Y—Yes... Y/N, yes... o—oh, fu..."

I took his face into my hands then, grabbing him by the chin and making him look at me. "And what about your friends, huh? What would they think if they showed up and saw their precious Doctor Reid getting fucked like the dirty little slut he is, huh?"

Even though his face was in my hands, he still managed to lean his head back with a loud groan. His hands were now sliding over to my waist, where my dress was bunched up. His nimble fingers slipped just under the fabric and explored the planes of my stomach as I continued riding him, and the feeling of it all coupled with the looks on his face and his reaction—verbal or otherwise—to my words grew the fire simmering in the pit of my stomach.

I wasn't sure how mean to him I could be anymore now, though, considering we were both so close to finishing, and the closer I got the more it became harder to focus on stringing together the perfect words.

Still, I tried the best I could, because it was his first time, and it's what he deserved.

I leaned in and kissed his neck and collarbone, simultaneously riding and grinding for extra stimulation. "You're doing so well, Doctor... Taking this pussy like a good little whore..."

Okay, so it wasn't entirely mean, but it was the best I could come up with on the spot.

Though, it seemed to have done the trick, because Spencer drove his hips up to meet mine, panting and whining out my name as his eyes fluttered open and he looked at me with the most desperate look. I almost fell apart right there.

"That's it, baby, take it," I cooed, leaning over and kissing him. One of his hands came out from under my dress to rub tight circles into my clit with an expert thumb, and it started to break me down immediately. "Ohhh, I'm almost there, honey, just like that... Show me what a good little slut you are, baby, c'mon... Just like... that... Ohhh..."

I kissed him hard as I shook and clenched around him, holding still as he drilled his hips upwards into me. His thumb kept up at my clit until I was whimpering into his mouth, and then he just held it there, a few grunts of his own rumbling in his chest before he stilled and filled me with his warmth. I kissed him through it, gently swallowing all his whines and sighs as he gradually came down from his high.

Immediately after we both settled, with his dick still sheathed inside of me and my hands rubbing gently over the planes of his chest as we slowly and softly made out, the unmistakable sound of raindrops hitting glass covered us on all sides.

I pulled away from Spencer with a small smile, resting my head on his shoulder and looking off to the side, out the window at the sea of cars slowly getting covered up by a multitude of rain droplets. "I hope that was okay," I whispered against his skin, willing myself closer by draping an arm over his shoulder and using my hand to twirl some of his hair around my finger.

"That was more than okay," he responded contently. His chin rested on the top of my head and I snuggled closer into him. "Thank you, Y/N... For... For everything."

"It was my pleasure, Doctor."

We sat in comfortable near-silence for a while then, letting the rain tapping gently over the car be the steady sound that grounded us and washed away everything we had until there was a clean slate.

That was the one bad thing I found about the rain. I loved it, yes, for all its cleansing properties, and as I came into the bar tonight, I looked forward to them— to clearing my head with alcohol and a walk home in the rain.

But as I laid there, breathing in every ounce of Spencer Reid, I watched the rain roll down the windows and actually dreaded the moment it would stop.

"I wish it would rain forever," I sighed wistfully, playing with one of the buttons on Spencer's shirt.

He drew patterns into my leg all the same. "How come?"

"Because... I have to walk home. And the longer it rains, the longer I can stay here with you..."

He chuckled. "That's a nice sentiment, but you know I can drive you home, right?"

"Yeah, but... I really don't want this moment to end."

He was silent then, and for a while I thought maybe he was just going to leave it be. But then his soft voice broke through the rain and cut into me like a piece of glass. "You know you're gonna be okay, right?"

I broke away and looked up at him. "How do you mean?"

He sighed, thinking before continuing. "I mean... I'm guessing it's been rough since your husband left, and... being here with me has given you some companionship and comfort, but... Even after we part ways, you're going to be alright... It's still going to feel lonely, sure, but if there's anything I know for sure after tonight, it's that you're going to get through it just fine."

My heart swelled, though it still broke all the same. "How do you know?"

Spencer smiled, bringing a hand up to gently brush the side of my face. "Because you're my fiancée and I know you better than anyone."

As I laughed at the joke, he looked back at me with sparkles in his eyes. And then minutes later, I was haphazardly cleaning myself up in his passenger seat with a wet-nap that I'd kept tucked away in my wallet while he fumbled around for his keys.

Even as I stood on my porch that night, under the rain as I watched him drive away with the lingering buzz of our final goodbye kiss on my lips, I wondered if I'd ever see him again.

And I wondered if he would ever notice or do anything about the sparkly diamond ring I left behind, sitting beside him in my place— a reminder of our time together, the comfort he provided me with, and the clean slate that always inevitably came with the rain.

***

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds fanfiction

[mitsuyaya]

[ 13:38 PM ] itadori yūji

☆༉ contains: suggestive ending, profanity, unedited

“I'm serious Yuji I can't do this” your shoulders slumped, back hunched from exhaustion, sweat trickling as you failed to hit another ball.

Yuji didn't say anything, resuming from watching you fail too many times with that shit-eating grin on his face. “You're just being whiny babe, you can do it.”

That stupid pitching machine released another ball, licking your lips, you bend your knees, preparing to do it correctly this time but just like what happened earlier, you missed again, and again, and again.

You weren't really the athletic type unlike your boyfriend– that annoying guy who forced you to try his favorite sport out.

“Stop laughing it isn't easy you know” you rolled your eyes at him, dropping the bat somewhere and plopping into the ground.

There were moments you're thankful that you have an athlete boyfriend; the free tickets, front seats, his jersey, getting to cheer him in front of a bunch of people– but this isn't one of them.

“Fine fine, I'll teach you how to-” “Fuck no” you cut him off, sending him a glare. You can't handle anymore of this cruel torture, the heavy baseball bat, that loud pitching machine, and the fear that the ball will hit you in the face any minute.

“Come on, last one. I promise after this we'll go home” he laid his hands out, helping you to stand, smiling at you as if he didn't force you to do this.

God if he wasn't this adorable– “You promise or else I won't cheer you in your next game”

Yuji stepped backward, letting you stand at the assigned space. He hands you the baseball bat and kisses your forehead.

“For sure, wouldn't want my cheerleader to be absent y'know” you just groaned, already tired. His fingers ghosted over your arms into your hands.

“Fix your footing first, then focus on the pitching machine” his breath is warm against your ear, sending sparks all over your body.

You couldn't hear anything– couldn't when his chest rested on your back, couldn't when his touch was too gentle, couldn't when his voice was too intoxicating.

“Uhm Yuji-” “Focus baby, well go home after this one” he still kept on shushing you, leaning in to help you grip the baseball bat tightly.

“Yuji you really need to listen-” the pitching machine let out another ball, by reflex Yuji swung the bat, still holding your hands, when the ball was finally nearby he–you both hit it perfectly, making the ball bounce on the wall.

“See! I know my baby could do it” he's still grasping the bat with your hands still under it, his body still flat against your back.

You were really too tired to care if you hit or not, your energy drained the longer you tried to play this sport, but seeing Itadori so happy and proud is rewarding.

“Oh! What were you trying to say again earlier?” the question made you falter, heat rising up to your cheeks, you stared at the ground muttering it quietly.

“Uhm- earlier, there's something poking in my back”

“OH! SHIT!”

#tw suggestive #itadori x reader #itadori x you #itadori x y/n #itadori fluff #itadori imagines #itadori scenarios #itadori drabbles #itadori yuji x reader #itadori yuji x you #itadori yuji x y/n #itadori yuji imagines #itadori yuji scenarios #itadori yuji drabbles #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk imagines #jjk fluff #jjk scenarios #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

[taechaos]

Blackmail

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!Reader

genre: drabble, smut, college au

synopsis: Jimin offers you information on Jungkook, but your friendship is misconstrued by Jungkook who ends it singlehandedly with one video of you professing your love to him between moans.

warnings: dubcon, fingering, degredation, mild squirting, manipulation

word count: 2.8k

a/n: jealous kook doesn't realize he's jealous. this part is a bit extreme, so beware ><

One doesn't come across someone like Jungkook every day. It's fate that you met him in your first year of college, extending to your second where he grows closer to you; fair, it's clear that he only intends to use you for his academic success, but you've deluded yourself into thinking you're in love with each other. Growing up, you only had your dysfunctional family to teach you about how to love, how to think. As long as Jungkook needs you, he will love you, and you’re willing to do anything to be with him, only him. You need him to live.

Birds sing in the background as you lay on your stomach on the grass of the yard across the campus. It’s sunny and breezy, the perfect spring day as you work on Jungkook’s research paper due next month. You compiled multiple credible sources in a separate file to create an outline for his essay the moment he forwarded the assignment to you. You want him to praise you, pet your hair, kiss your cheek for starting so early so he can turn it in before anyone else. He would be proud, flashing you his pearly whites and adoring eyes. The reward motivates you to work harder and you’re relentlessly skimming through articles while counting down the minutes of Jungkook's lecture. He'll be outside with his friends in 7 minutes.

With a bad childhood, you don’t care to befriend many people. You only have a few friends to keep you company and you’re socially awkward outside of that group. You’re content, so you steer clear of boys who try to sabotage your relationship with Jungkook. Jimin, however, doesn’t get the memo.

Typing away on your laptop, a shadow looms over you to give you a break from the sunlight. You glance up and stop swinging your legs absentmindedly when you recognize the shadow; it’s a boy with frames and a tight collar adorning his neck.

Park Jimin is a typical nerd whereas you’re more of a closeted nerd. When you’re in love, you usually put more effort into your appearance to impress the one on your mind, but that doesn’t work with Jungkook. It’s always other men giving you their attention through second glances, and that includes Jimin.

“What do you want?” you rudely greet. Jimin is ruthless with his attempts at pursuing you; he’s the perfect gentleman, and often volunteers to do group tasks with you. He is never mean to anyone, and has a squeaky clean reputation, but his only flaw is that he can’t take a hint. You don't bother being friendly to him because you don't want friends.

"I want to know why you look so happy," he bends over to curiously glance at your screen, "while doing homework?"

You slam the monitor closed to stop his ogling. "You wouldn't get it. And stop watching me," you sternly say.

"What's your secret?" he grins and sits down on the grass next to you with crossed legs. His upper body serves as a shade and you stop squinting.

"There is no secret, I was just in a good mood until you came along." You're not upset, but you don't want to lead Jimin on and he won't leave unless you blow him off.

"Thinking of Jungkook?" he teases with a mischievous smile.

"Are you stalking me?"

"No, you're just too obvious," he chuckles, but the sound is strained. You don't notice his melancholy as he continues, "You were doing his homework again?"

You shift on your propped elbows a little uncomfortably. Jimin doesn't need to know what you do in your free time. "Yes," you answer anyway.

"You know he has daddy issues?"

Your eyes round as your discomfort dissipates instantly; he's piqued your interest. "Really?"

"Yeah, he has a tough exterior but he's actually a real softie."

An involuntary smile carves on your face before it falters as you ask, "How do you know this?"

"We went to high school together. I can tell you some stories if you want," he boasts when he realizes he has your attention. The context makes his heart sink, but when he imagines your lovesick grin is directed at him, it fills him with joy.

"Tell me, tell me! Please."

"Weeell," he draws with a lopsided grin, "don't tell him I told you this, but he used to hate girls. I don't know if he still does, but back then he couldn't even stand talking to a girl."

"Why?" your eyes are wide with interest as you whisper.

He shrugs, "No idea, but he hit a girl once when she wouldn't stop clinging onto him. Not like drop-kick her," he laughs, "he just shoved her on the ground. Be careful with him, okay? He can be very aggres-"

"You guys forming a nerd club now?"

You gasp when you hear Jungkook's voice. When you look up at him, he's almost glaring as his eyes flicker from you to Jimin. You're gleeful at his approach, because he never comes to you unless it's about a new assignment. It flutters your heart to see him without any papers in his hand.

You don't take his subtle insult to heart as you immediately respond, "No, we were just talking. H-Hi."

"Pull down your skirt, you look like a whore. I can see your panties all the way from the gates," he seethes in distaste. You instantly sit up with a blush and tug your skirt down to your knees. He looks back at Jimin who's glaring at him under his lashes, "The fuck's your deal?"

"Nothing," Jimin grits. Although he hates Jungkook's guts, he's too smart to fight a lost cause. He has his own set of muscles, but it isn't enough. It's best to accept defeat now.

"Did you start on the paper?" Jungkook asks you.

"Yes, I-"

"Good," he cuts you off and crouches to peck your lips by pulling the back of your neck. You're stunned when he pulls away and nonchalantly walks off to his friends.

Jimin follows him with his eyes and mutters under his breath, "douche."

Your heart is racing and you clamp a hand over your chest as a lovestruck smile spreads across your face. You know this is your end of the bargain, but it never fails to shrivel you up in delight.

"Are you two dating?" he mumbles as he pulls on the grass with a pout.

"Something like that," you exhale as you caress your lips.

It’s become routine to link up with Jimin where he reminisces his high school memories and you don’t doubt a single word he says unless it sheds a bad light on Jungkook. You’ve learned so much about him in the past few days, and you’re eager to know more. He likes energy drinks to this day, he was athletic in school and often got into fights. He began interacting with girls when he entered college, as Jimin says, “only for a quick fuck.”

Though it hurts Jimin that you only talk to him for information on Jungkook, he can’t bring himself to care when you hang onto every word he says with a glint in your eyes like you’re doing now.

You're sitting in the bustling cafeteria across from Jimin, sipping on a homemade strawberry lemonade from your thermos, and you don't notice Jungkook glancing at your table every now and then. It is the first time he doesn't feel your heavy gaze on him. Jimin does notice however, because he is facing him every time he receives a threatening ferile look.

"He could become a lawyer with how much he blackmailed the teachers to give him a good grade," Jimin tells you as he glances back and forth between you and Jungkook. "He's quite dangerous, you know. He's manipulative, a liar and has no empathy-"

"He's clever," you counter defensively, "he knows how to get around the system."

He makes a disgruntled noise from the back of his throat with a grimace. "I don't think the judge would listen to that."

You laugh at his comparison of the conversation to a court hearing. Jimin can be funny sometimes, and you have to admit that he's not that bad of a friend either. You've come to enjoy his company without the topic of Jungkook the past few days, but talking about him is always appreciated.

"Are you the judge then?" you cheekily ask.

"I might as well be, since I'm not biased like a certain someone," he teases with a grin.

"A lawyer has to see the bright side of things, but if I was the prosecutor, I wouldn't tell you that your lecture is in five minutes."

His smile falters as his eyes widen; you remember his schedule? He ran late for a lecture yesterday, but he’s in disbelief that you reminded him today. "Th-Thanks," he breathes as he packs up his belongings before giving you a curt, shy nod. His heart pounds when he walks away, and he resists the urge to look back at you.

It's a good idea, because that's when Jungkook settles down on his former seat.

"I'm thinking you might be forgetting who you belong to," he starts as he gets comfortable on the stiff chair. You instantly smile at his appearance.

"No, I'm very well aware of it." Your tone is high-pitched in excitement.

"It wasn't a question."

"Oh..."

“You talk more than you work,” he observes with a quirk of his brow. “One would think another nerd would be a better influence on you.”

“I work at night,” you defend worriedly, “I promise I’m not slacking off. Can I get a kiss please?”

You’re so adorable when you’re needy. He hides a smirk with a bite of his lip; he thrives from your loyalty to him, but he knows Jimin is a threat to it. He wants you to stop talking to that freak, and he justifies it as a concern for his grades. “I’ll kiss you when you’re not procrastinating. Do you think you deserve even a pat on the head?”

“I do! I’m halfway done with the research paper, please Jungkook,” you beg pathetically, “I-I’ll show it to you, I have it with me right now.” You start unzipping the case of your laptop until he holds up a hand for you to stop.

“You’re going to read it to me, but not here.”

When he stands up, so do you in a haste. He leaves the cafeteria with you hot on his tail, almost jogging when his strides are much bigger compared to yours. You resemble a clueless lamb following a lion, desperate to hold his claws with your hooves. You don’t know where he’s leading you as you walk down the halls until you stop in front of a door. You’re about to freak out when he swings open the door, but you realize the lecture room is empty.

“You want me to read here?” you inquire meekly. It’s a little intimidating to do it in complete silence, because you have a tendency to stutter when reading out loud and you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Jungkook where no one can talk over you. 

“Yup.” He snatches your laptop case from your hand with the handle, and roughly opens it before placing the device on the front row wooden desk. It’s a large hall, and the desks stretch out to the half of the room. You’re feeling stage fright for no particular reason; it feels like reverse claustrophobia. “Open the document and give me your phone.”

You don’t question him and hand in your phone before going through your files on the laptop. Jungkook is looking through your contacts and grins when he finds himself saved as: the love of my life ♡. Jimin is saved by his name, and he finds his WhatsApp through his information below. Once he opens your empty chat with him, he switches to your camera and pushes your back so you’re bent over the desk. You sharply inhale and ask, “Kook?” 

“Don’t get distracted now,” he lightly scolds and starts pulling down your pants. You stopped wearing skirts after the incident a week ago to appease him. You stammer with your back arched, and your ass is on full display for him. It’s humiliating. “Start reading.”

“H-Humans are- Jungkook?” you warily look back at Jungkook when he slides the slit of your panties to the side.

“Are you slacking off?” he condescends. 

You bite your lip anxiously and continue reading, “Humans are social animals that n-need social interaction,” Jungkook spits in his hand, “the extent of our social relationships is the most important predictor of h-happiness.” You squeal when you feel wet fingers graze your folds, but you know better than to stop and ask what he’s doing.

“Continue,” he coaxes softly as he brushes his fingertips over your pussy lips. 

“Um, o-one of the main reasons our brains have developed the way they have is so that we can be social,” you speak between shaky breaths. Your cheeks are tinted crimson with embarrassment from his touches; why is he pleasuring you when he specifically told you, you didn’t deserve any? “Being happy a-all of the time is neither possible nor desirable.”

“Is it now?” He slips a finger in your cunt and you involuntarily let out a cry as you push your body forward. You don’t notice him holding up your phone behind you while slowly sliding his finger in and out of you. His saliva is mixing with your arousal as you answer in a gasp, “Yes.”

“Tell me why.”

“B-Because negative feelings are natural. When it comes to negative feelings, the most important thing to remember is to learn,” you pause to exhale with quivering lips, “to control certain potentially harmful thoughts.” You whine his name when another finger is added to your heat. You’re moving your hips back and forth until he slaps your wet folds as a warning. “Sorry,” you peep and continue in a breath, “Happiness all of the time entails epistemic irrationality.”

It’s difficult to keep your eyes open when you just want to indulge in his thrusts, but you’re encouraged to stop reading when he doesn’t comment on your moans. His pace is quickening and you chase his fingers with your hips, cum dripping down his wrist as you mewl.  

“You enjoying yourself, whore?”

You nod and whimper, “So much.” You’re clutching the edge of the desk as he fingers you with fervor.

“And you're my girl?” 

“Yes, all yours, I love you so much,” you pant, not stopping for a moment to question his words. He has a full view of your sopping wet cunt on the camera, and he lightly blows on you, making you shiver. He’s recording you confess your love for him while getting fingered.

“Only me?” he presses.

“Only you, Jungkook, I love you more than anything,” you slur as you start to feel a knot in your stomach.

“Then pee.”

“Wh-What?”

“Touch your clit and pee.” He removes his fingers from your clenching hole and takes a step back. “Prove your love to me.”

You mourn the loss of his hand while staring wide-eyed at the floor. You’re contemplating his demand as your hand slowly reaches down to your clit. Is he asking you to squirt? Your breathing is shallow as you near your climax, and you still don’t know if you’ll go through with his requirement.

It drips out in tiny drops as you come undone, moaning as clear liquid spills out of you for only a few seconds. 

“Good girl, my good little girl,” Jungkook whispers as he intently watches you humiliate yourself in the name of love. You’re twitching and trembling in shame when he stops recording you and sends it to Jimin without a second’s waste. “Are you okay, baby?”

You hum with a pout as you collect yourself by standing up straight, a sway in your posture. 

“Give me your panties, you’ve made a mess on the floor,” he chastises as he holds out a hand. You slip and step out of them before giving it to him. In return, he passes your phone before feigning a gasp, “Shit, I think I sent Jimin a video of you when I was trying to forward it to my phone.”

Your mouth falls open as heat consumes your entire being. “H-Huh?” Tears brim in your eyes almost instantly; your heart is pounding from anxiety.

“How will you ever look at him now,” he empathizes with a fake frown. “He must think of you as such a slut now.”

“Let me delete it,” you panic as you open your phone. “Wh-Where is it?”

He motions you to give him the phone and opens WhatsApp after. “He’s already seen it.” There are two blue ticks under the message.

“No, no, no,” you pull your hair in agony with a whimper. You quickly put your pants back on and cry as you do so.

“I guess that’s the end of your friendship,” he raises his eyebrows to himself without a hint of sympathy.

“What do I do?!” you wail and fling your hands in stress.

“Avoid him. I’ll make sure he won’t leak it.”

He steps forward to lean in your face intimidatingly. “And don’t talk to him ever again.”

You don’t exactly have a choice now, do you? 

#bts imagines #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook smut #jungkook imagines #jjk smut

[bobateastay]

tutoring - song mingi

song mingi x gender neutral!reader

cw - college!au, fluff, first kisses

word count: 1.1k

taglist: @pikacuuuuuuu @lovely-ateez @sunsethw4 @xirenex

a/n: please note that this is fiction - mingi is incredibly intelligent and talented, anything suggesting otherwise is used purely for this piece of fiction

Mingi was incredibly talented. He was clever - despite his humorous and laid back attitude, he was insanely clever. He was a well known athlete at your college and an incredible dancer. His intelligence just didn't extend to all of his classes.

You knew this and you found it endearing. The longer you knew Mingi the more you wanted to know him. So when he’d failed three math tests in a row and you’d come out with top marks each time, you took the opportunity to tutor him.

You met every Monday and Wednesday. In the library, at school, at cafés, by old football fields and sometimes in his dorm room. It might’ve been awkward at first, but now the tutoring sessions were filled with lots of laughter and little work.

"So did you do the addition for this one?" you asked, taking his paper from him and scanning through it.

"Of course I did," he said, a grin on his face. "I got it right, didn't I?" Your expression softened as you looked at him. Overconfidence and innocence seemed to glow around him. You almost felt bad for breaking the news to him.

"It's 0.05 not 5," you said, a small smile playing on your lips. "Do it again and see if you can find the right answer."

Mingi stared at you incredulously before pouting a little.

"Let's take a break," he said, not phrasing it as a question although you knew it was one. You nodded in return and gave him back his paper.

The two of you were sitting by the school football field, resting on the bleachers whilst the football team practiced. Mingi lay down on the bench, playing some of his music and humming along. Your heart thumped in your chest as you watched him. You felt giddy every time the two of you could be together like this - alone and comfortable, singing together or just fucking around.

Mingi pulled you out of your thoughts by getting up quickly, holding out a hand much too close to your face. “Come on!”

You took his hand and stood up slowly, squealing when he spun you around, beginning to dance in time with the song. You’d seen him do the same dance with his friend Yunho when they fucked around in the corridors but you struggled to keep up all the same.

Mingi laughed and took your hands, guiding your movements with a grin on his lips. You laughed too, blushing and making eye contact with him for fleeting moments, adoring the squint of his eyes when he smiled and the way the light of the afternoon sun shined on his hair. After a little while you could dance along with him - albeit with some difficulty but you kept up clumsily all the same.

By the time you were done dancing, the sun had set and you’d been left under the lights of the field, the football team also packing up.

“Come on, I’ll walk you back,” Mingi offered, packing up his stuff and offering you his jacket, which you gratefully shrugged on, inhaling his scent. The two of you joked as you walked back to your building, Mingi jumping and gesturing wildly as he told you about the praise he'd gotten on his improved math, his voice pitched with excitement and pride. When you finally got to your doorway, Mingi seemed subdued.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, smiling and watching as you took his jacket off, handing it back to him.

“We only meet again on Wednesday,” you reminded him. He shrugged his shoulders and pouted just a little, although this time he didn't seem to notice he was doing it. His voice wasn’t as boisterous as it usually was when he spoke again.

“I know that. But I was thinking…” he trailed off, his expression making it obvious that he was deep in thought. “Well, there was a movie and I was thinking we could watch it together or-”

“You don’t need an excuse to hang out with me Mingi,” you assured him, catching the way his cheeks flushed a little. “Come over tomorrow, we can watch your stupid movie if you’re still set on that.”

He playfully smacked your arm, but there was a wide smile on his lips.

“I’ll see you then.”

And he did come over the next day. The walk to your room was quieter this time, Mingi still telling you his usual stories about his friends' antics but his voice wasn’t loud. He seemed nervous even, glancing at you often and smiling when he caught you glancing back.

“You’ve never been in my room before, right?” you asked, and Mingi shook his head as he followed you in. “It’s a little messy.”

It wasn’t messy at all, Mingi thought to himself. He wandered around, touching things and picking them up without asking. He grinned widely when he found a few photos of the two of you together from your first year in college, and a more recent one Yunho had taken of the two of you while you’d been studying together. You sat down on your bed and waited for him to join you, laying back and watching him fondly.

“Hey, there’s no TV in here,” he mumbled, looking at you. He looked embarrassed almost as he sat down beside you. You sat up quickly, your faces so close to each other’s you thought you might be sick from all the butterflies in your stomach.

You shrugged a little, eyes tracing all of his features. You wanted to memorise every single curve and shadow of his face, as though this moment would disappear from your memory if you didn’t. His cheeks turned redder and redder until finally he turned away, laughing nervously and stuttering as he spoke.

“I don’t-,” he tried to speak, words jumbling up as he tried to get his thoughts out. “Are we- Do you- Fuck, wait a second.”

You laughed a little, and he turned around to look at you again. He loved your laugh.

“Come here,” you said. He scooted over as asked, but continued to mumble, his eyes darting to and from your face.

“I don’t know- I don’t know how to- Are you going to kiss me?” he asked.

“Do you want me to?” you answered with your own question.

There was a heavy moment, both of your hearts pumping so hard you thought your heart may as well jump up into your throat and spill from your lips.

“Yes.”

Both of you leaned forward at the same time, noses bumping. You burst into laughter, and Mingi watched you, a smile growing on his lips. When you’d calmed down, still snorting a little, you leaned in again, your lips meeting easily this time. It was gentler than you’d expected, and after just a moment you could feel Mingi smiling into the kiss.

You pulled back and found him smiling like a madman, hands shaking a little.

“Was it okay?” he asked.

“Better than okay.”

“Will you dance with me? I’ll teach you the the dance from yesterday again!”

“Sounds fun,” you said, still giggling.

Not bad for a first kiss.

#ateez x reader #ateez fluff #song mingi x reader #song mingi fluff #ateez scenarios #song mingi scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #song mingi fanfic #fluff

[kissmyhandcallmedarling]

on the far side of the moon.

notes:

mmkay, ik theres literally only like three people on tumblr who have seen set the thames on fire, but i really wanted to write this fic, so i did it anyway, even if no one sees it

loosely based on the dickie/vince theory by @towan-white (you should definitely go check it out if you haven't - gut-wrenching!)

anyhow, i may make this a short (angsty) series, so strap yourselves in (if you want)

tw: drug use, prostitution, mentions of suicide

i also embedded the soundtrack from sttof, for added ambiance

"but what does it matter if the whole world sinks if you've lost your friend."

“Welcome to your London,”

Insanity was a social construct. 

“Through hell and high water, working together for a happier city.”

Segregation. 

Insanity was a safety net for the ordinary. Reassure themselves that they were the superiors, by declaring that a madman, one whom allowed his mind to dwindle away, was inferior; in need of repair. Broken. But really it was there to make them feel better about their lack of individualism. For the correlation between insanity and creativity is no coincidence.

“A calm citizen, is a happy London.”

But what happens, when there is nothing left but insanity? Nothing to balance the ship. Nothing to secure the loose canons in place. Nothing to herd the crew onto the deck. No bilge pump, nor buckets to remove water. 

What happens then? 

The ship sinks. 

“Because happiness, is going down with the ship.”

***

The amphetamines burned his nostrils. He coughed harshly, fingers gripping the floor as he regained stability. Not yet satisfied, the man got to his feet, and scrounged through a bowl of brightly coloured pills, knocking a few back with a swig of cognac. He could feel the drugs making their way through his bloodstream. He could see it before his very eyes. He watched as his body contorted, allowing the sensation to pique every crevice. 

Dickie took a deep breath. He steadied himself, and stood up, making his way over to the mirror. The glass was covered in a thin layer of grime, splatters of fresh bodily fluids dripped from its surface. He was yet to clean up from his most recent client - it was well worth the effort, for the pretty penny he had gained. But there was no time to dwell on his prospects, for his master expected to be escorted to that fucking cocktail party within the next half hour, and so he resumed getting ready. Dickie touched up his makeup, drawing on his uneven cupid’s bow with a crappy lipstick. He combed through the grease that coagulated on his scalp, pulling his hair into two small bunches. He adjusted the garters which strained against his muscular quadriceps, suspending his stockings. He had footballer’s legs; athletically thin, yet stocky toward the thigh. Lastly, Dickie tightened his corset. He tugged the strings taught, until his waist synched and his chest impelled upward, giving him the illusion of visible cleavage. DIY tits were his favourite party trick. With a final scan of his appearance, Dickie peeled his gaze from his reflection and proceeded to leave his den. 

The air was dank, and wet. Thick with pain, as though the tears cried by the drowned had condensed into the very air particles breathed by those lucky enough to still be breathing. Pink neon lights flickered in tune with a poor soul, hyperventilating in a heap on the group. A curdling scream echoed through the underground, the pitch scattered and unnatural. But none of it phased Dickie. It had been like that ever since the river rose. 

How long had it been? 

He failed to recall.

Time seemed to collapse on itself. Hours sped past like mere moments, yet a night alone passed in a manner of years. So much so that soon Dickie found himself on the arm of the Impresario, the most powerful man in all of London. His wealth was inherited, and somehow, the rising of the river allowed said man to rise in power, and social rank. 

They say he’s got more money than God.

“Dickie, dear?” The man crooned. “Why do you make me attend these parties? You know I hate these fucking people.”

Dickie gripped his masters arm, ushering him through the grand revolving door. Water seeped in through the gaps as always. They entered the party - an orchestral waltz variation played over the grammar phones, while women dressed in slutty leather bodysuits danced sensually throughout the room. Guests mingled in small clusters, alcohol in hand, making rowdy fools of themselves. It was only ten past nine, and yet a good majority of the room was already pissed. 

“Well, I thought, Impresario, that socialising may very well be good for you. Cheer you up maybe.”

“Cheer me up my arse!” He spat. “Last time you brought me to one of these functions - it was that pink-haired whore, Pop Pop or whatever she calls herself’s afterparty - I was almost assassinated! Bah!”

Dickie suppressed a gulp. “There’ll be little girls here. New, pretty girls for you to take home and look after. Perhaps you can strike up a deal with them, get them to work for you?”

The Impresario grumbled a reply, agreeing in annoyance. 

“See? There’s always something to look forward to. I told-“

“Fuck off and fetch me a drink, Dickie.”

“Of course, Impresario.”

Oh yes. 

Happiness had indeed gone down with the ship. For all.

Some were just better at hiding it. Some were so consumed by memories of the past, a past that they would never regain, that they sacrificed their souls to the river. Dug themselves a watery grave. 

For no one truly adapted to the change, no matter how much they told themselves otherwise. Dickie knew he hadn’t. He knew full-well his life had been thrown off course when first flood struck London. But he was already fucked, for his life was a shambles before the banks of the Thames flooded. The water was just an excuse. Drugs and addiction had overridden his soul long before the river overran the streets. He’d forgotten everything. 

They called him insane. But really, he’d never felt shallower. 

For the brink of insanity resided somewhere deep within him: fractured images of a life he couldn’t quite remember. He just couldn’t locate it.

“Dickie, you bloody bastard, where is my drink?!” 

“Coming, Impresario. You need not stress!” Dickie hastily knocked back a shot of spirits unknown to him, and poured a goblet of wine for his master. 

This was all he knew. Dickie had two purposes; prostitution, and waiting on his master. He knew he had been someone else once, but dwelling on what what was or what could have been did no good. Right now, in this universe, he was Dickie and these were his purposes. 

For the past is another land.

***

The Impresario had insisted on walking himself home that evening, so Dickie was free to scrounge about the party in hopes of landing his clutch on a nice, pretty rich one. After all the time he’d spent in the “business”, he’d built up a bit of a name and reputation for himself. Sure, there were the other supreme whores about London’s underworld; Little Cassie, The Triangle Man to name a few. Oh, and one could not go without mentioning the Ripper. Named after the unidentified killer who stalked London’s streets during the 19th century, the Ripper was the most notorious among them, with many clients reportedly emerging in the most ghastly of physical states. The Ripper was also a fine choice for those wishing to end their life with a combination of pleasure and pain; in simpler terms, to be fucked to death. 

But when it came to creativity, Dickie was certainly up there with the best. He’d certainly rank within the uppermost echelon of prozzies in new London. The work wasn’t all that bad either; he got to dress up hyper-feminine, and confuse the tits off people with his androgyny. And he’d just spotted his next victim.

“Hey there, sweet cheeks!” Dickie pranced to a dark corner of the room where he spied a tall gentleman. He hitched his skirt up a little higher, so to entrap his prey. He chewed his gum playfully, and attempted to heighten the pitch of his voice. “You look lonely, over here, all by your… lonesome…” Dickie remained in the shadows, but moved closer to the man, leaning forward slightly, to display his “assets”. “I can fix that, you know. Come back with me to my den, and I’ll teach you a thing or two.”

The man remained silent; distant, disconnected. Perhaps what he needed, was a little bit of confusing. 

“They call me Dickie,” he lowered his voice to its natural pitch, twirling a pigtail of hair around his finger. “I’ll let you figure that one out for yourself.” He trailed a wayward hand down to his lower region. “Allow my appearance fool you all you like, darling. I fool them all. ‘Is it a man, is it a woman, oh I’m not sure if I mind?’”

Bingo. The gentleman’s eyes flickered to meet Dickie’s. He had him hooked. Now all he needed to do was reel him in. But the unnamed man spoke before Dickie could let another flirtatious innuendo slip from his pouty lips. 

“Have we met before?”

What? Of course not! Dickie had never seen this man in his life. But he decided he was more likely to prosper if he played along. “I dunno, hot stuff. Have we met before?”

“It’s just… you remind me so much of someone. Someone I used to know. Someone whom I abandoned. I never had the chance to apologise, before…”

Oh christ. He was the philosophical type. Probably the type to burst into tears amid jerking off. But Dickie was in too deep to pull out now. Besides, it looked as though this man had money, judging by his appearance, so he kept his eyes on the prize.  

“Was this person a woman? A man?”

“Bit of a confuser, kinda like you actually.”

“Then let me tantalise you. Live out your greatest fantasies. I can be anyone you want me to be. I can be that person, if you like. All you have to do, is say yes.” Dickie held eye contact with the gentleman and bit his lip, doing all in his power to seduce this mere simpleton. 

“I’ve never cared much for prostitutes. Let alone the outlandish, futuristic types. Feels wrong anyway. To betray him like that.”

“Ah ha! So it is a he! No matter, sir. I can rid the dress as quickly as I can don it! Tell me, what was this gieser like in bed? Submissive? Dominant?”

“I dunno.” 

“Pardon?”

“Never slept with him. Had too much respect for him.”

“Did you love him?”

“…yeah. He loved me too… He needed me. And I left him.” 

Dickie rolled his eyes. What a fucking simp. This was going nowhere and there were only so many hours in the night. He turned his back and began to walk away, but the man lunged forward and clutched his wrist. 

“How much for the night?”

Dickie’s face contorted into a sickly-sweet smile. “Call it 70 quid.”

The man retrieved his wallet, handing over the cash. Dickie pocketed the money, slipping it down his front. “Now, that payment’s been made, allow me to assess you. Lift up your shirt. Come on, show me your little belly button.”

“Ah, no, I don’t think so. Not here.”

“Fucking prude. Come on then. I’ll take you back to my den. I haven’t got all day, hurry up!” Dickie grabbed the man by his shoulder, and looped his arm through his, leading the way. 

“Oi, Dickie!” A voice hollered somewhere off from the distance.

“Not now, Donny. I’ve got a client!” 

Soon the pair found themselves in the stinking labyrinth that was the old underground. 

“Just in here, thanks.” Dickie shoved his client into a small room, slamming the door behind him. “What do you think of my den? Fucking fantastic!!”

The man remained silent. 

“Oh, you’re a shy little dove, aren’t you? Tell me, what’s your name?

He didn’t answer.

“Speak! For christ’s sake! Speak you bloody wanker!” 

He mumbled a name, though Dickie could not make it out. He decided on a softer approach this time, taking a deep breath as he altered his persona. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t quite catch that,” he cooed. “Could you repeat your name for me please?”

“Howard. Howard Moon.”

And it happened. 

As if those two words together were the final piece of the puzzle, his memory was triggered. As if the words were a lost key to unlock the deepest, most far-away, most forgotten parts of his mind. It was as though he was watching a film in ultra HD, running at a thousand miles an hour. It all returned to him. All those years ago. But out of the flurry of forgotten youth, one name surfaced to the forefront of his memory. 

“Vince.”

“Pardon me, Dickie?”

Dickie met Howard’s gaze, and everything made sense. “Vince.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

#set the thames on fire #setthethamesonfire #dickie #noel fielding #vince noir #howard moon #the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #noelian #julian barratt #dickie deserved better #sally phillips #al joshua #my heart huuuurts #i cry for him #vince x howard #moon and noir #dickies #noel is such a sweetheart #dickie fic

[hqcult]

PERFECT ## oikawa tooru

the air of perfection surrounding you makes him sick. you're worse than the geniuses he hates

. tw misogny, predatory behavior, smut, noncon/dubcon, slight dacryphilia, corruption kink, fingering . wc 1.2k

before his flight to argentina in a few months, oikawa made it a hobby to swing by his alma mater. 

iwa's too busy and he can't possibly bother his best friend when he's working so hard in college. so oikawa tooru goes alone. sometimes, he comes in early while the team's still there. maybe he'll even join matches for fun — coach irihata still has a soft spot for him, apparently. 

but most of the time he comes when the gym is empty; when there's an absence of the squeaking shoes and the ricocheting balls. it never fails to make his heart swell in nostalgia. ah, how he’ll miss this place terribly once he moves to argentina. 

something did change, though. 

oikawa wouldn't call it drastic but the first time he crashed their practice, he was all but pleasantly surprised to see the new aoba johsai manager. 

you were a pretty thing and the boys adore you a lot. you didn't look the type to apply as manager just to score an athlete boyfriend nor did you seem to have any other objective other than taking care of the team. oikawa can say as much because he could see how the new captain looks at you and the way you purposely try to keep things platonic. friendly. you don't let yahaba, or anyone in the team, go the extra mile for you.

and the fact that you can miraculously keep kyoutani in check is the cherry on top. while the said player is still rough around the edges, he learned how to listen to you and the last time kyoutani ever listened to anyone was months ago, when iwaizumi was still in the team. 

team morale is high when you're there to support them on the sidelines. in your white and turquoise tracksuit yet still managing to look attractive. yahaba's got quite the patience, if oikawa do say so himself. 

you were like some sort of goddess to them. it's sickening how dewy-eyed his ex-teammates would get whenever you smile and hand them their water bottles. it was too good to be true. you were too good to be true. there has got to be some sort of conspiracy behind this whole ordeal. 

"oikawa-san, i didn't think you'd be here at this hour."

he turns around at the sound of your voice. there you stood in casual clothes, hair tied up and face bare. with the harsh angles the moonlight created together with the poor lighting of the gym, you look normal. not an air of that perfection he’s always seen circulating around you. 

"how did you get in? only yahaba and i have the keys."

you saunter closer and it wasn't a wise move on your part. while you have aoba johsai as the same denominator, the alumnus was still practically a stranger. quick exchanges of acknowledgments aren't exactly sufficient to get to know someone. let alone be friends with. but you never once thought any of that. how naive.

he smiles as you finally stood next to him. you can't help the slight dread pool in your stomach at the sight of it. with his tall lean frame that can easily overpower you, the smile looked more ominous than friendly. 

"bold of you to assume i gave the keys back. why do you think shigeru had to duplicate them again for you?"

you didn't see it coming, the arm oikawa slings around your shoulders before pulling you flush against him. you would've lost your balance if you hadn't clutched the lapels of his coat. 

"can it be…" his plush lips graze the shell of your ear as he whispers. "our little secret, cutie?"

warning bells are going off in your head. it tells you to run and stay the fuck away from him but you did nothing of the sort, had only forced a polite smile and swiftly ducked around to get his arm off you. 

this is oikawa tooru we're talking about. 

yeah, you know he's quite the ladies man but you doubt he'd go... that far, especially if he knows the person's uncomfortable. not to mention, you're part of the volleyball team! you're managing his past team. surely, maybe, the familial bond extended to you too despite only joining their little family this year. you were just being paranoid. you were reading into it too much. 

"uhm, yes. of-of course."

oikawa does have to admit, seeing little miss perfect stutter and avert her eyes from him did wonders to his ego. well, now you don't look anything like the goddess his ex-team worships. you're not exuding the same level of confidence or reliability that you always carry yourself with. you look unsure of yourself. powerless in the face of real dominance. 

"why are you here?"

"i…" is it really wise for you to say why? "i forgot the team's record notebook in the girl's locker room. i need to pass a summary of it to coach tomorrow.”

oikawa smiles, eyes comically lighting up in excitement before slinging a heavy, oppressive arm around you again. "ooh, i'll come with!"

you walk with shoulders slightly folded in and the ex-captain likes you like this. all meek and submissive. he daresay you look prettier compliant and not like a self-entitled princess who thinks she shouldn't bother being romantically involved with an athlete. he still thinks you were bitchy and idiotic for friend zoning yahaba of all people. he thought you should be very thankful for getting noticed by his junior. 

but oh well, at least oikawa gets to have a go. 

to witness firsthand what the fuss about you is all about.

you wanted to shrug his arm away and he knows that but he won't do it. the fact that you're struggling to even speak up about it makes him smirk. see, now you know your place. as you should. sometimes, girls like you who get silly little ideas in their head should be reminded of where they truly stand in the food chain. oikawa is more than glad to be the one reminding you. 

you told him to wait outside while you sauntered into the girls' locker room and oikawa smiles that innocent smile before nodding. 

a prey really shouldn't have turned her back on a predator.

just as you picked up your blue notebook on the bench, the resounding lock of the door clicking shut sounded too loud in a closed-off space. "oikawa—'

"you know, i'd really appreciate if we drop formalities. i think screaming tooru while i fuck you sound way better. makes things more intimate, dontcha think?"

he was onto you before you even got the chance to turn around. the notebook you were holding drops to the ground as he grabs hold of your wrists, his leg swiping at your ankles to tackle you to the ground. he's quick. the floor is hard and cold when your back crashes into it. you wince, the shock of what's happening yet to register in your system. never before thinking that this sort of thing will happen to you.

oikawa isn't as cruel or disgusting as you think. you were both legal adults. he knows. after all, he was there when the team decided to throw you a surprise birthday party on your 18th. he was also there from around the corner, eavesdropping when yahaba pulled you aside and confessed his feelings to you and you had the fucking audacity to turn him down. 

he doesn't want to call this revenge, not when he'd still do it whether or not shigeru had confessed. 

you were from a different breed of people. worse than geniuses. you are so disgustingly perfect in every sense of the word that it's so fucking unfair. it fueled jealousy more severe than he ever felt from tobio or ushiwaka. 

because people aren't perfect. people aren't meant to be perfect. even oikawa himself is far from it so why should you be any different from him? you're nothing special. you're ordinary just like him. you don't deserve it. you're not even working hard enough like oikawa to fucking deserve it!

you were red in the face when he took a good look at your pinned form underneath him. your eyes are glossy but held fierce contempt as you meet his gaze, your lips sealed shut in a straight line. you were trying to hold yourself back from crying and it only fuels the fire of his anger. 

"what, think i'm not worth your tears?" he growls, a hand coming up to pull your hair. he sits atop you, his legs pinning yours down as he straddles your hips. "think you're so high and mighty that you won't cry for your oh so dependable oikawa-san?" he purposely makes his voice high-pitched like a girl, copying you spitefully. 

"that’s fine, i can give you a real reason to cry."

he rips your flimsy shorts off and ogles at your cute panties. pink with little bows? how innocent. 

his large hand covers your mouth, the heavy pressure keeping your head in place as his other hand cups your sex. the heat of his palms makes you squirm. already simulating the sensitive nerves and you poorly try shaking your head in denial. because no no no your body shouldn't be enjoying it!

"ou're a real piece of work, (name)-chan," he starts, voice conversation as he nudges your underwear aside, the flat of his thumb drawing lazy circles against your bare clit. "why pretend you don't like it? it's okay to accept pleasure from ordinary people like me. you're plain and average at best too, you know."

with both his hands occupied, you can freely try pushing him away but it's futile. he's too strong and your head is starting to ache with how hard he's pressing it against the floor. 

his blissful expression peeves you out entirely. he doesn't look regretful in the slightest. "you should really get off of that high horse, cutie. stop pushing me away. silly little girls like you belong like this, underneath a capable and powerful man to protect you."

you pant, the ministrations on your clit too good but you don't let it blind you. 

"fuck yo—"

but oikawa doesn't let you finish. he swoops in for a kiss, a hand holding your jaw firmly in place so you can't bite him. a particular hard nudge on your clit makes you gasp instinctively and his tongue invades your mouth. he's a good kisser. so damn skilled from all the girls he's kissed before you. maybe if circumstances had been different, you'd have butterflies in your stomach. 

"aw," he coos against your lips. "i see. little miss perfect wants me to fuck her? how cute."

you thrash and squirm, a pathetic sneer on your face as he holds you down with ease. all it takes is one firm hold against your shoulder as he nibbles on your neck, kissing and suckling at your skin until they turn purple and red. he placed them in positions he knows you can never cover even with the official aoba johsai uniform. why would you cover them anyway? you should wear his hickeys with confidence! it's the one evidence to show he even bothered himself with you so you should be grateful to him!

"let go of me, you jer—!"

"i don't think i'll suck on your tits today, cutie. no time. let's get to the fucking already then, yeah?" 

you absolutely hate his voice. it's the signature high-pitched and childlike tone partnered with that goofy smile of his. a facade he always wears when dealing with other people. a show he's mastered to an artform. he looks awfully unbothered by how wrong this is and it chills you to the bone. 

"oikawa-san—please—"

"i told you it's tooru!" he whines, pouting. "how many times do i have to tell you?"

panic seizes you when his ankles hook around your legs to force them open. he hears none of your pleas and shoves two long fingers up your pussy. there's a slight stinging feeling as he looks for that one spot that'll make you succumb, make you admit defeat. 

"if you want my dick inside this pussy you better call me by my given name or you won't cum, baby girl~" he says in a sing-song tone.

"who the fuck told you i wanted your—shit."

your toes curl and your back arches when his fingers grazed around a certain area. you didn't have time to feel betrayed by your body's reaction as the man on top of you chuckles condescendingly, angling his fingers so he hits the spot in every single thrust. "you like that, don't you? you like what my fingers are doing."

"no!"

"no?" oikawa repeats, measured. with a flick of his wrist, he has his thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive nerves of your puffy clit again and he watches you writhe, lose yourself to pleasure, moaning and whining so wantonly under him. "but cutie, i don't think that's what your body is telling me."

you cringe in disgust when his hot tongue laps at the falling tears in your eyes before whispering against your ear. breathy, and desperate, and ever so patronizing. you don't hear the zipper of his pants going down, nor did you realize he wasn't even bothering to hold you down anymore. good. that's a good start. baby steps, oikawa thinks. for someone who sat in a make-shift throne worshipped by hormonal teen athletes for so long, serving the one great king will be a huge reset for you. 

when he enters, it's a tight fit. of-fucking-course you're a virgin. always staying true to that little miss perfect reputation, huh? sweet and gorgeous but humble and demure. you probably had the same shitty old school belief of staying pure 'till marriage. it makes him harder, makes his length throb and ache with the desire to taint, to soil, to fuck you until that good girl image is stripped away and all you can think about in every waking moment of your useless life is your tooru's big fat cock. your pure lips only producing the most sinful of words to satiate his deepest desires—"fuck me hard, tooru!" "make me your whore, tooru!" "i want to feel all of you, tooru!" "i want your cock so bad, tooru! please please please!"

your longing cries of defeat, the lewd sound of skin slapping, oikawa's pornographic moans—it's a wicked symphony crafted by prodigies. "go on, cutie. cry for me. cry, and cry, and cry, 'til you don't have anything left inside you but your sorry tears and my cum!"

little miss perfect? no. you're his little cockwhore.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere hq #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa x reader #toxichours #(❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) mine ༉‧ #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x tooru #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw predator #tw corruption #tw dacryphilia #tw misogyny

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

❧ 9. five minutes

❧ Masterlist - Previous - Next

❧ A/N: I had to add the read more button at the top bc otherwise it’d cut my written portion out? gah tumblr u suck

Initially, the athletic trainer did not notice the latest person to enter the rustic coffee shop. He was preoccupied with the dozens of messages animating his usually darkened screen. Despite placing the device on battery-saving mode, the high volume of incoming calls and messages had the bar dropping at an unprecedented rate. It was only when he opted to turn off the phone did he notice a familiar figure, failing to exit the coffee shop unnoticed.

For the first time in hours his mind momentarily forgot the latest fiasco his ex dragged him into. Instinctively he followed you outside. From the slouching of your shoulders and the way your phone was held above your face defensively, it was quite obvious you were aiming to go incognito. But you were also failing. Miserably.

“If you’re trying to hide, you should probably buy a hat.” Amusement had the ends of his mouth twitching into a smile. “At least that’s what the Avengers use whenever they want to hide.”

Pausing dead in your tracks, you straightened your posture, and expelled an unnaturally high-pitched laugh. You were caught.

“I guess I know what I need to purchase next.” As you turned to face him, you almost choked on the air.

Was he smiling… at you?

“I guess you do.” Blocking your visual of his lips, he took a swing of the remainder of his coffee. The liquid no longer contained any heat, stripping it of its only useful quality. And before he could contain his reaction to the bitterness, his nose scrunched up in disgust.

The expression had laughter threatening to leave your lips – how could someone be that cute? The suffocating of the melody prompted Iwaizumi to drag a palm over his face in embarrassment. Casting his gaze aside, he coughed to clear his throat.

“It was cold, alright.”

“Mhm. I got that much.” The teasing edge to your voice only increased his embarrassment, a fact certified by the colouring of his neck. Were you seeing this right? Iwaizumi… was bashful? The abrupt change in behaviour puzzled you, but it also solidified what Matsukawa had alleged. Maybe, just maybe…he was beginning to develop a crush on you. 

All because you denied his request to be heard. The reality of the situation eliminated the faint smile that was once present and reminded you of the “friendly suggestions” provided by his friends.

Play the game, right?

“Well, it was nice talking with you, but I have to go meet up with my clients.” No longer able to maintain eye-contact, you mentally outlined the lid of your coffee cup. “I’ll see you around.”

The shift in your demeanour stirred the dormant guilt that Iwaizumi was trying to remedy – but he knew surface level conversation would not suffice. “I know I hurt you. That’s why you ignored my call, right? Because I fucked up the other day.” Tilting his head, he searched for your gaze. “I’ve been fucking up a lot recently, and I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. But how about five minutes? Just talk to me for five minutes.” Why the hell was he so desperate to see your eyes once more?

That he did not know. But the sense of relief warming his chest was undeniable when you lifted your y/e/c irises to meet his.

“Okay. Five minutes.”

You knew that Matsukawa and Hanamaki would be against your decision but ignoring his request for five minutes would have been cruel. And as you told the funeral home owner, you would make your own choices. If they were wrong or right did not matter, as long as they were yours.

“But I get to choose the topic.” Brushing aside a few stray strands from your face, you motioned for him to accompany you on a walk. “And this lasts only till I get to my car.”

“Yeah, sure.” For a second, genuine surprise molded his features. “What do you want to talk about?” What he really meant was what did you want to know?

“Why were you having a staring competition with your coffee cup earlier?” The reason you selected to walk along the pathway, was because of the distractions that would come into view. Sitting at a booth or table with him would be far too intimidating, you needed an assist and the semi-crowded space was the answer to your prayers.  

The question was answered with a muffled groan as the memory resurfaced. It was the one topic he was avoiding, and you actively brought it up. Fantastic.

“Uh… My ex the one who showed up to Kaede’s perfume launch, she won’t leave me alone. She sent a bunch of stuff to my office and then the paparazzi showed up too. It was a shit-show.” A heavy sigh joined his explanation, and from the quick glance you stole, you could see his answer was sincere. “Then my friends started offering “solutions”, which aren’t really solutions. You would think four adults could come up with something better than murder.”

“That sounds rough. But about your friends, ever think they’re only suggesting that to lighten the mood? Your group from what I gathered seem really…” Adding a pause to collect your thoughts, a gentle laugh was exhaled. “caring but in a chaotic way. And maybe murder could work.” As you raised your shoulders into a shrug, Iwaizumi squinted at you quizzically.

“Come again?”

“I don’t mean literally killing your ex. I mean, removing everything to do with them from your life. Block them, get a restraining order. And if that doesn’t work, you could always change your name and start a new life somewhere else in the world.”

“You really had me in the first half.” Scoffing playfully at your words, he shook his head. “But you’re right…I know they mean well, they always do.” That fact alone was why he was drowning in guilt for treating them terribly for months. Did he even deserve their friendship anymore? Did he deserve happiness? And would he ever deserve someone like you?

As Iwaizumi fell into his endless pit of insecurities, he also fell silent. In an attempt to complete damage control, you stepped ahead of him, forcing him to stop. “You really need to spend less time inside of that head of yours.” Your next move was daring, really. And mildly out of character for you, considering the fact this side of you was reserved for those you were close with. Yet, you still did it. Reaching out you ruffled his hair until the spikey strands appeared much more disarrayed. At first, he blinked at you in confusion, but then he smiled softly.

At that point, you knew you were screwed.

“Okay. Five minutes are up. My car is just up ahead. Thanks for the chat. Bye!” Prior to dropping your hand to your side, you flashed him a thumbs up motion then took a step back. Between the boldness of your move and the rattling of your heart inside your chest, you were seconds from passing out.

The athletic trainer shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, then released a chortle. “Thank you, l/n. I appreciated it.” While your attempt at reassuring him was unexpected, he found ease in it.

A string of uncontrollable laughter continued to bubble from within you as you waved to dismiss his gratitude. 

“Oh, it was nothing. See you around, Iwaizumi.”

Screwed, screwed, and… screwed. Falling even more for him was never the plan. Gosh, you were screwed.

Taglist: @haikyuufairy @newfriendjen @lvoejimin @moonlightaangel @gyozaaaaa @byun-nies @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @amberalisa @graykageyama @yourstarvic @chaichai-the-weeb @chibishae34 @haikyuusimp91 @volleybloop  @rajablast @idiot-juice-enthusiast @melonmayhere @cuddlesslut  @athenarosaline @memes-and-money @coconut-dreamz   @elianetsantana @tsumume @tsukkismamagucci @the-golden-jhope @camcam1617  @elephantloser @dreamstormings @anejuuuuoy @boosyboo9206  @anngelllla @ntimacy @bloody-bella @aquariarose @fantasycantasy @a-little-pebbl @fuschiguro  @poppi144​ @hikarichannn​ @hawkthekinnie  ​@smolaf-filipino  @peterspizzashirt @galagcica

To be removed or added please send me a message or ask ~

#iwaizumi angst #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi smau #haikyuu smau #haikyuu iwaizumi #Iwaizumi Hajime

[bunny-hoodlum]

Asynchronous With You: Ch 5

ship: naruhina

rating: teen (maybe mature later)

tags: Modern Day AU, Foster Siblings, Family, Angst, Unrequited Love, Poor Communication/Noncommunication, Found Family

summary: An awkward journey full of self-denial and missed moments between two foster siblings. Perhaps their love will find the right timing someday.

Neji met them outside the dorm gates. As generous as his dorm-mate Lee was, he couldn't ask him to step out for their sake.

They followed Neji to a nearby linear park that segregated the school grounds from the business park on the other side. It felt like a glass-less greenhouse, with polished granite beneath their feet and a vine-carpeted roof overhead. The benches were slabs of granite, as were the other fixtures, like an orb fountain in the center, with flawless skin of water running over its surface. The full trees muffled the night, with its crickets and distant chugging cars. The gentle, steady trickle contrasted against their footsteps, like two off-tempo drums and hers a mournful castanet.

Now that they were finally here, she was beginning to lose her nerve, she was forgetting what she had to complain about.

All that mattered was that she was healthy, right? All that mattered was that they were actually taking good care of her.

But the last thing she said to her, telling her to go home, saying that at least one of them should be loved by their parents, it began to eat at Hinata.

Could it be that she doesn't have any love to come home to?

Like resonance, her soul trembled and her ribs ached. The heel of her palm pressed against the skin between her wet eyes.

"I've become like them. I messed up."

The bench caught her before she could sink down to the ground.

"What're you talking about?" came Naruto's voice, barely reaching her ears.

"You mean Aunt and Uncle?"

Hinata nodded.

"What??" Naruto smacked his forehead rather hard. "How were you supposed to act?! They knew where you were! Nothing was stopping them from taking you guys back--"

"We don't know that." Hinata argued.

"Bullshit!"

"We don't," Her shoulders lifted, turning rigid. "They could barely take care of the two of us. It would've been the same if they had to take care of two daughters--"

"What about visits? What's so hard about keeping in touch?!"

She stayed silent. It wasn't that she hadn't considered that, it was that it was too upsetting to ruminate on any deeper.

"Ten years, Hinata. They had to have lied to her, right? Raised her believing she was an only child? C'mon, why aren't you angrier about this?!"

She wasn't sure if it was defiance that lifted her chin, but the eyes she chose to meet were Neji's as she implored him join in.

His eyes closed as he released a pensive sigh. "What's she like?"

"Don't change the subject," Naruto snapped. "Hinata needs to vent."

She prodded Neji with her stare. He shook his head.

"Who are you talking about?" Neji punctuated his rhetoric with a sidelong glance, causing Naruto to bristle. "This Hinata?"

"Yeah, this Hinata. Our Hinata. What the fuck, we've shared the same home for ten years! Hinata! You vent! You vented the other month about your-your shirt!" His face reddened as he brought up, perhaps, the worst example he possibly could.

"I was in a weird mood," Hinata said quickly, giving Naruto whiplash.

"A--A 'weird' mood?! What, like you just felt like messing with me kind of 'weird'??"

Hinata lamely shrugged her shoulders before curling in on herself like an armadillo. She could only imagine how exponential his irritation was to increase. She should've answered Neji's question right away instead of trying to convey her complaints to Neji, because now they were getting way off topic. Which was ironic for Naruto, who thought Neji was the one diverting attention away from her pain.

Neji pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what the story is, and I don't think I want to know."

"Good. 'Cuz I don't want to talk about it." Naruto huffed as he crossed his arms.

Silence lapsed around them. Somehow Hinata was rather surprised their arguing managed to fizzle out on its own and so quickly. The past was almost laughable in how different it was from the present.

'That's right. It's always going to be rocky at first, but it takes time to get used to one another.' This was proof that she and Hanabi could grow into sisters no matter how much time had been lost.

"Her name's Hanabi. Her favorite foods are bananas and milk, and she hates the herb mitsuba. She's cheerful, cheeky, and surprisingly athletic. And... I really want to get to know her better." The tears fell swifter and harder on her lap as she re-conjured the heartbroken betrayal she had put on Hanabi's face.

She really hoped it wasn't too late.

Neji joined her side and rubbed her back, while Naruto kept his distance.

Even though he had been given Neji's explicit blessing years before, somehow it didn't feel appropriate for him to console her too.

Looking at them now, it was like those two had never grown apart, not even a centimeter. And they had been communicating with their eyes, he was sure of it. Speaking around him, because he wasn't actually a part of this.

They're what real siblings look like.

________________________

Taking the midnight train back home, Naruto spent the next thirty minutes absorbed in the things that amused him, from sexy two-minute shorts, to prank compilations and this one guy from Kaminari that totally bites at rapping. Absolutely no one, neither he nor his 745k followers know if he's a comedy channel where he's bad on purpose, or if he's just gotten popular for all the wrong reasons, but watching him never fails to inspire a deep gut-laugh from Naruto.

Because he wouldn't be laughing this hard if something was bothering him, especially not a whole host of somethings.

He ignored how arriving at their station didn't feel quite right, how following Hinata didn't feel normal.

He was surprised when she finally started talking to him, yet the weariness her voice instilled was not lost on him.

"Who was the first girl you liked?"

"Hm? Oh, guess that'd be Sakura-chan."

"I see. And how old were you when you knew?"

"Eight, I guess?"

"Eight," The number floated from her mouth in an amazed whisper, "Do you think somebody already likes Hanabi-chan?"

A blond brow perked up. "Is this that protective Onee-san instinct kicking in already?" When she giggled, his heart sank.

"I suppose it is."

And when the silence closed in on him again, he spoke up to keep it going. "Uh, what about you?"

Her steps faltered for a second, then picked up with an exaggerated bounce. "There's someone."

"Still? Like, ongoing?"

"Mmhm."

Naruto blinked rapidly, whiplash striking again. How? How did he not know his sister liked someone? "Since when?"

"Mmmm," She hummed that note a little too long that bordered on mocking him, and he was about to storm on ahead of her, until she said, "Third grade."

"What?!" Ineloquent as that was, he somehow expected her to answer him. He stood there as she traipsed away, waiting until he was finally fed up. "Well, who the fuck is it?!"

"Guess."

He jogged after her. "Kiba?" His mouth soured at the thought.

She crossed her forearms into an 'X', making the buzzer sound in game shows when the contestant got the answer wrong. "Bubuu."

"Shino?" He didn't know what to think about that if it were true. Guess they were both quiet and smart and a little weird. Is that what compatibility looks like?

"Bubuu," she went again.

What other guys was she in contact with?

Shikamaru was a good friend who came over to game sometimes, but he definitely didn't sense anything there. No, no way it could be him. And everyone was pretty sure Sai was asexual.

"Sasuke?" Why not? He was the school heartthrob nine years running. Didn't matter whether Naruto understood the taste of girls or not, they all wanted him. He kinda wishes he noticed sooner now, because he imagining a plain girl like her pining for someone unreachable and he really hates that for her. When she slows to a stop under the streetlamp, he thinks he's finally figured it out, though the truth ended up being really anticlimactic in the end.

She half-turns towards him, her face blank save for the edge of distaste clinging to the corners of her lips and eyes.

"Gross."

He reeled back. "Gross? Whaddya mean gross?" She continued on her way, forcing him to jog after her. "Hey, I can't believe you think he's gross! Are you just being a contrarian?" Her pace picked up faster. "Y'know, like what unpopular girls do when they can't fit in?"And faster. "You really think he's gross?" She was hurrying on ahead and he was trying to catch a glimpse of her face, just a little bit of veracity. "Hinata?!"

They arrived at the steps of their apartment.

"You have until graduation to guess!" She called over her shoulder as she ran ahead, her voice pitching high at the end.

She was upset.

Her footsteps resounded through the corridors like frantic clapping, but he wasn't being congratulated at all.

It was finally apparent to him that he hasn't paid attention to Hinata in a long, long time. That's why Neji was making fun of him.

He took the elevator to their apartment, and when he reached the hole between their bedrooms, he got down on both knees and crouched his spine. They haven't used this in years, he couldn't believe how small they used to be, this hole had to be over three feet from the floor. It was making his back hurt. "Hinata," He bit his tongue with a pause. "What happens if I can't guess by graduation?" Nothing. Just silence. "Hinata? Are you not going to talk to me anymore?"

"Yeah," If a ghost could croak, that's what it sounded like. "If you can't guess by graduation, I'm not going to talk to you anymore."

He palmed the wall as he drew to full height, then stepped away, neither urgency nor insult registering in his chest. He didn't know what was in there. Maybe nothing. He raised his voice a little, just enough so that she could hear.

"I'm going to take this another weird mood of yours, okay? There's no way you really mean that."

Hovering for half a second more, he didn't give her time to respond as he headed for his bed on the opposite side of the room.

Maybe Sakura had the right idea about family. Maybe it's better to just find your own.

________________________

AN: Lel, I totally forgot to add the summary and ratings thing in the last chapter. 😜😅 Hope you liked this one!

#asynchronous with you fanfiction #naruhina #naruhina fanfiction #naruto x hinata #chapter 5 #modern au

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Four

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2960

Warnings: Itsy bitsy amount of angst, bad language words, mentions of phone sex and masturbation

A/N: divider credit- @firefly-graphics

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission

“James?”

You held your breath after you uttered the name into the phone’s speaker. Your heart galloped at the thought of actually speaking to him. You’d be lying if you had said you hadn’t imagined how his voice sounded. You pictured something deep and raspy but drawled and sweet.

In the last five days, you’d imagined many things about James. Not just the sound of his voice, but his laugh, too. Rich and soothing. And of his scent- distinctly his own or a fresh, citrusy cologne of bergamot and tangerines. You imagined his rough, calloused hands sliding over your skin in slow motion.

And how he kissed. You daydreamed about that, too. Often. You couldn’t count how many times you’d stared at his sorry excuse for a selfie. You found yourself drawn to it daily. It was only part of his face, but what you could see was ruggedly handsome. His lips looked soft and delectable. You pictured yourself nibbling on his bottom lip, deepening its color to blush pink.

A sharp sigh escaped through your nose as you waited for his reply. Maybe he hadn’t heard you the first time? “James?” you asked again. “Hello?”

No response.

You pulled the phone away from your ear to make sure you were still connected. The call-time counter ticked ominously second by second on the screen. You tucked the device back under your hair to find the call was still active.

Did he get cold feet and change his mind last minute? He hadn’t hung up yet, so you weren’t exactly sure why he was waiting. Maybe he was tongue-tied? Or hadn’t expected you to pick up?

“Did you butt-dial me, James?” you laughed, trying to dispel some of your anxiety.

You heard a muffled “ shit” and two beeps. You glanced at the phone’s screen again, and call ended flashed in bold white.

Ignoring the hang-up, you immediately re-dialed James. The line rang and rang. And rang.

You weren’t confident you were going to speak with James, the longer the rings continued. He wasn’t ready to talk to you yet, and that was okay. It had only been five days.

Five days wasn’t long enough to build a bond over stupid Would You Rather? questions or form a simmering crush on a stranger that made your stomach flip whenever he sent you a funny cat meme. Nope. Five days was much too short of time for anything.

A generic voicemail greeting clicked over and rudely beeped at you. You took a deep breath and quickly thought of a reason to be calling someone who didn’t want to talk. “Hey, James. Just calling you back. It’s (Y/N), by the way. I’m not sure if you meant to call the first time or if sneaky ninjas have accosted you and somehow did a crazy pocket dial. Y’know, because of the whole military-trained assassin athlete mchottie thing. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. And no pressure! If you’re not comfortable talking on the phone, I completely understand. I’m sweating bullets just talking to your voicemail box.” You chuckled nervously. You were starting to babble.

“Anyway,” you continued. “I hope you’re well. And don’t leave me hangin’. I really wanna know if you’d rather sneeze every hour or burp when you saw a pretty girl.” You laughed again. “Goodbye, James.”

You mashed the end call button and face-planted into one of the throw pillows on your couch. You groaned loudly into the fabric, chastising yourself in your head. If he didn’t want to talk before, he most definitely wouldn’t want to now. You shook your head in disbelief. Sneaky ninjas, seriously? What. The. Fuck?

Hours later, while in the middle of a Say Yes to the Dress marathon (dammit Robyn!) and a self-induced diabetic coma of ice cream and chips, your phone vibrated. You swat at it on the coffee table with a foot, only to realize you lack the limberness or the dexterity in your toes to retrieve the phone. As a result, it tumbled to the ground as you groaned in displeasure. Cursing your luck, you bent forward to pick it up. Awakening the phone’s black screen, a text popped into view.

James Sorry

Your heart lurched for a moment. With every second that had passed since you’d left your voicemail for James, the least likely you’d felt he’d call back or even respond. Hence the pity party with Ben & Jerry and Cool Ranch Doritos.

James My so-called “friends” grabbed my phone from me and led to accidentally calling you.

Ahh, the old “invade-your-friend’s-privacy” maneuver, you thought, shaking your head.

James I didn’t want to hang up on you, but I’m not quite ready to talk yet. I like what we have.

Your heart flopped. You liked what you had, too, but a small part of you- a dumb part- wanted just a little more.

Shaking off the feeling of longing churning your insides, you thumbed over the screen to reply.

You No worries, James. We can go at whatever speed you like.

It was weird to have the guy, for once, want to take things slow. Usually, it was always you pumping the brakes in the relationship. Was this even a relationship, though? Were all the texting and personal questions leading somewhere? Or were you bound to end up friends with an interesting story to tell your other friends?

Not allowing your negative thoughts to curtail the joy of finally texting James again, you quickly punched out:

You I’m just glad you’re okay and not being held for ransom somewhere.

James It would take a whole horde of ninjas to take me down.

You giggled at the confidence contained in this one text, but talking to a girl on the phone threw him for a loop. We are definitely back in junior high, you thought.

You You sound awfully confident for a man who wouldn’t talk to a friend on the phone.

James You don’t want to talk to me.

You pinched your eyebrows together in frustration to form a crease between them. Was he serious?

You Sure, I do. I have a bet going with myself on how your voice sounds. Is it deep and masculine or high-pitched like you sucked in helium?

James Which are you betting on?

You pulled your bottom lip in by your teeth, biting softly. You smirked as you thought of the two options. The former would be nice, but the latter would be pretty damn funny.

You I mean, deep and masculine is very desirable. Listening to the low timbre of a man’s voice is very relaxing for me. But, considering the ridiculous “selfie” you sent me, I’m placing my money on high-pitched.

James What was wrong with my selfie?!

Somehow, you knew that would get him worked up.

You Well, for starters: I can only see, like, part of your face! Did a blind person teach you how to take them??

You And secondly, there clearly wasn’t enough “Blue Steel.” With cheekbones and pouty lips like yours and a chiseled jaw, I’d be blue-steeling the shit out of all my selfies!

A wave of remorse washed over you once you hit send. Had you really compared him to Zoolander? Not only had you objectified him by mentioning how aesthetically pleasing he was (let’s face it- he’s really, really, really ridiculously good looking), but you may have criticized him for his terrible selfie abilities. At that moment, as you waited for the inevitable “fuck off” text to come through, you wished for a giant sinkhole to appear under your apartment and swallow you whole. What were you thinking?

James First off, I’m a selfie amateur. My past line of work limited my contact and/or exposure to the outside world. I didn’t learn what a selfie even was until recently. Remember, I’m also a man of mystery. I’m trying to keep up appearances and can’t reveal too much.

James What is “Blue Steel”? I’m not very pop-culture savvy unless it happened before 1944.

James Did you just call me pretty??

Your cheeks flushed with the heat of a thousand suns. He called you out as you expected him to do.

You Uh...

You Are we gonna talk about the fact you said you didn’t know about pop culture after 1944?? You are a grandpa!

James Nice try with the subject change! Admit it- you think I’m pretty.

You rolled your eyes. Of course, that would be the thing he focused on out of the whole conversation.

You I have no idea what you’re talking about.

If all else fails--deny, deny, deny.

James Right. Sure about that, doll?

Your pulse spiked.

You never did like pet names before you met James, but doll had a goo-ing effect on you for some reason. Everything seemed to turn to mush whenever he mentioned the word.

You Absolutely. I have no reason to believe that if you weren’t a military-trained assassin athlete mchottie, you’d be a male model. None what-so-ever.

James Uh-huh. I’m going to pretend that you aren’t lying through your teeth and getting back to our scintillating game of Would You Rather?

James I’d burp every time I saw a pretty dame, by the way. I wouldn’t want to take my chances with sneezing in my sleep. Would you rather eat only fruits or vegetables for one year?

Several nights after the voicemail incident, you were sitting in Penelope with Robyn after work. She wanted to meet up to decide which centerpieces worked best for the reception. Scattered across the table were three samples she and Kevin had narrowed it down to. With your thumb, while playing with a corner of the hand-drawn example closest to you, a sigh escaped your nose.

Your sister’s talent mesmerized you. Each storyboard showed the intricate detail of the flowers and candles themselves and what the tables would look like next to each other with every centerpiece. You were in awe.

“These are so good, Robbie! They must have taken forever to put together,” you said, admiring a different sample on the table.

“Nah,” she replied, brushing the compliment aside. “Just an afternoon’s time last week.”

“Well, shit. I hope they’re paying you the big bucks at work.”

She quirked an eyebrow devilishly as she reached for her drink. “You know it,” she jested before taking a sip.

You laughed at her cheekiness. Robyn had always been a go-getter. One of the many attributes you loved about her. Never took no for an answer.

“Soooo,” she drawled as she set her glass down. “How have you been?”

You looked up swiftly, eyeing her suspiciously before returning your gaze to the storyboard in your hands. “I’m still alive if that’s what you’re asking.” You set the drawing down to take a drink from your glass. “Haven’t been murdered yet, but the night is still young.”

Robyn rolled her eyes at your petulance. “You know I worry about you. Are you still texting James?”

You smiled sweetly. “Each day that goes by, you act more and more like Mom. You know that?”

Robyn scoffed. “I do not!”

She could deny it all she wanted, but Robyn was turning into the spitting image of your mother. You laughed again. “You do too. Even down to the eye roll.”

She folded her arms over her chest, waiting for you to answer her question.

Two could play this game.

You wiped the corner of your mouth with your napkin unhurriedly. “If you must know, yes, James and I are still texting.”

“Has he sent any dick pics or asked for nudes?” Robyn asked earnestly.

“Yup. We engage in wildly pornographic phone sex every night.”

Robyn glanced around the restaurant with eyes wide as saucers, making sure none of the other patrons heard you. “(Y/N), I’m serious! Has he propositioned you?”

You huffed a small laugh. “Nope,” you admitted. “In fact, he’s the one that wants to take things slow. He accidentally called me the other day and hung up from jitters.” Robyn didn’t need to know the full truth.

“The jitters?” Robyn queried.

“Yeah. I even called him back, but he let it go to voicemail.”

“Then, he must be weird or ugly.”

You grimaced at her assumption. “Ew, Robbie. Don’t be gross,” you chastised. “He’s the opposite of ugly. I might even go as far as to call him handsome.”

“How? You don’t know what he looks like,” Robyn questioned.

You took a quick sip of your drink, holding up a finger. “Au, contraire mon frère. He sent me a selfie in the very beginning.”

Robyn looked at you, perplexed. “You know you just called me your brother, right?”

You waved a hand at her to dismiss her accusation. “Ma soeur just doesn’t have the same ring to it.” You pulled your phone out to offer proof.

“You can barely see his face!” she exclaimed. “What if he’s horribly disfigured on the other side? Or missing an arm?”

You shrugged. “Then, he’s missing an arm.” You got a distant look in your eyes as you recalled the last ten days of texting with James. “He’s different, Robbie. He’s smart and funny and caring. Polite. It feels like he has an old soul. He calls me doll for chrissakes!”

“Are you sure he isn’t some crusty, old man?” Robyn gagged at the thought.

“No, I don’t,” you chuckled in response. The faraway look returned after a moment. “To me, he’s just James.”

Realization dawned on Robyn’s face, lighting her up like a light bulb. “Oh, my god. You like him.”

“Well, yeah,” you acknowledged, “he’s my friend.”

“No. You like him like him.”

Your face reddened quickly with the awareness of your feelings. They weren’t real, were they? Shaking your head, you replied, ”Nothing will happen, Robbie. It’s just a crush.”

Skeptically, she agreed, “Uh-huh.”

“What?”

“I believe that as much as I welcome a cold sore on my wedding day.” She scrunched her nose at the thought of a gross, red blemish on her face for her big day.

“Fine,” you acquiesced. “If I fall head over heels, madly in love with James by your wedding day, I’ll owe you a hundred bucks.”

Robyn raised a sculpted brow in interest. “I’m listening.”

“One hundred dollars. End of negotiation,” you stated. “I don’t have a spare hundred bucks, so it will be a motivator not to fall for James. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”

She smiled smugly, shaking her head in disbelief. “Uh-huh.”

“Will you stop saying that?” you said, throwing a piece of lettuce at her face. “You definitely sound like Mom.”

Robyn huffed in annoyance, back-handing your shoulder softly. “Shuddup! I do not!”

You chortled heartily at the mini tantrum she was throwing about becoming Mom. You’d say anything at this point to get her to forget about you and James.

In all honesty, there was no you and James. Not really. You were friends, but could you move past that?

He was hiding something.

Something big.

And it wasn’t part of the whole “man of mystery” persona, either. James was holding back.

He had a hard time giving up anything personal to you that went beyond his likes and dislikes, which led you to believe he had found it difficult to trust.

It angered you deeply without really knowing why. Something in his past had sparked the inability. You only wish you knew what.

Deep down, you could really see yourself falling for James, and that scared you to death.

Breaking you from your reverie, Robyn piped up, “You know, James is probably jerking off to your voicemail.”

“Oh, absolutely!” you retorted, both of you dissolving into a giggling fit.

After leaving Robyn with a clear choice for centerpieces, you made your way back home. After a fifty-minute subway ride, you popped into the corner bodega for some essentials for the coming week.

Sauntering up the stairs to your third-floor walk-up, you steadied your armful of groceries with each step. It had been a long week, and now with the revelation of how you felt about James clouding your mind, a glass of wine, ice cream, and a bubble bath sounded good right about now.

You could barely see over the bags and juggled them precariously. As you stepped onto your floor, you recognized the voice of your next-door neighbor down the hall. He was talking with someone, but you couldn’t tell with whom or what about.

Blindly, you called out, “Hey, Peter? Can you be a lifesaver and help a neighbor out?” You heard the scuffle of footsteps over tile rush toward you.

Sighing in relief, you relinquished two bags to the arms reaching out. “Thanks, Pete! You’re a pe-”

You stopped mid-sentence when your view was finally cleared. Your sixteen-year-old neighbor wasn’t standing before you but a tall man with chestnut hair tied in a knot. Your lips parted slightly as your eyes widened to take in the figure’s full breadth holding your groceries.

Your eyes flicked to Peter as everything came back to focus. He was adjusting your other two bags in his arms.

“Miss (Y/L/N), this is Mr. Barnes from my Stark internship. He’s a friend. He was helping me with some history homework,” Peter explained, gesturing to the hulking man standing outside your apartment door.

“Peter,” you admonished, “how many times-” Last names weren’t meant to be spoken by friends slash neighbors.

Peter winced. “Right! Sorry, (Y/N)!” he apologized. “This is Bucky.”

Recognition crossed your face at the name. Smiling, you stuck out your hand in front of you. “Bucky Barnes, it’s nice to meet you.”

Bucky shifted one of your bags in his arms to reach out his hand. He smiled softly, “ Li-likewise.”  

Chapter Three | Chapter Five

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[clairdelunelove]

Closer Than We Seem

kyoutani kentarou x f!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff, comfort, romance, mutual pining 

warnings: cursing, implied past physical abuse, mentions of physical/verbal harassment 

synopsis: college!kyoutani demanded to know the source of the obnoxious arguing that kept him awake throughout the night. The thin walls barely filtered out the yelling and he had a 7:00 a.m. class in the morning. Venturing out to immediately put an end to it, kyou stumbles upon a person with a past that changes both their lives- and romance ensues. 

a.n: 5.0k words of some kyoutani content! enjoy!

He was sick of it.

Amber eyes, bloodshot around the edges, shifted to glance at the digital clock seated on the nightstand. The dark plastic is well worn as the illuminated screen is covered in cracks. Undoubtedly, the piece of technology was victim to his annoyed clobbering whenever the alarm went off.

Smothering a plush pillow over his ears, the blonde fervently attempts to block the commotion. His fingers press tightly against the only source of comfort that keeps his sanity at bay. A raised vein etched across his jawline as his teeth grind together and he forces out a grunt. 

2:25

“It’s been two damn hours.” 

Kyoutani’s gravelly voice is barely heard over the yelling in the next room. Disgruntled, he removes the pillow from his face and tosses it beside him with a roll of his eyes. The part-time college student is openly miffed by the lack of peaceful sleep he could be getting. He, quite honestly, didn’t appreciate showing up to morning classes with eye-bags as dark as the eyeliner that he meticulously lined his eyes with. Over the past four months, adequate rest is a miracle for him to discover each day. 

“And they’re still arguing,” Kyoutani rambles on while using the bottom of his hand to hammer the pillow onto the mattress, “who the fuck argues that long?” 

Scrunching his thin eyebrows, he tries to comprehend the mere logic behind quarrelling in the middle of the night, especially on a school night. By all means, Kyoutani isn’t a saint amongst sinners but in a couple hours the blond has a chemistry quiz, a subject he’s gloriously failing, and sleep was needed. 

Another frustrated shout rips through the popcorn textured walls which doesn’t muffle the noise due to the poor insulation covering. The voice is distinctly a male’s and it takes all of Kyoutani’s willpower not to roar back to assert his dominance. Instead, his fingertips rake through his cropped hair while letting out a grumble. 

His eyelids feel like weights are strapped to them, progressively drooping shut, as his vision becomes blurry. A rare silence drifts through his cramped dorm room. The place resembles a battle zone with clothes tossed to the bed, papers scattered over the desk, and empty protein bar wrappers cascaded on the floor. Yet, Kyoutani adored the small freedom he finally had at the university dorms. 

The silence lulls him to close his bloodshot eyes, a deep exhale flares out his pointed nose, and a relief floods through him. He might actually get some rest for once. 

“Get out!” 

At the obnoxious yell from the neighboring room, the blond is far too annoyed to logically comprehend his actions before his bruised knuckles are knocking at the wall. The numbness of rapping at the wall is barely registered over how livid Kyoutani is at the intrusion to his sleep. 

“Shut up!” 

He throws in the bellow for good measure and stops his onslaught of assault on the wall. It seems awkward scolding the wall and his hand slowly drops to his lap. His sharp eyes track the movement of his fingers, dimly noting that he needs to trim the cracked edges. Perhaps his unpolished fingertips are the reason for his missed spikes on the volleyball court lately. 

A solid thump resonates back to him, to which Kyoutani dumbly blinks at. Hairs at the back of his neck stand and he can literally feel the heat leave his ears as his blood boils. The college student’s temper has simmered down since high school but hearing the other person’s unperturbed knock ticked him off. It was almost like they were taunting him. 

“Oh that’s it,” he mumbles and kicks away the blanket that interlaced his figure. 

Stretching across the small room, his legs move on its own accord and he reaches to twist the knob of the door. Using the expanse of his muscular shoulder, he pushes the wooden structure open in hopes of confronting the rowdy student that resided next to his dorm room. 

Permanent frown plastered on his pale lips, the blond urges to dramatize the expression. He crosses his arms after knocking on the neighboring door and the action displays his athletic build as a result of years of sports. The irate appearance was perfected as a scare tactic that he used to his advantage in varying situations. Petrifying the student next door wasn’t excluded out of the list.

“Could you shut your mouth? You’re being too damn loud, man--”

Kyoutani allowed himself to commit a double take before hastily shutting his own mouth, only for it to part as a sharp inhale almost made him sputter. His onslaught of vulgarity, a script he’d previously rehearsed plenty of times, fell lost on his tongue as he eyes the female in front of him. 

You’re unfairly pretty. 

It pains him that the first thought that races within his mind is a compliment when your mascara is smudged at the edges. Your frizzy hair is at a disarray, strands sticking up even when it’s pulled into a ponytail. The hoodie that you’re wearing is far too large as the end hits above your midthigh and his thoughts short circuit when he drags his gaze upward to see that you’re already giving him a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry,” your voice pitches higher at the sudden appearance of the male, “were we being too loud?” 

“N-no? I mean yes,” Kyoutani sputters the first words and finishes his reasoning with a pathetic remark, “chemistry.” 

Your face lights up, visibly amused with his lack of speech at the moment while understandingly nodding, “you have a chemistry test?” 

“Yeah.”

“And you need to get some sleep before it?”

“Yeah.”

His responses are pitiful- even he knew- but there was only so much he could verbally say when focusing on the way your lips curved up when smiling. Plus, perhaps he was delusional with the lack of sleep, but your curiosity seemed to dip to his lean physique.

“I’m so sorry,” your eyes follow the blond’s movement of leaning against the doorframe, “we’ll try to keep it down so you can get some rest.” 

His brain disconnects with the small ounce of logic he carries when your sleeve sweeps across your nose to sniffle and he recognizes the dried tears that stain your face. Kyoutani isn't the best at handling emotions or being touchy-feely but he’s not ignorant.

“You good?” He asks while cautiously taking a step forward.

His defensive instincts, honed by years of avoiding other people, raise at the wary glint in your eyes. The blond’s inquisition is answered with a meek nod of your head and your nose scrunches to halt your sobs. Upon closer inspection, the sleeves on your hoodie is drenched in what he infers are tears.

Your feet remain rooted to the ground, neither welcoming him or pushing his intrusiveness away. He’s aware of the slight shake of your body and his golden eyes widen at how unnerved you were behaving. 

“My bad,” Kyoutani falters as his own doubts consume him, “I didn’t mean to make you cry-” 

“Who’s at the door, (Y/n)?”

The new voice, startling you with the sudden shout, comes from within the room. Distinctly, it’s the same tone that was hollering while Kyoutani was trying to sleep. The blond’s keen on how you were shifting your weight to each foot and the fidgeting only increased when footsteps resounded on the creaking floorboards. 

“Oh,” you squeak as your evasive gaze connects with his, “my dorm room neighbor.” 

Pulling your hands away from your face, a naive expression is plastered on when a male comes up behind you. The stranger is shorter and less lean than Kyoutani is. Yet, when the male captures your stare, you’re reeling back by fiddling with your fingers behind your back. 

The unpleasant male, brunet but his darker roots were peeking out, regards Kyoutani with a sniff, “can we help you?” 

Something about the male irked the blond and a frown tugs at his lips. He predicted that the guy was your boyfriend or had some type of connection with you. Being in university led to freedoms such as relationships. Although Kyoutani was a stranger to such involvement, he knew the attachment or void others were attempting to fill during these years.

“Yeah, you can,” the blond responds with a miffed scowl, “noise complaint.” 

There’s an uncomfortable silence when the brunet eyes Kyoutani with an agitated glower. It’s painstakingly silent. He’s surely showcasing his superiority within the uneasy situation. Though, the volleyball player is grateful for his decision of wearing a tattered, sleeveless shirt because the other male loosened into an apprehensive gaze. 

“She wasn’t listening to me, so,” the other male jut a thumb towards you and shrugs his shoulders, “sorry, dude.”

Raising a sharp brow, Kyoutani’s expression is dubious when noting how the blame is placed on you when the other male was clearly the only one hollering beforehand. It clicks that the uneasy flickering within your eyes is due to the other male and disgust engulfs him. 

His fist clenches, displeasure rolling off of him in waves before speaking up, “I’m pretty sure I just heard your loudass screeching. Just keep it down.” 

The brunet clams up at the jest, forehead wrinkling just enough to cause worry that lines would permanently stay there. Kyoutani watches the way the other male’s jaw tightens before he’s storming off. The blond regards the other’s lack of positivity with a roll of his eyes and mutters an insult under his breath. 

A whisper, faint but lingering in the silent air, leaves your lips, “thanks.” 

“Nah,” his amber eyes flicker to yours, “don’t need to thank me. ‘Ts about time someone put him in his place.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

“I could,” Kyoutani pauses to toe at the floorboards and the cheap tile chips at the touch, “if you’d let me.” 

The words tumble out of his mouth before it can be filtered and the result has him reeling back. His cheeks are warm, probably matching with his reddened ears. The invitation is annoyingly corny and the staleness makes him want to hurl. 

“Sounds like a deal.” 

Your response has his attention locked onto you again and he’s internally thankful that he’s not the only one embarrassed by his impromptu. Thumbing at the sleeves of your sweater, a lopsided grin etches across your face and the blond freezes up. His mind is functioning as quickly as a bullet train but his expression only stares back at you with a stupidly blank look. 

Your giggle snaps him out of his stupor before putting him into a daze over how charming the noise sounds. An entertained peek casts over him as you tuck your hair away from your face.

“I guess I’ll see you around-”

“Kentarou,” he discloses with a respectful yet hurried bow of his head, “Kyoutani Kentarou.” 

“(Y/n)(L/n). Call me (Y/n),” you mention before begrudgingly edging the door closed, “and good luck on your chemistry test, Kentarou.”

The next day, it irritates him that he can only conjure up an image of your smile when he should be solving for Planck’s constant.

-

“Whatcha doing there?” 

Keys dangling in his grasp, he halts at the front of his dorm room door. It’s unwelcomely cold today and the brisk wind has his fingers alike to popsicles. The blond’s tried to fight off the chill with his customary varsity jacket and black beanie. Ideally he didn’t toss on the hat because he couldn’t bother with styling his hair- of course not. 

You’re situated on the floor with your knees pulled up to your chest while balancing a notebook atop of your makeshift desk. The lined paper has quick notes jotted down, highlighted words, and doodled diagrams that Kyoutani is able to discreetly peer at. A twinge of satisfaction tugs at him when your study habits are exactly what he’d picture they would be. 

“Studying,” your eyes never leave your paper as you respond to him. 

Uncapping a pastel highlighter, you exaggerate the action by underlining a phrase written in your notebook and raising a brow at him. The incredulous look on your face only comes off as sarcastic as Kyoutani rolls his dark eyes at your mockery. A grin curls on your lips while raising your shoe to nudge the side of his boot. He’s recognized each one of quirks, including your friendly banter.

“No shit Sherlock,” the blond pulls his hand away from the door and tucks the keys into his pocket, “coulda sworn you were sleeping.”

Crouching on par with you, he extends a finger to poke at your cheek and indicates the dark bags underneath your eyes. It’s lighthearted payback for the attitude he received just a second ago yet there’s a concerned glint in his stare. The darkness that surrounds your eyes is apparent even with the dab of concealer you managed to slap on in the morning and an embarrassed hand covers half of your face. 

“Kyou!” 

The threat isn’t laced with malice but the jab at his shoulder sure proves that humiliation is a strong consequence of emotion. He lets out a groan while gingerly rubbing the ache that emits from the bundle of muscle you punched. 

Childishly sticking out your tongue at his dramatics, you declare, “that’s what you get.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

He pauses and then recognizes that the position you’re in is one that seemed too familiar. Your gaze flutters back to the flimsy notebook, aware of how perceptive Kyoutani was when it involved the wellbeing of yours. 

Inviting the blond to warm up to you was certainly a gradual process but you did not regret it. Shy smiles transformed into late night talks over the phone. The two of you had a special yet uncharted compassion for each other that had bloomed over the last two months. 

“What,” the words taste like venom in his mouth and he desperately wants to spit it out, “he locked you out again?” 

You feign interest in your notes, physiology facts are sprawled onto the margins, while avoiding Kyoutani’s heated gaze. His hand balls into a fist, dull fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. He knows that you won’t answer the seemingly obvious question even when you’re slumped on the floor in a feeble heap and it tugs at his heart.

Unfortunately, when Kyoutani faces displeasure he’s only adept to outwardly show his emotions. Ever since he was born, it was a rule to allow oneself to be impassioned about hobbies, beliefs, and avocations. The blond applied the rule to showcasing his appreciation to the people he deemed as special, as per usual. Except, he didn’t have the best grasp on handling his intense emotions. 

“He’s always treating you like shit,” the next part comes out like a scoff that rages within him, “and you’re always falling for it.” 

The weight of the words felt like a blow to your face, leaving a stinging sensation that resonated within you. The confrontation shook you to the core. Not once has the male ever blamed you for your boyfriend’s inconsideration. 

Kyoutani’s chapped lips form around the syllables of the offense and he automatically knows that he just messed up. Curses sling together within his mind as he pitifully watches your reaction. A silent wince morphs upon your delicate face. You’re recoiling away from him, shrinking yourself into the crevice of the wall. His fingertips reach for you, the action is subconscious, and the next words spill out of his mouth like an off brand remedy. 

“Listen, (Y/n), I didn’t mean it like that-” 

“No,” you speak up with newfound acrimony, “that’s exactly what you meant.” 

Lifting your head up, your narrowed eyes connect with Kyoutani’s wide ones. A part of you desperately wishes to become agitated with the blond. Envy grips a hold of you at the thought that he’s able to live his life freely without the burden of an overbearing significant other. By all means, he had all the attributes to attest your relationship- or lack thereof. 

Your furrowed expression mellows.

Yet, his comment awakens a self reflection that you’ve casted away to maintain some dignity. Your boyfriend’s attitude toward you equated to virtually nothing. Countless nights of arguing, getting locked out, and being pushed aside were bouts of normalcy to you. It was your responsibility to get the respect that you deserved. Cutting out toxicity, even if the future frightened you, was an initial step. 

The golden hue outlining Kyoutani’s eyes, intense in many cases, recast into a softened stare. He’s mindful of the gears shifting in your head and the tremble of your bottom lip settles it. Unknowingly, you just received a life changing message with his chiding. The doors of independence and freedom swing open. An exhale passes through your lips. 

Crouching closer to you, the blond compels your attention with a tilt of his head, “sorry.” 

The apology is gruff, likely the result of his avoidance toward wrongdoings, but the intent is clearly there. Chewing on his bottom lip, he gestures toward your fragile stance with a shifty gaze. Your cowering behavior scared him immensely. It wasn’t often someone else was willing to interact with his loner self. He can’t mess this up even when his pride is screaming at him to bicker.

“It’s not your fault,” you shake your head in reassurance, “I know that it’s mine.” 

Unintentionally, your demeanor frees open with his genuine apology and you can’t help but be soothed at the gentle prod in his scrutiny. He appreciates that you’re able to acknowledge his opposition because the male wasn’t planning on taking his comment back. The truth may hurt but it’ll ultimately improve your mentality in the long run. 

Perching on the heels of his feet, he repositions himself to improve comfort. His arms are draped over his knees and the jacket bunches at the ends due to his movement. The blond is close, alarmingly near your face, and an aromatic whiff of dry cedar invades your senses. 

“You’re just,” his confession smoothly slips out, “too good for him.”

The side of his face rests against his forearm while he awaits your response. He’s content when your eyes light up, gleaming in reverence, at his blunt compliment. Lips tugging upward, your lopsided grin is all he has to witness as he hops to his feet. His palm pats at the faded denim of his jeans before offering his free hand to you. 

“C’mon,” he easily pulls you to your feet in a quick motion, “you can hangout in my dorm room, I guess.” 

“What do you mean, ‘you guess’?” 

Kyoutani catches your teasing eye roll while organizing your school materials that are cluttered on the floor. He’s nimble, stacking your books into a pile and swinging your backpack over his wiry shoulder. 

“I mean, let’s go.” 

With the grace of a dancer, the blond balances the items while fetching his keys and unlocking the door. He nudges it open and steps aside to let you enter first. Certainly the male must’ve picked up the chivalrous acts in a sappy movie or television show because your heart thumps against your chest. It’s absurd in reality. A person helping another is ordinariness yet you feel like you’re flying when he looks at you expectantly.

“Thank you,” the gratitude is a whisper as you tug your sweater tighter to your body and eagerly slide past him.

“Don’t mention it.” 

The room is comfortably warm, easing away the shivers that racked throughout you while seated in the middle of the dorm hallway. Its surprisingly tidy, which also comes across as a shock to Kyoutani because the scrunch of his nose indicates that he’s accustomed to a messy room. However, upon closer inspection, you note that the blond is the one readily cleaning because he scoots aside a stray snack bag with his elbow. An embarrassed pout conforms to his face when he hears your amused giggle.

Gently placing your stuff on the desk, he notices your awkward stance in the middle of the room and gestures to either his bed or desk chair. You respectfully, minus the internal debate you had, settle on the chair and only then does Kyoutani move over to lounge on his bed. It’s eerily silent despite how comfortable you both are with each other. 

Indefinitely, he flops onto the mattress, much like a child would, and folds his hands behind his head to stare up at the popcorn ceiling. A couple months beforehand he would’ve despised being locked up in his dorm room without having anything to do. Now, however, his nerves were bouncing off the walls.

Peering over to your rigid position, he takes your fiddling fingers and shy demeanor with scrutiny. Not once in his life did he think he’d actually invite a person into his sacred place. Yet, when his gaze locks with yours and you return a coy smile- he’s praying that this won’t be the last time.

“So, I only let you in because I don’t get this chemistry problem-”

“Kyou!”

-

Treading backward, a sense of urgency rushes through you as you narrowly avoid the aggressive hands. It’s bewildering that he’s willing to physically confront you in public. The dorm hallway was bound to have university students frequent the place and prying eyes were not on your current wishlist. 

“What are you doing? I told you that we’re over!” 

The incredulous question goes over his head as he refuses to outrightly answer or perhaps he just didn’t wish to. Before this incident, you attempted to just force in a power nap before your next class that was situated across campus. Your ex boyfriend, however, had other plans as he lingered by your dorm room while you were unaware of the unwanted surprise. 

The unruly male is clearly tipsy and his wandering hands are not in your favor as he lunges for you once more. Thankfully, you sidestep away while your shoulder bumps against the wooden frame of a door. Your blood turns to ice.

“Come here and give me a kiss, babe,” your ex boyfriend garbles. 

The stench of alcohol overwhelms your sobriety and a part of you yearns for the familiar scent of dry cedar musk. You longed for the latter of the aromas to engulf you in a reassuring embrace but grabby hands motioned for you again. A slight tug at your cardigan fuels the hatred that ignites within you. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, inwardly loathing how you managed to date such a pathetic excuse of a person. 

Your hands defensively jab at your ex boyfriend’s chest, “get away from me!” 

“Bitch!”

The sudden force propels him backward, giving you an inch of breathing room, before he’s barreling towards you again. His furrowed brows and snarl illustrate that you’ve unlocked danger. Sweat trickled down your temples, gathering at your hairline and your tongue sweeps across your chapped lips. The thrashing of your heart is the only sensation you’re aware of at the moment. Eyes fixated on his response, you don’t dare to blink. Your ex boyfriend raises a hand, a sign you’ve been introduced to before, and you instinctively flinch at the action.

A lean figure abruptly steps in front of you to provide protection from the physical onslaught. Dry cedar breaches your uneven inhales but you’re holding onto that scent like it was a lifeline. He was your salvation. 

Landing a hit on Kyoutani’s sturdy chest, your ex boyfriend promptly pulls away with a confused glance, “get outta the way, man-” 

“Didn’t you hear her,” the blond barks out and shoves him, “get the fuck away.” 

Waves of animosity radiate off of Kyoutani, a scene that you’ve never witnessed in your encounters with him. He’s absolutely livid. His teeth gnash together while his hands are clenched at his sides. The veins on his brow protrude as a result of his creased forehead. Kyoutani’s damp in perspiration from his hurried movement, a deduction you’ve assumed. 

The male is clad in exercise attire, probably coming back from a run, and his dri fit shirt conforms to his physique. His pullover and snug joggers were clear indicators that Kyoutani was in excellent physical shape, causing a wary stare from your ex boyfriend. 

If the muscles rippling off of Kyoutani’s body isn’t a fright factor then his black, rimmed eyes are intimidatingly adequate. Yet, your ex boyfriend has intelligence compared to a newborn so he still lurches forward to attack Kyoutani. The blond dodges, grasps your ex boyfriend’s wrist, and twists it behind the other’s back. His defensive response is swift- almost alarmingly so that you wonder if Kyoutani ever brawled before. 

“Seriously, cut the shit,” the blond warns, “leave (Y/n) alone.”

When your ex boyfriend utters a curse embedded within your name, the blond pulls the seized wrist tighter and a sickening crack echoes. Your hand flies up to your lips. Yowling in pain, your ex boyfriend’s mouth instinctively shuts to avoid further punishment. 

“‘Ts alright,” Kyoutani rolls his eyes at the other’s dramatic behavior, “I didn’t break it. Yet.” 

Your ex boyfriend’s eyes widen, irises dilated at the gruesome image conjured up in his mind, and pitifully begs, “I-I’ll leave you alone! Please. I’ll do anything! Jesus Christ, (Y/n), who is this guy?” 

Turning his cheek, your ex-boyfriend gets a glimpse of Kyoutani’s face and the recognition dawns on him. He’s seen the aggressive blond before. Months ago, when your ex boyfriend was hollering at your lack of intimacy and the other’s lined eyes glared at him to surrender. One side of the blond’s lips raise, a snarky smirk directed towards the other male. Triumphant reigns within Kyoutani. 

“Her new boyfriend.” 

Raising a freshly cut eyebrow, Kyoutani incites a victorious expression as your ex boyfriend’s eyes are downcast at the message. The blond sneers. A sense of satisfaction, you suppose that’s the rare emotion, floods within you at your offender’s misfortune. You toss Kyoutani a grateful smile and he’s left faltering. He blinks- once, twice, three times- before regaining his intimidating demeanor.

“Get the fuck outta here,” Kyoutani shoves the other male forward when acknowledging the lack of resistance, “or I swear I’ll invert your ribcage.” 

Your ex boyfriend doesn’t need to be reminded, sprinting off with his tail tucked between his legs and stumbling on his uncoordinated strides. You and Kyoutani regard the pathetic male with a deplorable frown. Then, the blond is tugging you close while burying his face into the crook of your neck. You don’t mind the sweat that gathers onto him and instead delve into comfort. A giggle resounds to reach him and he lets in a shaky inhale. He was indebted to the pure luck of running back to you. The thought of you getting injured or reliving the trauma you’ve initially faced was heartbreaking. 

“Kyou,” your nickname to him was like a secret prayer you voiced, “I love you.”

He’s steadfast, a physique of strength and warmth, giving you a perfect invitation to cling onto. Respect, loyalty, and adoration were qualities that you didn’t have to force out of him. Violence, in any form, were taboos that he never crossed. The blond is undoubtedly the beginning of your journey towards self-love. 

“I love you too.” 

The genuine moment lingers on when your teasing nature resumes upon hearing Kyoutani’s forthright confession. Your hand comes up to trace his jawline, collecting perspiration that hasn’t dried up quite yet. He’s still cradling you, fingers protectively pressed against your waist. The sentiment is seldom, yet welcomed, and Kyoutani’s drawing you closer. He’s earnest. Scrunching up your nose, you jokingly flick at his forehead and he’s grumbling at your childishness. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d gone out running,” you motion toward his frazzled state. 

“Phone died.” 

He fishes out his phone from his back pocket. Sure enough, your reflection is illuminated on the dark screen and you nod in acknowledgement. Your head dips to lay on the junction of Kyoutani’s chest. Allowing yourself to get swept up in his embrace is habitual, the addiction smothering an unmistakable itch inside you. 

He’s silent before remarking, “I got us takeout though.” 

Golden eyes don’t miss your gleaming ones and you’re beaming at the mention of food. Raising your head, the narrow stare he’s given causes him to motion to the forgotten bag that’s placed on the floor. Boxed cuisine was cast aside when Kyoutani saw the trouble you were caught up in. 

“What’d you get?” 

“Pizza,” he pauses, “and mozzarella sticks since you liked that stuff.” 

“You’re the best.”

Lifting on your tiptoes, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek and you emit a carefree giggle. His ears burn crimson yet the presumptuous grin on his face brings butterflies in your stomach. Fingers pressing into the sides of your cheeks, he responds with a chaste, insistent kiss on your lips and hums in covert satisfaction. 

It’s dizzying. Your mind is flooded with images of Kyoutani- his appeal in usual clothing, each line of muscle on his physique, and the carnal desire that swirls in his gaze when he pulls away. Your knees are putty as you’re rooted to your spot. The observant fixation is all you need to recognize when he’s aware of his effect on you and he raises a smug brow. 

“Your room or mine?” 

His question is in the form of a drawl, mostly uttered to raise impatience, but it only adds to the adoration you have for him. Your rooms are, quite literally, twenty feet apart. 

Taking a step forward, the blond grasps the large takeout bag while slipping your hand into his free one. His thumb drags across your skin and you’re shivering at his tenderness. Kyoutani proudly rakes his gaze over you, openly compliant and completely in love, before slowly chuckling. 

“Not that it matters, I guess.”

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