#I finished these a hot minute ago and resisted the urge to post for like 2 hours but damn it I can’t anymore | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luvdsc · 4 years

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mark lee sucks at technology.

tap the heart if you have a big, fat, embarrassing crush on your best friend!

pairing :: lee mark x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + social influencer au word count :: 5,883 words warnings :: none playlist :: dumb stuff (lany) ⋆ feeling (coin) ⋆ so far so good (gabrielle aplin) ⋆ electric love (børns) ⋆ love by mistake (bad suns) author’s note :: i was debating if i should post it on his bday instead, but i decided to drop it earlier, so uh, happy (approx. one week early) bday to mister absolutely fully capable (except when it comes to tech stuff) !!!! thank you for blessing us with your god tier raps ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.

In your required upper division business course aptly titled “Essential Marketing Strategies,” you had learned about a concept called personal brands. A personal brand is explained as the first impression a person wishes to perceive based on their own experiences, qualifications, and achievements. Your professor had told you and your classmates to pick three words to define your own brand. For instance, you chose to label yourself as charismatic, fun, and creative.

Your best friend’s brand would be awkward, endearing, and technologically challenged.

Okay, so that is definitely more than three words, but who’s counting? You might as well tack on “Y/N’s big fat crush” at this rate because everyone and their mother knows that you carry a torch—or more accurately, a blazing wildfire that can easily be spotted from Pluto—for your best friend.

Well, to be more precise, you should probably say everyone, except Mark, knows. And that’s not for lack of trying either. You completely dropped the art of delicate subtlety months ago already. Maybe you should add “hopelessly oblivious” instead.

The rolling end credits to the sixth Harry Potter film are playing on the screen in front of you, signaling the nearing end of your magical movie marathon. You’re seated on the worn down couch in Mark and Donghyuck’s shared apartment, watching the former make his drink with the fancy, gently used Keurig newly settled on the scratched countertop. Johnny dropped it off a few days ago because he had splurged on a better coffee machine (“It even makes Instagram worthy whipped frappuccinos!”) and didn’t want his old, but still perfectly functioning caffeine provider going to waste.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Mark slaps the side of the machine, and it starts to emit a low whirring noise. “Oh, that’s good, right? That sound is good, you think?”

His question is immediately answered by the sad squirt of hot water speckled with coffee grinds falling into his mug for a few seconds before the machine shuts off.

“What the hell?” he mutters angrily, carding his hand through his hair in frustration, and you finally decide to take pity on your best friend. Getting up from the comfy spot you know you sadly won’t be able to recreate perfectly again later, you stride over to where your best friend stands and flip open the top of the Keurig.

“Hyuck didn’t take out his used coffee pod,” you say, pulling out the incriminating evidence of your best friend’s roommate and disposing it in the trash can next to the refrigerator. “Where’s the espresso one you’re gonna use? Why didn’t you put that in?”

His jaw slackens, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze and mumbling, “I thought I’d just open it later and pour it into my hot water.”

“Mark,” you start, placing your hands on his shoulders firmly and staring into his eyes with a serious look on your face. “Please know that I’m saying this in the most loving way possible, but you are an absolute idiot.”

You release your grip on his shoulders and grab the espresso pod dangling from his fingertips before slotting it into the Keurig. You remove the mug he placed underneath the spout and wash out the accidental coffee water before placing it back in its original position and pressing the start button on the machine. With a sigh, you lean against the side of the counter, glancing at your friend who looks like a child being scolded for stealing from the cookie jar.

“If you pour the pod into your mug, are you just going to chug all the loose coffee grinds, too?”

“... I didn’t think that far ahead.” His lips start to unintentionally form a tiny pout, and your eyes (and your heart, too) soften.

You’re very relieved that Donghyuck is off filming with your friend because he definitely would be making fun of your heart eyes that frequently make an appearance around a certain Mark Lee. Which you always deny. Because you certainly do not have a gigantic crush on your technologically inept best friend.

You glance over at him again and have to physically fight yourself to resist the urge to kiss his cute pout away. Okay, so maybe you harbor a very respectable, medium sized crush. But it's no big deal. It’s completely under control. Unless you’re counting the fact that your best friend is still unaware, and you’re running out of ideas to try and see if he likes you back before you actually shoot your shot. Then it’s very much not under control because you’re losing sleep over it and you don’t know what to do to be any more obvious without stating the, well, obvious.

“Well, now you know. If you forget, you can FaceTime me and I’ll give you instructions on how it works.” You pat his shoulder reassuringly before pausing. “Wait, you do know how to FaceTime, right?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, sulking even more before confessing in a quieter, defeated tone, “Hyuck showed me last month.”

Mark grabs his finished drink and follows behind you, settling back onto the couch next to you. The streaming service already has Deathly Hallows Part 1 in the queue and ready to go, and your best friend is ready to click play until he notices your attention being focused on the smaller screen in your hands. He wonders if you’re about to post another one of your popular cooking videos on that app that shares a name with the most iconic song of the 2000s (hint: the name of the song’s singer is made up of four letters and a dollar sign).

“Are you uploading one of your videos?” he implores before taking a sip of his drink with a satisfied smile. Somehow, it always tastes better when you make it, and he can’t figure out why for the life of him. When he went to Johnny’s place, his older friend uses the exact same pod and water ratio for his espresso, and yet, it’s never as good as yours.

“Nah, I’m ordering my grocery delivery before I forget. Do you want anything?” You select the option to load your usual grocery items into your cart before debating on whether or not you should splurge on buying several packages of those seasonal Pillsbury sugar cookies that only come in stock during certain holidays. It seems like such an insult to the entire premise of your Tiktok account based on baking and cooking, but you’re an absolute sucker for those soft pastries.

“Yeah, can you get me a Shin Ramyun ten pack? Hyuck ate the last one two days ago and didn’t tell me.”

“You sure you don’t want ten boxes again?” You decide to get those Pillsbury sugary delights, happily adding three boxes to your cart. Everybody has a weakness, and yours just so happens to be a premade one way ticket to diabetes. You’re here for a good, delicious time, not a long time.

“No! That was an accident!” He objects, flailing his hands around, before falling back against the couch cushions in defeat. “But Hyuck does all the online grocery shopping now.”

“Thank god. You guys finally have quality toilet paper again.”

The past month of bathroom occurrences was plagued with scratchy tissue that felt more like goddamn sandpaper from the horrible depths of hell. To be honest, you probably would have rather used actual sandpaper, given the choice. You even made sure not to drink too much water any time you came over, but today, you decided to splurge on a venti passion fruit iced tea with sweetener from that very popular franchise sporting a mermaid logo and fiscally cosmic name. To your pleasant surprise, your trip to the toilet this time was wonderfully padded with Charmin Ultra Soft, not that absolutely awful off brand one with the gross texture of a dried pinecone from inferno.

“Hey, that toilet paper was a good steal! It was a three for one deal,” Mark protests, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Wow, I wonder why it was priced so low.” You deadpan, and Mark blanches, recalling all those restroom incidents that were rather rough. Literally.

“Anyway, do you think my viewers wanna see me make chocolate crinkle cookies or mochi doughnuts?” You bring up the two recipes you managed to perfect and add your own spin to on your phone, eyes scanning the ingredient lists.

“Both. And tell me when you’re making them, so I can come over and eat them.” He gives you a wide grin, and you let out a snort at that. His smile only grows as he says happily, “I love your job.”

“You only love it because you can freeload off of me,” you jest, but nevertheless begin to start to add all the ingredients for both recipes to your shopping cart. You always film cooking videos on Tuesdays, edit on Wednesdays, keep Thursdays free for last minute touch ups and emergencies, and post one every week on Fridays with other various random videos uploaded whenever in between. With that in mind, you schedule your upcoming grocery delivery for Monday.

“Hey, you need me. I’m the best taste tester.” He puffs up his chest proudly before hastily tacking on a more genuine reason. “And because I’d starve without you. I can’t live off of instant ramen and frozen chicken nuggets forever. Gordon Ramsay already confirmed my shitty cooking skills. I need you to survive.”

“Oh my god, when I uploaded those pics of your scrambled eggs on Twitter, I lost like a hundred followers in less than a minute.” You confirm the delivery and place your phone on the coffee table, picking up the opened bag of Cheeto puffs before settling back in your seat. “My cooking credibility was completely shot. I had to explain to my fans that I didn’t make those.”

“Yeah, but now everyone calls me Eggy Boi online!” he whines, and you laugh. You have to admit, it’s quite a funny play on the whole “edgy boi” terminology. You wonder if Mark will find it amusing if he discovers his roommate is the culprit behind his new online persona (He probably won’t, and you reckon Donghyuck enjoys living in a safe space where he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open, so you stay quiet about it. You’ll use it as leverage some other time).

“Okay, Eggy Boi, come by on Tuesday because I’ll be baking in the afternoon,” you say casually, grabbing the remote control from your best friend and pressing play.

You very narrowly avoid a green gummy bear to the face. It lands somewhere behind the couch, lost forever to the dust bunnies and other snacks that missed its target. You know for a fact that it’ll stay there until the boys decide to move to a new apartment. Mark grumbles at the miss, biting off the head of a red cherry flavored gummy bear perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“I hate you. But I’m still coming over next week because I want a doughnut.”

“No cookie?”

“... and a cookie. Maybe two.”

Wednesday comes faster than you expected, and you’re currently holed up in your apartment’s second bedroom—which you had transformed into a snazzy office space—completing the edits to your second video on mochi doughnuts. You already finished polishing the one about the cookies earlier, thank goodness. If you had to stare at your computer screen for another three hours, you would rather eat those pastries Mark tried to make two months ago, but had mistaken salt for sugar. Adding a cup of salt to any baked good is an extremely effective way to make anyone who tasted your best friend’s brownies experience a trip to the beach. Because they essentially just swallowed a mouthful of sand and ocean water. Because it’s salty as heck. Just like Mark was when you told him.

Speaking of your best friend, he’s currently puttering around in your kitchen doing god knows what. He knows better than to try another recipe and possibly blow up your number one moneymaker—your prized oven—in the process. Your heart nearly drops when your ears pick up the faint chopping sounds of a knife against your wooden cutting board. Is he going to try to temper chocolate again? He nearly burned through your entire stock of dark, milk, and white chocolate last time.

After much contemplation and deciding that you deserve a good procrastination break and a fully intact kitchen, you’re about to go out and see what he’s up to when Mark timidly appears in your doorway, clutching onto a white bowl of watermelon cubes with a fork tucked neatly in it. He shuffles in, dropping the snack on your desk before turning to walk out without a word, not wanting to disturb your work mode.

Your heart warms up at the sight, and you speak up, a small smile slipping into your face. “What’s this for?”

“Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” He pauses in the doorway and adds on sheepishly, “And I can't cook anything, so this is what you get.”

Your heart swells tenfold, and your smile widens even more as you spear a piece of fruit with the fork and quickly pop it into your mouth. “Thanks, Marky.”

His cheeks flush with a pretty shade of carmine, and he fails to suppress the little giddy smile that appears on his face at your nickname for him. He walks out of your office, reddened cheeks still rising up higher than ever. “Y-Yeah, of course. No problem.”

By the time you finish adding the final few touches to your edited video, the bowl of watermelon has been picked clean. You save your video and transfer both of your completed projects to your phone, making a mental note to schedule their uploads and add them to your account’s posting queue later. Shoving your phone in the pocket of your sweats after ensuring the successful transfer of your videos, you pick up the empty dish and walk out towards the kitchen, the silver fork clinking against the side of the bowl with every step.

As you wash the dish and utensil, Mark wanders over from his spot on the couch, leaning forward and casually placing his chin on your shoulder. Almost instantaneously, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you briefly fantasize about your best friend wrapping his arms around your waist and how domestic and sweet the two of you would look, like one of those cheesy couples the two of you always made fun of.

“What’s up?” you ask, making a conscious effort to hold your voice steady and not waver over the fact that Mark is basically draped over you. After you place the dish on the drying rack, you turn around to face your best friend, sorely miscalculating the distance as mere inches separate your face from his now.

“I—” Puberty decides to make an ugly appearance in the form of an ill timed voice crack, and he internally curses as he takes a step back, willing the incoming blush to go away. Letting out a small cough, he tries again, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I, um, Jisung sent me some kind of dance video. He said it’s a challenge? I kinda don’t know what to do with it? Like do I make a new dance, record myself, and send it back? Actually, isn't it easier to just do a dance battle face to face?”

“Can I see the video?” You already have a good idea on what the video will be, but you want to confirm it. Mark fumbles with his phone, pulling up the video in his text messages. He angles the phone towards you for you to see, and you grab his hand, bringing the device a little closer to you for a better look and clicking play.

“Oh, it’s a Tiktok challenge! He’s doing the Say So dance!” you exclaim, recognizing the song almost immediately as your eyes follow the fluid dance moves, completely enthralled. “So a challenge isn’t going up against someone, like a battle. It’s just some kind of trend or concept that you try to copy yourself. You’re supposed to learn the same dance and record yourself for this one. I can show you some other challenges and help you practice and record this one tomorrow if you wanna drop by after work!”

“O-Oh, okay, sounds good.” Mark stumbles over his words, attempting to focus on what you’re saying and the dance Jisung is doing, but all he can think about is the way your body is pressed against his side, hand comfortably wrapped around his. He freezes up as the tips of his ears grow redder and redder with every passing second, and his face sports a similar color. He silently prays for the telltale crimson to go away by the time the dance is over.

When the video ends, you once again realize the close proximity between you and your best friend. Your face burns at this revelation, and you awkwardly take a step back. Clearing your throat, you hastily release Mark’s hand (He inaudibly lets out the breath he’s been holding in this entire time, yet he also already misses the way your hand felt grasping his).

“Uh, anyway, I’m gonna make a latte. Do you want a drink, too?” You walk towards the other side of your kitchen with Mark trailing behind you. You take out a floral, peachy colored mug from your cupboards before pausing and looking at your best friend. “Wait, do you remember how to use a Keurig?”

“Yes!” He says, slightly exasperated as he picks out his own cup from your cabinet. He always uses the same one—a cerulean blue mug with squiggles all over it—and all of your friends and guests know not to use it because it’s unofficially officially Mark’s mug (And perhaps, you did indeed buy it from that overpriced kitschy tableware shop down the street two years ago with your best friend in mind).

“Really?” You select the latte option and press start after you had already positioned the mug beneath the spout and inserted a green tea matcha pod. He finally relents, shoulders sagging and a defeated expression on his face.

“... No.”

You chuckle, taking the mug from him and carefully putting it on the counter. You grab the espresso pod you know he likes from the drawer below and place it next to the cup. “It’s okay, I’ll teach you again.”

Mark tries. He really does. He tries very hard to concentrate on memorizing the simple process, but he keeps getting distracted. His eyes are focused on the correct button to push before they start to trail up to your fingertips. And then, they go from your hand to your arm, then up to the elegant curve of your neck, and finally, to the way your lashes frame your pretty eyes and how the tip of your tongue sticks out slightly as you concentrate until all he can focus on is you, you, you.

Suddenly, in what feels like a blink of an eye, you’re done and handing him his finished drink, complete with a perfectly whipped milk foam on top. You ask him if he knows how to make it now, and all he can do is lie and nod with a barely convincing smile.

After all, how can Mark tell his best friend that the reason he never remembers is because you’re the biggest distraction?

Mark should be here in five minutes, according to his most recent text message. And in the text message below that, your friend had sent you a challenge. More specifically, it’s the one she completed with Donghyuck a few weeks ago. When you said you wanted bold suggestions on how to figure out if your best friend feels the same way about you as you do about him, you didn’t want one this bold.

Yet, the video link to your friend’s “today I kissed my best friend” challenge along with a winky face from her is staring mockingly at you. While you aren’t one to back down from a challenge, the mere thought of kissing your best friend causes vast colonies of butterflies to erupt in your stomach and your ears to feel as if they have caught on fire. You’re already tongue tied with your head in the clouds, and he isn’t even here yet. How utterly fantastic.

However, your mother definitely did not raise a quitter, so you spring into action when you hear the faint jingling of a key being inserted into your apartment’s door (You had given Mark a copy of your key almost immediately after you had moved in). You move the pretty indoor fern given to you by Jaemin as a housewarming gift last year closer to the edge of your towering bookcase, leaning your phone against it. You quickly position the device to capture a good view of the couch area in your living room and press the record button, arranging a few of the leaves to hide as much of your phone as you possibly can without obstructing the lens.

You run full speed to your bedroom, letting out a sigh of relief when you’re safely inside and hear Mark finally unlocking the door successfully and shuffling in. When he calls out to you, you try to even out your breathing, walking out of your room with your tripod and laptop in hand.

“Hey,” you greet him in the most casual tone you can muster. You place the tripod down and sit before opening your laptop and setting it on the coffee table. “I thought we could watch a few challenges for fun before trying the Say So one. Have you watched Jisung’s videos before?”

“Um, well, no, not really,” he confesses sheepishly, taking a seat next to you on the couch, leg pressing against yours. He squints at the YouTube video you pulled up earlier before he had arrived, reading the title before clicking the space button to start it. “Savage Tiktok dance compilation part two?”

“Wait, hold up.” You pause the video and then turn to face him with an incredulous expression on your face. “You’ve never watched any of Jisung’s dance Tiktoks?”

“No… I don’t even have an account.” His cheeks are dusted with the lightest shade of pink as he quietly admits, “I watch all of yours though.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, face heating up as you stammer out, “O-Oh, well, I can help you make an account later to upload your video.”

“Sounds good.” There’s a few seconds of silence as you mull over his previous words before he speaks up again awkwardly, “Should I, uh, play the video?”

“Oh! Yes, right! Of course, hit play,” you laugh nervously, twisting and playing with the hair tie around your wrist. He starts the video again, and the two of you watch the compilation, slowly relaxing once more as you tap your fingers to the rhythm of the song and he bobs his head to the beat.

“Do I have to change outfits like that?” he questions a few minutes later, eyes growing round as he sees the girl on the screen switch between four different outfits throughout the dance. His closet basically consists of the same five black shirts that he stole from Jaehyun. Even if he did do an outfit swap, there would literally be no difference at all.

“You don’t have to,” you assure him, clicking the enter key to play the next video that’s recommended: another Tiktok dance challenge compilation. “All you have to do is copy the dance.”

Mark nods, taking a glance at the laptop screen before his hand shoots out and he pauses the video, leaning forward to take a closer look at the little recommended video title banner at the top. “Wait! What’s that one?”

He clicks on it, the new video now loading up. The two of you wait patiently for it to begin, waiting for the spinning disc to stop. But it doesn’t. In fact, the whole chrome page goes blank and then, the little pixelated Google Chrome dinosaur pops up on your monitor, announcing that you have no internet connection. Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to reload the page before trying to re-establish your laptop connection to your wifi. Unfortunately, you cannot find your appropriately named “drop it like it’s hotspot” wifi anywhere to connect to.

And that’s when it hits you. Your landlord had sent out a notice to the entire apartment complex last week about the electricity being powered down today from 4 to 6 p.m. for a maintenance check, and a quick glance at the digital clock on your laptop shows that it’s a little past four.

You groan, closing your laptop and flopping back against the couch cushions dramatically. Mark cocks his head, slightly confused, before he pokes you in the arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I completely forgot about the scheduled electricity shutdown for the entire building. We won’t have any wifi for the next two hours.” You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in the slightest, and Mark doesn’t think it’s fair that you get to be this cute and have this much of an effect on his racing heart rate.

“That’s okay, we can… play some board games?” he suggests offhandedly, pushing away the embarrassing thought and nudging your leg with his, and you smile before a sudden idea occurs to you.

“Or we can still do some Tiktok challenges! What was the challenge you clicked on?” You quickly sit upright, turning to face your best friend, eyes sparkling in excitement. “I memorized a few of the dance ones already! Was it Renegade? I can teach you that one. Jisung showed me how to do it.”

“Um,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His eyes dart everywhere, except you, as he lets out a feigned cough. “It wasn’t a dance one. It was about, uh, going up to your boyfriend… and um, hugging him... when he’s playing video games.”

“Oh.” You answer lamely, not knowing what to say. You unsuccessfully try to push away the image of you attempting that challenge with your best friend. “Those are really cute.”

“Really?” He says doubtfully, wrinkling his eyebrows and fiddling with the frayed sleeve of his sweater. “Wouldn’t the dude get mad?”

You don’t know what suddenly possessed you to do this (you’ll have to ask Renjun and his paranormal loving ass later), but you thank whatever demon did for that split second because you find yourself gently grabbing Mark’s arm and slipping your head underneath it. You swing one leg over his lap and settle down until you’re securely sitting in his lap, bent legs on either side of his hips, hands curled around the soft fabric of his sweater on both sides and resting on top of your thighs. His arms instinctively go around your waist, wrapping around you securely.

You tilt your head to the side slightly, studying the flustered boy in front of you with a teasing, albeit a little anxious, smile on your lips. “Are you feeling mad?”

Splotches of red litter his cheeks and decorate the tips of his ears, but your best friend furiously shakes his head at your question, bashfully ducking his head afterwards and muttering a soft “No.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding erratically in your chest as you timidly ask, “Would you be mad if I do this?”

Mark looks up at that, confusion written all over his face. His arms start to loosen around your figure, hands now resting on your waist. “If you do what?”

You take a deep breath. “This.”

You lean in and gently press your lips against his. Mark freezes in shock, and you quickly retreat soon after, gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you wait anxiously for his reaction. Your heart feels like it’s about to fall out of your chest and be buried six feet under.

A tiny noise of surprise belatedly escapes from him and crimson spreads across his cheeks like wildfire. His doe eyes are wide and sparkling, staring at you in bewilderment. Your best friend lets out a small laugh of disbelief before a full blown smile breaks out across his face. He gazes at you adoringly, breathing out softly, “I’m not mad at that.”

You perk up at that, draping your arms around his neck as you lean forward, beaming. “Really? You’re not?”

“Definitely not.”

This time, Mark meets you halfway, his lips slotting against yours perfectly and making you feel tingles up and down your spine. Your eyes are closed, and you are so hyper aware of the way his hands grip your hips, how he tugs you closer, and how his lips chase after yours. The number of butterflies from earlier multiply in your stomach, and you have ascended past cloud nine by now.

When the two of you break apart, your eyes flutter open, and you nudge your nose against his affectionately. The brightest grin blooms on his face once again, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his little giggles and hiding the awfully vibrant cerise that rapidly blossoms on his face.

“Is this a good time to tell you congrats for completing your first challenge?” you say, resting your cheek against the crown of his head. You pull away when he lifts his head up, surprised.

“I wasn’t playing video games though,” he says slowly, processing your words and thinking back to the challenge that started this all.

“It was a different challenge. It’s the one that Hyuck did a few weeks ago,” you confess, and realization dawns on him, his face lighting up for a split second before a look of horror takes over.

“Oh, no. Is that why you had your phone recording on the bookshelf?” Mark asks, dread beginning to cloud his mind.

“Yes…” you say slowly, a little perplexed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Oh my god, I ruined your video,” he moans, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. “I saw your phone when I walked in and thought you were filming earlier and forgot to turn it off, so I turned it off for you.”

When the words finally register in your mind, you can’t stop the laughter from bubbling out of your throat, and he raises his head up to look at you with wide doe eyes at the pretty sound. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

You can’t stop laughing at the situation, and he looks at you worriedly, gnawing on his bottom lip slightly. You force yourself to calm down, a soft chuckle leaving your lips before you beam at him, leaning in and placing the softest kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’s okay, Mark. I’m not mad. That video wasn’t important anyway.”

“But still,” he whines before letting out a groan and slapping his hand against his forehead when the realization sinks in even further. “I’m such an idiot.”

“But you’re my idiot now, right?” you say teasingly, albeit a little shyly as well, as you reach over to tug his hand away from his face and lace your fingers with his.

“I mean, I kinda thought I was always your idiot,” Mark laughs softly and a little embarrassedly, eyes averted and cheeks turning pinker than ever. The largest grin spreads across your face at that, and you turn away slightly to hide it. You didn’t think your best friend can possibly be any more endearing, but he manages to prove you wrong every time.

“Well, then now you can add ‘Y/N’s boyfriend’ to your resume,” you say, and he fails to suppress the pleased smile appearing on his face at your remark, his rosy cheeks rising even taller than skyscrapers.

“So, uh, what sort of job description does that have?” He gazes at your intertwined hands in wonder, still completely giddy at the reality of you being his best friend and something more.

“Sharing hoodies, giving me attention, kissing, holding my hand, going on dates, you know, the basics,” you answer, squeezing his hand tenderly, and his doe eyes instantly light up. Mark feels a little bolder than before, and it shows when he grins widely and says:

“Can we do number three again?”

“Yes, we can, Eggy Boi.”

He wrinkles his nose at the name, disgruntled and unimpressed, as he crosses his arms over his chest, sulking. You let out a laugh before leaning in and crashing your lips against his. He immediately relents at that, enthusiastically responding and hugging you closer to him, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss as you feel his own smile appear as well.

At that moment, you decide that you want to change Mark’s personal brand. Because his should be “absolutely wonderful, positively amazing, a cute kisser, your boyfriend, and your bestest friend.” And yes, that is most definitely more than the allotted three words, but again, who’s really counting?

Certainly not you when you’re too preoccupied with kissing your best friend. Correction: best friend and new boyfriend.

One new notification: donutkillmyvibe uploaded a new video!

moominjun commented:

so you’re saying the reason why we didn’t get the highly anticipated best friend challenge video is because @ marklyrawr turned the camera off?

donutkillmyvibe replied: yes 😔 I’m sorry to disappoint everyone 🤧

nanaislove replied: omg no bby it’s ok 🥺🥺💞💓💓💝💗 you didn’t have to make an apology video for that 🥺💗💓💘💖

goofys.chuckle replied: yeah it’s mark’s fault. he’s the disappointment here 🥴

morklyrawr replied: hahahahaha stfu hyuck

tytrack commented:

mark is going through puberty. I apologize

dobunny replied: @.@

goofys.chuckle commented:

are we getting whip(ped)lash pt 2 by eggy boi?

morklyrawr replied: YOU’RE THE ONE WHO STARTED THAT NAME?????

goofys.chuckle replied: uh gotta blast 🚀

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle does this mean you’re staying over again?

goofys.chuckle replied: @ showmethemonet yes if you want your super cute, mega talented, very handsome boyfriend to still be alive 🥺

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle oh my god I didn’t know I was dating bts jin???

moominjun replied: LMFAOOOOO

goofys.chuckle replied: heart 💔 been broke 📉 so many times ⏰ i don’t know 🤔 what to believe 💯 mama 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 said 🗣 it’s my fault 😢 it’s my fault 🤦🏻‍♂️i wear my heart ❤️ on my sleeve 💪 i think it’s best 👍🏻 I put my heart ❤️ on ice 🧊

jenojam commented:

why am I not surprised……

itsmebetch replied: just mark thingz 🍉

suhprisemf commented:

mark your head looks flat af

jungjaeprince replied: 😂😂😂

10vely replied: @ jungjaeprince be quiet don’t cry

letswonwon commented:

whoop whoop

junguwu commented:

OMG CONGRATS ON YOUR RELATIONSHIP SWEETIE 😍😍

takoyaki_prince commented:

MARK!!!!! you look handsome !! 😘

jisungpwark commented:

rip to @ donutkillmyvibe ’s future videos that mark will ruin. press f in the chat to pay respects 🙏🏻

bigheadking replied: F ✊🏻😔

peachyangel replied: f 🥺🥺

yoitslucas replied: F 🤪🤪🤪 but glad you’re happy, man ❤️

donutkillmyvibe replied: F 💔

morklyrawr replied: @ donutkillmyvibe wtf babe????

officialgordonramsay commented:

didn’t i tell you to get back on tinder ?

apado_god commented:

nice 😎👍🏻

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Rule #9

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 6: Modern AU. High School or College Everlark. Make the “booth Kiss” but Everlark! Peeta is the big brother of Katniss best friend, and she never imagined rule number #9 would become a problem. “Rule #9: Relatives of your best friend are off-limits.” [submitted by @alwayseverlark]

Rated: Teens and Up (rating will change in later chapters)

Tags: Canon Divergent; ‘The Kissing Booth’ (Netflix) Everlark crossover!AU; Canon disability; Slight age difference; Language; Snarky!Everlark; More tags will be added on AO3.

Notes: Thank you @alwayseverlark for the prompt… I remember when The Kissing Booth first came out a bunch of us started Everlarking the movie, but I guess neither of us ever finished it… Oops! Anyway, this is just an introduction of the fic; the rest will be posted to AO3 in chapters. I’ve already written a good chunk of it, but it still needs editing and polishing. I hope this little snippet is enough to get you going until then!

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

It’s the last Friday of summer break, and I think I’m gonna faint. The air is muggy, the sun is hot, the pool water a few yards in front of me looks inviting and refreshing, yet, I couldn’t move a muscle to save my life if I wanted to.

I arrived home from a 5 week retreat for disabled athletes, and after dumping the smelly contents of my duffle bag into the washer, I peeled off my shirt, shoes and socks and made my way to our family pool, just to be confronted by an unexpected sight.

I’ve been staring at my baby brother’s best friend in the tiniest, neon orange bikini in history, for what has to be up to a solid minute now.

“You’re such a pest, Rye!” She yells from behind a lounge chair, loading with darts a brightly colored nerf gun.

My brother is standing in the middle of the pool, aiming his water blaster in her direction, “Yeah? You think so, Kani?” Ryen mocks— ‘Kani’ isn’t her real name, though. Rye just had trouble pronouncing it properly when he was a baby, and the nickname stuck— “Eat chlorine!” He blasts his bestie as soon as she moves from her cover to shoot at him.

Is a typical scene, really. A summer staple of our childhood: my brother— Rye— chasing little tomboy, Katniss Everdeen, around the pool while shooting some toy projectile at each other; except this time the swell of Katniss’ breasts, the flare of her hips, and even the miles upon miles of sun kissed, olive skin, glimmering under the sun with water droplets scattered all over her body, gave me panting and straining.

I don’t remember her looking this way at the beginning of summer!

Objectively speaking, Katniss has always been cute, but she’s also another one of the ‘guys’, invariably tougher than Ryen, and completely out of bounds.

“I’m warning you, Ryen Mellark…surrender, or prepare to get your butt handed to you!” She roars.

“Bring it on, Kani!”

In typical Katniss and Rye fashion, her massive nerf gun gets dropped on the terra-cotta tiles for the patio, as she leaps into the pool to rough-house him.

My eyes follow her graceful ass with tunnel vision narrowness. A disgusting appreciative half moan-half grunt, escapes the back of my throat involuntarily. Worse of it is what happens below my waist, where my shorts are tenting and my muscles twitch.

“Fuck!” I heave under my breath. I can’t let Rye see me like this!

Nothing good will come of my brother noticing the effect Katniss has on my body. Rye is obsessively overprotective of her, their bond is one of the most unique, strong and special things I’ve seen, and I don’t dare messing it up.

You wouldn’t be able to tell, just looking at our house, our cars, Dad’s sprawling business, our high end education, or our perceived wealth, but our family life hasn’t been a field of flowers exactly. At times, Katniss was the only sliver of light and hope in Ryen’s existence, and vice versa when tragedy struck the Everdeens, Rye was Katniss’ sole source of understanding and companionship. They’re equally dependent on each other.

It's time to get back inside. A cold shower is in order.

My daydreams of shedding my fake leg and falling into the pool to relax in the weightlessness of the water after my long ass drive, will have to wait.

I step backwards into the living room, but my real, bare foot lands on a nerf dart. The squishy material startles me; I trip, narrowly catching myself against the open French doors.

“Shit!”

The skirmish behind me comes to an abrupt end, and I shift in place, to face them.

My brother’s eyebrows are arched, watching me quizzically. Even with one prosthetic leg I’m usually very sure footed.

“When did you get home?” Rye demands, hoisting himself out of the pool.

“About 10 minutes ago. Where’s dad?”

Rye shrugs, “Take a wild guess,”

So, the bakery then. Dad owns a chain of bakeries state wide, but he’s the head baker in the original shop, here in town.

I try to keep my eyes on Rye, chanting in my head: don’t look at her, don’t look at her, don’t look at her… it isn’t working! My eyes stray to Katniss all the same.

She climbs out of the pool as well, and it’s all I can do to not stare like a creep, as the rivulets of pool water drip down between her breasts and limbs.

I swallow harshly before rasping out the first thing that comes to mind. “Hey Rye, have you seen my jockstrap, I’m doing laundry.”

‘Jockstrap? Really? Smooth you moron!’

I have to suppress the urge to groan.

Ryen rolls his eyes, “Yeah, I just wore it this morning during all my sport tryouts.”

His sarcastic quip makes Katniss laugh. A sound I’ve found mesmerizing ever since I can remember. Her syren call is too strong to resist.

I turn in her direction, and again, my mouth runs with the first thing that comes to mind. “Everscream, are those new?” I point at her chest, making a vague circle gesture. I’m such an idiot!

“What?” She looks down at herself confused. I can pinpoint the moment she realizes I’m referring to her boobs.

Normally, Katniss would fix me with a scowl for the nickname she hates so much, but at 17 she’s so pure, my comment about her chest just causes her sparkly gray eyes to widen in shock. Her cheeks turn a deep shade of pink, and she plops down into the nearest lounger, scrambling to pull a towel over herself.

“There’s nothing new here!” She snaps, scowling at her knees for a second. She turns her flaming gaze back on me. “Hey, Peeta, have you ever heard of a detangler? Is a grooming product that can help tame that rat’s nest you call hair! By the way, put a shirt on, you look like a hobo!”

Rye guffaws, and even I have to smirk.

She isn’t wrong. I could use some shampoo and maybe some conditioner as well; washing my hair only with the cheap bar of soap from the athletic villa for a month has taken its toll on my poor head.

“Whatever dorks. Just keep it quiet, will ya? I have a hot date with the couch and Netflix, and I don't want you two intruding in my ‘me’ time with your racket.”

I go back inside, my brother and his best snigger by the pool like they always do. I want to turn around and fling the dart I stepped on at Rye, but I know starting a war with them would just prolong my exposure to Katniss in a tiny bikini, and I just can’t endure that torture anymore.

#alliswell21 #alwayseverlark #prompt 6 #Springtime edition 2021 #submission

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

Too Good for Grey

A/N: Sooo this is a fic that I’ve had in mind ever since I first posted my list of Imagine Ideas a while ago! Though I know Charlie’s decision not to play the role of Christian Grey is what was best for him, part of me will always be heartbroken that we all missed out on 50 Shades of Hunnam 😭💔 In this fic you’re his girlfriend; he’s considering the role and you let him... practice in the bedroom 😏

Pairing: Charlie Hunnam x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex, dom!Charlie, blindfold, bondage, punishment, light flogging (just with his belt, nothing too intense) Request: No specific request, but there’s been demand for a Part 2 of Red Carpet Rogue and I decided to write this fic as a sequel to it!

Word Count: ~3.4k

[Please read Red Carpet Rogue first if you haven’t yet! Otherwise the second paragraph won’t make much sense without that reference...]

You love mornings like this one. Lazy weekends with your boyfriend, hottest man under the sun. Completely chill and easy and carefree, nowhere to be. No work, no plans. You’re seated in his lap feeding him pancakes from your fork, since that’s the only way to get your man to focus on his breakfast. Charlie’s hands are fully occupied, roving and reckless, moving all over your robe and deep inside. Clearly still riding high from such a scandalously sexy night.

You push another forkful past his lips, then playfully lean in to lick some syrup from his chin as it so sweetly drips. His stubble tickles, causing you to giggle, while he growls and tightens his grip on your hips. “Mmm...” he hums, digging into your skin with his thumbs. “You know I still can’t get over just how fucking awesome last night was, Y/N. Thinking we should invest in a stretch of red carpet to relive it over and over again.”

“Hmm, I like the way you’re thinking...” you respond, settling deeper in his lap and slowly sinking, till you feel your man’s enormous cock grind up against your cunt. Heat burning through your silk robe and his sweatpants. “God, you were so fucking dominant. More than you’ve ever been.”

“That a good thing?” the bastard asks you, as if he has to, bursting into laughter when you shoot him a glare of the fuck do you think?!? Your dom/sub dynamic is not a new thing. “Well, chalk it up to this new script that I’m considering. Came my way yesterday before we headed out for the evening.”

He gestures at the stack of papers on the counter behind him just now, which you hadn’t noticed all morning somehow. You blink at the title printed on the front page and cannot believe what you’re seeing. Basically stop breathing. “Oh, wow...”

Charlie flashes a cheeky grin as he gets off on your reaction. Can’t resist making a stupid dirty pun, ‘cause he’s the worst. Rubbing his crotch harder against yours as he says the words. “Yeah, who could’ve seen that coming.”

“Now if you’re gonna start talking dirty to me, Mr. Hunnam... you’d better be ready to act on it,” you warn him, well aware he’s been ready and raring to go all damn morning. “I know you’d slay this role but don’t know if you really want it, to be honest.”

He shrugs as he kisses stray drops of maple syrup from the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, I’ve got my doubts. But haven’t ruled it out. Think some part of me wants it. Luckily I’ve got the greatest girlfriend in the world to help me work through my decision-making process.”

“Well, should we call it work...” your lips curve into a seductive smirk, “...or play?”

At those words, Charlie’s cock fucking jerks. That’s your answer, of course. Better than anything he can say.

And you’re so fucking ready to meet Mr. Grey.

***************

“You sure about this, babe?” he asks as you hastily finish your pancakes. You’re hungry for something quite different, for fuck’s sake. Your pussy’s so wet that it practically aches. “It’s not like we have a red room...”

“But we do have a very nice bedroom,” you tell him. He’s trying to stall and you’re not gonna let him. You’re ready to go. “Plus we’ve got, you know—silk scarves and ties, a closet full of all kinds of hardware supplies. So I’m sure you can... improvise.”

Charlie’s still acting as if he has to think twice. Blinks twice, with an excited little twinkle in his eyes. “Somebody’s eager...”

“Somebody? Both of us, baby. You know you can’t wait for this either.”

“I just want to make sure you’re ready...”

“Charlie, I know you’ll take things slow and steady. I trust you completely,” you reassure him as you kiss his cheek softly and sweetly. “Besides, we’ll rely on the traffic lights code. Red for stop, yellow for ease it up. Green for go. They used those safewords in the books, right? Never read them so I don’t really know.”

“Then how do you know what—”

“Know what Fifty Shades even involves? Love, I’m not some kind of pop culture idiot,” you interrupt, taking his hand to guide him down the halls. You’re really not about to let him stand and stall. “And I may have looked up... a few things on Google. Being such a kinky bitch and all. Brainstorming new ways to play the role of your submissive little slut.”

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he grunts as he finally gives in to what he wants, suddenly slipping into dom mode all at once. Changing his tone, making you moan, slamming you up against the wall. Towering over you so big and strong and tall. “Who would’ve thought... who knew that’s what my sweet little girl is up to when you’re clicking away on your laptop? Googling filthy ways for me to fuck you up?”

You groan in desire as his dirty words start a fire. “Ch-Charlie...”

He reacts just as you knew he would, and his dominance feels so damn good. Last night he scolded you just the same, when you called him by name. “What the fuck do you call me?”

“Sir,” you instantly answer. Obviously. Filled with the urge to say more, like a good proper whore, since you feel more submissive than ever before. Thirsty for fifty shades of Charlie. “Thank you for reminding me, sir. I’m so sorry.”

“You better be,” he chides, sliding his hands down your shivering sides, then swiftly untying your robe and letting it fall open wide. His touch upon your skin is hot as hell and fucking heavenly. “Your place in life is to obey. Do as I say. To serve and pleasure me.”

“Yes, sir,” you whimper, breathing heavily, as he cradles your face in his dominant fingers. “I promise I’ll always remember.”

You’ve known it to be true, since the day you first met him: Charlie Hunnam owns you, and you fucking let him. You’re fated to live for his pleasure and love him forever.

He reads all of the thoughts in your head as he slowly lets go of your face, slaying you with his blazing blue gaze. Though you moan at the loss of his fingers, the power and passion of his touch still lingers. You can feel it all over your sensitive skin. Fifty shades of pure sin.

And you love it. Want every damn shade of it. Already so addicted to the deep submissive state you’re in.

The next words that he speaks... make you so fucking weak. Mr. Grey has most certainly come out to play. And he is here to stay. To make you fifty shades of horny. “That’s a good little whore. Gonna give you the punishment you’ve been so desperately hoping for. Now run off to the bedroom and wait for me... facing away from the open door... naked and down on your knees.”

****************

Yes, sir. Yes, please. You’re pretty sure your cunt is leaking all over the floor as you obey your master’s orders, flinging your robe off your shoulders, stripping down and sitting back upon your heels.

It’s not the first time Charlie’s ordered you to kneel—but this right now... just hits different somehow. He’s so hot it’s unreal, too dominant for you to even deal. And you’re obsessed with how insanely good it feels.

You’ve already lost track of just how long you’ve waited. Heart racing, breath bated. How much time has passed? It may have been two minutes or two hundred. You just know that once your man arrives at last, he’ll be all set to give you everything you’ve wanted.

The moment when he finally comes... you feel his presence from across the room. Exuding vibes of absolute alpha male dom. And you’re so desperate to receive all of that energy from him. You can’t believe how blessed you are to be his woman. Here experiencing fifty shades of Hunnam.

Though you’re dying to turn behind you toward the door to see how good he surely looks right now, you stop yourself somehow. Keep both hands resting on your thighs, with lowered eyes, head bowed. Still and silent, though self-conscious that you are breathing incredibly loud. You’re so fucking aroused.

As Charlie takes a few deliberate steps toward you... rests his hand against your head, stroking your hair and tenderly twining his fingers through... you already feel dead. Can’t stop some smutty sound from slipping out your slutty little mouth.

He then reaches around, to trace his thumb across your bottom lip, shifting his grip before you can even attempt to kiss his fingertips. Needs you to know that you are not to make a sound, till he allows. That he owns you without a fucking doubt.

He’s owning you now with the tone of his voice and the touch of his hand. “Y/N. I need you to understand... that you are mine to command.”

“Yes, sir,” you breathlessly answer. And the slut in you compulsively reacts, tilting your head back, in an effort to make eye contact. Dying to look up at his gorgeous face, to meet his gaze, as you profess the shameless fact: that you belong to him, in every way and always...

And yet your man has other plans. Prevents you from catching a glimpse of him before you even can. He had arrived with something in his hands—a strip of cloth, some kind of tie or scarf, silken and soft. He masterfully fastens it around your eyes the moment that your head tilts back, and suddenly your vision fades to black.

“Now that’s no way for a good little slut to act,” Charlie scolds, as he tightens your blindfold. “Shifting from your position? Moving without my permission?”

Ugh God, he’s so hot you could die. “I...”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I’m sick of your worthless apologies. High time I teach you a lesson in proper submission.”

“Ohh, sir—” you moan as he pulls you closer, till the back of your head rubs against the huge bulge in his crotch. The prize that you crave so fucking much. The object of your dreams. You can tell that he’s wearing your favorite jeans, and his cock is so hard it’s obscene, bursting out of the seams.

Then he effortlessly hoists you onto your feet, the bare skin of your back sliding up against his upper body—shirtless, naturally—so that you can feel every firm ridge of his muscles and all of his raw carnal heat. “Now I know what you want... but what’s much more important... I know what you need.”

Those words murder your cunt, and it feels like time stops. Then the next thing you know Charlie has you facedown on the bed, both arms over your head. And he’s tying you up. Binding both of your wrists to the bedposts, with some fucking serious rope.

This is everything your inner slut ever hoped. And you can’t even cope.

He’s just getting started and already this feels so damn perfect you just want to cry. Fucking magic. You’re fucking ecstatic. Tears of pure euphoria rise to your eyes, fighting at the blindfold he had tied, dampening the fabric.

Charlie picks up on all your unspoken emotions, as he always does. He can tell that you’re buzzed and just wants to make sure that this isn’t too much. Leaning in near, to whisper sweetly in your ear. “How’s the traffic?”

“Huh...?” you reply in a hazy sigh, taking a moment just to realize what he means. “Oh—green. So green.”

“Mmm, good to know,” he smirks against your cheek, as you revert to being too horny to speak. “But we can always take it slow. Just let me know if we’re approaching yellow—”

All of a sudden you’re able to speak again, just then. The words are somewhat muffled as your face is partly burrowed in the pillows; you make sure that Charlie hears you loud and clear, though. “Hell no. Green means fucking go.”

“If you say so...” he smirks once more, kissing your cheek before he lifts off of your back, all fucking ready to attack. You both can’t wait for what’s in store.

Charlie has spanked you countless times before. With you facedown in bed, you would’ve guessed that’s what he had in mind—to slap your slutty ass red, then to fuck you from behind. Remind you that you’ll always be his dirty little fucking whore.

Today you’re hoping for a little something more.

And that’s exactly what he’s giving. This time around... the punishment’s bound to hit different.

You can hear the faint rustle, telltale sound of metal and leather as Charlie undoes his belt buckle. Oh, shit—surprise, surprise—for some of these supplies, he didn’t even have to venture in the hardware closet.

Everything he needs to exert his total dominance, he’s fucking got it.

And it’s everything you’ve ever fucking wanted.

“Know just how much this pretty ass loves getting punished...” he teases, taking your bare naked cheeks in his hands with a few tender strokes and squeezes.

If you had to guess—without being able to witness—he must’ve looped his undone belt around his neck to free both hands for just a minute. He must look so fucking hot right now. An absolute sex god like nobody’s business.

“This sweet ass will look even prettier in pink by the time we’re finished,” he says it like a promise, and you really hope he keeps it, to be honest. “You know I would say prettier in red, but...”

“Oh, no, that’s a bad word,” you murmur in playful laughter. Repeat the right color to make sure he feels reassured. “Green, sir. Want you to let loose and get fucking mean, sir.”

“Ugh fuck,” he murmurs, as you hear him smile while he slides the leather belt off of his shoulders. You can just imagine what the sight of you in such submission has done to his denim-clad cock. “You’re killing me, love...”

“But that’s your job. I’m the sub,” you remind him, well aware you’re coming close to topping from the bottom. Sort of. Whatever it takes, to get Mr. Grey to come out to play, to feel comfortable falling into his role as your absolute dom. “Now go crazy and get rough. I promise I want it, sir. Honest. I can’t get enough.”

“Such a good fucking slut,” Charlie rasps, slowly grazing the edge of the leather across the soft globes of your ass. “Once we’re done with your punishment... you know I’m gonna fucking wreck this perfect little cunt?”

“Yes, sir. Please punish me and use my pussy for your pleasure.”

“Motherfucker...” you hear him quietly mutter, scrambling to strip out of his jeans, because his cock is probably straining in pain against the denim, harder than it’s ever been. No surprise since your cunt’s also wetter than ever. It’s just so perfect that you two are getting off on this together. You love the way your dirty words have this effect on him, just as his do on you. You’re such a slut for Mr. Hunnam; the best thing is that he’s such a slut for you, too.

Once he’s finally naked and gets in position behind you, he takes a few seconds to soak in the view. Psyching up for what he is about to do: whip the shit out of you. Just as you want him to.

“Now with each lash that comes down, I want you to keep count. And need you to repeat the color. Loud. You understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you swear, yielding to his command, instinctively arching your ass up in the air, because you’re desperate for your punishment. “Yes, sir, I understand. Green means hit me as hard as you can.”

“You fucking greedy little cunt,” he taunts with a dominant sneer. “Who makes the rules here? I’m gonna go just as hard or as soft as I want.”

You realize you were stupid to think he would go so hard, right from the start. Charlie knows where your limits are, even when you don’t. He reads your body and your mind and sees into your heart. Knows just what you need even when you’re too focused on only what you want. That’s why you have no doubt that he’ll dish out the most perfect punishment.

And so he does.

From the very first lash on your ass... your breath halts with a heart-stopping gasp. You have never felt such a damn buzz. From the way the sensation bursts onto your skin, underneath the smooth leather, a blossom of sin, pain blurring into pleasure... you want this to just go on forever and ever.

Your master had given you orders, you somehow remember. “One...!” you scream, as you sink deeper into submission, so desperate for him it’s obscene. “Oh God, thank you, sir. Green.”

“Good girl,” he mutters, just before he treats you to another. Each hit makes your fucking toes curl. You are the luckiest bitch in the entire fucking world.

“Two! Fuck, thank you...” you wholeheartedly thank him again and again, with each serving of perfect pain, grateful to your dom for how fucking awesome it feels. It’s unreal. And you keep screaming green on repeat, to give him all the safety and comfort he needs.

He’s enjoying this, no doubt—his cock’s standing rock hard and proud—but this first time around, with each strike that comes down, Charlie is much more focused on reading your signals. Respecting your limits, especially when it’s so tempting to test them a little. You don’t really seem to have any with him, as far as he can tell. Which is epic on some level, but also scary as hell.

He decides when you’re finished, with getting punished, since you’re taking it too fucking well. All you want is more of it; you love it and can’t think of anything else. On your end it’s exquisite. Excruciating ecstasy fulfilling your every fantasy. All because it’s pain coming from him. Fifty shades of Hunnam. All because of how deeply you worship and love him.

If there’s one thing you love more than taking these whips from his belt, the sweetest sting you have ever felt... it’s getting ripped to pieces by his massive cock. Playing your lifelong role as a slut for Sir Hunnam to fuck. Taking him in your soaking wet cunt, letting him ravage you just as hard and as fast as he wants, rough and savage, dishing out some serious damage, till you both explode deep inside and all over each other at once.

Something about the hard passionate sex today, the way he wrecks today... feels even hotter after how you got to play.

Apparently he really likes it when you tap into his inner Mr. Grey.

You both come harder than you ever have, as his huge shaft unloads inside your hole and feeds your soul and breaks you right in half. Breathing in shallow gasps as you feel him fucking collapse, your naked back slick from the sweat off of his sculpted chest and his firm chiseled abs. His face is buried in your hair, and though you know how much he wants to unfasten your blindfold and unbind your wrists, so he can turn you over for a heartfelt kiss, and shower you with hours of loving aftercare... right now your man’s just laying there and praying for some air.

He’s just so perfect it’s not fair. You know he’ll spend the whole rest of the day talking through all your feelings, treating you to every form of healing. Endlessly obsessing over every mark upon your skin, like he committed some ungodly sin, compulsively asking you whether you’re really okay. And he’ll keep on asking no matter what you say. Although he also loves to play this way... deep down he’s doing it for you, because his love is pure and true.

And that was when you fucking knew: this man is way too good to take the role that he was offered yesterday. You’re here to help him though each step of his decision-making process, to respect him if he wants this, and support him either way—but you already feel quite sure after today that your man Charlie is quite honestly... too good for Grey.

***************

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did!! 🤗❤️

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myfearless-love · 3 years

Note

91 established relationship please

Hi Nonny! So sorry for the delay! Hope this will make up for it! :)

Post 5x16 fluffiness ahead!

91. “I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with…”

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19206229/chapters/84969499

The sudden ding of the elevator alerts him as he turns the page, but he doesn’t look up from the printed words, for that quick fluttering in his stomach he used to deem annoying assures him of the identity of the person stepping into his penthouse. His suspicions are confirmed when less than a minute later, Chloe enters his field of vision, choosing to lean against the back of the couch and watching him read with a small smile playing on her lips. The faint scent of her lavender and rosemary shampoo envelops him and he has to fight the urge to lose himself in the familiarity of it.

He likes this scent very much. Especially on her.

When he does glance up, he can all but read the "I've had a rough day and all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with" expression on her face.

And honestly, “rough day” is the understatement of the millennium, considering what they'd just been through a few hours ago.

Her dying. Him burning up in Heaven… and then not burning up.

He takes a small sip from the amber-filled tumbler he’s been nursing, and Chloe comes to him, positioning herself so she’s snuggled in his lap with her arm around his shoulders. He offers her the whiskey in favor of brushing an errant lock of her hair behind her ear.

She’s been wearing it down a lot more lately. Ever since she quit the LAPD. He's not sure he'll ever get used to her not being a detective anymore. But of course, it's always going to be in her blood, and a simple letter of resignation won't take that away.

He's not sure anything could, but that's one of many things he loves about her.

He loves her.

Chloe takes a deep pull from the glass with a sigh, and he knows she needed it.

They sit in silence as she finishes the drink and he savors the glorious feel of her body against his. The only sound in the penthouse is the scratching of old paper as he turns page after page, and the whisper of her fingers as she combs through his hair at the side of his head. Her lips touch his temple and he closes his eyes, completely at peace.

“How’s he?” she asks quietly.

She doesn’t need to specify the name for him to know who she means. “I think he’s finally reached the acceptance stage. He knows what’s the only way to get out and into eternal happiness. He’s trying to work out his guilt, but it’s a long process,” he replies and she nods, swallowing thickly.

While Chloe was away to entrust her offspring to her grandmother before summer camp starts, he decided to pop down to his former kingdom and have a chat with Daniel.

“Thank you for looking out for him. I just wish I…” Her voice is small and he knows how she meant to finish her sentence.

He looks up into her eyes and tries to tell her what she needs to hear, and somewhere knows. “He’ll figure it out. You will see him again one day.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay,” she breathes, sounding relieved. No tears or self-blame or any of the things she felt just a few hours ago. Just acceptance of the inevitable. She shifts a little closer, leaning her head against his. “So, what now?”

“Now? We get you out of these albeit comfortable but very modest clothes,” he teases. “Maybe take a bath, drink a little champagne…”

“Do a little dance, make a little love?” She asks sarcastically and he smiles.

“Precisely. We’re getting down tonight,” he nods and she blushes. “Come on, Future First Lady of the Universe,” he tells her and as he expected, she rolls her eyes before standing up and holding out her hand to him. He takes it and something, everything, clicks into place. “Have you decided yet?” he asks her as they slowly make their way to his bedroom. Or what he guesses is their room from now on. He likes the sound of that.

“Decided what?”

“What you want to do to celebrate. We can go anywhere, do anything. Your choice.” She looks at him, all confused, wrinkly nose and furrowed brows. “I’m not sure if you happened to notice between actual death encounters and overall mayhem of today, but we won, Chloe.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she laughs and walks into the room, casually kicking off her shoes by the wall and tossing her jacket onto the armchair near the bed.

He watches as she pulls a rubber ring from the back pocket of her jeans, twisting her hair up into a messy bun. When he woke up this morning, he never expected that this is how he’d be closing the day. That Chloe would be making herself at home, seconds away from sinking into his bathtub while making plans for their future.

He walks over behind her and wraps her in his arms, needing to feel that she’s real. She doesn’t resist as he holds her a little tighter than he should because she knows. He doesn’t need to tell her that a very big part of him thought he would never get her back. Today showed him all his biggest fears, and he told himself over and over again that she’s fine now, but it’s hard to deny the ache when the person he would sell his soul for died in his arms mere hours ago. And gone to the one place he thought he couldn't follow.

She leans back against him and covers his arms with hers, her touch giving him reassurance and promises that they haven’t had time for yet. They’ll get there, and there are still some things they need to work out, but right now none of it matters. She’s here, and she wants to be.

She loves him and he loves her.

He takes a deep breath and pulls himself together, releasing her so he can free her from her attire. Her pulse races with the release of each piece of clothing, her skin flushing deeper the more fabric hits the floor. Somehow he manages to take a step back when only her bra and panties remain, knowing that if he let himself take those off, they’re never getting in the water.

“Really?” she laughs as he unbuttons his shirt, tossing it onto the dresser on his way into the bathroom.

“Really what?” He taunts and begins to run the bath, sitting on the edge of the tub with his back to the door. “Was there something else you needed help with?”

“Real cute. Keep it up, Lucifer, and see where that gets you.”

He scoffs internally and knows he should bite back his crude reply, but he can’t help it. He loves it when she’s feisty.

“Well, I-”

His brain and mouth shut off at the same time as Chloe saunters into the bathroom wearing nothing but miles of long legs and smooth skin. One of her hands rests on his shoulder for balance as she steps over his legs, a single alabaster limb in the water and the other not. He waits to see if she’s actually going to straddle him right there, but at the last moment, she pulls her other leg in and stretches out into the water with a sultry smile on her face.

Forget the hot tub. This is so much better.

“You were saying?”

“When?” He has no idea what she’s talking about.

“Just a second ago. Before I came in here.”

“No idea,” he shakes his head and she smirks.

“Thought so.”

He narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t care. She is more than welcome to prance around him in nothing, basking in getting his jaw to hit the floor.

He turns off the water and grabs the champagne, and she blushes. He has no idea why, but it’s bloody adorable. He uncorks the bottle easily, snatching the tan missile out of the air after letting it jump off the bottle a foot and she giggles.

He fills two flutes and hands them to her to hold so he can strip and get in with her, never missing the way she’s hungrily eyeing every part of him.

“All right, Mrs. G., what are we drinking to?” He asks as he stretches out so they’re face to face, taking her feet and resting them on his thigh.

“To winning the war,” she beams.

“To my evil twin being gone,” he adds and tilts his glass to her.

She pauses for a moment, her eyes softening. “To being alive.”

He nods in appreciation. “To shiny new rings,” he tells her, taking her hand, and she scoots closer to him.

“To brown eyes,” she grins.

“And blue,” he says, weaving his fingers through hers and helping her reposition so she’s straddling his hips, but keeping them apart so he’s not inside her yet.

Once she’s comfortable, her free hand brushes through his hair, tenderly drifting down to caress his cheek. “To white wings.”

He glances down and back to her eyes. “To perfect breasts,” he says, and she laughs.

“To three little words…”

“Hot as fuck?” He supplies, and she blushes from cheek to stomach.

“Nope.”

“Right there, Lucifer…” he moans theatrically.

“Oh my God!”

“That works too now, actually,” he tells her with a flare of his eyes.

“You’re an ass.”

“Not exactly what I had in mind.”

“How about,” she whispers, practically glowing. “I love you.”

“What was that?” He asks innocently. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“I said, I love you.”

“One more time? Still not quite catching that.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “I love you, Lucifer. Did you hear it this time?” she grumbles indignantly. “Jerk.”

“I did,” he grins. “I love you too.”

“Good,” she says and raises a smug eyebrow.

“To you,” he says sincerely, raising his glass to her and she visibly softens.

“To us.”

She touches her glass to his, taking the daintiest of sips.

“Let’s celebrate us,” he agrees, pressing his lips to hers.

She melts into the kiss, and he senses that she’s missed this just as much as him. She must have, because their mouths open together, raring to make up for the last few days. He feels like they’ve been apart too long, and there’s nothing that could tear him away from her now. Their lips refuse to separate as he sets both their glasses on the floor, allowing their hands the freedom to touch as they choose. Hers go immediately to his neck, pulling him into her as he wraps his arms tightly around her waist.

Her chest is already heaving against his, nipples hard and slick with soap, and every brush of skin feels fantastic. He knows she has to feel how hard he is, how much he desires her. She rises a bit and reaches in between them, and he can’t control his shiver when she wraps her fingers around him. To him, it feels like an eternity since she’s touched him like this.

She strokes him once, lovingly slow and exploring every inch of his length. He’s still absorbed in her touch when she moves him, positioning him at her entrance to guide him inside her. She carefully lowers herself, his head falling back with a moan as he begins to stretch her.

She’s so tight he can’t enter her fully without risking hurting her, but he’s in no hurry. He takes her hips in his hands, rocking her lightly as he pushes up a little bit further. Inch by inch they come closer together, their bodies relearning how well they fit when joined.

He could go tortuously slow with Chloe all night, but he also knows she’d never let him. She rises up and slams back down, forcing the last distance even though she’s not really ready.

Their first time was the same, her impatience clashing with his need to make sure she was comfortable. She let him get away with that for all of five seconds before she took control, demanding that he not hold back. From then on, he didn’t, and she kept up with him all the way into next morning. When the woman knows what she wants, she will not be denied.

She lunges for his lips, high on pleasure from the small amount of pain, and damn it all, he doesn’t care anymore. He never succeeds in trying to be gentle with her anyway, he wrenches her down as he thrusts up into her and she feels incredible, molded around him with warmth and want and he won’t ever get deep enough.

She matches him for every stroke, clawing at his shoulders and chest because they can’t seem to make love any way but rough in their desperation. Nothing between them has ever been easy or smooth, the passion perpetually burning and painfully intense. He doesn’t want it any other way.

He sits up and his hands on her bottom draw her further in as she arches back, baring her neck. He kisses, licks, and nips his way from her ear to her shoulder, gratified in her whimpers as he passes over her vein.

She grinds harder and braids her hands in his hair, holding him to her.

“Tell me…” she breathes, and he knows exactly what she wants to hear.

“I love you,” he pants.

He trails his lips from the side of her jaw to her earlobe finding that spot and he thrusts up into her at the same time without warning, and she comes apart completely. Everything tightens, her grip on his shoulders and her walls contracting around him, pulsing her climax with the rhythm of her heart and the strokes of his tongue. He’s absolutely convinced her orgasms are priceless works of art.

His name falls from her lips, and it’s half begging him to stop, half warning him not to. He gives her both, peaking her a little higher before he pulls away to calm her. There’s no hesitation as her mouth crashes to his, kissing him so hard he falls back against the edge of the tub. It’s a frenzy of lips and teeth as she travels to his neck, finding his spot that drives him absolutely mad.

He lets himself drift through the sensations of love and sex, and everything is warm and thick and hazy, hot water and slippery skin and their bodies still moving at a pace that is completely theirs. And this is how he knows, how he’s always known. They’re right, fated, soulmates, and all that other bloody destiny shit that he never wanted to believe in until he fell for her.

Her lips leave his neck and he can’t open his eyes, even though he really wants to. He wants to see her smile, to see her eyes filled with everything he never thought he deserved, but she gave to him anyway. Her movements become faster, moans gliding down his throat and right into his stomach where it starts. It sinks lower, gathering force in his bucking hips and blazing through him, begging to reach her. But he wants her to reach hers first. It’s the only thing that matters to him right now.

He shifts and reaches down to find her clit and one, two, three strokes and she’s there, shouting his name and claiming his climax right along with hers. It feels like it goes on forever, like all the days of distance have been cataloged and backlogged into this one single explosion. Past fights and accusations and pain disappear as they cling to each other, all the evidence and force of their desire seeping into the place where she holds the lock and key to their private Shangri-La.

He doesn’t know how or when, but he comes back to himself and realizes that they’re still. Chloe’s slumped on his chest, breathing deeply, and nuzzled into his neck. He rewraps her more snugly in his arms, placing a light kiss on her hair. He should probably get them dried off and in bed. He’s sure she’s exhausted, so is he, but he really doesn’t want to move just yet. She feels too good.

“So, was this the celebration?” She asks quietly and he chuckles.

“First of many. Just give me a minute,” he says, but it comes out slurred. “Maybe two.”

“Mmm,” she rumbles, kissing his jaw. “Can’t wait…”

#deckerstar #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #lucifer ff #lucifer fanfic #lucifer fanfiction #deckerstar ff #deckerstar fanfic #deckerstar fanfiction #prompts #drabble #lucifer 5x16 #lucifer spoilers

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subbykboys · 4 years

Text

the bad boy’s secret | chanyeol

↳ pairing : badboy!chanyeol x reader

Genre ➞ bad boy AU, fwb AU, college AU, smut

Warnings ➞ sub!chanyeol, dom!reader, bondage, oral (m. & f. receiving), edging, unprotected sex, riding, mild dirty talk, mild degrading, creampie, face riding, cum eating [ sorry not sorry ], reader is in denial , overuse of the word please

Word Count ➞ 8.2k

chanyeol is a bad boy with a nasty reputation. he’s sexy, mysterious, and entirely untouchable. well... to most people, that is. to you, on the other hand-- he’s something else entirely.

posted ; 6.04.20

there was an angry chill in the air. it bit at your face and hands as you strode to the campus lot where your car was parked. all around you, brightly colored leaves fell to the earth as strong gusts of wind broke them free of the branches they so weakly clung to. they blanketed the ground in shades of vibrant reds, tempting oranges, and dull, blotchy browns.

it was actually really beautiful. you'd always been a fan of the cool undertones of fall. especially the reds. ugh, red was such a gorgeous color. practically everything you owned was red, or some varying shade of it. it was just so sexy and dangerous and—

"(y/n)!" you were snapped from your inner thoughts by a barking voice.

quickly, you averted your eyes from the ground and onto the face of the girl walking beside you. her name is Mina, you're pretty sure. you grimaced at her irritated expression, realizing you must have zoned out again. getting lost in your thoughts at inappropriate times was a pretty frequent occurrence for you.

"huh?"

she scoffed in disbelief, eyes narrowing, "where's your head at? i've been talking for a solid five minutes and i'm pretty sure you stopped listening six minutes ago."

you chuckled, scratching the back of your neck as an apologetic smile touched your lips, "sorry. i was just thinking about the leaves."

"you're so weird."

you didn't know why she felt comfortable saying that to you. you weren't even friends. at least, not by your standards. maybe acquaintances. maybe.

and that was only because you happened to have the same afternoon photography class and just so happened to sit next to each other. you supposed in her pea sized brain that was enough to qualify for a friendship. but you had standards. and she was god damn rude.

regardless, you didn't have the energy or patience to start any sort of altercation. so you shrug, head bobbing lazily in agreement.

"i know."

that seemed to satisfy her as any remaining glimmer of annoyance was swept off her features with one last eye roll and replaced by a light grin, "whatever. hey, there's this party at my boyfriend's frat house tonight and you should totally come."

"no thanks." was your swift, concise rejection. but of course, that was not enough to satisfy her.

"what? why not?" her tone demanded an explanation that you really didn't feel like giving.

sighing heavily, you kicked a pebble across the sidewalks. "parties aren't my thing."

that was maybe half the truth. you actually did like parties. just not frat boy parties. they were like beacons for girls with low self esteem and insecure rich boys with superiority complexes. they were loud as fuck and made your head ache. not to mention they reeked. apparently, a lot of guys didn't learn in high school how to put on deodorant. your preference stood with more low key parties, with a more controlled number of attendees and some chill drinking. maybe getting a little baked if you were in that vibe.

"you can be such a buzzkill," she groaned loudly, head rolling back as she stomped her foot childishly. you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

"i know."

"do you ever just let yourself have a good time? like ever? we're in the prime of our lives for god’s sake!" and there she goes again with the 'prime of our lives' bullshit. please. maybe this was the best life would ever be for her, but you had other plans.

"i have to finish an essay for my business class." no you didn't.

"but it's friday! you have all weekend to finish it!" why was she trying to argue with you? you'd already said no, so why was she still trying to convince you. spoiler, you weren't about to change your mind anytime soon.

"i prefer not to put work off until the very last minute." also a lie.

"(y/n)," she whined, "come on, i personally think it would be pretty healthy for you not to spend another friday night pent up in that little apartment of yours—"

all at once she was cut off by the distinct roaring of an engine. both your gazes shifted towards the road ahead of you, watching as a flashy red motorcycle came tearing down the street. an excited gasp exploded from your–barely–acquaintance's mouth while a low groan escaped yours.

fantastic. just what you needed. your daily dose of—

"Yeolie!"

you winced as she squealed his name, waving energetically. you silent prayed he'd just keep going. but of course, he didn't. his bike came to a gradual halt in front of the sidewalk you stood on. it purred as he planted his feet securely on the cement.

now this next part you could almost see happening in slow motion.

he reached up with his leather glove clad hands, pulling off his sleek black helmet to reveal a pair of thick, pink lips, a sharp, defined nose, charcoal black eyes, and a head of silver locks. you could practically feel Mina swooning as he swung his head to the side, effectively flipping his hair like some kind of wannabe fetus Justin Bieber. it took less than a moment for those dark eyes to fall on the pair of you, and a slow smirk to crawl across his face.

Mina immediately rushed up to him (all too energetically for someone who already has a boyfriend, mind you), squeaking out sweet greetings as her touchy hands found purchase on the sleeve of his leather jacket.

what was up with him and the leather anyway? it was only on shockingly rare occasions that you witnessed him donning something other than his signature black leather outfit, decorated with silver zippers and complimented by a thick chain around his neck and a single silver earring. how much cheesier could he get?

you'd think after high school, people would be over the whole 'bad boys are so hot' thing.

apparently not.

because at your uni, Park Chanyeol was hot shit. every girl and every guy wanted to get their hands on him in one way or another. he was dangerous, sexy, mysterious, hard to get. he rode a blood red motorcycle and smoked blunts behind the main building for god's sake.

he was the definition of a cliche. but it seemed you were the only person that could see through his whole charade.

"(y/n), don't be rude! come say hi to Yeolie!" Mina suddenly whipped around, waving you over.

this bitch—

the corner of your lip twitched in a subtle sneer, but, ever the pacifist, you obliged, slowly moving to stand at her side. his irritating smirk widened upon your approach, tongue swinging over the corner of his lip as his eyes dropped to do a brief once over.

"Chanyeol," you grunted with a less than enthusiastic tone.

"(y/n)," was his swift reply, voice as deep and smooth as ever, "wonderful seeing you again. you look as happy-go-lucky as ever."

the sarcasm was palpable.

"yeah well, it seems i just can't contain myself with you around," you bit back with just as much satire, lips curling dryly.

"i'm flattered," he all but cooed, head tilting downward as his teeth latched onto his bottom lip.

he stared boldly into your eyes, and you stared right back with just as much fire.

"um... do you guys, like... know each other?"

"no."

"yes."

you both responded simultaneously.

confusion plastered itself across her face, eyes jumping back and forth from your face to his. a taunting smile tugged at the corners of his lips, "we actually went to the same high school, isn't that right, (y/n)?"

you huffed in annoyance, shoulders slumping, "yeah. we did."

"and you never told me this because…?"

because you weren't close in the least and you hadn't even told her when your birthday was let alone about your high school life.

"didn't seem like important information."

she gaped at you in disbelief, "anything regarding my Yeolie is important information!"

was she trying to stroke his already colossal ego? if his head got any bigger, it might just explode.

Chanyeol’s grin broadened at her statement, and you silently groaned, knowing exactly what was coming before he even opened his mouth, "yeah, (y/n). anything regarding me is important information. so why didn't you tell her? trying to keep me all for yourself? how greedy of you."

"please." you scoffed.

Mina glared at you sharply before plastering an innocent smile across her face and twirling a strand of her platinum blonde dyed hair. "ignore her, Yeolie. i was actually wondering if i'd be seeing you at Jake's party tonight?"

"wasn't planning on it," he admitted, and Mina pouted, lips puckering, over dramatically whining in protest. suddenly, his eyes shifted to you, that stupid smirk touching his features, "but maybe if a certain buzzkill was attending... i'd be more tempted to make an appearance."

buzzkill? oh, you.

"i'm not—"

"of course (y/n)'s coming! wouldn't be a party without her!" Mina rushed to cut you off, throwing an arm over your shoulder and yanking you into her side with a grip tight enough to bruise. you looked at her like she was crazy, brows furrowed, eyes wide, lip raised in a disgusted sneer. but her hold was enough to squeeze the air out of your lungs and steal away your ability to refute.

Chanyeol’s brows jumped in surprise, an amused grin spreading across his face, "really?"

"wait, no—"

"yes! i was surprised when she agreed, too! but guess she's finally breaking out of her shell!" you were going to kick her ass if she kept cutting you off.

"well isn't that great to hear." there was a mischievous flicker in his dark eyes, a look you knew all too well.

"so... you'll come?" she asked hopefully.

"sure." you were annoyed at how easily he agreed. he was still smirking smugly as he began pulling his helmet back down over his head. shooting you a wink and a two fingered wave, he spoke again, "see ya tonight."

with that final word, he was speeding off down the road, tires kicking up dust and pebbles as they spun.

as soon as Mina's grip loosened from around you, you were ten feet away, swiftly walking in the direction of your car. "(y/n)! wait!" she cried out, running after you in her five inch heels. you didn't slow down in the least.

"i'm not going, Mina," you said sternly, not even bothering to look back at her.

"b–but i told Chanyeol—"

"no."

"please?"

"not. happening."

⋄⋆⋄

you ended up going.

not because you wanted to, of course. but because Mina decided it was necessary to show up at your apartment and quite literally drag you out. she was surprisingly strong for such a small person, and fiercely persistent. she'd even gone the extra mile of forcefully applying makeup to your eyelids and lips. that's not to say you didn't put up one hell of a fight. but conflict was never your strong suite, and you eventually ended up going pliant under her ministrations.

unsurprisingly, it was just as you expected it to be. loud. stinky. and filled to the brim with horny bastards looking for a quick fuck. you'd been there for all of ten minutes and you'd already gotten your ass grabbed six times. slimy assholes think it's acceptable to touch someone without permission. all the more reason you didn't want to stick around for long.

not to mention, Mina had ditched you the minute you walked in the door to suck faces with her fuckboy boyfriend. since then you'd been gravitating from room to room, searching for the best place to sit without being squished by a horny couple practically dry humping against you.

luckily, you found your solace upstairs in an empty bedroom. the music was muffled the moment you shut the door, the stuffy air that smelled of sweat and marijuana also clearing out. finally, you could breathe.

you spotted a candle and lighter on the bedside table, and quickly moved to light it. the dull, soothing glow that filled the room, splashing light across the walls made the headache that had begun to swell at your temples ease up. exhaling softly, you fell back onto the neatly made bed, body relaxing into the soft duvet.

but of course, your moment of tranquility was short lasting.

because before you could so much as shut your eyes, the door was opening, and a painfully familiar voice was purring, "there you are~ i've been looking all over for you, (y/n), you sly girl."

"fucking hell," you growled under your breath, propping yourself up on your elbows to face him properly, "what do you want, Chanyeol?"

he gently nudged the door shut behind him, before walking over to where you lay. "isn't it obvious?" he murmured, leaning forward to press his hands against the mattress on either side of your ankles.

"spell it out for me."

he chuckled softly, knees meeting the bedding as he began to crawl upwards, until his face was hovering over yours. even you couldn't deny how beautiful he looked up close, with those big, dark eyes, boyishly grinning lips, smooth, tan skin...

"i," he began, nose nudging against your cheek, "want," his lips feathered over yours, "you."

a dark chuckle rolled off your tongue as you met his hooded, lustful gaze. "you we're so greedy last time... and still... you couldn't get enough," you replied smoothly, voice deepening as your desire for him grew.

"what can i say? i'm insatiable."

you scoffed, the corners of your lips curling as you lifted your head slightly, leaving only the tiniest of spaces between your mouth, "i don't think you deserve it." your whisper caressed his lips all too temptingly. A chill rolled down his spine, eyes fluttering as he felt himself falter briefly.

"maybe i don't... but i can earn it..."

now that caught your interest.

a smirk touched your features, "and how might you do that?"

he bit his lip, trying his best to subdue a grin, "by doing whatever you ask of me."

"you willing to take that risk? after that little stunt earlier? i might just decide not to go easy on you." your voice was taunting, but the challenge and threat were very real.

"i can handle anything you give me."

you raised a brow, amused by his naive confidence. then, in the blink of an eye, you had him underneath you, pinning his wrists to the mattress above his head. the action had been so sudden that he could only gasp in shock when his back collided with the bed. you stared down at him with dark eyes, the tip of your tongue sliding over the corner of your mouth.

"you sure about that, big boy?"

he inhaled deeply when your head lowered to the curve of his throat, lips just barely grazing over that sensitive spot. "most definitely." he let out breathlessly, eyes fluttering as he tilted his chin back, offering himself to you. something dark alighted in your eyes, a sinister gleam in your smirk as thoughts of how you could absolutely ruin him flooded your mind.

"you're going to regret saying that."

you didn’t offer him the opportunity to respond before your lips crashed down on his. he let out a muffled sound of surprise at the sudden action, but quickly relaxed beneath you, returning the kiss eagerly.

see? you much preferred Chanyeol when he wasn’t running that big mouth of his. he was always so much more fun when he was choking on desperate moans and trembling uncontrollably under your touch.

truth about the infamous Park Chanyeol? he was a bitch.

in fact... he was your bitch.

it started back in high school. when you were the chill girl who wasn't too well known by anyone outside of your friend group, and when he was the untouchable bad boy that everyone drooled over.

to keep it to the point, you'd both attended a mutual friend's party your senior year, got wasted, and hooked up.

but, it wasn't what you'd expected it to be. no, because you'd expect Chanyeol to be the kind of guy to pin a girl (or guy) down and dominate the fuck out of them. but the moment your voice took on an authoritative pitch, he was putty in your hands, whining and moaning and begging... it stirred something to life inside of you that you had no idea was there.

and it was good. really good. so good, in fact, he came running back to you within the next week practically begging for more. and shit, you gave it to him. he was one of the first guys you'd dominated like that. it was empowering, controlling a guy as big as Chanyeol was. it was an addictive sensation.

but you'd made it very clear from the beginning that it was going to be nothing more than sex. it wasn't romantic, you weren't friends, and you had no intention of getting to know him on a deeper level than his body. though, he seemed suspiciously intent on worming his way into your life one way or another. the boy was relentless. luckily, you were equally as stubborn. a match made in hell, aren’t you? what a spectacle.

you drew away from the kiss at the feeling of his tongue prodding at your lips, a low whine following soon after. you scoffed softly at the sight of his pouting face, “so needy.”

“you can only blame yourself.” he shot back easily, eyes already hooded and darkened with lust. excitement glimmered within them as you reached down between your bodies, fingers slowly undoing his belt.

“is that right?” you murmured, not breaking eye contact for a single moment, a lazy smirk resting on your face. he swallowed, trembling pupils jumping noncommittally from your intense stare down to where you were making easy work of his belt buckle.

“i— yes.” you don’t think he knew what he was saying yes to, his mind already becoming a muddled mess from the promise of what the night had in store for the two of you. his rationality had a nasty habit of hopping out the window whenever you got him in this position.

“what are you hoping happens tonight, Chanyeol?” you asked softly, slowly pulling his belt from the first loop of his jeans.

he swallowed thickly, head beginning to swing back and forth is slow swoops. “i– i don’t—” his voice broke off with a strangled whine as you allowed your fingertips to caress ever so gently over the ever growing tent in his pants.

you raised a brow into a questioning arch, stifling a smirk of amusement at his already flustered state. “it’s a simple question.”

his cheeks pinkened. “i just… want you.” it almost came out more as a question than a statement, words shy and hesitant.

“want me to what?” you pressed.

“to… to kiss me.” his gaze fell onto your lips, his own parting.

“kiss you?” you repeated, tone on the verge of taunting. “asking for a lot there, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

you were teasing him, but he didn’t seem to mind, blinking slowly as he dragged his tongue over the pink swell of his thick lower lip. “want you to touch me…” his voice lowered an octave, deep, lustful eyes looking up at you intensely.

“where?”

“everywhere.” he replied without missing a beat. “anywhere. just— just want your hands. or your mouth. i’ll take anything that you give me… but you already know that.”

you really loved the sound of his voice when he got like this. it was softer than cotton and smoother than silk, rumbling so deep in his chest that you could almost mistake it for purring. it spilled off his lips like the thickest, sweetest honey, so lush and lovely, dripping with shameless desire. something about it was so soothing. and the sounds he made were even better, his guttural groans and melodic moans were nothing short of symphonies. and you were the conductor.

chuckling, you smirked down at him. “you’re right. i do already know that.” he gasped as you suddenly yanked his belt completely free. “now be a good little bitch and grab onto the headboard.”

he eagerly complied, capturing his lip between his teeth as he watched you bind his wrists above his head. his eyes slowly dragged over your face, drifting over the length of your neck, following the smooths swells of your chest beneath your black tank top. a low groan slid from his lips as you pressed your hips forward slightly, just barely grinding against his growing erection. his eyes snapped up at the sound of your soft laughter.

“my eyes are up here, sweetheart.” you hummed, pulling his belt taught before looping it around one of the vertical wooden bars.

“and beautiful eyes they are.” he grinned up at you in that boyishly charming way, shooting you a playful wink. you scoffed, hands drifting down to rest on his firm chest before one raised to grip his jaw, tilting his head upward. lowering your own head, you allowed your lips to caress teasingly over his.

“maybe i should gag you, too. keep that pretty mouth in check,” you mused, dragging your thumb slowly over his full lips, “but unfortunately i think i enjoy the sound of your voice almost as much as you do. especially when you're moaning my name. god it’s so hot.”

you almost growled as he took your finger into his mouth, moaning softly around it. you swooped down, swiftly replacing your finger with your lips. the kiss was deep, rough, and hungry. distracted by your weaponized tongue, he didn’t process that you were unbuttoning his jeans until they were being pushed down his thighs and your hand was gripping his arousal through his thin black boxers.

“fuck, (y/n),” he groaned deeply into your mouth, arms gently tugging against their restraints. you dragged your lips away from his, face lowering so that you could suck your mark onto the expanse of his neck. he sighed blissfully, hot breath rushing over your ear as he subtly rolled his hips, body temperature rising steadily. you bit down on his collarbone, hands pushing up under his shirt to feel at his toned, well built torso. he was so hard, muscles rigid and protruding, so warm to the touch.

it was rather amazing. a guy as big as Chanyeol, as strong and as confident, could easily get the upper hand over you if he wanted. he could flip you over and pin you down without so much as breaking a sweat. but he didn’t. he let you pin him down, tie him up, dominate him, mind and body. he allowed himself to submit to you, to be taken by you: slowly, quickly, roughly, gently, he didn’t care, but dammit he enjoyed every second of it. and if that didn’t give you a rush of power, then you don’t know what could.

goosebumps rose across his honeyed skin as you pushed his shirt up to fully expose his tight body to your ravenous eyes, a chill rolling down his spine when you lowered your mouth to latch onto the smooth swell of his pectoral. he moaned quietly, back arching as you peppered kisses down his abdomen, slowly shifting lower, lower, lower… until your face was level with his bulge.

a sound of excitement flooded past his lips, his breathing becoming rapid and deep. “really?” he asked hopefully, voice breathless and light. a slow smirk crawled across your lips and you chuckled at the way he jolted with a moan when you pressed a slow kiss to his clothed arousal.

“really.” you hummed in confirmation. “you said you wanted my mouth, didn’t you?”

he frantically bobbed his head. “yes. yes, god yes. please.” you almost laughed at his shameless display of desperation. he let out a deep, strained groan as you flicked your tongue over his clothed erection, head falling back.

“ah ah, eyes on me, baby.” you scolded mildly, squeezing his thighs in warning. he lifted his head without argument, face flushed and glistening with faint perspiration, lip caught in a tight grip between his teeth, brows furrowed.

from your viewpoint, he looked rather beautiful: arms bound above his head, exposed chest rising and falling dramatically with each deep breath, messy silver hair falling flawlessly over his hooded, lustful eyes.

and he in turn was also quite taken by how perfect you looked between his legs: smirking lips hovering right over where he needed them most, dark, penetrating gaze making his body tremble with an unspoken need.

your fingers slipped under the elastic of his boxers, slowly easing them down his thighs until his length sprang free. “there he is,” you murmured, tongue dragging over your lower lip as you admired him, long and thick and swollen, precum spilling over his hot, red tip. he shuddered in delight as you traced your finger over a vein.

“(y/n)…” his usually deep voice was pleading and airy, hands curling into tight fists above his head, “please.”

you smiled up at him innocently before delivering a teasing kitten lick to his sensitive tip. he whined softly, hips twitching as his need for you increased tenfold.

a slightly more sadistic side of you rather enjoyed watching him squirm. perhaps it was that hidden part of you that wanted nothing more than to tease him into oblivion with insubstantial caresses and borderline torturous kisses until he was writhing helplessly and there were tears spilling from those beautiful big brown eyes.

however, a larger part of you craved the sight of his stunning, fucked out expression. the one where his face glistened with sweat, thick pink lips swollen and red from being ruthlessly and relentlessly attacked by those pearly whites, puppy dog eyes hooded and fluttering, fighting to remain open against his mind's desire to just melt completely into the pleasure coursing like hot lava through his veins. that was the face you wanted to see more than anything.

a broken moan flooded from his gaping mouth as you fastened your lips around his tip, the taste of his salty precum immediately lathering your tongue. he trembled as you hummed lightly around him, mouth silently forming the words ‘oh god’ as the vibrations sent sparks of pleasure shooting through his body like static shock.

“feels good, (y/n),” he whined weakly, stomach tensing, “feels so good.”

your response was to thrust your head down and as much of him into your mouth as possible. he cried out, hips snapping up at the feeling of your gentle sucking. you were quick to pin them back down, a warning glare darkening your gaze.

“‘m sorry—,” he slurred, panting heavily, “i’m sorry.” he was quick to submit, fighting against the painfully strong urge to fuck himself up into your warm mouth and forcing his quivering body to go pliant beneath your ministrations. satisfied for the time being, you dragged your tongue from his base to his weeping head, tracing slow, taunting circles over his most sensitive place.

a broken moan was all he could manage as his cock twitched tellingly, precum spilling down his throbbing length. you fixed your lips back around his tip, sucking gently. his thighs trembled at the sensation it sent shooting through his veins, a breathless ‘oh’ pulsing from his pink-bitten lips.

“(y/n)— (y/n), if you keep doing that—” the warning was clear, but you wanted to see just how close you could bring him to his release before stealing it away last second. it was always fun to watch how hard he came down from his high when he was denied of it. it was delicious, the way he gasped and trembled, shuddering hips desperately seeking out more frictions, but never receiving it. he was so cute when he got like that.

“you gonna come, baby?” you cooed, replacing your mouth with your hand and shifting upwards so that you could look directly into his eyes. you wanted to be able to see the look in his pretty brown eyes when you stole away his release. he whimpered, head bobbing rapidly as he caught his lower lip between his teeth.

“please.”

you only offered a low, contemplative hum before a wicked smirk struck your features. “not yet.”

a sob broke from his lips as you drew away from his throbbing dick, his high stolen only moments before it could come crashing down over him. his hips bucked, desperately seeking the friction you so cruelly denied him of, but finding nothing but empty air in place of your warm touch. his muscles trembled, broken pleas spilling from his quivering lips.

“(y-y/n), no— please,” he gasped out, arms tugging against the sturdy binds, fingers aching to touch you, grab onto you, hold you.

you hushed him with sweet words, pressing a soothing kiss to the cut of his jaw, hands massaging the bulk of his muscular thighs and holding still his stuttering hips.

“fuck– i hate it when you do that.” he cursed weakly, glassy eyes peering up into yours.

“no you don’t.” you chuckled softly, brushing his damp bangs out of his face in an unexpectedly tender gesture.

“you’re right, i don’t.” he relented easily, the corners of his lips curling subtly.

a sudden silence fell over you, and it took you a moment to realize that he was looking at you with those eyes— the ones you knew all too well. the ones you’d told him plenty of times to drop. because those weren’t the kind of eyes you were supposed to look at a fuck buddy with. those weren’t the kind of eyes that just anybody could be on the receiving end of, most definitely not you.

“don’t look at me like that.” you warned, hardening your expression.

“i can’t help it.” he breathed. you felt your stomach twist. damnit.

“then close ‘em, Park. before I decide to blindfold you, too.”

it seemed your threat wasn’t very well received, as the smile adorning his features only expanded, the corners of his eyes crinkling endearingly.

“that doesn’t sound too bad.”

a dry laugh burst from your lips. “god, you’re so fucking submissive. how has nobody else untangled your little ruse, hm? acting all big and tough on the outside when all you really want is to be tied up and fucked like a horny little bitch. am i really the only one that’s got you figured out?” you hummed thoughtfully, tracing your fingers down his throat and caressing his collarbone.

“you’re the only one, (y/n).”

for some reason… you had a strange feeling that that sentence held more meaning than you were willing to decipher.

“you tell all your little side fucks that?” you taunted, disguising the slight tremor in your chest with a dangerous smirk.

he shook his head, gaze not wavering for a moment. “there’s no one else. only you.”

fuck. you needed him to stop talking. so, you did the one thing that always did the trick: shoving your fingers down his throat. he let out a muffled sound of surprise at the unexpected intrusion, a sound that easily melted into a low moan, his tongue immediately getting to work lapping at your digits.

“you talk too much.” you murmured, taking him off guard and eliciting a low groan from the back of his throat as you ground yourself down on his naked length. “you came to get fucked, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

he eagerly nodded his head, hips nudging up excitedly against your own.

“thought so.” you chuckled.

through wide, glassy eyes, Chanyeol watched you push yourself upright, straddling his thighs. just as he was about to ask what you were doing, you grabbed the hem of your tank top and peeled it off over your head, discarding it onto the floor, your pants fast to follow.

“fuck. you’re so beautiful.” he groaned deeply, ravenous gaze raking over your nearly naked form. you smirked at him cockily.

“i know.”

a surprised laugh erupted from his lips at your blunt reply, eyes glinting with something akin to admiration. “as you should.”

smiling to yourself, you swiftly climbed back on top of him, not wasting any time before grabbing hold of his throbbing dick. he let out a breath of appreciation at the contact, biting at the inside of his cheek. every muscle in his body tightened as you teasingly traced his tip over your clothed heat, his precum slickening the thin fabric.

“are you wet?” he asked weakly, voice so airy and strained that you almost missed it.

grinning devilishly, you toyed with the elastic. “do you wanna find out?”

“yes,” he all but hissed out, muscular arms straining against their secure restraints, “fuck— yes, please.”

“mmm, you sound so hot when you're desperate to get fucked.” you groaned softly, nudging your underwear to the side in order to slip his head through your hot arousal. he shuddered at the sensation, his pupils blown wide with lust as he watched you tease not only him but yourself as well with fleeting caresses of his needy length against your burning core.

“(y/n).” his deep voice had become little more than a breathless whimper singed with molten desire. you felt your pulse jump at the very sound of it, your own want for him swelling with every passing second.

Chanyeol let out a broken gasp as you sunk down on him, cursing weakly as you took him in inch by inch. a low hum vibrated on your lips at the blissful stretch, hot tendrils of pleasure igniting throughout your body.

“sometimes i forget just how good you feel inside of me.” you breathed out heavily, peering down at his already fucked out expression with a coy smirk.

“i could never forget.” he moaned, roughly biting his lower lip. a slow, deep grind of your hips had his head of unruly silver locks tossed back into the plush pillows, an unsteady groan of your name filling the hot, heavy air surrounding you.

“fuck, go faster.”

he realized his mistake only when your fingers were pressing into the length of his throat, all motion ceased. “is that how you ask for things?” you asked, voice dangerously calm.

he was quick to shake his head, eager to right his wrong. “please. please go faster.”

“that’s better.”

a rough sob is pulled from his flushed throat (which you’re almost certain will be raw tomorrow morning) as you fuck yourself down onto him. the pace was fast, hungry, rough. his back bowing off the mattress, hips pulsing upward, desperate to meet each thrust half way.

“(y/n),” you almost moaned at the sight of his body rolling beneath yours, muscles flexed and trembling, toned arms straining against the tight hold of his belt, the leather biting pretty red marks into his wrists, “i wanna touch you— please let me touch you. let me feel you, baby. you know i can make you feel good.”

his begging caused a playful grin to draw itself across your face. “should i?” you murmured thoughtfully, rolling your hips in slow, controlled circles. a low, throaty moan vibrated in your chest as he thrust himself up inside of you, just barely brushing over that perfect little spot.

“i can be so good for you. please… let me be good for you, (y/n).”

“well when you say it like that…” you sighed, feeling any remaining resolve come crumbling down.

excitement ignited in his dark eyes, and he watched with bated breath as you reached up, getting to work on freeing him from the binds.

the very moment the belt fell slack, releasing his hands, they were on your skin, eager and impatient, tugging you down into a heated kiss. it was messy and rough, all biting teeth and lashing tongues. not that you minded much, it was always fun reminding him who was in charge, one way or another.

his wandering hands eagerly explored the expanse of your body, squeezing, pressing, pulling. and you let him have his fun, let him push the limits, testing your boundaries with every curious prod and trembling caress.

it was only when you felt his fingers pressing into the swells of your ass and begin guiding your movements that you drew the line. it took all of a few seconds for you to have his wrists pinned down on either side of his head.

you pulled away from his lips was a disappointed sigh, tongue clicking. “still no restraint, i see? i’m disappointed. i thought you said you’d be good for me, yeolie? was that good?” he all but whimpered, his head, too muddled from pleasure to form coherent words, shaking remorsefully. “no… that was very bad. bad boy, yeolie.”

his dick throbbed so hard inside of you that you could’ve sworn he’d almost just come.

a scoff of both amazement and disbelief escaped your lips. “you like being called a bad boy?”

how ironic.

color flushed into his cheeks, embarrassment shining in his big, glassy eyes that were now refusing to meet your gaze.

“look at me.”

he gasped as you purposely clenched around him, thrusting your hips back until he was balls deep, successfully forcing his attention onto your face. you grabbed his chin securely between your thumb and forefinger, and lowered your head to the point where your lips were just barely brushing over his. his pupils were blown and trembling as they met yours.

“you wanna be my bad boy, baby?”

his jaw fell open, a thunderous moan breaking from his chest.

“yes.”

“say it.” you all but growled, tone leaving no room for argument.

at this point, he was too lost in his own desire to feel any real shame.

“i wanna be your bad boy.”

a triumphant smirk curled onto your face, and you rewarded him with a gentle kiss to his quivering lips. “you gonna come for me, bad boy?” he was already bobbing his head frantically before you’d even fully gotten the question out. you chuckled sadistically at his unabashed desperation. “should i let you?”

“(y/n), please— i don’t think i can— fuck.” he panted out, voice shuddering and breaking as you fucked yourself down on him at just the right pace to keep him teetering dangerously on the edge without completely throwing him over. you bit your lip, pleasure exploding like firecrackers in your veins as he thrusted into you. fuck, if he didn’t stop hitting that spot…

his hands curled into tight fists where they were pinned to the mattress, dull nails biting smooth crescents into his palm. noticing this, you took it upon yourself to weave your fingers through his, holding his hands in an unexpectedly tender display. only because you didn’t want him to accidentally hurt himself… that was all.

but, perhaps it was a mistake.

because that look returned to his eyes with vengeance, his features melting into bursting admiration and unspoken emotion. this time, you ignored it, too gone in your own pleasure to spare it a second thought. that’s what you convinced yourself of, anyways.

he was pulsing intensely against your slick walls, twitching cock threatening to erupt at any given second. you could tell he was fighting to hold himself back, the veins in his throat growing prominent from the strenuous effort. it was admirable in a way, how desperately he wanted to please you, even if it meant denying himself of the greatest pleasure of all. you’d encountered very few men with that kind of will power. so you couldn’t help but to respect it when you saw it in Chanyeol.

“you look like you’re about to explode.” you taunted breathlessly, lips pulled into a lust hazed smirk. “it’d be cruel of me to tell you to hold it, wouldn’t it?”

he whimpered helplessly, obviously not sure which answer would satisfy you and which would coax you into further torturing his already wrecked body.

you offered a rasping chuckled. “you’re lucky that i’m feeling rather generous today.”

something between a sob and a moan are thrown past his lips as you slam yourself down on him, purposefully squeezing your walls around him. he cries out your name desperately, imploringly. you know he can’t hold back anymore, no matter how hard he tries. his body was going to come whether he liked it or not. you felt in the way he throbbed and twitched inside of you, heard it in the way he groaned and sighed, saw it in the way his eyes rolled, body shuddering uncontrollably.

“come.”

and he fucking did.

his body stalled, back arching off the bad, hips sputtering up in sharp, quick thrusts, the sound of skin on skin contact resonating through the room. you cooed, relishing in the way he quivered and keener beneath you, mouth gaping silently for a few moments before growling moans finally broke through, rumbling so deep in his chest you could have easily mistaken it for thunder.

you let him fill you up, painting your walls with his release, knowing damn well your intentions once he was finished.

“that’s it, baby…” you cooed, releasing one of his clenched fists to caress his feverish face, tracing the lower line of his plump lip, swollen and red from his relentless biting.

“oh! look at that. you made a mess, sweetheart.” you purred, smirking wickedly as you watched his arousal drip out of you and onto his now half hard cock. he moaned at the sight, cursing under his breath. “I think it’s only right if you clean it up.”

his eyes snapped up to meet yours, excitement immediately burning with his hazy, blown pupils. that was your boy… always eager to clean up after himself. especially if it meant he could put his tongue and lips to proper use.

“fuck. ride my face. wanna taste you. wanna make you come.” he groaned breathlessly, freed hands reaching down to grip at your thighs, tugging at them impatiently.

you chuckled at how eager he was, happily obliging. you climbed up, repositioning yourself to hover over his flushed face, caging his head between your thighs. his fingers pressed into your hips, pulling you down and into reach of his greedy tongue. you couldn’t help the sigh that slid from your lips at the first contact, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his tongue dragging hungrily through your come soaked folds.

“that’s right. eat your come, baby. lick it up.” you breathed out heavily, fingers weaving through his damp silver locks.

he moaned against you, the vibrations sending chills rolling down your spine. it was like white hot electricity in your veins when he rolled his flattened tongue cover your clit, a sharp moan erupting from your throat.

“fuck, just like that. right there.” you panted, hips grinding down against his skilled tongue. “you’re so fucking good with your mouth, yeol.” his determination spiked at the praise, lips encircling your clit and sucking purposefully.

pure euphoria rushed through your veins, head falling back as your grip on his hair tightened. his rapacious hands danced across your body, fingers pressing hotly into your skin, obviously not having learned his lesson the first time around. though, you weren’t too keen on correcting him. especially not with the fire his touch was igniting across your body.

your hips stuttered as his tongue pressed inside of you, lapping at you hungrily. “tastes… so good…” he groaned brokenly against your arousal, hooded eyes devouring the sight of you falling apart above him.

if there was one thing Park Chanyeol loved– it was being the cause of your pleasure.

snagging your lip roughly between your teeth, you meet his searing gaze, your walls clenching around his invading tongue at the almost unbearable intensity of it.

“you like it?” you moaned, feeling yourself begin to climb your way towards release. he nuzzled against you, nose pressing against your clit as his tongue teased your entrance.

god… if you didn’t know any better you’d say he was trying to suffocate himself. knowing Chanyeol, he’d probably consider it the perfect way to go. perhaps you would have laughed at the thought had it not been for the molten pleasure numbing your mind and senses.

“i’m gonna come.”

at your breathless declaration, Chanyeol is quickly replacing his tongue with two of his fingers, fucking them up into you steadily while his mouth gets to work on your clit. it feels so good… you’re numb to pretty much everything else but the feeling of him, the sight of him.

and you find it’s just that that finally sends you tumbling over that ledge: the sight of those beautiful brown eyes, dark and eager, burning with unspoken emotion, pooling with crimson seduction. he’s breathtaking.

you shift off of his face carefully, a hazy, satisfied smirk settling across your face.

“what a filthy boy.” you purr softly, more so to yourself than him, delighting in the sight of his face, glistening from a mixture of both his and your own release. his lips curl upwards at the corners, sinful tongue peeking out to drag over them and savor the lingering taste of you, a low hum of appreciation rumbling deep in his chest.

his hands don’t leave your hips as you carefully lift yourself off of him, offering some much needed support for your still shaky legs. you flop down on the mattress beside him with a soft ‘oof’ and shut your eyes, taking a moment to catch your breath and gather your scattered wits. a few moments of silence pass, before your brow twitched in irritation.

“stop staring before i smack you.” even with your eyes closed, you can feel the heat of his gaze on the side of your face.

he chuckled unabashedly, not all too torn up about being caught. “sorry. i can’t help myself,” he paused, “you’re just so beautiful like this.”

sighing, you roll your head to the side, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “what’d i say about calling me beautiful?”

he pouts, looking like a scolded puppy. “not to say it after sex.”

“that’s right.”

“but it’s the truth!”

“Chanyeol.” you groan, throwing an arm over your face.

he huffs in annoyance rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his palm. “what’s so wrong with me saying that you're beautiful?”

“you know exactly what’s wrong with it.” you grumble, shooting him a pointed glare, one he is quick to return. rolling your eyes, you turn away from him. “i’m too fucked out to try and argue with you right now so can you just drop it?”

one of his arms snakes over your waist, and you inhaled sharply in surprise as he tugged you into his chest.

“Chanyeol—”

he was quick to disregard your warning tone, nuzzling his face into your neck. “i like to cuddle.”

“you know—” you began, scowling as he cut you off a second time.

“i know what we agreed to but come on… a few minutes won’t kill you.” he grumbled, low voice raspy with exhaustion.

the slight tightening of his hold around you told you that he had no intention of letting go any time soon. your features twisted into a scowl, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling.

but your resolve to remain unphased wavered.

because, for a moment, you let yourself feel the warmth of his body against yours, allowing yourself to melt into it. it was a strange sensation, the comfort it brought you… the security. perhaps it was the aftermath of your orgasm. or maybe the exhaustion from a stressful week. or maybe something else entirely… regardless, you found yourself relaxing into him, into his hold, into his warmth. it wasn’t something you could really control. and even if you could, you weren’t sure if you would do anything different.

minutes passed. maybe two. maybe five. maybe twenty. you weren’t really sure. you could hear the muffled music still pumping through the speakers somewhere downstairs. dull footsteps and low voices passing outside the door every now and again. the soft glow from the still candle flickered soothingly over the pale walls.

a strange sense of calm had settled over you at some point. you weren’t sure quite when. all you knew was that if you listened hard enough, you could almost hear the steady beating of Chanyeol’s heart. his breathing had become slow and heavy, warming the side of your face with every exhale.

“are you…” you swallowed, throat unexpectedly dry, “are you asleep?”

you were met with silence.

sucking your lips into your mouth, you slowly turned your head. your heart faltered in your chest. “geez.” you muttered softly, a faint smile touching your lips.

he was knocked out cold, cheek smooshed up against the pillow, lips parted and puckered out, hair cast across the white pillowcase, a few locks stuck on his eyelashes. you lifted your hand carefully, gently brushing the silver strands out of his face. your fingers lingered on his skin, caressing ever so lightly over his cheek and jaw.

“beautiful.”

it took you a moment to realize that that word had just come from your lips. you jerked away like you’d been stung, eyes wide, and heart suddenly racing.

shit.

you were so fucked.

1K notes · View notes

dearsherlocked · 4 years

Text

You ran out of milk - A Sherlock Smut Imagine

Hi! I’ve been kind of down lately, haven’t been able to write a lot. This one is a smutty one, inspired by a rather larger fic I am writing (who am I kidding, I am not at the moment), but someday I’ll finish it and feel confident enough to post it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! :)

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Warnings: mention of violence, smut

Masterlist

Slowly drawn from a deep sleep by the curious feeling of being observed, Y/N’s gaze falls on Sherlock’s ice-cold eyes. The early morning light penetrates the room, and the enveloping darkness draws a veil over what happened between them the previous night. She can barely make out the features on the detective’s face; only his pale irises reflect the daylight. She feels a numb distance growing between their bodies. It’s not a hard task to guess his incredulous traits; he’s confused. Innocently, she stretches herself in his direction, trying to break this unbearable silence. She keeps wondering why she suddenly feels torn at the idea of losing him.

‘Morning,’ she whispers in a broken and mellow voice, pulling the sheets closer to her naked body.

But he only sees this mischievous light in her eyes. The bad, the ugly, the irritable feeling that she’s in fact very dangerous, much more than he believed at first. She won the game, he ruminates, she broke him in a way he had never been broken before. He’s just staring at her with an odd expression. He doesn’t know why she’s still there and why did he allow this reckless assassin - who have made the past weeks impossible to live without worrying - in his bed. He wonders in silence, speechless. Silence is eloquent in the face of the unknown.

‘You should go,’ he finally declares.

It should be an order, not a suggestion. However, he doesn’t even know if he wants her to go. He worries about what will happen next. By staying there, time seems frozen. He’s safe between the four corners of his mattress. Y/N stays still, locking her hazel eyes into his. There is something wrong with her, she feels different. The previous night, they both fought, she was the intruder, breaking every code of intimacy by infiltrating herself into his bedroom, uninvited. She just wanted to observe him for a while, like he was some sort of experiment. She is fascinated with Sherlock Holmes, but can’t help herself but wanting to feel superior to him. His wild side took over him. Sherlock let himself show the darkness within, and now there is no way back.

‘I should,’ she replies, but doesn’t move an inch.

He’s like a magnet to her, pulling her to him, she can’t stay away and she hates herself for it. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Her boss was clear, destabilize the man, don’t get involved. Well, they are both destabilized now. She presses her forehead on his, and she can feel him stiffening. Nothing is vain yet, he’s still lying next to her. He could have gotten up, pushed her out of his flat for all he cared, but he’s not doing any of that. He’s also testing himself. Showing anger would only confirm emotions and give them a voice he can’t allow to infiltrate his train of thoughts. He wants to know why didn’t he resist the night before. He wants to know if it will happen again. He can feel her warm body pressing, her hips looking for his. Out of a sudden, he grabs her head with his hands and presses his lips violently on hers. Soon, Y/N feels his body on the top of her, and she closes her eyes and abandon herself to his touch. He’s giving in again, why can’t he help it?

His hands are searching her, she can sense his long fingers running their course. One and the other he’s changed or he’s playing a game. Either way, she’ll know how to react. She’s frail to his touch, but her reflexes are not lost. She could kill him right now if she wanted, she automatically knows the vulnerable spots.

It is odd, she thinks, that with a man like him, she would have believed that he would be mechanical, but he’s incredibly instinctive. Y/N runs her hands in his messy curls, and she presses her lips into the crook of his neck. His skin is warm and tastes salty. His breathing gets heavier now, but is shallow. He’s anticipating how her body reacts to his touch.

She can feel it, the fighting, with all his might, that natural and logical response of the mind, the shyness and the shame, the insufferable feeling of being just another vulnerable man, deprived of his will to not act on instinct and impulses. She can appreciate how this feels, she’s been there too. But lust isn’t a sign of weakness, like her mentor tried to teach her during her training, lust is human nature, and it’s a duality between mind and soul that she stopped fighting a long time ago by taking control of it. She can feel his hardness between her legs now, the incredible feeling of warmness nearly approaching her. He’s hesitating still, overthinking, and so she pushes her hips and he’s immediately inside her now. Y/N’s head tilt back into the mattress, and a shy moan escapes her lips.

‘Hey, Sherlock?’ shouts a voice in the background.

Y/N’s eyes widen. She looks at the detective; he’s petrified, and terrified.

‘Shit!’ she mumbles under her breath, pushing Sherlock’s body away.

She swallows her pride and silently throws herself on the floor, trying to squeeze her sweating body under the bed.

‘Hey, you okay?’ asks Doctor Watson, stopped in the doorframe.

Y/N bites her lower lip in apprehension, afraid something is going to give them away.

‘Yes, why wouldn’t I be?’ replies the detective. He sounds like he has it under control, but deep down, Y/N feels the worry and hesitance in his voice.

‘I thought we were supposed to go and see Mycroft this morning?’ says the doctor.

‘Please John,’ replies Sherlock, ‘you know I can’t stand that name first thing in the morning.’

John scoffs.

‘What time is it?’

‘Just past 8.’

‘Right,’ sighs Sherlock. ‘Let me jump in the shower, I will be ready in a minute.’

Is there disappointment in his voice? John clears his throat.

‘Well, I guess I’m going to make coffee, then.’

He’s annoyed with Sherlock, Y/N thinks. She hears his footsteps as he’s heading to the kitchen and she squeezes herself out from under the bed. She fights the urge to laugh out loud, feeling like a teenager. Sherlock looks panicked, he, on the contrary, doesn’t feel like smiling.

‘Go!’ he mumbles under his breath, frowning and pointing at the window.

But she can see the corners of his mouth twitching briefly upwards. Wrapped up in his sheet, he disappears behind the bathroom door and Y/N hears him running the water, this is her cue to leave the flat without the unexpected visitor hearing her. She looks at her clothes laying on the floor, right next to the open bedroom door. It’s a risqué operation to retrieve them, John could be standing in the hallway and see her. She smiles and slides the bathroom door silently, and pull the shower curtain. Sherlock jumps in fear. In this diffused morning light, his body dripping in hot water, she feels compelled to join him.

‘What are you doing?’ he whispers angrily.

She presses her lips on his, indulging on the wetness of the kiss.

‘Shut up,’ she replies, ‘or he might hear us.’

She’s giggling now, kissing him vehemently, her right hand running lower on his chest, until she reaches what she is looking for. God, she is crazy, he thinks. She gently strokes his cock, and she can feel it harden in her hands. Sherlock rests his head on the tiles behind him while she slowly pumps his sex. She starts placing strategically kisses on his chest, then on his stomach, feeling his ribcage move each time he’s breathing. She works her way down, finding herself on her knees, and looks up to him. He’s lost, he doesn’t know if he should fight it, stop her, or push her away. She licks the tip of his cock and his mouth parts a little. Then, she envelopes it as he exhales as silent as he physically can, while his hands both systematically rest on the back of her head. She has control now, he’s at her total mercy and he knows it. He’s scared, but excited. She’s sucking him quicker now, taking it all, running her lips around it, tasting it, feeling every stretch into her mouth. He’s on the edge, soon enough she feels the warm liquid filling her mouth and she licks every last drop. He’s trying to gain his spirits back. He exhales and run his hands on his face.

‘I’m going to go now,’ she whispers as she exits the shower.

‘Good idea,’ he mumbles under his breath.

When he gets back into his room, he looks around him. The messy bed, the airless smell in the air. He tries to dress without thinking about what just happened, readjust the rebels damp curls on his head and walks to the kitchen, John is sitting at the table, reading the news on his mobile, sipping on the last drop of coffee.

‘Oh, by the way, you ran out of milk,’ the doctor says, placing his empty cup on the table. ‘Shall we go?’

Sherlock nods and looks around the flat. He feels like he’s coming out of a dream. He just doesn’t know if it is a nightmare yet.

246 notes · View notes

hueswrites · 4 years

Text

hq kinktober [day2] hanamaki & matsukawa

main hq kinktober masterlist

hq kinktober [day2] hanamaki takahiro & matsukawa isseis - double penetration

includes:

simultaneous vaginal & anal sex, all consenting, established relationship, alcohol use

wordcount:

4,136

~~~

You lay in bed with your boyfriend, basking in a blissful post-sex haze while you let your eyes rest. The "ding" of a text coming through Takahiro's phone grabs your attention.

"I'm getting drinks with Issei," he says, rolling out of bed.

You glance at the time. "It's two in the afternoon," you state, giving him a disapproving glare.

"And?" He says, going to the bathroom to take a piss with the door wide open.

"I really wish you would find a job. Is Issei off today or something?"

"Nah. He had a shitty day and his dad let him leave early, so I'm going to keep him company."

You roll your eyes. "Must be nice working for daddy. Why don't you see if you can get a job with him?"

"He actually did say they need someone in the crematory, but I'm not burning up dead people for a living. Besides," he turns to look at you and winks. "You know you love having me here to cook, clean, and fuck you senseless at all hours of the day."

You roll your eyes. He had a point.

~~~

Takahiro finds Issei at the bar, halfway through his second beer and looking absolutely miserable. They greet each other with a nod and Takahiro takes the seat next to him. The bartender is is already cracking a bottle open of Takahiro's usual order, which happens to be the same exact beer Issei preferred to drink. He takes a good, lengthy sip then sets the frosty bottle down with an audible sigh of delight. He looks over at Issei. "Wanna talk about it?"

Issei groans. "No. I just wanna drink." He takes a sip of his beer.

Takahiro unzips his jacket and saunters it off his shoulders, then places it onto the empty stool beside him. He looks up at the top shelf of liquors behind the bar and racks through his brain for something to talk about that would help get his friend out of his slump. "Oikawa's visiting next week. Have you talked to him? You know that'll be a good time. Always is."

Issei only sighs in response. Well, shit. He was really down in the dumps. "I need to get laid, Makki," he grumbles.

Takahiro raises his eyebrows. "What happened with that one foreign chick? Thought you and her had a good thing going on."

"She found someone else. Said she felt like she was fucking the grim reaper and thought I'd end up giving her a curse from one of the dead bodies in the funeral home," he drops his head down onto his forearms and hides his face. "Said she couldn't get the image of dead, shriveled dick out of her head when we hooked up."

Takahiro laughs. "That's fucking weird," he says. "You don't even see the bodies. You just sell the caskets and help families through their grieving."

"Yeah, I know," he groans out in frustration. "I have a decent job making decent money and even have my own place... I guess that's the limit on the amount of good things I'm allowed to have in this life."

Takahiro scoffs. "Don't say that. You're doing really good. Shit, look at me. I've been unemployed for three months now, freeloading off my girlfriend-"

"Your hot girlfriend,"

Takahiro ignores him, continuing, "I'm in a shit ton of debt, and I've now watched every single season of that stupid Korean drama my girlfriend insisted would inspire me to change my life Honestly, that shit made me feel worse."

Issei manages a laugh and lifts his head back up, dark wavy hair now a tousled mess over his forehead. "Yeah, dude. You sound like a bum. Why does she keep you around?"

"I cook and I clean. And," a smug smirk lifts the corners of his lips, "the sex is amazing."

Issei's head drops back down onto the bar top. "Fuck you," he mumbles into the sleeves of his shirt.

"You know, she is a model and a personal trainer. There's no way she doesn't have any single, cute girl friends that would be willing to hook up."

Issei sits back up and finishes his drink, the idea now seeming to lift his spirits. "If you could find someone that'd be interested in a gloomy, boring guy like me, then I'll pay your tab-"

Takahiro smiles and chugs the rest of his beer, then locks onto the bartender. "Another round on this guy's tab, please," he shouts.

Issei chuckles. "You better work some magic, asshole."

~~~

Takahiro returns home to your apartment to find you in the living room, drenched in sweat and in the middle of giving one of your online fitness classes. As you go through the motions of squats and burpees he takes a moment to admire the way your ass jiggles and resists the urge to give it a smack. You would kill him if you did such a thing in front of her clients, and probably withhold any sort of physical intimacy from him as punishment. It's amazing that you even have the energy to workout after your earlier exertion with him in bed.

He decides to make himself comfortable on at the kitchen counter and pulls out his phone, scrolling through your list of friends on Facebook. He didn't know half the people on your list, and he was pretty sure you didn't know them either. It made sense that a popular, attractive young woman such as yourself had so many connections. When the two of you started dating, you warned Takahiro about the amount of attention men (and women) gave you. It didn't bother Takahiro one bit. He loved knowing someone as attractive and talented as you was all his.

Issei may have had the career and the independence, but to Takahiro, you were all he needed. He loved to please you. The cooking and cleaning was no chore to him. You allowed him to stay at your apartment expecting nothing but his love and respect in return. And great sex. You were definitely just as kinky and open-minded as he is.

As his thoughts focused on you, he found himself remembering the early days of your relationship. He met you two years ago at a bar when Oikawa had been in town visiting for the holidays. Both he and Issei were instantly attracted to you. Oikawa noticed their attraction to you and was able to get your number in the blink of an eye. Imagine her disappointment when she learned that neither of the two numbers that texted her the next day belonged to that gorgeous brunette with big brown eyes and a voice as sweet as honey.

He and Issei made a game out of trying to woo you. In the end, you fell for Takahiro's boyish good looks and charming personality. Not that Issei wasn't charming or good looking - you just thought Takahiro had much more going for him, with his talk of wanting to be an entrepreneur and successful business man, while Issei went right into working for his parent's funeral home.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

It's then that an idea pops into Takahiro's head. He brings up his text conversation with Issei.

He sends a text: "Wanna have a threesome with me and ___?"

Issei responds almost instantly: "You serious?"

Takahiro chuckles to himself. He replies: "Let me ask her. I'll get back to you."

~~~

After your class is finished, you shower and get yourself ready for dinner. The news plays on the TV in the living room adjacent from your dining area, but you're not paying attention. You're trying to figure out why your boyfriend is so unusually quiet. He's been on his phone since the two of you sat down to eat, only taking a bite every couple of minutes.

"Hey, Hiro," you start, irritation laced through your voice. "What's wrong?"

"Issei is lonely," he says.

"That sucks," you say through a mouthful of rice.

"He needs to get laid."

You raise a brow. "Okay. How are you going to help him with that?"

"What do you think about letting him join in on our fun?"

You spit out your food.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He smirks, eyes still on his phone. "Would you fuck him?"

"Takahiro. I'm not even gonna answer that question."

Takahiro hums. "His dick is bigger than mine, you know."

Your face flushes red. "Are you really being serious right now?"

"Yeah. You know he's always had the hots for you. Don't you find him attractive? You did back then, I know that's a fact."

You pause as if to consider. "He's cute. I never liked his hair though. He needs to cut it."

Takahiro snorts. "Babe. Think about it. You already know each other, and you said having a threesome is on your list of sexual fantasies you want to try."

"How do you know about my list?!"

Takahiro skims over your question and continues. "So is that a yes or a no?"

"But he's your best friend."

"Yeah, and that's why it'll be fun!"

You really did want to check off having a threesome from your list.

You let out a huff and frown. "Let me think about it."

Takahiro beams and starts tapping away on his phone. "Okay, so is Friday good with you?"

"Takahiro!" You shout, shooting him your best crazy eyes. You grit your teeth. "I have a class Friday night. Let's do it Saturday."

Takahiro to Issei: She’s in. You free Saturday night?

~~~

Saturday finally arrives, and you and Takahiro are both getting ready to leave your apartment for the night.

"I'm gonna need alcohol before we do this," you said as you rolled on deodorant.

Takahiro is in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. "Aww, you nervous, babe?" he garbled through his spit and toothpaste.

"Yes, Hiro. You're gonna be watching your best friend fuck me."

"Issei and I are cool like that. Always have been."

Silence follows, and Takahiro looks at you through the mirror. You've stopped packing your things and are sitting on your bed, gazing off into space. He frowns. "You know you don't have to do this if it's making you uncomfortable. I'm not gonna force you to do anything you're not sure you want to do."

You look up and glare back at him through the mirror. "I know that, idiot," and then you smile. "I'm just being a brat."

Takahiro rinses his mouth and gives his hair one last comb through before leaving the bathroom and walking over to you. He bends down to give you a kiss and ruffles your hair with his hand. "I love my little brat. Wouldn't have you any other way."

You reach up and cradle his face in your hands. "Love you too."

~~~

The three of you decided to have drinks at the bar in the hotel's lobby Issei had paid for your night together. You told Takahiro that you would feel more comfortable away from home, somewhere that you could let loose and not have to worry about cleaning up afterwards.

The conversation had mostly been the two of them reminiscing on their high school and college years, with you slurping your drink and giggling in between their exchanges. "You guys really chose to go to the same college so you could remain friends?"

Takahiro idly stirs his drink, keeping his eyes on you. Your cheeks are flushed red and your eyes are glossed over, an obvious sign that you were pretty buzzed. You seemed to be enjoying yourself, even offering little flirty comments Issei's way here and there. Takahiro thought it was adorable.

"Once Oikawa and Iwaizumi went away, everything got really boring. Making new friends is a pain," Issei explained. "I don't think other people would be able to handle our sense of humor. We like to make jabs at each other, and other people take things too seriously."

Takahiro hums in agreement. "I hate when people can't take a joke."

You finish your cocktail and the tiny little hiccup that escapes your lips has Takahiro looking at you with adoration. "I don't think many best friends would be down to fuck the other's girlfriend, either." You giggle.

Both men blushed at your blunt observation. Takahiro cleared his throat. "Uhh, you wanna get the check and skedaddle, Issei?"

Issei swallowed the rest of his drink and slammed the empty glass down onto the table. "You always read my mind, Makki."

~~~

The three of you are stripping yourselves naked as soon as you enter the hotel room. You were the first one on the bed, waiting rather impatiently for someone to start giving you attention. Takahiro was quick to climb after you, having discarded his clothes onto the floor. He placed kisses all over your face and your neck, sucking onto your breasts and pinching your hips. You squirmed underneath his touch, curling your toes in delight.

Issei goes to sit in the chair at the side of the room, and the sound of air leaving the cushion as he plops down causes you and Takahiro to stop what you're doing and look up at Issei. "What are you doing?" Takahiro asks, confused.

"M'gonna sit back and watch you two," Issei says. "Lemme see how amazing fire crotch over here really is."

"Watch it, dickhead. I'm no fire crotch. My hair's strawberry brown, idiot." Takahiro growls, returning his attention back to you. He towers over you, eyeing you hungrily. "You ready for this, baby?"

~~~

Takahiro's got two of his fingers deep inside your cunt, pumping into your sloppy, wet heat with determination to get you all warmed up for what's to come. You feel the mattress dip behind you and shiver as a second pair of hands lands on your body. Issei finally had enough as a bystander and was ready to join the action. He presses his lips to your back, between your shoulder blades, and massages his thumbs into your hips.

"Feeling good, baby?" Takahiro mumbles into your ear.

"Mmhm," you nod, both of your hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. Issei hums and slides his hands up to caress your breasts. You lean your head back against him and sigh.

"You're so soft," he says behind you, giving your nipples a squeeze. You moan.

"Tell Issei how you want to be touched," Takahiro says as he continues to work his fingers down between your legs.

"Just keep touching me like that," you breath, voice shaky.

Takahiro slides his fingers out from you and pulls back just a bit, looking at you with dark, heavy eyes. He takes in the sight of Issei's large hands enveloping your breasts, the way you pant softly through parted lips, and the rise and fall of your chest just under your collar bone. The sight makes him groan. He leans back against the headrest and strokes himself slowly.

You take one of your hands and place it over Issei's to pull it away from your breast and down to your stomach. He takes the hint and brings his fingers down further to start massaging your clit. You can feel his length pressing into the small of your back, slight moisture from the tip sticking to your skin. His fingers spread your lower lips and he smears your juices over your hole, teasing your entrance.

"Show me how good you suck Makki's dick," he mumbles against your neck.

You oblige and lean forward onto your hands, pressing one down into the mattress on each side of your boyfriend's legs.

Takahiro watches with anticipation as you lower yourself down to his hard, swollen cock. You pause to tuck your hair behind your ears and the simple action makes his heart flutter. He lets out a pleased groan as you wrap your lips around the tip.

Issei dips two of his fingers into your cunt and you moan around Takahiro's cock. He responds by placing a hand on your head, encouraging you to take him deeper.

You swirl your hips against the palm of Issei's hands like a feline swaying her tail. Takahiro's cock is deep into your mouth now, touching the back of your throat. You press your tongue against the sensitive underside as you suck your way back up, tracing the vein that protrudes through his thin skin.

Takahiro groans. "Fuck, yes," he sighs, tangling his fingers into your hair. "You are such a good girl."

Issei's roused by the sight of Takahiro melting into the bed, and suddenly feels like the luckiest guy in the world for having such a generous friend. He inserts a third finger.

You feel so full and so content. The surge of love you feel towards your boyfriend has you removing yourself from his dick to lean forward even more and plant a tender kiss to his lips. "This feels so good, Hiro," you tell him.

He grins. "I knew you'd like it, babe."

You raise yourself to stand upright on your knees and turn to meet Issei's lascivious gaze. "Let me suck you off," you say, wrapping your fingers around his wrist to stop his hand from working you any further.

"Please do," he says with a smirk. He shuffles back and collapses onto the bed, spreading his legs invitingly.

You lean down and press a kiss to Issei's stomach, then open your mouth wide to take him in. He is larger than Takahiro, so you have to widen your jaw more than what you're used to.

Takahiro watches, sliding his fingers through your hair. "You're so sexy, babe," he says, then sits up and grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand. He figures now is the time to start working your little pucker open. He comes to kneel behind you and pours a generous amount of lube onto your ass and spreads it through your crack. He takes a slicked up finger and circles it around your tight little hole, easing the very tip in and out as he goes. "God, I love your ass," he says before giving it a light smack.

"Her mouth is something else, Makki." Issei sighs, rolling his head back to rest against the headboard. His hip stutter and buck up into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat by surprise. You grab onto his thighs and muffle a choke. "Shit, sorry," he says, but you're quick to take him back even deeper. The tickle of your nose against his stomach has him groaning loudly.

Takahiro licks his lips and slowly presses one finger into your tight hole. "Tell me if it hurts," he says, pushing his finger past his first knuckle. He pumps it slowly, feeling your muscles loosen ever so slightly. You tense when he inserts the second finger.

"Wait," you tell him, removing yourself from Issei's cock. Takahiro stops and rubs your back softly as the sting of the stretch fades away. "Okay, go ahead."

Issei inches himself back a bit to sit more upright and grabs his cock with his hand. "I'm good for now, darlin'. Just focus on feeling good." You give Issei an appreciative smile before rising up to wrap your arm around Takahiro's neck.

"More," you whisper, pushing your ass back into his hand. Takahiro inserts a third finger and you contract around him, causing a low rumble to send vibrations from his chest into your back.

Issei is back to stroking his cock as he watches Takahiro fuck his fingers into your ass. You play with your clit, the action making your legs shake. Takahiro takes his free hand and pushes yours aside, inserting his own finger into your cunt. "More," you whimper, grabbing onto his forearm. He inserts another finger, and picks up the pace.

"You feeling good, baby?" He asks you.

"So good," you whine.

Issei groans, stroking his cock faster.

Takahiro nuzzles your chin and gives you a kiss. "You wanna try riding Issei first?" he mumbles.

You nod. Takahiro removes both his hands from your body and sits back to catch his breath. You move to straddle Issei's waist and take his cock into your hand. He places both of his hands on your hips and gives you a devilish little smirk. "Ever think you'd fuck a cock bigger than his?"

You snort a laugh through your nose.

"Fuck off," Takahiro retorts from behind.

You lower yourself onto Issei's length, the stretch sending little shockwaves of pleasure through out your body. He squeezes your hips and encourages you to keep lowering your self, watching your expression the entire time.

"How's she feel?" Takahiro asks, keeping his eyes on your cunt as it swallows Issei's cock.

"Fucking amazing," he breathes, slowing rocking his hips up into you. "Not sure how long I can last."

Takahiro moves forward onto his knees. He leans over you and kisses your ear. "Think you can take two?" he says.

"Yes, please."

Issei slides down the headboard just a bit so you can hover further forward over his chest and raise your ass. You feel a wad of lube drop onto your asshole and slide down between your cheeks. Takahiro smears the liquid around inserts his finger into your hole again, just to be sure you're still ready. He removes his finger and then presses the head of his cock to your entrance. He pauses. "You good?"

"Yeah," you breathe.

He slides in slow. You have to place your hand back onto his thigh to tell him to stop while you ease into the feeling of being stretched and filled in both holes.

"Deep breaths, baby," Takahiro says, watching the muscles in your back twitch. You inhale deeply, then exhale and relax.

"Okay."

Takahiro starts to move, and Issei follows. You simply hold yourself still while both men work on finding a rhythm that lets them move together comfortably. One of your hands comes down to rest under your belly button, and you swear you feel the bulge of Issei's cock inside you.

You try taking your mind off the slight discomfort your body is feeling at such an unnatural stretch. The squelching between your legs, Issei's labored breathing as he tries so hard not to cum, the rumble of Takahiro's deep voice giving you all sorts of little praises - "good girl, you feel so good, you're doing so well, I love you so much," and your own voice getting louder as any discomfort you were feeling melts into pleasure.

"I need one of you to touch me," you say through shallow breaths, your body shaking, your hands grasping onto their arms.

"Issei," Takahiro says, quickening his pace. "Make my girlfriend cum."

Issei obliges and presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing quick, tight circles. Your body tightens up around them as you cum, moans sounding like cries as your mind struggles to handle the intensity of your orgasm,

"Oh, shit," Issei groans. "I'm gonna cum."

"Cum inside," you urge.

"You sure?"

You nod, and Issei increases his pace. He grips your hips tightly and groans as his load spills inside you.

You lean forward and give him a kiss, which he can hardly return in his current state.

Suddenly you're yanked back by your hair and pressed against Takahiro's chest, his arm snaking its way around your waist to hold you against him firmly. Issei's cock leaves your body, and Takahiro gives you one good thrust, cumming long and heavy into your ass. He lets out a string of curses into your hair, holding you tight.

His chest is heaving, having emptied every last drop.

Your head spins and your thighs are numb. "Hiro... I need to lay down," you say, tapping your hand against his arm.

"Mm," is all he can mumble before letting you go. You crawl forward and curl up onto your side next to Issei. Takahiro falls to your other side and sandwiches you in the middle.

"Fuck, that was amazing," Issei says, running a hand through his damp, curly locks of hair.

Takahiro groans in agreement, pressing his palm to his forehead, eyes closed.

The three of you lay there, catching your breath.

Takahiro rolls onto his side to face you. "What'd you think, babe?" he asks.

You hum blissfully, eyes closed. "I loved it. Let's do it again sometime."

Takahiro gives your ass a squeeze in appreciation, then reaches over to slap Issei's chest.

"Ow," Issei says, opening his eyes to see Takahiro's hand hovering above his face. He raises one of his own arms and curls his hand into a fist, smacking it against Takahiro's.

You laugh. "Did you guys just fist bump?"

"Sure did," Takahiro says, grinning proudly.

You roll your already aching body over onto your stomach and stuff your face into the pillow.

"Idiots."

#hq smut #hq kinktober 2020 #hq x reader #reader x hq #hanamaki takahiro x reader #reader x hanamaki takahiro #matsukawa issei x reader #issei matsukawa x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu smut

204 notes · View notes

sickfic-shiz · 3 years

Text

Rest

Whumptober 2021 | Comfort

Warnings: emeto/vomiting (stomach bug)

Notes: thought I’d post a piece of writing for the first time in a long long while, introducing some new characters! I’d love to talk more about them and answer any asks about them!

“You’re sick, go back to the dorm.” Muqing repeated for what felt like the fiftieth time in the two hours they had been studying together in the campus library.

Wu Ming was shivering miserably as he tried to focus on his notes, even beneath two jackets— one being Muqing’s which they had shrugged off and wrapped around him after watching him tremble for the first half an hour. It didn’t take a genius to tell that he wasn’t feeling well.

“I’m fine. I’m always cold. You know that.” Wu Ming replied with the same thing each time, scowling down at the words swimming on the page as if they had offended him. He knew fully well he was sick, or at least getting there, but he couldn’t afford to let his grades slip.

“Jesus, at least go back and take a nap first or something, how are you getting anything done?” Muqing grumbled irritably, before softening his tone somewhat. “C’mon, I’ll even walk you back if you want.”

“I really need to finish revising this. Just focus on yourself.” Wu Ming sighed, briefly leaning his forehead on his palm. “Believe me, I don’t want to be here either.”

Muqing muttered something under his breath pointedly, standing up in a manner that made his annoyance clear. “Fine. I’m going to take a break.”

Wu Ming watched him stalk away, before letting his facade crumble a little more, laying down on the table with a muffled groan. Truth be told, he felt awful. He was cold and shivery, and his stomach had started to feel oddly unsettled. His head was starting to hurt something fierce, and he hardly wanted to think about how he would get through his shift at work later.

“Hey.” Muqing’s voice came from above him some time later, and he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I bought you some tea, it might help. You really should get some rest. At least before your shift.”

Wu Ming picked up the paper cup that had been set in front of him, immediately grateful for the warmth. He took a few small sips, finding it a welcome change from shivering. It was true he wasn’t getting much done right now. “Fine, you win.”

“Really?” The agreement surprised him. As much as he wanted Wu Ming to get some rest, he was also ridiculously stubborn.

“Sure. There isn’t much time left before work anyway. In exchange, get me some stuff from the pharmacy.”

“Okay, asshole. I’m not buying you tea ever again.” Muqing made a show of rolling his eyes, but still reached over to help pack and carry his things. “What do you want me to get you?”

When he returned with the requested medicine, (and several things that were, decidedly, not medicine, Wu Ming was a horrible scam) Wu Ming was curled up in bed, fast asleep. Muqing smiled despite himself, bending down to pull the covers up and wrapping them snugly around him. He rarely seemed to let himself rest, and Muqing almost never saw him go to sleep before he did.

He took the time to sort out the supplies he had picked up— painkillers, fever reducer and an antiemetic from the pharmacy, (the latter two he had gotten just in case) followed by green tea, canned soup and crackers from the supermarket. Muqing figured he could boil some water first, so he could bring the tea with him to work. The kettle boiled just as Wu Ming’s phone alarm went off, and Wu Ming moaned, sitting up groggily.

“You really are in no condition to be working.” Muqing remarked, even though he knew that it wouldn’t do anything to convince him. Instead, he pressed the back of his hand to Wu Ming’s neck to check for a fever, and he wasn’t particularly surprised to find that it was too warm. “Take your temperature first. If it’s too high, I’m dragging you to the hospital no matter what you say.”

Wu Ming took the thermometer that was held out to him obediently, still hazy with sleep. Muqing took it from him when it beeped, frowning. 37.9. To be fair, it wasn’t very high, but he almost wished it would be higher so he could justify manhandling Wu Ming back to bed.

“Did you get the tea?” Wu Ming asked, rubbing at his face in an attempt to wake himself up.

“Yeah, I boiled some water already, I’ll put the tea in a thermos for you so you can bring it to work.”

“Mm.”

“Take some medicine before you leave. I got you your painkillers and a fever reducer too.” Muqing handed the medication over, and placed a glass of water on the table. “Don’t take too many painkillers again or I will hit you and it will hurt.”

“Okay, okay. That was just one time.” Wu Ming fumbled with the packaging, his hands shaking more than he’d like as he took the pills. He didn’t feel much better after his short nap. In fact, his stomach was churning now, making him feel as if he would be sick.

“You could call in sick.” Muqing suggested, knowing it would be futile.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Yeah, because you’re too fucking stubborn.” Muqing glared at him, resisting the urge to just knock him out with a heavy book so he would rest. “Better not get a call asking me to pick you up later.”

Work didn’t start out too badly— he was just manning the register today, and it was a fairly straightforward job, even if he was standing right beneath the AC. Most importantly, it was at some high end grocer’s attached to a cafe, so it paid really well. However, it didn’t take long for his sick body to start protesting against the strain he was putting it through. Wu Ming alternated wildly between feeling hot and cold, and the shirt beneath his jacket was drenched in cold sweat after a few of these cycles.

Thank god he had worn a mask out. Forcing himself to sound cheerful was enough of a challenge, let alone having to muster up a smile. He took sips of tea from his flask in between customers, hoping that it would at least settle his stomach. He was so dizzy— at some points it was so bad that his vision was blurring and he was forced to guess at what he was doing.

Suddenly, he realised that he was about to throw up. Wu Ming caught the attention of his coworker, then gestured towards the bathrooms, not trusting himself to speak without throwing up. He didn’t think he could’ve spoken anyway, his throat feeling tight. After getting a response, he hurried towards the bathroom as much as he could without making it obvious that he was about to be sick.

Wu Ming was forced to tear off his mask and retch into the tiny bin by the entrance several times, bringing up a gush of liquid before he could stumble into one of the stalls. Hunching over the bowl, he braced himself against the wall with one hand, the other wrapped tightly around his stomach as he heaved. Wu Ming aimed as best as he could, trying to reduce the mess, but some of the puke splattered onto the seat regardless of his efforts. At least it was mostly liquid, most likely the all tea he had been drinking… as well as the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything since early this morning, probably.

Wu Ming sank into a squat slowly, his legs feeling weak, yet still not wanting to kneel on the tiles. He needed to hurry up if he didn’t want anyone to get suspicious. He dry heaved a few times, then decided that he was done, at least for now. He cleaned up the splatters of vomit left on the toilet seat before flushing, ignoring how the swirl of water made him feel sick all over again. Wu Ming stood at the sinks for a while, staring at his sickly appearance and splashing some water on his face to wake himself up. As he turned to leave, his coworker entered, calling his name. Shit. He had taken too long after all.

“Manager sent me to check if you’d passed out in here.” They joked. “You okay? You’re looking a little ghostly there.

“I’m fine, I was just…” The nausea returned in full force, catching him off guard. Wu Ming spun around, gagging into the sink.

“Oh dear…” They gaped as he threw up into the sink painfully, awkwardly reaching over to pat his back. “Um, you’ll feel better after getting it up?”

“I’m fine.” Wu Ming gasped between retches. “Just give me a minute.”

They nodded, watching him uncomfortably. It looked brutal, the way his shoulders shook badly with each heave.

“Sorry.” Wu Ming murmured apologetically when he was done, turning on the tap to rinse away any remnants of his stomach contents left in the sink. “We should head back before we get in trouble.”

“You should go home if you’re sick.”

“I’m not.” Wu Ming said a little more harshly than he had intended as he put his mask back on. He was so tired of being pressured to stop doing things. If he could afford it, he would’ve gone to bed long ago. Still, he hadn’t meant to snap. “I’m really fine. Let’s go back.”

“Alright, alright.”

They headed out together, and Wu Ming took up his position at the register again. It was terribly hard to focus through everything going on. The painkillers he had taken had started to wear off already, and he bit his lip anxiously. He should’ve brought them with him to make sure he’d get through his shift, though the bigger challenge would’ve been making sure it didn’t come back up right away.

“Ah Ming?”

Wu Ming’s head snapped up to see the next ‘customer’ he was meant to be serving, coming face to face with his boyfriend. “Guoqin? What are you doing?”

“Checking on you, what else? Muqing said you’d gone to work sick, and I was worried— you weren’t looking at your texts.”

“I’m fine.” Wu Ming had lost track of how many times he had said this today, reaching for his basket to ring up the items. “You know I don’t text when I’m working.”

“You look dead on your feet.” Guoqin furrowed his brow, helping Wu Ming to pack the scanned items. “I’m bringing you to see a doctor after your shift at least.”

“I don’t- no doctors.” Wu Ming tried his best to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth and ignore the splashes of acid at the back of his throat. There was no way he would convince Guoqin if he threw up now. “I’m really perfectly fine. I just need some sleep.”

Guoqin studied him closely. There was no way he was well, but it would be nigh impossible to get him to a clinic if he was so adamant. “Fine, no doctors, but I’ll send you back to your room later, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” Wu Ming didn’t think he could say any more without making a mess on the floor, so he kept quiet, hoping that Guoqin would leave. He managed it for all of about five seconds before his roiling gut decided that it was done with being ignored and he muttered a hurried apology before tugging his mask out of the way and booking it for the toilets.

Wu Ming slammed the stall door shut behind him, scrambling into a kneeling position in front of the toilet, too desperate to care about the cleanliness of the floor. He had barely managed to contain the vomit on the way over using his hand, which was now covered in light brown puke. He groaned in disgust even as he gagged into the toilet, now struggling futilely against bringing up the thicker remains of his breakfast. The tea was one thing, but Wu Ming hated few things more than wasting food. It had been a fairly good breakfast too…

The thought of food sent him over the edge, and he quickly lost the battle against the nausea. Gripping the side of the bowl tightly with his clean hand, the vomit sprayed forcefully into the toilet, now unrecognisable.

“Ah Ming, are you okay? Can you let me in?”

“I couldn’t-hrrRRK- get up for long enough, even if I wanted to.” Scratch that. Being seen— well heard, this time, in such a compromising position, twice in one day no less, was a far worse fate than losing his sausage and egg muffin. “Please, just… go outside. I don’t want you to be here for this.”

“Okay.” Guoqin finally agreed. He was worried, but he knew he would only add to Wu Ming’s bruised pride if he stayed. “I’ll be right outside.”

Wu Ming stamped down the urge to beg him to stay.

When he finally felt done, or at least too empty to bring anything up in the near future, he lay his forehead on the toilet seat, too exhausted to care. Hopefully he wouldn’t catch anything else from the germs. Wu Ming stayed in that position for several long minutes before he could muster the energy to get up. He reached up to flush the toilet, then slowly got to his feet, trying his best to breathe through the sudden vertigo. For a moment, he believed he was about to pass out right there. When it had abated slightly, Wu Ming left the stall to wash the puke off his hand, before heading out.

“Ah Ming, how are you feeling?”

…right, Guoqin had said that he’d wait outside.

“I’m…” Wu Ming had meant to say he was fine, but he was assaulted with a lightheadedness that knocked the breath out of his lungs. He couldn’t stop himself from tipping forwards, and the last thing he remembered before passing out was being caught.

When he came to, it took him a while to figure out that he was laying on one of the couches meant for the customers. It took him a bit longer after that to realize that his head wasn’t on a pillow, but in Guoqin’s lap. After he’d made that connection, his face flushed, and he weakly tried to sit up.

“Hey, stay down for a bit, you passed out.” Guoqin pressed him down firmly but gently, then pressed a hand to Wu Ming’s forehead. “You’re burning up, dear. I think I caught you in time, but do you think you hit anything when you fell?”

“No, thanks to you.” Wu Ming mumbled. He was so tired now that the thought of getting up felt overwhelming, not to mention going back to work. “How long…?”

“Just about five minutes. How are you feeling?”

“Sick…” No shit, Wu Ming berated himself internally.

“Yeah?” Guoqin hummed sympathetically, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face. “Your manager said you should take the rest of the day off.”

“I… I want to go home.” God, he was getting all emotional and Wu Ming hated it.

“Okay, let’s get you back to the dorms. I’m sure Muqing will be worried.”

“He- he’s mad at me…” Wu Ming’s voice shook unnaturally, recalling what Muqing had said when he left. “He told me not to call him.”

“Shhh, that’s just the fever talking, you know that’s not true.” Guoqin reassured him. “That’s just the way he speaks, but he’d never stay mad at you. After all, didn’t he ask me to check on you?”

“Yeah…”

“Okay, do you think you’re ready to head back? I’ve got all your stuff ready to go.”

“Mm.”

#sickfic #illness #stomach bug #stomach flu #whumptober #whumptober 2021 #emeto #emeto tw #wu ming #muqing #guoqin #Lan writes

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turquoise-skyyyy · 3 years

Text

The Solution To Everything(Is Hair Dye)

Note: Human AU! First time posting writing on tumblr lmao, and I wanted to try a bit of a different writing style... so there’s that.

Just a little writing practice paired with Marellinh fluff n kinda angst ig :)

Word count: uhhh i went overboard

Blurb: Linh is lonely, with no one in the world left by her side, hurt, by all that she’s lost, and possibly has an ever-so-slight crush on her elusive blonde neighbor. Marella needs someone to dye her hair within the day, and Linh happens to have exactly what she needs, in more ways than one.

When Linh wakes late in the night, startled from her dozing state on the couch in her dimly lit living room to the sound of persistent knocking, she certainly doesn’t expect to find the blonde neighbor she’s been inconspicuously watching— she’s still trying to convince herself that casually watching the girl enter her house anytime she got the chance wasn’t stalking— for the past three weeks since she moved in next door to be on the other side. And when the panting girl in front of her sucks in a breath, Linh definitely doesn’t expect the words that spill from her lips—

“Can you dye my hair?”

Linh blinks with bewilderment, still trying to process that the girl is here, on her doorstep. Not to mention really, really pretty. Annoyingly so, to the point where Linh’s tired brain has to avert her eyes to focus on forcing her mouth to form words.

“What?”

The girl smiles apologetically, and suddenly Linh’s throat feels dry. The girl’s beauty is much more manageable from a distance, through subtle glances out of the corner of her eye across the hall.

“My roomates— screw them— dared me to dye my hair bright green by tomorrow. I lost a bet.” She looks away. “And you have green hair dye, so...”

Linh stares dumbly, trying to puzzle out how to respond to such a random, odd request. Though she moved into the apartment complex almost a month ago and her maybe sort of possible little crush lives just next door, her mind is still trying to register the fact that they have finally crossed paths. And the girl has come to her, no less.

“How do you know I have hair dye?” The hair dye is something she’s gotten to send to Tam. The silver in his hair is something he kept in long after she cut it off and cut off their parents. He still hangs on, and Linh wants to change that, even if they haven’t spoken in a year. She isn’t going to send it though, she knows. She always chickens out. Her brother’s silence for the past year isn’t easy to face. Still, she buys brightly-colored dyes frequently on the off chance that a lightning strike of confidence will hit her. It hasn’t happened yet, but it’s a comforting routine anyway.

The girl blushes, scratching the back of her neck bashfully and shifting from foot to foot. The movement draws Linh’s eyes to her shoes. They’re ratty sneakers, and upon closer inspection, it looks like there are messy, multi-colored words scribbled all over the sides. The weird shoes match the long, tacky rainbow socks that go up to her knees and the bright, tie-dye, too big sweater draped over her surprisingly small frame, with black leggings to top off the outfit underneath.

“Well, I saw you coming back in from the supermarket yesterday and there was a box of green hair dye poking out of the bags...” she trails off. “Oh my god. I sound like a stalker, don’t I? I swear I’m not.”

Linh can’t help the delirious, sleep-deprived giggle that escapes at the words. It’s ridiculous to her, that the girl she’s been following and observing as subtly as humanly possible because she’s just so pretty and Linh wants to know everything is the one worrying about being a creep.

The girl grins at her laughter, the question still burning in her eyes, which are an even brighter shade of blue than Linh realized up close.

She clicks her phone on, checking the time discreetly. It’s late, nearly midnight. The hair dye takes at least an hour, most likely more, to finish. She has an exam at nine the next day that she still hasn’t studied for and she hasn’t yet messaged Tam for her daily one-sided check-in that he never responds to, or even reads.

She looks back up at the girl with thin braids threaded through thick, golden locks, framing beautiful ice blue eyes set in a still blushing face, waiting for her at her doorstep with an open gaze and just maybe, an open mind.

Her stupid, fluttering heart makes a decision before her rational mind can catch up.

“Come on in.”

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

The girl, who introduces herself as Marella, asks her if she’s always so quiet.

Linh snorts, resisting the urge to point out that Marella is the one invading the house of a relative stranger in the middle of the night. Of course, there’s also the fact that she let her, and that isn’t even considering how flustered the blonde makes her. Especially in such close proximity, where she can smell the faint lavender wafting off her hair. Linh never would have pegged her for a lavender girl.

And when she leans closer to touch up the roots again, she realizes that Marella smells of something spicy. It’s good, comforting, like the home-cooked meals made with love that Linh only ever got to experience in other people’s houses because hers never truly felt like home, or the smell of wood when it was burned in a desperate attempt to keep the warmth in the winter because woolen hats and group hugs were never quite enough to warm everyone’s toes.

Linh has to remind herself to keep working her fingers through the hair.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Linh is thankful when the summer sun finally leaks away and is replaced by autumn wind. There’s something calming about the crisp air blowing through the hair that escapes from tightly-zipped thin hoodies and the leaves bleeding red and gold. She much prefers it to the heat of the summer, or the harshness of winter, the temperatures of which she can never quite escape from completely.

When she pulls open the doors to a nearby cafe and lets the smell of warmth and caffeine wash over her face, and falls into line to order, she isn’t expecting to be behind a girl with a mane of blonde hair that’s streaked through with bright green that hurt the eyes and small braids that sway when she shifts. And Linh’s weeks of watching from a distance pay off— and the hard-to-ignore green certainly helps— because she recognizes the girl immediately.

It’s Marella, sporting the new, significantly greener look that she gained by Linh’s own hands. Linh blushes at the reminder of the night weeks ago. She’s surprised to find that it was the first time she’s seen the girl since their unintentional night together. She’s been so occupied with settling in, getting organized, figuring out independence, and attempting to reach out to her absentee brother, that she hasn’t even noticed the girl’s absence. It seems her creeper skills have gotten rusty, which should make her happy but instead causes the barest amounts of disappointment to creep up. Even from afar, Marella is lively and brightens, or at least eases, the monotonous days that all seem to bleed into each other in one eternal, never-ending passage of pain.

“Hey!” Marella’s voice jolts Linh from her thoughts. “Nice to see you here!”

“H-Hi!” Linh stutters. She thinks the girl’s impossibly blue, intent gaze will always catch her off guard.

Her gaze shifts to the green in Marella’s hair, the harsh coloring softened by the sunlight streaming in through the windows of the cafe and bouncing off the bright strands.

“Your hair looks nice.”

Marella touches a hand to her neon green-streaked look and smirks. “All thanks to you.”

Linh’s cheeks warm at the praise. By the time they reach the orders taken down, Marella has somehow convinced Linh to sit and drink with her. She takes Linh’s wrist lightly and guides her to a table, an action that makes Linh’s face heat again. She looks down at the thin fingers encircling her arm to make sure she isn’t dreaming, and is elated to find that she isn’t.

And sitting in that booth, sipping their warm coffees and exchanging even warmer smiles, Linh’s romantic fantasies from afar suddenly seem a lot closer than she ever thought possible.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Linh isn’t sure exactly how she’s gone from watching her neighbor from a(very far) distance to being dragged into her unfamiliar apartment to be introduced to her roommates, but she can’t say she’s complaining.

As nerve-wracking as it is to be inside Marella’s house, she has to admit that the chance of pace from routine is something she would have been too scared to do herself. Had Marella not knocked on her door and practically shoved her out of her own with an evil grin on her face and into the girl’s shared one just minutes before, she might have stayed holed up in her own apartment forever, seldom leaving and only ever for basic necessities.

Patterns are nice, reliable, and most of all, consistent, something that Linh has never had before, and up until a year ago, had given up on attaining, but there’s something undeniably exciting about throwing caution to the wind and launching herself into a new situation.

However, there is the slight problem of said new situation happening to be making a good impression on her crush’s roommates, who are all staring down at her stoically in a solid line of four with their arms crossed and their gazes narrowed. It reminds Linh of the stereotypical movie tropes in which the overprotective dad interrogates the unnecessarily perfect Mary Sue’s new boyfriend when she brings him home for the first time, and she has to force herself not to laugh in the faces of the people glaring down at her. They’re all at least half a head taller than her, excluding the brunette girl, who has the most terrifying expression of them all on her face.

Three hours later, Linh is laughing tears of joy and drinking hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon with the scary roommates in their warmly lit, cozy living room, who’s first impression couldn’t have been more wrong.

The scary-looking brunette girl isn’t actually one of Marella’s roommates, instead living with the other brunette, her brother, at home with their parents. Her name is Biana, she has an attachment to the color purple that everyone else seems to make fun of her for, and an affinity for randomly throwing out the others’ clothes and replacing them with ones she deems good enough to be seen out with.

Her brother, who’s name is Fitzroy— everyone teases him about this— is better known as Fitz. He is smart, put-together, and as Marella refers to him, their group’s resident “tired dad”. He’s dating Dex, the nerdy but sarcastic actual roommate of Marella.

Then there is Sophie, who was in the kitchen when Linh first came in, and Keefe, the former being Dex’s cousin and Marella’s second roommate who is constantly done with everyone’s shenanigans; Marella claims that Fitz, the actually responsible one, can never be bothered to do anything about their spontaneous endeavors most of the time. The latter, on the other hand, is the most mischievous of the bunch who Linh also knows the least about. His smiles and grins are the most abundant, but also the most weighted. Linh suspects there is a lot more to him than she’ll ever be able to fully grasp.

Linh’s surprised with how well she fits in with these people. They seem so much lighter and freer than her, a girl still tainted and chained down by the past and the experiences that came with it. They welcome her with open arms, and hours later, when dusk falls and it’s time for her to leave, the wrap her up in a hug and make her swear she’ll come back .She sinks into the hug, thinking that after knowing their light, she can’t possibly stay away.

Linh will forever owe all this new warmth in her life to Marella, who is perhaps the warmest of them all.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Fluffy blankets are good. Warm, cozy, comfortable, the kind of little thing in life that makes most people feel fuzzy feelings of nostalgia as they think back to the times they wrapped themselves up in warm blankets on the days they were feeling overwhelmed by the world, when they sat in messily-built blanket forts with their best friends and told scary stories during the devil’s hour with only a flashlight illuminating their evil grins, or the fights with their siblings to get the bigger portion of the blanket when they were forced to share a bed.

Unless that person is Linh, in which case all chances of that were stripped away by a pressured childhood where no room felt safe when her parents were near, friends were disapproved of, and anything that could knock the Song family from the top was discarded before either of the children could protest.

But whether it’s a childhood like Linh’s, or one where everything went perfectly, the fact can generally be agreed on: fluffy blankets are a good, good thing.

But Linh doesn’t think she was ever aware just how perfect fluffy blankets can be until they came piled in the arms of a blonde girl with tiny braids and green threaded through her waves at the door.

“Movie night?” Marella asks, wiggling a laptop in her other hand. “I noticed that you don’t have a TV yet.”

Linh lets her in, eager to spend more time with just her and especially eager to share another night with just the two of them. The idea of being in a dimly lit room wrapped in blankets with their bodies pressed together and only the light of a screen illuminating their faces doesn’t hurt either.

They curl up together on the couch without a second thought, as if they’ve been doing so all their lives. Linh adores the way Marella’s head fits in the crook of her neck like the last missing piece of a puzzle, and holds her breath as the blonde reaches across her and presses play on Netflix once they’ve settled.

When the girl falls asleep on Linh’s shoulder an hour later, she cuddles closer to the warmth of the fluffy blanket and her— crush, or love, maybe, she doesn’t know— pressing to her side.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

As nice of a distraction as Marella and her strange roommates can be in the months that pass, Linh has to come crashing back down to reality at some point. And crash she does, when the banging on her door at nine o’clock at night opens to the face she knows as well as her own.

Her brother, approaching her for the first time in years, bringing nothing but news of their father’s death.

Linh knows she should be feeling something. That she should be falling to her knees and sobbing dramatically, like a protagonist in a drama novel, or maybe grabbing his hands and begging him to tell her that it isn’t true. Instead, when Tam bears the news, all she can do is match his emotionless expression. After all, what is there to feel?

And why is she in such desperate need of comfort when, truth be told, she feels no suffering?

She can’t explain her mind’s twisted way of thinking, but she does know that it’s what leads her next door, and what pushes her to throw her arms around Marella’s neck when she comes to the door decked in pajamas and those long, irritating rainbow-striped socks that she loves so much.

Linh likes to believe that it’s her petty grudge against the annoying socks that makes her cry on Marella’s shoulder that night, but hiding from the truth isn’t as easy as she likes to believe.

And when Marella wraps her in a fuzzy blanket that rains tufts of fine fluff on their heads and pulls her in close, Linh has a hard time believing fluffy blankets aren’t the answer to all the world’s problems.

Confidence has finally come to her, and she’s able to give Tam a box of hair dye before he leaves. She doesn’t know if he’ll use it, or when she’ll see him again, but the smallest spark of light in his eyes when he takes the dye and turns it over in his hand is enough hope for her.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

When Marella appears at her door in the middle of the night this time, weeks since Linh’s father died and they last saw each other, Linh is surprised that she isn’t surprised. After all, surely there’s something seriously wrong if the only thing she says when someone comes knocking at her door at exactly three minutes past midnight is, “Did you bring the hair dye?”

She pulls the blonde inside softly, takes the fuzzy blanket still draped on her couch from their movie night, and wraps it around the girl’s shivering frame. Marella starts to sob on her shoulder. Her fingers wrap around Linh’s neck and latch onto her, bringing them both down to the carpet when her knees give. Linh immediately wraps an arm around her and holds her close.

Linh doesn’t know what’s wrong, but she does know that Marella is leaning on her for support, and she does know that she will always be here, for as long as the blonde might need.

When she finally stops crying and lets Linh reach gentle fingers to wipe her cheeks, and pulls out electric blue hair dye that brings a smile to both of their faces, Linh has a hard time believing that hair dye isn’t the cure for everyone’s sorrows.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Linh finds it funny that one can promise themselves one thing-- that they are going to try as hard as they can not to connect with others as a means of protecting themselves, for example-- but still end up breaking the promise if the right temptation crosses their path.

And her temptation? A certain blue-eyed blonde with now bright blue highlights who’s devious smirks and snarky words can snap Linh’s resolve in a second. She knows she should hate her for it, but surrounded by mischievous roommates with twinkling eyes and light smiles filled to the brim with warmth, she can’t help but snuggle closer to her weakness.

Her weakness, who is currently failing to dominate the board in a (not-so)friendly game of Christmas Monopoly. Marella informed her that it’s a holiday classic when she dragged her inside the house just an hour before, but judging by the rabid way the players are screaming at each other, Linh can’t say she agrees.

“What do you mean, the empire kind is the wrong kind?” Keefe screeches. “Duh, it’s easier!”

“For you, maybe! But it’s not the original!” Dex retorts.

Keefe jabs a finger at the board. “Then why are you still playing and why are you in second place?” He throws his hands up. “If you’re so mad about it, then stop playing and let the rest of us noncomplainers win.”

“Noncomplainers isn’t a word, Keefe,” Fitz says, idly shuffling the assortment of multi-colored money laid out in front of him. As banker, he’s the calmest and least angry of the bunch, though there’s something oddly menacing about the way he rearranges his money with careful, poised fingers.

Keefe, Dex, and Fitz are circled around the board, all nursing mugs of hot cocoa(which Linh has realized is a sort of trademark for them) in between bouts of shrieking, while Sophie left a little while ago to buy original Monopoly just in case Keefe and Dex destroy the board. Linh laughed when the exasperated blonde said it, but now she can see why it’s a legitimate concern.

Linh curls her cold feet in from her position on the long couch, and Marella automatically shifts the fluffy blanket they’re sharing to fully cover her toes again. Linh smiles up at her gratefully, and Marella offers a small smirk back. Then she goes right back to screaming. Linh debates calling Sophie and asking her to bring back ear plugs too.

“Whatever,” Biana scoffs. “You’re all sore losers.”

She is currently winning, as she has been for the entire game, and she glares down at the boys huddling around the game board from her perch in one of the armchairs.

And on it goes. At the end of the night, when Monopoly money is scattered on the floor and a smoking dinner that’s just a bit too salty is shared and hastily wrapped presents tied with glittery bows are exchanged(Marella is too impatient to wait for Christmas morning), Linh finds herself full of more love and joy than she thinks she ever has been in her entire life. There’s something oddly comforting about being with people who care for and accept her, even if it’s by default or association. Having someone who cares is a rare light in her life that most people take for granted.

Especially when there’s the smallest chance that the person who truly holds her heart returns her feelings.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

It’s the night before Christmas and Linh can’t sleep.

It’s the tossing and turning type of ‘can’t sleep’, the kind where Linh lies awake long after dark waiting for her mind and conscience to stop running around in circles around her head, the kind where her insecurities grow claws and fangs and sink them in skin-deep, where there is no light slipping through the cracks to keep them at bay.

And Linh hates that kind of ‘can’t sleep’.

It makes her antsy, on edge, and the urge to pace itches at her feet. The unfamiliar surface of the floor of Marella’s bedroom only makes matters worse, and as softly as she tries to twist under the thin covers, it doesn’t take long for the rustling on the floor to alert the blonde girl dozing off above her.

Marella slides to the floor sleepily before Linh can whisper a protest and lands next to her on the mattress with a grunt. Linh rolls over to face her, and is startled by how close their faces are. She can count the light freckles on Marella’s nose and cheeks when she’s this close. Moonlight is streaming into the room through the cracks in the shutters of the window, painting streaks of glowing white on the blonde’s face. She always looks beautiful, but Linh finds there’s something especially intimate about her in this moment. The air is suddenly buzzing with palpable tension, making her palms go slick with sweat and her mind hyper-aware of every movement. She can’t take her eyes off Marella.

Then, girl of Linh’s dreams breaks the stillness, leaning forward and pressing soft, sleepy lips to her own.

She’s asleep by the time she draws away, but Linh is shaking with adrenaline. It’s the moment she’s waited for so long she can hardly think of a time where she didn’t want the blonde.

And yet.

Linh’s the kind of girl with baggage, with the kind of ‘skeletons in the closet’ that people run away screaming from, not because it’s scary, but because it’s messy. Complicated. It bogs everyone who knows down, making every action in her presence laborious and painful with the knowledge of her past. Even her brother, who once promised to be by her side forever, wouldn’t stay.

She knows it’s irrational, but suddenly she can’t imagine how to face Marella.

She slips out of the apartment in the early hours of the morning so Marella’s blue gaze can’t stop her from running away. But despite her misgivings, the insecurities that still haven’t retracted their claws, and the voice in the back of her head whispering that she has to have imagined it, Linh can’t stop touching a finger to her lips, long after she’s left the buzzing moonlit atmosphere that allows slips of self control under the cover of night.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

It’s been weeks. Three weeks and five days, to be exact, and Linh still can’t figure out how to face her.

With every day that passes, she can feel the strong bonds they formed weakening. That’s one thing about relationships. They need an equal amount of effort. If Linh doesn’t put in enough, the object of her affection slips between her fingers before she can blink. That’s how she lost her brother, her friends, and any last semblance she might have had of “family”.

That is, until Marella.

She was persistent, even in the beginning, fighting to spend more and more time with a mildly resistant Linh, until she found it impossible to stay away. Her light is unlike any Linh has ever known, wild and fluid like an eternal flame that can’t be doused. That flame kept Linh alive for all these months, and yet here she is, ignoring it. Maybe even putting it through pain.

It takes a month, but it finally comes to her.

She realizes now that love isn’t something that affects only her, and that she isn’t the only one to win or lose in it. She isn’t the only person in love.

Love is two people, three people, ten people, a hundred people. Love is everyone who forces themselves into her life with the intent of staying no matter how dark it gets. Love is the flickers of light in the night and the bold streaks of sun in the morning. Love is the twinkling stars splattered across a purple painted sky.

Love is illumination. Love is clarity. Love is a path paved special, with different twists and turns for everyone.

Love is...

Marella.

Love is Marella.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Weeks of radio silence after months of talking nonstop is hard to bounce back from, and they both know this well.

But Linh comes back anyway. She comes knocking on Marella’s door exactly a month after they last talked, this time she being the one to approach at random in the middle of the night. When the door opens and she smiles apologetically, pressing a butterfly kiss to Marella’s forehead and pushing a big blanket and a bright, eye-melting color of hair dye into her arms in a silent apology, all Marella does is smile and pull her back in for a real, proper kiss.

Yeah, neon green and fluffy blankets are the solution to everything.

#i did a thing #well this was fun #kotlc #kotlc au #marella redek #linh song #marellinh #the amount of times i wrote 'marellinh' instead of marella is ridiculous #i refuse to go through and edit this again #skyyyy'swriting

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starting-now · 3 years

Text

Stitches

Summary: Barry hasn’t been responding to your texts and you decide to go check on him.

A/N: wow i haven’t posted in a hot minute but heres an old wip i finally finished! let me know what you think🥺 i miss writing

Word Count: 1642

Warnings: descriptions of wounds, mentions of death

------

You scanned Barry’s apartment building up and down, then looked back at your phone. Your fingers danced lightly over the screen, scrolling through the messages he had sent you earlier that day.

‘I’m sorry.’

-then a minute later-

‘I don’t know what to say’

-another minute-

‘I love you. And I’m sorry.’

And since then, nothing.

If it wasn’t for the rest of the cryptic bullshit, you would have been utterly caught up on those three little words in his last text...‘I love you’. To be honest, even despite your worry those words echoed in your mind. Still, even after all your responses, asking if he was okay, where he was, if he needed to talk, you hadn’t heard from him all day.

So here you were, staring at his apartment building, trying to gather the courage to approach his door. You tucked your phone into your back pocket and twisted your hands nervously. You knew what he did for work. He had told you months ago and you knew how dangerous it could be. Every time you didn’t hear from him for a while, or he didn’t show up to acting class, you panicked. And today, with the addition of these cryptic messages, your anxiety was through the roof. You had a panic attack on the drive over, every horrible thing that could have happened running through your mind, leaving a burning sensation in their wake.

You finally gained the courage to walk up the stairs, but as you approached the door, it was half open, the lights inside still off. Your panic spiked again. You placed a hand on the door and pushed it open slowly. As the hall light filtered in you saw Barry’s jacket on the floor, stained dark red, and a trail of thick red drops dotting the floor leading to his bedroom.

“...Barry?” you called softly. You furrowed your brow when there was no response, tears pricking your eyes.

“Barry? It’s me.” you said a little louder as you slowly followed the trail of blood down the hall. You heard a soft groan in response. Your pace quickened as you rounded the corner to his bedroom, flicking on the light to see Barry sprawled across his bed on his stomach, his gray shirt stained red with blood that seeped out from his shoulder. You gasped and rushed over to him, kneeling in front of him so you could see his face. He was sweating profusely, his hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes were droopy and tired. You put a hand to his cheek softly.

“Barry? Hey are you with me? Say something.” you said, concern lacing your voice. Barry struggled to keep his eyes open, and he groaned in response.

“(Y/N)?” he mumbled in confusion. He tried to sit up, but hissed in pain and collapsed back on the bed.

“God, Barry you’re hurt, I need to get you to the hospital.” you said, but before you could grab your phone, Barry’s hand was on yours, his grip weak on your wrist but enough to get your attention.

“No hospital. I’ll...I’ll be fine.” he mumbled. You shook your head.

“You need help.” you said simply. You got up and walked into his bathroom, searching for a first aid kit. You finally found one under the sink, and propped it up on the bed.

“I just need to rest.” Barry muttered and you shook your head.

“No, Barry. I need you to stay awake. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Can you sit up for me?” you asked, mustering a calm voice despite the panic. Barry shifted slowly until he sat weakly on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Okay good. Hurt your shoulder?” you asked, gesturing to it as you opened the disinfectant.

“Not me it was the little karate girl.” he said and you did a double take at him before deciding that ‘what the fuck does little karate girl mean’ was a question you’d file under ‘ask later’. You tugged lightly at the hem of his shirt until Barry got the message, maneuvering himself carefully so you were able to remove the fabric. He winced as he moved the muscles surrounding his wound.

You soaked a rag in warm water and carefully cleaned most of the blood away from the wounds on his shoulder, which you could now see were two gaping stab wounds right above his shoulder blade. You winced at the sight of them and quickly doused a clean rag in disinfectant.

Barry hissed in pain as you cleaned the wound and you mumbled a quiet apology as you continued working. Once the area was disinfected you threaded a needle and got to work on the stitches. You clenched your teeth in sympathy as you worked the needle into his skin. Barry was mostly silent through the whole affair apart from a few small low groans, his eyes shut tight and his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white.

“Alright, last one.” you said quietly as you threaded the last stitch and tied off the end. You disinfected the wound once again and placed some large bandages over the area. Your hands left Barry’s back and folded in your lap as you sat on the edge of the bed, your leg brushing his. A thick silence fell over the room.

“So...are we going to talk about those messages?” you asked quietly as if the moment would shatter at any sudden action.

Barry was silent for a moment. His hands worked over his bruised knuckles in contemplation, his jaw clenching and releasing. But after a few seconds, his back heaved and a shaky breath came out of his mouth, tears falling freely from his eyes. He put his head in his hands and pressed the heels of his palms into his forehead.

You furrowed your brow and placed a hand softly on his arm.

“Hey hey, what’s wrong?” you said soothingly, running a hand up and down his skin. Barry shook his head and dug his fingers into his scalp, anxiously tugging on the roots of his hair.

“...I’m sorry,” he choked out in a weak voice between sobs. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into all this.”

“Barry I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care about you. You’re not dragging me into anything.” you said meaningfully, racking your brain for anything you could say to make him feel better. You hated seeing him in pain, whether physical or mental and in this case, it was both. Your heart was breaking for him.

You sat in silence for a few minutes as his breathing evened out, your hand still resting reassuringly on his arm. Barry let out a deep sigh.

“I’m...I’m sorry I worried you. Those messages...I don’t know what to say.” he said, tears slowing and turning into regret.

“It’s...okay. At least they got me here to help you.. Who knows what would have happened.” you said, trying to shake the hypotheticals.

“I know what would have happened.. I would have died.” he said with a humorless laugh.

“Come on I’m sure you would have-”

“No, (Y/N), I mean it. I would have died. That’s...why I sent you those messages.” he confessed in a more serious tone and sat up, keeping his eyes glued to the floor in front of him and his hands folded in his lap.

You didn’t know what to say. For what seemed like the hundredth time tonight you were at a loss for words.

“I do, by the way.” he said simply, finally meeting your gaze. You furrowed your brow in confusion and Barry noticed you hadn’t connected the dots.

“Love you, I mean. I always have.” he clarified, losing what little confidence he had as he heard the words leave his mouth. You felt tears prick at your eyes.

“Oh, Barry, I-”

“No I know. I-I shouldn’t have said it. I shouldn’t have messaged it to you and I definitely shouldn’t have said it again just now. I just figured you should know.” he rambled.

You placed a gentle hand under his chin and tilted his head so he met your eyes.

“Barry, I love you too.” you said, giving him a soft smile. Barry resisted the urge to lean into your touch, a simple question on his mind. He furrowed his brow as tears threatened to fall once again.

“...Why?” he asked emphatically. It wasn’t a plea to hear his good attributes. This was a complete and total disbelief that he was worthy of anyone’s love, let alone yours.

“Maybe we both have self destructive tendencies.” you said jokingly, shrugging and earning a small frown from Barry.

“Or...maybe I just know you. It’s not often you meet someone and really know them. Really see them. But I know you. I see you. And you see me. And maybe...maybe that’s enough.” you finished thoughtfully.

“Do you really mean that?” he asked, searching your eyes hopefully.

“Of course, Barry, I-” you started but were cut off by the feeling of Barry’s lips on yours.

It was a quick kiss before he made himself pull away. He shut his eyes tightly and shook his head.

“Sorry, I should have-”

You cut him off by gently tugging on the collar of his shirt and pulling him in for another kiss.

“It’s okay. Don’t apologize.” you said with a smile. Barry’s expression softened and he leaned his forehead against yours.

“...Can you stay?” he asked quietly.

“Of course.” you responded, bringing your hand up to rest on his cheek and running your thumb across his cheekbone. Barry leaned into your touch, a soft smile on his face.

“But you gotta tell me about this little karate girl.” you said, earning a small laugh from Barry.

“Deal.”

#barry #barry hbo #Barry Berkman #barry block #barry fanfiction #barry berkman x reader #barry berkman fanfiction #barry x reader #im sorry bill hader

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thefallennightmare · 4 years

Text

Soldat [10/10]

Bucky Barnes x reader. Slight Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: The ending is here. What does that mean for Y/N and Soldat? Are her and Steve over just as soon as they started?

A/N: ITS HERE! THE ENDING IS FINALLY HERE! I’m so sorry this took forever but I hope I’ve made the wait worth it. I’ve written countless stories over the years and this is the first one I’ve actually finished. I’m proud of this series! The first chapter of the sequel will be out either later today or tomorrow. Let me know if you would like to be tagged! Thank you to everyone who’s read, liked, or re-blogged. I’m always down for comments as well <3.

ENJOY! :)

Silence.

An eerie, comfortable, silence filled the air as Soldat and I walked through the tall grass, crickets chirping as the night sky settled around us. We had been walking for quite awhile, opting out of borrowing a car to get to our location because we didn’t want to bring any eyes towards us. The location we were going was a tad far from where headquarters used to be, about a ten mile walk, but Soldat was fine with it.

While the quiet was nice, it was also troubling because I had no clue what he was thinking. If he wanted to stay and if so, for how long. I promised that I would help him with his wounds and said that he could leave once he recovered. It was the last thing I said to him, almost an hour ago.

My thoughts kept swirling with the thought of Steve. We made the promise of finally starting our relationship but I had chosen to walk away from him, realizing that Soldat needed me more than Steve did. The love and adoration I had for Soldat was that much stronger than my feelings for Steve.

“How much farther?”

Jumping slightly at the deepness of his voice, I looked over to Soldat while nodding to his right.

“See the house in the distance?”

He nodded before looking back at me. “Shield safe house?”

“Nope. It’s actually my parents cabin. No one knows about it, they’ve kept it off the grid,” I informed him as the log cabin now stood only a few feet away from us.

The grass had grown a few inches since the last time I was here and could see the cobwebs clouding the front door. The moonlight from above glided over the lake as Soldat and I walked towards the back of the cabin where I knew the spare key was hidden.

We remained silent as I felt his eyes on my back while I unlocked the door. I allowed him to go in first but he hesitated.

“It’s okay, Soldat. I’m not going to hurt you.” I assured him.

It took a few more moments before he finally decided to head inside, me shutting and triple locking the door behind us.

“Sorry for all the dust, it’s been awhile since anyone has been here.” I admitted after turning on the lights.

It wasn’t a big cabin by any means; less than 1000 square feet. The kitchen was to the left which shared the same room as the living room and the queen sized bed that was in the corner of the house. The only bathroom was down the small hallway across a small closet that held towels and junk.

My eyes watched as Soldat stood in the middle of the room, body rigid with uncomfortable. Licking my lips, I nodded towards his bad shoulder.

“Want me to take a look at that?” I asked. “It may be dislocated.”

Without saying one word, he put his shoulder back in place with a loud ‘pop’. He raised his arm a few times before sitting down at the edge of the bed. I could see it in his posture that he was still uncomfortable. I was unsure if it was from being in an unfamiliar place with me, someone he had yet to remember, or if it was from not knowing what he was going to do with his life. All he had known was Hydra.

“I know you don’t remember me and being here might be scary for you but I’m not going to hurt you.” I reassured him.

He kept his eyes trained to the ground in front of him. “It’s not that.”

“Then why do you look like I’m keeping you hostage here?” I asked while shrugging my shoulders. “You can leave if you want. I’m helping you not because of our past but because I thought you could use a place to lay low for a while.”

“There’s only one bed.” He pointed out.

“Oh,” I muttered. “You can take the bed. I’ve slept on the couch many times so my body’s used to it.”

I could tell he wanted to protest but knew that the thought of sleeping in an actual bed was something he had wanted for a long time. I could see it in the small way his mouth turned up in a smile.

“The bathroom is down the hall, towels are in the closet across from it. Feel free to take as long as you want.” I threw a thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going to do a quick sweep of the area to make sure no one followed us.”

“I should do it,” he stood from the bed.

I held up my hand to stop him. “Soldat, it’s alright. You can relax, you don’t have to be the soldier anymore.”

His face twitched when I called him Soldat and I knew that calling him that was starting to bother him. It was the only name I had known for him and didn’t know how comfortable he felt being called by his true name. The tension in the air became uncomfortable so I sighed before turning around to make my way outside.

“I’ll be back.”

After a quick ten minute sweep and deciding that we would be safe for tonight, I made my way back inside but felt my feet being glued right in the entryway. Soldat stood in the middle of the room, towel clung to his hip and water dripping down his exposed chest from his soaked hair. Biting my lip, I resisted the urge to think back to the memories of us and cleared my throat.

“Everything alright?”

He turned towards me, no hint of embarrassment on his face, and let out a small sigh. “I don’t have any extra clothes.”

A small smile spread to my lips. Without saying a word, I walked towards the hall closet and pulled out some clothes that my brother had left here.

I went to hand them to him but noticed when I had gotten too close, his shoulders went rigid and body tensed. Realizing he was still uncomfortable, I gently placed the clothes on the bed.

“I’m going to get cleaned up, help yourself to any food or drinks.” I went to turn on my heels but stopped, looking back at him. “You may not remember me but you said it yourself, you remember the feelings we had for each other. I’m not going to hurt you or let whatever is left of Shield capture you. With me, you are safe.”

The tense features in his face softened and he slowly nodded. “Thank you.”

After I had taken a very long and needed hot shower, I had come out of the bathroom and saw Soldat lying comfortably on the couch and when I went to protest, saying he deserved the bed more than me, he shot me down with a quick ‘I’m used to sleeping on hard surfaces.’

We both laid in the silent darkness, him on the couch and I on the bed, and I tried to bite my tongue at the thought that was plaguing my mind. He had a long and exhausting day, he needed his rest so I wasn’t going to bother asking him.

Soldat continued to lay there after I had drifted off to sleep, wanting to make sure my heartbeat had slowed letting him know that I was in deep sleep before he allowed himself to close his eyes. This being the first night of sleep he had in a very long time.

“Can we do something today?”

Looking up from my book, I looked over to Soldat who was sitting at the kitchen table picking away at his breakfast. It had been a couple of days of us being held up in the cabin. We hadn’t spoken much or done anything more than sitting around reading or sitting outside enjoying the view of the lake.

I was using a spare phone that we kept at the cabin to keep tabs online if there was any word if anyone was looking for us and came up empty. I had to ignore the want to contact members of my team, Steve especially, because I had found out that he was in the hospital recovering from the fight with Soldat.

“Yeah, of course. What did you have in mind?” I agreed while shutting my book and placed it on the bed next to me.

“I read that there’s an exhibit at the Smithsonian about Captain America.” He spoke so quietly that I had to strain my ears to hear.

“There is,” I nodded. “ They also have a section about his best friend, Bucky Barnes.” I said that name with such softness, not wanting to trigger him.

He nodded. “Would you come with me?”

My face broke out in a small smile, heart warming my body at the realization that he wanted me there with him. He wanted to find out more from his past, hoping that it would trigger some type of memories.

“Of course.”

“Are you ready?” I questioned while pulling the brim of my hat closer to my eyes.

Soldat stayed silent, only nodding, and with the permission to move forward we both walked into the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian. We had decided to try to hide our identity as much as possible which is why we were both wearing baseball caps.

I stayed back, only a few spaces, allowing him as much time as he needed at every part of the exhibit. He read the information about Steve pre and post serum for a few seconds before he came to a halt in front of the Howling Commandos section.

Of course Steve’s suit was still missing but that’s not what caught Soldat’s eyes; it was the blue jacket on the mannequin that was next to the Captain America one.

“Is this helping at all?” I wondered while nodding towards the jacket.

He remained silent while stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. After a quick shake of his head, he sighed. I could tell that he was starting to feel defeated so ever so slowly, I reached for his gloved metal hand and gently tugged on it.

“This way.”

Not wanting to push the boundaries with him, I dropped his hand and led him towards the one section of the exhibit that we came to see. Standing tall in front of us was a whole wall dedicated to James Buchanan Barnes, Steve’s best friend. My eyes were stuck on his face while he read every single word over and over again. The voice in the background gave us more dialogue to the story.

“Best friends Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield, Barnes is the only howling commando to give his life in service of his country.”

We stood in silence for a few more moments, wanting to give him as much time as he needed, but when he turned to look at me I noticed the broken stare coming from his eyes.

“You okay?” I gently squeezed his flesh hand. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

His mouth was open a tad and he had to blink a few times before he could answer. “I think-I think I need to get away from here; far away.”

Trying to ignore the way my heart shattered and fell into the pit of my stomach, I let out a shaky breath. I knew that he wasn’t going to stay with me and that he needed to find himself but it still hurt to know that he actually was thinking of leaving.

“Okay. I can pull some strings to get you where you want to go,” my voice cracked.

Finally our eyes locked, him trying to avoid them, and he let out a large breath.

“Would you come with me? I know I can’t remember much about you but the love we had for each other, I can still feel that. If it was strong enough to stay with me after all these years, it has to be worth fighting for.”

Giving him a smile, I nodded while some tears came to the surface. “I won’t push you in anyway. We’ll take it slow and at your pace. I’ll be here to help in any way. But there’s something I have to do first.”

Pulling the hood over my eyes, I averted the gazes of multiple members of the staff and visitors as I made my way down the long hallways looking for the one specific room. I came to a halt in front of it and peaked through the open blinds in the window to make sure that he was alone; he was. Shaking the nerves from my hands, I quietly entered the room hoping I wouldn’t wake him.

He was, however, already awake so when he heard me enter the room, his full attention was on me.

“Y/N?” His voice croaked out, clearly still recovering these last few days.

“Hi Steve.” I gave him a smile while letting down my hood. “How’re you feeling?”

“Where the hell have you been? Nat and Sam have been looking everywhere for you?” He sat up in bed, giving me room to sit.

After sitting on the side of the bed, I sighed. “I’m okay. I’ve been in hiding.”

Steve squinted his eyes. “Why? No one is after you.”

I sucked in my bottom lip. “Not me.”

It took him a few seconds to figure out who I was talking about, Steve let out a quiet scoff. His shoulders slumped only slightly, the signs of jealousy clear in the way his jaw tightened. “He’s with you?”

“He needed my help, Steve. I couldn’t leave him.” I defended myself.

“Where’s he now?”

I shifted in my spot on the bed, not wanting to let anyone know where we were hiding; even Steve.

“What about us?”

My heart dropped at his question and how broken he sounded. Steve was willing to give up a lot for us to be together, I knew he would, but as much as I found myself falling for Steve I couldn’t give up the only thing holding us back. Maybe if this happened before everything, before Soldat came back into my life, I would be over the moon to be with Steve. Though this was my decision now. I was leaving with Soldat.

“I’m sorry, Steve. You have to believe that I wanted this for a very long time,” I admitted while pointing between us, “But he needs me, Steve. He wants to find himself again, away from all of this and I have to be the one to help him.”

Steve scoffed. “How are you so sure that he won’t go back to The Winter Soldier?”

I shook my head. “I don’t. But I’m not going to let that stop me from leaving with him.”

“What if he tries to kill you? Again?”

My eyes snapped up from the ground, settling on his. “Wha-what are you talking about?”

“Don’t try to deny it. Everyone’s secrets at Shield and Hydra are out there, on the internet. Including yours.”

I couldn’t stop my knee from bouncing, something that would happen when I was nervous of people finding more out about my past. Steve knew this so he gently placed a hand on it, stopping it immediately.

“I, uh, found him a year after I escaped Hydra; the first time. I was following a lead on a case I was working on; someone was murdered. The ballistics came back with no rifling and was untraceable.”

“Soviet made?” Steve questioned.

I nodded. “I knew it was him and I knew he was still in town. So I went looking for him but came up empty. I was in my motel room when he had broken in through the window. Word got out that I was looking for The Winter Soldier so he came to find me. I didn’t know that they wiped his memory so here I thought it was going to be a romantic reunion.”

“He ended up pinning me against the wall with his metal arm, knocking the wind right out of me. I tried to fight him off but he was too strong for me. He didn’t remember me and that thought clouded my judgment. My love for him nearly got me killed.”

Steve ran his hand up and down my thigh. “How come he didn’t?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I remember him looking into my eyes before everything went black and something inside of him changed. He dropped me to the floor and left. That was the last time I saw him.”

Hastily whipping away the tears, I let out a shaky breath and looked at Steve. “You may not understand why I have to go with him but please believe me when I say I love you, Steve.”

He gave me a quick smile before cupping my cheek. “Just not as much as him.”

“I’m sorry,” I cried while cupping his cheek as well.

He accepted my apology with a soft kiss to my lips. It was those types of kisses where you knew this was the end and you wanted to savor the way it felt and the way it tasted.

“Please don’t come looking for us,” I muttered against his lips.

“No promises,” he muttered back.

Zipping up the last suitcase, I placed it with the rest of them by the front door and mentally made a checklist making sure we had everything. After saying goodbye to Steve, I ran a few more errands to pick up some things that we would need for our new lives.

“Have you thought of where you wanted to go?” I asked Soldat, who was sitting on the front porch.

He looked over his shoulder before nodding. “I don’t remember much of it but I remember having to complete a mission in Bucharest and something about it spoke to me.”

“Romania?” I asked with raised eyebrows.

“That alright?” He was suddenly worried that I would back out of this, not wanting to travel that far.

“Of course.”

Sitting next to him on the front step, I tried to muster up the courage to bring up the talk I was slightly dreading to have because I was worried about how he would react.

“So,” I started, “I’ve only known you as Soldat but I feel with what happened that I shouldn't call you that anymore but I don’t want to start calling you Bucky if you’re not comfortable with it yet.”

He ran his hands over his jeans before taking his hat off, letting his hair cascade around his face. I had to clasp my hands together to stop them from running through his locks.

“Bucky is fine. It may help bring back some memories.”

“Bucky it is.”

We sat in a comfortable silence, letting the time pass before having to leave. I had an old friend that I worked with during my days as an FBI agent that owned a jet. He was willing to fly us anywhere we wanted, no questions asked. A favor he owed me for saving his life.

“Dorogaya.”

My eyes snapped over to Bucky as he muttered that same word over and over again. The same word that I had longed to hear all these years. The one that he breathed against my neck the one and only night we made love.

“What did you say?” I choked out a sob.

Bucky blinked a few times before our gazes locked. “I used to call you that.”

“You did,” an eye crinkling smile broke out on my face.

His flesh hand reached for mine and linked our fingers together while the sweet nickname fell from his lips once more. I wasn’t sure what the future would hold for us two; if what we had in the past would resurface and make this all worth it. But I did know that no matter how hard it would be or how challenging some days might be for not only me but him as well, I would not leave Bucky’s side.

AND FIN!

Tags:

@kat002nd @chubby-dumplin @avengemepercy

#captain america #soldat #the winter soldier #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #soldat x reader #the winter soldier x reader #avengers

201 notes · View notes

thetaoofzoe · 4 years

Text

Fic: The Hand and The Hammer

August Walker x Reader (YOU)

Word count: 5K, Explicit

Summary: August Walker has been living rent free in your head for five years. For half a decade, you had been deployed all across the world to hunt down the elusive anarchist, all because of a long standing one sided love/hate relationship between he and your unhinged employer.

Thanks to @lightsidecalling for your support

Part I

You lie beneath cool white sheets, watching the white-yellow wash of early morning sunlight tickle at the edges of billowy sheer curtains. It takes several minutes for the light to seep through the curtains, spill across the bare stone floor and then paint indulgent stripes of gold across your duvet.

Throwing off the sheets to allow the rising sun to caress and warm your naked skin, you close your eyes and bask in the heat like a contented house cat.

You have absolutely nothing to do today. Your diary is gloriously empty of responsibilities and just as you've done for the last three weeks, you fully intend to take advantage of your free time.

You stretch and yawn, feeling comfortable exactly where you are, and you consider sleeping in. However, your stomach growls and abruptly the quest for food is suddenly top priority. You grab the mobile phone that's tucked beneath the pillow and the face brightens at a touch.

You can see that it’s almost eleven am.

You perk up at the rattle of a room service cart being wheeled through the sitting room outside of your bedroom door.

Right on time, you think.

You had requested that breakfast be brought round at a certain time, and everyday, it was there without delay. The staff in the rented oceanside bungalow was always on the ball, always attentive and you appreciated that.

Rising easily, you walk lightly across the cool stone floor to the adjoining bath. Powdered and perfumed, you dress in a light, peach coloured sundress and sandals.

An ocean breeze ruffles your dress when you step out onto the sunny patio where breakfast is waiting. It is quite a spread, for just one person, with juice, coffee and tea services, seasonal fruits, cheeses, breakfast meats and a lovely stack of golden french toast that is still pert and fresh from the cooker. You walk to the shade provided by the umbrellas over the long glass table and help yourself to the food.

Nearly a half hour later, the service door behind you slides open on quiet rollers and you can hear your assistant striding across the paving stones.

'Phone call for you,' he says in that gentle familiar voice.

You replace the coffee cup on the saucer and shift, fully expecting him to slip a thin mobile phone into your hand. Instead, he lays a bulky black leather case on the table. You look down at it and swear under your breath.

It is the satellite phone. And the satellite phone means only one thing.

You pick it up and hold the earpiece it to your ear.

The messenger down the line delivers the information quickly, sparing no words and then asks if you understand. You say that you do and the call is disconnected.

So much for a day of nothing.

You finish your breakfast and return to your bedroom. Waiting for you on the freshly made bed are two white envelopes. You pick up the larger of the two. In it is a stack of your destination's local money, and airline tickets. You tuck that envelope into your handbag, dress in comfortable, but chic travel clothing and pack a small carry-on.

You then pick up the second, smaller envelope that you know contains information regarding the target. This envelope, unlike the first, is sealed with a black wax stamp. You recognise the initials of your employer and the envelope comes open with a flick of your fingernail. You slide out a black and white photo and have an immediate and unnamed visceral reaction to seeing the face. Unconsciously clenching your teeth you resist the urge to rip the cursed photo to pieces.

'Fuck...' you mutter, glaring down at the strong, unbearably handsome face peering back at you.

It was the infamous Hammer.

August Walker.

Again.

You struggle to get yourself in hand and after a long, cleansing breath, you turn the photo over and read the neatly printed message about a lonely summer in Italy addressed to a fictional, 'My darling Véronique.'

With picture still in hand, you walk to your writing desk. Opening the top drawer, you pull out a piece of white card-stock paper that has in it, several cut out ovals of different sizes. You’d received this little holey card-stock in the post three weeks earlier with no accompanying explanation, and while it was strange, you knew enough about your employer's methods to keep it.

Lining up the white card over the writing, you read the secret message revealed by the ovals.

'Target - August Walker. Find and Take Alive.'

'Ohh,' you groan, exasperated. 'Not this again.'

August Walker has been living rent free in your head for five years. For half a decade, you had been deployed all across the world to hunt down the anarchist, all because of a long standing one sided love/hate relationship between he and your unhinged employer.

You were good at your profession. Very good. And you had no trouble using your skill and your people to get close to hard targets. Yet, August Walker was not a bloody hard target and was NOT hard to find as he seemed to leave a trail of destruction and bodies that in turn led directly back to him!

So much for subtlety.

So it didn't matter much that you were able to pinpoint his location or get a visual bead on him days after the start of an assignment, as your employer invariably hit the mission abort button because 'things had changed'.

You were still paid handsomely. But being at the whim of a mad employer made you start to hate August Walker a little as well.

At least, at first.

Your hate soon turned from a hot coal sitting heavily in your gut to little butterflies that frantically scrambled about at the sight of him.

Over the course of your assignments, you'd had the opportunity to see him do nearly everything ranging from eating, to fighting, to blowing up buildings. The way he moved during a fight, his well-placed blows, his underhanded methods of winning were intoxicating to watch. The man was an absolute menace.

You'd told yourself that your physical delight was just a response to your clear admiration for his chaotic skills.

That admiration was purely professional, of course!

But the more you followed and watched him, the more those little butterflies of admiration ignited into an unquenchable fire that only your hand seeking out a little self-pleasure beneath the duvet could put out.

But honestly, you would have fallen on your proverbial sword before you admitted to yourself that you found everything about August Walker, sexy.

And then he disappeared.

No destruction, no bodies and the trail was cold.

During the rest of that assignment, you didn't see him for two month until the night he climbed through the french windows of your Parisian hotel room.

To say that you were surprised to see him was an understatement.

But there he was, standing in your bedroom, like a fever dream, with that ridiculous moustache and that infuriating smirk.

He did not give you the opportunity to react, before he was upon you.

But that didn't matter, for you wrapped yourself around him, greedy and eager and August Walker took his time showing you how much of a menace he truly was.

You neglected to tell your employer about those few glorious hours of mission deviation.

No use throwing petrol on that unstable fire, you'd decided.

You were pulled from the field shortly after that because 'things had changed' and it was no longer necessary to bring in the target.

Your last and most recent assignment ended in Beirut ten months ago. You had come so close to legitimately ensnaring him. You had been in top form and August had been cunning, but it was not enough to elude you. You'd had him dead to rights and all you had to do was give the word to tighten the noose round his neck. But before you could, that damned satellite phone call dragged you back from the brink.

And you remembered standing there, dirty, and exhausted on a crumbling rooftop watching that smug bastard escape through the streets below on a stolen motorbike.

The only thing that soothed you was a text from a blocked number, received a week after the Beruit incident, that read, 'Next time, baby.'

You had to laugh at that. It was so something August would do.

Coming back to the present and shaking yourself of your memories, you realise that you're still standing in your oceanside bedroom holding the photo of August Walker. Checking the time, you see that you're going to be late and you grab your bags.

The photo along with the cardstock go into the shredder, and you listen to the machine choke down the evidence as you leave the room.

Your flight to Heathrow is late arriving and the airport is as busy as ever, full of children escaping on their summer hols and tourists out to see the world. You walk confidently through the melee and to the taxi stand outside. You want to get to your hotel quickly and have a nap, as you need to be sharp to handle what's coming your way.

Part II

Later that evening in your hotel, you shower and scrub up thoroughly, excited about the prospects of the evening's plan. You powder and perfume your body carefully and choose a pair of glossy red high heeled court shoes to go with your black dress. You feel sharp, clear-eyed and ready for a little fun. This assignment was going to be played on your terms and was probably going to be your last.

Carrying your kit bag with all of your tools, you hum along with the lift music (The Girl from Ipanema) as you descend to the lobby where your contact waits. You follow him to a black car waiting outside and climb inside.

As you are driven through the city, your contact sits next to you not saying a word. Your only form of communication is through the tablet he puts on your lap. You look down at the digital photo on the screen.

It is an image of August in what looks like a dance club. Only he didn't look like he was there to pick up women, or to have drinks with friends. He looked big and bulky and out of place amongst the scantily clad glittery people having a fun night out. He looked like he was lurking, and waiting for something.

'That was taken one minute ago,' says the contact as the car, caught by a traffic light, slows to a stop.

'In that one.'

The contact points towards the window on your side of the car.

Your eyes follow the line of his finger to the brightly lighted neon sign spelling out the name of a club.

'Am I on the list?' you ask and a sudden giggle surprises you.

You open your mouth to apologise for the awkward comment, but you grab your kit bag and slam the door without waiting for a reply.

You walk up to the front of the club and survey the queue waiting to get in. You count up the number of bouncers but keep walking. You make a quick right, cut through the alleyway and come up to the backside of the club. There is a young woman wearing the club's uniform, standing under the emergency building light, and using her weight to keep open the rear door. She is smoking and scrolling through her mobile.

'Hullo,' you say pleasantly, as you approach, your heels clicking on the dry macadam.

She raises her bleary bloodshot eyes to peer at you. You look at her name tag and under her name is a strip of tape on which is scrawled, 'Barkeep trainee'.

She looks like she is having a rough night as if she didn't know how to handle all of the drinks that overly generous customers bought for her, as the bartender.

'You're not supposed to actually drink it when they buy it for you, you know. You're supposed to spit it into your empty beer bottle.'

Her only answer is a wet burp.

Grinning and shaking your head, you put a finger to your lips and make a soft shushing noise as you put two hundred quid into her hand. Then without asking, you enter the club.

Once inside, the whole world shakes around you, vibrating with the thunderous bass that accompanies some nameless, formless song. You lean against the wall between the men's and the ladies' toilets for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the dim lightning. The scent of urine and alcohol permeates your hiding place, but you don’t mind, as you aren’t going to be hiding there for very long. The ancient cigarette machine across the narrow corridor seemed to eye you disapprovingly.

'Yeah, I don't want to be here either,' you mutter.

Opening your kit bag, you fish out your small purse. In it are your syringes, and vials of incapacitating drugs. You are going to go in there with all guns blazing and August Walker is not going to know what hit him. You even left the satellite phone in the hotel room. You weren't going to give your employer an opportunity to back out of the deal and order you to let him escape. Again.

Squaring your shoulders, you stride into the main hall. The club is partitioned into two levels, where the floor above overlooks the main floor on all four sides. You stand by the lower bar and let your keen eyes crawl all over the neon lighted faces. The music screams unpleasantly and immediately your head starts to hurt.

It is the stress, you think.

The stress and the travelling and you haven’t had any water all day.

But instead of water, you order a whisky sour and drink it quickly. It doesn’t quell your headache, but it bolsters your mood. You continue to look around and honestly, if he hadn't moved, you would have never spotted him up on the second level.

Your heart picks up speed.

Dear God, there he is. The unbearably sexy August Walker.

Ducking away from the bar, you go round to where the stairs dog-leg to the next level. Once up there, you weave your way through the thick standing crowd. Then you just stop moving and the crowd buffets you for a moment. You realise that in your zeal to just get your hands on August, you have no other plan.

Sure, you were going to jab him with the hypodermic, but what were you going to do if his knees just gave out beneath him. You would have to make a scene to get your contacts in there to drag the big man away. You were not going to be able to haul him down to the car on your own. And the last thing you wanted to do was to draw attention to yourself.

You growl with frustration and push your way to the more intimate bar at the back of the area. It is just a little quieter there and you take the needed space and time to regroup. You order another whisky sour and face the bar to drink it and think.

Have I been hasty?

Am I unprepared for this?

Has my judgement been clouded by my hubris?

A tall man comes close to you at the bar, but you ignore him. He is probably just ordering something and will move off soon. But when he doesn’t order, or move away, you turn to look up at him, ready to give him the business.

August Walker towers over you, smirking and looking like the cat that ate the canary.

In your mind, you know that you should feel angry, or disappointed, or even afraid, but you can't bring yourself to feel anything but relief.

He grabs you up by the arm and all but pulls you through the crowd and to one of the private rooms in the back. The room he picks is dim and backlit with baby pink and purple lights and the furniture looked soft and fun. The room is also clearly occupied by several people who looked to be having a private coke party in the corner. However they do not object to your sudden presence.

August crowds you up against the soft bubbly wall, one hand against it above your head and the other hovering at your waist.

'I'm going to search you,' he says, his eyes boring into yours.

A surge of heat rushes up inside you, but whether it was from anguish or arousal, you aren’t sure. Two whiskey sours on a stomach that only had jelly babies is making everything start to blur together.

'No you will not!' you manage to growl indignantly.

He raises a dark brow. His smirk lengthens into something more mischievous and his blue eyes warm considerably and you know he's not a threat.

'Then show me that you are not armed.'

'You can go fuck yourself.'

August grunts with amusement and you bite your lip.

This is not the time to bring up sex.

You can see the wheels turning in his head and he heaves himself backwards. With the movement, you catch his scent and you are immediately rocketed back to the night he positively wrecked you. You remembered feeling deliciously tender for the rest of that week.

The demon inside you lurches in its metaphorical cage.

Want him, want him, want...

He holds open his plain black suit jacket with both hands in an obvious effort to show that he is wearing his weapon in a hip holster. Unfortunately, all you can see is how his tie nestles quite contentedly between his big, meaty pecs.

The demon in the back of your mind reminds you that he's got soft hair on his chest and belly and you fight the desire to touch him.

August clears his throat and catches your attention.

Yes, you think. Yes, focus. His face is right there, focus. Not on the memory of that beautiful chest.

He quirks his brows to indicate that you need to show that you aren't packing. But you are only wearing a thin dress with a light half jacket and couldn't possibly be hiding anything. Instead, you cock your head and mock him, opening your little half jacket to show him you weren't armed. At least not in that spot.

August seems to accept it, because he is obviously more interested in the reason why you are there.

'It's time to end this.'

'End what?' you ask feigning innocence.

He takes your handbag, and opens it before you can protest. Seeing the contents, he flattens his lips into a tight line and then tosses the bag onto the floor. You watch it roll over once and come to rest in the corner.

'Stop. Following. Me,' he growls and leans in closer obviously using his powerfully built frame to intimidate you.

'I-- I can't. I have a job to do.'

You keep your face turned away, eyes still on the handbag in the corner.

It’s the only way that you can remain sane with him this close.

Against your back you can feel the thump of muted music, you can smell his cologne and hear the faraway voices of the other occupants. You are starting to drift a little more, buoyed by the particular pleasure you’re receiving from his attempt to cow you.

August is good at reading people and when his big hand come to rest at your waist, you know he’s read you like an open book. He slides that hand to the small of your back and the other hand reaches down to touch you where your dress hem meets your lower thigh.

He arches you against him and you let out a soft eager gasp.

'Well... well...'

His voice is low, breath warm against your temple and he sounds excruciatingly self satisfied.

'What am I gonna have to do to get you off my back?'

Mmm there is that tone again. That tone that tells you that he is a man who does not mince his words. He is a man who is unafraid to show his intentions with his actions. Your heart wrenches in your chest. You feel sexy and mysterious in his presence. You are the woman he can’t get enough of. You are in control, not him, and deep down, August knows it.

You roll your head away from where you were looking at the purse. You look up into his eyes and slide your arms about his neck.

August needs no other prompting. His big hands tighten round your waist and he heaves you up off of your feet. One of your court shoes slips off of one foot and when you land on your knees astride his lap on the soft, pink couch, you grab the heel of the other and fling it over to its mate.

August Walker is an incredible specimen of male human form. His smirking face and ridiculous moustache arouses feelings of frustration and anger in you even as his thumbs inch up the hem of your dress. The foolishness of your flighty employer, August's elusiveness (for the most part) and the whole incomprehensibility of your futile, prematurely aborted missions, all suddenly come to a head.

You sit back on his lap and scowl, giving his meaty chest a thump with the base of your loosely curled fist. That stops him and surprise is evident in his blue eyes. You narrow your eyes in return and baring your teeth slightly, you tighten your fist and hit him again. Harder.

Then again, even harder.

You pull him up by his neatly knotted tie and slap his face. The sound of skin on skin is loud in the quiet room.

Oh, that felt good.

A second stretches into an eternity between you and you watch a mixture of hurt, and something else that decidedly wasn't anger ghost across his face. It was arousal. Slapping him across the face obviously turned him on.

You huff a laugh and he grins, the challenge is clear.

'Looks like you wanna play,' he rumbles darkly.

August reaches both hands beneath your dress and grabbing your knickers, he drags them down your trembling thighs.

‘Up,’ he instructs you and when you rise to your knees he slaps your ass and grabs an indulgent handful. 'Good girl.'

You yelp and moan with delight, steadying yourself with both hands against him. With his help, you manage to only get one leg free, but you don't care. August has enough access and you watch him lick two fingers which he slides into your wet heat.

You gasp and shudder, lewdly pushing your hips towards him rocking in time with the motion of his fingers dragging across your sensitive slit.

Fuck... fuck! This shouldn't be happening, you think, trying to keep your thoughts from running together. Not here, not now this is crazy!

'C'mon,' August encourages you, warm hand stroking your bum. 'Take my cock out. I wanna fill that sweet little pussy up.'

You drop into his lap again to do as you were told. His cock is thick and hot in your hand and he groans when you give him an experimental squeeze. August cups your hips and lifts you again. There's no longer any perceivable space between the two of you and when you let him push you down on his ready cock, there is no longer any singular breath. It's just one breath, your shared breath.

You wrap your arms about his shoulders and bury your face into his neck. You need his steadiness to keep from exploding into tiny pieces.

'You drive me crazy,' you gasp, breathless from the rush of heat drowning you.

August holds you and you match the motion of his body. It isn't long until he has built a relentless rhythm and you are begging him for release. You can feel yourself taking out all of your pent up frustrations on him. The heat and strength of him inside you is enough to drive away all of your fears and worries, replacing them with pleasure.

You lift your head and kiss him. His mouth is soft and yielding and you are confused by this new tide of tender emotions that rush in on the aftermath of your orgasm.

You melt against him, hiding your face in his neck to recover from the high and just like during his unexpected visit to your hotel all those months ago, August caresses you until you're able to recover.

You hum softly and open your eyes to sheepishly peek at the other people still in the pink and purple room. They're far away enough, but you can see that they are way too coked out to care about what you two deviants are doing.

'They know you're here,' you murmur after a moment, stroking his stubble rough cheeks and smoothing his rumpled curls.

'Hmm.'

'They got you on film.'

'I'll take care of it,' he whispers back, matching your intimate tone.

You nod and with a groan, you heave yourself off of him and stagger back to your feet. He grabs you to help you regain your balance and you're grateful for his quick reflexes. You didn't want to end the night falling and cracking your head open on a coffee table. There's a stack of napkins by the wine bottles on one of the tables. You grab a handful and hand some to him. You both avoid each other's eyes as you clean up and you grab your purse and shoes.

Contemplating the contents of your purse you say to him, 'Are you gonna let me jab you with this?'

August grins quite suddenly and you are charmed by his disarming smile.

'No,' he says with laughter in his voice.

'Tsk... ok.'

You feign disappointment even though you know that you were going to go through with it anyway.

Back in order, August pushes himself off of the couch. He takes you by the wrist and pulls you close. He holds your gaze, making sure that you cannot mistake his meaning.

'Come with me.'

You stare at him. Oh, it's so tempting that it hurts when you turn him down.

'You know my methods... why I do the things I do. You know, and I know you understand me.'

‘I understand. I understand. But I can’t.’

August flattens his lips into a grim line again, but he nods and releases you.

‘Don't forget to take care of that… thing,’ you tell him in parting.

You want to stay so badly. You want to run away with him and you nearly turn around when you reach the room door. But you force yourself to keep moving forward and out of his life.

There is a message waiting for you when you return to the hotel.

Mission aborted.

Reason - ‘things have changed’.

Part III

You lie in your oceanside bedroom listening to the room service cart rattling through the adjoining room. It's time to get up for breakfast. You get out of bed, stretch, yawn and disappear into the bath to wash up and prepare for another delightfully leisurely day.

The stone floor is warm against your bare feet and you walk towards the patio and out through the sliding doors. The mid-morning sunlight is blinding and you put a hand up to shield your eyes. The beach is empty today with only a few boats dotting the clear blue waves. Maybe a swim later is in order, you think as you turn towards the umbrella shaded breakfast table.

A strange sight makes you stop in your tracks. There is a dark haired man sitting at the table, with his eyes closed, and his face tilted up to catch the sun not blocked by the edge of the umbrella.

'August,' you whisper softly to yourself as if saying his name any louder would make the mirage fade away.

You walk closer and clasping your hands together, you hover at the far end of the table.

'August.'

Alerted to your presence, he lowers his head and opens his eyes to look at you. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

'What are you doing here, August? You shouldn't be here... it... it isn't safe.'

'I came for you,' he says as if it were the most natural thing in the world to say.

'No. No, you're leaving now. Right now.'

He looks at you for a moment and with his foot, August slides out the chair next to him and gestures a lazy hand to it.

'Breakfast first.'

Sure, you think, rolling your eyes. Breakfast first. You sit down beside him.

August pours coffee for you. You watch him quietly and without really meaning to, you reach out to put your hand against his cheek. August stills at your touch and when he leans down to kiss you, you curl your fingers into his sun-warmed hair.

'Come with me,' he murmurs against your lips. 'I want you to be with me.'

'You know I can't.'

And even as the words come out of your mouth, you don't believe them.

August scoffs and is about to try another tactic, but is interrupted by the softly opening service door.

You watch your assistant approach with the heavy satellite phone. He gives August an impassive look and hands the phone to you. Your assistant also places two white envelopes on the table by your empty plate. August watches you put the phone up to your ear.

The messenger down the line is different this time, but delivers the information in the same monotone voice before asking if you understand.

'I understand,' you say. 'But... but, I will open the envelope before I agree to the job.'

A beat passes.

'Go on,' says the messenger.

You open the smaller of the two envelopes, the one with the black wax seal and pull out a photo of the target. You suck your lower lip between your teeth and turn the photo around to show August his own face.

'The target is August Walker,' you say.

'Have you seen him?'

You look directly into August's face. He looks apprehensive, you think. Does he think you'll turn him in? After all this?

'No, I haven't seen him. But I won't--'

/Take the job/, August mouths to you.

'I mean I will take the job.'

You disconnect the call.

'Why did you want me to take the job?' you ask a sense of giddiness beginning to simmer in your gut.

'Because you'll never catch me.'

You tap the phone and grin.

'I can give you up right now.'

August glances at the phone.

'Will you?'

You smirk.

'Mmm, breakfast first.'

0-0 END 0-0

Thanks for reading and please like and reblog 💖 💖

#august walker x reader #august walkerxreader #reader insert #august walker #august walker/reader #henry cavill #woc reader insert #august walker x woc reader

216 notes · View notes

riverthunder · 3 years

Text

The Stars in Our Skies

For @thespacecryptid for the @ironstrangehaven Gift Exchange ❤️

Link to AO3 Post: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28625829

Notes:

Alrighty, so first I need to apologize to my giftee, TheSpaceCryptid. I tried to finish your gift early, and I want to say I had it done sometime between the 15th and the 20th? And after a lazy Christmas Day I went into my Google Drive to post this and it was just... gone. I have no idea what happened. So I had to redo the whole thing from scratch. In some ways I like this version a lot more, though- and in others I think the original was a little better? But overall I'm pleased with this.

You had a lot of ideas I absolutely adore- like Asexual Stephen (insert my heart eyes here), and stargazing dates, and these two being professors. Just. Mwah. Beautiful.

Also, I'm tagging this as Teen due to some discussions of sex- nothing graphic, though, obviously- since I headcanon ace Stephen as a sex-repulsed asexual like myself.

I hope you like the fic and your bonus artwork to make up for how late this ended up being! Apologies again!!

The Stars in Our Skies

Tony stared just a little bit as the new astronomy teacher strolled into the break room and began fixing himself a cup of oolong tea. He had a beautiful face, with sharp cheekbones and a well-defined jaw, as well as piercing, beautiful eyes. Tony also had a funny feeling that he’d met the astronomy teacher many times before, but he couldn’t put a finger on where.

He knew Professor Strange had been a surgeon back in the day, and he was sure he’d seen him at some of the galas he’d attended in his youth. But it felt like he’d seen Strange more recently than that.

He was very obviously distracted during his class, and he gave up on whatever physics explanation he’d been trying to give the poor engineering class he was clearly confusing, and told them to just go ahead and work on homework, giving them a bonus extra two days on his latest paper as well to top it off while he sat back down at his desk to think.

At the end of the period, two of his best students came to sit next to him.

“Everything okay, Professor Stark?” Peter asked while Harley gave him a knowing smile.

“Fine, boys, just a little off my rhythm is all,” Tony said, trying to look unconcerned.

“You sure?” Harley asked innocently. “Sure it’s not something else? A certain someone, maybe? Like… I dunno… the hot new astronomy professor?”

Tony had been taking a drink of coffee and choked on it at Harley’s words, which was decidedly not good, since the coffee was still piping hot thanks to his specially designed insulated mug. “I- you- what?” Tony spluttered.

“What?” Harley asked innocently. “He’s kinda like you, Professor. A silver fox. He’s smokin’.”

“Harley!” Peter said indignantly. “You can’t say that about a professor!”

Harley shrugged. “Too bad, it’s true, Pete. ‘Sides, Professor Stark should come to terms with the idea.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at Harley’s tone. “Oh really?” He asked. “Why?”

Harley shrugged innocently. “Because I wrote Professor Strange a note in your handwriting and hid it in his desk drawer asking him to go on a date with you tonight at 8:00.”

Tony stood up so quickly his coffee mug almost spilled all over the papers he’d collected from his first period, but before he could shout at Harley at the top of his lungs, a certain handsome professor was standing in his doorway.

“Oh,” Stephen said, looking from Tony to their students. “I’m sorry, are you busy? I could come back another time.”

He was holding a piece of paper that had obviously been folded a few times in one of his trembling hands.

“No, we were just leaving,” Harley said sweetly.

Peter felt himself blushing for some reason as he passed Professor Stark a quick note of his own. “Um, I just wanted to know if you’d please check my work on these chemistry notes,” he said.

Tony glanced down at them. A new web-fluid design. He nodded to Peter. “Yes. Yes. I’ll look them over and e-mail you with any necessary changes.”

“Thanks!”

Without another word, Peter seized Harley’s upper arm and dashed out of the room, while Harley laughed and tried to protest, clearly thrilled with watching Tony flounder in the presence of his crush. You could hardly blame him. Seeing Tony Stark, Iron Man, who was a professor for fun, flounder, was a rare and almost unheard of sight.

“Hello, Professor Stark,” Strange said politely, and Tony felt his face heating up. “Um- hi- I-”

“I am very sorry,” Stephen said, setting the note in his hand down on Tony’s desk. Tony caught a glimpse of the handwriting- fucking identical to his own. That damn Keener brat. When Tony got his hands on him-

“But I am afraid I must decline your invitation.”

Oh.

Tony hadn’t even known he was asking Stephen on a date a few minutes ago, but somehow Stephen’s words still stung.

“Oh,” he said out loud. “Uh… busy?”

“No,” Stephen replied.

Yeah, that definitely hurt.

“Oh.” Tony glanced at the note and quickly plucked it off the desk. “Okay. That’s fine, I understand. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with this.”

“You didn’t,” Stephen told him. “It was actually very flattering. But I don’t think you would like to be in a relationship with me, so I am afraid I must decline.”

Wait, what?

“Uh… sorry, you lost me,” Tony said awkwardly.

Stephen chuckled. “I identify as asexual,” he explained. “Specifically, a sex-repulsed asexual. And from what I know of your past...er, love life, I think it’s better if I decline the invitation altogether. I don’t want to upset you because you want to have sex and I don’t.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “So it is an ace ring!” He said, pointing at the black ring on Stephen’s middle finger on his right hand. “Rhodey called me crazy and said it was a swinger’s ring!”

Stephen blinked in surprise and glanced down at his ring. “Er- yes, it is,” he agreed.

“Cool! Okay.” Tony shot him a smirk. “In that case- are you an ace of spades?”

Stephen looked shocked. “You- you know about the card suits?”

“Sure do,” Tony said proudly.

Stephen narrowed his eyes. “Okay then- who uses the ace of diamonds?”

“Demisexuals and demiromantic asexuals,” Tony said. “Ace of clubs is for graysexual and grayromantic, ace of spades is for aromantic asexuals, and ace of hearts is for romantic asexuals.”

He grinned, and Stephen had to crack a smile. “Very impressive.”

“So, what’s your suit, Doc?” Tony asked, grinning at him, and Stephen had to resist the urge to let that smile widen.

“Ace of hearts. I’m a romantic asexual.”

Tony grinned. “I can work with that.”

Stephen allowed his face to fall into a small frown. “Tony, I-”

“Look, Doc, I don’t need sex to be happy,” Tony said. “I’ve had loads in my day, yeah, but I’m a big boy and frankly, I think it’s about time I had a relationship that wasn’t so focused on it. If you’re good with a romantic relationship, I can be happy with one, too.”

Stephen chuckled despite himself. “Persistent, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Tony said, a bit smugly.

Stephen chuckled. “Very well.” He wrote something on a small scrap of paper and offered it to Tony, taking back the note Harley had written. “You can pick me up there, at 8:00.”

“I’ll be there,” Tony said, snatching the fake letter back. “And I’ll give you something actually written by me then.”

~(*)~

Tony pulled up to the house on Bleecker Street. Huh… looked kinda like a museum, to be honest.

The elegant Professor Strange was already walking to meet the car. “Right on time,” he teased, climbing in. He looked like he was putting on a brave face as he entered, and Tony took note of the way Stephen’s hand reached for the cabinet handle on the inside of the door.

Tony bit his lip. “I just like to be on time to things,” he said casually, placing his right hand on the console if Stephen wanted to hold it too, or instead.

Stephen nodded. “Well, I appreciate it. So, what’s the plan for our date?”

“I think you told Professor Verity that you like ramen from Samurai Noodle, right?”

Stephen smiled. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Great! Then we’re getting take-out,” Tony told him, grinning to himself. “And I have a great idea of where we can eat it.”

“Oh? And where is that, exactly?”

“It’s a secret,” Tony said, smirking. “Are you ready to go?”

Stephen nodded, looking amused as he took Tony’s free hand on the console. “That I am. Let’s go, Professor Stark.”

Tony snorted as he started the car. “Alright.”

He tried to sound cool, but he knew that he had started blushing.

~(*)~

“So what exactly are we doing in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night?” Stephen asked as Tony laid a large blanket out in one of the large fields near the Avengers Compound.

“Why?” Tony asked, smirking at him. “Don’t you trust me?”

Stephen chuckled. “Is that your way of saying you’re secretly an ax murderer about to eviscerate me in the middle of this field, free of any witnesses?”

“Ouch,” Tony complained. “You’re really good at wounding someone’s ego, you know that, Strange?”

“So what’s the real reason we’re out here, then?” Stephen asked, amused.

“Lay down,” Tony ordered, pointing to the blanket. “And look up.”

Stephen did so, and gasped in surprise. “The stars….” He breathed, sounding mesmerized.

“That’s right,” Tony said, smiling at him. “Not to easy to see them in the city. But I figured you’re the Astronomy Professor… maybe you’d like to see them more clearly? Maybe teach me something I don’t know?”

“Lay down,” Stephen ordered quietly. “There… Orion the Hunter. Can you see his belt? The three stars, just here.”

“Oh… right,” Tony said. “Isn’t he that dude everyone says Artemis loved?”

“A common misconception these days,” Stephen murmured. “In many of the myths, Artemis was actually the one to kill him, on purpose, for harassing her friends, the Pleiades, or she would encourage someone else to kill him for her, such as Apollo. He’d summon a giant scorpion to kill Orion, which many believe is Scorpio, as the two constellations aren’t around at the same time. When Scorpio rises, Orion vanishes.”

“Cool,” Tony said softly, staring up at the night sky with Stephen. “What else can you see?”

“Sirius, the Dog Star, Orion’s hunting dog,” Stephen said, pointing to the bright star. You can see the constellation Taurus there. Gemini there. Monoceros is there, very faint. You see? Look closely.”

“Beautiful,” Tony murmured, resting his head on Stephen’s chest as he gazed up at the sky.

Stephen smiled to himself and wrapped an arm around him. “Hmm. Not as beautiful as you,” he murmured in a thoughtful voice, making Tony blush.

~(*)~

“Was that an okay date?” Tony wondered as he drove Stephen back to Bleecker Street.

Stephen smiled at him. “You don’t know?”

“Not really,” Tony admitted. “And I kinda wanna… you know. Do this again.”

Stephen chuckled as they reached the museum door. Wait… how come even the building looked sort of familiar? And the street…?

“Well, in that case… it was a perfect date, Professor Stark.” Stephen leaned over, kissing his lips gently. “And I expect to go on another one with you very soon.”

“Sure,” Tony said, a little breathlessly, his eyes wide as he stared at Stephen. “Whatever you want….”

“Perfect.” Stephen smiled at him, and suddenly something long, red, and fluttering was at his throat, gently tugging him out of the car. “Alright, Levi, alright. I’m coming,” Stephen murmured, reaching out to stroke the red fabric.

Tony stared at it. A sentient cloak….

Wait- was he-?

Stephen was already disappearing inside the door when Tony found his voice, so he couldn’t ask him directly. He sat in the dark of his car, dumbfounded, and feeling his heart pounding. Was that the kiss, his sudden epiphany, or both?

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Boss?” Chirped the cool Irish accent.

“Am… am I dating the Sorcerer Supreme?”

Extra Notes:

To clarify the "Stephen is the Sorcerer Supreme but Tony doesn't recognize him but is sure he's met him before" thing- I headcanon that Stephen's magic acts as a sort of "barrier" to his identity- and just protects his identity for him. I got the idea from Cute High Earth Defense Club actually- where the villains and heroes can't really recognize each other as specific students when they meet due to "radio interference" almost- but in my Stephen headcanon, it's more that the magic puts a sort of veil over Stephen, so Tony is sure he's met him before, but he can't put his finger on where until he recognizes Cloakie and goes "oh shit, Stephen's the Sorcerer Supreme I've been battling monsters with???"

#Ironstrange #IronStrange fic #IronStrange Art #chara’s fics #chara’s art #gift art #gift fic #tony stark #anthony edward stark #stephen strange #stephen vincent strange

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notveryglittery · 4 years

Text

birthday prince (5)

summary: happy birthday, roman!!! words: 2,900 / ship: dlampts (deceit/logan/virgil/patton/roman/thomas/remy) author’s note: this is part five of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts) | read on ao3

— — —

“Rise and shine, buttercup!”

Roman swatted at the air, as if that would send away the voice trying to wake him. “Five more minutes,” he grumbled, burying his face back into a pillow.

“You said that ten minutes ago, sugar,” drawled another.

If Roman really thought about it, he’d remember that, yes, he was guilty of this charge. That didn’t mean that he would admit to it, of course! Besides, even if he did, today was his day so he should have been able to do whatever he liked.

Oh.

Oh!

Energy shot through him as he jolted up. “It’s my birthday!”

Patton’s laugh was musical, the most beautiful sound Roman could ever ask to start his morning with. “I knew we’d get there eventually.”

“I dunno, I was sure it’d take him at least another half hour,” Remy teased, standing in the doorway.

"Good morning!" Roman exclaimed, swooping in for a kiss from Patton. He happily obliged, taking it also as an opportunity to comb a hand through Roman's tangled hair.

Were it not for Remy clearing his throat a moment later, the two might have lost track of time entirely. They pulled apart, only a little sheepish about it. Patton took Roman's hands in his and gave him a tug, urging him out of bed. Thankfully, now that Roman knew what was being celebrated, he followed easily, lips curled into a grin that seemed it'd never go away.

"What's on the agenda?" He asked eagerly, curious how early it actually was and how long it'd be before his first gift.

"Get yourself dolled up first, hon," Remy told him, tilting his tumbler in the direction of the closet.

"Remy!" Patton hissed, a hint of a scolding reminder in his tone, if Roman was hearing right.

Apparently, this was all it took for Remy to remember whatever Patton was trying to say. They swapped places faster than Roman thought possible, especially with his sleep addled brain not quite keeping up. Remy looped an arm through Roman's and began leading the way to the bathroom.

Patton waved at them as he left, "see you in a bit!"

"You're up to something," Roman accused without hesitation.

"Why I never," Remy said, pouting. "When have I ever been up to anything in my whole life?"

It was, again, thanks to Roman's still half-asleep state that he could level Remy with his best unimpressed look.

"Here I am, just trying to help you look your absolute best, and you're claiming me a criminal. That's just plain unfair."

Roman couldn't deny how wonderful that sounded, actually. Doing his own makeup and hair was a regular occasion, so much so that it almost got boring to do anymore. Remy, without a doubt, could be trusted to make sure Roman's winged eyeliner would be sharp enough to kill a man. Not that Roman would ever admit it, but Remy might have been even a better makeup artist than he was.

"Alright, alright," Roman yielded, "I supposed I'd be lucky to have someone of your talent dress me up today."

Remy looked equally smug and delighted at this. He shooed Roman along to take a shower, ducking back out of the bathroom to, presumably, pick an outfit for Roman for the day. The prince used the hair and body care products that he liked to save for special occasions, singing (of course) various Disney love songs as he did. With what must've been some sort of sixth sense, Remy was on him again as soon as he was wrapped up in a bathrobe and towling his hair dry. He got to work without wasting a moment, making sure that Roman's luxurious locks were fluffy and styled just right. The swoop to his bangs had never been so perfect, if he was being honest! The makeup look was bold, reds and golds and glitter; thankfully, Remy reassured him he'd used all waterproof brands so that Roman could cry all he liked without issue.

They returned back to the bedroom, where Remy had the outfit displayed on a mannequin. It shouldn't have been a shock that he'd picked some of Roman's favorite pieces but he was pleasantly surprised all the same.

"I really do just know you that well, I guess," Remy said, nonchalantly.

Roman, lightning quick, pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving behind a lipstick print. "You do and I love you so much for it!"

While Remy blushed and stammered at the sudden affection, Roman darted ahead and began to get dressed. Remy didn't need to turn away to give Roman his privacy, all things considered, but he did anyway, fiddling with the jewelry on Roman's vanity. It took some deliberating, but he decided finally that, above all else, the rainbow jewel encrusted crown was a must for today's ensemble.

"How do I look?"

"Babe, I don't even need to—" Remy's words died on his tongue as he faced Roman. Sure, there had been no doubt that Roman would look handsome as hell, but the beaming smile and light in his eyes and bouncy excited posture… He looked so happy and radiant and— "Wow."

"Stop," Roman said, giggling.

Remy took the crown and approached. He gave Roman a half-bow, smirking up at him. "May I have the honor, your majesty?"

“Stop!" Roman repeated, squeaking.

"Never," Remy promised, standing and reaching up to nestle the accessory on Roman's head. Each strand of hair still fell perfectly into place. "Now then," he said, taking Roman's arm in his, "shall we begin the festivities?"

Getting downstairs took no time at all, though Remy did dart ahead and down the steps first, so that he could loudly announce Roman proper. Patton and Thomas cheered for him as he descended, which added only more to the warm blush that he had a feeling might be a permanent addition today to his makeup. The pair ooh'd and ahh'd over Roman's look, showering him in compliments and praise. If this was just the beginning, then he sincerely was unsure whether he'd make it out of the celebrations alive.

They gathered at the dining room table, where Virgil and Deceit were laying the finishing touches on breakfast. The spread looked delectable, every one of Roman's favorite foods, and all of it hot and freshly cooked. Logan joined them last, carrying a plate with a single biscuit on it. There was a lit candle, too, and they'd all started singing before Roman could even catch up. He blew the little fire out and made a wish - though they'd nearly all already come true at this point, anyway.

"We're breaking a record today of how many times we can sing happy birthday," Thomas said with a wink, "fair warning."

Breakfast was full of fun and light chatter. They talked about the rest of their plans (at least, the ones they weren't keeping secret) and reminisced on old milestones. Roman felt full and happy, content to just sit and listen to his loved ones talk and joke around him. He was never left out of the conversation, though, always pulled back into a topic or started one anew with. He was listened to, unequivocally, and the attention was pleasant.

Soon, the food was finished, and the group moved to the kitchen. Patton and Deceit worked together on dishes while Logan presented what would be the first of birthday treats. They were muffins with Crofter's jelly in the middle, a flavor that Roman didn't recognize.

"Roman's Razzleberry," Logan explained, looking mixed on his feelings regarding the name. "It took some experimenting, but this combination of raspberry, strawberry, and dragonfruit came out the metaphorical winner."

"It's delicious!" Roman exclaimed, taking another from the tray. "My own jam! Thank you, dearest."

They gathered in the living room next, where the furniture had been rearranged to give them space for various activities. They did start with a movie, to let their meal settle, all huddled together on the couches. Roman was squished between Virgil and Thomas, the former playing absentmindedly with Roman's fingers while Thomas trailed his hand up and down Roman's arm, leaving tingles along the way. He might have dozed off a little, warm and cozy as he was.

The short nap energized him for their next game. Charades was one of his favorites as it gave him an opportunity to really practice his acting skills. What better way to hone one's craft than by not being able to use all the normal necessary components? Playing a part without any speaking lines and having to hope he'd do well enough that his companions could guess… It was a challenge he always looked forward to!

Virgil popped out and back in shortly with snacks for them all, the apparent second birthday treat: popcorn and candies and chips and soda, all easy and quick but not any less appreciated. They split into teams of two, leaving one to be their referee, and then each round, swapping out so that they all could have a turn to play. Roman ended up the winner, to absolutely no one’s surprise, though Deceit did come in a close second.

Lunchtime had rolled around and this time, they took to each making sandwiches for themselves. Patton and Remy surprised them (well, surprised Roman) with the third and fourth birthday treats: heart shaped cookies with exquisite frosting doodles and red velvet cake pops, respectively. They were sweet and delicious and baked perfectly and Roman only resisted eating more than he could count because he knew he had to save room still for whatever Thomas and Deceit had made. After they were finished and the dishes were washed, Patton led the way back upstairs. They stopped in front of his room.

“Would it be okay if we took a trip down Memory Lane?” He asked, holding Roman’s hands. “I was thinking we could visit some birthdays past!”

Roman looked to the others, nearly overwhelmed with how much affection and love he had for them all. “Whatever you have planned, I’m all in.”

“Nap time,” Remy and Virgil chorused.

Deceit rolled his eyes while Logan stifled a laugh.

“Shh,” Thomas hushed, giving them pats on the head. It was an amusing sight, to say the least, as Remy had a couple of inches on him and Virgil’s hunched over form was shorter than them both.

Memory Lane was as warm and fuzzy as Roman remembered it. He didn’t come through here often, usually only when he and Remy needed something for a Dream, but the consistent feeling it carried of being embraced by Mom or Dad was nice. The memories they visited were nice, too: old visions of time spent with friends, trips to amusement parks, parties that ran late into the night. While they all had their moments, Roman couldn’t help but feel that his birthday today was the absolute very best of them all. By the time they exited, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so relaxed. Logan and Virgil, on the other hand, looked like they were a little tired from the adventure. He took to their sides, planting himself between them, and grabbing each of their hands. Their quiet, grateful smiles were enough to give him pleasant shivers down his spine.

“Kitchen’s off limits,” Deceit announced as they all arrived back downstairs. “None may enter.”

“Except me!” Thomas piped up.

“Except you,” Deceit agreed, giving him a not-so-secret smitten smile.

Before Roman could ask why, they’d both disappeared. His attention was quickly stolen by Remy anyway, who was dragging him down onto the couch for his and Virgil’s aforementioned nap time. Patton giggled, making sure that they had enough blankets and pillows to be comfy.

“You sleep well, okay? We’ll wake you up in a little bit!” Patton said, taking Roman’s crown for him so that it wouldn’t get in the way, and setting it carefully on the coffee table.

If Roman wanted to ask Logan and Patton to join their cuddling, he didn’t get a chance to. Remy was carding a hand through his hair, draining him of his energy with each gentle scrape of nails against his scalp. He would have declared Remy a cheater for using his powers like this, but Virgil was falling victim to it as well and having his emo nightmare curled up with him was too pleasant to allow any upset feelings, regardless of how joking or serious they were.

Roman did, in fact, nap well, especially thanks to Remy’s presence.

When he woke, his limbs were only a little stiff, but he was overall very warm and relaxed. Virgil was gone but Remy had his face tucked into the crook of Roman’s neck. His sunglasses had been removed and Roman decided it might be worth dealing with the possible attitude of rousing Remy before he was well and ready if it meant getting to see his pretty eyes.

“Pstt,” he whispered, cupping Remy’s hand in his cheek. “My sweet dreamcatcher, it’s time to wake up.”

Remy grumbled, leaning into Roman’s hold. “Sweetie, I know you aren’t trying to coax me out of slumber right now.”

“Why I never,” he teased, echoing Remy’s earlier faux offended tone.

It took a moment longer, but Roman was blessed with getting to watch Remy blink away the lingering sleep. He thought this might be the best present of them all, seeing the swirling and shimmering shades of brown in Remy’s eyes, never one color at a time. It didn’t last long, what with Remy letting his eyelids slip back closed, but that was because he was leaning in to kiss Roman, and that sort of made it worth it.

“I should’ve known better than to leave you two alone,” Virgil groused suddenly, startling them apart.

“You’re just jealous I got to kiss the most handsome prince in the world before you did,” Remy said cheekily, reaching over to grab his sunglasses from the table and sliding them back on.

Roman couldn’t have prepared even if he wanted to. Virgil moved so quickly, thanks largely in part to those flight reflexes, swooping in and capturing Roman’s lips with his own. The kiss was fierce and passionate and even as Virgil pulled away, Roman followed after him. He sighed, disappointed for it to have ended so quickly. Virgil stuck his tongue out at Remy and then shot away as Remy lunged for him. They chased each other around the living room, laughing and throwing playful insults back and forth. Roman watched fondly from the couch, warm still in their nest of blankets.

Hands pressed down on his shoulders, massaging the post-nap aches away. Roman looked up, finding Logan above him. Logan smiled, bending slightly to give him a kiss on the forehead.

“Troublemakers, the both of them,” he said, only pretending to be disappointed.

“You’re one to talk,” Roman pointed out. “I’ve seen what you and Deceit get up to.”

“Shh,” Logan hurried to interrupt. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Patton called suddenly from the kitchen.

Roman’s stomach growled, surprising him; he wondered how long they’d slept for. Logan came around to the front of the couch and helped Roman up. Virgil and Remy had already darted away to try and steal bits of food.

“Has your birthday been so far satisfactory?” Logan asked, taking a moment to return Roman’s crown to his head. It was a testament to Remy’s hard work that his hair still looked flawless.

“It’s been perfect,” Roman answered enthusiastically.

Dinner consisted, once more, of Roman’s favorite foods. The cupcakes were courtesy of Thomas, another birthday treat, and while he seemed embarrassed about the messy frosting, Roman thought it overwhelmingly endearing; he especially liked the edible glitter and fondant stars. As they were nearing the end of their meal, Deceit procured the final birthday treat: champagne glasses for them all, filled with bubbly cider. There was another happy birthday song as Patton brought the cake out to the dining room. Roman had definitely started crying by now, as it all came together just how much they’d done for him today.

“A toast,” Deceit began, holding up his glass. The others followed. “To our favorite author, poet, artist, actor.”

“To the prince of our dreams,” Remy chimed in.

“And our hearts!” Patton added.

“To the best Creativity I could ask for,” Thomas continued.

“To the greatest hero,” Virgil suggested.

“To a wise and clever leader, one whom we can always trust to take care of us,” Logan rounded out.

Roman wiped frantically at his eyes, uncertain whether his makeup was smudge proof as well, but not caring one bit. “Thank you,” he said, voice wobbly and thick with tears. “I love you guys more than I can say.”

Deceit, from his seat beside him, used his free hand to take one of Roman’s. He pressed a kiss to his knuckles and then held that hand to his cheek. “How unfortunate for your wellbeing,” he threatened sweetly, “because I think that we can say plenty.”

And they did, praising him on anything to everything: from his appearance to his creations, his traits and what made him tick, and the cute faces he made without realizing, and every tiny simple little thing they adored about him. It was, to say the least, the best way to end what had been the best day.

#sanders sides fan fiction #roman's birthday #roman sanders #sanders sides #dlampts #ts deceit #dani writes #gifts for roman's bday #it's basically dlamp + thomas + remy but focused on the roman ships #IT'S PUBLISHED BEFORE MIDNIGHT PST HALLELUJAH

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elektrae · 4 years

Text

Christmas is all around

a/n: Hello everyone. If you stumbled upon that fic, first of all: I am sorry. Second of all, I haven’t written anything other than essays in like 4 years, and this is my way to try to write fanfics again. I may be rusty, like a lot, and I apologize for that. Also, English is not my first language so again, I am sorry for any typo or weird sentences, I try my best skskjsj. Finally, did is my first Jason Todd fic ever (or DC fic, for that matter) so dont expect too much ig? Anyway, I just miss writing fanfictions so I’m gonna try to post some from time to time, even if they suck. That’s okay<3

Pairing: Jason Todd x y/n (she/her pronouns used, sorry about that)

Word count: 3,759

Warning: some drinking, too many paragraphs, slight cringe ig, uhm maybe some ooc Jason idk I’m not so sure about how I want to write him yet!

The title is from the cover Sleeping At Last did for their Christmas album, I was listening to it while writing.

“Tell me the truth now.”

You took the baking tray out of the oven, careful to not burn yourself as the dish towel between your hand and the tray was barely thick enough to protect you from the heat.

You hummed absent-mindedly, organizing the cooling cookies on the dish you decorated specially for the event. You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt a pair of eyes on you, waiting for you to give a clue – anything, really– away. You took the final baking tray from your fridge and put it in the oven, closing it and putting the timer on twenty minutes.

“What have you planned?"

You let out a tired sigh as you turned around, going to a cupboard to grab a pack of chips and a bowl to pour them in. You carefully ignored the other person in the kitchen who was supposedly here to help you, but was rather doing an investigation of a new genre. Poking at your mind tirelessly was apparently more interesting than putting together a Christmas Eve’s eve party for your friends.

"Won’t you give up and help me with those?” You pointed at the appetizers that were already ready, then pointed at the empty table in the living room.

As to prove her previous point that she can do two and more things at the same time, I swear, Barbara grabbed two plates and moved over to said table. She mumbled a couple of indistinct sentences, but since she was finally helping, you let it slide and simply rolled your eyes at her antics.

“I just know”, she grabbed a plate of stick crudités with their condiments. “I just know”, she started again, “you’re plotting something and I don’t like it."

"I am most certainly not”, you scoffed loudly, putting a hand on your chest. “I have no idea, and I mean no”, you gave her a bowl of peanuts and she went back to the table, expertly avoiding several presents messily put on the floor, “idea why you would say that.”

“You have that glint in your eyes since I-”.

She stopped herself from finishing the sentence, but you could feel a smile coming back on your face. “Since you’ve told me you were desperately and hopelessly in love with the one and only-"

"If you finish this sentence I will embarrass you on every social media for the next decade”, she warned.

“-Dick Grayson.”

“I am not desperately and hopelessly in love with him.”

“Helplessly and irrevocably?” You tried, raising an eyebrow as you spare a glance her way and see her smiling despite your teasing.

She shook her head which prompted you to try new adverbs, as idiotic as they sounded. “Terribly and blissfully?"

"What does that even- you know what”, she shook her head and took the last plates and some decorations to put the final look on the table. “Why don’t we talk about you and our dear Jason?"

"Oh no, no, no, we don’t talk about this”, you yelled at the same time she was finishing her sentence, practically running after her while still being mindful of the dozen of glasses you were carrying in both your hands. “I am not the hot topic of discussion for this Christmas."

"Well you should, because you being into Jason is way more gossip worthy than my crush on Dick.”

“Well it’s my apartment, and I say I am not worthy of anyone’s attention, but you definitely are.”

“Not even Jason’s?” She laughed quietly as you avoided her gaze, keeping your attention on the glasses you were carefully putting on the table in a shape of a snowflake. Fuck it, it’s Christmas after all.

“Not even Jason’s”, you confirmed a few minutes later, but Barbara couldn’t ignore the tone of sadness in your voice.

*****

“Y/n, they are here”, Barbara yelled, drawing the ‘e’, right after the bell was rung.

“Coming!"

You heard new voices coming from the living room and you smiled to yourself as you put on your outfit for the night.

The bell rang once more, and more voices started to fill your apartment. Among them, you clearly recognized Dick’s as he told some joke, which was followed by Barbara’s laughter. Donna and Wally joined her as Roy added his own take on the joke. There was a quiet grumble you could without a doubt attribute to Damian, and three more voices you guessed, more than knew, were Tim’s, Steph’s and Conner’s entered the conversation.

After fixing your hair one last time, you came out of your room and walked towards your friends. Donna is the first one to see you and she immediately put you in a hug.

"Your apartment looks very nice”, Dick complimented you, hugging you sideways as he said so once Donna had let go of you.

“Barbara helped”, you informed him as you glanced at the key player of this whole thing, who was currently glaring daggers at you.

“I don’t doubt it."

Barbara blushed slightly at Dick’s comment. You resisted the urge to tease her a bit when you noticed her eyes shining with happiness.

"Well, blue is the new”, she stopped for a second, her eyebrows knitting together, “red, I guess?"

"Yeah, it works for Christmas, Babs”, Roy affectionately said as he ruffled her hair, earning an eye roll.

You watched with a knowing smile, as well as everyone else in the room but two persons, as Dick’s smile grew wider and his cheeks a little warmer. You wished these two could see just how much they meant for each other. But no, Richard Grayson and Barbara Gordon were two idiots. Two idiots who definitely needed a push in the right direction.

“Oh, by the way”, Roy caught your attention as he walked to the table to grab an appetizer, “Jason and Kory are swinging by later, they had a thing.”

“A thing, uh”, Steph wiggled her eyebrows in his direction making Tim and Conner choke on their drinks they shouldn’t have already.

Barbara sent an apologetic look your way but you simply smiled back, grabbing two bottles of Champagne from the fridge.

“Who’s ready to party?"

*****

You made your way towards the kitchen to grab more appetizers and a new pack of chips. You smiled as Stephanie and Cassandra were lively talking near the Christmas tree, pointing at various presents. Damian was clearly starting to enjoy the night as Jon, who Clark had dropped off half an hour ago, was showing him a new toy Lois had bought him mere days before Christmas.

You stopped dead in your tracks when your eyes landed on Dick who was observing a customized Christmas decoration. One that has been created by Barbara, a deep blue bird with mechanical wings that fluttered every so often. He had the cheesiest smile on his face and he kept swinging the bird with his right hand. As he stood under the threshold of the kitchen, right above his head was one of the two mistletoe branches you had put in your apartment.

Just as the doorbell rang for the umpteenth time this night, you sprung towards the door, unwilling to let this great opportunity go to waste.

"Babs, could you grab a new pack of chips please?” You sent her a warm and what you hoped was an innocent smile. “I’ve left some on the countertop!”

“Alright”, she replied, excusing herself from Donna and Wally. Once you reached the door, you discreetly pointed at Dick who was right on Barbara’s way. A knowing look was shared before you finally opened the door, barely registering the people in front of you.

“Hey”, you greeted the two new guests, glancing back and forth between them and Dick and Barbara who were currently having a nice conversation if your eyes weren’t to lie. “Nice to see you could make it! Roy said you’d be held back for a while.”

“Sorry about that”, Kory smiled a little for an unknown reason. “We did our best.”

“It’s fine! Please, just come on in.” You opened the door a little wider to let both her and Jason walk in.

“So, is something going on?” Kory asked after several seconds of you being oblivious to Jason’s stare on you.

“Well”, you waved in the general direction of your friends having a conversation under the mistletoe near the kitchen, “I think something is working there, don’t you think?”

“Did you set them up?” Jason’s question sounded a lot more like an accusation, but you didn’t really mind at this exact moment.

You turned your head to reply to him but, before you could open your mouth everyone around you started cheering loudly, making you whip around right when your eyes locked with Jason’s.

There, under the mistletoe by your kitchen, Dick and Barbara were finally kissing, smiling through it.

“Tim, you owe me 20 bucks here”, Steph yelled over the clamor and Tim clearly huffed loudly at that, although the smirk on his face was still present.

“Same over there Wally, and you too, Roy”, Donna added while collecting the money both men already had put out from their pockets.

“Jason”, you could hear the smile in Kory’s voice as she turned to Jason, her hands awaiting the bank bills. “I believe I get something too?”

“Did you all bet money on us?” Dick eventually said, catching everyone’s attention.

“Anyway, more champagne?”, you changed the subject after a couple of minutes of silence and glances exchanged between everyone.

A chorus of “yes please” and two “orange juice, please” was your answer and you swiftly walked to the kitchen, Barbara following close behind from the moment you walked past her.

“Proud of you?”

“Mad at me?” You shot back, the smile apparently ever so present on your face.

“No”, she confessed, her voice as close as what someone could expect Barbara’s dreamy voice to be. “I could have done it without the help though.”

“I don’t doubt it”, you put three new bottles of the bubbly alcohol in your fridge as you grabbed the last two. “But I wanted the girls to have their money.”

“Makes sense”, she blocked your way, letting you know something else was going on. “Now, about you and a certain someone-”

“Nu-uh”, you waved a bottle in front of her face, “I am not stealing your thunder tonight.”

“Or ever”, she mumbled but you decided to ignore her.

“This is your night.”

“It’s also supposed to be a Christmas party”, Tim chimed in, pushing his glass in front of him, expecting you to pour him a new one. You gently grabbed it before filling it with water, handing it back to the younger man. He gave you a face before chugging it, awaiting once again the champagne. “Are we gonna open those presents or what?”

“Let’s do it.”

“Presents time everyone!”

*****

People were slowly filling out of your apartment with new gifts falling from their arms.

You waved bye at them as you slowly picked up the wrappers that littered your floor. You simply wanted to throw away everything you could and had already put the plates and glasses in the sink, so you wouldn’t have to do it the morning after, on Christmas Eve, while being slightly hungover and way too tired.

You heard the door shut close behind whoever left last. You went to open the window of your living room to let in some fresh air. Picking up some used napkins from the table, you put them in the trash as well, trying not to make too much of a mess.

“You forgot this one.”

The voice startled you and you spun around, smashing the trash bag into whoever was standing behind you. Some wrappers and napkins you had just put inside the bag flew out, landing all around you.

“Wow.”

“Oh, my god, Jason”, you let go of the trash bag and your hands immediately went to his torso, wanting to make sure you hadn’t hurt him. “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“Fine, fine”, he mumbled back, pushing your hands away a second too late to be considered an outward rejection or anger of any kind. “Can I help?”

“Oh, no, no”, you shook your head and went to stop him. “Go get some sleep. You’re gonna need it for tomorrow dinner.”

“Tomorrow dinner?”

“Christmas dinner?” You raised an eyebrow and waited for him to realize what you were talking about. “Alfred insisted you had to come this year, if I remember correctly.”

“How d'you know that?”

“I was there when you got Alfred’s call?”

“Right”, he drawn out. “Don’t think I’m going anyway. Might as well help you.”

“Oh no”, your hands went on your hips and you stood your ground, not letting him move. “You are going. Alfred would murder you. And”, you picked up the bag from the ground, but didn’t look away from Jason. “You’re supposed to spend Christmas with your family.”

“Are you?”

“It isn’t about me here.” You took several napkins and wrappers in one hand and stood back up, waving them in your friend’s face. “You’re gonna spend Christmas with your family and that’s final. Now go get some sleep.”

He slowly crossed his arms over his chest, giving you a strange look as you kept picking up the mess you had made mere moments earlier. “I’ll go if you let me help you.”

You stopped in your tracks and slowly raised your head, finally locking eyes with him. You weren’t sure how much of what he was telling right now was true, but you knew he had to go spend Christmas with his family. He needed this, whether he knew it or not. Their relationship was getting better by the day, this much was true, and you didn’t want any party, but especially not Jason, to be hurt. “Alright but, I’m warning you dude, you better be in bed in one hour tops.”

With a shrug, Jason walked to your sink and opened the tap, letting the water flow on the dishes. He grabbed the sponge and started doing the dishes, not saying much more.

“So, Dick and Barbara. Your plan, uh?” He broke the silence as you were sweeping your apartment, the cleaning getting a little out of hand without you realizing.

“Well, it was obvious they were into each other, you know”, you moved the couch back towards the wall and kept sweeping your place. “It was bound to happen, you know.”

“You did it for Steph.”

“And Donna”, you laughed and spared a glance his way. He was currently drying all he had just washed. “They’re gonna give me fifty percent of what the guys just gave them.”

“Uh, didn’t think you were after money like that.”

“Why do you think I’m friends with you?” You winked at him over your shoulder, now sweeping under the table.

“Makes sense. Although, I kept telling Roy it was because of my amazing cooking skills”, he put the last glass in the cupboard, closing it while he turned around, looking in your direction. “I know my pastas are to die for.”

“That”, you grunted slightly as you moved the table a little, putting it back into its original place, “they are.” You let out a breath and took a small pause. “Pasta and money. The basis of all healthy friendships.”

Jason let out a raspy laugh, one that took you by surprise. It was a contrast with how quiet he had been all evening. Your smile grew wider and you desperately tried to hide it as you crouched down to collect the dust in the dustpan. You put the dust in the trash bag before tying it and putting it on the small balcony, closing the French window as you stepped back inside.

“Time you go to sleep”, you went to the kitchen, looking around you to make sure everything was more or less clean. You would finish in the morning anyway. “Get your beauty sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Are you finished here?”

“Yep! Going to sleep until twelve, probably.”

“Alright. D'you know where I put my keys?”

“Countertop, the cup”, you dismissively said as you poured some water in a glass. You turned around just in time to see Jason swaying a little as he made his way to the other side of the countertop. “Alright buddy”, you ran after him, putting a hand on his arm before he could reach the keys. “You are not driving home.”

“I remember you telling me to get some sleep?” You could see the tiredness catching up with him as the alcohol left his system. You wondered how much he had drunk and, most importantly, what had made him drink that much tonight. Jason was a close friend, you had hung out together numerous times. You had seen him drink a lot more than you or even Dick or Kory, and he never had been in this state.

“Well, you’re gonna have to get some sleep here.” You locked the door before leading him to the couch, on which you pushed him down. “I’m not letting you go out there.”

“Alright, mom.”

You scoffed loudly, leaving him there with a roll of your eyes. You went to your room to grab a blanket, a pillow and Jason’s spare bag he had left one day, you couldn’t exactly recall when. To be fair, many of the local heroes had been dropping spare bags at your place throughout the years. You made a stop in the bathroom to grab a box of painkillers in case he woke up before you did.

As you walked down the small corridor that connected the living room and kitchen to the rest of your apartment, you bumped into a hard chest. You raised your head a little to meet Jason’s gaze, and you could feel his hands on your hips as he stabilized you so you wouldn’t fall down. You know it was just a reflex for him, but you couldn’t stop your heart from beating a little faster.

“Was wondering where you went”, he mumbled.

“Blanket, pillow, your spare clothes and”, you raised the hand holding the box of medicine in front of his eyes, “this, for the morning.”

“Oh, thanks. You didn’t have to”, you let out a quiet chuckle as he looked around him. You didn’t see him freeze as his eyes landed on what was just above the two of you.

“If I don’t want Alfred and Dick chastising me, yes I did”, you laughed loudly this time, still unaware of both your predicament. “That’s the least I could do, you know. Sorry you have to sleep on the couch, still don’t have a spare room."

"There’s mistletoe."

You hummed quietly, prompting him to explain himself further as you took off some dust from the blanket, holding the painkillers between your chin and chest.

"We’re right under the mistletoe.”

“Oh.”

You stopped what you were doing and let the box of medicine fall on the blanket to finally look up. There, unmistakable, was a branch of mistletoe.

“Oh yeah, forgot to take that one off”, you said under your breath. “You can just ignore that, let’s get you to bed.”

“Well, tradition is tradition”, countered Jason, finally looking at you.

“Sure, but we don’t have to”, you smiled warmly at him, trying to ignore the glint of what your mind discerned as sadness in his eyes. “I put them up mainly for Babs and Dick. And for, you know”, you shook your head a little, “everyone else, so they had an excuse to go at it.”

“Still, tradition is tradition, so”, he trailed off after that, looking at something just above your head.

“Okay."

You took a step closer to him, or at least as much as you could considering what you were carrying at the moment. You went on your tiptoe and, without giving it too much of a thought, you pecked Jason’s cheek, your lips lingering a moment too long on his skin.

"Alright buddy, now let’s get you to bed."

You gently grabbed his wrist and tugged him so he would follow you back in the living room. You tried as best as you could to ignore the fact that he was staring at you with something you couldn’t exactly pinpoint. You set the pillow down on the couch after making sure it was as comfortable as possible.

"Okay, take off your shoes and whatever, I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“I can get it."

"Focus on undressing yourself!"

You jogged to the kitchen, pouring some water from the tap in a glass and in a bottle. Not even two minutes later, you came back to set them on the coffee table, right next to the painkillers.

"Right so everything’s here”, you looked at Jason who was now lying on the couch, in nothing but his underwear, his right arm shielding his eyes from the light. “You know where everything else is. Your phone’s on the countertop where you left it. Sleep tight”, you finished, putting the blanket over his body.

“Hey”, his voice stopped you right as you were about to turn the lights off. “You should come home with me tomorrow. For this Christmas Eve dinner. It would be more bearable with you there."

"Jason”, you sighed and leaned on the wall on your left. “It’s a family dinner. Plus”, you pushed yourself off the wall, your hand hovering above the switch, “I doubt Bruce would be happy if I were to crash. Or Alfred, for that matter.”

“Pfff”, he turned his head so he would watch you, “Alfred loves you, he’d be more than happy. And he always cooks too much. As for Bruce, I don’t really care about what he has to say.”

“Well, I do.”

“You shouldn’t."

"Alright tell you what”, he straightened up a little so he could focus on your words better. “If tomorrow, when you’re not drunk nor hungover, you can assure me I won’t be be a bother during this dinner, I’ll come.”

“What, I just gotta call Alfred and tell him you’re coming? Deal!” He lied back down, eyes closed as a small smile played on his lips. “He’s gonna take care of Bruce.”

“We’ll see”, you laughed as you finally turned the lights off, leaving Jason in the living room as you walked towards your room, ready to drop on your bed and sleep for the next twelve hours.

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