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ofmythsandmadness · 3 years

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stop moving | d.h

you do diego’s eyeliner. 2k words.

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NOTES: gender neutral. long haired diego. i don’t know why i’m writing this and i kinda hate it lol, i rarely write this sort of thing but y’know. i’m going to check all messages, notifs & messed gems in the morning, i’m really only posting this and ghosting again, bc i know otherwise i’ll never do it. and y’know, i want to feel productive about something. take care folks <3

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"CAN YOU PLEASE STOP MOVING?!”

Hot breath stings your trembling fingers as Diego huffs a laugh; it’s barely a sound, a mumble of a chuckle, but you feel it vibrate through your body and hit your hand and it almost does you in. You almost just give up and confess your undying attraction, right then and there. And as though you need more contact, even more of him pressing against you, egging you closer to the precipice that will surely be your infatuated doom.

“You’re the one who asked to do this, you don’t get to complain.”

“Well, you wanted it. You agreed to this!”

“I--” another exhale against your hand, another peal of laughter following shortly. You've half a mind to clamp his mouth shut with it, if it wouldn’t ignite yet another ill-thought fantasy of yours. “This was still your idea.”

Your smile buds and blooms despite your brain begging your lips to be still. You can’t help it; he’s too good at weaseling into the cracks of your composure. One look, one soft chuckle and you’re set for life. It doesn’t help that you’re basically on his lap, cradling his face in your hands like he’s a baby, and his own fingers tap-tap-tap away on your hips, creating a rhythm no one else but you can make out. Honestly, you’re surprised you haven’t totally cracked yet, this close and this personal.

“Shut your eyes.”

“They are shut.”

“No they’re not!” you poke lightly at the fluttering lids. Your lip snags on your bottom lip; a poor attempt to hide a giggle. “I can’t do this with your eyes open.”

“D'aww…” his lids shut as he groans. “So I’m just supposed to sit here? Let you draw on my face in total darkness?”

You click your tongue, half in disapproval in his exaggeration, and half because you’ve won yet again against his stubbornness. “I won’t be long. Suck it up.”

“Sure. Y’know, I have siblings; I know how long it takes them to do makeup, and-”

“-stop moving, asshole!” Your free hand tugs ever lightly on a strand of hair, one of the many that’s slipped out of his ponytail. Repressed thoughts flash in sultry red across your thoughts and you swallow, quickly letting the hair go. “I-I need you to stay still, or this will take forever.”

Diego sighs and his grip tightens around your hips. Before you know it, he’s moving you. “Then stop wriggling,” he grumbles, flattening you against his legs. You’re basically straddling him, at that point, and your mind goes absolutely blank at how much more intimate this feels. Does he notice? Or is this just another friendly motion you’re yet again reading into?

Your mouth tastes of cotton balls and it’s dry as an Arizona summer. Still, you manage an ‘okay’ before readying your pen again. All you can hope for is a steady hand, though by the way he still holds your waist, and how your mouth lingers mere inches from his lips -- well, you’re coming undone.

It’s just eyeliner, you tell yourself. Your hand rises and swipes; black begins to pool its deep colour against his lashes, low and thin. The line builds taller, thicker as you work, extending out to the corner of his eye. As he breathes, and you try to remind yourself how to, the eyeliner pen works its shaky magic and draws the slightest tinge of a wing against his skin.

“How’s it going?”

At least he’s kind enough to mumble it, though his face still shifts under your hold. Once more your tongue clicks.

“It goes better when you don’t speak.”

He swallows his laugh; you know, because you feel his throat work as you hold his head steady. It’s strange and exhilarating, to be so close and still so far away. You want to cradle his cheeks gentler, to hold his face with the heart of a lover, but you’re terrified he’ll recognise your touch and realise your feelings. So you barely touch him and remind yourself to be professional about this.

It’s eyeliner, not a rom-com.

“I’m bored,” he whisper whines.

“Shh.”

“It’s too quiet.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, patting his cheek gently. “M’working.”

“Y/N...”

You pull away and sit back on his thighs. His left eye doesn’t look half bad, but if he keeps talking… “You can’t talk, ‘else it’s gonna look bad!”

“Then you talk!”

You baulk. “What?”

“I’ll be quiet,” he swears, pouting up to you with eyes still shut, “but please, say something before I lose my mind.”

“Well, I-I-what about?”

“I don’t know. Anything.” He smiles softly. “I like hearing you talk. Don’t care what about.”

You could die right then and there. It’s a simple compliment, it’s really the bare minimum, but you’re already head over heels. And just a couple of soft spoken works are all you need to do you in and nearly keel you over, still straddling his muscular thighs.

“Uh…” you cough, forcing out the giddy tremble that threatens to take your voice. No lovesick teen voice today, thank you very much. “Okay. I don’t have much to...well, the other day, I saw my coworker totally wipe out leaving work.” You pause, expecting some reply, but he stays silent. “And he... he ate so much shit, he might as well dunked his head in a gas station toilet. And - and you know, normally I’d try to sympathise, but when you always make a point to park in my parking spot, I don’t care. Brett’s such an ass. And I don’t blame him, cause he’s got an asshole name -- Brett can’t be anything else but an asshole. So it's his parents fault probably but still, I…”

You continue on, slipping from the topic of your coworker to the free muffin you got with your coffee last week, to the prospects of buying a pet to keep your apartment less lonely, and to what probably felt like a thousand and one things ranted at him. All the while your hands continue, making neat work of a task that had just felt impossible.

And miraculously, aside from a chuckle thrown now and then, Diego stays silent. Maybe he actually means it. Maybe he does like your voice -- or he’s so bored he’s falling asleep, you don’t know. But it’s okay, you don’t let yourself linger on that, too content with taking in his relaxed features and the gentleness of the afternoon sun on the two of you.

“Aaaand….there!” With a triumphant shout, you throw the eyeliner to the side and your hands plunge towards the sky, fist-pumping like you’d just won the lottery. Your body bounces up and down on his lap like a child meeting Santa; in your excitement, you barely notice. “You’re done!”

“That’s it?”

“Yup.” You grabble for a mirror, looking away from him for a moment as you reach for the handle. Wiping it off, you’re focused solely on making sure the glass is clean enough for him to see himself in, and your brain is distracted enough to totally forget what you’ve even done, enough so when you look up, all you have is,

“Oh.”

Look, you know Diego is an attractive man. You’ve known since the day you met; he’s a beautiful guy, a handsome asshole who wormed his way into your befuddled heart before you could even learn his name. He’s pretty enough that if he wasn’t so set on his weird vigilante career, he could probably shoot for being a damn supermodel. He’s a catch! But all those years of knowing that and feeling like that could not prepare you for the sight in front of you.

Diego squints at you, cocking his head. “Is it okay?”

“I…” Delicate black lines his upper lash line, making his deep brown eyes stand out even more. He’s smiling still, full lips curving up to only make your heart pound faster. A strand of his hand falls across his face, painting the gentlest of shadows but it doesn’t bother his pretty face. “I...no, no, yea-ah…”

“Wow,” he laughs, jabbing a finger into your side. “Eloquent.”

“I-I-shut up,” you stammer. You force the mirror into his hands and look away. You’re still on his lap, still straddling his lap and the logical part of your brain begs you to get it together and fall off, already. But the stupid, foolish, absolutely idiotic part leaves you paralysed. “Just look for yourself.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for him in the silence. There’s nothing, though, for achingly painful seconds, until the mirror shifts down. “Huh.”

“Huh, good? Or bad?”

“I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Really? What’s wrong?”

“It’s not bad,” he assures you, his smile evident in his tone. “Just different. Don’t know how to feel about it.”

“O-oh...well, if it makes you feel better, I think it looks great.”

“You do?”

Oh, dammit. That came out with way too much enthusiasm, didn’t it? Your legs are concrete as you shift, face angled towards the floor. Hopefully he’s strong enough to push you off him when your body literally catches flame from humiliation.

“You look good man,” he mocked back to you. But he’s grinning, egging you on like a child who knows he’s got you twisted around his pinky finger. “Come on, say it like you don’t have a gun to your head!”

And maybe you do, maybe you’re holding the revolver to your temple, just asking to get screwed if you dare speak beyond the most stilted compliment you’ve ever extended to someone. He’s a friend, you remind yourself; friends are allowed to compliment the other. They’re allowed to say they look good and not make it a thing, even if they wish it was a thing, and--

“--hey? You in there?”

“Sorry,” you say to the floor. You swear a thousand curses before looking back to Diego. And, yeah -- he still looks impossibly good. The ageing afternoon sun falls just perfectly against his skin, flushing him into the being of a god, standing in your apartment while you, a mere mortal, remains stuck to his thick thighs.

You gulp in air desperately, trying to catch your gaze on something, anything else -- but nothing sticks. He’s still there, inches from you, desperately aching for you to stare at.

“No, uh, yeah. You look - you look hot.”

Wait.

That wasn’t--

“-I look hot?”

That isn’t what you were supposed to say.

“I,” you have literally nothing to save yourself. This is the end! You’re young Leo and Rose is shoving you off the door and into the icy waters, and you’ve just got one last look at pretty Diego to satiate the freezing burn before you succumb to it. “I...wasn’t...that wasn’t what I meant.”

He has no right to look so smug. But he does it anyway. He leans away from your hands as they flutter through the air on their own accord, looking at you through half-lidded pools of caramel. “You don’t think I look hot?”

“Don’t,” you warn, with little strength behind it. “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m just asking.”

He leans back in. You’re almost touching again.

Is this weird? This is definitely weird.

You swallow back the lump in your throat and stare back at him. This all feels like fifth grade all over again -- awkward, sticky and like every move is the wrong move. But you can’t stop yourself from playing into his hands, because that sly, shameful part of you wants this more than will ever be admitted. You want him to look at you like this, like you could hang the stars if he asked you to...and you want him to pull you closer, as he does, and mean it.

Could he?

“Would you hate me? If I thought you looked hot?”

Diego head cocks to the side as he seemingly contemplates your words. A nudge meets your side; you look down to see his hands once again reaching for you. Though it's on their own accord this time, gently landing on your left hip, then the right. You shiver.

“That depends,” he says slowly. His eyes narrow, black wings just barely crinkling in. “D’you mean it like, ‘oH, that’s so-oo hot, woW-’”

Your laugh is hardly a whisper. It cracks even before your lips. “Come on.”

“Or, do you…” his fingers dig in a little more. They nudge at the fabric of your top, daring it to move enough so they could cradle the flesh hidden underneath. “You mean it the other way?”

Heart in throat, all the courage you can possibly muster with it, you mutter, “the...other way, probably.” Then a second later, “is that okay?”

“Mm…” His fingers finally reach your skin. You shiver under his touch, warm and unflinching as they brush against the soft curves. Diego’s face comes towards your own and you force yourself not to move. But he doesn’t stop, instead he goes past you, brushing his plush lips against your earlobe. “I would say...that if all this took was making you do my eyeliner, I shoulda asked years ago.”

“I, okay...don’t play with me, here--”

“--I’m serious,” he protests lowly. His lips leave your ear but they don’t run far. Instead, you find them a brush away from your own, just as you were minutes before. Only this time, you don’t try to clamp your mouth shut and skirt away from the touch. You nudge your nose against his own, exhaling softly as more skin meets the heat of his own. “You think I just let anyone sit on my lap like this, without thinkin’ it could be more?”

You shrug like this is normal. Like you’re perfectly at peace with the universe and the way you’re wondering how his tongue would taste, pushing back against your own. “I mean...do you?”

“No,” he chuckles low. “No, I’m...not into friendly lap dances, actually.”

“O-oh. Mm.”

He pulls you closer. He wants you closer.

“Diego…” You’re unravelling. You’re fucking unravelling, unnerved by his voice and his hands and you’re putty in them, all inhibitions sliding away like you’re three drinks in. His hands by your sides leave their marks against your skin; you can feel the pads of his fingers, burning into your skin like they were molten iron and not just mere brushes. “I...”

“Tell me.” He sounds cocky. He has a right to be, even if you’re damned to admit it. “Tell me what you think.”

Your hands shiver up his forearms, clinging to his bare shoulders as he pulls you impossibly closer. Your mind’s going a mile a minute and you refuse to listen to a single thought. You’re only feeling him.

“Y/N…”

“Fine,” you huff, with a smile. Your noses brush again; your eyes flutter shut with his image imprinted against their lids. “I think you look...hot as hell, Diego.”

“Yeah.” He’s grinning; you can hear it in his voice, that smirk that makes your gut flip like a damn rollercoaster ride. “S’what I thought, baby.”

And then he kisses you.

A/N: i normally hate writing oblivious characters but this wasn’t even intentional really. every time i try to write something remotely sexual i just lead the reader into ‘oH tHiS iS jUsT wHaT fRiEnDs Do’ and ‘iT’S wEiRd rIgHt’. to my defense...i doubt you’re on this page reading this expecting good sexual tension. i’m not the tua writer for that; let me know if you want recommendations for that because trust me, there are better authors for that. for now, you get this. <3

#diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves #hargreeves x reader #tua x reader #my writing #this is so random #I just saw a fanart of completely different ppl doing eyeliner and i thought #why not put diego in eyeliner he deserves it

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