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angeloddity · 2 years

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Anything that Touches

steve harrington x fem!reader

A heatwave in Hawkins leaves everyone scrambling to stay cool, desperate for any relief from the high temperatures and humidity. You take the opportunity to get some ice cream at the mall. The fact that your crush works at Scoops Ahoy is just an added benefit.

genre: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 4,200

a/n: It’s been so hot everywhere and I think we would all enjoy the heat more if we were getting through it with Steve Harrington.

Melt verb.

To make or become liquified by heat.

To make or become more tender or loving.

You were unaware of the heat outside when you woke up in the morning. Your bedroom was shaded by the tall trees in the yard, only the barest hints of dappled light allowed to pass through the window. A box fan placed on a chair circulated air across your shoulders like a gentle breeze, its steady hum constantly called you back to the brink of sleep—pure bliss. It took a while for you to finally move.

When you eventually did convince yourself to get out of bed, you glanced briefly out your window to the world beyond, trying to discern how the day might go. Everything was still, only the barest hint of movement flitted through the leaves. The sun was shining, seeming almost brighter than usual, and sparse, fluffy white clouds drifted at a lazy pace through a sea of the brightest blue. From the comfort of your home, it looked like a beautiful day—the kind of day that cradles you in its soft heat, holds you close, lets you know that everything will be okay. The perfect day for a summer treat, something cool and sweet.

Maybe if you had bothered to check the weather, to even glance at the local news just once before you decided to leave your home, you would have chosen to remain in the safe confines of your cool house. Maybe the nonexistent rumble of lawnmowers in your neighbors' yards should have been warning enough. The view outside your window of cotton candy clouds and mellow sunlight is not enough to know if a day in the Midwest will truly be beautiful, after all these years you should know better.

The blast of heat that struck you as soon as you opened the door was enough to make you question if you had somehow been transported to some new world. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

Somehow during the night Hell had bubbled up between the cracks in the pavement, seeping into the air of Hawkins, thick enough to choke. It warped the asphalt in the street, mirages of puddles at the edge of your sightline, spreading upwards in waves around you, distorting your vision of the cars parked along the curb. The humidity hung in the air like a second layer of clothes, thick enough to buoy you like one of El’s sensory deprivation tanks.

It wouldn’t surprise you if the soles of your shoes half melted somewhere between the walk to your car or the walk across the asphalt of the crowded mall parking lot. It should have been easy to guess that the mall would be more busy than usual.

Now, standing in the concourse of the mall, surrounded by crowds traveling in from all over Roane County, you’re starting to wonder if the better choice might have been to just buy ice cream from the grocery store. You doubt the store would have been very busy, nothing like the mall. It would have been closer to home, a short trip with the same reward. Well, not quite the same reward.

Steve Harrington doesn’t work at the grocery store.

You’ve known of Steve for as long as you can remember. You’ve known the sound of his laugh, the pull of his smile, the stupid jokes he would make instead of paying attention to what the teacher was saying. Steve has always been there, on the periphery of your existence, but you doubt he ever even knew your name, not before Will vanished.

Too shy, too weird, not pretty enough. Why would the King of Hawkins High ever notice someone like that? Someone who prefers listening to the song of cicadas and crickets from an open window than Madonna blasting at a house party. No, King Steve never would have noticed you when he was at Hawkins High.

But now? Smile softening his features; stance relaxed; and stupid, silly, adorable sailor uniform adorning his body—now Steve knows you.

He calls out to you as soon as you enter Scoops Ahoy, eyes igniting with something warm enough to churn your stomach, to start the buzzing in your head and the tremors in your hands, fingers aching for him to grasp them with his own, to hold them like an anchor.

“Hi Steve,” you reply, waiting until you’re close enough to the counter to speak normally instead of shouting like he had. “Seems like a busy day at the mall.”

“Oh, definitely. Everyone is trying to escape the heat. I’m just glad I’m not working at the pool this summer.” Steve passes a scoop of ice cream to a child, drops of bright blue already melting from the scoop and down the cone onto the kid’s hand. Steve turns to you, giving you his full attention. “What can I get you today?”

It takes a moment for you to decide from the many flavors available. Long enough for someone to step in line behind you, the person seeming to grow agitated immediately upon realizing that you don’t know what you want. But Steve doesn’t rush you, just chatters idly, scooping your chosen flavor when you finally do make a decision. You get it on a cone, ice cream already starting to melt. Steve’s fingers brush yours during the handoff, a small thing, enough to send a dusting of rosy pink across his cheeks. You’re too preoccupied with the ice cream, anything to keep you from staring, to notice. You lick the runaway drips before they can reach your hand.

Steve trains his eyes on you, a steady brown gaze holding you in place—intense. The very heat you had been trying to escape floods your own cheeks, warms your chest, your ears, everything.

“Thanks Steve!” You smile at him, the sweetest thing he’s ever seen, and for just a moment he’s left stuttering.

“No problem.” He moves to run a hand through his hair, a habit of his that only gets worse when he’s nervous, only to be blocked by the hat atop his head. He bumps it, causing it to shift, the AHOY now reading at an odd angle.

You only Look back once as you leave Scoops Ahoy, just to see Steve one last time. You expect him to be focusing fully on work again, the line having built up a little behind you as the two of you chatted. He’s getting the order ready for the next person, but he’s looking at you too.

You wave, a small thing—barely a lift of your arm, a stretch of fingers. It’s an awkward motion. You’re surprised that Steve even sees it. You’re half embarrassed to be caught longing when you’d only just parted ways. But he smiles brightly back at you, nearly dropping his ice cream scooper as he does. He tries to play it off with a heavy exhale—a full body breath—and another smile. Your heart shouldn’t be fluttering as much as it is.

—♡—

“You are a dingus with a capital D.”

Steve startles, turning quickly and brandishing the ice cream scooper like it might actually do some damage if he were suddenly attacked. Robin's head pokes out from the “Captains Quarters,” the clouded pane of glass slid to the side just enough for her to watch Steve in the midst of yet another trainwreck. This time the disaster left a line of disgruntled customers in its wake—customers that Robin just might have helped with if she were a more sympathetic person, but she’s technically on break and not inclined to clean up yet another of Steve’s romantic messes.

Unlike most of Steve’s attempts to ask a girl out, where he strikes out big time no matter how much charm he claims to possess, this disaster was caused by his continued inaction.

“What was I supposed to do, Robin? Just put her on the spot? And somewhere so public? She would hate that,” Steve justifies. He brings a hand to his face, rubbing as if he could wipe away his frustrations.

Most of the time when Steve asks someone out he doesn’t expect anything to come of it. Maybe a few dates, a distraction, at the very least proof that he hasn’t become a total loser. But he knows you, knows your little quirks, the things that make you laugh, make you nervous, make you you.

The two of you have been friends since Nancy Wheeler opened Steve’s eyes to the reality of the world (or worlds) around him. And he’s been harboring a crush on you since you both went to the Wheeler’s New Year’s Eve party. At midnight you had kissed Steve on the cheek, just a short peck, and he’s been a goner ever since.

It’s a giddy, ridiculously tender crush that sets his face aflame each time he even thinks of you, one that leaves him daydreaming about a future with you that he’s not sure he’s allowed to have. He’s been desperate to either get over his feelings or work up the nerve to ask you out, but has ultimately been failing miserably at both.

“You two hang out, don’t you? Just bring it up the next time you’re together. Or don’t, but I’ll definitely judge you if you don’t.”

“Robin—“ Steve begins to protest, but another customer comes up to the counter, forcing the conversation to be put on pause. He deals with the customer as quickly and as cordially as he can, more interested in the woes of his failed dating life than the man ordering an ice cream sundae. The customer takes forever to decide on his toppings, and Steve rushes to get the dessert together. One handoff of cash and a cup later and the transaction is complete. As soon as the customer is gone, Steve turns back to his coworker. “Robin, it will happen when it happens. These things take precision, you can’t rush them.”

“You’ve liked her for what, half a year now? Or at least longer than we’ve been working together. It’s clear as day that the feelings are mutual. My advice: make a move before she moves on.”

Steve huffs out a sigh, exasperated. He goes to run his fingers through his hair, once again being stopped by the stupid hat. This time he tosses the offending article of clothing on the counter, too frustrated to care about company policy.

“You could at least come out here and help,” Steve argues, lips downturned, crease forming between his eyebrows as his irritation grows.

Robin simply shuts the window. She is, after all, still on break.

—♡—

Two days later the heat still hasn’t broken. The sun roasts everything it touches and brownouts occur sporadically across town. Everything outside is melting. Lawns are turning brown despite routine watering, people are grumpy, and the humidity seems to be increasing. Two days later, Steve is, for the first time ever, grateful to be working at Scoops Ahoy, if only for the constant blast of air conditioning filtering through the ice cream shop.

Apart from the continued heat wave, the day is uneventful. Steve serves ice cream, goofs off with Robin, and lets the group of children that he seems to have taken under his wing (despite their lack of appreciation for him) sneak into the movie theater through the back door. Just a regular, boring, but air conditioned day.

The mall is busy again, though not as crowded as it had been the last time you came. People seem to have given up on leaving their homes for any reason other than to go to work. They avoid spending any time outside even if going outside means reaching a cooler destination. You, however, decide the reward of ice cream is worth the journey to the mall.

The possibility of seeing Steve again definitely helps sweeten the deal.

He doesn’t expect you to come back so soon. He’s on break when you arrive, tucked away in the back room doing his best to drown out the sound of customers placing their orders. The sliding glass windows only do so much to provide a sense of privacy, the textured glass warped just enough that Steve can’t see who’s in the store.

It’s a short break, just long enough for him to decompress, to not think about ice cream flavors and annoyed customers for only a moment. It’s an opportunity for him to breathe.

There’s a knock at the window, Robin’s form blurred by the glass but close enough to distinguish who distrubed the brief peace. The blue of her uniform is the detail that stands out strongest through the window, even as she backs away from the pane once more, returning to the counter.

Steve contemplates the decision to just not acknowledge the knock. It would be a small form of payback for Robin’s choice not to help him a few days before, but it doesn’t take long for curiosity to get the better of him. Steve gets up, slides the window open with more force than he really should use on the rickety track.

“What now Robin?” he nearly snaps.

It only takes a second for his gaze to lock on you, with your shining eyes and kind smile. You’re wearing a shirt with sunflowers on it. The pattern is fitting for the season.

Pretty.

Steve quickly shuts the window again, hustling to leave the break room and talk to you, shoving Robin out of the way in the process. She hasn’t taken your order yet and Steve’s not about to let her.

“Hey Sweetheart, what can I get for you?” The pet name slips out before he can stop it. You don’t seem to mind.

You greet him with a smile and a quiet “hello,” sending his heart racing and cheeks warming beyond the point that air conditioning can mask. By the time Steve finally feels in control of himself again, he’s already scooped your ice cream and is passing it off to you. Secretly he hopes your fingers will brush again. It’s such a small thing to want so desperately. He’d feel foolish if anyone knew, but it doesn’t happen this time.

“It’s on the house,” Steve says. He keeps his voice low, not wanting anyone else around to hear. “Since you’re my favorite customer.”

It’s just a small gesture, technically he isn’t supposed to do it, but the risk is worth seeing the look on your face.

“Steve, you’re the best!” You lean across the counter, free hand placed firmly to keep you from toppling over, and press a kiss to Steve’s cheek, just like you had at that New Year’s Eve party. It’s brief, soft yet firm, enough to short circuit his brain.

“It’s no problem,” he somehow manages to say.

He wants to tell you that you’re his favorite, you're his best girl, that he’ll give you whatever you desire, but the words catch in his throat, sharp like a pill swallowed dry, unmoving. He wants to ask you to be more than friends, even more now that he thinks maybe you feel the same. Why else would you have kissed him? He hopes you feel the same. Instead he’s choking, nothing coming out, not even to breathe. It takes a moment for the thoughts to form into something tangible, something that just might make sense.

You’re gone before he can finally get the words off his tongue, lost in the crowd, out of sight.

He let you go again.

—♡—

For the first time in a long time, luck is on Steve’s side. Or maybe it’s not luck, maybe the universe just grew tired of him dragging his feet.

It’s as he’s driving home from work, only a few hours later, that he sees you again. You’re lying in the grass under a tree, the shade engulfing where you lay while the rest of the grass burns bright under the evening sun. He recognizes your shirt, the one with the sunflowers on it. There's a plastic bag lying next to you, one you hadn’t had when you visited Scoops Ahoy just a few hours prior. It boasts the familiar label of the local grocery store, the contents scarcely staying inside.

He stops the car, nearly forgetting to take the keys with him as he runs to your side, afraid that something terrible happened. He calls out as he rushes to you, hoping for a response. As he drops to your side he’s happy to see you’re conscious.

“Hi Steve,” you greet, a lazy smile tugging at your lips, a content look on your face, like everything is right in the world, like seeing him makes it right.

“What are you doing? Are you alright?” He panics, hands gently running along any skin he can find, searching for an injury that isn’t there.

“I was walking home from the store and I got too hot. Have you seen the dogs in town? They’re all hot too. They keep lying down in the grass instead of going for their walks, and they seem much happier when they do. I thought I would give it a try.”

“Is it working?” Steve asks, relief palpable in his voice. You aren’t injured, just taking a break.

“A little,” you reply. “The grass is cool and the breeze feels nice, but it’s still too hot.”

You huff a little, slightly annoyed that your plan didn’t work as well as you had hoped. You still need to walk the rest of the way home before you can cool off properly. You wish you had a damp washcloth, something to lay across your neck or your face. You think the cool water against your skin would bring just enough relief to make the heat bearable.

You just wanted to buy some fruit from the store. You had a little money to spare, thanks to Steve, and thought some fruit in the evening would be nice. Maybe you shouldn’t have chosen to walk in the middle of a heat wave.

“Let me give you a ride,” Steve says, though it comes out as more of a demand than a choice. It’s too hot to be exposed to the heat for so long.

“But Steve, my house is out of your way,” you claim.

“Doesn’t matter,” he states. “That just means I get to spend more time with you.”

You give him that smile again, that lazy pull of lips, like you can’t help yourself. It's a small thing, he loves it. He doesn’t love that you make no attempt to stand, or even sit up. You just keep smiling at him.

“We should get going.” His voice is a sigh, more air than sound, breathless.

It’s only then, once you’ve been prompted by Steve, that you finally sit up. You’re closer to him than he thought you were, his knees practically pressing into your hip, face a mere foot from his own.

Grass sticks to your arms and he reaches out to brush it off, the brief contact making his skin buzz.

He can’t help himself.

Steve brings his fingers to your cheek, only the barest pressure. You melt into him, somehow softening even more from the slight contact. His fingers trail up, around your ear, back down to your neck where he holds you with his whole hand—not enough pressure to keep you there. You lean into the weight of his palm, content with the contact despite the heat.

He leans in slowly, entranced, and still you remain with eyes half lidded. He presses his forehead to yours first, another chance for you to pull away, to push him off if you want. But you just tilt your head slightly, a better angle for when he finally does kiss you, and that’s exactly what he does.

It’s gentle, as lazy as your smile, a slow melding of lips—sweet as a sundae. The kiss doesn’t last long, it’s still too hot outside, but it’s perfect in its brevity.

Steve presses a few more kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your temple, all for good measure, and you melt further into him, pliant beneath his touch.

“Come on,” he sighs. “I’m serious this time, let’s get out of the heat.”

“You’re the one who got us sidetracked!” Your voice is laced with giggles, too giddy not to show it.

“It’s not my fault you’re so pretty,” Steve claims, grinning as he does.

The two of you hop into his car, sighing in relief as the air conditioning kicks in. You keep your bag of fruit by your feet as Steve drives, leaving your hands free, and Steve takes the opportunity to reach across the center console to take your hand in his.

—♡—

It’s cool in your home. The sun casts nothing more than a glow through the windows, a quiet light. The ceiling fan in the living room is enough to keep the heat outside at bay. If you keep the lights off you can trick yourself into thinking it’s even cooler than it really is.

The house is quiet, no one else is home.

Steve follows you in at your invitation, trailing behind you, wide eyed, moonstruck, content. He keeps your hand in his, fingers tangled together, as the two of you pass through the living room to the kitchen. Steve sets the grocery bag of fruit on the counter, having insisted on carrying it while you walked from his car.

“That way you can have a hand free to get the door,” he declared while you walked up to the house. He said it with a grin, boyish and proud. He said it like he’s getting exactly what he wants.

“Can I get you something to drink?” you ask, looking through your refrigerator to see what you can offer him. The task is made more difficult with only one hand to work with, but you don’t really mind. Steve seems indifferent about the drink, so you grab two glasses for iced tea, just in case he changes his mind.

He only lets go of you when you need both hands free to pour the drinks. You bring your glass up to your cheek, pressing it into the soft skin there, hoping to steal some of the chill. It leaves a wet spot behind on your skin that Steve brushes away absentmindedly.

You take the opportunity of having both hands free to set the fruit in a bowl on the counter to let it finish ripening, then you hop up on the counter yourself. Steve comes to stand before you, pressed between your thighs, dark eyes taking you in.

It’s your turn to explore.

You bring your hand up to his cheek, outlining the bone, his brow, the length of his nose. His eyes close for just a moment longer the next time he blinks—adoring. And you think, maybe he’s wanted this as long as you have.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. He brings your palm to his lips, presses a kiss there before continuing. “On a date. We can do something quiet, just the two of us, go on an adventure.”

“I’d like that,” you say, leaning in close.

The second kiss starts out just as slow as the first, having no need to rush. This time, however, there’s no concern or fear that the feelings are one sided. There’s no need to hold back. He’s soft against you, holding you ever closer. Steve bites your lip gently, pulling just a little, and you open for him. Your hand finds its way to his hair, tugging at the already messy strands and he sighs into the kiss.

You want to hear that sound again.

Your hands keep wandering as his find their way to your waist, the back of your neck, anywhere that allows him to pull you further into him. Maybe you’ve both wanted this for too long. You’re unable to pull away now that you know you can kiss him, could have done so at any time and he would have kissed you back like this—hungry and desperate.

He leaves a trail of kisses across your jaw, down your neck, and you can’t help but sigh, still breathless but not wanting him to stop. They’re open mouthed but gentle, a light press of teeth followed by kiss swollen lips, the pressure not enough to bruise but enough to drive you crazy. You almost wish he’d mark up the column of your throat, but the heatwave has shown no sign of stopping and you can’t cover marks in this weather.

Instead you guide Steve back to your lips and kiss him a few more times for good measure.

It’s a while before you pull back, take a breath, settle. A lazy smile pulls at your lips. Steve’s own smile matches yours, eyes half lidded, warm with affection. He’s never looked so beautiful.

The tender way he holds you leaves you dizzy, sticky with fondness. You don’t know how you’ll ever be able to let go of him, too desperate to keep him close. He shows no sign of wanting to pull away either, too content to move. How did you get so lucky?

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things steve #season 3 steve makes me so soft I can't stop writing about him #he looks like a cartoon character i'm obsessed

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hwanchaesong · 2 years

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hi love <33 i was hoping you could write a choi san fic to ateez’s light :) id love a mix of both fluff + suggestive, thank you so muchhhh

a/n: hii bb! i'm so sorry it took a while for me to finish and post, but here ya go and happy reading~ 💚

👤: ATEEZ Choi San

📼: Light - ATEEZ

genre & warnings: fluff, suggestive, angst if you squint, cursing, soulmate au

word count: 622

for anyone who wants to, don't be shy and send me asks based on Prompts Request Song Version. Thank you so much!

Years of existence and Choi San's the only unlucky one in their friend group who still haven't met his soulmate.

Watching his buddies and their significant others, he always felt this jealousy towards them.

A lingering question in his head, 'When will I get to be happy like that?'

He sighed and gazed at the mark on his wrist, a star.

It represents the role of his soulmate in his life, but now he thinks that the person he's destined to be with is such an ass, making him wait for a long time.

Step by step, one inch closer and the sinister fate smirks as it decided to let the two of you meet in the most unconventional and embarrassing way.

It's not San's fault that the fitting room you're in was unlocked, he really did not mean to take a peek on your sexy curves and cleavage.

What can he do when he sees a half naked woman? He's a man for goodness sake!

"Who the fuck are you?!" you shrieked, trying to cover your exposed skin.

"I-I, um.." San's words trailed off, head spinning and not capable of forming a coherent statement as of the moment.

"You know what?" you approached the flustered man, causing him to widen his eyes and a bright red hue bloomed on his cheeks.

You looked at him fiercely, ready to fight a large (not to mention handsome and hot as hell) guy, but you stopped when you felt a pull towards him.

A connection that you never felt before, you quickly glanced towards the mark on your wrist, a mountain.

"You're my soulmate."

Chance present itself to those who are ready. To the people who are willing to take the risk of following the darkness.

All the sleepless nights of praying and wishing paid off, and that was nothing compared to the bliss of having the love of your life beside you in every single second of your breath.

You snuggled closer to him on your shared bed, enjoying his warmth on your body.

"Who would've thought that pervert will end up as my baby." you snickered against his skin when he pouted, muttering small complaints.

"You think you're lowkey?" he asked all of a sudden, the air around him shifting and you suddenly found yourself under him.

A sly grin on his face as he leaned in, lips almost touching, his hot breath fanning over you that had your body heating up amidst the coldness of the air conditioner.

"I saw the way you oggled at me that day, babe."

You smiled a bit, your arms wrapping themselves around his neck, "I mean, who wouldn't check out a hunk like you?"

You two are like puzzle pieces that fit perfectly, both adorable yet also such a tease.

The room is humid, lips colliding in an intense kiss and hands flying all over the place, desperate to touch every nook and cranny of each other's bodies.

Two figures keen on marking each other up, ready to give and receive everything just for the universe to see that they already found a home.

A fantasy that was dreamed of before is now turning into a reality, every deep breath and minimal action is a journey to a breathtaking dimensional trip.

In this world, we are all but a mere shadow of our souls, but in the end, in the face of your beloved, the dim sky becomes brighter than the sun.

You were, are and will always be his light, a twinkling star that sparks up the flickering fire in his heart.

Choi San was, is and will always be your tall and proud mountain that serves as your protection during the difficult times.

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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marmalade taffy

Helmut Zemo smut & feels. Soft!Dom Zemo, non-superhero!AU, Zemo being the weird uncle of college!Maximoff twins. This was written on a whim so if someone signs up to beta-read, I will shower you with affection and reminders to drink water. The Reader is addressed as "you" and is not described - race/age/body type neutral. The language I used for Sokovian is actually Serbian. Word count 2,8k.

Fun fact: I have mild synesthesia. Emotions/feelings and some people have an assigned color (and sometimes smell) for me. That's how the name of the fic was born. This fic feels like the colors of marmalade and taffy, look them up. This fic is dedicated to my lovely @slothspaghettiwrites , the shining beacon in my misty, rocky beach. (You're a periwinkle for me, by the way. I thought you might ask.)

When you first see him all you do is raise an eyebrow. His sleek, well-maintained vintage car stands out almost grotesquely amongst the various sedans and mom vans on the campus and you can see the glint of his wristwatch even from afar. Wanda's and Pietro's sheepish smirk only makes the situation worse - the girl's attire obviously screams "liberal arts" and her twin brother doesn't seem to have anything better to wear than tracksuits.

The man behind the wheel is unfazed. He is calm and collected in that European way, not conceited, just waiting. For what? You don't know. His eyes trail over you but he doesn't smile, simply gives a tiny polite nod. If you hadn't had extensive conversations about cultural differences with Wanda, you'd say he was extremely rude.

Shy, quiet Wanda, who's eyes lit up seeing her favorite not-actually-uncle. In a surprising dash of energetic agility, she hopped right into the car, her numerous scarves a bright flash of saturation against the campus grayscale. You giggle and wave at the departing car, snorting when Wanda's hand reaches over to briefly honk the horn, causing the driver to swerve the tiniest bit, his eyes trained on you in the rearview mirror.

He comes and goes often. Almost always in a different perfectly restored vintage car, mostly with the same polite mask of bored contentment. You know he's royalty in his home country and can't help but wonder how frivolously the twins act around him - no, free. He gives all the appearance of a silent, strict man.

You're proven wrong rather quickly. Freshman year left behind you, you and Wanda decide to ditch the dorms for an apartment - she finds one rather quickly and it's just you two in it even though it is ridiculously huge and the rent amount she requests is equally ridiculously small. Not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you pretend nothing is out of the ordinary and buy yourself a new pair of shoes.

Helmut - Wanda finally formally had introduced you two - doesn't come by often, however the visits are always... Eventful. He's not at all what it seemed to be; in the quiet of your apartment, a witty, incredibly clever man resurfaces from under the stoic façade. The Slav in him easily lets him consume alarming quantities of alcohol together with Pietro, who opted to stay in the dorms with his idiotic football team, and - you couldn't believe your eyes at the time - dorkily dad-dance squat in the middle of your living room, unfazed by your and Wanda's cackling.

The way Helmut is absolutely unbothered by the audience and the laughter, pale face flushed from the wine and a little smirk stretching his thin lips into expression almost catlike. The maroon turtleneck stretches nicely across his chest, as thinly as your lip that you worry between your teeth.

Pietro raises an eyebrow. You shrug.

"Got something in your eye, no?" He teases playfully and you shrug again, taking another swig of your nice, European beer.

There are more gatherings, more parties and quite a few rides in his car, when the wind blows your hair in all directions possible and intermingles it with Wanda's as you giggle and squeal in the back seat. Helmut always indulges you two; the word 'no' simply does not exist in that man's vocabulary. He insists politely but firmly on a dinner with all three of them on your birthday and the gifts he brings make your eyes pop out and your face heat.

"A woman like you makes any sensible man want to shower you with the finest gifts," Helmut's voice is quiet and his accent is thick and somehow, it makes it all that harder to refuse. He smiles like usual - tiny and a little secretive, as he pecks your cheek, filling the air around you with the smell of his cologne. It makes your mouth water and your fingers clench helplessly around the half a dozen of silk paper-wrapped boxes.

The summer rolls in and it's hot and humid and finally you don't have to worry about waking up at the crack of dawn or classes or the annoying boys who can barely take a no for an answer. The invitation to Helmut's villa doesn't come as a surprise; Wanda had been riled up over it since early May and Pietro and his whole damn football team were equally as thrilled.

You pack flowy dresses, daisy dukes and swimsuits. The expensive jewelry and handbag Helmut had gifted you, too, since the villa is surrounded by a whole neighborhood meant solely for the rich and famous. Wanda is absolutely unbothered by her own bohemian chic and you quietly envy her; the longer you get to know her, the more you realise of how much actually she does not give a fuck about anything besides her paintings and sculptures.

It's admirable, really, because she is talented. And Helmut knows it, too, having had collected and kept every single work Wanda had made, showing it off in the various rooms of his two-story mansion. The abstract fits in well and is a great conversation topic for him and his equally important friends. There's an endless stream of them in the first days and Wanda isn't overtly happy, choosing to run away to laze around the pool with you more often than not.

Helmut's friends stop at the glass wall between the inner side of the house and the pool to stare at you two, too, causing something dark and tense flash across his features. There always had been a sort of tangy obscurity in him, you've noticed, but not nearly enough for you to grow concerned. It added the bittersweetness, the flavour and consistency to the modest man.

Although calling him modest might have been a mistake. The moment you can't shake off one of his friends after a polite chit-chat seems to never end, Wanda nowhere in sight, dread and unease digging their sharp, spindly fingers in the soft flesh behind your rib cage, Helmut is suddenly there, arm wrapped almost possessively around your waist.

"Draga mea, Wanda is looking for you. She says it's urgent," He stares the man down with the eyes of a vulture. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced," Helmut seems to not realize he's still clutching you in a grasp of steel as the man opposite you rumbles out his name, few syllables you'd forgotten seconds after he spoke them for the first time.

"Baron Helmut Zemo," the fingers brush and squeeze once, gently, over the valley of your waist before letting go. You miss the rest of their peacocking, walking away with a fight and fire inside of your hammering heart. Anxiety and longing and confusion mix and blend, combining into a cocktail that has you beelining for the bar like a woman parched.

The next day you're sleeping off the hangover, first in your bed and then by the pool - Wanda had run off into town for one thing or another, and knowing her, she'd be back home at the crack of dawn. It was blissful peace, the soothing balm for your troubled heart and your aching head.

"Hungover?" Helmut's voice was quiet and a little bit teasing. None of the Eastern Europeans had ever showed the signs of having any ill effects from the alcohol they drunk, unlike you.

You stretched, too blissed out to care about the skimpy strings and straps of your bikini, basking in the gentle morning sun. "Mmm, not anymore," a swim in the cold pool had done wonders.

Your soft pink float rocked as Helmut's footsteps quieted, giving way to a short splash and the sound of his breathing somewhere in your space. Just as you cracked open your eyes, he reached out a hand to steady himself next to you. "I wanted to apologize for the situation yesterday. That man was stepping out of line. He is not welcome in my home anymore."

You stare at him and then you snort. The blunt was he usually speaks is so easy, it flows oh so effortlessly. No mind games, just honesty. You want to pay him back in kind. "Don't worry, Helmut. I just had a bit too much to drink," that was the truth. Any other time and you wouldn't have hesitated to unapologetically steer clear of any creep. Heat and bubbly don't mix and that was your own mistake.

"No, printsesa," the man in front of you let loose some of the delicious darkness, eyes growing stormy, hand gently resting over yours. "Some men are fools, they are nothing but animals. You deserve to feel safe, especially in my home." His lips stretched into a smile, water dripping down his jaw and making tiny circles form in the azure of the pool.

"I can't argue with that," you replied, catching the stray liquid and following the trails it made with your eyes. His forehead, dripping down over his eyes, making Helmut blink the stray drops away until they landed on his lips, trickling down his chin.

You swallowed, opting to dip your toes into the cool pool water before you could make a fool of yourself. The water splashed towards him, making a mischievous grin grace his usually serious face, as me made a half-hearted attempt to splash back weakly, making the water sizzle on your sun-kissed skin. Never the one to back down from a challenge, you knitted your eyebrows in mock offense, eagerly letting the water wash over you as you abandoned the float in favour of creating waves with your whole body.

The temperature contrast was delicious and Helmut's laugh even more so as it echoed in between the high walls of the building surrounding the pool. The sun was nearly at its peak, shining over your head in a beacon of heat that almost matched the one inside of you, the one that had blossomed there months ago and finally grew into a steady smolder, shooting sparks whenever you were around the baron.

It was hot and wet, the same feeling chasing you two when you finally kissed. His hand firmly planted on the side of your neck, his nose softly brushing against the underside of your jaw, Helmut was in no rush to taste you, to savour every millimeter of your sun-kissed skin. The man left you with your fingertips trembling and heart scrambling for purchase somewhere in the deepest pits of your belly.

"What are you so hungry for, mmm?" Helmut's voice rumbled next to the shell of your ear; you could barely focus, skin singing underwater, where he held onto you like a lifeline. "You have hungry eyes, ljubavi, tell me what it is and I'll give it to you," your bodies pressed flush against each other, his eyelashes flittering against your cheek.

"You," the maximum capacity for your brain was one-syllable words and you used it sparingly, failing to suppress a gasp when Helmut's mouth latched around a particularly sensitive spot right under your jawline.

Teeth scraped over it before he soothed the sting with his tongue. "All the things in the world, I could give them to you. And yet..." He sounded almost disappointed. Perplexed, just as you were at the strange admission. "A woman like you would have men fighting for your attention yet you give it to me so freely," he murmured softly, capturing your lips in a slow, fluid kiss once more. "I will make sure you have everything you could ever want."

Helmut's touch grew bolder as he steered the two of you towards the shallow end of the pool. The taste of him was intoxicating, like the sweetest, most alluring poison you'd ever tasted: you knew that once you had one small bit, you'd be addicted, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. His words were clever and his mouth even more, making the short stumble upstairs last hours.

A wall, baroque tapestry, marked with the wetness of the pool water, where you allowed yourself to be pressed against as he leaned into you with the entirety of his broad frame, domineering the kiss effortlessly.

You panted as your back hit the soft, million-thread count, unmade sheets of the baron's bed, staring up into his eyes and finding your own reflection in his pupils, blown wide with lust. The tiny smirk was back but now his unexpressive face was marred by a gleem, accentuating his moist, puffy lips you'd licked into and bitten in a heated frenzy.

"Beautiful, printsesa," he stated with quiet firmness, leaning over into you to unclasp and toss away the upper part of the bikini. The bottoms followed suit, flung carelessly somewhere. His hands ran over your as it sang, every tiniest nerve hypersensitive, coming alive with a fervor borne of months of longing, complimented by the summer heat and cool waters.

"Helmut," your voice wavered, flowed on the syllables as his clever, clever mouth trailed hot down your chest, briefly submerging each nipple into the sear of it. Goosebumps rose over your exposed body, highlighting a trail for him, a trail he followed eagerly. Kisses were candy sweet and marshmallow soft.

Hot breath at the apex of your thighs had you mewling and arching into it, having abandoned all shame, and Helmut found it amusing. The petite chuckle made an appearance, his fingertips ghosting over the part of your lower lips; he was as amused by your impatience as he was enthralled by the youthfulness of the gesture. "Shh, ljubavi, I will make it feel better," his accent as thick as clover honey and just as saccharine.

The first movements were tentative, brief and so light, the demanding moan slipped out of your mouth along with a growl of frustration. You felt continuous chuckling, slight stubble rasping along the sides your thighs; you felt him pick up pace and steady his hot hands on your hips as you attempted to trash against the overwhelming stimulation your pussy was receiving.

His moans, loud and wet, drove you closer to the edge like a drunk drove a Ferrari; Helmut's skill was unparalleled but it lacked precision as he lost himself in the moment just as much as you.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm- I'm so close," you managed to grunt out before the crescendo hit, eyes rolling back into your skull as the influx of more, more, more hit every nerve ending in your body. You could do little more than rest your legs on his shoulders as the noble man, the quiet storm lapped up every drop of your release.

He made the inside of you weak.

In seconds, Helmut was back on top of you, grinding his arousal into you desperately, almost begging for it and all you could do was let your body respond, mimic your lover, clench around nothing just as you felt him twitch.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded hooking one of your legs over his hip, eyes boring into yours with everything in them plain on display. It was a terrifying thing: as if your heart had suddenly grown legs, stood up and walked out into the bare, wide world, open for all to see. "Ti moa, skaži eto," his native tongue made his voice even more hoarse, you couldn't resist anymore.

"I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours," you chanted the words like a prayer, hoping he'd be merciful - and he is. No, there's only a hidden tenderness in his hands as he drives into your with increasing force that shakes you and makes your core quiver, igniting your flesh once again like the color red; it's messy and it's sloppy and you're barely aware of Helmut muttering something into the crook of your neck as you feel yourself clench down on him with a choked moan.

"Fuck," hearing him, the polite composed man, bite the end of his own orgasm into a curse made a wave of magenta hot rush travel through your body at lightning speed, his cock pulsating and coating you, claiming you from inside out so sweetly you couldn't resist a shallow gasp into his cheek, a gasp he mirrored as his own oversensitive flesh was once more assaulted by your combined lust.

The tide of his breathing was high; both of you spent yet still drunk on the newfound sense of togetherness. It was clear as a summer's day that in your arms laid a man who'd once lost something important and you - you were a someone who's never had anything of significance and perhaps, this time each other's arms would let you both keep whatever it was that you missed.

#helmut zemo x y/n #helmut zemo x you #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo smut #baron zemo x you #baron zemo x y/n #zemo smut #zemo x reader #zemo x you #bun writes #baron zemo #zemo #i am KNEELING

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ppersonna · 4 years

Text

the landlord - myg | m

↳ summary- your air conditioner breaks right at the height of a recordbreaking heat wave. good thing your hot landlord, yoongi, knows how to attend to any needs you may have.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+

↳ word count- 4.3k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- smut, light crack, PWP

↳ warnings- basically the plot of a porn, theres no plot, the plot doesn’t make sense, seduction, oral sex (m/f receiving), penetrative sex, dirty talk, fun laughing giggly time during sex, honestly yoongi is great and i love him, maybe exhibitionism if u squint ???, cum sharing, finger sucking, motorboating

↳ a/n- did i just write basically the plotline of a bad porno? yes. did i love it? also yes. this was lowkey inspired by my own landlord coming over to my place (that i DIDNT SLEEP WITH) and i answered the door in a state of undress :/ i hate myself lol. anywwayyss! enjoy yoongi the landlord! pls feel free to interact with me because i need constant attention uwu

The inside of your apartment feels hotter than the blazing sun outside. Your air conditioner chose the worst week to fritz on you. A record-breaking heat wave.

Nothing helps. You open windows, blow fans, sit in front of your fridge, take cold showers. All just momentary bliss that ends too soon.

It finally breaks you and you muster up the courage to text your landlord, Yoongi.

You inhale a deep breath as you click on the name. Min Yoongi, landlord. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment without realizing.

Your landlord who lives in the same building as you is likely the hottest and most attractive man you’ve ever met. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a crush on the man. Every month, paying rent was torture. You wanted to fling your legs open to him and request he takes his payment another way.

But you never did. He always remained cool and expressionless and it was hard to get a read on the man, let alone see if he’s interested.

Your fingers slide across the keys, nibbling at your lip as you decide what to say.

[to: yoongi] hi! sorry to bother you but my ac appears to have died and im afraid ill be next at the rate of his heat wave 😩 no rush but id appreciate help!

Perfect. Simple, slightly cutesy. Emoji to express how chill you are.

Your phone vibrates almost instantly and a smile curves on your face.

[to: me] oh no, we can’t have that. haunted apartments are hard to rent out 😉 im out until late tonight but i can stop by first thing in the morning if that’s cool?

A flirty line? Is this… working?

[to: yoongi] tomorrow is great! and don’t worry, if i die i won’t haunt this apartment, i’ll haunt yours 😌

[to: me] see you tomorrow, poltergeist 👻

You’re leaping through the air at the idea of the hot landlord semi-flirting with you over text when you notice your apartment. It’s disgusting. Your face burns red and you instantly work on the space before Yoongi comes over. He can't see you like this.

Sleep is out of the question. After your ravage cleaning and polishing and organizing, you’ve worked up more than a sweat. A cold shower helps for a moment but you end up lying in bed feeling slightly wet and very, very hot. The humidity is draining.

You change into an outfit of a crop top and g-string panties. You aim the 3 fans in your room to point around your bed for direct wind contact. It helps, somewhat.

Sleep finally comes as dawn breaks. It’s cooled off enough that the ambient air around you is finally tolerable. Exhaustion overwhelms you, and you pass out, hard. Finally.

You’re broken from your exquisite dream of being nailed by your landlord when a loud knock wakes you up. It’s disorienting. You’re so tired you’re not even sure where you are at the moment, let alone who is at the door. The knock sounds again and you scurry to turn off the loud fans and book it to the door.

The door swings open and reveals your landlord, Yoongi.

“Oh, hi!” You’re excited to see him, for reasons beyond fixing your air conditioning.

Yoongi steps in and looks like he’s about to speak but opens his mouth and remains silent. His cheeks tingle a light shade of pink and he’s staring at your body. Did you drool all over yourself all night or something? What was he staring—

Oh god.

You glance down at your body. The crop top you hastily changed into in the middle of the night hits you a little lower than where your breasts end. The G string is non-existent. It covers almost nothing, which is why you opted for it last night in your desire to get cooled off.

You take a step back from the sexy landlord still gaping at you and shyly cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m sorry, I—it was hot,” you mutter. “I’ll go change.”

Yoongi licks his lips, then snaps his eyes up to you and finds his voice. “It’s fine. It’s your home,” he swallows. “It’s hot in here, so stay comfortable. Don’t want to overheat you.”

His eyes stare down yours intensely. It feels like your veins sizzle, and it’s not related to the scorching temperature of your studio apartment.

He breaks the contact first and heads towards the panel in the wall where the inner workings of the air conditioner hide.

You wait in your kitchen, enjoying the natural shadow and shade from no windows and a spot to hide from Yoongi.

What if he thought badly about you? What if he doesn’t find you attractive and thinks of this as a ploy to get him to lower your rent or something? How could you recover from this? Would it ever go back to being the same?

You’re anxiously tapping your fingers on the kitchen countertop, listening intently as the landlord fiddles with pipes and belts and mutters under his breath every so often. Eventually, you hear a soft ‘aha’ and your air con kicks right on. You think it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. Instantly you feel the machine push out air. It’s lukewarm now from disuse, but soon it will be frigid cold. You stand in front of the breeze and bask, arms open to let the wind blow through you.

Yoongi clears his throat, and it startles you, making you realize you’re standing in your house nearly naked, ass cheeks out on display, under-boob surely peeking out to say hi. Your face burns and it makes him chuckle as you jump and attempt to cover yourself somehow.

“How long was I standing there?” You ask quietly.

Yoongi can’t wipe the amused smirk on his face. “A few minutes,” he shrugs. “Glad it’s working now for you.”

The air rapidly cools as the machine continuously pumps out colder and colder air.

“Thank god. I owe you,” you sigh.

“Nah, that’s what rent pays for,” he smiles.

He makes his move to leave you alone, and you recognize this is it. This is your chance. You can ask him to fuck the shit out of you now. If he declines, well, the first of the month would start being more awkward. But if he accepts… it’s too blissful to imagine.

You grab at his arm as he walks past you. He stops in his tracks, and his eyes travel to where your hands meet his skin.

“I’m serious,” you attempt to sound as confident as you can. “I owe you.”

He arches a brow at you and turns completely to face you. Your hands hover at the hem of your tiny shirt, lifting a sliver to give him a glance of the bottom of a rounded globe.

“Let me repay you somehow?” you ask.

A smirk lifts at one side of his lips. “You think that will cover the cost?”

Your cheeks heat and you pull the shirt up higher, determined to get him in your bed or die trying.

“I’m hoping.”

Yoongi’s eyes zero in on your tits. Rounded and full, nipples prickling in the fresh and rapidly cooling air. He contemplates for a moment as he lets his eyes get their nice, long drink of you.

“Yeah, now that I think of it, that should be exact change.” He drops his bag of tools and approaches you quickly, hands cupping your head as he kisses you intensely.

He kisses you with all the fire of the heatwave outside, melting you from the inside out. You’re sure to be sweaty and clammy after you’re finished with him. He swipes his tongue over your lips, and there’s no hesitation to let him in. Your hands grip at his sides, pulling his shirt up as much as you can while trying to focus on making out with the hottest guy you’ve ever met.

He chuckles against your lips at your weak attempt to disrobe him and he reluctantly pulls a step away from you to take the shirt off. He stands there and allows you a quick look before he’s back on to you. His skin presses against your chilled nipples and the fire and ice sensation makes you shiver.

Yoongi kisses you passionately, you notice. Like a lover. It’s laced with deeper intention and you hope you’re not overthinking it. You will your brain to just shut up and enjoy. Emotions can come later.

Now, you’re the one to remove your lips from his and he pouts slightly at the loss. You smile and slide down to your knees, hands undoing the button of his tight jeans and tugging them down.

“Shit, babe, I think you may be overpaying me,” he admits. “Wasn’t that hard to fix.”

As a finger pulls down the front of his boxers to let his cock spring free, you flick a smirk up to his face.

“Then consider this my repayment for being late on rent all those months,” you state before shifting your gaze back to his hardened cock. It’s gathered pre-cum at the head and you wonder if he’s been hard and wanting since he got here and first saw you. The thought is intoxicating and spurs you on.

Your tongue licks up the slick at the tip that threatens to drip off, before it swirls around the bulbous head. Yoongi isn’t afraid to be loud, it seems. You supposed you wouldn’t be afraid if you owned the building too. Who will complain? And to who?

“Hoooooly fuck,” he gasps. “Sh—shit I might let you pay rent like this for the rest of your lease.”

You pop your mouth off and lick your lips, allowing your hand to grip his shaft and begin stroking him.

“I don’t want to pay rent this way. How about we consider it a perk?” You smile, pressing forward to kiss his tip teasingly.

“God, a girl who doesn’t want to fuck me just to take advantage of me? And she’s hot as fuck and wants to blow me for fun?” he quirks his head. “Shit, be careful or I’ll end up falling in love.”

It makes your head spin a little and you suckle at the tip a little longer, making him keen, before you pull away again.

“Maybe that was the plan all along,” you simper, then take him in fully, letting his tip glide down your mouth to the back of your throat. He groans loudly, and it’s the most satisfying sound. It makes you want to do this more. Every day if you could.

You get to work, sucking him in, allowing him passage to your throat, vacuuming your cheeks to add additional pressure, gliding your hands up and down the slick shaft to assist you in touching every single bit. Yoongi is thriving. He can’t believe his luck. The hottest girl in the complex, the girl he’s secretly pined over, is sucking his cock as if her life depends on it.

You’re salivating at the act now, saliva spilling out your mouth as you continue to envelop his cock quickly. You slip it out of your mouth to lean down and lick and suck at his balls, which makes him hum in absolute pleasure. You don’t remain long—his cock is nearly pulsating with desire. Your mouth returns to its rightful place and as you’re licking and sucking and pumping and stroking him, you maintain even and sensual eye contact with him.

You want him to know this isn’t a chore, a means to an end. You want him to know you’ve dreamt of him fucking your throat raw every night since you moved in.

Yoongi got the picture pretty quickly. His mouth drops open as he openly gapes at your work, giving him probably the best and hottest blowjob of his life.

Your tongue swirls at the ridge of his head and Yoongi feels it snap—the tightness that holds everything back. He fucks desperately into your throat, relishing in the feel of your gagging and moaning. It didn’t take long until he was seeing it through to the end, pumping hot white ropes down your throat while he moaned out your name with a string of expletives.

The immoral pop noise your mouth made as you pull off his cock makes the blue-haired landlord standing above you moan.

“Fucking hell—where the fuck have you been all my life?” he sighs as he cups his hand under your chin. He beckons you back up, desperate to kiss you. You oblige and return to standing, pressing against his body to pull him in to a dirty kiss.

“Upstairs, apparently,” you murmur.

He swipes his tongue on yours, tastes himself there, and decides he wants to taste himself on you all the time. His hands slide down to your ass, the g string still curving down the line. He snaps at the straps as you kiss, making you puff a laugh against his lips before pulling away.

“I’d be willing to fix your leaky faucet in the bathroom if you let me eat you out,” he offers.

You’re tugging him towards your bed, knocking over multiple fans in the process, and flopping onto the mattress, landing on your back.

“Throw in fixing the squeaky wheel on my closet, and you’ve got yourself a deal,” you joke, spreading your legs to give him the tiniest clue of what lays between.

He sighs dramatically with a smile, “Needy tenant,” before he slips down to hover over you. He intends to kiss and lick every part of your body, starting with the tits that hypnotized him.

“Can’t believe you opened the door like that,” he chuckled as he plucked a nipple between his fingers and lightly rolled it. “I thought I was dreaming.”

The feeling is instant, electricity sparking at the tips of your nipples and warming its way around your body, directly to your cunt. You’re absolutely certain that by the time Min Yoongi reaches his mouth to your core, he’ll drown in it.

He moves forward and wraps his lips around the bud, allowing his hands to travel to the neglected one and to squeeze and pinch and prod. He’s rewarded with your beautiful sighs and gasps—it’s sweeter than any song he’s ever heard.

He presses your tits together and rubs his face in the cleavage there, making you gasp and laugh at the same time. He gazes up at you and flashes his gummy smile.

“I’ve really wanted to do that,” he admits, which makes you giggle again.

“Be my guest,” you approve. He takes your reply and does it again for just a moment, before he’s kissing and sucking at the flesh of your breasts. He wants to mark you, leave a piece of him for you to remember every time you see yourself. You moan in appreciation and rub your thighs together, desperate at the ache that grows with every nip and nibble of Yoongi’s lips and teeth.

He seems to understand and trails down, kissing and sucking at your long torso, abdomen, hips. He leaves little bruises everywhere and you want them to last forever. You want him to mark you and claim you as his own.

His fingers slip around the thin straps of your underwear, and he tugs them right off. He’s unable to stop the loud moan when he notices the slick that strings between them and your folds. You’re drenched, and he marveled at how excited you were about him.

“Fuck, babe—” he sighs as he lowers his chest down to lie in front of your spread thighs. Your center is weeping, slicked with your arousal and he can tell you’re desperate for friction, for anything. “Look at this perfect fucking pussy.”

You whimper as you can feel his breath so close to where you need him.

“Yoongi, please,” you whine. “I’m so fucking horny.”

“I can tell,” he hums. “Keep moaning my name like that and I’ll make sure you’re always horny and ready for me.”

He lowers his lips, hovering millimeters from your slit. He holds it there as he watches your anguished face nearly burst at how close and yet how far he is, before he obliges you and presses into you.

You gasp at the first swipe of his tongue on your clit. He maintains a soft up and down motion on the nub and you’re already seeing stars. He steadily increases the pressure and the speed, then spices it up by swirling his tongue around in different shapes, spelling out his name on your cunt with his tongue to remind you just who got you this fucking soaked.

Your legs falter and quiver as he slips his tongue deeper inside you, licking into your hole and nearly drinking you up. He pulls back and devotes his attention to your clit and your moans turn from soft gasps and pleas to loud whines as he slips his fingers into your cunt and slowly fucks you, spreading you out. He’s not small by any means, he feels he can get you ready to go.

“I want you to cum for me on my tongue,” he states, matter-of-factly. “I want to feel you on my fingers.”

You nod, plucking at your own nipples with one hand as the other seeks purchase in his hair.

“Can you do that for me, babe? Can you cum for me and get my hand nice and drenched? I want to lick it off my fingers.”

His fingers get frantic and he splits his time between suckling and laving at your clit and encouraging you with illicit requests and praises.

Yoongi continues, never letting up or even giving an inkling of a hint he’s tiring. His hand works like a machine and he slips yet another finger inside your heat, making you arch off the bed. He licks at your clit with just the right pressure, and he picks up the speed and it sends you tumbling towards your orgasm. You feel the breath leave your lungs as it hits you, core and channel muscles squeezing him tight and legs shaking around his body. Your moans echo off the small apartment walls, only drowned out by the sound of the fresh air-con still running.

“Oh, my god Yoongi—” you pant. “I’ve never cum so hard from oral in my life.”

He pulls his fingers from inside you as you come back down from your high and chuckles at your words. True to his promise, he lets the slick glisten on his finger and marvels at it, before he’s popping the fingers into his mouth and sucking them clean.

“You taste so fucking good,” he compliments, and it makes your chest tighten and tips of your ears turn red. “Fuck, I could eat you every fucking day.”

You smirk, still sensitive but feeling the desperate ache inside you needy for him and his thick cock. Your legs spread open as he lays between them and you’re wiggling your hips to get his attention.

“I’m sure we could arrange something in my lease for that,” you tease. “I could suck your cock hourly, honestly.”

He groans as he sits up between your legs, cock resting heavily on top of your mound. It’s so close, so close to where you need it to be. You appreciate the thick member as it rests and as Yoongi catches his breath. It’s thick and long, on top of your mound the tip reaches to the tiny swell of your stomach. You know you will not be able to walk tomorrow, that’s for sure.

“You’re telling me I could have been going down on you and been getting my dick sucked by the hottest girl on the planet this whole time and all I’ve done is give you shit about rent?”

You stifle a laugh and spread your legs open wider. “Looks like it. We better make up for all that lost time, don’t you think?”

His cock is rigid, almost stone, and he agrees heartily.

“Fuck yeah, we should. I’ve been dreaming about being inside you.”

He sounds so dirty, looks so sinful—it’s all so much and you’re almost begging for him to take you.

He reaches down to the pants on the floor that dropped and shimmies a condom out of his wallet. You send him a look that he silences with a roll of his eyes.

“Every dude has one, chill,” he mumbles. “I haven’t gotten laid in like a year and a half.” He pales as he realizes what he just said. “Not that it matters. Or that I care. Or that you care—christ can we fuck now please?” He asks as he rolls the rubber onto his stiff cock.

You’re laughing a bit, not at him but with him, and you lean up on your elbows to kiss his lips. “If it makes it better, I haven’t gotten laid in 3 years so I’m the loser by comparison,” you assure.

He wants to ask you how the fuck you haven’t gotten laid in that long because you’re the hottest god damn person he thinks he’s ever seen, but he realizes he doesn’t care and that it works out in his favor because Yoongi doesn’t like competition.

“Looks like the landlord needs to fix yet another problem of yours,” he winks as he lines himself up. You lean back onto the pillows and sigh as you feel the touch of his head right at the opening of your slit.

In one slow motion, he slides himself to the hilt. It’s tight, so fucking tight even after one orgasm, and Yoongi nearly hollers at the feel. He’s sure his eyes are rolling back in his head. It’s warm and tight and wet and even through a condom he’s in absolute bliss. He’s hoping one day he can try it without—fuck you raw and stuff you full of his cum.

He’s still inside you, and after a moment to breathe and adjust to the thick girth of him, you’re whining. “Yoongi, fuck me, I need you so fucking bad.”

A feral groan leaves his lips, and he’s off, beginning a pace that has him hoarse from moaning in no time. He’s never felt so good inside a cunt before, never understood how some men could do crazy shit for ‘magic pussy’, but now he gets it—he realizes he’d probably do some dumb things for a chance to be inside you again.

“Oh, yeah—” you whine. “S-shit, you’re so fucking big, Yoongi. Fuck me nice and deep.”

“Mmm, yeah? You want me to bruise your cervix? Want me to make this cunt remember my fucking cock?” He thrusts harder, pushing into you with diligent speed and intensity. “Gonna make sure you can never cum from another cock again, only mine.”

You’re losing your breath with how hard he’s fucking into you, both your moans and pants coming out in quick little bursts between his thrusts.

“Y-y-yes! Yo-o-ongi! Right there!” He hits a spot that feels so good, and you feel the pull towards orgasm tighten.

“God—you feel so. fucking. good.” he emphasizes with a thrust. “Need to feed your tiny pussy my dick every day, hm? Needy little cunt needs my thick cock.”

Tears form in your eyes. The depths he reaches inside you nearly scrambles your brains—you forget everything that isn’t Yoongi and his perfect thickness spearing inside you.

“Yoongi! Gonna c-cum!”

He goes harder, becomes rabid for your second orgasm and wants to feel the way you squeezed his fingers on his cock, knowing the channel will feel even impossibly tighter.

“That’s right, good girl,” he praises while he maintains a punishing pace. “Let me see you cum on this cock, baby, wanna see that pretty little pussy all creamy for me.”

His thumb rubs at your clit, moving it in circular motions, and diverts his eyesight between watching your full tits bounce and your lips open and close in pure bliss. You’re the definition of fucked out and Yoongi feels a surge of testosterone at the sight—knowing he was responsible.

“O-oh! Th-there!” You’re frantic and he can tell you’re right on the edge. He goes even faster, deeper and harder, and it’s the final straw. You’re catapulted off the edge and thrown headfirst into your orgasm. As he suspected, your perfect cunt pulsates around him like a fist and he’s groaning and stuttering as it triggers his own release.

It takes a few moments for both of you to come down, before he pulls his softening cock from within you and disposes of the condom. You’re breathing hard, and he’s smiling at the sheen of sweat on your body.

“Good thing I got that AC fixed today, hm?” He asks as he leans over to kiss at your lips.

You grin and pull him down to lay next to you, snuggling into his body. He holds onto you and kisses your head. He feels a level of contentment he’s never felt before.

You break the silence. “Now, as the landlord’s girlfriend, do I get any special perks? Like you’ll throw the utilities into my rent? Free cable?”

He chuckles against your forehead. “Not a fucking chance, babe.”

#bts #bts imagine #hyungsmutsociety #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #bts smut #bts yoongi #bts suga #yoongi smut

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sanfl0werrr · 2 years

Text

title: pocket full of sunshine

tw: mention of suicide, depression

// the sun is on my side

i breathed in the hot and humid air, not really a fan of this weather if i might add. but i’m here, i’m here standing outside the door of my house and staring into the sky with my eyes closed, basking in everything warm; the warmth of the sun, the warmth of existence and the warmth of everyone’s smile.

i am standing here with a smile on my face and laughter escaping my lips, knowing that the sun is on my side, that even when night arrives, the sun will come out and gift us with its light.

the light of hope. that was what i prayed for, what i’ve always been praying for. all i wanted was to be granted the hope i’ve longed for. because the light in me was starting to flicker.

the light in me was starting to get dimmer with every second i’m existing. i didn’t know how to make it stop.

// and takes me for a ride

the house was empty by the time i woke up, it was always empty regardless because no one was ever home. i switched on the television and left it on as background noise so i don’t feel too alone.

but who was i kidding? the moment i opened my eyes and started to be aware of things was the day i realised, i will always be alone. dad was gone, my own mother was too caught up with my brothers instead. so, here i am. left alone to fend for myself.

“remember your first lesson on the bicycle? was fun, wasn’t it?” i hear my dad speak over the television noise.

instinctively, i looked up and poof!

he was gone.

yeah, dad. it was really fun, but i can no longer ride it anymore. not when you’re gone.

i wish i could talk to him and tell him everything. he was the only one who listened, the only one who knew how to comfort me in my darkest time. i wish i could see him again.

even if it’s just a short while.

// i smile up to the sky

“isn’t the sky beautiful?” wonwoo nudged me from the side, wiggling his eyebrows. “you’re happy that i brought you here, right?”

i laughed at his ridiculous expression, “who are you and what have you done with my wonwoo?”

i see him raising his brows in curiosity. ah, must have been my choice of words. ignorance is bliss, so i decided to feign the words i’ve uttered and brushed it all away.

“my beautiful, beautiful girl, you must have missed me.”

my smile grew, and we stayed in that silence. a comfortable silence.

truth be told, i didn’t know what to say to that. in all the months i’ve known him, he was more of the listener than a do-er. this sudden change of persona scared me, but there were butterflies in me. wonwoo caused the butterflies to grow without me realising.

i smile up to the sky, “it’s pretty up here. i love the cold air against my skin, how the stars are shining in this moonlit sky and the fact that you’re here with me as well.”

“anything for you, really.”

and it suddenly clicked, wonwoo’s change in persona.

“i’m not changing my mind, there’s nothing for you to do. there’s nothing that you can do anymore.”

“please,” wonwoo had grabbed my arm at this point and i sighed in defeat, looking into his dejected eyes.

“then stop the pain,” i had begged him, to let go of me and to let go of us. “stop this pain.”

// i know i’ll be alright

i called up each and every one of my friends that day, to ask them how they were doing. no malicious intent whatsoever, but i guess they thought i wanted something.

i could hear how their voices were trembling, scared of how i might ask them for a favour or two. i laughed it off and told them that we should meet up soon. they laughed it off and agreed, hanged up soon after that.

it was dad’s anniversary since he’s gone and i thought i could’ve talked to one of them, to reach out and say what’s on my mind, but i guess i looked too happy for someone who needed help. they didn’t think i needed help.

house was empty as usual, it didn’t feel like home even when everyone’s here. but even on this day, it felt like a normal day, as if dad wasn’t gone.

“wake up! wanna go play badminton? 1-on-1 with me! hurry and wash up, i even made you breakfast!” dad appeared once again in my peripheral view.

the moment i looked up to see if he was there, he poofed!

he was gone, again.

my vision blurred as tears immediately streamed down my face. i screamed out in pain, hoping my dad would hear me.

instead, he didn’t appear again for the rest of the day like he usually did.

hence, it was decided that i’ll be giving myself a few more chances to find hope.

a few more days and i’ll be alright. i know i’ll be alright, because it’ll be the day i’ll be long gone.

// take me away

the thing about people is that they never think twice before speaking, and once it’s out there, there’s no way anyone can take back what they said.

it’s all ingrained in the mind.

and i remember her words all too well, because she’s repeated it yet again. over and over again.

“she’s no daughter of mine!”

“her brothers are just better than her, just look at her, so useless around the house.”

“she’s the ugliest out of the three!”

everyone around us were chortling with their heads back, amused by her words. they didn’t mind that i was insulted, and they’d go along with everything my mum had said. i had no place there, i didn’t belong anywhere.

there was no way i could stay and be surrounded by them anymore. whatever happened, had made me remove a few chances to zero. no chances before it all even begun.

there were no hope left in me, it’s now or never.

dad, take me away. take me to you, please. i beg of you.

// to better days

“i can’t let you do this!”

i turned around and saw wonwoo gasping for air, his hair wet from his own perspire. i hold back a smile, touched by his presence despite it all.

“don’t do this, please,” he cautiously took a step forward, and instinctively, i took a step back, closer to the edge of the roof on the abandoned building.

“okay, stop! i won’t move!” he shouted from across, afraid that i might make any sudden movement.

“no one here loves me, wonwoo. it doesn’t matter if i exist or if i die, because my presence never really affected anyone.”

“the day i needed someone the most, i was all alone in that fucking house. i called up my friends and guess what? they thought i needed something, they thought i wanted a fucking favour!”

“i just needed someone that day and no one, no one was fucking there for me! my family hates me, all i hear daily are just insults about my looks and how i’m so useless.”

“is that love? wasn’t family home? why am i an outcast in all of these?”

wonwoo was on his knees, begging and pleading for me to think again, that all hope wasn’t lost, but honestly, that was the last thing i wanted to hear.

“goodbye,” i closed my eyes and fell on my back, letting gravity pull me down as wonwoo screamed out to me.

i hear the sirens of the ambulance getting closer as i lay on the ground, unable to move a single inch of my body. the blood was dripping from my head due to the impact and the pain was excruciating.

but despite the pain, despite it all, i gave the sky one last smile.

“to better days,” i whispered it out.

“you’re okay, yeah?” wonwoo tried to assure me as he held onto my body, crying. “ambulance are here, please stay with me. please.”

and before i could reply, my consciousness fades away.

#seventeen #angst #seventeen wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo angst #oc #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo scenarios #tw: mention of suicide #Spotify

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iamwestiec · 3 years

Text

June 25: t4t Chengqing! 💜❤🏳️‍⚧️

handwaved lots-of-people live AU, canon-era, trans woman Wen Qing, trans man Jiang Cheng, porn with feels

A/N: In this AU, we're assuming cultivation techniques exist with similar effect to hormone blockers and HRT. Wen Qing has breasts and a penis, referred to by the narration in non-specific terms. Jiang Cheng's bits aren't described, though Wen Qing makes reference to his cock. Explicit bits under the cut!

Read on ao3

They're in her favorite place in Lotus Pier, the private pavillion in the little cove behind the sect leader's rooms, when he asks.

It's a sultry summer evening, fireflies dancing beneath the softly swaying branches of the willow trees on the shore and a gentle mist rising above the lotuses, their blooms furled and guarded like precious secrets in the twilight. It's nothing like the home she grew up in, but it's the place in her new home she feels most free. Jiang-furen and Wen-daifu are left behind, put away with embroidered outer robes of vivid purple and scarlet or nestled on soft fabric in a lacquered box next to a crown that could be both lotus and flame and a comb that represents a bold promise fulfilled.

Here, she need only be Wen Qing, and her companion need only be Jiang Cheng, her lover, her husband, her friend.

His head is in her lap, and she's combing her fingers lazily through his unbound hair. The fine hairs behind his ear have curled from the humidity in the air, perfect little spirals that she twirls around the tip of her finger. He hums a low, satisfied rumble against her thighs. "Wen Qing, could I—" he starts, a blush spreading across his nose and those perfect cheekbones.

Ah, she thinks, one of those evenings. She digs her fingers a little more firmly into his hair, scratching at his scalp and tugging with the kind of tension she knows grounds him.

"Ask for what you want, A-Cheng," she instructs.

Intimacy between them has been... interesting to figure out. Neither of them had much space to become practiced at tenderness, and both of them have known their own bodies first as raw material to be shaped, cultivated into the right tool, the right weapon, something with which to do what needed to be done with a little friction as possible. Learning pleasure as husband and wife has been a negotiation, a dance, and—somewhat to both their surprise—a delight.

"I'd like to make you feel good," he says, still adorably red in the face but undeterred. "To undress my wife and properly appreciate her beauty."

He's quiet as she considers, closing his eyes and giving her the space to feel out where she is in her mind and body today, if she's up for this kind of attention. It's a lot, the fervency of her husband's admiration. A shiver races down her spine, and he smirks just a little, no doubt interpreting it as anticipation.

Correctly, as it turns out.

"You may," she tells him, and his smirk blooms into a dazzling smile. She tugs sharply on his hair again, and he bites his lower lip to school his expression into something less giddy. She relaxes her grip, and he sits up, pulling his hair back into a single low braid with brisk, efficient movements of his hands. She loves his hands, strong and scarred and so different from her own, and he blushes again when he notices her watching.

He inclines his head towards their rooms. "Is my lady ready to accompany me inside?"

She asjusts her seat on the cushions and tosses out a quick talisman, mentally offering a wry thanks to her brother-in-law for inventing a silencing charm that doesn't require an enclosed space to set. Jiang Cheng’s eyes go wide and dark, and she grins. "It's such a lovely night though."

He glances around quickly, as though reminding himself they can't be seen, then gives her far too low a bow. "As my lady says."

It's always heady, being loved this way. Jiang Cheng moves with such reverence, carefully loosening the ties of her robes and drawing the soft fabric slowly apart. He kisses each bit of skin as its exposed, soft presses of lips against her throat, her shoulder, down her arm. He takes her hand and turns the palm up, kissing along the sensitive skin from the inside of her elbow down to her wrist, nipping at the meat of her thumb when he reaches her palm. She twists her wrist to trace over plush lips, and his mouth is hot and wet when he draws her fingers between them, tongue tracing patterns on the pads of her fingers. The sight and sensation is more erotic than it has any right to be, and a little shudder passes through her. He pulls off with a quiet pop and moves back up her arm, kissing across her collarbones and repeating the whole procedure as he slides her robes off her other arm. He's beautifully obscene, sucking on her fingers with his eyes closed in bliss, and she watches him for awhile, letting the heat build in her belly and between her legs. He'd stay there as long as she let him, though, so eventually she curls her fingers to dig her nails into his eager tongue, and he releases her with a chuckle and a kiss to her fingertips. "Apologies," he says, sounding not sorry in the slightest.

He snakes his arms around her and runs strong hands down either side of her spine. She arches back into him with a little sigh of pleasure as his fingers find the spots where he's learned she carries tension. "Massage?" he offers, but she shakes her head.

"Not tonight." She loves it when he presses her down and works out all the knots and kinks in her back, but she has better use for his hands right now. She leans back further, and he takes the hint, lowering her onto the cushion and swinging a leg over to kneel astride her thighs. He leans in to place a kiss on her brow, and she closes her eyes so he can drop more kisses on each closed lid, the tip of her nose, scattered across her cheekbones, on her earlobes and the hinge of her jaw, back and forth until she growls and bites at his lips when they press featherlight to the corner of his mouth. She swallows his laughter as he opens for her, letting her bleed off some of the fire he's stoked in her veins in hungry, passionate kisses. Her hands are in his hair again, and she knows his neat braid will be crooked and messy when she lets him up. Good.

After a while, she relents, and he pulls back with laughter dancing in his eyes, the way he always gets when he riles her up enough for her to let her control slip. She pretends she isn't half-breathless and nods imperiously for him to continue. He's smirking again as he moves down her chest, but she decides to allow it, for what's coming next.

Wen Qing is not a vain woman, merely one fully aware of her impressive accomplishments. Her breasts, in her opinion, are one such accomplishment. Her family's work in medical cultivation includes several treatises on people like her and Jiang Cheng, who know themselves to be something other than what the bodies they were born with suggested, and she had worked diligently as a child to grow her golden core fast enough that she might take advantage of that knowledge from an early age.

Jiang Cheng runs his hands up her sides and cups her breasts, pushing them together and kneading them gently. His hands are the perfect size to span their fullness, and she loves the way it feels when he plays with them. He brushes his fingers over her sensitive nipples, pinching and teasing as they stiffen up further under his ministrations. Her breath stutters when he looks up at her through his lashes and bends to take one in his mouth. He rolls it back and forth under his tongue, nibbling gently at first and then less gently as she arches her back and presses her chest up into his face. He sucks, hard, pulling back until her breast hangs stretched like a drop of water from his lips, and at the same time he pinches her other nipple. He releases her from his mouth and follows the tender flesh back down, nipping and kissing his way over across her chest to give the other side the same treatment.

It's gorgeous and intense and for a while Wen Qing thinks they'll just stay like this, grinding against each other while Jiang Cheng worships at her breasts. She wouldn't mind. It's blissful, nearly euphoric, the way he suckles and licks and teases them, but when she bucks her hips up, he chuckles and pulls back.

"Apologies again," he says, "this husband was distracted by his wife's perfect breasts." The fact that he so clearly means it is almost—almost—enough not to earn him a glare. The breeze through the pavilion is cool against her wet nipples, and she wants to shove his face back to her chest.

Then he slides further down and bites at her hipbone, and the noise she makes is somewhere between a moan and a yelp. He plays his fingers across the waistband of her inner skirt. "May I continue?" he asks.

"I was promised undressing and appreciation," she says, with as much cool haughtiness as she can muster while she feels like she's burning up from the inside. "And you know I can't abide leaving a task half done."

He laughs at that and sits up to pull the skirt away. He runs his hands down the ouside of her legs to her feet, digging his thumbs into the edge of her arches firm enough to make her hiss. She can feel the thunderstorm charge of his qi flowing through her meridians and stoking the fire in her belly.

"I should never have explained acupressure points to you," she teases. "That's cheating."

"Your meridians are beautiful too," Jiang Cheng insists, unrepentant. "I mean, I assume. You'd know better than me." She laughs and hooks her heels around his waist, tugging him back down towards her. "I was going to kiss up and down your calves and praise the beauty of your feet," he grumbles.

"I'll consider them duly praised," she declares. "I'd rather have your mouth a little higher."

He grins again, and lowers his lips, now flushed from his earlier efforts, to the inside of her thigh. "Like here?" he murmurs, and she sighs something like a yes as he begins to trace swirling patterns over her skin with his lips and tongue. He teases back and forth, a little higher each time, sending waves of pleasure up her spine. She lets her eyes fall closed as he reaches the apex of her thighs.

"You're gorgeous," he says, cupping her sex and pressing down with his whole palm, the way he knows she likes. Years of training her qi to shape her body mean that she doesn't get hard without intentional effort to direct her blood and energy to that organ. She usually prefers not to, because she loves the way this feels. Firm, deep pressure against all the most sensitive parts of her. Jiang Cheng’s mouth is hot and wet as he licks and kisses between her legs. She moans and presses up into his face, chasing that slick heat and pressure that feels so good. He takes the very tip of her into his mouth, sucking and teasing it like he had her nipples, and she shudders at the burst of intense sensation.

She's close, she realizes, built up slowly from his thorough teasing of her body. She thumbs at her nipples as she pants out, "Can you— A-Cheng, please, I want—" and he grinds the heel of his palm over her hui yin point. He's cheating again, she distantly notes, sending a burst of his own energy into her body, but she feels too good to tease him for it. The charge of his qi—like lightning, like zidian, like nothing else in the world—twines with the fire of her own energy and races through her, a bright burst like sparks up her spine over the lower, slow waves of pleasure rolling through her body. It's gorgeous, and every time she lets Jiang Cheng pleasure her like this, she's overwhelmed by the sheer decadent bliss of it.

When she opens her eyes, he's already staring up at her, resting his head on her hip and smiling that soft, awed little smile he gets sometimes when he's not thinking about what his face is doing. "Come up here," she says, no command left in her voice at all, but he comes and curls around her, kissing her gently, still with that same reverence. "That always feels so decadent," she admits, lingering wisps of pleasant sensations still humming gently through her body. "Give me a second, and I'll be happy to return the favor?"

"Not tonight," he says. Sometimes it's easier for him to focus on her. When she glances out the corner of her eye, though, she sees a blush creeping across his cheeks again. "Besides, I, uh, kinda..."

"Ground your cock into the cushion while you were using your mouth on me?"

Now he flushes fully scarlet. "Yes. That," he chokes out. Wen Qing kisses his flaming cheek. "It's just so much more sensitive now!"

Perks of marrying a Dafan Wen, she thinks smugly. Perks of the war being over, too—she'll be able to teach such techniques much more widely.

"Good," she says aloud. "I like when you enjoy yourself, husband."

"I like to enjoy you," he shoots back.

"And you do it so very well," she agrees. His smile is pleased now, and she kisses it off his lips, feeling perfectly, wonderfully herself in the heart of Lotus Pier. 💜❤

#PrideMonthSnippets Masterpost!

#PrideMonthSnippets #the untamed #wen qing #jiang cheng #chengqing #trans pride #trans headcanons #t4t chengqing #sexy times #oh golly this one is not a snippet #westie writes

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mourntheantagonist · 3 years

Text

#HarringroveApril Day 18: Heatwave

***

Billy was used to hot. He lived and breathed Southern California’s dry heat for nearly two decades that eighty-five degrees had to be comfortable, especially growing up with a father who nickel and dimed every facet of life, and the use of air conditioning dipped too far into his beer budget. Billy was left with only open windows and a fly swatter by his bedside to kill all the bugs who managed to pass through the mesh screen. And he had the beach. The perfect place to go and cool off when temperatures neared triple digits and he was drenched in sweat just sitting still.

He knew he would miss the beach when he was corralled into moving their lives to the Midwest, no ocean within any conceivable driving distance in sight, just land and lakes and rivers and the stench of nature uncorrupted by mass industry.

And there wouldn’t be the heat that left him drinking water like it was heroin to just replenish all that had sweat out of him.

But he was wrong.

Sure, the temperature didn’t really ever hit those astronomical, record setting highs, but just because the number on the weatherman’s screen read only eighty degrees, it was the humidity that made it feel like an actual hell on earth.

And when the unprecedented heat wave hit Hawkins, Indiana, in springtime no less, Neil continued with his tyranny over the thermostat, and let the house on Cherry Lane become just one large oven inside. And he was completely unfazed. He just kicked his feet up on the coffee table and drank room temperature beer and relaxed, just providing more evidence to the case that Neil was truly a cold blooded creature.

He couldn’t just open a window because it only made the place hotter, and fanning himself with magazines was barely doing a thing and he felt like he was just cooking in there.

So he did the one activity that hadn’t been taken away from him by the cross country move, and he got in his car and drove fast. The windows rolled all the way down as he sped through long paths lined with trees, the stream of air blowing his hair back and out of his face and unable to hear the sound of music with the loud roar as wind gusts entered his ears.

Billy didn’t normally pay attention to the signs on the road when he drove through the town, hoping for the day he got lost enough that he ended up in an entirely new city, but he saw the word ‘lake’ in that bold white lettering and made a sharp left turn down the unpaved path because it was about the closest thing he’d get to the ocean.

It was empty, he momentarily figured there would be at least someone else there to combat the heat, but there was more than one body of water in the town. Perhaps he’d just gotten lucky.

Billy pulled off his socks and shoes and shirt and tossed them into the passenger seat of his car, and slowly walked into the cold water, stepping on sharp rocks that made his feet ache, but he didn’t mind it when the low water temperature gave him a chill that ran up and down his body.

He walked in further and further until the water was up to his hips. He splashed some water up into his face and it all just felt so good. There weren’t crashing waves, or the fear of wiping out on his board, but it felt like the ocean on days when it was peaceful. Like the evenings he’d run out to the beach during sunset to the places nobody ever went to and he’d stand on the shore and let the tide wet his feet. Only the sounds of seagulls and small waves.

The lake was more peaceful. The birds here sang instead of squawked and the water only made small trickling sounds due to his own movements. He was protected from the sun by the canopy of trees above his head, and for a moment he forgot he was supposed to hate Hawkins.

Even with how quiet it was, Billy didn’t recognize the sound of a car driving down the same narrow path he took, too consumed by the blissful silence. He only turned around to the sounding of his own name.

“Billy?”

He turned around just to see Steve standing by his own car wearing a pair of board shorts and flip flops, and a copious amount of sunscreen on his skin.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, looking at him accusedly.

“What does it look like I’m doing here? It’s fucking hot out.”

“Aren’t you from California? I thought you all were just used to the heat.”

Billy just splashed some more water on his face. “Dude it’s over ninety degrees and eighty percent humidity, nobody’s used to that.” Steve just looked at him with a tilted head. “Are you just going to stand there and stare at me all day?”

“Are you going to leave?” Steve asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“The lake is big enough for two people, Harrington. I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve just rolled his eyes and threw his towel on the ground and entered the water about twenty feet to the left of him, as far away from him as he could get.

This wasn’t about the fight. Billy knew this wasn’t about the fight because he knew exactly what the ‘something else’ was. The ‘something else’ was last week. Billy stupidly kissed him behind the house at some Junior’s party. They were both drunk, but neither of them stopped the other from going further and further until they were in the backseat of the Camaro, and by then they were only stopped from stripping their clothes off by the sight of nearing headlights.

Billy drove Steve back to his car after that point. Both of them feeling so dirty for what they were doing that they didn’t talk or even acknowledge the others' existence. It was nothing but heat and regret.

And Steve was stealing glances at him from across the lake, those same eyes he gave him when he slammed the passenger door shut. Purely pissed off.

Billy could allow himself to wallow in his own self pity, swim in the lake until his toes cramped up and his skin pruned, ignoring the shirtless Steve to his left, but where was the fun in that.

He made it a point to get Steve’s attention so that he saw him throw his shorts and underwear all bundled up onto the lake shore.

“Seriously?” Steve asked, unimpressed. His eye roll could actually kill people.

“Come on Steve. Have a little fun.”

“Why? Just so it can end up like last time?” Well at least Billy was right about the reason Steve had been giving him the death stare for the past ten minutes. “So you can kiss me, almost fuck me, and then not say a single word to me for over a week?”

“Quit being such a fucking girl about it.” Billy swam over to Steve, who made no attempts to swim away which was hopefully a good sign. He got all up into Steve’s personal space. They were chest to chest and Billy attached his lips to Steve’s neck slowly, and he wasn’t moving away. Just biting his lip and growing hard enough when Billy bit down that he could feel it through his board shorts. Billy moved up from Steve’s neck and kissed him, juxtaposed from the last time they did it. None of the frantic, messy, pushed up against a wall kind of thing. Just the gentle cradle of Steve’s jaw and soft press of lips that made his knees want to buckle beneath him. “Would it make you feel better if I talked to you this time?”

“Maybe.”

“Then take off the shorts.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #mandi writes tresh #ficlet #harringroveapril #harringrove april #lemons #not really tho

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bonesofapoet · 4 years

Text

Aphrodite’s Kiss

[matt murdock x you]

author’s note: back on my vigilante bullshit for the foreseeable future, I guess!! one of those ‘oh no, my significant other is daredevil and now we get to Work That Out’ things that everyone is trash for. blood/injury mention, explicit language

word count: 1362

ao3: here

It was a warm day in June.

{thursday, 11:12 am. from: Karen Page

Good morning! I thought we could grab lunch at that corner diner we always go to? Haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, just want to check in.}

The sun was shining with reckless abandon, it spared absolutely no one from it’s merciless rays of ultraviolet fire. There was a shimmer that hovered above the cement if you looked close enough, looked hard enough, or just simply spaced out with your eyes staring into the grayscale void.

{thursday, 2:47 pm. from: Karen Page

Fine. I’m coming over.}

Your only saving grace was a cool breeze that blew through the wide open windows of your apartment, curtains whipping and snapping during the sudden, aggressive gusts of wind. It almost made you forget the sun was scorching and relentless, this ebb and flow of balance.

It was your excuse, nonetheless. Why you hadn’t left your apartment in two days. Or answered your messages. Or acknowledged that your phone existed in any manor, really.

You had finished a book though, cover to cover. A mediocre three star piece of prose that left you feeling worse than you had when you started it, which, in hindsight, was a spectacular accomplishment in and of itself. Maybe you should have given it four stars instead. The book in question had just found a home on your bookshelf when a knock at your front door stopped you mid-reach, heartbeat picking up speed each second faster than the one before.

For fuck’s sake.

“Because of the heat,” said Karen Page, shoulder propped against your creaking door frame. Her tone was accusing, expression disbelieving with a twinkle in her eye that screamed she knew just what kind of shit you were full of. The ghost of a smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “Right.”

A sigh escaped from deep within your chest, and you invited her in. Both of you chose to ignore the comfort food of the day spread upon your coffee table mingling with dirty dishes – and, honestly, they weren’t even all real dishes – and most definitely pretended not to notice the take out containers you haven’t gotten around to throwing away.

At least you were eating. At least you weren’t watching Pride & Prejudice on repeat to cope.

Not yet, anyway.

“It’s known to make people less active than normal, you know.” you replied, voice carrying on the innocent tone you chose to wield. You knew Karen saw through your cover – she was without a doubt using her incessant journalist tactics on you, but you were committed to run just a little while longer.

It was bittersweet, the avoidance. Easy.

“And less likely to pick up the phone?”

“That involves activity, you see.”

A laugh escaped her, filled the quiet room with the first real breath of life you’ve seen in days. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “You could at least let him know you’re okay, if you won’t speak to anyone else.”

It struck you as odd, why you should let Matt Murdock, of all people, know how you were doing – whatever the hell that meant – when the last time you saw him. . .

That was the thing.

Silence filled the air, took refuge in your home, your lungs, stole your breath and all the ones you planned to take. You looked away from her to an open window, watched people live their lives as they passed by your building. Blissful in their ignorance.

“I’m fine. He should understand if I need time to myself to – whatever this is I’m allowed to do. Not talk to him. Sort through – things.”

“To sulk, you mean,” Karen corrected. Her eyes had lost their glint of suspect, her features had softened, opened, relaxed.

You huffed a breath. Refused to lie to her.

“He left me, Karen.” you made a vague gesture to the world beyond your windows, your living room, the old t-shirt you lived in when you needed something familiar and kind close to you. “Am I supposed to be doing anything else?”

Broken fragments whispered behind your eyes when you closed them, even just to blink. That night muted in monotones of slate grays, deep navy, midnight black. The cold, damp rain that soaked through your shoes, your clothes, pierced your skin and clung to bone. Thin, icy fingers wrapped around your heart to squeeze, squeeze, squeeze as Matt Murdock – no, Daredevil – stood in front of you, bloody and dripping and wearing fucking devil horns and crimson, armored leather -

She didn’t agree. Didn’t disagree. He’s not okay either, she told you. Just go see him.

So you did.

It was still stifling hot when the moon rose.

The stars whispered to be careful, watch your step. He’s broken glass, they told you, all sharp edges and red stained hands.

The change of scenery hadn’t made it much better, the hallways were still stuffy with oppressive, stagnant air. Humidity still peeled away cream-colored paint, bubbled the cheap carpet and made your clothes cling to your skin like the words he whispered to you when-

The chipped wooden door to his apartment opened before your courage slithered back to nurse your wounded pride.

Be careful, the shadows whispered. You stepped over the threshold, bathed almost immediately in soft pastel pink and washed out blues. It was the afterglow of comfort you had begun to associate with your nights in Hell’s Kitchen. Before you were, unceremoniously, left in the rain. It made your chest tighten, your fingers fidget with the fabric of your clothes. You could still feel those ice-cold fingers around your heart. Still felt the rain cling to your skin in desperation.

Matt said your name with care, like he was dancing around a wounded, wild animal that had been cornered into a cage.

You turned to face him, both of you cut open and bleeding your hearts all over the floor, voices raw as they slipped and slid in the thickness, the heartache, the fears and confessions that littered the very ground you stood on.

He’s cosmic fury; danger: do not cross, the soft breeze trilled in your ear. It followed the path down, down, down your jaw, down your neck as Matt crept closer and trailed his fingers in it’s wake.

You shivered, the chills all over your body screamed at you to walk away – this was uncharted territory, and you had no more room for surprises.

Matt Murdock, the brilliant lawyer you had fallen for, was, apparently, Daredevil. Had been this whole time. You discovered the hard way. The inconvenient way. The dangerous way. Matt Murdock did not want to ruin you, but that was not his choice to make.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, hands falling away from you. You wondered if he meant it, but everything about him said he was.

“I know,” you answered, voice quiet in the dark. Your fingers trailed their own path along the line of his jaw, his shoulder, held his hand when he, too, shivered under your electric touch.

Neither of you particularly liked where the chips had fallen, crushing both of you under their impossible weight. In that moment, both of you wished for an easier life. A better life. One without constant bloodshed and paranoia and extra precautions for walking down the street. Wished for a future when you didn’t have to memorize contingency plans for if This then That.

But that’s all it could be for now. A wish.

A soft cascade of rain began to soak the city beyond the windows, the soft pattering against glowing windowpanes the soundtrack to a night that felt like home, felt like the beginning of something else. New. Exciting. Questionable.

You hadn’t forgiven him, but you were not going to be pushed away. He agreed in-between hard won kisses that left your lips swollen and your stomach giddy with butterflies that chased away the fear threatening to nestle in your heart.

The stars whispered to be careful, watch your step just before dawn broke; Matt curled warm around you in the mess of sheets and blankets. He’s got the devil in him, sinister and tainted and vile.

Good, you whispered back. I can take him.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock imagine #daredevil imagine #daredevil oneshot #matt murdock oneshot #matt murdock #daredevil #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #kas writes

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tay-is-writing · 4 years

Text

Stargazers — Asahi x Reader

This fic is part of a collab run by @euphylli with the prompt “It’s 3am, why are you at my window?” Word Count: 1.9k Synopsis: On a hot summer night you find yourself unable to sleep and go to your neighbor for help Warnings: None just fluff

The humidity left a sticky residue in your room. No matter how low you set your thermostat, the hot summer air wouldn’t stay out. You tossed your blanket off of your body in a desperate attempt to cool off, or at least to stop sweat from coating your bedsheets. You would definitely have to wash those come morning. Despite your struggle, it still felt like a sauna in your bedroom, and you quickly gave up on the idea of getting any sleep that night. It’s not like you had anything to get up for the next day. You were home from college at your parents’ house for the summer, and... so was your neighbor.

You sent a quick glance out your window to your neighbor’s to see if the light was on. To your dismay, it wasn’t. You were getting flashbacks to high school as your mind became set on what to do next. Your fingers gripped the bottom of the window and slid it open. Immediately, you were smacked in the face by the muggy air outside, which was somehow even worse than your room. Removing the screen from your window and leaning it against your wall, you started to question your choice. It had been a few months since you had last spoken to your neighbor, and maybe this wasn’t the best way to start again. Nevertheless, against your better judgement, you swung your leg over the ledge and crawled through the window. You weren’t necessarily sneaking out. Sure, you were secretly climbing through your bedroom window, but you could’ve walked out the front door if you had wanted to. This was just more efficient.

Your foot made contact with the roof shingles, the ridges digging into your bare soles. You slowly slid down the roof towards the gap that separated your house from your neighbor’s. In all the years you’ve been bridging the gap between the two homes, you hadn’t fallen once. But then again, you weren’t quite as coordinated as you were at sixteen. Luckily, this wasn’t the first, and you let yourself fall forward onto all fours for balance. Did you look particularly graceful as you crawled up the roof? Frankly, you looked like a complete idiot, but, hey, it got the job done. As you crept up the roof, you considered turning back. Just imagine how embarrassing it would be if he turned you away at the window. You shook the thought off. It wasn’t like the two of you weren’t on speaking terms or anything. It had just been a while since you both had the free time to talk face to face so you relied heavily on texting and FaceTime calls.

Your thoughts took you all the way up to the window, where you gave three quick raps before you could take the time to talk yourself out of it. A yelp was heard from inside the room, followed by a loud thump which you could only assume was your neighbor’s body hitting the floor. At least he was up. A separation was made in the blinds that were obstructing your view of the room and two big brown eyes stared into yours. You gave a sheepish wave and the window slid open.

“Good morning, Asahi!”

“It’s 3 am, why are you at my window?” His voice was groggy and you assumed he was either on the verge of falling asleep or you had just woken him up. You felt slightly guilty for disturbing his rest but at the same time, you knew he wouldn’t be angry. At the moment he was mainly disoriented from the late hour and concerned as to why you were here for the first time in a while. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a little restless, I guess. So can I come in or should I head back?”

“No! Don’t leave!” He quickly moved out of the way to let you slip through the window before closing it. His hands fidgeted nervously as he thought of what to say next. “Sorry, it just took me by surprise. You haven’t been over in a while and I was scared something was wrong, but I’m glad you’re okay. I wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to you.” A smile ghosted over your lips as you realized just how much you had missed him. You reached out for his jittery hands, trying to calm them. Surprisingly, he didn’t jerk away like you thought he would and instead let his hands settle in yours. This was new for both of you. Sure, you used to hang all over Asahi like he was your personal jungle gym, but this just didn’t have the same effect.

“Not you getting mushy already,” you quickly joked in a desperate attempt to change the tone of the conversation. “So, where are you taking me, big boy?” You cringed as that slipped through your mouth. That used to be your go-to nickname when it came to teasing Asahi, but now it just felt wrong. Without answering you, he walked to his closet and threw a pair of slides and a hoodie at you. “It’s a literal sauna outside and you want me to wear a hoodie?” You watch his eye trail down your body and you remembered the lack of clothing you currently wore in a desperate attempt to cool off enough to sleep. Since the idea of getting any rest that night was out of the question, you reluctantly shrugged on the jacket, mumbling about how you were gonna sweat like a pig.

When the two of you left the house, it was through the front door this time and not the window. Asahi opened the passenger door to his car, a beat-up Nissan that he bought for college, to let you in like the gentleman he was. He slid into the driver’s seat and turned to you. “How does convenience store food and a trip to the park sound?” You eagerly nodded. Late-night snacks with Asahi was some top tier shit, and frankly, you were feeling pretty hungry.

A sense of peace filled your mind as you watched Asahi drive. The car ride was mostly silent, only the sound of Asahi’s playlist that you’d always scrunch your nose at when he’d play it with you. Soft streetlights would periodically illuminate Asahi’s face as you passed beneath them. His hair was disheveled from only waking up minutes ago and his stubble wasn’t yet shaved. Despite that, he still looked perfect to you. If you were being completely honest, you used to have a crush on Asahi in high school, but he was always so skittish that you were afraid to act upon it and end up scaring your friend away. Yet some of that old crush still remained. It was extremely repressed, obviously, but definitely still there. When you walked inside the convenience store, Asahi was still on your mind. When you realized you didn’t have your wallet on you since you were in your pajamas, he insisted on paying and refused to let you pay him back. He opened up your door again and refused to let you carry the bag of junk food on your lap while he drove. When one of his hands slipped off the wheel to rest on the center console, you had to restrain yourself from reaching out to grab it. When you reached the park, you jumped out of the car before Asahi had the chance to open it for you. It wasn’t that you didn’t like how he was treating you, in fact, it was quite the opposite, but you just didn’t know how much more you could take before your long-repressed crush resurfaced.

The two of you settled on a spot in the grass to eat the snacks Asahi had bought. A bag of popcorn was emptied in about a minute in your repeated attempts to land a piece in Asahi’s mouth. After going through a majority of the food you let yourself fall back into the ground. He followed your movements and laid next to you, both staring up at the sky. On nights like this when the two of you were younger, you’d make up random constellations and try to find them again the next night. Your personal favorite was the “man bun” constellation, which just happened to be a random cluster of stars that sort of formed a circle, but mostly it just existed to poke fun of Asahi’s hair.

“God, the stars are so beautiful.” Your head was tilted up, gazing at the twinkling lights in the sky, and your lips were parted in amazement. Asahi fixated his eyes on you. To him, all the stares paled in comparison to you. You were perfect.

“I know something more beautiful,” he murmured, gaining your attention. You knew where he was going with this, and there was absolutely no way that you’d let him get away with saying something so cheesy. It was adorable when he said stuff like this, but interrupting and making Asahi flustered was much cuter.

“Of course! You’re the most gorgeous person I know.” A small smirk ghosted your lips as you watched his face flush red. You weren’t lying; he was gorgeous. You rolled over on your side to look at him, not even bothering to be discreet about it. “Asahi, I have something to tell you.” His face morphed to concern, but you continued before he could interrupt. “I like you. I actually have for a while now, and I completely get it if you don’t feel the same way. It’s not something I’d want to throw our friendship away over, but I just wanted to let you know.”

An uncomfortable silence overtook the conversation, and you started to regret your decision. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Asahi, fearing that he’d have an unsavory expression. It wasn’t until you heard a slight chuckle that your eyes darted back to him. His face was still the color of a tomato and he had a permanent smile implemented on it.

“Please tell me you’re serious about this. Do you know how long I’ve liked you? Daichi and Suga would tease me about it for hours when we hung out.”

It felt like pure bliss to hear those words. You reached out to touch his face to confirm that this was, in fact, happening and not a result of heat exhaustion. “Can I kiss you?” you asked, not wanting to startle him or move too fast. He gave a quick nod and you brought your face to his. Your noses brushed against each other as your lips connected. God, you were thankful for kissing conventions because Asahi would’ve seen your heated face if his eyes were open. Not that he couldn’t feel it. He brought his hands to gently rest on your shoulders, not wanting to force you anywhere. When both of you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his. It was far from a perfect kiss, most firsts are, but it was sweet. You shifted your body to a more comfortable position over his and went in for another kiss. This time was cleaner and you could feel yourself melt into him, the salty taste of popcorn residing on his lips. A soft hum came from his mouth, leading you to smile and slowly disconnect yourself. All those years you had spent yearning over him felt worth it as you saw him smiling underneath you. No one else in the world, just you two stargazers.

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uwua3 · 4 years

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golden boy.

🌸🌷 sakuma sakuya

summary: summer was sakuma sakuya—forever your golden boy

warnings: angst, flings, ocean, summer romance, unrequited/temporary love

author’s note: please help i am going through sakuya brainrot because of a certain someone (you know who you are) who spammed me with lucifer! sakuya !! in order to prevent it, here’s a self indulgent angst one shot about summer fling! sakuya ₍ᐢ ›̥̥̥ ༝ ‹̥̥̥ ᐢ₎ (why is my automatic response to write angst that Hurts My #Feelings,,, okay???)

below are multiple quotes about summer that made me think of golden boy sakuya himself! :D

word count: 1,913

music: animal crossing – shawn wasabi, sophia black

“All in all, it was a never to be forgotten summer — one of those summers which come seldom into any life, but leave a rich heritage of beautiful memories in their going — one of those summers which, in a fortunate combination of delightful weather, delightful friends and delightful doing, come as near to perfection as anything can come in this world.” — L.M. Montgomery, Anne’s House of Dreams

There’s something about summer—it’s more a feeling than a season, isn’t it?

At least, that’s how you felt about Sakuma Sakuya. Golden boy himself who instantly warmed your skin with a slight touch, the god of sunlight who lived in a world where it was always June. That was who Sakuya was to you: a fleeting, sickly sweetness that left too quickly. Anything was possible during summer, where the days overlapped one another and stretched into infinity. That was your only time with Sakuya.

“How are you, my golden boy?” You murmured lazily upon the balcony, sweat slick against your forehead and it felt like you were in the deep end of a pool. Barely breathing with this humidity, suffocating on an empty promise that only held true in the last few summer months. Regardless of the suddenness from your absoluely perfect nickname for him, you could hear Sakuya’s genuine, light laugh from beside you.

“Couldn’t be better.” Sakuya whispered back, as if he couldn’t dare break the hazy daydream keeping you two together. He only bumped his elbow into yours, it reminded you how little you needed to move to make him yours. You could only imagine how gorgeous he must’ve been with a blush across his sunset–lit face, so you reached your hand out to take his. It was shaking slightly, but Sakuya squeezed back anyways with a light press of a kiss to your knuckles. His lips must’ve tasted of ripe strawberries and juicy watermelon, which you would confirm soon with a smile.

With the smell of celebration in the air, the indescribable setting of idleness meeting hopeless dreams, and a fling only the sun would bear witness too, you were certain of one thing and one thing only. Summer was Sakuma Sakuya—forever your golden boy.

“Summertime is always the best of what might be” — Charles Bowden

Life was beginning again all because your golden boy, and you could slowly forget who you were before this summer. Until, it stayed, reminding you of how soon this would all end like the noisy cicadas. Just like a warning, that summertime could not last forever even with the son of the sun himself.

That evening, the ocean spoke in tongues you couldn’t understand, curling around your bare ankles with the guidance of the full moon. Unprecendented mysteries beneath the waves, nothingness that cost lives to be discovered, and secrets taken to the grave were just beyond your reach. All past your fingertips brushing against the salty water as it retreated into the depths of the unknown. Sand molded around your feet seemed to take you in deeper and deeper, willing you to stay in this summer bliss forever.

But, it was June. A day of hanging by the beachside in perfect weather, a blue sky above with no clouds, and savoring the time you two had together made for memories you’ll never forget. Perhaps it was how that seashell you kept in your hand matched his eyes, or how it felt in the moment to go underwater with him hand in hand, but you sighed softly into another sunset. Summer went too soon, and like a fool, you wished for more time.

Feeling a gentle lingering touch against your shoulder, his hand rested upon your skin, unaware of how you burned guiltily from his summer love. Sakuya sat down as well, taking a second to appreciate the quiet intimacy you both shared. The sun was setting during golden hour, the ocean was painted in a dreamy shade of purple pastels, and more pretty souvenirs of sea glass surrounded you. It was perfect—he was perfect.

“We should head back home.” You slowly said after a while, to which Sakuya hummed something akin to disagreement before resting his head against your shoulder. You subconsciously wrapped your arm around him, delicately toying with the salt–dried strands of his hair at the nape of his neck. Sakuya wanted this feeling to last for the rest of his life: romance bursting alive like the world when it was summer, hot and fiery, everything it was meant to be.

“Stay with me.” Sakuya turned his head to mumble in the space of your neck, his warm breath ghosting over your collarbones. You knew his words had a double meaning, that spending the night was just a small part of what Sakuya really desired. Ever the hopeless romantic, Sakuya dreamt of a year–round, committed relationship with his fated soulmate. But, you weren’t his for a lifetime, just this summer.

So you ignored his demand and instead replaced the dwindling newfound freedom of responsibility with a temporary love, standing up and putting your hand out. You both knew what your answer meant deep down inside, and Sakuya should’ve ran away, but he gently took your hand anyways. Walking away from where the waves met the shore, you two headed to your place in the humid summer heat, laughing and smiling like you two weren’t mortals on borrowed time.

When you kissed your golden boy made of sweet nothings, temporary fixes, and momentary love that night, you saw summer and only summer.

“You are so much sunshine in every square inch.” — Walt Whitman

Sakuma Sakuya—to you, perhaps those were the two most beautiful words in the Japanese language. Whenever you said his name, it tasted like sticky, melted ice cream and a wave of happiness embraced you like a sunny afternoon. His existence itself was a simple joy, one you could never have enough of; he came near the definition of perfection in this imperfect world.

It was... easy, being with Sakuya. You liked it—the frequent, meaningful displays of affection that held all the love in the world, the light shimmer of dreaminess that came with his thoughtful, gentle words, the impulsive willingness to do anything and everything for acceptance in return. You knew Sakuya loved this (you) to an unhealthy, unexpected level, that he woke up and jumped out of bed to see you and wished on every dandelion to sleep in your arms. It was the romance of it all, the possibility that your chance encounter was a product of destiny. He often sleepily giggled about soulmates, and when he gave you that innocent look under the stars, you didn’t have the heart to disagree.

Tonight was one of those nights. The sheets messily tangled around your bodies, clothes from this busy morning wrinkled from wearing them all day. His shirt was too big, and his baseball cap was still on your head; it was so mismatched but somehow, it worked out. The puzzle pieces fit despite the oddness of it all, and you liked his intricacies. The comforter was thrown on the floor at this point, the windows were open with a light breeze swaying the translucent white curtains. The moon glowed from up above with the constellations watching your summer romance painfully fizz out like a firecracker.

Sakuya was playing with your fingers, his hands delicately holding yours as he rambled about anything that made his day. You diligently listened, savoring every word that escaped his lips as you laid on your side. July was beautiful on him, even though he was a creation of spring. His half–lidded eyes sparkled despite yawning, and when he looked into yours, he grinned and moved in closer. Sakuya slowly held your hand tighter, curling up in bed to face you. He rested your joined hands between you two, watching and admiring your ethereal shine.

You knew what he wanted to say so desperately, the three words that would change everything. Before Sakuya could start, you pulled him into a tight hug and closed your eyes, mumbling a, “Good night, golden boy”. He ran his fingers through your hair, sighing contently as you two dozed off to greet a new summer dawn.

This was Sakuya’s first ever taste of love, and boy was it sweet. But, for you, this was just another pastime you knew would go too soon.

“Summer romances end for all kinds of reasons. But when all is said and done, they have one thing in common: They are shooting stars-a spectacular moment of light in the heavens, a fleeting glimpse of eternity. And in a flash, they’re gone.” — Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook

Sakuya was forever curious, innocently naive about anything that slightly piqued his interest. So, when he asked a question on an everchanging summer’s night, you realized it was August.

“What are we?”

You inhaled the nostalgia brimming in the festival atmostphere, the crowds apart of a distant background that couldn’t hide you from the inevitable. Sakuya looked so, so pretty in his newest yukata, the cherry blossom design highlighting his bright hair and eyes underneath the glow of the paper lanterns. But, his face was uncertain as he glanced upon your expression to find some idealistic truth. You didn’t let it show, just cast your gaze against the night sky, waiting for the annual fireworks show upon a grassy picnic blanket.

It was something you could tell Sakuya wanted an answer to for a long, long time. Maybe before the start of summer even, when catching one another’s eye lasted too long, or when you’d always find yourself in his room a little too late. It was a response you wish you could bottle up and throw into the ocean, watch it sail away into the abyss with no remaining evidence of its impact. But, you couldn’t do that. It was nearing the end of summer, and you knew this would be one of the last times you could see Sakuya was more than a friend.

“We’re...” You started before a firework exploded above. The surrounding groups reacted with awe, staring at the vibrant night lights with buzzing excitement. Even Sakuya fell victim to the firework’s spell, his big eyes reflecting the sparks with a starstruck smile. You couldn’t bring yourself to continue, instead swallowing the rejection and sneaking glances at his side profile. He looked so happy, so distracted, you couldn’t remind him summer was over along with the fireworks.

When Sakuya turned his head towards you, a wavering, scared smile graced his lips. He spoke, but the fireworks cut him off. Sakuya’s face was illuminated by neon shades of the rainbow, as festival goers cheered for an encore. You knew he said those three little words that meant everything to him, so boldly and proudly like it would change your relationship with him.

You attempted to blink away the tears, but Sakuya worriedly cupped your cheek, using his thumb to brush away the singular tear that trailed down your face. Before he could ask what was wrong, you placed your hand over his with a sad, sad smile.

“I’ll miss you, golden boy.” You weren’t overshadowed by the fireworks this time, and Sakuya smiled, too, despite the tears. He suddenly understood what you meant, and repeated himself.

“I love you, I’ll always love you beyond summer.”

Summer was Sakuma Sakuya—but, he was no longer your golden boy.

#sakuma sakuya #sakuya sakuma #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! one shots #act! addict! actors! one shots #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #sakuya x reader #a3! sakuya #a3 sakuya

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cupsofsuga · 4 years

Text

𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ━ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 *:·。.

{ ⚠️} WARNING - This is a yandere au, meaning the following may be triggering to some viewers. I am not trying to discriminate the boys in any way, this is for entertainment purposes. Viewer discretion is advised!!!

{ ☕️} NOTE - this is in the order of the member’s obtained! thanks for the request, daisy! also, creds for idea goes to @bangtans-apollo!!!

{ 💐} ANON ASKED - ❝ Headcanons on how the fanclub discovered each other and reacted to each other’s obsession for YN? ❞

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐉𝐈𝐍

ah, the melancholic suffering of a lovelorn teenager

how he holds nothing but an eternity in the crevices of his heart

the serene sunlight, words dripped in saccharine, cloyed gestures

nothing hurts more than praying to whatever god truly exists that you’ll return the adoration but finding the fatal fate of no response

and that leaves jin now, seething with envy that could intimidate a pack of wolves

how dare the teacher not pair you up with your soulmate!? it’s just blasphemy!

someone gets to soak in the glitter of your presence, they get to bathe in the rain after a century in sunlight

all while he has to waste precious hours of his time with some plastic nobody

he has to waste time with bland, boring kim taehyung

he’s a dull star amongst a million planets, a saturated wasteland amongst an oasis of color

and how jin’s blood burns seeing that you flash that summer smile to someone who most certainly doesn’t deserve it

ditching the dinner date with his soulmate, jin is forced to work on this godforsaken project with the loner

if only you two had run away when you got the chance, relishing in each other’s warmth as he holds the privilege of looking into your eyes, which he finds resemble dewdrops held upon spider’s silk

that is the honeyed heaven he so badly craves to taste

and as he stumbles around taehyung’s adobe, the curiosity held within jin get’s the best of him as he stumbles into his bedroom

and oh god, what secrets did he uncover

your face, his lover’s face plastered all over the walls and ceiling

some even had his face punctured out of them, some taken without your consent, one’s that jin even took himself

and there’s that one sweater you once ranted to jin how you swore it vanished into thin air, and how he teased that ghost in your attic probably snatched it

if it was physically possible, there’d be steam seeping out of jin’s ears

he clutches his fists so tight, there would most likely be blood drawn; he clenches his teeth so tightly, he fears they might crack under the pressure

but, before jin turns tail, he then sees taehyung as fear swims in his irises

and then jin feels it,

a revelation, an act of generosity

❝ i think you could be useful… ❞

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆

with every breath he takes, there lies humiliation

shame, a ruthless emotion he swore he’d never live to see the depths of

the summer amongst the dark clouds, all lied on a silver platter for your supposed boyfriend to see

but there is kindness in jin’s eyes, a sliver of evil dripped with every word he speaks

and therein, we have witnessed the blooming of the “writing club,” whose only members were lovelorn kids who’ve infatuation got the best of them

with some sugar-laced words, jin had managed to maintain a room for their meetings after school, taehyung quickly ditching his art club for these fleeting moments spent with the man closest to his love

no, taehyung had never been fond of jin, but, holds undying respect for him, anyways

his heaven lies in his words, his sunlight is seen in his eyes, the fate he craves so desperately is clutched in his hands

and it’s only so long before his grip weakens, and taehyung can rob jin of his pleasures in his moment of vulnerability

but, that future must wait as it frolics in the back of taehyung’s head

he must gain the trust of your childhood best friend before he catches his infinity like a firefly in a jar

but, with that being said, taehyung doesn’t mind all the hours he spent huddled in the tree outside your house, hiding behind a canopy of leaves as he admires the dream before him

he’ll sketch your face (which he can now draw from memory) in his notepad, ethereal poetry and doodles held around your sparkling face

he’ll snap a few photos, catching the fireworks and shooting stars in the purity of the fleeting moment

to simply have the privilege to love you silently holds the light of a million stars

oh, how he loves you…

how the earth bruises your cheeks, the moon litters your skin, the stars possess your eyes and the rings of saturn held in your touch

there’s pure bliss within every heartbeat lept

and there’s only so much time before he has you all to himself

he just hopes no burden will stop him from such…

━━━ 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊

the student’s that litter around these halls resemble parasites

all feeding off the others, annoying them with their deafening disunity, and all trailing behind others like burdens

but, there’s always been that one, that one that stands out like a sore thumb

bland, boring kim taehyung

a boy capable of summoning enough envy and rage within jungkook to crumble planets to nothing but ashes floating throughout the galaxy

how he denies his infatuation for you with red cheeks, but anyone with eyes can see those “adorable” dimples puncture his cheeks whenever he sees you in the halls

how he isn’t burdened by the overwhelming fate of unrequited love, drowning in his jealousy when you simply look at someone else

how he stalks in class you like a hawk would to prey, probably undressing you with his eyes like the freak he is!

how he simply exists, and how it makes jungkook churn with rage

and that leaves him now, dodging students as the race out of the school, hot on the tail of his rival

he must end him before he could potentially hold your heart in his hands

that single idea makes jungkook gag…

he hears taehyung’s voice, shoving a scoff back down his throat that could potentially jeopardize his identity

there’s another voice, too, but, jungkook assumes it’s another one of those art freaks who’s also pretentious with coincidences

then there’s your name, and it would’ve sounded like it was dripped in gold if it didn’t leave the mouth of his sworn enemy

and then he hears of this writing club, and jungkook seethes

these lowlifes get to breathe in the fragrance of those fleeting moments, which is a fate jungkook whose he is well-deserving of, not them

to simply touch the crevices of your soul carved in silk for just a mere second is a privilege

and letting these cretins possess that opportunity is simply unholy

despite holding a burning hatred for the rest of the memories, for you, jungkook would drag himself through the depths of hell

he just prays that the club members don’t pray too far under his skin

he doesn’t know if he can control himself.

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍

oh, y/n l/n…

an angel in the purest form, a humid june afternoon

they are a touch softer than autumn’s breeze, their word’s sharper than winter’s embrace, eyes starlit like the dreamy land of springtime, their presence like the bliss of summer and the melancholic longing after it’s demise

they hold within them the entire galaxy and namjoon can’t help but stare

but, there’s another pair of eyes

and they are burning bullet wounds into his soul with a craving to mutilate him swimming in their irises

as the bell rings its tumultuous song and deadbeat kids begin to litter the halls, namjoon is suddenly shoved against the locker by no other than the modern-day jeffrey dahmer

jeon jungkook, dust amongst a field of flowers

his sadistic pleasures and his lust for blood, the holy scent of iron that smoothes out all the creases

❝ if i catch you staring at my Y/N like that again, i’ll tear you apart limb from limb. ‘got it, dipshit? ❞

he is in all means terrifying, but, is nothing but a little boy to namjoon

time has passed, a damn near million tabs are held upon the screen all containing the history of namjoon and his family’s wealth

jin, who had been reported the incident by a fuming jungkook had found an opportunity in the depths of his teenage angst

he’ll feed into namjoon’s desire to touch you across hundreds of separating years

he’ll pray into his craving to kiss you as the naked moon sets for the final time

he’ll reach into his heart and use namjoon for his benefit

and how the rest of the members all fed off of his wealth like parasites

anything their little heart desired, they’d hold in their possession

as much as namjoon longs to deny them pleasure, he had been threatened to lose his place in the club and every inkling of access he has to you if he dared disobey

and namjoon would rather die than lose his love to the eternal night

the strange and enigmatic masterpiece, the ancient moon across a sea of stars

his violet lover has been sawed through by nostalgia, and his infatuation glows harder than a summer sunset

although jin’s intentions have a mile or two to run before they stab him in the back, namjoon still has a clear vision of his goal

and there shall be no burden before he meets his longed fate.

━━━ 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊

you, a flower itself, flood his brains like a tsunami to a pitiful city

you, a strawberry in winter, hold sly ways of slithering your way into the recesses of his heart once more

that leaves jung hoseok here, letting the teacher’s words fade to white noise as he doodles your name adorned with hearts on flowers in his notebook

there is distant gossip and whispers that echo from afar, which hoseok picks up due to his childlike curiosity

it begun with useless chitter-chatter, then dissolving to the melodic sound of your name which tumbles from their lips

he listens as the two boys curse the teacher for giving you a D on your exam, them mentioning this supposed ‘club’ that circled everything around you

hoseok was smart, he could raise your grade!

oh, how hoseok would just die to help you with your studies!

with a paradise sparkling in his eyes, he sparks up a conversation with the group, also known as kim namjoon and jeon jungkook

but, the doe-eyed teenager hisses at him, barking at him to ‘keep his fucking mouth shut’

he takes the hint, leaving the conversation with a silent ocean welling up in his eyes

but, this is the embodiment of hope that sits in this dull classroom

he’ll crawl around the corners of his soul till he’s enervate to retrieve what he has longed for

and that leads us up to now, as hoseok stalks to the two from a safe distance, watching as they disappear to the writing club

and just before the door closes, hoseok peeks through the crack of the door and finds the identity of kim seokjin, a boy he’s seen accompany you multiple times

the following day, while the students all stare in confusion for the small boy walking through the halls, hoseok finds him and confronts him

by the look of purified fear, this ‘writing club’ was a hushed secret, and him knowing of this secret was dangerous enough, as it is

after negotiating about how he’d contribute to your satisfaction, jin had no choice but to accept his offer

he doesn’t want this loud-mouthed kid to run up and down the halls preaching about their sins, anyways

the rest of the club members didn’t favor his arrival, all shooting looks of envy and hatred

but, there was no other choice

their fate is written in the stars and complimented with a wax steal upon an envelope.

━━━ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍

opening his locker, jimin finds a taste of eden’s garden as he finds your face strung upon the wall

there’s irises, rivers, fairies, and peaches within the single picture cutout from the yearbook as he sighs dreamily at the sight

his daydream of honeyed days is quickly disrupted as his best friend, hoseok interrupts his thoughts with stars circling in his eyes

before he can find the words to scold him, hoseok begins rambling about this ‘club’ at a rate to fast for jimin to decipher

he hears tales of his dreams, a chance to taste your beauty

this most definitely sparked his undying interest, ushering his best friend to continue with his intentions to get the boy warped in this world

thus, we are taken to the night where the clock reads 3:38 AM in it’s bright, neon hues

the boys would never dream of staying up this late, especially on a tuesday night as the fear for the scolding of their parents’ echos, but, the adrenaline that seeps through their veins serves as a protection

because of the prophecy of this new club, they are rebelling

and as a new day rises and the sun shimmers in all of its celestial beauty, the boys have come up with a plan

every club needs a mission manager!

and who else would be perfect for this job no other than park jimin…? right?

well, let’s just say, despite his unreasonable, childish, and almost dangerous plans, the rest of the boys weren’t happy upon his arrival

the sighs of annoyance to his careless nature, the scoffs of envy when he speaks words of poetry about everything as little as when you made eye contact that one time 2 months ago

jimin’s contribution isn’t favored, but, if it’s for you, all 6 boys are willing to drag themselves through hell and back

every member holds an undying love for the god/goddess themself, all possessing a wild heart that they’d bled dry if you asked

and jimin is just one branch of the group who also holds an intense infatuation

the water to his parched heart, the flowering spring in a winter haze

he has found the sun as it shimmers against the snow

and nothing is as holy as this.

━━━ 𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈

another dull day at the café, yoongi listens to his longing for spring’s voice

his hatred for this place burns bright and softly, as he dwells in the anger held within his small body

the college kids, the early morning joggers, all possessing ways of churning yoongi’s anger, one-by-one

obligated to put on a plastic smile for their sake has wars prancing through his head

but then, there’s you

oh, and those lively eyes he craves to gaze into for eternity and the soft furrow in your brow when you stare at the menu

he is mesmerized and listens to the songs of summer as he drowns in your stare

you haven’t taken notice to the hearts that swirl within his eyes as you order, unfortunately, and therefore leave a boy longing for a taste of the sun

during this fit of a daydream, 6 boys stumble in, all conversing at abnormally obnoxious levels

yoongi has to shove a scoff back down his throat and bring a halt to the urge to roll his eyes and dresses himself in the facade

as they all order and then continue their chatter elsewhere, yoongi can resume his illusions about your sparkled presence

whilst in the process of finishing a cappuccino, he hears the sugary melody of your name

he freezes, then concludes he must be hallucinating, resuming the process of the drink in his hands

after all, spending hours upon hours in this sacred place causes his mind to go hazy at times

the lilied waters of your eyes, skin like roses in the evening

you are so, so very loved by the boy at the café

starting up the hot chocolate with “extra sugar,” he hears it once more

does he need to stretch out his sleeping schedule or was this real?

were they truly speaking of you, or has he truly gone insane in the late afternoon?

peeking over his shoulder, that’s when yoongi sees it

your face was drawn upon a notepad, all fluttered hearts and empty petals around your face

the soul of the planets, the green pigment of the gardens, all held in this stranger’s arms

with determination, yoongi is required to learn more of this guest who spoke hushed tales of you

he’d do anything to know more about the star who enlightens his grey days

and now, the club is complete.

272 notes · View notes

caiminnent · 4 years

Text

please, be golden [kylux, rated T]

PROMPT: worked themselves to exhaustion (@badthingshappenbingo, 12/25) & @kyluxzineproject

SUMMARY: After Snoke's death, Supreme Leader Ren and General Hux try to keep the First Order from falling apart—each in their own way.

FANDOM: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

TAGS: Bad Things Happen Bingo, First Order Politics (Star Wars), Diplomacy, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Established Relationship, Courting, Idiots in Love, Overworked Armitage Hux, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Stimulants

NOTES: Here is my Kylux Standard Zine work to pair with @mi-caw-ber‘s amazing art! Find the art here on Tumblr and weep with me.

Below is only a 1.4k of snippet of the fic; because posting 11k on Tumblr in one go is just... no.

11K || ALSO ON AO3

Ren barges in at 0225.

Rather, Ren bangs his massive paw on the door and waits just long enough to make it technically not barging in before the access panel beeps. He storms past the office space without a stray glance in. The refresher door slams closed a moment later.

Well. That answers how it went.

Hux sighs, slumping in his chair. Figures that Ren would choose now to leave his lair. He couldn’t have shown himself when Hux could use his intimidating presence yesterday, of course not. Couldn’t have defended the Order he’s supposed to be leading against that boar Kratkitki at the holo-conference earlier. No, Hux had to face all that, alone—like he always does.

He ought to cite reports to write and turn Ren away—better yet, let him stay. Would serve Ren well to toss and turn alone while Hux sits in the next room, nearby but unreachable. No help at all.

If only.

Double-checking that the documents are synched, he disconnects his datapad and switches off the monitor, leaving the empty cups lying on his desk. It’s going to be a seven-minute shower, if Ren’s eerie silence is any indication; tidying up can wait.

He’s wrong, for once. It’s full ten minutes before Ren steps out of the refresher in a cloud of humidity and honey soap—long enough for Hux to change and leave a clean set out for Ren, for hygiene’s sake. Ren might be fine with wearing the same clothes for a standard week straight; but he’s not coming anywhere near Hux’s bed in them.

At least Ren stopped taking offence at the gesture.

Ren undresses swiftly, not a care for modesty—his or Hux’s. Keeping his eyes on the clothes he’s folding and putting away, “Your quarters come with a ‘fresher attached as well, surely,” Hux says. A nice one, too, what with having been Snoke’s star pupil back in the day. Ren has no reason to keep coming to Hux’s quarters for a shower. “Unless you destroyed yours.”

The bundle of black fabric floating past halts above the hamper.

Hux’s stomach sinks.

A muscle in his cheek twitching, “Ren,” he sighs, the word sour in his mouth. He was jesting, for stars’ sake. They are—he thought they were beyond meaningless destruction by now, that it had become one of those things: things from their shared past that they could gingerly jest about now, to be openly laughed at one day. Isn’t that why they’re doing this? What’s the point of this if it’s not helping Ren keep his head?

Nothing, obviously.

Hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, “I didn’t destroy my refresher,” Ren says, his voice only slightly raspy with disuse instead of the regular post-tantrum hoarseness.

Then again, if Ren had had a tantrum and gone through his quarters, someone would have heard and reported it to Hux, too. His datapad has been mercifully—mercilessly—quiet the entire delta shift.

A twinge of guilt passes through his chest.

“All right,” he says, because sorry doesn’t belong between the two of them. If they started to apologise for every hurtful word and assumption they have ever thrown at each other’s face, they would be here all month.

Not that the word is likely to exist in Ren’s vocabulary.

“I didn’t!” Ren snaps, the corners of his lips turning down at the perceived insult, body growing stiffer in indignation—on the verge of that tantrum, now. The hovering bundle starts quivering violently.

Stars, it is far too late into the delta shift to deal with Ren’s moods.

Resisting the urge to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes until white sparks in his vision—satisfying as it would have been—Hux forces the lines of his body to relax instead, an invitation for Ren to mirror him. The simplest way to defuse Ren is to give him a lead to follow.

Meeting his gaze, “I believe you, Ren,” he says, mild but clear, honest—at least, honest-sounding enough to give Ren’s building agitation a pause. He doesn’t give Ren time to size up his sincerity before heading to the refresher himself, unlatching Ren’s dirty bundle from empty air along the way.

He doesn’t linger long, still not comfortable going about his full routine while not alone in his quarters. A hot shower to wash away the cycle’s—hells, week’s—troubles would be blissful; but the cubicle is still wet from Ren’s turn and anyway, the idea of undressing again and standing under the spray doesn’t hold much appeal at this hour, even if he already won’t be able to fall asleep soon with the amount of caf in his system.

Besides, the Supreme Leader is waiting.

He half-expects to find Ren still standing there and fidgeting when he walks in; but Ren has already settled in the middle of the bed, a dark lump against the white bedding, the plush duvet pushed to his waist. Ren has done him the courtesy of letting him choose his side, although it matters little when he pulls Hux close as soon as Hux slides under the covers. Hux puts up only the token fight before getting comfortable between Ren’s arms, kicking the rest of the duvet out of the way. Ren runs hot enough to make any extra coverage unbearable within minutes.

They lie in… not peace, but an acceptable approximation of it. His head is buzzing with everything he’ll need to take care of after his first cup of caf later in the cycle; Ren distracts him by nosing at his neck, his ear, his hair before it can latch onto anything specific. For his own sake. When they are—when Ren is being this way, affectionate and indulgent, Hux is foolishly, dangerously willing to dismiss that Ren is the reason his task list is so long. That he wouldn’t even be in Hux’s bed right now had Ren not failed again.

He is too tired to muster up the disappointment.

“Tell me something,” Ren whispers.

“Yes?”

Ren shifts behind him. “No, I mean—talk to me. Tell me about your week.”

He snorts. “You don’t want to hear about my week.” Nor does Hux want to talk about his week, giant waste of time that it has been. Following-up on holo-mails that go nowhere, trying to prioritise the plethora of critical issues they must allocate for in their budget, status reports that show nothing but how the High Command is sitting with their thumbs up their arses while the First Order’s funds dwindle and glory slips further out of their reach. If he were the Supreme Leader—

—but of course, he isn’t the Supreme Leader. Is that not the root of their predicament? Nothing he can offer to potential allies and benefactors will ever be enough to sway them to their cause while the Supreme Leader of the First Order hides away and seeks guidance from ghosts.

A breeze brushes against his mind; mild, warm wind over chilled skin, caked scent of suns over damp ground, raw dough and—

His jaw locks with a click, a lungful of recycled air and faux-honey shattering the deception easily enough. That storm is developing across his forehead again, the spot above his brow pulsing in time with his heart hammering in his throat. “Ren.”

“I’m not in your head,” Ren amends. “I just sensed your… grievances.”

“You are the biggest,” Hux grits out, shifting away—Ren’s arm snaked across his entire middle holds him in place. When did that happen? “Ren. Let go of me.”

“Talk to me,” Ren repeats, chapped lips catching on Hux’s hair. “I can’t ease your mind if you don’t.”

It will take more than half-remembered pillow talk to ease Hux’s mind. It will take more than talking, if they are to solve anything. However, Ren has got a point. Division of work is a key principle in a functional organisation so long as all parties are aware of the big picture—which Ren might not be, having operated outside of the Order for the longest time. Perhaps it’s time for an alternate approach.

When Hux isn’t hurting to sink his teeth at Ren’s bared throat and Ren can be reasonably expected not to fling himself into that temper tantrum they’ve narrowly missed at the slightest provocation.

“Tomorrow,” he promises. Tomorrow, they talk.

#Bad Things Happen Bingo #kyluxfanzine #kylux #Kylo Ren #Armitage Hux #Star Wars #Cai does words #finished fics #please be golden #I can't believe it's finally out

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bettydice · 4 years

Text

(Planning the Day) To Meet You

Wangxian, Modern AU, Slow Burn, E-Rated

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 16 & Epilogue

Saturday again, a week (filled with Wei Ying) later

It’s a thirty minute walk from the botanical garden to Lan Wangji’s flat. Forty minute walk, when you’re leisurely walking hand in hand with your boyfriend. They still have about ten minutes left, when Wei Ying presses against his side, even though holding hands is already slightly unpleasant due to the humid heat of this headache-inducing weather.

“Lan Zhaaaaan, what did you want to show me?”

“Later, Wei Ying.”

“But I want to know, now! Oh, I know - is it your cock?” Wei Ying smirks up at him and draws a hot line with his index finger from Lan Wangji’s chest to his belly button..

Lan Wangji shows immense restraint and doesn’t roll his eyes or press him against the next best tree to ravish him, but he does frown.

“Joking, joking. But I will get to see that later, yes?” Wei Ying waggles his eyebrows.

“Yes.” Lan Wangji sighs, full of fond exasperation.

Wei Ying stops pressing against Lan Wangji. He can’t decide whether he is relieved about the absence of additional heat, or whether he misses his. He’s still mulling this over, when a raindrop lands on the tip of Lan Wangji’s nose. He lifts his head, looks around. Oh. Behind them, the sky is dark, clouds heavy with rain.

“Wei Ying. I think we should hurry.”

Another raindrop lands on his right forearm.

“Why?” Wei Ying looks up at him, then follows his gaze. When he spots the dark clouds, he laughs. “Oh shit, look at that!”

“The weather report said it would rain tonight, around 6 p.m. It’s only 3:30 p.m. I did not bring an umbrella… maybe that was foolish of me.” Lan Wangji frowns at the sky and at his own unpreparedness.

“I can’t even begin to tell you in how many ways that statement just now was adorable.”

Lan Wangji, after he feels two more raindrops, speeds up his steps. Wei Ying does not do the same, so when Lan Wangji feels a pull at his hand, he turns around and frowns.

“Wei Ying. Let’s hurry or we’ll get soaked.” The single raindrops are falling in groups now.Lan Wangji pulls on Wei Ying’s hand, but instead of walking faster, Wei Ying only grins and stops.

“We should do that. Get soaked.”

“What?” It’s officially raining now. Heavy drops that leave dark spots on their clothes.

“It’s been so humid today, I’m all sweaty! Let’s enjoy a proper, refreshing summer rain, Lan Zhan! It’s the best feeling!”

“Enjoy…?”

Wei Ying cocks his head, then tugs on Lan Wangji’s hand, urging him to come closer. Of course, Lan Wangji follows, drawn in by Wei Ying’s gentle smile and the raindrop slowly making its way down Wei Ying’s throat, begging to be licked away. “You've never enjoyed a summer rain? Lan Zhan, we need to rectify that!”

As soon as Wei Ying says that, it's not simply raining anymore. It starts pouring. Within seconds, Lan Wangji feels wet, shirt clinging to his skin. Wei Ying laughs at him, freely and brightly, then lifts his head to the sky, lets go of Lan Wangji’s hand, turns in a circle once, then opens his arms as though he wants to embrace the rain.

Lan Wangji doesn't quite know what to do. They're already wet, getting wetter with every second, and soon they'll be completely soaked. They can't avoid that. Even if they started running now, they’d not reach his flat in time. And Wei Ying seems… Happy.

Enjoy… Lan Wangji slowly lifts his head and closes his eyes when the rain hits his face. He feels a little ridiculous but it turns out Wei Ying was right. The sound and constant pressure of raindrops is soothing, the air immediately feeling fresher after the pressing heat earlier. He opens his eyes to find Wei Ying staring at him. Lan Wangji smiles at him.

"You were right, this is nice."

Wei Ying stares a little more, which is unusual.

"Lan Zhan…" He sounds breathless.

And then Wei Ying takes a step towards him, another, and then he puts his hands around Lan Wangji’s neck, pulls him close and kisses him. It's not the gentle, soft kiss Lan Wangji expected, but open mouthed and demanding.

Wei Ying is hot in his arms, the rain a heavy blanket that surrounds them. He thinks about chasing that raindrop from earlier, even though it must be buried by many others by now, but Wei Ying doesn’t give him the chance. He pushes his tongue into his mouth, sucks on his lower lip, fingernails digging into his skin. They’ve kissed so many times in so many ways by now, but never like this. This is… if it weren’t for the rain, the heat might consume him.

"Lan Zhan, I think we should hurry after all…”Wei Ying pants, eyes roving over Lan Wangji’s face, hungry. “I want… I need you."

They go back to his flat, hand in hand. Wei Ying dragging him, looking back at him and laughing. Clothes and hair sticking to his skin. A few minutes from his flat, Wei Ying starts running, and Lan Wangji follows him, because he feels the urgency, too. He wants.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Wei Ying presses against him and devours him with his lips.

“We should get out of these wet clothes.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji immediately tries taking off Wei Ying’s t-shirt, while kissing him at the same time. It’s more difficult than usual, because it’s stubbornly sticking to Wei Ying’s skin. He can sympathize with not wanting to let go of Wei Ying, but right now, Lan Wangji has no patience left.

Wei Ying laughs into his mouth, then Lan Wangji is dragged into the bathroom, and eventually they're both naked, wet clothes landing somewhere on the bathroom floor. Wei Ying smirks, takes his hand and pulls him into the shower. Lan Wangji kisses him again and again, the spray of the shower like the rain, only hot this time. Wei Ying’s tongue is just as hot in his mouth, his hands pulling Lan Wangji closer, until there’s no space left between them.

It's hot and wet and steamy and it's as though they're in a different world where nothing exists other than this want Lan Wangji feels -- and Wei Ying, always, only Wei Ying. Lan Wangji can never get enough of him, so he doesn't even try, only tries to have more and more.

“Lan Zhan, please, I need…” Wei Ying’s voice is rough and needy, his lips red and wet, already so well-kissed, begging to be kissed and used more.

“What do you need? Tell me.” Lan Wangji strokes those lips with his thumb, ready to give Wei Ying anything he asks for.

Wei Ying, despite looking wrecked, suddenly smirks, then grabs the shower gel, soaps up his thighs, and turns around, presenting his back and ass to Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji stares.

“Come on.” Wei Ying reaches behind him, pulls Lan Wangji closer, Lan Wangji's cock pressing into Wei Ying’s left butt cheek. Fuck. This is… Is this… Are they...

“Fuck my thighs, Lan Zhan.”

Oh. Yes, he can definitely do that.

He presses between Wei Yings thighs, wraps his arms around Wei Yings chest and it feels amazing. Wei Ying closes his legs more, flexes his thighs and squeezes Lan Wangji's cock.

"Wei Ying… " Lan Wangji presses a kiss to his shoulder, splays one hand over Wei Ying’s belly. "Talk."

"Oh? You want to.." Wei Ying gasps as Lan Wangji grasps his cock. "Want to hear all the filthy things running through my mind?"

"Mn." He always wants to hear Wei Ying, loves how freely and selflessly he shares his thoughts. Especially in these moments. Every word and moan and sigh he offers Lan Wangji a proof of the pleasure he receives. It’s a relief to know, a gift. And it’s unbearably arousing, too.

"Want to hear how you drive me mad, until I can't even talk anymore, only moan your name until I come?" Wei Ying tips his head back, leans against Lan Wangji's shoulder and Lan Wangji can see his face, his mouth, his flush.

"Yes." Lan Wangji fucks forward, holding Wei Ying close and squeezing him along with his thrusts. "Tell me.”

"Fuck, Lan Zhan. Making me talk, so cruel. All day you've been mean to me. Not telling me what you want to show me, standing in the rain like that with your beautiful little smile… I had no choice but to kiss you because- Ah!” Wei Ying moans when Lan Wangji pinches his nipple at the same time as he closes his teeth around Wei Ying’s earlobe.

“Your hands, wherever they touch me, they're a perfect fit. It's ridiculous, you're so…ah.. Perfect, everywhere, for me…”

Lan Wangji speeds up his thrusts and does try to touch Wei Ying everywhere he can. Wants to make him feel as good as Lan Wangji feels.

“You’re so… so good... I can't wait to feel your beautiful cock inside me, you'll fuck me so good won't you? You always take such good care of me. You'll open me up until I'm wet and dripping for you, until I'm begging and then ah Lan Zhan, fuck-”

Wei Ying squeezes his thighs together and with one last, desperate thrust, Lan Wangji comes, groaning into Wei Ying’s neck until he’s spent.

“Lan Zhan, I… Fuck.. Please… Fuck.”

Lan Wangji strokes him, fast and rough, turns Wei Ying’s face with his free hand so he can kiss him, pushes his tongue into his mouth until Wei Ying arches beautifully under him and comes apart in his arms.

They both take a few seconds to return from orgasmic bliss, then Wei Ying turns around in his arms and kisses him, hot and languid. Before Lan Wangji’s cock can return to full interest, he pulls Wei Ying fully under the water, so they can clean themselves. They wash each other's hair, which takes a lot longer than doing it himself, but it also includes a lot more laughter and kisses.

Once they’re clean and towelled dry, Lan Wangji wraps a towel around his waist, then takes his bathrobe and wraps it around Wei Ying.

"Wear this. I'll dry my hair then I'll blow dry yours."

"You'll-"

"Yes."

Lan Wangji wraps a towel around Wei Ying’s hair, then deposits him on the couch. Wei Ying keeps staring at him with the same expression he was wearing before he kissed him in the rain.

"Wait here."

Lan Wangji blow-dries his hair, then changes into one of the sets of "lounge wear" Lan Xichen keeps buying for him. When he returns to the living room, Wei Ying is nestled into 'his corner' of the couch, feet drawn up. He smiles when Lan Wangji approaches him.

"Lan Zhan, are you really going to dry my hair?"

"Mm."

"You just want to spoil me, don't you?"

"Mn."

"Alright, alright, I'll let you, you ridiculous man."

Lan Wangji takes off the towel, plugs in the blow-drier and positions Wei Ying, so he can stand behind him. Then he gently brushes Wei Ying’s hair, before he turns on the blow-drier.

It takes quite a while until Wei Ying’s hair is dry because Lan Wangji uses a low intensity setting so as not to damage his hair, and Wei Ying’s hair is long and thick.

When he's satisfied with the result, he turns off the blow-drier and immediately finds himself being pulled into Wei Ying’s lap. He's sitting sideways on it, blinking down at Wei Ying who has to lift his head a little so he can look him in the eye.

"Wei Ying?"

"Your robe is so soft. I may never take it off."

"Mn." Lan Wangji points at the right pocket of the robe. "Look."

"Huh? Wait, are those your bunnies? Oh no, that's so cute! Did you stitch that yourself?"

"No. Present from my brother."

"That's so sweet! Alright, I'll take it off eventually, since it's a present for you."

Lan Wangji makes a mental note to buy Wei Ying the fluffiest robe he can find. "Why am I sitting on your lap?"

"Because you look so soft and you're so sweet and I just want to snuggle you, of course." Wei Ying tightens his arms around him, then presses his face against Lan Wangji’s neck. "Now we both smell like you."

Lan Wangji lets himself be snuggled. After a while, Wei Ying begins pressing kisses against his neck and cheek. A soft sigh escapes Lan Wangji, as he closes his eyes to enjoy all of what's happening here.

"Lan Zhan… I really… So much…" Wei Ying mumbles between kisses. Lan Wangji is pretty confident he understands what Wei Ying means and hums happily, to communicate he feels the same way. He feels so comfortable, he thinks he could fall asleep like this, even though it’s still hours until his bedtime.

"Hey, Lan Zhan! What was it you wanted to show me?"

“Mhm…” Lan Wangji slowly opens his eyes. He feels reluctant to leave Wei Ying’s embrace but he does still need to show him. He gets up from Wei Ying’s lap and leads him over to the bookshelf where he displays his bunny pictures. Now, Wei Ying’s drawings are displayed there, too, framed. As well as the picture Lan Xichen took of them.

"Lan Zhan…" Wei Ying steps forward and strokes his fingertips over the frame of the library painting. "You should have told me… I would have made proper drawings for you! These are… They are not good enough, you can see the pencil sketching underneath still. I should - “

"No. These are perfect."

“The picture of us with the bunnies is perfect, I’ll give you that,” Wei Ying huffs.

"But you can make more drawings for me. I will put them up as well."

"Okay, now you're being ridiculous. Because I will draw a lot for you. Your cute bunnies, your beautiful face, your beautiful face surrounded by flowers, your face in the library…"

"Good. You should draw your own face, too." Lan Wangji looks around the room. There’s still plenty of space for more picture frames.

"Lan Zhan, no." Wei Ying pulls on his arm, laughs and wags his finger at him. "What if A-Yuan starts drawing you pictures too? Mhm? Your walls will be covered in drawings!"

"Alright."

"Ridiculous man."

"I will treasure everything you want to give me."

Wei Ying sighs, a little exasperated, shakes his head, then looks up and puts his hand on Lan Wangji’s cheek. A tender smile rests on his lips and his eyes are soft. "Well, I'll give all of me then. Would that be okay?"

When Lan Wangji smiles, Wei Ying’s smile expands and brightens into one of the most beautiful smiles he’s ever seen on his face and Lan Wangji…

"Wei Ying, sleep with me."

"Lan Zhan?"

Lan Wangji takes Wei Ying’s hand in his own and bites his thumb.

"Oh”, Wei Ying gasps, eyes growing large.

Lan Wangji lets go of his thumb, leans closer until he can give Wei Ying a kiss, then murmurs against his lips: "I want to fuck you."

"Yeah… Yeah okay…"

Lan Wangji lifts Wei Ying up, hands supporting his thighs, and begins walking them towards the bedroom.

"Fuck, you're just…”

Wei Ying distracts himself from finishing the sentence, by kissing Lan Wangji, who avoids walking into a wall at the last moment. Eventually, he does manage to find the bedroom and gently lets down Wei Ying, who is busy kissing his neck.

"Are you willing to take off the robe now? "Lan Wangji rests one hand on the knot of the belt.

"Mhm." Wei Ying hums his agreement against Lan Wangji's throat and Lan Wangji immediately unties the robe, pushes it down Wei Ying’s shoulders and then lays him down on the bed.

Wei Ying looks at him with dark eyes, bites his lip, then arches his back and lets his legs fall open. His cock rests against his thigh, already half hard, his nipples pebbled, his face flushed. There’s no hesitation, no second thoughts. He’s willing to give all of himself to Lan Wangji.

"Beautiful."

"Lan Zhan, I want to see you too."

Lan Wangji undresses under Wei Ying’s intense gaze and then kneels on the bed. Wei Ying opens his legs even more to accommodate him and Lan Wangji is a little overwhelmed, because he has so many things he wants to do. Wei Ying reaches for him then, pulls him down, and kisses him.

"You'll be so good to me, won't you?"

"Mn." He never wants to be anything but.

Lan Wangji kisses down his chest, takes the time to suck his nipples into his mouth until Wei Ying whimpers. He licks the sensitive skin where his thigh meets his hip until Wei Ying’s fingers find his hair, desperate, pulling. Then he sucks Wei Ying’s cock into his mouth. He's not looking to make him finish like this, not now, but he wants to get him fully hard, wants him desperately lost in pleasure.

"Lan Zhan, I…"

Wei Ying gasps when Lan Wangji tongues the head of his cock the way he's learned Wei Ying likes, and loses his words. Instead, he reaches over to the nightstand, gets out the lube and drops it on his stomach, in front of Lan Wangji's face.

Lan Wangji hums, amused and Wei Ying groans. "Please, Lan Zhan, please… I want your fingers, your cock, want you..."

Lan Wangji pulls off his cock. "Wei Ying… Tell me what you need. What I should do."

Wei Ying watches, breathless, as Lan Wangji opens the lube and coats his fingers. He nods, several times. "Yeah… Yeah I'll tell you. I… yeah.."

Lan Wangji presses a kiss to the tip of his cock, then focuses lower, drags one finger over Wei Ying’s perineum until he's circling his hole.

It's not the first time he's done this to Wei Ying (that was Tuesday) and he's also been on the receiving end (Thursday) but that hadn't been to… that was only to tease, to further pleasure happening elsewhere. So the tight heat that awaits him once he presses a finger inside is not new, but to think that soon, his cock will be inside Wei Ying, that he'll be so open for him, so trusting that…

Lan Wangji takes Wei Ying’s cock back into his mouth while he's working him open. As promised, Wei Ying tells him what he wants, what feels good, and once he's becoming less coherent, Lan Wangji knows he's on the right track.

"Fuck, Lan Zhan… Right… Right there, fuck. Your hands, your fucking mouth… I…”

Lan Wangji moves over to bite gently at Wei Ying’s thigh, so his cock can have a reprieve. With his free hand, he strokes Wei Ying’s stomach and Wei Ying clutches his hand in his, tries to urge him to put it back on his cock, but Lan Wangji doesn't comply.

"Lan Zhan, I'm ready. Come on, fuck me.”

"When you're wet and dripping. Begging me."

Wei Ying gives a weak laugh, then lifts his head to frown at Lan Wangji. "Lan Zhan, you're so mean, how can you remember the things that leave my mouth at such times and then use it against me."

"I remember everything Wei Ying says." Lan Wangji adds another finger.

"You're still like this when you - fuck - when you're…. Ah… Doing that with your fingers…How are you..." Wei Ying drops his head back on the pillow, then moans and arches his back when Lan Wangji curls his fingers just right.

Lan Wangji is satisfied to see precome drip onto Wei Ying’s stomach. He's stretched and slick around his fingers and -

"Lan Zhan, please, please fuck me, I need you, please."

That's very satisfying, too.

He slips his fingers out of Wei Ying, who whines about the loss, and moves, until he’s lying between Wei Ying’s legs, looking down at him.

"Is this position okay for you?"

"Yes, yes, very okay." Wei Ying grabs his arms, tries to pull him closer, tries to get him to move.

"Should I use a condom?"

"How important is it to you that your sheets stay clean?"

"Not important."

Wei Ying gives him his best wicked grin. "Mhm, you wanna mess me up? Wanna come inside me? Mark me with your -"

Lan Wangji lines himself up and presses inside Wei Ying in a long, slow slide. He holds himself above Wei Ying, watches his face as he drives deeper and deeper into him, watches as Wei Ying let's him in. It’s… it’s unlike anything… It’s… Wei Ying is...

And then he's wholly surrounded by Wei Ying and Lan Wangji can't move for a while, because it feels too good. Wei Ying smiles at him, sweet, so sweet and cradles his face, strokes his cheeks.

"Wei Ying…," is all Lan Wangji can say, so he says it again. "Wei Ying."

Wei Ying pulls him close, so Lan Wangji can bury his head against his neck, and so Wei Ying can press kisses to his cheek and whisper into his ear.

"You feel so good, Lan Zhan, just like I knew you would. Always treat me so well… So perfect for me."

"Wei Ying, too."

"Mhm…." Wei Ying pulls him into a kiss and at the same time clenches down around his cock. “Lan Zhan, move."

So he does.

It's unlike anything he's… He tries to hold on to his senses, tries to kiss Wei Ying at the same time, hold him, touch him. But it's really difficult to focus on anything but the tight heat surrounding his cock.

"Let go, Lan Zhan."

He does.

Wei Ying is still, always, forever, beautiful, arching into him, his hands grasping at his hair, his back, his ass, urging him to go faster, harder, his mouth open, sounds and sighs escaping him, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, hair spread out on the pillow.

Lan Wangji loves him so much.

Ah, he loves him with all his heart, loves him with all the spaces of his heart that have lain barren for so long.

Loves him so much.

Wei Ying says: "Lan Zhan, ah, come, come for me, come in me, please, I need-"

With the last of his senses, he grips Wei Ying’s cock, squeezes in time with his thrusts until Wei Ying comes undone underneath him, so Lan Wangji can follow him.

When he has enough strength back to lift his head again, Wei Ying smiles gently and wipes his sweaty hair from his face.

"Wei Ying… That was…"

“Mm, yes it was. Lan Zhan.”

Wei Ying wraps his arms and legs around Lan Wangji and kisses him. Lan Wangji is wrapped in a cocoon of Wei Ying’s warmth, his smell, his touch. And… He feels safe, and loved, and happy.

"... Zhan"

Wei Ying’s voice drags him out of his dreams.

"Lan Zhan. Wake up. Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji." Wei Ying is stroking his cheek and Lan Wangji manages to open his eyes with some difficulty. He already knows it's not yet 6 a.m.

"Wei Ying? What's wrong?"

Wei Ying is lying next to him, facing him. He seems… Excited.

"Lan Zhan! Are you awake now?" Wei Ying whispers, even though they’re both awake now and no one else is here.

"Mm." Lan Wangji frowns slightly at Wei Ying. "What-"

"I'm in love with you!" Wei Ying blurts out, still keeping to a whisper.

"Oh." Lan Wangji blinks slowly, the words taking a while to unfold in his mind.

Wei Ying moves closer, until their foreheads are almost touching and he whispers the following words into the small space between them: "I wanted to tell you earlier with the pictures, but then you distracted me with mind blowing sex. Then I wanted to tell you after sex, but I didn't want to make it seem that I'm just saying it because you fucked me so good, you know, so I was gonna wait until tomorrow, but you looked so sweet in your sleep and I just kept thinking about you in the rain, smiling and…”

"Wei Ying.”

"I'm in love with you, Lan Zhan."

Lan Wangji smiles then, maybe has never smiled this loudly, cradles the back of Wei Ying’s head and pulls him closer, so he can press a soft kiss to Wei Ying’s lips.

"You can go back to sleep now, sweetheart," Wei Ying murmurs and wraps his arms around Lan Wangji, pulling him closer until they’re pressed against each other, head to toe.

"Mm." Lan Wangji closes his eyes, but keeps his lips against Wei Ying’s forehead. "Me too."

"I know, Lan Zhan, me too, me too. And still tomorrow when you wake up. Every day."

"Mm. Every day. "

He goes back to sleep, still smiling.

Epilogue

A few weeks later.

Wei Wuxian drags his fingers over the backs of the books, browsing the titles, looking for something that catches his interest. Fundamentals of Aerodynamics - that'll do. Not that it matters. He'll just spend the time looking at Lan Zhan, or maybe draw Lan Zhan, or distract him from working by dragging a foot up his leg, until Lan Zhan scolds him or says "Later, Wei Ying", making Wei Wuxian shiver.

He rounds the corner, behind which Lan Zhan’s favourite spot in the library is hidden. He leans against one bookshelf, watching his Lan Zhan for a few moments. He's working diligently, as always, so very concentrated. Nobody can blame him for having wanted that focus on him since the first time those intense eyes had looked at him from under that frown.

And miraculously, he got it. When he's around Lan Wangji, he gets all of his attention, because Lan Zhan amazingly, terrifyingly, loves him. Loves Wei Wuxian.

Before Wei Wuxian does something embarrassing, like start crying because Lan Zhan is so wonderful, he approaches Lan Zhan’s table.

"Lan Zhan, I'm here!"

Immediately, Lan Zhan looks up from his laptop and smiles at him. "Wei Ying."

Still smiling, whole face softening just the slightest bit, which he thinks would be missed by many who don't spend as much time looking at Lan Wangji. Which is their loss, because it really is the best face.

Wei Wuxian has no choice but to lean down and kiss him.

"Lan Zhan, have you been here long?"

Lan Zhan looks at his watch. "No. An hour."

"Ah, well then it's time for you to take a break now, isn't it?"

Wei Wuxian sits down on Lan Zhan’s lap, who immediately wraps his arms around him, despite frowning and saying: "You just got here."

"Mhm, but you're here, so how could I read this boring book? And I missed you so much. Now that classes have started again, my Lan Zhan is so busy and when I wake up, you're already gone most mornings."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Lan Zhan! Maybe I can try waking up early sometimes, so I can kiss you goodbye, hm? Would you like that?"

"You should sleep as long as you want to. Unless you have class."

"Mhm, you spoil me so much." Wei Wuxian presses a few kisses to Lan Zhan’s cheeks, to remind him that Wei Wuxian wants to spoil him, too. "Was your lecture interesting?"

Lan Zhan… Looks guilty?

"Lan Zhan? Was it really boring and now you feel bad about thinking it was boring?"

"Was distracted."

"Oh?" Wei Ying leans down and whispers into Lan Zhan’s ear. "What has distracted you so? Were you thinking naughty thoughts?"

"I was thinking about meeting you in the library."

"And why was that distracting, hm?"

"We haven't been here together since… And now… Now I can do this." Lan Zhan kisses him.

Wei Wuxian enjoys the kiss for a few seconds, then pulls back a little and smirks down at Lan Zhan, because this is a prime opportunity for teasing and if Lan Zhan thought he could avoid it by being sweet he was mistaken! "I knew you were being naughty. Did you used to think about it a lot? What you'd like to do to me in the library?"

"Mm."

"When I was talking at you, not sticking to your silent rule, did you want to shut me up? Take me right here on the table, telling me to keep quiet? Or maybe you thought about keeping me under the table, sucking your cock while you work and if somebody were to look at your face they wouldn't even know that you had your cock down my throat. But I'd know, wouldn't I? I know your frowns and little smiles and how you quirk your eyebrow just so and - this look, right there.” Wei Wuxian strokes over Lan Zhan’s eyebrow, presses a kiss to his cheek. ”You want to do so many things to me, don't you? "

"No talking in the library, Wei Ying." Lan Zhan tightens his grip on Wei Wuxian and ah, there’s the shiver down his spine.

"Are you going to shut me up?"

Lan Zhan gets up, gently puts Wei Ying on his feet, then walks them towards the bookcase, crowds Wei Ying against it, so they can't be seen unless someone enters this little nook.

Then Lan Zhan kisses him, with all of his focus, all of his attention, and Wei Ying melts against him.

"Is this what distracted you, Lan Zhan? Is this what you wanted to do?"

"Mn." Lan Zhan pulls aside his collar, so he can suck on his collarbone. Wei Ying doesn't think he's been without marks from Lan Zhan’s greedy lips ever since they touched his skin for the first time.

"No rules against kissing in the library?"

"Kissing Wei Ying is allowed everywhere."

"Oh? Well aren't I lucky."

Lan Zhan shows him how lucky he is, by kissing him deeply, intently, until Wei Wuxian is breathless and ready to scandalize anyone who might accidentally wander into this part of the library.

"Lan Zhan… What about blowjobs in the library? Are those allowed?"

Lan Zhan lifts his head and looks around, a fine line between his eyebrows.

"You're actually considering it, aren't you? Hahaha, you really are just-" Wei Ying kisses him. Conveys through kisses the words he can't say out loud because it would be cliché and maudlin and Lan Zhan deserves better. Precious. Lovely. Sweet. Love of his life. Soulmate. Lan Zhan, his Lan Zhan.

“Wei Ying, I should work more now. We both have the afternoon free, then…”

“Mhm, alright. I'll behave.”

“We can kiss more in an hour.”

“Lan Zhan… Did you make a schedule? Is kissing me part of it?”

Lan Zhan turns around and returns to his laptop, but his red ears are answer enough.

Wei Ying laughs, sits down opposite Lan Zhan, opens his book, rests his feet on top of Lan Zhan's and begins to read.

Sometimes he'll lift his head to look at Lan Zhan, meeting his eyes, and he'll earn a smile. He smiles so often when he sees Wei Wuxian. Not once has he looked unhappy to see him. Wei Wuxian wants to spend all his time with Lan Zhan, but he's so greedy for this smile, so greedy for the sight of Lan Zhan visibly relaxing, whenever he returns to his side, that sometimes he wants to leave, just so he can come back to be greeted by this smile.

He wants to spend the rest of his life returning to Lan Zhan.

#the untamed #mdzs #cql #wangxian #lan wangji/wei wuxian #modern au #well this is it #the end of the story #thank you bee #!!#betty drabbles #To Meet You verse

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wammys-house-a · 4 years

Text

Page 359 – Lead;

Awoke - 3:41.

Nothing.

Not dawn, not footsteps, not B's hollow cackling.

I surface from a dreamless sleep.

Sitting upright, I can't discern my shadow from the ivory sheets in the dark, everything beyond the points of contact with my body is as imperceptible as the midnight sea.

As my skin habituates to the pressure, I sense myself floating, without depth; a blind castaway in black infinity. The boundaries of my body gradually erase.

Only the breath against my palate remains to anchor me, cool and oscillating, soft as a whisper — It's all I can hear over the chronic, distant hissing, like a virgin field in late October. It rings in my ears, I cannot resolve whether it's coming from within me or beyond the walls, this space that's been most familiar to me is now alien and disorienting

But my identity is consolidating itself beneath my skin, Who I am is surfacing through slumber's anesthetic.

Disappointment fills in the gaps of my sleep-clean slate...

I can sense my lips materializing in gentle sensations, the weight of reality settling into my expression that I'll wear the rest of the day. But, I'm still only partially a part of the world and I want to cling to the liberating sense of not-quite-being...

— Reaching into the darkness, I precariously lean out into sightless void with blind faith, imagining gravity inverting, my body hanging weightless from the ceiling... I can almost sense the blood collecting in my brain, feel the placebo-vertigo, the tease of fright.

— I make gentle contact with his warm shoulder.

His skin is supple, warmth beneath a cooled surface. He is the last piece of me I need, the one that stirs, sighs, groans, returns gravity.

"Hey- I'm stepping out. I'll be back."

He won't remember this.

Trouble is simmering just beneath the surface of this interaction like volcanic vents beneath a calm sea and my bed is capsizing nightly, bringing me into hot, dense depths, that leave me tossing restlessly in my sleep.

On some level, he knows. — intuition, not telepathy.

I'll never tell him the whole truth.

He has a way of knowing things no one should.

But, he's wrong this time. I'm not belligerently self reliant, destructively martyrial, rigidly distrustful...

I know there are more conventional ways of sorting out turmoil; in white walled rooms with prepackaged tissues, between bruising kisses in dark stairwells, in locked confessionals with latticed windows separating you from softly simpering adults sworn to silence.

But, the cost of someone mismanaging my honesty is quite high... Though, I don't believe the intention was for counseling to become a tool for successor pruning, there's an idiom that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and I've come to find it's often true.

I’m selective with my confidants, I have to be. Mine can harbor no secrets, displace no blame, prove no dishonesty ...

So, this is what keeps me up at night —

The key turns in the lock.

For the first time in seven months I hear the click and whine of the hinges. The cavernous silence that has hung heavy in my bones splits with the piercing sound and sets my teeth.

— Unexpectedly, you close it behind you. Turning the lock. Leaving us Alone.

Together.

You're too young to be the new tenant. — Looters don't need keys. They don't come carrying tiny grey boxes, they don't unfold petite pressed gloves from their coat pockets. But, when you pull the drapes and move to the next room, I know this visit is covert.

I watch you

- moving into the kitchen, opening drawers, cabinets, swatting at famished flies as they lick your warm, salient skin . . .

Mine crawls as you pull the duck tape from your tiny ashen box. It's ripping-hiss echos in the spaces between my teeth. I'm so familiar with it that I've forgotten I've been tasting adhesive since December.

Others arrive with their lives compartmentalized, boxes labeled 'kitchen', 'Christmas', 'Abigail'... pieces of who they are they carry with them wherever they go.

But, not you. Not this box. It unfolds under the white, piercing spotlight in your left hand, the dust caught in it's stream entering your lungs imperceptibly — pieces of my existence pulled into you.

I hold my breath, peering over your shoulder. Pressed between your fingers are photographs of the room as it was a year ago, before the eviction, the evisceration of movers.

You don't notice the walls moving as we sigh. You're murmuring something to yourself, paging though the pictures, tonguing soft susurations, I lean in close to your mouth.

The whisper of my presence hovers against your temple like the crevices of conch shell.

— " Who are you ? " My words roll out like waves, crashing into the world.

— You turn, startled. Your eyes wide and searching.

The hammering of your heart replaces the suggestion of my voice in your ears.

You tell yourself,

it's only the house settling.

But houses like this never settle.

That's why it's just us, alone.

Together.

— Do you know the people who lived here before? The ones that left with dark circles and the dining room chairs, or the man that lived here when we moved in?

He took with him nothing but his crippled body; leaving us for a retirement home where his days are spent being spoon feed sedatives — his appetite still blade-sharp, his body too weak to sate it.

— If you don't know them, you won't know us.

Our boxes are small and singular, like yours, but contain nothing of the past, just the suspended present, sealed shut, soundless.

History's fugitives,

No names, Only numbers. Something else defines us, now.

What defines you?

Is it your name, your history, or the reason you're here ? Your box is empty but you carry pieces of what made you wherever you go, scars just beneath the surface, everyone does.

The expectation behind the trembling of your body as you stare out into the darkness — it isn't so mysterious,

you brought it here with you,

from somewhere, from someone.

I know that feeling. - alone, exposed, afraid of what's waiting for you. Darkness makes me restless, reminds me how much it can hurt here...

But, the taste of fear coming off you is all that can satiate my fury. — Maybe you don't deserve it. But, waiting beneath his bed, so I can soak into his dreams, has never left me satisfied. - One day, he will tie a noose from the sheets and drop his weight into it, then there will be nowhere left to h i d e.

You see, time never healed me, winter didn't numb the rage consuming me, it cauterized my identity until there was nothing left but Seven ... and this hunger to steal back my autonomy, for someone else to know my misery — to purge it through their body, pierce their illusions of immunity, tear control from their feeble fingers, press my fury into their straining throats,

Feel them breaking open under my touch.

I want to be the one inflicting, renaming, reclaiming what doesn't belong to me simply because. I. can.

I want to be the one doing the hurting this time.

— But before I can thread my fingers into your clothes, an electric buzzing breaks the looming stillness. You withdraw a slender phone from your coat and look down into it's glowing face.

... I watch fright fade from you, replaced with a gradually cooling trepidation, a quiet disbelief...

You smile, softly - into it's luminescent shadow.

I drink in the warmth of it,

like the poison that brought us here.

You smile amnesiacally, like you've forgotten the world, unsullied, ungrateful like the adolescent boys that lived upstairs — laughing, slamming their doors, sharing the same world where, as they lay blissful in their sleep, I lay voiceless in plastic sheets.

I watched them too.

I'll never know what 18 feels like.

I'll never go to college, never find my purpose, never make someone forget the world and smile in a way that I'll never see... I'll never share my secrets or my sins, I'll never makelove - I have had sex. Disgusting, soul-murdering sex. But, never find love, never marry, never move so far away that I can be free of who I'd spent 17 years being...

Regret has teeth.

They never stop growing, driving themselves deeper into you until you're rearranged around them like a bullet they just couldn't pull out. It becomes a part of who you are, how you define yourself.

— 50% Missing person, 50% Metallic regret.

As the phone slips away, your shoulders fall into a gentle slope and the veil of ease replaced by distant weariness, it makes me wonder how much of the weight you carry is lead.

Your eyes trace the muted wall paper, white daisies yellowed by humid summers and cigarette smoke.. Your gloved fingers press down cautiously, sliding over the smooth surface with a nearly affectionate care.

You're so close now,

I know you're holding your breath too.

You pause.

— Your brows gently furrow.

Your gaze tightens-

The light in your hands dies,

And darkness pours over us.

I watch you track the invisible outline, long rectangles broken by an emaciated cross — it's barely detectable. You glance over your shoulder to the window above the faucet.

— recognition seeps into your face.

You lift the photograph, the light flickering back to highlight the captured past. — It is not that it is missing, it is that it always had e i g h t panes.

I watch as your fingers begin to crawl — searching for the lower edge, plucking at it's boarder - and, I realize why you're here.

If only I could tell you.

It was the weeping of our bodies that permeated the walls. Tears of rage, of regret, of blood began to peel the wallpaper from it's foundation. You had arrived too soon, the sun needed one more summer to bleed the colour from the spare that came to replace it.

Your fingers catch on the broad edge and p u l l ; — I knew eventually the end was coming, I saw it, but now it is here - it arrives with a screeching snap like the ripping of a tourniquet or the splitting of living wood, - thready, crackling r e l i e f.

Strings cling to the skinned drywall, a blotched slate, sanguine stains like dying stars in ivory-white space.

And single, black bullseye

— A tiny opening, a weeping hole.

My coppery, wet fragrance permeates the air.

— I am here.

Wrapped in my translucent shroud, the molecules that made me up returning to the universe as a black fragrant sap, bleeding from pierced sheetrock.

My liquefied body eating through the lining like acid rain.

You cover your nose and mouth.

Oh, God- , I hear you say.

Oh, G o d ...

My finger, chipped down to it's bone, grey and porous, points out at you, as though you've been chosen - but God had nothing to do with this.

This began decades before my fingers forgot how they felt and bled, in an era where secrets stayed within the walls of your home, like a festering wound beneath the facade of preformed virtue, asbestos beneath the varnish of daisies in lead paint.

Sabbath sweaters and grass stained knees wouldn't have given away what he'd been taught in hissing autumn fields, caressing the stem of his brother's throat, hands bruised and weathered — trails of hot blood blooming in black earth where they buried their sins in secrets and soil, never spoken of again.

Maybe the man his brother became doesn't remember being the stepchild of a family death forged, the second-hand sibling that would cut into him with subtle invectives, hewing him into cruel compliance — but fragments of his wrongdoings are embedded in his soul - knowing there's something to repent for, too afraid to discover it.

He made him and he made us.

— Eleven skeletons, twenty one femurs, no tongues. - one thigh crushed under the weight of a collapsing wall, the thought of such an insult, being turned to dust, erased, sets me on fire.

I watch you begin to remove your glove with an unclear intention . . . - your hand hesitates, suspended mid-motion, hovering bare, the decision halted like a hitching breath caught in your throat then, slowly trickling out -

a shaking finger extends towards the open wound.

The contact.

- my blood s t i c k s ,

my flesh thaws beneath the touch,

damp bone to your soft, warm fingertips -

— Why are you doing this ?

The residual fear fades, as I watch your frame grow heavier under an imperceptible weight. Where before comfort formed resolve, there is a quiet, indecipherable ache... and, I realize what you're doing

you're saying goodbye, because no one else could.

Acting like I matter now

Outrage swells within me. If I had breath to carry it, ribs to cage it, I would scream - you're an interloper, a uninvited guest to tragedy that you can't possibly understand, how dare you offer me sympathy for loss that you can't even comprehend

— How dare you, when you live and I die,

When there's no justice in the warmth of your blood or the ice in mine -!

But, as I seethe in silence ... I can sense our molecules, yours and mine, diffusing back into the universe, slipping like sand between our fingers, cycling through time into other beings, pulled together from the metallic fires of stars and sulferous swells of the seas to form us only for a short while — and I realize, they never belonged to us — that through the centuries, we might have crossed paths, tiny pieces of the universe seeing itself for the briefest glimmer of time- and then you're not such a stranger to me anymore.

— A strange sensation emerges from the density holding me together, a rift drawing me open, siphoning my venom.

You whisper something so softly, I hear only the hiss against your teeth. I lean in - ... but you begin to blur at the edges, your words overcast, undefined, disintegrating into a tender hum like electricity in the air. Clutching live-wires of revelation tightly to my heart like a fresh cut bouquet, I watch the world gently slip just beyond my reach, growing distant, pulling with it my memories as it fades into the night

— Time is now moving too fast, the last of the sand through the hourglass - I press against my plastic coffin and I seep right through - What's left of me is coming apart at the seams, untethered, slipping away into the ether - eternity is pulling me like a castaway to the tide

Panic seizes me

NO! Don't ! I try to scream

where is my mouth, my voice, my identity,

my home, my life, my legacy,

my scars are coming unwound,

— I’m free

I'm not ready!

I don't want to leave!

This isn't fair!

Why did this happen to me?!

... Why didn’t any of it matter

#death note a #Death Note #entries #tw: murder #tw: dark themes

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