#must... draw... something... before end of month...

[beir]

Your non-binary Tony warms my heart <3

Thank you! It’s nice to imagine Tony feeling good, hanging out with their friends. Pepper and Tony are probably discussing their lunch plans. Sometimes you just want a feel-good AU where people are free to be themselves, right??

[soulrium]

Fight or Flight

Neteyam x female Metkayina Na'vi reader

word count: 1.4k

Context: it has been months since the Sully Family has joined the Metkayina clan after seeking refuge from the RDA. Neteyam has been courting you and you finally accept his offer.

warnings: mostly fluff, becomes suggestive at the end!

notes: this is my first post! please be kind and just enjoy! any tips or correction in grammar structure/lore is very welcomed :D

word translations:

tewng - loincloth

zukzuk - otter

sevin - pretty

mawey - calm/be calm

tsahik - spirtual leader aka Ronal

Olo'eyktan - clan leader

It has been a week since Neteyam proposed his courtship to you. A week since he has placed the gorgeous shell necklace intertwined with pearl beads in front of you. Of course, you accepted the necklace. A woman of any clan would be crazy not to. This was Toruk Makto’s eldest son we were talking about! The next Olo’eyktan of the Omaticaya clan!

You have been avoiding him like you have caught some kind of illness. He leaves trinkets at the front of your murai, but you appear to never be there when he delivers them. You avert your eyes whenever he looks your way, or even being ‘busy’ in the healer's pod when words get around that he has been looking for you. Truly, you don’t understand why you avoid him. The moment you catch a glimpse of his face, your fight or flight instincts kick in, and every single damn time–

You. Flight.

“Hey, are you even listening to us?” Tsireya laughs while tugging at your braid. A hiss leaves your mouth as your tail flicks, “That was unnecessary.” You frown. Kiri joins in on the laughter while twisting the other side of your braid, “Keep daydreaming, and we might just yank out your hair!”

They’ve been braiding your hair for what has felt like an eternity, and you only groan when you remember why they’re doing your hair in the first place. “Come on- what are the chances he even shows up? Can’t we just-“

Kiri snickers, “No, Y/n! We have worked too hard on your braids just for nothing to come out of it! Neteyam will show up— that skxawng is a sucker for you. Trust me, he is like a sulking baby when he realizes you avoid him.” You take personal offense and turn your head to Kiri, “It’s not on purpose! At least.. I don’t think so? I just get nervous, that’s all..” A pout appears on your face, and Tsireya plasters a smile on hers. “Mawey, Y/n. Your braids will come undone if you keep moving.”

You give her an apologetic look and turn your head back, facing the ocean. “He’s just... too calm! I never know what’s going on in his mind- I wish he were a little more like Lo’ak, he is like an eager ZukZuk by the way his tail wags whenever he sees you.” You huff, resting your chin on your hand. Tsireya blushes once you mention Lo’ak. “Ah, he is one of a kind,” smiling fondly over her lover boy. “However, you should be glad. Neteyam is a strong warrior. Strong warriors must keep masks, my father tells me this.”

“Ugh, gross! Let’s stop talking about my brothers. It makes me sick knowing people can talk about those skxawngs so sweetly!” She pretends to gag, “But I’m glad if those two ever have mates, it would be you two.” She has both of you furiously blushing from her words. You? Being.. Neteyam’s mate? M. A. T. E? Now that’s something you haven’t gotten too far to think about.  

You’re finally all dolled up with a matching shell top and a tewng that went well with Neteyam’s necklace. A few days ago, you asked Neteyam if he would meet you by the shoreside by the murai’s during sundown, and he agreed. He almost seemed eager in your opinion by the way his tail lurches.

Water brushes against your feet as you stand close to the ocean, admiring the glow of bioluminescence when waves crash. Your feet draw shapes into the wet sand before you feel a hand quickly wrapping around your waist. You almost let out a yelp until you hear them speak.

“Mawey. It is me, sevin.” he murmurs. You quickly turn around. “Neteyam.” Suddenly, you remember how handsome he is. You avoided him for a week, and you had already forgotten what a masterpiece he was. “Y/n,” he says back, thumbs smoothing over your hips.

Your lips are pressed thin, and you don’t dare to look up. Silence engulfs you two as he waits for you to speak, but you never do. A hand sneaks down to twiddle with the string of your tweng to stop the nerves in your system from rising higher, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. You're extremely nervous, and being this close to him doesn’t help– at all. Finally, you open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.

“I missed your scent sevin,” he says slowly, one hand now moving to your face. “You wound me- depriving me of your attention.” He hums, tilting your chin up so you look at him properly. Embarrassment floods your system. You whine quietly, and it only amuses him further. “I.. didn’t mean to.. I was just..”

“Nervous?” He finishes your sentence before you can. You nod, and he chuckles, “Oh, sevin. You are just the cutest. There is nothing for you to be nervous about.” A warmth blossoms in your chest until you realize he’s teasing you..! “Sxkawng!” you deflect, pinching his belly, and he stands straight, tail thrashing from the sudden pain.

Laughter bursts in his chest when he reaches for the place you pinched, soothing the small pain away. “I think sxkawngs are Na’vi who pinch other Na’vi before an intimate moment.” His hand snakes around your waist again, but this time he pulls you in and leans closer.

Eywa was torturing you. Truly, she was.

Blood pumps through your heart faster now, beating faster and faster. Surely, Neteyam is able to see your embarrassment. He is the one who likes seeing your reaction all the time, so there isn’t a single doubt that he is soaking up your reaction this time.

Neteyam moves the stray hairs away from your face and presses his forehead against yours. Your body tenses. This was way too intimate for your liking! Your eyes dart around for any chance of escape, and– There!

In the distance, Tsahìk is carrying herbs back to the healer's pod. Her belly is round, full of life, and glowing. Your hands become clammy as you try to gently back away. “Tsahìk is over there, I should really help her! You cannot let a pregnant lady move around so much–”

Ah. Realization sets into his body. You are trying to flee. That won’t do.

“You stay here.” He tuts, hands tightening around your waist, staring you directly into your eyes.

You gulp.

“You are mine tonight, sevin. I have not been courting you for nothing,” he murmurs, grabbing your hand and slowly trailing it down his chest. “I’m sure the Tsahìk has plenty of Na’vi to assist her side. Right now, I want you here. With me.” His lips ghost the corners of your lips, but not close enough to kiss. Your pupils expand as you squirm, and finally, you realize how real this situation was. “You wear my necklace. Are you trying to show others you are mine?” He smirks. God, he was infuriating! You wanted to just–

“Shut it, forest boy,” you huff. Your cheeks were burning! This is so embarrassing... You bite your lip, completely forgetting Neteyam was in front of you until you hear him hiss. His hands squeeze your waist, “Careful, Sevin. You seem eager.” He breathes heavily. You? Eager? What in the world was he–

Oh.

You look down to see that your hands have unconsciously moved lower righttt above his tewng while you were lost in thought. “Oh my! I’m so sorry..!” You pull your hand away, only for his hand to wrap around your wrist. “You are allowed to touch, I do not mind,” he practically purrs, moving your hand back to his ribcage.

“No more running, sevin.” His breath tickles your neck, pressing his nose against it, scenting you like you were his property. His lips trail up and kiss the column of your throat and make their way to your lips. It’s sweet, sensual, and dangerously addictive. You stand on the balls of your feet to indulge in more. Neteyam laughs and pulls away, glinting his fangs. “Greedy thing..”

You roll your eyes and press into the kiss once more. Your hands move to his hair, gripping tightly as his hands make their way, exploring your sides. After a while of messy kissing, you break away for air and Neteyam pants. “Gonna take everything I’ve been ready to give you, pretty girl?” And you nod, eagerly.

Everything that you’ve been running from is in front of you. There’s no more need for hiding and running anymore when he wants you this bad. Who are you to deny him anything?

[kajismp3]

while you were sleeping | frat!gojo x reader | pt.1 | this is night vs day pt.2!

tw: angst, insecurities, low self esteem, hurt/comfort, happy ending, gojo yearning.

" i can't quite believe you think i'm beautiful. must be a trick , a , "tag your it", kind of foolery. then you take my hand, kiss me on the cheek. a promise you'll stay and i start to believe."

───────────────────────────────

It's been two months, two months of quiet nights and gloomy mornings.

Everyone could tell something was off. Satoru wouldn't even step downstairs to join a party. His room slowly filled with muffin wrappers and red bulls from the late night work sessions when his work piles up.

He was just there, existing.

Empty and hollow, ready to collapse in your arms at any moment if you'd let him.

Toji masked his concern by calling him a simp. Geto and Nanami took action making sure he got an hour of sunlight and a proper meal he could stomach without vomiting.

The first week he could only eat the cafeterias blueberry muffins because they were your favorite.

He started his days and ended his nights toying with the scrunchie he never returned. His color palette no longer contrasted yours it was now almost a replica. Graphic tees turned plain like yours. College sweatshirts fit like yours, too big. Geto had to stop him before Gojo bought the rest of the extra-extra larges.

Satoru now sat in the back of class, it's been a rare day to see him with an un-teared stained face. Even the professor noticed, asking him if everything was getting better when his face didn't have tear remains.

Which always resulted in Gojo sniffing in the back of the classroom for the rest of class.

Honestly you weren't doing any better. It took you fifteen extra minutes to get to class now to avoid being in Gojo's line of sight. Behind your glasses were puffy eyes, honestly you could just throw those things away.

You barleybothered to look up from the ground. Ground, notebook, ground, notebook, coffee. Your range of vision routine that you've picked up and perfected over the two months.

You were the one who broke up with him, was it even right to be sitting in the library with his hoodie on? You haven't even washed it not wanting to lose the smell, his smell.

The pen in your hand blue, you never wrote in blue because it look atrocious behind most highlighter colors. It was a pen, nothing more nothing less. That's what you told yourself, not acknowledging the fact when you felt anxious you'd sketch portions of his face with that pen. A reminder that he's there or that he used to be there.

Since the break up you've only seen Gojo once. You saw him and luckily he never saw you.

Sat at one of the group tables in the courtyard. His frat brothers having a good time, girls crowded around them like they were gods. His normal before he was with you. You watched a one leaned in too close, hand on his shoulder drawing circles with her thumb.

He didn't pull away, right. He didn't have to, he no longer belonged to you.

You watched from afar, a few tears slipping down your cheeks with a weak smile. As long as he's happy right?

───────────────────────────────Today Nanami held a can of red bulls while Geto dragged Gojo into the library. "Sit. And act like you go to college for once."

The puppy eyed boy groaned leaning pushing his down in his arms. "Can't I just do this another day-" "No."

Nanami sat the pack of red bull down, "You're not leaving until at least five assignments-"

The library doors opened, Gojo didn't look up too busy moping. Geto watched you walk through the doors. His eyes widened discreetly nudging Nanami to look in your direction.

Damn, you almost looked as bad as Gojo.

Thank god you didn't notice them, they were in the back. Behind the old literature bookcases.

Geto awkwardly chuckled "Y'know what on a second thought... Let's leave!"

Gojo pushed his head up looking more determined than before, "No no, you're right. Five assignments then we'll leave thats the deal."

They looked at each other and sighed, hopefully they can keep you two separated.

Gojo is sad not stupid, it's been about 5 hours, two essays, 10 discussion post, and 1 lab and Geto and Nanami acting like they have a stick up their ass. Like shoved deeply up there.

They wouldn't let him leave, when his pencil broke Nanami handed a new one before he could blink. Geto got every single snack from the vending machine brushing it off because, "Think smarter not harder." Right?

It was smothering and strange. Gojo pushed his chair back standing up and stretching watching those two stiffen at the sudden movement. "I'm going to the bathroom."

"Let me-" He cut Geto off, "Alone."

Only walking past a couple of tables, he paused.

Your face smushed against your textbook and a highlighter slipping through your hands. Breathing softly, you were sleeping.

Without thinking he inched forward. Closer, and closer.

You still had on his hoodie, the one he gave you when the wind started blowing too hard. His eyes scanned your face, like he couldn't believe you were there.

But there was a hint of something softer, gentle even. He just wanted to know if you were okay. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the slight twitch of your fingers from too much caffeine. The messy coils on your head, noticing you missed your wash day.

His hands were wobbly, producing more sweat as they reached closer.

Satoru's touch was delicate like he was holding a rare metal. Because he was you were rare, one of a kind. His fingers trembled as he traced your face. The curve of your nose, his forth favorite spot to kiss you. You'd scrunch your nose on impact because it was always unpredictable, a random display of love.

He brushed a few frizzy spirals away from your forehead. Pressing his thumb down lightly. His third favorite spot to kiss you, your forehead. To him it was a silent vow of sweet nothings.

Saying, "I'll protect you" "I can take the weight off your shoulders"

"Let me be good to you" "I love you."

How he'd rest his against yours afterward, like he was telepathically sharing the weight of unspoken words with you. Hoping that you felt it to.

Dragging his fingers down tracing the outline of your lips. The second place on the list of kiss spots, or what they say the first loser.

He remembers your first kiss like it was yesterday. It wasn't the way he imagined it, not controlled or planned. Gojo couldn't sleep so he appeared in the library, once again taking the coffee and replacing it with his hand.

You were skeptical, but not enough to go back to your dorm. He took you to the beach, it was around midnight so it was empty and silent. The two of you talked and talked, bouncing through a million different topics.

Once you ran out the quiet took over again, it wasn't awkward it was peaceful, comfortable silence.

An inaudible staring contest, you looked into his blue eyes like you wanted to drown in them, and he looked into yours like he could see a glimpse of your soul, because he wanted to oh so badly

You both leaned in. It started slow, hesitant like what you had together was to special to ruin. Then it turned rushed, needy, desperate.

Both of you pulled away panting, then leant back in.

He cupped your cheek just like he did that night, rubbing small circles with his thumb. You moved, he froze. You snuggled into his warmth, muscle memory wins again.

Satoru's breathing picked up almost becoming ragged. And in first place your cheeks. It was always sweet and innocent. The way you giggled when he kissed the same spot repeatedly.

That time he kissed each mole on your face because you told him you've gotten new ones since you've gotten older. PDA wasn't your thing so at parties it was cheek kisses only, but it still marked his claim.

When you did it to him? God. They weren't rushed, you never did attacks of multiple. Just one maybe two, they were soft but lingered. The first time you did Gojo stood there rubbing his cheek, then vowed to never wash his face again.

Gojo had finally pulled away, his hand becoming cold. He rushed out the library, pushing the bathroom door open.

Everything was blurry, everything hurts.

He pulled out his phone texting Geto and Nanami

i saw her, i need to go. i feel sick.

They rushed out the library letting the table next to them have the overwhelming pile of snacks.

Satoru's gagging could be heard from the hallway, raising concerned looks as students walked through.

Geto dropped their bags, walking towards the stall. "Come on Satoru, drink this." He passed the water bottle towards him only to be met with refusal.

Gojo shook his head, "No, ngh. I don't deserve— need it."

"Nanami hold is head back."

"Wait stop-" Gojo refused but it was weak, he accepting the care letting the cold water get poured down his throat. They both started to lift him, "Okay come on, get up slowly..."

"Stop treating me like i'm an abandoned puppy."

"That would be a fitting description."

───────────────────────────────

It was like you broke up with him all over again, except no red bulls or muffins. Just the silence... always in a constant state of rumination.

A knock came to his door, it was light and cautious. He didn't turn, thinking it was Toji.

You peeked your head in, Geto told you he wasn't here so you could come get your things if you need. And Nanami was there to confirm, so you thought no funny business, just in and out.

But you didn't see high five they shared after they walked off.

Gojo was laid so stiff under the blanket you assumed it was the way he left his blankets when he got out of this morning.

You still walked carefully, like you'd disturb the balance he gained while you were gone.

You walked to the closet first, you need some of your shirts and sweatpants. They were still hung as neatly as before. You peeled them off of the hangers one by one.

Accidentally brushing the article of clothing next to it. It was one of his shirts, your favorite. It was his dc comic shirt, every time you wore it he'd make you pick a character so he could talk you to sleep.

He'd slip his hands underneath rubbing your sides, coaxing you to sleep with his voice. Those were the times you could care less about what you look like, because the way he'd tuck your head into his chest melted your worried before they even started.

Next the dresser, last time you were here you left your necklace and earrings. You could tell it was placed there purposefully. They laid in the middle, like a crown set on a lonely cushion. Prepped for display and viewing.

You brushed your fingers over the locket, you bought it from a pawn shop in high school for ten bucks. It was always empty and just for aesthetics.

Until you met Gojo, the once empty space was filled with a small picture, one that he didn't even know you took.

You and Gojo failed at you attempted all nighter, getting back to your dorm around 2 am. You both flopped on the bed, eyes heavy and head full of gibberish formulas.

"I don't know how you do it woman."

"I normally can go longer than this, so clearly you're the problem."

"No I put you on a normal, less caffeinated sleep schedule. There's a difference."

You snorted knowing it was true, you went to bed around a reasonable time now and saved so much money on coffee. "Im going to shower."

You stepped out the shower already missing the warmth. You started to lotion your body, slipping some of Gojo's clothes. You cracked the door open peeking out, "Toru can you-"

Gojo was sprawled across the bed, breathing lightly. You walked closer taking the faintest steps. His nose was scrunched, like he didn't know how to relax. How to give in to the deep slumber.

You leaned in kissing the bridge of his nose, watching the crinkle loosen. He looked content, at ease.

The colorless hair atop of his head was messy. You brushed stray strands out the way placing a kiss to his forehead.

You lifted a finger, just one, scared that more would wake him. Dragging a finger down caressing the plush of his lips. Holding it here for a couple of second. Feeling when he exhaled, you placed another peck onto his lips.

You shakily used your entire hand to cup his faint rosy cheeks. Dragging your thumb up and down. Breath hitching as he leant into your touch. Without thinking you pulled out your phone, snapping a vulnerable moment of the white haired boy. Removing your hand you replaced it with a kiss, your lips lingered longer than before.

Whispering, "I love you Toru."

The first time you realized you were in love with Satoru Gojo was the day he passed out while waiting for you to get out the shower.

You snapped back into reality, blinking the tears forming away. You turned away too fast, knocking over a can.

You froze and Gojo sat up, quickly. Alert and looking around for any danger. Relaxing when he saw you, then tensing again.

"WAIT–"

You speed walked out the room slamming the door behind you.

You almost made it, but every step you took Gojo's could covered two times that amount in one. He tugged at your sleeve, voice waivering. "Can we talk? Please."

So found yourself back in Gojo's room sitting on the bed next to him in silence. You fiddled with your fingers looking down at your lap.

Gojo stood up and stepped right in front of you. You looked up at him, again silent but so many words were said right now.

Eye's following him as he got lower and lower.

He's on his knees. Voice raspy and broken, "Please. Please, please, please." His head laid against your knees, placing faint kisses on it and even through the sweatpants it still burned your skin.

You still hadn't moved, just sat there staring into his eyes that displayed his devotion to you. He grabbed your cold, limp hand. Guiding it across his skin, he shivered at the impact. Bringing it to his cheek, leaning his head into your palm. It felt wet?

Gojo was crying, "Please, my love. Please. I'm so sorry, I don't know what I did but i'm so goddamn sorry. I don't know how to breathe without you."

Your voice cracked, his figure turned hazy and you felt tears sliding down your chin onto his hands that rested on your lap. "Satoru..."

Bringing your hand up to his lips, placing dazed kisses on each finger, then your palm, lastly your ring finger, again and again.

"What did I do wrong baby, hm? Tell me, tell me everything so I can fix it, change for you."

You sniffled gaining the courage to speak. You moved your hands weaving them through his white strands. "Satoru..."

"It's not you. It could never be you." You cupped his jaw wiping his tears with the pad of your thumb. "I really do love you, Toru. More than you could ever know."

Gojo whimpered at your words, his voice raw and vulnerable "My love... I know. So please stay."

"Satoru i'm doing this for you..." You ducked your head down almost embarrassed by your next words. "You need someone... more than me. I'm not what you need-"

"But you are! You're everything I need and more, how could you say that?" His eyes pooled with more tears, more than the last batch.

"Did I make you feel that way? Oh baby I-" You shook you head with a sad smile voice barley above a whisper, "No Satoru, but I can see it. The whispers, stares, and I know you don't notice but I do."

His lips part to speak but you keep going, "I-I can't compete with those girls. I know I don't look perfect or that I have the perfect body, which i'm sure you've noticed by now."

"I just don't want you feel ashamed of me. Like you have to hide me because i'm not your equal, because you settled for something less."

Gojo just looks at you, looking over every crease and curve of your face. Not in disgust, but in awe, adoration with his stupid puppy eyes.

Then he choked out a small laugh even though your words devastated him. "Why are you laughing-" He rolled his head on your knee, "For someone so smart my love, you can be so, so dense?"

"I hear the whispers and I feel the stares, they don't bother me. Because I know what I want, I know who I need."

"Standing next to you is one of my biggest accomplishments. It feels... light, comfortable, safe. Not ashamed. Most days I question why you even let me near you, breathe the same air as you."

Gojo breathes out desperate, he wanted you to feel his words. "You are the most beautiful, perfect girl I have ever had the chance to lay my eyes on." He stands up slowly, sliding his arms down to your waist rubbing softly.

"There is not a single thing that I don't love about you, you're so perfect in each in every way."

By now you were sobbing in his arms, letting him hold you. All of you.

Sniffing into his shirt, "I'm so sorry Toru." He exhaled, finally letting his shoulders relax, "I thought I was helping, I–" He shushed you, resting his chin on top of you, "You did what you thought was right in the moment. All i'll ever ask of you. Is to be honest and transparent about how you feel."

He grabbed your jaw. The two of you stared at each other through wet eyelashes and passionate eyes. He leaned in slow and careful not wanting to scare you, but you grabbed the back of his neck pulling him in quickly.

Both of your shoulders dropped, letting go of all the weight that built up over these two months. Inhaling each others burdens and worries saying "let me in".

───────────────────────────────

@kajismp3 | masterlist

this is the fastest i've ever written a pt.2 lol

how do we feel???

im tagging everyone who commented bc most requested a pt.2

@qkrwidn | @liaviva | @an1inlove13 | @hoesluvshoko | @yujishair |

@planetlaya

[giantmultifandommasterlist]

"Heated Rivalry" Fic Recs (Hurt/Comfort, Angst w/ Happy Ending)

Check out these in progress fics and give the authors some love!

Fic Recs (Crack Fic/Fluff)

Ilya Rozanov/Shane Hollander

Whump (Hurt No Comfort)

So Close by @Baybee00

~ A devastating on-ice collision changes everything for Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, and everyone who loves them. Pure angst. No happy ending. Suicide, major character death.

i draw a line across the ice in your blood by @mai_love

~ Shane Hollander dies and Ilya Rozanov’s grief is laid bare for all to see. (Aka Ilya has an Achilles moment and refuses to surrender Shane’s body after he dies in the middle of a game.)

Angst with Happy Ending (Hurt/Comfort)

the soviet montage (6/6) by @pressuretoparty

~ Set during the Cold War era (1970s-1980s), Red Army superstar Ilya Rozanov defects from the Soviet Union and joins the Ottawa Centaurs.

something you can fix by @some1_around

~ Shane’s conversation with Rose is secretly recorded. Months later, after the All-Star game and Ilya’s confession in Russian, the video gets leaked online. Shane is outed to the world while Ilya is in Russia, and must now finish the 2016-2017 season with the entire world in on his secret.

the skyline falls as i try to make sense of it all (2/2) by @Literal_Multifandom_Trashcan

~ Character study of Shane's relationship with food.

Before The Whistle by @alimariereads

~ A moment of hesitation during a heated game changes everything, leaving Shane unconscious and Ilya reckoning with the truth he never meant to face.

they got no idea about you and me by @rachelrae

~ What if Cliff Marlow had hit Ilya in a game against the Ottawa Centaurs and had to deal with the confusion that was his crazy former captain and best friend high on pain meds. At least those meds were hopefully the reason for his craziness. Why else would Rozanov be calling Shane Hollander his sweetheart?

the hill i know by @chahakyn

~ Exploration of Shane's identity as a mixed race individual.

rabbit holes by @Who_Needs_Reality

~ When Shane can't sleep, he goes down Wikipedia rabbit holes. or: if you can't figure out your situationship.... Google him.

Don't Poke the Bear (7/7) by @meetmebythelilactree

~ After Shane and Ilya are outed in the events of The Long Game, Montréal and Ottawa play seven games against each other in the Eastern Conference. The Centaurs still love their captain, of course. The Voyageurs, however, are not so united.

blood on the ice by @ghosttotheparty

~ Ilya gets injured while on the ice.

found heaven by @mrsrumbles

~ Soulmate AU. Ilya's soulmark reveals itself after he's been drafted into the NHL. One problem: Shane Hollander does not have the matching mark.

there you are, morning star (7/7) by @ingberry

~ Soulmate AU where your soulmarks grow stronger as your bond grows. Shane signs to the Centaurs at the same time as Ilya.

You Call and I Come (Running) by @Kelethin

~ Shane calls Ilya for help after sustaining a concussion and Ilya comes running.

Side by Side (Shield Me From My Fears) by @ItsSoLine

~ Seeing Shane Hollander laid out on the ice was one of the worst moments of Ilya Rozanov's life. But it made him realize that he could not hide the truth anymore, no matter the aftermath.

i've never needed a reason for keeping secrets from myself by @blongblong

~ Soulmate AU where you collect objects personal to your soulmate.

the heart is hard to translate (3/3) by @catknives

~ Soulmate AU! In a world where you can understand whatever language(s) your soulmate speaks, it takes Shane and Ilya an embarrassing amount of time to realize they’re soulmates.

It Grows Down Deep by @a_stray_thief

~ Shane develops Hanahaki disease after running from Ilya post-tuna melt.

Babe for the Weekend (8/8) by @Wellington28

~ Childhood best friends! AU with fake dating and a company retreat at a ski resort.

somewhere i lost all my senses by @syddd28

~ Character study of Shane in his first year as a Centaur married to Ilya. Disordered eating, references to depression.

The Shape of Absence (3/3) by @RimsHiddenQuill

~ Shane loses his memory of Ilya following the collision. But he has a lingering sense that he's missing something very important.

light reflects the chain on your neck by @silverandshells

~ Ilya goes through seeing Shane unconscious on the ice again, and people try to convince him that they are going to be okay. Temporary amnesia.

Wild and Fluroescent (Come close to my heart) by @iwritesometimes777

~ Shane cuts ties with Ilya after Vegas. Ilya finds a drunk Shane.

the velocity of seconds

~ Shane gets hit by Marleau. Ilya freaks out, and accidentally outs himself in the process.

when the world sees (we run toward each other) (4/4) by @pucksandpower

~ Ilya's path to love, found family, and Canadian citizenship after being outed by a leaked security video at the Olympics.

fear moves me by @4hollanov

~ Shane is attacked while home alone. Married!Hollanov

Four Minutes (3/3) by @UnicornFlowers

~ Ilya's complicated family relationships are further complicated with married life and the introduction of a new homophobic player. Pay attention to tags! Temporary character death, hate crimes, panic attacks.

Last Call by @HollowIsTheWorld

~ AO3 account accessible only. Shane gets into a car accident where he is stuck in a car rapidly filling with water.

say you'll always keep me by @writingcap

~ What if Shane's plane was the one to almost crash in The Long Game?

And I'll still see it, until I die (4/4) by @hollzy81

~ What if Shane was the one that almost died in a plane crash in The Long Game? Alternating POV

Oh, To Love Loudly by @acollectionofbeautifulbutgravemistakes

~ Shane realizes that he no longer wants to hide his relationship with Ilya as his plane plummets down to earth.

What if it were you (and then it was) by @Nituaii

~ Shane's plane goes down. Ilya loses his shit.

we didn't even kiss by @suguruus

~ Shane accidentally sends the text, and Ilya literally chases after him.

The Cold's Got a Hold on Me by @Skaboom

~ While driving back to Montreal from Ottawa, a white-out blizzard comes out of nowhere, trapping Shane. Cold, alone, and afraid, Shane calls Ilya, wanting to set the record straight on a few things...just in case.

When the Ice Breaks (3/3) by @LeviosaWitch

~ Shane hides a career ending injury from Ilya for months, terrified of disappointment and loss. When his body gives out, so does his carefully constructed facade.

The Secrets We Kept (21/21) by @Larissa_liest

~ Shane Hollander disappears from the NHL at twenty with a career-ending “injury.” Four years later, he’s the new assistant coach for the Ottawa Centaurs when Ilya Rozanov signs with the team. His former rival. His secret hookup. The father of his daughter. Ilya doesn’t know Lily exists and Shane plans to keep it that way. But three-year-olds don’t keep secrets, and neither do pale blue eyes. (Check tags! A rare mpreg fic because I usually hate mpreg)

i love you, i love you, i love you by @seariarly

~ When Ilya proposes he could marry Svetlana to get citizenship, he did expect Shane to be a little surprised. However, what he didn't expect was for Shane to look away from him without saying anything. Ilya had never regretted anything more in his life.

You Have Reached Lily by @ItsMayBiTheWay

~ Hayden calls Lily after Shane's injury.

have I found you, flightless bird? by @clockworkaim

~ Shane Hollander has wings. Ilya Rozanov loves him. There's no 'despite' about it. (Wings as a metaphor for autism - trust me, the author pulls it off very well.)

Collide (3/3) by @pendr_gon and @phoenixortheflame

~ Sci-Fi/Space AU! The year is 2184. An asteroid 60 kilometres wide is on a collision path with the Earth. As a last-ditch effort to save humanity, the EEU (Eastern European Union) launches four cosmonauts each carrying 300 embryos into space. Only one makes it off planet alive.

the river of my arms have found the ocean (4/4) by @vivianno

~ Mermaid AU! Hayden thinks the new wild mer in the aquarium, Ilya, is trying to murder his best fish friend, Shane. Turns out he's got it all wrong, and murder is the last thing on their minds.

Missing Hours (10/10) by @ravenkira

~ Ilya loses his memory of the past ten years due to a bad hit right as the COVID-19 lockdown shuts down Canada.

Reveal Themselves (One Star At a Time) by @ashes2ashes15

~ A character study of Yuna Hollander. Yuna tries to understand Shane's love life for years, until she finally does.

Melting a Winter King by @nj_1996

~ Royalty AU w/ arranged marriage! Prince Shane Hollander arrives in the frozen kingdom of Rozanova as a political sacrifice, a foreign prince married off to a man raised to hate everything he represents.

Not Alone (2/2) by @deadwizardskinnie

~ Shane ends up in the hospital. Ilya panics. David understands feelings. Yuna adopts another son. Hayden loses his shit (but then gets it back).

( i am done ) trying for beauty by @hcneymooners

~ University AU! College hockey player Ilya and nursing student Shane become reluctant roommates after Ilya suffers a 'family crisis.' Character study exploring grief, the immigrant experience, and the terrible beautiful thing that is falling in love.

a world brought together as one by @tofuflower

~ A/B/O with Beta!Shane and Alpha!Ilya that offers surprisingly insightful commentary on Japanese-Canadian internment, racial tokenization, and multi-generational immigrant families.

the cadence of a secret (8/8) by @marigoldens

~ Soulmate AU! Ilya and Shane are soulmates, and their bond prevents them from both talking and being apart. Unfortunately, the only thing that’ll make the pain stop is confessing the one thing they can say: that they’re in love.

Day 90 by @kuragin

~ Shane gets stuck in a time loop of the day where Marlow hits him. 

By Halves by @tmp93

~ Yuna and David meet Ilya Rozanov at the hospital after Shane’s injury.

loser, lover by @kalonvk

~ University AU! Shane Hollander is what you call a prodigy. Incredibly smart. Talented. Captain of the university's hockey team. He has no opponents. That's it, until a mysterious exchange student, Ilya Rozanov makes a surprise appearance. He storms into his life, taking everything Shane has diligently vowed to protect. Even his own heart.

After the snow fall by @penpen_xo

~ Shane slips and falls on ice while out walking Anya, and Anya is just your everyday Lassie.

Boring Moments Between Life & Death by @Acinonyx1

~ Death! Shane and Life!Ilya AU! 5 times Shane and Ilya meet for work, and one time they meet for themselves. 

we were together. (i forgot the rest.) (3/3) by @foxriverblues

~ Bartender!Shane and Mafia Boss!Ilya. Mild angst in third chapter, but otherwise very fluffy.

We Both Go Down Together (8/8) by @NotALonelyTraveler

~ Ao3 user accessible only. Shane is one of the lucky few humans in the world predisposed to Hanahaki disease. He copes with it as well as you might expect.

Root Rot (4/4) by @Content_Scrapbooker

~ Hanahaki disease AU! Shane Hollander loved Ilya Rozanov, so much that it was going to kill him. He has to make the most of the time he has left after the Olympics, before the roots really take hold.

The Second First Time (24/24) by @Allive

~ Shane Hollander wakes up in a hospital room convinced it’s 2016 — and that Ilya Rozanov is still his biggest rival, someone he’s supposed to hate. But the world has changed. It’s 2025. They play for the same team, live in the same house, and Ilya Rozanov is wearing a wedding ring. Now Shane has to relive nine lost years, learn to trust his ‘enemy,’ and find out whether he can fall in love with his own husband all over again.

(and i want these words to) make things right (11/11) by @xianvar

~ Marriage of convenience AU! After the NHL 2012-2013 lockout, the KHL threatens to keep Ilya in Russia and forbid him from returning to the NHL. Shane finds himself pulled into a harebrained scheme to make sure his rival is safe – and it might just work. It’s not like there are feelings at play that could get in the way, right?

fall in love again and again (2/2) by @Ehlihr

~ Time loop AU! Shane wakes up on the same Tuesday over and over again after leaving Rozanov in a rush. Tuesday is his second least favourite day of the week, so he's not really happy about it.

underneath my skin is all you see by @sapphicblight

~ Ao3 user accessible only. Soulmate AU! In which Ilya Rozanov is the name on Shane’s wrist, but Shane Hollander is not on Ilya’s.

Etched Skin by @staticsilencee

~ Soulmate AU! Ilya has lived his life knowing he would never find a soulmate, and Shane has lived his life waiting for his soulmate to acknowledge him.

it's a dance (we know the moves) by @anne_with_an_eth

~ Groundhog Day/Time Loop AU! Shane and Ilya are trapped in the same time loop, and have to figure it out together.

where nobody knows you (12/12) by @dottie_wan_kenobi

~ Yuna Hollander POV-centric! Yuna and David find out about Lily, while he's in the hospital. It's a while before they find out about Ilya.

Proof of life by @cloudberrysoda

~ In which everything is the same, except Shane is a vampire. He’s not very good at it. Kind of porn with plot ngl.

The Consort of Crown and Blood (15/15) by @house_of_lantis

~ Vampire Modern Royalty AU! When a human head of state publicly insults the ancient Vampire King, the price of peace is a political union. Shane Hollander, high school teacher and assistant hockey coach, is one of the only humans in the world with a rare bloodline. He’s given an impossible choice: become a Tribute Consort to vampire Crown Prince Ilya, or watch the human race burn. (Incredible world building and geopolitics, by the way.)

These Icy Waters (5/5) by @jeejaschocolate

~ Cursed!Ilya and Folktale Creature! Shane. Ghosts and monsters AU. When Cliff Marleu mysteriously drowns, all fingers point to Ilya Rozanov. But something darker and more sinister may be at play, something that is steeped in curses and family secrets, and Shane has his own secrets to protect.

there's no pretending by @moonsock

~ The term, he’s told, is temporary retrograde amnesia. Ilya doesn’t need the direct translation to understand: he forgot things. Ten years of things.

it's always been you by @guusmin

~  Ilya and Shane have played on the same team for years. Ilya confesses his love to Shane in Russian while unbelievably drunk in a bar bathroom.

If You're Scared (I'm On My Way) (3/3) by @kanekicure

~ Zombie apocalypse AU! The zombie apocalypse starts when Rose is breaking up with Shane (luckily at his apartment). Ilya travels the span of America to try to reach Shane's side.

Back to the egg (it's crimson and gold) (3/3) by @passacig

~ University AU with FTM! Shane! Shane and Ilya once knew each other in what feels like another life. Years later, Shane has transitioned, buried his past and finally embraced his truest self. He comes to McGill to play on the men’s hockey team—only to find his roommate is Ilya Rozanov.

The People I Knew (They Got Me Surrounded For A Mile or Two) (7/7) by @icetealuvr

~ Shane gets diagnosed with cancer. He is still determined to win the Stanley Cup. Ilya Rozanov is down so bad for Shane Hollander. He doesn't know Shane has cancer. No one does.

Mama's Boy, Mama's Boy (5/5) by @WhimperSoldier

~ Shane can see ghosts AU! Shane's first mistake was going to talk to Ilya Rozanov before their game. His second was immediately, stupidly, meeting the eyes of Rozanov’s very much dead mother hovering at his side. (I truly cannot recommend this enough.)

Fractured Lights (15/15) by @shredded_potato

~ University AU! Shane’s preferences are simple: older, rougher, married men who lie to their wives and gone before morning. Ilya Rozanov is nineteen, Russian, and already moving into his dorm. Cue in covert hookups, stupidly questionable life choices, and a rookie who stares at Shane like he’s a particularly fascinating bug under a microscope. Now he has to explain why he keeps getting texts from "Mr. Chicago" while trying to teach this kid how to use the campus laundry without melting his sweaters.

white whale by @cutshot

~ University AU! Best friends to lovers Shane and Ilya, throughout the years. (Really well written, and the payoff is sooo good.)

i've been stuck for so long (we just got the start wrong) by @beagoldfish

~ Groundhog Day AU! After the tuna melt fiasco, Shane Hollander wakes up in a time loop.

Scars left behind (3/3) by @silvermoongirl10

~ 4 times Shane thinks someone on the Centaurs is telling him he isn't good enough - just like in Montreal. +1 time Ilya sees the scars Montreal left on Shane and tells his husband he has always been more than good enough. It was Montreal who was never good enough.

pink shallop shells (2/2) by Anonymous

~ Lighthouse keeper Ilya Rozanov tries to drown himself in the Newfoundland Sea. Luckily or unluckily for him, a certain merman saves him from the depths.

you saved me from myself (and i didn't even realize) by @xarahinthedark

~ Hanakaki AU! Shane doesn't eat much—he attributes it to watching his carb intake and needing to stay light and speedy, and for no other reason at all. And definitely not because of the flowers that keep him full these days.

a sound is still a sound around no one (9/9) by @dykeries

~ Amnesia AU! In 2023, Shane takes a bad hit on the ice. When he wakes up, the last thing he remembers is a tuna melt. There’s a lot to get used to.

the lines are all but drawn by @bluerosebouquet

~ Shane keeps seeing his ex on dating apps, and it's driving him insane. (This is not a sign to get back with your ex LOL.)

Borderline (5/5) by @Wintersbane

~ After ignoring his phone in favor of getting split in two by his situationship, Shane is stranded in Boston at the start of the zombie apocalypse. Ilya is left with nowhere to go, and Shane refuses to leave him behind. In order to survive, they have to cross the Canadian border and get to the cottage, together. But getting to Canada is far easier said than done. When Ilya is badly injured, their road-trip becomes a race against the dead—and the infection spreading through Ilya’s leg. (Eventual happy ending, trust!)

twenty stitches in a hospital room (10/10) by @hollidayparty

~ Shane's injuries during the Boston/Montreal game are much more life-threatening than in canon. Ilya's quick thinking and bone-deep instincts are the only reason he survives.

i've been playing dead by my whole life by @writerintheory

~ Soulmate AU! The last words you ever hear from your soulmate are tattooed on your chest. Ilya and Shane still argue over the party in Game Changers, Ilya still already chose Shane, and everything goes so much worse after Shane leaves. (NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, ANGSTY AF BUT HAPPY ENDING)

a year safe in your heart (6/6) by Anonymous

~ The summer before Ilya joins the Centaurs, Shane wakes up nervous. It doesn't stop from there. OR Shane has already lived a timeline in which Ilya died in a plane crash after joining the Centaurs. He's determined that it doesn't happen again. (SUPER ANGSTY!!)

Lily and Judith (6/6) by @Finally_Facing_Failure

~ After Shane Hollander's career ending injury in 2014, he lives a quiet life at his cottage with his two daugthers. His life is turned upside down when his youngest accidentally texts Ilya Rozanov, Shane's former lover and secret crush. Can Shane find a place for Ilya in his new life? (Single Dad Shane AU)

i'll believe in anything (11/11) by @bisoubug

~ Ao3 user accessible only. Shane is a ghost, Ilya is a collegiate hockey star part-time ghost hunter who can see dead people, and it's entirely possible that they once knew each other in a past life.

Night Changes (3/3) by @proseandpulse

~ Shane is drunk, concussed, and hiding in a phone booth when he calls the only number he knows by heart. The man who answers is not Hayden Pike.

one day i'll watch as you're leaving (and life will lose all meaning) (15/15) by @hollidayparty

~ What if Shane and Ilya don't make up so easily after the Boxing Day fight? The Centaur's plane never malfunctions, so Shane never proposes. Instead, Ilya gives him an ultimatum on coming out and going public. It backfires spectacularly. (TW: Suicidal ideation)

The Importance of Strawberries (20/20) by @lostinpinerocklands

~ Amnesia AU! In 2031, Shane wakes up in the hospital certain that it's 2010. Ilya is there to remind him of the two decades he's missed and the life they've built along the way. Kid fic, no smut, married Hollanov.

love in exile has nowhere to go by @justhockey

~ Shane doesn’t get hurt, they break up, and they don’t talk for five long years. Until Shane is traded to Ottawa.

Have Fun and Come Back Safe (2/2) by @Rainbow_Femme

~ One earthquake, two lost phones, and many articles citing a mistranslated headline later and Shane needs to get a message home that he and Rose are alive. But he and Rose are millennials and whoops, they haven't had to memorize a phone number since they were kids.

The Knockout Lockout (3/3) by @PillowForte

~ Established relationship! Ilya gets knocked out during a game and it fucks with his memory. A hospital stay in which Ilya moons over his husband despite not knowing it's just husband. (He thinks it's doomed yaoi but it's not doomed yaoi.) Still angsty because Ilya is very confused and sad and Shane ain't having a good time either.

falling into you by @quinnfuhbeay

~ Tunameltdown AU where Ilya makes him tuna melts and says his name and Shane doesn’t freak out and run away. Well, he does freak out, but he also stays. Or the one where Shane doesn’t realize that Ilya’s his boyfriend for a solid three months. (Somehow both a fix-it fic and uniquely angsty in its own right.)

keep a place for me (3/3) by @agetwellcard

~ Childhood friends to lovers AU! When Shane is in junior high, Ilya's family moves to Canada. Instead of meeting as adults, they grow up together. Shane learns Russian and Ilya spends a majority of his time at the Hollander household. When they start their professional hockey careers, they have to learn how to be opponents instead of teammates, but also how to be apart for the first time in their lives. When Ilya suggests that they sleep together, Shane has to balance their friendship and their casual relationship.

change like the sky (5/5) by @cupocoffee

~ Shane gets outed and accidentally hurts himself, the world thinks he's tried to end his life, and Ilya struggles to come to terms with mortality in more than one sense of the word.

i want a scar that looks like you by @angel_deux

~ Soulmate AU! Shane has been covering up his soulmark for as long as Ilya has known him. Ilya doesn't have a soulmark at all.

so you must like me for me (2/2) by @alasse

~ Shane wants to figure out if he's gay before he gets drafted. Unfortunately, the random guy he hooks up with to try and make sure one way or another takes a picture, and Shane gets outed before the draft. In the ensuing scandal, he goes seventh overall, to Ottawa. It turns out having the worst thing you can think of happen to you when you're seventeen years old can end up being pretty liberating. (Best friends to lovers.)

[oceantornadoo]

the hunt (john price x f!reader)

tw: STALKING, this is NONCON BECAUSE HE STALKS HER, but when they get together reader is a willing participant, DADDY KINK LIKE MAJORLY, SIZE KINK, this is lowkey one of the more nastier things ive written, SMUT, you and your **** are not the same person, john price is NOT a good man

He notices you in the cafe first.

Not the timid prey he usually catches. A smile for the barista, a placating laugh when your oat milk is accidentally replaced with almond. You command the room with kindness, nothing meek about you. Bare ring finger, no notifications on your phone, just you and your laptop at that table.

Prey.

John typically likes an easy hunt. Something quick in between deployments, a rabbit to feast on for those three weeks he pretends to be something more than a battle machine. Tearing sinew from a warm body, drawing out orgasm after orgasm, coming home with someone and never leaving. He's got a string of contacts on his phone without names, just places they met and addresses.

Practical.

But you shut your laptop off before he can sink his teeth in. No headphones, a sensible look back and forth on the street as you cross it. He watches from the cafe window, feet still, mind blank. A single-minded stare Laswell would appreciate. Your booted feet scrape against concrete, and it's only when you turn the corner does he grab his still-warm coffee and make his way towards his new home.

Your apartment is easy to find. Better security than his last pretty thing's building, but still no match for a man who carves the fate of the world with a well-placed bullet. He stays away from the cameras today, just enough to guess what floor you reside on. He doesn't allow himself to find the unit number -- the hunt must be drawn out for it to be satisfying. Nothing easy is rewarded, or whatever his old man used to say.

He'll come back another day, content to imagine your scent still hanging in the air.

A month later and there's a new groove in his arm, courtesy of a hostile's true aim. Nearing forty and he has chest candy to show for it. No warm bed to crawl into at night, no womb to fill full, a legacy blacked out by Confidential stamps. Empty.

You appear like a mirage at the grocery store, hoodie nearly hiding your entire face. It's your fault he notices really. Was too focused on how much cooking he can bear to do in the next two weeks when he hears the grunting beside him.

You, reaching for the pasta on the top shelf. Expensive stuff, gluten-free non-GMO vegan bullshit, probably pumped full of chemicals. He'll teach you better once he has the time, tell you what isn't good for the baby. It's not getting ahead of himself if he's sure it will happen, what with how he slides next to your side and plucks the blue box off the shelf.

"All yours, love." His first words to you and they're truer than you realize, if only you could take a second to look deeper. Instead, you smile politely and take the box from his hand, taking care to not brush fingers. "Thank you."

And that's it.

No shimmer of interest in your eyes, no coy look back, no added sway to your hips. Strangers are meant to help and that's all he did, forever relegated to a singular box in your mind. You continue on your path, plucking a marinara jar at the end of the aisle before turning out of sight. It's not a complication, rather, a test. Higher effort, higher reward.

He makes a note of your unit this time, a two bed one bath you split with a roommate who isn't there for weeks on end.

The 'in' appears to him in a dream, sweat-soaked and dripping in want. An orchestrated meeting, this time in an environment that can't be mistaken for anything else. No, a cafe was too platonic, a grocery store too functional. What he needs is a bar.

You barely require any coaxing. Another week at your office job, following your coworkers like a duck as they trek to a nearby happy hour. It's too packed, the floor sticky and the liquor heavy. John came early, a corner booth in the back giving him a perfect vantage point of your little group near the window. Four birds, tittering over manager woes and life stories. Your Mona Lisa smile is ever-present, eyes glazed over with the need to socialize, even if it hurts. You have nothing to contribute, no bad dates with how empty your bed looked last week.

Your bathroom break comes when your drink turns to melted ice. It's almost kismet, how your heel catches on the cracked floor. How you fall into John's arms like it was scripted. Your cold hands meet his chest, fingers digging into his deltoids as you brace yourself.

"I'm so sorry! I just..." You gesture incomprehensively, as if your sputtering is a valid explanation. John cocks an eyebrow, letting the moment drag on as your embarrassment looms. It builds and builds, in the pinch of your brow, the pitch of your voice. Just when you're about to crack, a wet sheen in your eyes, does he seal the deal.

John drops to his knees, ignores the resounding crack, and finds your heel in its trap. A sticky substance coats the floor like honey was spilled recently, trapping anyone in its web. He finds your exposed ankle bone and brushes it with a callused thumb, wiggling the material of your shoe until it unsticks. John rises slowly, brushing your shin with the same finger until he reaches your knee. You burn bright under him, practically pulsing with need.

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart." He finally replies, only when he's standing straight at attention. Your eyes go wide, and he can practically smell your cunt, wet with desire. It's been too long for her, he knows, and he's here to make it right.

"I know you." You murmur, scanning his face for an answer you can't find. All he does is raise an eyebrow. Wide eyes take in his beard, his stature, his voice, and all he can do is bite back a grin. "You handed me a pasta box the other day." You conclude, eyes dropping and cheeks warming. How silly, to remember a handsome man from a store that clearly forgot your existence. You take a step back, as if to flee to your friends, and of course he can't have that. Not when he's got you where he wants you.

"Penne." He replies. You stop. Frown, quirk your head.

"I'm sorry?" One step back and he can't have that, so he follows you, one booted step forward.

"I handed you penne."

Your smile is like the break after a storm, unrestrained and earthly. It seems he's found your meekness, where it hides behind that shield you wield.

"Penne's my favorite."

-

He almost slips up, almost hits your floor number in the elevator before you do, but you're too wrapped around him to notice. He finds your neck before your lips, to remind you that this is primal. Preordained.

(The other thirty-something women before you must've been universal mistakes, then.)

You giggle into his hold, allowing him to grab two handfuls of your ass as he crowds you against the metal bar. "John," you pant, music to his ears. You don't notice how he opens your apartment door like he's been there before, a gold key on his keyring in the same shape of your own. You don't question how he knows to turn left for your bedroom instead of right towards your roommate's.

Instead, your heels dig into his back as he lifts you around him. He ignores your protests, too focused on molding himself into you until you're made of the same stardust. Something rumbles out of your throat, but he's too busy nipping at it to hear.

Fingers squeeze his shoulders and when he opens his eyes, you're frowning at him from where you're pressed against your bedroom door. "Somethin' wrong, sweetheart?" He grumbles, annoyed his activities were delayed. A fumbling hand finds the doorknob from your perch, and you let him into your sanctuary, displeasure still etched into your features. You're keeping him away from his prize: the warmth of your thighs.

"Your beard is scratchy." You murmur, soft hands rising to groom through the very thing you're annoyed at. He smirks at that, how he's reduced you to a version of yourself you never let others see, all in the course of an hour. "Makin' you hurt, baby?" He asks gently, laying you down on the sheets he'd sniffed last week, jerking his cock to your scent. You nod with doe eyes and it's like you're no longer a woman but something pliable.

Putty in his hands. His to remake.

"Bet this little cunt's dripping." He cups the warmth between your thighs for emphasis, fingers running along the seam of your work slacks. There's nothing little about you, all wide eyes and big heart, but it does something to his core to see you blink at his words. He finds it there, carving knife splitting you open, insides dripping out into his callused hands.

You part your thighs shyly, tender under his gaze. Raw meat, his mind whispers, as if Simon were right there next to him. He takes his time, toying with zippers and buttons. Once he peels the polyester fabric off of you, there's a wet spot on the front of your sensible gray panties. He presses it with his thumb until you keen, back arching in that blouse you still somehow have on, heels dropped back at the entrance. He finds that spot over your shoulder where his cam is hidden, no conspicuous red light like in the movies to blink back at him.

Practical.

"Just need someone to take care of her, hm?" He asks, your answer irrelevant to how he runs his finger against your clothed slit. You whine again, lower this time, some place deep under your ribs. He takes pity then, pulling off your underwear with such force that you don't see him pocket them. Your fumbling fingers find the hem of your blouse and pull up, and for a moment your view is sheer darkness. John could do whatever he wants.

He waits.

Your curls are slick with want, honey on his fingers as he takes his first taste. One broad forearm bands against your belly to prevent your thrashing, the other prying your thigh open so wide it aches. But you take it well, patient little thing as he eats your slick like a meal. He can taste the hours you spent at work, and the hours before spent alone, a concoction of loneliness so strong he's nearly hit by the force of it. This will be different. You need him as much as he needs you, and it's like all of the pieces finally fit to the puzzle he couldn't see. You are his future.

Your opinions about it are, frankly, not relevant.

He wrenches one orgasm just like that, the flat of his tongue against your puffy clit. Another on his fingers, your cunt squeezing him like a vice. Probably haven't had anything up here in a while except that dildo in your drawer, poor thing.

But fucking has always been his favorite.

It's there his brain slows down. Your nipples, hardened and shiny from his spit, shine in the moonlight. Your chest heaves with the effort of doing nothing but being good for him. He starts to unbutton his jeans, but a trembling hand stops the zipper from going forward.

"I want..." You trail off, eyes swiping up and down his body. He'd be more annoyed if his cock wasn't like the heat of your palm through the fabric. Still, he barely holds back when he growls. "Spit it out."

It's too much and he knows, your eyes flashing with something new. Survival instinct, maybe. But your legs already caught in the trap and you're too desperate to gnaw it off, needing the attention even it kills you.

He breathes out once, then twice. Leans you forward until the denim of his jeans presses into your messy cunt, your hand stuck in between. He thumbs the soft skin under your eye, thinner than gossamer, before speaking.

"Tell me what you want, baby." You blink, resetting. Your hand is freed, and it flops against the bed. But your lips don't move and honestly, he needs to be in your cunt sooner rather than later. So he finds what he saw later, the bit of rot in your soul that's mirrored in his own, and digs.

"Tell Daddy what you want."

There it is. You inhale sharply and your hand twitches, but you don't slap him. In fact, he can feel the blood pulsing through you warm. Finally, your lips part. "I want you to take your shirt off. And...I want you to keep talking like that."

He grins.

The Henley is ripped off in a second, revealing the fur of his grizzled chest. You whine appreciatively, and he doesn't go so far as to puff his chest, but something in him loosens. The jeans go next, yanked down to his socks and left on the floor. Boxers are last, and he can finally grip his cock and give it the pressure he's been aching for all night.

"Look at this." Your thighs spread, knees dropping to the mattress. He taps his cock at the entrance, coating it in the wetness he's been coaxing out of you. He doesn't carry a rubber and he doesn't ask. Will put it on if you had enough thoughts in that brain to ask, but you don't and well, he's not here to spoil the fun.

His tip catches on your clit, and you moan, chin tucked to watch your own cunt betray you. "Such a little cunt, honey. How's it going to fit?" He jerks forward and catches on your entrance, feeling you suck in a breath as it all becomes real. "I think you're made to take your Daddy's cock, though." He notches in and pushes, pressing down on your stomach to remind you to keep breathing. You start nodding, as if he needs encouragement.

John's thumb finds your clit again, circling until he can sink in, inch by inch. "This mini toy cunt. Barely bigger than a pocket pussy. Should I fuck you like one?" You gasp, but he's too busy drowning in the blood rushing in his ears to hear. One paw finds your hip and tugs until you're flush against each other. "Such a slippery little thing." Your wetness squeaks as if to agrees. John starts to move his hips and all you can do is hang your mouth open, in shock at your own enjoyment. Every thrust gets closer to that spongy part of you, sparks of something dark gathering in your core.

"My perfect girl." John says, eyes on how your cunt sucks his cock in. "Say it, baby." His eyes flick up to, as if to finally acknowledge your participation. Your mouth opens, then closes. "I'm..." A brutal thrust cuts off your words as you moan, but John takes no mercy. His hand finds your jaw and turns you until all you can do is watch his cock sink in and out of you.

Another circling of your clit and you go slack in his arms. "Say it." He grunts, a little meaner this time. You take a deep breath. "I'm your good girl." He humphs, unsatisfied. Your brows furrow. His thumb leaves your clit to find your nipple, tweaking it as if in admonishment. You clench around his cock, and all you receive is a heavy pant from his chest.

"Whose good girl?" There. Just behind his pupil. There's no spark in his eye. Just a need to function. A need for compliance. The loneliness in you aches like you've been shot.

"Daddy's good girl. I'm Daddy's girl."

He smirks, thumb back on your clit to circle it until you keen. "Daddy's good girl and her little baby cunt. Isn't that right?" You'd agree, but the orgasm hits you like a train, your back bowing against the bed. The world goes white, and your eyes close so hard gravity swirls. And then you're back down, just in time to feel warmth flood your cunt. John keeps thrusting after, as if required to not waste a single drop. You're too wrung out to argue, becoming one with the mattress.

John keeps your hips tilted, watching his seed stay inside you. He doesn't pretend to mention work or the morning or anything else inane. Instead, he plants you against him so you're still in the position he needs, hips high and face tucked into the crook of his neck. He rubs at your back, encouraging you to meld further.

In the morning, he'll make you breakfast. He'll tell you to call off work with his cock in your mouth, then reward you with a thumb to that other hole. He doesn't leave for a week, then two, then three. Goes on his last mission just to see, to test, and is pleased to find you barreling into his arms at the airport. A desk job after that, a baby in your tummy by next year's end. Never tells you about the camera or the hunger in the chest, and likes when you don't mention how he knows more than he should.

But for now, he'll rub you until it takes.

-

i apologize. the worms.

follow for notifs @tornadoowarning

[elisaholies]

19 HR fic recs

Clean Sweep by @theburialofstrawberries | 29K | Shane’s brain cycled rapidly through a half-dozen celebrities, porn actors, Grindr profiles, every attractive bartender who’d ever served him a beer, trying to find a comparison for this level of outrageously concentrated beauty in one person, but he was drawing a blank. The man—Ilya Rozanov, Facilities Attendant, his badge read—gestured around the supply closet. “I help you find something?”| I'm pretty sure everyone and their mother has already read this, because it spread like wildfire through my circle...if you have been living under a rock, somehow, this is  a canon-divergent AU set during the 2017-18 MLH season. Shane is Shane and Ilya is a janitor. This is totally going to be a classic in the fandom! So, SO good. Amazing characterisation and I love how the author remixed the main beats of canon and all the slight and big changes in this AU really work.

Don't stop believing (hold on to that feeling) | 33K | A series of vignettes following Shane's relationship with music through the medium of karaoke, set along the timeline of his relationship with Ilya.| I urge you to give this fic a chance, because going on the summary alone I honestly was very sceptical. And I shouldn't have been! I would have never imagined a story about Shane Hollander and bloody karaoke could be this good.

white collar crimes | 21K | So Shane Hollander is, how do you say in English, a dirty little thief. A clothing thief, to be precise. Ilya can't say he saw that coming, but he also can't pretend he's all that mad about it. His shirt looks good on his Shane. On Shane. On Hollander. Right. His shirt looks good on Hollander.|  Set during the situationship. Great characterisation and banter and feelings. Second chapter is my fave but it's all very good.

No Friction, Just Chemistry by @dragonmuse| 20K | After leaving behind his last job, Ilya threw himself into a new profession: making and selling all things one can pickle. His week revolved around the Sunday farmer's market. Everything seemed simple and predictable until a new vendor arrived late in the season.| I normally don't do full AUs but Vee is a genius and I'd trust them to hell and back. This was the perfect rom-com version of Hollanov. Cute, fun and in-character. It also comes as a podfic, read by the author, and that's always a big plus for me. 

so you must like me for me by @alasse9 | 36.2K | It turns out, having the worst thing you can think of happen to you when you're seventeen years old can end up being pretty liberating. And land you an unexpected best friend.| Shane is outed before the draft, goes seventh and ends up in Ottawa. Best friends to lovers, a trope I really like that somehow works really well for Hollanov. Sweet and earnest.

(Oh I believe in) Yesterday | 9.4K | Time loops are just a fact of life to Wyatt, insane as that sounds. He’ll happily settle in for a repeat day every couple of weeks. Chances are he’ll wake up tomorrow morning and go to regularly scheduled practice. A teammate probably pissed off their wife, which is an easily fixed problem. Or, the Wyatt-Hayes-centric-time-loop-Boxing-Day-fight-fix-it-fic| A super a fun and original take on the time loop trope! Love Wyatt as our POV character, he's so well-written and his relationship with Lisa is just lovely.

All Love Must Leave but Search For It I Will | 23K | A shoulder injury takes Ilya out for the season ten games into his second year with the Ottawa Centaurs. With one good arm and an empty house, Ilya battles with memories of his parents and his mental health.| Good depiction of depression (I have a thing for stories that explore Ilya's mental health). Great characterisation.

babies born in the month of may by @bitterbloodyorange | 5K | Yuna Hollander and the Art of Raising a Winner Without Giving Him (or Yourself) Too Much of a Complex About It; Ilya Rozanov's Incomprehensive Guide to Charming Your Stoned Boyfriend| Really lovely Yuna character exploration.

multitasking by @emotional-synth-music| 7.3K | *I am in hell, Ilya thinks. He's awkwardly hard in his cup and layers of gear. He can't focus. How the fuck is Hollander functioning like this? Is he actually so gifted at hockey that he can play at this level and still have space to let the sex demon in his brain run rampant? Is this what he's like all the time? *|Crack treated seriously. Ilya can suddenly hear Shane's thoughts. Hot and so lovely.

when you leave here by @iddayidnight | 8K | “It just feels like such a nothing story," Shane says. "But my mom’s so fucking... worked up about it.”  Ilya watches him. “I think,” he says carefully, “that your mom is also the parent of a teenage boy who played on that hockey team. And not just the manager of a person who is being asked for comment on a bad story. Yes?”  (Shane was fifteen years old when he moved to Sarnia.)| Extremely painful to read but extremely good fic about hockey culture. Inspired by We Breed Lions (which I discovered and read thanks to this fandom, obvs). Amazing characterisation.

Pencil in the Rest | 87K | Scent patches were mandatory for anyone participating in World Junior's, but a lot of the Russian guys Shane saw in the hotel or around the rink had them loosely attached to their necks or not quite centered over their scent gland. Shane had been on his way to his parents' car when the wind shifted, and he smelled that Rozanov, leaning against the wall and not-at-all-surreptitiously fishing a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, must have been one of them.| Omegaverse with fully realised world-building and great characterisation. Excellent use of the soulmate trope. Unputdownable.And I say it as someone who's usually meh on both these tropes.

winning streak by @citrusses | 9.1K  | Everyone hates All-Stars. If anyone asks, Shane does, too.| Perfect, perfect Shane characterisation. Ilya is amazing too, but we are in Shane's head here. What All Stars means for our unhinged duo during the situationship era.

Shane As It Ever Was by @@exactphoify | 7.1K | Ilya wakes with no memory after an eventful night. Or maybe it wasn’t eventful. He doesn’t remember, that’s the problem.|Time travel fic. Short and sweet. And hot. Lovely.

oh well, I guess we're gonna find out! by @angel-deux-writes | 95K | Shane leaves that Vegas penthouse suite feeling wretched, and like an idiot, and like he never wants to see Ilya Rozanov again. Except, well. Then there are zombies.|Again, this took fandom over by storm for a reason, but if you haven't read it yet, my bookmark reads "OMG. Zombie apocalypse AU. Fucking perfect."

here we are and what the hell are we going to do with it | 24K | “Shane.” Ilya takes Shane’s head in his hands, squeezes his cheeks so that Shane looks puffy, absurd. Beloved. “I am saying that to me, even though you are retired, you will always be No. 1 hockey player. Fuck Wayne Gretzky.” That’s what does it, as Ilya knew it would. Shane rears back, spluttering, outraged, trying not to laugh. “Oh, I have committed blasphemy now. They will take back my citizenship, big crime, very sad.” Shane smoothes his hands along Ilya’s calves, rests his fingertips on Ilya’s ankles. “Fuck Wayne Gretzky,” he says. He looks like he can’t believe what he’s saying. Ilya wonders, distantly, if he can get it on tape to play back to himself when things feel particularly bleak. “We can live in exile together. I don’t care. You’re my, my best, my second best hockey player forever too.”| Probably the best 'Shane has to retire and comes to term with it all' fic out there. Excellent characterisation all around, I love that this was plenty angsty without being over the top.

Dance Yrself Clean | 3.3K  | Two summers, nine years apart, and the changes they bring| Really good Ilya character study.

clouds in my coffee | 7.4K | A scandal breaks. Rose drives to Ottawa, to be not-alone.| A fic in which Rose gets some of the care and comfort she deserves.

When I Walk Into The Room, I Do Not Light It Up. Fuck. | 12.2K  | Transitions are hard for Shane. Joining his husband's team turns out not to be an exception to that rule.| Shane struggles to adapt to Ottawa. Amazing Shane POV. Lots of hockey, which makes it all much more grounded and interesting.

Fracture and Collapse by @ilyapasta | 66K | Shane gets hurt three days before playoffs begin. It's nothing to worry about, really.| Really lovely and complex, layered exploration of who Ilya and Shane are, both individually and as a couple, in the wake of a potentially career-ending injury for Shane.

[07x1x4x1]

Lieutenant Riley cums a lot.

cw: 18+ | fem!Reader; smut; hyperspermia; sub!Simon Riley; cussing; fluff

Fuck. He knows it's wrong. It's agains their duty along with all the rules and regulations he's been taught and following for well over a decade, but...

Christ.

When Captain Price got badly injured during an op and thus forced to go on medical leave for the next three months (at least), Task Force–141 got assigned with a new CO.

And who would’ve thought that Lieutenant Riley could ever indulge in something as silly as a forbidden crush?

However, when you got introduced as their new temporary captain and leader, Ghost was a goner.

Godmother—they called you in your last task force.

And, bloody hell, even he must admit that you are mommy material indeed, even though you are anything but a mother. Recently divorced, yes, because your ex-husband cheated on you.

"Bloody tosser," Ghost grumbles one quiet night, stuck in a safe house with you while Gaz and Soap are on watch on the roof. "Focker didn't deserve ya." He huffs through his balaclava, pissed beyond belief on your behalf.

Meanwhile, a soft smile tugs on your lips as you watch his reactions, and it's almost adorable, how vexed he gets whenever you share a piece of your past with the Lieutenant just to fill the silence.

You like hearing his voice. Strong and rumbling, like a panther's deep purr. It awakens something inside you, something taboo between ranks.

"Eh," you shrug, gear rustling with the movement, "it is what it is." You reply before bringing the rim of your canteen to your lips, lips brushing against stainless steel when you add: "Loved how he whimpered whenever I gave him a handy, though."

As cool water floods your parched throat, Ghost chokes on air next to you on the tattered couch.

"Whot?!" His tawny eyes widen comically, eye holes stretching as his brows shoot up. He pounds at his buff chest like a gorilla, still catching his breath as he sputters.

"Aw, calm down, Simon," you chuckle as you scoot closer and reach over to pat his back. "I'm just a simple woman with needs and desires underneath this uniform and bloody gear, y'know?"

And just like that—Ghost is absolutely reeling; if not from the snippet about your subby ex, but definitely because of the way you casually dropped his name for the very first time.

Perhaps that's why he ends up letting your hands wander and eventually unbuckle his belt before slipping into his combat pants to pull out his cock.

The way you pull your tac glove off with your teeth before spitting on his ruddy tip leaves him breathless and panting like a touch-starved dog.

"Cap–tain," he croaks out, nearly squeaks, gloved fingers digging into the brittle leather of the couch as you work his rock hard cock in you supple hand.

Fucking hell. Now he understands why your ex was whimpering for you. He gets it, really. Truly.

"That's it, Lieutenant," you coo into his ear, nose nuzzling into the cloth of his mask until a shudder runs down his spine. "Knew you'd be good for me."

He grits his teeth, jaw clenching and grinding with the force as his face flushes, "Fuck—hah... fuck."

His back is sweating, thigh muscles trembling as the inevitable builds up hot and heavy in his lower gut, balls drawing up tight.

You can feel it, too. The way his prick throbs and his breathing turns shallow. Your eyes go heavy-lidded as you drink up all his sweet telltale signs, lips tingling with the sudden urge to taste his lips. Perhaps next time.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?"

Ghost can practically hear the smug smirk in your voice, and that's all it takes.

His balls throb, pumping the biggest load he's ever straight from his twitching slit. He groans so lewdly, it almost sounds like he's in pain, and you're quick to point and jerk his cock to the floor so his cum splatters all over the floor; painting the dark wood with his white spunk.

You're in awe at the sheer amount of it; pussy pulsing between your thighs at the obvious effect you have on him.

And he just keeps cumming; body shaking as he breathes raggedly, muttering curses under his breath while your talented hands keeps milking him for every drop and twitch and whimper.

Putty in your hands.

"My, my, Lieutenant," you click your tongue, eyes crinkling with amusement and delight at the sight, "s' that all for me, huh?"

Your movements slow, and Ghost doesn’t know if he should be thankful or keep chasing after your touch. Nodding meekly, he slumps against the backrest, leather groaning under the impact.

"Affirmative, ma'am," he rasps, utterly boneless while his pale cock goes limp in your hold.

"You know," you start like it's merely an afterthought while tucking him back into his pants before anyone can catch you in this compromising position, "I think I already like the sounds you make better than my ex-husband's."

His eyes flutter with a heavy exhale, though at your praise, his chest puffs like a peacock's under his tac vest, feeling strangely proud of that.

[paulyenvol6]

The Night We Met

Based on this lovely request, enjoy :))

Pedro meets a pretty young woman at a bar who seems to have no idea who he is. Intrigued by this, he ends up hooking up with you. Months into your relationship, you have something to confess.

Contains: smut, p in v, consensual protected sex, condoms, age gap (50&29), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, feral!Pedro, lying, angst, crying, bad conscience about age gap, bodily fluids, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, mild dom/sub dynamic, reassurance, aftercare, fluff, love confessions, nervousness, mild pain during sex, comfort

Wordcount: 12,656

Masterlist Wanna be on my taglist?

Pedro laughed and put his glass back on the counter with a low thud.

"Oh shut up…" he grinned, feeling heat spread in his cheeks from being the center of attention. Or maybe it was the alcohol in his system.

"No, no, no…" his friends disagreed in unison, raising their glasses to celebrate him.

Despite the faint flattery, Pedro felt the good mood in his bones. He had just finished a movie that had taken many months of hard work, so of course his head would have been swimming even without the whiskey in his glass.

He was in a bar with his best friends, he could use his next few weeks to rest, and he was satisfied with the outcome of the movie. Indeed, there was reason to have a good time tonight.

"Next round is on me!" Pedro laughed, even though half of his friends couldn't hear him over the loud noise around them. The other half shook their heads in protest, but he was faster than them. As swiftly as the wind, Pedro stood up from the table, grabbed his wallet and swayed his index finger in front of them.

"I insist!" he shouted, giving them a wry smirk before heading for the counter where people were lined up in front of the bartender like children watching animals behind the fence at a zoo.

"Can I get another round for my friends?" Pedro asked the bartender, a young man with a dark beard and piercing grey eyes that seemed to look straight into his soul. He just hoped the man wouldn't look too closely and make a scene in the middle of the bar. Most of the time, Pedro didn't mind taking one or two pictures with fans, but the place was pretty crowded, and since he wanted to celebrate with his friends, he wasn't keen to draw everyone's attention to him and wait for such a long time while everyone was having their share of him.

"Of course!" the young man said and gave him a friendly nod. If he had recognized him, he didn't hint at it, which Pedro was relieved by.

"Excuse me…"

He briefly flinched at the voice of a woman, a heaviness settling in his stomach. Shit. Well, now he would have to get through it and just hope that the woman wouldn't inform anyone else in the bar of his presence.

"You dropped something."

Pedro finally turned around, glaring at you through narrow eyes.

"What?"

"You dropped something. Here you go."

You quickly lowered yourself to the floor and picked up a small item, throwing your hair over your shoulder as you straightened up. With a shy smile, you handed him his wallet, which must have fallen out of his back pocket.

"Thank you – so much," Pedro stammered, taken aback by the unexpected encounter. He had been certain that you approached him to ask for a picture, but there was nothing shimmering in your eyes that resembled recognition or excitement. Just… kindness.

You were young, significantly younger than him. Maybe around thirty or in your late thirties, tops. But gosh, you were pretty, and he was positive that it wasn't just the dim light shining onto your face in such an intimate way. There was something about you causing his nerves to prickle and his mouth to dry up.

"I'm sorry, I'm an idiot. I always keep my wallet in my pocket, but it has fallen out a million times before. Thank you, honestly. Can I – Can I thank you by buying you a drink?"

Your grin broadened, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, though you seemed a little unsettled.

"Really? I mean, I – you don't have to. Seriously."

"I want to," Pedro simply said over the noise and took a step toward the counter.

His friends could wait. This was more important.

Pedro couldn't remember when the last time was that he had met someone your age who didn't know his name or any other personal details about his life. Usually, at this point in a conversation, the other person would have shoved their phone in his face, told him about their favorite projects of his and asked him for a hug. Not that he minded his fame, he really didn't. Yet it was refreshing to stand in front of a woman who had absolutely no intentions or expectations. Someone who was getting to know him like human beings usually did when one of them wasn't a famous actor. Pedro hadn't experienced it in so long that he felt almost eager to find out what it was like. Of course, he would buy you that drink if it meant talking to you just a little longer.

"Thank you. Okay…" you whispered and took your seat on a stool while Pedro ordered two Mojitos.

"Is that okay? Do you like Mojitos?" he asked, which made your eyes light up.

"Yes. Of course, yeah," you answered and crossed your legs, drumming your fingers on the counter.

"Good. I'm sorry, I just ordered without asking you, which is kind of stupid because I wanted to invite you…"

"It's fine. Seriously."

Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, Pedro exhaled softly. "Are you here with friends?"

"Yes. But they kind of ditched me."

His eyebrows lifted, curiosity sparking on his face. "Ditched you how?"

"Well, the plan was to come here with three friends. One of them asked to bring her girlfriend last minute. We agreed, but I should've known that the two of them would leave after an hour, which is exactly what happened. The second one met a guy while waiting in the bathroom line, and the third one just got a phone call and left to pick up her friend because she got arrested."

Pedro's features drew with disbelief, his eyes wide but a feeble grin tugging at his lips.

"Arrested?"

"It's nothing bad," you uttered, making a dismissive hand gesture. "She drove too fast, that's it."

"So they just left you here alone?" Pedro wanted to know and rested his right elbow on the counter, slightly leaning in.

"Yeah. Which is why I planned to leave. That was right before I saw your wallet fall out of your pocket." You smiled, allusively glancing at the brown leather, glinting in the bright light. Pedro now held it in his hand, just in case he would drop it again and there wouldn't be someone to help him as you had.

"I'm really sorry. That doesn't sound like a good night."

"Oh, I don't mind. Besides… I'm not so alone now, right?"

Pedro bared his teeth as he gave you another smile. You were definitely interesting, that much was for sure. A young woman alone in the bar after her friends had ditched her… And a woman who was seemingly unaware of his identity. Pedro wondered whether you just didn't recognize him like that, the room a little dark and his hair messier than usual, or if you just hadn't seen his face before. At least, he could rule out the possibility of you being drunk. You were able to stand steadily on your own, and he couldn't smell any alcohol on you after all.

"No, you're not."

"Oh, but I don't wanna occupy you if you're – are you here with people? Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you away from them. I mean, if you're not on your own."

Your eyes were wide as though you had just realized something that made you deeply regret your previous phrasing. It made Pedro grin, though he tried to hide it in order to spare you the embarrassment. He didn't want you thinking that he was laughing about you.

"I was the one who bought you that drink, wasn't I? You think I would've done that if I didn't wanna be… occupied?"

If Pedro wasn't mistaken, you were blushing, your pupils scurrying over the counter as though searching for something.

"Right…"

"But to answer your question: Yes, I'm here with friends."

"Oh, great!" you said and took a swig from your Mojito, which the bartender had placed in front of you, as well as one cocktail in front of Pedro.

"Is it your birthday?"

"What makes you think that?" Pedro chuckled before remembering the homemade crown one of his friends had put on his head a little earlier. On the back, the name of the movie that had just wrapped filming could be read, but it seemed like you hadn't spotted the lettering so far.

"Oh, right… No, it's not my birthday. It's just… work stuff."

"Work stuff? What do you mean?" you laughed and tilted your head to the side.

"Well, we had a major success today. So my friends and I decided to go for a drink." It wasn't even a blunt lie. Wrapping a film in time definitely counted as a major success.

"Oh great! I'm so happy for you. What do you do?"

Pedro realized that he had reached a dead end if he didn't want to keep the lie up. Normally, he wouldn't have cared, since you were a stranger that he probably would never see again, but the idea of coming up with a completely dishonest story made his stomach twist. He didn't know why, but Pedro didn't want to tell you a false tale. But neither did he want this quite appealing dynamic to shift by telling you who he was. Even if you had never heard of him, one click on your phone would be enough to find out that he wasn't just a normal guy grabbing a drink at the bar with his friends.

And what would happen then? There was a good chance you would ask for a selfie, but what was even more likely was that you would start acting differently around him. That was what people did most of the time when they discerned his face behind his large sunglasses or underneath the cap he had pulled deeply into his face. Pedro rarely complained about it since he had enough people in his life who kept him grounded and viewed him as their friend or a family member instead of a celebrity, but it hadn't gone unnoticed by him either. How their voices became higher, their behavior a little tense as they made an extra amount of effort around him.

In the end, Pedro decided to find a balance. He wouldn't lie to you but just not go as much into detail as he would have had to in order to give you the whole picture.

"Oh, I'm working on film sets. Just a bunch of boring stuff."

"Film sets? Oh wow," you whispered, giving him a look of sheer admiration. No, this was exactly what he didn't want.

"It's not that exciting. I swear to you. It sounds so glamorous, but it's mostly just waiting around, following orders and going home tired."

Fortunately, your expression softened at that, and he felt like he had the version he had just met in front of him again. Good.

"But I hope you're not tired today," you smirked, twisting a strand of hair around your finger. "I mean, you have to celebrate whatever that success is you're celebrating."

Pedro didn't know whether you were consciously sending him signals by toying with your hair like that, but he liked to believe that you did. Because it fit exactly with the fluttering of his heart. God, you were cute. And somehow, although he had met you not more than five minutes ago, it felt so easy and effortless talking to you. Or it was the mere fact that it had been years since he had met a person like that. In a crowded bar, his wrist still hurting from the many autographs he had given on set earlier, and a person in front of him who saw him for what he was instead of his name and profession. Pedro didn't like to get all self-pitiful and complain about things that others were working hard for their whole lives, but in that moment, he simply appreciated the circumstances and the fact that out of all people, it had been you who had picked up his wallet.

"No," he grinned, resting his chin on his palm. "I'm not that tired today."

Ten minutes later, Pedro had bought a second drink for you, gin this time.

His friends were long forgotten, and so was the fact that he had promised himself not to stay too long but rather have a good night's rest after those weeks of long shooting days.

This was much better.

You were just throwing your head back, laughing about something Pedro had said, which he had already forgotten. It wasn't hard to get distracted by your beautiful laugh, how your lips parted and how confidently you showed your teeth while your whole body trembled. He liked when people laughed with their whole body, and he especially loved it when people weren't afraid to show their joy.

"I had the worst haircut at around 14," you told him, shaking your head at the seemingly horrible memory. Right, the two of you were talking about hairstyles, and Pedro had just told you about some of his worst decisions regarding his appearance throughout the years.

"You got any photos?"

"Definitely not," you giggled and raised your index finger. "A few years later, when I realized how awful it was, I literally went around and deleted all the evidence. I think my grandmother might have a picture in her drawer, but she had to promise me that she's never gonna take it out of there."

"Well, I guess we're gonna have to visit your grandmother then," Pedro whispered, his mouth curled and his eyes sparkling. "What was it? You're gonna let me guess?"

"Sure." You challengingly folded your arms and twisted your lips.

"Mhm… A bowl cut that went wrong?" Pedro asked and tried to picture how it might have looked on you. He couldn't imagine that any haircut would make you look bad, though.

"No. Though the part about it going wrong is correct."

"Did you cut it yourself?" Pedro wanted to know, working his brain to come up with more ideas for the most horrible hairstyles that might have been fashionable fifteen years ago.

"No, a friend of mine did. She's actually one of the friends I came here with today."

"It can't be that bad then. If you're still friends."

You laughed at that, then finally cleared your throat to reveal the truth about your haircut.

"You know, I wanted bangs. Because everyone had bangs. And so my friend started cutting, and she cut it too short. And then she tried to make it look less radical by cutting the hair around my face, and in the end, I had a mullet. And even a very bad one."

His eyebrows shot upward, Pedro pursed his lips, trying to figure out what you might have looked like.

"But people wear mullets again, don't they?"

"Not mine. Definitely not mine."

Pedro burst into laughter, really craving to see a picture that captured that moment in your life, but before he could ask for it again, you emptied your glass and shyly wiped over your mouth with the back of your hand.

"I really don't want you to stay away from your friends because of me…" you admitted, peering at him through your lashes, which frankly, drove him insane.

He couldn't let you go yet. And if he had to, he at least needed something from you: your phone number or your name on Instagram. But at that point, you finding out about his true job would be inevitable. Unless… you didn't just not know his face but also his name. It would be worth it, wouldn't it? The alternative was to part ways with you and never see your pretty face again. Never see again how you nibbled at your thumbnail, only to quickly drop it once you realized what you were doing.

"I told you, I don't mind. I… I'm rather fond of such lovely company."

Heat shot to your face at his compliments, painting your cheeks a light red and making his stomach bubble with excitement and a delightful warmth.

"And what about them?"

"Oh, they surely haven't even noticed my absence," Pedro lied, hoping none of them were searching the room too extensively for him. Perhaps the alcohol had done its job, and they were all too busy singing along to the music or gossiping about anyone they had ever met instead of bothering about his whereabouts.

"Are you sure?"

"A hundred percent sure."

With that, Pedro swallowed hard, moistening his throat. "Besides… I just don't feel like leaving you here alone."

You looked slightly to the side, finger nervously tapping on your thigh.

"You don't need to worry about me," you whispered, chewing on your lower lip.

"But I do. And to be honest, I'm also just a very selfish man who doesn't feel like letting you go just yet."

"You're selfish?" you repeated, a mischievous glimmer in your pupils.

"I can be very selfish. If I want something very badly."

"Then I better not get in your way, right?"

He drew a deep breath, relishing your little cat-and-mouse game, which was precisely to his liking.

"Oh, but I want you right there. In my way." Pedro shifted a little closer, his knee touching yours.

"Well, what do you want?" you whispered, darting your eyes up at him, a thin, glossy layer hanging over them. There were multiple possible explanations for your agitation, but Pedro prayed it had to do with him and not the empty glass in front of you. Shit, he felt the alcohol as well, but at least he was certain he would have been just as smitten with you if he had stayed sober. You were too enchanting and adorable not to feel drawn to, no matter his alcohol level.

"Do you really wanna know?" Pedro whispered in your ear, your heads so close now that his friends at the table probably wouldn't have made out his face among the many people. If only there hadn't been that stupid crown on top of his head…

"Yes," you panted, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as his breath fanned your earlobe.

"Are you sure? Because it's… bad. It's not what I should say to such a lovely girl like you, who I've just met."

"I wanna know," you insisted, almost begging him with your quiet voice. Pedro saw stars, his head spinning and his body feeling so limp he craved something to hold onto. What had he done to deserve someone so sweet and perfect? He wanted you so badly, and he didn't even know in what way.

On one hand, he couldn't stop thinking about getting you into his bed, undressing you, and fucking you while you continued to make those beautiful sounds for him, but on the other hand, he didn't want this evening to end with a one-night stand after which Pedro and you would never see each other again.

"Please," you muttered, which caused the last thread holding his composure together to snap. His hand found your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as his lips touched your ear.

"I wanna have you naked underneath me," he said bluntly, hoping that it wasn't too much and that you wouldn't be appalled by his directness. You had asked for it, though, hadn't you? With wide eyes, you glared up at him, even though it hadn't diminished your arousal in any way. There was something innocent about you, but maybe it was just the fact that you were so much younger than him. He shouldn't want you like this, but his critical thinking was overcast by the alcohol, by the stuffy air in here, the beauty you emitted, and his desire to touch you without your stupid jeans in the way –

"Please take me with you," you suddenly whispered, interrupting Pedro's quite chaotic train of thought.

"You want me to take you with me? Where?"

For a brief second, something like nervousness flickered across your face, your teeth grazing your bottom lip.

The bathroom.

Yes, that would be an option. But then again, it wasn't really how Pedro imagined things. You deserved better than to be fucked over some dirty sink. Especially because he hoped things wouldn't be a one-time thing. Christ, what was he even doing here… He was supposed to enjoy a casual night out with his friends after finishing a movie, and now he was about to abandon them for a young woman he couldn't get out of his head.

"I want you," you whispered, putting your hand on top of his, beckoning him to trace it higher up your leg.

"You wanna come home with me?" Pedro really prayed that you would agree to see him again. Should he ask now, or would that come across as strange?

"Yes… Please." It seemed as though you had forgotten all about not wanting to rip him away from his friends, just like Pedro had. Because you didn't protest—or in fact, say anything—as he guided you out of the crowded bar a few minutes later, hoping that no one would recognize him now. It would have been quite possibly the worst development.

But Pedro was lucky. His hand firm on the small of your back, he held the door open for you and then drew a heavy breath through his mouth once the two of you were outside. It was so quiet all of a sudden that his ear rang, and when he cleared his throat, his own voice sounded unfamiliar to him.

"You still wanna do this?" Pedro chuckled, even though he found it an odd thing to say just a few seconds later. Your lips curved, your hand reaching for his wrist to pull him toward you.

"Yes. I do. If you promise me you won't tell anyone."

His mouth crashed into yours before he could think about it properly and come to the conclusion that it would be unwise to kiss a stranger in the middle of Manhattan.

Fuck it.

No one would recognize him anyway in the dark, his face covered by your head. Still, Pedro gently shoved you toward the black van waiting for him a few feet down the street, which would take the two of you to his apartment in the West Village.

"Why?" he spoke against your lips, bringing his hands to your waist.

"Because I've never done something like that before…"

Your words, or rather, the content of them, ignited a little fire within his heart. God, he shouldn't feel so turned on by the fact that you were throwing all your habits overboard in order to go home with him. And, of course, there was your unawareness of his stardom and the thought that you had no special interest in him beyond your sexual desire. You didn't want to fuck him because his name was Pedro Pascal, but because you wanted him. You had met a stranger in the bar, someone you felt so attracted to that you were trusting him to take you to his apartment.

"I won't tell anyone…" he murmured and hummed gently, seeing that your back was about to touch his car.

"Careful…" he whispered and knocked on the window of the passenger seat. His driver nodded in understanding, and a second later, the rear doors were unlocked.

"You… why do you have a driver?" you asked quietly, but allowed Pedro to help you inside without hesitation.

"I told you, I work in film."

That was all the answer you got for now, even though he was positive you would have more questions once the two of you were at his apartment, located on one of New York's most expensive streets.

The car started moving, and Pedro's hands were immediately all over your body again, this time taking hold of your face and neck.

"I'm y/n, by the way," you panted, your index and middle fingers hooked into the collar of his shirt.

"Pedro."

His heart skipped a beat, waiting for a suspicious noise of realization from you, but it didn't come. Thank god.

"Do you think we should…" you began, clearly reluctant to make out in the car with the driver just a few feet away, but Pedro just pushed his face against yours and stroked up your thigh. Of course, you were right, and he should just wait the five-minute drive to his apartment, but he had a hunch that sitting next to you without touching you would be impossible. Your scent, your silky hair, your warm skin were all too tempting to just sit there, actionless. Besides, his driver was much too professional to comment on his feral behavior.

"It's okay. Just relax… Let me help you relax."

Faces squeezed together, Pedro's hand quickly dropped to the opening of your jeans, where he hastily undid the button and zipper. He didn't have much time, but he wanted to give you at least something before their arrival. Most of all, it was his selfish, egoistical yearning to hear your pretty voice beg him for more while he was taking you up to his apartment… Yes, that was the kind of outcome he was hoping for. Leading you up the staircase while your glossy eyes glanced up at him in awe of the things he had just made you feel in the car. Your lips parted, eager and hungry for more.

"Huh. Fuck, I - " you stammered, sucking uneven breaths through your teeth while Pedro nimbly slid his right hand past your waistband like it was exactly where it belonged.

"I know… Open your legs a bit wider for me, baby."

You did, though it was a struggle in the tight space in the back of the car. His driver probably couldn't even see anything except their rapid, greedy kissing and maybe your arms slung around his neck. Definitely not his hand disappearing in your pants.

"That's it…" Pedro exhaled, pressing his palm against your clothed pussy, desperately searching for any wetness.

There it was… Through the lace of your underwear – why were you even wearing lace for a casual night out with your friends? – he felt a certain dampness, which made him wish he could just shove your jeans down right here and right now and smell and taste you. Well, perhaps he could do that in a few minutes. There was something immensely ardent about doing it in the back seat of a vehicle, though.

"Do you like that?" he purred, moving his hand in circles to create friction against your clit.

"Y-Yes," you whimpered, thrusting your hips and shifting closer against Pedro's palm as he rolled his hand into your cunt.

"You're so wet… All that for me?"

"Mhm," you cried out, your hands grasping his bicep to pull him closer.

"How naughty… I thought you were just at the bar for a night out with your friends. And here you are, dripping all over my hand."

Slowly, Pedro pushed the fabric of your panties aside and inserted his middle finger inside your clenched hole without any warning. Your body wriggled, the muscles in your legs tensing while Pedro mercilessly entered you to the hilt. You were properly soaked with your natural body fluids, which made him soothe you in satisfaction.

"Taking it so well, sweetheart… So beautiful. And so goddamn wet… You think you can take another finger?"

The fabric bothered him, but as of now, he couldn't just take them off so effortlessly, and ripping them wasn't an option either.

"Yes," you whined, arching your chest toward him when Pedro pressed his thumb into your pulsing clit. Somehow, every part of your body was prickling with heat, whether it was your face, your lips, your pussy, or the side of your neck, which Pedro was still gripping tightly while scissoring you open. Just when he was about to comply and add his ring finger, the car came to a stop, and you squealed, both your heads brutally torn back to the present by the sudden intrusion. Pedro pulled his hand back fast, feeling his heart thunder in his chest.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, but we're at your apartment," the driver spoke. Pedro was too caught in the moment to figure out whether Mike's voice was laced with amusement like he had expected it, or if he was at least trying to act unsuspecting like he wished.

"Thank you," Pedro answered with his raspy, hoarse voice and opened the door with his left hand. His right… well, he didn't want to ruin the expensive interior of the van.

With a quiet thud, your back met the wall next to the door to his apartment.

He protected the back of your head with his hand to ensure he wasn't hurting you when he pressed you into the wall with his whole weight and passion. Now that they were in a completely private place with no one observing them, Pedro wanted nothing more than to fulfill his wishes and opened your jeans for a second time that night. With skilled fingers, he shoved the fabric down your hips, waiting for it to drop onto the ground and then slowly sank to his knees in front of you.

"Pedro – " you began, nervousness resonating in your low tone, but as his lips kissed your bare knee, the rest of your words caught in your throat.

"It's okay. I'm gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart."

Sure, his aged knees hurt a little on the hard floor, but he simply couldn't wait long enough to guide you to his bedroom or couch. Besides, there was a desk nearby, which he could make you sit on top of in case this position became too impractical.

"I – I just want…" you whimpered and buried your fingers in his locks, your nails grazing his scalp in a way that was most delicious to him.

"Yeah? What do you want?" Pedro's mouth was pressed against your mound, which allowed him to finally take in your scent. And gosh… you smelled amazing. Clean, yet surrounded by a strong musky note.

Blood rushed to his cock, which had been hard the moment he first kissed you in the car. He briefly considered taking himself out and pumping his cock while making out with your sweet pussy, but for now, he didn't have the patience that such actions would demand. He had to dive straight in and lick through your folds that smelled so perfect, so seductive…

"Please. Please touch me, I – I need it so bad." You sounded close to tears, which elicited a hint of pity in him.

He wasn't consciously edging you; he was just savoring the sight in front of him, worshipping every inch of skin that he gradually unwrapped like a present.

"I know, baby. I'm gonna make it better. Gonna kiss the pain away."

His lips enclosed your bundle of nerves, and he hollowed his cheeks to apply pressure on the bud as the lacy fabric stung his skin. Your brow furrowed, which Pedro couldn't see from that angle, but your noises were more than enough to confirm that he was doing more than ordinarily well.

"Ah. Ow, fuck… Yes. Yes, please." Pedro smiled contently, then stuck out his tongue to tease your clit through the thin layer.

"Pedro," you cried out, rolling your hips as though to plead with him to proceed faster.

"Take it off. Please," you additionally begged, but Pedro had too much fun teasing you with your pretty underwear, which he felt you had put on just for him, though this was obviously not the case since neither of you had expected to hook up with a stranger tonight.

"Relax. I got you. Just gonna let your panties stay on your body a little longer… You can't see it, but you look so pretty with them. Just let me play with them a little, okay?"

Your hand lying flat on the wall behind you, Pedro ran a hand up your stomach and slipped it underneath your shirt.

"Y-Yes," you choked, knees turning to jelly as his hand cupped your left breast through your bra and gently cradled your flesh.

"Jesus Christ, sweetheart… What have I done to deserve all that, mhm? You smell so good, you felt so good around my finger, and I know you're gonna taste divine."

It was Pedro's cue to slowly shove the fabric out of his way and press an open-mouthed kiss to your opening. His tongue quickly swirled around your hole, feeling your wetness prickle on his skin, and then a few seconds after that, he entered you with his fat muscle.

All of it had happened too quickly for you to catch up in time, but now, you gasped for air so loudly that Pedro briefly glanced up your body to check if you were okay. Of course, you were. Your cheeks were just a little ruddy, and you looked out of the loop, overwhelmed by how good he was capable of making you feel. His hand clasped around your breast tightened a little, squeezing and kneading your warm flesh. He grinned when he felt you grab his wrist, encouraging him to do more and explore more of your body, but for now, he was utterly smitten with the taste of your pussy, which is why he focused on that part of you.

"You're gonna drive me fucking insane, sweetheart," Pedro grunted, but then was quick to stick his tongue back inside. He couldn't reach as deeply as he could with his fingers, but he could taste you and feel your juices trickle down his chin, a sensation grand enough that he wished he would never have to separate from your core. You also received all the necessary stimulation on your clit through his nose, scrunched up against the upper part of your pussy.

God, if only time would stop right now. If only he could do this every single day, every hour, for the rest of his life. It was all of you that kept him under this spell, not just your pussy. You were so responsive and reacted to him so sweetly that Pedro craved to explore more of you. He wanted to know all your most sensitive spots, tease you until he had discovered every side of you, and find out how much he could coax out of you before the two of you were too exhausted to even connect your lips. He wanted to know you in every way possible and not stop until these feelings were quenched. It was one thing to have you pressed up against the wall, but another to listen to you sharing your most hidden desires with him. That was what he wanted... yes.

"Please, Pedro…" you breathed, knees dangerously close to giving in, which would cause you to collapse on top of him. He could definitely imagine worse things than that. Maybe he should just ask you to sit on his face and hope you forgot all about time and place… Maybe you would roll your hips into him all night and – His eyes pinched shut as he felt you pull harshly at his strands.

Right. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed how he had stopped with the twirls of his tongue. Pedro seized the opportunity to switch things up a little and replaced his tongue with his finger. He was still owing you a second finger, after all.

"Rock against my mouth, y/n. Take what you need," Pedro requested and pressed his flat tongue against your clit. That way, he couldn't exactly trace your most sensitive spot with his pointed tongue as well as he would have liked, but you could create all the necessary friction on your own while he fucked you with his finger. You clenched heavenly around him, and Pedro loved to watch all those little reactions, such as your pussy flattening whenever he circled your nipple or your hips uncontrollably twitching when he curled his finger inside you. You were enjoying yourself, and for some reason, there was nothing that could possibly have brought Pedro more pleasure than that idea.

"Ready for a second finger, little one?" he grinned and finally pushed down your underwear at that very moment. He couldn't help it. He needed to feel all of you, feel the pulse in your clit in his entire body until the thrumming of his heart was in perfect sync with you.

"Yes. Yes, please," you pleaded, more than thrilled by the course of action.

"Take a deep breath for me."

You must have rewired something in his brain; there was no other explanation. He pressed his thick ring finger inside you, humming gently as he realized that he hadn't taken off the piece of jewelry yet. You must have felt it too, given the way you were bending your neck to make out his face between your legs.

"You're not married, are you?"

Pedro chuckled softly and reassuringly brushed over your naked thigh. "No, I'm not… I can still take it off though. If it's too cold."

"No," you quickly murmured, relaxing your shoulders and letting your head fall back against the wall. "I wanna cum, Pedro."

He laughed tenderly, sucking your little nub in his mouth and curling his fingers inside you in the meantime.

"You wanna cum or you're gonna cum?"

"I don't know," you whimpered, sounding as though you were deeply frustrated about something you couldn't quite pinpoint.

"It's okay… Take your time. Do you want me to go faster?"

"I don't know," you whined again, knees shaking and your body squirming unrestrainedly.

"Shh… it's okay. It's okay, baby. Just relax and let me take care of you. You don't have to do anything. I know what you need."

With that, Pedro stood up in front of you, not because he wanted to leave that spot between your legs, but because he figured it was time for a little change in your position. You seemed more than ready and in need of him to finish what he had started, but for one, he didn't trust that you could stand on your own, and also, he wanted you calm. And he wasn't sure whether he would achieve that with you standing and your hands desperately dragging at his hair like you were seeking something. Laying you down and having your body sprawled out in front of him would make things easier for both of you.

You didn't seem to perceive Pedro rising to his feet until he placed one hand on the back of your neck and draped the other around your waist.

"Let me get you to bed, okay, sweetheart?"

You nodded before your eyes became round. "But you – you're gonna touch me again, right?"

"Of course, darling," Pedro laughed, then effortlessly hauled you up in his arms, cradling your head against his chest. "I'm gonna do a lot more than that… if you want me to."

"Yes. I want everything."

Pedro suppressed another amused giggle, since your words had sounded more serious than one would suspect from the phrasing alone. Your face buried in his neck, he carried you through the hallway and into his bedroom, where he cautiously laid you down on the bed.

"Pedro?" you asked, or rather whispered, scrutinizing the room with blown pupils.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Are you rich?"

"Am I rich?" Pedro repeated, his chest vibrating with laughter. "I work in film."

"Well, what exactly do you do… in film?"

While taking off his shirt, Pedro thought about a reply that did reality justice without ruining the intimate moment between the two of you. There was no way around it now. You didn't deserve to be lied to, and he couldn't give you some trite explanation again.

"I'm an actor," he therefore whispered, threw his shirt in a corner of the room, and approached the bed.

"An actor? What movies have you made?"

"That doesn't really matter now…" Pedro mumbled, parting your knees with his hand and letting some of his weight press you deeper into the mattress.

"Do I know them?"

As a response, he yanked your shirt up, bundled the fabric right underneath your shoulders, and moved the cups of your bra aside.

"You haven't answered me," you giggled, which earned you a disapproving huff.

"I know. 'Cause I got more important things to attend to… more important than my stupid movies…"

"I'm sure they're not stupid," you babbled, body straining as you suddenly felt his hand cup your sex once more.

"Pedro," you hissed, writhing with your hips, but he remained unwavering and just twisted his wrist the slightest.

"I want you to cum for me. And you know what I would like to do then?"

You shook your head, even though there was a feverish glow upon your skin, making your eyes look glassy, almost like a doll.

"I would like to fuck you. Would you like me to do that too?"

His fingers were back inside you, reaching so deep that you threw your head to the side, searching for something only Pedro could give you.

"Y-Yes," you cried, rolling your hips forward, but this time he wanted to remain in charge of your actions, which was why he moved his thumb on his own and teased your clit the way he saw fit.

"I'm gonna make you all wet and pretty for me and then fuck you deep…"

"Yes," you yelped again, closing your eyes and biting down so hard on your bottom lip that it turned scarlet red.

"I wanna make you feel it all the way up in your belly… I want that pretty little head of yours only to think about my cock all the way inside you."

He twisted his finger as though to give you a little taste of what it would feel like to have his length inside you, but you were certain it would be an even more exceptional experience to be stuffed full by his manhood.

His dirty talk continued, and so did the swipes and pumps of his skilled fingers between your legs. Your head was swimming, your vision blurred, which made it impossible to determine exactly where he was touching you or how he was moving the pads of his fingers, but what you knew was that it was good. That it was stealing your breath away and guiding you right to the verge of an orgasm.

"I'm gonna cum," you informed him. Meanwhile, Pedro crawled down your body swiftly and replaced his thumb on your clit with his lips, sucking and kissing the nub until, with one final, sharp thrust into your core, you were pushed over the edge and came with a soft yell.

"Oww…" you mewled, trapping Pedro's head with your legs, which you clamped tightly.

"Good girl… That's it, just let it go… Don't forget to breathe… That's right, breathe for me…"

Your body moved as though you were floating above the rippling surface of the ocean, the tides softly cradling you while Pedro tenderly touched you through your high.

"Pedro…" you whispered, grabbing the silk sheets beneath you with both hands.

"Just feel it… It's good, isn't it?"

You reached for his head to pull at his strands and transmit the inexplicable feelings inside your body, but Pedro just snatched your wrists and planted them on top of your stomach.

"Shh… Just breathe…"

"Pedro," you uttered, wriggling your hands beneath his grasp, making him raise his eyebrows.

"What is it?"

"I want you. Please. Please, fuck me."

His features shifted, and with a chuckle, he slowly climbed on top of you again.

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself, mhm? Feeling a little greedy?" Twisting a strand around his index finger, Pedro kissed you right next to your ear.

"Please," you repeated, wrapping your legs around his hips.

"Y/n?"

"Yes."

Your face gleamed with anticipation, which was so endearing that his heart stumbled in his chest. Yet there was something he had to inquire about before he could listen to his throbbing cock with his whole heart and claim what he wanted so badly.

"How old are you?"

Your chin jutted forward, a faint crease forming on your forehead. "Twenty-nine, why?"

"Jesus…" He had almost expected, rather feared, a number obscenely young, but twenty-nine was far worse than what he had hoped when he had seen you for the first time.

"You're young," Pedro sighed, cupping your face, his aged hand stroking your soft skin.

"And?"

"Too young."

Urgency flared in your eyes, your heels digging into his lower back. "No. I want it, Pedro, please. It can't be that bad, I – "

"I'm 21 years older than you."

Pedro wasn't seriously considering backing away now, if he was being honest with himself. He might be irresponsible and horrible for it, but his own selfish desires to be buried inside you overshadowed his nagging conscience. Hell, perhaps he hadn't demanded to know your age earlier for that very reason. Maybe he simply hadn't wanted to know the ugly truth. And even now, he couldn't walk away and leave someone as pretty and appealing as you in his bed. Yet it would feel good to hear you beg just a little longer, so that this critical voice inside his head was at least a little less noisy, believing that he wasn't corrupting you but rather doing you a favor by giving in to your wants and needs. After doing the math, you stubbornly tautened your face muscles and arched off the bed, putting your chest on perfect display. Jesus… As if he could have ever walked away.

"I don't care. I still want it. Please. I'm twenty-nine, I can make those choices. And I want you to fuck me. Please, Pedro. Please."

You were begging so lovely that Pedro was this close to denying you your wishes one last time. His dick was painfully hard against the restraints of his pants, though, and the idea of finally taking himself out, and not only that but also feeding you his cock, was simply too bewitching. So, Pedro adjusted you on your back, parting your legs a little wider and placing your hands on the bed on either side of your head.

"Alright. I'm gonna fuck you. Probably gonna go to hell for it, but whatever…"

You giggled softly at that, which Pedro rewarded with a teasing bite on your chin. Then he reached for the bedside table, opened the top drawer, and grabbed one of the plastic packages he stored there along with his reading glasses and some tissues.

"I'm on the pill," it suddenly burst out of you, making Pedro's hand slow down in the air. "I promise. We can go raw."

His forehead wrinkled, and he put the condom down on the mattress right next to you.

"Sweetheart, I –… No. No, we're not gonna go raw."

"Why?" you asked, sounding almost offended. "You don't trust me?"

"I trust you. I just – it would be wrong."

"Why?" you hissed, lips compressed, which caused Pedro to gently trace along your cheekbone. He felt somewhere between amused and annoyed by your mulishness and eagerness to feel him without any separation, but most importantly, he had to calm you and convince you that it would be foolish to go without protection.

"I don't wanna risk anything. You're so young – "

"So that's what this is about?" you whispered.

"No. I don't know. I just wanna make sure nothing bad is gonna happen. You're on the pill, that's great, but we're not gonna go raw. We're only doing this 100 percent safely."

"But – "

"I said no," Pedro said, his voice a little louder, laced with authority now. "I only want what's best for you."

You growled something incomprehensible but didn't speak up again while Pedro's eyes wandered to the condom.

"We don't have to do anything at all if that's what you want. Your choice."

"No!" you quickly protested, hands flying to his broad shoulders. "No, I want it. I want it either way."

"Okay," Pedro murmured and finally picked up the package again.

He undid his trousers, shoved them down his legs along with his boxers, and inaudibly chuckled at the way you licked over your lips. Then he opened the condom with deft fingers, throwing the plastic on the nightstand before sliding the rubber over his manhood. You barely saw anything of him except for the rough outline, but as Pedro settled between your legs, his length slapped against your tummy, giving you an idea of his thickness.

"Pedro…" you muttered under your breath, your index finger tracing the veins on his forearm.

"It's okay… We're gonna make it fit, I promise."

He wasn't seriously concerned about working himself inside you. You were more than well prepared for him, had been drenching his hand with your juices, and he was positive that a little bit of sweet whispering in your ear would put you at ease quickly. Still, he needed you to trust him with your whole heart while you showed yourself from your most vulnerable side, opening up to him and allowing him to see and feel every last inch of you.

"Can I – can I touch it?"

The corners of Pedro's mouth lifted. He carefully took your hand and brought it to his thick cock, helping you form a fist and glide it up and down his shaft.

"It's so big," you panted, looking down between your bodies, but you couldn't see much in the darkness.

"Don't worry your pretty head about it. It's gonna fit. I'm gonna go slowly and make sure it won't hurt."

You nodded slowly, still unable to take your eyes off his center until Pedro raised your chin with his finger.

"Are you ready, babygirl?"

"Yes," you replied, determinedly staring back at him while Pedro replaced your hand around his cock with his and trailed the tip along your folds, giving your clit some extra attention, which made you jolt.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" Pedro chuckled and notched his tip against your entrance. Shit, he really was big, and right now, you were all cramped and tense, your pussy barely letting in his tip.

"Relax for me, sweetheart," he demanded, carefully circling your clit to make your muscles loosen.

"I don't want it to hurt," you whispered, squeezing his arm while Pedro soothingly kissed your hairline.

"Shh… I know. I know, baby. You tell me to stop and I stop. I mean it. If it hurts, if it feels uncomfortable, or if you change your mind, you tell me so. But I can't say that it's not gonna hurt a little bit. Do you still want me to go on?"

"Y-Yes," you claimed with no reluctance, brushing a sweaty strand of hair out of your face. After spending another minute rubbing your clit, Pedro whispered some sweet nonsense in your ear while thrusting his hips forward. This time, it worked a lot better, and within a few seconds, he was halfway inside you. You drew a sharp breath through your teeth, clutching his bicep firmly, but you didn't stop him.

"Is that okay?" Pedro asked, just to make sure.

"Yes. Just – hurts a little. But it's okay."

"When did you last sleep with someone?" he wanted to know, not just because he was genuinely interested, but also because it was a good distraction from the faint sting in your core while he fed you more of his cock.

"Like… half a year ago, maybe?" you breathed, sweat gathering on your focused brow.

"That's okay… you just need a little more time to warm up."

Not long after, Pedro was finally sheathed fully inside you, the hair curling at his base touching your pussy. His head was spinning, little flashes sparkling in his view at how tight and warm you felt. He could have come on the spot, he was certain, though he couldn't fully let the pleasure consume him, as he first needed to check on you.

"Talk to me, sweetheart… Are you okay? Look at me."

Your eyes set on him, though there was a dense haze over your vision, like you weren't fully there.

"Yes, Pedro…" you muttered nonetheless, clenching around him so hard that Pedro pinched his eyes shut.

"Please move," you then added, shuddering as a reaction to his brushes over your bundle of nerves.

"Are you sure? How do you feel, mhm? Does it still hurt?"

"Not much. I just… I wanna feel it."

Although he was still hesitant to completely let go, Pedro pulled away a little and then thrust his cock back inside, attentively watching you for your reactions. You moaned lowly, lids shutting, but he couldn't track any pain or discomfort in your features, which was why he settled into a slow but steady rhythm of sliding in and out of you.

"You're so – big, Pedro," you hummed after a while, your brow glistening with a thick layer of sweat, but your eyes a bit clearer now.

"Can you feel it right here? Am I all the way up here, baby?" Pedro connected his flat palm with your lower belly, applying some force to find out whether he was actually kissing and stimulating your insides like he had intended.

"Y-Yes… I think so," you howled, hauling up your hips, broken gasps leaving your throat. It provoked Pedro to reach for one of the pillows next to your head and slip it underneath your pelvis, which would change the angle and perhaps make it even more pleasurable for you.

"Is that good like that?" he questioned, but merely got a euphoric whine as an answer.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, but I'm not gonna last long…" Pedro mumbled after a while, pacing the movements of his finger around your clit. "You feel so fucking good, I can't – can't help it, baby, I'm sorry."

Pedro's eyes were squeezed shut, excitement tangible in every line and crease across his face. His muscles were coiled and constricted, ready to loosen and limber up, his nerves already prickling like they knew exactly what was coming. You didn't reply, too focused on rolling your hips in accordance with his thrusts, which caused Pedro to address you again.

"You're gonna cum again, baby, I promise. I'm gonna make you cum again, but I – shit, I gotta – "

You took him in so wonderfully, it robbed him of the words bubbling in the back of his throat as well as his ability to speak in general. His hips snapped forward faster now, crashing into yours with a quiet smacking sound, which made your eyes roll back in your head.

"I'm close," you cried out, grabbing the wrist of his right hand, which was drawing messy patterns over your bundle of nerves.

Pedro's body was rippling with joy, the anticipation of reaching his apex at the same time as you sounding intoxicating in his head. Right now, he even regretted using that damn condom since he couldn't get over the idea of filling you up to the brim, but his conscience surely wouldn't have allowed it, and besides, he would have felt guilty afterward.

Pedro lowered his head, kissing up your neck and inhaling your scent while his thrusts became even faster, though also a lot more unrhythmical and irregular. But his finger remained focused, rubbing your clit in tight, firm circles. He interpreted each shallow gasp of yours as a sign that he was on the right track, and when your head fell back into the cushions at last, Pedro let go as well.

"Fuck…" he groaned, feeling his cock spill cum into the condom while you spasmed and throbbed around him. Your perfect, warm walls that had already hugged him so beautifully for the past minutes felt even more exhilarating around him, and Pedro just wished he could make this moment last forever.

"Ohh. Yes, fuck – " you whimpered, lashes fluttering and your mouth agape.

When he felt that his balls were empty, he glared at your face, his own lips curling as he took in your patchy, flushed cheeks that looked blazing hot.

"Do you even know how perfect you feel, babygirl? I don't wanna pull out, shit."

"Then don't. Pull out," you laughed softly, grabbing the side of his face as Pedro kissed you slowly.

"Jesus Christ… The prettiest, most gorgeous…"

He didn't specify what exactly he was referring to, but it didn't matter. Whatever words followed in your mind, they certainly wouldn't be wrong as he relished just about any part of your body. His dick twitched again, causing your sensitive walls to quiver around him and your throat to produce a quiet wheeze.

Although he much regretted doing so, Pedro cautiously withdrew, pulled back, peeled off the used condom, and threw it into the trash can beside his bed. Something within him stirred in the best way possible at the view before him as he shifted his gaze back to you, your sprawled-out hair, the look of sheer adoration and satisfaction on your face, and your intertwined fingers resting on your stomach. Pedro wanted to scoop you up in his arms more than anything, hold you, and shower you with kisses. He wasn't supposed to feel that way about a woman twenty years younger than him, especially one he had just met for the very first time. But one couldn't shut up their feelings, right? And adoration was probably the word that best summed up the turmoil raging inside his chest right now.

"How about I get a washcloth now and get you cleaned up?"

Pedro laid down next to you, absent-mindedly caressing your skin while you cleared your throat.

"Okay, Pedro…"

He was gone just for a minute, wetting a towel with warm water, and then returned to the bedroom. You had turned onto your side, but at his sight, you rolled onto your back again, expectantly spreading your thighs for him.

"I'm gonna be careful… Gonna be kind to your sweet, sore pussy."

He was right, you instinctively flinched at the first contact with the rough material, but Pedro ended your protest with an arm snaked around your waist, effectively holding you down while he wiped your cunt clean with the most sensitive care in the world. He only briefly cleaned the skin around your clit and avoided directly touching your nub.

When he was done, the towel wasn't so warm anymore, and Pedro softly squeezed your hip as he crawled back to the end of the bed.

"I'm gonna be right back. Don't move an inch." Though he doubted that you even could if you had wanted to, Pedro waited for your slight nod, then rushed to the bathroom to put the washcloth in the basket for his dirty laundry.

Walking back into the bedroom, he whistled a familiar tune that had been stuck in his head since his visit to the bar, but he stopped at once when he heard a sniffle coming from the bed.

"Y/n?"

He hurried to the edge of the bed and sat down, his eyes flying open at the sight of your tears. Shit, what had happened? Were you in pain? Had he hurt you? Had he crossed a line he wasn’t aware of? Had he been careless with you?

"Hey, what's wrong? Y/n, look at me, c'mon… What's going on?" Pedro suppressed the urge to grab your face, not wanting to make anything worse, so he just took your hand instead and squeezed it reassuringly.

"Please talk to me, sweetheart. Is there anything I did wrong? Are you in pain?"

You rapidly shook your head, which made Pedro's heart feel a little lighter. Still, you wouldn't stop crying, even hiccupping occasionally while trying to blink away the tears flooding your eyes.

"N-No… I – I just…" Your voice broke midsentence, your lower lip quivering as Pedro tried to make sense of the scene unfolding in front of him. Something had upset you, but what could it possibly be? Had he said something?

"What is it, baby?" Pedro repeated, lifting your frail hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

"You – Are you doing this all the time?"

He needed a moment to understand what you were referring to, let alone what you were implying. Once he did, the area around his eyes softened, and he slowly lowered your hand.

"You mean going home with women?" he asked, just to be certain.

You nodded and weakly wiped the wetness from your cheeks.

"Oh, sweetheart…" Pedro whispered and couldn’t help himself but lean in and kiss your hairline.

"You – You're an actor. You're in films, and you – you have this apartment, so you – you bring lots of women here, right? And you're – you're gonna throw me out and – and find the next woman to take home tomorrow."

Pedro's heart melted a little at your rapid rambling, and he wished for nothing more than to silence you with a kiss to stop your nonsense. You couldn't have been further from the truth.

"Baby…" Pedro cut you off and cupped your cheek in his large palm. "No. Stop saying such things."

"But it's true, isn't it? I didn't – I didn't… think."

"I'm not gonna throw you out. And I don't want you to go," Pedro uttered while climbing onto the bed beside you, hauling up the blanket so that the two of you could slip underneath. "I thought I made that clear."

You still observed him with wide, glossy eyes, although the tears had stopped streaming down your face.

"No, I'm not bringing women here every weekend. I've had one-night stands before, but that was a long time ago, and it's definitely not what I've had in mind for you."

He gently poked you in the side, then pulled you against his chest, cradling your head while feeling your hair give way to his fingers.

"Really?" you mumbled. "What did you have in mind for me?"

"Oh, little one…" Pedro sighed, almost feeling apologetic about how wrong you had been about all of this. How badly you had misjudged his intentions with you. You poor thing had probably raked your brain, contemplating at what point during the night he was going to kick you out and whether he would at least call you an Uber.

No, you were going to stay here. Until the morning, and then hopefully a bit longer. And then he would ask for your number and call you a little later. Screw the three-day rule. Maybe the two of you could grab a coffee in the afternoon and walk around Central Park, given that it would be a warm spring day tomorrow.

"I have a lot of things in mind for you," he whispered and dragged your hand to his lips once more. "And they definitely don't involve kicking you out, baby."

"Really?" you muttered, your eyes sparkling in the dark and somehow lighting up the whole room.

"Yes. If it were up to me, I would wait a really long time for the getting-out-of-here part…"

You giggled quietly, wiping your cheeks with the remnants of your tears, which fortunately weren't followed by new ones.

And Pedro smiled. The turmoil in his stomach eased.

You hadn't contradicted him, which meant that you didn't desire to flee from him either.

Sure, he would have to talk to you about the whole being-a-famous-actor thing. But everything in its own time…

Five months later

Pedro had felt your uneasiness all day.

It had started at breakfast, when you hadn't stopped playing with the handle of your cup even long after it had been empty. You were a nervous thing at times, but never like this, especially when there was no reason.

Your restlessness had spread through the whole day, Pedro patiently waiting for you to give him a hint or even explicitly address the elephant in the room, but you hadn't made a single allusion.

To be honest, he wouldn't have expected you to speak up on your own, since it was mostly Pedro in your relationship who took care of problems or initiated clarifying talks, but he had hoped for at least something to work with.

When Pedro and you sat on the couch in the evening, you nervously sipping on a cup of tea while he went through some lines, he just had to open his mouth. Otherwise, his brain might explode and those weren't good conditions to get those damn scripts into his head. Besides, he seriously worried that something was nagging at you, or that he had done something to hurt you, which he obviously wanted to avoid at all costs.

"Sweetheart," Pedro whispered, his voice low as he wanted you to be as calm as possible in your stressed state of mind.

"Yes?" you murmured equally quietly, raising your lips from the edge of the mug.

"What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

Pedro sighed and put down the paper sheets, feeling positive that this might take a bit longer. "You're nervous today. You can't sit still."

"I – " you began, but he shut you up by raising his hand.

"No. Don't lie to me. And don't try to fool me. I know you, and I know there's something on your mind. And I want you to tell me."

You tilted your head in torment, your bottom lip shivering dangerously.

"N-No… you… you don't," you whimpered, which made Pedro's whole demeanor shift.

Swiftly, he reached for the side of your head and rubbed your temple with his thumb.

"Hey… it's okay, it's alright, sweetie. Of course, I want you to tell me. I got you, you know that."

"But you – " you stammered, gaze dropped to your feet. "If you – if you knew, you wouldn't want to know."

"What do you mean?" His brow creased in confusion, but instead of giving him a reply, you just shook your head repeatedly.

"Talk to me, y/n. Whatever it is, I'm here for you. You can tell me anything."

Determinedly, you wiped over your eyes and swallowed the lump in your throat.

"I… I meant to tell you for a while. I promise. I'm so – I know I should've told you sooner. Or just – I shouldn't have done it at all."

Now, he really was curious, since he couldn't imagine what you, his perfect, innocent, sweet girl, could have possibly done wrong. He was sure that nothing you might tell him now could upset him, not when you were looking up at him with those puppy eyes anyway.

"Okay. Go on."

"I'm sorry. For doing it and for – for waiting so long to tell you."

Pedro nodded, exhaling deeply. "It's okay. Just tell me what it is."

"I… The night that we met."

You stopped, waiting for him to react. As if he would ever forget that night. It had been one of the best evenings in his life, the very reason he was sitting here with you so happily.

"Yes. What about it?"

"I didn't tell you the truth exactly. I lied to you."

Although Pedro was happy about you finally articulating yourself and giving him the much-needed information, he stumbled over the word lied. He hated when you lied to him, and he just couldn't imagine what the hell you were speaking of.

"Lied about what?"

You nervously sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes still fixed in front of you rather than on his face.

"I'm sorry. I… I know it's bad. I acted like I didn't know you. But I did."

The two of you were surrounded by a heavy silence while the words sank in. His mind automatically replayed the whole interaction: your conversation by the counter, the drive to his apartment, the intimate moments you had shared beneath the covers… Now, he was watching everything from a different angle. Of course, Pedro couldn't remember every word the two of you had exchanged, but some phrases had stood out to him as they had been the seeds of where you were now in your relationship. Knowing that you had in fact been fully aware of who you were talking to changed some of those memories. Just a little.

"Okay…" Pedro uttered, squeezing your hand tightly. "You knew who I was. From the beginning?"

You nodded, still avoiding his gaze, which felt like a punch in his stomach.

"Tell me what happened. When did you decide to lie?"

After clearing your throat and blinking a few tears away, you began speaking slowly at first.

"When… When I picked up your wallet, I didn't know who you were. I swear. But then you – you turned around and I recognized you. I was about to say something, but then – I don't know, I – you looked so calm and – and happy. And natural. And kind. And I thought that if I said something about knowing you, you might switch into that professional mode, and I just didn't want that. I wanted you to be you."

"Baby…" Pedro sighed, but before he could express his disbelief, you continued, the words tumbling out like they had been stuck in your throat for a long time.

"I'm so sorry. I know that it was bad, but you know, I didn't expect – that any of this would happen. I thought we would just talk and then – then you bought me that drink and suddenly we were in your car. I knew I should've told you, but… but the right moment just didn't come. It happened so fast, and when we laid in bed that night, I knew that I made a mistake, but I was too scared to tell you. I thought you would hate me if I said it."

At last, your eyes found his, and the pain glimmering in your dark pupils was almost too much for Pedro to bear. How was he supposed to be angry with you? It was more than obvious how badly you had been feeling and still felt, and that you regretted lying with your whole heart.

"You've been carrying all that with you? You thought I wouldn't wanna be with you if you told me?"

"Yes," you murmured, nodding slightly.

"And why did you decide to tell me now?"

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for more confessions.

"I don't know. I've wanted to tell you for so long. After things got serious, I promised myself I would talk to you when we went to that Italian place for my birthday. But… But everything was so beautiful and I had the best birthday of my life, so I didn't want to ruin it. It just – It became too much, and I just – I thought about it every day, and I knew I finally had to say it. Before this stupid secret would kill me…"

For a moment, neither of you said anything, though Pedro was still holding your hand, his gaze lingering on your lips.

"Do you hate me now?" you asked shyly, as though you feared his answer.

"You really think I could ever hate you?"

Shrugging your shoulders, you longingly gripped his fingers, too afraid for him to let go.

"I love you. And that's not gonna change."

"But I – I lied to you. Our relationship is based on a lie," you whimpered, close to tears again. Therefore, he pulled you in for a hug, sliding his hands down your spine as he pressed your face against his collarbone.

"No, it's not… Maybe I was a bit more fond of you in the beginning just because you made me feel so normal and I could just be myself with you. You had no expectations. But then, I fell for you because of who you are. I didn't fall in love with you because I thought you didn't know who I was. I specifically fell in love with you because of how you saw me. How you treated me, how you gave your heart into our relationship, how you let me see you."

You sniffled softly, and Pedro combed his fingers through your hair.

"Baby, I've spent the past five months with you, and they were the best five months of my life. You think I care about something that you didn't tell me during the first twenty-four hours since we met? You think the happiness of my past five months just doesn't count because of one lie? You think it's just gonna make me forget those weeks with you?"

"I'm sorry," you repeated, pressing a kiss through his shirt against his chest.

"I know. I believe you. But I love you no matter what. I fell in love with you, baby, for who you are. Maybe – yes, maybe it made the start easier because I was just extraordinarily interested in you since you treated me so normal, so… maybe I should even feel grateful. That you acted that way and made me want to get to know you. 'Cause look where it got us."

You laughed quietly, tilting your head up at him while Pedro draped both arms around you, holding you firmly against his chest.

"I'm still sorry. And I swear, I'm not gonna lie to you again. Never."

"I know. But I want you to stop feeling bad about it. I forgive you. Besides, I told you all about my job within the first day of knowing you. So don't say our relationship is built on a lie, sweetheart. Don't be silly."

He tapped his fingers tenderly on your bicep, inhaling the scent of your hair, while you finally, feeling a heavy weight lift from your heart, relaxed completely in his grasp.

"Thank you, Pedro. I love you so much. And I – I don't wanna lose you."

"You're not gonna lose me. Never. I'm not gonna let that happen."

Although the problem that had been gnawing at you for weeks was finally resolved, you remained flush against Pedro's body for the next hour. Not because you needed more comfort or solace, but simply because it felt too good to let go.

You believed him when he said he forgave you and that this wouldn't end the relationship like you had feared in your worst nightmares. But having his hands glide up and down your back, occasionally sliding your shirt to the side to caress your bare skin while whispering his love in your ear over and over, was so beautiful that you didn’t intend to move a single muscle. At least, not until you absolutely had to.