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charles-leclerc-official · 16 days

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2024 Japan Grand Prix Race Analysis

My analysis of the 2024 Japan Grand Prix. Table of contents below detailing the order of the post. We have a lot to cover as this was an eventful race so I am not going to waste time making introductions.

Table of Contents Ferrari – Race strategy: qualifying and tyre management – Charles: his qualifying and his race – Carlos: his race – In depth data and pace analysis Mclaren – Race strategy – Tyre management/Charles – Pace VCARB – Yuki: his race – Daniel: his crash with Alex Red Bull Mercedes Williams – Logan: his race – Team car problems Stake Concluding Thoughts

Ferrari

Ferrari had Carlos start in P4 and finish P3. Charles started P8 and finished P4. They both further secured Ferrari's lead for second in the constructors as well as keeping the WDC and WCC still competitive against Red Bull.

This race highlighted some areas that need to be improved on the SF-24 but more importantly it also showed some of the massive improvements that Ferrari has made in development and that is what made this race very exciting for Ferrari fans.

Once again the Ferrari strategy was great. It would have actually been good to mid if it were not for Charles having the skill and confidence to go for the one-stop strategy. But this is another race where I don't think they could have done anything better.

As it was with the starting grid positions Charles was looking at maybe getting P7 or P6 with a 2 stop strategy. And that strategy was most likely given the track and how much deg there usually is at Suzuka.

The reason Charles made it to P4 was because of his superior driving and tyre management, and Ferrari listening to him when he said he wanted to go for the one-stop strategy. They listened and it was 100% the right call on Charles’ part.

Charles outperformed what should have been possible. If you don’t believe me just look at what Max, Lando, Oscar, Checo, Mclaren, and Red Bull are saying about his tyre management. Charles in the SF-24 was the only one who could have pulled that one-stop off. Seriously, the fact that Max didn’t think he could have done it is really all you need to know. They saw that and were genuinely impressed not only by the car but by Charles, because we saw that with Carlos he was struggling more with tyre deg and that was with a two-stop approach.

So not only was this the best strategy to maximize points for Charles this race given his starting grid position, it was also just a truly phenomenal drive from Charles himself.

And once again we are seeing incredible strides being made at the Ferrari pit wall in terms of timing and strategy. The pit stops for both drivers were on point. They listened to Charles and went with the strategy he wanted and it worked!

Everything I saw this race was so promising for the trajectory of Ferrari and Charles’ season, and beyond into 2025 and 2026.

Charles: Race, Qualifying, and Free Practice

Charles ran a truly insane race. The only reason he gained all of the positions he did was because of his choice to do the one-stop and not only that but making it work! He gained every position it was possible for him to take and then some. His tyre management on this high degredation track was borderline supernatural.

Charles pulled off zero to negative tyre degradation on both sets of his tyres. (Negative deg is when faster laps are set as the tyres age) This was without question the best tyre management performance we have seen from a driver in 2024. It is something that no other driver could pull off (either due to skill, driving style, or machinery) and that is why Charles is Ferrari.

Have I waxed on long enough about Charles and his tyres? Just wait till you get to the Mclaren section.

I also have a lot more to say about his pace and tyres in the data section.

For now let's move on to some of the questions people might have about what happened to Charles in qualifying and FP3.

Charles qualifying position was decided in free practice. I want to try to be brief, so here is a quick timeline of why Charles’ didn’t have the optimal setup for qualifying (this also applies to Carlos because both Ferrari’s underperformed in qualifying, there was a difference of 1/10th between them so it really was just a matter of the field being so tight)

Suzuka is colder during the day than any race we’ve had so far this year. With the SF-24 being so good with tyre deg that is actually a problem because it means that getting the tyres to warm up takes longer.

The loss of all of FP2 due to rain was a big blow to Ferrari and especially Charles.

Charles has been having more issues getting his qualifying settings right to manage the tyre warming issue. This is due to his personal setup choices and driving style. Being gentler on the tyres in a car with less deg is leading to him underperforming in qualifying.

So we lost valuable time when Ferrari really needed to understand the SF-24 behavior in the colder Suzuka temps.

FP3: Charles and Carlos both got in some race sim laps, but only got to squeeze in 1 or 2 flying lap tests at the very end. Charles especially was frustrated by this. I believe that this came from not having the time to complete all of the program they had outlined to prep for qualifying and the race.

Going into qualifying Charles didn’t have enough data to guide his settings for Q1. They went with a certain setup they hadn’t gotten to fully test and it didn’t work. Which led to them having to send Charles out again in Q1 with a different setup on another set of softs to try to set a better lap in Q1.

In Q3 Charles only had 1 set of softs remaining to set his best lap. It was okay but not enough. I do think that over qualifying he did get settings better on the car and if he’d had another set of softs he might have made it up to P6 (possibly P5) the middle of the field was very close so I don’t think this qualifying placement and time was as bad as it looks. It certainly isn’t great, but compared to his teammate and the rest of the top teams it wasn’t so concerning.

So the lack of enough free practice to figure out the best qualifying setup for Charles in the colder temps is really what cost them here. I think this is why we saw Charles very frustrated at not having the time to do more flying laps during FP3 and Fred also not happy with the program they ran during all free practice sessions.

All of this does apply to Carlos as well. We’ve seen him qualify better in 2024 too so this was just a matter of the SF-24 settings on flying laps given the colder temps and the track.

This is a current issue for the SF-24, but it is something that can be developed and I think there are certain upgrades that will address this. It is better to have a car base that is too gentle on the tyres than the other way around. The SF-24 tyre treatment is a good base to work with. This weekend just highlighted areas where improvements need to be made. The unfortunate part was the loss of FP2 because that was going to be important for colder temp data gathering.

I want to once again now take the time to shut down some narratives about Ferrari's race specifically relating to Carlos' lap 46 pass on Charles:

The reason Charles and Ferrari let Carlos pass was because Carlos was on newer tyres and thus had overall faster lap times.

It’s insane to expect a team to keep the car that has faster pace behind. I could see it if it was a difference of 1/10th or something or if it was the last lap of the race, then it’s up for debate. That wasn’t the case here, Carlos with the tyres that were 10 laps newer was almost 1 second faster. Keeping him behind would have not only compromised his race but also possibly Charles’. We don’t want a car just hovering behind the other. As we heard on the radio the main concern was keeping Lando behind. As far as gaining significant placement this race goes we always knew Lando was going to be Charles' competition. If the cars were fighting over pace with this big of a discrepancy in the pace we would have seen disastrous results.

Charles knew this and this is why he let Carlos by. He was never intending to race Carlos(he literally said this in interviews after). With the way they started on the grid it was not going to be in the cards this race. Charles said as much and he isn’t upset about it.

“Carlos overtook Charles”: No, Charles let him pass because that was strategically optimal for both Ferrari drivers.

“Carlos’ pace was better”: No, he was on a completely different tyre strategy, the only reason he was faster is because he did two stints on mediums and then finished on newer hards. Charles overall race pace and tyre management was better. This is just a result of 1. Different starting positions and 2. Different tyre strategies. It’s very hard to do a driver-to driver comparison with blanket statements when they are on different strategies.

“Ferrari gave the order to switch with Sainz”: No, they just didn’t do that, I don’t know what race you were watching.

“They should have told Carlos to defend”: That would have been a bad strategy choice for both drivers. There is a lot more than current track position that goes into strategy calls.

"Ferrari strategy screwed Charles over again": No, Charles chose his strategy(and it was the right call). Ferrari did great in supporting him.

I don't understand why people want to run this narrative that we keep getting Silverstone 22' level strategy calls when that is just not happening.

Now Charles radio after the race may have sounded disappointed and in the heat of the moment he probably was. However in interviews after the race he was very happy with the car (I think he realized just what a good performance he put in) but also I think his big takeaway from this race was that Ferrari have given him a strong base to work with(finally) and he has been only saying more positive things since then.

Ferrari did amazing supporting both drivers. Especially Charles because it was his call to do the one-stop and they listened to him and supported him perfectly throughout running that strategy.

Carlos

Carlos ran a clean race. He gained the one position which is about what we'd expect from the car he was in and his starting position. His performance also gave us really good baseline data for the SF-24.

His race was mostly decided in qualifying and also the fact that Mclaren struggled far more than expected on this track. Ferrari initially thought he might have to fight Lando more for that position but Mclaren's struggle was Carlos' gain.

I also think that just this race in general from him and his driving style was really good data for the SF-24 to inform development and that is awesome!

I don't have a ton to add, it was good, got those WCC points for Ferrari and that's exactly what we want to see from him.

In Depth Data Analysis

The name of the game here is tyre wear. The SF-24 (especially in Charles' hands) has had phenomenal race pace and that is due to the fact that this car is so easy on the tyres. However Charles is the driver who has been able to pull this feature out of the car due to his driving style and tyre management skills.

We are going to look at a comparison of Charles' and Carlos' data to highlight exactly what was so interesting about Charles' pace. And then also adding in Max, because as the driver to beat he is a good benchmark(as well as showing the top performance of the RB-20)

Here is a comparison of lap times between Charles and Carlos, corrected for tyre age(because they were on different strategies)

For the medium tyre I used both their first medium stints. Carlos did two stints on mediums, I used his first stint for comparison because it means both tyres were subject to the same time of day and track temps and conditions.

Now the lap times themselves here aren’t as important. Carlos and Charles were in different spots on the track and Carlos was in much cleaner air even on that first stint. The real thing to look at is the way Charles lap time stays consistent, and even gets faster as the age of the tyres progresses, while Carlos starts off with his best speed and then gradually gets slower. Carlos’ pace here is an example of what we expect to see - as tyres age they get slower so his pace on these tyres is perfectly normal, by the time he got to lap 14 before he pitted he’d lost more than a second of pace on those tyres (which is normal and expected). Then we can then look at Charles who is getting almost the exact same lap time out of his 11 lap old mediums as the first lap. Where Carlos has lost more than a second, Charles has lost nothing. Furthermore you can see multiple instances of an increased speed on his previous laps, which indicates negative tyre degradation. This goes against general tyre wear behavior and can only be attributed to Charles’ skill in extending the pace of his tyres.

I want to add that both driver’s pace was excellent and that both their performances would not have been possible without the massive leap Ferrari has made with the SF-24 and race pace tyre degradation.

Again looking at the hards the actual lap time is not important here, Charles and Carlos were running very different strategies at this point. Charles was racing to extend the life of the tyres to pull off a one-stop and Carlos was trying to regain position near the front. What we are looking at is once again the way the lap times increase for Carlos steadily, and just don’t for Charles.

Charles once again was pulling essentially the same lap time on 11 lap old hards, while Carlos had lost a full second. The sheer consistency here is what is scaring the other teams.

I want to note here that none of this is meant to make Carlos look bad. I think his runs and tyre treatment were pretty good overall, but when your teammate is defying the laws of physics in the same car it can even make a good drive look not as great. But I have no issues with how Carlos managed, he gave a good example of what I would say is the base deg for the SF-24.

Now I want to compare Charles’ pace to Max’s, again correcting for tyre age.

This is helpful because this is where we can get a look at match-ups for the future, the strengths of the SF-24 compared to the RB20.

Here is where it gets interesting. Max on the hards was managing degradation amazingly, right on par with Charles.

The big difference is on the mediums. After 11 laps Max had lost over a full second of pace on the mediums and Charles had not.

This gap is where we are going to see big results come in from the SF-24 in the future. If I were Red Bull I’d be worried about this. And this is why they are also specifically worried about Charles, because we see that the SF-24 in Carlos hands is behaving as expected as far as tyre deg goes, the real threat based on the data is the combination of Charles Leclerc and the SF-24.

Deltas Δ

Now let's take a look at what the change in pace lap to lap looks like for Charles, Max and Carlos. Again using those first 11 laps on the mediums.

Lap deltas are the change in lap time lap-to-lap, and this is a metric that shows if a driver is keeping pace, gaining pace or losing pace. Positive numbers mean a loss of pace, negative numbers are a gain. This is calculated by the equation of (Lap time B - Lap time A = change in pace or the delta Δ) So it's just the time difference lap to lap. This is how we can take a look at the actual pace and correct for lap times (which are not important here)

On it's own this doesn't look like much, yes Charles is managing best, but Carlos is also ahead of Max. This is showing where the SF-24 is better than the RB-20. The fact that of these three drivers Max is the worst on this metric is notable.

However the impressive part of Charles' tyre deg is not in these first 11 laps. Because after these laps Max and Carlos had to pit because they were losing time and their tyres were done.

Charles kept going.

Here is what Charles' full stint on the mediums looked like.

Charles continued to achieve faster laps and negative deltas well into the life of the tyres, and that is what is setting him apart from Carlos and Max.

Not only was Charles achieving negative deltas, he was doing it more consistently as the tyres aged.

For comparison here is Carlos' and Max's data overlayed on Charles full medium stint.

While the first graph on the mediums shows that both Ferrari's were outperforming the RB20 in terms of deg(or at the very least Carlos was on a very similar delta to Max), this is where you see the difference in the drivers. Because Max and Carlos had to pit because they were rapidly losing performance on those tyres(see above time sheets) Charles was not, and he only improved. He more than doubled the life of his tyres in comparison to the other two.

This is the graph that really matters because it shows what each driver was able to do with one set of mediums. And as you can see it's not even close.

This is where you can see the impact of the negative deg over time. Compared to the normal deg we see with Max and Carlos it serves to highlight exactly how outside of the norm Charles was operating.

Charles only continued to improve well beyond the other two. That's what was insane about his tyre management.

Neither Carlos or Max were going to be able to continue their pace (hence the pit)

I feel like the data really speaks for itself. Max and Carlos are good comparisons here, Carlos is a good driver in the same car as Charles, and Max is the current top driver on the grid and is known for his tyre management.

I want to finish this section with the sentence that is chilling the blood of every other driver and TP on the grid: Charles set his fastest lap of his race on 25 lap old hards.

Mclaren

So what happened to Mclaren?

A lot of people were expecting Mclaren to be the second strongest team on this track. And qualifying certainly made it look like that might be the case. With Lando being ahead of Carlos in P3 and Oscar being ahead of Charles in P6 on the starting grid.

So why did both Mclarens get easily defeated by the Ferraris?

I think there are 2 main reasons.

The Mclaren car is not even close to the SF-24 when it comes to tyre deg, that car loses pace much faster so it just cannot fight when a Ferrari comes up behind it.

Charles 1 stop strategy really messed up the team's pit strategy with Lando.

In Mclaren’s defense no one thought anyone would be crazy enough to try a 1 stop around Suzuka, let alone have zero tyre deg on a high deg track.

They seemed to be managing their pit strategy with Lando under the assumption that Charles was going to pit twice, and I think they were very worried about an undercut in the pits (after they didn’t get away with it in Australia I think they were very keen to make sure they kept their position)

But Charles didn’t do a 2 stop strategy. He stayed out and his pace on the hards was unbelievable.

There was really no way for them to see that coming. It’s kind of hard when your main competition decides this is the weekend he’s going to challenge the laws of physics.

(And you thought I was done talking about Charles’ tyre strategy)

Here is a graph of Lando vs Carlos. That was the spot he lost, and you can see that the pit strategy is really what cost Lando the spot. Carlos came behind him on much fresher tyres and by then he'd lost the pace. He pitted too early, and that was due to Mclaren not understanding that Charles is on another level.

His pace was okay on newer tyres, but once they age the drop off was pretty bad. So the Mclaren car needs to improve in the tyre deg department if they want to see either of their drivers beat a Ferrari any time this year.

Furthermore Oscar once again struggled more because he is still the weaker of the two Mclarens when it comes to tyre deg, and on this track that really showed.

But I think the fact that Mclaren kept trying to figure out when Charles was going to pit for his second stint and then he just didn’t really threw them off and had them making some weird pit calls.

VCARB

Yuki

Yuki ran what was in my opinion the second most impressive drive of the race. He qualified P10 and finished P10. However to keep that position he pulled of some truly perfect overtakes. He was fighting to finally get that home race point. I was so excited seeing him put on that good of a show for his home fans.

In this race he became the first Japanese driver to score home race points since 2012, and that is just so exciting for Yuki and his fans. It really made that single point mean a lot. I don't think I have ever been more excited for a P10!

Yuki has really been showing what the VCARB car is capable of and it looks really promising. He seems comfortable and I think we will be seeing a lot more points from him this season.

Daniel: Crash with Albon and DNF

Going to be covering Alex and Daniel's crash this section.

On lap 1, Daniel and Alex made contact going into turn 3, resulting in both cars going off the track and ending up in the barriers. Both drivers had to retire from the race.

To me this looked like a result of crowding into that turn in the mid field with neither driver at significant fault. I don't think Daniel was trying to push Alex wide, and I also don't think that Alex mistook that corner. The FIA and stewards agree and Alex and Daniel's story of what happened make sense.

Going into the turn Daniel had the outside line, and he was trying to give room to the Aston Martin(Lance) on his inside. He didn't see Alex on his outside and his wheel made contact with Alex's front wing, causing his car to spin and pushing Alex of the line and into the gravel.

Alex thought he had the outside line to overtake and was in the process of attempting that when Daniel went to give space on the inside, this resulted in the contact and Daniel forcing him wide.

This crash really just was a result of crowding in that corner, Daniel was trying to give space to one driver and inadvertently crowded out another. There wasn't space so he was kind of in a lose-lose situation there.

I agree with the stewards that no penalty for either driver was warranted and that this was the result of midfield crowding, and some bad luck for both drivers. It wasn't a result of bad driving on either Daniel or Alex's part. Even if Daniel had seen Alex I am not sure what he could have done if he also needed to give room to Lance.

Ultimately I am glad both drivers are uninjured. Hopefully they have some better luck in future races.

Red Bull

I don't have a ton to say about Red Bull. My comparison in the Ferrari data section is what was most interesting about this race from the data standpoint.

They didn't do much, the Red Bulls started ahead and finished ahead as expected. Max and Checo both ran a really clean race. Again showing the power of the RB-20.

I will add that this was a really good race for Checo(probably his best this year), and it was nice to see him have redemption after Suzuka 2023.

Nothing terribly exciting to add. Max won again, well done Max!

Mercedes

Mercedes didn't have a great race, but considering that both their drivers DNFed in Australia it was good for the team to get some points. Lewis started in P7 and finished P9, while George started P9 and finished P7. So they swapped positions.

It seems that the Mercedes car might be better on those qualifying laps than the race pace (and even then it's qualifying has been inconsistent)

The most notable thing about Mercedes' race was when Lewis asked if he should let George pass when George came up behind him, and George did in fact make the pass. This was done simply because George's pace was better. Lewis knew this so it was best for the team.

I think that so far we have seen that the W15 is struggling in a lot of areas, and as far as drivers go George has been more comfortable in the car(could be driving style, setup, a combo of the two) than Lewis.

Both are solid drivers, and hopefully they can guide Mercedes into making improvements to the car to get them closer to top points. At this point the car Mercedes has made seems to have fallen short of expectations. Make no mistake though, Lewis and George are both drivers who are much better than the car they are in at the moment.

Williams

I covered Alex's crash with Daniel already so we are going to talk about Logan.

Logan honestly did about the best he could do in the car he had. After damaging both his front and rear wing in free practice and still using the repaired chassis from Australia his car was not in the best shape already going into the race. Additionally the Williams really struggled with grip in the rears and has been all over the place. Suzuka especially seems to have not been suited to it.

Yes on lap 41 Logan went off track into a gravel trap, but that was on a corner that had given more skilled and experienced drivers trouble this weekend so I am not going to fault him too much for that in the car he had. Better cars were having problems there too.

He did have a really strong first stint and was pulling some overtakes. Most of his positions were lost when he did get undercut by some pit stops, and then of course losing time to the gravel trap.

The win is that he finished the race and the car is intact. That may not seem like much, but given the state of things at Williams it's important.

There were some highlights for his race and I will say in terms of raw performance he has not been far off Alex this year. That car of Williams is really hindering both drivers.

Stake

Stake actually had pretty good pace overall. The car is not as bad as it has looked on paper. The main issues has been their slow pit stops (caused by incompatibility between the bolters and the tyre covers apparently) Zhou and Valtteri both showed some pretty good pace and were in positions for overtakes.

Zhou unfortunately had to retire his car due to gearbox issues.

Stake has really been a mess and we have not seen what that car can actually do in terms of performance overall, or what what their drivers are capable of in that car.

They are making attempts to address the pit stop issue and I think if they do that, then we will see both drivers picking up some P10 points at the very least.

Final Thoughts

I think we can all agree that Suzuka was the best race of the year so far from a pure racing standpoint!

Whew, that’s all I got on this race, so I will leave you with this final thought.

This race was a warning shot from Ferrari.

#lucis race analysis #japan gp 2024 #suzuka gp 2024 #formula 1 #f1 #scuderia ferrari #charles leclerc #long post #I am so serious this is a long post you've been warned #lot of good data though if you are into that <3 #thank you for reading <3

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chrisili · 6 months

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My apologies

Pairing: Edmund Pevensie x fem!reader

Summary: You and Edmund have to explore the underground together, alone and you punch him in his face. Accidentally.

Warnings: Make out session

Genre: fluff, rom-com

Word count: 2,3k

A.N.: So extremely obsessed with Narnia currently sooo here you go. This is in the time of Prince Caspian just for the plot but I imagine Edmund a little older here.

ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR OVER 100 LIKES ON MY LAST FF? ALSO I HAVE MY FIRST 3 FOLLOWERS AND THAT IS BEYOND EXCITING. THANK YOU!!!

Masterlist

________________________________________________________

“Cas, wait! Woah,” while you were, almost casing, after your brother you tripped on a rock. You two were currently in the woods walking to your base where all the other humans, animals, dwarfs, centaurs and what not, were stationed. Caspian turns around to look at you almost tripping on a stone, let’s say he didn’t exactly try to be decent.

“Sister, if you keep this up the King is never gonna want you.” He said laughing while holding you to steady yourself. You look at him half blank, half annoyed. “Yes I am sure out of all the possible situations in the world, tripping in the woods would be THE reason for King Edmund to not be interested in me.” You slap his arm as he tries to help you and you resume your path. “Anyways, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You and the High King Peter assigned me and Edmund to go deeper into the base to explore, to see if we find something useful, right? So, naturally, my question is, why the hell would you do that to me?”

Caspian pulls an arm around your shoulder while he walks with you, “why dear sister, here I thought I was doing you a favor? You obviously like the King and he obviously likes you back so why not spend some time with each other, together eh?”

You nod your head and squint your eyebrows sarcastically. “You know, that is a great idea! How about you send me to uncles castle and we can die there, together eh?”

Caspian looks at you suprised. “I don’t understand?” You roll your eyes, “clearly.”

“Brother tell me, have you maybe noticed how I act around the King?” Y/N asked while they were now on the big meadow in front of their base. As narrator, I have to agree with Y/N. With the handsome dark haired King around her, her head gets all blurry and it is hard for her to think. Although she really likes him she starts being more sarcastic than she already is when she sees his big brown eyes. With Caspian not taking your nervousness seriously and High King Peter actually adoring the thought of his little brother and Y/N, there was nothing to be done.

So you and King Edmund were now in the underground, exploring, dying (Just kidding, only you were, out of nervousness). Edmund was holing up his flashlight to look around, while you were holding a regular torch. You guys didn’t actually talk a lot because your brother was right, the King liked you back so naturally he was pretty nervous too.

“King Ed-” congratulations, you started chocking on your own saliva not even having spoken two words! You cough a little so your voice would come back. “I apologize, King Edmund. I was just wondering why your thing is a lot brighter than mine.” Edmund looked at you and chuckles, which warmed your heart and made your cheeks slightly pink, not that it mattered because it was too dark anyways.

“It’s a flashlight. It has batteries in it, it’s actually hard to explain.” He said scratching his neck. You just nod and kick yourself mentally for even bringing it up. As you two walk further you come across a kind of door frame. There was the frame but no door and in the room behind it was heavy blue lighting, shining though the ceiling, which was of course the moon. You both walked in and not even a minute later a heavy metal door was falling in to the frame. Both your heads turn immediately and you run up to the door.

“No, no, no, no. No please open, please don’t noo…..” you whine while hitting and punching the door to get out. As you realize that the door doesn’t actually open you drop your head with closed eyes.

“I didn’t realize it is such a burden for you to be alone with me.” Edmund said in a sarcastic voice while he just continued walking into the room, which was by the way massive. Not really a room, more like a cave. You turn your head to Edmund and then you started walking after him. “Your Highness I apologize deeply, again. It is not a burden being with you. It is just…” He turns around to look at you, you both standing pretty close to each other while he looks you deep in the eyes. You look back into his and you start giggling covering your mouth. Edmund lifted an eyebrow at you but before he could respond you heard a loud sound coming from the cave.

Both of you slowly walk into the direction where you heard the sound coming from. “I think you should go and look.” You say standing on your tip toes to get a better look from afar.

“Me?” Edmund says also looking into the dark in front of him.

“Mhm.”

“I think it would be better if you went.” Edmund said.

“Funny, because I don’t agree with your opinion in the slightest.”

He turns to you with an imitating look. “Your Highness.” You add.

Edmund breathes out heavily and starts walking up ahead. The further he goes the more he disappeared until nothing was left but darkness again. You started to kind of freak out in your head, because what’s being worse than being alone with Edmund in a cave is being alone with dead Edmund in a cave.

“Your Highness? Your Majesty? King Edmund?” You yell into the dark not getting an answer back. It would be an understatement saying that you were shitting your pants at this point. But you completely lost it when something tabbed your shoulder, your screamed as loud as you could throwing a punch at Edmund. Yes your read that right, the thing tabbing your shoulder was Edmund who was actually excited to prank you a little bit but now he was just holding his eye while tumbling back. “OW!” He yelled painfully while kind of falling and sitting on the ground. You run up to him and kneel beside him.

“I am so sorry my lord! I didn't see you! I thought it was something that wants to murder me, I was looking out for you and you didn’t come back, I got so scared without you so, oh please my King forgive me. I didn’t mean to really!” You keep rambling about how you are sorry while pulling a beautiful lace handkerchief out of your small satchel. You put some water onto it, also from your satchel and you start to lightly tab it on to the kings, now blue, eye. He hisses at first and moved away because of his reflexes but lets it happen right after. His eyes are closed while sitting there with you, you try to cool his eyes while no one was talking. You were deeply ashamed having punched the love of your life, I mean the king. (obviously)

“First you can’t bare being in one room with me alone and now you punch me in the face, you must really hate me.” He laughs a little still eyes closed. You take his hand with both of your hands, your words desperate. “Oh no, no your Highness. Quite the opposite really! I, in fact like you so much that I am strongly ashamed of myself. I’ve never been so ashamed in my life my lord, I mean it. Around you my head gets dizzy and I don’t know what to do or how to speak, what to say or how to act. I didn’t want to be in a room with you because I was afraid I was going to mess this up, which I obviously did. I don’t expect you to forgive me for I have done such a terrible thing.”

Silence. Deafening silence. Edmund opened his left eye (the good one) and looks up to you. (You kneeling and him sitting you were above him)

“You always hit people in the face you ‘like so much’?” He asks mockingly and you look blankly at him with your eyes building up some tears. When he sees your tears his face changes, he sits up and cups your face with his warm hands. He removes your tears with his thumbs repeatedly because you just wouldn’t stop crying.

“Y/N now I have to apologize. I was insensitive, I shouldn’t have mocked you about your feelings. Please stop crying, I can hardly see your beautiful eyes.”

Your heart stopped beating and you died on the spot, at least that’s what it felt like. “My what?” You said almost whispering, having stopped crying immediately and just looking blankly into Edmunds face. He smiled a little while holding your face softly.

“Your beautiful eyes, I always love looking at them. Just like the rest of you actually… I really like looking at you. Does that sound awkward? It does, doesn’t it?” He says dropping his arms while staring at the very interesting stone floor.

“Your Highness, I like looking at you a lot too.” You say smiling and he looks up at you again. He really wanted to keep staring into your eyes but for some unknown reason his eyes started to look at your lips instead. He took your face into his hands again to pull you closer and just before your lips were touching, he looked at you again, asking permission. You smiled and closed the distance between you.

Both of your eyes were closed, I mean his anyways because you hit him but still. You put one of your hands on his shoulder while moving the other one to cup his hand that is still cupping your face. It was just a peck but when he was about to pull away, you pulled him back in. This time moving your lips against his. Edmund was smiling widely into the passionate kiss while moving one hand down your neck. Without realizing it you climb onto his lab and kiss him faster now, both of your breathing sped up and you could hardly keep your hands to yourself. He actually bit your lip and you moaned a little into his mouth, that’s when you pulled away.

You looked at each other breathing fast, hair messy and unable to speak. Edmund tho was the first to say something. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I went too far.” You shook your head. “No that is not it. It’s just I mean, it’s not really romantic here.” You say laughing a little and he starts laughing with you. Both of you helped each other up, having hearts in all three of your eyes.

Edmund told you then that when he went into the dark he actually came back through the dark, meaning it was kind of a loop.

“Are you saying we are trapped in here forever?!” You exclaim looking shocked.

“I don’t know, it seems to be some sort of magic, we could climb the wall but I don’t know if we fit through the holes.” He says looking up at the ceiling.

“Your Highness, no offense but even if I wanted to I couldn’t climb these walls, any walls for that matter.”

“Edmund.” He says not looking away from the ceiling.

“Excuse me?” You ask back.

“It’s Edmund, not ‘your Highness’.”

“How about, my love?” You ask chuckling and he looks at you blankly.

“Or not, it was just a thou-” you couldn’t finish your sentence because Edmunds lips pecked yours smiling. “I would like that very much, my queen.” He says kissing your cheek.

You couldn’t say anything because another voice appeared. “Edmund? Y/N? Are you in there?” You hear King Peter yelling from the other side of the metal door. Edmund rushed over to the door and yelled back. “Yes Peter, we are in here! Do you think you can open the door from outside?” Not having even finished, the door went up and on the other side were Peter and Caspian smiling.

“You idiot! You planned all of this didn’t you!” You yelled at your brother, storming to him and hitting his arm. He tries to shield himself with his hands while he was laughing. “So what it worked, didn’t it?”

“How did you use magic?” Edmund asked his brother.

“What are you talking about?” Peter said confused.

“The cave, it brought me back when I tried to walk further.” Peter started to laugh, “no offense brother but I think you might have lost your orientation in there blaming it on some magic." Edmund just scoffed and turned to his left.

“Oh god, Edmund what happened to your eye!” Peter asked worried wanting to touch Edmunds eye softly but Edmund slapped Peters hand away. “Y/N punched me.” On command, Caspian hit your arm hard. “OW! What was that for!?” You exclaimed while holding your arm. “How dare you punch the king of Narnia! You should apologize!” Caspian answers with a joking angry face. “Oh I’ll apologize all right!” So you and your brother actually started hitting each other or something.

Edmund then took you by your shoulders, away from Caspian walking with your hand in his. He took you out so you both stood under the moonlight, kissing each other softly.

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songmingisthighs · 7 months

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how ateez treats your child

group : ateez

pairing : ateez (individual) × single mom!reader

genre : fluff

wc : 3 k

warning : children. children are walking warning signs.

a/n : this cancelled my sleep so there's that </3

buy me coffee ?

hongjoong

The door of your apartment opened and in comes your son squealing happily for you, almost running inside until Hongjoong stopped him to take his shoes off first. As Hongjoong helped him, he was grinning widely at you who walked over to meet them halfway, "Hi mommy!" He called, finally able to rush to give you a huge hug once his shoes were completely off. "Hiya, bud! How was your day with Hongjoong?" Though you asked him, Hongjoong beat him to answering, "We had a great time! Little buddy here mastered the C, D, G, and A chord on the piano!" He boasted as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pecking your lips gently making your son gag before rushing to put his backpack in his room.

You both separated momentarily and you cupped your boyfriend's face, "Seriously Joongie, thank you so much for picking him up from school, I swear I would've done-" Hongjoong stopped your rambling by planting another soft peck on your lips with a chuckle, "Hey, I told you we had a great time. I finally found someone who wouldn't complain sitting in my studio for hours on end and you can't take that away from me," teased, poking fun at the times you complained about him needing a break from his work.

Just as you were about to shower him with more affection, your son returned to push Hongjoong away with all his might. "My turn to hug mommy!" He said after he managed to unlatch Hongjoong from you. Feeling challenged, Hongjoong pulled him away just as he was about to wrap all four of his limbs around you, "No way, I spent the day with you now I want time with my girlfriend." Hongjoong knew how jealous your son can be because he too is a jealous man. So as expected, your son screeched and began to try to get Hongjoong as far away from you as he could. But of course, Hongjoong retaliated, using your son's socks clad feet to carefully push him just enough so he'd slide away from you while you stood there both confused and amused at their shenanigans.

seonghwa

On Saturdays, you'd usually spend the morning catching up with your friends and knowing this, Seonghwa made sure to sleep over on Fridays as often as he could to help care for your daughter (which is crap because he's always at your place anyways). Unbeknownst to you, he and your daughter had bonded beyond your imagination. Not that you were surprised since Seonghwa had spent years taking care of a group filled with 5 year olds, your own 5 year old must've been easy to take care of.

When you came back from your brunch, you were surprised to find Seonghwa and your daughter by the dining table, your daughter standing on a chair and Seonghwa close to her side, looking absolutely serious. They had their arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, and lips pursed as they stared at the 10 plates of cake in front of them. It was honestly an adorable sight because for some reason, you saw how they looked so similar.

"Am I interrupting something?" You chuckled as you approached them. Seonghwa welcomed you by wrapping an arm around your hip and kissing the side of your head as youe daughter answered, "Hwahwa and I are food testing again! Today's theme is bakery we can't pronounce!" She grinned widely before returning to glare at the cakes. "Aaaaaand why are you guys only staring at these cakes?" You asked with a raised eyebrow. Seonghwa sighed and shook his head, "We can't decide where to start so we're trying to rank them from the prettiest first before actually sampling them," Seonghwa explained. "And it's such a hard decision!" Your daughter groaned and dramatically leaned on Seonghwa for support. Reciprocating, your boyfriend also faked a cry, turning around to let you go in favour of hugging your daughter, "We are stuck in a dilemma!" "Well, whatever you guys decide to do, better do it fast before the ants tries the cakes first," you sighed before retreating to change, leaving your boyfriend and your daughter to go back to... whatever activity they were doing.

yunho

Babysitting was something Yunho didn't expect to do for his girlfriend. Then again, he didn't expect that he'd be dating a single mom. Luckily, you had the most precious daughter that just melt Yunho's whole being and he loves her so much that he didn't consider babysitting as babysitting anymore.

As he was washing the dishes after eating the food he got for him and your daughter, he heard the soft pitter patter of her tiny feet and then he felt soft tugs on his sweatpants. Without abandoning his task, Yunho looked down at the girl with a gentle smile, "Yes, peanut?" She giggled happily, liking the nickname a lot. "Can you teach me how to dance?" She asked, tilting her head to the side like the most adorable puppy ever. Yunho grinned widely because he had always wanted to impart some of his knowledge to someone and the most imparting he had done was turning his little brother to a gaming nerd. After wiping his hands with a rag, Yunho crouched down to the girl's level (as best he could because even when crouching down, the tiny girl only reached his chin), "Okay then, what dance do you wanna learn?"

Your daughter decided that she wanted to learn Bouncy which wasn't even in the list of dances Yunho offered her as he thought it would be too hard for her. But she was adamant, shaking her head so hard that her pigtails almost came loose. But to Yunho's pleasant surprise, the girl was amazing. She picked up the choreography smoothly in 3 tries. Sure, Yunho had to simplify certain parts but she got most of the choreography down. He couldn't help but takw a video of them dancing together and sending it to his groupmates, parents, and even you, captioning it 'look at me and my peanut ♡'.

yeosang

It was a casual day which was rare for both you and Yeosang. Since your life has been so hectic, you decided to stay in with your son who decided he wanted to use the time he had to finish his homework. Yeosang and he had been friendly with each other but they were not close (yet) as they haven't spent much time together nor have they found anything in common. But you were hopeful.

You and Yeosang were cuddled on the couch as the TV played a drama that you and he wanted to watch while your son sat on the floor with his homework spread open on the portable desk. "I'll be right back sweetie," you told Yeosang, patting him on the thigh before walking away to go to the bathroom. At first, Yeosang only paid attention to the tv but from the corner of his eyes, he could see your son looking around for you every so often, lips pouting and hand scratching his head which indicated that he was stuck on his homework. For some reason, Yeosang found it in him to be the first one to make the move, "Hey there buddy, what homework do you got there?" He asked, catching your son by surprise. For a moment, your son could only look back and forth between the homework and Yeosang, hesitating. Yeosang was about to tell him that he didn't have to share when your son grabbed his book and walked over to Yeosang on his knees and dropped the book on Yeosang's lap, "It's math but I don't know how to do this," he said sadly, gesturing to the opened page. Yeosang grinned widely and his chest puffed with pride, "Well, lucky for you, I'm a math wiz! Come on, let's solve this together."

When you came back, you saw Yeosang had situated himself next to your son on his portable desk, teaching him how to solve the equations that he was stuck on and he was conversing with the boy so well. He allowed the boy to try and solve the equation and gently letting him know where he was wrong. They were so immersed that they hadn't realized you returning to your seat as they took a break to play the multiplication game, evem teasing each other when the other took too long to answer.

san

San loved kids and it showed with how he actually volunteered on babysitting your son as you go on a business trip. At first you were worried because your son had never been away from you to be in a place that's not your home. But San convinced you that it was fine, he was fine with spending time with his best bud and if it wasn't for the great bond they had, you wouldn't have been able to leave your baby to tend to your responsibilities.

"Say bye to mommy!" San urged your son who was sitting on his lap wearing his beanie. "Bye mommy! I miss you!" Your son said as he waved his hands to the camera while San did the same, throwing lots of air kisses your way before hanging up. As soon as the call ended, your son went back to watching San played a game. "Is that uncle Yunho?" He asked, reaching forward to point at a character on the screen. San grinned widely and pat the boy on the head gently, "That's right, bud! You're starting to understand the game, don't you?" They spent another hour like that, San playing the game with Yunho, Yeosang, and Jongho as your son ask him questions and eventually even tried a round (to which he died within 30 seconds and San had to hug and reassure him that he'd teach him how to play better and in time, he might be great).

Without realizing, as it was his habit, San started singing random songs that popped into his head. The crisp sound of keyboard and mouse clicking paired with San's honey voice proved to induce sleep in your son as his eyes drooped low and his eyelids fluttered ever so gently before closing. It took a while for San to realize that your son had been quiet, only leaning on his sturdy chest. When he looked down, San almost squaled at just how adorable your son looked sleeping so comfortably; one of his eyes covered by the beanie that had shifted, his mouth agape, and his body completely relaxed comfortably in San's lap. Carefully, San took a selfie of him and your son, changing the picture to his homescreen before shutting the game and bringing the boy who wrapped his arms tightly around San's neck when San lifted him up to the bed so he could sleep soundly. Even then, your son refused to let go of San, holding onto two of San's fingers as he dozed off to dreamland where San soon followed.

mingi

Kids were something Mingi wanted in the future. He knew he wanted to have his own but he knew that he's going to have to learn and practice before actually having one. Which was a predicament considering he's dating someone with a 3 year old daughter. But she's just the most precious thing ever that Mingi pushed his insecurities away to dote on the princess.

Like now, Mingi found himself unable to peel away from your bed where your daughter was napping. He was mesmerized at how adorable she looked with her tiny tiny snores and absolute relaxed expression. "Mingi, baby, you're going to wake her up if you keep staring at her like that," you said, poking your boyfriend on his shoulder for him to simply wave you off, "No I won't, I promise. I'm just trying to understand how she's so absolutely adorable like a tiny tiny marshmallow," he squeaked in utter adoration. You couldn't help but smile and rolled your eyes at how whipped Mingi was for your daughter but you couldn't blame him. "Well, I'm going to go the convenience store because the little princess is going to want her yogurt when she wakes up and we're out. So you try your best to not eat this tiny tiny marshmallow," you teased him before leaving the room and the apartment.

After a while, Mingi felt a little thirsty so he carefully got off the bed and went to the kitchen. He was just taking his first gulp when he heard soft whimpers and sobs coming from your room. Immediately, he put the glass down and rushed to the little girl who was sitting up on the bed, sniffling because she thought she was left alone. When she heard Mingi came in, she immediately reached both hands towards him, asking to be picked up. "Minnie," she whimpered with trembling bottom lip. Without thinking, Mingi scooped the girl up in his arms and started calming her down while she clung on him for dear life. "Don't worry princess, Minnie's here, Minnie's got you," he repeated, smiling to himself when he heard the girl calming down as she nuzzled her face on his shoulder, finally content.

wooyoung

Initially you hesitated dating Wooyoung because you have a daughter. A 4 year old daughter who is your whole life and the very reason you hesitated being in a relationship. But when you found Wooyoung who absolutely adored your daughter, you knew you made the right choice taking the leap.

Usually, the men you date would make you leave your daughter at your friend's or with a babysitter or even with your parents by guilt-tripping or bluntly stating that they didn't feel comfortable with your kid. Not Wooyoung though, not at all. He's the type to want to take your daughter on your dates, even going as far as planning the date around your daughter. You couldn't forget her face when Wooyoung took her to the fox cafe, seeing them both running around the place and somehow blending in with the animals. That day, Wooyoung came home with 137 nee pictures and videos of your daughter going nuts over the animals. Since then, they were insepparable.

"Hi, I'm here to pick up my daughter," you smiled at the receptionist of the daycare who stared at you in confusion. "I-I'm sorry, but someone already came in for your daughter," she said, causing your eyes to bulge out in panic, "What? Who? Why would you let a stranger take my child?" Your voice was getting louder which scared the poor receptionist. "I-I'm sorry ma'am it-it's just that, your daughter called him papa so I-" "Papa? Who-" just as you were about to continue, your eyes saw a very familiar figure holding your daughter in his arms, happily talking. Wooyoung's eyes met yours and he momentarily paused, realizing that he got caught "kidnapping" your daughter. Just as you were about to call for him, Wooyoung grinned widely and pointed at you which caused your daughter to turn in his arms and beamed. "Now, say bye bye to mama!" He teased but your daughter did as she was told anyways, waving at you happily saying bye bye before Wooyoung whisked her away without any care, casually walking out of the daycare as if you weren't frozen in your spot, looking at them leaving just like that.

jongho

Jongho knew what he got himself into when he agreed to date you, knowing full well that you have a son. He didn't really care about whether or not you have a child but he grew very fond of the boy rather quickly. How can he not? The boy seemed to take a liking to Jongho to the point that he idolized the man. Especially Jongho's strength.

The three of you went out for a picnic because it was such a beautiful day and your son remembered Jongho saying that he should be out when the sun is out. As he was helping you take food out, he noticed the boy was doing the same, even taking glances at how Jongho was doing things. It was absolutely adorable. Suddenly, Jongho stood up and reached for a bag to produce a soccer ball. "Hey, bud," he spun and tossed the ball in his hands and you could see your son getting so hyped up, super excited, "Wanna learn how to play soccer?" Jongho asked. Seeing as your son basically had sparkles in his eyes, you could only roll your eyes playfully and shoo them off to play so you could FINALLY set the food up in peace..

They chose a spot not too far, somewhere you can still keep an eye on your son but still relax in the shady area with your book. Jongho and your son were having a blast being active together. The boy was thrilled to have been given personal coaching from the guy he admired most and Jongho was experiencing the joy of mentoring a child who looked up to him as much. "There you go, buddy! That's it!" Jongho cheered when your son managed to kick the ball with a running start. Unfortunately, once the ball was kicked, he tripped and fell on the grass. Just as you were about to rush to him, you saw Jongho rushing at the boy who had tears brimming in his eyes and a quivering bottom lip, frozen on the ground not knowing what to do. Without hesitation, Jongho pulled the boy up and hugged him tightly in his strong arms, "I'm so proud of you, buddy! That was such a good kick!" Jongho was hoping that by reminding him of his achievement, your son wouldn't focus much on his fall which thankfully happened. When your son pulled away from Jongho's hug, he was giggling while wiping the tears away with his arm, nodding shyly. "Do you think you can do that again after we eat something?" Jongho asked as he adjusted the boy before swooping down to grab the ball on the ground and walking towards where you were. You've never seen your son so excited talking about anything to anyone and frankly, you couldn't be more glad that it was Jongho who made him so.

network :

@cultofdionysusnet @sandsofire @kflixnet

taglist :

@kodzukein @phenomenalgirl9 @skzatzloveismonsterous @memorymonster @thesolarplanetarysystem @dreamlesswonder86 @maddiebabyxoxo @imababywolf @do-you-actually-care @marievllr-abg @ilsedingsx @wasteitonserendipity @bbymatz @noonaishere @honeyhwaaa @ateezourstars @yoonjunshi @yoongiigolden @camillelafaye @charreddonuts @kpopnightingale @starryunho @atinct @mirror-juliet @hyuckilstan @jayb17 @kpoplover718 @haatohwa @x-bluee @erinaimeexx @blackb3ll @mingiholic @angelicyeo @vampcharxter @meowmeowminnie @marvelous-llama @kawennote09 @hongjoong-lovebot @stopeatread @spooo00oky @jwnghyuns @cutie-wooyo @asjkdk @shinotani @aestheticsluut

@chloepurpy

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absolutebl · 1 month

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Top 10 Best BLs on Gagaoolala

My Beautiful Man AKA Utsukushii Kare

Japan 2021

One of the most Japanese BLs to release in the last decade, as weird and as messed up as any 2000s yaoi: emo af and hella warped, entirely true to itself with no attempt made to modify its POV for modern sensibilities or current BL fandom. It used seriously old school problematic and kinky tropes, like whipping boy, for a truly uncompromising piece that also manages to hit up themes of communication, consent, and self acceptance. It’s a wonderful BL but uniquely dirty and harsh, in the best possible way - Japanese cinema, uncompromising.

I lost my ever loving mind over the ending. This show won the Grand Prix “My Best TV Award” at the 16th Galaxy Awards.

Minato's Laundromat AKA Minato Shouji Coin Laundry

Japan 2022

A classic age gap romance where a high school student pursues the man of his dreams (who runs a laundromat). This BL is so steeped in yaoi nostalgia, not to mention a classic romance arc, that it will overload some, but those of us who love this genre for its DNA will adore it. It made me very happy because it did everything I want a BL to do - there’s not much more I could ask of a show than this. It’s the closest Japan has come to perfect live action yaoi since Seven Days (and I never make that comparison lightly).

Squee watch-along here.

My Ride

Thai 2022

Thai BL grew up with this pulp (the first ever to make my end of year top 10). It’s a truly lovely and special little show featuring the extremely rare pairing of sunshine/sunshine (AKA a cinnamon roll couple) plus mature explorations of relationships using one of the softest, sweetest, and most innocent friends to lovers vehicles. Kindly, overworked doctor meets broken-hearted motorcycle taxi driver in an “other side of the tracks” slow burn romance. The support cast is excellent, making for great friendship groups and family dynamics. With honest queer rep that adds to, but doesn’t impede, the story, and genuine conversation about the nature of class, wealth, and classism, not to mention communication, honesty, and respect for boundaries, you can’t go wrong with this show. In other news, I am a sucker for a single dimple.

Takara & Amagi AKA Takara-kun to Amagi-kun

Japan 2022 I gnawed on my knuckles and squealed a lot with this BL. Reserved cool kid who must learn to communicate to keep the tiny disaster nugget he’s madly in love with. It is beyond charming: soft and gentle, packed with cuteness and high school angst, thirst, & yearning. Was there plot? Not really. Was it emotionally tense and paced well enough for me not to notice? Absolutely. Did I enjoy the hell out of it? Oh yes.

Kiseki: Dear to Me

Taiwan 2023

The plot is totally ridiculous and slightly unhinged, but that’s normal for Taiwan. It involves all the tropes under a very casual framework of gay mafia gangs + food = love. Absolutely every character is queer. There’s a gum-ball machine of cameos, elder gay rep, great chemistry from all pairs, and a KILLER side couple. As a result Kiseki is a poster child for Taiwanese BL, and I happen to love Taiwanese BL. Bonus? They also managed to END IT WELL, which we cannot expect from Taiwan.

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho

Japan 2023

This style of live action yaoi really only works from Japan. Basically: boys who fell in love in college end up living together but both are so repressed they actually don't realize they're in love. It's higher heat than we usually get from Japan's HEA stuff, and that part is also very well done, but it leaned into the "why don't they just talk for fuck's sake?" trope which is only exacerbated into undiluted frustration by the fact that they're already fucking. It's great, but watching requires more patience than usual, even for Japan.

Our Dining Table AKA Bokura no Shokutaku

Japan 2023

A lonely salaryman and talented cook gets accidentally adopted by a college kid and his little brother. I was always gonna love this show if they stuck to the manga (which is very dear to my heart). And they did, paralleling it almost exactly. It’s a quiet & cozy little parable of found family alleviating loneliness. Possibly too slow for some but definitely high up there for me as the best of what Japan can do with softness (like Restart After Come Back Home). It’s only flaw (if I dare say such a thing) is that it is not really “romantic.” Lovely & sweet but the romance beats are being used to build a family relationship, not just couple intimacy, but that's OK with me. This is a very safe show for anyone to watch.

Step By Step

Thai 2023

This was Thailand’s answer to The New Employee, and everything I loved about that show I loved about this one. This office romance between a stern boss and sweet subordinate felt more authentic to cubical work than previous Thai BLs of this ilk. That authenticity added tension to the narrative and its characters development (how novel). I also really enjoyed the charming side characters and the brothers' relationship to each other (although I could have done without that brother's side BL).

Long Time No See

Korea (Strongberry) 2017

Catfishing assassins on either side of a turf war who fall in love not knowing they are on opposite sides. Or do they? Suspenseful plot, good fight sequences, mature characters, hot sexitimes and even hotter beating the shit out of each other and kissing while covered in blog (this came from KOREA?), plus an HEA. One of the hidden gems of the BL genre.

About Youth

Taiwan 2022

A truly lovely little coming of age high school BL with a classic YA low drama but high angst and an earnest depth. I didn’t even mind the singing, and that’s saying a lot. A weak seme/uke dynamic but tons of BL tropes (both rare in a high school setting but common for Taiwan) makes this one feel both sweet and colored by real world authenticity and grit.

Some of these shows ALSO appeared on Viki or iQIYI, but these BLs will appear only once on these round up posts (here for Gaga), not on the other platforms top 10.

(source)

This list updated Spring 2024, not responsible for cool stuff that aired on Gaga (or was taken off the platform) after that date.

This is part of a series more here:

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yeyinde · 9 months

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lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met.

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really.

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with.

Stupid.

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine.

Because maybe you are, too.

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent.

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him.

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you.

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him.

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married.

And where does that leave you?

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber.

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both.

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar.

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet.

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight.

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush.

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways.

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape.

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore.

Moving on. Moving forward.

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent.

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this.

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him.

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness.

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location.

You send him your pin.

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way.

You met Kyle Garrick at university.

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre.

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met.

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap.

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care.

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed.

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth.

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?"

And that was that.

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them.

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him.

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him.

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain.

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart.

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square.

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots.

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring.

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner.

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots.

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes.

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest.

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it."

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you."

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult.

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes."

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid."

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it."

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought.

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot.

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips.

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain.

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks.

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all.

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you.

Except—

It isn’t.

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes.

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know?

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips.

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort?

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him.

He’d know, he said.

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic.

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around.

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement.

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken.

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison.

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat.

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet.

He seems to understand.

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here."

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance.

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him.

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it.

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do.

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe."

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—"

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat.

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame.

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold?

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state.

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish.

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back.

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy).

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making.

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away.

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign.

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now.

Because you do.

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts.

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too.

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin.

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences.

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same.

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam.

And oh.

Oh.

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing.

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it.

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it.

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always.

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him.

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun.

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free.

Confessing goes like this:

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears.

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands.

"...and that's basically it."

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you.

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all.

You want it. Want him.

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam.

But he isn't.

He's here with you. Still. Still.

"I just—," you say, or try to.

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth.

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated.

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation.

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence.

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin.

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain.

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take.

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air.

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you.

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind.

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox.

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke.

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable.

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames.

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown.

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home.

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all.

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it.

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this.

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration.

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two.

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food.

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along.

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling.

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know?

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod gaz x reader #cod mw2 fanfic #ehhhhhh #these are my sloppiest tags #i didn't feel like making a gif so i threw this together real quick #will fix in the am #when my eyes aren't on fire

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cutielando · 2 months

Text

mercedes ~ george russell

Summary: You've been with George since his Formula 2 days, and now, after an awful season with Williams, he is finally given the opportunity to drive for Mercedes and you were beyond proud of him.

Words: 1.2k+

Other works: my masterlist

♡♡♡♡♡

Being with Williams had been a great period for George.

He had the opportunity to learn everything about Formula 1, adapt to the new more challenging lifestyle, see so many more new places all around the globe, it was the dream.

At the beginning, at least.

It had been a known fact for years that Williams had been struggling, both on-track and off-track. Even though George had placed his faith in the team, giving them multiple chances when they would constantly disappoint him, he was nearing the end of the line.

His contract was about to expire at the end of the season, and he was seriously considering not re-signing with Williams.

You and him would have multiple talks about this, brainstorming and trying to see what the best course of action would be for George's future.

"I just know things won't get better in the future and I am tired of always being at the back of the grid" he told you one night as he was helping you prepare dinner for the two of you.

"Georgie, you have to do what's best for you, my love. You don't have to stay with the team if you don't see your future there" you explained, approaching him and rubbing his back.

He sighed, leaning into your touch.

"You've followed the season, Williams isn't gonna get better anytime soon, I'm wasting my talent if I stick with them any longer"

You pursed your lips, nodding in agreement.

George had so much potential, so much talent that was being wasted in bad strategies and with an awful car. The highlight of the whole season had been the race where Mercedes requested that George drive for them because Lewis was sick and couldn't make it.

You vividly remembered how excited George had been when he told you he had been chosen, how alive he felt when he got out of the car after the race and with how much excitement he told you all the details about it in your hotel room that very same night.

You had never before seen him so happy, his eyes sparkling so brightly they could outshine any star in the sky.

His dream had always been to drive for Mercedes, to be a proud driver of such a legendary team. He figured he would start small, build up his reputation and then make the transition.

That, however, proved to be a very tough thing to do while driving the Williams car.

"What do you think I should do?" he asked you, his eyes boring into yours.

You always had a way with words, but your eyes would have conversations of their own when you'd look at each other.

"I think you should follow your dream and listen to your gut. You're such a talented driver, my love, but you're wasting it away by sticking with a team you can't win with" you said, a small encouraging smile on your face as you caressed his cheek with the pad of your thumb.

He sighed but nodded, smiling before leaning down to peck your lips.

His mind had been made up from that moment. He knew what he needed to do.

He needed to leave Williams.

♡♡♡♡♡

Planning to leave a Formula 1 team while having no guarantee about your future with any other was incredibly and stupidly risky.

But George had done it anyway.

After the second-to-last race of the season had ended and the team was debriefing, he had made it clear to everyone that he would not be returning as a driver for the next season.

Everyone, of course, was not very surprised by that. They could feel it coming, they knew they weren't strong enough to keep George as their driver for much longer.

"How did it go?" you had asked him when he came back to the hotel, anxious to hear about the meeting.

The relief on his face was enough of an answer for you.

"I'm free of the contract after Abu Dhabi" he announced, slumping into your arms and nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

You laughed, happy that George had finally made the decision that had been plaguing his mind for months on end.

"What are you going to do after?" you asked once you slowly backed away from the hug.

He sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

"I don't know, but I have faith that everything will work itself out"

You nodded, kissing his cheek before bringing him into another hug.

"We're going to be okay" you whispered, one of your hands caressing his soft hair while the other rubbed soothing circles on his back.

Whatever the future might bring on, you would face it together.

♡♡♡♡♡

Having some time off had proved to be exactly what George had needed.

For once, in many many years, he didn't have to worry about when the next race would be, he didn't have to worry about cheating his diet, about working out as constantly as he had had to during the previous years. He could finally just relax and take a breath of fresh air.

The two of you had been on holiday, traveling all around the world to the most beautiful places, taking in the quality time you got to spend together, uninterrupted by anything.

Sadly, your fun had been cut short while you were skiing in the beautiful Alpes, deep into the south of France.

You had been lounging in the cabin George had rented for your stay, drinking some hot chocolate while cuddled up next to your boyfriend in front of the burning fireplace. Your phones long forgotten somewhere in the bedroom, the only sound disturbing the peace being the crackling coming from the fire.

Just as you were about to doze off, George's phone suddenly started ringing from the bedroom, making him apologize before quickly getting up to grab it.

"Hello?" his voice drowned out as he closed the door behind him, not wanting to disturb you.

You didn't know how long he had been talking on the phone, losing track of time while looking out the window at the beautiful scenery around you. You only noticed he had returned when he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin against your shoulder.

"Who was it?" you mumbled, leaning back against his chest.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you" he chuckled, making your curiosity peak even more.

You raised your eyebrows, turning around in his arms.

"Now you've made me curious. Who was it?"

"Toto Wolff"

Your eyes widened when you heard the name, your heart starting to beat more quickly inside of your chest. You knew what that meant, there was only one option.

"Does that mean what I think it means?" your voice was merely a whisper, afraid you would jinx it and then it wouldn't be real anymore.

He smiled and nodded, making you squeal and jump into his arms.

The both of you laughed, basking in the happiness that the good news had brought you.

There had been rumors that Valtteri would be leaving Mercedes and they wanted to bring in a younger driver, someone to balance out Lewis. For months on end, speculation circled around George being the driver Toto had been eyeing, but there hadn't been any official communication from the team whatsoever.

Until now.

George Russell, your boyfriend, the Mercedes F1 driver.

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chvoswxtch · 1 year

Text

return the favor

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader x frank castle

summary: you're always there when matt and frank need you, no matter what it is, or what time of day. they decide it's time to return the favor, and show some gratitude.

warnings: all of them. every single one of them. swearing, mentions of blood, explicit sexual content (minors dni, seriously this is like x rated), little bits of fluff sprinkled in

word count: 12.6k

a/n: i'm not even going to apologize. y'all know me by now. y'all know who I am as a person. y'all know I cannot be normal about either one of them, and i've stopped trying to be. my inner slut took over when I wrote this, and it is filthy. it had me sweating like a whore in church. I don't even go to church. i'm not even religious, and I feel like I need to pray for forgiveness after this. this baby is over 30 pages, and it is a ride. ;)

this is my holiday gift to each and every one of you precious angel babies. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated! ❤️

also again, i'm still not sure if the glitch with dark mode has been fixed or not but if you're on dark mode, you may have trouble viewing this. I apologize for any inconvenience reading in advance!

At this point you weren’t sure who started it this time. Honestly, you weren’t even sure if one of them had started it, or if it was just another argument carrying over from earlier. You’d given up keeping score in their little competition of who could be more ornery. It used to amuse you. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and the big bad Punisher constantly bickering back and forth like an old married couple, muttering under their breath in exasperation at the others' antics, yet still fighting through all that annoyance to come to the other’s defense if need be. If it had been any other night, you might have been entertained. You might have even laughed at how ridiculous they were being. But it was nearly midnight, you were beyond exhausted, and to top it all off, it was absolutely fucking freezing on top of this roof.

Why were you even here again? Oh yeah, Frank. He had sustained a pretty nasty cut to his arm after what was supposed to be an easy takedown had turned into a confounded ambush. You’d received a simple text from Matt’s burner phone a little over an hour earlier that had just consisted of the words “roof” and “kit”. Using your context clues, you assumed he meant his roof. You didn’t even give it much thought before you were bracing yourself against the November chill for seven blocks, letting yourself in with your emergency spare key and grabbing the medical kit from his bathroom on the way up. Patching up Matt was something you were used to by now, but you were incredibly anxious as to why he wanted you to meet him on the roof of his building. Was he hurt that bad? Could he not even make it inside? Should you call Claire?

Your thumb hovered over her number as you ascended the stairs, however as soon as you heard the familiar mix of combative voices, you rolled your eyes and shoved your phone in your pocket. Pushing open the door, you were met with a sight you had become all too accustomed to in the past few months; Matt and Frank at each other’s throats. When they could agree on something and both be level headed, they worked well together. Great, even. But when they disagreed, and were fueled by rage and their own devastating egos, it was like a front row seat to world war three. There were times you’d had to enlist Jessica or Luke just to pry them apart, needing an indestructible wedge between them until they could be civil.

It didn’t take you long to figure out that Frank was the one in need of aid. There was a large tear in his shirt that was normally snug around his bicep, showcasing a jagged view of torn flesh that was dripping violently with crimson. You could make out a few other cuts and bruises that littered his face from the light coming off the obnoxious billboard across the street. It was harder to tell when Matt was hurt, not only because his suit was deep red, but also because he hid it very well. Not that Frank didn’t hide it just as well. They could both be standing in front of you absolutely covered head to toe in blood with visible gashes and holes and still insist that they were fine. There were streaks of blood around Matt’s mouth and nose, but he otherwise appeared to be in good shape. Loudly clearing your throat, you dropped the kit onto the floor by your feet and placed your hands on your hips as both men’s heads whipped around in your direction.

“Can you two pretend to get along for fifteen minutes so I can do what you called me here for, or would you both rather bleed to death on this roof?”

Seven minutes. They made it seven minutes. You had just finished the final stitch on Frank’s arm when a snide comment from Matt had him unraveling in anger all over again. Tonight seemed to be worse than usual. You couldn’t tell if it was due to the pain from their injuries, the exhaustion from the recent sleepless nights, frustration from lead after lead that kept turning into dead ends, a combination of all of the above, or what. They were in each other’s faces, noses barely a centimeter apart, trading insults like verbal punches in an invisible ring. You were shocked Matt had even called you to help patch up Frank with the way his mouth was curled into a glowering snarl towards him, fists bunched tightly at his sides ready to strike at any moment.

“If you had just fucking listened to me-”

“Because you got it all figured out, don’t ya Red? Huh? You think them fancy fuckin’ senses of yours make you better than me? I was takin’ terrorist organizations down overseas while you were gettin’ shitfaced off cheap booze in your dorm, but heaven forbid I walk into a fuckin’ building without your goddamn say so.”

“Goddammit Frank, I can hear things you can’t. Like when there’s twenty fucking men armed with guns in a building that’s supposed to be-”

“Your priest know you use such colorful language? You tell him that when you’re confessin’ on Sundays? You even tell him ‘bout all the people you beat the shit out of for fun? Or you leave all that out, altar boy?”

“This isn’t a joke, Frank. They were armed with way more ammunition than we planned for, and there were more of them than there should’ve been. They fucking knew we were coming. If you would have just-”

“Nah, nah. If you had fuckin’ listened to me, we would’ve been fine. If you weren’t such a goddamn pussy, and let me do what the fuck I need to do-”

As much as you tried to drown them out, their voices only got louder and louder. Rubbing your temples with your index and middle fingers did absolutely nothing to soothe the dull ache that had begun to throb in your head. God, they were exhausting sometimes. It amazed you how much they changed when they were together. Matt was usually more calm and collected, and Frank was usually quieter. As much as they brought out the best in each other when they did get along, they brought out even more of the worst when they didn’t. It was like they both had a perfect blueprint of where the other’s buttons were, and always knew exactly where to press. That dull ache in your head was beginning to glow like tiny embers waiting to spark. Your fingers had gone numb from the cold through the thin latex gloves. Your patience had run out half an hour ago, or long before that if you were being honest with yourself. You were pissed they had the audacity to drag you out of your warm bed in the middle of the night just to act like you weren’t there, waiting for them to finish their childish bullshit. The irritation had been wearing you down from the second you stepped onto the roof and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Would you both just shut the fuck up already? Seriously? I am so sick of listening to the two of you bitch and bicker about every little fucking thing. I have fucking had it with both of you. If you two can’t get your shit together, I swear to God, I’m going to-”

“What? What are you gonna do, sweetheart?”

If you weren’t pissed off already, the arrogant smirk tugging at the corner of Frank’s lips certainly pushed you over the edge. He cocked his head to the side, staring at you with his dark eyes squinted in levity. One of his thick brows rose in challenge, daring you to continue your rant.

“Aw c’mon, darlin’. Thirty seconds ago you were all big and bad, runnin’ that bratty little mouth of yours. Now you got nothin’ to say?”

“Get your shit together, or I will beat your ass.”

“I think she means that, Frank.”

“No shit? She ain’t lyin’?”

“Nope. Heartbeat’s steady.”

“Well ain’t that cute.”

The teasing tone of Matt’s voice hitting your ears felt like gasoline being thrown on the fire that was already raging within you. A devilish grin stretched over his mouth, showcasing the dimples in his cheeks that you loved so much. Normally the sight of that smile would make you weak in the knees, but right now it infuriated the fuck out of you. Both men were staring at you in complete amusement, smug grins plastered on their faces, and you wanted nothing more than to walk over and slap them off.

“Fuck you both.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Matt’s response knocked the breath right out of your lungs, and all your anger with it. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you stared at him, jaw dropping slightly. He had never spoken to you like that. Matt was a natural flirt, that was just his personality. He had definitely said a few things that made you question how he really felt about you, and there were a few “accidental” touches that lingered a little too long, but never anything like that. And certainly never in the voice he typically reserved for interrogating criminals. You were completely stunned in place, brain failing to come up with any kind of response. Even though Matt’s words were phrased as an inquisition, it came out more like a confident statement, like a rhetorical question he already knew the answer to.

“Well?”

Frank’s voice seemed to break the trance Matt had you under, your eyes darting over towards his large figure. Somehow he was now only standing about a foot away from you. When did he get so close? How had you missed that? You were used to Matt sneaking up on you constantly since the man was practically a fucking ninja, but Frank wasn’t as stealthy. He was a lot bigger, moved with more force than precision, and commanded every space he stepped into.

“What?”

“You gonna answer him?”

Frank’s eyes bore into yours as he motioned his head towards Matt, the intensity of his gaze making you feel as if you had shrunk several sizes in his presence. Sometimes you forgot just how big he was, and how menacing he could be when he wanted to. There was something gleaming in the darkness of his eyes that you couldn’t place. His features were set in their usual broody state apart from his mouth that was still slightly curved in a wicked smirk. A sudden shiver descended your spine, but it wasn’t from the cold. Instinctively you took a step back, blinking a few times before staring down at your trembling hands as you removed the bloody gloves.

“I don’t…look just…clean yourselves up. Try not to kill each other, or piss off Matt’s neighbors any more than you already have.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

“It’s cold, Matthew.”

“But that’s not why your hands are shaking. Is it?”

Glancing up, a slight gasp flew from your mouth noticing that Matt was now standing right next to Frank. His head was cocked towards the right, chin jutted out in your direction, studying you intently. You couldn’t see the beautiful honey brown of his eyes that were hidden behind the obsidian lenses of his mask. His voice had dropped even lower, and your stomach dropped down into a pit of nerves along with it. A sobering thought washed over you that your beloved captivating lawyer was not the one standing in front of you; the Devil was. This wasn’t exactly new to you. Sometimes Matt had trouble shifting back into a level-headed state after particularly bad nights, or when patrols left his adrenaline pumping through his veins like rocket fluid. You had witnessed the battle on several occasions between Matthew Murdock and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen for control. But this was…different. He was eerily calm and still, and it made you nervous.

“This ain’t like you, sweetheart. Bein’ all mouthy, actin’ like a damn brat, not answerin’ questions when asked. Where’s our good girl, hm?”

The mega-watt grin that immediately took over Matt’s mouth could have put that blinding billboard behind him to fucking shame.

“Oh, she liked that Frank.”

“Did she?”

“Should’ve heard the way her heart jumped. You are our good girl, aren’t you angel?”

The connection between your brain and your mouth had been severed. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t hardly breathe. Your wide eyes flickered back and forth in dumbfoundment between the two men standing in front of you. Surely, you were hearing them wrong. Were they messing with you? Where was all this coming from? What the fuck was happening?

“C’mon darlin’, use that pretty little head of yours and talk to us. Red asked you a question, yeah?”

There was a hint of teasing that laced Frank’s gravelly voice as his eyes remained fixated on you. Your head was spinning like a rogue carousel and your heart was thrashing to break through your ribcage.

“I…I don’t understand-”

“I think you do, angel. You’re a smart girl, but you’re not subtle. We know what you want, and we’re more than happy to give it to you. Isn’t that right, Frank?”

“S’right, Red. We think you’ve earned it, sweetheart. Takin’ such good care of us, puttin’ up with all our shit, always there when we need ya. We’d like to return the favor, darlin’.”

“See angel, the one thing Frank and I absolutely agree on, is how pretty you’re gonna sound when we ruin you.”

Matt’s confession struck your core like lightning and tore a startled moan of desperation from your throat. His grin stretched even further across his sinful lips, a dark chuckle emitting from low within his chest. Frank’s eyebrows rose a hair in surprise, only for a moment, before that crooked, teeth baring smile of his was back on full display. He joined Matt in sinister snickering, like there was some kind of inside joke you weren’t a part of.

“Do me a favor, Red. Put them damn senses of yours to good use and tell me how wet she is right now.”

There was never a battle with Frank. There was never anyone else fighting for control. With Frank, what you saw was exactly what you got. There was no slipping back and forth, no struggle, there was just…him. Unabashed, unapologetic, shameless Frank. He didn’t hide it when he flirted with you. He didn’t mince words, or speak in riddles. He always said exactly what he meant so there was never any confusing his words or motives. He never pushed it any further than playful banter and flirty remarks, but he also didn’t hide behind the guise of friendly teasing. The order he gave Matt caused your brain to short circuit and you were honestly surprised it hadn’t knocked you onto your knees. Matt’s lips parted slightly, just enough for his tongue to meet the air as he inhaled deeply. A satisfied hum sounded in the back of his throat.

“Not nearly as wet as she’s going to be. But she smells fucking divine.”

“Bet she tastes even better.”

“I can’t wait to find out.”

The next few minutes passed by in a bit of a blur. Frank had thrown you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing more than the duffel bag he hauled around, carrying you down the steps into Matt’s living room with haste. Matt trailed closely behind the two of you, quickly removing his gloves and helmet somewhere along the way. Before you could even register being put back down on wobbly legs, two large hands grabbed your face and a strong pair of lips met your own. Frank.

The kiss was full of passion but surprisingly tender, a sigh of relief echoing in your mouth from him. Frank kissed you deeply, but slowly, wanting to savor the feeling and the taste of you. Matt managed to sneak his hand between your bodies, tugging at the zipper of your jacket and pulling it off your shoulders with ease. He pulled down the left sleeve of your thin sweater, trailing his lips along the exposed skin before nipping and sucking at the junction above your collarbone. The scruff of his facial hair contrasted roughly with the softness of his lips and it made your mind even hazier, a moan tumbling into Frank’s mouth. Matt growled lowly, gripping onto your hips and pulling your ass against his front abruptly so you could feel how hard he was through his suit, earning another whine from you. His hand was nearly halfway into your jeans when Frank reached out to grab his wrist, halting his movements.

“Quit bein’ fuckin’ impatient. We got all damn night.”

“You hear the sounds she’s making Frank?”

“Yeah, and I’d like to hear a lot more of ‘em you selfish little shit.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. Here you were, trapped between two of the most feared men in Hell’s Kitchen, with both of their mouths and hands all over you, and they were still arguing. Your giggles were immediately cut off however when Matt’s teeth sunk down into the flesh of your neck, a surprised moan taking their place. Frank lightly grasped your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head back against Matt’s chest as he caught your gaze. His tongue darted out to wet his lips quickly, motioning his head towards you.

“You want this, sweetheart?”

All you could do was stare up at Frank with half moon eyes. Your brain seemed incapable of manufacturing a single coherent thought. You were too wrapped up in how good it felt to be caged between them. How good it felt to kiss Frank, to be touched by Matt, to be desired by them both. All you could do was feebly nod.

“Need to hear it, pretty girl. Need you to tell us you want us too.”

Matt’s grip on your waist loosened slightly, his nose nuzzling against your cheek as he softly kissed the underside of your jaw and whispered delicately in your ear.

“You can say no, angel. We can all walk away right now, pretend this never happened. We won’t be upset.”

“We never wanna make you uncomfortable, honey. Just wanna make you feel good.”

“Would you like us to make you feel good, sweetheart? Take care of you for all the times you’ve taken care of us? Whatever you want, we’ll give you. Just tell us what you want.”

“Please…”

Frank’s large hand loosely wrapped around your neck, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip slowly as he stared down at you with a timid smile.

“Please what, sweet girl? Hm? Use your words. You want us? You got us. We’re yours. Just say the words.”

Matt slipped his hand underneath the hem of your sweater, tracing slow delicate circles along your hip as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. He placed a featherlight kiss to your burning skin, the edge in his voice from earlier now gone as he whispered sweetly.

“We’re all yours, angel. Always have been. Just tell us you want us too.”

Matt and Frank both put an inch of space between their bodies and yours, as if they could sense how difficult their presence was making it hard for you to think clearly. They were giving you an out if you wanted it. You knew this would completely change everything between the three of you. There would be no going back to how things were before. This decision was permanent, and couldn’t be undone. But God, did you want it. You wanted them. You were momentarily suspended in disbelief that they wanted you too, but you were having an arduous time focusing on why they wanted you, when they had come to this agreement regarding you, and what the morning would look like. The only thing your brain could process was the pure, irrevocable yearning you felt.

You trusted Matt and Frank with your life. You knew you could trust them with your body. The safest you ever felt was in their presence. The safest place you could ever be was confined between them. You wanted them. You loved them. You needed to be consumed by them.

“I need both of you, please.”

If either of them heard the aching in your divulgence, neither of them acknowledged it. Matt’s fingertips brushed lightly along your sides as he pulled your sweater over your head, eliciting a domino of shivers throughout your body. Your own trembling fingers gingerly pushed Frank’s torn and bloodied shirt up, careful to avoid his fresh injuries along the way. As you sought out his lips, his large hands maneuvered your hips until you were face to face with Matt, his nose brushing against the column of your throat.

“Help Red outta that damn thing, would ya? Otherwise we’ll be here all fuckin’ night.”

A furrow formed between Matt’s brows and his lips parted to protest, but his words were quickly cut off when you grabbed his face to crash your lips together. His hands gripped onto your waist just above where Frank’s had settled, a satisfied groan echoing on your tongue. Matt’s kiss was hungrier, more possessive and needy than Frank’s, and it made your head spin. As your fingers worked at the zipper on Matt’s suit, Frank’s were swiftly popping the button on your jeans and tugging your own zipper down. He left a searing trail of open mouthed kisses from right beneath your ear to down along your shoulder as his large hand slipped beneath the waistband of your panties. Greedily peeling the material of Matt’s suit off his broad shoulders, you instinctively bit down on his bottom lip when Frank’s index finger made contact with your clit. Matt moaned at the feeling of your teeth holding his lip captive, shoving the rest of his suit off with impressive speed leaving him only clad in black briefs with a noticeable tent.

“Goddamn, sweetheart. You’ve got these completely soaked through. I guess Red was right.”

You could feel Matt’s prideful smile against your own mouth at Frank’s words as you threaded your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him even more flush against your own body. He groaned again in satisfaction at the gentle tug, and you were suddenly curious what other delicious sounds you could pull out of him. Before you could experiment, Frank slipped one of his thick fingers inside of you and a loud moan filled the empty space.

“Fuck she’s tight. Gonna have to get you nice and ready for us, yeah? Think two oughta do it, Red?”

“She’s been such a good girl, Frank. Let’s give her three.”

“Hm, she has, hasn’t she? S’pose that way we both get a taste then.”

Your head fell back against Frank’s chest as he pumped his finger slowly, already rendering you a whiny incoherent mess. You could just briefly register Matt kneeling before you, grabbing the waistband of your jeans and tugging them down your legs. His touch was lighter when his fingers slipped underneath the sides of your panties, trailing them along your skin with more precise teasing. Matt rubbed his nose along your inner thigh, humming softly as he ever so languidly pulled the fabric down your legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He gently brushed his fingertips over your ankles, along the sides of your calves, up the backs of your knees, until he had a firm grip on your thighs.

“Looks awful pretty down there on his knees for ya, don’t he?”

Frank was right. Matt did look good on his knees before you, head tipped back and eyes closed in content, lips parted slightly as he inhaled your scent from the source. Suddenly you wanted both of them on their knees for you. Or maybe you wanted to be on your knees for both of them. You reached out with a trembling hand to grab a small fistful of Matt’s hair, moaning softly as Frank slipped a second finger inside you.

“Look so pretty, Matty.”

Matt’s eyes fluttered open, staring blankly up in your direction as a toothy grin took over his entire face showcasing your beloved dimples.

“Not as pretty as you, angel.”

“I think Red deserves a little treat for bein’ so patient, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Yes, Frankie.”

“How ‘bout that, Red? You want a little taste?”

“God, yes.”

“On your feet. You take over.”

If you hadn’t been so wrapped up in your own pleasure, you would’ve been amazed at how quickly Matt followed Frank’s command without an ounce of hesitation or complaint. You whined momentarily as Frank’s fingers slipped out of you, only to quickly be replaced with Matt’s index finger and his thumb pressed firmly against your clit earning another loud moan from you.

“Open your mouth.”

Once again, Matt quickly complied, parting his plump kiss bitten lips. Your walls clenched around Matt’s finger and a pathetic moan slipped out as you watched Frank shove his two fingers drenched in your slick straight into Matt’s mouth. Matt’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head when your taste met his tongue, eagerly sucking every single drop off of Frank’s fingers. Frank grunted quietly near your ear as Matt moaned softly around his digits. It was the hottest fucking sight you had ever seen.

“Attaboy, Red. Tell me how she tastes.”

Frank retracted his fingers from Matt’s mouth slowly, leaving his lips shining with a coat of spit. His hand quickly found its place once again between your thighs and there seemed to be some kind of unspoken understanding between the two as Matt twisted his wrist to make room for Frank’s hand, allowing Frank to take over stretching you apart as his own fingers worked over your clit to help bring you to your release.

“So fucking good, Frank. Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever had. You’re not gonna be able to get enough.”

“Like I said, we got all night.”

You could die like this, trapped between two walls of soft skin and hard muscle, their skilled hands working together to bring you absolute bliss. You were thankful they had you completely trapped between their chests because otherwise, you wouldn’t have been able to stand. The pleasure was absolutely overwhelming. It was everywhere, all at once, and you weren’t sure if you could survive the fall. You had never felt anything like this. You didn’t even know you could feel like this. That little bubble that normally built up inside you was now simmering like a giant pit of lava inside a volcano dangerously close to erupting. You couldn’t even form the words to warn them, but with the undivided attention of Matt’s senses, you didn’t have to.

“She’s close, Frank. Keep doing that, right there. That’s it…hold her steady. It’s alright, angel. Just let go for us. We’ve got you, sweetheart.”

“Go ahead, darlin’. C’mon, let us hear those pretty sounds. Don’t hold back, honey. Let us have it all, yeah?”

The edge was painfully far away, just within reach. You were so goddamn close. It just felt too fucking good. You didn’t know if your body was holding out because you just couldn’t handle it, or because it wanted more. Just when it felt like you couldn’t make it, suddenly you were exploding into a million little pieces of gratification and being hurled into the free falling space of absolute bliss. Two pairs of strong hands supported you as you spasmed from the force of the pleasure. Two voices echoed praises and sweet nothings into your ears as you floated outside your own body. Two hearts thudded against your back and chest in sync as they adorned you in their affection.

Rough calloused fingertips trailed along your cheekbone tenderly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as soft lips traced the shell of your ear.

“Shh. We got ya, sweetheart. We’re right here, yeah? Easy now, breathe.”

Matt wrapped his arm around your lower back, hooking his other underneath your knees as he pried you from Frank’s embrace and lifted you up bridal style, holding you against his chest.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Frank. Get undressed. I’ll take her to bed.”

You weakly brought your hand up to Matt’s neck, wrapping your fingers around the cross necklace that settled between his collarbones. The metal felt surprisingly cool against his heated skin, and the deep inhale you took to control your breathing filled your senses with his intoxicating cologne. You carefully traced one of the scars on the left side of his chest with your fingertip as you crossed the threshold into his bedroom.

“Matty?”

“Yes angel?”

“I like it when you and Frankie get along.”

“Tell him to quit bein’ such a shithead all the time, and you’ll get more of it.”

“And here I was about to be nice and let you have the first taste, Castle. Why don’t you get on your knees and put that fucking mouth of yours to good use. Don’t keep her waiting.”

Matt carefully set you down on the edge of the bed, moving to sit right behind you with his chest pressed flush against your back. You noticed the commanding tone he used with Frank was the exact same one he used in the courtroom when he wasn’t in the mood for bullshit or rebuttal. For the millionth time that night, you were shocked when Frank simply grunted in response instead of verbally retaliating, lowering himself down onto his knees in front of you. Your eyes widened slightly at the sight of Frank nearly naked before you. You had seen him shirtless a few times when he needed fixing up, but never only in briefs before. The fabric clung to his muscular thighs like a second skin, and it made your mouth water the exact same way it did whenever you saw Matt only in his underwear. Your brows furrowed slightly at the sudden realization that Frank had done exactly what Matt instructed in the living room. Since when did they ever follow each other’s orders? And so easily?

“Spread those legs, angel. Let him see you.”

Frank moved in closer towards you as you obeyed Matt’s order, his broad shoulders pushing your thighs even further apart. His large hands slowly made their way from your knees to your inner thighs, his thumbs tracing the softest circles along your skin. You had always wondered about Frank and what he would be like intimately. For a guy who could take down thirty men with his bare hands without batting an eye, he was incredibly gentle. His touch was delicate and reassuring, like he was afraid he might break you, but wanted you to know he was there. Matt wrapped his arm around your waist to hold you tightly against his chest, his other brushing your hair off your shoulder as he kissed your neck softly. He was more like what you had expected. Dominant and possessive, like he had something to prove. Whether that was to you or himself, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was both. He wanted you to know you were at his mercy, and that you belonged to him. Well, him and Frank.

The only exception to all of Matt’s rules seemed to be Frank now that you thought about it. He was willing to ignore his own moral compass and religious teachings in certain situations involving Frank. He came to Frank’s defense constantly, even if he knew he was in the wrong and would personally give him shit about his choices later. He relinquished control earlier in the living room and followed every single one of Frank’s commands, something he would never do with anyone else. Frank seemed to be the only person Matt willingly submitted to. And despite his overprotective nature, he was sharing you with Frank. Matt seemed to be Frank’s own personal outlier as well. Frank always worked alone. He hated involving other people in what he did, not wanting to deal with the risks and consequences, and just another person in general. It was easier when all he had to worry about was himself. But he had no trouble dragging Matt into the flames at a moment's notice, and never hesitated to reach out to him for help or backup. No matter how much they fought, Frank always purposefully put himself between Matt and whatever threat was coming their way, even if it was just some drunk asshole in a bar trying to pick a fight he knew Matt could easily win. As much as they argued, Frank did actually listen to Matt most of the time, and Matt secretly took Frank’s advice when he knew he was right. They were both just too fucking stubborn to admit that to one another.

“Now who looks pretty on their knees, hm?”

“Frankie does.”

“Tell him, angel. Tell him how pretty he looks on his knees for you.”

You reached your shaky hand out to cup Frank’s cheek, sighing softly at the way he nuzzled his face into your palm. His deep brown eyes were hooded with lust as he stared up at you lovingly, causing your heart to constrict in your chest. He really was beautiful, especially when he smiled. It had taken so long for Frank to open up to you, for you to get to see the happier and more carefree side of him, hear him crack jokes and his amazing laugh. It was always like witnessing some cosmic phenomena, and it made you feel incredibly lucky he wanted to share those parts of himself with you.

“Look so pretty, Frankie. So pretty.”

A lazy grin captured Frank’s lips as he looked at you, turning his head slightly to press a gentle kiss to your palm.

“Thank ya, sweetheart. But I gotta agree with Red here. Ain’t nothin’ as pretty as you.”

“Tell me what you see, Frank. Describe her for me.”

Even though it was a demand, there was an echo of desperation in Matt’s voice. Frank’s eyes softened a little more as they flickered behind you to Matt’s face, the smile faltering on his lips, lingering only for a moment before he let his eyes trail over the expanse of your body. The look was so quick, you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been paying attention.

“She looks beautiful, Red. So goddamn beautiful. Let me show you.”

Frank spent the next few minutes describing you from head to toe in explicit detail like you were a piece of art on display in Matt’s lap. He gingerly wrapped his hand around Matt’s wrist, directing his fingers along every inch of your body in sync with his own words. Your heart swelled at how gentle Frank was being with Matt, and how much Matt trusted Frank with his own concealed vulnerability to guide him. You weren’t sure if it was your own shuddering breaths or Matt’s that were echoing in your ears at the mix of both men’s hands tracing your skin. Frank’s gruff voice nestled between your thighs as he spoke, as if he was reciting poetry to create a clear picture in Matt’s head. You grabbed onto both of their wrists and squeezed gently, nearly on the verge of tears from how overwhelmed you felt by their shared affection for you and for each other. Matt’s voice was almost hoarse as he spoke quietly.

“Thank you, Frank. Now show her how beautiful she is.”

For the next hour and a half, Frank and Matt took turns on their knees with their heads buried in your needy cunt. They alternated spots, one pressed up against your back teasing your nipples and fondling your breasts with their mouth latched on your neck as they praised you while the other held your hips hostage against their face with your legs over their shoulders, using their skilled tongue to bring you to euphoria.

Frank took his time with you, slowly delving his tongue inside you over and over as his large nose continuously bumped against your clit. His grip was firm, but tender, letting you rock your hips against his face as much as you wanted as you tugged him impossibly closer by his dark tresses. He grunted every time you pulled at his grown out hair and the vibrations had your thighs quivering and sent your mind into a frenzy. He drew your orgasm out as long as he could, groaning against your core as he collected every single drop of the ambrosia that he wrung from you.

Matt tried so hard to take his time with you, but he was so overwhelmed by your scent and his own carnal desire that he couldn’t help himself. He had Frank restrain your hands as he edged you, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he dug his fingertips into your skin. He sucked fervently on your clit, filling the bedroom with obscene slurping sounds as he devoured your pussy. Frank helped hold you in place so Matt could get what he wanted. Every time he could feel you about to come, Matt would slow down and give himself a moment to breathe before diving right back in. He didn’t want it to be over so fast, but he also wasn’t fully able to contain his own selfish need. He would’ve stayed buried between your thighs all night if you let him.

Eventually Frank couldn’t take your pleading cries of his and Matt’s names anymore and lightly slapped at the back of Matt’s head. When he went to pull away again, Frank grabbed a fistful of Matt’s hair and shoved his face right back into your cunt.

“C’mon Red, listen to her. Let her come. You’ve had your fill, you can come back for more later. She ain’t goin’ nowhere. Let her have it.”

As you descended from your third orgasm of the night, your body felt completely spent. Your eyes felt heavy as you struggled to keep them open, not wanting to miss a second of this spectacle. If this was a one time thing, you wanted every part of it burned into your memory for later, because nothing would ever be as good as this. Frank shifted slightly behind you, and you felt the hardness of his cock brushing against your lower back. A slight gasp left your lips once you realized just how long both of them had been patiently waiting for their own attention. Matt had already been completely hard when he removed his suit, and you had felt the bulge in Frank’s jeans against your ass. A spark of energy jolted you awake as you were suddenly filled with the urge to have your own turn on your knees.

Frank’s grip tightened on your waist when he felt you move at the exact same time as Matt’s hands clamped down even harder on your thighs.

“Where you goin’, sweetheart?”

“I…what about you and Matty?”

“What about us, angel?”

“I wanna make you feel good too.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout us, honey. Red here is finally gonna make it to heaven when you let him inside that pretty little pussy of yours.”

“And Frank is gonna be so fucking satisfied when he comes inside you, he might not be a complete asshole for an entire week.”

You tried your hardest to wiggle out of their grasps but it was no use. They were a lot stronger than you, and they weren’t budging. You whined as they both chuckled at your pathetic attempt to escape them, seeking out the erect tent in their briefs with your needy hands.

“But I wanna touch…I wanna taste you both, too. Please?”

“This is s’posed to be about you, honey.”

“No, that’s not fair. This is for all of us, not just me. It’s just as much for you and Matty. Isn’t it? Don’t you want my mouth, Frank?”

“Fuckin’ hell sweetheart, course I do.”

“Don’t you Matty?”

“I’d love nothing more than to fuck your mouth, angel. But I’m afraid right now, I’m way too fucking hard, and I wouldn’t be able to last. I don’t want to come unless it’s inside you.”

“I gotta side with Red on this one, darlin’.”

“But-“

Matt’s hand quickly wrapped around the base of your throat as he leaned in to capture your lips, cutting off your protest entirely. He applied just enough pressure to make your head spin, nipping lightly at your bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue.

“Next time.”

Your eyes flew open, grabbing onto Matt’s wrist tightly as he loosened his grip on your neck. He was sitting up on his knees now so that you were face to face, a tender smile tugging lightly at the corners of his mouth. Blinking a few times, you turned your head so that you could look up at Frank.

“Next time?”

Frank glanced down at Matt before looking back at you, a shy smile taking over the left side of his mouth. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips, placing his hand at the base of your neck right below where Matt’s was.

“Next time.”

You immediately gave up on your protest and allowed Frank to pull your body up the bed as he moved backwards. You felt giddy with anticipation, your brain going completely haywire as both of their promises rang deafeningly in your ears.

Next time. There was going to be a next time.

“How you feelin’ honey? Think you can give us one more?”

“Yes…yes anything.”

Matt chuckled lowly at the desperation in your voice as he climbed onto the bed in front of you.

“Such a good girl. Still taking care of us when it’s our turn to care for you. Tell you what, if you help me out of these, you can touch me. But you have to help Frank too. Can you do that for us, angel?”

“Yes, God yes. Please Matty…let me help.”

“Alright sweetheart, go ahead.”

Your nimble fingers dragged Matt’s briefs down his thighs as soon as he finished his sentence, causing you to gasp when his cock finally sprang free and slapped against his stomach. A quiet sigh of relief left his lips. The head was nearly as deep in maroon as his suit and leaking with desire. As you wrapped your hand delicately around the base of his impressive length, a louder declaration of appeasement slipped past Matt’s lips, jaw going slack and hips jolting forward when you swiped your thumb across the sensitive tip.

“Fuck.”

“Easy darlin’, Red’s sensitive. He’s been waitin’ patiently this whole time like a good boy. Ain’t he? Be good to him.”

Matt let out a quiet whimper, and you weren’t sure if it was from Frank’s words or the way you were gently pumping your hand around his cock but it had your walls fluttering either way. You could tell Matt was doing everything he could to not fuck your hand, bottom lip caught between his teeth so hard blood pooled beneath the skin, hips stuttering ever so slightly in time with your movements. His face was a mix of lingering agony and pure pleasure and it piqued your curiosity about just how sensitive he was.

“Are you okay Matty? Do you want me to stop?”

“I…just-shit…fuck that feels good. I-”

“Make him come, sweetheart.”

“Frank-”

“Don’t be stubborn. You’ll be ready to go again in five minutes and you know it. Stop fuckin’ torturin’ yourself. Go ahead and give him your mouth, darlin’.”

“But that’s not-”

“Would you just shut the hell up? You ever stop talkin’? Consider it a goddamn peace offerin’. I can wait. I’m not as sensitive and overwhelmed as you. Just fuckin’ take what you’re given, shit. You’re gonna come in two minutes anyway.”

“God-fuck…fine. You get to fuck her first, then.”

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya. Sweetheart, be a good girl and do as you’re told. Let Red have your mouth.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as you parted your lips to take the head of Matt’s cock into your mouth, he was shoving himself down your throat. His hands frantically gripped onto your neck and the back of your head, holding your face in place as he fucked your mouth relentlessly. You opened your mouth as wide as you could and hollowed out your cheeks, wanting to provide him as much pleasure and satisfaction as he had given you. The moans and whines of appreciation that tumbled from his mouth were fucking music to your ears. He looked so beautiful above you, head thrown back in ecstasy and eyes squeezed shut in absolute content. A loud slap cut through Matt’s symphony of fulfillment and his eyes snapped open, slowing the pace of his hips considerably as his brows furrowed in confusion. It took a moment for you to realize that Frank had slapped one of Matt’s hands away from your face.

“Slow down, Matthew. I said use her mouth, not suffocate her. Ease up.”

Your stomach clenched at the hardened warning tone of Frank’s voice. It was also the first time you had ever heard him call Matt by anything other than his nickname for him. Something about it seemed so intimate, and it set your insides ablaze. Matt tipped his head down in your direction, clenching his jaw as he struggled to gain control of himself.

“Fuck…sorry angel, I’m-shit…God just feels so fucking good. Your mouth is so warm…soft. Shit- if this is what your mouth feels like…God-”

You hummed in response, giving his thigh a gentle squeeze and beginning to bob your head to signal for him to keep going. It only took a few more thrusts before warmth coated the back of your throat with a vengeance over and over as Matt finally climaxed. You thanked whatever God was listening that you got to witness the exquisite sight above you of Matt Murdock having an orgasm. It made butterflies erupt in your belly thinking about how soon you’d get to witness the exact same phenomena with Frank Castle.

Matt fell back onto his heels as his chest heaved, panting like he had just ran a fucking marathon. A swell of pride filled your chest as you swallowed every single drop he had offered you, a newfound wave of confidence settling in your veins at the sight of him disheveled before you knowing that you had done that to him. You had brought the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen to his knees and rendered him breathless. And you had no intention of stopping there.

All night, both of them had been trading control with each other, taking turns in making demands. You weren’t in the mood to trade or take turns. You were in the mood to take.

As you turned around to face Frank who had a cocky smirk on his lips, you channeled all the power surging through you and shoved roughly at his chest until his back hit the mattress. His body bounced slightly from the impact, the arrogance long gone as his mouth fell open in surprise.

“Take those off.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I said take them off, Frank. Be a good soldier and follow your orders.”

Frank’s jaw hung suspended in disbelief. His eyes widened at your command and his pupils dilated slightly. Shock was written clearly across his features, but he obeyed anyway. The second his briefs were down his thighs, your hand was wrapped firmly around his massive cock and he grunted lowly in response.

“You both asked me what I wanted, didn’t you?”

“Yes but-”

“And I said I wanted to touch, didn't I? That I wanted a taste of my own?”

“But we agreed-”

“I changed my mind. You both got to play. It’s my turn. You’d never deny me, would you, Frankie?”

“Angel, we all agreed-”

“Shut up, Matthew. I wasn’t speaking to you. I asked Frank. Frankie, baby?”

“Fuck, course not.”

A cheshire grin split your lips as you slowly worked Frank over in your hand, reveling in the feeling of his velvet heaviness in your palm. His eyes were trained directly on you, watching your every movement. Besides his lust blown pupils and parted lips, he wasn’t giving anything away. The man had been trained to withstand all kinds of torture with an impeccable poker face, but you weren’t having any of that.

“Good. You’re always so good to me, Frankie. You’ve treated me so well tonight, and I know you wanna keep doing that. Don’t you? You wanna fuck me, don’t you?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“Then you’re gonna let me play. I can’t have one of my boys taken care of, and not the other. Matthew gets a pass tonight. He was so worked up for so long, and we know it’s hard for him to keep control sometimes. But you’re very good at control, aren’t you Frankie? You’re gonna let me have what he wouldn’t?”

“Yeah…whatever the hell you want.”

“Good boy. Matthew, sit next to Frank. No touching, just listen. You better be ready to go by the time Frank comes in my mouth. Do you understand?”

“Yes…I understand.”

“That’s my good boy. You’ve both made me so proud tonight. Getting along, taking turns, being so good to me, being so good to each other. When I get done with Frankie, we’re all going to get what we want. I can’t wait to have you both. I’ve wanted both of you for so long. Just be patient a little longer, Matty. Let me take care of Frank. He hasn’t gotten to come yet tonight, and that’s not fair to him. Is it?”

Matt crawled around you towards the headboard, settling back against the pillows next to Frank as he stretched his legs out. His chest was still rising and falling rapidly, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes darted back and forth blankly. His cock was already half hard as he shook his head slowly, lightly fisting at the sheets beside him.

“No…no it isn’t. Let him. He deserves it.”

If you could take a picture with your eyes, you would frame the magnificent sight before you above your fucking bed. Frank and Matt, in all their nude glory, shoulder to shoulder beneath you, mouthwatering cocks standing at full alert waiting for your attention. It was impossible not to be filled with condescension when the two most powerful men in all of New York that could easily tear you apart with their bare hands were willingly submitting to your dictation.

Frank stared you down as you lowered yourself between his massive thighs, wrapping your lips around the swollen head of his cock to take into your mouth. He sucked in a deep breath, thighs tensing beside your head as you took him deeper. He was bigger than Matt, which was to be expected due to his stature, but you were determined to fit as much of him into your mouth as you could. You took your time at first, swirling your tongue around the tip slowly before sliding him back down against your tongue. You marveled at the shuddering breaths released from his mouth, but you wanted more.

“Don’t be shy, Frankie. I wanna hear your pretty sounds too.”

It hadn’t taken much to figure out Matt was the more vocal of the two, but you were adamant about breaking Frank’s composure. A quiet grunt sounded from him as you squeezed your hand around the section of him that wouldn’t quite fit in your mouth.

“Tell her how it feels, Frank.”

Matt sounded almost breathless as he spoke, and his eyes were wild with hunger as you glanced over at him.

“Feels good, sweetheart. Feels real damn good.”

“C’mon Frank, you can do better than that. It’s just us. Let it out like I know you can.”

Matt’s words had a fresh wave of arousal slicking your inner thighs. You had so many fucking questions for them. There was clearly something here you were missing. Something they were keeping from you, and you desperately wanted to know everything. Frank’s eyes never left yours, and they were growing darker by the second as if something was brewing behind them. It made your stomach twist with anticipation. You flattened your tongue against the slit on his tip, sucking fervently on the head as your hand twisted around the rest of him. Frank groaned loudly as he weaved his fingers through your hair, giving it a gentle tug.

“There you go. You can pull harder, she likes that. Don’t you angel?”

You moaned in response around Frank’s cock, causing him to let out a heavy grunt as he pulled roughly at your roots. His hips had started to shift upwards in rhythm with your movements, and you’d let him do whatever he wanted as long as he kept making sounds like that.

“Goddamn. You know how to use that mouth, yeah? Shit-no wonder he came so fast.”

“Just think about how good the rest of her is gonna feel. How pretty does she look right now?”

“So fuckin’ pretty. Fuck…wish you could see her. Looks so goddamn good with those pretty lips wrapped ‘round our cocks. Wish we could trade eyes for a minute.”

Only Frank Castle and Matt Murdock were capable of saying such filthy words that also simultaneously warmed your heart. Matt’s lips curved upwards in a delicate smile composed of pure admiration, and it made you melt. You reached your hand out that wasn’t working on Frank to grab onto one of Matt’s, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gently. Frank choked out a moan of surprise when you suddenly took him as deep as you could, feeling his tip brush against the back of your throat and holding him there for a minute until you had to come up for air.

“Fuckin’-shit…do that again. Fuck please…please sweetheart.”

Bracing your palm against Frank’s thigh, you took him once again as deep into your throat as you could, forcing yourself to breathe through your nose. A cry of your name tore through Frank’s chest as he gripped roughly onto your hair, and all at once a steady stream of heat coated the back of your throat. Frank bucked his hips slightly as you swallowed around him, squeezing Matt’s hand tightly as Frank released himself from your mouth.

“Fuck, I want next.”

“Jesus Christ you insatiable bastard, you already had your goddamn turn.”

Matt threw his head back against one of the pillows as he burst into a howl of laughter, bracing his palm against his chest.

“That was before I knew she could do that.”

“Well if you hadn’t been so fuckin’-”

“Boys, please. We’re not finished here.”

“I need a minute, darlin’. Think you just sucked the fuckin’ soul outta me, Jesus.”

Matt absolutely lost it, doubling over in a fit of laughter as your cheeks flamed with heat at Frank’s words. You couldn’t help but giggle, trying to cover your mouth as Frank shot you an insincere glare coupled with a coveted smirk. You hadn’t even noticed Matt had moved behind you until you felt his hands on your waist and the warmth of his breath on your neck.

“Alright, sweet girl. How about you and I start, hm? I bet Frank will be ready to go once he hears those pretty noises of yours. Besides, he likes to watch.”

A sudden gasp flew from your mouth as Matt guided you to straddle Frank’s hips, wondering how the hell he possibly knew that about Frank. God you were reeling with questions.

“I thought he was fucking me first?”

“That was before he got to come. He’s not left out anymore, is he?”

“I…no.”

“Castle?”

“Go ahead. Be with ya in a minute, sweetheart.”

Frank shot you a wink that would’ve made you fall to your knees had you not already been on them. Matt placed his palm on your lower back, pushing gently so that you were bent over Frank slightly. Frank grabbed onto your hip with one hand, his other coming up to brush his thumb along your cheekbone slowly as he stared up into your eyes. The tenderness and desire in them was so dizzying, it was almost overwhelming. You gripped onto Frank’s shoulders as Matt carefully pushed the blunt head of his cock past your folds, gasping sharply at the slight burn of the stretch.

“Shh…I’ve got you. Just relax for me, sweetheart.”

Matt’s lips brushed delicately along the shell of your ear, and you took a deep breath to steady yourself. A slow moan cascaded from your mouth as he sank his entire length into you, his hand gripping tightly onto your other hip. Matt rested his forehead against your back for a moment once his hips were flush against your ass, an incredulous moan emitting from him.

“Breathe, honey. He’s gonna take care of you, yeah? Ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Frank grunted quietly as you dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent shaped indentations as Matt fucked you slowly from behind. Matt had brought his other hand up to loosely wrap around your throat, pressing his front firmly to your back so there wasn’t even a centimeter of space between you. Matt growled in your ear and it had you clenching around him tightly.

“Fuck sweetheart…feels even fucking better than I ever imagined. So warm…so tight. Take me so fucking well, angel. So fucking well.”

“Matty…”

“You can take Frank too, can’t you?”

Your eyes flew open and you stared down at Frank almost in panic. Matt made you feel so deliciously full. You could feel every ridge and vein as his cock dragged along your walls. You stared down into Frank’s eyes anxiously, all your confidence from earlier seemingly evaporating from your pores. Frank smiled softly up at you, leaning in to brush his lips against yours.

“S’okay if you can’t honey. If it’s too much, s’alright.”

Could you handle them both? The thought seemed ridiculous. Your body was designed to push out a small human, of course you could. But you were nervous. Your cunt had a vice grip on Matt, and Frank was bigger. It would burn, but God it would feel so good once that sting went away. You couldn’t imagine having one without the other. Not anymore. You wanted them both.

“Please Frank…I-I can. I can.”

Matt pressed his cheek against yours as his hand tightened slightly around your neck, digging his fingers a little harder into your hip.

“That’s our girl.”

Frank searched your eyes for any hesitation. He pushed your legs further apart with one of his knees, grabbing the base of his cock and rubbing the head against your clit a few times. Your body jolted forward at the sensation and Matt groaned loudly in your ear.

“Gonna have to move her a bit.”

“Here.”

Matt pressed his hand against your back until you were laying flat against Frank’s chest, putting his knees on either side of Frank’s. He grabbed onto your hips firmly, raising them a bit so that your back was arched slightly and your ass was pressed against his lower abdomen. Frank gripped onto your waist, pressing his forehead against yours as he positioned himself beneath you.

“Deep breath, sweetheart.”

As Frank pushed the head of his cock through your folds to join Matt, your mouth dropped completely open. Matt stilled behind you as Frank eased his entire length into you inch by spectacular inch. Your mouth still hung open, but you couldn’t make a sound. Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head, and you had to squeeze them shut as you tried to remember how to breathe. A burning sensation seared between your thighs as they both stretched you apart from the inside. It felt like they were fucking splitting you in half. It was almost too much. Matt’s fingers loosened around your throat and his deep voice echoed in your ears.

“Breathe, angel. Let us know when we can move. Take your time.”

You sucked in a gasp of oxygen like you had just emerged from the pits of the ocean. They were everywhere. You could hardly tell where one of you ended and the other began. Frank leaned in to kiss you softly, cradling your face in his large hand. Matt once again slipped his hand between you and Frank, carefully tracing circles over your clit to combat the pain with pleasure. You had never felt so full. So content. So loved.

One of your hands reached behind you to grab onto Matt’s neck as your other gripped onto Frank’s shoulder. You experimentally tried rocking your hips, crying out from the sting of the stretch and the jolts of pleasure that followed.

“God…please…please…”

Matt and Frank started to move their hips in tandem slowly, keeping an intricate pace as you adjusted to having both of them inside you. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before. You slowly felt your muscles begin to relax as the tension dissipated, your body feeling looser as pleasure began to overtake the pain.

“How’s that feel, sweetheart?”

“So fucking good, Frankie.”

Frank’s lips stretched into a proud grin as he brushed his nose against yours, holding your face in his large hand.

“Knew you could, honey. Didn’t we?”

“We knew you’d take us so well, angel.”

Matt pulled back slightly as he felt you getting more comfortable, and your body accommodating them both more easily. He situated himself on his knees behind you, gripping onto your waist tightly.

“Now, ride him while I fuck you.”

Without warning, Matt started snapping his hips against your ass as he drilled into you from behind. A strangled moan of surprise bellowed from your chest, and Frank reached out to grip your waist to hold you steady. You braced your palms flat against his broad chest, whining loudly as Matt pistoned relentlessly inside you. His hand came down hard against your ass and he growled in your ear.

“I said ride him.”

“You heard him. C’mon sweetheart, take what’s yours. Make yourself come on my cock. Show us what a good girl you can be.”

You had half expected Frank to come to your defense like he had throughout the night, but it was like you were back on the roof. Frank was backing Matt, and you had an overwhelming desire to please them both. Gripping onto his shoulders, you began to rock your hips back and forth against his quickly, struggling to find your rhythm with the way Matt was fucking you roughly.

“Matty…please…”

“Move with me, angel. You can do it. Come on, make us proud.”

Frank held onto your waist with one hand and folded his other arm behind his head, staring up at you with the biggest grin on his lips. He was barely moving his hips, letting you do whatever you wanted above him. Matt was right. He did like to watch. He had been letting you and Matt take control for the most part, and right now all you wanted him to do was lose it.

“Please Frankie…please fuck me. Please fuck me like Matty…please…I need your help. Can you fuck me like him?”

Frank’s eyes darkened considerably at your words, and you could hear Matt snickering darkly behind you. Maybe you were wrong about Matt and Frank. Maybe Matt was the one that didn’t hide what he was. Maybe Frank was. Matt hadn’t held back once this entire night, but Frank certainly had. Maybe you didn’t know Frank as well as you thought you did. Maybe there was a part of himself he was concealing. Whatever it was, Matt clearly knew what you were in for better than you did.

“Come on, Frank. She wants to play with the Devil and the Punisher. Let her have it. She’s a big girl, she can handle it. We said we’d ruin her, so help me ruin her.”

Your heart pounded so quickly in your chest you thought it was gonna give out. Frank wasn’t smiling, he was smirking. But it wasn’t the crooked mischievous one you had come to love. No…this one was sinister, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Alright, sweetheart. You asked for it. And whatever you want, you get.”

Frank gripped roughly onto your waist to lift your hips before he began to snap his own upwards against yours at an almost inhuman pace. A scream flew from your mouth as he fucked up into you roughly in perfect harmony with Matt who was repeatedly railing into your from behind. You couldn’t form words. The sounds coming from you were downright pornographic and salacious and barely coherent. You grabbed onto his forearms for support and dug your nails so deep into his skin you were shocked you hadn't drawn blood. All you could do was hang on as Frank and Matt did exactly what they promised; they absolutely fucking wrecked you.

The grunts and moans coming from both of them were feral and almost animalistic, tearing from the most primal depths of their chests. They were both gripping and kneading at your flesh with such ferocity, like they couldn’t feel enough of you. You were eager to see the marks they had left tomorrow morning. Frank repeated over and over how good you were, showering you in praise that starkly contrasted with the way he was fucking you. Matt’s fingers never once left your throat, occasionally applying just enough pressure to make you lightheaded. He poured indecent and filthy words into your ear about how perfect you fit around his cock and how badly he wanted you to come so he could fuck you all over again.

It was beginning to be too much. You couldn’t even hold yourself up on your knees anymore. The only reason you hadn’t collapsed was because Frank still had you suspended above him.

“You gonna come for us, sweetheart?”

“Yeah she is. Any minute now…right angel?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even nod. All you could do was hang on and fall further and further into Matt Murdock and Frank Castle. Matt chuckled lowly as he pulled your head back against his chest by your neck, brushing his nose along your cheekbone as he inhaled your scent.

“Think we’re fucking her too good, Frank. She can’t even talk.”

“Goddamn if you could see how she looks right now, Red. S’alright pretty girl, we got ya. Go on and make a fuckin’ mess on us. Don’t you dare hold back, yeah?”

“Hold her steady like that Frank. I got her.”

The second Matt’s finger made contact with your clit, you combusted. Your pussy clenched so hard around both of them that it almost hurt. A blinding supernova exploded behind your eyelids and your body suddenly became a live wire, convulsing with every tiny spark of touch. Your lungs burned as you struggled to breathe and all at once you felt like you were floating and made of lead. The distant echo of Matt loudly moaning out your name and Frank howling deeply for you rang in your ears. Your heart fluttered at the thought of your insides being turned into a breathtaking mosaic as the two men you loved most in this world painted you with the most intimate parts of themselves.

There was an irrefutable peace that settled in your bones once your body stopped shuddering. It felt like you were floating in the middle of the ocean. All the noises around you were jumbled, like your head was underwater. You could just barely make out two voices calling your name. The midnight sky above you was suddenly flashing neon purple and blue, and the twinkling constellations drifting around in front of you morphed into two sets of eyes swirling with deep hazel and dark cocoa.

“There she is. Had us worried there for a bit, sweetheart.”

Frank’s voice was clear in your ears now. As you blinked the haziness away, both him and Matt finally came back into view. The light from the billboard outside Matt’s apartment was projecting a kaleidoscope of violet and cobalt on the ceiling. You had no idea how long you had been incoherent, but the expression on both of their faces and Frank’s words had you blushing profusely.

“Hi.”

Your voice was hoarse as you spoke. It didn’t even sound like it belonged to you. Both of them exchanged a knowing glance, Matt’s mouth splitting into a wide dimple showcasing grin as he chuckled.

“Hi pretty girl.”

“You alright? Was that too much?”

“I’m amazing. That was…perfect.”

”Hell, I think we can all agree on that. We were worried you weren’t comin’ back to us for a minute there though.”

“I’d never leave you two. I’ll always come back. Promise.”

“Frank, could you grab her a glass of water?”

“Sure thing, Red.”

A tender smile spread across your lips at the way Frank squeezed Matt’s shoulder before making his way out of the bedroom. Matt tilted his head in your direction, eyes fixated almost on yours as he smiled in response. His hand came out to gently cup your face, brushing his thumb lightly along your cheekbone.

“Where did you go?”

“What?”

“We did lose you there for a few minutes. We kept saying your name, but you were somewhere else. Where did you go?”

“The stars. Another universe, I think.”

Matt laughed out loud as his grin stretched even further over his mouth, moving to lay beside you as he propped his head up on his other hand.

“We missed you.”

“I found my way back as soon as I could.”

This was the most at peace you thought you had ever seen Matt Murdock look. His hair was disheveled and out of place and his cheeks were lightly twinged pink, but the smile that graced his mouth was absolutely blinding. He looked…happy. Genuinely happy. You couldn’t help but surge forward and capture his lips in a deep kiss. You could feel his smile against your mouth and the warmth of his skin as his hand settled on your waist.

“Round 2 already? Shouldn’t we wait for Frank?”

“I love you, Matty.”

Matt’s smile faltered only for a second, his eyes widening at your confession. His lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. The bed dipped behind you, and you turned your head to see Frank’s gaze shifting between you and Matt.

“I think you broke him. What’d I miss?”

“I love you, Frankie.”

Frank stilled momentarily, swallowing thickly as he brought the glass of water to your lips and placed his hand on the back of your neck as you gulped generously.

“Sweetheart-“

“Wait…just, let me speak. I mean it. I love both of you. I think I always have I just…if this is a one time thing, that’s okay. I just wanted you both to know. Tonight meant the world to me. I’ve never felt so…happy. No one’s ever treated me so well as you two have and…I really do love when you two get along. I hope that’s not part of this “one time deal” thing. So, Matt Murdock…Frank Castle…I love you. Both of you. If tomorrow morning you both decide you want to act like this never happened-“

“The hell you talkin’ about? Didn’t we say there’d be a next time?”

“Well…yeah but that was-“

“Angel, this isn’t a one time thing. I don’t know about Frank, but I can’t go back to before. Not after I’ve finally had you. It's not a one time thing for me.”

“It ain’t for me either.”

Silence hung heavy in the air after the weight of your confession settled. You suddenly felt self conscious about what you had just admitted, and the urge to run away had your fingers twitching at your sides. Matt tenderly wrapped his hand around your wrist, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he stared in your direction.

“I love you, angel.”

Frank slipped into bed beside you, draping his arm lazily over your waist as he brushed his nose along your jawline and pressed a soft kiss to the edge of your mouth.

“And I love you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes darted frantically between the two of them, still trying to wrap your head around all of the events that had transpired tonight.

“So…what now?”

“I don’t know ‘bout you two, but I’m fuckin’ exhausted. I say we get some sleep.”

“Frank’s right. It’s been a long night. Let’s get some rest. We can talk in the morning.”

“I’m sorry…did you just…say Frank was right?”

“Don’t start. I’m too tired to put you in your place, and I don’t think you can handle any more than what we’ve already given you.”

Matt’s tone submissed you into complete silence. Frank chuckled lowly beside you, and you caught his smirk as you met his gaze. He gave a light shrug of his shoulders as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“He may be tired but he ain’t bluffin’. If there’s anything he can do better than take a beatin’ it’s give one. I suggest you behave, sweetheart.”

You closed your eyes for a second as you pressed your thighs together, and Matt groaned loudly beside you. Frank laughed as he pulled the covers over the three of you, snuggling close into your backside as Matt pulled your leg over his waist to get you as close as possible to his chest. For several minutes, you all laid there in comfortable silence, enjoying the feeling of Matt and Frank’s warmth against your skin and the sound of their steady breathing with a promise of more bliss tomorrow.

“Goddamn, you weren’t kiddin’ about that fuckin’ billboard. You ain’t ever thought to get some curtains?”

“Why would I have a use for curtains, Frank?”

A loud laugh escaped your mouth at Matt’s deadpan before you had a chance to stop it, and Frank’s hand suddenly clamped over your mouth.

“Obviously they ain’t for you, shithead. What about us?”

“Fine. We’ll look at curtains tomorrow. Happy?”

“Fuckin’ peachy.”

Thirty seconds. You had thirty seconds of more comfortable silence before they were back at it.

“You’re fucking joking, right? I mean you can sleep through bullets and explosions and the desert sun, but a billboard is where you draw the line?”

“It’s right there in the goddamn window, Matthew. For fucks sake, you got a fuckin’ rave goin’ on right now. It might not bother you-“

“Well obviously it can’t bother me Frank-“

“Boys, please. Frankie, you’ve literally slept in far worse conditions. Matty…it is a bit much. We can deal with it tomorrow. Can we please go back to you two being nice to each other and cuddling?” Both of them grunted halfheartedly in response, but it made you smile nonetheless. Because they were your boys. Yours. And no matter how much they drove you, and each other, absolutely crazy, it was all out of love. You loved them. They loved you. Nothing else really mattered.

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angelkhi · 1 year

Text

love me, hate me - s.r

summary: steve rogers pisses you off, and you piss him off. but is it really ever that simple?

warnings: SMUT 18+ (MINORS DNI), p in v, switch steve & reader, face sitting, unprotected sex, talks of bodily fluids, enemies to lovers a little bit, slight hate fucking but also not?? feelings at the end sort of.

word count: 2.8.k

a little note: Happy New Year to you all! finished this at 4 am so not beta’d any mistakes are my own (seriously i just spelled mistakes as ‘mestayks’ so like sorry lol) half based on this request but also something i already had in the works that seemed to mesh xx

"Let's not forget who's doing who a favour." You chide, already irritated by presence.

"Please sweetheart, I'm doing you more of a favour than you realise."

"And how's that Mr Rogers?" You fix his crooked tie. Always picking up after him.

"You walk in there with me? There's no way you're going home alone tonight." He smooths out the collar on his shirt, checking himself over in the mirror. "Your little problem gets solved."

"My little problem?"

"Don't get me wrong, Yels, it's great doing it yourself but it would be nice for someone give me an orgasm every now and then."

"You fuckin pig! You were listening to my conversation?" You're embarrassed. Beyond embarrassed. If there's one person that doesn't need to know about your dwindling sex life it's Steve Rogers.

"It's kinda hard not to overhear yours and Yelena's screeching on girls night." Once again those fingers fly up into quotation marks and you have to blink yourself free from the daze you're slipping into.

Maybe Steve does have a point, you're significantly louder after a bottle or two of rose, but it doesn't give him the right to use your own words against you.

"You're a dick, Rogers. It's none of your fucking business how many orgasms I have." He's smirking down at you now, something in his eyes you've never seen before. "Let's just get this over with. I don't want to have to see your face any longer than necessary."

The two of you enter the ballroom together as planned, and heads turn almost instantly. The quiet gasps and turning heads boost his scolded ego more than nicely. But that's all it is. A soothing bandage over a painful wound.

Stark's infamous shindigs that rivalled even the most grand of galas, yet you are the only thing that matters to him in a room filled with expensive champagne and extravagant sculptures. He watches you from across the room, Bucky's latest debrief on Sam's irritating behaviour blending into the mindless background chatter.

You're done up to the nines, pretty hair twisted in some intricate up-do, and that dress. That fucking dress. He wonders if things would be easier if you knew how he really felt about you, that the trading of insults between the two of you is the only way he can resist pinning you against every available surface and fucking the attitude out of you.

You work your charm with everyone that comes up to you, offering you drinks and boring conversation. You know you're in charge, so do they, and so does he.

He spots you talking to a pretty redhead he soon recognises as Wanda, she's changed since he last saw her. But he much more notices the lingering stares and flirtatious touches, the way you lean into each other and laugh a little too loud. Jealousy is no longer a green eyed monster, but a blonde haired, blue eyed super soldier.

You happen to glance over at him in that moment, taking in his tensed jaw and white-knuckle grip on his champagne flute, expecting it to shatter under any more force. He watches as you smirk in his direction, and the go back to the conversation like he wasn't even there. Sam and Bucky pull him away to a conversation that is meant to be important and he loses sight of you for the rest of the evening.

The party starts to get a little too lively towards 11pm, the rowdy crowd excited about the looming new year. You find yourself at the bar, sick of your uncomfortable shoes, ready to get more than drunk, kiss a bottle at midnight and fall into bed with your vibrator once again. Someone slides into the empty seat next to you, speaking to the bar tender. You catch the 'and whatever she's having' and roll your eyes just wanting to be left alone at this point.

Your double vodka and cranberry is slid in front of you and you take a single sip before turning to the man next to you. He's attractive, with his full beard and long brown hair. There's something in his eyes but you don't care enough to find out that much about him. He shakes your hand firmly, introducing himself as Quentin Beck. You smile and thank him when he compliments you, you hum and nod when he tells you about his latest technological venture that sounds weirdly similar to Tony's, you smile coyly when he rests a hand on your thigh and offers to take you somewhere a little less private.

You're silently disappointed that this is the best you could do on a night like tonight but you're not one to look a fort horse in the mouth. He guides you through the crowd with a hand around your waist until the function room doors come into view and your excitement dims even further. Steve stands in the doorway, arms crossed and biceps bulging as he stares at Quentin and then his hand on your waste.

"Hey honey." He wraps his fingers around your wrist lightly, stopping you in your tracks. He stares down at you for a second too long, then diverts his gaze to Beck.

"Fuck off." Two words. Two are all it takes for Quentin to crumble.

His hand moves from your waist faster than you can blink and he's already being swallowed up by the crowd when you turn away from glaring at Steve. His fingers linger around your wrist but you shrug him off, and leave the grand ballroom stomping down to the elevator.

He follows you of course, right up to your door, pushing inside when you try and slam it in his face.

"Honey that guy was a creep."

"Don't 'honey' me you just ruined my one good chance of getting laid tonight." You kick off your shoes.

"Well I wouldn't call it a good chance..."

"What was that?!" You're about to fiddle with the zip of your dress but instead steve has your attention and an insane amount of audacity.

"M'just saying he wouldn't have been worth it." He pauses, sitting on your bed uninvited. "Doesn't look like he can find his car keys let alone please a woman."

"I guess I'll never know now." You scoff.

"Use me instead."

What in the sweet baby jesus?!

"How much have you had to drink?" You chuckle, and go back to working your zip.

"You know I can't get drunk. How much have you had to drink?" He retorts, reaching up to undo the zipper for you.

"Not enough for this to be a hallucination. What's in it for you?"

"An orgasm." Fair enough.

"Why are you doing this? Are you trying to humiliate me?"

"What? No! I'm just trying to apologise for ruining your New Years hook up." He looks sincere, but then Steve never lies. You on the other hand, would be lying if you said you didn't want to jump his bones at least twenty three and a half of the twenty four hours in the day. And he's offering himself to you on a golden platter. Why turn. it down?

"Strip."

It's a simple word, but it holds so much power. Starting something that may just fucking ruin you. But you want it. He wants it. The easy route be damned. Steve is quick to discard his clothing, looking up at you expectantly waiting for your next request. You simply just let your dress drop, carefully stepping over the expensive fabric and slotting yourself between Steve's legs. His eyes widen when he realises you'd neglected to put on any underwear that evening. She reaches out to touch you, rest a hand on your hip but you slap it away.

"Lay back." You kneel over his hips, excitement fizzling on your skin as he rests on his elbows, taking up an insane amount of space with his broad shoulders and wide thighs. He doesn't move any further, a sly smirk on his lips and wonder in his eyes.

"I said I don't want to see your face, lie the fuck back." You have him under your thumb, and your pussy, when he lays back against the cotton sheets you crawl across his body and rest above his face. His hands grip onto the backs of your thighs, usually light eyes dark with lust.

"No touching." You thread his arms above him, resting forward and pinning them against the pillows. His response is muffled when you lower yourself onto his face. His tongue works wonders when he's not using it to talk and you definitely prefer it when he's not talking.

You grind yourself down against his pliant tongue, clit bumping his stupidly perfect nose with each thrust. You're taking what you deserve from him, what he owes you and you fucking love it. You love the fact that he could easily slip you underneath him, pin you beneath him and pull you apart but instead he's letting you use him, letting you grind yourself to an orgasm on his face.

"You're not so useless after all Rogers, fucking hell." His lips purse around your exposed clit and your thighs shake a little. You press yourself further against him, chasing your well deserved orgasm until you're panting above him half spent.

Lifting yourself off of him, you take in his flushed cheeks and blown out eyes. God he's pretty. Your hand strokes through his hair and he leans into your touch. Putty in your hands.

You reach back, your hands almost dwarfed by the impressive size of his pretty cock. You struggle to wrap your hands around him fully, but when you start stroking him slow but firm it doesn't matter. His face twists into one of pure bliss and his hips fuck up into your fist desperately. Deciding enough is enough you manoeuvre down his body, hovering over his painfully hard weeping cock. You drag him through your folds, almost slipping him in before bumping his engorged head against your clit until you're right on the edge of desperation and finally sink down on him.

You take him slowly at first, unable to stay quiet as he stretches you open. There's a slight sting but my god does it sting so good. Once he's fully sheathed you take a moment to accommodate, grinding down on him, twin moans coming from the two of you. You raise yourself up again, right to the tip and back down, slowly building the rhythm until you're bouncing on his cock, hitting spots you didn't even know existed panting for breath.

"You feel so fucking good." You whimper chasing your own pleasure, fuelled by Steve's. He fists the bedsheets, so obedient trying not to touch you, but you look so pretty and broken and you're touching yourself whilst you ride him, clenching down on his dick so fucking perfectly. He's more vocal than. you expected, grunting and moaning and whining.

"Fuck I'm gonna come. Steve." Your fingers roll your taught nipples between your fingers, pinching and pulling. Steve's hips stutter for a moment, but then he's right there with you, fucking up into your perfect cunt until you're shaking on his dick, grinding your clit against his pubic bone and falling over the edge.

He doesn't give you a second to breath, wrapping his strong arms around you and placing you flat on your back. You're breathless, your vision is still fuzzy but then he's pounding into you. Lifting your leg above his shoulder opening you up up to him even more. You're well and truly fucked. Not a single word or thought or even sound registering. You're just wide eyed and open mouthed and taking what he gives you.

"Not so cocky now are we, hmm sweetheart." His thumb flicks your clit once and you're coming all over again, a loud scream echoing off of the walls.

"There she is. So fucking perfect, taking what you need. Did I do well, did I satisfy your greedy pussy or do you still want more?"

"St-Steve. More." You sound so broken, so unalike yourself but you never want to go back to her when you can be this.

"Course you fuckin do. Play with your tits for me, that's a good girl." He thrusts slow but deep, your weak legs held in position by his huge hands. He relishes in your flushed face and smudged makeup. Your hair has foregone the confines of bobby pins and it's splayed out on the cushion behind you. You're fucking perfect.

"Who's cunt is this?" Your eyes lull into the back of your head when he delivers a quick sharp tap to your clit. "Tell me who's cunt it is and I'll let you cum."

"Y-Yours. Yours Steve."

"Good. And who's fuckin dick is this tearing you apart?" It's all too much, you're on the verge of crying from the overstimulation. "Who's is it?"

"Mine."

"Good fucking girl." He punctuates his words with his thrusts, picking up speed once more and rubbing small quick circles against your clit. Your tears do spill then, dark mascara running down your cheeks when you explode all over him.

He fucks you through the orgasm, pulling out of you when you begin to claw at his chest, leaving pretty marks all over him. He kneels over you, furiously stroking himself to completion until he cums in long white ropes all over your breasts, chest heaving and panting. He collapses next to you, silent as you try to catch your breaths and wrap your head around what just happened.

It shouldn't surprise you when Steve gets up to the bathroom and comes back with a washcloth, but it does. It leaves you stunned. You try not to show it though, nor do you give him a glimpse at how disappointed you are about leaving.

"Damn Rogers, you really know how to hate fuck." Steve's gaze is frantic, but mostly confused.

"Hate? I don't hate you." His eyebrows are pulled together so tightly you're scared they might just fuse into one another.

"Could've fooled me." You pull up your underwear and pull on his shirt foregoing the tight dress.

"Look. I don't. Hate. You. Do you get on my nerves? Sometimes. But I could never hate you."

"So what? You wanna call the way you've treated me since I got here a proclamation of your undying love." He's silent. "You can't be fucking serious Rogers."

"Don't be like that, you gave just as good as you got." You scoff, but it's the truth. "Every time I look at you I want to fuck you, every time I see someone even look at you I wanna fuckin... I don't know!"

"Steve..."

"You terrify me. I have all these feelings for you, but you're so... you. You're so gorgeous, you're potty mouth and you're strong and you don't take shit from no one, not even me. I'm an idiot, I know that and I don't expect a sorry to fix anything, but I need you to know that that wasn't a one time thing, I want you."

"Well fuck. You have feelings for me?" He nods, simple, effective and oh so Steve Rogers. "I thought. I don't know what I though. I walked in here and you just stared at me and left, and I guess I though you took one look at me and decided I wasn't enough. So I decided I was gonna prove you wrong."

"I think you're everything. You've certainly proved me right." He looks angry, at himself at and the situation, but mostly at the fact that you'd ever thought those things about yourself.

"Right pair of idiots we are." You mutter, trying to lighten the you're-not-sure-what mood. He pulls you into his lap, rough hand resting around your waist.

"Aren't we just." He whispers against your lips.

"How many people did you tell to fuck off tonight? Just out of interest."

"Bout 15." He mumbles and then laughs, "don't regret a single one of them though."

You surge forward and press against him. His lips are softer than expected and his movements are so slow, so tentative. You arch into him, greed driving your need to make up for the last few wasted months.

A loud bang erupts from outside of the glass windows, popping into a concoction of golds and reds and pinks, until the New York skyline is littered with individual fireworks displays.

"Happy New Year Rogers." You whisper against his lips, though it turns into a breathless whimper when he pulls your panties to the side. "You get on my nerves too by the way. Like a whole lot."

"Yeah yeah. Happy New Year."

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