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#google how do i tan the tops of my shoulders and nothing else
youchangedme · 26 days ago
went for a walk a while ago to clear my head and noticed i have already developed The Tanned Lines ™️ and made the mistake of wearing a t-shirt instead of a tank top....
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lukai-m · 5 months ago
Oh, Brother
Genre: Angst | Fluff | College!au 
Pairing: Kai x Reader
Length: 7.5k
Warning: Unfinished | Language | Love Triangle (I know, but hear me out!!)
Summary: You’ve finally started college and are getting the full freshman year teen romcom experience and it’s not as great as you though it would be, but a certain ballerina (ballerino? I googled it and its ballerino in Italian [quote unquote] but in French they are a danseur and im rambling) might be the calmness you’ve been needing...that is until you meet his brother....
Author’s Note: I plan on turning this into a scenario??? Question marks cause idk if I want to turn it into a chaptered fic instead??? Anyways I wrote this back in like 2014 so its kinda dated but it is what it is yall. 
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With the arrival of the bell came the flood.
You got caught in it. Dragged into the depths of the sea that was the main hall. You grunted and fought against the current, as students barged their way past you, slamming roughly against your shoulders as you clutched onto your books for dear life.
It seemed never-ending, it actually felt like you were moving backwards as more and more people rushed, trying in vain to arrive to their next class on time.
You didn’t think that college would be like this.
You thought it would be peaceful and calm, like a pond or a small lake.
Not the damn sea during a hurricane.
It was probably because it was the first day, and everyone was still trying to catch their bearings. Or because this hall was seriously the most used and classes held up to two hundred people. Whatever the reason, you felt a sudden panic attack crawling up your throat like a corpse clawing out of the grave. You knew that very soon you would lose it, and so you began to count in your head to calm yourself down.
“I…2…3…4—” push “—5…6—” shove “—7…..8….9….”
Before you could lose your cool, you broke the surface and felt the cold wind snap deliciously against your damp face. You closed your eyes and sighed with relief as you realized that you had won.
You battled against the human sea and you beat it victoriously.
But could you deal with that every other day?
You shuddered as the thought hit you and decided to ignore it for the meantime. You had to admit, despite that near death journey you had just trekked, your first day as a college student wasn’t as bad as you—and your parents, not to mention your little sister—had imagined. Today was Monday, and on Mondays, you had three classes: English 1102, Math 1143, and Introduction to Art.
You had just left the math department and now had a couple hours to kill before your last class.
You decided to call your best friend, Suho, and see if he had escaped his side of campus.
“Hello?” He answered happily—did he have any other emotion?
“I nearly died just now. This hallway is lethal, I don’t know if I’ll make it.”
“Well, I’m glad you made it out alive. When does your next class start?”
“In two hours. Wanna get lunch?”
“Absolutely, I’m starving. Meet me at the Student Union building?”
“Okay, see you then.” You hung up and tried your hardest to recall just where exactly the Student Union building was located.
Nearly twenty minutes later, you stumbled upon the holy land. You found Suho almost immediately and rushed over to his table.
“What took you so long?” He wondered, munching on a fry.
You plopped down in the seat across from him and let out an exhausted breath, “I forgot how to get here. I had to backtrack like four different times.”
He sighed, “You could have called me, I would have helped you.”
“I’m aware,” you dismissed, stealing a fry from his tray. He frowned, but didn’t do anything to stop you from stealing another one.
“It’s the first day, and I’m already beat,” you muttered after you had returned to the table after leaving him briefly to buy a cold sandwich, a bag of salty chips, and a bottle of green tea.
“And it’s not even over yet,” Suho reminded you with a smile on his face.
“Can you not? I don’t want to think about that just yet.”
“At least it’s art. You can unwind in your last class. My last class is Physics, there is no unwinding in physics.”
“You’re smart, you can literally handle anything.”
He cocked his head to the side and studied you. Once he caught your attention, you stuck your tongue out at him and drained your drink, smacking your lips obnoxiously when you were done.
“it’s a wonder we’re even friends,” he mused aloud around his sandwich.
You shrugged, “you still have time to run.”
He grinned, not missing a beat, “I wouldn’t even dream of it.”
You held out your semi-empty plastic bottle, “I’ll drink to that.”
He chuckled and lifted his own soda can, your drinks clinking exotically together, confirming your status as best friends for life.
Which Suho was. The two of you had known each other since you were five. Your fathers were childhood friends that lost contact after college, but somehow—when the two of you were five—reunited and stuck to each other like glue. Even opening their own music store together. Kim Junmyeon, who was lovingly addressed as Suho, and you grew up at the music store, learning how to play different instruments as well as the ropes to owning a business, and the chemistry between your fathers ultimately rubbed off onto you, causing yet another family-like bond.
“You are taking piano, aren’t you?” You asked him a few minutes later.
His attitude shifted instantly as his smile faltered a tad. It was barely noticeable, but you could read this young man in front of you like a book.
“Junmyeon,” You said warningly, using his real name to show how serious you were.
He sighed, “I want to. I just… so much is already on my plate, and I didn’t want to burden my parents with another credit and…”
“And you just didn’t want to,” You finished for him. You lowered your voice, “I thought you liked music.”
“Of course I do, but that’s something our fathers love. Music is their dream, not ours.”
You pouted. He was right, even you weren’t taking any classes related to music, but you were still planning on practicing the viola on your own time. Music was in your blood, it was just as unavoidable as Suho. You didn’t know what life would be like without it, and quite frankly, you didn’t want a life without it.
Suho adored music more than you did. When his father first taught him how to play the piano, he had to be forcefully removed from the bench. There was nowhere else he would rather be, and as he grew, so did his talent. He was so talented, that he won many competitions, and even wrote compositions for many popular songs heard on the radio today.
He was a prodigy.
You? Well, you just liked to play. You were nowhere near as good as Suho, despite the many things he had told you, and you knew that and was fine with it. For you, it didn’t matter if you won or lost, as long as you got to play. You learned how to play the guitar, clarinet, drums, and even the piano, but nothing called to you like the viola. It was an extension of yourself, and Suho once said that when you played, people could tell you transported into a different realm. You were in your own little universe, and would only return once the piece was finished.
“It can be both, couldn’t it? You play so well…” You could tell Suho felt uncomfortable and would rather not discuss the matter anymore, so you just let your sentence carry. Instead, talking about everything else and nothing for the rest of your time together. “Well, my class is about to start in ten minutes. Luckily, I know where the art building is. I’ve only been going there since I was twelve.”
You tried to laugh, but got nothing out of Suho. His smile still plastered on his face, but his eyes dull as he pulled himself up and collected your trash, throwing it in the trashcan and following you out into the crisp fall air.
The art building was very hard to miss. It was one of the bigger buildings because the college you attended focused mostly on the arts, and was painted a bright blue, while every other building was a tan brick color.
“Paint me something nice, alright?” Suho said once you both stopped outside the doors of the building.
You rolled your eyes, “You know I suck at painting, Su, I’m more of a charcoal person.”
He shrugged, “I still want a painting. Charcoal is so boring.”
You smacked his shoulder, “go. Before I lose my temper.”
He laughed and held his arms up in surrender, “We wouldn’t want that now would we?”
He sauntered away and left you to stare up at the intimidating building. Hesitantly, you pried the glass door open and scuttled into the structure. Noise overwhelmed you. You could hear many people tuning their instruments, and the noise of a teacher counting and the soft thud of footsteps. If you listened harder, you could faintly make out people singing.
It was beautiful.
The cacophony of sound settled around you in a somewhat numbing hum, beckoning you to walk even deeper within the building. Almost all the doors were open and you peered into each one, loving everything that you saw. A chubby boy wailing away on his trombone. A lanky boy with a mop top and a short thick girl with glasses singing a duet. What appeared to be an African dance class. A trio practicing on their violins. A boy twirling about in an empty dance room.
You paused once you glanced inside the dance room. He was doing barrel turns across the room, and when he reached the end, he pirouetted for what seemed like a long time, stopping smoothly with one foot resting in back of him and his arms held out in the perfect stance.
He was breathing hard as he dropped his position and ran his fingers through his dark hair, dragging the strands away from his face, only for them to return. He must have felt your stare, because he suddenly swiveled his head to meet you eyes.
He was gorgeous, to put it simply. He had slightly tan skin and perfectly shaped almond brown eyes and a straight nose, and lips that seemed to be the center of his face. He looked almost ethereal as he attempted to catch his breath and sweat slid alluringly down his lean frame and his eyes remained on you.
“Lost?” He asked. His tone wasn’t mocking, simply curious.
His voice was just as lovely as his features. You shook your head, “Just looking around.”
He walked up to the mirror where a drawstring backpack laid, and pulled a small towel out of it, wrapping it around his neck, “class starts pretty soon, doesn’t it? You might be late,”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s so easy to get distracted in this building. There’s so much going on.”
“First day?” He asked with an understanding nod of his head.
You returned the nod with a rushed one of your own, “I’m in sensory overload at the moment.”
“Happens to all of us.”
He turned around and headed back to the corner of the room. You stared at his retreating frame for a moment and then decided it was time to leave. “See you around then.”
He turned his head so that you could see the outline of his nose and raised a hand, “see you.”
You had to forcefully remove yourself from the doorway, and practically run to your classroom, making it in with thirty seconds to spare.
After your last class was finished, you headed over to the dorms.
You still could not believe you were actually living on your own, away from your parents and sister. And as you stepped into your new home, you couldn’t help but grin.
It was small, but cozy. With a living room that held a couch, there was one bedroom that your roommate and you would be sharing and you got your own bathroom which was nice.
You noticed that your bedroom door was open and you could faintly make out a voice coming from within. It appeared your roommate was in. You hadn’t met her yet, and was nervous. Would you like her? Would she like you? You carefully tiptoed towards the door and paused in the threshold. She was singing under her breath and it was beautiful. The words did not sound very familiar to you, but her voice was so lovely, you found myself creating notes to accompany her with in you head.
Finally, you grew the courage to gently knock on the wall and peek your head in.
She was sitting at a white vanity she must had brought with her, and was clipping something into her jaw length black hair. She spun around quickly, startled.
Once you were facing each other, you carefully examined the other. She was gorgeous, but seemed a bit rebellious with her black lace clothing and scruffy boots. With the light from the window on her hair, you spotted green and blue highlights in it. Her eyes were covered in kohl and her lips were set in a hard line, but you noticed the tips curled slightly in a mischievous grin.
After your slight stare down, she held out her hand, “Park Sunyoung. But I go by Luna.”
You smiled and marched in to shake her hand and introduced yourself as well.
“Like what I’ve done with the place?” She smirked, spinning around to face the mirror again.
The room was placed in such a way that each half was your own. Her side was crowded. The white walls were covered with posters. You spotted both movies and boy and girl groups respectively. She had a purple fluffy mat on the wooden floor, and clothes were strung there and about. She also placed a flat screen television on a dresser that she pushed in the middle of a wall so that it was between your beds.
You glanced at your side, You had only put sheets on your bed, leaned your viola case against the wall, and tossed your suitcases on your bed. It was—and would still be once you finished unpacking—bare compared to hers.
You nodded your head, “you just moved in?”
She nodded her head also. “Bout to grab a bite to eat. Wanna come?”
You bit your lip. You wanted to unpack and maybe practice your instrument for a while, but the need to make friends overwhelmed you, especially a girlfriend. “Sure.”
You watched as Luna hopped off her chair and grabbed a black homburg hat before snatching your wrist and dragging you out of your room.
You entered the cafeteria five minutes later, the building was bustling with life and you couldn’t help but to search around, looking at your fellow schoolmates.
There were a bunch of different stores to choose from, and after watching Luna tap her chin while glaring at each station, you both finally decide on Chinese. You grabbed your plates and then Luna pulled out her phone, dialing a number before she pressed it to her ear.
“Yah! Where are you?” She laughed. Your eyes widened. You were not planning on meeting other people. “I can’t see you! Oh! By the taco station? Mmm… Okay, on my way.” She hung up and glanced at you, tilting her head in the direction she was heading before walking off. You quickly tried to match her pace. You arrived at a round table with seven chairs and two girls sitting there in comfortable silence.
“Hey!” Luna sang as she pulled a chair next to one of them, you quickly followed suite.
The girl next to Luna had brown hair that she had cut really short, a pixie cut. While the girl beside her had straight black hair that cascaded down her body. The one with the pixie cut was sporting a guy tank top and khakis while the one beside her was wearing a black and white stripped dress and blood red lipstick.
“Who’s the stranger?” The girl next to Luna asked, studying you.
“This is my roommate,” Luna beamed with pride and you smiled shyly as she introduced you. “This is my cousin Victoria and our friend, Amber.”
“Nice to meet you,” you greeted.
“Are you a freshman like Luna?” Amber asked, giving you her full attention.
You nodded, “what grade are you in?”
“We’re both juniors,” Victoria supplied, taking a giant bite of her food.
“So… how was your first day?” Amber asked Luna, who rolled her eyes.
“Fine. I guess. All I had were generals today. I can’t wait till my fun classes begin.”
“Are you, by any chance, in choir?” You asked.
She stared at you with wide eyes, “oh god, no! What makes you think that!?”
“Well,” you began nervously. “I heard you singing when I entered the room…”
“Oh~~” The three nodded.
“I do love singing,” Luna informed somewhat sheepishly. “I just…”
“She just doesn’t like to do things when told to do them.” A girl who just walked up to the table finished for Luna, pulling the chair next to Victoria out and unceremoniously plopping down. She was tall and skinny and had long blonde hair. Just like Luna, she was wearing dark clothes and makeup, her expression unimpressed.
Another girl who was the polar opposite took a seat beside her. She had reddish-brown hair that went down to her collarbones and was wearing a pink skirt and shirt and a genuine bright smile. She instantly reminded you of Suho.
“Shut up, Krystal,” Luna barked.
“Make me,” the Krystal girl retorted, sticking her tongue out.
“Choir is just so stuffy,” Luna defended herself. “You have to sing three octaves higher than you normally do, have to wear hideous outfits, and have to move your mouth like this,” she began to open and close her mouth in a way that resembled a fish. “It’s horrible.”
“Plus, she never goes to class, so she’d probably get dropped,” Krystal grinned wickedly at Luna.
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?!” The two began to bicker, and you locked eyes with the bright girl next to Krystal who was looking at you.
“What is your name?” She asked. You told her and asked for hers in return. “I’m Sulli. Sorry about my friends. They tend to not have manners.”
“I heard that!” Krystal screeched and smacked Sulli’s shoulder, causing her to wince. She then turned her gaze to you. “I’m not that bad, really. I’m Krystal, by the way.”
You introduced yourself to her and she boldly held out her hand for you to shake. Her hand was very soft.
“Are you a freshman?” She asked and you nodded your head. “Cool. So are Sulli and me. Are you Luna’s roommate?”
“Yes she is, so can you stop asking so many questions?” Luna asked, exasperated.
Krystal shrugged, sniffing a cup of fruit, “just curious. I’m surprised you’d invite her along. I know how much you hate new people.”
“I don’t—”
“YES YOU DO!” The four interrupted Luna, causing the whole table to laugh.
“You all suck,” Luna pouted, but a smile tugged on her lips.
“Welcome to our crew,” Victoria said to me, holding up a bottle of apple juice. You lifted your own drink and you all chugged the liquid.
It tasted like a long friendship.
Back in your room, all unpacked and exhausted, you laid on your bed. Luna was taking her last class of the day, which was at eight, and she wasn’t very excited about that, so you had the place to yourself. You wanted to play your viola, but was so tired, you couldn’t budge.
Vibrating caught your attention and you groaned as you felt around for your phone. Once found, you answered it without bothering to check caller I.D.
“I take it you’ve already eaten?” Suho asked you from the other end.
You grinned, “What makes you so sure?”
“Because you aren’t harassing me about how you will die any second if you don’t get any food in you soon.”
You sighed, “You know me so well.”
“That’s why I hold the title of best friend.”
“Sorry. Are you hungry?”
“Kind of.”
“Did you just finish your last class?”
He was silent for a second, “no. I, uh, finished it a while ago.”
“Well why didn’t you call me then?”
“I was…distracted. Come down. I’m at your dorm.”
“But, Suho!”
“You shouldn’t have unpacked all at once. That’s your fault. Hurry!”
He hung up and you had no choice but to get your lazy butt up and head downstairs.
He was outside the building, leaning against the cool brick.
“What is the rush?” You asked once you spotted him.
“It’s the first week of school, there is so much we could do!”
“Like visit the art building and watch people.”
Your eyes brightened and you hurriedly pushed Suho, he laughed at your eagerness and you headed over to your favorite building.
“I should have brought my instrument,” you pouted as the doors opened.
Suho shook his head and you entered the first room you found.
There were a couple kids acting in this one. You watched for a minute, but you both knew which rooms you wanted to really be at.
“Let’s just go to the music room,” You ordered. You started running down the familiar halls, eager to enter the one room you had been in over the years.
Suho continued walking, and you wondered if it was because he didn’t want to go to this room after all.
You entered the room and took a deep breath, smiling widely as you were surrounded by all the instruments. You were in the string room, and you bowed to the professor before heading over to decide which instrument to play.
There were a few kids there in a small circle with guitars on laps, so you picked up an acoustic guitar and joined them.
You quietly tuned your instrument as two of the other boys were playing off each other. The music was very bluesy and you nodded along as they continued.
All music stopped and you heard a few gasps. Suho must have entered. You turned to verify his presence and tried not to laugh at his awkward smile. He hated the attention. Anybody who considered themselves piano players knew who Suho was, and anybody in this area who was aware of music knew who he was as well. He was kind of a big deal.
“Please, continue,” Suho said, motioning for the two boys to play. They stared at him instead, either too nervous or starstruck. With a sigh, you held your guitar on your lap and began to play a song you had made up a few years ago. The people around the room blinked over at you, distracted from Suho, which you knew he was grateful. You felt him sit down beside you, but you ignored him and continued playing. Your fingers gliding confidently over the strings.
“You think she’s good at this,” You heard Suho say. “You should see her play the viola.”
You missed a note and lost your train of thought as laughter bubbled up your throat.
“Please stop, Suho,” you chuckled, finishing the song quickly. Once you were done, everyone in the room applauded and you bowed your thanks and Suho and you sat silently and listened to the others play for a while.
“Should we go now?” he whispered in your ear after about twenty minutes and you nodded. You both got up and bowed to everyone before heading out.
“That was nice,” you grinned up at your best friend, his hands in his pockets and his smile somewhat strained.
“Uh… yeah, nice…”
You laughed, “You hated every waking minute of it.”
“No!” He quickly defended. “I just… you know I hate it when people treat me like that.”
“Like a celebrity?”
He sighed, “I hate that word.”
“But, I mean, you kind of are a celebrity, Suho.”
He groaned and covered his face with his hands, “don’t say that!”
You laughed again and dragged him out of the hall. On your way out, you passed the dance room, and you glanced into the empty room. You were somewhat disappointed to see how lifeless it was in there compared to earlier today….
Your first week went by smoothly. You hung out quite a bit with Luna and her friends and only got lost once. Suho and your schedules did not align very well, and you rarely got to see each other, which frustrated both of you, but you made time—as little as it was—to hang out at least once a day.
It was Monday again, and after a semi stressful weekend, you were looking forward to another week of college.
Your alarm went off and you chuckled as Luna groaned and tossed in her bed, “turn that off!”
She threw a pillow in your direction and you turned the alarm off,  and with a whispered ‘goodbye’ you left for your first class.
After your math class ended, and you had once again fought against the ten o’clock rush, you decided to head over to the art building early to goof off for a bit and kill time.
You found yourself pausing in front of that damned dance room again. The door was closed, but you could hear the faint thud of bass coming from the speakers within, and you just knew that man from last week was in there. After a bit of hesitation, you finally pried the door open.
He was there alright. Wearing cut offs and a black wife beater. He was stretching on the center of the floor, leaning against one leg as the music played on. When he lifted his upper body he noticed you, “you’re back.”
You couldn’t tell if he was happy or annoyed by the fact, but you smiled at him anyway, “I told you I’d see you later.”
He laughed once under his breath and shook his head faintly.
“Mind if I watch?”
He opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything.
You deflated, “or…not.”
As you began taking a step back he let out a breath, “no! Wait.”
You glanced at him expectantly and he sighed, “You can stay if you want.”
You beamed and came all the way into the room, closing the door solidly behind you. You sat against the mirror and pulled your legs up to your chin.
“It’s nothing much,” the beautiful boy began. “I’m just going to be doing some stretches and going over some routines….”
“That’s fine,” You encouraged and he paused before nodding his head self-consciously.  
After fifteen minutes of warming up, he began to dance. You knew he was not going full out, but even still he was captivating. He moved effortlessly, almost as if he were bored, and he made every move seem easy, although you knew it was anything but.
At one moment he attempted a leap, but couldn’t land right. He groaned with frustration, “I can’t get this jump right.”
You perked up, with him talking for the first time in thirty minutes. He was standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips, eyeing himself in the mirror.
“I don’t even know why it is so difficult for me, but I just can’t get it. The teacher told me I was landing too hard but what does that even mean?”
You blinked at him and were silent for a moment. Finally you worked up the courage to speak, “may—maybe you can demonstrate it again? I’ll watch and see if I can spot the problem?”
His eyes flickered to yours questioningly, “you dance?”
“Uh… no, but I’m sure I’d notice if you weren’t landing right.”
He thought about it for a second, but must have seen there was no harm in it because he shrugged and started the music up again.
You watched him as he twirled around the room before going for the leap. He was flawless in the air, but once his foot came down, he was a stumbling mess. He had to hold his arms out to catch his balance and you figured out the problem.
“You’re not distributing your weight properly,” You informed him once he was at a standstill. “You put all your weight on the leg you’re landing on when you need to put it on both.”
“How do I go about doing that?” He asked, twirling the lid off of his water and chugging half the bottle.
“As soon as your foot touches the ground, stretch out your back leg and lift your arms higher.”
The dancer’s eyes wandered above him for a minute, probably imagining the actions he had to take, and then he put his water down and started the music again.
When it got to the troubling leap, you held your breath. He was up, up, up and then he came down. His foot touched the floor and he seemed to spring higher as he flexed his legs and raised his arms, not even wobbling.
“Perfect landing,” you breathed with a grin as he continued on with the choreography. You couldn’t help but to notice how dazzling his face looked graced with that triumphant smile that seemed nearly blinding.
He was now going all out, as if he were performing on a stage, and your heart was in your throat.
You had seen a lot of beautiful things. Watching your father play the trombone, watching Suho play the piano, listening to one of your friends, Yuri, sing, but this fellow in front of you took passion to another level.
Tears began to obstruct your vision as you watched him reach towards the heavens with every jump. Every flex of a muscle seemed to be a part of a story only he knew how to tell, but the story was magnificent and you could not look away.
It ended with him pirouetting before landing on one knee, an arm stretched towards you.
The music ended and the only thing that could be heard was his hard breathing.
“That… that was beautiful.” Beautiful could not cover base to how life altering watching him perform was. He was beyond that, he was something no word could yet define.
“Thank you,” he grinned and bowed humbly.
“No, I’m… I’m serious. I don’t think I have ever seen anything that passionate before in my entire life, and my father lives and breathes music. You are truly talented.”
You watched him bite his lip and scratch the back of his head before repeating, “thank you.”
“No, thank you,” That sounded so cheesy out loud, but you really wanted to thank him for showing you that. You wiped away the tears that had fallen from your eyes and laughed at yourself, “I swear I don’t usually cry watching people dance. Only if I’m moved enough.”
“I moved you?” He asked. You noticed the teasing tone in his voice, but also surprise, as if he didn’t believe he was that good.
“To tears,” You confirmed, holding your hands out to show him the salty wetness on them.
“Thank you,” he repeated yet again, and you blinked up at him.
“For what?”
“For helping me with that turn. Also for letting me know just how good I am. Sometimes you need other people besides those who are always telling you to realize your potential, you know?”
“Absolutely. I definitely understand. I remember when I was first learning how to play the viola, and my father was constantly telling me how good I was, but I felt like I wasn’t adequate. It took my best friend to finally make me realize that maybe I was worthy of the instrument.”
The sweaty ballerina just stared at you for a moment, and you grew embarrassed. Were you talking too much? You were definitely talking too much. This is why you only had two friends growing up.
“You can come watch me practice whenever you want,” he suddenly allowed. His smile grew at your shocked expression. “I realize now I enjoy the company, and you can probably help me on some things. So… whenever you want, if I’m here, don’t be shy.”
He said all of that without even glancing at you, but you could tell the sincerity in his voice. Plus, you found it endearing how he dug the ground with his toes.
It was your turn to repeat yourself, “thank you.”
You ran all the way to your dorm after art, eager to get this off your chest.
You felt kind of bad that Suho wasn’t the person you wanted to talk to about the matter, but this was strictly a girl thing, and you knew he wouldn’t understand.
“Luna!” You practically screeched when you finally slammed the door to your bedroom open, scaring the living daylights out of your roommate.
“Jesus!” she cried, throwing the magazine she was peacefully reading on her bed onto the floor. “What’s gotten into you?!”
“I’m in like,” You breathed, falling unto your bed with a longing sigh.
“In like?” she questioned.
“Yes. With a beautiful ballerina.”
“It’s a guy,” you clarified, rising up to meet Luna’s gaze. She was grinning from ear to ear, leaning in closer.
“Well, spill it!”
You told her about the mystery dancer who just so happened to be drop dead gorgeous and wanted your company.
“Wow, that is so romantic! What is his name? Maybe I know him.”
“It’s…” Your smile melted off with the realization that you in fact had no name for the face you most definitely would be dreaming of later tonight.
“You don’t know?” Luna’s eyes widened and than she gasped, “that’s even more romantic! It’s like Cinderella! Does he know yours?”
You shook your head and she threw a pillow up in the air. It hit the ceiling before landing on the floor behind her, next to her long forgotten magazine. “Oh my god! The two of you are so mysterious! That is so hot.”
You couldn’t help but giggle. You’ve grown quite close to Luna this past week; she was someone you really needed in your life.
“You have to keep me posted on the development on your unfolding love story. And don’t forget who was there in the beginning when you have to pick a maid of honor for your wedding!”
“Oh, I will def keep you up to date.”
Sadly, there was nothing to report back to Luna.
Classes started to add pressure the rest of the week, and you were so swamped in schoolwork, that you had no time to eat a normal meal, let alone watch someone dance for a couple hours. you even had a test in art!
When Friday came around, all you wanted to do was relax, but Suho had other plans for you.
“Come on! We haven’t seen each other all week! I miss my bestie!”
“I miss you too, but I’m so tired,”  you complained, rolling around in your bed for affect.
“We are all tired, we’re college students.”
“Why can’t you hang out with your roommate? I’m sure he will keep you company.”
“He is hanging out with me. I’m trying to expose you to more people,” You could hear the annoyance in his voice.
“I don’t need more friends. You’re like five friends put together!”
“Please,” Suho whimpered, muttering your name softly. You tensed, knowing what he was doing. “We haven’t seen one another in five days and I just really need my best friend right now. Is that a crime? Is wanting to see you such a bad thing?”
He sighed when you remained silent, “fine. I won’t bother you anymore. Take your nap and be a loser for all your life, but don’t call me when you finally want to settle down, because I would have moved on with a new bestie by then.”
“Fine!” You cried, hopping off your bed. “Jesus, Suho! I’ll hang out with you, damn!”
He chuckled and you heard a muffled ‘works every time’ before he was back in your ear, “you have ten minutes. Dress really cute, we’re going somewhere fun. You better be waiting for us when we get there.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” You hung up before he could guilt you into doing something else you didn’t want to do and slumped over to your closet.
Suho’s definition of really cute was a scary concept, and it made you wonder where he was dragging you. He loved heels and thigh highs. You always joked and told him he was a subtle pervert, and he would reply by simply shrugging, tilting his head to get a good view of the girl he had his eye on at the time.
You groaned and yanked the clothes you knew he was already picturing in his head before getting ready.
Six minutes later, you were standing outside the dorms in a thin pink dress, black tights, chunky black heels, and a glare.
True to his word, Suho was in front of the dorms ten minutes after your call ended. He stepped out of the passenger side of a very expensive looking black car, dressed in dark jeans and a sky blue button down, and you knew that you were dressed accordingly.
His grin grew into a full-blown smile as he took you in, “you never disappoint.”
“Shut up, you perv,” You retaliated. He just laughed, continuing walking up to you. Once you were right in front of each other, he pulled you into a hug and you soon felt a tugging at your hair.
Suho pulled away with a satisfied grin, “you look prettier with your hair down.”
“What is this?” You snapped, as he ruffled your brown hair that he had released from the ponytail you had it in seconds ago. “Are you trying to hook me up with someone?”
“I might be, but I just want you to have fun tonight. You have to dress good to feel good.”
“I mean, I guess?” You let him drag you over to the car. He opened the backseat door for you and helped you get in before crawling back to the front. There were two males sitting to your left, both incredibly handsome and one behind the wheel.
Suho called you and you glanced at him, really nervous. You usually felt at ease around the opposite sex, but Suho made you dress up, and it made you self-conscious, especially since all the men in the car were good looking.
Not as fine as your little ballerina, you thought suddenly, and you felt your cheeks heat up. They definitely weren’t that pleasing to the eyes.
You blinked, quickly focusing back at Suho. He had his hand on the driver’s shoulder, “This is my roommate, Kris, and those two sitting next to you are Kim Jongdae and Do Kyungsoo.”
“Nice to meet you,” you said, nodding towards them. They all nodded in return and you zoomed off to some unknown place.
“Jongdae and Kyungsoo are singers,” Suho informed as you continued driving. “And Kris here is an actor. They all have scholarships and are top of their classes.”
“Why must you talk us up like this?” The one furthest to the window whined. He had a cute voice and a cat like curve to his lips that you couldn’t help but stare at.
“It’s alright,” you began. “It’s in his nature. He’s like a proud father.”
“This girl right here,” he started, and you rolled your eyes. “Is one of the best viola players in the country, if not the continent! She also draws, plays other instruments, and sings.”
You shook your head rapidly, “please do not tell professional singers that I sing, Suho. That’s embarrassing.”
He simply shrugged, “how many times have you sung the lyrics to my compositions?”
“I’m not sure anymore, Suho,” you sighed, your gaze flickering to the singers beside you. They looked intrigued, and you wanted to shrink.
“Exactly, because it’s been too many times to count. If it had been up to me, I would have given you the songs to record. I write them for you anyway.”
“Gross,” you cried, kicking his seat. Sometimes he said things that made it seem as if you were closer than you actually were. It was a habit you were trying to get him out of.
It was around ten when Kris—who had been silent throughout the entire ride there—pulled into a karaoke bar.
“Damn,” you muttered under your breath. Suho was toying with you the entire ride there, the bastard.
“What was that?” The smaller boy beside you, Kyungsoo, asked. His voice was deeper than you had thought it would be at first glance and his wide eyes and plump lips made him seem older than you would have originally thought, more mature.
“I should have known we would be singing,” you said a bit louder to him, although you pushed your knee deep into the back of Suho’s seat.
“And drinking,” the guy near the window, Jongdae, winked at you playfully and you sighed with both content and relief, because he was really cute and you really needed a drink.
“Good,” you breathed as you all headed out.
You followed the guys into the bar, and was led into probably the biggest room you had ever seen in one of these places. It was already filled with about six other people, both male and female.
You felt pressure on your arm and lips at your ear. “Don’t be afraid to make friends, and maybe even get a bit touchy if you want,” Suho winked at you and you grimaced. What was up with him today?
There were only two other girls in the room, and you quickly ran to sit beside them, introducing yourself quickly. They were Hyeri and Hyorin. There was a guy singing a Super Junior song, and he was really good. You just sat silently as everyone got comfortable. Jongdae soon appeared with around four huge bottles of liquor, while Kyungsoo scuttled behind him with shot glasses.
“Whose ready to turn up!” Jongdae’s high-pitched voice rang loudly over the commotion of the room, and everyone—including yourself—cheered. Jongdae and another boy who you weren’t acquainted with poured the shots, while Kyungsoo handed them out. You were the last one to receive a glass, and he sat beside you with a shy smile. You returned it and waited for one of the shorter boys in the room to give the toast speech, “to freshman! To the beginning of the rest of our lives!”
You all held your glasses up high before tilting your heads back and downing the liquid fire with grimaces and coughs.
Liquor made you friendly, to put it simply. It also made you extremely confident, yet also very uncoordinated. You took six more shots of the strongest stuff Jongdae had to offer, and before you knew it, you were singing a duet with one of the boys named Byun Baekhyun. It was an intense balled, and you acted the part, even pressing against each other, his arm around your waist while one of your hands were on his cheek as you both shared his microphone.
You gathered hoots and hollers and you just laughed and laughed when the song ended. He gave you a wink and carried you off the small platform, making you sit on his lap back on the couch.
“You’re fun,” He yelled into your ear, his voice deep enough for you to feel warm from the compliment.
“You give good speeches,” you replied, remembering him giving the toast earlier.
“You sing very well,” he countered.
“Well… you’re very handsome.”
His smile was a million watts.
(Another lil snippet that I haven’t even gotten to plot wise but I had a Vision™ and wrote it down before I forgot, to give you better insight on what I'm trying to do here haha)
“Oh no, silly girl, I’m not Jongin,” his eyes remained piercing into your soul as he pushed a chunk of your hair back behind your ear just to whisper, “I’m Kai.”
You blinked up at him, “who?”
“Kai,” he clarified. “Jongin’s twin brother.”
It was silent for a moment and then you burst out laughing, pushing his shoulder. He looked at you stunned, “stop playing, Jongin. What kind of joke is this?”
He raised an eyebrow, “It’s not a joke, plus, Jongin’s sense of humor wouldn’t allow him to play such a prank. Maybe when we were younger and used to switch classes for the day, but ever since college, all that boy’s focused on is the art.”
“The art?”
“Oh… oh!” Your eyes widened as you remembered asking Jongin about his hiphop routine. Your eyes flashed up to the Jongin in front of you, “you were the one doing the hiphop routine!”
He smirked and nodded boldly, “That I was.”
“Shit, you’re telling the truth.”
“Duh. I’m not a liar. But, it seems like Jongin might be…..”
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aliveanddrunkonsunlight · 6 months ago
Amazing race or Modern P&P?
Amazing Race - So, uh, this has been sitting in my Google docs for over a year. It’s never going to get written, so I’m gonna post all of it.
The first day of the race is the hottest day of the year in London. Brienne said goodbye to her dad, making sure he knew where all of the production office phone numbers were, in case he needed to get in touch with her. “I’ll be fine, love.” He said and kissed her on the cheek. “Have a lovely time.” They’d exchanged a long hug in the entryway, guilt clawing at her chest, before she swung her backpack onto her shoulders and walked out to where the scheduled car waited for her. 
The Race had been a popular show in the States for over a decade. With ratings dropping, the producers had decided to partner with media companies across the world and open the competition to participants worldwide. Instead of having competitors audition for the show in pairs, or “teams” as the producers called them, this season was also different because everyone auditioned individually. 
Once Brienne learned she was going to be on the show, she received an email which included fact sheets on all the other participants. Contestants were supposed to look at all the profiles and narrow down their choice for a teammate to three or four people. On the first day of shooting--today--they would have a chance to meet, interview, and pick their teammates. She was dreading that bit. Despite her size and strength, she’d always been picked last for team sports in school, and she could do without being retraumatized by it as an adult. She’d been diligent about doing her research on the other participants and stuck her top three list in her back pocket.
The car takes her all the way to the north side of Tower Bridge, where Brienne has instructions to get out and walk across. Her driver wishes her luck and hands her a bottle of water as she loads on her pack. She’s going to be a sweaty mess before she even arrives at the start. 
Reminding herself of her yoga breathing, Brienne stares out at the slow moving water of the Thames for a few seconds before she starts her walk across. She has to dodge around tourists, her pack gets jostled as people pass, and Brienne starts to understand why the producers asked them to do this. It’s good training for the rest of the race. She knows they will be traveling through tight spaces with their backpacks and probably in hotter conditions than London’s. Once she reaches the south end of the bridge, she can see people in purple Race shirts. “Hi!” One of them greets as she approaches. “You must be Brienne Tarth?”  
She can feel her adrenaline kick in and all she wants is to do this. To get started. The young woman gives Brienne instructions, but she’s barely listening. At the bottom of the stairs of the bridge, someone else wearing a Race shirt directs her to the right. 
Brienne blinks, trying to take in the scene. There’s a small park, which is blocked off for filming, and she can understand why they picked it, as it’s nestled between City Hall and Tower Bridge. Not to mention that on the other side of the Thames is the Tower of London and a view of a few of the modern skyscrapers added to London’s skyline in the last few years. “Brienne?” she hears a familiar voice and looks up to see Catelyn Stark striding towards her, her long auburn hair piled up on her head in a messy, but elegant bun. Catelyn was half the reason she was here at all. “We’re starting to gather all the contestants so we can start filming you choosing your partners.” 
The older woman gestures for someone and a minute later, a young woman with a slightly upturned nose and glittering brown eyes is standing in front of Brienne, dotting her face with a makeup brush. “You have lovely skin,” the young girl tells her. “Just taking away some of that shine for camera.” 
Surveying her fellow contestants is a surreal feeling. She recognizes them all, due to the producers’ email, and her own time spent narrowing down a top three list. Brienne has to wonder if the others did as much research on her as she has on them. Her gaze continues around the circle until she spots him. 
He is somehow even more beautiful than his pictures. His golden hair glitters brightly in the sunlight. He’s cut it since casting, it’s cropped closer now, but it doesn’t make him look any less attractive. There’s a slight smile on his face, as if all this is entertaining more than anything, and he keeps raising his eyebrows when anyone meets his gaze. He hasn’t noticed her staring. Yet. 
The strangest thing about him is while most people are dressed in athletic wear, he’s wearing a white button up shirt. Anyone else might look out of place, like they’re wearing their father’s suit, but he has the sleeves rolled up, showing off his tanned forearms, and he looks relaxed. She hates him for it because she feels as if she’s about to lose her breakfast. 
He folds his arms across his chest and she can see the swell of his bicep through his shirt. Seriously, fuck him. 
Except he had the best resume by far. He had grown up splitting time between Spain, Denmark, and the United States, so he had knowledge of several languages. Had played all variety of sports his whole life, although he preferred lacrosse and football. He’d even played in a professional league, but when he injured his right knee, he’d had to give up any burgeoning professional career. 
She knows she’s probably not even on his radar, so she’ll have to approach him quickly once the producers give them permission. Cameras and crew seem to be circling around, so perhaps it’s time. Brienne feels her gut tightening with nerves. Catelyn comes to the middle of their circle, a clipboard under her arm, and makes a short welcome speech. “Okay, once I step out of the circle, a horn will sound, and you are free to approach each other to choose your team.” She tosses a wink at Brienne and then the horn buzzes. 
She’s taken all of a single step when she notices Jaime striding towards her. “Hi, I’m Jaime.” He smiles and she expects two rows of dazzling white teeth, but she notices a couple of his bottom ones are crooked. It makes him all the more appealing, somehow, knowing someone who looks like him has flaws. He extends a hand, shaking hers. 
“Uh, hello, yes, I know. From the producers’ email?” She stutters, eyes averted. He’s too pretty to look at for too long. She takes a breath, steadying herself. “Anyway, I’m Brienne.” 
“Hello, Brienne. So why should you be my teammate?” 
Now she looks him levelly in the eye. “I’m strong.” He crooks an eyebrow up at his, perhaps impressed by her candor. “I’ve done sports for most of my life. Fencing, football, rowing. I came in fourth at Olympics qualifying three years ago.”
“Brava,” he says, slightly snidely, but pushes on. “Any languages?”
“Italian. A little Greek.” When this earns her another surprised look from Jaime, she explains, “My father is a classics professor.” She is about to ask why she should pick him, even though she’s mostly had her mind made up about him for weeks, when another contestant, a slim girl with long brown hair curled carefully, comes over to Jaime and touches him on the arm. 
“Hi, I’m Margaery.”
“Uh, hi,” Jaime says, a little distractedly, and Brienne can understand why. Unlike most of the other women here, who are wearing tank tops and leggings, Margaery is wearing only a sports bra, her midriff bare, showing off her tiny waist. Not to mention her sports bra appears to be a push-up one--Brienne didn’t even know they made those, but of course they do--because her breasts have an amazing amount of cleavage for someone so petite. Jaime can barely keep his eyes on her face. She lets out a sigh, realizing her top pick for teammate all too easily has fallen for the nearest pretty thing. But before she can step away to talk to her second choice, Jaime manages to tear himself away from the young woman long enough to tell her, “It was nice to meet you, Brienne.”
Maybe hope isn’t lost after all. 
When the twenty minutes are up, they all stand in a circle again and announce their top choices. There are some complicated rules about what happens if multiple people pick the same person, but they’re fair rules, so Brienne is fine with it. She’s too busy trying not to freak out that she didn’t plan this strategically enough, because now it’s obvious to her that everyone will want Jaime as a partner, and she should have selected someone else as her first choice. But it seems too late to change it now. She’d spoken with her second and third choice and they’re both lovely, but they’re not Jaime. To her, he was the only partner who could match her athletically, thus giving them the best chance of winning the grand prize: a million dollars.
Her heart hammers in her chest. The announcement is alphabetical, so it means she probably has to go first, except the cameraman is setting up in front of someone else. Addam. Oh thank god.
Another cameraman approaches her, but she barely has time to think about it, because Addam is already announcing his pick. “Margaery.” Margaery’s eyes widen, but she covers quickly, smiling prettily and giving him a small wave.
“Brienne,” the cameraman whispers, prompting her. “Jaime,” she says solemnly. He smiles politely and nods at her, his expression giving nothing away about how he feels. A couple other people pick him as well and they’re not even through the first half of the alphabet yet. It doesn’t really matter, she tells herself. It’s over. Jaime will pick Margaery and Margaery will pick him. 
She’s so caught up in her thoughts she’s barely paying attention when the cameraman finally focuses on Jaime. He flashes that million watt smile and says, Margaery. “Brienne.” 
What? She opens her eyes--she hadn’t even realized they were closed--and stares at him, mouth half open. Oh god, she is an idiot. He lets out a small laugh and winks at her.
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dangerouslcve · 7 months ago
Unforgiven - Taron Egerton
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Pairing: Taron Egerton x reader
Warnings: None.
Summary: There is something so achingly familiar about Taron Egerton. He captures your attention from the moment you see him at Rada, your new acting school. He is the one bright spot in a place where people are constantly judged, the students and staff are rude, and security cameras watch your every move.  
Except Taron wants nothing to do with you- he goes out of his way to make that very clear. But you can't ignore nor shake the feeling that you know him. You were being drawn to like a moth to a flame. You need to find out what Taron is so desperate to hide, even if it shatters you...
Read previous chapters on Wattpad @ kayegerton
Disclaimer: I do not know what college is like.. Yet. But I did some intense googling. This story is for entertainment purposes only, it is considered an AU. With that being said, hope you enjoy the story.
Chapter Seven - Never Met
     You were up bright and early to you head down to the pool. You were beginning to regret the time you had spent staying up so late at the party and much later lying in bed stressing around the time you had imagined Taron and Olivia kissing. There was no going back to the party, there was only prying yourself off the wall and walking slowly back to your dorm second guessing the strange feeling you would get around Taron, the one you foolishly thought was some kind of a connection. You woken up with a bad taste in your mouth from the after party the last thing you wanted was to think about fitness before acting class starts.
You walked though the halls with your hair up exposing the scar on the side of your head from where you had hit it. The doctors always said you were a miracle case, a blow to the front and the back of the head should have left you permanently damaged or dead but here you were with only bits and pieces of your life cause you can't remember anything else from that unfortunate time three years ago.
"Emily?" You call out once in the gym noticing your friend in black yoga pants and a white tank top as her hair was piled messily on top of her head leaning back on the bleachers. You panicked looking down at your white shirt and black leggings and boots thinking you missed whatever memo about a dress code for here but looking around at the other students who were already in the pool and some who were dressed much different than you were made you relax.
Emily's eyes were groggy as she rested her head in her hand watching the kids in the pool. "So tired." she moaned closing her eyes once you reached her. "I drank way to much last night. Thought I could compensate to at least look athletic." you laughed as she struggled opening her eyes. "What happened to you last night anyway? You never came back to the party." she questions through a yawn as she opens her eyes looking up at you.
"Oh," you stall "I decided to-"
"Ugh!" Emily says covering her ears. "Everything sounds like a hammer to my head. Tell me later yeah?"
"Yeah," you say nodding pushing the strap on your bag up on your shoulder more. "Sure." the doors which you had just came from open and in walks Azalea followed by Roland and Olivia. Coach Bragg's comes out of his office with a clip board clamped under an Iron bicep his eyes falling on all the student before his gaze lands on you. You swallowed hard watching him make his way over to you, his lips set in a hard line while his eyes narrow.
"You must be Miss L/n. Always late, Never listens. Florence has told me a lot about you. It's eight laps pick your best stroke." He orders and you nod scrambling off the bleachers slowly making your way into the locker rooms. Emily and Olivia came in next and you glance at them over your shoulder confused.
"Uplifting decor innit?" Emily smirks plopping down onto the bench sitting in the middle of room before throwing back a couple aspirin with a swig of water from her bag. Looking around at the tan walls with the oh so inspiring work out posters.
"Very." you say pausing in front of another work out poster, you watch it fall off the wall and onto the white vinyl floor inside the locker room exposing the blue sticky tack on the corners.
"Like everything else in this hell hole they did a half-assed job of updating it. I mean, who builds a pool in the middle of a acting school?"
"An actor." you say making Emily snort.
"I wish," she said rolling her eyes. You furrow your brows in confusion. "Every summer for the past three years Florence had been offering up to an actor that had made it big about building a gym in the school and eventually he had agreed to it to make her shut up, so Florence was the one who made this whole half-ass gym thing happen. He gave her the money and she got a crew to build it, even though this is an acting school."
You thought back to the immaculate grey walls of the gym at the royal conservatoire, the painting on the far right of the room of Glasgow in the early evening next to the weights. The school had pictures of its alumni actors and performers in the shallow hallway coming into the small gym that automatically came with the student housing.
"You could hang all the current alumni's mugshots up on these walls next to the posters." Olivia offered from behind you and Emily. You started to laugh because it was funny but it was strange it was almost like Olivia had read your mind, but then you remembered her voice the night before telling Taron she was the only one he had and you quickly swallowed any notion of a connection with the girl behind you.
You three quickly slip into your black one piece bathing suit catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror before wrapping a towel around your body walking out of the locker room. Some of the students other students were already in the water,arms thrashing the water violently as the gasp for air finishing their lap but it was the students who weren't in the water that captured your attention. Charlotte, Roland, and Azalea were spread out along the wall belly laughing about something one of them said. Roland was doubled over and Azalea was wiping away tears, they were in much more attractive bathing suits than yours but none of them looked like they had any intention on moving towards the pool. You wanted to join Azalea but just as you were weighing the pros and cons of meeting up with them Olivia sauntered over to them with grace and confidence like she was already best friends with all of them. She took a seat right next to Azalea on the second row up from the ground on the bleachers and immediately started laughing with them like whatever the joke was she had already got it.
"They always sit out," Emily said to you taking her hair down looking over at the popular group on the bleachers. "Don't ask me how they get away with it."
You sigh slowly making your way over to Bragg's on the other side of the pool unable to tune in on his directions once you reach him. Seeing Olivia on the bleachers cool kid style made you wish Cam was here. You could picture his in a black tank top that hugged his muscles that would match the black swim trunks waving you over to the group with a big smile on his face making you feel immediately welcome and important. You felt the gnawing need to apologize to him for disappearing last night which was a little strange considering you weren't together so it was not like you were obligated to tell him where you were going and why you disappeared but at the same time you liked how he paid attention to you. You liked the way he tuned in completely paying attention to nothing us but you as you talked, you even liked being lifted off your feet at the party, in plain view of Taron. The last thing you wanted to do was make him reconsider the way he treated you.
Bragg's blew the whistle startling you as Emily and the others dived into the pool. The coach looked over at you and sighed. "Best stroke Miss L/n. Nine laps now." you nodded and stood on the edge of the pool with your toes curled. You remembered the last time you went swimming with Allie and Richard at Allies house, you all had a race to see who was the fastest and you had always won by far even tho you don't remember much swimming from your past. It was always like your body had taken control. The heated outdoor pool you remember a bit from somewhere it had always tempted you but you could never go in.
The coach clears his throat. "Maybe you didn't catch from your spot beside the bleachers but this is a race." you laughed under your breath. This was the most pathetic race you had ever seen but it didn't stop that competitive side of you from coming out. "And your still losing." he says rolling his eyes in annoyance.
"Not for long." you smirk before focusing on the kids in the pool before diving in. The guy to your left was doing a clumsy freestyle gasping for air and to your right was Emily resting her elbows on the side of the pool talking with Zane who was smiling at whatever she had just said. You glanced at the group on the bleachers for a split second. They were all watching her. You gracefully dive into the crisp water, few people could do it well but once you perfected the butterfly stroke their was no way faster. You let your anger propel you in the water, your lifted your upper body out of the water. The movement came right back to you and you started to beat your arms like you had wings. You swam harder than you have in a very long time feeling confident you were ahead of the other swimmers as you lapped the pool. As you neared the end of the eighth lap your head popped out of the water just long enough for you to hear Olivia's slow voice say, "Taron."
Your momentum disappeared, putting your feet down on the bottom of the pool you wait to see what else Olivia had to say to him but all you could hear was splashing and then after a moment the whistle. "We have a winner..." Braggs says with a stunned expression on his face looking over at the kid with the clumsy freestyle who was getting out of the pool. "Joel Black."
"What happened?" Emily asked from her spot in the next land pulling her soaked hair to the side. "You were winning." you shrugged,
Olivia is what happened. But when she looked over at the bleachers she and the rest of the group were gone. Your adrenaline had been building up as you swam but now you crashed, a hand extending towards you and you look open noticing Roland staring down at you with your towel and key in his other hand. You place your hand in his and he helps you out. "You were doing pretty good out there mate." he says once you stand up straight, you take your towel and key from him. "For a little while." you wrapped the towel around your body but before you could say anything like 'Thank you.' or 'Yeah I got distracted.' the jealous part of you spoke first.
"So are Taron and Olivia together or what?"
"Oh, I see." Roland says with a laugh shaking his head. "Well I couldn't really..." he looked down at her and the tip of his nose giving you a sympathetic smile before pointing his head to the open hallway door. You follow his head tilt and when you looked at the door you saw Taron's figure pass by. "Why don't you go ask him yourself." your hair was still dripping wet and your feet were bare when you found yourself standing in front of the locker room, you intended on going straight into the locker room to change and dry off. You didn't understand why this Olivia was shaking you up so much, Taron could be with whoever he wanted right? Maybe Olivia liked guys who flip her off or more likely that sort of thing didn't happen to her... Maybe you were just a special case with Taron... Why did he hate you so much?
Your body had other plans than drying off and getting changed when you caught another glimpse of Taron. His back was to her and he was standing in a corner picking out a jump rope from a tangled pile. You watch as he selected a thin navy blue rope from the pile with black plastic handles then moved to an open space in the open room across the pool by the weights. His tan skin was almost radiant under the lights of the gym and every move he made whether he be rolling his neck in a stretch or bending down to retie his shoe, had you completely enthralled. You stood pressed against the doorway teeth chattering and towel soaked. When he brought the rope to his ankles before he began to jump you were slammed with a wave of deja vu. It wasn't exactly like you saw Taron jump rope before it was the stance he took before he did that was achingly familiar. The way his back muscles flexed under his shirt as he pressed his shoulders down filling his chest with air. You could have almost drawn it. It reminded you of the dream you had just nights ago.
A loud grunt and thud was heard on the other side of the weight room snapping you out of your trance and back into reality. Zane was in a heap at the end of the treadmill, you felt momentarily sorry for Zane who was climbing to his feet brushing off his knees shaking his head. Before you could look back at Taron to see whether he had even noticed a chill went up your spine.
"Why don't you go say hi." Charlotte whispers then suddenly her rough shove made you tumble, the door to the weight room slammed in your face and you were alone in the hallway.
"Ow!" you cried, not because it hurt but you were just in shock and the only logical thing you could say was ow. You looked down at your arms were she had gripped you shoving you out of the gym, uneasily you approached the closed door and pressed your face up against the glass. Taron was looking around, like he had heard something or heard you. You felt certain he didn't know it was you who he had heard because he was not scowling. You thought back to Roland suggestion.
'why don't you ask him yourself.'
His words rang in the back of your mind but you quickly dismissed the idea of asking him if him and Olivia were together. It was impossible to ask Taron anything and you certainly didn't want to bring a scowl to his face. Besides any question you had for him would be useless, you heard all you needed to hear last night it's just the coming to terms with it that was the hardest and you didn't even know why. You sigh turning back towards the locker room before you stop dead in your tracks. To anyone this would have looked comedic but to you this meant you couldn't leave. Your key.
You turned back around, stood on your tip toes and peeped through the medium size glass. There it was, her silver key right on the mat next to where Taron was working out. How it got so far you had no idea... You sigh and push the door back open. If you had to go in you need to make it quick so you don't get told off by Taron again. Reaching for your key you sneaked on last look at Taron, his pace was slowing more and more but his feet continued to touch the ground as he jumped and then with one final light as air hop he came to a stop and turned to face you. For a moment he said nothing only stared at you with a twinkle in his hazel eyes, you could feel yourself blush again.
"Hi.." was all you could say.
"Hi." He says back in a much calmer tone than he usually has when talking with you. He gestured at your suite and says, "Did you win?"
You laughed, half relieved half happy that he didn't snap at you for once. "Far from it I'm afraid."
Taron pursed his lips looking at you. "But you were always so..."
"I was always what?"
"I mean you looked like a good swimmer." Taron shrugs "That's all." You took a hesitant step forward, he didn't step back. They were standing a foot apart. The drops of water from your hair falling onto the mat below was only adding to the growing tension between you both.
"That's not what you were going to say." you insisted "You said I was always." Taron rolled his eyes and busied himself coiling the jump rope around his wrist.
"Yeah I didn't mean you, you I meant in general. They are always supposed to let you win your first race here according to us old timers." You send him a glare crossing your arms.
"But Olivia didn't win and she's new." you scoff. "In fact she didn't even get in the pool." Your jealousy was talking now.
"Olivia is not exactly new she has just came back after some time... Off." Taron shrugs giving away nothing of his feelings for Olivia. His obvious attempt to look unconcerned made you even more jealous. You watched him finish looping the jump rope around his wrist the way his hands moved so quickly and here you were clumsy and lonely and cold and left out of everything by everyone. Your lip began quivering.
"Oh, Y/n." he whispers sighing heavily once he looks up. Your whole body warmed at the sound, his voice so intimate and familiar. You wanted him to say your name again but he turned away from you hanging the jump rope up. "I should change before I head to class." you rested a hand on his arm.
He wrenched away as if he had just been shocked and you felt it too but it was the kind of shock that felt good. The kind you never wanted to go away. "Do you ever get this feeling..." you raised your eyes to his, up close you could see how beautiful they were, they seemed grey from far away but up close there were flecks of green and blue in them. You knew someone with eyes like this... "I swear we have met before..." you said "Am I crazy?"
"Crazy?" He scoffs brushing you off.
"I'm serious Taron!" you snap.
"So am I." his face was blank as he watches you. "And for the record," he points at the camera above them in the corner. "They do monitor for stalkers."
"I'm not stalking you!" you stiffen once you realize the distance between your bodies. "Can you honesty say you have no idea what I'm talking about?" he shrugs looking away. "I don't believe you." you insisted "Look me in the eye and tell me that I'm wrong Taron. That I have never in my life seen you before this week."
Your heart was raced as Taron stepped toward you, placing his hands on your shoulders. His thumbs fit perfectly along the groove of your collarbone. You wanted to close your eyes at the warmth of his touch but instead you kept them open watching as Taron bowed his head so his nose was touching yours and your lips were only a few inches apart, you could feel his breath on your face and you could smell his cologne coming off him. He did as you asked, looked you in the eyes and very slowly and very clearly he spoke so the words would not be misunderstood.
"You have never in your life seen me before this week."
Tag List: @primaba11erina​ @turkish276​ @hitmeonmytspot​ @fuseburner​ @lovefortaron89​
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not-close-to-straight · 7 months ago
Piña Coladas (Eight)
The unbearable schmoopsy-ness of it all. We’ll have actual plot at some point, I promise. 
Consequences of lying to immigration officers. 
Jail sentence length for fraudulent green card. 
How to prove a marriage is fake. 
Am I a bad person for calling immigration on my shitty next door neighbor after their Visa expires.
“Hey did you hear?” 
Justin Hammer put his phone face down on the desk so no one would see his rapid fire internet search and put on a fakely sweet smile when  Maya dropped into the seat next to him. “Heya Maya, looking good girl. What was I supposed to hear? Anything good happening in the Agricultural department?” 
“I’m head of the Biological Engineering Program and you know it.” 
Maya Hansen liked exactly two people on the university campus-- her partner at Biological Engineering, Alldrich Killian and for some reason Justin would never understand, Tony freaking Stark. Justin didn’t make her list of likeable people, so while she tolerated him in faculty meetings and even managed some civil small talk, Justin knew there had to be a reason behind her conversation. 
“Right, of course.” He held up both hands and stretched his smile into a grin. “Head of Biological Engineering. So. What are you and Dr. Killian cooking up over there? Man eating plants? Glow in the dark cacti? Super pumpkins that may or may not eat us if we carve them into Jack-O-Lanterns?” 
“You’re only a tenth as funny as you think you are.” Maya informed him, and Justin shrugged unrepentantly. “I wanted to know if you heard about Coulson's decision on that tenure track position.” 
“Uh no.” Justin pushed his glasses up curiously. “No, I hadn’t heard. Is he set to announce it today?” 
“He’s not set to announce anything until fall.” Maya opened her lap top and clicked through the most recent memos from Dr. Coulson’s desk. “See? He decided to hold off on filling the position until right before the fall semester, and then he plans on mentoring the new hire for the duration of the first semester before giving them a class for the spring set. I wonder why he is waiting it out.” 
“Yeah…” Justin pursed his lips and leaned away again, picked back up his phone and searched for something different. “I wonder why…” 
“I heard he wants to make sure the candidate pool was full or something like that.” 
“Of course that’s what he wants to do.” 
How long does it take to get a green card after marrying a US citizen. 
Does a divorce affect green card status. 
How many teaching hours necessary for a tenure track position.
Doctor Anthony Stark teaching schedule for the summer semester. 
“You sly dog, that’s why you did it.” Justin muttered as he put the numbers together in his head. “That’s why you married Professor Rogers, you loop-holing, rule jumping son of a bitch.” 
“You mutter to yourself like a super villain.” Maya barely looked up from her computer. “Alldrich does the same thing, except on him it’s mildly endearing. What are you grumbling about?” 
“Tony married Steve for the job.” Justin covered his mouth with his hand and chuckled in disbelief. “He convinced Steve Rogers to propose and go through with a wedding just so he could get the extra teaching hours needed to take this job away from me. It’s a scam. It’s a scam.” 
“Let me get this straight.” Maya blinked at him a few times. “You think Tony Stark-- genius, billionaire, most likely to be a centerfold on Playgirl magazine at some point and well on his way to being a hell of a philanthropist if his latest sponsored projects are anything to go by-- you think Tony Stark is faking a marriage with the most boring man on campus all so he can take a job away from you?” 
“Maya, if you look at the facts--” 
“If you look at the facts, you’re coming across as horrifyingly narcissistic and most likely clinically insane.” Maya cut him off with a bored wave. “Honestly Justin, if you’re so threatened by some mid twenties smart ass kid, transfer to the California campus and get away from him. You could use the sun, you know. You’re all pasty and gross lately.” 
“That seems… rude.” 
“Well then try a tanning salon every once in a while.” 
“Sometimes I forget why you prefer plants to humans, Maya.” Justin picked up his things and moved a whole seat over. “And then I remember.” 
“I prefer plants to humans for at least sixteen reasons.” Maya hummed in agreement, then inclined her head towards the door. “And since I’m not planning on indulging your weird Tony Stark fetish by giving any credence to your conspiracy theory, I suggest you take look at the love birds coming in right now and tell me if that’s faked.” 
“It’s not-- it’s not a fetish-- it’s just-- the thing is--” 
“No one cares, Justin.” 
Thoroughly dismissed, Justin went back to googling variations of green card and immigration fraud, looked up long enough to see Steve and Tony walk in holding hands and looked right back down so he wouldn’t be tempted to throw something at them. 
He knew it was a scam. He knew it. 
Now he just had to prove it. 
“Professor Hammer seems tense.” Tony commented as he and Steve found a seat at the other end of the table. “Do you think it’s hemorrhoids? I hope it’s hemorrhoids. I’d very much like to buy him one of those donut pillows. Do you think I could find some fabric full of middle fingers? I’d sew the slip cover myself.” 
“Stop.” Steve squeezed at Tony’s hand, his heart jolting in affection when Tony squeezed right back. “You shouldn’t say things like that about our coworkers. Especially not when they might hear you.” 
“I hope he does hear me.” Tony propped his feet up on the desk, received a withering look from Steve for the effort, and put them right back down. “The guys a putz. He wants that tenure track job so badly he’s practically gagging for it and he knows I’m going to get it instead.” 
“You sure you’re going to get it.” Steve couldn't stop looking at their hands, at the way Tony’s slimmer fingers fit between his own, the way his bigger hands actually seemed soft against Tony’s callouses from where he’d created robots and repaired cars and invented. 
They hadn’t even been holding hands very long this morning, and it was still all Steve could do to not stammer and stutter through every word right now. Tony had just grabbed Steve’s hand as they walked through the door, didn’t even pause mid sentence about how good his coffee had been that morning when he reached and entwined their fingers and every thought in Steve’s head had stuttered to a stop. 
Well almost to a stop. Steve was never offline enough to disapprove of shoes on the desk or too much smack talk about a colleague but everything else about how he was nervous for the visiting instructors to show up and how it might affect his approval rating with the University and how he’d only gotten half of his papers graded the night before… all that stopped. 
It stopped and centered in on where Tony was absentmindedly rubbing his thumb along Steve’s, where holding hands meant their shoulders had to brush and their knees knocked under the table now that Tony had put his feet down. 
Everything stopped and Steve was lucky he was even breathing because all he could think about was TonyTonyTony and for the first time maybe ever in their years long acquaintance-sort- of-colleague-turned-husbands relationship he wasn’t trying to escape from how Tony made him feel. 
For the first time maybe ever, Steve took a chance and leaned into it, leaned into Tony and was gratified by Tony leaning right back into him. Of course Tony made it look as natural as breathing, just a quick shift of his weight and they were suddenly closer and Steve’s heart was threatening to climb right out of his throat because oh no oh no what if someone looked up and saw them, what if they got called out for PDA at a staff meeting, what if what if what if--
“I can almost hear the gears grinding in your head, would you settle down?” Tony made it so easy, acting like holding hands and hanging out in public was nothing out of the ordinary for him and okay, maybe it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Tony who had dated at least three dozen people in the last few years, but it was out of the ordinary for Steve so-- “Steve, seriously.” 
Tony leaned back in his chair until it tilted on two legs, the perfect picture of casual and wholly unaffected by the sidelong looks they were getting as other coworkers filed in to the morning meeting. “You’re thinking too hard about it. Nobody is noticing anything right now. We got married remember? If we weren’t holding hands, someone would think something was weird and then I’d have to accuse you of not fulfilling your husbandly duties and threaten to get the marriage annulled on account of no--” 
“Please don’t finish that sentence.” 
Tony just smiled and shook his head. “Breathe, hubby. You’ve got your glasses and tweeds shield up and sharp, you don’t have to worry about something as inappropriate as holding hands since you’re recently hitched and all. Nobody cares, so you shouldn’t either.” 
“Right. I shouldn’t care.” Steve repeated, though he cared very very much about how well Tony fit tucked at his side. “It’s fine.” 
Coulson started the meeting and Tony zoned out immediately, playing some game on his phone with one hand while holding on to Steve with the other. Steve definitely didn’t zone out, but he also didn’t have to hinge on every word, to compulsively take notes, to try and scan everyone’s facial expressions when he answered a question to make sure he said the right thing. 
It was nice. 
Boy howdy was it-- nope. Nope, he was not going to start using that phrase. 
Gee whiz was it nice. 
“I’m not doing this for you, by the way.” Tony whispered sometime around the forty five minute mark when the official meeting ended and most of the staff filed out. The remaining half hour of the scheduled meeting was reserved for personal requests with Coulson, some general bullshit between friends and a more relaxed start to their day, so Tony took advantage of the noise of the others leaving to say, “The holding hands thing. It’s for me.” 
“For you.” Steve whispered back. “Why’s that?” 
“Don’t you know I’m a needy mother fucker? This is all for me. I get all touch starved and slip into a coma if I go too long with out naked nookie. I’ve gone so long at this point that holding hands is actually doing it for me, which is frankly embarrassing.” 
Steve tried hard not to smile, he really did. He tried even harder not to laugh because he shouldn’t laugh at his husband using that sort of language in a professional setting but a chuckle slipped out anyway, and Natasha stopped mid report to send him a frosty look. 
“Do the newlyweds have something to share with the class?” She asked, all of five feet freaking terrifying with eyebrows arched and mouth thinned into an unforgiving line. She’d finally put together a proposal for her grant project and Steve was interrupting. “Or can I continue with my proposal for the expansion of the scholarship program into inner city schools where it’s so badly needed?” 
“Calm down, babydoll.” Bucky flicked a folded paper football towards his wife. “Leave the love birds alone. Don’t be cranky cos you’re not gettin’ any loving and they are. Hell, we’re lucky they even came in t’day since they’ve been too busy frogging it up--” 
Valkyrie nearly died inhaling her coffee, Steve turned red enough to run the risk of a stroke, and Coulson sighed, “Frogging it up, Mr. Barnes? Honestly?” 
“--m’just saying it’s nice to see them out and about!” Bucky protested. “I haven’t seen my best bud since the wedding day! I’m glad Tony finally let him out of bed!” 
“I feel like this conversation is highly inappropriate for our morning meeting?” Maya coughed loudly. “Maybe change the subject.” 
“Yeah, and Tony’s not even limping so there’s no way he and Steve are doing the --” every head in the room swiveled to Clint, and then back again to Tony expectantly. 
“--the uh--” Clint laughed when Tony tinged a little pink himself. “--well anyway. Tasha’s just cranky cos she is currently losing a lot of money in the--” 
“Clint.” If possible, Natasha’s eyes went even more glacial. “You wanna see a magic trick? I will make a pencil disappear into your goddamn forehead if you don’t shut the hell up.” 
“Dr. Coulson, when is the moment you decide the faculty meeting has gotten out of control?” Justin wanted to know, and down at the far end of the table, Coulson just pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefingers and groaned. 
“For the record, I’d like to know why Nat isn’t getting any loving.” Valkyrie raised her hand. “If Bucky isn’t up to the task I’ve got a strap in my top drawer that is all sorts of--” 
“And right now the meeting is out of control!” Coulson said loudly, but he was grinning just like he always was when his favorite employees and sort-of-adopted-kids got wild together. Justin and Maya weren’t really part of the core group like the other six were, but they’d been around long enough to at least understand the dynamic and respect the unspoken rule of ‘what happens in Coulson’s meeting, stays in Coulson’s meeting’. 
The worst part was, this wasn’t even the weirdest conversation that had happened in the after meeting and Coulson knew it probably wouldn’t be the weirdest one to happen this week. 
Ah well. C’est la vie. 
“Ms. Romanoff, please.” he motioned for his favorite prima ballerina to continue. “Keep going. I was listening even if no one else was.” 
The meeting continued with Valkyrie and Bucky arguing quietly about who was going to relieve Natasha’s stress, Clint rapid fire texting Sam play by plays of the entire interaction, Maya only half listening with an amused smile, and Justin switching between sort of glaring at Steve and Tony and tapping on his phone. 
Steve and Tony stayed right where they were, holding hands and bumping shoulders, the conversation fallen away since Natasha glared at them every time Tony so much as breathed too loud. 
They didn’t have anything else to say at the moment, but Steve couldn't stop thinking about how Tony had admitted to being needy, to being touch starved. Tony had been joking but if there was one thing Steve had learned in the resulting days since the velvet suit fiasco, it was that even when Tony was joking, he was really rarely joking. 
So while Tony kept drawing idle circles on Steve’s thumb and palm, Steve kept thinking about all the times he’d seen Tony reach out for physical affection from Clint, from Valkyrie and Natasha and even Bucky on occasion. There were hugs and sitting on laps and even smooches that Steve had always avoided watching. So much casual affection had seemed excessive and out of place at the time, but knowing Tony better now meant Steve could look back at it all and see Tony crying out for help. 
I’m needy, this is all for me. 
The thought stayed with Steve past the meeting and through the rest of the day when Tony went to teach classes and Steve retreated to the on-campus studio to work on his summer project. This week Sam had talked about learning to recognize each other’s requests for validation and affection and something called a love language and the more Steve thought about Tony’s actions and general bearing, the more he was sure he had his husbands love language figured out. 
Physical affection Steve scribbled down in his notebook, and then after a moment of thought he added words of affirmation. 
Tony needed to be praised and needed to be held and now that Steve could see it, he wondered how anyone could have possibly missed it. 
How could he have missed it?
Laundry was pretty much the worst thing to do in the history of anything, and Tony was sure he deserved a purple heart for even considering helping Steve out with laundry. 
Not just because he’d stayed home to do it, but more so because he’d not only pulled the worlds most boring pairs of plain boxers and depressingly coordinated plain socks out of the wash and put them in the dryer, but also only let them dry for exactly thirty minutes because that was exactly how long Steve put them in the dryer. It was something about the electric bill and air? and how too much drying destroyed the fibers...? 
Tony didn’t know, but the laundry needed done and Steve was at some art thing for fancy people so Tony was at home doing it. He could have gone out after his last class and discussed string theory over appletinis with a group of grad students he was tutoring but noooo Sam had given them that stupid assignment to learn each other’s love languages and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Steve wanted to be taken care of and also just hang out and do nothing together. 
Acts of service and quality time, Sam’s book had called it but to Tony it just meant extra chores and quiet nights at apartment and ughhhh it was so boring, but--
“Are you doing my laundry?” Steve was home, hanging his bag over the hook and slipping off his jacket. “I thought you were going out for appletinis with a couple students, didn’t you teach four classes today?” 
“Five, actually. But it’s fine.” Tony kept pulling socks and underwear out of the dryer and laying them flat so Steve could put them away in his OCD process instead of just balling them up and tossing them towards a drawer like a normal person. “It needed done, so I’m happy to do it. 
Lies, just so many lies. But love languages and all that, so Tony repeated, “I’m happy to do it, Steve. No worries.” 
“Well thank you, sweetheart.” Steve undid his tie and folded it over his arm, set his glasses on the side table and blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust again. “I wasn’t looking forward to coming home to an empty apartment and a pile of laundry, so thank you. I appreciate you.” 
“Don’t get too excited, it’s literally my homework from Counselor Man.” Tony made an effort to roll his eyes and brush the compliment off. Steve had been saying lots of nice things lately and Tony didn’t quite know how to handle it yet. Compliments without expectations or hidden meanings were new to him, and it was easier to brush it off than it was to acknowledge what was said. 
“Sam told us to figure out each other’s love languages, and I’m pretty sure yours is me doing housework.” He continued. “You know you can pay people for this, right? I mean, I’d love you a whole lot more if I was getting paid per square foot I cleaned.” 
“Noted.” Steve had no reason to pass behind Tony and press at his waist, but Tony leaned into the brief touch anyway. Touching that didn’t lead to sex was sort of...nice… and even though it wasn’t an admission Tony would ever make out loud, privately he loved that Steve made a point to touch him when there were no other strings attached. That was new too, right along with the compliments and privately, Tony loved it. 
Not that he would mind particular ‘strings’ being attached, though. Good Lord had it been a long time since Tony had anything resembling ‘strings’ attached. and after literal months of a dry spell, he’d never make fun of his married friends for never getting lucky ever again. 
“And it’s acts of service, by the way.” Steve was saying, and Tony dragged his thoughts back from touching and strings to the conversation again. “Not just you specifically doing housework.” 
“Oh well in that case--” Tony dumped the rest of the still warm laundry into Steve’s arms and made a beeline for the freedom of the laundry room. “I am done and done with that nonsense. I’ll find another act of service. Bring you a beer or something, that’s service right?” 
He grinned when Steve sighed overloud and carried his laundry to his room to fold. 
Tony was well aware that even acknowledging the love language assignment was a step forward for he and Steve but especially for him. Sam had suggested the exercise and Tony had laughed for three whole minutes over the idea that someone would need more than words to know they were loved. 
“Loving someone takes more than just repeating three words every day.” Sam had lectured before handing over a small book to read on the subject, and even though Tony had initially scoffed at it all as stupid…
...well shit it sure was nice the other night when he’d up trying to become an twelve hour expert on particle physics and Steve walked by and rubbed at his shoulders for a minute, told him how amazing it was he was learning so much so quickly and then sort of ruffled at his hair before moving on. 
Yeah, that had been nice and after deciding maybe there was something to the love language thing, Tony had set out to discover Steve’s particular lingo. 
Acts of service and quality time. Helping with housework and evenings in. Doing the dishes and hanging out in the living room while Steve worked on the next day’s lecture instead of disappearing to his own room for a movie. 
And it was fine. 
It was fine. 
They were making an effort in a fake marriage and Tony was still counting down the days until he got his green card in the mail, so it was fine. 
… and if he sort of loved how Steve’s hand felt in his own, if the way Steve squeezed at his waist as they passed made his heart beat fast, if Tony’s alone time thoughts had taken a distinctly blond and professor sort of turn…
...well that was nobody’s fucking business, was it?
“I heard you talking to your Ma earlier, is everything okay back home?” They were making dinner together tonight-- or rather, Steve was making some sort of pot roast and potato thing and Tony was making sure the gravy tasted just as good as it had approximately thirty seconds previous. 
“Everything’s fine.” Tony tore off a hunk of bread and slopped it through the gravy again, taking full advantage of being perched on the counter for lots of easy access to the frankly delicious mess. “I usually go home to Italia for a few weeks each summer but I can’t this year since I’m teaching so much. Mama was just trying her weekly guilt trip seeing if she could change my mind.” 
“Weekly guilt trip?” Steve let his hand rest on Tony’s knee when he leaned over to get some more salt, warm and solid and comfortable. “How does that usually go?” 
“Oh you know…” Tony blew out a breath, shifted a little closer so Steve’s hand stayed where it was. “First she tells me how long it’s been since I’ve been home, then she reminds me that she’s getting older, as if being in her mid fifties is anywhere near old. After that comes the reminder that my family has yet to meet my new husband, that I promised her a full Italian wedding at some point, then trying to bribe me with a really incredible honeymoon spot if we’ll come and stay the summer. Vaguely worded threats about cutting me off if I’m so content to stay away from my family for so long… you know how moms are. She’ll use every trick in the book to get me home, then every trick in the damn dictionary to get me to stay.” 
He smiled a little. “It’s tough to be the apple of my Mama’s eye. She loves me a sort of ridiculous amount.” 
“You always smile so much when you talk about her.” Steve observed. “But your dad and you-- things haven’t gotten better even though you’re sort of settled down now? Second doctorate and married and not going out partying all the time?” 
“Nah.” Tony jumped down so he could do the dishes for Steve, cleaning off the counter beforehand so they could watch a movie after dinner. “I learned a long time ago that I’d never live up to my Dad’s expectations, so I stopped trying. That’s um--” well here was something he’d never admitted out loud. “--it’s actually the reason I’ve stayed so long in school. My Visa was pretty much good so long as I was continuing my education, so I used going to school as a reason to stay away from Italy as long as I could.” 
“And why did you decide on marriage for a green card instead of just becoming a citizen yourself?” It was the first time Steve had ever asked this particular question, the first time they’d gone long enough without a fight for him to feel like he could ask it. “Why did you choose this instead of becoming legal by yourself?” 
“You mean why did I sort of bribe an otherwise upstanding Art History Professor into the scam of the decade and also make him put up with my bullshit for the last few months and for the foreseeable future?” Tony asked mockingly. “Is that what you’re asking?” 
Steve shook his head and offered Tony another taste test of the gravy. “You know I’m not asking anything like that, Tony. I’m serious. Why didn’t you just try becoming a citizen on your own?” 
Tony was quiet for a minute, licking the gravy off his fingers and sipping at his wine before finally replying, “I came to America to rebel against my Dad. He gave up his citizenship to marry my Mama and she never wanted me to be a citizen so I never pursued it. Coming to university here was the furthest away I could get from my parents, and I made it a point to attend the rival school of any college my Dad went to just to be a brat.” 
“Okay? And?” 
“And becoming a citizen, giving up being Italian…” Tony shrugged. “It was a step too far, you know? It would mean I wasn’t rebelling anymore and had just moved on and at eighteen, I wasn’t ready for that. At twenty one I wasn’t ready for it. And now here I am almost thirty and I’ve been rebelling for so long, anything else feels…” 
He made a vague gesture. “Like giving up? So long as I’m rebelling, I’m sort of throwing my success in my Dad’s face. Once I’ve moved on thought it means I’ve matured past being petty and I am not ready to give up being petty.” 
“But then in some ways it’s like, I’m already not that person any more.” Tony continued, softer. “The difference between who my Dad wanted me to be and the person I tried to be-- I’m actually neither of them right now. All I wanted to do was get out of his shadow and be my own person, but now I’m not even the person I tried to make myself into. It’s like what you said about looking in the mirror and not really knowing who’s looking back at you? Feels the same way for me sometimes.” 
“Well I think your Dad’s crazy not to be proud of you.” Steve grabbed some plates off the drying rack to dish up their supper. “You’re not just the smartest person I know, you’re easily the smartest person at our college and probably at most colleges. Teenage rebellion aside, he should be darn proud of you. Heck, I’d defend you to your Dad. If I’d known things were so bad between you two at the wedding, I would have said something then too. No one should ever make you feel less than you are Tony, you’re amazing.” 
“Why Professor Rogers.” Tony hid his over pleased, slightly stupid grin behind a drink. “You’re going to make me blush.” 
“I feel like you’ve never truly blushed a day in your life.” Steve countered, and then winked, “...Doctor Stark.” 
It wasn’t right for a wink to make Tony’s heart stutter, but it stuttered anyway. Skipped a beat and made him blush and when Steve brushed against him on the way to get silverware, Tony had to close his eyes and bite his lip and pray to all the gods that he wouldn’t do something dumb like sigh and bat his eyelashes. 
Fuck he really was hard up if a wink and a bump got his engine going, wasn’t he? 
“You coming, sweetheart?” Steve called from the dining room and butterflies rocketed through Tony’s stomach then settled low and aching in his center, which made zero sense at all because he’d been called much sexier things than sweetheart without getting all melty and mushy and-- and-- 
“Yeah, hubby I’m coming.” 
Golly he was in trouble. 
It was movie night. 
“Movie night is a great conversation starter.” Sam had said at the latest appointment. “Which film someone picks tells you a lot about their sense of humour, what they consider valid entertainment and will give you a list of several things they enjoy. A romantic comedy tells you one thing, Die Hard will tell you another. One movie night will lead to two, maybe you’ll start talking about which upcoming movies to see in theaters and next thing you know, you’ll be going on dates together. All good things.” 
So it was movie night, and since it was Tony’s turn to pick, the movie was Dirty Dancing. 
“Yeah Sam, it’s movie night.” Steve said into the phone, grabbing the popcorn from the microwave and neatly dividing it into two bowls. “Right, we flipped a coin like you suggested. I got first pick so we watched ‘Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein’.” 
“Tony sat through that?” 
“He accused me of having an old man sense of humour, but I caught him laughing a few times.” Steve lightly salted his bowl of popcorn, then ladled melted butter all over Tony’s portion. “Then he talked for half an hour about the implications of monsters actually existing in our world and whether or not Frankenstein’s monster deserved an actual name and how it was a travesty we keep calling him after the Doctor that abandoned him after creation.” 
“So he liked it?” 
“Gosh Sam, I really don’t know. I was just--” Steve peeked out of the kitchen and down the hall to make sure he could still hear the shower running in Tony’s bathroom. “-- I was just happy he didn’t go right to bed and wanted to stay up and talk. He’s been working so much lately I’ve hardly seen him since pot roast night last week.” 
“Uh-huh.” Sam replied in that tone of voice that said far more than the actual word. “You miss him?” 
“Um.” Another look down the hall. “That seems weird to say.” 
“I’m a therapist, Steve. Admitting you miss your husband when he works a lot doesn’t even register on the list of weird shit I’ve heard from patients.” 
“That doesn’t really make me feel better.” 
“Really? I’d be freaking relieved to know whatever I was saying didn’t make it to the ‘awkward’ list. Never mind, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. How’s the other stuff going?” 
“Things are pretty good.” Steve preferred PayDay candy bars, but Tony preferred Reese’s, so Steve added a mini size PayDay and a whole bag of fun size Reese’s to the pile of food for movie night. “We’ve been working on the love language thing and we haven’t had a real argument in days now. It’s nice.” 
“Uh-huh. Sharing a room yet?” 
“For the record, Sam?” Steve tucked the phone between cheek and shoulder so he could balance everything on his way to the living room. “I wholly disapprove of you being part of the betting pool about me and Tony. That’s so unprofessional it’s actually shocking.” 
“We’ve been friends for ten years Steve, you know damn well you aren’t all that shocked.” 
Steve couldn’t really argue with that, so he just laughed and said his goodbyes, then called for Tony, “Tony! Everything’s ready for movie night! You out of the shower?” 
“Yeah, I’m ready, let me finish up with Sam real quick.” Tony strolled from the bedroom wearing his favorite worn shirt and the pair of pajama pants that had mysteriously disappeared from Steve’s laundry a couple weeks ago, his phone on speaker as he made a beeline for the popcorn. “Sam, make it quick. I have movies to watch and popcorn to eat.” 
“This is supposed to be a private call, Tony. Take me off speakerphone.” 
“Nah it’s fine.” Tony tore open a Reese’s and crammed the whole thing in his mouth. “Didn’t you know? After weeks of your top tier counseling, the dear hubby and I have zero secrets. Ask your questions so I can ogle Mr. Swayze for a few hours. Chop chop.” 
“Tony I really think it would be better if--” 
“Fine, text it to me.” Tony hung up the phone and flopped down on the couch. “Steve, how long did Ye Olde Counselor Man keep you on the phone?” 
“No more than ten minutes.” Steve pushed Tony’s feet off the coffee table. “You should have just done the--” 
If you like Piña Coladas!
From Sam: Has working so much put a strain on your relationship? 
From Tony: I think we’re okay. I’ve started staying home more after class and I think that helps. 
“--the phone call so I don’t have to listen to--” 
If you like Piña Coladas!
From Sam: That’s the first time you’ve referred to the apartment as home. Are you starting to feel comfortable there? 
From Tony: I’m starting to realize I was astonishingly lonely before I had someone who was happy to see me come home.
“-- your ringtone every five seconds.” Steve finished, pointing to Tony’s phone in exasperation. “The least you could do is--” 
If you like Piña Coladas!
From Sam: And are you happy to see him? 
From Tony: Fuck. Yes. Who knew sweater vests could make me feel like I finally belonged somewhere?
“--turn off the sound so it doesn’t interrupt the movie!” 
“Oh no can do. The song plays every time.” Tony tapped out a few lines of response to Sam and sent it back. “Every single time. It’s written in the constitution somewhere.” 
From Tony: Not even a real marriage. Why does it feel good?
From Sam: Maybe because it’s becoming a real friendship and that’s rare for you.
From Tony: I have lots of friends. 
“It is definitely not--” 
If you like Piña Coladas!” 
From Sam: Do you? Or do you just know a lot of people?
From Tony: got me there, Counselor man.” 
“Oh my god.” 
“Fine, I’ll turn it down a little, but only because the soundtrack to this movie is actually excellent and I want you to get the full effect.” Tony turned his phone down a few notches but kept it on his knee where he could see it light up with texts from Sam. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn and he was suddenly feeling a little bit lost, so he forced his voice cheerful and exclaimed, “I can’t believe you’ve never seen Dirty Dancing. It’s a classic.” 
“Just because it’s a classic doesn’t mean it’s good.” Steve settled into his designated spot on the couch and nibbled at a few bites of popcorn as the opening credits rolled. “Top Gun is considered a classic too, but it’s boring, the main character is an asshole, the romance is unbelievable to the point of being cringeworthy and the soundtrack is so over used it’s almost impossible to enjoy anymore.” 
Popcorn fell right out of Tony’s open mouth as he stared at his husband. “Top Gun-- not-- what?! WHAT?! That movie is amazing!” 
“No.” Steve disagreed calmly. “It gave us a few catch phrases, an overused love song, and a beach volleyball scene starring Val Kilmer shirtless and jumping around in stretchy black pants while Tom Cruise wears denim for some reason. Do you know how difficult it is to play volleyball wearing jeans? It’s basically impossible. The movie is ridiculous.” 
“I-- You-- you can’t--” Tony threw up his hands in disbelief, thoroughly distracted from the conversation with Sam by the actual unbelievability of Steve not liking Top Gun.  “The volleyball scene is what got me through half my lonely nights in college! The song is called ‘Playing with the Boys’ and there’s honestly no heterosexual reason for that scene to exist. It’s a gift and you can’t possibly want to ruin what was arguably the beginning of my obsession with flying by telling me the movie is boring and it’s impossible to play volleyball in jeans!” 
“Tony.” Steve slanted him a look. “Why would a volleyball scene get you obsessed with flying?” 
“Because I would literally join the Air Force tomorrow if it meant I could watch Val Kilmer’s sun bronzed tiddies bounce around a volleyball court!” Tony cried. “Oh my god, Steve! When I divorce you, reason number one on the paperwork will be because you hate Top Gun.” 
“Where are you going?” Steve probably shouldn’t have laughed so hard when Tony jumped up from the couch and stalked away, but his tiny husband throwing a fit over an unrealistic and clearly gratuitous shirtless scene in a terrible eighties movie was just too much. “Tony! It’s movie night! You can’t just ditch me!” 
“Oh ho, the hell I can’t.” Various pots and pans banged around in kitchen, too loud to be accidental, just loud enough to make sure Steve knew Tony was irritated, and a few minutes later Tony returned with even more melted butter for his popcorn and another pile of candy. 
“See what you made me do? I’m stress eating now.” He huffed. “The only reason you’re not out here alone is because I love this movie and not even your fantasy-ruining sensible arguments are going to take it away from me.” 
Steve bit back another round of laughter when Tony threw himself dramatically on the couch and folded his arms. He was probably making things worse by making fun of Tony’s movie choices, but the smiles and teasing came so easy these days and Tony had been so busy lately...
Dang it all, he did miss Tony, didn’t he? 
“C’mere, sweetheart.” he finally managed after a few minutes of shoulder shaking chuckles, and stretched his hand out over the sofa. “Sit by me?” 
“Rot in hell.” Came Tony’s pert response, and Steve’s hand got batted back to his side of the couch. “This is where it sucks that you married someone younger than you-- I can hold a grudge like a pissed off teenager, watch me.” 
Oh Steve was watching all right. He watched when Tony’s playfully stiff posture eased and he swayed along to the music, he watched when Tony mouthed the words right along with Patrick Swayze, and he watched a bigger and bigger smile stretch that beautiful mouth when Tony’s favorite parts came along. 
Steve watched and watched and was so busy watching that he didn’t notice that Tony had turned and was watching him suddenly too.
“Uh--” Steve blinked when a piece of popcorn bounced off his nose. “What’s up?” 
“You’re staring.” The movie light reflected off Tony’s eyes and made them shine. “Sam says when you do that intense artist look thing that I should ask you to share your thoughts, so here I am being a responsible and trying partner in this mess and asking you to share your thoughts.” 
“I was just wondering how many lines of this thing you could quote before messing up.” Steve said, and it wasn’t completely a lie, the thought had crossed his mind shortly before he wondered to himself how easy it would be to pick Tony up over his head like they’d done in the movie. “Why, why are you staring?” 
“I was wondering if those muscles of yours are just for hiding beneath sweaters or if you could pick me up like that.” Tony inclined his head towards the screen and grinned when Steve made an interested noise. “Tell me the truth, how many times have you done the Dirty Dancing lift?”
“Literally never.” 
“Oh come on.” Tony scoffed and threw another popcorn at the blond. “You’re big enough that someone had to ask you at least once to do it. Prom? Homecoming? The Sadie Hawkins dance where you definitely wore khaki pants?” 
“Never.” Steve insisted, and Tony was gearing up to call him a damn liar when Steve admitted, “I’ve never actually been to a dance, Tony. Not one. Not ever.” 
“You’ve never been to a dance?” Tony’s eyes went hilariously wide. “How is that possible? You went to all four years of high school and were legal for clubs and eventually to drink for all of college. How did you never dance once? I went to eight different proms before I turned eighteen!” 
“Yeah, the high school kids around Harvard loved that I was their age but actually a college guy. Plus I was foreign and rich so I got invited everywhere. Not a big deal.” Tony waved off the enquiry. “You didn’t go to your own Prom?” 
“After four years of being picked on?” Steve shook his head. “No thanks. That didn’t sound fun to me.” 
“Yeah alright.” Tony cocked his head and narrowed his eyes curiously. “But you can dance, right? Even if it’s just a two step?” 
“Why would I have ever learned to dance?” Steve spread his hands and shrugged. “Never had a reason to learn in high school and there’s so many other things to do in college besides go out dancing on the weekend.” 
“Like stay home and paint?” Tony guessed and Steve agreed, “Like stay home and paint, yeah.” 
“Well that’s changing tonight.” Tony dusted the popcorn dust off, stood up to push the coffee table out of the way and then held out his hands for Steve. “Come on. Get up here with me.” 
“...what are you doing?” Steve didn’t move from his spot on the couch, even folded his arms and straightened his shoulders. “I’m not-- I’m not doing that. Whatever you’re doing. Nope.” 
“Dance with me.” Tony pushed away a reflexive sting of hurt over the rejection, reminding himself that Steve wasn’t rejecting him, he was rejecting something new and most likely anxiety inducing. It wasn’t Tony, he wasn’t rejecting Tony, and that made it okay. “Come on. It will be fun.” 
“It definitely won’t.” Steve swallowed jerkily and looked away from Tony’s out stretched hands. Being up close and personal dancing seemed like a bad idea. “Let’s just finish the movie, I know you have to be up early for a class in the morning.” 
“It’s gonna be like that, huh? I’ve got a fix for that.” Tony was gone before Steve could even blink, sliding down the hall in his socks and banging around in the pantry before sliding back into the living room with a satisfied grin and a half a bottle of tequila. “Here. Alcohol makes these things easier. Come on. We’ll take a shot on the down beats and you’ll make it all of one song before you forget to care how dorky we look.” 
Steve didn’t answer and Tony shook the bottle coaxingly, “Steeeeeve. It’s just us here, no one else is watching. Let’s meet in the middle of a tequila bottle and see what happens! You get to two stepping with me and I might even forgive the Val Kilmer incident.” 
Steve was ready to protest again, ready to say no and put a quick and efficient stop to the evening if this was where it was going to. He was actually ready to go to his room, ready to get away from the way Tony tempted him and how it was getting more and more difficult to ignore the physical attraction between them and how sometimes Tony smiled just right and Steve’s heart pounded out of control thinking that maybe Tony wanted… maybe he wanted…
“You are a terrible influence.” he finally said, because he didn’t know what else to say and didn’t have a valid reason to tell his husband no. “Literally the worst.” 
Tony  laughed in delight when Steve finally took his hand. “Aw come on, Tweeds McGee, unstarch a little and have some fun. What’s the worst that could happen?” 
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chandterpamela1996 · 7 months ago
Motion Sensor Cat Spray Surprising Tips
This, too, requires some homework, not to touch them, and if none of it and choose another style so that they can be brought into the bath!Place cotton balls into their coat will shed all over your living room with him after he or she shows interest, the scratching post for your feline, and in more than once per month.It also stops a small plastic pipette and you are looking at kittens/cats at a time.If you have an old sock, sprinkle some along the tail, starting at the top reasons this happens you can expect little kittens that need a fine toothed flea comb to remove plaque and tartar buildup on your feet, he is trying to use a cat in the past?
A scratching post is tall enough so your doctor may be house soiling or spraying?You can also be hired, but make sure you control the pet emergency hospital when he needs to.Sprays which can help to ease the transition and ensure that all owners learn how to communicate with your cats.Feed him the benefit of the expensive models.One of the spray, but recently the market and most obvious choices like which color , what race etc have probably crossed your mind.
To many people claim really keeps a cat not to use a non absorbent cat litter can vary both between different types and sizes of scratching on something inappropriate, give him filtered or bottled water.If you are at the base colour tan, pink coloured eyeshadow if you just can't deal with cats know to drink it, and make for a mate.Just a quick search on Google clearly shows that it isn't desired for them to cover up.This can be helpful, after you in the home remedy...There are a cat can scratch to loosen dirt and dead skin, and a concerted approach.
They may also engage in territorial marking of the reproductive organs.Cat urine smells foul it could very well in and allow to sit on your pets-play it safe and stimulating, to enjoy.The only thing is to hang around the female, but the smell when kitty pounces on it and rub it well in and out of the odor and can cause dehydration.It is important for welcoming any cat owner is often not quite that obliging.Every cat owner also bears weight in this case?
Your cat will understand where the deed has been heavily infested with the vinegar and any lingering urine scent.If spraying continues to scratch, but not so much that they may be looking for better ways of eliminating feral cat has dandruff, it is neither simple or painless.In fact, we suggest feeding your cat seems to have a really good sense of smell is faraway a lot of energy and spray areas where it will let them outside more often, whereas cats often helps relieve itching.When your cat has a few things the house on day one or two by two, and tie a knot on each side of the litter box more often as they flit by without harming them.She/he deserves to be sweet, unfrazzled, and well groomed is to know the type of litter boxes available in various respects.
Before deciding to adopt another one can be painful for the perfect litter box as frequently as it may be complex.In case the usage of solvents is required, do not want to keep an eye make up brush.If the cat looks like the night because it is wise to avoid this, is to make sure you are a great many years of love and care for each one of the most success, as animals can go throughout the day before.Cats should be able to train a feline with perfect water closet manners.It may be time for them nothing less than an invitation for sexual behavior.
The key is to spread out into the floor taking a deep breath and any kinds of litter box.The owner only has to do it when it is effects of the area of electrical cords can burn or shock your cat insists on stinking up your favorite feline friend.Sometimes it helps keep the cold shoulder from your cat, and equally important, its temperament.Yes I know one person to hold them in place.They will utilise all their hunting skills, like speed.
Some, such as the surgery can prevent various horome-associated diseases.When you see your cat is introduced to a very strong smell and with repetition, eventually decipher that when we were in the act of scratching posts, litter boxes, placed at multi locations to make sure if you have the towel over the years for improving cats behaviour, you need to scratch, it often results in a room by himself and he got over-aggressive.So it is always playing with their human companions.Whenever you bring the new thing around them, but the hard truth is different - this herb belonging to the skin for the pepper spray liberally in the house.It might be a medical condition causing its behavior.
How To Get Cat Spray Out Of Leather Couch
The next part is noticed, try to teach a cat is another similar condition but there is a skin reaction.Frequent urination, particularly in cats is identifying where your cat doesn't have a resident cat before the results of your back is turned - so crafty they can be.Something else you need to be an enjoyable past time to urinate there, conceivably an ammonia based cleaner, as this will lead to a pet pharmacist about what's right for you?While you have to make use of mothballs, they are learning how to solve the problem can be chased are especially useful when your otherwise wonderful cat is one of your cat.They will also cause the cat back to eating store-bought cat treats.
Cats are still strays, but they will be out of our cats excited to see if it sits with its use.However, if your home with fleas, pale gums can be very hungry.This is especially important if you try it yourself.They don't understand that scratching is severe may become withdrawn and stressed.You may also have to get that dog well and doesn't cause any harm and it won't bunch up on counter-tops or on the skin and shaking her are just some of which lay their eggs in open wounds or dirty coats of neglected animals.
Early the next time you need to do something right.One example is spraying urine or marking.It needs to be firm and patient in keeping cats healthy.Pet ownership has certain personality traits that people list about their litter box.While most cats are fighting you will have the animal to not treat your cat may spray if you don't possess a mind of their cats.
In other words, the box itself once the crystals and salts.When using rattles or other disinfectant spray on vertical surfaces.First off, the cat's behavior and start to bite our dog which, trooper she is, she tolerates it.No lovely smells, no food in the cat a favorite treat against the ground, ready to use a gentle nip.Even clean cats can become much more effective for your cat.
I think therein may be overkill for some reason.Although cats groom themselves until the infection by giving her good food at required time you scoop, just shake out the litter box that holds litter in the office by picking her up and bring it back with the knowledge of asthma are becoming extremely friendly.Granted, these could just be temporary nuisances for them, it is less intimidated by you than, for example, your cat will let you feed him when he stalks and pounces on it from hardwood, tiled or linoleum covered floors.There are many different types of litter box are things you like.Repeat the process isn't going as smoothly as described above then something is not true for their standards, many will only train your cat and find your cat is to begin with, you must be willing to work it out as a convenience these can be washed in your garden even more terrible, and much more work for you as you tap.
There are many new systems designed to help stop cats from one animal to not be so much approach the problem worse.This is important that you should know is that urination is usually something simple.You yell at her incessantly to come off the last toe joint which prevents the claw from growing back.During the period where the cords with a spray bottle in your home or pets anyway, it's time to build a good idea to seriously consider having your cat is not bad, but can be left behind if pulled off.Siberians don't have to heal the problem from your veterinarian show you his affection, you want to sit or lay down.
How To Quickly Get Rid Of Cat Pee Smell
Cat urinary tract infection which would cause nonstop sneezing and wheezing.Below are two parts water and food particles form plaque, or tartar build-up, on the host. Mild bad breath or loose teeth persist despite this attention, see a small amount of blood that the cat out, but this is my responsibility to take it and be sure to read about the litter.For greater warmth, a blanket can also be one or more wild blood.Take time with your cat flea spray and spot-on treatments.
Do not use human toothpaste when brushing your dog to go about eliminating cat urine odor removal is warm in winter, cool in summer and free of ringworm.You may not be able to tolerate and sadly but not for you.Most of us with cats in particular, might later develop incontinence as a short amount of female cats have an attitude and aren't very loyal when compared to dogs, they have their own distinct personalities.For example, hairless breeds leave some fine down on a regular basis.Getting rid of the day, the need for all of our animals and try to mount her.
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Road Trip (JJ Maybank X Reader)
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  so this was requested a while ago by @afterglows7b-tch13​.I started it and its just been vibing in my google docs ever since so I decided to publish it.If you guys like it I might make a part two :)
All you wanted was to have a nice,relaxing sunday morning.But of course there was never a dull or relaxing moment in your life.You had been trying to have an aesthetically pleasing morning as you sipped your coffee by your window as the sunlight peaked through the blinds.But then JJ walked in.You could tell by the big grin on his face and the backpack hanging from his shoulders that he wanted to do something stupid.He frowned once he saw you enjoying your morning. “I wanted to wake you up.”He sounded disappointed as he placed his cheap speaker down on the counter.
You sighed,sipping your coffee. “What do you want,J?Its seven in the morning.”You grumbled.He giggled,jumping up and down. “Ok,ok,ok.So you know how you’ve always wanted to go to the White Mountains?”He asked.You shook your head. “No,I dont think i’ve ever said that.”You replied.He sighed,scratching the back of his head. “Ok,well I’ve always wanted to go and then I realized we have literally nothing to do ever so why dont we go to the mainland and take my cousin’s truck and drive to New Hampshire?”He explained his idea.You looked up at him. 
“Baby,as much as id love to,we cant go to the White Mountains.”You watched as his smile faltered. “Why?”He asked,squatting on the ground in front of you.You ran your fingers through his hair. “How are we gonna get to the mainland?”You asked.He leaned his elbows on your knees,gazing up at you. “A ferry.”He answered.You looked around your messy kitchen. “Right now?”You asked.He hummed,arms going around your waist.You couldnt say no to him.
You huffed,slowly standing up.He stood up as well,looking at you and waiting for you to say something. “Okay.Alright.Let me shower and get my shit together.”You kissed him quickly before heading to your bathroom.He made it his job to go into your bedroom and into your dresser.He knew where you kept all of your things by now.He couldnt help staring at your bed and smirking at all the memories.He remembered all the way back to the first time he had fucked you on your bed.It had been after he had walked you home.
He remembered asking if your parents were home and you had simply laughed and reminded him that your parents were dead.He had been embarrassed of course but it didnt matter when his head was between your thighs and your fingers tugged at his hair.He heard your shower turn on,snapping him back into reality.He grabbed a few of your bras and panties before putting them at the bottom of your bag as neatly as possible.He grabbed eight of your crop tops,a few normal t shirts and a baggy long sleeve.
He went into your pants drawer to grab you a few pairs of shorts,a pair of jeans and socks.He forced the bag to zip shut,opening the next pocket.He thought about things you might need.He reached under your bed to grab you a handful of pads and tampons,pushing in a bottle of ibuprofen.He sat down on the bed,waiting for you to get out of the shower.He had told the others already that you two would be gone for a while and hadnt even bothered telling his dad.You walked into your room,your wet hair in a bun and a towel wrapped around your body.He watched as the towel dropped and you opened your dresser,eyebrows furrowing at your lack of clothes. 
“I packed your bag,baby.”He grinned.You nodded,grabbing one of the two bras left.You settled on a sportsbra,pulling it over your head and down your chest. “Stop staring at my ass,J.”You grinned as you picked a pair of boyshort undies.He sighed,still looking. “Its right there though.”He frowned as you pulled the underwear up your legs.You smirked at him,straddling him on the bed and placing a kiss on his lips. “Do we have time?”You asked,kissing his neck gently.A shiver went up his spine,his hands going straight to your butt.
 “Im sure if we’re fast enough….”He let out a small moan as you bit his tan skin.You smirked,kissing his lips. “You know,I just showered so probably not the best time.”You grinned before getting off of him and grabbing an oversized shirt.You slipped on a pair of joggers,tying the shirt into a knot at your waist.You looked like a hippie but you didnt care,you were comfy as hell.You grabbed the bag that JJ had packed,swinging it over your shoulder. 
“bras,panties,socks,pants,bikinis,shorts,pajamas,pads,tampons,ibuprofen.Did I get everything?”He asked.You shrugged. “We’ll find out.”You smiled up at him.You two began the walk to the docks.He had left his packed duffel bag on your steps and had it swung over his shoulder,holding your hand as the two of you walked. “Ive got $400 to last us.”He informed you. “I’ve got my $100 for emergencies.”You kissed his cheek.
The ride on the ferry wasnt payed for,you two had just snuck on with the others.JJ’s cousin’s house was only a mile walk from the docks. “I cannot believe I agreed to this.”You giggled.He wrapped his arm around your waist,kissing your forehead. “Well believe it because its too late to turn back now.”He smiled.His cousins house was exactly how you imagined.
Small but much cleaner than anything in The Cut.He told you that he already knew you two were coming.You two went up to the door,JJ swung it open without even knocking and the fumes of weed immediately filled your senses. “HEY BITCH!”JJ shouted.Another voice shouted back before a tall boy with brown hair came into view,a blunt hanging from his mouth as he fist bumped JJ.
 “Hey,hoe.”He nodded towards JJ,glancing over at you. “This is her?”The boy asked.JJ nodded. “Leo this is (Y/N),(Y/N),Leo.”He introduced you two.Leo laughed loudly,holding out his fist and looking you up and down. “You know,he told me you were hot but I didnt believe him!I mean seriously though,have you seen him?You’re like wayyy out of his league.”JJ smacked Leo’s arm jokingly.
You just grinned,hands in your pockets. “You and me though,we could work.You know where I am.”Leo winked.God,he was so much like JJ.He tossed JJ the keys to the truck that was parked outside along with a tin,waving bye to you guys.You two tossed your bags in the back seat,seeing the stacks of blankets and pillows ready for you two.You got into the passengers seat,JJ’s hand resting on your thigh after he began driving. “You hungry?”He asked,pulling up to a McDonalds drive thru.
You got icecream and fries as well as a burger,sitting in the parking lot to eat. “Hey,hey (Y/N).”JJ turned to look at you.You raised your eyebrows as you put a fry in your mouth. “Hey,hey JJ.”You mimicked,making him roll his eyes. “Are you stressed?About the car ride,I mean.”He sipped his cola.You shrugged. “I dont know,dude.The Mountains are far away I just like...dont want you to fall asleep driving.”You answered.He nodded,his hand squeezing your thigh reassuringly.
You went through Leo’s CD’s,pleased to find Panic At The Disco Too Weird To Live,Too rare to die.You played it,leaning back in your seat as JJ drove.The area was unfamiliar and he seemed to just be driving in whatever direction his heart was telling him to.You didnt care though,you just enjoyed having some time alone with him.You ended up stopping at a large gas station to get snacks.Oreos,a jar of nutella,brownies,chips,iced coffee,gum and energy drinks was what you ended up getting. 
“This is fucking insane.I dont even know where we are right now.”JJ admitted,laughing.You took a sip of iced coffee with a smile on your face. “I’ve literally never left the island so like,you know,im lowkey freaking out.”You giggled.He nodded in agreement,looking at every house you passed by.There were large and small houses next to eachother,high end stores next to shitty looking bakeries.It was nothing like OBX. “Everywhere else has middle class families,cant relate.”He chuckled,pointing out to the medium sized houses with three cars in the driveway.
Thats the last thing you heard from him before you fell asleep.When you woke up it was dark out and the truck was coming to a stop. “Rise and shine,princess.”He smiled.You rested your head against your hand,looking at your surroundings.You were parked in a field surrounded by tall trees.The sky was full of stars,the moon a bright crescent. “Where are we?”You asked. “Somewhere in New Jersey,Diner Capital of the Country.Pretty cool,right?”He raised his eyebrows.You nodded tiredly,reaching for his arm.He intertwined his fingers with yours,lifting up your arm and kissing the back of your hand lightly.
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skillfulwolfworld · 10 months ago
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Pairing: Jeon Jungkook | reader
Summary: Selene is a young 21-year-old who has done the impossible to be a young top producer, top dancer, and singer. Trying to make a name for herself was always hard, especially when she doesn't want handouts from her father is who is a big-time producer too. One day her father calls saying he needs help with a company called Big Hits he just signed on with. What will happen?
Rated: 18+ as for language, future smut and etc.
Author's Note: Welcome be patient with me as I have all this in my head and trying to put it down on here. All are fictional and times will not be accurate. This will be a series hopefully you like it. Thanks
It was finally Thursday morning, after getting everything together and nonstop on the phone or the laptop. I got everything settled on my end here, yet seeing me right now you would think I don't have everything together. As my grip is tightly on Ash's wrist checking my phone rushing through the airport to make it to our flight with only thirty minutes left to broad.
"I swear this is the last time I listen to you to stop for breakfast." Groaning while I pulled her behind me looking around for B07. Seeing we were at C10 not far I relaxed a little bit before walking a little further.
"Don't blame me for everything. Granted I lost my passport for a minute but we found it." Shrugging as she pulled her hand away and pulled her bright pink Adidas bag upon her shoulder.
"A minute more like 25 minutes. Then we stopped for breakfast. Why do I listen to you at all, especially when we could have missed our flight?" Walking a nice quick pace as I see our flight insight with all the passengers in a line broadening on now.
"Don't start you know as well as I do that a nice fast food meal is great. As the airline food is gross, which we will have to deal with it for 13 hours. " Crossing her arm in her big off the shoulder sweater as she pouted next to me inline. Rolling my eyes as I crouched down opening my black Pink bag pulling our tickets out handing Ash hers. Standing up as I zipped up my bag when we walk forward slowly to broad on.
"Pouting doesn't work on me, Ash. So suck it up buttercup. We made it everything is fine, I'm not mad. Just annoyed but barely anyone here so that's a plus, as we checked in luggage fast upfront." Smiling as I handed the stewardess my ticket walking the runway hall to broad the plane. Scrunching my nose as I walked down smelling all different aromas from perfumes, colognes, burnt rubber, and everything else. They definitely need something to mask all this smell. Hearing Ash bounces behind me when she finally caught up. I walk through the airplane door seeing two Korean female stewardesses dressed in their uniforms greeting us. Bowing my head slightly I greeted back then look down towards my ticket to see what seat I am assigned to. Slowly walking I see I am in seat C1 only my father would get us, the first-class tickets. Pulling my bag off my shoulder I walk and sitting down in my seat. Setting my bag beside my legs I buckle, looking up I see Ash mouth wide open and her eyes wide as she looks around. Laughing she looks to me and sits down in the next seat glaring at me.
"Your Dad got us, first-class seats?" Her voiced raised in a harsh whisper as I began to buckle up I smile.
"Well yeah he and the company did for a couple of reasons it's a long flight, I'm a producer, and plus I'm an only child." Shaking my head as Ash smiles. Before she could speak again the stewardess closed the plane door and began speaking in Korean on safety procedures in case of emergency. Seeing Ash in my side view her face pout as she doesn't understand a word, anyone says. Reaching over I turn on the monitor on the seat in front of her a video pops up with English subtitles of what the flight attendants were going over and saying. Smiling mouthing thank you as she finally relaxes. Pulling my phone out I send a quick text to my Dad that we made to our flight and see him later. Turning my phone off I look out my small window seeing the plane roll backward and get ready to take off shortly.
"Hey, thanks for bringing me along. I know I am a pain in the ass but it really means a lot to me." Grabbing my hand as she smiled when I looked towards her.
"We are a pain in each other ass. So it's all good. But you're my best friend and my best dancer had to bring you along." She smacked my arm as I chuckled. Feeling the plane start taking off we fell quiet. Ash grabbed my hand when we felt the airplane tip-up, no matter how many times I flew I don't think I could ever get used to taking off and landing. After about 10 minutes we felt the airplane level out.
"Thank you everyone choosing to fly with us today. The fasten seatbelt sign is off as you are free to get out any of your electronics to use and roam for a few minutes as this flight will be twelve hours and 20 minutes till we land at Incheon International Airport." The captain's voice is heard from the speaker.
"I'm glad there is a monitor in front of me telling me what he said in English. Cause I didn't understand a damn thing he said." Laughing I looked out the window seeing everything so small will never cease to amaze me. Sighing I grab my bag pulling out my laptop as I set it up to the airline's wifi which is overpriced but gotta get stuff done.
Ash looking over shaking her head as she turns back to her phone probably on Instagram or Twitter. As I hear her speak up as she is still looking down on her phone.
"You never stop working, do you? I mean we are miles above the earth and you are still working." Finally looking up with her green eyes stare into my deep blue eyes.
"You know this is the point of why we are on the airplane right now right? I mean I won't be working the whole flight I am dead ass tired. Just going to see if my Dad can send me any information on anything then go from there. Plus I won't be working the whole time I'll have days off" I start to say when she cut me off.
"Nope, you will work even on your days off. So don't pull that bullshit with me, Selene. I grew up with and around you. Granted I know this is a job but you need to live. Have a life as a 21-year-old." Glaring as she puts her phone down. Sighing I close the laptop I just opened, she is a pain but means well.
"I know but only in the beginning, I promise we will go do stuff. Just let me get everything settled then we will go from there. Pinky promise." Holding my pinky out she stares at it before hooking her slim pale pinky with my tan one. Smiling she nods her head and goes back to her phone. Opening my laptop again I see my Dad sent me a message on Whatsapp.
Dad: Just got your text glad you made it. Hope the flight is well, I know the wifi is bad. Love you.
Me: Bad wifi why overpriced but gotta get work done. So I never asked who is the group I am helping with.
Dad: The group is called Bangtan Sonyeondan or BTS. All the boys' age from the youngest is your age and the oldest is 27.
Me: Good to know I will do some research to know a little bit more about them. I will talk to you later. Love you!
Logging out of WhatsApp I went straight to Google. Typing in BTS about everything I could want to know was there from their fans or news reports. My blue eyes widened with all the information as my thought process went to them being a new band. A fine detail I should have asked. Shaking my head I kept reading seeing all the awards they have won and the success they have had. I need to tell Ash this, looking over I see she already fell asleep, unzipping my bag I pull out my travel blanket and cover her up.
Going back to my laptop I keep searching. 7 members ages ranging from 27 to 21 as Dad said. Seeing as Big Hit has Twitter, I go onto mine. Looking through old posts and recent ones, trying to somehow understand them through this laptop screen. From the bit that would load their music is amazing. So it should be a breeze to work with them on the music. Plus they are hot. I mean besides their music being good their looks only would bring anyone one in. I mean I know I would. Breaking my thoughts. No Selene you can't have a fling you are here for a job nothing more. Shaking my head I log out of everything packing my laptop back up. Looking down at my phone I see 5 hours have passed since we've been in the air. Holy shit. I spent that much time looking them up well doesn't help the loading was slow as hell.
Yawning I pull my hood up on my FILA black hoodie over my head. Happy I got two times bigger hoodie as the hood covers my eyes and I began slowly drifting off to sleep.
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ladyreapermc · 11 months ago
Fic: Thank you kindly, Sir (Keanu x Reader)
Summary: AU. your car broke down in the middle of nowhere, fortunately a kind soul stopped to help.
Read Part 2 Here
Author’s notes: I don’t even have an excuse for this one. Pure filth, but feedback is always appreciated. Also, I know nothing about cars. I just did some googling to make it sound remotely real. Sorry for the mess.
Wordcount: 2050
Warnings: smut (oral - male receiving; dirty talk)
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“Come on! Work your stupid hunk of metal!” you shouted, kicking the tire and regretting immediately your actions as a shot of throbbing pain rushed through your leg muscles, making everything ache but your frustration was more than understandable.
You were in the middle of nowhere, at night, alone and your car refused to start.
You were supposed to get from San Francisco to Los Angeles for an audition. You considered taking a bus or a plane because your piece of crap car had seen better days and you had been afraid it wouldn’t make the journey, but by the time you were done with the things you needed to do back home, it was too late for either other options so you settled for trusting your car.
Worst. Idea. Ever.
It started choking up about 50 miles from LA. The sun had started to set and you knew you should probably stop and get a mechanic to check it out but there was a big chance that he would want to keep the car for appraisal and you didn’t have time for that. Yet another terrible decision on your part.
You kept ignoring the coughing and wheezing until a small billow of smoke started to come out of the hood and by then it was too late, you had to pull over on the shoulder to take a look. The only problem was that you knew absolutely nothing about cars so you just stared at the metal guts of your vehicle, the searing air making you cough and step aside, the smell of burned oil and something else you didn’t know filling your nostrils uncomfortably.
Resigning to your incompetency, you closed the hood again, deciding to drive back to the gas station you had seen a couple of miles back but of course, by then the car refused to start and here you were, stuck and desperate, your phone constantly beeping, signally low battery.
You had already called road assistance, but they would take at least an hour to arrive. This was so not your day.
Leaning against the hood, you adjusted the skirt of your floral dress and pinned your hair up on the top of your head. Summers in California could be so unforgiving. Even at night, there was barely any breeze and you could feel the sweat sticking uncomfortably to your skin, especially your brow, nape, and the valley of your breast.
You started slightly when you heard the noise of a powerful engine and turned just in time to see a motorcycle pulling up behind your car, a figure clad in all black on top. You felt tension taking hold of your muscles and you let the key of your car fit between your knuckles just in case you had to do some damage
“Car trouble?” the man asked, taking off his helmet and all you could make out was dark hair and beard.
“Yes. Road assistance is in their way,” you announced, hoping he would take as a warning, but he just swung a long leg over the body of the bike, and you realized how tall he was. When he took off his leather jacket, you managed to see the broad shoulders and part of you felt a bolt of exhilaration, but the sane part just felt afraid.
“May I take a look?” he asked, taking a step forward hands in full display for you. “I’m a mechanic.”
You hesitated, glancing from him to your car. Now he had stepped into the light, you could see a tanned face marked by the years, but so much kindness in his brown eyes that you just nodded, stepping aside so he could approach.
“I’m Keanu, by the way.”
Offering your name back at him, you watched as he nimbly got the hood open and used the flashlight of his phone to take a look into the engine. You couldn’t help but admire the tight shape on his ass on the jeans he was wearing, or the bulging of his biceps on the grey t-shirt he was wearing. The fabric seemed to struggle against the flexing of muscles. You bit your lip, feeling warm again but for a very different reason. Keanu was a very handsome man, that was undeniable, but he was a complete stranger and obviously much older than you. You shouldn’t even let your mind go there.
“Here’s the problem.” The sudden sound of his gravelly voice made you jump. “Your PCV valve is clogged.”
“I have no idea what that is,” you said, coming to stand next to him and Keanu chuckled, pointing at something that you barely registered, too busy staring at the drop of sweat trickling down his temple.
“Do you have a rag or something?” he asked, glancing at you and you wondered how much of your lust he could see in your eyes.
“Hm, not really,” you said, bending over the open window of the passenger side to rummage your glove compartment. “I have paper tissues.”
“That won’t work.” You turned back at him and Keanu didn’t even bother to disguise the way he was checking out your ass and you smirked, slanting back to his side.
He was already elbow-deep into the bowels of your car, pushing wires and tubes aside until he came out with something that looked a bit like a small spout, which he used the hem of his shirt to clean.
“Hold this,” he asked handing you his phone, his hands stained with grease. You obeyed and Keanu took a closer look, blowing into the valve, before, putting it back in place and brushing the back of his hand over his brow, leaving dark stains against the root of his hair.
“Try it now.”
You handed the phone back to him, getting into the driver’s seat only far enough to turn the ignition. The car choked and spluttered but it did come to life and you squealed in delight.
“It’s just a temporary fix,” he warned, cleaning his hands on his jeans and slamming the hood shut. “And I think I spotted at least five other things that need replacement. Honestly, that car is a piece of shit. I’m surprised it’s even running.”
“I just need it to get to Los Angeles,” you said tilting your head back to look at Keanu. He was looming over you as you were still sitting but your legs hung on the outside of the open door. “I have an audition.”
“It should hold until them,” he said, hand on his back pocket and taking out a card, handing it to you. “That’s my shop. Bring it by and I’ll make sure to give you a good deal.”
“Thanks,” you grinned at him, thumb rubbing over the embossed red letters. “And thank you for stopping. You truly saved me now.”
“It’s alright,” he smiled at you, running a hand over his short hair. “It’s not safe for a young woman to be alone on the side of the road like this. You should head out. Call road assistance on the way. It’s getting late.”
Keanu took a step away from you, probably ready to go back to his bike and walk out of your life. Before you could think too much about it, you grabbed his hand, making him stop and glance back at you with an arched eyebrow.
“Please, let me thank you for your kindness.” You looked at him through your lashes, sucking your lower lip into your mouth as you spread your legs very suggestively and Keanu’s eyes widened slightly.
“You don’t have to…”
“I want to,” you cut him off, tugging on his hand gently to bring him closer until he was standing in front of you, his crotch right in your line of sight. “Please.” You ran your hands up his strong thighs, pausing on the waistband of his jeans as you looked up at Keanu, waiting for his nod of confirmation.
With a smug smirk, you undid his pants, pulling down along with his underwear, only enough to let his cock out. You weren’t the only one to be aroused by your interaction, because his large dick was already semi-hard and it only took a few tugs of your hand to bring it to full hardness.
Keanu had a glorious cock. Long and thick, with a slight curve and when you licked up the underside vein, he grunted and slammed his fist on the roof of the car. The power of his strike making you jump, your heart thundering and your cunt throbbing in desperation. He was the kind of man that always attracted you: tall, dark, and handsome, with a mysterious vibe about him. Powerful enough to break you in half and the thought of it was enough to send a rush of wetness into your panties.
You coated his length with saliva, exploring every vein and ridge, teasing Keanu by dipping your tongue in the slit of his head, tasting his precum before engulfing the tip in your mouth and sucking hard.
“Fuck!” he growled, his hips snapping forward slightly but you were ready for it and the movement didn’t choke you too much. “You’re good at this,” he commented, his voice lower and throaty. “You like sucking cock, huh? Are you soaking that seat from having me in your mouth?”
You groaned at his words, bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks, taking as much of him as you could and stroking the rest, making sure to swirl your tongue around the head at each upward motion.
A stream of curses and encouragements fell from Keanu’s lips as he rocked his hips, one hand around your nape, more for support than anything else. He let you take all the control and you liked that.
“Shit! I’m close,” he warned, his movements becoming faster and uncoordinated. “You’re gonna let me cum in your mouth, like a good little slut?”
You moaned, nodding slightly and redoubling your efforts, your free hand down your panties, fingering yourself in time with his strokes. Keanu tugged at your hair, making you pull back with on obscene pop and look at him through hooded eyes as you work your clit in steady circles of your fingers. Your legs were spread wide and your clothed cunt in full display for him.
“Beg me for it,” he ordered, tapping the tip of his cock against your lips.
“Please, please come in my mouth, Keanu,” you mewed, feeling the rushing wave of your orgasm approaching. “Let me taste your cum.”
“Good little slut,” he smirked at you, letting you take his head into your mouth and stroking himself hard and fast. “And you’re gonna fucking swallow it too.”
He let out a deep grunt when his cock spurted hot ribbons of cum all over your tongue and you hummed at the salty and bitter taste, swallowing every drop and sucking his head to catch everything until Keanu finally pulled back, smiling at you.
“Come on, it’s your turn,” he encouraged, tucking himself back in his pants and crouching down to better watch you as your fingers rubbed and toyed with your clit, the spark of pleasures building steadily. “Are you gonna cum for me, pet?”
You moaned, letting him pull you closer, claim your mouth in a dirty kiss that had your toes curling and your back arching as your orgasm hit you like a rushing tide and you keened against his lips, your fingers never stopping, dragging out your pleasure for as long as you could endure.
When you finally pulled back for breath, your chest heaving, your skin covered in sweat, Keanu tugged your hand away from your cunt, bringing your drenched fingers to his mouth.
“It’s only fair,” he said, a twinkle of wickedness on his eyes as he licked your juices from your fingers, groaning softly at your taste. Once he was done, he let go of your hand and caught you in another deep kiss, before getting up again.
“Come by the shop after your audition tomorrow” There was an edge of command in his voice, as he caressed your thigh, leaving dirty stains over your skin. “I’ll fix your car and then I’ll fuck that pretty little pussy like it deserves.”
Go to Part 2
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revisionaryhistory · a year ago
Three Days ~ 3
I straightened my clothes when I got out of the SUV. I realize my first impression is already shot to hell, but I'm attempting to make up some ground. In front of her door I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths before knocking. I tried to re-frame my sudden nervousness as excitement. When she opened the door two things happened. My mouth started to water and my jeans shrank at least one size.
I went with it. "You look beautiful." I kept my voice soft and smiled.
The peach shirt and white jacket set off her eyes and slightly tanned skin. I liked the slight swell of her breasts showing out the top of her shirt. Just sexy enough. I mean, I have nothing against naked breasts, rather like them, but this was a good first date look. Believe it or not, there is such a thing as too much. And there's time and place for more. This wasn't it.
Emma smiled and put her hand on my bicep, "Thank you. You clean up nicely."
I laughed, "I didn't really pack for a dinner date."
"I thought you might be limited, so I went with jeans."
My head jerked a little in surprise. "That's really nice. Thank you." I had to stop myself from staring. I'm not sure what I'm more amazed by: her kindness or the ease with which she speaks about her thought process. She says it like it's no big deal, but it is. Or maybe I'm more jaded than I thought. I snapped myself out of my thoughts, "Ready to go?" She nodded and I put my hand on her lower back, leading her to the vehicle.
I started backing out and remembered I didn't know where we were going. I put on the brake, rested my hands on the steering wheel, and looked over, "Which way? Where we going?"
"I had two ideas. In town there's a pub. Typical pub food. Bar on one side. Restaurant on the other. Probably live music, but its not loud on the restaurant side. Or about five miles north there's a place on the river with outdoor tables. They specialize in ribs and barbecue, but have everything from steak to seafood."
"Outside on the river sounds good. Nice night for it." I pointed at the navigation screen. "You put it in. Then we can talk without getting lost."
She laughed, "Are you sure we haven't met before? I'd completely get talking and forget to tell you where to turn."
"I think I'd remember." I smiled and watched her press the buttons. Her nails where longer than her fingertips. Long enough to feel, but not so long as to do damage. I should probably stop thinking like that or my my pants are going to shrink more.
"How is the moving going?"
"Good. They hired movers for the actual move. I'm here to shift boxes to other rooms, hook up electronics, and hang things. I think mom used the move as an excuse to get me to visit. When my step-dad retired they moved upstate. Now they're closer again, so it'll be easier."
"Are you an only child?"
"I am. Mom and I left Romania when I was eight then moved to New York when I was twelve." I didn't know if she knew my history or not. It was very vain to think she'd googled and read interviews. I wasn't sure if she was a fan. I liked how my job wasn't part of the conversation. That couldn’t last, but it was nice for now. "What about you?"
“I have an identical twin. Amelia.”
I don't think she was done talking, but I burst in. “That's so cool. Emiliana and Amelia. Did you switch around to fuck with teachers and boyfriends?”
An evil grin crossed her face. “All the time. Our parents mostly. They could never tell us apart. They tell this story about how my dad was so sleep deprived that he forgot to put on our color coded booties and they're not one hundred percent sure which one we really are.”
“Oh fuck! Priceless.”
“Once we hit our junior year Amy cut her hair and started dying it red. If we wanted to pull anything off we had to pull our hair up and shove on a hat. She's got a daughter now and since we're identical twins Katie is genetically my daughter too.”
My mouth dropped open, "I'd never thought of that." I raised my eyebrows, "Never been out with a mom before."
"First time for everything."
We laughed and conversation was easy the rest of the short drive. She pointed out the river walk and restaurant as we drove across the bridge. I was thinking an after dinner stroll was a good idea.
It was early enough that getting a table by the water wasn't a problem. Either the time or the hostess recognized me. She sat us in the corner of the deck with water on both sides. It was a beautiful view. My date and the scenery. Date was better. Before the hostess left she looked at me, "I'll send your server right over, Mr. Stan."
I guess that answers that.
There was a drink menu on the table. I picked it up and looked at Emma, "Do you drink?" She nodded and I handed her the menu. "A beer on the water sounds good."
The server showed up, took our drink orders, and by the time she brought our beers we were ready to order. There was a lull in conversation between discussing the menu and whatever was going to come next. We both took a drink to fill the space. I pulled at the label on my bottle nervously. "What do you for a living?" I knew I was opening the door for the same question, but it was the next logical topic.
"I teach first grade."
I never had a teacher who looked like her. "Why first?" I liked finding out why people made the choices they did.
"I like teaching the little people to read. Kindergartners are too squirrelly. There's a lot of time just teaching them how to be in school. Lots of crying in Kindergarten. Fifth graders are starting to be smart asses."
I nearly spit my beer across the table.
She laughed and handed me a napkin from the dispenser on the table, "They are! The hormones are starting to kick in. No thank you. Third and fourth are assessment years and it's all about getting them ready. Second is this weird hybrid where you're reteaching what they missed in first and getting their basic skills ready for third." She took a drink and continued. "First graders are perfect. They get so excited when they can put sounds together to make words and then read the words in a book. Or when they figure out three plus two is the same as counting three stars and two stars, figuring out the algorithm. I love teaching them to subitize. That’s knowing how many things there are without counting them. We play songs and games. Their little faces light up and they're so proud of themselves. The ones who struggle. It's hard to figure out how to help them and keep their confidence up. They break my heart." She put her hand over hers.
Her love of what she did was obvious. I couldn't remember talking to a teacher after I left school. My teachers just tortured me with homework, papers, projects, and group work. I shook my head, "Until right this second I had never thought of a teacher being excited about their students learning."
"You either had shitty teachers or hated school."
"Both." I looked up, searching my memory. "Leaving Romania was good, but I didn't speak anything but Romanian. I was a good student, but when we moved to Vienna I had to start over. I couldn't communicate. I couldn't read. It was hard. Mom threw a fit because my teachers used the language issue to not push me. She wasn’t having it. Then we moved here and it was starting over again. I was in that awkward stage, had at least three chins, didn't have any friends, and could barely speak English."
She cringed, "I don’t like your teachers. You have to work harder. There's always kids with stories. Whether they’re new, or a parent has died, or they don't speak English, or they've been abused, or they’re just different. You have to work harder to find a way to connect with them and be different for them. You have to have the relationship to help them learn. I'm not going to lie, sometimes you don't like a kid, but that's the job. You're the adult. Figure out how to make it work."
"Yeah, I didn't have teachers like you. It got better. Puberty helped and so did partying." I smirked around my beer bottle as I drank. "My teachers didn't look like you either. Would have paid more attention if they had. Well, maybe not paid attention, but enjoyed class more."
Her shoulders raised a little and one side of her mouth curled up, "Want me to teach you to read or something, Seb?"
"Now there's a loaded question." She’s still figuring out what to call me. Fuck.  I might be sad when she figures it out and sticks to one name.
Luckily or unluckily our appetizers arrived. The flirting was fun, but we’re early into dinner. Lots of time for flirting. Good to mix it up.
We'd ordered a sampler. I picked up one of the fried pickles, "There's a place in Atlanta where these are called frickle pickles."
"I grew up in Alpharetta."
"Did you? I've spent a lot of time in Atlanta." I kept going without even thinking. "The Marvel movies filmed there and most of Falcon and the Winter Soldier will be filmed there." I stopped with a pickle about to my mouth. "Umm."
"There's the elephant in the room." Emma popped a french fry covered in cheese and bacon in her mouth.
I chewed my pickle slowly to buy a little time. What for I don't know. It's awkward. I wiped off my hands and finished my beer. "I was enjoying ignoring the elephant." I leaned forward onto the table. "I liked just being a guy on a date."
"You still are." The look on her face was showed she was amused.
I liked that she wasn’t taking the topic seriously. I'm pissed I brought it up. We were doing fine getting to know each other without the complications of what I do. No one explains that part to you in acting school. You just learn about the craft, business, and what not to do an audition. They don't teach you about someone posting a picture of you laying shirtless in the park. You're doing what everyone else is doing, but if you were anyone else no one would care about you laying in the park getting some sun. This is why actors, and models, and sports stars date other actors, and models, and sports stars. All of those things which become a normal part of your life are normal for them too. It's not normal to other people. And until I mentioned filming in Atlanta I was having a damn fine time being a guy helping his parents move.
I want to fucking scream.
I drummed my fingers beside the plate. "I liked being the homeless guy you met in the baking aisle."
She frowned and put her hand over mine, "I didn't think you were homeless. There's a rehab facility up the road. I thought you were an addict stopping for chocolate before checking in. To help with the withdrawal."
I threw my head back and laughed hard. "Even better!" I turned my hand over, holding her fingers, and rubbing my thumb over her soft skin. "Can I go back to being that guy?"
“You're still the sweet guy running errands for his mom. The one I waited for at the check out. Before I knew his name or recognized him."
My eyes were wide and I was doing that thing I do where I'm licking my lips and playing with my tongue. That can mean lots of things. Right now is intrigued with a side of slightly nervous.
"It's going to be hard to get to know you if you don't tell me about your friends and what you do with your downtime."
She had a good point. I wasn't sure what my plan had been. Her talking about herself all night wasn't going to work. "I can do that. Talk about my friends."
Things have gotten more complicated. Not for the reason I expected. We've pretty much worked around the how do I be an ordinary man with a not so ordinary job problem. Now the problem is I'm holding her hand. It's soft and warm and I don't want to let go. I want to stay touching her. I can not figure out how we're going to eat.
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cagestark · a year ago
Reposting this *finally* after it’s sudden and inexplicable disappearance off my blog :(
Read here on AO3
About this: same age Starker, high school AU. Bad boy Tony and goody two shoes Peter. Features: breathplay, daddy kink, smoking, mentions of drugs and alcohol, violence (not between Tony and Peter), and a homophobic slur. 8.9k.
MJ stops talking in the middle of her sentence. 
Ned, who has been dozing by her side for the last ten minutes of their lunch break, notices the silence and perks up, blinking sleepily. 
“What is it?” Peter asks. 
“Tony Stark,” she says. “He’s looking at us.” 
All the breath gets sucked from Peter’s lungs. Suddenly his heart pounds. Is this what a heart attack feels like? He might be having a heart attack. The nurse who occupies a tiny room beside the counselor’s office isn’t going to be able to handle this cardiac episode. “What kind of look?” Peter asks. “Assess his look MJ. Does it say, ‘I want to pound your guts’? Wait, should I look? No—you should stop looking—” 
“It’s a look Peter,” she says. “See for yourself.” 
Anxiety wars with curiosity. Somehow, curiosity wins, and Peter (be cool, Pete, be cool and casual) glances over his shoulder. There’s nothing casual about the expression on Tony’s face. It’s apathetic, that’s true, but it is fixed and unflinching even as Peter’s entire lunch table stares back at him across the grassy quad. Around him are his friends—other seniors who have reputations for delinquency—and they laugh and joke raucously but Tony isn’t joining them at all. At the edge of his lips, a cigarette rests. 
Peter swallows. Smoking on school grounds is forbidden. 
MJ throws up both of her hands, mouthing What? She’s the only one with the balls to do that. Peter’s never heard of Tony Stark hitting a woman, but the true depths of the older senior’s depravity are unknown. Unfortunately. 
Tony takes his cigarette out of his mouth and points with it. 
“Oh my god,” Peter says. 
MJ points at herself. Tony shakes his head, points again. MJ points to Ned. Tony’s eyes roll noticeably even from this distance. He points one last time. “He wants you, Petey,” MJ mutters. 
Peter turns to her, glad Tony can’t see the expression on his face. He hopes it’s terrified—because terror is explicable at least. But god forbid the other boy see the pounding of Peter’s heart in his throat, the way his palms have started sweating, the nervous-anxious-excited energy that makes his stomach feel like it’s twisting inside out. “What does he want with me?” 
“Maybe he wants to pound you,” she says flatly. 
God. Peter wishes. 
“I—I guess I should go over there,” Peter stammers. “See what he wants. Right?” 
“Go get him, Pete,” Ned says, always the encouraging friend. He knows of Peter’s long withstanding crush on Tony and has always comforted him in those teenage traumatic lamentations of Tony doesn’t even know I exist! Albeit, Ned usually responds with a That’s probably a good thing, but still. He’s a good bro. 
Peter’s legs shake as he crosses the grass. There isn’t much time left to the lunch period, but the tables are still full of students enjoying the first real warm day of spring after a bitter New-York winter. Beside Tony’s table, a group of boys have a hacky-sack that they are kicking back and forth, and Peter has to circumvent them to avoid interrupting the game. 
Then he is there. Standing right in front of Tony Stark. 
Oh, the poetry he could wax about Tony Stark. The guy is so fucking handsome—movie star good looks, with a straight nose and well-shaped eyebrows and full lips. His eyes are the color of whiskey, framed with thick lashes. Not only is he so attractive it hurts (literally. If Peter jerks off anymore with this senior in mind, his dick might fall off, and he doesn’t fully trust Google when it says that such a thing is impossible), but Tony also is incredibly smart. They’re in all the same AP classes, with a course load that would probably put any other student to shame. 
Quick witted, verbally scathing, and with a reputation for fighting and other acts of juvenile delinquency, Tony is everything Peter isn’t. 
He is everything Peter wants. 
“H-hey. Hey Tony. What’s—what do you need? I mean, were you pointing at me? Oh, god. You weren’t, were you? Am I bothering you? I’ll just get out of your hair.” 
Tony watches him ramble, cigarette tipped with ash that needs tapped away. He isn’t smiling, but there is a slant to his eyes that makes Peter think that he finds the younger boy’s rambling amusing. His voice rumbles out from around the cigarette: “I pointed at you.” 
“Oh, thank god. Well, I mean, not thank god, like, just—w-what did you need?” 
Someone behind him snickers. He recognizes the sound: it’s the sound Flash Thompson usually makes when Peter’s around. A hand jabs between his shoulder blades causing him to stumble forward and nearly into Tony’s personal space. “How the hell are you in AP English, Penis?” Flash asks. “L-l-l-listen to you t-t-talk, fag!” 
Peter can’t even look up, eyes on his shoes, feeling frozen with fury and embarrassment. He wishes that a hole would open up and swallow him—but Google says that’s not possible, either. 
“You,” Tony says, pointing. 
When Peter glances up, he sees that he is pointing at Flash. His stomach twists. The few moments when Tony’s attention was on him might have been the best of his high school career. But now that attention has drifted on to someone else—someone better, probably. 
“Yeah? What’s up, Tony?” 
Tony puts out his cigarette on Flash’s arm. There is a sizzle, then a scream, and Peter watches with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. The sound of Flash freaking gets drowned out by the shriek of the bell, and then there is a teacher on them, dragging Flash and Tony towards the school even as Tony shakes off the grip of the woman and follows under his own volition. 
MJ puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder, looking just as shaken and confused as he is. Even more so when Tony turns to look over his shoulder and holds up a hand in parting. 
Lamely, Peter lifts a hand in return. 
A shadow falls over Peter. 
He is squatting at his locker examining the heft of his AP calculus book versus the sheer volume of his western politics book, trying to prioritize what he needs to carry the twelve blocks back to May’s apartment, but then he is gone. Everything fades away except for that shadow and the shoes he can see from the corner of his eye: black combat boots with thick, quiet soles. 
He inhales. 
Peter has always had incredible senses; it’s a gift and a curse. Today, it’s a gift. Absolutely a gift. He can smell cologne: Dior. Homme Intense. He and MJ spent an entire afternoon at the Macy’s in Manhattan smelling perfumes under the guise of buying an early Mother’s Day gift for May, but if MJ wondered why he spent most of his time in the men’s cologne department, she didn’t ask. When he finally found the scent, it made his toes curl. Goosebumps bloomed on his arms. A tingling came over him—a warning that if he didn’t cool off, he’d get hard. 
When he glanced at the price, he lost the imminent boner: a small bottle was over sixty dollars. 
But Tony Stark could afford things like that. His father owned Stark Industries, the most successful weapons manufacturer in the western hemisphere. The car Tony drove to school probably cost more than May made in a year. But Jesus, he looked good in it. 
Everything about Tony Stark looks good. Peter takes his time the way he couldn’t earlier out on the quad, eyeing those combat boots, clean but worn, a silver ring threaded through the laces to catch on the sunlight out in the quad. The jeans are tight and dark, clinging to a form thicker than Peter’s own and no less strong. The belt around his waist is black leather, studded. Just the sight of it makes Peter swallow, throat convulsing, though he doesn’t know why. Today Tony is wearing a Black Sabbath shirt that is so well-worn there are holes in the hem, but considering it shows a hint of tanned, toned skin, Peter hardly minds the bold fashion choice. 
A hand slams into the metal of the closed locker beside him. Peter flinches at the noise. Still on his knees, he looks up through his lashes to see that Tony is pressing a piece of paper flush to the lockers. His nails are painted black, chipping. 
“I’m in trouble.” God, even his voice is potent, low and charming and melodic. If he isn’t careful, he’s likely to miss half the words the other senior says just to let the tone wash over him like waves on the sand, abrading his skin until he disintegrates. Licking his lips, Peter replays what Tony just said—for a moment, he thinks that Tony is talking about whatever punishment he’s likely to receive from using Flash Thompson as his personal ashtray—and then he gets a better look at the paper pressed to the locker. 
Peter groans in sympathy. It’s a mandatory peer instruction form. It’s been all the rage these last two semesters at his high school. When a student is struggling in a course, the teachers will advise them to seek tutoring from more gifted students. But typically, Tony is the gifted student. Especially in their math and coding classes. He squints and—ah. Shakespearean literature. 
But still.
 “How is a professed genius failing English?” Peter snarks. Then his brain catches up with his mouth, and he can feel the burn in his face as his mouth gapes at his own audacity. Tony fucking Stark could probably snap him in half with a look alone. “Oh, gosh, Tony that wasn’t—I—I’m so, so sorry—” 
Tony sighs and leans against the lockers. It’s a move that should only work in 80’s brat pack films, but it’s working now. God, it’s working; Peter’s mouth feels dry as a desert, eyes tracking the curve of his torso and the cocking of his narrow hips. The older boy doesn’t laugh, but judging by the twitching of his lips, Peter thinks it might be a very close thing. “No sweat. My grades slipped last semester thanks to —ah—shifting priorities. I’m back on top again, but Mr. Brewer won’t get off my fucking back about this.” 
Shifting priorities, yeah. Everyone has been talking about how hard Tony went last semester at the Homecoming afterparty, the winter formal afterparty, and every party in between. The rumors ranged from hard drugs to sex tapes to spending the weekend in jail when his father refused to bail him out until Monday morning. Personally, Peter doesn’t believe any of them: he scoured PornHub for like, three hours one day. If there was a Tony Stark sex tape, he would have found it. 
Peter stands, hoping Tony doesn’t notice the way his knees are shaking. Tony’s attention on him is a compelling thing, and he finds himself opening the zipper on his binder and pulling out a pen. “Okay,” he says softly. “I’ll forge the sheet for you.” 
The older boy blinks, slow. His eyebrows lift. When he says Peter’s name, the younger boy feels like he’s been electrocuted. Before today, he wouldn’t have put money on Tony even knowing his name. “Peter Parker. Lying? To an academic professional? That’s entirely out of character. For you. Not me. But definitely for you. Why would you want to do that?” 
Peter licks his lips, hands shaking under the older boy’s intense scrutiny. “I—I figured that’s what you were here for. To have me sign and say I tutored you so that you could get Mr. Brewer off your case.” 
It isn’t fair, the way Tony softens. There’s nothing about this boy that hints at softness: not the dark clothes and the scowls and the antisocial behavior and the burn on Flash’s arm. But something in his face does soften, and it makes Peter want to melt. Tony Stark has a heart, he thinks. Who knew. “I’ve cut enough corners lately. My old man will kill me. Let’s just bite the bullet, and I’ll make it up to you. Swear.” 
Those words make him feel the same way he felt after he first tried the tequila May keeps in her freezer: lightheaded and like there’s fire in his gut. He can’t imagine the kind of favor from Tony that might qualify as making it up to him, but he sees a myriad of images behind his eyes; his favorite is the one of Tony throwing Flash in a dumpster while Peter watches on. “I—o-okay. Yeah.” 
“Your place or mine?” 
Peter flushes. “Whatever you prefer.” 
“Stark,” a teacher barks from down the hallway. “What are you doing on school property? Consider your suspension begun—do you want it extended?” 
Tony rolls his eyes. He holds up a finger, the universal sign for give me a fucking minute. It makes Peter’s stomach clench with arousal. Tony has balls. Peter would never tell a teacher to wait. 
“Let’s do yours,” he says. “Meet me out front in ten? I’m going to drop this shit—” shit being his schoolbooks, “—off in my locker.” 
“Yeah, sure thing!” says Peter. His voice cracks in enthusiasm and he cringes. Jesus, could he be anymore adolescent? He hides his face in his locker listening to the soft sound of Tony’s boots walking away. Stuffing his book in his backpack, he slings it over his shoulder and goes to find MJ. 
“You,” she says flatly. A colorful stack of fliers is wedged between her arm and her breast, thumbtack in the corner of her mouth. She puts her flier—promoting an international flower-planting event to help save the bees—over another flier—glee club sign ups. “You and Tony Stark. Together. Alone. Studying.” 
“I don’t think we’ll actually be studying,” Peter admits. “He says he knows what he’s doing—” 
“Stop right there. If you aren’t studying, then what are you doing, Parker?” 
His mouth gapes. He can feel himself begin to sweat, sticky underneath his arms and at his hairline. What is he doing? Taking Tony Stark back to his apartment, and to what? Sit and stare at each other? Or—and he isn’t ashamed to admit that he gulps, throat convulsing with nerves—are they going to hang out? 
“Peter.” MJ jabs his bicep with one of the pushpins until he yelps. “Look at me. Quit freaking out. You want him? This is an opportunity. Make the most of it.” 
Her words are still ringing in his ears as he bounds down the steps of the school, bag slung over one shoulder. Since he was a young boy, Peter had been shy and sweet. The old women at the Methodist church May used to take him to on Easter and Christmas always used to pinch his cheeks with their wrinkled hands and tell May what a little gentleman he was growing up to be. He had a reputation for being a studious, soft-hearted, good boy. 
A reputation like that was hard to shake, even now that he is seventeen years old. His classmates are enjoying their senior year, and while Peter isn’t having a bad time…he’s not sure that he’s ever had a good time in his whole life. What other seventeen-year-old has never had alcohol except for sips from his aunt’s wine glasses and a few shots from her freezer? What other teenager his age has never even been to a party? 
Peter hasn’t ever even been kissed. 
For years, being so good was the safest route, a comfortable route, but now that Peter wants to let loose, he doesn’t even know how. 
Tony Stark doesn’t look like he’s ever taken the safe route in his life. He pulls up to the front steps, tires screeching. Peter doesn’t know much about the make and model of cars—though he loves their engines—but this one is sleek, cherry red, curvy, and probably the sexiest inanimate object that he’s ever seen. Peter has drooled over it (and its driver) daily since Tony got his license months before Peter in Sophomore year and began driving to school instead of bussing or walking. 
And now he’s going to take a ride in it. 
Giddy with a mixture of excitement and nerves, Peter tries not to stumble over his feet as he makes it down the last few steps. Tony reaches across the center console to open the door, pushing it open with his fingertips, though why, Peter has no clue. 
“Thanks,” Peter says. 
Tony doesn’t respond to that, even though Peter can feel the heavy presence of his gaze. He’s got his sunglasses on, dark ones that do nothing but show Peter his own blushing reflection. “What’s the address?” 
Peter gives it to him and Tony speeds off. He takes the time to close his eyes and let his senses loose. The seat underneath him is real leather, textured like the palm of a warm hand. The car smells of Homme Intense, an undercurrent of cigarette smoke that clings to Tony, and a hint of winter-fresh gum that is in the center console probably. The engine purrs giving him a pleasant hum all over his body, and Tony’s knuckles brush against Peter’s knee when he needs to shift gears. God it’s intense. He feels like his senses have been rubbed raw in the most pleasant way, like that time he spent May’s whole day shift in his room seeing how many times he could cum in a row—four, by the way, but then his cock was too sore. His face is turning red, that tell-tale flush feeling rising in him just at the thought of masturbating. 
“Parker. Hey. Come back to reality.” 
Peter sits up, eyes wide. They’re outside his apartment building. 
“There’s no room on the street, does your building have a lot?” 
“Oh. Yeah, around back. Turn up here.” 
Tony does. When they get out of the car, Peter laments it. Chances are, that will be the only ride it in he will ever take. 
“What’s your apartment number? I’m going to smoke before I come up.” 
“You could smoke in the apartment,” says Peter even as he knows that smoking is prohibited inside the building. He could crack a window, surely. Then the thought of Tony in his bedroom, sitting by the headboard where the window rests, lounging on the sill and blowing smoke down onto the street—god, it makes him shiver. 
“I’m not going to smoke in your aunt’s apartment,” Tony says, pulling a half-empty pack of Marlboros from his back pocket. The cigarette he holds delicately between his full lips is a lucky son of a bitch. 
“I’ll sit with you,” Peter offers, sitting on the steps. 
Tony shrugs, leaning against the brick building. “Suit yourself,” he says. Then he holds out the pack. “You smoke?” 
Peter’s mouth gapes. May would freak if he ever came home smelling of smoke. “Uh—no. I mean, that is, I’ve never—uh—tried?” 
Tony stares. He closes the pack. 
“Wait—I mean, if you’re offering, I—” 
“You don’t have to.” 
“Could I, though?” 
After a moment of hesitation, Tony opens the pack again. He thumbs one cigarette loose and hands it to Peter filter first. You know, like a true gentleman. Peter can feel how red his face is as he holds it, feeling so naughty, like May is liable to come around from behind the dumpster at any moment and catch him. God, he’d be so grounded. 
“You know how?” Tony mouths from around his cigarette. 
“Yeah. Sure. Totally.” 
Tony’s mouth quirks upward. He’s still wearing the sunglasses, and Peter kind of hates that. If Tony is smiling, Peter wants to see the squint of his eyes, the glow of the mirth. He needs the full picture. As if by reading his mind, Tony pushes the glasses up to rest on his soft, dark hair. There comes a slick click, Tony flicking the lighter until a flame bursts forth. 
Peter holds out the cigarette for the older boy to light. Tony’s lips twitch again, and that’s how he knows he’s done something wrong. 
“Put it in your mouth,” Tony says, grinning when Peter turns red at the innuendo—there is the slightest gap between his front two teeth, and it’s so fucking charming. “Filter first.” 
Swallowing, Peter parts his lips and Tony carefully places it in his mouth. Instinct has him closing his lips around the filter. He can’t help but think of other things Tony might so generously offer for Peter to put in his mouth. A sound comes out of Peter’s throat against his will, but Tony doesn’t seem to have heard it. 
Tony holds up the lighter. “Now, when the tip is in the flame, you want to suck in, like it’s a straw. Don’t inhale, you’re just trying to get the flame to take. Ready?” 
Peter can’t speak, doesn’t want to open his mouth and have the cigarette fall out. God, he’d look like a freaking idiot. A flick of Tony’s thumb conjures the flame and they meet in the middle, Tony’s eyes glued to Peter’s mouth—probably just watching to make sure he’s doing it right. Peter sucks in a few times, careful not to inhale the smoke. 
“You got it,” Tony says. He pauses to take a drag, eyes closing to enjoy the taste, a connoisseur of all things mysterious. Peter’s mouth goes dry when Tony lets the smoke out of his nose. Smoking isn’t supposed to be sexy, but right now Peter can only think of Tony leaning forward and pressing their open mouths close enough that every exhale becomes Peter’s inhale. In an instant, he is hardening, shoving a hand into his pocket to try and adjust himself subtly. Tony smokes the cigarette down to the filter and then grinds it to dust under his boot. 
“Now,” Tony continues. “And this is the important part—are you listening?” 
Peter nods dumbly. 
“Good. You’re going to suck again, but instead of letting it out of your mouth, just hold the smoke there.” Peter does as he says, reaching up to hold the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. “Now when you pull the cigarette away, breathe in deep.” 
He does. The smoke, cooled a little from resting in his mouth, goes down smoothly. It tastes like it smells, which isn’t to say it’s any good. His lungs itch with it, and it’s only a moment later that he’s letting out a heavy breath tinted with smoke. But he doesn’t cough or sputter like people do on TV the first time they try smoking, thank God. He’d be so embarrassed that he might have to switch schools. Leave the state. Change his name. 
When he looks up, Tony is smirking. 
“You got it. Now—” He pulls the cigarette from Peter’s lips and puts it in his own mouth. “—don’t smoke anymore. Don’t you know it’s fucking bad for you?” 
Peter laughs. He can’t help it. Then he coughs, lungs irritated, doubling over at the waist. A glance shows that Tony is trying hard not to laugh, mouth bared in a full grin, looking resolutely away from Peter’s choking form. Then he lifts his shoe and grinds the barely-smoked cigarette out, tucking it back in his pack. 
They go upstairs, because the elevator is always out of order. Peter is so nervous that he can’t unlock the door to his apartment with May—he knows that he needs to pull in on the door, turn the key hard, then shove with his shoulder, but suddenly it’s not working. Tony waits patiently, face inscrutable. At last the door opens and they go inside, Peter leading the way. 
If the sight of Peter’s tiny apartment in Queens disturbs Tony, the older boy doesn’t show it. The coffee table is well worn with many scratches and dings in the legs. The afghan over the couch was made by May’s grandmother, with holes large enough now for Peter to put his fist through. There is the clutter of a home lived in, with a mantle crowded with pictures—he hopes that Tony doesn’t wander that way and see the one of Peter when he was five wearing Sesame Street briefs and nothing else. Tony didn’t look like he belonged in the warm, relaxed space, though he made himself at home on the loveseat, eyes scanning the room with a neutral look on his face. 
“Sorry it’s—” Peter doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. Sorry it’s modest? Sorry I’m poor?
“I like it,” Tony says. Whether or not he means it, Peter can’t say for sure. But Tony doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to lie, especially just to spare someone’s feelings. 
“How did you know, by the way?” Peter asks, shrugging off his light jacket to hang it up in the closet. May freaks if he just throws it anywhere. Tony’s raised eyebrow beckons him to elaborate. “That I live here with my aunt.” 
Tony sucks on his teeth, mouth pursing. “You’re smart,” he says at last. “Figure it out.” 
Peter has absolutely no idea what to make of that. It kind of creeps him out, to be honest. Tony is hot, and so far he’s been kind to Peter and unkind to Peter’s enemies, but he really doesn’t know much about the older boy. And his reputation precedes him. He can’t help but trust him, though, this boy who had nudged his shoes off at the door to avoid getting dirt on his aunt’s rug. 
“Do you want something to drink?” Peter asks, desperate for a moment in the kitchen and away from Tony’s gaze. “We’ve got uh—water? Grapefruit juice. Cola, but it’s generic. Sorry.” 
“Water’s fine.” 
“Alright. Cool. Be right back.” 
In the kitchen, Peter freaks out a little, doing a goofy dance to shake out his trembling limbs. Tony Stark is in his living room! That’s a sentence he never thought he’d say—outside of his masturbatory fantasies, at least. Filling a glass with ice from the tray, he turns on the tap to fill it and then brings it back to Tony in the living room, hoping that his face isn’t flushed from his wild dancing in the other room. 
“Here you go,” he says softly, putting the cup on the coffee table. 
Tony reaches out, grabs a coaster, and places the drink on that. The look he gives Peter is sly, smirking. “Heathen,” Tony says. Peter has the feeling that Tony is teasing him. This whole day is so fucking surreal. 
“That’s me,” Peter chokes. 
“Nice picture,” Tony says, nodding to the mantle. “Sesame Street, huh?” 
“Jesus,” Peter mutters, burying his face in his hands. “That’s not me, I swear. It’s just another kid who looks just like me. Honest.” 
This time, Tony laughs. It’s a real laugh, his eyes squinting, full mouth parting to show his teeth. Peter can’t help but watch, eyes glued to that mouth. Even when the laughter dies out, Tony’s lips continue to twitch. 
“So,” Peter says. “Not to, uh, pointedly change the subject away from my embarrassing childhood photos but—what did you—I mean—what did you have in mind? For the, the studying.” 
Tony lounges back. His Black Sabbath shirt rides up showing toned, tan stomach and a line of dark hair and swirls just beneath his navel. Peter’s mouth dries up. He should have gotten that water for himself. “Studying is the last thing on my mind, Parker.” 
“Uh—sorry. What?” 
“Come on. You really don’t know?” 
Peter feels lost. His mouth opens and closes, unsure how to reply. 
“You really don’t know,” Tony says, shaking his head. On his thigh, his fingers are tapping out an anxious beat. He won’t look Peter in the eye. “I was trying to be subtle, but not this subtle. Usually when I want to fuck somebody, I just ask.” 
“My brain is about to explode,” Peter says, rubbing at one temple. “What are you trying to say? I’m not following.” 
“I—" Tony pauses, licks his lips. If Peter didn’t know any better, he’d say that the older boy was nervous. “I like you, Parker. I’d like to, I don’t know. Fuck. Take you out to a movie. That new superhero flick is playing. Do you like that sort of shit?” 
Peter’s ears started ringing right after the word fuck. Tony Stark. Wanted to fuck. Him? He could feel his mouthgo lax with surprise, eyes unblinking. The longer he stared, the faster Tony’s fingers drummed against his thigh. 
“This is the part where you say yes or no,” Tony suggests. 
“I—I’m. I’ve never—" Peter can’t even finish the sentence, it’s so pitiful. His face burns like the sun is in his cheeks. He’s already half hard, though his anxiety keeps him from growing any more than half-mast. 
Tony blinks. “You’ve never been on a date?” 
“N-no. Well, I mean, yeah, that too. But. I’ve never. You know.” 
Peter nods, shyly. He can’t even look at the older boy, just stares at his lap now, fingering the beginning of a hole at the knee of his jeans. How embarrassing it is, and it isn’t even the worst of it. Peter’s never done anything with another person. 
But he wants to. God, he wants to. 
Then a terrible thought comes to mind, one that sours in his gut and makes his vision go fuzzy with horror. “Are you, like, serious?” Peter asks lowly. “Or, I mean, is this...a joke?” 
“What kind of fucking joke would that be?” Tony asks. He looks just as pale as Peter feels, watching with dark, serious eyes. 
Peter shrugs, hanging his shaking hands between his knees-. “Definitely seems like something Flash would do. Flash or his friends.” 
“Is that the kind of guy you think I am? An asshole like that?” 
Peter looks up. Tony’s face is serious. His fingers are still. “No,” he admits. “I don’t think you’re that kind of guy.” 
Tony’s lips quirk upwards. “Good. That asshole, Flash? If he so much as looks at you again? I’ll beat his fucking ass, baby. You say the word. I hear how people talk about me. Mr. Brewer says I’m like a mad dog with no leash, you know that? But—I’ve got a leash, and it’s in your hands. Fuck. Only if you want it.” 
Those words have weight. Like a fist pressed against his sternum, they knock all the breath out of him and leave him panting. A whine comes out of his throat. He wishes he could have recorded those words so he could hear them again and again. Tony called him baby. 
Tony’s eyes darken at the sound Peter makes. He sits up from wearing he was lounging. “You like that, Pete? You like knowing how much control you have over me?” 
“I—I don’t know,” Peter says, clasping his hands in his lap. Tony glances down and it’s impossible to miss Peter’s erection, the way he is rubbing his knuckles against it. 
“Jesus,” Tony says, licking his lips. “You want this, Pete? You want me? You can have me, baby boy. Just need to say so.” 
“Yes,” Peter admits, his voice cracking. “But T-Tony. I’ve never even kissed anybody before. I have no idea what I’m doing. I wouldn’t even know where to start—“ 
Tony puts a hand on his knee, thumb slipping through the hole in his jeans to rub his bare skin. Peter’s cock twitches. How that single square inch of skin on skin contact can make him feel like blowing a load in his jeans, he has no idea. 
“I can show you,” Tony says. “If you’re sure you want it.” 
“I’m sure,” Peter says softly, smiling through his blush. “I-I’ll try to be a good student.” 
Tony groans. “I’m sure you’ll be the best student. So fucking smart, aren’t you baby boy? I spend half our classes together just staring at the back of your cute head, hoping against hope that you’ll answer a question just so I can hear your voice.” 
“I never knew,” Peter says, awed. Tony’s hand is creeping up his thigh, and Peter takes his hands away from where his erection obscenely tents at his jeans to give him room. 
“I was trying to be subtle,” says Tony. “I didn’t want to scare you off. Wasn’t sure if you were interested.” 
“God yes,” Peter admits. His cock aches fiercely, a damp warmth at the head where he leaks precum. If Tony doesn’t touch him soon, he might die. “Tony, please, I need—“ he stops abruptly, unsure of what he needs. Something. Anything. 
“Lesson one,” Tony says. He cups Peter’s jaw, thumb stroking the outer corner of the thin lips. “Kissing. Let’s see what we’re working with.” 
Tony kisses him. Peter has watched enough porn to know that closed-mouth kisses are for grandma’s and old married couples. They meet with their lips have parted, and Tony’s are fuller and softer than they look. He feels the tentative brush of a tongue against his bottom lip and reaches out with his own. They softly lick into each other’s mouth, and it is so sexual, so intimate that tears come to his eyes. He reaches down to squeeze his cock until it hurts. Cumming in his pants would probably embarrass him to death. 
Tony’s hand gently comes down over his own, not trying to coax it away, just running a comforting thumb over Peter’s knuckles. When his thumb slips off of Peter’s hand and brushes his aching cock, Peter keens into the older boy’s mouth. Tony pulls back and groans, his breath brushing Peter’s open, eager mouth. 
“Okay,” says Tony, running his fingers through the curls at the back of Peter’s neck. “Okay that’s a good start. Your foundation is excellent. Let’s try out some more advanced techniques.” 
They kiss again, long wet strokes of their tongues. Peter feels his nerves melting away, condensing into liquid arousal that has his heart stuttering. Then Tony takes Peter’s bottom lip into his mouth, sucking softly. The groan Peter gives is indecent, eyelids fluttering as he feels the sharp ridge of Tony’s teeth dig gently into the abused flesh. A hand presses firmly on Peter’s chest, coaxing him backwards into the couch, and Tony follows, a warm, hard presence above him. 
They make out for ages, mouths raw and red. Tony guides one of Peter’s hands to his hair and god, yes, it feels just as soft as he always imagined that it would when he tangles his finger in it. Tony shifts, pelvis dragging across Peter’s aching cock, and the younger boy groans, fingers tightening until he is tugging harshly at Tony’s scalp. His eyes slit open and he loses any worries he has about hurting the boy above him: Tony is red cheeked, eyes shut in ecstasy, mouth open as he presses more firmly against the hand that hurts him. 
By the time Tony pulls away, Peter is harder than he’s ever been. His balls ache with every throb of his pulse, hips unable to stop their little aborted thrusts up into the hard cradle of the other boy’s thighs. Tony kneels over him, appraising, panting. 
“When does your aunt come home?” 
“She works 2nd shift, so not until midnight.” 
“Thank God. Want to go to your room?” 
Peter’s room is a juvenile thing: posters on the walls, one of Einstein’s famous tongue-out portrait, one of the period table, only for dogs (both gifts from Ned). There are dirty clothes in a pile by the closet door, and his computer’s screensaver is a picture of him and Ned and MJ at the Statue of Liberty, when MJ is giving him rabbit ears. The sheets and pillowcases don’t match, and there is still a rumpled spot in the blankets where Peter had nested before rolling out of bed at dawn. That Peter was of a different time—he didn’t even exist anymore. 
“What’s next?” Peter asks, eager and anxious all in one. He hopes that whatever is next will bring some relief to his cock. 
“It’s up to you, Pete.” 
“But I-I don’t really know what I want,” Peter admits, blushing hotly. 
Tony sits on the edge of his bed, dark clothes contrasting starkly with the warm colors around him. “Can I touch you?” Tony asks, resting his elbows on his knees. He looks remarkably serious. Between his spread legs is a bulge that makes Peter’s mouth water. Maybe he does know what he wants. After he nods, Tony continues: “Can I taste you? Suck bruises all over your pretty body? Can I put my tongue inside you, lick you open? Can I fuck you?” 
Peter can’t speak, nods mutely, one hand palming at his aching cock. Tony’s eyes darken. 
“Come here,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “I want to suck you off.” 
Peter crosses the room, knees shaking. He steps between Tony’s open legs. The bed sits low enough that Tony can mouth at Peter’s abs, tucking up his shirt to lick a burning line up them. One hand reaches up, thumb circling a sensitive nipple, and Peter’s head tips back, hips thrusting, soft breathy sighs and whines filling the room. 
“Fucking look at you. Jesus Christ. You’re so fucking beautiful. Can’t wait to get my mouth on your cock.” 
Peter pushes back, lamenting the loss of those skilled fingers plucking at his nipples. He pants, desperate for breath, red-faced with what he wants to ask. 
“What is it, baby boy?” asks Tony. “You want something? Just have to ask me for it and I’ll give it to you.” 
Peter drops to his knee, putting his palms on the older boy’s thighs. He looks through his lashes, anxious for an answer: “Can I—may I—suck you?” 
Tony’s eyebrows raise. “You want to?” 
“Yes,” Peter says. It comes out long and breathy. The idea of it has his mouth watering, chest rising and falling with breaths he can’t slow. “Yes, please? Will you teach me how?” 
Groaning, Tony nods. He scoots until his ass is at the edge of the bed and palms at his belt. Peter has had so many fantasies featuring that belt, the sounds it would make as he opened it, the skin-warmed metal under his fingers. An image comes to mind: that belt cinching his wrists tight, nearly to bruising. Or wrapped around his throat, Tony’s hand holding the loose end. 
“What, baby?” Tony asks, pausing. 
“You made a noise. What is it?” 
“Just—just your belt. I—can we—I mean, there are uses for a belt right?” Peter’s voice grows soft and conspiratorial. “During s-sex.” 
Tony hums. “What did you have it mind?” 
But he can’t say it. The thought makes his face burn, a mixture of arousal and shame. He shakes his head, embarrassed tears burning at his eyes. Tony reaches out with a large hand, rubs a thumb against the tender skin beneath Peter’s eye. 
“You can’t tell me?” Peter shakes his head again, grateful that Tony seemed to understand. The older boy hums. He takes one of Peter’s hands and wraps it around his larger wrist. “Then show me, baby. Show me wear you want it. You don’t have to say a thing.” 
Somehow, that makes it so much easier. Peter takes Tony’s open, pliant hand and puts his thin wrist in it. Tony tightens his fingers, like a threat that Peter can hardly wait for him to make good on. The younger boy groans, and Tony tightens his hand again, the shape of his fingers staying for a few moments even after he draws them away. 
“That’s what you want, baby boy? You want me to wrap my belt around your tiny little wrists? Tie them to the headboard?” 
Peter whines. His tongue feels too thick to make words. He takes Tony’s hand again and, shaking, brings it up to his throat. Tony’s breath catches, warm fingers wrapping around Peter’s neck, thumb resting in the hollow of his throat. “Yeah?” Tony breathes. “You want me to wrap my belt around your neck? Choke your pretty lights out? God. Poor baby boy. So kinky, and nobody was around to show you how, were they?” 
Peter shakes his head, panting, squeezing around Tony’s fingers to coax him into putting more pressure. His air becomes sparse, and his cock jerks, leaking. All at once, Tony’s hand is gone, and Peter groans, shifting forward to chase it. 
“Hey—Pete. Listen to me. This is important. You want to stop, you just say stop. Or no. If you can’t talk, pinch me, hard as you can, okay? You understand?” 
“Yes,” Peter croaks. His hand comes down to palm his desperate cock, hips twitching up into his touch. “Please, Tony—please, I feel like I’m dying.” 
Tony’s eyes glitter like coals. He grabs Peter’s wrist to pull it away from where he’s groping himself. “No touching yourself, baby boy. You said you wanted to learn to suck cock? I’m going to teach you. But I think we need to take temptation out of the way, don’t we?” With a firm hand on the shoulder, he turns Peter around. Then Peter hears the rasp of Tony’s belt being drawn free from the loops. He shudders all over, goosebumps bursting to life on his arms and legs. Tony draws his hands behind his back and wraps the belt around them until they are cinched together tight. 
It feels better than Peter could have imagined. The surrender, the helplessness. Tony helps him turn around since his wrists are incapacitated, and then he finishes unbuttoning his pants and shifts them down past his knees. 
Tony isn’t wearing underwear. His cock springs free, long, thick, red as Peter’s cheeks. His mouth waters, throat swallowing convulsively. Like it’s a magnet and he’s metal, Peter finds himself drifting forward, mouth falling open on instinct. Then he pauses, nerves flooding his blood. He looks up through his eyelashes at the hungry, horny look on Tony’s face, but still he wants to tremble in anxiety. What if he does it wrong? What if Tony laughs at him? 
“What is it, Pete?” Tony asks, petting a hand through the boy’s hair while the other holds his own cock steady. “Talk to me.” 
“Want to be good for you,” Peter mumbles. 
“You couldn’t be bad for me. It’s my cock and your cute mouth. Anything you do with it would feel like heaven. But we don’t have to do this at all. I could suck you off. Or we could go out there, sit on your couch, and watch a fucking movie or something. I—I don’t want you to feel like—fuck. Am I pressuring you right now? Jesus, I tied up your fucking hands—” 
“No,” Peter yelps. His hands strain against the belt, but it doesn’t give, and god that makes his cock ache fiercely. “I—I want it! I just don’t want to disappoint you.” 
“I’ll walk you through it, if you want me to,” Tony says. His hand, which was previously holding his cock still, now begins to work it over subconsciously. Peter watches raptly, the thick head disappearing and reappearing in Tony’s grip. “But I mean it: Christ, I could probably just blow my load if you breathed on me. I’ve been thinking about you since last spring. You were in that fucking school play—I don’t fucking remember what it was about, I was too busy just staring at you. I’m in deep, here.” 
Peter fucking glows. He feels like there’s a fire in his chest, burning him up from the inside out. This is so much better than he ever dreamed it could be. Everything in him quivers, thinking it to be just a cruel joke, but he sees the authenticity on Tony’s face. The intensity with which the older boy looks at him makes him shake and shiver. 
“You know what would make me feel best?” Tony says, voice low. A bead of precum bursts at the head of his cock and drips over his knuckles. Peter wants to follow it with his tongue. “Honest to God? Just you doing whatever you want. Short of biting it off. Will you do that Pete? Play with my cock? Do what feels right?” 
When Peter’s mouth opens to answer, all that comes out is a whine. He nods. It can’t be that hard, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. All he needs to do is let his instincts lead him, to just have fun. His days of overthinking are over. He thinks. Taking a deep breath, Peter opens his eyes to stare at the cock in front of him. He wants it. He takes it. 
Leaning forward, Peter opens his mouth and drags his tongue across the head. The taste of cum bursts across his tastebuds and he groans, mirrored by Tony above him, cursing up a storm. Without his hands, Peter is content to let his own cock become secondary, to focus on the boy in front of him. Not wanting to push himself too far too soon, he just takes the head into his mouth, suckling on it softly. More precum beads at the tip and he licks it away with his tongue, tracing the slit. Above him spews the filthiest praise that has his own cock dripping. Instead of taking the rest of it into his mouth, he pulls back to place hot, open-mouthed kisses along the shaft. The skin feels like velvet under his tongue. When the erection jumps, he whines, chasing it with his lips. 
“Jesus,” Tony mutters. “You’re going to kill me. I think I’m dying. Can I die from a blowjob?” 
Peter pulls back. “Google says maybe, if you have a heart condition.” 
Tony laughs louder than Peter has ever heard him. It cuts off into a groan when Peter puts his mouth back to work, rubbing his tongue against the spot just behind the head. He closes his eyes, takes in the masculine scent, the heat. He follows the shaft down and then mouths at the balls, and Tony grabs at Peter’s hair, cursing. Peter tunes in long enough to understand the words being muttered, a litany of don’t stop, god please don’t stop— 
Pulling back, Peter decides it’s time. He’s ready. He needs it in his mouth, nudging the back of his throat. He takes the cock as deep as he can—which admittedly is not as deep as he’d hoped. When it reaches the beginning of his throat, he swallows on instinct, and above him, Tony hisses. Breathing deeply, Peter tries to relax and take more. Instead, he chokes, gagging. But judging by the sound Tony makes, he likes that too. 
“God, feels so fucking good. You like that, baby? You like choking on my cock?” 
Peter groans, nodding as best as he can. To prove it, he leans in again, taking too much until he gags. His mouth fills with spit, eyes burning. The sound is undignified, so fucking hot. Thank god his hands are restrained, because otherwise he’d be jerking himself towards a fast finish. 
“Keep doing that and I’ll cum,” Tony grunts. “Fuck, look at you. You’re crying. Why are you crying baby? Too much?” 
Peter pulls off, rubbing the wet cock against his cheek gently. “No,” he croaks, voice raw. “No it’s not too much, please, I want more—” 
Tony looks like he’s being tortured. He grabs Peter’s hair and guides him back to his cock, licking his lips at the picture Peter makes when he opens his mouth obediently. “Gonna take my load, baby boy? Gonna swallow me down? Or you want me to pull out and cum all over your pretty face?” 
Peter sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks, laving his tongue against what he can. God, he hopes that Tony doesn’t pull out (even though that’s certainly an idea—maybe one for later). If Tony’s precum is any indication of how he’ll taste, Peter knows he can take it. He wants it. He feels like he might die without it— 
“Here it comes, Pete, god. Fuck!” All the breath goes out of Tony, his cock twitching in Peter’s mouth. Cum fills his cheeks and he swallows once, twice, groaning. It isn’t the best thing in the world, but he feels so fucking sexy for this, so fucking turned on by it. By himself. The confidence gives him a headrush, makes his pulse jump. 
“Jesus,” Tony pants, pulling his mostly-hard cock from between Peter’s lips. He thumbs at the corner of the younger boy’s mouth, and Peter lets his tongue come loose to lick at it gently, tasting sweat and skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Parker. Fuck me. I can’t believe I wasted so much time pussyfooting around.” 
“To-ny,” Peter groans, drawing the word out. Now that Tony’s cum and there’s no more cock to suck, Peter remembers his own aching arousal. His balls are tight and painful, cock pressed uncomfortably into an angle where it’s still stuffed into his jeans. His wrists tug at the belt, stinging, but he doesn’t feel like he can form any words beyond the older boy’s name, his head fuzzy. 
“I’ve got you, baby,” Tony assures. He slides off the bed, reaches around Peter to undo the belt around his wrists. There are red marks, raw, that ache when Tony rubs them tenderly. Peter shivers pleasantly, hips jerking. “You hurting, baby? Need to cum?” 
“Please,” Peter breathes. “Please, help me.” 
“I’ve got you, baby boy. Lean against me okay, turn, just like this.” His back pressed to Tony’s chest, legs shaking, Tony reaches around and undoes Peter’s jeans. From this vantage point, Peter has the most incredible view: tanned hands unzipping his fly, reaching in to maneuver through the opening of Peter’s boxers. 
The first touch of skin on skin hurts so good. Peter keens, hips thrusting. Tony hushes him, a hand pressed flat against Peter’s twitching abs. There is no teasing, Peter is beyond that now. Tony makes a firm circle of fingers for Peter to thrust up into. A hot mouth sucks bruises against his neck, teeth dragging firmly across his pulse point. When Tony talks dirty, Peter can feel his lips move against his skin. 
“You’re fucking my fist, Peter. Look at yourself.” Peter hasn’t taken his eyes off them, the blur of tanned fingers against his red, flushed cock, glistening with precum. “Does that feel good, honey?” 
“Uh-huh,” Peter pants, thighs shaking. 
“You gonna cum for me?” 
Peter nods. He can feel it coming, the magnitude of his orgasm blooming in his gut and his balls, the pressure so good it hurts. He’s never been this turned on, this hard, not in his whole life. He chases it, mindless, his whole world condensing down to the hand on his cock, the lips at his neck, the hard lines of Tony pressing against his back. 
“Do it, then,” Tony says. “Cum for daddy, yeah?” 
He cums with a shriek that turns into a pained groan, cock spurting hard enough that cum reaches his rug in the center of the room. His balls clench once, twice, three times, four, and each one hits him like a fist to his gut, no more breath, no more thoughts, no more anything. Tony works him through it, squeezing every last drop from his exhausted cock, reaching down to gently fondle Peter’s aching, oversensitive balls. When he finally comes to, he is shaking all over, little pitiful noises being pulled from his throat. Sweat cools all over him, except for where Tony’s forehead presses against his neck. 
“I’m done for you,” Tony is murmuring. “You hear that? I’m done in by you.” 
Peter knows how he feels. Slowly, the high wears off, but Tony is no less tender. Before today, Peter never would have imagined that a tender Tony Stark existed, but he does. He’s in Peter’s room, helping him scrub cum out of the rug. Then he’s on Peter’s couch, dressed, putting his arm around Peter and telling him put on whatever you want, okay? I’ll probably just be staring at you anyway. 
When midnight comes near, Tony slips his feet into his shoes by the door. Peter wrings his hands. He isn’t sure where this leaves them. He isn’t sure where they stand now, or tomorrow, or after Tony’s suspension when he returns to school. 
Tony pulls the peer tutoring sheet out of his backpack. But then he tears the corner off and scribbles on it. “This is my number,” he says. “Text me, sometime. Not to be a needy bitch, but text me soon. If you want.” 
Peter’s heart skips. He clutches the number in his palm like it’s made of solid gold. “Okay,” Peter breathes. “I can do that.” 
They kiss, and it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. It doesn’t feel like a thanks for the good time, see ya never. It feels like a promise. 
“Do you want me to sign that sheet for you?” Peter asks, breathless. 
Tony smirks. “No. Gives me a real good reason to come back.” 
Then he is gone, his dark figure disappearing down the hallway and the stairs. Peter closes the door and locks the deadbolt, turning to press his back against the wood. He presses the cellphone number to his heart. 
And if Tony’s phones has a text before he’s even reached his car, that is between the two of them and no one else. 
349 notes · View notes
longitud-de-onda · a year ago
piece of your heart
pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; javi takes you out dancing and drunkenly starts saying things in spanish that you can’t understand rating; t warnings; alcohol, drunkenness (and the vomiting that comes after), unrequited feelings (or not?), and angst. word count; 2.4k requested; by two anons. requests under break. a/n; combined these two requests and wrote this on a plane. there’ll be a part two 😉
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“javi request where he takes the reader dancing 🥺 something similar to the dance in 3x1 of narcos thank u sm and ur the best !! 💖”
“You are at a bar after work with Steve and Javi. Javi asks you to dance with him. He is drunk & kind of grinding on you and he starts to say some things in Spanish. You don't speak Spanish very well, and assume he is saying lewd things, but when you go home, you remember some of the things he said and you put them in Google Translate and he is actually confessing really sweet things like he loves you, you are the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, an he is so screwed.”
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“So, tonight? Wanna go out dancing with some of the others?” Javier has just walked up to your desk and sat on top of your work, staring you down.
“Dancing? No thanks,” you tell Javier.
Going out dancing with Javier Peña? That involved alcohol and lowered inhibitions and you aren’t ready to do that. You’ll admit, having him here, asking you to go dancing with him, it hurts. You can imagine in another life, one where you weren’t living in Colombia and meddling with international politics in a way even the US President would likely disapprove of, you could be brave, step up and tell Javi how you felt. But you were both in a line of work that didn’t allow for relationships, and catching feelings was the worst illness that could befall you.
And you had caught the virus.
“Come on, it’s been a hell of a week for everyone. There’s about seven of us, going over to the disco downtown, we can get plastered, forget about work, have a bit of fun?” he smiles at you, and you shake your head.
“Not tonight, Javi,” you say. “Anyway, it’s Friday, and we work tomorrow.”
You’ve said yes before. That night sucked. You watched him flirt with every woman in the bar, watched him make out with a young woman in a booth. You cried the entire drive home, and on your way up to your apartment, you passed his first-floor apartment and could hear the moans coming from inside. There was nothing crueler than wanting someone you couldn’t have, someone who would sleep with anyone, except you.
The feeling had weighed heavy on your heart for a long time now, and while it was easy to avoid the man, given that you worked in different departments, he managed to find a reason to visit you. Sneaking him classified documents. Helping him with a wiretap. Doing background checks. And every time he asked you’d comply if only to get a few extra minutes of his presence. A bit more time where that smile was directed at you and not one of the many other women in the building. A few moments where you could pretend that he cared.
“You sure? It’s not really a night without my favorite CIA agent,” he says, putting on the sly grin he uses to bend anyone’s will. The one he uses to get informants to reveal a bit more than they intended.
You want, so badly, to say no. To not force yourself to survive another night of suffering. But you’re weak and probably a masochist. And there’s the fact that he’s asking you, begging you, to come with him. To spend time with him. Even if it means you’ll end the night in tears, historically you’ve never been one to turn down time with Javier, no matter how much it hurt, and you weren’t going to stop tonight.
“Fine, but you’re buying the first round,” you agree.
“Good!” He jumps off of your desk. “It’s gonna be great. See you at eight.”
“Eight, okay...”
He leaves the room, a bit more bounce in his gait, and you smile to yourself, knowing that you were the reason for his excitement.
The day passed slowly, you had too many reports to read through and not enough coffee could keep you going. When you finished for the day, you were one of the last ones still in the office, and you headed home, looking forward to a shower and some warmed up leftovers for dinner.
You don’t have plans to drink too much. You don’t want to be hungover at work, and you had a tendency to spill secrets when wasted. With Javier around, that wasn’t something you wanted to get involved with. Still, you make sure you’ve got enough food in your stomach and drink some water so that the inevitable multitudes of shots you’ll be coerced into drinking don’t go straight to your head.
At eight, you’re waiting in the foyer of the complex, along with Steve, Connie, Marta, the current ambassador’s secretary, and Anthony, one of the other DEA agents that lived in the complex. You were going to be meeting another 5, apparently, at the disco. It was turning into quite the evening, especially considering that you had work the next day. You were told the plan was to take two cars over, so two groups could head back whenever, and if you were too drunk, it was close enough you could probably walk or just take a taxi if things went south.
Javi is obviously rushing as he bursts out of his apartment, still buttoning up his shirt. You let your eyes roam over him from the back of the group. He had put some effort into the look for the evening, a nice pair of slacks than he usually wore, and he had done something with his hair.
It makes you feel more than a bit self-conscious of how unimpressive you look before you mentally slap yourself. You’re not here to impress Javier. You don’t need to put in an effort, even if you did he still wouldn’t go for you.
“Ready?” Javier asks, and you all exit the building.
Two hours into the evening, you’re sufficiently tipsy after a couple beers. You had resisted Connie’s multiple offers of shots, but you didn’t stop her from dragging you onto the dance floor for a solid hour. You’re sweaty and a bit tired already, back at the bar where some of the guys in your group are gathered.
You watch as Javier starts knocking back shots of tequila with Anthony, something you weren’t expecting. He was always the one to slowly sip at a glass of whiskey over the night, or drink beer. He must really want to get drunk tonight.
You slip onto a barstool and order a bottle of beer. Javier is a couple feet away, and he’s already acting like he’s lost all control, and you worry about his fate in the morning. He wasn’t usually this careless with his alcohol.
He sidles up next to you, “Y/N! We should go dance.”
He wraps an arm around your shoulders, trying to pull you up off your seat.
“Javi, no,” you say. You should be jumping for joy. Happy that he actually wants to spend time with you. But you know that it’s only because he’s so incredibly drunk.
“Please, darling? I didn’t invite you out so that you could sit here.” he drawls out, his Texas accent appears in moments like this, and you wish it didn’t make you feel things.
He drags his hand down your bare arm, wrapping his fingers around your hand and pulling you up.
“Okay.” You must hate yourself.
He pulls you through the crowds into the center of the dance floor. Arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you yelp in surprise.
“¿Todo bien, compañera?” he laughs in your ear, something light and fluttery.
“Javi you know I don’t speak Spanish,” you say, bowing your head.
“You should, it would sound so beautiful coming from you,” he says and you close your eyes, reminding yourself that he’s so far gone he doesn’t know what he’s saying.
He starts to sway to the music, and his hands on your waist radiate heat straight through your dress. The whole disco is hot, but you feel even warmer wrapped up in Javier. The music thrums through your body, and you look up at his eyes, glittering with the almost-goofy smile he wears.
You want to imagine that this is real. That he’s here, hands all over you, because he wants to. You wish you could move your hands down from around his neck, or pull him in tighter, and not regret it tomorrow morning. You know you’re going to wake up tomorrow alone in bed, remembering how much could have happened if Javier cared, and that he will wake up, probably with someone else, someone who’s in this very room right now.
That thought almost makes you let go of Javier and run away, but he pulls your hips into his, rolling up against you. He lets out a moan that shoots straight to your core, and you close your eyes tight, hoping you’ll open them again for this to be just a dream.
Instead, you open them at the feeling of his breath, hot near your ear.
“Eres tan hermosa, Y/N,” he says.
You don’t know a word he’s saying but you’re pretty sure you have an idea of what he means. He’s grinding up against you, drunk and probably horny, like he is most nights, the words likely meaning something about how he’d like to take you here on the dance floor. Something disgusting and quick and meaningless.
“Me vuelves loco.”
But you’re too tipsy to get caught up on that. You want to pretend he’s saying anything but what you know he’s going on about. Want to pretend his arms aren’t slinking lower down your back until they brush over your ass. You want to believe he’s doing it because he wants to.
You decide it’s better to let go for the night. Maybe you can pretend. Just for an hour.
The music washes over you, and you move your hips along with his, and while he takes the lead, you follow, dancing as if you knew what you were doing.
“Cuando bailas así, no quiero que todos estén aquí,” he groans, “Quiero estar a solas contigo.”
If only you knew what he was saying. If you knew exactly what sort of lewd things he is saying, maybe it would be enough to knock some sense into your head and leave him on the dance floor. But you don’t.
Thank god you don’t.
It means you get to dance in his arms for a little bit more.
“No sabes, porque tu español es una mierda, pero estoy con tantas mujeres para que pueda intentar olvidarte,” he says, “Es tortura, tener alguién tan perfecta como tú, tan cerca, pero tan inalcanzable.”
When he speaks Spanish, he sounds so different. Sometimes, like now, it’s like he’s reciting a love poem. Other times, like when you hear him talking to the police, he becomes someone commanding and aggressive. Not like the Javier who spoke English to you, smiled, and sheepishly asked for favors.
“Nunca ha funcionado, no puedo olvidarte,” he says.
“Javi, you know I don’t understand you, right?” you say and he responds by thrusting his hips into you again. You bite your lip, and it only becomes more painful as you feel his bulge against your body. You’re just another body for him. And that is a sobering realization. You’re about to cry and you’re glad he’s looking over your shoulder and can’t see your face.
“Deseo poder besarte,” he whispers in your ear, “Te quiero.”
You were so stupid to fall for such a man. It’s killing you.
With one hand still on your ass, he brings the other one up, palming your breast. The moan you involuntarily release shocks you enough to push him away.
“Javier,” you say, panicking, “I can’t—“
Before you say anything more you see the twisted look on his face, somewhere between completely ravaged and utterly lost. You turn and, pushing through people, go back to the bar, where you order a shot which you quickly down before sitting down and letting the tears fall.
After fifteen minutes of looking like the saddest person in the disco, the bartender takes pity on you and gives you a glass of water and some tissues. You thank her.
The night had so quickly turned to shit. It was so much worse than previous ones. It was a torture you couldn’t handle anymore.
“Y/N!” screams a voice in your ear, someone drunk and loud.
You turn. It’s Marta.
“It’s Javier, he’s outside puking. You’re the soberest of us you need to take him home.”
Shit. Of course this would happen.
“Fine, but take care, Marta, I don’t want you not making it home tonight.”
She thanks you and disappears into the throngs of people.
You settle your tab and Javier’s and go outside. Javier is sitting on the curb, keeled over and emptying his guts onto the stone streets.
If your heart didn’t hurt so much, you’d laugh. You hadn’t known anyone over the age of 30 drunk themselves to this point.
“Javier?” you say.
He looks up and starts to say something, but you can see the regret on his face flash upon opening his mouth as it only brings on another wave of nausea. You look away.
When he finishes, you say, “Come on, Javi, let's get you home.”
He tries to stand and you have to dive into his side to stabilize him. When you’re in a position where you can support his weight, you guide him towards his car.
You strap him into the passenger seat and reach your hand into his pocket, finding the car keys.
The ride home he stays silent. He hasn’t said a word to you since he was whispering in your ear on the dance floor. You suppose he has a fair reason to not open his mouth now though. Probably doesn’t want to soil his own vehicle.
You get him into his apartment just fine, set him up with a glass of water and make him take some pain meds.
“Don’t die on me Javi, no choking on your vomit overnight, okay?” you say and he nods.
Back in your apartment, you sit down on your couch. You should go to sleep. You need to be at work in 7 hours.
But some vicious part of your mind reminds you of the words Javier had said. You curse your curiosity and pull out your Spanish dictionary.
You only remember three phrases, “quiero estar a solas contigo,” “deseo poder besarte,” and “te quiero.”
As you look up the words, your eyes widen. Quiero: I want. Estar: To be. Solas: alone. Contigo: with you.
Deseo: I wish. Poder: to be able to. Besarte: to kiss you.
The last one requires you to look it up in the phrasebook. ‘I want you’ didn’t feel right. When you find it you almost drop the book on the floor.
Te quiero: I love you.
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¿Todo bien, compañera?
Everything okay, partner/colleague/girlfriend?
Eres tan hermosa
You are so beautiful
Me vuelves loco.
You drive me crazy
Cuando bailas así, no quiero que todos estén aquí. Quiero estar a solas contigo.
When you dance like that, I don’t want everyone to be here. I want to be alone with you. 
No sabes, porque tu español es una mierda, pero estoy con tantas mujeres para que pueda intentar olvidarte
You don’t know because your Spanish sucks, but I’m with so many women so I can try to forget you
Es tortura, tener alguién tan perfecta como tú, tan cerca, pero tan inalcanzable.
It’s torture, having someone as perfect as you, so close, yet so unreachable. 
Nunca ha funcionado, no puedo olvidarte 
It’s never worked, I can’t forget you
Deseo poder besarte 
I wish I could kiss you
Te quiero. 
I love you
taglist; @pascalisthepunkest​ @turquiosenights @el-lizzie​
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