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amjustagirl · 2 years

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Chapter 5: Sparks fly

chapters: 5/15 pairing: miya osamu x f! reader genre: romance, angst, fluff, inarizaki shenanigans wc: 6.5k summary: miya osamu does not dare set fire to his heart. it burns anyway.

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Miya Osamu is not quick to anger except when it comes to his idiot brother.

But Kaiyo is sorely testing his patience today.

“What do you mean you invited her along our trip?!” he demands, chasing her around the counter in her store as Atsumu films his antics on his phone. Osamu doesn’t even care that Shin-chan and Sho-chan are both gawking at the spectacle of all the adults in their lives behaving like children, because Kaiyo is interfering with his life in the most infuriating of ways yet again and she’s not even the least bit apologetic about it.

“Pfft!” she sticks out her tongue to blow raspberries.

He grabs at her fruitlessly as she hops about his shop, nimbly dodging his attacks. “Come back here, you gremlin - ”

“Why can’t I invite my friend on a trip?” she wheedles, blinking doe-eyed at him.

He does not buy her act, not when she’s responsible for tossing Ichika almost literally into Kita’s lap, not when she’s responsible for engineering Sakusa’s first meeting with Asami - never mind the fact that the two couples in question are very happily married with children to boot. He does not appreciate such interference, and yet Kaiyo irrepressibly grasps every chance she has to toss him on the tracks of the marriage train.

“Cos you’re tryin’ to set me up and I don’t appreciate it - don’t think I can’t see what you’re tryin’ to do - ”

“It’s not like I asked her to marry you?!” Kaiyo squawks, using ‘Tsumu as a shield. “Why can’t I have a friend on the trip? She’s friends with all of us, and she mentioned she’s never had much opportunity to leave the city, so why shouldn’t she come along with us?”

“Because -”

“It’s not gonna be awkward if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s gonna have her own room and it’s not like I’m asking you to babysit her - she’s a grown adult, and not Sho-chan.”

“ - gonna play with ‘Asami-chan, don’t wan’ Uncle ‘Samu -”

“Because -”

“Kaiyo’s right - ‘Samu, you’re complainin’ so much you’re gonna give Kaiyo the wrong idea - ”

“- the right idea you mean -”

“Uncle ‘Samu, y’know your face is turnin’ purple - wait lemme take a photo and send it to Ma-kun -”

“ENOUGH!”

Four pairs of eyes turn to stare at him.

Seething waves ease into ripples of resignation. There isn’t actually any good reason why you shouldn’t be invited along other than the fact he sees through Kaiyo’s transparent attempt at trying to set him up with you, and even he wants to stomp his foot and pull out his hair in frustration - very much not helped by the fact that Atsumu is just watching him with that ridiculously cheesy grin - there’s nothing he can do but give in to Kaiyo’s scheming.

“Fine”, he says, grinding his teeth down. “Have it your way.”

Kaiyo whoops. He resolves to conveniently sell out of her favourite onigiris for a week at least.

It’s not that he dislikes your company. Far from it, really.

Contrary to his protests, he likes spending time with you - who else is he going to debate with about the best way to choose tuna, or the best knife to use in the kitchen (Kaiyo was very pleased when you realised you’d always worked with her family knives). Bad days are better when you smile at you from across the counter, he can’t help but chuckle under his breath when you send him videos of Kombu-chan scaring your other neighbour’s dog away from your door before trotting back to you smugly for some treats.

You’re his friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

He’d like to keep it that way.

Back in his high school days when his teammates would chat idly about their preferences in a partner, he’d share that his type would be someone who’s kind, generous and sweet, preferably someone who’d like food as much as he - ‘Tsumu laughed at him and shouted that what he wants is some boring, goody-two shoes glutton - Aran and Kita thankfully always stepped in to throttle him and remind him to be respectful before Osamu could even throw the first punch and beat him into the dust.

He’s not blind. He knows you’re what he wants, if only he were looking.

You’re not the first girl Kaiyo has tried setting him up with. But every single date he begrudgingly goes on inevitably ends with him breaking out the cliched it’s not you, it’s me. His singlehood is probably the only thing his okaa-san is more disappointed in him than Tsumu.

“‘’Tsumu already spawned two monsters, ‘ka-sannn.”

“The more the merrier, Osamu”, she’d always reply. “Surely you can;t blame me for wantin’ my sweet, sensitive boy to be happy - ”

“I am happy.” he’d insist. “Don’t worry about me.”

He’s going to rub it in Atsumu’s face on their joint deathbeds at the age of one hundred and eight (because either going to meet their maker first is a scenario too terrible to imagine) that he’s had a happier life. He already has everything that makes him happy - his restaurant, the first sprouting into the second before branching out into the third. He has his crew, he has ‘Tsumu and Kaiyo and the kids practically eatin’ him out of house and home, he has his customers who stream in and out of his store with bellies full of food, hearts full of joy.

He’s happy.

“Do you ever miss any of this?” he asked you once, jutting his chin out at the expanse of his restaurant, all forty something wooden seats occupied, orders flying in and out of the kitchen while a hungry line snakes out of the front door.

“Only sometimes”, you reply, looking as if you’ve bitten something bitter.

But he’s seen the notes you scribble in the dog-eared notebooks you tote around, on cooking techniques that you learnt from your father and his father before him. He’s seen you record with painstaking care the findings of experiments you two have been conducting in his kitchen to the amusement of his staff.

“Really?” he asks.

“Hmm…there are little things that I miss about it now”, you reply slowly. “Seeing people smile is…kinda nice.”

The clouds clear. The sun peeks through.

But then something sours in your expression when you drop your gaze down to the knife you’re holding. He does not miss the slight tremble of your hands nor the faint lines of scars running up your forearms to your elbows. “What happened?” he’d asked you about it once.

“I was five and kinda clumsy”, you replied, as if it explains everything.

It doesn’t. It only makes him want to pound something into the ground.

He digresses.

His restaurant makes him happy. It’s all that’s needed to make him happy.

After all, he has no desire to be like Atsumu, inviting a storm into his life when he’s unprepared to weather it out. Commitment - he doesn’t want to be responsible for another broken heart. It’d be easy to date around or get married, but what’s the point if he’ll just be a terrible partner, with his long hours and demanding career. He won’t even contemplate children. There’s no time for that when he already has three restaurants under his belt, delicate green saplings he’s determined to nurture into grand, old oaks.

“You are crazy for taking him back”, he tells Kaiyo bluntly the night she begged him to accompany Atsumu for drinks with her brothers, fearful that her newly returned husband might be maimed from the encounter.

She answers with a wry shrug.

“He’s already left you. Twice, in fact, unless you broke your head and forgot all about that.”

He’s been there in the wake of her heartbreak at the hands of his twin brother. First, he had to beat ‘Tsumu black and blue until he learnt his responsibility to the daughter he put in her belly. Second, he had to hold her together when ‘Tsumu left until she welded the broken pieces of herself back together. Despite having her heart broken again and again, she still keeps taking Atsumu back.

“He asked me to jump off a cliff with him” she explained when he remonstrated with her.

“How romantic.”

“Osamu!” she huffs. “You’ll understand one day when it’s your turn to fall in love.”

“Never.”

“You wait and see”, she teases.

He’s about to retort that he’ll never be as ridiculous as she is but he’s interrupted by Atsumu stirring from his drunken stupor from a night out with her brothers, all determined to drink him into alcohol poisoning.

“I’m here”, she goes to him as Atsumu murmurs her name. He looks away when she takes his brother’s hand.

Perhaps she’s finally found domestic bliss with Atsumu, who now seems to be the epitome of a family man. But Osamu isn’t convinced that he can do better than his brother. Outwardly, despite their identical faces, they seem like polar opposites. Atsumu is loud mouthed, Osamu is soft spoken. Atsumu is a dick, Osamu tries his best to be polite. But as Shinsuke has always noted, they share the same DNA, the same genetic sequencing, built from the same material.

How different can he truly be from his twin?

Atsumu’s not the only one with with a fraught marriage. He’s consoled patrons both young and old when they come in with their faces glum, caused by cheating spouses, deadbeats, partners who vanish without a trace. He’s seen what marriage has done to his own friends - Gintama’s in a loveless union with someone who treats him like dirt (just leave already, he says, but his friend only shrugs), and Suna - well, less said about that disaster, the better. Kita has a rock solid marriage, but that’s because he’s practically a god with no faults of his own.

Osamu, on the other hand, has so many flaws of his own. It’s only prudent that he not gamble with someone else’s happiness. Kaiyo can do so with hers, it’s her life, her prerogative, but he’s not going to subject some innocent third party to the ticking time bomb tucked inside him, hardwired to explode.

“‘Samu!”

Something twists in his gut when he finds you waiting on the train platform. Your hair is askew and you’re wearing probably the ugliest flannel shirt known to mankind in an attempt to look like a farm girl, but the bright smile on your face when you catch sight of him is contagious, and he can’t keep happiness from spreading like wildfire, greeting you with a smile of his own.

“I’m so glad you’re here”, you say. “Here, take my suitcase for me. I nearly died lugging it here.”

He stumbles under the weight of said suitcase when loading it into the train and curses aloud. Kaiyo only gives him a thumbs up though Atsumu makes a show of clapping his hands over Shoma’s ears. “What on earth did you pack for this trip, the entire combini?” he demands, when he locates your seats - next to each other, courtesy of Kaiyo, of course.

“Presents for the kids!” you reply, rifling through the huge container of things you’ve deemed necessary for a week-long trip. “A castella cake for Kita-san’s granny, Kaiyo mentioned she has a fondness for that. And I know it’s customary to bring fruit as presents for our hosts, but I figured they get better produce out in the farmlands so I popped into the department stores to get some expensive mochi and sweet treats, hopefully they’ll like that.”

“I hope they don’t like it too much or they’ll end up with a mouthful of cavities”, he says drolly, shaking his head at your generosity.

You roll your eyes at him before admitting sheepishly. “I…didn’t know what to bring for them. I’ve never really gone on a trip like this before. So I may have overdone it.”

“I’ll eat it all if they can’t finish it.”

You smack his shoulder. “That’s your motive for being discouraging, you sneaky bugger”, you accuse him.

“You’re still gonna give me one anyway”, he says, unrepentant.

Despite your outrage, you still plop a sweet into his palms and he settles back in his seat, satisfied. The train trundles on, its swaying lulling you to sleep, your head finding a pillow on the shelf of his shoulders. It’s only to be expected, because you stubbornly hung around the restaurant til closing last night despite having a night shift the night before. He wraps his jacket around you because it’s the decent thing to do, and does not even mind when you mumble incoherent nonsense and drool against his sleeve.

(Okaa-san raised one of ‘em right, at least)

“Aww”, Kaiyo coos, leaning over the top of the seat like a student on a school trip. “How adorable.”

He expects her to snap a photo or do something that would set his teeth on edge, but she sticks out her pinky finger at him. “I offer a truce to my favourite brother in law.”

“I’m your only brother in law.”

“C’mon! It’s a generous offer! I solemnly swear I won’t try anything on this trip”. She pouts when he only glares at her. “What!” she squawks, indignant. “Why don’t you believe me?!”

He’d stand up to throttle her, but that’d mean waking you up from your much needed nap so he tucks you against his shoulder securely before settling for a cat-like swat of Kaiyo’s hand.

“Cos you’re a bundle of trouble”, he states flatly.

“I forget how stubborn you can be sometimes”, she groans, wiggling her pinky insistently. “C’mon, I won’t push but promise me you’ll be a good friend to her and help her enjoy this trip? She deserves that much at least.”

“I’m not an asshole. I was gonna do that anyway.”

Her eyes dance with amusement. “And I promise to behave, if that helps you relax.”

While he’s inclined not to trust her, he links his pinky with hers. “Don’t push her over the mountaintop in some misguided attempt at matchmaking, that’s all I’m sayin’” he quips.

“C’mon”, she yelps, outraged. “I wasn’t even in Hyogo when Ichika decided to fall off that damned mountain, and I was just tryin’ to give Kita a gentle push in the right direction - ”

She trails off as he gives her a look, knowing that she’s not helping her own case.

“Promise you’ll be good”, Osamu warns.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m always good.”

“No interfering”, Osamu says firmly.

“No interfering”, Kaiyo parrots, pouting.

“Swear that you’ll stop your matchmaking attempts on your idiot husband’s life.”

She snorts. “I swear on my idiot husband’s life.”

“Hey!” Atsumu protests, but he’s distracted when Shoma wordlessly starts pasting a whole sheet of food stickers on him.

Fortunately, you continue snoring despite the commotion, even as the train pulls away from the city grid, concrete blocks of apartments and shops giving way to sloping green fields and hills that rise out of the earth. He settles back into his seat, careful not to jostle you, going through orders and paperwork on his tablet until the lightbulb shining overhead is overshadowed by dawn’s arrival.

“I don’t understand why you take so many night shifts”, he grouses as he walks you home.

You hum. Previously, you might’ve told him to just stop coming by the combini which he does without fail, at least once a week, but he always claims that he needs a breather after the intense mornings he has, rushing to the fish market at the crack of dawn, arranging for rice to be cooked, stocked to be boiled, all before it’s even eight o’clock in the morning. So now you just accept his complaints with equanimity.

Today though, summer is well and truly dying. Fall takes its place so the mornings are a little lazier, the sun rises a little later. You stop at the end of the road where the sidewalk ends, and morning traffic begins, tilting your face to the sky.

“I like seeing the sun rise”, you say softly. “I wonder what today brings.”

As the sun climbs over the horizon, spilling its light across the sky like fire in pink shades and gold hues, he takes hold of your shoulder, shaking you gently awake. “Wake up”, he murmurs, snorting under his breath when you squeeze your eyes shut. “It’s too early”, you grumble, but still, you obediently blink open your eyes.

“The sun doesn’t seem to think so”, he jokes, offering you a sip of hot tea from his thermos flask as you rub the heels of your hands into your eyes until like the earth, you slowly awake.

“G’morning ‘Samu”, you murmur.

The greeting pulls at the knot in his gut, though his heart is light with a feeling he does not recognise yet. “Good morning”, he replies, taking the liberty of brushing the hair out of your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. “Thought you might wanna see the sunrise.”

“I see it quite a lot these days”, you laugh, but when you turn your head, your mouth forms an adorable o! and he chuckles as he changes seats with you.

“I thought you see it quite a lot these days?” he teases as you press your cheek against the glass.

“Shhh. It’s so different out of the city”, you whisper, breath fogging up the cool window, obviously spellbound.

He wants to steal a bite of your childish delight for himself. “So what do you think of it?”

“Mm? Tis pretty” you murmur, gazing out of the window, eyes aglow.

“Yeah”, he replies, voice gruff. He doesn’t realise he’s looking at you, not the sun.

Kita’s waiting for them at the station with a colourful, glittery sign that spells out WELCOME!, the kanji stark against the dull browns and greys of the village parking lot. Clearly the doing of his wife and daughters, but he waves it sportingly over his head, bowing politely when everyone emerges, a little dishevelled from the long train ride.

“Did Asami make that?” Atsumu chortles gleefully, pointing at the banner.

“Yes”, Kita responds placidly. “By the way, you have a sticker on your cheek, Atsumu.”

Between the two former captains of Inarizaki, you snort at how clear it is to see who comes off the worse in that encounter, as Atsumu struggles to peel the bright coloured onigiri sticker from his cheek (Shoma, the perpetrator, holding his mother’s hand, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth) and Kita gives one last merry jiggle of the bedazzled poster before setting it down in his van, looking every inch the proud father of three daughters.

You bow politely when he turns to greet you. “It’s nice to meet you”, he says as Osamu lifts your suitcase into the back of his van. You could’ve sworn his lips quirk up ever so slightly as he adds “you must be Osamu’s friend”, and you wonder if you’re left out of an inside joke when he glances at Kaiyo from the corner of his eyes and Osamu chokes, but you’re too distracted thumping Osamu’s back in an attempt to stop him from hacking his lungs out to pay Kita’s strange behaviour any mind. You promptly forget that strange incident when everyone’s loaded onto the truck and starts the journey towards the farm.

Autumn in Hyogo is transcendent.

The maple trees on fire, leaf tips tinted gold. The yellow foliage of gingko trees in the gorge you drive past, the hues of orange and amber of fallen leaves, the rolling hills and vast valleys. You’re almost reluctant to leave the van because you’re still awestruck by the beauty of the Japanese countryside in all its autumn glory, but Osamu bumps your shoulder.

“I’ll drive you out to see it all again, if you want”, he offers, so you step out of the van to take charge of your suitcase and offer the proper greeting to your hosts who’ve so kindly agreed to put you up in the guest house.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” Ichika, Kita-san’s wife chirps, her trio of daughters clustered around her legs. “I hope you’ll be happy here.”

“I already am”, you tell her truthfully, because with views like that, you forget all your troubles, leave your worries behind. Besides, you already feel at ease with Ichika and her family by extension, because her warm manner is welcoming, and she’s clearly someone Kaiyo adores, your friend tossing herself bodily at Ichika, bawling into her shoulder that it’s been too long, I need to kidnap you from your husband, said husband looking both amused and concerned about the imminent disappearance of his wife.

“I’m glad”, she says, when she finally untangles herself from the octopus-like grip of her best friend with the help of Atsumu, ushering you up a slope where your lodgings for the next week await. Kaiyo’s mentioned her best friend runs a guesthouse that’s comfortable and clean in her multiple attempts to persuade you to tag along, but she’s clearly omitted the fact that the minshuku the Kitas own in their vast rice farm has blossomed into a stately property, twelve sprawling rooms with traditional tatami floors, a communal bathhouse, even barbeque pits on the sides for picnics under the stars.

Shoma’s already disappeared with the eldest of the Kita brood, while Shino’s already set up shop in the family room, video-calling Meian Makoto as her Atsumu glowers, until he’s dragged into a conversation with Kita and his brother. Kaiyo disappears off to greet and gossip with Granny, leaving you alone with Ichika, who brings you to your room.

“You have a beautiful place”, you say. “Thank you for letting me stay with you.”

“A friend of Kaiyo’s is a friend of mine”, she replies, and you find yourself beaming back at her, her cheerfulness contagious. “And thank you for your kind words! I always try to have Kaiyo and her family come over for as long as they can in autumn, though it’s a pity Atsumu has to leave early-”

“You’re just happy to get Kaiyo to yourself”, the man in question interjects. Ichika just turns her nose up at him.

“- And as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I personally think the minshuku is at its best in autumn when the leaves change colour and the entire valley looks like it’s on fire. Plus, the harvest is over and we can actually relax, but Shinsuke always disagrees and says it’s best in spring for some reason.”

“The farm is at it’s best in spring when the flowers blossom”, Kita Shinsuke pipes up, warmth evident in his eyes as he gazes at his wife. “You should come back in spring, see the farm transform into a sea of flowers in bloom.”

Ichika laughs, curling an arm around her husband’s lean waist. “We’re both biased in our own ways. I love the farm in fall because that when I first visited the farm - at Kaiyo’s suggestion, no less - and promptly fell in love with my wonderful husband right here - ” Kita promptly turns so red in embarrassment, you wonder if he’s impersonating a traffic sign though he just pulls his wife closer, shaking his head with exasperation - “Whereas he’s a romantic and loves spring best ‘cos that’s when we got married, right Shin?”

Kita sighs but answers stoically - “that’s right, dear heart.”

Even though he’s clearly embarrassed, the look of open affection is clear to see. Then they catch each other’s eye and oh - the magical glimmer of lovelight in their eyes, like fireflies on a summer’s night, makes your heart wrench.

“Oi! ‘Chika, she’s gonna keel over from the journey, can you stop mooning over your husband -”

“Miya Osamu, I swear you’re becoming more and more like your idiot brother - ”

“Hey!”

You’re ushered into your room, alone yet overcrowded with your thoughts. You should unpack, take a breather and maybe take a shower before offering some help to prepare dinner. Surely with so many people on the farm they’ll definitely need help with food and it’s really the least you can do. But as you’re about to leave your room you hear a clatter of something clearly metallic outside your door.

“What on earth - Osamu, did you actually bring your own knives? Do you actually think Granny’s gonna let you anywhere near her kitchen, at least tonight - ”

Miya Osamu clearly shares the same thought as you.

“C’mon, ‘Chika”, you hear Osamu grumble as you emerge from your room. “Let me cook for y’all so I don’t feel so much like a damned parasite - ”

“Absolutely not”, your hostess declares with the manner of an offended kitten. “You’re here for a holiday, which you hardly ever take for yourself, I know that ‘cos Kaiyo always complains that you work too hard.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” he says mournfully, arms full of sharp knives but still managing to look like a lost child. You find it absolutely adorable.

(put that thought on ice)

Ichika’s mouth stretches wide into a cheshire grin, turning to address you, the unwitting collateral damage in their exchange. “It’s your first time visiting Asago right? That means you’ve not had the chance to see the Takeda castle ruins, and it’s the perfect time to see it in the fall. ‘Samu will bring you, won’t he?”

Osamu just glares as if she’s mortally insulted him.

“It’s okay, I can just stay here and explore the farm”, you demur, but Ichika starts chattering a mile a minute about how everyone else is occupied - the children at the duck pond, Kaiyo disappearing with Atsumu to make out somewhere in the fields (it’s like they actively want to be caught by Shinsuke or something), she and her husband busy with some chores - so Osamu’s the best guide for you, since Granny and I’ll be cooking dinner, he’ll have nothing to do. She doesn’t take no for an answer, something she shares with Kaiyo in common, shooing you off in the direction of the truck, tossing the keys at Osamu’s head which he catches with well honed reflexes, grumbling under his breath.

“Don’t fall off the mountain!” she calls cheerfully. “But if you do - Osamu, you better carry her back home!”

Osamu just mutters something about how she’s in cahoots with Kaiyo, but gallantly opens the truck door, helping you in. “You wanna see the castle then?”, he asks, revving the engine, reversing out onto the road for the second time today.

“I don’t need to”, you reply. “I don’t know what’s around here. I mean - we can do anything you want, I really don’t mind.”

“It’s not about what I want”, he says, patient as ever. “I grew up around here, been dragged up the castle more times than I care to count. It’s kinda nice ‘specially around sunset. We can go there if you want.”

You imagine Osamu as a young boy, one half of a ragtag duo with Atsumu, dirt smudged on his cheeks, scuffed up knees, more considerate than his loud mouthed brother, the reasonable, responsible Miya twin.

“Would you bring me around to your favourite places around here?” you ask meekly.

His forehead puckers in confusion. “My favourite places?” he echoes. “I grew up in Tooyoka, it’s about forty minutes drive away. You sure you wanna visit it? It’s just another sleepy town y’know? Great onsens around the area, but it’s pretty quiet.”

“I’m just curious” you say without offering any further explanation, expecting him to laugh at your odd request but he glances at you, wordlessly confirming that you’re serious before turning the truck northwards, slicing through the mountains, following the road towards the sea.

As he drives, he offers you snippets of stories, how impressed he was that Kita Shinsuke used to cycle an hour through the mountains just to get to high school and was not only punctual, but always the first one to arrive for morning practice, almost always before dawn, and how Atsumu, in contrast, could never wake up for anything except for volleyball practice, leaving you in stitches as Osamu mimics his brother yelling at him for letting him oversleep as passes the bus stop where the twins used to wait for the bus to school.

“Don’t you want to stop to say hi to your parents?”

“Nah, you asked for my favourite places, right? C’mon, don’t look at me like that”, he chortles, carefully parking the truck before leading you down a row of shophouses, stopping in front of a soba noodle shop. The proprietress bursts into a wrinkled smile when she recognises him through thick glasses and marvels over how handsome he’s grown.

(you find yourself agreeing with her)

“I should’ve known your favourite places would revolve around food.”

“You make me sound like a terrible son. C’mon, food first - I’ll visit them later in the week before ‘Tsumu leaves for practice. We had an early lunch, now it’s time for tea”, Osamu argues, ordering two steaming bowls of soba noodles, topped with freshly grated ginger, crisp spring onions and perfectly golden tempura bits.

“Plus, it’s life changing. It’ll teach you the meaning of happiness.”

“Life changing, huh?” you tease, but your eyes widen dramatically as you take your first slurp of noodles. Handmade buckwheat noodles, grown in fresh soil and water, piping hot soup laden with savoury comfort. It feels like a warm hug from a doting grandma or the feel of a sweater fresh out of the dryer, and if you have to eat your words for doubting him in the first place - well, Osamu just grins and orders another bowl for sharing and doesn’t rub it in.

He pronounces the ice cream he drags you to life-changing as well, narrating how he’d stop by without fail after elementary school, leaning his bicycle against the preposterously ugly cow statue they have in front, ordering two scoops of ice cream at least- cycling through all the freshly made flavours. In homage to the season, he orders kuri, jewelled chestnuts in the pale yellow scoop, along with a blend of satsumaimo, the vibrant purple of the sweet potato twirling around swirls of creamy vanilla. In between licks of the ice cream which he so generously let you hold, he tells you about how he’d wander up and down the food street, trying their wares, figuring out what he liked about each and everyone of their offerings, experimenting in his parents’ kitchen on the weekends even though his grandma disapproved.

“We all hate that all witch”, he says matter of factly, as he leads you down the street. “So it’s karma that I’m doing the exact thing she used to scold my ma for.” He switches to a nasal whine - “How could you let your son be in the kitchen, it’s a woman’s job - “, then he deadpans - “well, my ma and I would make onigiris together anyway to bring over to my grandma - I used to wonder what the odds are of her chokin’ on one, but you know what they say, evil just doesn’t seem to die - ”

“Miya Osamu!” you say severely.

He just snorts. “She’s alive and kickin’, so don’t get all huffy on me right now.”

You reach the edge of a park. “So you sell onigiris just to spite your grandma”, you muse as you sit on a swing.

He takes a seat next to you, kicking up sand as he builds momentum.

“Nah, it’s cos’ they appeal to a wide segment of society and I’m raking in money from low margins”, he deadpans as you roll your eyes at the nonsense he’s sprouting from his mouth. “Hey! I gotta use the business school jargon I learnt so I don’t waste the term I spent there before droppin’ out.”

“Sure”, you say. “Not ‘cos you have a soft heart and want to make as many people as happy as possible, with life-changing onigiris -”

“My life mission has been found out”, he replies, drolly twisting his mouth, before you both collapse in mirth, the clear afternoon air ringing with your shared laughter. Your belly aches so much from the combination of too much food and laughter that you’re almost too distracted to hear his next words, whistling in the wind.

“At least - I hope they make people happy”, he says, staring far away as if he’s able to peer through time and space back into each of his little restaurants if he peers past the horizon. “My onigiris, that is”, he adds, as if there’s any need to clarify what he means. “I think they do. That’s all I set out to do in this life.”

You think of his restaurants, filled to the brim with hungry patrons leaving content at the end of a hearty meal. His onigiris, stuffed with handmade fillings, lovingly made with fresh ingredients, each a palmful of rice squeezed loosely thrice, roughly the size of a heart. Simple yet deeply satisfying, the sort of food one eats regularly both for sustenance and comfort.

“They do”, you announce to your audience of one who just looks at you, bemused.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Well - I mean - ”, you fumble, because you should qualify your statement, stealing a few beats to formulate a response by tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Suddenly, you’re shy because perhaps you’ve spoken out of turn, you’ve never professed to be the best at reading people so you’re not exactly best placed to make hasty generalisations about his customers. “Your onigiris”, you parrot his own words back at him, as if there were any doubt what you were referring to.

“They make me happy. They do.”

Then you glance up almost furtively at him, worried that you’ve overstepped. You’re - yes he’s said you’re his friend - but there’s almost something too personal about declaring that the fruit of the craft he’s devoted his entire life to is a source of joy to you. Perhaps it comes off as a little creepy, perhaps he’s going to think you’re rude.

But he looks at you, gaze steady. “I’m glad”, he says simply.

The coil of anxiety tightening in your chest loosens. You hesitate but his open expression doesn’t falter, so you allow your mouth to fall open into a smile.

There’s a gradual build up of children in the park, some even waiting around you - swings are hot property and school just let out for these kids, he explains, as you take his hand, letting him help you out of your seat. He guides you along a well worn path - ‘Tsumu and I used to play tag there, he points to a muddy field as you shudder in sympathy for the state of his parents’ floor, we nearly drowned catching frogs here, he points to a clear stream, water burbling a merry song.

Tori gates flare scarlet in the distance, framing steps cut into the hill. “C’mon”, he urges when your pace slackens. “We won’t make it to the peak in Takeda, but I think this is a pretty decent substitute. Just in time for sunset too.”

You obediently follow him up the steps even though your thighs burn, unused to the exertion. When you reach the peak, he grabs hold to the back of your top, the fabric tethering you to him.

“I’m under orders not to let you fall off the edge”, he says in response to your questioning glance, clearing a space for you to sprawl out on the grass.

You don’t point out that there are barriers ring-fencing you from toppling over. Besides, the peak of this little hill is hardly anything to speak off, barely overlooking the sleepy town stretching into the sea. Instead, you listen to his recounting of how Ichika and Shinsuke’s ill-fated hike up the mountain the ruins of Takeda castle, gasping when Ichika tumbles off the peak (she was too distracted lookin’ at Shinsuke to watch her footing), cooing when Kita Shinsuke carries her on his back to find their way back towards the farm (she sprained her ankle, but I think she still enjoyed that hike).

“What a nice romance”, you sigh.

“I guess”, Osamu says with a nonchalant shrug.

He scoffs when you ask him teasingly if he ever brought a sweetheart or two up here in his youth. “They all flocked to ‘Tsumu, not me”, he says, without a hint of resentment. “Not that I had too much interest, t’was too wrapped up in volleyball in high school. And I guess it didn’t make sense for me to date then, my pocket money’s better spent on food for myself.”

“And now?” you ask. For some reason, your heart crawls its way up your throat, leaving a burning sensation behind.

“Now? I’m busy. Can’t be bothered”, he replies shortly.

Again, you wonder if you’ve overstepped, if you’ve crossed the boundaries that friendships have in place (you’ve had so few of them, you wouldn’t know what’s right from wrong) but he just cracks a wry smile. “Stop starin’ at me, you’re here to watch the sunset.”

Obediently, you follow his lead, tilting your face up to watch clouds gust across clear skies. You bear witness to the extinguishing of the sun’s rays, its gradual dip towards the horizon. The sky starts to darken until fiery orange and gold streaks from the sun’s farewell are all that remains of the day.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?” Osamu asks as you make your way down the hill, back through the town where the truck is parked.

For a split second you close your eyes. You imagine another life where you grew up here in this small town between the sky and the sea. You imagine another life where you were allowed to learn how to kick your legs on the playground swings so you can arc through the air. You imagine being childhood best friends with him, accompanying him as he shyly tells each store owner that their food is oishi! when it deserves praise, following him through tori gates up to the top of the hill where you’d get him to yourself since everyone else would flock to Atsumu. You imagine another life where, on a perfect autumn day like today, you tell him that you like him. You imagine stealing a kiss from him as the sun sets.

You choke.

Your heart thunders against your chest, so hard that you have to press your hand against your ribs to keep steady. Blood rushes through frozen ventricles, a sudden inferno blasting your insides, gasoline churning in your gut. Your brain must have turned into ash, you’ve clearly lost all sense of logic to have such thoughts stray into your mind. You’re a walking cliche, forming a crush on the first guy who’s nice enough to befriend you. You should retreat back in your hole, bury yourself deep enough until the earth caves in and no one is around to witness your shame.

“You ok?” Osamu asks, frowning when he doesn’t get a response from you.

You have to avert your eyes. In the shadows of dusk, the sun leaves its mark, gold flecks in his dark eyes. You need to take a step back, regroup and figure out what’s your next step.

“Yeah”, you manage to say, your mouth bone-dry. “I’m fine. I - I enjoyed myself today. Thank you.”

His lips curve into a smile. “I’m glad”, he replies.

Sparks fly. Fire burns in the night sky.

note: a little early, and i hope you enjoy this chapter too! drop me an ask and let me know what you think!

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu #Haikyuu angst #haikyuu romance #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu x you #osamu x you #osamu x y/n #osamu x reader #haikyuu fluff #miya atsumu #inarizaki #set fire to your heart

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nahoyagf · 3 years

Note

heyy i love ur writings😭 <33, can i request a hanma x reader doing this pls thank youu😭 (https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSJxoGmRP/)

heart shaped kisses

characters: hanma x reader

format: fic

warnings: slight sexual content, drug use , aged up characters, idk if i like the ending so i might change it lol

other notes: tysm bae!! and yes ofc, scene was hot asf. this is so long i’m sorry 😭

hanma often didn’t come home until the late hours of night. he spent most of his time doing god knows what, but always came home covered in the scent of perfume and booze.

it upset you. not just the idea that he was slowly drowning himself in these things, but also the idea that he was out with other women. you weren’t his girlfriend, hell, you two had never even had any romantic interactions. to him, you were just his housemate that worried too much. worried about his whereabouts and worried about his self care.

you made him food, it was often left on the table, cold. but it always made your heart warmer when you would wake up in the morning and see that hanma ate it. occasionally, he would leave a note saying thank you or that it was good.

tonight you did your usual routine. made food, being sure to make an extra plate for him and then watched tv until you got tired. you were extra sleepless tonight. the job you held was stressful and overwhelming and was made 10x worse when your boss decided he wanted to be an asshole today. you just wanted company and yet, your housemate was out. probably getting drunk and having the time of his life with some girls at the bar.

the doorknob twisted and the sound of clattering keys being dropped then slowly picked up at met your ears. there were a few muffled curse words and the noise of someone struggling to open the door but eventually it opened. hanma looked tired, eyes widening slightly at seeing you still awake. he smelt the same as usual, dressed in a white, silk dress shirt. about five buttons undone to expose his large chest full of intricate tattoos. he also had on loose black slacks and nice black dress shoes that had actually been a gift from you.

he smelt strongly of sake and you realized that he must’ve gone down to the karaoke bar which had the “best sake you’ll ever taste”. so he was out with girls.

“wait in’ for me?” he chuckled, smiling at the table that had a once hot bowl of ramen on it.

“i’m surprised you’re home so early.”

“and i’m surprised you’re up so late.”

you tossed him a half hearted glare. hanma always treated you like a mom, some middle aged lady who goes to bed at 9 and works on her feet all day.

“thank you for the food, sweetheart. looks good,”

the compliments he left on notes always made your stomach flutter but hearing them in person nearly caused you to have a stroke.

“it’s probably cold again.”

you tried to brush off your flustered behavior with the comment but it didn’t come out as annoyed or strict as you wanted it to. he heated the food up, and you let him eat in silence. assuming he was too tired to want to talk and would just go to bed straight after. of course, you were wrong.

he finished his food and put the bowl in the sink before sitting down on the couch next to you.

“it was delicious, thank you.” he sent a grin your way, throwing his arm over the back of couch and watching the cheesy slasher film you had playing.

“it would’ve tasted better if you had it hot and fresh” it came out angrier than you wanted. deep down, you just wanted him to spend a couple days a week actually coming home on time and hanging out with you. by the way his head turned towards you, you knew you had fucked up.

“y’know being a fuckin’ yakuza member is no fuckin’ fun, you’re mad at me for going out and getting a lil’ drunk after spending my whole day fuckin’ killin’ people.” his glare hurt, but his tone hurt worse. you felt your eyes water slightly and turned away, both embarrassed and upset.

hanma noticed this. it sent a pang in his chest to see you look so hurt. he swallowed hard and looked around to find something to make you feel better.

“look... i’m sorry. it’s just been a long fuckin’ day,” he watched your expression. your eyes bore holes into the tv trying to avoid his gaze, face still upset.

“do you smoke?” he asked, reaching the drawer on the side table. his hands grabbed a bag of pre-grinded weed and rolling paper. you just shook your head.

his hands fumbled through his pockets for his lighter, finding it then beginning to roll a joint. his fingers worked quickly and expertly before lifting it to his face and licking the paper. sealing it with a slight smirk. his eyes lit up slightly as an idea popped into his brain.

“here,” he lit it, the smell filling the room.

“i said i don’t smoke.” you said, not bothering to look his way.

“you look tired, this’ll relax you, baby.”

the nickname gave you those annoying butterflies but you swallowed them away and kept a poker face.

“i have work tomorrow.”

“i thought you hated that shitty job,” he was right. you hated it and you hated this feeling that lingered after his lecture. you turned to face him, eyes still watery and a doe look coursed through them. his body filled with desire. stomach fluttering in a way that he hadn’t felt in years, the boyish feeling being something he left in his youth.

“i don’t know how.”

“it’s easy.” his words did nothing to ease your embarrassment and he caught onto that.

“c’mere, i’ll help you out.” he had this stupid smirk, so stupid that brought heat to your face.

you shifted closer. knee touching his, but it wasn’t enough. not what he wanted.

“closer, i can’t help you from there,” you stuttered out as he pulled you onto his lap. making you straddle his thighs. his yellow eyes met yours.

he put the joint in his mouth, breathing in the smoke, and let it sit on his tongue for a little before his hand grabbed your jaw. thumb pushing between your lips to open your mouth and then he exhaled. the smoke entered your mouth, the thick taste and smell clouded your brain for a second. you inhaled and stared at him.

“see? not too hard.” you laughed at that slightly.

“i didn’t do anything.”

he hand dropped down to your hips, rubbing circles as he took another puff. eyes wandering over your figure. he pulled you closer, letting the smoke drift between you two.

“i’m sorry for missing dinner. you forgive me now, hm?” handing you joint to take a hit before letting it sit on the table. hands moving to caress your thighs as his mouth met your neck. pressing sloppy kisses.

you placed your hand on his chest and pushed away slightly.

“i don’t wanna be one of those girls to you.” you said, shaky voice with how intimate he’s being. he chuckled at this. he laughed at this, hand grabbing your face as he rubbed your cheek.

“you think i would do that to you? are you fuckin’ dumb?” despite the seemingly harsh words, his tone was humorous and light. he wasn’t angry, just shocked. “you want me to stop seeing them, then i will, baby. you coulda’ just said that.”

hanma was fully serious. though a part of you worried that he would change his mind once he’s sober, his assuring voice and steady grip on you lifted those thoughts away. his hand guided your mouth towards his, kissing you gently but with a deep passion. other hand sliding up and down your body.

“let’s smoke some more, hm?”

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #hanma x reader #shuji hanma #📁:general #📁:hanma

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tangledstarlight · 3 years

Text

oh all of this silence and patience (oh im pining in anticipation)

listen it’s still august in some timezones so this totally counts as posting something in august okay? okay! i hope people like this, it took me far too long to finish, but also special shoutout to the wonderful @ourstarscollided who really helped me with the whole first section of this fic, without her i truly would still be working on it, so thank you eunice, you’re the best!💜 okay enjoy!

the first firefighter!luke fic for anyone who wants to read that first, though it can be read alone: ao3 / tumblr

also on ao3!

lil disclaimer: i’m still not a firefighter and i also know that they dont use fire poles anymore but lets just ✨pretend✨ for the visual okay. this takes place between part 4 and 5 in the original fic!

trigger warnings! lots of swearing, implied sexual content.

RATED T –– there’s no graphic scenes but there’s a lot of kissing and fading to black, so rating might change if anyone needs me to 😬

Word count: 6,072

“Look who it is!”

Julie feels a grin pull up on the corners of her mouth as she spots Luke’s station captain coming around the end of one of the fire trucks Julie is walking between, sending her a wave of the clipboard she’s holding. “You’re here early.”

“Yeah, class ended early and I thought I'd pop over to see if I could get some extra time with Luke,” Julie shrugs, holding up the pale grey burlap bag that Alex had packed their food into.

And there’s a sympathetic look that crosses over Harrison’s face, because she knows that the younger woman knows she’s in charge of Luke’s shifts and the reason why Julie comes over every Tuesday to have lunch with her boyfriend.

Because that’s why she was here. To have lunch with him like she did every Tuesday between her classes and when the fires of LA would allow. Sometimes Alex would text her to stop by to pick up a packed lunch for them, sometimes she made something herself, sometimes they just ordered in. The food wasn’t really the point, it was just getting to spend some time together. Julie had never really thought about it before, but there was always something, someone, somewhere, trapped or hurt or on fire. Luke was a very busy person, and it meant sometimes their lunches got interrupted by blaring alarms and him pressing a quick kiss to her lips before rushing off.

Tuesdays were apparently very busy days for a firefighter.

“What’s the master chef prepared for you this week then?” Harrison asks, crossing her arms and clipboard across her chest and lifting one brow, “Y’know Alex used to cook for us, he’d send Luke in every Saturday he was on shift with all sorts of goodies.”

Julie bites her lip to try not to laugh at the exaggerated sigh that leaves the older woman's lips as she shakes her head sadly. There was something about Vivian Harrison that just— put people at ease. The first time Julie had officially met her there had been a warm hug and teasing remarks and there was just something that had viscerally reminding Julie of her aunt Victoria that it was kind of impossible not to like the station captain after that.

“He was pretty busy so it’s just some sandwiches,” she wrinkles her nose a little before smiling, “I’ll tell him how much you’re missing his cooking though, I’m sure the blame will fall completely on Luke.”

Harrison laughs, and tilts her head slightly as she shrugs, “That boy of yours is just very easy to blame.”

She feels a sudden flush to her cheeks at ‘that boy of yours’ that she hopes can be played off by how warm it always is in the station. She can see Harrison’s lips twitching, like she’s about to say something teasing, but Julie is saved from it by two people walking past them and a change of mind.

“Morales, can you tell Patterson his lunch is here.”

“Sure thing Cap,” one of the guys says, shooting her a wide smile that Julie feels compelled to return quickly before he’s rushing off, past the fire engines and up some stairs. And Julie’s about to ask Harrison if they’ve been busy today and if she’d found time to visit the farmers market they’d talked about last time, but another voice interrupts, and Julie hadn’t even realised the other guy hadn’t followed his friend.

“So you’re Patterson’s girl, right?” The blonde asks, eyes scanning her up and down in a way that makes her want to hide behind someone. There’s something vaguely familiar about him, probably because she’s seen him in passing for the last couple of months but never talked to him. Which wouldn’t have been weird if most of the other people in the station hadn’t introduced themselves the first time Luke had invited her to one of their station parties, and made an effort to talk to her whenever she'd stopped by since.

“Yeah, I’m Julie,” she smiles politely, trying to put emphasis on her name. She doesn't mind being known as Luke's girl by people at the station who have actually made an effort to get to know her.

“Right, right, nice to meet you Julie. I’m Nick, I’m sure Luke’s mentioned me,” he grins, teeth showing and shoulders pulling back like he’s expecting her to — what? Clap? A small furrow works its way between her brows as Nick starts up a conversation without even waiting for her response and she suddenly understands what Luke means about him. Because he has mentioned the condescending, stereotypical blonde frat boy before, and never in a good way. It was mostly followed by some very creative swear words and a mumbled ‘he’s going to get either himself or one of us really hurt one day’.

She tries to follow along with the conversation, nodding politely and laughing whenever Harrison forces one out, but Nick only seems interested in talking about himself, and normally she can feign interest, but right now all she wants is to talk to one person in particular.

There’s the sound of too many voices heading in their direction and Julie turns around, eyes searching for one person, but all she’s met with is a collection of firefighters she vaguely knows and tries not to let her disappointment show too clearly on her face.

“Wow Molina, don’t look so excited to see us!” An elbow nudges her side and Julie glances up to see Carrie Wilson has appeared in the place that Nick had just stood, eyebrows raised and a blinding smile as the other blonde frowns from behind her, still trying to carry on his conversation.

“No! I am glad to see you all it’s just—” Julie starts, eyes a little wide as she looks at the other girl because Carrie had only ever been nice to her, but Luke had a lot of stories about the blonde being ruthless and rude to people she was mildly inconvenienced by.

(One of Luke’s favourite stories was about Carrie loudly telling some girl that Nick was flirting with how he had used the same lines on her two months before. Luke told it every chance he could get, sparing no details on the look of horror that has taken over Nick’s face.)

“You’re here for Patterson,” Carrie cuts her off with a wink, elbow nudging her lightly again, “Don’t worry, we all know. He should be down soon.” There’s something about how she says it that raises more questions than answers for Julie, furrow between her brows and mouth opening to comment when Carrie just nods her head behind her, and Julie turns around to spot Luke.

It’s impossible, Julie knows it’s impossible, but she could swear time slows down. Like she’s in some rom-com movie where the main character sees their love interest for the first time.

Only she’s not in a film, she’s stood next to a fire engine and trying to care about what the people around her are talking about and it’s far from the first time she’s seen the love interest. But the world still feels like it’s in slow motion all the same as she looks up as Luke calls her name from the second floor, grinning at her from over the banister and holding up one hand in that universal signal for ‘wait’.

And Julie waits, not that she could really do anything else with the firehouse blurring at the edges and Nick's voice fading into the background. Focus entirely on Luke.

She’s never seen someone slide down the pole before, didn’t even know that they still used them in firehouses, but Julie’s pretty sure it shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Though, she supposes, it could just be Luke. His hand wraps around the metal and Julie swallows as her eyes are drawn to his arms, to where his top pulls tight and his forearms are on show. If this was a film, there’d be some stereotypical song about sex playing in the background right about now. All her slightly hazy brain can supply is the chorus to Lady Marmalade on repeat. His legs wrapped around the pole, ankles crossed and thighs pressed together, comes into view as he slides down the metal, all cool and in control, and Julie's throat goes dry.

She knows how much strength it takes to slide down a pole. Her and Flynn had taken a few pole dancing classes a few years ago in an attempt to add some sort of exercise into their day. Julie can still remember how much her arms ached and the bruises that littered the insides of her thighs after even the simplest of moves.

It was hard, and Luke was making it look so easy.

His feet hit the ground, and even though she’s too far away to actually hear it, she’s pretty sure they must make some sort of thudding sound. Because that’s what happens, right? You slide down the pole and your feet hit the floor with a thud that shows you’re ready for action. Only Luke isn’t going off to put on his uniform and fight a fire or save a life.

He’s walking towards her, suspenders swaying and smile widening and eyes never leaving her face.

And look, she knows that she’s seen Luke fully naked, fresh out of a shower or panting on his back. But seeing him slide down that fucking pole in his white t-shirt, suspenders by his knees and hair a mess? Hottest thing she has ever seen. And he knows it if the way his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he gets closer is anything to go by.

“How long did it take you to practice all that, Patterson?” Carrie asks, and Julie can hear the teasing tone in her voice and would normally enjoy seeing Luke stammer and blush, but right now she’s the one feeling too warm and is pretty sure if she started speaking right now all that would come out would be a high pitched noise.

“About the same amount of time it takes you to do your hair,” is his easy reply and Julie watches as Carrie rolls her eyes, hair flipping over her shoulder, and because he’s momentarily not looking at her, Julie tries to pull her thoughts together. To get a hold of herself. This is not the first time she has seen him in his uniform, she has seen in him in far less, and she will not turn into a blushing mess right now!

“Alright you lot, back to work!” Harrison interrupts before anyone can say anything else, and everyone starts walking away, some nudging Luke as they go, some giving her a wave, and she thinks she must smile back, at least she hopes she does. Her brain is still very much focused on Luke and how his thighs probably looked coming down that pole without the heavy duty trousers. “You tell Alex I’m still a fan of the flapjack he makes,” Harrison says as she walks past, dropping an eye into a wink and giving Luke a look she doesn’t understand.

A tense smile pulls at Julie’s lips that she hopes comes across as genuine and not just her unable to speak because of her incredibly hot and infuriatingly knows it boyfriend.

“You alright, Jules? Looking a little flushed, need me to get one of the EMT’s?” Luke asks, all innocence and anything but subtle as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, teeth still chewing on his damn lip.

“Just—” she clears her throat, trying to glare up at him, but already knowing it’s ruined by the heat in her cheeks and how she can’t stop staring at his arms. God, she hasn’t been this distracted by his arms since their first date. Blowing out a breath, Julie drags her eyes away from where his arms are crossed across his chest — which, she’s like, 80% sure he’s doing on purpose right now, the little shit — and up to his face just as he raises an eyebrow at her.

“It’s just a little warm,” she finally manages to get out, raising her hand that’s clutching the reusable grocery bag too tight, “Alex sent me with lunch.”

Luke’s eyes light up at the mention of Alex and food, hands dropping from his chest to eagerly reach for the bag and Julie can’t help but giggle at how quickly he can switch from cocky to cute.

“Swee-et! Alex is best,” he grins down at her, drawing out the first syllable of the word and bobbing his head at her. “You wanna eat outside?”

Julie doesn’t respond, just nods her head and links her fingers through his empty hand, letting Luke lead her out of the fire station and to the little grassy area outside. There’s already a blanket on the ground, two bottles of water and a warmth spreads through her for a different reason as Luke pulls her down to the ground and spreads out the food Alex has given them.

They get an hour.

An hour to eat lunch and curl up together to talk and giggle and try to keep their hands visible at all times. It’s both her favourite and the most tortuous hour of her week so far. And Luke’s just leaning in to whisper something in her ear, his breath against her cheek sending shivers down her spine when the alarm starts blaring from inside and his head drops to her shoulder with a sigh that mingles with her own groan.

“I gotta go,” he mutters into the fabric of her t-shirt, and she can imagine how his lips would feel brushing against her skin if they were somewhere else right now.

“I know,” she sighs and carefully moves her shoulder so he has to lift his head up, eyes apologetic as they meet hers. “Be careful?”

“Always am,” Luke smiles gently at her and then he’s getting up and leaving her on the blanket and feeling the loss. Julie watches him go, knees pulled up to her chest and blowing him a kiss when he turns around to wave one last time like he always does when the alarm inevitably ends their lunch date early.

Which normally Julie was fine with.

He was at work. He had a job. He had an important job.

Running out in the middle of lunch was fine. And it would have been fine today, if he hadn’t slid down that damn pole and filled her head with all sorts of ideas and left her fidgeting in her seat. It doesn’t help that Luke clearly knows, if the way he presses a kiss to her forehead and mutters a sorry, eyes a little wide and promises to see her later.

Which is all well and good, but Julie can’t help but feel like he did it on purpose and wonders if there’s a way for her to make him feel just as flustered as she had an hour earlier.

It takes her a while to form a plan of revenge, and then it takes a while longer for her to gather all the things she needs. And okay, maybe at some point she forgets why she’s doing all this, and then Luke mentions the pole at the station and how it makes his muscles ache sometimes as he says he’s going for a shower and Julie remembers the sight of him coming down and redoubles her planning.

The hard part comes when she has to pick a day. Because she can’t lure him to her house, not while her dad is working odd hours and her brother is home and Victoria still has a tendency to show up unannounced. Which leaves finding a time when his apartment is empty.

Not an easy feat when Reggie works from home part time, and can’t actually be trusted to stick to his word when he says he’ll be out and Alex has a weekend routine he’s hard pressed to change and likes to get home from work and relax. Plus she has to check when Luke isn’t working on a weekend, which turns out to be the easiest part, because it turns out Harrison really likes her and was happy to schedule Luke a weekend off when she asked.

Sure, she could have enacted her plan while one or both of them were home too but, well Julie knows the boys are all very close, and she knows that they’ve accepted her into the closeness with welcome arms. But she’s not sure she wants to have sex while they’re eating leftover lasagna down the hall. Feels a little too close for her liking. Plus, she has a plan that might end up involving their bath and she’s not sure they’d want to be there for that.

So Julie bides her time. Changes her mind on what clothes she wants and practices different poses on her bed at night and drops little hints about a weekend alone together.

Alex makes plans first, announces that he’s going with Willie to an out of state kids skateboarding competition to help cheer on Willie’s little proteges. He makes a big deal out telling them all the dates and how they had plans to go to some couples spa on their way back and how his restaurant would be ‘more than happy to supply any meals for two that you two might want’.

It had gone over Luke’s head, just nodding and asking about the competition. But Julie had gotten the hint.

And then a few days later Reggie said he had ‘big plans’ with her dad and brother of all people. He’d said it one afternoon when she’d stopped by to see Luke before his week of night shifts, how they were going to go camping so her dad could take some photos for a project and Reggie could teach Carlos to fish, and then he’d dropped his eye in a dramatic wink when she’d asked if that was the same weekend Alex was also away.

(Julie knew that she probably should have found it a little weird how often Reggie seemed to talk and hang out with her family, but the first time she’d gotten home to find him sitting at the dining room table, helping her dad edit photos and offering to order pizza, had felt strangely right.

Like he had always been a part of their family.

Luke had asked her once, a few weeks after they first started dating if it was okay. If she didn’t mind that Reggie had seemed to attach himself to her family. He never explicitly said anything, but she’d known him long enough by then to see the hints, the secrets she wasn’t aware of yet. Of lonely childhoods and something lacking. The hints that he’d found that with her family. And even if she hadn’t been fine with it already, she wasn’t about to stop Reggie. The Molina’s had never been shy about taking in lost souls.)

So apparently she hadn’t been quite as subtle as she thought she’d been with her hints. Both boys clearly conspiring to get her a weekend alone with their best friend. Julie’s just glad that Luke clearly hasn’t noticed. Or if he hadn’t, hadn’t teased her about it.

And that their apartment is empty when she uses her key to let herself in on Friday evening, Hotdog already waiting by the shoes for Luke, head tilted as she looks up mewling softly in disappointment.

“Sorry sweetie, he’ll be home soon though,” Julie mummers, bending down to scratch behind the cat's ears before stepping out of her shoes, which Hotdog happily moves to sit on top of instead. “Be sure to make a big fuss when he gets in so I know, alright?”

Hotdog doesn’t respond, just fixes her eyes back on the front door to wait for Luke, and Julie moves further into the apartment, laughing quietly at the plate of brownies Alex or Willie have clearly left out for them on the counter, blushing slight as she reads the short message scrawled on a post-it note,

‘Don’t mess up my kitchen ;)’

She tries not to let herself think too hard or long about how clearly they all knew about her grand plans for the night. And the next day, and hopefully the whole weekend if things went according to plan.

Picking up the plate on her way through the kitchen, Julie shrugs out of her coat to leave on the back of one of the kitchen stools, because if Luke missed her shoes in the hall, he won't miss this, and she’s really hoping he’ll get the hint to head towards his bedroom. By the time she’s made it to Luke’s room she’s lifted the cellophane off the plate and taken a bite from one of the brownies. Definitely Willie who’d baked them, he was always doubling up the chocolate content. Where Alex was experimental in the kitchen, Willie was a traditionalist who believed chocolate was the best way to set a mood. Julie couldn’t really fault his logic as she moves into Luke’s room.

His room looks the same as it had the first time she’d seen it. Only now there’s a bottle of her perfume on his dresser, and some of her clothes on his ‘laundry’ chair, and polaroids of the two of them stuck in the corners of the photo frames of him and the boys. And Julie knows if she thinks about it, that her room at her dad's house is also littered with pieces of him as well, and she knows it’s only been a few months, but it feels like years. Like her life had been full of all these little gaps she’d never noticed until they were filled with Luke.

Putting the plate down, she starts moving around his room. Pulling out the firefighting coat he’d brought home a few weeks ago because he’d found a rip in the shoulder, rooting through his wardrobe for the plain blue cut off she’d seen the last time she was over and laying them out on his bed. Tilting her head, Julie mentally puts together her outfit one more time. Shorts, suspenders, Luke’s cut-off, coat, maybe the shoes? She bites her lip and decides to come back to it, to see how everything looks on.

It’s strange, Julie thinks as she clips one side of her suspenders to her shorts, how nervous she is about this. It’s not like this is the first time they’ll have slept together, but it is the first time she’s done anything like this. Dressed up in something other than a pretty dress for dinner that he’d taken great care of taking off her.

What if he didn’t like it? What if he thought it was weird? What if he got home and was too tired to do anything? He’d been at work all day, after a long week of working, maybe she should change her plans and do it tomorrow night? What if—

She cuts her own thoughts off with a groan, sitting down on the end of Luke’s bed to take a breath and fiddle with knee high sheer socks dotted with little stars that she’d ordered online. Logically, Julie knows that Luke will like this, that he’ll look at her with those eyes of his that can’t hide a single emotion and smile at her slowly and call her beautiful.

Because he’d been complimenting her since their first date, and every day since. Little things and big changes and all the between. He really did seem to like her just as much dressed up and with make-up on as he did when she’d just woken up on a morning with her hair a mess and pillow creases still on her cheeks.

And that in itself was scary.

Because he liked her for her and didn’t need her to change. She’d never really dated anyone before who didn’t want her to be less invested in music or spend less time with her family or who didn’t like Flynn or even one guy who thought she should try a different scent of shampoo. They’d all been relationships littered with red flags, big and small.

But not even Flynn could find a real warning sign about Luke. Maybe he was a little co-dependant on his friends, but neither of them could say anything because they were a little co-dependant too. And maybe he could be a little over enthusiastic, but he also knew when to give her space. He had a stable job and good friends and was cute and lived in a nice area and he had a cat.

And, once upon a time, he had had a similar dream to her.

One of the things Flynn had managed to dig up on him during her ‘background’ check was an old low quality video on youtube of three boys in a garage playing instruments that looked too big for them but taking the whole thing seriously. Voices cracking on the cover of Summer of ‘69 they were playing, but Julie had seen the way they grinned at each other, at the way a younger Luke had bounced around the small space and Reggie had rocked on his feet and Alex had thrown a drumstick in the air and caught it again. They were kids, but they were talented and it's at that moment that Julie realises Luke was right. They could have made it.

She wonders what would have happened if fate hadn’t intervened in the form of a fire. She’s pretty sure Luke has wondered the same thing too. He doesn’t talk about it much and Julie’s never sure how much to push because he seems happy in his life and choices. And plus, if it hadn’t been for a fire in a record store, there’s a chance they wouldn’t have met.

Julie frowns a little at that thought as she rolls on her second sock over her knee and stands up, straightening out her shorts and twisting the side of Luke’s cut off up and tying it into a knot. She’s never been the biggest believer in fate since her mom died but she thinks there’s something a little like fate that’s pulled them together. And she thinks they’d have met with a fire or without a fire, with music or without.

She wrinkles her nose at herself in the mirror at that thought, rolling her eyes at how cheesy it sounds even to herself. Fate and destiny, who did she think she was? They were just two people lucky enough to find each other.

An alarm goes off on her phone to tell her she’s got half an hour before Luke is due home and this is her last chance if she wants to change her mind.

Tilting her head a slightly to the side, Julie takes in her high waisted shorts, red suspenders dangling by her thighs, the way her t-shirt cinches at her waist and reveals just a strip of skin above her shorts where she knows Luke likes to rest his hands when he pulls her close. She’d taken extra care with her curls and all she had to do was apply some lipstick and touch up her eyeliner and she’d be ready.

It’s Flynn’s voice in the back of her head as she tucks curls behind her ears to lean a little closer to her reflection and, as she pulls back, smacking her lips once before letting them rest in a pout, she can’t help but reiterate it, “I do look hot.”

The front door shuts and Julie can hear Hotdog meowing and Luke’s muffled voice down the corridor as she’s pulling his coat over her shoulders. It’s far too big for her, hanging below her knees and she has to roll the sleeves up three times to free her hands, but the collar smells like smoke and metal and Luke and his last name is written across the right hand side and his station across her back.

That was the part that Flynn had said would really get him — his name on her. Luke wasn’t exactly possessive, but she and Flynn had agreed there was just something about it that was A Lot, in a good way. (Unlike buying a pole and installing it in Luke’s room for a weekend, that was A Lot, in a bad way. Her plan had gone through many different phases before settling on this one. Luckily, it was also the cheapest.)

“Jules?” Luke calls and Julie bites her lip as she carefully climbs on to his bed, and kneels in the middle before changing her mind and crawling off the other side to stand next to it instead.

“I’m in here,” she calls back and she hears something dropping to the floor, probably his bag she guesses, and then his footsteps sounding down the hall.

Julie’s glad she opted for the shoes, just simple black heels, but they give her an extra lift and something more for Luke to look at as he opens his bedroom door. She has one knee slightly bent and resting on her toes, coat sleeves hiding the way her hands are balled up at her sides and one shoulder raised a little higher than the other as she tilts her head at him, biting her lip.

He freezes in the doorway, mouth partly open like he’d been about to say something only to get lost somewhere between his brain and vocal chords as his eyes seem to lock on to the coat she’s wearing before traveling down to her bare legs and Julie watches him swallow, adam's apple bobbing. Just as his eyes get back up to her face she moves one hand to tuck her coat behind her hip and hook her thumb under her suspenders in a way she’s seen him do countless times.

And it gets the reaction she wants, his eyes zeroing in on her hand and tracing up the line of red that covers her chest. Luke’s tongue darts out to swipe across his bottom lip as he blinks and finally drags his eyes back up to her face, pupils blown wide and she watches as he lets out a heavy breath.

“Hi,” she breathes out, and almost immediately regrets it. She's trying for sexy but thinks it just comes across as gasping. Which she hopes she’ll be eventually at some point tonight, but would at least like to be touched a little first.

“You—” Luke starts, and his voice is rough like he’s not used it in hours so he swallows again and Julie’s momentarily distracted by the way his throat moves before his speaking again, “Is that my coat?”

“Maybe,” Julie shrugs, turning slightly so she can pull at the collar of the coat to peer down at the name stitched in the fabric, “Oh look, it does say your name. Would you like me to take it off?” She blinks up at him with a soft smile.

Julie doesn’t know if it’s the smile or her words or just everything about the moment, but Luke lets out a low groan and before she can even blink he’s stood in front of her, hands on her hips and fingers brushing against her strip of visible skin, just like she knew he would. And she’s thankful for the heels all over again when it gives her the little extra height that means Luke doesn’t have to bend down quite so far to brush his lips across her cheek.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, lips ghosting along her jaw and Julie has to rest her hands against his chest to steady herself as her legs already feel wobbly. If she didn’t love him, she’d almost hate him for how easily he can affect her.

“Luke,” she whines as he continues to avoid her lips and trails one hand up his chest to wrap around his neck, fingers winding into his hair to tug lightly which only results in making him huff a laugh against the skin below her ear before giving in and pulling back.

“So,” he starts, press a light kiss to her cheek again again, “fucking,” he kisses the corner of her lips, “beautiful.” And he finally presses his lips to hers, soft at first and then she nips lightly at his top lip and he flexes his fingers against her hip, tugging her a closer with her suspenders to deepen the kiss.

Julie walks them backwards until the backs of her knees hit the edge of his bed and Luke takes the lead from there, lowering her down without breaking the kiss. He pulls away just enough to gasp for a breath, and she looks up at him, chest heaving and takes her chance to start her own teasing trail of kisses up his neck and across his jaw.

“Fuck,” he mutters and Julie smiles as she sucks lightly at his neck and sees the red mark her lipstick has left behind. She just hopes it lasts long enough for her full plan.

“This was because of the pole thing a few weeks ago, right?” Luke asks a few hours later as they lie in the middle of his bed, blankets half pushed to the floor and Julie’s spent the last five minutes kicking her legs back and forth to try and dislodge the reminder from covering her legs without having to turn around or sit up. She’s perfectly comfortably lying on her front, licking chocolate off her fingers from one of the brownies that Alex and Willie had been correct in leaving for them.

“Maybe,” she tries to shrug, but it’s awkward in this position and she quickly gives up to just look at him from under her lashes with a smile.

Luke laughs, his fingers trailing up and down her arm and over her shoulder a few times before he sits up slightly and leans over to press a kiss to her shoulder, “If I’d known it would cause such a reaction I would have slid down that pole in front of you months ago.”

“It might have still taken us months to get to this. Your roommates have very annoying schedules,” she shakes her head sadly and she thinks her hair has to be hitting him in the face, but he doesn’t say anything, just carefully gathers it in one hand to drape over her other shoulder, his lips still brushing soft kisses across her skin.

“Yeah. I’d get rid of them if Alex didn’t feed me for free and Reggie didn’t get us so many free tickets to stuff,” he sighs, breath blowing against her skin as his nose nudges over her shoulder blade until his lips follow and his rest his chin on her shoulder, and all she has to do is turn her head a little to find his eyes on her lips. “Though it would be so worth it for weekends like this.”

“Guess we should just make the most of this one first, huh?”

It’s a little awkward, and Luke must be uncomfortable with his torso twisted like it is, but it’s easy to kiss Luke, and to roll over until she can push him back down until his back hits the mattress and she can hover over him instead.

“You sound like you have a plan,” Luke comments, and his hands rest on her hips, fingers tapping against her as he looks up at her with those damn eyes of his. The ones that can’t hide a single thought or emotion. And all she can see is love, and okay yeah, probably a lot of lust.

“There might have been some bullet point list involved,” she shrugs one shoulder, her hair slipping over as she moves and Luke’s fingers flex against her, squeezing one hip as he lets out something that sounds halfway between a laugh and a groan.

“That shouldn’t be this hot,” he shakes his head, but his eyes are still shining and Julie loves him.

So she tells him. And kisses him. And wonders if it’s too soon to suggest they spend all their weekends together forever.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp fics #julie molina #luke patterson #jukebox #jatp #firefighter!luke au #serioulsy what else am i supposed to tag fics on here ghfj #*fics #i post this then i go to bed. enjoy and goodnight 😌

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meltwonu · 3 years

Text

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 | [CHAPTER 19]

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; camshow, powerbottom!seungcheol, brat!seungcheol, dom!reader, restraints(handcuffs), sex toys, dirty talk, degradation, dumbificiation, spitplay, yall the way i be using DDD like i’m guy fieri in this bitch ☠️ dkjfhdskh Also, merry christmas if you celebrate it!! Happy holidays!! Be safe, enjoy your day~💕 I’d say this is my gift to yall but I update every friday, I just so happen to be uploading on christmas LOL Although, Cherry Bomb has been a gift to write 🥺!! One more chapter after this, I can’t believe it... But also first chapter of DD next week 😳 Hehe~ as always, inbox roundup this weekend! Enjoy ch 19 and have a great weekend everyone!! ❤️🍒💕

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - x

“Hyung… Are you… Okay?”

Seungcheol drops the set of skates in his hold; eye twitching when he turns to face both Seokmin and Jeongguk who stare back at him with a concerned gaze. “You haven’t moved from this spot in the last 15 minutes, Jeongguk was starting to get worried… And honestly, me too. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or three.”

“I, uh, yeah, I’m good.” Seungcheol laughs it off, shaking his head and letting out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. “It’s just… Well, I don’t wanna spoil anything but I’m just nervous for tonight.” He bites his bottom lip, remembering when you’d posted the notice to your homepage that basically sealed in the plans you had for him and really, what he had in store for you too.

The two younger males share a look, eyebrows raised. “Whatever’s got you this nervous must be good ‘cause you literally just zoned out and turned into a mannequin for 15 minutes. It was weird!” Jeongguk laughs; half in nervousness for Seungcheol and half in amusement. “Me and Seokmin snapped a few pics too. For posterity.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes before he picks up the pair of skates again, “Okay, okay, enough with the teasing. Get back to work before Namjoon-hyung sees us all over here!”

“We could say the same to you!”

“Interesting setup…” Seungcheol mutters, eyes glossing over the vibrator, pink fuzzy handcuffs, and cockring that are neatly lined up on the bed. “Should I be concerned that this looks a little too normal?”

You laugh under your breath as you readjust your bra strap one last time before easing onto the bed yourself; patting the spot next to you. “Nah, trust me, it’s not gonna be that crazy. Now c’mere, we only have 10 minutes ‘til we need to start and you’re just standing there fidgeting like we’re about to fuck for the first time ever.”

“Damn, we should’ve done a show with a corruption kink or something.”

“Hey, it’s never too late!”

artist8hao: this looks relatively normal considering the notice

kitty_junjun has donated $75

gc__koo: yea… and considering how i found hyung earlier

alphagyu97: ???

alphagyu97: wdym

gc__koo: mans was a statue

xcaliburDK: yea it was weird, it was like he was possessed

sleepy_wonu: wait u work with him too??

therealchan99: wait is that why u almost quit?

xcaliburDK: can we not talk about me right now thank u

universe_WZ has donated $75

angelhan has donated $100

artist8hao has donated $50

“Well! Aren’t you all a lively bunch tonight!” You giggle softly, wrapping an arm around one of Seungcheol’s as he tenses up under your touch. “Seungcheol’s so tense tonight! Can we get some words of encouragement for him before we start~”

gc__koo: ayyyy my man its gonna be ok

hoshi_tiger_xx: think of it this way, any of us would pay to be in your position rn

tangerine_kwan: l i t e r a l l y

chwenon: its not like ur getting pegged

chwenon: right

Seungcheol’s cheeks bloom a bright pink, wide eyes meeting yours as you laugh loudly. “Wait, is that what the vibrator is for ‘cause I--”

“No, no, no! Seungcheol’s not getting pegged tonight, okay?” Grinning, you ease off the bed and make your way towards the nightstand as Seungcheol watches you from behind.

You grab the item, smiling as you hide it from Seungcheol’s view for a little while longer.

“See, when we, really just I, decided to do this back to back camshow for the last time, I really wanted to try something new, y’know? But nothing too far out there ‘cause I didn’t wanna push our boundaries too much.” You move your hand, flashing the object in front of Seungcheol’s face as he raises an eyebrow.

“A gopro?”

Nodding, you show it to the camera, “Mmhmm~ The quality is gonna go down a bit but I think it’ll be okay! It’ll be worth it~” You set it down next to the array of toys, winking at the camera before settling in next to Seungcheol again.

You lean into his side, grabbing his arm and putting it on your inner thigh as you moan. “Thought that they’d like a new view of us, y’know? Instead of just the static view that we usually have. Now you can film me riding your cock and get a good view of it for the camera~” Seungcheol smirks as he drags his hand up your thigh; fingertips grazing against your panties as you mewl.

“So that’s the game you wanna play tonight, huh, baby? You wanna film each other up close and personal for everyone to see?”

He can feel his cock twitch in his sweats, already eager to see where this went.

“Well…” You bite the inside of your cheek, face hot as you pry his hand off of you. “Actually, I want you up by the headboard while I set up this gopro. Think you can shimmy up there, ‘Cheol?”

The male nods slowly, shuffling towards the headboard as you turn to the camera. “The stream’s probably gonna cut out for a sec while I set this up but please be patient with me, okay?” Winking, you quickly set up the gopro before cutting out the stream to fiddle with the settings and changing it so that the stream was coming from the gopro instead.

“Ah, good! It works!” You make sure everyone can see you from the smaller device before you’re rejoining Seungcheol on the bed; eyes twinkling with mischief as you hand the gopro to him before reaching for the toys you’d laid out.

chwenon: im rly curious about this

universe_WZ: i know, same

alphagyu97: fuck the angles we’re about to get with this for future shows tho

hoshi_tiger_xx: oh hell yeah

Seungcheol holds onto the gopro, making sure to film you as you hold the vibrator in your hand. “Let’s start with this first, huh?” You don’t waste a second before you’re turning the toy on and pressing it against his clothed cock.

“Oh, s-shit!” He almost loses his grip on the small camera when his body threatens to double over at the vibrations that quickly have shivers running up his spine. “Oh fuck, that’s---that’s so s-strong!” Seungcheol’s hips cant up, grinding against the vibrations when he realizes how good it actually feels.

“Strong? It’s only the lowest setting, baby. Is your cock that sensitive?” You smile; voice laced with a teasing lilt and the pieces start to fall for Seungcheol when you seem to spit his own words back at him.

“That’s h-how it’s gonna be, huh?” He grits out, jaw clenched when you raise the setting to the second highest. “F-fuck, you---”

“What? We’re playing like I wanna tonight, right, ‘Cheollie?” Licking your lips, you lean in close to the camera before your lust filled eyes meet his.

“And tonight, you’re just my dumb little fucktoy that I get to play with, aren’t you?”

Seungcheol tugs against the fuzzy pink handcuffs that keep him bound to the headboard; gritting his teeth when you turn off the toy for the third time.

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t move around too much, Seungcheol. Dumb little fucktoys should be good and stay still, right?”

“Right.” Muttering, he watches as you bring the camera closer to his cock again, filming the vibrator that you tap against the cock head; both covered in precum.

“Your cock is already so hard~ God you’re so fuckin’ easy~” You squirm a little from where you straddle his thighs; already wanting to sit on his cock but also knowing you still wanted to play with him a little longer while you had him underneath you.

angelhan: goddamn she’s so fucking hot when shes the dom???

therealchan99: the way i would pay her to choke me and spit in my mouth

alphagyu97: she could put me on a leash and i’d bark without question

You turn on the toy again, pressing it against his cock as he groans and thrusts his hips up. “Ah! We should use the last toy, before you end up cumming without my permission.” Seungcheol lets out a choked sob at the way you sound so cheery, eyes looking up towards the ceiling while you set the vibrator down in favor of the cockring.

Wrapping a hand around his cock, you work you hand up and down as you smear the precum down his shaft. “Hmm~ Bet you’d cum right now if I just sucked you off, huh?”

“Dunno, why don’t you sink your pretty ‘lil mouth down on me and find out?” He snarkily replies.

You shoot him an angelic smile; one that makes him realize he really shouldn’t have said anything when you hurriedly ease the cockring down until it sits at the base of his cock. Grabbing the vibrator again, you turn it onto its highest setting before bringing it back to his cock and holding it parallel to his shaft. “You’re so mouthy~ You should really be careful with that~”

Seungcheol lets out a sharp, shaky breath; eyes wider than saucers when he feels his abdomen tightening and the pleasure rapidly building up in his body. “W-wait, but---but, ah, h-hold on, it--it feels like I’m g-gonna cum!” He tugs against his restraints as his entire body squirms and thrashes against the bed at the sensations that flood his body.

“Ah, you really are so fuckin’ easy for me, Seungcheol~”

A weird feeling washes over Seungcheol when he feels his cock twitching; mouth open in stuttered breaths as his eyebrows furrow. It felt like an orgasm, but at this point, he can’t even tell. “Wh--what?” He lets out a drawn out groan, throwing his head back against the pillows just as you shut the toy off and toss it to the side.

“I think you just experienced your first dry orgasm, huh? Not so fun being on the other side, is it? Being played with~” You laugh teasingly, readjusting yourself until you’re grinding down onto his cock. instead. “Mmh, I’m gonna use your cock and I’m gonna make myself cum and you can’t do anything about it~ Just my own personal fucktoy watching me get off~”

You take the gopro and set it down right on Seungcheol’s chest, “Don’t move, or else.” He nods once shakily, watching as you lift yourself up and position his cock right at your soaking entrance.

The two of you share a moan once you finally start to sink down onto his cock but Seungcheol knows he won’t actually be able to cum anytime soon.

chwenon: they rly said VIEWS on this one

gc__koo: honestly, i aint even tryna get off i just like watching knowing hyung is lowkey suffering

gc__koo has donated $100

gc__koo: its like a reward

kitty_junjun: he’ll be lucky if he even gets to cum again lbr

sleepy_wonu: oh how the tables have turned huh?

sleepy_wonu has donated $100

tangerine_kwan: wait but…

tangerine_kwan: if today was her idea and tomorrow is his…

chwenon: uh oh

artist8hao: oh i didnt even think about that

artist8hao has donated $100

artist8hao: for the aftercare funds

kitty_junjun: dont be too hard on her!!

kitty_junjun: also breakfast on me when ur not too tired

You start bouncing in his lap, loud moans on your lips when his cock curves perfectly into your g-spot.

“Oh, fuh--fuck, your cock is so g-good! Fuckin’ hits me so, hah, d-deep!”

Seungcheol can’t do anything but grit his teeth and let you alternate between bouncing on his lap and swiveling your hips atop his own; jaw clenched tight. “Y-yeah? Your so-called sex toy fucks you g-good? I don’t even have to, ah, do anything, all I have to do is lay here and you’d cum, huh?” He smirks up at you, convincing himself he’s one-upped you when you pout and halt your movements.

He lets out a soft groan when you clench around him and you’re quick to grab the gopro still sitting on his chest before turning the camera towards him.

“Such a bold mouth you’ve got. But don’t forget, you’re the one handcuffed to the bed and you’ve got a cockring on, baby~ I can give you more dry orgasms if you’d like?” You lick your lips, “Be a good little fucktoy and open your mouth for me.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes before obeying, lips parting hesitantly. “Now, stick your tongue out.” You turn the camera and hold it from the side; filming yourself as you let a glob of spit fall from your lips, directly onto Seungcheol’s waiting tongue.

A shiver runs up his spine when he draws his tongue back in to swallow the saliva, hazy eyes staring back up at you when he parts his lips to show you that he’s swallowed it all down.

“See? You can be so obedient. You just choose to be a brat.”

“Where’s the fun if I make it easy for you? And it’s cute watching you trying to dom me when we both know how much you like being under me.”

You resume your movements, swiveling your hips as you set the gopro back down onto his chest. “Ah, all the things I could do to you right now, ‘Cheol~ We should do this again so I can try some wax play on you… Or, hah, m-maybe even ice play? Since your body is so fuckin’ sensitive. Bet you’d be so fuckin’ cute cumming over and over and whining when the overstimulation starts to bite~”

It only takes a second for Seungcheol to mentally say ‘screw it’ before he uses all his strength to plant his feet down onto the bed and start thrusting up into you. Your body jerks on top of him, surprised noises spilling from your lips at the strength he exerts in his frustration.

“My body’s sensitive? You take one look at me and your panties are fuckin’ soaked.” Seungcheol scoffs, watching as you grab the gopro and set it to the side before it topples off of him. “I might be your dumb little fucktoy today but you’re mine too. My dumb ‘lil cocksleeve that only knows how to beg me for cock. Your pussy was made for me, baby. Don’t forget that.”

The pleasure builds inside your body as you meet his thrusts and for a second, you contemplate taking off the handcuffs and the cockring, but instead deciding to keep them on. Unless he begged.

“Fuck, S--Seungcheol, ‘m g-gonna cum~” You reach down, fingertips on your clit as you hurry to throw yourself over the edge of an orgasm. “That’s right, cum on my cock like the desperate ‘lil cock hungry girl you are.” He growls in frustration; wanting to cum but knowing he wouldn’t be able to unless you took the cockring off.

“Oh god, Seungcheol!”

Your walls flutter around his cock and he lets out a garbled moan at how good you feel when you cum; exhaling harshly at the frustration of not being able to cum with you. “That’s right, bet it feels good with my cock inside your tight ‘lil cunt, huh?”

He halts his movements just as you opt to grind down on him, fingertips still rubbing and pinching at your clit as you ride out your high. “Mmh, bet you wanna cum too, don’t you, ‘Cheol? Wanna, ngh, fill my p-pussy up with your cum like you always do~ But do you even deserve it? Or should I leave you here and let you cool down?”

alphagyu97: the energy we’ve created in the studio tonight

xcaliburDK: i know, holy shit

angelhan: i feel like i'm actually scared for this man im ngl

alphagyu97: if she lets u cum ur a lucky man

You let out a sultry moan; body filled with warmth as the last bits of your orgasm wash over you. “You’ve been so mouthy and bratty but I wanna feel you cum too, so I’ll be nice tonight~”

Smart move, he thinks.

Raising yourself off of his cock, you let out a whimper at the emptiness you feel; pussy clenching around emptiness as you settle back down onto his thighs that are slick with your wetness. “Mmh… On second thought… Why don’t you beg a little? Lemme hear how much you wanna cum~”

He feels his cock twitch and realizes you won’t make this any easier. “Fuck, okay, p-please.... Please take the cockring off so I can cum… I--I wanna cum inside your pretty ‘lil cunt, fuck, I don’t even care if you just jerk me off just---just please take it off! I’ll t-take it easy on you tomorrow, I s-swear!” Seungcheol almost accidentally spoils his ideas for his planned camshow and he quickly bites his bottom lip before he accidentally says too much.

“That was weak but it’s okay. Dumb fucktoys don’t need to think much, do they? Only good for being used like a toy~” You pout mockingly at him before you’re easing the cockring off of him and Seungcheol lets out a guttural moan when you immediately wrap a hand around his cock and start jerking him off.

“You weren’t very nice with your words tonight so you’ll cum with just my hand.”

“Fu--fuck, that’s fine, just let m-me cum, please!” You work your hand up and down his shaft, giggling when you already feel his cock throbbing in your hand when you run your hand from the base to the tip.

“Cum for me, Seungcheol~”

He lets out a small whine, eyes clamped shut when he finally cums and for the first time in his life, he feels himself momentarily black out with how hard his orgasm hits him. Ropes of cum hit his chest as you work him through it, alternating the tightness of your grip on his cock as he whines and moans in return.

“Ah, you’re cumming so much this time~ You’re making such a mess!” You tease.

Seungcheol can barely hear a word you say through the ringing in his ears once his orgasm starts to ebb away and he feels himself slump against the bed as he catches his breath.

His chest rises and falls in deep breaths and he feels you leaning over him to undo the handcuffs; tired sighs on his lips as he tries to focus on you through bleary eyes. He can feel his entire body twitching and he swears his arms have. gone numb from being handcuffed to the headboard. “You’re gonna get it tomorrow, I swear…” He mutters, no real threat to his tired words.

“Hey, you said you were gonna take it easy on me tomorrow!”

“Yeah, well...”

tangerine_kwan: yo im excited to see the sequel to this

gc__koo: i have some… ideas

gc__koo: things r falling into place

gc__koo: my brain is expanding

hoshi_tiger_xx: i feel like its gonna be intense lol

xcaliburDK: knowing hyung…

xcaliburDK has donated $100

xcaliburDK: if u call into work on monday i wont even question it

“Here, you need to drink this, ‘Cheol!”

The said male groans as he tugs a pillow into his arms, already on the brink of sleeping when you finally end your camshow. “But ‘m tired…” He whines. “Can’t we just go to bed and clean up in the morning? The cum on my chest is already dried, it won’t get on the sheets.” You roll your eyes in return, sitting next to him on the bed.

“Oh, so now you’re being a big baby? I’m just trying to get you to drink some water and we need to get you at least a little cleaned up for bed. You can’t go to bed like this, y’know. And anyway, we need to be in top condition for tomorrow show too. We gotta get cleaned up and eat a little something.” You laugh under your breath, shaking your head as he only whines harder.

“C’mon, I always do it for you, right?”

He nods only once before he’s sitting up tiredly; a shaky hand reaching for the glass of water you hold out to him. You immediately take notice of the slight redness around his wrists, pouting as you help him finish the glass before setting it down onto the nightstand.

“Your wrists got so red from the handcuffs, ‘Cheol… You should’ve said something if it hurt, I would’ve taken them off…”

Seungcheol grins at you, eyes unfocused with sleepiness. “Who said it hurt? I didn’t even feel that in comparison to that horrible dry orgasm you made me experience. God, it was like… Like when you have a dream but it feels real until you try to grab for something and realize you can’t?”

The two of you share a laugh as you help Seungcheol off of the bed so that the two of you could properly get cleaned up before he flopped back down onto the sheets.

“Yeah? Trust me, that wasn't even the worst I could’ve done! You’re lucky I took it easy for my first time!”

#cherrybomb!cheol #seungcheol smut #scoups smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #scoups scenarios #scoups imagines #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol scenarios #scoups fic #seungcheol fic #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #svt fic #seventeen fic #scoups #seungcheol

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retvenkos · 3 years

Text

romantic at heart | m.

Legend of Korra - Mako x Reader, fluff

tw: none

word count: 4.6k

A/N: canon? who needs her? certainly not this fic. korrasami deserved to be canon earlier so i vaguely mentioned it, and mako and bolin’s apartment is the perfect setting don’t @ me.

Summary: Mako has always had bad luck when it comes to love, but with (Y/n), things feel easy. So why, then, is it so hard to admit it?

the three times he didn’t say it, and the one time he did.

one;

“I’m telling you guys, this is going to be great! Part Four is my favorite in The Adventures of Nuktuk: Hero of the South!”

Mako shared an amused look with (Y/n) as Bolin led the way into the darkened theater, holding open the door for the group to enter. Asami and Korra passed hand in hand, and when (Y/n) walked past Bolin, they tossed a piece of popcorn at him and Bolin caught it in his mouth.

Mako brought up the rear of the group, and as they walked up to find their seats, he whispered, “How many parts are there, Bo?”

“Seven! And the Finale’s great, don’t get me wrong, but it just doesn’t have the heart that part four does.”

“That’s just because he kisses Ginger,” (Y/n) leaned in and whispered to Mako, earning an incredulous “hey!” from Bolin.

“How’d that work out, by the way?” Asami turned to the earthbender with what sounded like genuine curiosity and Bolin chuckled nervously.

“Ah, well, you know, the hearts of mover stars are fickle, so we didn’t last long… there was something about it being a publicity stunt, but that didn’t make much sense, so…”

“Well it’s her loss,” Korra elbowed Bolin in the side with a smile and he forced a chuckle.

“She doesn’t deserve you, Bo.”

“Yeah, you’re a great mover star.”

A few people in the theater shushed them, and the group settled down into their chairs, just moments before the lights dimmed further and the mover started. The disembodied voice of Varrick boomed through the speakers with a recap of the previous 3 parts of the daring adventure, and everyone fell silent, slowly getting sucked into the mover before them.

Ever since their debut, the Nuktuk movies were a success - a staple of Republic City culture - getting replayed in theatres again and again. After learning that Mako hadn’t seen Nuktuk in its entirety, Bolin called for a state of emergency and got the whole group together so they could schedule a time for a complete rewatch of the seven-part masterpiece.

Mako had been planning to make some excuse - a series of cases that Beifong put him up to, or a slew of paperwork that some higher-paid coworkers pawned off onto him. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to miss something for work, and it wouldn’t be the first attempt at lying to get out of a viewing party. Just three months ago he narrowly avoided a showing of Love amongst the Dragons by faking sickness and saying that Beifong told him to sleep all day so he could be back at work the next. Everyone but Bolin believed him, and Bolin (who didn’t want to see it either but promised Asami he would go) let it slide.

After that, Bolin was better at guessing when Mako was lying, and whenever he needed Mako’s compliance, he set (Y/n) up to the task of cajoling Mako to come along.

So far, their track record had been impeccable.

(Y/n) chuckled at something they saw on screen, and Mako turned to them. “How many cases of Vari-dye do you think Varrick sold after that product placement?” They gestured to the screen where the once blonde Ginger flagrantly mentioned her hair dye product before becoming a, well… ginger. The script was somehow able to loosely tie the product placement into the plot, but the moment earned a couple of well-earned laughs throughout the theater.

“Millions, most likely. Aren’t these movers big in Ba Sing Se?”

“As comedies,” (Y/n) muttered, leaning in, clearly trying to keep their voice down so Bolin didn’t hear. The theater around them was dark and silent, but the light reflected in (Y/n)’s eyes was full of life and mirth. Mako found himself unable to look away.

He cleared his throat, “You do have to give it to Nuktuk and his comedic timing.”

“And Juji’s heart-wrenching death and subsequent resurrection.”

Mako found himself chuckling at their lame joke, and for once, he didn’t mind. (Y/n) smiled triumphantly, as though they had accomplished something truly grand, and angled their bag of popcorn towards Mako. He took some and popped a piece in his mouth, his laughter still dying on his lips.

“Varrick must be quite the director, to get you to laugh in a totally serious, not-a-comedy mover.”

“Varrick?” and there was just enough suggestion in Mako’s words to say all that he couldn’t, though why he couldn’t seem to get anything else out, he didn’t know.

Things were always easy with (Y/n); their smiles were soft and infectious, their tactics in getting him to open up were effortless and effective, and falling in love with them had been the most simple and uncomplicated thing in this world. It should have been with such ease that Mako told them that it was them that got him into the theater and their corny comments that made him burn inside, like a thousand dying comets that took the form of shooting stars.

But for some reason, he was stuck.

Unsurprising, really, Mako had never really had luck when it came to love and even friendship. There was always something complicating things; there were always two sides of him, fighting the other for reasons even he couldn’t fathom. Eventually, one of them would lose. Eventually, something would give.

But until that eventuality…

“I suppose I am quite the comedian. Should I write a screenplay?” (Y/n) was speaking, but something in their demeanor was different - a little stunned - like they hadn’t considered something before and it was only now dawning on them, slowly, but comfortably. Easy. “It would have to be a sequel to Nuktuk, of course. Maybe I can introduce the grumpy, mysterious fire-bender who he’s now forced to share a quest with?”

(Y/n) nudged him in the shoulder, already rolling their eyes at their own idea. Mako looked down, suddenly interested in picking the perfect piece of popcorn. “Yeah. If you’re making it, why not?”

(Y/n) snorted and turned back to the film.

two;

Taking the steps to his apartment two at a time, Mako fished for his keys in the pocket of his pants. Walking the beat had the potential to be more trouble than it was worth, and often Mako found himself at the gym at the end of the day, taking out his frustration the way he used to - pro-bending. Well, not so much pro-bending, anymore, seeing as they disbanded the Fire Ferrets, and dissolved the team, but it was the same training, nonetheless, and Mako had been a pro-bender so long that oftentimes, nothing felt more comfortable than the gym.

As he walked down the hall to his door - second on the right, Bolin had insisted - Mako could hear the sounds of laughter and the beeping of the oven. Despite himself, he smiled, breathing in deeply as he fiddled with the lock and opened the door.

Inside the tiny apartment, (Y/n) and Bolin were working side by side, leaning over the oven as they looked at the baked goods that lay within. The counters were a mess of cluttered ingredients and mismatched bake wear, Pabu had tracked flour across the carpet, and by every measure it was chaotic, but Mako simply leaned against the doorframe, speaking just loud enough to be heard. “Stress baking, again? Y’know, I’m really starting to regret giving you a key.”

"This was all Bolin, actually.” (Y/n) pulled the baking sheet out of the oven and set it down before turning to Mako with their usual countenance. “He told me to come over - he bought a set of mixing bowls and everything.”

“He didn’t buy more counter space?”

“Hey!” Bolin called incredulously through a mouth full of baked goods. Pabu scuttled beneath him, eating the crumbs that fell to the floor. “Counters wouldn’t fit.”

“It’s alright Bo,” (Y/n) nudged his arm with their shoulder, turning back to the task at hand. They used an old spatula to take their masterpiece off of the pan, and Bolin took two from them.

“You have to try this batch, Mako, (Y/n)’s gotten really good at their green tea cookies.”

“Oh?”

Mako shut the door behind him and walked over to the couch. (Y/n) met him halfway with their signature, light green cookie, Mako took it with an appreciative smile. “The secret is in the matcha. I wasn’t putting in enough before, so they didn’t taste right.”

Mako broke off a bit of the cookie, making sure to get a bit that had a white chocolate chip in it, and savored the taste. (Y/n) was watching him with one of their expectant smiles, and he nodded his head, the bittersweet flavor still lingering in his mouth. “These are your best yet.”

“High praise, coming from you.” And there was an edge of sarcasm to their voice, but their eyes were bright. Mako just looked at them for a moment, really looked at them in all of their casual beauty. (Y/n) had moved into his life so early on and so slowly that Mako didn’t know what life would be like without their casual teasing and easy grins.

And, of course, their random (but not unwelcome) bouts of stress baking.

Mako must have been staring a bit too long, because (Y/n) raised a playful eyebrow, and not too long after, Bolin broke the silence. “Uh, Pabu and I have to go, and uh... y’know, do adult stuff, with uh....”

“With Korra?” (Y/n) supplied amusedly, turning to Bolin, who was stuffing a napkin with cookies hurriedly.

“Yeah! Y’know, Avatar stuff...” Bolin shrugged, slipping out the door, only to open it up again and grab his shoes before shoving off again.

(Y/n) scoffed and Mako sighed, calling after him. “Real smooth, Bo!”

A muffled response called out to them, and (Y/n) laughed, walking back over to the kitchen area, where they started to put together another batch of cookies, measuring the sugar with their hands and putting it into a bowl with butter. “I’m surprised you haven’t been kicked out from noise complaints.”

Yeah, well Bolin charmed our neighbors into liking us too much to see us go.”

“His charm does go far, doesn’t it?” Mako watched and (Y/n) moved through his apartment with ease, pulling spoons out of the drawers and cleaning the dishes as they went. Their practiced movements had the surety and preciseness of someone who lived there, and the thought was enough to make Mako’s throat dry.

“So,” Mako cleared his throat and walked over to (Y/n) passing them the egg they were reaching for. “you measure everything with your hands, and yet you’re constantly insisting that baking is a science. How does that work?”

“It’s all in the weight and look of it - a full cup is a far cry from a fourth.” (Y/n) mixed the ingredients together, their brow set in concentration, “Or, at least, that’s what my mom used to say. What I will tell you—” they looked up at Mako rather suddenly, that intensity still alight within them “—is that it’s in how it feels.”

“So the weight of it.”

“Yes... but it’s more than that.” (Y/n) looked at him with their sharp eyes, as though trying to judge something. “Go wash your hands,” and they jerked their head to the side, “I’ll show you.”

Mako didn’t even hesitate to do as they said, and even though Bolin had left, he could hear his voice - a surprised “what...?” - nagging the back of his mind. It was easy to shrug off. It was (Y/n). Everything was easy when it came to them.

“Alright,” (Y/n) said, with a hint of childish excitement, as Mako slung the towel he had used to dry his hands over his shoulder. “Give me your hands.”

Their touch tickled and their fingers - dry and powdery from the flour - grazed over his, opening his palms with a gentle sort of care.

“Here is one cup or so.” (Y/n) grabbed a handful of flour, transferred it to their other hand, and skimmed some off the top before placing it in his. “Yeah, you can feel the weight, and you can see how much there is, but you have to kind of trust that what you're feeling is right, because it’s not always going to feel the same, right? When you’re tired or you’ve been baking all day, things feel different, even though they’re the same.”

“All this for flour?”

“For each cup of flour. We need two and a half.”

“I can see why Bolin asks you to do the baking.” (Y/n) chuckled and guided his hands to the mixing bowl, where Mako let the flour slip out of his fingertips like really fine sand. “But I can tell that you feel it...” the last bit of flour fell out of his hands, but Mako let his hands hover near (Y/n)’s for just a moment longer, “and that’s good enough.”

They smiled, and it has all the serenity and beauty of dawn. “I’ll make a baker of you, yet.” They added more flour to the bowl and started mixing, their gaze flicking up to Mako. “One of these days you’re going to understand the feeling of it.”

“I...” and part of Mako wanted to say that he already did, that his feelings were about the only thing he understood when it came to moments like these, but the words got caught in his throat, and he found himself unable to get them out. “I think we’ll have to do a lot more baking, then.”

three;

Mako ran, the ground beneath his feet steady and his breathing exact. The beauty of Republic City Park surrounded him and in the early morning, when the air was just nippy enough to need a jacket, there were few people to be found. The usual groups of people practicing tai chi or playing Pai Sho weren’t out yet, and the sun was just peaking over the horizon.

Morning runs often gave Mako a sense of clarity - there was very little he could focus on when in fast, forward motion, and everything complicated fell away. It was just him, the ground, and the fire in his veins.

Mako slowed to a jog, and when he found an empty park bench, he sat down, wiping the sweat off of his brow. The shadows were just starting to creep away, losing to the brilliance of the sun and hiding in each recess and tiny alcove. The duck pond in front of him was warming to a crystal-like blue. Mako breathed out and tipped his head back, letting the stillness wash over him, his thoughts slowly catching up with him.

“Mako?”

And at first, he thought it was just his feelings for (Y/n) meeting up with him once more, but then he heard the steady pounding of the pavement and there they were jogging toward him, ushering in the morning with a comfortable pace.

“Heading into work later than usual?” They stopped by the bench and Mako slid over so they’d have room to sit.

“No, Beifong told me to take a day off. I usually do paperwork today, but she handed it off to someone else.”

(Y/n) hummed in acknowledgement. “So you’re joining Asami and me for our run, then?”

"Huh?”

“Asami and I usually go on a run, at this time. We meet here.”

“Asami told me that I should take a run since I wasn’t going into work today.”

Both of them scoffed, relaxing deeper into the metal bench. For a moment they just sat there, taking in the moment, and letting the world dawn on them, a beautiful mixture of colors - a painting slowly completing itself. Eventually, (Y/n) turned to Mako, an eyebrow raised in jest. “Do you reckon they think they’re being slick?”

“Probably - and it’ll only get worse once they get Korra on board.”

“Who’s to say they haven’t already?” The two chuckled, shaking their heads at the efforts of their friends, and (Y/n) knocked their knees together, leaning in a little closer. “It’s alright, I like spending time with you.”

“You’re gonna hate me once we finish this run, though.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to buy me some tea, afterwards.” (Y/n) stood up, stretching their arms and letting out a yawn. “To make it up to me, of course.”

Mako stifled a smile and stood, making a show of his weary sigh. “Alright” —(Y/n) rolled their eyes at him— “You drive a hard bargain.”

They started off at a slow jog, and every minute or so Mako upped the intensity until they were sprinting across Republic City Park, occasionally dodging the wayward soul taking a morning stroll. The world blurred around them, the lush foliage turning into swaths of green with the occasional pinprick of color - purple or yellow, green or blue. As they slowed down, the world became more defined, and when they came to a walk, (Y/n) pulled ahead and turned around so they could walk backwards, facing Mako with a breathless grin.

“You owe me at least a muffin to go along with that tea, after what you just pulled. I almost ran into a woman walking her toddler! Could you imagine what would have happened, had I hit her?”

Mako laughed, still coming down from his high, and (Y/n) grinned at the sound - dazzling and so bright, it put the sun to shame. “Let’s get you out of the park, then, before you start running down Pai Sho players.”

The two fell into step beside each other, taking the path out of the park and into the busy streets. Already, Republic City was booming with life, and the two were rather quick to slip into the quiet tea shop that was just around the corner. Inside, the cafe was fairly empty, with slow music playing from the speakers. (Y/n) closed their eyes and breathed in the smell of freshly-baked muffins, and Mako was quick to look away when they caught him staring.

(Y/n) walked towards the case that held all of the baked goods, trying to read the different types they had displayed. “This is way better than trying to throw something together at my apartment.”

Mako pulled his attention away from the menu board, where he had been searching for the right type of tea. “Your apartment? You mean you actually have a place to go, other than mine?”

“You gave me the key.”

“For emergencies.”

(Y/n) scoffed. “Well, ‘emergencies’ is in clear need of a mutual definition.”

The two ordered, and Mako paid, despite (Y/n) saying they had the money, and when their order was ready, they took a seat in the corner, next to a window that overlooked a busy intersection. (Y/n) insisted they split the muffin and gave half to Mako, and after settling into their more calm atmosphere, (Y/n) turned to Mako.

“So, what are you going to do for the rest of your day off?” (Y/n) took a sip of their tea and fixed Mako with one of those stares - the kind that saw through everything else, and somehow got down to his core. “I can’t imagine this is what you had planned.”

“Uh… I don’t know. I figured I’d go home and work on finding a lead to a case or something.”

“Even though Beifong told you to take the day off?”

“Well, I’m not at the station…” Mako trailed off, suddenly finding great interest in the rim of his cup.

“And you’re not going to work from home, either.” (Y/n) scoffed exaggeratedly, and though Mako was the most incorrigible person they’d ever met. Although, in their defense, he probably was. “Not on my watch.”

“So what, you’re going to find something for me to do all day?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Mako watched as (Y/n) sat back in the booth, a triumphant yet challenging smile on their face, and he felt the disbelief in his chest melt into something softer. It was there, again, that urge to say something both incredibly brave and terribly stupid; that desire to put all of his feelings into words and express them more truly than anything else.

“Alright,” Mako swallowed and allowed himself a small smile. “If that’s what it takes.

✧ *:･ﾟ

one;

Just when Mako had admitted to (Y/n) that he was an avid reader, he couldn’t remember, but at some point, they had found out, and ever since, the two spent their lazy weekends sprawled out on his sky blue sofa, books in hand. This time, (Y/n) had come earlier than usual, and by midday, they had already finished their novel - a fast-paced murder mystery with just a bit of a redemption arc for one of the main leads. They had talked about (Y/n)’s book while walking down to the market to get the necessary fixings for dinner, and when they came back to Mako’s tiny apartment, he passed them one of his favorites to read - a historical fiction that combined elements of notable legends and recorded history to make an interesting thriller with plenty of easy-to-digest drama.

When (Y/n) took it from him, they took one look at the summary and raised an eyebrow. “This is one of your favorites?” Mako had tried to push down his embarrassment, stuttering out some kind of response, but had just smiled. “It’s not a bad thing, just surprising. I’m sure I’ll love it.”

And they did. For the next hour and a half, the two sat in Mako’s apartment in relative silence, reading separate novels and making the occasional exclamation of shock, betrayal, joy, and surprise. Mako had looked over at (Y/n) occasionally, trying to judge where they were in the book, and whether they were enjoying it just as much as he had, the first time.

At some point in the day, the sun filtering through the window matured into a deeper, golden shade, turning the afternoon into early evening. Mako, who had been thoroughly engrossed in his novel for the better part of the day, stood up from his couch and stretched when he noticed the change in light. Letting out a sigh, he made his way over to the kitchen area. As he started to make dinner for the both of them, Mako missed the way that (Y/n) turned to look at him from their place on the couch, a lopsided grin on their face. They still lay on the turquoise material, sitting upside down with their feet in the air, book in hand and the red couch cushion resting on their stomach, watching as Mako turned on the stove with a click of propane and a bit of fire bending.

It wasn't long before the apartment was full of the comforting smell of Mako's cooking, and soon (Y/n) found it impossible to focus on the page before them. They opted to right themself instead and watch Mako as he finished up, adding the finishing touches to the meal before splitting what lay in the pan into two different bowls.

He handed a bowl to (Y/n) as he settled onto the couch, both of them moving to sit cross-legged, their knees touching. (Y/n) savored the flavor of Mako's signature dish, and he gestured to the book beside them.

"How're you liking it so far?"

"The book? It's great. Perfectly paced, in my opinion, although I wouldn't mind for a little bit more world-building. The time period is so interesting and they could lean into it a little more."

Mako nodded, satisfied with the smile on their face and the eagerness in their tone. "I figured you'd like it. There's a lot happening, but the characters are good enough to carry the story."

"That's a raving review, coming from you." (Y/n) laughed, the sound falling from their lips effortlessly. "And I can see why it's your favorite. You like a good redemption arc, don't you?"

"It's an interesting enough idea."

"A rather sweet one, too. Are you sure you're not a romantic at heart?"

Mako scoffed in response, but even so, he could feel his cheeks burning up, the nagging voice in his head (the one that told him to just confess already, or do something equally as rash) getting louder from conviction. "I think that's you."

"Oh definitely, but there's always room for one more," (Y/n) mumbled through a mouth full of noodles. "And judging by your taste in books, I'd say you already are."

"There's not even a romantic subplot!"

"The main character literally took lightning to the face for his best friend, and then proceeded to say that he’d do it all again, if it meant they could stay together. Are you telling me there isn't something there?"

“You said yourself that they’re friends!”

“C’mon, Mako,” (Y/n) deadpanned, setting aside their dinner so that they could use their hands to punctuate their speech. There was a fire in their eyes, and something restless in the way they moved - like there was something important they were trying to say. “Friendship is clearly just an excuse for them.”

“An excuse?” Mako felt his throat dry. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of their proximity, and the little space that still existed between them - like they were almost touching, and yet oceans apart.

(Y/n)’s hands fidgeted in their lap. “Yeah, like… An easy out when you’re too afraid to go for it...or when you think you’re not enough.” Part of Mako wanted to look away, but (Y/n)’s eyes had caught his gaze too fully and the other part of him battled to stay. For the longest moment, he couldn’t move. “But they love each other - you can see it.”

There was a battle waging war inside Mako; each side fighting the other for dominance, and only one coming out on top. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost like a deep sigh. “Yeah, they love each other.”

(Y/n) smiled, their mouth moving with just the slightest tremble, and part of Mako wondered what had disrupted the ease with which they did everything, but another part of him already knew. Mako reached out and cupped their cheek, the feeling of their skin against his flooding him with courage he didn’t know he had.

“And I love you, (Y/n).”

“About time you confessed to me.” (Y/n)’s eyes sparkled in jest before they surged forward, kissing Mako and igniting the fire in his chest. All he could think about was them and the way they blissfully invaded all of his senses, how soft their lips were, and how strong their hands were, as they wrapped around him, pulling him nearer. When they broke apart, (Y/n) rested their forehead on his.

Then they said it, their voice a whisper that sent him tumbling over the edge, their breath fanning against his cheek.

“I love you, too.”

Mako kissed them again, craving the feeling of their lips against his, chasing after the way they made him feel - like every moment had led to this, like every battle had been worth the struggle. Time seemed to stop, and for a moment, it was as though there was no gravity, and the only thing anchoring Mako to this world was (Y/n), and their touch.

“Like I said,” (Y/n) was smiling when he pulled away, and their gaze made it easy to come back down to earth. “You’re a romantic at heart.”

Mako chuckled and (Y/n) laughed with him, the sound filling the tiny apartment with something undefined but utterly perfect.

“Alright, so maybe I am.” Mako relented, tipping his head back. “But an epic romance doesn’t happen within that book, if that’s what you're after.”

“Well, maybe we’ll have to write a sequel of our own."

-- taglist: message me if you want to be added to a taglist!

#legend of korra #lok #the legend of korra #tlok #mako #mako tlok #mako lok #mako x reader #mako x you #mako imagine #lok imagine #legend of korra fanfic #legend of korra imagine #fluff #reader insert #atla #gender neutral reader #and yeah you can measure flour and stuff with your hands i do it all the time don't @ me

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rivers-rambles21 · 3 years

Text

The one with the marathon

Part 7 of The one where Bucky has a cute neigbour series!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader (f)

Summary | Reader and Bucky become friends after he saves her from a creep in their apartment building. Each chapter explores a different point in their friendship - very slow burn!

Warnings | 18+ only, Smut in later chapters (this is a slow burn), swearing, unprotected sex, oral sex, (later chapters)

Mentions of PMS in this chapter! I’ve also given Y/N a couple of interests to add a bit more to the story to help it progress

Will include elements of TFATWS in later chapters

You’d been doing your best to dodge Bucky as soon as you felt your body's usual symptoms start to develop. It started as it always did with feeling bloated before the short temperedness set in. Bucky was sweet and kind and he didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of your temper so you opted out of your usual Friday night pizza with him, giving the excuse of being called into work which he accepted with disappointment.

Saturday morning came and as usual, painkillers did nothing to soothe the ache in your lower gut. Traipsing into your kitchen, you filled the kettle up with water before putting it on the hob and started to root around for your hot water bottle whilst you waited for the water to boil.

A knock on your door interrupted your hunt and rather reluctantly, you made your way over to the door, unbothered by your sleepwear attire.

Swinging the door open, you instantly regretted not ignoring it.

“Hey doll”

It was upsetting seeing Bucky look so good on a morning when you felt so rotten. Even worse, you were fully aware of how you currently looked - unbrushed hair, no make up and Bucky’s t-shirt which only just covered the tops of your thighs. Self consciously, you eased the door closed a little bit and shielded your body from view.

“Hi Bucky, what’s up?” You asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Can I come in?” He asked, tilting his head to the side as he tried to catch more of a glimpse of you.

“Now’s not a great time…” You grumbled, feeling guilty as you saw the smile drop from his face.

“Are you avoiding me?” The words rushed out of his mouth before he had time to stop them.

Taken aback by his forwardness, you paused for a moment, your jaw opening and closing as you didn’t quite know how to respond. “I’m sorry, you don’t owe me an explanation. It’s just I heard you in your apartment last night crying but you said you were at work and I was worried-”

He started to ramble as he panicked he’d overstepped the mark so you swiftly cut him off. “Don’t be, you’re right, I have been avoiding you.”

“....oh” Bucky's eyes shot down to the floor as he nodded his head. Your admission cut deep and every insecurity Bucky felt rushed to the surface as he processed your words. “I thought-” he started but not quite knowing how to finish his sentence.

You cursed your inability to think before speaking as you reached out towards him, no longer caring about your appearance as you took his metal hand in yours. “It’s nothing you did, I’m just not myself at the moment, I’m not exactly great to be around when it's my time” You emphasised the last bit, hoping he’d get the hint without having to spell it out.

You were wrong.

Bucky lifted his head and looked back at you, confusion etched across his handsome features. “You’ve lost me”

“Remember how you got that scar on the back of your head?”

“Yeah my sister threw a book at me”

“Uhuh, and do you remember why she did that?”

“I ate the biscuits she saved for when she- oh!” It suddenly hit Bucky as to what you’d been hinting at and suddenly he felt like the world’s biggest idiot.

“Safe to say me and your sister have the monthly mood swings in common” You joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Well...um… if you need me, you know where I am”

“Thanks Buck” You smiled up at him and tried not to swoon on the spot as he leant towards you, his lips pressing against your forehead, gently kissing you as he cradled the back of your head with his hand.

His thumb stroked the back of your neck as his lips left your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you, I thought I was saving you”

“Trust me, I’ve survived worse” He joked, tucking one of your many stray hairs behind your ear. It suddenly dawned on you what your current state of attire was and you hastily tried to flatten your hair and pull the t-shirt down to cover more of your bare legs.

Bucky tried his best to avert his eyes from your state of undress, not having taking note of how you donned his t-shirt beforehand, too focused on your wellbeing but he found himself failing miserably. You were too cute with your bed head hair sticking up in random places and slightly dark eyes where you’d not completely removed yesterday's mascara. And then there was his t-shirt. Fuck - he’d nearly lost it when you’d warn it the night you’d gotten locked out of your apartment but thankfully your legs were covered. But now? It was driving him mad seeing inch upon inch of bare skin, his t-shirt barely covering your underwear. He wanted nothing more than to shove you against the wall and run his hands over your impossibly soft skin.

The sound of your kettle boiling over snapped him out of it and he watched as you darted over to the kitchen, leaving him standing in the doorway, facing away from you as he was positive he’d be able to see your ass as you walked.

“I’ll come back doll”

Before you had a chance to respond, he’d already closed your door behind him.

Hastily, you made up your hot water bottle and quickly jumped into the shower, unsure as to when he would return.

Half an hour later, Bucky was back at your door, grocery bag in hand. “I’ve brought you a few things for... y’know.”

Opening your door wide for him, you chuckled at his awkwardness and gestured for him to come in. “You really didn’t need to-are those Peanut Buttercups?!” Rushing towards him you grabbed the bag out of his hands and began rummaging through his purchases.

Laughing at your response he left you to it as he hung up his jacket next to yours as he usually did and took up his spot on your couch.

“I remember what Rebecca was like and figured you might appreciate a bit of sugar.”

You could only moan in response as you devoured your chocolate treat. Grabbing your hot water bottle from the side table, you made your way over to the couch and sank into the seat next to Bucky, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Any plans for today?” You asked, holding up the last bite of your candy bar.

“Nope” Leaning forward, he took the chocolate from you using his teeth as he finished it off.

“Then you’re in for a treat” You sunk deeper into the sofa as he lifted his arm up, resting it along the top of the couch cushion, letting you lean further into him. Bucky also took the opportunity to pull the blanket from the couch down onto you, tucking you into his side.

To say Bucky was excited when you told him there were sequels to The Hobbit would be an understatement. For him to then find out they were turned into movies was almost too much.

He was in heaven. He was watching Middle Earth come to life, just how he imagined it would be whilst cuddled up against his favourite girl.

He wished it could be like this all the time, when he was with you the memories of who he was before subsided, along with all the guilt and shame. Even when he was in Wakanda, he hadn’t dared to dream of having any sort of normal life, he’d accepted it just wasn’t on the cards for him. That he’d always be alone.

When Steve left, that only solidified his belief that he was destined to be alone. Part of him was okay with that, this way he wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again. But the other part of him, the part that even Hydra couldn’t wipe out, longed for a companion, whether it be platonic or romantic.

Finding you was a miracle. You were so carefree, so honest, open and kind. You put up with his old fashioned ways, you didn’t make fun of his odd quirks or question why sometimes he needed to just be on his own. You both also had a lot in common, you both enjoyed modern technology and sciences and often found yourselves watching documentaries and educational pieces on TV together. Bucky was also delighted to learn you were obsessed with motorcycles and was planning a road trip for you both for when you next had some time off work - a surprise he was having a hard time hiding from you.

Half way through the first film he felt you nodding off, having come down from the sudden sugar intake. Pulling you tighter against him, he kissed your head and lowered the volume on the TV, not wanting to wake you.

As the second film started, you stirred awake, the cramps returning with a vengeance. As you opened your eyes you realised you’d snuggled into Bucky, nuzzling into his chest, leaving a small amount of drool on his black t-shirt. Jolting backwards, you hastily wiped your mouth and tore yourself from his arms in embarrassment.

Bucky’s eyes hadn’t strayed from the TV as he remained completely emerged in Middle Earth.

“Sorry I didn’t realise-”

He quickly shushed you as he continued watching the film. However he did miss your warmth and spread his arms wide, inviting you back into your previous position. “C’mere”

Trying not to read too much into it, you smiled and sank back into his arms, sighing as they wrapped around you, his right hand resting over your stomach, soothing your cramps.

It was well into the night when you finished your movie marathon, both of you enjoying every minute. You knew friends didn’t cuddle - not like this. They didn’t make your heart race like Bucky did. They didn’t make butterflies erupt in your stomach every time they so much as looked at you.

You were in trouble.

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #romance #fluff #slow burn #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #tfaws spoilers #tfawts #tfatws

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cellard0ors · 3 years

Text

Fic: Movement (3/?)

For @peachworthy (The tale continues!) Part 1 here, Part 2 here

Link’s doing his best to tip toe in. It was a long night at the café he’s currently working at and he doesn’t want to wake Rhett. True, his roommate’s hours are strange (to say the least) but it’s always been ingrained in Link to be as respectful as possible.

Mrs. Neal raised her boy to be polite and one of the heights of good manners is not charging into the house you share with someone else in the middle of the night, raising a ruckus.

But as Link edges towards his room, he notices a glow coming from the living room and finds himself unable to not take a peek. Maybe Rhett left the television on?

Yet when he gets closer he sees that while yes, the television is on, it’s not because Rhett forgot about it. Rhett is actually in front of it, but not watching it. Instead his eyes are downcast and…wet.

A light sniffle comes from him and he runs the back of his right hand beneath his nose as if to wipe at it. Link can just barely make out a paper in his left hand when Rhett senses him.

Rhett turns and blinks, folding the paper up and clearing his throat, doing his best to sound amiable even despite the clear note of tears in his voice, “Oh! Hey, man! Didn’t know you were home.”

“Yeah,” Link says softly, “Had to stay late. Boss wanted to do a deep clean on the place after we closed,” he then adds cautiously, “You okay?”

Rhett looks back to his letter than to Link again as if internally debating something. Finally he comes back with, “Yeah. Kinda.”

He holds the letter up, “Got a message from my Momma.”

Link can only offer a sound of acknowledgement, not certain where to go from here. Rhett shifts about on the couch and Link takes it as a signal for him to come over, so he does, sitting across from his friend.

Rhett lowers the letter, but plays around with it, turning the carefully folded rectangle of paper over and over in his hands, “First time I’ve heard from her in a long time.”

“Good?” Link feels stupid and kind of helpless, but he’s trying and this is the only thing he can think to offer. Rhett sniffs again, but his lips twitch as if to smile, as if he recognizes that Link is doing his best, “I suppose. Looks like my brother got married awhile ago. Dad’s alright, stuff like that.”

“I see.”

“They’re still living in the same place. Mom changed jobs, but she likes the new one more. They adopted a dog and-and…” he sighs and just tosses the letter on the nearby coffee table, linking his fingers together to tuck his hands behind his head.

He lets out shaky breath, eyes directing upwards towards the ceiling as if to stave off more potential tears, “They’re fine…”

Link licks his lips, feels awkward and awful, and can only manage to say Rhett’s name before Rhett’s hands lower and he curls in on himself – his tall lanky form growing small as he whispers to the floor, “…totally fine…without me.”

That alone breaks Link. Without a second thought he moves over, draws Rhett close and hugs him tight. The bigger man lets himself be held, lets Link gather him up like a small child and rock him as he silently weeps.

Link murmurs nonsense into his hair for a while, little things like ‘it’s alright’ and ‘it’ll be okay’ and he doesn’t know if he’s doing more harm than good until he feels Rhett’s tense body begin to uncoil, begins to hear his breathing smoothing out.

Once he feels like Rhett’s doing better, he releases him – gets up and finds some tissues, a wet warm washcloth and a glass of water. He offers it all silently to Rhett, who takes it – using the washcloth to wipe his face clean, the tissues to finish up the job. He finishes more than half the glasses of water before he mumbles, “Sorry about that.”

“You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for, bo.” Link doesn’t know where the endearment comes from. He hasn’t used it in ages and just as he’s about to explain it, Rhett lets out a broken bubble of laughter, “‘Bo’? Oh, man…haven’t heard that in an age.”

Link offers an apology but Rhett waves it off, “Nah, Link. I…I like it. I’ll be your ‘bo’.”

And then he turns vulnerable green eyes on him as he asks quietly, “Mean…if you’ll be mine.”

This is, of course, when Link knows his crush is over. It’s over because he’s now completely and totally in love with Rhett and he swallows thickly, even as he nods, “Yeah. Of course.”

“Good.” Rhett nods to himself as if they’ve just made a blood pact or something and he looks at the television which is just showing some random commercials. He gestures to it, “How’s about we watch something, huh? Get our minds on something else.”

By ‘our’ Link recognizes he probably means himself in particular, because Rhett can’t possibly know about the revelation Link’s just had, yet he feels a little too…seen. He bites his bottom lip hard and – even though he knows he shouldn’t – finds himself playing the part of devil’s advocate, “We can – or you can tell me if you plan on writing back.”

Rhett sits up straight, eyes wide, and Link wouldn’t be surprised if the man snaps at him. Link feels like a total jerk – just because he’s realized he’s in love with Rhett doesn’t mean he should hurt him this way, and, he knows that’s the real reason he said what he did. A sort of, ‘please-push-me-away’ move.

But he did anyway and now he braces for an argument, an insult – something. But then, much to his surprise, Rhett says hollowly, “I don’t know.”

Link presses his luck, “Mean, if she wrote you…think it means she misses you…”

Rhett snorts, “Doubt it. Probably just felt a bout of guilt. Thought she should reach out to her black sheep son.”

“Or maybe she wants to hear from you,” Link offers, “Know you’re alright.”

“Yeah and what am I supposed to write?” Rhett grumbles, “‘Hey Ma, I’m doing good. I filmed a three way yesterday – how ‘bout you?’”

“…a three way?” Link repeats, but Rhett continues on as if he didn’t hear him, “It’s not like I can tell her or-or any of them what I’ve been up to. I don’t think many parents like to brag about their kid’s accomplishments when that accomplishment is DPing a woman while making out with a guy at the same time.”

Link wants to ask what ‘DPing’ is, but he thinks he has an idea and it’s probably best not to get too in depth (pun not intended) on that, as he instead takes a different route, “It’s not like you have to tell her about your job. You can just say you’re in LA, you’re healthy, you got a fantastically handsome roommate named Link…”

That makes Rhett laugh, but in a good way, some of his ire easing, “‘Fantastically handsome’, huh?”

Link spreads his hands out, “What can I say? I’m truthful.”

Rhett chuckles some more and shakes his head, “Nah, I mean – sure, I can tell her all that, but if we…if we do reconnect, I’m just-? I’m afraid it’s going to come up.”

“Thought you said you aren’t ashamed of what you do.”

“I’m not,” Rhett affirms, “But she’s my mom. They’re my family. You know that and I know you get why it’s not something I want them to know about…”

“Well, I mean, I could tell you to get another job, but if this is what you like doing-!”

Rhett gets up from the couch and starts pacing, “It’s not that I like doing it. It’s that I’m good at it. And, like I’ve told you – good money, good co-workers,” he sighs and his pacing picks up pace, “I mean, granted, I’m getting on in years and I can’t do this forever and I always did plan on getting out when I, y’know, found someone.”

Someone not you, a thought hisses in Link’s ear and he almost physically swats out at it as Rhett continues, “‘Cause it’s not like I’d want to be in a relationship and do…what I do. It’d feel sorta unfaithful to me, albeit I know some people in the biz who are married and their partners are fine with it, but for me…”

Rhett stops pacing and flops down on the couch, groaning, “…and it’s not even like I can show off. I can’t show someone one of my films with pride and be like ‘look what I did’! Not my folks, not my theoretical other half, not-!”

“Me,” the word leaves Link’s mouth and he’s sort of shocked it left him. Rhett is shocked too, head whipping in his direction at the declaration and Link’s mouth just keeps working on its own, disconnected from his brain, “You…you can show me. If…if you want.”

The last comes out almost silent.

And Rhett just…keeps looking at him.

Link can hear everything. His breath. Rhett’s breath. The ticking of a clock some place. The television show whispering some medical mumbo jumbo. The air conditioning. His heart beat. All of it. He hears it all and then he hears a tentative, “Yeah?”

And Link just nods.

*I swear the next part will have some kind of sex. I know it’s weird that I’ve had 3 parts of a fic now about pornstar!Rhett and no porn but it’s coming. I just…got lost in feels here.

#rhink #randl #my writing #peachworthy

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basicjetsetter · 3 years

Text

Part V

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Fluffy scenes, anxious moments, cliff-hanger

▹ Words: 3.3k

▹ A/N: We are reaching the eye of the storm. Happy reading!

“ ‘Kay, so there’s no way they’re gonna win this game without him turning into the Wolf, right?”

“Finish watching it, Peter.”

Peter musingly shakes his head, mouthful of his fourth slice of pizza. “There’s no way.”

You level a patient smirk at him and point to the television, wordlessly telling him to see for himself.

The screen’s brightness fills your otherwise dark living room, casting shadows along the angles of Peter’s concentrated face. His body is sloped forward, and if he didn’t possess the body control of an enhanced being, he’d fall face-first into your carpet.

Tonight’s movie selection was your choice, and you didn’t want to disappoint. So when Peter said he’d never seen Teen Wolf, you were over the moon. Usually, you’d watch every single second of the classic film, but with Peter sitting cross-legged next to you, his hip pressed against yours as your crossed leg rests on top of his, you spent the entire time covertly peeking at his fascinated expressions.

Well into the third month of your friendship, Peter’s presence in your apartment remains to be an odd sight in a good way. Out of your ordinary. His first time in your apartment came on a day you both chose to escape the sun’s sweltering heat with A/C and ice cream, and like your first conversation in Hal’s, he never made it weird.

It was effortless. Every moment with Peter was like breathing.

If anyone else suggested Friday-night movie nights, you’d have spared no time shutting them down. But your yes to Peter harbored no resistance.

“No way!” An excited smile spreads across Peter’s face as Scott steps to the baseline to take the game-winning free throw shots. “Is he seriously gonna make these?”

You seal your lips, choosing not to spoil the moment, but Peter doesn’t see. His eyes never stray from the screen, and his lips slightly part from the nail-biting suspense. As the last shot falls through the hoop, Peter’s whole jaw drops.

When the end credits roll, he slowly claps. “That was awesome. Like I’ve got some serious chills. How am I going to top that?”

“Eh, you probably won’t,” you reply with a boastful grin. Hidden joy thrums through your body from his excitement. “Might as well call a wrap on movie nights.”

Peter playfully nudges you with his elbow, then checks his watch. “Ah, man, it’s late. I needed to be on patrol half an hour ago.” He’s up in a flash, slipping his shoes on and chewing up the rest of his pizza.

“Do you have to go?” A hint of sadness tinges your words.

“Yeah, the city would be a mess without me,” he jokes, but you weren’t remiss of his undertone sincerity. “Oh! That reminds me. Some bad guys are out on a robbing spree lately, tailing people at night, so if you work late, can you ask Chris to walk you home? Y’know, just in case I’m not there.”

He does this every time he’s over. Each week, there’s a new thing or group to be leery of, and each time he asks, you immediately nod to erase the gut-sinking concern in his brown eyes.

You rise from the couch and follow Peter to the door. He turns just as he’s about to twist the handle, stalls for a second, then envelopes you into a small, reluctant hug, leaving his arms lax just in case you wanted to pull away.

Hugging is new, something you’ve only done about five times. The first was an unplanned disaster featuring a hard shove, repeated apologies, and a long, awkward moment of silence.

You didn’t mean to push him away. It was one of those moments where, even though the urge to reciprocate was there, you couldn’t allow yourself to find comfort in such an innocent gesture. You weren’t ready. He respected that.

You knew your rash reaction bruised Peter more than he let on, but he learned to ease his way into your comfort zone with small touches. An intentional brush of his hand against yours, scooching closer to you on the couch, hi-fives with minimally laced fingers.

It took a while for the second hug-attempt, but you were cautiously prepared when it happened.

This time around, you return the gesture, winding your arms around his middle and setting your chin on his shoulder, resisting the urge to nuzzle your nose against his warm neck. His closeness frazzles you, even more so when he diminishes the gap between you, holding you tighter to his chest before releasing you and clearing his throat.

“Be safe,” you warn softly.

He puffs out his chest. “I have nothing to fear except fear itself.”

“That confident, huh?”

“Comes with the job. You get knocked down enough times, you get pretty confident once you realize you can always get back up.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. And yet you still have a fear of heights.”

“Never said I wasn’t afraid of falling. Just that it gets easier getting back up. ‘Sides, most of those petty offenders scare easy. All I gotta do is say I can plant eggs in ‘em.” He shudders at the idea himself.

“Please, Peter,” you implore, a smile sullying your stern frown.

Peter’s grin, always so wholesome and calming, blankets over your nerves. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Well, I think Spider-Man needs someone to worry about him, sometimes. Even if he can get back up. Just… let caution work alongside confidence.”

He heeds your words with a more allayed smile, curtly nodding. “Vigilance. I can do that.”

You’re tempted to wrap him back into your arms to protect him from whatever dangers lie outside of your apartment. Instead, you exchange simple goodnights and shut the door once he reaches the stairwell.

The room and your shirt preserve his crisp evergreen scent long after he’s gone. It lingers as you crawl into bed. An aromatic reminder of his caress and warm skin.

As far as friendships go, you’ve never had one quite like this. The line you drew in the sand moves. Accommodates. Shrinks. Whether he’s aware of it or not, the time you spend cracking jokes with Peter at Hal’s, listening to his adventurous feats, becoming comfortable with his physical proximity, seeing his smile and the way his eyes light up when you smile at something funny or interesting he’s said, you fall just an inch.

He's growing on you. His presence. His laughter. His beaconing smile. His tentative touch. His uncanny ability to endear himself to your foreclosed heart.

It was easier to deny the connection when you didn’t know Peter. But now that you do, every moment you’re with him intensifies what you’ve painstakingly tried to avoid.

You’re falling in love with your Soulmate.

✦ ✧✦ ✧

Once again, it’s the Saturday brunch rush, and once again, Hal’s is up to its neck in bloodthirsty customers. All the booths are packed, as well as the stools. Some of the parties compact a seat meant for two with four people, and the aisle clogs with those who just came to grab a cup of coffee and conversation.

Chris is in his element, swinging from one booth to the next like a controlled tornado collecting orders, while you and Wendy are the unfortunate bunch who have to clean up desecrated tables and feed the greedy.

“If someone asks me what the specials are one more time, I’m going to rip my hair out,” Wendy grouses behind the counter as she puts away five menus.

You grumble back the same sentiments. Menus exist for a reason. And most of these people aren’t new to Hal’s, so the fact that they always have to ask grinds your gears.

11:30 a.m. is your saving grace. If you can hold on until Peter gets here, you’ll be fine.

Chris stops by the bar, pocketing what appears to be a twenty-dollar bill. “Lighten up, ladies. At least you’re off tomorrow.”

Wendy, in her 5’3’’ stature, looks feral. “I want to be off now.”

A rowdy group of high-schoolers sitting in the farthest booth is holding a contest to see who could drink a milkshake the fastest, and the two unlucky contestants shriek like banshees from self-inflicted brain-freeze. All three of you wince.

“We don’t get paid enough for this.”

Hal shouts from the back. “Order up! And stop slackin’ off out there!”

Wendy’s eye twitches as she marches to the back to pick up the orders. You’d have acted the same way if you didn’t have something to look forward to.

“They’re not going to tip me. I just know it,” Chris says to you, despondently looking over at the teens’ table again.

“They’ll come around. No one can resist this moneymaker.” You lightly bump him on the chin to indicate his smile. Heck, his whole chiseled face is a moneymaker, but that exuberant smile sells it all.

Over the last three months, just like your friendship with Peter, your friendship with Chris has improved. Even with Wendy. You aren’t at each other’s throats nearly as much as you used to be. Last week, she complimented your hairstyle, though it was immediately followed up with a snide comment: progress, either way.

Chris laughs. “And here I thought my friendly personality racked up all the tips.”

“It’s a bonus.”

He chuckles again, then blows out a hesitant breath. “So, Y/N…”

“So, Chris…”

“There’s, um, there’s gonna be another music festival in Cunningham Park tonight, and I was wondering if, y’know, you and Peter might want to come and hang?”

You and Peter… As if you were a pair. An item. A couple. To unsuspecting eyes, you knew you and Peter seemed to be just really good friends. Not even Hal questioned why you spent half an hour talking to him every weekday. If he had an inkling of who Peter actually was to you, he’d have confronted you by now.

Chris, on the other hand, kept a sharp eye on you when Peter was around. As meticulous as you were about keeping up pretenses in public, sometimes you’d slip. Your smile would be a tad too bright when Peter walked through the door and took his usual seat. You’d giggle at his jokes too loud. You’d stare into his eyes too long. Signs too blatant for Chris to miss.

You’re just waiting for him to put the last piece in the puzzle.

“I’d… I’d have to ask Peter.” You take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “But, yeah, I’ll go.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Sure. Sounds like it’ll be fun. What time is it?”

Chris lays a hand on your forehead. “Temp seems fine. Pupils aren’t dilated. How many fingers am I holding up?”

You swat his hand down with a laugh. “Shut up.”

“Look, I know you probably don’t want me saying this out loud, but I’m glad you met Peter. We all are.”

“Why?” Evidently, you’re not that great at hiding your feelings as you thought.

Chris leans against the bar top, keeping an eye on the door just in case customers walked in. “Well, for starters, you literally just agreed to hang out with me for the first time since you started working here, which was—what—two years ago. And… you… I don’t know. You’re more open, y’know? Smiling and such.”

“I smiled before,” you say, a little defensive.

“Not like you do now. Before, it was all—,” Chris screws his mouth up. It’s strange. Alienated and wire-tight. The corners of his lips don’t fully come up, and it barely reaches his eyes. You instantly recognize it—the smile you hid behind.

Did you really smile like that? How is it that you never noticed how off-putting it was? If a server ever smiled at you like that, you’d assume they wished you disappeared off the face of the earth. Is that the smile people saw? More importantly, when did you stop putting it on?

“Two more strawberry milkshakes over here!” shouted one of the brain-freeze victims.

Chris hops to it. Always the perfect server. On his way to make the shakes, he says, “7 p.m.”

“I’ll be there.”

You weren’t going to confirm for Peter until he was there to answer for himself, but he doesn’t show. 11:30 a.m. and the rest of your shift flies by without a sight of him, which is strange, but not uncommon. Homework might have him tied up. September is a pretty busy month for schoolwork, and mid-terms are approaching, so he might be buried in assignments.

Worry doesn’t settle in until you’re getting ready for the music festival at 6:30 p.m., and Peter still hasn’t sent so much as a voicemail.

Evening summer sunlight filters in through your open window, the active sounds of Queens’ busy streets and subway station not allowing your room to fall quiet. Nights like this are perfect for outdoor festivals because it’s warm enough to sit in the grass and not bring a jacket.

Rather than enjoy the idea of getting out for the first time in years, your mind remains hooked on Peter.

It’s not like him not to leave a text if he’s caught up in other things. He’d make sure to tell you where he is, how far away. Since the beginning of this friendship, starting with his little notes, Peter’s constant communication wasn’t something you expected. But now that you do, this behavior just doesn’t match what you’re used to.

You pace the floor of your small bedroom, back and forth, wall to wall, abusively chewing your lower lip and turning your phone around in your hand, working up the nerve to call him, summoning up the will to voice your concern if he did answer.

When you do call, you get his voicemail. Trying again, you end up with the same result. Okay. He’s not picking up his phone.

Fear foregrounds your frustration. It bleeds into your words as you leave your fifth message. One after the other, they morph from mild concern to despairing panic. As the sun dips lower and lower on the horizon and the orange sunlight dwindles, so does your desire to go out.

Because… maybe you shouldn’t go. Maybe you should search for Peter. Finding any trace of him at all would be a stretch, and Chris might be upset about you ditching your plans the next time you see him, but you can’t possibly go out knowing something may be horribly wrong with Peter.

No. No, you won’t cancel plans like that. Peter is fine. Of course, he’s fine. He’s Spider-Man. His duties as a hero come first, no matter what. And he wouldn’t want you to stress so much about him.

Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he is okay. He’s alive. You feel it.

Somehow, you break the trance of your pacing and convince yourself to grab a cab ride to the park. When you arrive, the festival appears to be at a content standstill. It’s not as crowded as you assumed it would be for a Saturday night. Many of the attendants, ranging from all ages, are sitting on the grass, soaking up the fading rays of the sun while the bands finish up prepping. You’re greeted by the distinctive smell of hotdog vendors intermingled with ripening leaves.

There is nothing truly scenic about Cunningham Park, aside from the interspersed trees and trails. You’d been here a handful of times when you were younger, hanging out with friends during summer break, and one thing you loved about the park back then is how the sun shone through the leaves, casting an ethereal glow on nature.

You’re more appreciative of its beauty without the sun’s effect.

It wasn’t that hard finding Chris. All you had to do was look for the person most likely garnering friends from other groups. He’s on a blanket, seated in the center of the crowd and chatting with a group of three people.

When you’re close enough to be spotted, Chris’s face mouth out into a wide smile.

“You came!” Then his eyes roamed around. “Where’s Peter?”

You try for a carefree grin but let it fall when the effort became too much. “He couldn’t make it. School stuff.”

“Oh, well, that’s fine.” His smile drops fractionally, less joyful and more sympathetic. “I’m really glad you made it. Hey, guys. This is Y/N, my friend from work.”

You wave a little and hope for a genuine smile to grace your lips as they all scoot to make room for you on the blanket.

Chris introduces them all. He points to a buff, curly-haired guy named Dez, who you wouldn’t have guessed would be the type of guy to enjoy small park festivals. He looks like the kind of person who regularly crowd-surfs at huge concerts and somehow always winds up with a VIP pass. The next person is a slender girl named Asha, who has thick black hair knotted into a messy soccer bun and a glowing smile.

The last person Chris introduces you to is his Soulmate. You knew just by the way he said his name. Resounding. Reverent. Borderline fanatic. His name is Quint, and unlike the others, he wraps you up in a surprising hug. What’s even more surprising is you hugging back.

“Nice to finally meet you.” His voice is richly robust, exactly how you would expect someone with his Adonis-like face to sound. Two gorgeous, outgoing Soulmates just seems unfair.

“Nice to meet you, too.” You can’t help looking from Quint’s face to Chris’s, then back again, and wondering if this is what people see when they see you and Peter—a perfect match. “Chris has told me a lot about you. All great things.”

“He better,” Quint says, jokingly gazing at Chris as a blush flared across Chris’s cheeks. “And he’s told me a lot about you and Peter.”

There it goes again: people pairing you two. It’s hard not to notice how natural that sounds, as though you two were meant to be spoken about as an inseparable whole.

You brush off your startled expression as best you can and ask, “Good things, right?”

He nods, then shares a smile with Chris. “I would’ve liked to meet him.” You roughly translate that to mean, ‘I would’ve liked to meet you both.’ The blush on Chris’s face deepens into an embarrassingly bright shade of red when he catches your eye.

A plucked, low-pitched guitar string echoes out to the crowd and effectively commences the start of the music festival. You must’ve missed the band's introduction because they got right into their music, playing a melancholic pop song that sounded pretty good. You were more interested in the guitar riffs and melodic piano notes than the lyrics, but they’re no doubt about love.

Halfway into their set, your stomach growls, and you remember that you didn’t have anything to eat since you got off work. The whole thing with Peter staved off your hunger. He’s still in the front of your mind, but you’re doing your best to enjoy the night with Chris and his friends.

Standing up, you tell Chris, “I’m gonna get a hotdog.”

He tilts his chin up in acknowledgment, then goes back to swaying his head to the music.

You got up just in time to beat the line. There are only two vendors in the park, and they’d be slammed once the music hits its intermission. The one you’re at resides near the outskirts of the crowd, closest to where you left the group, and two people are in front of you.

You wish Peter were here.

Your hand touches the outline of your phone in your back pocket while you wrestle with the idea of calling him again. Maybe he’ll pick up this time.

You’re just about to unlock your phone when you hear someone calling your name—a girl.

The voice gets closer and more breathless, like they’re running at you full speed ahead and couldn’t reach you fast enough. You turn to the sound just as the body slams into you, yanking you out of line and clutching you to their frame.

“Where the hell have you been?!”

You pull away and stare straight into her face, not trusting your own eyes. “Manda?"

...

Taglist: @alexandria-euphoria

#peter parker #peter parker au #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #spider-man x black!reader #spider-man x reader #soulmate au #post endgame #pre far from home #peter parker soulmate au #peter parker angst #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #marvel fanfic #black!reader #slow burn #how to trust a heart

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deja-you · 3 years

Text

angel wings + wedding rings

part four | angels in the early morning

m. de lafayette x reader

summary: both of you say things that you don’t really regret.

word count: 3.4k

masterlist | previous | next

When his eyes were shut, Lafayette could only feel guilt.

He felt guilty for everything. For convincing you to marry him when you were both so clearly drunk. Then for trapping you in this marriage even though he had nothing to offer you. For keeping the apartment so cold. And for making you stay up late worrying where he was. Now, he felt guilty for not telling you no when you asked for meaningless sex; he knew it wasn’t meaningless to him.

The kind of guilt that embedded itself into your soul and swallowed you from the inside out. An ocean of guilt that he was now drowning in, the icy water filling his lungs and preventing him from calling out for help. The guilt was a siren, a warning of impending doom, a disaster about to make landfall and destroy everything in its path.

But then he opened his eyes and saw you.

Staring right back at him, the corners of your lips turned up at the corners and bright eyes staring back into his. Lafayette’s heart began to beat again-- when had it stopped beating? Your smile was infectious, and he couldn’t stop a smile from forming on his face as well. He hoped you couldn’t see right through his smile, to the heart hammering in his chest.

“You’re beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking,” he said after awhile, his eyes following the slope of your nose and traced your jawline.

You laughed through your nose. “You don’t have to keep flirting with me, love. I already had sex with you. Three times.”

His grin widened and he slowly nodded in agreement. “Three times.”

“I have to say, I’ve heard the rumors, but I didn’t think they were true.” You let your head fall back onto the pillow, sighing softly and allowing for your eyes to close shut.

“What do the rumors say about me?” Lafayette asked curiously, propping himself up on his elbow.

You opened one eye to see him grinning smugly at you, and you scoffed softly. “Oh, no. Your ego’s already big enough as it is.”

“I’m curious. Come on, mon ange, tell me.”

You only shook your head. “I’m sure you have girls tell you how good you are in bed all the time.” You paused, your eyes snapping open as a thought occurred to you. “Maybe you should be on the complimenting side of the post-sex conversation.”

“You want me to talk about how good you are in bed?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know. Coming from you, it’s a big deal.” You shrugged, then pinned him with an expectant stare.

Lafayette considered you for a moment, and found no words to be acceptable. It wasn’t that there was a lack of things he could compliment you on; that wasn’t the problem. There were so many things he wanted to say. Words filled with affection and love, but mostly truth. He knew he wouldn’t be able to tell you how much he adored you without letting it all slip out.

Especially since you were so insistent last night that this was purely about the sex, no emotions involved. No strings attached, you had said. Lafayette hated himself for agreeing, but he knew he would agree again in a heartbeat. He would do anything if he got to be the one to draw those lyrical moans from your lips, if he was the one who got to make you feel that good.

“Well?” You raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response.

Lafayette reminded himself to breathe, and offered you an indifferent smile. “I guess you were alright.”

“Just alright?” You scoffed, sitting up in bed, and pulling the sheet to your chest. “We both know I was more than alright.”

He grinned, and wanted to tell you that yes, you were much better than alright, but Lafayette knew he wouldn’t stop himself there. He turned away from you, grabbing a pair of sweats and pulling them on.

“I’m going to make breakfast, feel free to use my shower. The water pressure’s much better than the guest bathroom’s.” He stood up from the bed, giving you a nice view of his toned back, and the early morning light from the window outlined him in an almost heavenly way.

Your eyes followed his figure as he exited the room, and you sighed softly, letting your head fall back against the soft pillows. It was so easy to wake up next to him. In his bed. In his house. It was just easy.

After taking a moment to stretch, you forced yourself to climb out of bed and pad into his bathroom. You started the shower, and once the water got hot, you got in and let the water wash you clean. You had time to really think now. To think about this whole arrangement. To think about last night. To think about how much you wanted to feel his lips on yours again. To think about how much nicer his shower was than the guest bathroom’s was.

You figured you had taken long enough in the shower at this point. California experienced frequent droughts, it wouldn’t be environmentally conscious to stay in the shower any longer. You shut off the water, and wrapped yourself in one of the fluffy white towels Lafayette kept in his bathroom. Had he really been hoarding the quality towels and soaps in his bathroom? You made a mental note to reprimand him about it later.

Barefoot and concealed only in a towel, you walked out into the kitchen where the fragrant smell of coffee wafted through the air. Lafayette heard you enter the room, and he turned to face you. You could’ve sworn the relaxed smile he wore grew ever so subtlety when he saw you. Or maybe you had just hoped it had.

“Made you coffee. To your exact specifications.” He slid the hot mug over to you.

Your heart began to beat a little faster at the thought of caffeine and potentially at the thought that of Lafayette memorizing how you like your coffee. “What did I ever do to deserve such an amazing husband like you, sweetheart?”

He snorted softly. “You got drunk in Vegas.”

“I suppose drunken mistakes have their benefits.” You took a sip of the coffee and let it warm you from the inside out.

“Careful, mon ange, you keep calling me a mistake and you might hurt my feelings.” His tone was teasing, but he was careful to look away from your gaze and turn back to the breakfast he was working on.

“Now I could ask more questions about your upcoming film, but I think we need to discuss the elephant in the room. Your secret marriage to Victoria Secret’s angel, Y/n L/n.”

The conversation you were currently having with Alex and John paused at the mention of your name on the TV screen.

Lafayette was on Ben Franklin’s talk show, and John had convinced you and Alex to come over to catch up and watch the interview. John and Alex were dying to ask you about your marriage, since they really hadn’t been told much more than what was printed in the tabloids, but Ben had beaten them to the question in his interview.

You watched Lafayette put on a practiced smile. A smile viewers would just assume was a result of the mention of his wife, but you knew Lafayette better than that. He was mentally preparing the rehearsed story the two of you had crafted together.

“Well, Ben, what do you want to know about Y/n and I?” Lafayette asked.

The eccentric host’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward on his desk. “Everything. For starters, when did you two start dating? And how could you keep this secret from dear old me?”

Lafayette chuckled. “We met through our mutual friend, Hercules Mulligan, and... and I was just awestruck from the moment I met her. I had the biggest crush on her, and one day I finally got the guts to ask her out.”

You pursed your lips as you watched the interview. Was it at all possible that Lafayette had liked you? You couldn’t stop yourself from imagining what would’ve happened if he had asked you out, but then you reminded yourself that he was a professional actor. He didn’t mean any of it. It was just a cover. And that didn’t bother you.

“Somehow I convinced a literal angel to go out with me, and for some reason she’s stuck around. What’s it been? A month and a half? We had a small ceremony, neither of us wanted anything big.” Lafayette laced his fingers together and leaned back in his chair. “I still can’t believe that she’s my reality.”

The audience and Ben aww’d at his statement, and the irony of his statement tugged at your heart. This fake marriage was fucked up, you both knew it, and you found yourself waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Y/n must be one special girl to make the Gilbert de Lafayette settle down. You have quite the reputation y’know,” Ben said suggestively.

“That’s all in the past. Y/n’s my present and my future.” Lafayette looked away from Ben for a moment, his eyes lingering on the ring on his finger. “This last month and a half being married to her has been the best month and a half of my life. I just... I love her.”

Another round of awws from the audience, and this time Alex and John joined the audience, glancing at you for a reaction. You gave them what you hoped looked like a contented smile, but inside you were a twisted knot of shock and anxiety.

Lafayette had just said he loved you on national television. There was really no going back now; surprisingly, that’s not what you were focused on. He had said it with such sincerity that even you were convinced he meant it. You forced the warm, overflowing sensation back into your gut and reminded yourself it was all an act. A very compelling act that manipulated your emotions with ease, but an act nonetheless.

Ben and Lafayette thankfully moved onto another topic, and John turned down the volume on the TV. Alex and John turned to face you, ready to begin their own investigation.

“You have to know, we’re both very upset that we weren’t invited to the wedding,” Alex began. “We’re supposed to be friends, Y/n!”

“It was pretty spontaneous.” Understatement of the year. “We really didn’t invite anyone. Not even family.”

“You didn’t even tell us. I read about your wedding in a magazine. We didn’t even know you were dating,” John said.

You shrugged. “You heard Lafayette. We kept it quiet, but had been dating for awhile.”

“If we’re being honest,” Alex said, “I think I knew you two were dating.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was pretty obvious in the way you guys would stare at each other all the time.”

“We didn’t... We didn’t stare at each other all the time.”

John nodded in agreement. “No, no. Alex’s right. It was right in front of us the whole time. You guys always spent so much time together. I should’ve suspected something was going on.”

“I always knew you liked him, Y/n,” Alex said, “but you’re really in love with him? You never thought to tell us?”

“We’re married. Of course I love him.” And God, did you wish you were lying.

“I brought you lunch.”

You examined the box in Lafayette’s hand, smiling a little when you recognized the logo from your favorite restaurant. You grabbed his arm and pulled him out of earshot from the group of models who were watching the two of you and whispering to each other.

“Y’know you don’t have to bring me lunch, we’re not really married,” you said quietly when you were sure no one could hear you.

Lafayette only shrugged and thrusted the box of food into your hands. “I know. Just think of it as a way for me to say thank you.”

“I think you’ve thanked me enough. I’ve got a new Rolls-Royce, don’t I?” You grinned.

“She’s all yours, mon ange.”

You were smiling up at Lafayette, and he responded with a dazzling smile of his own. To any onlookers, it was a sweet moment between two newlyweds in the Honeymoon stage. And it sure felt like it. You remembered where you were and quickly looked away from him.

“I wish I could eat lunch with you, but I have to get back to work,” you said.

He nodded. “Of course. Tuesdays are busy for you. But Wednesday is your day off. Get lunch with me tomorrow.”

Sure, you’d had plenty of breakfasts and dinners with him, and a few lunches just for public appearances, but this felt different. It was the soft way he asked; the slight shaking of his voice that told you he was nervous. The way his eyes were a wider, more hopeful and tender.

“Lunch? Tomorrow?” You asked slowly.

Lafayette swallowed thickly. “Yes. Lunch tomorrow.”

You paused. “Like a date?”

“Like a date.”

Maybe all the planets had aligned perfectly in outer space just to make sure you made a decision you promised yourself months earlier that you wouldn’t. A decision you knew was stupid and could end poorly. But between the tugging in your gut and the nervous smile on Lafayette’s face, any coherent thought was drowned out in a pink haze.

“Okay. Let’s go on a date,” you said.

Any doubt about whether you had made a bad decision flew out the window when you saw Lafayette’s shoulders relax and his smile take over his face. That smile could light up the darkest room. He bounced excitedly back and forth on his feet.

“Great! I’ll make reservations.” He took your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his excitement, shaking your head a little. “We’re married and we’ve already slept together, but this is what gets you excited?”

“Maybe it’s because I just really like lunch,” he said. Maybe it’s just because this is actually real, he thought.

“You’re ridiculous. I really need to get back to work now before Hercules comes and yells at you for distracting me,” you told him.

He nodded and leaned forward to kiss you on the cheek. “Have a good day, mon ange.”

The first date was perfect.

It wasn’t anything special. Lafayette took you to a quiet restaurant just outside of L.A. He didn’t buy flowers or have anything spectacular planned, it was just a casual lunch. You ordered your food, talked about your day, ate, paid the bill, and left. That was it. And it was perfect.

The problem was that once you said yes to a date once, you couldn’t say no. And in Lafayette’s opinion, the second date was more significant.

Lafayette tried to calm himself when he asked you again. When he was around you, he couldn’t help but feel panicked. Not panicked in the scared or terrified kind of ways, but panicked in the way he didn’t know how to stop or slow down. He was a car going full speed down the highway with no breaks and no intentions to stop.

But you weren’t the same. He knew you had to bend your morals and ideals to even say yes to a first date. He would slow down for you. Or, at the very least, he would hide his panic.

“Do you want to go out?”

Out like a date? you’d wanted to ask. Or maybe just out like ‘you’ve been in my apartment for too long and I’m afraid there’s going to be a permanent you shaped indent in my couch.’ You glanced up at him, first noticing the easy smirk he wore. Then you saw the slight panic in his eyes and you nodded to yourself. Yes, he means like a date.

“Yes.” You would’ve thought that one little word was a drug the way Lafayette’s face lit up at the mere sound of it.

If Lafayette was still trying to contain his panic, he wasn’t doing a very good job at it. He took your hand in his and grabbed the keys to his car with the other. In a second you were situated in the passenger seat of his car and Lafayette was pulling out into the road.

“Where are we going?” You asked him while he helped you connect to the car’s sound system.

“I... I hadn’t thought of that yet,” he admitted, and you laughed. “Where do you want to go?”

“Don’t ask me, this was your idea. I don’t want to make a decision.”

“Okay, okay. Then we’ll just drive until we find somewhere we want to stop.”

The word ‘we’ felt so natural on his tongue. Like it was his mother language. You were his wife, his partner. Even if you just saw it as a temporary thing, and even if Lafayette knew it could only be a temporary thing, every now and then he liked to pretend that this was all real.

Neither you nor Lafayette would remember every detail from that night. The two of you were intoxicated, not by alcohol or any other form of inebriation, but by something stronger and more languid. Memories came back in poetic proses, broken glass on the sidewalk that looked like glittering stars, camera flashes that documented a fake marriage and real smiles, and desperate displays of affection that only delayed catastrophe.

You don’t think anything Lafayette ‘plans’ to do that night is intentional. In fact, you don’t know if anything he’s done in his entire life has been intentional. Sometimes that worries you, but right now you can’t help but love the spontaneous man that pulls you out onto the Santa Monica beach.

It’s already getting dark, and you’re certain that if you take your shoes off now to meander around the beach, you’ll never find them again. And you like these shoes. But Lafayette insists you run around barefoot with him. You mutter something about “I don’t know why I do these things for you.” You know the answer. You’re careful to make sure that because I love you doesn’t slip out.

“Lafayette, I swear if I lose these shoes, I’m getting a divorce,” you say as your bare feet sink into the cool sand.

He scoffs. “Well I wouldn’t want your shoes to be ruined by ocean water.”

“Why would they be...” your eyes meet his, then move to the waves lapping at the beach, then back to Lafayette. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You’re not given the opportunity to say no again, because his hands snake behind your knees and the next thing you know, you’re thrown over his shoulder and he’s racing toward the water. You yell a few times for him to stop, but it’s drowned out by your own laughter.

Lafayette is waist deep in the water, your feet, calves, and knees sink into the water, but you grab fist fulls of his shirt in a feeble attempt to keep the rest of your body warm and dry. Your actions are made in vain, because he takes a deep breath then pulls the both of you under the waves. He lets go of you after you’ve been completely submerged and you quickly resurface.

“I’m going to kill you,” you say as you gasp for air.

He laughs, and it’s so warm and full you forgive his previous transgressions for just a moment. “You might want to take out a larger life insurance policy before you do that.”

Lafayette wades over to you, his hands falling to your waist. They fit there perfectly, like your body was made for his hands to hold. He pulls you into his warmth.

“I don’t know what possessed you to drag me into this freezing water at night,” you groan, burying your face in his chest.

You can feel the soft vibrations of his laughter. “We’ve got warm, fluffy towels at home.”

Your heart flutters a little bit at the mention of home. “I do love your towels.”

“They’re your towels. I got them for you,” he admits.

“You did?”

Lafayette rests his head on top of yours. “Got new pillows, too. And a new coffee maker.”

“Just for me?”

“Mmhmm,” he hums softly. “I’d do anything for you.”

You sigh out the name of some deity, maybe it’s his name, and you just stop thinking. “I love you. I’m so in love with you.”

He pulls away to stare at you with wide eyes.

“What?”

taglist: (lmk if you want to be added ! )

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#lafayette x reader #marquis de Lafayette #lafayette imagine #daveed diggs x reader #Daveed Diggs #imagine lafayette #fake marriage au #hamilton #hamilton fic #hamilton fanfic #hamilton fanfiction #hamilton imagine #victoria's secret angel reader #actor!lafayette #alexander hamilton #john laurens #hercules mulligan #hollywood!au

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madsthewordclown · 3 years

Text

Four Walls | Sokka

warning: just lots of fluff because I wanted to

pairing: sokka x reader, modern au

summary: Quarantine is stressful, but Sokka’s a pretty great roommate to be stuck with.

Y’all, this is my first fic I’ve ever written and I apologize in advance, and thank you for bearing with me.

“Traditionally, you’re meant to cook the noodles.” Sokka pretends not to hear you. Or maybe he really can’t hear you over the loud crunching of uncooked penne. There’s an empty jar of sauce on the table across from where he sits, crunching down dry noodles like its chips. You walk over to get a bottle of water from the fridge and notice two of your reusable milkshake straws sitting in the sink. Looking back the jar of sauce, you shudder.

“Traditionally, the noodles aren’t meant to be whole-grain,” Sokka answers finally, as if the situation he is in is completely normal. The box of pasta now sits empty on the table, and he’s grinning from ear to ear. “How was work?”

“Fine,” you answer. “Can I ask why you didn’t just boil the noodles? Weren’t they awful?” You know you’re deflecting about work, but it’s not a big deal. The restaurant had only just started to reopen, and you only got one or two shifts a week, but dealing with customers felt more grueling than ever. You knew Sokka missed having something to do, so you couldn’t complain too much.

“Cooking them is too much work, Y/N,” Sokka replies matter-of-factly, “and they were awful, but I had to finish what I started.”

Quarantine is not treating either of you well. For you, the strain manifests itself much more quietly; you haven’t been sleeping very well, and you get headaches more frequently than normal. For Sokka, it’s this. You don’t know how much orange juice he’s consumed straight from the carton, but it can’t be good for his teeth. Drinking tomato sauce can’t be too good, either, although he somehow manages to maintain his good looks nonetheless.

“Katara called while you were gone,” Sokka mentions as you plunk yourself down in the chair across from him.

“She did?” You frown. You and Sokka didn’t get too many calls from his sister or any of your other friends anymore. When quarantine started, you had frequent group calls and virtual game nights, but over time, they kind of fizzled out. You missed seeing everyone’s faces. While Sokka was a great friend and a great roommate, you couldn’t help but wish you were all under the same roof.

“Yeah,” Sokka continues, standing up and picking up the empty pasta box and jar. He’s wearing khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt; it may be fit for a Midwestern dad, but at least he put on a full outfit today. Quarantine hasn’t exactly required it. “She’s scheduling a movie night for this Saturday. You’re off work, right? I tried to see if you sent me your schedule, I wanted to make sure you didn’t miss it.”

“Yeah, I only worked today and then Friday this week,” you say excitedly. “Is everyone joining?”

“Suki can’t make it,” Sokka shrugged, walking across the kitchen to rinse out the jar, “but Zuko and Toph will be there. And Katara and Aang, obviously.”

You kick your shoes off under the table and feel the tension in your feet ease slightly as Sokka turns on the faucet. Your shift was busy, considering the circumstances. You yawn. “What movie are we watching?”

“I don’t know, some indie film she and Aang found,” Sokka says, turning off the water and bending down to put the jar and box in the hot pink recycling tub you keep under the sink. Katara had brought it in one day after learning that Sokka didn’t recycle. You could still hear her telling him off about plastics in the ocean. She had been very pleased when she saw your small collection of reusable grocery bags. Good guys recycle, Sokka. Right, Y/N?

“What’s with the outfit?” You can’t help but say. You notice that Sokka is wearing tennis shoes without socks along with his vacation ensemble. He grins at you again, blue eyes sparkling as he begins walking toward the door to his room.

“Setting trends, Y/N/,” he laughs, “get with the program.”

You wake up at four in the morning, again. You know before you’ve even opened your eyes that you are awake way too early; it’s happened at least three times in the last two weeks. You slowly peek your eyes open and pick up your phone, flinching as the bright light hits your face. 4:08. You sigh.

You slowly pull yourself out of bed and easily leave your room without needing the lights, but the main room is more difficult. You have no clue what you and Sokka have left out on the floor in the last few days. You put one arm straight out in front of you to detect obstacles, and curse to yourself about leaving your phone on the nightstand.

You carefully walk by what you think is the couch and swing your arm none too gently to find it. To your surprise, you hit something that definitely isn’t the couch.

“Ow!” a voice cries out. You let out a scream, and jump back, falling on the carpeted floor with a thump. “Whoa,” Sokka says, and you feel relief flood over you. It’s just Sokka. You try to let your heartbeat slow down. “Are you okay?”

Sokka must have gotten up and found the light switch. You see him in the corner of the room, his hair pulled up, and wearing his same Hawaiian shirt, but with basketball shorts. An even more atrocious outfit. You laugh to yourself as you continue to get your bearings. Sokka makes his way over to where you sit behind the couch and offers a hand to help you up. You take it.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you say shakily as he helps you to your feet.

“I’m sorry,” Sokka says sincerely. “I didn’t think you’d be up. Could you not sleep?”

You shake your head. Sokka doesn’t press; just nods. “What were you doing in here?” You ask.

“Same thing, but it’s probably because I drank too much coffee after dinner.”

“How much coffee is too much?” Sokka just shakes his head slowly.

“Too much, Y/N.” He looks at the ground for a moment. “Want to watch a show or something?”

It becomes a routine for the next few days; watching shitty cartoons and soap operas with Sokka whenever you wake up in the night. He’s somehow awake every time, and you try not to dwell on it. You’re not one to talk. It’s nice, sitting with him and watching something that lets you not think for a while. That’s your problem; overthinking about anything and everything. You get to forget about work, where a customer coughing sends you into such a spiral that you have to spend ten minutes in the back room to calm down. You’re looking forward to it when you get home from your Friday shift.

Sokka is in his room when you arrive, close to 11, even though your shift was meant to end at 10. You pull your shoes off as soon as you’re in the door and drop your purse on the floor, not even bothering to get to the kitchen table or couch before you’re lying on the carpet and staring at the ceiling. You don’t even hear it when Sokka comes out of his room and stands over you.

“That bad, huh?” He says simply. You try not to notice the sympathy in his eyes, or the way his brow softens when he looks at you. You just nod your head and try to block out the echoing yells of an angry mom that you served earlier, and the mere $25_ _you brought home for tips after hours on your feet, working in a pandemic hellscape.

Instead of trying to coax you up off the ground, Sokka disappears into the kitchen, the counter obscuring your view. You can hear him open and close a cupboard before he reappears, a bag of Doritos in hand.

You can’t stop the shocked look on your face as Sokka slowly sits down next to you and then leans back on the floor. The bag of chips crinkles as he opens it and sets it on the floor between you. You wordlessly take out a few chips and start snacking. Even though Sokka has only been your roommate for a few months, you’re still impressed by how perceptive he is. He always seems to know what to do to make you feel better. You feel bad that you can’t do the same for him.

Sokka talks about his latest project for his online summer class. It’s something to do with engineering, and you try to listen, but he gets to talking so fast and excitedly that you can’t keep up. You don’t understand most of what he’s saying anyway, but you like listening to him talk. Katara says he can’t shut up, and most of the time she’s right, but you like his passion.

Between the two of you, you manage to finish the whole bag of Doritos. You can tell your air conditioning has shut off again when the blistering July heat begins to creep in, and that’s when you make the executive decision that it’s time to get off the floor. You turn to your side and are surprised to discover that Sokka is looking at you, and he’s not talking. You don’t know when he stopped, but you already miss it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sokka whispers, so quietly that you almost wonder if he said it at all, but he’s looking at you for an answer, his blue eyes boring into you.

“Yeah,” you answer equally as quietly, your voice hoarse after lying silent for so long. You bite your lip and let your hand fall between you and Sokka. You ask something you should’ve asked a while ago. “What about you?”

Sokka glances away for a moment and sighs. “I just miss people, you know?” You nod. He continues. “We haven’t seen Katara in, I don’t know, two months? I know we don’t always get along, but I miss her, and I know that she has to be careful, we all have to be careful, but that doesn’t make it less hard, y’know?

“And it’s not just our friends, or even my dad or anything. Just people. I miss being around people, and not having any sort of outlet, you know? Just four walls.”

“And little-old-me,” you add jokingly. Sokka rolls his eyes.

“Four walls and you,” he amends. You try to ignore the rush you feel when he lets his hand brush against your own.

“Want to watch a show or something?”

Saturday night can’t come soon enough, and when you come out of your room after your shower, you’re surprised and excited to see that Sokka has gone all out with the movie night. The movie has to be streamed on the computer, so Sokka has his laptop set up on the coffee table, ready to go. You smell the popcorn he has popping in the microwave.

“Ready for the best quarantine movie ever?” He greets, then jumps as the popcorn begins to pop almost aggressively in the microwave.

“Of course,” you reply, hopping yourself over the back of the couch and pulling the throw blanket there over yourself. “I can’t wait to see everybody. It’s been too long.”

Sokka is careful not to burn the popcorn and even goes as far as to dump it out of the bag and into an actual bowl for the two of you. He comes over and takes a seat next to you; you’ve both opted for sweatpants, as you both tend to do even though it’s the middle of summer. It’s not like you’re leaving the house, although Sokka still complains about the heat sometimes.

You hop onto the voice call with the others at exactly 8 o’clock. Zuko is already there, of course, as well as Katara and Aang. It only takes Toph a few seconds to join after you.

“Hi, guys!” Katara exclaims, waving at her camera. She’s already pressed up against Aang’s side on the sofa in their apartment, and he’s leaning his head on her shoulder. Their huge white dog, Appa, can just barely be seen at the bottom of the screen, laying across their laps.

“Hey, Katara!” You respond excitedly, leaning in closer to the camera. “I miss you guys so much!”

“Hey, Sokka, how’s your class going?” Zuko asks. Immediately, Sokka begins a tangent about whatever his latest project is. Zuko matches his enthusiasm with talk about his screenwriting class.

“Nerds,” Toph mutters, crossing her arms. You laugh.

“You guys ready to start the movie?” Zuko says. Aang gives a thumbs up into the webcam.

“Flameo, hotman.”

The movie is, of course, frequently interrupted by you and your friends’ commentary. Sokka has had to shush you multiple times, as you keep leaning over and whispering dumb observations and jokes in his ear. You aren’t one to take any movie too seriously, and this indie film is no exception. But you don’t think Aang would appreciate your comments, since he looks like he’s about to tear up as he leans into Katara before the movie is even halfway through.

“Sokka, you look pretty cozy,” Katara giggles suddenly. You didn’t realize it, but now that you were paying attention, you could feel Sokka’s side pressed up against you as you both leaned in to better see the laptop screen. You can see now that his arm is draped over the couch behind you.

“What? What’s happening?” Toph asks, and Zuko starts to laugh a little bit. To your surprise, Sokka doesn’t pull away.

“I am, thanks,” he says, trying to be nonchalant, but still letting a sheepish smile sneak past his lips.

“Okay, then,” Katara smiles, refocusing on the movie. Your heart flutters a bit as you remember where you are. With Sokka. Your roommate. Who you don’t need to have feelings for, but you think you might be doing it anyway.

You feel your eyes getting droopier as the movie goes on, and you don’t really pay attention anymore. Before you know it, you can’t seem to get your eyes open anymore, and the sounds of the movie and your friends’ laughter fades away.

You wake up to the sound of laughter. The movie is gone, and the screen is entirely taken up by your friends’ faces.

“Oh, look,” Zuko says, “sleepy head’s finally awake.”

“Shut up,” you groan. You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until the moment, and you hadn’t realized that you had fallen asleep… on Sokka. Your head rested on his shoulder, and his right arm was around you. One of your hands was resting on his lap. Your friends started laughing again, and you jerked your hand away, but didn’t quite sit up. You still felt too tired for that.

“Well, we should probably go,” Katara said finally, although Aang was already definitely half asleep on her shoulder. Zuko and Toph muttered something similar, and everyone said their goodbyes. Sokka reached with his left arm to exit the call but left the laptop on.

You feel Sokka gently grab your hand as your eyes start to drift shut once again, sleep too tempting to refuse. You feel him lean down and whisper in your ear, always careful, “Is this okay?”

You nod into his shoulder, and you feel him breathe a sigh of relief as he rests his head on yours. It would always be okay. And you didn’t need to talk about it yet, although you’d have to eventually. For tonight, though, while the world raged on, it was just you and him, and the four walls of your apartment. And while the months of quarantine seemed to stretch on forever, you knew you had someone to hold on to.

#sokka x y/n #sokka x reader #sokka fanfic #atla #modern au #atla fanfic #atla sokka #sokka #kataang #fluff #sokka fluff #fanfic #avatar: tla #avatar

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Note

PORNSTAR!HARRY WITH THE NEW BEARD (me? wet)

“What d’you think, then?”

Harry scratches absentmindedly at the thick stubble covering the lower half of his face, the coarse, light brown hairs heavily dusting his upper lip and haloing around his mouth and chin.

His eyebrows perk up at Y/N expectantly, awaiting her response as he sits across from her in the break room, laid out on the sofa with his head mounted against the elbowrest. His arms tighten around the maroon velvet cushion he’s hugging to his chest, a certain anxiousness jittering in his veins. He doesn’t know why her opinion matters to him or why the suspense is tearing his stomach to shreds, but it does and he can’t stop it and it’s fucking annoying, to say the least.

In his line of work, Harry had learned not to make severe emotional attachments to his partners. A platonic relationship is fine— he tended to naturally attract people without much effort and he thrives in social settings; friendships were bound to form— and a casual “friends with benefits” type of arrangement isn’t off the table, either. However, the industry had hardened him into being the kind of person who doesn’t care what others think of him. He never put much thought into people’s mundane concerns towards him (like whether his new beard was attractive or not) unless he had started to develop deeper connections, which then leads to him harvesting feelings, which in turn causes him to act like a complete lovesick moron and usually topples him into an actual solid dating situation. And if there’s anything Harry has painstakingly learned through multiple trials and errors is that being an adult entertainer while simultaneously engaging in a serious relationship never mixes well.

Yet here he is, waiting for their assigned filming room to be ready so they can go in and shoot a scene for a new video. Here he is, playing with a loose seam thread on the couch pillow, tugging at it nervously to give himself something to focus on other than the silence suffocating the room— a silence he himself had instilled by asking such a random, pointed question. Here he is, with sparks firing off in the pit of his tummy as the leg hanging off the side of the sofa bounces restlessly on his heel, toes curling in his pastel yellow Vans. He hasn’t felt this like this in so long he thinks he might vomit right onto the coffee table.

Y/N is extended across the loveseat opposite his, her legs draped over the armrest, knees bent and feet swaying back and forth distractedly. Her hands are cradled against her stomach, fingers sifted together as she taps at her knuckles, head snuggled into a throw pillow identical to his.

She had snapped her head to the side at his sudden question, surprised by the low thrum of his voice reaching across the still air since she thought he had fallen into a nap.

She’d run into him earlier as he had hurried inside the building, Nike gym bag slung over his shoulder and thudding against his hip as he made a beeline for his dressing room, itching for a shower. She figured that after exerting himself with a heavy workout and washing away the tension in his muscles with warm water, he’d probably want to get some sleep in before their shoot in order he to be at the top of his game. But evidently, Harry is wide awake, staring at her over the glass table between their makeshift beds, eyebrows raised in curiosity at her thoughts on the facial hair he’s sporting.

Y/N stares at him thoughtfully for a few seconds, eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in this never before seen appearance.

She’d been working for this company for just over two months now and she had never seen Harry with more than just a light bit of stubble. One can imagine her shock when he had waltzed in with a decently thick bushel covering half his face. She almost didn’t recognize him, being so used to his clean, boyish face rather than a hairy, full-fledged man. She hadn’t quite processed the change since their fleeting interaction prior to his bath, but apparently her take on it interested him and for some unknown reason, that notion makes her cheeks sizzle.

The response she blurts out makes her wish she could implode on command.

“You kinda look like Paul Bunyan.”

Harry blinks at her blankly exactly three times, shifting upwards higher against the armrest and cocking his head to the side in awed confusion. “Pardon?”

Y/N parts her lips to speak but her brain can’t seem to find a way to justify the idiotic, nerve-induced comment she’d just made. After a moment of charged silence, she splutters out a semi-acceptable explanation.

“Y’know, Paul Bunyan. The lumberjack guy? With the blue ox?”

Harry continues to stare at her, emerald irises twinkling with a mystified haze and eyebrows scrunched down in bewilderment.

She swallows quickly, feeling heat crawl up the sides of her neck. “He’s this folklore legend that they use to tell us about back in grade school. Disney even made a cute little short film about him.”

He blinks at her again, not sure how to react to her response since he has no fucking clue what she’s going on about. All he knows is that he wants to calm the ragging in his belly and possibly ebb some type of compliment out of her to tide over the craving for her approval.

He takes a wild stab and hopes for the best.

“So he’s a lumberjack, yeah? That must mean he was ripped. Was he hot?”

Y/N bursts into a round of easy laughter, feeling all the tension wash out of her in a huge wave of relief. Leave it to Harry to be a total dolt at the perfect time.

“Yeah, he was, actually. I used to have a crush on him, despite the fact that he was a literal cartoon.”

Harry’s lips break into a cheeky, satisfied grin, his dimples pinching into place. He sits forward, dropping the couch cushion into his lap and leaning back onto the palms of his hands, head lulling on his shoulder as one of his knees bends upwards to rest his heel at the edge of the sofa. He gives his brows a cocky shrug, well aware of how her gaze momentarily flickers to ogle at his widely parted thighs. He’d made the right call to wear his Adidas joggers, the thin polyester material obviously strained by what resides between his legs.

“Guess that means you have a crush on me now, too. By association.”

Y/N’s glazed eyes dart back up to his face and she tries to cover up her little escapade by snorting humorously, shaking her head lightly in amusement. “He was a bit taller than you, though. Makes him sexier.”

His voice comes out slathered with fake pained insult. “That’s no fair, I can’t even control that! How tall was he? Bet I could take him.”

She bites into her lower lip, a small playful grin peeking around her teeth at the ensuing banter. “Well, according to the myth, he’s seven feet tall.”

Harry scoffs dismissively, swinging an arm forward and settling his wrist over his bent knee, hand turning palm upwards for emphasis. “I can take him, no problem. A foot is nothing.”

Y/N props her chin onto her shoulder, maintaining her comfortable position stretched out across the couch, her back supported by the armrest. She sucks at her teeth in disagreement, pursing her lips with exaggerated contemplation. “I dunno, H. A foot is more than you think. What are you gonna do, jump on his back?”

He points at her warningly with his index finger, tone adamant. “I just fucking might!”

She releases another fit of bubbly giggles, cupping her tummy instinctively and for some reason that simple, unintentionally adorable action makes Harry’s pulse flutter in his temples.

He remains quiet for a bundle of heartbeats, just admiring the way her entire face glows when she smiles. He loves how bright she is— how lively and tender and easy-going. Her personality always shines through, no matter the instance. Whether it’s at a restaurant with their friend group, or at a get together at someone’s house, or when they’re sitting in the break room having a random, silly chat, or when he's balls-deep inside her with cameras trained on their every movement and there’s people watching every brush of their swollen lips, every caress of their heated skin, and every desperate plead whimpered onto eager tongues — no matter the tone and texture of the situation, she’s always the most blinding factor in the room. She’s just so golden.

“So you really think I can’t take this Bunyan bloke?” Harry inquires with a joking edge, his two front teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth to keep himself from grinning like an enamored fool.

“He’s a pretty big guy.” Y/N quips matter-of-factly, giving her shoulders a gentle shrug.

The edges of his lips twitch into a sly smirk. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty big, too...and you can attest to that.”

Even from across the room, he can see the way her whole body tightens at his lascivious dig. Her fingers halt the tapping on her knuckles and her eyes can’t seem to break free from his coy gaze, air struggling to expand her lungs.

Harry somehow always manages to make her speechless and she wishes he didn’t have that hold over her. They’re friends and coworkers; this influence on her could end in a real mess if she isn’t careful and the gig she has here at the company is too good to risk it. The porn industry is littered with producers that exploit their workers and women are more susceptible to this abuse than men, but somehow amidst the pile of shitty businesses, she had managed to book a permanent spot at a facility that treats their workers with the respect and dignity they deserve. Harry had been working here way longer than she had— he’d been here before she even knew the company existed. If things went downhill, she would have to be the one to leave.

Technicalities aside, Y/N’s worst fear is ruining her relationship with Harry. He had been the person that had comfortably eased her into the whole world of sexual entertainment and she would forever be thankful to him for making her experience smooth and seamless. They’d developed a decent friendship along the way, their personalities clicking together perfectly from the second they had been introduced, their chemistry practically palpable. Harry had been her partner in almost all of her videos— save a handful she had done with other stars as a way of testing the waters and branching out— and had introduced her to all of the friends she had made here. He’d shot with her for her first ever video in this profession and helped welcome her into something she had been extremely terrified to try. She cherishes him beyond words, which is why the idea of allowing some harmless flirting to grow into something with the potential to end in disaster outright ices her blood.

What she hates the most is that such a simple cocky comment had sent her into a midlife crisis.

She anchors herself back into reality, clearing her throat softly as her lashes flutter. “You’re a moron.”

Harry cracks a self-assured simper, messing with the chunky rings of the hand hanging off his knee. “You’re not denying it, though.”

Y/N huffs offhandedly, finally breaking the intense eye contact he’d pinned onto her, glossy eyes zoning in on tracing the checkered pattern of her worn sneakers. “Your dick is obviously big or else you wouldn’t have a job here.”

The deadpan bluntness behind her tone sends Harry into a round of boyish snickering. “I know, but I just love hearing you say it. Strokes my ego like nothing else.”

Y/N picks at one of the tears of her cosmetically tattered jeans, a strangely contented smile threatening to string across her lips at the idea of him enjoying the way she specifically praises him. “And we both know how much you love having things stroked, now don’t we?”

Harry bites into the inside of his cheek, humming in agreement deep in the back of his throat. He absolutely adores the way she can go toe to toe with his vulgarity. “Touché. Although, if I recall correctly, you never seem to have any complaints about being the one doing it.”

“S’part of the job.”

“I’m pretty sure your kitchen isn’t one of the designated filming rooms.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

Y/N’s jaw clenches as she feels Harry’s delighted condescending stare boring into the side of her face. He swings his arms out from behind him, slumping into the backrest of the couch, flexing forearms settling across the light blue fabric of the vintage Mickey Mouse t-shirt stretching over his broad chest. The foot resting on the ground braces itself onto the edge of the coffee table, the one on the couch shifting some, his thighs parting open even wider. She has to resist the urge to look, having to make due with the blurry image registering from her peripheral vision. Even out of focus, he looks incredible.

“D’you know what we’re shooting today?”

The change in topic gifts her the chance to recuperate and regroup; work talk is a sanctuary she is more than happy to inhabit.

Y/N cranes her neck to look over at Harry, refusing the impulse to check him out in his new, much more revealing position, meeting his eyes with an indifferent attitude that hides how buzzed he truly has her. “It’s something for a series you’re doing on your channel, right?”

Harry bobs his head in an easy nod, thumbing over the inside of his right elbow— a mindless mannerism. His lips twitch into a goofy grin. “Wanna know what I named it?”

“Something dumb, probably.”

“How Many Licks Does It Take To Make a Cherry Pop?”

Y/N sighs heavily through her nose. “Expected no less. It’s a bit long, though, don’t you think?”

“Maybe a little but the Wow Factor outsells.”

“Whatever you say.” Y/N checks the time on her phone, slipping it back into her rear jean pocket. They’d been sitting here waiting for their call for almost fifteen minutes now. “So from the looks of it, it’s mainly based around eating girls out?”

Harry scratches at the back of his neck casually, playing with the ringlets that curl along the nape of his neck. “Mmhm. Just thirty minutes of me making you cum as many times as I can with my tongue.”

The shells of Y/N’s ears burn. “Sounds like a dream. I’m getting paid just to lay there and I won’t even have to take off all my clothes.”

“Good karma, I suppose.” Harry glances impatiently towards the door of the break room, eager to get started. He doesn’t really know why, but he’s just gained an abrupt hunger to be nose deep between her thighs right this second. “Although, do you think you can pull your shirt up? Y’know how much I love a good view and you just look so fucking good in lace.”

She kinks an eyebrow up in mild shock at his accurate statement, pushing down the way his admiration makes her pulse skip a beat. “How did you know I was wearing lace?”

His tongue sweeps over the front of his teeth teasingly, Cupid’s Bow curving with a hint of perceptive glee. “Because you know it makes my balls ache.”

Y/N’s thighs unintentionally clasp together at his crudeness and she decides to put his insight to the test. “What color am I wearing, then?”

Harry sits forward, interest elating his limbs, forearms flushing against his thighs as he twiddles his thumbs between his separated knees. He takes a second to think it through, tilting his chin up slightly with a confident air. “Pastel peach.”

Her hands slap down against her tummy, the action tainted with disbelieving outrage. “How’d you know?!”

He chews on his bottom lip pensively as if carefully sewing his words together. “Because I complimented you the last time you wore it.”

A rush of white hot energy surges through Y/N’s entire nervous system. “Didn’t think you’d remember since you always compliment everyone.”

Harry shakes his head gently, twisting a metal rose ring around his middle finger. “Always remember you.”

An electrified silence falls between them, zizzing every molecule in the chilled air.

Y/N is well aware of the large number of people Harry’s been with and she had always assumed she would melt into the masses without much of a second thought. But here he was, telling her that she stood out to him enough that he could vividly recall the little odds and ends of flattery he gave her. It probably wasn’t much of anything and he was just being his polite, courteous self, but it made her stomach somersault nonetheless.

Her lips part open as if to speak, but her vocal chords can’t seem to find the pitch of her voice. She just lays there with her mouth agape for a second or so, fishing for a response that her brain has yet to conjure. Harry waits in anticipation, wanting to know her thoughts on small but meaningful confession.

Y/N is saved by a collection of swift hard knocks to the door of the room.

The knob turns and the door cracks open, a familiar face peeking in, bare chest covered in a sheen of short, disheveled hair and a complimentary company robe. Niall— a mutual friend and fellow entertainer— throws up a relaxed wave, icy blue eyes lighting up with the effortless jolliness he’s so well known for.

His voice filters through the heavy atmosphere, his thick Irish accent cutting the tension like a knife. “Oi, Jeff told me to come get you. Room’s set up.”

Harry licks over his lips absently, keeping his muted olive irises glued to Y/N for an extra heartbeat before breaking away, forcing an easy smile for Niall’s sake and matching it with banter. “Couldn’t come get us himself? Lazy prick.”

The sky-eyed young man shrugs his shoulders sloppily, his exorbitant laughter bouncing off the walls. “Was headed for my dressing room to clean up and you guys happened to be a pit stop on the way so it wasn’t much trouble.”

Harry pushes himself onto his feet, stretching out his back and twisting his torso from side to side. “S’about time, too. Been sitting here so long I thought my bones were gonna cement.”

Niall whistles sympathetically. “That’d be real shit for business.”

The British boy sputters into his next sentence with a flurry of giggles. “Fuck off.”

Y/N speaks up for the first time since before Niall burst in. “Jeff would basically lose all his income. Can you imagine the headlines? ‘World renowned adult entertainer Harry Styles hospitalized, leaving mother company in shambles!’”

“A right Shakespearean tragedy, that is.” Their blonde friend cackles, the suspicious bite marks on his lower lip tinting darker as his skin stretches.

“Lucky for me, I already have experience with Shakespearean tragedies.” Harry quips proudly, walking towards the exit and standing beside Niall with his arms crossed over his stomach nonchalantly.

The fellow pornstar scowls jestingly, reaching forward and tugging at the corner of Harry’s mustache. “Romeo and Juliets: The Four-Crossed Lovers doesn’t count, Obi-Wan.”

“Whatever.” Harry snaps in return, slapping Niall’s fingers out of his facial hair and smothering him with the palm of his hand, shoving the boy out the door. “Go clean the jizz off yourself.”

“Go clean the jizz off yourself.” The shorter man mimics mockingly, backing away from the door with both of his middle fingers prevalent.

Once Niall’s gone, Harry glimpses back at Y/N over his shoulder, coughing awkwardly. “So I guess I’ll see you in there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She gives him a timid, watery smile, barely nodding her head.

“Alright. Show time, Peach Lace.”

The joking nickname eases the pressure of the situation to a bearable level. She repeats his phrase in agreement, shrugging her brows as cool and collected as her churning tummy will allow. “Show time.”

Harry’s messy quiff of curls disappears down the corridor that leads to their designated room and Y/N can properly gulp down air for the first time since he asked her what she thought about his beard.

It’s then that she realizes she never really answered his question directly, but she gets the feeling that he knows where her opinion lies.

#pornstar!harry #drabble

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claraoswaldfics · 3 years

Text

Halloween Night, part 2

(Continued from part 1)

It took me a few minutes and a good chunk of breakfast before my memories had lined themselves up in an order I recognised. And let me tell you, there was one memory in particular in there I’m surprised I ever forgot. I still get a rush thinking about it now.

I’d love to tell you I was a suave and charming flirt that night, or a beguiling seductress, because I can and have been both before. Seriously, give me a little black dress or a tailored suit and I am an irresistible force. I’ve wriggled into a cocktail dress and draped myself over a piano once. What I’m trying to say is I draw confidence from the way I dress and tonight I was dressed as a sixties cartoon character.

But that wasn’t the only reason I was nervous. There was a girl; strike that, a woman; strike that, a flame-haired goddess sat next to me, and the two of us were in a taxi back to my place. She was also dressed as a Scooby Doo character, but maybe not for much longer.

We didn’t go back to Amy’s in the end. Mine was closer anyway, and Priya, traitor that she was, had actually arranged a backup Halloween party for her to go to should ours fall apart. That left my flat empty for the night.

I wouldn’t describe myself as calculating per se, although I have been accused of it, and looking after children and travelling with the Doctor (the same activity a lot of the time) does mean I’m working out plans in my head a lot of the time. But finding out that no roommates would be home that night meant I did find myself shamelessly plotting and pursuing the little turns in conversation that might take me and her to where I wanted us to go that night.

I picture myself as a chess player, and not just because I really fancy female chess players.

The Doctor always says it’s a matter of picturing your goal on the other side of a chasm and building a bridge as you jump. The problem is that picturing my goal very much distracts me from the general architectural effort, to put it lightly.

As a result, I don’t remember much of the taxi ride. I was too focused on not making an absolute blubbering fool out of myself to delegate much brainpower to long-term memory storage. Conversation with intent to flirt is a challenge, and not one I’ve had the time to perfect. And while I may not have been my best witty siren self, but I hadn’t stuck my foot in it, and I’d even made her laugh a few times, although not as much as she made me laugh.

If there were times when I felt in control, it was all because of her. She was cool, she was calm, and her smile could switch from wicked to understanding in an instant.

We didn’t kiss in the taxi. I really thought we might; the tension was certainly there and I did a lot of really top-level pouts on the ride. But she seemed intent on putting me at ease first. So we talked. We talked about all manner of things – her modelling work, November 1st hangovers, her first kiss with a woman; that last one didn’t have the calming effect she was going for.

“I’d tell you about mine,” I quip, “but you were there for it.”

“If you want, I can be there for your second, too.”

I blinked; is this really happening?

As if to confirm, her warm hand graced my bare knee.

I leaned in.

Then the driver knocked on the divider to tell us we’d arrived, shattering a potentially magical moment.

Amy gave me a pat on the shoulder and rolled her eyes. She left the taxi and paid the driver while I was momentarily stuck in my reverie. I had half a mind to cuss him out there and then, but in retrospect, I may have inadvertently gotten my revenge by leaving a damp sweaty patch on his back seat.

After that the night stalled for a bit.

I had some problem with the locks that took a few minutes of fiddling with my keys in the biting cold to fix. And Amy had to pee the moment she got indoors. My train of thought went off the rails for a bit here, I’m ashamed to admit. I’d hoped she would press me against the wall and stick her tongue in me the second the door closed behind us. But instead it had gone like this:

“I might just go and freshen up a bit.”

“Maybe I’ll join you”

“Oh. If I’m honest, Clara, I just meant I needed to use the loo.”

“I thought you were talking about the shower.”

“No. Do you need the shower?”

“No.”

“Do I need a shower?”

“No, you’re very clean. And you smell very nice.”

“So the toilet is…”

“Up the stairs, yeah.”

And then I shut up for a bit.

Was this a ploy? Was she using this chance to put on makeup and make herself look nice? Was she trying to look less like she was in fancy dress? Should I be doing the same – making myself look less like Velma? Or… more like Velma? Maybe she was into it?

Or maybe… Had she drunk too much? Was that why she was on the toilet? Or maybe the alcohol was why she was with me here in the first place? No, she’d only had two, and she’d been very articulate in the cab (although don’t ask me what about).

Why did I say “I’ll join you”? Obviously she meant the toilet! Come on Clara. Get your head in the game!

And stop thinking about toilets, I told myself, or else…

Amy slunk back into the room, framed herself against the doorway and leant against the wall. She’d mussed her hair up a little, and the hem of her dress was further up her thigh than she’d worn it at the club. I’d paid a lot of attention to that hem.

“So,” she asked, in a low, Scottish, purr. “where were we?”

“Um,” I replied, one leg already shaking, “I’m really sorry, do you mind if I… y’know…”

“Oh, sorry, of course.”

“It’s just we only have the one and I had a bit to drink…��

“Yeah, yeah. Gotcha.” She cleared her throat. “Hurry back.”

Mood ruined. Again.

From atop the porcelain, I looked down at the flagging fabric around her ankles. Sorry, bi panties, tonight might not be your night. Not while fate is twanging my libido like a guitar string. Vibrating my every thought to a melody of rapture and anxiety. What I’d give for a moment of clarity!

Pulling myself together, I fixed my face for the second time in five minutes. Okay, so the tone of the night was currently a bit more bathroom farce than I’d have liked, but did that mean there was no way to salvage it? That I’d have to let the fire in my loins die out? Hell no!

In a stroke of what felt like genius, I lifted off my jumper and shed the layers beneath it, stashing both bra and top in the cupboard beneath the sink. As I pulled the jumper back over my head, I felt practically gift-wrapped.

(I then had a brief flirtation with leaving even the jumper off. I decided against it)

When I returned to the living room, breasts freer than usual, Amy had already made herself at home, adopting a very relaxed slouch across the sofa, and was waving a DVD box at me.

“We’re watching this”

I didn’t have time to object or ask before the screech of bats came from the telly. The DVD was already playing. With something approaching horror, I realised what film was in the machine. The live-action 2002 Scooby Doo movie.

I questioned briefly exactly what percentage of this woman’s identity revolved around Hanna-Barbera productions, and how high that number would have to be to stop me fancying her.

“Oh, come oon, sit down. It’s a laff.” Amy propped herself up by her elbows. “Look, I know I’ve been winding you up a little, making you nervous, but…”

“I’m not nervous.” I spluttered.

“It’s okay to be…”

“I’ve never been nervous”.

“Right. Okay. Good.” I got the impression she’d seen through my act. “So why don’t you sit down and we can watch the film and not be nervous together?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” I nodded, and started walking.

“If you like, we can even not be nervous on the same couch.”

“Okay, yeah.” And again, after a pause “yeah.”

I sat down on the other side of the couch. Not presuming to touch her but not far enough away to make it look like I was distancing myself from her. I pulled down the hem of my skirt, then took it back in a bit, to be flirty, then took it back in again. I wondered if I was overthinking this, and then how many times I’d already asked that tonight. It was a lot, but did that in and of itself qualify as overthinking?

Had Amy seen all of that? I gave her my best “everything is fine, I’m relaxed” smile, and she smiled back. “Sure you are,” she seemed to say.

We made a reasonable dent in the movie that night. My fears that Amy might turn out to be a rabid Scooby-Doo superfan were assuaged quite early on, as she kept asking questions over the top of it. Small talk like that did set me at ease a little more. Yes, that actress was in ER. No, the CGI hadn’t aged terribly well. I don’t know why Mr Bean is here either. That sort of thing. It helped that I happened to know a lot of trivia about films from around this time. Young Clara had spent a lot of time on trivia quizzes after she’d learned the electric joy that came with being right all the time. And right now that feeling of moderate control was really helping to steady the boat.

“Wine?”

Amy was very receptive to the idea. Thankfully, Priya had a bottle of red in her half of the kitchen (it was a whole political situation, don’t ask) that I was very happy to leave an IOU for. As shaky as my hands were, I could still easily uncork a bottle, and I managed to carry both glasses in without spilling a drop. We sat, more snuggled up than last time, and raised our glasses “to Scooby Doo!” Everything was going to plan.

“Do you think Shaggy says Zoinks when he orgasms?”

I spat out my wine.

“What??”

“He says it every time he’s even slightly scared. You expect me to believe he doesn’t say it…” and then her voice went spicy and French “...in flagrante?”

“Yes, but scared and horny aren’t the same thing?”

“Are they not, Clara Oswald?”

She put down her wine glass and centred me in her double-barrelled stare. I was suddenly very aware of her height. Parts of me began to boil under her gaze. She was right. Oh god was she right.

“So tell me, what does Velma say, in the heat of it all, when the moment comes?” She drawled, darkly.

All of a sudden, there were no words in my brain.

A switch had been flipped. Amy’s hand was on my knee. More accurately, the very tips of her fingers were, and they were delicately making their way upwards. I gulped as they traced their way beyond my knee-highs and onto my flesh. She angled her approach so that as her wrist brushed the hem of my skirt, her palm was gracing my inner thigh. And she showed no sign of stopping.

I responded in kind, wrapping my right hand around the inside of her left knee, our arms crossing each other, mine over hers. If I moved my hand further in, so would she. The sensation of her cotton tights on my skin thrilled me, the fabric barely concealing her warmth beneath it.

“Mmmmmm.” The sound of her voice was much closer to my ear than I expected. As I turned my face, hers was already there. “Not so nervous now, are you?”

The warmth of her breath on my lips was too much for me to take. I leaned in, eyes closed, and kissed her. Her hand paused on my thigh, as if contemplating how to proceed, mere centimetres away from my panties. I couldn’t see her reaction, but I pictured her blinking in surprise, before feeling her press right back into my face. She was returning my kiss with abandon.

Beneath my skirt, I could feel the squeeze of Amy’s hand on my thigh and I broke the kiss to gasp. I swear I felt the curl of Amy’s lips into a smile as we parted.

“Now that’s not fair. I was going to kiss you first.”

“Well you’ve got to be faster next time.”

“Faster, yeah?” She beamed.

With that she swung her leg over and straddled my right thigh. Her hands fastened onto both sides of my face as we once again locked mouths. Every part of me was clamped by her warm embrace. It felt like returning home after a long, cold night. My hands quickly found work snaking through her hair, her roots bunching in the gaps between my fingers; my palm graced her cheek on her left, and my other hand soothed its way up the back of her neck, exerting a small pressure to keep her lips on mine.

Amy pressed forward, shifting me sideways on the sofa. Her leg had moved up my thigh and was rubbing right up against my mound. The heat from it radiated up and through me, stirring every sinew like mulled wine. It was like I had a second, lower heart, thumping down below, pulsing want and need through my body.

I moved my hips up so she could feel like this too. The chub of my thigh encountered some elastic resistance from her tights, but I was soon met by a warm damp patch as I made contact. She responded like a vice to that and was soon rolling her hips up against me. I tensed my wide but muscular thigh in a rhythm with her and soon we were both just as wet as each other. And with every movement, our cores came closer and closer together, the hems of our skirts forced back above the waistline.

All the while I was thinking, I’m doing it! There’s a girl on me and she wants me as badly as I want her! And now our boobs are touching! Oh my stars!

Almost as one, our hands pawed at each other’s backs and pulled our midriffs into contact. While Amy’s hands pressed down, hoping to circumnavigate under my jumper, mine found their way upwards, having located the base of a zipper on the back of her dress, and chasing the potential that offered all the way up.

As my fingers gently tugged at the plastic zip slider at the base of her neck, she pulled her face away, but no more than an inch. A string of saliva still connected our lips. I could still feel her heartbeat on every part of us that touched.

“Don’t touch that zipper.” She said, her voice a mix of steel and cheek. “Not yet. Not while I’m still having my fun.”

I had visions, let me tell you, of biblical, pornographic revelations on that couch. Desperate visions of Amy taking me right there and then, her flinging me back down onto the cushions and spreading my legs with her glorious caber-throwing arms, of her diving in and ripping my panties off with her teeth, eating me out with my jumper and skirt still on, her glorious mane clamped between my thigh highs.

The thought alone could have got me off.

But then I heard keys in the door. My eyes sprang open. My bastard Judas roommate was back. Damn you, Priya!

But Amy was on the case. “Bedroom?” She asked.

“Upstairs,” I replied.

I shooed her through the hall and up the staircase as fast as I could. When I had opened my eyes for that split second, Amy’s eyes had been right in front of me, focused and dilated. No doubt mine were the same. I wasn’t going to let that slip through my fingers. Though the stairs were nearby, there was no way to get up them without going past the front door, and sure enough.

“Who’s this, Clara?” Priya, always so smug.

“Shut up,” I muttered, still hurrying Amy upstairs.

I could hear the giddy smile on her face as she shouted up the stairs.

“Where are you off to with your friend, Clara?”

“Shut up!”

I could tell Amy was stifling a giggle. Probably tempted to turn around and introduce herself, maybe give Priya a little wave. I’m sure they’d have got on like a house on fire, but the making friends part of my brain wasn’t in control at that time.

“I’m so sorry about my roommate.” I said, shepherding Amy through the first door on the right. “She’s cool, I promise, but I don’t want to spoil the mood and...”

Amy wasted no time. As I turned to close the door after us, Amy was behind me, pressing me into the door, her hands snaking their way around my waist and her words slithering into my ear.

“Oh Clara.” She exhaled, before giving me two quick pecks on the neck. “I think I’ve teased you long enough tonight, don’t you?”

With that, her hands went to work. Before I could believe it, her left hand was up my jumper, and her right was beneath the waistband of my skirt. I gasped as the tip of her middle finger made its first contact with the absolutely drenched fabric of my underwear, and as her left hand found its way to my uncupped breast she let out an “mmmmmmm” of admiration.

“You sexy thing” she drawled, part of a honey trap before grabbing my breast in a tight squeeze.

I squealed.

She continued her conquest of my body. Kissing my neck. Circling my nipples. Massaging me over my panties. I was at her mercy and all the better for it. I pressed myself back into her, hoping to feel her warmth from every angle. I could feel her breasts against my back and her core against my arse, and she responded in kind, pulling me in and strapping me against her with her arms.

“Amy” I squeaked.

“Clara” she moaned.

She gave my nipple a cheeky twist and I momentarily lost all feeling in my legs. I stumbled backwards, but she effortlessly supported my weight against her. It barely slowed her down. The elastic of my panties thrummed over her fingernail as she explored further down. She kept playing my body like a cello and I was more than happy to sound out her music.

When I next opened my eyes, there was a mirror in front of me. I must have stumbled back further than I thought. But what I saw in it- for a second it was like a different person.

The woman in the mirror locked eyes with me. Her hair a mess, her breathing haggard and primal, escaping between a sigh and a whine. Her lover’s hands under her garments created a pale diamond of flesh, its north exposing her shivering ribcage and its south teasing the peak of her pubic mound, all of it glistening with sweat. Over her shoulder, a curtain of sleek red hair, as a blood red mouth devoured her neck. With every desperate breath, the woman’s body shook, positively writhing in ecstasy.

And her eyes…

Pupils dilated, between rapture and fear, gazing into the sublime, on the crest of a revelation.

The woman is me.

The woman on her neck is my lover.

And I am so irrevocably, irrepressibly, incandescently gay.

There’s a wisp of cold air on my throat and I notice that Amy has moved, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. She has a sly purse to her lips; she knows the effect her fingers are having on me and has no intention to stop. But I can see I’m affecting her too. I can sense it in the redness of her face, the pressure between her fingers and the synchronous rhythms of our hips.

“Liking what you see, eh, Velma?” She teased.

“Oh shut up”

I’m going to claim it was the breathlessness in her voice rather than the name Velma that set me off, but whatever the reason, every part of my body switched into overdrive. Lust controlled me bodily. Gripping the back of her skull, threads of hairs through my fingers, I pushed her open mouth onto mine and slid my tongue straight in.

For a split second, her hand on my clit was shocked out of its rhythm, but I wasn’t about to allow that. Something was building under my skirt and I was going to usher it out. My palm gripped the back of her hand and steered her back into tempo. My fingers, like hers, were instantly sodden and they glided frictionless back and forth over me. Faster… Harder… Building up. Building up...

Oh God I was so close…

“Amy” I moaned into her mouth, not for a second letting up on our kiss. “Amy, Amy, mmmmmmm, fuck, Amy.”

Her voice cut through everything, clear as day.

“Cum for me, Clara”

And I did. Oh how I did.

The ball of passion inside me erupted, rolling up my body at a spine-snappingly fast pace. It shot through to the ends of my fingers and the tips of my toes, before contracting my whole body in convulsions. I lost control of the hand on my clit, but Amy’s soldiered on, her fingers compelling waves and waves of pleasure out of me.

I would have shrieked her name, if I could think at all in those moments, but all that escaped my mouth were guttural grunts, rising, rising, rising in volume. For minutes, for hours - I’d never felt anything this intense in my life. It was like I was pure electricity, nothing but sensation, and it was you, Amy, you that did this.

My vision went white.

“Jinkies”

And then I slumped onto her like a ragdoll.

End of part 2.

#clamy #Amy!Clara #Pondswald #femslash #doctor who #clara oswald #amy pond #femslash fix fairy

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illfoandillfie · 4 years

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5 Simple Rules for a Successful Fake Relationship: The Proposal

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Summery: Your's and Ben's agents approach you about pretending to date in order to boost interest in your new movie.

Warnings: Nothing for this chapter other than some swearing maybe? Things may get a little spicy in later chapters though.

Words: 5843

AN: This fic was written for El @laedymoon for her 1K celebration! I took the trope 'fake dating' and this was the result! Honestly fake dating is one my my fave tropes and I've been wanting to try my hand at it for a while so this was so much fun to write! Originally it was meant to be a one shot but when have I ever been good at sticking to plans lmao? Instead it'll probably end up as a three or four part series, maybe with an epilogue as well, who knows.

I’d also like to point out I started writing this months before we got those photos of Ben and Olivia so this was in no way inspired by anyone’s theories about whether or not their relationship is a PR stunt and I’m not particularly interested in that kind of talk.

Taglist: @laedymoon @dtfrogertaylor @ezmina98 @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @supersonicfreddie

You’d known fake celebrity relationships were a thing that happened, you just never expected to be approached about one. But, here you were, sat next to Ben in an office usually reserved for producers meetings, a slight frown on his face as he listened to your agents explain how beneficial it would be if the public believed you were a couple. “It’ll be good for the movie,” your agent, Mary, said matter-of-factly, “Studies show that if people – particularly women ages 15 – 45, the exact demographic we’re targeting – believe a real romance sprouted during the course of filming a movie, they are 78% more likely to see the movie. Plus, your names in the tabloids mean more exposure for both of you which means more offers in future, no matter how well this movie does in the box office. It’s all about being seen, people knowing your names.” “Are you serious?” Ben asked slowly, glancing to you, as if trying to determine your reaction. “Look, Ben, obviously we can’t force you or Y/N to do this,” his agent, Peter, introduced to you moments before, said, “the movie has already started filming and everyone appreciates your opinions, so saying no isn’t going to affect your jobs. But,” he paused, making sure the words were getting through to you both, “we strongly recommend you consider it. There are enough pros to make it worthwhile and it would only have to last until a week or two after the premiere. We can give you the rest of the day to think it over and make your decisions, but we will require an answer by tomorrow morning. If you agree, we can discuss terms and get everything in order to run the first story early next week.”

You and Ben left, tempted to laugh at the strangeness of your morning. “Think I need a coffee after that. You wanna come over to my trailer for a cup?” “Yeah, okay, sounds good,” you followed him quietly for a moment, thinking over the conversation you’d just been part of, “What do you think?” “About what? Coffee? You know I love it,” “Not coffee, the whole pretending to date thing,” “Oh that,” you could almost hear his eyes roll. “You don’t think it’s worth it?” He paused. “Saying no won’t hurt my feelings,” you nudged his shoulder, hoping to ease his obvious discomfort, “it is a weird situation.” “Weird is an understatement. And weren’t you with that Luke guy, what would he say about it?” “He’ll say nothing since we’re not seeing each other anymore,” “Wait, what?” “Yeah that lasted like three dates and went nowhere, I haven’t seen him in weeks.” “Oh, sorry.” You shrugged, “What’s there to be sorry for, he was boring. Anyway, we were talking about you and me.” “Right, that.” Ben opened the door to his trailer and waved you inside, following you over the threshold, “What do you think about it?” “I’m not opposed to it. We already spend a lot of our time pretending to date anyway.” Ben chuckled as he flicked the small kettle on, grabbing your two mugs and the instant coffee. “Plus it would be good to get our names out there a bit more. And we're friends, right?” After the weeks of pre-production costume fittings and script read-throughs you certainly thought you were friends and hoped Ben did too. “Of course we’re friends doofus,” “Thanks dweeb. But that means it'll be fun getting to hang out and stuff.” “So, wait, you think it’s a good idea?” “Well it can’t hurt, can it?” Ben frowned, forehead creased, “Don’t you think it’s all a bit, well, daft? As if us dating, real or not, would really have an impact on the movie, I think that’s bullshit. Plus, y’know, the work we’d have to put in to making it seem real or whatever. That’s just inviting extra stress into our lives and extra work which it doesn’t sound like we’d be getting paid for. Acting’s fun but I don’t want to spend every waking moment doing it.” “Well it wouldn’t be every waking moment would it? Just the ones when they had photographers around. They’ll get a few photos of us leaving set holding hands or out having dinner together and spin it into a big romantic story and all we’d have to do is hold hands and have dinner. And you can’t call bullshit when they had actual statistics to back them up.” “It sounds like you’re trying to convince me.” “No, if you don’t want to I don’t mind, but I also don’t see anything wrong with it. And I think you should actually think about it instead of writing it off instantly.” “So if I said I was into it, you’d want to?” You shrugged, “Yeah. I want this movie to do well, I want this job to go somewhere. And if I have to date you to make that happen I will. That sounded better in my head. I just mean that I’m happy to pretend to date you, even if I wouldn’t in real life, no offence.” “I’m a little offended,” he chuckled, “but really can’t argue with that can I?” “If you’re not comfortable with it, say so and we’ll tell them no,” Ben paused, staring at you as he considered what you’d said, quiet for so long you were sure he was going to say he wasn’t interested. You were about to put him out of his misery and tell him you didn’t want to anymore when he spoke up. “They did say it would be good for the movie and out careers,” “Someone’s coming around,” you sing-songed, taking the mug he offered you. “Alright, I admit, maybe not as awful an idea as I first thought. There are…some pros anyway. And I guess we can hear the terms and then make up our minds properly.” “Aww, looks like I got myself a boyfriend,”

The next morning you found out what you were in for if you did agree to it. Once again both of your agents were waiting in the office but this time a third person was with them when you arrived. “Y/N, Ben, take a seat. This is Barry, he’s a representative from Paramount Pictures.” Barry, with his salt and pepper hair and well cut suit, leaned forward in his seat to shake Ben’s hand and then yours with a pleasant greeting. “Well,” Mary spoke up, “have you made a decision?” Ben looked to you before he spoke, “It’s a tentative yes from both of us. We’d like to hear a bit more about it before we fully agree but, so far, it sounds okay.” “Glad to have you on board,” Barry said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a manila folder full of paper. “In that case, the terms,” Peter said, glancing around to make sure everyone was ready, “If you do agree, we’ll need you to sign some paperwork stating you understand your obligations and all that, so take a copy of these,” he took two small stapled documents from Barry, handing you each one, before passing another to Mary, “just so everyone has all the info at hand.” “Are these the terms?” “Yes. Don’t worry, we’ll explain, but it’s all laid out in there if you need clarification.” “There’s more pages than I was expecting,” Ben said, already sounding like it was becoming too much work to worry about. “You don’t have to worry about the last few pages, it’s mostly just legalese. Essentially, you’ll be required to act like a couple in public. That’s really all there is to it, though contractually it’s a little more complex.” “What does that mean?” “We just need you both to agree to perform specific relationship type moments that we can sell. For instance, Y/N, we will need you to be spotted by paparazzi leaving Ben’s apartment a couple of times. Or vice versa. It is the 21st century afterall.” “You mean like a walk of shame?” you asked, glancing at the paper in your hand. “That’s not the official term on the contract but it’s more or less correct. You’ll need to change clothes, make it look like you stayed the night even if you didn’t really.” “Wouldn’t it be more traditional to wear the previous day’s gear?” “Perhaps but if you’re in the same clothes as the day before the paparazzi can’t sell the photos as easily because they can’t prove they were taken on different days. We want to make these photos easy to sell and easy to circulate. To that end, some paparazzi and gossip blogs will be tipped off by the studio and hopefully word will spread as the buzz around you gets stronger.” “There will also be required dates, of course. At least one of them needs to take place at the French restaurant Boucher because they have a partnership with the studio. There is also a clause about an argument, provided people become interested in your relationship and we keep it going all the way to the premiere.” “Wait, an argument?” Ben flipped through his papers, trying to find the right section. “You just have to be caught arguing, or at least looking like you’re angry and about to fight, just so we can sell the whole trouble in paradise storyline.” “People like conflict,” Mary shrugged, “Otherwise all we need is the two of you to act like a couple in public, maybe a few social media posts, from now until a week after the theatre release. After that you’re free to ‘break up’, though you will also need to sign a non-disclosure agreement which will stop you from talking about it for a few years. We’ll organise a few magazines and gossip sites to run stories about the split and, depending on how the public react to your story, may later run some Ben and Y/N, back together question mark type pieces, entirely fabricated of course.” “You will attend the premiere together and, obviously, do press together. We will tell reporters not to ask about your personal lives, so no one suspects the relationship to be fake, though a few questions may slip through. Though we don’t expect this movie to earn any award nominations since it’s not being marketing for any there may be some later down the track. In that case we may ask you to extend your relationship long enough to attend the ceremonies together, provided you aren’t working on other projects at the time.” “The only other requirements are that, a few times a week you allow yourselves to be seen in public. Hand holding, kissing, really sell the whole fallen in love thing. That’s it really.” “And we can’t even tell our families?” “One leak is all it would take to have this revealed. You tell your mum who accidentally lets slip to the neighbour who sells it to a magazine. And if it’s revealed it could be harmful when it comes to box office numbers, which is the exact opposite of what we want. But enough of these have been done so that we know how to manage them, and all you have to do is keep quiet about it and act like you’re in love. Easy. Are you both on board?” Barry, who’d been quiet throughout the meeting, leaned forward expectantly. You already knew what to say, "I’m in if Ben is,” Ben chewed his lip as he skimmed over the paper in his hands again. He sighed and raised his eyes to where Barry sat, waiting. “I don’t know I-” You’d seen it coming, his answer. Really it wasn’t much of a surprise. Ben didn’t strike you as the sort of person to go in for schemes like this and he’d been hesitant from the second it was suggested. You heard him sigh again as his gaze landed on you and you wondered if he thought less of you for wanting to be part of it. “Okay. I’m in.” You were a little stunned by his change of heart but you were the only one. Everyone else in the room seemed relieved and a little frantic, Barry reaching back into his bag, Mary and Peter talking over each other to assure you both that you’d made the right choice. “Glad to hear that, Ben,” Barry was saying as he pulled out another folder of documents, “Now, we’ll need you to both to sign here.”

After shooting was done for the day you accompanied Ben to a small pub for a drink. Mary and Peter had left the meeting on their phones making hurried calls to get photos of the two of you leaving the set together. You’d jumped a little as Ben grabbed your hand before realising why his fingers were linked through your own. It was warm and he didn’t let you go until you reached the pub, the snap of cameras audible as you walked down the street. You found a booth while Ben headed to the bar, returning a little later with a drink in each hand. “One G and T for my girlfriend,” he laughed as he put the drink in front of you and slid into the seat opposite. “Y’know if you told me last week that I’d have had a boyfriend before we finished filming and that it was you, I would have laughed.” “God me too. Our jobs are so bizarre. Literally what other profession would encourage you to pretend to date?” You laughed and pulled out the papers you’d been given that morning, “And who’d have thought there’d be so many contractual requirements.” “We should add our own set of rules. Like just so we’re clear about what we’d be uncomfortable doing or whatever.” “Safewords?” “Get your mind out of the gutter. Christ, you fake ask a girl out and suddenly all she can think about is sex.” “My mind was in the gutter long before we were set up.” He let out a huff of laughter and shook his head, reaching for his glass. “I know what you mean though. We should definitely define some things,” you grabbed your bag and began digging through it for a pen. When you found it, you turned the papers over giving you a blank canvas to work on, “Firstly sex.” “Should have known,” “May as well start with the big one. Rule 1: No Sex. Completely off the table.” you took a sip of your drink as you began jotting it down. “Your wank game strong?” The conversation was interrupted as you choked on your drink, finally recovering enough to splutter, “excuse me?” “Well it sounds like we might be together for a while. Can’t go on any tinder dates or anything since that would look like cheating. You sure you can last that long? “100 per cent.” “Alright, if you’re sure. Rule one, no sex.” You finished writing it down, rolling your eyes, “What about PDAs? We have to do some but is there anything you’d be uncomfortable with?” “I’m not really one for like public make out sessions,” “Thank god, me neither.” “Okay, good. What about cuddling and that kind of thing. Man this is weird to talk about,” “Yeah, is a bit. I can do some cuddling in public but y'know, nothing too much. Hugs are fine, an arm around my shoulders is fine. Holding hands is obviously okay.” “What about an arm around the waist?” “Hmmm….maybe. Yeah, I think I’d be okay with that. But your hand never goes below my lower back. I will have no arse grabs or pinches or hands in my back pocket.” “Wasn’t planning on that but good to know. Does cuddling include lap sitting?” “Absolutely not.” “Okay, strong boundaries, I respect that. You going to write all that down?” “Rule 2: PDAs kept respectable and to a minimum. And rule 3: hands above the belt at all times. What about our families and friends?” you asked as you made notes on acceptable PDAs, “chances are we’re going to have to deal with them at some point since they’re going to think it’s real.” “Okay, um, how about…no meeting anyone unless there’s a reason like a family gathering you’d be expected to bring a partner to. And if that does come up we can work out a game plan then.” “Make sense. Rule 4: No families unless no escape.”

By the time you left the pub, your list of rules tucked into your bag, it was quite late. “Hey, you wanna crash at mine tonight?” Ben asked, “we can text Peter and Mary, let them know so they can organise paparazzi for the morning.” “Tonight? I don’t have a toothbrush or a change of clothes or anything.” “We’ll pop into a shop and buy you a new toothbrush, should probably get you one for my place anyway since apparently you’ll be staying over more than once. And I’m sure I’ve got something you can sleep in.” “And tomorrow? Can’t wear this again in case we get photographed.” “I’ll give you something and then I’ll drop you home in the morning,” he shrugged. “I guess that would work,” “C’mon, it’ll be like a sleepover. Stay up late and talk about boys, have things devolve into a sexy pillow fight, sleepover stuff.” “And you say my mind lives in the gutter.” “That’s not a no,” “Alright, I’ll crash at yours. Closer to here than mine is anyway.” “Awesome,” he grinned at you, “c’mon, this way….babe?” “Didn’t sound so convincing there, Ben,” you snorted. “You should have used a pet name then, instead of my actual one. And I was just testing the waters, what’d you think?” “Babe’s okay. As long as we don’t get into weirdly cutesie things like turtle dove or snookums.” “You don’t want me to call you snookums? How about cuddle bunny? Pumpkin pie?” “Oh fuck off,” “Think you mean fuck off honey bear.” “Rule 5: Standard pet names only!”

As much as he clearly enjoyed teasing you, Ben made sure you had a good time with him. He took your hand again but it was only so he could pull you into the warmth of a small Chinese restaurant. It was one he seemed to regularly visit judging by the way the man at the counter knew Ben’s order straight away. He seemed a little surprised when Ben asked to add extra dishes, eyes darting to your entwined hands, and then back to Ben’s face, but he said nothing, just cheerily gave Ben the new price. “What was that about?” you asked as you walked the last block to Ben’s door, each of you carrying a bag, his full of food and yours supplies from the grocery store, “the look he gave you when he saw me?” “Oh, that’s nothing. I used to go to that place a lot with my ex and then we broke up and I kept going on my own cause it’s close and it’s fucking good food. But, um, they know me pretty well and I guess it’s been a while since I took a girl there.” “Well I’m flattered that you chose me to be part of this touching moment,” you laughed and followed Ben to his front door, taking the second bag from him so he could pull his keys from his pocket and let you in. You’d never been inside Ben’s place before so you let him lead you down the hallway towards the kitchen, taking charge of pulling everything from the bags as Ben got out plates and cutlery. “Oh shit, hang on gotta text Mary and Peter,” You took over dividing up the food as Ben dug his phone out of his pocket. A few seconds after he’d sent the message and put his phone down a ding made him snatch it back up again. “Peter says there’ll be someone here to snap us while we leave. They want us to kiss if possible. Guess it’s really started then,” “Guess so. Can I ask one thing?” “Sure,” he said it slowly, almost nervously. “Why’d you change your mind about this? I thought for sure you’d say no.” “Oh, that. I don’t know, I guess I figured it wouldn’t hurt, especially if it was going to benefit the movie. C’mon, don’t want this to go cold,” You weren't sure you believed him but you let him shrug off the question as you picked up your plate and followed him into the living room. The next couple of hours were spent eating and watching trashy reality tv shows, making jokes at their expense. You and Ben kept talking long after the show ended, until he realised how late it was getting. “Better turn in otherwise I won’t get up in the morning,” he laughed. “Yeah, probably a good plan,” you stretched out on the couch, placing a cushion under your head. “C’mon, I’ll show you to your room.” “You mean I’m not sleeping on the couch?” “Oh my god you’re a dork,” he threw another cushion at you, “I have a spare room you can use.” “Well I didn’t know that,” you laughed as you pushed yourself to your feet, following him back down the hallway towards a closed door you hadn’t noticed before. “Nah, you’re all good. It’s honestly mostly used by my friend Joe when he’s travelling over this way. There’re clean sheets in the linen press in the bathroom which is the next door on the right, and extra blankets in the cupboard just there. Also watch the blinds if you try to close them, they can be a little stiff. If there’s anything else you need let me know, my bedroom is at the end of the hall, near the living room.” “Some PJs would be good, if it’s no trouble.” “Oh right, yeah of course, give me a second.” You dropped your bag in a corner of the room and then popped into the bathroom to grab some sheets. Ben came back with an old t-shirt and some flannel pants. “These are mine so they’ll probably be a bit big but they’ll be fine for the night. And they’ll look good for the camera in the morning.” “Thanks,” “That everything?” “Think so, night Ben,” “Night, snookums.” “Rule five mister,” Ben just laughed, pulling your door shut behind him.

Waking up in Ben’s spare room was mildly confusing. The bed faced a different direction than yours did, the blinds blocked out too much of the morning light, and the sheets felt different. But the previous night came back to you and then the reason you were staying at Ben’s did too. It made you too nervous to go back to sleep, too restless to stay there, so you got up and stumbled to the door, opening it just in time to see Ben leaving the bathroom. “Morning,” he groaned with half shut eyes and sleep mussed hair, “you want a coffee?” “Please. Thanks.” He yawned, acknowledging your answer with a nod and left the bathroom to you. When you were done you found him in the kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee in his hands and a second on the bench in front of him. You took it gratefully, letting the warm caffeine wake you up.” “Breakfast? I can offer you toast or cereal unless you wanna wait for pancakes to cook.” You shook your head, “Don’t normally eat breakfast,” Ben looked aghast, “You know breakfast’s important, right?” “Shhh, lemme wake up before you start lecturing me,” Ben smiled into his own mug, falling silent until you’d downed half your drink, “You good now? Alert?” “Close enough. Please don’t tell me about breakfast though.” “I wasn’t going to. There was another text from Peter this morning.” “What’d it say?” “Well, a photographer will be here around nine-ish ready for us, but they said he’ll stay for as long as we take.” “Okay.” “And, um, he was very careful in how he worded it, but they want us to look like we fucked. Also I told them I’d take you home so there may be someone waiting for us there too, he never got back to me on it.” “Shit, okay. Umm, guess I’ll just wear this then?” you indicated the pyjamas you’d borrowed, “might lose the pants though, help sell it a bit more.” “Yeah, guess so,” Ben cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee, his eyes firmly fixed over your shoulder. “What time is is?” “Uhhhh,” he glanced at the oven, “Twenty past eight.” “God I haven’t been up this early on a weekend in months.” “Not one for farmers markets or anything then?” “Not really. Much prefer lying in bed doing nothing.” “Me too,” “We’re meant for each other,” you laughed, “did you want to have a shower or anything?” “Nah, you can if you want though,” “Might as well wait until I get home. But I am gonna clean my teeth, especially if we have to kiss.” “Maybe mess up your hair too, make it look like you didn’t sleep much.” “Well how could I when you’re such a good lover,” “I know you’re joking but if anyone asks, I’m incredible. You came like three times.” “Did I now?” “Of course.” “Good thing no one’s gonna ask then, don’t think I’m great at lying.” “You’re an actress, Y/N. Besides, it’s not really a lie, I am that good. You just haven’t experienced it personally.” You poked your tongue out at Ben as you stood and headed towards the bathroom again but you did as he’d suggested and messed your hair up as much as you could.

“How do I look?” you ask Ben when you were done. “Gorgeous,” he said, eyes raking over every inch of your appearance from the ruffled hair to the hint of panda eyes you’d manufactured with your eyeshadow to the slightly unbuttoned flannel shirt and missing pants. “But do I look like I’ve been thoroughly fucked?” “Oh, right, umm, yes I think so,” “You do? I feel like theres something missing.” You darted back into the bathroom to look in the mirror again, “Oh! I know. Might be taking it a bit far though.” “What is it?” Ben asked, following you and watching you in the mirror. “What if you gave me a hickey?” “Y/N, I-” “Yeah, I know, that’s a weird thing to ask. Don’t worry, I think we’ll be fine without it.” Ben’s cheeks puffed up with air that he slowly let escape his lips, “no, you’re right, if I’d really slept with you last night I would have marked you up a bit. A hickey will definitely make it look more authentic.” “It’s not totally inappropriate for me to ask?” “No, no, we have to make it look legit, it’s a good suggestion. Here, I’ll uhh,” he stepped in close, one hand tentatively winding around your waist to pull you back against him, the other moving to push your hair aside. His breath was hot as he leaned into your neck. You saw him glance at your reflection, eyebrows slightly furrowed, but then his lips were on your skin, sucking at you until a bruise formed. Your own breath quickened with the contact but you knew it was just because he’d found a particularly sensitive spot and it had been a while since anyone had handled you like that. It was still just Ben and it was still part of your jobs. But all the same you let your eyes slip shut and hummed at how nice it felt. You were almost disappointed when it was over. Ben stood there for a moment, head bent over your neck, long enough to take a deep breath, but then he seemed to collect himself, taking a quick step back. “Will that do?” “It’s great Ben, really ties the whole look together.” Ben returned your smile but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Good. Good. Okay then, I’ll umm, what time is it?” “Just after nine,” you said, glancing at your phone, “wonder if the photographer is here yet.” “I think I will jump in for that shower actually, by the time I’m done he definitely will be.” “Okay,” “Make yourself comfortable though, watch some TV or something.” “Alright. Thanks for being so cool about all this. I know you’re a little sceptical about the benefits and everything.” “It’s fine, Y/N, no need for any of that.” He smiled again as you left the bathroom and the door shut behind you, but it still seemed off.

You settled onto the couch to flick TV channels, pausing at a breakfast news show and then at some kids cartoon you didn’t recognise, only stopping when Ben entered the room, clean and dressed. “Hey, I was wondering,” you said, turning towards him, “should I give you a hickey as well?” “No,” You were a little taken aback by how quickly he’d answered. “I mean, I think that’d be overkill. Keep it up our sleeves for next time, yeah?” “Okay, yeah, sure,” “Is he there?” “I think so.” Ben walked towards the window and twitched the curtain aside just enough to peek out, “Yeah, looks like him. Big camera pointing at my front door.” “Okay,” your heart began to beat a little faster, “show time then,” “Show time.” Ben nodded as he turned back to you. “Do we have a plan? I kinda wish I had a script right about now,” Ben laughed a little and you thought he seemed more himself, “I think you should go out first so they can get a good clean shot and then I come out after, maybe with my hand on your back?” “Sounds good,” “Okay, umm, I’ll lock the door and when I turn around you kiss me and then I’ll open the passenger door for you and we’ll drive to your place.” “Don’t bother opening my door. I’m not big into that kind of gesture, plus I think if we were actually being caught by the paparazzi, we’d be getting into the car as quick as possible. Maybe throw a look his way like you aren’t happy about being photographed just so it doesn’t seem too staged.” “Okay, no opening doors, noted.” You shrugged, “I just think it’s a bit old fashioned and unnecessary,” “I’ll keep that in mind for our dates. You ready to do this?” You nodded and stood up, leading the way to the front door. Ben collected his keys and wallet and placed a hand on the lower part of your back, your signal to open the door and step outside. “Kinda wish I had pants on,” you said softly, “It’s a bit brisk,” Ben chuckled as he followed you out, “We’ll put the heating on in the car for you,” he turned to lock the door. You watched him, fingers gripping the key a little tighter than he perhaps normally would, and as soon as he began to turn back around you were moving towards him, one hand thrown around his neck, the other in his hair as your pressed your lips to his. His hand found your back again, pulling you in close as he kissed you back fiercely, as if he were unwilling to let you go after such a good night together, the kiss of a man falling in love. For half a second you forgot it was an act. And then he was gone, his nose brushing yours briefly before there was space between you. You felt a little dazed with Ben looking at you so softly but you took a deep breath and reality came back to you. With another breath your turned and headed towards the car, able to hear the rapid click click click of the camera. You shot a look towards the noise and then got into the car, Ben hopping into the driver’s seat about a second later.

“You’re a good actor,” you said before silence could settle between you, “I already knew that, of course, but the kiss was really good. Almost completely believable.” “As long as it’s believable enough in the photos,” “I’m sure it will be. I think we pulled it off.” Ben nodded, “Yeah. You still chilly?” “Little bit,” He reached over and twisted one of the dials blindly, warm air suddenly washing over your goosebump covered legs, “better?” “So much, thanks.” “I think he might be following us,” “You did tell them we were going to mine, s’pose he’ll be trying to grab a couple of shots of us there.” “Yeah, probably.” “Should we come up with another game plan? Maybe you walk me to my door, we stand there talking for a bit, saying goodbye. I stay and watch you leave before I go inside.” “Perfect. Is another kiss part of the goodbye?” “Careful Ben, you sound almost like you want to kiss me,” you laughed, “but yes, think it needs to be.”

It went completely according to plan. By the time you were getting out of the car the photographer had pulled up outside your house, his camera sticking out the window of his car so he didn’t miss his shot. The camera clicked as Ben took your hand and you led him to your door. “Well, guess that’s it for today. I did have fun with you last night, even if it wasn’t the kind of fun everyone else will think it was.” “Yeah, me too. Happy to have you stay anytime you want to be photographed again. Maybe we’ll get you some PJs that can live at mine though.” “Probably for the best. If this goes well I can see them wanting us to do it again soon.” “Oh definitely. They’ll probably have notes for us so we can get an even better performance next time. You ready to wow them with another kiss?” “Lay it on me, babe,” “Anything you want, snookums,” You groaned but before you could protest too much Ben was kissing you again, softer than before, no longer trying to convince you to stay, just trying to prolong the moment before the goodbye. It left you a little breathless as he cupped your cheek, leaving his hand there when he pulled away. As you opened your eyes you saw him bite his lip and then he leaned in to leave you with a final chaste peck before his fingers slipped from your skin and he was walking away. You let out a long exhale as you watched him go, waving as the car took off. Once you were alone inside, the door firmly shut behind you, you laughed at how ridiculous the whole arrangement was. But at least Ben was a good kisser. Not too firm, not too wet, just the right amount of tongue. Believable enough to give you butterflies.

#my writing #my fics #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #ahhhh #this was fun #i hope ya'll like it

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365days365movies · 3 years

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February 22, 2021: Pillow Talk (1959)(Part 1)

Y’know, I actually do like Doris Day.

She’s funny, she’s talented, and she’s a timeless beauty that I remember very well. TOO well. You guys ever have that one thing that your parents crammed down your throat SO MUCH that you got sick of it? Well, that’s what my Mom did with The Thrill of it All.

Which is, for the record, a cute movie, and one worth watching again at some point. But I’m gonna ease my way into that with Doris Day and Rock Hudson’s first movie, 1959′s Pillow Talk.

However, while I’m not stranger to Doris Day, I’m afraid that I don’t know too much about Rock Hudson from experience. Well, there is one interesting tidbit about him: Hudson was one of the biggest stars of the ‘50s and ‘60s, and his career continued up until his death in 1985...from AIDS-related complications.

Yeah, Rock Hudson was one of the biggest gay celebrities in Hollywood, although he never publicly came out. However, it was somewhat of an open secret in the community at large, and basically all of his female co-stars know about it.

And said secret was revealed posthumously, after his tragic death during the height of the AIDS crisis. He was by far one of the most high-profile deaths during this time period, and you’d think that would’ve caused more waves about the AIDS-crisis, considering that he was good friends with...well...another actor.

Yeaaaaaaaaah, not gonna get into Reagan and ALL OF THAT SHIT here. This here is a movie blog, not a political blog! But, uh, yeah, a LOT of fucked-up shit about Reagan and the AIDS crisis, obviously, and part of it was Rock Hudson. So, yeah, it’s something that I wanted to address before we got into this whole shindig.

Because, again, I’ve never seen a Rock Hudson movie, but dude was a pretty huge deal, and this was a part of his life that I felt it unfair not to at least acknowledge. SO, with that out of the way, let’s have a little Pillow Talk. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

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We start with that might be one of my favorite opening sequences so far this month, which you can see above. From there, Jan Morrow (Doris Day) wakes up, humming the theme song from the credits, which is clever, considering that she sang it! Talented lady, seriously.

Jan wakes up and goes to the phone, intending to make a call. However, this is where we get a pretty stark cultural difference, and a needed history lesson for some of us, me included. See, Jan’s phone line is actually a party line, seen through this neat little visual edit.

See, this is what’s called a “party line”. From the 1870s onwards, there was a shortage of available phone lines. By the time you get to the ‘60s, more and more people had personal phones in their households, but without enough lines to go around. And so, some people were forced to share their phone lines with others, hence the party line system!

Here’s the thing, though: if somebody was on the line already, anyone else on that line could hear the conversation of other people. Which is exactly what’s pissing of Jan right now, as she needs to make a call, but the line is being used by her party line partner, songwriter Brad Allen, who’s serenading his girlfriend (?) Eileen (Valerie Allen). Not sure that they’re actually dating, but Eileen definitely wants to.

After Jan’s insistence, they get off the phone, and Jan’s able to begin her busy morning at last. Well...almost. Brad’s now talking to Yvette (Jacqueline Beer), and she wants him to sing HER song to her, which is LITERALLY just the Eileen song with a different name and in French! Which is...hilarious. It’s very funny, not gonna lie.

Once again, Jan tells him to get off the party line, and hangs up angrily. She leaves just as her cleaner woman, Alma (Thelma Ritter) arrives, fresh off of a hangover. Jan goes to try and get a line of her own, and the manager, Mr. Conrad (Hayden Rorke) makes a WEIRDLY sexist comment about jumping to the top of the list if she were pregnant. Which, yeah...weird.

Anyway, Jan, in her frustration, tells Mr. Conrad that she’s hired of sharing the line by a “sex maniac.” Mr. Conrad asks for specifics, and is AGAIN WEIRDLY SEXIST ABOUT IT. He asks if his dalliances with other women disturb her in particular. But yeah, he also says that if he is indeed a “sex maniac,” they may need to disconnect him altogether. Which has...uncomfortable undertones all on its own, but whatever, moving on.

On her way to work, Jan’s friend Jonathan Forbes (Tony Randall) shows up to bring her a STRAIGHT-UP CAR, holy shit! He’s doing so to thank her for decorating his offices (she’s an interior decorator, he’s a car dealership owner, so...fair exchange?). She insists that it’s too personal, which confuses him, as it isn’t perfume or lingerie.

But, uh, dude? IT’S A WHOLE-ASS CAR!!! Look, I’m with her on this one, don’t just give me a fuckin’ car out of the blue! I don’t care what the reason is, tell me that shit first! And Jonathan is CLEARLY trying to make it just a little more personal, if you get my meaning.

Jan finally arrives at her office, owned by Mr. Pierot (Marcel Dalio), and she tells him that an inspector has been sent to look after Mr. Allen. This inspector is Miss Dickenson (Karen Norris), and being of the wimmins, is immediately entranced by the apparently irresistible Mr. Allen, sabotaging any attempt at inspection.

The next morning, the inspector’s report comes through, and Miss Dickinson has of course cleared him of all charges. He calls her, and the two clash in a way that definitely means they’ll never, ever, ever fall in love, no sir, not these two, not a CHANCE IN HELL

They agree to make a schedule for using the phone, and Brad accuses Jan of being jealous of his free-wheeling, bed-hopping lifestyle, which she takes great offese to. But after they hang up, she thinks on the idea of having bedroom problems. Looks like Jonathan wants to fix that, on account of being the THIRSTIEST MAN ALIVE.

Dude has three three ex-wives, all of which were revolts against his mother, for which he’s seeing a psychiatrist.

...CHRIST, the man’s a walking-talking red flag. Jan also says that she doesn’t love him, like...AT THE FUCK ALL, and the man just straight-up says, “How do you know, we’ve never even kissed.” Ai which point, any normal person would see the phantom neckbeard and whip out the fuckin’ bear mace, but Jan just lets him lean in for the goddamn kiss!!!

Jan...standards, Jan. My God. Anyway, she still turns him down, he asks her to get married again, and she leaves. For God’s sakes, man. Anyway, she goes home, where Alma’s listening to Brad serenade a girl over the party line. Jan notes the time, and tells him to get off the line. He calls back, and tells her off.

Brad gets a visitor: his old college friend FUCKIN’ JONATHAN AGAIN. He bemoans being a millionaire (po’ babyyyyy), then reveals that he’s pining over Jan, whom he doesn’t know is the person on the party line with Brad. He hears a good amount of information about Jan from Jonathan.

After the conversation, Brad tries to somewhat reconcile with Jan, but she doesn’t have any interest in doing so. That night, the two have separate affairs. Brad meets up with a woman named Marie, and serenades her with the same goddamn song from earlier, that suave motherfucker. Dude flips a switch, and the door fuckin’ LOCKS! Jesus, state-of-the-art hook-up tech of 1959.

Meanwhile Jan is attending a dinner held by an extremely client, Mrs. Walters (Lee Patrick). Needing to get home, she has her son Tony (Nick Adams) give her a ride. But on the way home, they stop and WHAT THE FUCK TONY??? I actually can’t find a clip or GIF of this, so I’ll tell you...he is ALL THE FUCK OVER HER, and it’s GROSS. CAN WE PLEASE STOP SEMI-RAPING DORIS DAY? WHAT THE FUCK, IN NO WAY IS WHAT I JUST WATCHED OK, HOLY SHIT!!!!!

Like...wow, that was the most uncomfortable I’ve felt watching a movie in a WHILE. And it’s not even because of the act itself, it’s because of how...OK it feels in the context of the film. Jan is BARELY upset by this slimy little weasely-faced rapey CREEP LITERALLY ASSAULTING HER IN THE FUCKING CAR. And in case you were wondering, yes! This film was written by FOUR MEN.

This is gross. Sorry, but this whole sequence is gross, and it gets even LONGER, because she AGREES TO GO GET A DRINK WITH HIM. WHY, JAN? STOP ENCOURAGING THIS BEHAVIOR. He tries to get her drunk (but ends up drunk himself), but she tries to leave. However, who should be sitting one table but Brad, who realizes who this is. Jan tries to leave, but Tony tries to get her to dance with him, AND SHE ONCE AGAIN AGREES, JAAAAAAAAN!!!!!!!

And its during this time of distress for Brad that, OF COURSE, he finds himself extremely attracted to her. And since he knows who she is, but she doesn’t know him, he decides to fake his identity. And there we go, we’ve got a creepy-ass one-sided relationship set-up.

Meanwhile, lightweight Tony passes out on the floor, drunk as shit. Brad goes into help, putting on a take Texas accent and calling himself Rex Stetson. And OF FUCKING COURSE, she’s lost in his fuckin’ eyes. Damn those eyes, and his suave bullshit.

They shove Tony into a cab, then take his car, which appears to be too small for Brad, which makes sense, given the fact that Hudson was 6′4″, goddamn! The two take a cab, and the two reveal their mutual attraction to the audience, through their inner thoughts. Looks like all Jan needed for a relationship was handsome-ass Rock Hudson.

In her thoughts, she thinks on how honest and down-to-earth Rex Stetson seems, unlike “monsters” like Tony and Brad Allen. And OF COURSE this is how we get this started. OF GODDAMN COURSE this is how we start this relationship. Liar revealed, LIAR REVEALED, I FUCKIN’ HATE THAT GODDAMN TROPE SO MUCH

Soon after “Rex” takes her home, he goes home herself, and gives her a call, inviting her to dinner the following night. She accepts. Then, in the middle of the call, Brad pretends to pick up the line as himself, in order to set up the two identities as being separate...this is reverse You’ve Got Mail, isn’t it?

Think about it. Two people that hate each other, and they’ve never seen one another, but also love each other after meeting in person. IT’S THE OPPOSITE OF YOU’VE GOT MAIL. Ugh. Fine. Even down to the fact that he has a sizeable advantage over her, due to his full knowledge of the situation. He even tries to use his identity as Brad Allen to set-up their date the next night for success.

And it works, goddamn. A clever yet manipulative asshole, this dude is. They get on a horse and carriage, and we hear the inner thoughts of Jan, Brad, and the dude who owns the horse. And, yeah...it’s funny. The two go to dinner, where Jonathan shortly arrives. Brad gets him out of there with...mildly fatphobic means, but it is the 1950s, so things were just kinda...entirely that.

But in any case, Brad gets away with it, and he and Jan spend a hell of a lot of time together going all around the city. And the whole time, he’s playing the role of “Rex.” Ugh. This is a good halfway point, so let’s go to Part 2 here! See you there!

#pillow talk #michael gordon #rock hudson #doris day #tony randall #thelma ritter #nick adams #romance february #user365 #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year #my gifs #mygifs #silverscreendames #old hollywood

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meltwonu · 3 years

Text

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 | [CHAPTER 14]

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; shower sex!!!, filming sex videos, dirty talk, intoxication, thigh riding 😗🤤, this chapter is basically pwp LOOOL this ones def a shorter chapter cuz i ended up working on some other things that are comin’ up soon 😳😏!! I’ll post a notice about that tomorrow hehe~💕 Also… I think I’ve decided when and where I’m going to end Cherry Bomb😭😭 I know that comes as a bit of a shock but I’ve been drafting the future chapters in between posting the last few recent chapters and basically everything’s already set up…(more on that next week) 💕 But I wanna say thank you as always for your continued interest and support on CB!! It means so much to me🥺💕!! Anytime I see a cherry I'm just like 👀👀 I must have that!! But also, I’m excited for future series as well!! 💕✨ For now, enjoy ch 14 and have a great rest of your weekend!! 💕🍒

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - ?

Seungcheol tells you he’s going to be a little late in picking you up from work, Wednesday afternoon.

You had easily agreed and told him to take his time as you sat in a booth chatting with Jun while you waited.

“Wow, I just... I can’t believe you’re really stopping Saturday streams… I mean, kinda makes sense though, now that I think about it.”

You hum in response, pouting up at Jun who cleans up the booth in front of you. You had put up the notice on your homepage earlier in the day that you would be stopping Saturday cam shows and that instead, you would be uploading pre-recorded content on Saturdays in its place. “Yeah, I’m used to the filming schedule but Seungcheol’s right, y’know? We can’t film on the side and still keep my normal camming schedule. We’d be too tired.”

“‘We’, huh? It really switched from just you to you and Seungcheol-hyung.” Jun laughs a little as your cheeks heat up.

“Yeah… It’s not… bad, is it?”

Jun pauses, almost dropping the plate he was holding when he turns to face you properly. “Nah… well… I don’t think so? I don’t really mind and your channel seems to have only grown since so it doesn’t seem like a bad thing. If anything you’ve gained a bigger following since. I don’t doubt that hyung’s brought in some viewers on his own too.”

You nod quietly, simmering in your own thoughts.

At first, you thought Seungcheol would only show up in your cam shows every now and then, aside from filming the pre-recorded videos. But he’d easily become part of every single one since the two of you had met, even with his hesitation at first. Living together had only made it easier and even Seungcheol found himself looking forward to filming with you and trying new things.

“Hey, your phone is ringing. Aren’t you gonna pick up?”

You check the caller ID to see that it’s Seungcheol, quickly picking up the call.

“Hello?”

“I’m outside, baby, let’s go~!”

He’s giddy once you get inside his car and he’s still giddy when you get home; confusion on your features when he starts grabbing the grocery bags from the trunk of the car.

“You ran the groceries? You should’ve told me, I would’ve gone with you!” You grab a few of the bags yourself, helping Seungcheol as he fiddles with the car keys to lock it.

“It’s okay, I just grabbed some wine for us and some things I forgot we needed. But I thought we should celebrate a little!”

“Celebrate? For what, ‘Cheollie?”

He grins, keeping silent until the two of you reach the door to the apartment. “‘Cheol~ C’mon tell me!” Unlocking the apartment door, he lets you in first before he closes the door behind himself.

“I just thought we could relax n’ drink a ‘lil, y’know? You started working yesterday and your channel has been doing so well so I thought we should celebrate! I know it’s been a wild couple of weeks so I think you deserve it!”

You smile back at him, laughing under your breath as you start to help him put the groceries away.

“You’re so silly, but, okay!”

One glass of wine quickly turns into two and then into three as you and Seungcheol down more than half the bottle of expensive wine he’d picked up from the store.

“Oh my god, Seungcheol, stoooop. I’m ticklish!” You giggle drunkenly, leaning into Seungcheol’s side as his free hand slides underneath your shirt to tease your skin. He keeps his other hand wrapped tight around a glass of wine, careful to not spill it on the sofa as you squirm next to him.

“Exactly the point, baby.” He mutters against your hair, equally as drunk as you. The alcohol was already making him feel hot and somewhat sensitive to your small breathy noises. “Hey, I wanna try somethin’ if you’re up for it.” You pull away from him slightly, tilting your head up to meet his hazy eyes.

“Okay, whaddya wanna try?”

Seungcheol smirks as he pats his lap and you quickly catch onto what he wants. You ease off the sofa from his side and onto his lap before his hand is on your waist and guiding you until you’re situated on his thigh instead.

“Think you can cum just using my thigh?” He slurs out; drunken eyes blinking hard to focus on you.

“Think? I know I can~ I’ve had to get off with less so this’ll be a piece of cake!”

You get yourself a little more comfortable on his thigh, mentally patting yourself on the shoulder for deciding to change into one of Seungcheol’s shirts and a pair of panties before the two of you had eased onto the sofa with the wine.

Seungcheol rests against the cushions as he watches you, simultaneously bringing the glass of wine to his mouth as he takes a generous sip. “Lemme see you, baby. Make yourself cum on my thigh.”

Nodding, you lick your parched lips as your eyes flutter shut. You focus on the feeling of his denim clad thigh underneath you; grinding against him and moaning as the rough fabric only adds to the pleasure that quickly starts to build. “Oh, S-Seungcheol…”

“That’s right, baby. Make yourself feel good for me.”

It doesn’t take very long before your panties are soaking and the addition of the alcohol coursing through your body only makes you feel infinitely warmer and much more sensitive.

“You’re already soaking through my jeans, baby. Does it feel that good?” Smirking, Seungcheol tenses up his thigh just as you throw your head back; too lost in your own pleasure to properly hear him. He bounces his leg once in an attempt to get your attention, but he finds it futile as you only grind against him harder.

“Fuck, Seu--Seungcheol!” You whine, still only focused on yourself and your pleasure as he laughs; still sounding distant to your ears.

“You really are gonna cum, huh? I mean, you’re already soaking through your panties like it’s nothing. Shit, you’d look so pretty just grinding against a fuckin’ pillow right now, begging me to let you cum while I just watched you...”

Seungcheol licks his lips, foggy eyes trained on the wet patch of fabric on his jeans as you start to grind against him quicker. He brings the glass of wine to his lips, finishing off the rest of it before precariously setting the glass down a little further away from the two of you on the sofa.

His hands grip your waist, slowing you down only slightly as he tenses the muscles in his thigh again.

“Please, please, please…” Mumbling, your head rolls forward and your foggy eyes blink open to meet Seungcheol’s equally intoxicated stare.

“Cum. Get my thigh fuckin’ soaked and then I’ll fuck your cute ‘lil pussy just how you want.”

Your panties stick to you like a second skin and only add on to the friction that has you quicking tumbling over the edge of an orgasm. You let out a shaky breath, thighs clamped tight around Seungcheol’s own as your body slumps forward into his warm chest; pleasure washing over you in an instant as you cum.

“Don’t get tired on me now, baby.” Whispering against your hair, he smiles watching your thighs tremble and he eats up the way you whine and whimper against his chest as the waves of your orgasm continue to wash over your body.

“Can you still stand?”

You drunkenly stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror; admiring the post orgasmic bliss that’s apparent all over your features as you stand in front of it completely naked.

“Come over here, baby.” Seungcheol coos, already just as naked as you are as he waits in front of the shower door. “The camera’s already recording and the water is hot.”

“Okay~”

You walk over to him; inner thighs still coated in your wetness as you lick your lips. It was Seungcheol’s idea to film in the shower, saying that the steam from the hot water would keep him from being seen completely as long as he fucked you from behind with your frontside pressed against the glass.

He lets you step in first before he follows suit, shutting the door behind himself. “We’ll let the shower steam up a ‘lil more, huh?” He smiles, leaning in to kiss you on the lips.

Seungcheol tastes just like the wine from earlier as you melt underneath his touch and his hands thread through your hair, kissing you and walking you backwards until your back meets the wet glass.

“Fuck, baby, I should’ve eaten you out earlier. I wanna fuckin’ taste how sweet you are on my tongue.” His words are muffled against your own lips as you mewl in return before teasingly biting his bottom lip.

“You can eat me out for breakfast~” You entice, voice still slightly slurred from the alcohol as Seungcheol pulls away.

“Don’t tempt me ‘cause you know I will.”

He spins you around; letting you press your palms against the fogged up glass as you jut your ass out towards him. Through the foggy glass, only your frontside can be seen by the camera that Seungcheol had haphazardly set onto the opposite counter.

“Still so fuckin’ wet too. You were so pretty cumming on my thigh earlier, baby.” He reaches a hand between your legs, fingertips ghosting through your wet folds as you groan.

“P-please just fuck me! I--I already came o-once and my p-pussy felt so, ah, empty without y-your cock…”

Laughing under his breath, Seungcheol makes sure to not lean forward too much as he places his hands firmly on your waist to readjust your body before wrapping a hand around his cock. “Shit you’re so cute when you beg.”

You wiggle your hips at him; hazy eyes focused on water droplets on the glass. “Please, I, mmh, need y-you...”

Seungcheol positions the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you by only sliding the head in as you whine. “Nooo, I n-need more than t-that…”

He smirks at your backside, taking pity on you as he slowly starts to sink his cock into your pussy.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby...” His brows furrow in concentration just as the grip on your waist tightens and Seungcheol finds himself already starting a quicker pace the second he bottoms out.

“Oh, g-god, yes! Fuck, you feel s-so good!” Whining, you work your hips back as you meet Seungcheol's thrusts; walls already clamping down hard onto him. “Your c-cock is so, ah, b-big and fuckin’ fills m-my pussy so, ngh, good!”

You rest the side of your head and your chest against the cool glass as Seungcheol’s thrusts keep you pressed firm against it. “That's right, baby. Only my cock fills you up this perfectly, huh?” He smirks, angling his thrusts to tap your g-spot as you moan loudly.

“Yes, fuh--fuck, only your cock gets, ngh, me t-this wet!”

Choked sobs leave your lips as Seungcheol focuses on his and your pleasure and he can already feel his cock throbbing, his own body just as sensitive as yours from all the alcohol the two of you had earlier.

“I’m gonna cum in your pretty ‘lil cunt and then once we get cleaned up, I’ll fuck you in our bed too. Make you sleep with my cum inside your pretty body and then eat you out in the morning until you’re cumming on my tongue.”

You clench around Seungcheol’s cock at his words, nodding gently as you let out a soft cry. “P-please, I want it...”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as he doubles his pace and slowly sneaks a hand around until his fingertips are on your clit. He starts pinching and rubbing circles on the swollen nub as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“You wanna cum, don’t you? Your pussy is fuckin’ sucking me in deeper, I can barely move, baby~”

“A-ah, yes, please, pl--please cum with me... I wanna feel, mmh, you c-cumming inside me when I cum t-too...” You voice is soft and breathy; head feeling muddled as the pleasure almost becomes too much for your sensitive body.

Seungcheol finds himself quickly losing his rhythm as well, groans spilling from his lips. “Cum with me, baby. I want you to feel, ngh, good with m-me.”

His fingertips on your clit press down harder, hoping to throw you over the edge of another orgasm just as Seungcheol feels himself about to cum too.

“Fuck!”

There’s a growl on Seungcheol’s lips as his orgasm begins to crest and in the midst of his high, he can feel the way your walls flutter around his cock as you cum with him. Your small whimpers and cries bounce off the glass and you can feel your legs shaking as Seungcheol works you both through your orgasm.

“Ngh, I can f-feel how m-much you came inside of m-me...”

Seungcheol gives it a second as the two of you catch your breath; his hands massaging your skin as your body threatens to give way. He slides his cock from inside of you as you moan at the emptiness and Seungcheol is quick to wrap an arm around you waist before you collapse onto the shower floor.

“Tired?” You can only nod gently as you rest against Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Guess no round two in bed, huh? I can feel you shaking against me, baby.”

The two of you share a tired laugh before Seungcheol pulls you under the hot stream of water; fully ready to get you cleaned up and tucked under the sheets as quickly as he can.

“No, but--but I still fully expect to be eaten out for breakfast.”

“Deal.”

#seungcheol smut #scoups smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #cherrybomb!cheol #scoups scenarios #scoups imagines #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #svt imagines #scoups #seungcheol #svt fic #seventeen fic

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