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fizzydrink698 · 3 years

Text

acting up | hyunjin + jisung

pairing: han jisung/reader/hwang hyunjin

word count: 4.9k

genre: established relationship, poly, college au

warnings: member x member activity; d/s dynamics (sub!jisung, switch!hyunjin, softdom!reader); oral sex (m receiving, m giving); semi-public sex; outdoors sex; safeword discussions; a hand goes over a mouth but no breathplay intentions; reassuring jisung that he is in fact wuved

summary:

“I’ve been missing you all week,” Jisung told you, voice going breathy. “Thinking about the two of you.”

Hyunjin took a step towards the two of you on the bed. “What were you thinking about?”

Jisung turned to look at Hyunjin, twisting his body in such a way that his legs widened just a little further, inviting him closer. “What we can do tonight, now that we’re all free. Everything you two can do to me.”

part of the six month anniversary drabble event!

prompt: 4. “quit it or i’ll bite.”

You were just adding the finishing touches to your hair when Jisung finally came home, practically bursting through the door as he hollered out a greeting.

“We’re in the bedroom!” Hyunjin shouted back, as you were about to open your mouth to say the exact same thing.

You heard Jisung’s quick, eager footsteps in the hallway. “Bedroom? Before we’ve even had dinner? Fuck, yes, I’m up for…”

Jisung threw open the bedroom door, and stopped in his tracks. Whatever he was expecting to find, it was definitely not you in full formalwear, stood by the mirror while Hyunjin wandered around the room half-dressed, undone tie hanging around his neck.

“What is this?” Jisung whined, dropping his bag by the door. “Where are–oh, fuck. Changbin’s party thing.”

“We were just about to message you,” Hyunjin said, coming up behind you to check his reflection as he did up his tie. “The cab’s coming in less than an hour.”

Jisung groaned dramatically, wandering over to the bed and promptly collapsing onto it face-first. You just managed to make out a very muffled, very petulant sigh. “Can we just…not?”

You paused, glancing up to meet Hyunjin’s eyes in the mirror.

To some extent, you sympathised. You knew how hard Jisung had been working all week, how many hours he had put into his studies, all the late nights he had spent holed up in the studio. More than once, you had woken up to find him slipping into bed beside the two of you at some ungodly hour in the morning, exhausted and mumbling about how much he was looking forward to the weekend when he could just relax with his two favourite people.

But Changbin had given you the tickets weeks ago, had pulled a ludicrous number of strings to get the three of you on the guestlist for this exclusive event – a fundraising gala, set up by his family.

Bailing now would just be rude – especially when you had been the one to ask for the tickets in the first place.

So, after a brief exchange of looks with Hyunjin, you made your way over to the bed and sat beside Jisung. “It’s only going to be a few hours. It’s at some really cool rich-person mansion. Changbin says there’s, like, ballrooms and gazebos and everything. And a hedge maze. Come on, tell me you don’t want to see the rich-person hedge maze.”

Jisung turned onto his side, looking up at you, and his mouth opened to respond.

But then he stopped, as his gaze slowly slid down the length of your body, taking in your outfit.

His eyes flickered to Hyunjin, still stood by the mirror adjusting his tie, and you watch as he does the same to him – eyes lingering on the curve of Hyunjin’s ass in those tight dress pants.

“…You two look nice,” Jisung finally said, tearing his eyes away from Hyunjin to look up at you once more.

You raised an eyebrow. “Thank you.”

“Really nice,” he repeated, pushing himself up into a seated position, mirroring you almost exactly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hyunjin turn around. The tone in Jisung’s voice was very, very easy to catch.

You fixed him with a neutral, cool look. “Jisung–”

Jisung’s eyes lowered to your mouth. “I missed you both today.”

“We missed you too,” you replied. It was the truth.

His eyes are wide, innocent, completely at odds with the devious way his mouth parted, tongue slipping out to wet his bottom lip. His hand moved to his thigh, in a motion carefully calculated to look entirely thoughtless. He didn’t miss the way it drew your attention to his lap, to the faintest outline of his dick in his sweatpants.

And now that you were looking, he let his hand wander upwards just a few more inches.

You could feel Hyunjin’s eyes on the both of you as he watched from across the room, waiting to see how this situation would unfold.

“I’ve been missing you all week,” Jisung told you, voice going breathy. “Thinking about the two of you.”

Hyunjin took a step towards the two of you on the bed. “What were you thinking about?”

You tilted your head, eyeing him carefully, even as his words sparked something deep in your gut.

“Han Jisung, are you trying to seduce your way out of going to this party?”

Jisung blinked at your use of his full name, glancing back to you. There was not the slightest trace of shame in his expression, as a smirk played at the corners of his mouth. “Is it working?”

You lifted your hand up to cradle Jisung’s jaw, bringing your thumb across to drag along that pouty bottom lip. You could feel Jisung’s breath against your skin, feel the way his gasped at the contact, at the way your attention had zeroed in on where your thumb rested.

Slowly, your gaze drifted up to meet his stare.

And then you rolled your eyes.

“Go get dressed.”

The first strike happened barely a half-hour into the gala.

You were stood with Changbin and his friends, attempting to make conversation. You weren’t the best at small-talk – Hyunjin was by far the most charming out of the three of you, and he was off on the other side of the room, catching up with some old friends. Jisung himself could make an excellent first impression with strangers if he set his mind to it, but he was uncharacteristically quiet by your side, hand pressed into the small of your back.

And then, as you listened politely to some guy – you think Changbin had introduced him as Yeosang? – playfully roast his friend for his wardrobe choices, you felt Jisung’s hand move.

You felt it slide all the way down to your ass, shamelessly cupping one cheek and squeezing.

You fought the urge to tense, instead turning just slightly to give Jisung the sternest of side-eyes, reminding him silently that you were in public, surrounded by obnoxiously rich strangers, and this was not the time.

Jisung met your gaze, smiling innocently.

And pinched your asscheek.

At this, you jolted, catching the attention of Changbin’s very wealthy, very influential friends – who were dangerously close to seeing your boyfriend groping you right in front of them.

You faked some kind of excuse about a violent shiver, laughing off their concern as you turned to pat Jisung’s shoulder – and very subtly and very firmly pried his hand away from your backside.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him pout, and immediately lift his hand again to touch you. This time, you were wise to his antics, and stepped to the side, just out of his reach.

You didn’t catch the way his hand stilled in mid-air, before slowly retreating, hanging limply by his side.

And you didn’t catch the brief falter of his smile, as you turned away from him to keep up with the conversation around you.

The second strike happened while you were in the bathroom. You returned to your table to find Jisung pouting over his dinner and Hyunjin with a disconcertingly stern expression on his face. You sent him a questioning look as you sat down, but all he did was give you a brief head-shake – and a very pointed look at his phone.

You took the hint, fishing your own phone out discreetly while Jisung was distracted by the arrival of dessert, to find a series of screenshots sent over by Hyunjin.

Jisung: u look REALLY hot tonight

Hyunjin: thank you, sungie.

Hyunjin: now what do you want?

Jisung: u ;)

Hyunjin: you can have as much of me as you want when we get home, babe

Jisung: but i'm so hornyyy

Jisung: i want u so much, jinnie. i missed u

Hyunjin: i know you have. i missed you too

Jisung: what part of me did u miss the most?

Hyunjin: jisung stop trying to sext me and eat your rich people food

Jisung: i missed your mouth

Hyunjin: jisung

Jisung: i keep thinking about last weekend

Jisung: fuck jinnie please.

Jisung: i’ve basically been hard all fucking night my dick HURTS jinnie

Hyunjin: how sad for you

Jisung: please

Jisung: this place is huge we can find somewhere no one can hear ;)

Jisung: no one will notice if we sneak off

Hyunjin: SOMEONE will definitely notice

Jisung: r u telling me you need permission to fuck ur boyfriend now?

Hyunjin: stop being a brat and eat your food

Your jaw clenched, reading over Jisung’s teasing words, his desperate pleas, and that final jab of a comment right at the end.

You send a response to Hyunjin, frowning as you did so.

You: i didn’t think he’d be this upset about tonight

Hyunjin’s response was almost immediate.

Hyunjin: we’ll talk to him when we get home

You glanced up, meaning to catch Hyunjin’s attention – and instead, found yourself locking eyes with Jisung as he stared at you across the table.

You tried to school your expression into something passably neutral, even as the grip around your phone tightened.

Jisung’s face was similarly blank, as he scooped up a spoonful of ice-cream and slowly slid it into his mouth, letting his lips drag along the smooth metal, sucking the spoon clean as he held eye contact the entire time.

And then dropped his spoon back into the bowl and turned away, striking up a conversation with the neighbour to his left - leaving you staring after him, eyes wide.

Yeah. Yeah, he was upset.

The third and final strike began when you declined his invitation to dance.

You had your reasons. Your feet still hurt from standing around making small talk. You were very embarrassingly bad at dancing, especially in comparison to your boyfriends – both of whom were astonishingly graceful on the dancefloor.

Hyunjin also declined. Maybe because he wanted to stick with you, instead of abandoning you to sit alone and watch on. Maybe because he was still wary from that text conversation, and was suspicious that Jisung would take any opportunity dancing offered to make a move – a wandering hand here, a coincidental grind of his ass there.

But upon both of your polite rejections, Jisung’s expression soured, and he spat out the words that sealed his fate.

“Fine, fuck me for wanting to spend some fucking time with you, right?”

You blinked, jaw dropping slightly in shock. Beside you, Hyunjin looked thunderstruck.

But Jisung paid you no attention. Instead, he turned on his heel, leaving the two of you as he wandered across the room. You barely managed to follow his movements, watching as he approached Changbin’s table, sliding himself easily into the small circle of rich-boy friends Changbin had spent most of the night with.

Hyunjin tensed by your side. “Is he…?”

You sighed. “He’s been stressed all week. Blowing up at us was…probably inevitable.”

“Still…” Hyunjin trailed off, and for the briefest moment, he looked so painfully sad.

And you refused to let that stand.

Even from a distance, you saw Jisung’s sudden shift in attitude around Changbin and his friends. Like a light switch had suddenly been flipped, Jisung was bright, charismatic, an easy grin on his face as he made jokes and charmed each and every person at that table – a compete 180 from the quiet, awkward guy at your side just a few hours ago.

And then you saw him glance back over his shoulder, at you and Hyunjin, his captive audience of two.

Before turning away.

You watched on, thoughtful, as the final part of the plan you had been concocting in your mind clicked into place.

“So, he wants to spend some time with us,” you muttered. There was no judgement in your tone, no anger. Just a simple statement of fact – a neutral observation.

But it was enough to induce the smallest of smirks out of Hyunjin.

“He does,” Hyunjin said, agreeing.

You turned to him, and felt a smile creep onto your face.

“I have an idea.”

It was relatively easy to steal Jisung away from Changbin’s group. You and Hyunjin each grabbed an arm, so apologetic as you informed them that something had come up and “we just need to steal him for a few minutes, sorry about this!”

The only slight hitch had been Changbin’s hesitant reminder. “OK, but you guys know the auction starts soon, right?”

“Yeah, we know,” you smiled at him, pleasantly, keeping eye contact.

Changbin’s brow furrowed for a split-second, before the faintest glint of realisation appeared in his eyes. “...I see.”

Your smile widened, but you said nothing as you frogmarched Jisung away.

As soon as you were out of earshot, he asked the obvious question.

“What’s going on?”

You made sure to whisper in his ear very clearly. “We just want to spend some time with you, babe.”

Unlike Hyunjin, you never used ‘babe’ as a casual term of endearment.

Only under very specific circumstances, when you were in a very specific mood, did you use the term ‘babe’.

And you felt Jisung practically vibrate in your grip with delight, with excitement, with fucking glee at the sound of it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hissed.

The three of you passed through the ostentatious doors leading into and out of the main hall, making your way past the handful of people scattered about the hallway. Jisung’s steps grew less and less sure the further you walked, almost stopping entirely when the two of you led him outside.

“What are we...” he trailed off, confused as you continued on through the cool night air, turning away from the main path to instead head for the manor grounds.

You shrugged. “We wanted to see that hedge maze, remember?”

Jisung shot you the most incredulous stare, but to his credit, made no objections as the three of you approached the maze.

Hyunjin was the one to take the lead as soon as you entered the maze, navigating left and right, occasionally stopping to check the two of you were still following. The maze was dimly lit by a distant floodlight, allowing just enough light for you to notice the wary expression on Jisung’s face.

Hyunjin finally comes to a stop after rounding a final corner, slowly turning to look back at you. “You think this is deep enough?”

You looked around, brow furrowing in thought. “...Yeah, I think so. Everyone’s going to be busy with the auction. This is probably the best time, honestly.”

Jisung just stared at the both of you, so incredibly lost. “...What the fuck are you guys talking about?”

You and Hyunjin exchange one long, knowing look - and then you begin.

“So, you think we don’t want to spend time with you,” you stated, folding your arms over your chest.

Jisung glanced between the two of you, all but twitching in anticipation.

“...Uh, well...I mean, I...”

You tilted your head. “Even though you also know how much we love you. Right?”

Jisung nodded, for once looking just a little bit guilty. “...Yes.”

You turned to Hyunjin, expression very carefully kept neutral. “That doesn’t make much sense to me, Jinnie. What about you?”

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, eyes sliding over to Jisung to fix him with a look. “No. To me, it sounds like Jisung’s been thinking with his dick this whole night.”

“Exactly,” you said, turning back to Jisung. “Is that what you’ve been doing, babe?”

If Jisung had any shame, he would have flushed at your blunt words.

He did not.

“...Maybe,” he admitted.

At least he was honest.

You tilted your head, finally allowing yourself to smile. “Well, because we love you so much, we decided to let you have your own way.”

You watched him blink, confusion slowly making way for a sudden realisation. “…What? Like…here? Outside?”

“You were the one who wanted to sneak away,” Hyunjin reminded him.

“But…” Jisung trailed off.

You understood his hesitation.

As much as the hedge kept you tucked out of sight, there was still a certain vulnerability that the outdoors provided. And the absence of any walls meant particularly loud sounds would...carry.

“I guess you better be quiet, then,” you said, crossing your arms – but you let just the tiniest glimpse of concern into your expression. “Are you OK with this?”

Jisung blinked, lips parting in shock.

And then, very furiously, he nodded. “Yes. Fuck yes.”

“Good. Hyunjin, are you OK with this?”

Hyunjin glances over at you, and his grin is almost catlike. “Absolutely.”

“Perfect. Why don’t you get started?”

The words had barely left your mouth before Hyunjin crossed the space between them in an instant, grabbing Jisung by the back of the head and pressing his mouth to his. Jisung melts instantly, whining against his mouth as his arms wrapped around Hyunjin’s waist, hands fisting in his suit jacket, as he allowed Hyunjin to push him up against the hedge wall.

There was always something intoxicating about Jisung’s enthusiasm, his breathless passion as he threw himself head-first into any scene.

You took a few steps closer, and allowed your hand to trail up the side of Jisung’s thigh.

At the first moment of contact, Jisung turned his head to look at you, allowing Hyunjin to shift his focus to his cheek, his jaw, to his neck.

Your hand continued to slide up Jisung’s leg, and on impulse, you leaned in to peck a chaste little kiss on Jisung’s parted lips.

“Attention back on Hyunjin, babe,” you chastised him. “He’s the one making all this effort for you.”

And as if by command, Hyunjin punctuated your statement with a sharp nip to Jisung’s neck, and Jisung yelps. Loudly.

You dug your fingers into his thigh, hard, and jeered. “I thought I said you need to be quiet, babe.”

Jisung’s eyes are dark, breath already heavy, and you weren’t sure if it was the result of your words or just a reaction to the way Hyunjin’s mouth had sealed tightly over that sensitive spot on his neck, sucking hard enough to mark.

Jisung let out a shaky – but admittedly quiet – breath, and murmured. “Sorry.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, you’re not.”

He didn’t argue this, eyes closing.

Hyunjin withdrew from Jisung’s neck, pulling back just far enough to admire his handiwork, before leaning back in to mouth at the rest of him – making his way up and down the column of Jisung’s neck, from jaw to collarbone. He shifted his weight slightly, stepping in closer, rocking his thigh into Jisung.

And then he chuckled, turning his face away from Jisung to glance at you. “He’s so fucking hard already.”

“Of course he is,” you replied with a shrug.

Jisung whined, pressing against Hyunjin’s thigh, chasing after that friction.

“You’ve been working so hard this week, haven’t you?” You asked, hand slipping between Hyunjin and Jisung to slip under Jisung’s shirt, fingertips trailing across the soft skin just above his waistband. “I bet you had to force yourself not to think about us, huh? Too distracting?”

“Y-yeah…” Jisung admitted, breathy. “Fuck…”

“I bet you slipped up, though. Didn’t you? Did you get hard in your studio, babe? Did you have to hide it from Chan and Changbin?”

Jisung’s cheeks flushed even darker, and you had your answer.

You laughed, delighted, and slid your hand down even further, sandwiched between Hyunjin’s thigh and Jisung’s crotch.

Fuck, Hyunjin was right. Jisung was rock-hard, his tight dress pants straining to hold him in. You palmed him through them, savouring his little noises of pleasure and frustration as you did so.

“What do you think about, babe? Do you think about sitting down in that little studio chair and watching me ride you? Do you think about Jinnie bending you over the soundboard and fucking you into it?”

Jisung whined at your words. “N-no, but…now I will. Fuck.”

“Oops,” you smirked. “Sorry.”

You followed your apology with a gentle but firm squeeze of your hand, and Jisung choked.

“Maybe he’ll cum in his pants,” Hyunjin mused, eyes dark but gleaming so brightly with amusement. “He’s desperate enough for it.”

“He definitely is. Just look at him.”

Jisung moaned at that, and almost immediately bit down on his lip hard, muffling his own sounds.

You heaved a dramatic sigh. “But I guess it would be hard to explain away the mess.”

“And that suit was expensive. It’d be a shame to ruin it,” Hyunjin reminded you.

“True,” you said, sighing again, and reluctantly withdrew your hand. “Fine. Maybe another day.”

Hyunjin grinned at your words, and his hands wandered down to Jisung’s belt buckle. “Want me to do the honours, or you?”

“You can, Jinnie. I love watching you work.”

Hyunjin paused, gaze dropped to eye the grassy floor with a certain amount of distaste. “Speaking of expensive suits getting ruined...”

“The ground’s dry, Jinnie, you’ll be fine,” you reassured him, before smirking. “Besides, I thought you liked it a little dirty?”

Hyunjin shot you a look, but had no reply. If you looked closely, you could make out the flush of his cheeks in the dim light.

Jisung’s eyes struggled to open, curiosity piqued by the vague nature of your statement. “W-what?”

And then he watched Hyunjin finally drop to his knees in front of him, hands reaching up to undo his belt, and Jisung’s jaw dropped. “Oh, fuck…”

Hyunjin’s grin widened at the dawning realisation in Jisung’s response, concerns over his suit already forgotten, and he looked up, batting his eyes innocently as he unzipped Jisung’s fly. “I thought you liked this, babe. I thought you missed this.”

“Oh, fuck,” Jisung repeated, now very much aware of what was about to happen, equal parts horny and horrified.

You leaned in, reaffirming his dread. “Remember, babe. Quiet. You don’t want them to hear you out there, do you?”

Jisung’s eyes flickered up to meet your stare, pupils blown so wide from lust that his eyes had practically turned black.

You gave him another peck, this time on the cheek, right as Hyunjin reached inside of Jisung’s underwear and brought out his dick.

You chuckled lowly, right in Jisung’s ear. “Oh, look at that. You’re so fucking hard, babe. Does it hurt?”

If Jisung had any kind of response to that question, it promptly died in his throat the second Hyunjin opened his mouth and kitten-licked the tip, right along his slit. Instead, the broken groan that left Jisung’s mouth was his loudest yet – and was enough to give you pause.

“Jisung,” you said slowly, the first time you had spoken his name properly since this had all started. “Do you remember your safeword signal for when you can’t speak?”

He nodded, recognition flickering in his eyes.

“Can you tell me it?”

His mouth dropped open, but all that came out was another groan as Hyunjin licked one long stripe up him, and he closed his eyes.

You frowned. “Jisung, babe, you have to say it in words, or I’m telling Hyunjin to stop.”

Jisung whined, finally turning to look at you, and you almost wanted to laugh at the pout on his face at the idea of Hyunjin stopping. “…Th-three squeezes on the leg.”

“Good boy,” you said, and Jisung’s eyes fluttered shut again at your praise. “Because I think you’re going to need it.”

Hyunjin glanced up at you, and with one nod from you, he opened his mouth wide and finally slid Jisung into his mouth.

Jisung’s moan was choked, loud – and lasted for about a split-second before you slapped your hand over his mouth, muffling the sound entirely.

Jisung’s eyes snapped open, staring at you as you kept your hand clamped over his mouth, leaving just enough space under his nose to breathe relatively comfortably.

“I’m starting to think you want people to hear what we’re doing to you,” you mused, and Jisung’s eyes promptly rolled back into his head at your words – moaning into your hand with every breath. “But let’s try not to get kicked out of this party, shall we?”

You glanced down, always happy to watch Hyunjin work. He was a glorious sight, cheeks already flushed as he worked his way back and forth on Jisung’s dick, inching deeper and deeper with every try. You knew that when he finally hit the base, you would just be able to make out the faintest hint of Jisung’s tip bulging in Hyunjin’s throat.

“Look at him, Sungie,” you said, tone gentle and teasing – but still very much an order. Jisung’s eyes blearily opened, doing his best to follow your directions as he tilted his head to look down, and promptly groaned again at the sight of him. “Look how gorgeous our boy is.”

Hyunjin’s eyes flickered up to meet yours at the sound of your words, eyes almost black as they burned into you.

You watched his cheeks suddenly hollow out, and Jisung bucked his hips into him, forcing Hyunjin to draw back for a moment before he choked. Jisung’s hand very shakily reached for Hyunjin’s head, and you couldn’t help but smile at his clumsy stroking of Hyunjin’s hair – clearly an attempt at apologising.

It didn’t stop him from making the same mistake again just a few minutes later, bucking into Hyunjin again, and this time, Hyunjin withdrew entirely to splutter.

“Quit it,” Hyunjin gasped. “Or I’ll bite.”

Hyunjin’s words, raspy and dripping with threat, had an immediate and astounding effect on Jisung. You felt the mindless stream of noises he made, the sharp whimpers as he lost himself in Hyunjin, hands scrambling for something to ground himself, something to hold. One hand found its way around you, gripping your hip tightly. You stilled for a moment, in case he was about to deliver those three squeezes, but all he did was hold on tight as Hyunjin finally took him in all the way into his throat.

You watched Hyunjin bring up one hand to shove against Jisung’s hip, pinning him against the hedge to keep him still, and Jisung practically went feral – shaking and whimpering into your hand as he got closer, closer.

“That’s it,” you cooed, moving your head to kiss just under his ear. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous, Sungie. Look at you.”

You knew exactly what your praise was doing to him, watching as Jisung’s noises got louder and more desperate, the way his face scrunched up.

And through your fingers came the muffled, almost pathetic whimper of “p-please, please…let me…”

You were always a sucker for begging, and Jisung always did it so sweetly.

“OK, Sungie,” you whispered, leaning so closely into him that you were almost nuzzling his neck. “You can cum for us.”

Jisung moaned – the sound desperate, almost pained – and his fingers dug into your hip so tightly, you knew they were going to leave bruises. Your mouth descended on his neck, sucking a dark purple mark into the skin – a twin to Hyunjin’s on the other side of his neck.

Hyunjin’s head bobbed even faster, almost at a breakneck pace as he spurred Jisung on, letting out his own groans as he did so – and within seconds, Jisung came with a final, broken moan.

You barely had the sense to grab him as he went boneless, threatening to collapse entirely as Hyunjin did his best to swallow him down. You staggered just a little under his weight, propping him up against the hedge with great effort, and removed your hand from his mouth. You slid it over to his cheek, cradling it gently as he panted – breath barely ruffling the strands of hair sticking to the sheen of sweat across his face.

You stroked your thumb over his cheekbone, and pressed a kiss into the side of his head as he came down from his high. “Good boy. You did so well, Sungie. So well.”

Jisung was still wordless, eyes closed, breathing heavily. You carefully picked out an errant twig tangled in his hair, unable to keep yourself from smiling.

With an obscenely wet noise, Hyunjin pulled away from Jisung’s rapidly softening dick, cheeks red with exertion, the entire lower half of his face smeared with saliva and various other bodily fluids.

You beckoned him to you, inviting him into this quasi-group-hug, and pressed a kiss to the side of his head too. “And you. Fuck me, Jinnie, you were perfect.”

“M-mhm,” Jisung mumbled in agreement next to you, not quite able to form proper words yet.

Despite the mess of his face and hair, and the heaviness of his panting, Hyunjin managed to shrug. “I try.”

Something at the corner of his mouth caught your attention, and it took you a second to realise what it was – a few lingering traces of Jisung, slowly sliding down Hyunjin’s chin.

You leant in, using your thumb to gently wipe it away, before pausing. Glancing over at Jisung, you couldn’t help but smile as you lifted your thumb up to your mouth, sucking it clean.

Jisung groaned at the sight, and you didn’t miss the exhausted little twitch of interest from his dick as he did so.

“Fuck. You two are going to kill me one day, I swear.”

454 notes · View notes

alinastracker · 3 years

Note

If you’re still doing the prompts I have oneeeee hehe

" i mean... i-i'm cool with sharing the bed if you are. "

you got it baby 🥰

but i know something’s starting right now

It’s a sweltering Ravkan summer day, but nothing brings heat to her body like watching Mal in the pool, water droplets racing down his chest. His shaggy hair is a mop on his head, and she realizes this is what he must look like in the shower.

This is exactly why she didn’t want to bring him on the trip.

It’s the first week of July, and for the past three years, that’s meant a trip to the Os Alta Resort with Genya and Zoya. It’s a way for them to relax after exams and catch up now that they all attend different schools. But at the end of May, the two of them had FaceTimed her about a change for this year.

“We were thinking of taking the boys with,” Genya says gently, nervous for her reaction.

Zoya is frank as ever. “It’s cheaper that way. Besides, after all this long distance, I could use a week of uninterrupted fuc—”

“Zoya!”

“Relax, Starkov. We’re all adults here.”

“Anyway,” Genya cuts in. “We’re just telling you in case you wanted to bring someone, too. Maybe Mal?”

“Mal and I aren’t dating.”

Only in her dreams.

“Might as well be,” Zoya mutters.

So in the choice between bringing Mal on what has basically turned into a couple’s retreat and going to said couple’s retreat alone, she’s chosen the former. It would be fine. Mal knows her friends. Him and Nikolai like to talk sports. Maybe it’ll be a little weird, being the only non-couple, but they could deal.

It would have been fine, if it weren’t for this morning’s check in.

"So it looks like we have you booked for three single rooms," the concierge says.

Alina frowns. "One of those should be a double."

The concierge checks again, each click of his mouse making her anxiety rise. He frowns. "Sorry, miss. It's showing me all singles."

"It's fine," Mal says. "Could we just upgrade it to a double, then?"

"Er, I'm afraid we're all booked, sir."

Nikolai claps his hands together, cheerful as ever at Zoya's side. "Well, I'll just switch with Alina, and Mal and I can — shit, Zoy!"

Zoya had stomped on his foot.

"We are not switching shit," she hisses under her breath.

Nikolai sighs. "My deadly dearest, certainly it's no big deal—"

"I bought us a new toy for this trip. We are not switching."

There is a brief moment where everyone freezes, then Genya groans, shaking her head as she murmurs apologies to the concierge, who is trying hard to pretend he hasn’t heard a thing. The tips of Mal's ears go red, and Alina is sure hers match. David, lost in his audiobook, is oblivious to all of it.

Nikolai clears his throat and turns to the two of them with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, mate. You're on your own."

The concierge slowly raises a finger and says, "We might be able to supply a cot?"

Alina can feel everyone's eyes on her, which is the last thing she ever wants. She has the strong desire to curl in on herself, but that only really works in the winter when she dons large coats and sweaters. But it’s summer, and she is in only a mustard yellow crop top and jean shorts, though she suddenly feels as exposed as if she were completely naked.

Mal takes one look at her and gently nudges his foot against hers. "I mean . . . I'm cool with sharing the bed if you are?"

Her brain is looking for anyway out of this whole conversation, so she nods.

So far, they have been in their room once to drop off their things and change into bathing suits, both of them dancing around the bed without ever touching it. The air in the room feels charged even with sunlight still pouring in. What would tonight be like?

More importantly, how was she supposed to handle sleeping beside him when she can’t even handle watching him in the pool?

Genya climbs on Mal’s shoulders for a game of chicken — David is, unsurprisingly, not in the pool, but sitting beside Alina on a lounge chair. She feels a pang of something like jealousy as she watches the game commence, which cannot be more ridiculous.

They can’t avoid the night forever, and it comes much too quickly despite how long they spend mingling at the resort bar. In their room, Mal lets Alina use the bathroom first. A kind offer, she thinks, until she realizes it leaves her to stake out a spot on the bed first. No more dancing.

Left side or right? Does Mal have a preference? Does she? How long until Mal finishes in the bathroom and comes out to see her staring at the bed like a mental person?

Right side, she chooses finally. She curls up on the left side of her body usually, so this way, she doesn’t have to face him as they sleep. Good call. As she untucks the covers from the bed, she secretly hopes to find something horrifying, like blood or bugs, so they can get a refund and leave. Sadly, it is a perfectly fine bed. Alina plops onto it and tucks herself in.

Mal finishes in the bathroom a few minutes later, and if he’s as rattled about their sleeping arrangement as she is, he does not show it. There’s plenty of space between them as he settles into bed. Maybe this won’t be as bad as she feared.

“Well, goodnight,” Mal says through a yawn.

“Goodnight,” Alina replies.

They each turn off their bedside lamps. Mal is softly snoring soon after, but Alina stays awake much too long for her liking, thinking of how close he is.

They fall into a similar routine for the next couple nights. During the day, all is fine. Their little group meshes well. Genya and Nikolai are often off together, both of them on a mission, it seems, to try every flavor of ice cream from Os Alta's ice cream bar. Or sometimes it’s Nikolai and Mal running off, joining a game of pool volleyball, both of them stupidly competitive. When Zoya gets annoyed with the overload of children at the waterpark, she joins David on one of the lounge chairs to read for a while — Zoya a smutty historical romance and David a nonfiction on modern space travel. We just shouldn't let Jeff Bezos come back, he argues to Genya later, while Zoya murmurs to Nikolai something she wants him to do to her that night.

Alina thanks the saints her room isn’t next to Zoya’s.

The trip is going so smoothly that she doesn’t realize what trouble Sunday brings with it. It’s always their favorite part of the trip: bottomless margarita night. They all have absolutely horrific, hilarious pictures and videos of themselves from the past three years thanks to bottomless margarita night at Os Alta. But the thought of being drunk like that while she’s sharing a bed with Mal?

Okay, so she just won’t drink tonight. Problem solved.

“You can’t not drink!” Zoya says, personally offended.

“Come on, it’s tradition!” Genya agrees.

But she’s determined to hold out. Only when she sees the others with their drinks, she decides one sip won’t hurt. One sip becomes one drink, and one drink becomes a couple. Soon enough, she’s drunk enough to sign herself up for karaoke, another Os Alta tradition.

“I dunno what I should siiiing,” she slurs, swaying lightly on her feet.

“I have the perfect song for you!” Genya cheers excitedly.

So that’s how she ends up on stage, drunk off her ass, horridly singing Taylor Swift’s We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together. She really gets into it, jumping and nailing the talking parts a little too well. But she can hear Genya and Zoya screaming the lyrics along with her, and it only encourages her.

Genya records a Snapchat of her performance, snickering to Mal and David about how she’s going to accidentally send it to the asshole Alina dated last year who’s still entirely too obsessed with her.

Nikolai is the only one of the boys drunk enough to sign up, taking the stage after Alina to perform a disgustingly off-key version of Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now. They all agree that Freddie Mercury is rolling in his grave.

By the end of the night, the four of them are totally wasted. David, who had spent the night nursing one drink, his focus on getting Genya her drinks and ensuring that she didn’t trip over herself, has to help the aforementioned redhead up to their room. Nikolai and Zoya are a sight, both wickedly drunk, trying to help each other stay upright. Mal had only downed a couple drinks and is mostly sober, which Alina is very thankful for, as she can’t hold herself up to save her life. She nearly trips on absolutely nothing so many times that Mal finally scoops her into his arms, carrying her the rest of the way to the room. Alina giggles the whole way.

There’s no getting ready for bed that night. Mal sets her on the bed, and she resigns to sleeping in her red summer dress. When Mal joins her after having a shower, drunk Alina has no qualms curling up against him and sniffing him.

“Mm, you smell good,” she hums.

Mal chuckles even as he tenses. Alina has her arm around him and her face pressed into his side. He’s not sure he can breathe. She’s too drunk to notice the blush on his face.

“That’s probably just because you smell like alcohol,” he hedges.

Alina giggles and shakes her head. “No, you always smell good.”

He doesn’t know what to do with this information, but he does a lot of thinking instead of sleeping as Alina passes out next to him.

Monday morning brings with it a pounding headache for Alina. She prepares for the bright sunlight streaming through the window, but the room is dark when she opens her eyes. Mal isn’t beside her, but he left aspirin and a glass of water on the nightstand in addition to pulling out the blackout curtains. She falls in love with him a little bit more.

The day is a quiet one. The girls and Nikolai spend their time at the spa, Mal and David off doing saints know what. She gets the best massage of her life, and while her head still aches despite the pain pill, seeing Nikolai get his toenails painted bright red makes every sip she had last night worth it.

When they’re in the room again after dinner, tucking themselves into bed, Mal says, “You told me I smell good last night.”

Alina pauses. “I did?”

The night comes back to her. She totally told him he smelled good, and she had closed the space between them on the bed, curling up right next to him. She remembers all of it, suddenly and painfully.

“Oh, saints. Mal, I’m so sorry. I didn’t . . . I shouldn’t have—”

He cuts her off. “It’s okay, ‘Lina. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I don’t?”

Mal smiles an amused smile and leans over, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “No, you don’t. Not you. Never you.”

Alina is almost positive she can hear her heart pounding as Mal reaches for something tucked in the drawer of his nightstand.

“For you,” he says, handing her a long rectangular box. “Saw it today when I was out with David and I just— I thought of you.”

She can’t even process the image of Mal and David out shopping together, needing to open this damn box. With shaky fingers, she lifts the lid. Waiting for her inside is a dainty necklace with a gorgeous gold sun charm.

“Oh,” she says softly.

Mal blushes, and this time, Alina notices. “Do you like it?” he asks. “I just thought of you singing last night when I saw it. You’re so bright, Alina. All the time. Just like the sun.”

She has no idea what this confession means, or how she earned it from drunkenly telling him how good he smells — which his really quite good — but her heart has kicked into overdrive. She isn’t sure what, or how, but she knows something’s starting right now.

“I love it, Mal.” She turns so her back is facing him and hands over the necklace. “Will you help me put it on?”

He wraps the chain around her neck. The sun rests perfectly against her heart. She notices every little brush of his fingers against the back of her neck as Mal works the clasp.

When the necklace is secure, they both lay back down, noticeably closer this time. Not as close as last night, but close enough that their arms occasionally brush, close enough that she’ll end up kicking him during the night. Alina sleeps on her right side.

Their trip might be ending tomorrow, but something better was beginning tonight.

#malina #malina fanfic #fanfic #grishaverse fanfic #writing #my writing #THIS IS DAYS LATE BUT I KEPT STARTING THIS OVER BC I WASNT HAPPY WITH IT #also tried writing in present tense which i rarely write in so excuse if it's a mess lmao #short and sweet and not my best imo but i hope u still like it bb!!#cuddlingwithharry #if u spot the song reference (besides the obvious) u r superior

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lukecastellandeservedbetter · 3 years

Text

20. Ghosted

a/n: keep a watch on my page because I’m going to be doing a near-essay about why Hermes kids are somehow the most and least powerful demigods at the same time thanks. Also here’s a reminder that I didn’t forget about this fic, and a double reminder that Luke and Percy are most definitely brothers and this is a little bonding time for them while the rest of the crew are off on their own adventures.

read the others!: Masterlist

When Percy recounted the story, and told them to head to Charleston, Luke couldn’t help but groan.

“What’s wrong with Charleston?” Piper asked him with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a real nasty place, with a lot of ghosts.” He sighed. “I ran into some trouble when I was there last time.”

“For the Titan Army?” It wasn’t a mean question, just an honest one from Percy. “Do we have to worry about army rejects? Or supporters?”

“No,” Luke shook his head. “I was like, 11 last time. But it doesn’t make it any less annoying to go back.”

“I have so many questions.” Leo said, staring at Luke.

“We don’t have time to answer them.” Annabeth interrupted. “Jason, you also seem uncomfortable with Charleston.”

“Yeah did you also get chased by ghosts?” Percy teased.

“I wasn’t chased by ghosts-!” Luke started to protest, but Annabeth held her hand up, effectively cutting him off, looking pointedly at Jason, who awkwardly recounted his quest with Reyna, casting apologetic glances to his girlfriend, who seemed just as uncomfortable.

“Alright, girls trip to this ghost that Reyna spoke to then,” Annabeth looked at Hazel and Piper, who nodded. “And Jason, you’ll lead a group back to the museum.”

“I wanna check out the cool weapons!” Leo grinned.

“Frank, you should also come, since you’re a son of Mars.” Jason added.

Frank seemed uneasy about heading so soon on another quest, but he agreed nonetheless.

“That leaves Percy, Luke and Hedge on board,” Annabeth observed, then frowned. “How do you keep lucking out on missions?”

Luke shrugged. “My talents haven’t really been needed, so I haven’t really gone.”

“What exactly are your talents?” Piper inquired, raising her eyebrow. “Besides Swordsmanship.”

Luke shrugged again. “Hermes' kids talents aren’t big, or flashy because they shouldn’t be. They’re meant to be sly and sneaky and in the shadows. I spent years on the run before I got to camp. I can pick any lock in an instant. I’m also quick, and good with directions. We have our own form of Charmspeak I guess.” He paused. “And recently I found out I can play the lyre surprisingly well, so if we ever need that, we’re set.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Leo laughed.

“I would never lie about something as serious as the lyre, Leo.” Luke said deadpanned.

Leo’s face dropped in surprise and he was left sputtering for a moment before the crew dissolved into a well deserved laughter. The tension that always seemed to lurk around the corner lifted a little, letting the demigods relax just for a moment.

“And the Achilles Curse.” Percy added. “You still have that.”

“Yeah but that isn’t Hermes related.” He pointed out. “It’s just… me related.”

“Can we get back to the plans please?” Annabeth drew everyone’s attention back as they laid out the groundwork for the plans.

The next day everyone left early in the morning, and Coach Hedge was still sleeping.

This left Percy and Luke bored in the mess hall.

“Why don’t we go explore?” Percy offered. “Just take a walk around?”

Luke looked up at him from his book and raised an eyebrow. “Are you crazy?”

“It’s just us, that shouldn’t be enough smell to attract any monsters.” He pointed out. “Come on, please?” He begged.

“Percy I don’t want to go walk around Charleston-”

“That’s right, I forgot you’re afraid of Charleston.” Percy huffed and flopped onto one of the big comfy chairs.

“I am not afraid of Charleston.” Luke protested, glaring at Percy.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever you say.” Percy waved his hand absentmindedly, looking at the walls that displayed Camp Half-Blood.

“I am not!” Luke closed his book and tossed it aside, standing up. “Get up.”

“Why?” He raised his eyebrow.

“We’re going to explore Charleston.” Luke grumbled and headed out to grab his dagger from his room.

They snuck off the ship just fine and headed into town, down to the Charleston City Market.

They had very limited money, so they tried not to spend too long at any one stand, smiling and greeting merchants and other shoppers. It was a warm and calm day, and despite the welcoming atmosphere, Luke seemed a little on edge.

“What is with you?” Percy whispered to him. “Seriously dude, calm down. I don’t see any ghosts.”

“Not yet.” He mumbled, his eyes scanning the crowd.

Percy watched his friend with worry. He was starting to feel guilty about basically forcing Luke to go out on an adventure through the city with him, especially when it had such unpleasant memories for the older demigod. He cleared his throat as they continued through the crowds. “So, anything happen with that girl?”

Luke looked at Percy, surprised. “What?”

“The girl. From the candy shop?” He prompted, looking at a dyed blue leather bracelet curiously on one of the stands. “What was her name? Sophie?”

Luke couldn’t help the blush creeping up his neck. “I uh,” He fiddled with another leather cuff, this one brown and aged. “Sort of?”

“Sort of?” Percy repeated.

“Yeah, sort of. We had a date planned.” Luke shrugged. “At least I think it was a date.”

Percy looked at him, his eyebrows raising so high they nearly disappeared beneath his shaggy black hair. “And how did it go?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t go.” The older demigod fished in his pocket for some cash, handing it to the merchant who gave him the bracelet in his hand, as well at the blue one Percy had been eyeing.

Percy looked exasperated. “What do you mean you didn’t go?” He demanded.

Luke handed Percy his and put his own on carefully as they walked. “Something came up.” Luke shrugged, strangely reluctant to tell Percy that his disappearance caused Luke to miss the date.

Luke knew Percy felt guilty about disappearing, even if it wasn’t his fault. Between Annabeth, who Percy was currently with, and Sally who Percy couldn’t contact in case it tipped off the Romans, Luke knew the son of Poseidon was having a rough time adjusting to the merging of his old Greek life and his new, shorter Roman one. Percy would often wear hoodies around the ship to cover the tattoo that burned like a reminder of the time that he was gone from Camp, from their lives. He didn’t want to add this burden on him, on top of everything else.

But Percy wasn’t having it.

“What do you mean something came up?” He scoffed, struggling to tie the bracelet on.

“Well…” Luke trailed off, turning to Percy when they got out of the flow of traffic to help him tie the bracelet on.

Percy was smarter than anyone gave him credit for.

“Let me guess, your best friend disappeared off the face of the earth and you had to go save his sorry ass?” Percy asked, admiring the new bracelet.

“Who said you were my best friend?” Luke scoffed, but deep down, he knew it was true.

Percy rolled his eyes as they headed over to one of the candy stands. Luke picked out some sour cherries, and Percy grabbed some blue raspberry sours. They were quiet for a moment, Percy opting to pay this time.

The boys took their treats and headed out, making their way back to the ship.

“Thank you.” Percy said after a long silence.

“For what?” Luke looked at him confused.

“For coming to find me.” He said softly. “And the bracelet. And exploring Charleston, even though you’re afraid of ghosts.”

“I’m not afraid-” Luke sighed, before cutting himself off and shaking his head. “Of course I’m coming after you idiot, you said it yourself, you’re my best friend. Besides, I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you. You saved my ass, so it was my turn.” He shrugged, popping a sour cherry into his mouth.

“And I’m sorry you missed your date.” Percy added.

“Well, if I’m lucky I’ll get another chance when we get back.” He shrugged again.

Percy nodded and thought for a moment. “Why are you so antsy about Charleston?”

Luke groaned. “I was like, 11, and this kid comes up and starts messing with me so finally I tell him to fuck off and he gets spooked because he didn’t realize I could see him and then he gets a couple of his ghost friends and they run me out of town.”

Percy raised his eyebrow. “So you were chased by-”

“Yes Percy I was chased by ghosts!” Luke cut him off irritably. “Next time you go missing, I’m going to leave your ass to Rome.” He huffed.

“No you won’t.” Percy reminded him. “Mom would kill you.”

“You’re right. She is one scary lady when she wants to be.” He sighed and glanced at Percy.

His resolve broke and he chuckled, shaking his head and ruffling Percy’s hair. “Seriously, it’s good to have you back man.”

“It’s good to be back.” Percy grinned back, swatting Luke’s hand away. “And just for the record I would save your ass from the Romans any day.” He told him, fixing his hair.

“Good.” Luke nudged him. “I’m gonna change and do some practice, alright? I’ll catch you at dinner.”

Percy nodded and headed off to his own room.

Luke waited until Percy had disappeared before glancing over the edge of the ship. Standing on the greenery below was the same young, translucent boy from when Luke had been there over a decade ago, staring up at Luke with an unreadable expression. Luke raised a hand, waving to the kid. The kid, in turn, waved back after a moment, before disappearing entirely.

#Luke Castellan's Second Chance #luke castellan #percy jackson #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #pjo #hoo #Heroes of Olympus

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shieldedbythunder · 3 years

Note

9 &/or 16 please <3 Either way, your drabbles are always enjoyable.

Thanks so much, Stormy! For the prompts, and for being so patient <3 I really enjoyed writing these! Both of these can also be found on my ao3 account :)

9. You took all the pillows, so I’m using you as one.”

i’ll get by with a little help from my friends

“Alright,” Natasha says briskly, “you need anything, just give JARVIS a call, okay?” An authoritative tap to his shoulder tells Steve to raise himself up long enough for her to fluff the pillows up a little.

“Is all this really necessary?” Steve grumbles, letting himself fall back once she’s done. Scowling at the thick, white cast that entombs his left leg, propped up on an extra two pillows, like it’s done him a personal wrong. Which, in some ways, it certainly has. “I’m probably gonna be fine by tomorrow.”

One lucky hit. One lousy, lucky hit, he thinks to himself irritably, and he’s out of commission. He’s going to kick the crap out of Batroc the next time they cross paths. Or maybe return the favour; see how he likes an iron girder pinning down his leg.

“Well, you heard the doc’s orders.” The innocent, sympathetic look Natasha sends his way would almost be believable, if it weren’t for the telltale gleam in her eye; she’s loving every moment of his sulking. “Let the serum do its thing with the broken bone, and help it along as much as we can. Which means plenty of bedrest, no negotiations.”

“Yeah, yeah… I guess,” he mutters darkly. With a sigh, he lets himself sink back into the bed properly, willing the knot between his shoulders to ease out a little. “Listen, thanks for the help, you didn’t have to.” General irritation aside, he’s genuinely grateful. Natasha looks just about as exhausted as he feels, and yet she’d never left his side, from their evacuation in the field to the medbay and back up to his room; just as stubborn and loyal a trooper as himself.

“No problem. You sure you don’t want anything else?” Her job done, Natasha hovers by the door, hands on her hips as she gives him one last once-over. “The others should be back soon, so I’ve gotta head to the debrief, but some of us can stop by afterwards if you want.” Even with the lingering traces of mirth, her eyes are as shrewd as ever, head cocked as she watches him carefully.

“Naw… it’s okay,” he says, managing a smile. “It’s been a rough day, you guys look after yourselves. The last thing you need is baby-sitting duties. Really, I’ll be fine.”

And he will be fine, he tells himself as Natasha leaves with one last inscrutable look, her footsteps quickly fading away. It’s not the end of the world, just a day or two of bedrest at most. Nothing to make a fuss about.

It’s just… it all feels horribly familiar. The long hours cooped up in bed, days at a time during his worst spells. At the very least, all he has to worry about is boredom, rather than how every rattling breath tightens up his lungs that little bit more. The helplessness, an old, distant, but never forgotten chill gnawing at his stomach. It seems even his new body and all its wonders could only stave it off for so long.

On that thought, he exhales sharply through his nose as he shuts his eyes; wallowing in self-pity won’t make his leg heal any faster. He just needs to rest up and let his body take care of itself, like any sensible soldier. Sleep takes a while to come, but when it does, it’s mercifully deep and dreamless.

***

He doesn’t know how long he passes in fitful slumber. But the first thing that registers as consciousness slowly creeps back in is how dry his throat is. The second is the feeling of something warm and heavy resting against his collarbone. And the third is a deep, familiar voice close by, words pitched soft and soothingly low. His parched throat aside, it’s an oddly comfortable situation to wake up to.

His eyes cracking open, Steve shifts around enough to get a look at his bunkmate. “Thor?” he croaks out, unable to manage any better between the thirst and lingering grogginess. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, good, you’re awake!” Thor says lightly. Perfectly nonchalant as he sets down his book, reaching over to the bedside table to pass him a glass of water. Like this is just another Tuesday evening for them. “I should have thought that was obvious - you took all the pillows, so I’m using you as one. Speaking of which, would you mind holding still? I’ve just gotten comfortable.”

“No, I mean… what are you doing here?” Gratefully accepting the offered glass, Steve takes stock of his surroundings between gulps. He’s been out a while from the looks of it; it’s late afternoon by now, the sun low in the sky and bathing the room in bright golds and ambers. Casual in an old hoodie and jeans, Thor’s got his legs stretched across the empty side of the bed, as perfectly at ease as ever.

“Keeping you company.” Twisting himself around, Thor props himself up on one arm to give him a knowing look. “I know inactivity isn’t one of your stronger suits, so I thought you might like some distraction. And I talked to Tony, he’s arranging a movie night for you, so you can expect a full house tonight.”

“Thor…” Steve runs a hand through his hair, equal parts touched and exasperated. “I appreciate the thought, but you really don’t have to-”

“I know, I know I don’t have to. But… I still want to.” His smile losing its sardonic edge, Thor leans in a little closer. “Your first thought is always for others, for what they need before you. And…” He hesitates before laying one hand over Steve’s, squeezing it ever so gently. “I was worried for you, after your injury. Will you just… let me make sure you’re taken care of?”

… well. The prospect does sound inviting, delivered with such achingly heartfelt words. And with those soft, earnest blue eyes trained on him so beseechingly, Steve would defy anyone to resist. “... are you sure?” he asks, hedging even as his resolve crumbles. “I mean, Buck’ll tell ya, I get pretty crabby when I’m stuck in bed.”

In lieu of answering, Thor retrieves his book after a moment’s thought, smiling to himself as he finds his place again. “How features are abroad, I am skill-less,” he reads softly, the words almost musical in his smooth baritone. ”But, by my modesty, the jewel of my dower, I would not wish any companion in the world but you, nor can imagination form a shape besides yourself to like of.” His eyes are fond when he lowers the book again to look at Steve, with just a hint of amusement. “Does that answer your question?”

Ducking his head, Steve makes no effort to hold back his smile, even as his cheeks heat up. “You’re a real sap sometimes, you know that?”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m your sap, isn’t it?” Thor chuckles, leaning in close to press a kiss to his forehead. Honestly, with this kind of bedside manner, he could grow to like mandatory bedrest.

“Will you keep reading?” Steve asks, letting his eyes fall shut again as Thor settles back into place against him. “Just ‘til the others get here?”

“Anything you want, love. Now, then,” Thor murmurs, licking one fingertip to turn the page, “where were we… ah, yes, let’s see what Ferdinand has to say to that…”

~~~~~

16. “Can you please just hold me?” (This one’s more inspired by the prompt, rather than including it word for word)

just a little change, small to say the least

If there’s one thing Thor’s come to appreciate in his time on Earth, it’s the concept of central heating.

It’s nearly a week now since Manhattan woke to find itself blanketed in the first snow of winter, with little respite since. Just beyond the tower windows, a whirling cloud of white engulfs the city, the reds and golds of Christmas lights twinkling intermittently through the haze. And of course, with the snow and the driving wind comes the resulting drop in temperatures. Not quite on par with Johtunheim, but still enough to steal right down to the bone, even through the thick layers they pile on whenever one of them feels brave enough to venture out on foot.

And yet, thanks to JARVIS and various other innovations of Midgard’s technology, the temperature within the tower walls remains at a pleasantly mild warmth. Enough so that he can comfortably stand stark naked in one of Tony’s bathrooms, all cool chrome and marble tiling, without so much as a shiver.

Not that he isn’t capable of generating his own heat under the right circumstances, Thor thinks to himself with just a touch of self-satisfaction. All the same, the wet washcloth he presses to his brow is a welcome balm, drawing out a sigh of relief at the bracing damp. Moving quickly, he gives his torso a thorough wipe down before running the cloth under the cold tap again, giving himself a moment to catch his breath. To savour the warm, syrupy drowsiness, all the pleasant little aches he’s accumulated over the evening.

Strolling back out into the bedroom, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight of the figure still sprawled across the bed. “Comfortable, are we?” he asks, leaning against the door as he takes a moment to admire his handiwork.

Tangled in the rumpled sheets with one arm thrown over his eyes, his spent cock still half hard as it lolls in the groove of his hip, Steve looks every inch the cat who just got the cream. “Just give me a minute,” he murmurs, dreamy and languid as he stretches out with a groan of satisfaction. A far cry from the hoarse, desperate pleas for more he’d filled the room with just a few minutes ago, almost loud enough to drown out the slap of skin on skin. “Almost got the feeling back in my legs.”

Thor chuckles, allowing himself just a little smugness as he settles back down on the bed, washcloth in hand. “Here, let me,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow. With slow, sweeping movements, he wipes down the mess of their coupling, starting from Steve’s chest before gently working his way downwards to his ass. Watching the muscles shift and relax in response to the sudden cold, a trail of goosebumps erupting across the miles of pale flesh in his wake.

The sight would be enough to tempt a saint. Gods know it’s been enough for Thor, time and again.

Humming softly with satisfaction, Steve finally shifts his arm enough to look at Thor properly. Traces of his earlier flushed state linger, eyes half-lidded and hazy against the rosiness in his cheeks. His lips still slick and swollen red from the few frantic minutes he’d spent sucking Thor off, his fingers an iron grip digging into Thor’s hips as he’d fucked into that mouth, sinfully hot and wet, and gasped for Steve to touch himself. Thoroughly wrecked and utterly gorgeous, and a curl of heat reignites in Thor’s belly at the knowledge that it’s his doing. That only he gets to see their captain like this, touch him like this.

“Thanks.” Steve’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and there’s something inscrutable behind his satiated smile when their eyes meet again. “You don’t have to do all that, you know.”

“Well, I do owe you one for that rescue in Florence last week,” Thor quips, smiling at the chuckle the remark pulls from Steve. “But, really… it’s no trouble”. Not for you. He leaves the words unspoken, resting on the tip of his tongue even as his heart beats a little faster at the thought. But the quiet remains easy and companionable as he finishes his work, Steve’s eyes bright with mirth when he lets himself fall back on the mattress with a long sigh. Savouring the warmth radiating from the body next to him.

It’s one of his favourite parts of their trysts, these little silences as they allow themselves to just be in each other’s company. No world-threatening dangers, no responsibilities beyond the door. Just the two of them, sated and content. A respite he’s always sorry to see come to an end.

As if in response to his thoughts, a jaw-cracking yawn swells up from deep in his chest; a reminder of the late hour, and all their exertions on top of it. “Well,” he sighs, heaving himself up off the bed, “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He hunkers down, even as his weary limbs protest at the effort, sorting through the scattered trail of clothing for what’s his.

“... does it have to be?”

Shaking his head, Thor grins to himself as he locates his underwear under the bed. “Don’t tempt me,” he chuckles, straightening up and casting an amused look back at the bed.

But Steve doesn’t return the smile, his expression thoughtful as he regards Thor. As if carefully measuring his next words. “I mean… it’s already late enough. You could stay, if you want.” He gestures towards the empty space next to him, watching Thor with careful, questioning eyes.

… oh.

It’s not an unpleasant thought. That much, Thor can parse out from the tangle of emotions the request sets off. But since they began this… whatever this is they share, there’s never been any expectation. Just an hour or two of pleasure and stress release between two friends, nothing more. And there’s something to be said for not upsetting the balance on a good arrangement.

It would be simple, to take the easy out Steve’s offered and be on his way. To let things go on as they have for the past few months. Just friends and teammates who occasionally fall into bed together whenever one or both of them need a good, hard fuck. Who always enjoy one another’s company, whether in sex or laughter or comfortable silences. Who set each other’s hearts racing with the merest glance or smile. Just friends.

So, all things considered… there’s really only one answer he can give.

“That… sounds nice. Thanks.” Even with his mouth dry, the words come as naturally as breathing. And though he tries to school his features, the sight of Steve ducking his head as he turns pink right to his ears sets an immense warmth surging in Thor’s chest.

Not that it quite assuages the hesitance he feels as he climbs back into the bed, eyes on Steve for any sign to withdraw or slow down. This isn’t new territory for him, or for Steve, possibly. But it is for them.

If nothing else, he clearly isn’t alone in his apprehension; Steve clears his throat awkwardly, eyes raised to the ceiling as they fix the covers. “Uh, JARVIS, could you get the lights please?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers. Sleep well,” JARVIS answers, smooth and discreet as the lights dim, until only a faint glow from the streets and snowfall outside remain. Leaving the two of them lying on opposite sides of the bed in near total darkness, a prickly, unsure silence stretching between them. The glint of Steve’s eyes is barely visible in the shadows as they watch each other. Waiting for someone to make the first move.

The spell is broken when Steve exhales sharply through his nose with exasperation before scooting in closer, and Thor has to bite back a laugh; leave it to Steve to step up first and take a dilemma by the horns. Throwing one arm across Thor’s chest, Steve settles himself along his right side, the crown of his head tucked neatly under Thor’s chin as he lays it down on his shoulder. Spurred on by the show of sheer stubborn confidence, Thor lets his arm curl around Steve’s back, his hand resting at the base of his spine. Noting how nicely they fit together, a thought that sends an odd little flutter through his stomach. Not an unpleasant one, though - quite the opposite.

“You okay?” There’s a familiar ring of the steadfast captain to Steve’s question, always checking in on his men. But it doesn’t quite mask the uncertainty of a man with his heart laid bare.

“Yeah, just…” He huffs out through his nose, smiling up at the shadows the snowfall sends dancing across the ceiling. “Trying to figure out why we haven’t been doing this part all along.” He strokes his hand up the length of Steve’s back, his palm spread broad and flat to his spine, and savours the shiver of pleasure that runs through Steve’s body. All of a sudden, he doubts he’s going to be using his own bed very much after tonight. Not alone, anyway.

“Well,” Steve finally answers, and Thor can hear the smile of relief in his voice, warm and content as the arm across his chest curls around him a touch more securely. Pulling them that little bit closer together. “We’ll just have to make up for lost time, won’t we?”

#conor answers #stormyandrescuer #my fics

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dust2dust34 · 4 years

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All I Know (Olicity, post-8x10, M)

Summary: Sequel to Our New Normal. Prompt from OlicitySmoaky - Oliver and Felicity finally take their honeymoon in Aruba in the "afterlife" (humor/angst/fluff).

A/N: This is answering a prompt from OlicitySmoaky received for a Fic for Food Drive I'm doing with Janis! Thank you for the donation, and I hope this fits the bill for what you wanted to read! Please see this thread for more info on the food drive. If you can, please donate, and then send the receipt in exchange for a fic prompt! (Including FICoN ‘verse, canon, original work.)

Also, please note that the song Glory by Dermot Kennedy is the soundtrack to this ficlet.

(read on AO3)

“It’s time.”

Nothing.

“Felicity. It’s been three hours.”

Silence.

“You told me if you don’t respond I have permission to throw you in the water.”

His wife finally grumbled something unintelligible where her face stayed buried in her arms. Past that, she didn’t budge an inch.

Oliver grinned.

She laid sprawled face-down on an amply-padded chaise lounge. Today’s bikini was a bunch of string with some triangles attached, bright white to match the sand surrounding them, and showcasing the gentle bronze her skin had taken on. It was the only thing she wore save for her wedding ring and a clip haphazardly tossed into her hair. The strands were thicker here, from the humidity, and brighter, the sun adding highlights that somehow made the freckles peppered across her nose stand out. Even in the shade where they sat, she glowed. She was stunning and he’d spent the majority of the last three hours doing what he had been since they had arrived in Aruba: staring at her.

He still couldn’t quite believe she was by his side again. He had known it was going to happen, because the Spectre had known what the Monitor had done, but the man in this cosmic partnership had to pinch himself every once in a while to make sure it was real.

His wife was really here.

Well, here being a relative term, since this wasn’t the actual Aruba from Prime Earth. But it might as well be. One nice side benefit of being the house for the Spectre: he could shape their little world into anything he wanted. Meaning he could give the love of his life the honeymoon they never had the chance to go on. The time he was able to spend on the actual earths was limited, and even more so when he had Felicity with him, such as when they visited the kids. But it meant he had an excuse to spend more time staring at her as he regained his energy in their pocket dimension for whatever else the universe wanted to throw at him.

Felicity said something else, but it was too muffled.

“You don’t have to get up,” Oliver told her with a chuckle, pushing off his lounge chair and stepping to hers. He tapped her hip with a, “Scoot over,” and sat down, tugging open the tie in the middle of her back. He smoothed the strings out of the way before popping open the sunscreen and squirting some on her.

She jerked at the first touch of the cool liquid, but then she snorted. “Dirty.”

Oliver smirked, shaking his head as he remembered her cheeky, “Oh, this looks familiar,” when she’d squirted some on her stomach earlier.

Felicity sighed as he started spreading it around.

He was thorough. He took his time. He found every nook and crevice of her back, her shoulders, her neck, her ears, her arms, her sides. Despite the heat in the air, goosebumps followed his caresses every once in a while, and she started squirming about halfway through. The only time he stopped was to turn in place so he could take care of her lower half. Pouring more sunscreen into his palms, he focused on her hips, the back of her thighs, her calves, her feet. She hummed and mewled, sighing, melting under his touch as much as leaning into it, seeking more.

On his way back up her legs, he had, “One more spot.”

He got another dollop and then he covered every single bit of her ass with sunscreen.

Felicity laughed, kicking her feet up lightly as she propped herself up to look back at him.

“I’m just being thorough,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder with a wink as he slid his hands under the bit of cloth covering her ass cheeks. His fingers slipped along the crack between them before massaging his way down to the little creases where her backside met the back of her thighs.

“You’ll hear no complaints from me,” Felicity replied with a little wiggle.

He smacked one cheek with a light tap and instructed, “Turn over.”

“Yes, sir,” she breathed. He smacked her ass again as she flipped over. He didn’t move, intending to start with her legs first and work his way back to her front, but he did look back to watch her. Because he’d left her bikini top untied. She smirked as she maneuvered onto her back, making sure to keep her arm banded over her breasts. He pouted and she huffed out a laugh. “Is this how you want me?”

“Not exactly.”

“This is a public beach, Oliver. I’m pretty sure nudity is against the rules.”

“This is a fake public beach. I can make these people disappear whenever I want.”

“I think the power has gone to your head.”

“There are no boundaries when it comes to seeing my wife naked.”

Felicity grinned and threw her arms back over her head. The loosened triangles covering her breasts moved up with her, but just enough to reveal the rounded undersides. Tragically, her nipples remained trapped under the fabric.

“Is this better?” she asked with a coy smile.

“Not exactly,” he repeated

Felicity laughed, making her breasts jiggle. It got worse when she wiggled deeper into the padded chair, her breasts moving right along with her, but not enough to reveal any of the goods.

“Well, if you hurry up…” she teased.

“I could…” Oliver hedged. He poured more sunscreen into his palms. “But I don’t want to.”

He continued, still taking his time, making sure to cover every inch of her in sunscreen. She didn’t actually need the coverage from the sun, since the UV rays shining down on them weren’t doing any damage. But it was exactly what they would be doing if they really were in Aruba. It was what they had done when they stopped there during their summer travels all those years ago. And besides, he jumped at any chance to massage every inch of her.

Oliver only paused to get more sunscreen every few minutes.

He got her feet, including every single toe - it made her giggle endlessly, which made him spend more time down there, just to hear more of that magical sound - and then her shins, her knees, her beautiful thighs. He turned in place again and spent a good amount of time making sure her pubic area was well-covered, making sure not to go too far under the strip of material covering one of his favorite spots, but being very thorough. To the point he moved her legs up and down and all around, earning more giggles and a couple of gasps and some heady sighs that nearly had him tossing the entire illusion away just to hear more of it. Then it was the front of her hips, her stomach, her sides again just to be safe, her chest…

Oliver slid his hand under her bikini top to cup her breasts.

“Just being thorough?” she teased, biting the corner of her bottom lip.

“Mhmm.”

She chuckled. Her smile didn’t go away as he took his sweet time, enjoying the tightening buds against his palms. He tweaked them with his thumbs, enjoying how heavy her lids grew, the color filling her cheeks. He was content to do this all day, but there was more ground to cover. He left her breasts, delighting at the sight of her hardened nipples through the thin white material. She just watched him with a smile that he shared as he moved on to her arms, her hands, then her shoulders, her neck, and then her face.

“There,” he said when he was finished.

“Your turn.”

They switched places. Oliver once again pouted when she tied her top back into place, but she just poked his side and instructed him to lay face down.

She was just as thorough as he was, covering every single bit of him she could reach, starting with his feet and working her way up. He huffed when she slid her hands up the bottom of his trunks, going as far as she could reach. She dug her nails into his ass and he let out a little yelp that had her laughing. As the minutes passed by, he relaxed more and more, especially when she started rubbing his muscles harder and deeper with each pass. He was melted butter by the time she straddled him and sat on his butt to rub sunscreen into his back.

Felicity didn’t miss a single spot. She never did.

She had never shied away from the brutal marks left on his body.

It didn’t take long to appreciate the difference in sensation when she swept over those spots.

“I thought about removing them,” he said, the words just falling out.

“The people around us?” she asked, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. Oliver thought about going along with that. He didn’t want to tarnish this happy moment, but the urge to talk about it was too strong. And he was too used to talking openly with her, especially now. It had been too long, too much time had passed, for him to bury the words to keep up a happy facade.

“No,” he murmured. “My scars.”

Felicity paused. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. And then she dragged her fingertips down his whip marks. Or so he thought. Her touch was so light that he wondered if he was imagining it because then she was pouring more sunscreen into her palm. She rubbed his shoulders, rocking forward where she sat on his backside for leverage.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” she finally said.

He knew every single cadence of her voice as well as his own, and he caught the slight shift in her tone, the rougher edges. He wanted to turn over so he could see her face, but she seemed singularly intent in what she was doing.

And he didn’t miss the way she lingered on parts of his back now.

“I don’t know if I can,” Oliver admitted. He stared at the faraway point where the beach met the sky. The air shimmered with the heat of the sun. “I haven’t tried. I just thought… They’re from a different life. And they used to be a reminder of why I did what I did. Like my dragon tattoo. When I put my past with Shado and Slade to rest, I didn’t need it anymore.”

Felicity didn’t say anything. Instead she worked her way down the back of his arms, then up the back of his neck, making sure to cover his ears in sunscreen.

Just when the silence became too much and he opened his mouth, she tapped his shoulder.

“Turn over,” she said quietly.

Felicity climbed off him to sit on the edge of the chaise and he immediately flipped onto his back, needing to see her. But she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes stayed on her hands where she rubbed more sunscreen into her palms. She moved to face away from him so she could cover the front of his legs.

Oliver didn’t let her.

He grabbed her waist and tugged her back towards him, urging her to straddle him again.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, hooking his hands on her hips, anchoring her to him as he rubbed his thumbs against her hip bones.

“Selfish things,” she replied, her slathered hands hovering in the air.

He furrowed his brow in question.

On a heavy sigh, Felicity dropped her eyes to his chest, and her hands followed. He watched her as she watched her hands rub slow circles into his marred skin.

“You’re right,” she said softly, smoothing lotion over him. “You’re not the same man that you were before. You don’t need these as a reminder for anything. But you are wrong if you think you ever did. What you did for the city - for the universe - it wasn’t because of what was done to you, Oliver. It’s because you’re a hero. In spite everything that’s happened to you, you’re a good man. The best man. You never did anything as the Arrow because of what was done to you. I know you believe that, but I don’t. Your scars…” Felicity touched the burn marks on his pecs, her hand lingering where his Bratva tattoo had been, before she found more ugly remnants of his life - bullet wounds, knife slashes, where arrows had hit him, then been ripped out. “These are reminders of how strong you are. That no matter what, you get back up. These are you as much as your heart and soul, Oliver. They’re evidence that you are the man that I have always known you were. They’re an homage to the strength that not only saved our world, our universe, but also our children. Me. Us. And… this man-” She put her hand over his heart and finally met his gaze. She gave him a tiny, beatific smile when she saw the wetness in his eyes. “This is the man that I fell in love with.”

Oliver took a slow, shaky breath.

“And that’s the selfish part,” Felicity added with a sardonic laugh. “I love you so much that I don’t know where you begin and I end, and that includes every single one of your scars, inside and out. I’ve had your scars memorized for nearly as long as I can remember. They’re part of you. They are you. But I won’t stop you if that’s what you really want, because I know how I view them is different-”

He sat up, cupped her face, and kissed her.

It felt like the period of a sentence, but it wasn’t the end.

It was the beginning.

Felicity sighed against his lips and then she opened for him. He pulled her bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth nipping at it just enough to get a little moan from her. Oliver wound his arms around her as tight as he could, following her lead, reveling in the soft press of her body against his. She slid her hands up his neck to his jaw and angled his head to deepen the kiss. They both sighed when their tongues met, when he rocked her body against his, when the kiss slowly grew deeper. Felicity urged him back and he fell with her onto the chaise lounge. She blanketed his body with hers, her hips pressing close to where he hardened in his trunks. The sinful touch had a growl erupting from deep in his chest and instinct took over. He swept a hand up her back to her hair. He pulled the clip out and tossed it away as her hair spilled out in a cascade of wildflowers and seasalt. He slid his hand through the mass to fist the strands at the back of her neck. He pressed her lips harder to his as his other hand slid down to her ass. He spread his hand over both cheeks, urging her to rock even closer to him. He lifted his knees so he could thrust up against her welcoming heat he could feel even through their suits. She inhaled sharply and shoved her hands into his hair, anchoring herself with his head to give her more leverage as she rubbed against him.

It spiraled so fast, the air between them heating in a rush of need, and all they could do was respond to it, to each other, getting swept away, moving together. She shuddered and he knew he was hitting her right where she needed him. He dug his fingers into her backside and she reciprocated by lengthening her movements, rubbing against more of his growing hardness. It felt so damn good, a low, intoxicating burning pleasure spreading through his veins, but he knew it would feel so much better when he untied her bottoms and yanked his trunks down and thrust home…

A stream of water hit them right in the face along with a sharp, shrill, “Don’t do that here!”

They broke apart with a start and just when Felicity lifted her head, more water hit the side of her face, and then Oliver’s. The streams hit in such quick succession that neither of them had a chance to react save to jerk away from the water assault.

The chaise lounge tilted and they both fell, landing in the sand in a graceless heap.

“Have a little respect!” the shrill voice continued. “This isn’t-”

With a quick thought, Oliver had the old lady disappear.

He barely had a chance to appreciate the silence or what had just happened when Felicity started laughing. Her body shook against his where they laid tangled on the ground, her hair stuck under his shoulder, their noses bumping together.

“You…” she said, her words coming out between giggles, “had her… here?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his face nearly splitting from smiling so widely. God, he loved when she laughed like this, uncontrollable and so full of life. He started chuckling as the reality of what just happened set in. “I was pulling from our last time in Aruba. A little too well, obviously.”

Felicity wiped her eyes as much as she could without getting sand in them. “Oh, she was so mad.”

“I lost count of how many times she appeared with that damn squirtbottle.”

“Especially when she started looking for us on purpose. Not the best person to share a private island with.” Felicity stared at him as she caught her breath. “It did make sneaking around a whole lot more fun, though.”

“Mm,” Oliver agreed, leaning in for a kiss. “That it did.”

The kiss quickly grew into more, picking up right where they’d left off before they’d been interrupted. Oliver pressed his thigh between hers and she hiked her leg up over his hip. He rocked into her, his hand cupping her jaw, turning her head. He deepened the kiss, drinking in as much of her as he could as he started urging her backwards so he could crawl on top…

“Oh,” Felicity gasped as she broke away. “Sand.”

Oliver made a mindless sound of agreement before kissing her again. She kissed him back, and it was her turn to deepen it, but then she caught herself and pushed at his chest.

“C’mon,” she rasped, untangling herself and sitting up. It put her breasts right where his face was and he shamelessly leaned in to nuzzle them. She laughed before pushing up onto her feet. She held out her hand to him. “Water.”

Oliver grasped her fingers in his and stood. When she moved to tug him to the water, he yanked back and leaned down, grabbing her thighs, picking her up. Felicity let out a little shriek that turned into another gorgeous laugh. She wound her legs around him with a cooed, “So strong,” that had him chuckling as he walked them out to the water.

He held on tight as she leaned back into the water, her legs hooked around his waist, floating in the water on her back, her hair spreading out like a sea nymph. He spun them around gently, delighting in the grin on her face at the sensation of water lapping at her skin. He held her, drinking her in. He finally pulled her back up with a gentle hand up her spine, but only because he had to kiss her again.

They stayed like that, for the rest of the day, for the rest of time, enjoying their honeymoon.

Thank you for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse!

#olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #olicity fanfiction #olicitysquee #oliver queen #felicity smoak #arrow #fanfiction #my fics #my fics: season 8 #arrow season 8 #dust2dust34 #fic for food drive

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deviationdivine · 5 years

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The Stoic Prince (RK900!Prompt Request)

TLDR: To you he’s a smug pain in the ass but you still fantasize about getting dirty with him at the DPD.

Word Count: 1,912

TW: Language, Suggestive Themes, Smut Fantasy

A/N: Follower/Reader Appreciation Drabble | Prompt: “Why the hell am I attracted to snarky stuck up dick faces?” - anon request! Thanks for participating nonnie! This went somewhere else. 1 in the queue done! Onto the next!

"Why do you even bother talking to it?"

Bitter taste of coffee barely touches tongue. Peering up at the question leaves a tiny smirk across lips, which did a hesitant skim of cup rim. Can the DPD honestly get a better brand to chug out of this dispenser?

“Excuse me?”

Purposely hedging away from your co-worker’s sudden interrogation hardly hides the clear tinge of artifice lacing words. Speaking any further may give away this ploy. Of course you know who they mean. He is the only smug jackass that does a heck of a job digging under skin.

Tall, imposing steel scoping a sea of puny humans to gnaw on, using his steadfast jaw, cut from stone if he were made of clay to be fitted by the gods themselves. Plastic, metal – raw material configured, manipulated into eye catching aesthetics.

Fabricated beauty and despite a brusque imperious affectation streaming out of those cool, pert lips. Often times you fantasize how human, warm they might taste. Not just against your mouth but gliding in a hungry appreciation upon every inch of skin made readily available.

To say you had the hots for Nines is an understatement. To say it can go anywhere is another quandary in your grand scheme of things. Natural enigmas be damned he is a walking puzzle waiting to be stripped of his authoritarian programming and cynical attitude.

Unfortunately those gods decided pompous and hypocrisy should be star qualities. Incessantly rolling eyes at your luck, leaning casually into table, coffee machine obscured by your current position, sank an invigorating quiet into your weary body for a brief moment.

Breaks are never long enough. At least there isn’t a sign of top human asshole of the Detroit Police. Rather not have to put a foot up his ass again. However, let’s get back to the inquiry at hand since it hasn’t left the break room.

“Daydreaming about it? Wow, Y/N.”

Sounds like some others you’ve known in the city. Detroit is just a heaping pile of garbage on a good day. Android fever is still in full swing and not how society originally saw it unfolding. "Don't call him that." You defend him while not in his presence. Better to keep it that way because no way in hell are you admitting how fast you’d drop clothes and get down with the rigid android on the force. "Just because he's an android, I mean." The female officer rolls eyes at you. "Uh huh. Sure. Next time you’ll tell me Reed’s going out for drinks with Anderson and Connor.”

Considering androids do not drink she’s a long way off course. You snort.

“Better luck with puppy eyed boy,” the officer jabs, smug. “He doesn’t look like he wants to eat people alive. Or maybe that RK900 just wants to eat you out.”

Nearly spitting coffee all over moves you in a quick step forward, grabbing a napkin out of dispenser to brush splotches of brown liquid off shirt. Eat you out?! Yeah, absolutely!

Perfervid antagonism blinds your gaze resting in a target over fellow officer all consuming in personal embarrassment. Truth is not far from luscious fantasies swirling in nightly subconscious. More than a few dreams about tangling body, flesh and humanity with synthetic, plastic and robotics transforms sleep. It is a burning secret.

A mystery garden planted between the cages absconding the heart ruminating for something of construct, designed in perfection but never mind false images. Never mind unnatural heavenly auras built around a shell of mechanized man. He is everything you can dream about but never will quite openly acknowledge.

One more step and – "Your heart rate is dangerously high for caffeine consumption."

The calculating voice of the RK900 hovers close, sinking in smooth and curt. A statement more so than concern but appropriately edged with his swift, sharp stride into break room.

Fusing a firm hand atop your shoulder seemingly resonates effectively. Analysis is punctual upon your figure as are the sweeping steel he possesses to invoke fear in opponents. He stares down suspects and useless colleagues alike. However there is a bit more skill in you out of most among these humans. He keeps silent, studying a wide appreciation in your eyes.

Pupil dilation is telling to an android who measures subtlety, language in the human form, moving under its own command. Rarely does he witness a shining example of what is referred to as a poker face in most offenders. Upon you it is quite - delicious.

The spike in vitals draws him. Nostrils flare in your personal radius sampling as a bloodhound on a ferocious hunt. Fluctuations respond exquisitely as you are equally confounding in his state of processing.

Do you honestly believe you will affect him in such a wasteful way without retaliation? The form in which he shadows your trembling inhibitions is opposite of what is desired in potential partners. This android does not care in the slightest for decorum.

He will pull you into his awaiting grasp, splaying atop his smooth marbled chest, wanton in prurience, undone from the molecules that form soft, fragile flesh. Tasting your essence will act as more than data on a long, skillful tongue. It will bury into the nerves breaking down your barriers in a flood of rapture.

All it takes is a deliberate push. Buttons unfastening with each poke he prods, bleeding into your skin and he does so intentionally to gain reaction. Steeping within your system liquefies him to the plasma running through veins.

Just as thirium runs a gamut of power to biocomponents he readily will be the life force keeping your mortal existence afloat. So it will be because he wills it out of a viral need you have unwittingly but most adoringly spread into his frame.

His lips twitch faint. A tiniest curve unseen by naked eye but he settles them to a hard line.

Your entire body shivers giving away how good he’s gotten you. Damn it. And he’s looking awfully smug about it all. Somehow he manages to keep his stoic façade nestling in his wide, masculine exterior; handsome is a mere flash in the pan for Nines.

He is beyond definition. You think he knows it too. Why else does he single you out? Making you literally sweat, taking great pleasure in how you behave and pretending nothing is happening.

What a complete and total jackass! Sometimes you swear he fakes this hard ass persona to look the part. Actually, no he’s built this way. Deviancy does nothing for him!

Collecting yourself is instinct and self preservation kicking in. Nobody in their life will get away with this but he melts your strong core down to a puddle. Limpid steel expunges self control. In front of him you strive to be alert so it's not obvious but there was more warmth underneath his imposing touch than you can stand.

God, he's too good. Flicking eyes down the length of his body drives a surge in your heart, thundering in desperation to current fantasy riding out awake.

Strewn atop table, legs around his waist; ripping open that damn white jacket, digging fingers against defined pecs visibly bursting at the seams through black material, fluffy camouflage to a toned body. Taking you right then and there, moaning his name, sinking fingers into exposed synthetic skin because you want to lay into him as heavily as he lays into you.

Biting of perfectly white teeth, licking languid, sensual from smooth tongue and pounding your body on hard surface, pain thumping against the plane of your back but you beg him for more.

Ravenous, unfiltered and insatiably poetic while he completely ravages whatever is left of you, nearly collapsing the chosen surface of your hungry carnality. Eye witnesses neither ceasing nor distracting from the obvious orgasm you will ride on high in the clouds of your mind.

Breath catches in a mystifying glaze sparkling up to his hard narrowed brow. A daylight delusion swept hold at the least private location for you to be horny. For a minute you fear he knows what went on in your head. A predatory slit of Nines’ eyes tracks each minute expression, fidget you relay. He resembles an albino king cobra, flaring a shroud to engulf you in his beguiling shadow.

Hammering against ribs betrays you to the point of imagining the entire precinct eavesdropping on the laborious thud. A small inhalation expands his chest one he hardly requires for oxygen but absorbs your arousal. Oh, it’s very obvious. You have a bit of a problem between your legs right now. Fuck.

"Peak performance suggests you not consume more than the recommended dose of caffeine, Detective.”

The android’s voice is deeper, darker than usual. Almost testing, watchful of how your body will respond next. Enough so that a smirk graces the mouth you wish to ascend in prayer to the immediate issue you physically suffer. He will cure such issue predominantly efficient. “Coffee will not help your productivity if you misuse it." Misuse it, huh? Oh, you’re sure nothing will be of misuse here. Preferably his tongue; you screw up your face to hide the lust.

Why the fuck is he looking like that? Does he realize people will start noticing? Honestly, it’s first time you realize it’s just the two of you in the break room. Guess he scared off your former gossip partner. "Why do you care what I do anyway?” Seething at his game and the fact you’re turned on at work, you slam a finger into his chest. Stabbing him doesn’t move his perfect posture but it sure does make you ache more. “It's not as if it's worth your time."

Nines’ head cocks to the side marginally amused by this insolence. He finds it cripplingly fascinating on a good day but why voice such trivialities?

“Perhaps if you behave in a professional capacity, Detective Y/L/N?” Leaning in to brush the words beside ear, purposely expelling artificial breath to lick your skin, the android fuses fingers against your hip.

A slow slide kisses beneath the android’s tempting fingertips allowing the hitch of your natural breath fuel his personal stimulus. Aroused by you will not go without discipline. There is only one kind he imagines to have utmost potency and satisfaction.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Nines switches to informalities, dangerously silken. “Do you wish every advanced piece of technology that wanders into the DPD to fuck you? Or is it because I am faster, stronger and more resilient to your needs?”

Gasping is the last vocalization you will give him. Pushing back from you reserves dignity even if you want him to just snag you hard by the hips and throw you down into the evidence room. Quieter, less traffic right now and it’d be a pretty good way to… He just called himself the best and believes it.

Well, it’s true right? No. Fuck his snide self!

You are trying but still…

“Why the hell am I attracted to snarky, stuck up dick faces?!”

Story of your goddamn life apparently and this one is the snarkiest, smuggest, sexy piece of android you’ve had the discomfort and pleasure to meet.

“Get over yourself, Nines!”

Yelling on the way out of the break room only causes looks and you’re sure without turning around he’s still standing there. Tall as hell and making you weak, oh so weak to his stormy sea and he’s already swallowed you up.

Wait until he devours you.

Tag List: @elydith @your-taxidermy

#dbh #rk900 x reader #dbh rk900 x reader #dbh nines x reader #nines x reader #follower/reader appreciation #dbh drabbles #detroit become human #dbh drabble choice #drabble prompt #personal prompts #it's popping off #lets get follower appreciation lit #snarky nines is best nines #oof it's hot here

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elizaviento · 6 years

Text

Higher Power

My dear Anon -- this prompt was perfect and I thank you for the delicious images that subsequently invaded my mind. I hope this meets your expectations, as well.

Note: This story features Rick/Reader D-74 from Assimilation because, you know, they’re my babies and I just love them so.

Higher Power

(Rick Sanchez x Reader)

NSFW -- 3200 words with lots of romantic type feely feels.

(FYI: Assimilation can be found in the Rick Fic Masterpost link in my blog description.)

*****

It was Jerry’s idea to go camping. I only agreed because I knew how much he loved it. Rick only agreed because Beth guilted him into it. So, you can imagine how much fun we were having while huddled around Jerry’s poor excuse for a campfire.

“Okay! Who has a scary story?” Jerry asked much too cheerfully while violently ripping open a bag of jumbo marshmallows that proceeded to spray outward, hitting him in the face before tumbling to the ground.

“Don’t worry, I brought another bag” I said before the kids could groan in disappointment. I knew Jerry better than he knew himself so the second bag of marshmallows was just a metaphor for my knack for bailing him out.

Rising from the ground, I quickly dusted off the seat of my jeans before shuffling toward my tent a few yards away, which was more difficult that I had initially taken into account. The sky had managed to fade from the soft hues of pink and blue to pitch black in the half hour that we’d congregated around the fire and I found myself stumbling on twigs and small rocks more than once before reaching my destination.

Once I’d finally made it to my tent, I felt around for and quickly unzipped the entrance flap -- the metallic hiss of the zipper sounding as loud as a freight train in the all encompassing darkness. Then, crawling inside on my hands and knees, I continued to navigate by touch until my hand closed around the plastic bag containing the fluffy cylinders of sugar.

When I felt something bump my ass from behind, I opened my mouth to scream the very second a hand materialized out of nowhere to engulf it.

“Jesus fuck! Calm down!” Rick’s rough whisper floated toward my ears from close by. “You -- y-y-you’re too fuckin’ jumpy” he chided, releasing my mouth so I could breathe a sigh of relief as he crawled inside the tent beside me and flopped down on his back.

“What are you doing?” I asked as he gripped my upper arm and tugged until he’d pulled me on top of him. I could feel, rather than see that our faces were within an inch of one another as his warm breath wafted across my skin.

“Humm?” was his only reply as he closed the short distance and pressed his lips to mine. Even in the complete blackness, his aim was perfect and I wedged one hand between his neck and the floor of the tent to hold him in place. That is, until I remembered that we were mere feet away from the remainder of our family. Pulling back, it was my turn to place a hand over Rick’s mouth to prevent him from connecting our lips once more.

“As much as I’d love to be defiled among the majestic beauty of nature, I’d rather not scar Jerry and Beth for life. Or the kids.” I removed my hand from his mouth expecting something witty in retort. I wasn’t disappointed.

“Baby, you can only be defiled once and I -- uh -- I’m pretty sure I took care of that looong ago” he purred, squeezing my ass for good measure. I needed to nip this encounter in the bud, right now, or I’d never have the willpower to resist. So, I pitched my body to the side until I landed on my back beside him.

“We need to get back before Jerry assembles a search party” I warned, hoping that the threat of my brother happening upon us rutting in a tiny tent would deflate his libido.

“Ugh. For some -- someone so hot -- so sexy, you sure know how to kill a boner” he complained. My eyes were just beginning to adjust to the darkness so I could faintly make out the movement of his lanky form as he sat up, his spiky hair swishing across the vinyl ceiling of the tent.

----------

What felt like hours later (but was in reality only 45 minutes), Jerry had run out of cheesy campfire horror stories and was grasping at any straw to keep each family member’s attention.

“Come on, Dad” Summer whined as she pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her hoodie for the 247th time that evening on impulse, the ‘NO SERVICE’ message on the screen mocking her time and again. “Can’t we just, like, go to bed now?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jerry asked, plunging another marshmallow on the end of a twig and thrusting it directly into the fire; only to pull it free when it had transformed into a block of flaming ash. “It’s only 9:00 o’clock! The night’s still young! Rick, you must know some spooky ghost stories with all that planet hopping, right?” Adjusting my gaze beyond the flickering flames, I caught a glimpse of Rick and Beth sitting directly across from me, rolling their eyes simultaneously.

“No, Jerry” Rick spat, his face screwed up in disgust as he took a swig from his flask. “I don’t have any spooky ghost stories ‘cause they -- g-ghosts don’t exist.”

“Well, how could you possibly know that?” Jerry countered, shoving the charred marshmallow into his mouth before spitting it right back out with a whimper. “Ow, that’s hot!”

“It was practically smoldering like a brick of coal, Jerry” Beth explained with a sigh, wrapping her arms across her chest. It was, indeed, becoming increasingly chilly as the evening progressed and I felt a smile tug the corners of my lips when I spied Rick draping an arm across her shoulders in an unconscious bid to warm her. No fatherly instinct, my ass, I thought, making a mental note to point out his adorable display of affection at a later time.

“Yeah, Rick. How do y-you know ghosts don’t exist?” Morty chimed in as he speared a hot dog on his twig and very carefully hovered it above the flames.

“Be -- because there’s no such thing as a soul. Or god. Or the devil. It -- it’s just us, all alone fuckin’ judgin’ and -- and -- and killin’ each other in the name of some ‘higher power’ that, if it did exist, wouldn’t give two shits about any of us anyway.” He paused long enough to take another pull from the flask. “Does that -- uh -- does that answer your question?” he finished, standing from the fallen log he and Beth were sharing in some type of mic drop-esque grand gesture.

Narrowing his eyes in the way he does right before he says something stupid, Jerry countered, “I think you do believe in a higher power, Rick. But in your case, it’s yourself."

“Yeah! You -- y-y-you know what? You’re absolutely right, Jerry!” Rick said, throwing his hands in the air while Beth lowered her head and pinched her brow. I could second her reaction as I also stood to make my way back to my tent. “‘Cause -- uh -- you know --” he continued, suddenly jabbing an index finger in my direction, “-- your sister screams -- calls me GOD every single night!”

In that very moment, everything fell eerily still and silent. Even the crickets seemed to halt the ritualistic rubbing of their hind legs as each pair of eyes that didn’t belong to Rick grew to the size of teacup saucers.

“Uhh…” Jerry hedged while trying and failing to formulate an adequate come back.

“Seriously, Grandpa Rick?” Summer interjected while stomping away, presumably toward the tent she’d be begrudgingly sharing with Morty. “Just… gross!” Tentatively, Morty rose to join her, the inky blackness swallowing him whole like the gaping maw of some type of mythical sea creature.

Feeling like I could vomit at any second, my eyes flicked toward Beth. The look on her face could only be described as mortified as she also gathered up the remainder of the food and tossed it in the cooler. “Thanks a lot, Dad” she spit sarcastically, actively avoiding eye contact with me.

Then, as if suddenly realizing what an absolute horrid thing he’d just allowed to fly from his mouth, Rick slumped forward and groaned -- scrubbing a hand down his face before fishing the other in the inner pocket of his lab coat again for his flask. Or should I say crutch.

“Look. I --” he began, but the damage was done and I was already striding toward the sanctuary of my tiny tent with unshed tears of humiliation and rage stinging my eyes.

----------

He didn’t come after me. At least, not right away. He knew he’d managed to piss me off royally and that if he didn’t give me time to cool off, I wouldn’t be above socking him in the jaw.

So, I lay in the dark -- staring up at the ceiling of my tent with the sleeping bag zipped up to my chin. Once securely inside, I’d let the tears silently fall from my eyes as I seethed and seethed and cursed his name. How could he say something like that? In front of the kids? In front of BETH?! Did he really think so little of me that he wouldn’t think twice before blurting something so fucking crass in front of our family?

Eventually, the burning sensation in my face began to cool along with the tear tracks drying on my cheeks. Rick knew to let me be when I was truly angry because he also knew that I wasn’t one to hold a grudge. However, perhaps he deserved it this time. Perhaps having a legitimate grudge held against him would serve him right.

Mulling the thought over, I yawned and let my eyes drift closed. The crickets had resumed their delightful chirping and I allowed them to lull me into a peaceful sleep.

----------

“Shhh” a raspy voice hissed with lips pressed to my ear when I was suddenly jolted awake. After a second or two, my brain registered the voice with the vision of a man with blue spiky hair and a perpetual scowl.

“I’m still mad at you” I whispered while I attempted to wiggle from his grasp. I was trapped in the sleeping bag with Rick’s arms wrapped tightly around it.

“You’re not” he challenged, his voice low enough that only I could hear while his lips still pressed and feathered across the shell of my ear.

But, I actually was. And, his arrogant insistence that I wasn’t…

Freeing my arms from the cocoon of the sleeping bag trapped in Rick’s arms, I forcefully shoved him away. Wishing there was even one speck of light to see the, no doubt, shocked expression on this face, I wiggled from the sleeping bag completely and sat upright with my knees pulled up to my chest.

“What the hell?” he harshly whispered from the other side of the tent. I could faintly hear the whoosh of polyester fabric as Rick blindly groped his hands across the sleeping bag, searching for me.

“Don’t you dare, Rick!” I spat, my voice straining as I tried to project a whisper in a manner that adequately portrayed how upset I was with him. “Don’t you DARE try to get in my pants after that little stunt you pulled!” He groaned in obvious annoyance and the rage burned within me fresh and hot. He had no right to be annoyed with ME. “Get out” I demanded, pointing toward where I thought the flap of the tent was located even though it was much too dark for him or I to tell.

Without a word, I felt the tent pitch and sway as he attempted to crawl toward the exit. Again, I could hear the swish of his hair as it made contact with nylon and I began to snicker as it became increasingly obvious that Rick couldn’t locate the flap.

“Wait” I said, my voice softening as his exasperated sighs only managed to endear him to me in the most inopportune moment. I had promised myself I’d hold a grudge, but I was failing. Now that I was free of the warmth of the sleeping bag, the chill licked at my exposed skin and the deep seeded adoration and yearning for Rick began to bubble up from the pit of my being; that coil nesting in my stomach slowly unfurling to extend to my arms as they searched for him in the darkness. Recognizing my tone, he immediately sought me out again, as well, and soon we were comfortably entwined.

“I’m sorry” he whispered into my hair and he sounded more sincere than I could ever recall.

“You know I’m not good at expressing my feelings --” I began and he scoffed as if to imply ‘yeah, me either’ before I continued, “-- but that was fucking brutal, Rick.” He pressed a tender kiss to the top of my head and I knew I wasn’t angry any longer. Turning to press my face to the crook of his neck I whispered confessions of love against his skin while balling my fists in the lapels of his lab coat.

“Sweetheart --”

But, I deftly cut him off by pressing my lips to his while tilting and raising my hips, effectively tipping him flat on his back. Now straddling him, I settled my bottom on his upper thighs while my hands worked the buckle of his belt. Even in the darkness, the practiced movements came so naturally that I’d soon pulled it from the loops and began the task of loosening his fly. And, while I undressed him, he undressed me -- lifting the oversize t-shirt from my body before I trailed my hands under his sweater until he lifted his arms so I could do the same.

We were quiet. Silent as the night. Neither of us above a whisper as our humid breaths heated the small enclosure that protected us from the elements. And when I finally rose to line his cock to my entrance, I suppressed a sob as I slowly took him fully inside.

“Oh baby -- oh fuck, you feel so good” Rick groaned before capturing my lips just in time to swallow my moans and gasps.

“Rick” I breathed, nestling my face in the juncture of his neck and shoulder as I buried one hand in his hair. “Rick, please.”

He knew what I wanted. He was always hesitant to utter the words even though we both knew them to be true. He hitched a breath as if to prepare but I decided perhaps now wasn’t the time. Perhaps I wanted the words to come of their own volition instead of from my gentle prompting.

So, I began to fuck him. Slow and deep -- alternating between pressing kisses to and planting my teeth in sensitive flesh behind his ear. And, still we were quiet. Silent as the night. Neither of us above a whisper as we rocked together, his fingers digging bruises into the flesh of my hips while my fingernails pressed crescent grooves in the flesh of his neck and scalp.

“Oh my -- fuck! -- oh god” he released in a strangled whine as I quickened my pace. The slight slapping of skin on skin ricocheted between the nylon walls of our enclosure as it mingled with muted grunts and gasps and the occasional soft moan that I allowed to escape when Rick’s cock hit my sweet spot just right.

“Who’s the higher power now, huh?” I asked in the sultriest whisper I could muster before trapping the shell of his ear between my teeth.

“Sweetheart -- baby...” he whined, gripping my hips tighter in silent question. He was teetering on the edge of control and I nodded my head in approval, excitement already overtaking me as my body tensed in preparation for the pounding I knew I was in for. And as he bent his knees to firmly plant his feet on the floor for leverage, he moved one hand from my hip to roughly grip the back of my neck and pushed his pelvis upward until the head of his cock pressed heavy, direct and consistent pressure on my g-spot.

“I love you.”

The words were so sudden and unexpected that my body immediately responded, tensing further as my cunt violently clamped around Rick’s cock and I came -- hard -- sinking my teeth in his shoulder to silence the scream that threatened to rip from my throat. Each contraction seemed to be stronger than the last as it pulsed and pulsed through me, the endorphins flooding my bloodstream at an alarming rate. And, as my climax began to ebb, Rick lowered his hips only slightly before forcefully slamming them upward again and again and again. Limp as a rag doll, I allowed him to fuck into me as another orgasm began to build deep inside. No longer possessing the mental capacity to sexily moan and croon for him, I only dropped my head to his shoulder as he whispered the praise he knew I cherished so well.

“Oh, fuck, my perfect girl. You -- you know I love you, huh? Y-y-you can feel it, yeah? Feel how much I fuckin’ love you? -- oh shit!”

I came again -- quietly sobbing and drooling against his neck and I clung to him; sweaty and trembling.

“Thaaat’s it, my sweet girl. You -- you’re pussy’s so goddamn perfect, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum” he growled directly into my ear, probably a little too loud at this point but I was far too gone to care. He fucked up into me -- hard and deep -- once, twice, a third time; clenching his teeth, a forceful inhale whistling past them as he filled me up. Hot and thick and perfect.

“Holy god, fuckin’ christ” he gasped as his muscles relaxed and the death grip on my neck and hip loosened. I only hummed in response letting my full weight settle on his chest for only a moment before I rolled and plopped down beside him.

“Leave it to Jerry to pick a campground that doesn’t have showers” I quietly joked and snickered as the product of our coupling leaked to the floor of the tent.

“I -- uh -- I’ll portal us to the house in a couple of hours” he rasped. My eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness once more and I could faintly make out the motion of his sweeping hand through his hair as my mind burned the evenings activities into my memory bank. “But, remind me to tell Jerry he was actually wrong. Yet again.”

“About what?” I asked suspiciously, furrowing my brow as I hoped he wouldn’t say something completely idiotic to ruin the moment. But in the safety of the darkness, he said something that nearly knocked the wind from me --

“My higher power is you.”

The End.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez x reader #rick sanchez #fanfiction #sister smith series #higher power #fanfiction request

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americanphancakes · 5 years

Note

For a prompt how about: home invasion

Anonymous saidpick your favorite kind of au and do a spin on it

OKAY so I only wrote a part one for this because I’m not sure where I want the plot to go exactly. But I wanted to share the first part of this because it’s kind of hilarious, haha.

But my favorite trope is fake relationship, and I figure “home invasion” would be an interesting spin on it… plus, I got to put a fun spin on home invasion too? :)

Word count: ~1.3k

***********

Dan crouched behind the hedge and held his walkie talkie up to his mouth, ready to let his partner know when the posh couple inhabiting this ridiculously ornate house had left for the night. He waited a moment as he watched them walk back and forth across the front window, adding more outerwear and accessories to themselves with each pass. Eventually they were ready, but they seemed to disappear between the window and front door. That means the security system panel is right there, Dan thought with a smirk. Finally, the front door swung open.

“Door is open, get ready.”

“Roger that.”

The posh couple, layered with outerwear and hats to brave the cool midwinter evening, finally left the house. They got into their car, started it up, and pulled away from the house.

“It’s clear, go now! Go go go!”

Dan watched the house as his partner, Phil, emerged from an adjacent patch of landscaped trees and approached the front door. He picked the lock on the front door with ease, and Dan quickly followed as he entered the house.

While Phil looked for any handheld electronics that might be lying around, Dan applied a clear sticker to the security panel to see which keys had the most oil from finger contact on them.

“Thank God it’s a Lockwizard,” Dan said. “Makes this much easier.”

This particular brand of security panel required a minimum four-digit pin to arm and disarm, and most users didn’t go any further than that. It also had a time-based lockout of 1 minute rather than a number of tries. Dan could literally brute force the alarm system using the digits the user typically hit (1, 3, 7, and 9 in this case) as many times as he liked without fear of lockout as long as he got it in under a minute, and it wasn’t hard for him to enter 16 combinations in under 60 seconds at this point in his thieving career.

So Dan tried the first possible combination.

“One… three… seven… nine,” he muttered as he typed. He hit the star key.

“Disarmed,” the LCD screen read.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dan said aloud.

“What?” Phil asked.

“One three seven nine,” he said.

“You’re joking!”

“Nope!”

“Amateurs.”

“Right?”

Dan and Phil proceeded to quickly track down as many small-but-expensive items as they could find. They were only a two-man team so stealing televisions and computers was out of the question, but they knew a house like this could land them a ton of jewelry.

After eight years of working together, they had a pretty good system - one looked upstairs, the other down, making sure not to leave a mess as they went through the home. Then, as they left, they reset the alarm. This made it less likely that their targets even realized they’d been robbed until they looked for something specific and couldn’t find it. Dan and Phil worked in sync, moving as fast as they could to make sure they had enough time to cover their tracks.

Once the home was cleared of the priciest things, they headed out, resetting the alarm and locking the door.

***

Phil, unfortunately, had a bit of a weakness for jewelry. So, for a few of his favorite pieces, he often held onto them rather than selling them like he was supposed to. This bothered Dan, who had anxiety issues and was sure Phil would wear something in public that gave them away. In the end, though, he always let it go, finding Phil’s love for all things shiny more endearing than anything else. Besides, the pieces Phil normally wore were understated and didn’t draw much attention.

What Dan didn’t notice is that when Phil’s mother came to London to visit them, Phil had slipped on a very elegant ring he rather liked. While Dan may not have seen it, a mother’s eye often tends to gravitate toward one particular finger on one particular hand whenever she visits her child.

“Oh! Phil! What’s that I see?” Mrs. Lester said over dinner, holding her son’s left hand up so she could get a look at the delicately-gemmed gold ring on his ring finger.

“Uh… it’s a ring!” Phil said.

Dan’s eye moved toward Phil’s left hand, and he saw it. A ring he recognized from their last job. He choked on his wine but did his best to cover it up. He smiled politely, trying not to give away the amount of internal screaming he was doing.

“You two?” Mrs. Lester continued with a delighted gasp, her eyes wide and face bright with hope. Phil still hadn’t quite caught on yet. “Oh, I always knew you were in love. A mother can always tell, you know!”

Now Phil had caught on, and was rendered speechless.

“Yep, us two!” Dan said, his teeth clenched. “Actually, do you mind if he and I talk for just a minute?”

Before Mrs. Lester could answer, Dan yanked Phil up by the arm and dragged him over to the corner where the toilets could be found.

“You’re wearing a ring from a job?” Dan hissed as quietly as he could while still conveying his anger. “On THAT hand?! What were you thinking?”

Phil, red-faced, was still mostly frozen in panic. “I don’t know! I was just putting it on because I liked it.”

“What, did you just not realize that was the engagement and wedding ring hand, you complete and total spork!?”

“I was in a hurry!”

“What the hell are we gonna do? Your mum thinks we’re engaged now! It’s not like we can tell her ‘oh no, we’re just professional thieves who stole that ring and your son is a dumbass who didn’t know what finger that was’ now can we? We’d be disappointing her on three levels! And honestly I really don’t wanna do that to your mum, she’s way too nice.”

“Well, you heard her, she’s thought we were dating for ages already. We’ve worked together so long, we never date anyone else since our job makes that so tricky… we should just… pretend we’ve really been together?”

Dan took a calming breath and folded his arms. “Just for tonight?”

“Just for tonight. Then in a couple of weeks when she calls to see how we’re doing, we can say we broke up. Decided we were better as friends or whatever.”

Dan sighed loudly, throwing his arms to his sides in resignation. “What other choice do we have?”

Phil shrugged, his face hopeful. “We’d better get back out there.”

“Alright. She’ll ask how I proposed though, what should we say?”

“You got down on one knee in the lounge while we were watching a particularly sexy episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

“Works for me.” Dan smirked. “It sounds like exactly what would happen with us, too.”

Phil chuckled in response.

“Shall we, then?” Dan asked.

“Yes. Let’s… shall.”

Dan smiled and rolled his eyes. “You really are a spork.”

“Hey, sporks are useful!”

***

They went back to the table, where they found Mrs. Lester smiling kindly. “I’m going to guess I wasn’t meant to see that just yet,” she offered.

“Ah, yeah, well… you know how it is.” Dan chuckled nervously and drank more wine.

“We weren’t planning on telling everyone yet, is all,” Phil said by way of half-assed explanation.

“It’s okay,” Mrs. Lester said. “I won’t tell your father just yet!” She winked and looked at her menu. “I do feel like this is a special occasion that calls for a nicer-than-usual dinner, though, don’t you agree?” She leaned in towards Phil. “I’ll pay!” she whispered loudly.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Mu–”

“I insist, Philip! I want to celebrate my boys finally making it official.” She reached across the table and held one of each of their hands and smiled warmly.

Dan winced a bit at her calling them “my boys.” He felt a bit nauseous. It felt as though he was in for the greatest, most difficult heist of his entire life.

#answered #prompt fic #my fic #phanfiction #thieves au #this was fun and it has potential #i'll put it on ao3 if I decide to continue it or if I think of a title lol

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imhereforbvcky · 6 years

Text

Pecans vs. Blueberries

Masterlist

Summary: Sam Wilson challenges his pastry chef girlfriend to a breakfast making competition that devolves into fluff and silliness. Prompt: “Take another step and I swear to you I will knock you on your ass!”

Warnings: none! I don’t even think I swore! Just tooth rotting fluff. Ha! I punned.

Word Count: 2174

Author’s Note: This is for @denialanderror’s 2k Writing Challenge. Congrats, buddy! :) Thanks for some non-angst inspiration.

Morning was always the best time to make use of the kitchens at the Avengers Compound. It was massive and pristine and had every tool you could dream of within its sleek cabinets and pantries.

The only challenge was that the place was perpetually filled with hungry training superheroes, who had no qualms about dipping a fingertip into your freshly whipped buttercream. Who often prematurely snatched up a golden pastry before you’d filled it with custard and topped it with chocolate ganache. Sometimes an entire bowl of apricot glazed fruit would be nibbled down to just a few crushed berries by the time you were ready to top your perfectly set tart.

But mornings were usually safe. If you woke early enough, the only one with any life would be Steve whose 1940s manners hadn’t quite abandoned him. He never swiped without asking, and he only rarely asked.

Your boyfriend, however, was a menace. Sam would slide an arm around your waist and kiss your neck while his fingers reached for the lemon curd. He’d only grin when you balked and kiss you with the tangy flavor still lingering on his tongue. He liked to hover close by, watching you work and experiment, sneaking treats and frowning at the more daring concoctions.

So today while your pear and almond tart baked in the oven, warm vanilla and spicy cinnamon and star anise wafting down the halls, you also started on something the soon-to-rise team would be allowed to eat.

Sam was the first to follow the scent into the kitchen. He slipped behind you, humming at the prospect of a sweet breakfast delight. His hands held gently onto your hips as he stepped closer.

“Smells good,” he murmured. His nose skimmed the column of your neck before he placed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Can I help?”

You leaned into him as you set down the bowl of pale runny batter. “I don’t think you can,” you grinned, swirling the pan to spread the thin substance.

“I’mma pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” you snapped back with a wide smile. “Do you make crepes a lot?”

“No,” he argued. With a raised brow, he stepped away from you and ran a spatula through your crepe batter, giving it a skeptical frown. “I make pancakes because they’re better than some sad floppy crepe.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that!” You pointed your own spatula at him. “I’m going to make you the best crepe you’ve ever had.”

“Still won’t be as good as the pancake I’m ‘bout to make you.” He swatted your ass on his way to the pantry.

“I don’t want your puffed up pan-fried cake from a box!” you laughed as he returned proudly displaying the box of Aunt Jemima pancake mix.

“Oh you will,” he smirked, drawing up a pan beside yours on the stove.

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “Why because you’ll drown it in maple syrup? It’ll be up to you to call an ambulance when I choke on it.”

“Baby, you won’t even need syrup.” Sam Wilson didn’t second guess his choices; he felt strongly about things and made decisions with finality. That confidence was typically an attractive trait, but today, in this breakfast battle, it only irked you. “Everyone’s going to choose my pancakes over your chewy wilted crepes.”

“Everyone?!” you laughed. “Is this a competition now? Sam I’m a pastry chef, I’m going to destroy you and your boxed pancakes.”

“Yeah and if we were making soufflés I might be worried,” he shrugged as he began slicing bananas.

You only shook your head, watching with suspicion as he reached over you to swipe the vanilla and nutmeg you’d used earlier in your tart. “Tell you what, if I like your pancakes I’ll make you breakfast in bed on Saturday.”

“No-ho-ho way!” he laughed, pouring batter onto his hot skillet and carefully placing banana slices around the center of the pancake. Next he sprinkled coconut onto it and waited. “You can’t be contestant and judge. Everybody votes. A pecan in the jar for me, a blueberry for you. Loser makes breakfast.”

You laughed as he held up one of each, drawing the blueberry from your pile.

“You’re on,” you agreed.

He popped both the pecan and the blueberry into his mouth before he leaned over and kissed your temple.

If you were honest, you were a little nervous. Sam’s first pancake looked damn good as he dropped chopped pecans on top and stole your bowl of whipped cream.

Pancakes were an American classic. Lucky for you, this compound was full of an international crowd. Sam had hedged his bets on one good pancake, but you would make sweet crepes, savory crepes, simple ones, and decadent ones.

Before long you’d taken over the kitchen, sautéing mushrooms and dicing chives. You whipped sweet cream and sliced strawberries. The chocolate sauce was melting beautifully with a little cream and a splash of coffee. You had a bowl of sliced lemons beside the sugar, and warm ham next to several cheese sauces.

In a word, Sam was toast.

He began to realize this with agitated amusement. The more items you set out, the more the kitchen smelled like a cafe, the more his teammates filtered into the kitchen, dipping fingers into your sauces, swiping cherry tomatoes, and bits of fruit. They each made their plates and you found yourself needing to make more.

“You know,” he drawled, leaning over your pan, stirring your next batch of chocolate sauce. “I think I’d prefer a chocolate crepe.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Sammy. I know my crepes are better,” you grinned. “Just put chocolate sauce on it.”

“No, I mean, the crepe. I think your recipe needs some tweaking. I could help,” he grinned over at you, lifting the spoon coated in chocolate sauce.

“No!” you insisted. “No, no, no! That has cream and so much sugar. It’ll throw off the batter.”

“I think it needs it.” If the mischievous glint in his eye didn’t tell you what he was planning, the smirk on his face and the slow deliberate movements he made toward your side of the kitchen sure did.

You quickly snatched up your crepe batter as he lunged forward with the chocolate covered spoon.

“Sam! You know I take a challenge very seriously,” you tried to keep a straight face as you danced on either side of the island. Every time he stepped right, you stepped left. “And you’re trying to cheat!”

“I’m helping!” he argued as he hurled himself on top of the island.

You yelped; backing away with a laugh until your back hit the table. He stalked closer and closer.

He dipped a finger into the chocolate coating the spoon and brought it to his lips. “Mmm this is some good sauce, baby. It’s going in that crepe batter,” he promised.

“Take another step and I swear to you I will knock you on your ass!” you laughed.

“Oh you will?” he chuckled with raised eyebrows.

“Yes! Don’t sabotage my crepes!”

“I don’t need to take another step.”

Before you could even register his actions he held the handle of the spoon firmly in the air and bent the tip of it back with a finger and released. Chocolate sauce splattered forward in an arc of sugary dark mess. It streaked across your face, down your forearms still clutched around the bowl, and an enormous glob ran in the batter from one end of the bowl to the other.

You stood shocked, staring into the bowl with eyes wide. Sam rolled his lips between his teeth to bite back the laughter threatening to bubble forth. He stepped closer, waiting for a reaction, but you gave him none.

“I think uh…” he smiled, brown eyes dancing with laughter. “I think it could use a little more.”

“Sam don’t you dare!” you shouted, swinging the bowl out of reach.

But he was never aiming for the bowl. He swiped the whole spoon across your cheek, leaving a smear of sticky sweet chocolate sauce in its wake.

“Perfect.” The smile on his face was both enchanting and infuriating. He leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Just…” then your nose, “perfect,” then your chocolate covered cheek before he licked his lips.

You swiped two fingers over the mess on your face and sighed before licking them clean. “It is good chocolate sauce,” you agreed, setting down the bowl of batter.

He only laughed as he wrapped his arms around you.

“You should try the whipped cream though,” you smirked as you smeared a handful from the table down his face. The white foam smeared from nose to chin.

You glimpsed the smile beneath the cream before he dove for your neck. Still trapped in his arms, all you could do was squeal and squirm as he smeared the whipped cream into your neck and shoulder mingled with laughter and kisses and nips at your skin. It was cold and wet, but his lips were warm, and his beard scratched at your skin.

Tony cleared his throat from the end of the table. “Hey there are children present, can you two…” he flicked his wrist to wave back down the hall, but the lopsided grin on his face made you giggle.

“Wha? Me?” Peter asks, swallowing a mouthful of pancake. “I’m-- I’m not a child. I saved all those people on that ferry remember? And I could get my driver’s license now--”

“Do you have your driver’s license?” Tony rolled his head back toward the kid.

“Well no, I take the bus, but--”

“We cooked y’all can clean!” Sam insisted, not even sparing a glance as he kept you caged in his arms and walked you both down the hall toward his room. You could only giggle and shuffle backward in his strong grip, kissing at the sticky bits of breakfast still smeared over his chin and neck.

That weekend you lay in bed, enjoying the cool spring air through the window. It was rare that you slept in, but you relished in it when you did. You wished Sam was here; wished you were curled up under his arm, head resting on his shoulder with your legs tangled together. Your favorite part of lazy mornings was the tight squeeze he gave you when he woke.

But today he’d kissed your forehead and slipped out the door, telling you to rest, he was just going to run with Steve and he’d be back.

And he did come back. With a soft knock at the door to announce his presence, he eased inside holding a tray of food. You grinned from ear to ear as you shifted up in bed, drawing your knees to your chest.

“What’s this?” you asked happily, stretching like a cat.

“Well, there were way more blueberries than pecans on Tuesday morning, so.” He shrugged, setting the tray on the bed. There was orange juice and a bowl of whipped cream, a dish of whipped butter, strawberries and blackberries, a small pitcher with… maple syrup.

“Sam… is there a pancake under that lid?” you asked with a wary smile.

“Baby, I wouldn’t dare,” he feigned shock.

You eyed him carefully, reaching for the warming lid over the plate.

“It’s a waffle!” he announced as you pulled it away.

“Sam!” you laughed as you fell back onto the pillows. “Is this from a box too?”

“The very same box,” he grinned, taking the fork and cutting himself a bite. “Mmm Aunt Jemima knows the way to my heart.”

You rolled your eyes. “Are you eating my victory breakfast?”

“No,” he smiled more softly this time as he picked up the plate. “This is my breakfast. You’re too picky and too good at what you do. I learned my lesson.”

You picked up the envelope that he’d left under the plate. “Angelo’s?” you asked, excitedly unfolding the gift card.

“I know you like their homemade bread; I’ll take you out for breakfast instead.”

“So let me get this straight,” you laughed. “You lost, and you get your favorite breakfast here, in bed. And I have to go shower and get dressed and go out to get mine?”

Sam dropped his head to the mattress and let out a chuckle. “When you put it like that…”

“Hey Sam?” you asked, pushing your fingers over his hair and dragging your nails across his skin as you hooked your fingers back down his neck and beneath his ear.

“Yeah,” he mumbled into the blankets.

“Can we make me some of those banana coconut pancakes?”

He turned to you with a smile creeping up the corners of his lips as he shook his head. “You liked ‘em, huh?” he asked, rolling out of bed and holding his hand out for you to take.

You nodded, tugging down your t-shirt. “With extra pecans?”

Anything & Everything Tags: strikethrough means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you. If I can’t tag you for 3 consecutive fics, I’ll remove you from the list. You can always be re-added if you sort it out.

@4theluvofall (1) @ailynalonso15 @allisonbaelfire @alwayshave-faith @amillionfandoms-onlyoneme @amrita31199 @assbutt-son-of-a-bitch @badassbaker @bethy-sue @blacwings-and-bucky-barnes @brandnewberettaa @caitsymichelle13 @calaofnoldor @callamint @caramell0w (1) @charlesgrey1875 @cheekygeek05 @denialanderror @dracsgirl @dreamtravelerme @ek823 @emilyinbuffalo @epicbooklove @feelmyroarrrr @forgottenswan @givemethatgold @glittervelvetandlace @haleyloveshugs @heartsaved @hellomissmabel @-hiddlesdweeb- @hollycornish @httpmcrvel @i-am-mrsreckless @imheretomarvel @indominusregina @ishipmybed @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @itsnotsomefangirl @james-bionic-barnes @jurassicbarnes @justreadingfics @just-call-me-your-darling @kanupps06 @kapolisradomthoughts @k-nighttt @kaaatniss @ktrivia @langinator @larry-pringles @lightningdays23 @lilasiannerd @loki-god-of-my-life @lovelyladylilac (1) @luckylundy13 @maddyfitzhenry @marvelatmytrash @mcfuccfairy @megs4real @melconnor2007 @moonbeambucky @movingonto-betterthings (1) @mrs-brxghtside @mrs-lamezec @nikkitia7 @omalleysgirl22 @palaiasaurus64 @part-time-patronus @pcterpvrker @pickledmoon @pineapplebooboo @rockintensse @rrwilson66 @ruinerofcheese @sammysgirl1997 @science-of-deduction-sh @saharzek @sebbytrash @secondstartotheright-imagines @sgtjamesbuchananbarnes107th (1) @shifutheshihtzu @sighodinson @simplyashley95 @sociallyimpairedme @sophiealiice @specs15 @stupidsweaterwearingdumbdorks @tequilavet @thatgirlsar @theliarone @thelastxgoodthing (1) @thenightkillers @theraputicwritings @theseldomseenkilljoy @three-dango (1) @unlikelygalaxygiver @w1nterchild @waywardpumpkin @winterboobaer (1) @witchymarvelspacecase @wordsturnintostories @xnegansgirlx @zoejohnson8 @cassandras-musings @tired-alpaca @sapphire1727 @whyisbuckyso @you-didnt-see-that-cuming

#beeswritingchallenge #sam wilson x reader #sam x reader #sam wilson fic #sam wilson #sam wilson fluff #sam wilson x reader fluff

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javajunkieao3 · 7 years

Text

Sit In My Corner

A little pre-premiere treat for you all! This was written for the @bugheadauproject!

Prompt: Betty and Jughead fight over the same library table.

Several months into her college career, Betty discovered the perfect spot in the library. It was a single-person table nestled in the back of the third floor between the political and English theater sections. It was an area that had very little foot traffic with the added bonus of being a comfortable distance from the restrooms - an incomparable benefit for an avid coffee drinker such as Betty. It was perfection.

And then he showed up.

Logically, Betty knew that she could not be upset with a stranger for discovering her table. Just as she had every right to sit there in between classes and on an odd Friday night, so did he. Yes, logically, Betty knew that she did not have an indignant leg to stand on. Realistically, though, she didn’t care. That stranger took her perfect library spot and she was mad as hell.

“Can you believe the nerve? I mean, everyone knows that’s my table,” Betty huffed after finding the table occupied after her morning British literature class.

“Actually, no one knows you own it,” Veronica pointed out. “You just unilaterally announced that five minutes ago.”

“Come on, it’s an unspoken rule. When someone favors a certain table it is common courtesy to not take that table. Everyone knows that. Unless you were raised in a barn, which this guy probably was.”

“I think you’re being too harsh.”

“Oh, I’m not. He knows what he’s doing. One time we both were heading to the table and he actually made eye contact with me when he sat down.”

Veronica gave her an unimpressed look.

“Eye contact, V!”

“Yes, I heard you the first time and I am still unimpressed. Just get a new table. It’s not a big deal.”

Veronica didn’t understand. The table was so much more than just a table to Betty. She knew it was silly, but it had come to be representative of her finding her place in this new collegiate world. She’d been nervous to go so far from home, and in the beginning it hadn’t been easy. She didn’t make friends quickly and she found herself struggling in class more than she expected. But things seemed to fall into place when she found that table. She met Veronica after her roommate, Cheryl Blossom, dragged her to a fraternity party. She worked out a study schedule that allowed her to both be prepared for her classes and sleep. While Betty knew it wasn’t actually because of the table, she couldn't help but think that it was her good luck charm. How would the next three years go if she didn’t have it anymore?

The next day Betty decided that she would confront him. There was no other way to deal with the situation than head on. He typically had the table Thursday afternoons, and sure enough, she walked over after her statistics class and he was seated in her spot, typing away on his laptop. She took a deep breath before walking over and stopping beside him. She expected him to look up and when he didn’t, she loudly cleared her throat.

Once. Twice.

On the third time he looked up and asked, “Do you need a throat drop or something?”

“What? A throat drop - no. I’m not - it’s not...” she trailed off, giving up on any semblance of niceties. After a deep breath she blurted out, “You stole my table!”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve studied at this table every day for the past semester. And now suddenly you show up! This is my table. I found it first.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am very serious.”

He seemed to consider that for a moment before reaching forward and closing his laptop. He turned toward her and said, “This table does not belong to you. It belongs to the school. And since I’m assuming we both are paying some sort of tuition to be here - correct me if I’m wrong - we each have equal claim to this table.”

Betty swallowed hard and stammered, “A gentleman would give up the table.”

The boy crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a gentleman. Well, for me. Not you.”

Something about his cool demeanor set Betty off, and she narrowed her eyes before she snapped, “This isn’t over.”

----

“I hate him. He’s such a jerk. Can you believe what a jerk he is?”

“He sounds hot,” Veronica said between bites of French fries. “Is he hot?”

“That’s beside the point.”

Veronica’s eyes widened. “Oh, B, that is 100% the point now!”

Betty ignored her and mused, “Is pulling the fire alarm when he's at the table too much?” Veronica stared at her and Betty quickly said, “Yeah, it’s too much. I know it’s too much.”

“Seriously, though, why does he have you so hot and bothered? That one girl who smells like soup used to sit there, too, and you never went on about her this much.”

“I don’t know. There’s just something about him. He rubs me the wrong way.”

Veronica raised her eyebrows and Betty said, “If you say anything about him rubbing me the right way, I will throw my coffee at you.”

Veronica smiled sweetly and said, “It never even crossed my mind.”

“Sure it didn’t."

“If you want the table so much, why don’t you just talk to him? See if you can work out a sort of custody arrangement.”

“A custody arrangement for a table?”

“Yes. You get it on “x” days. He gets them on “y” days. Problem solved.”

“That’s actually not a terrible idea,” Betty said. Half of her annoyance with him came from her going to the table to find that he was there. That would be removed entirely if she knew definitively when he’d be there.

The next day, Betty found him at her table and floated the idea to him.

“You want to set up a custody arrangement for a table?”

“I think the end will justify the unconventional means,” Betty said crisply. She held out her hand. “So, what do you say?”

He hesitated before reaching out and shaking her hand. “I’m Jughead, by the way.”

"I’m Betty.”

----

They co-existed peacefully with their arrangement, Betty happily claiming the table on Monday/Wednesday/Friday and allowing Jughead residence on Tuesday/Thursday/Sunday. They even switched days a few times, Jughead coming to see her near the end of her study session to approve the arrangement. A few weeks in, he started leaving her notes.

The table was a bit rude today. You probably should talk to it.

- Jughead

Some jerk carved a misspelled Spanish swear word into the side of the table. Should we consider counseling?

- Jughead

Betty didn’t know how she was supposed to feel about his notes, but she found herself looking forward to them. After a bit, she even left her own.

The table seemed sad today. I think it may not be getting enough attention.

- Betty

Please reiterate to the table how sorry I am for spilling that cup of coffee. I promise to be a better occupant.

- Betty

----

“Can you guys just date already?” Veronica asked after several months of note swapping and table-sitting. “Or go back to when you hated him?”

“It’s not like that,” Betty said.

“I think you need to see him outside of the library. Have a normal interaction. Why don’t you invite him to the Delta party this weekend.”

“How are we getting into the Delta party?”

“Archie. Don’t worry, he said I can bring people. Invite him!”

Betty was reluctant, although there was truth in what Veronica was hedging at. Things had seemed to shift between her and Jughead, and while she didn't quite know how she felt about it, she wasn’t opposed to exploring what it might be. So, that afternoon - one of his days - she strolled over to him and invited him out.

“Really?” he asked with mild hesitance.

“Yes, really. Unless you don’t want to go. If you don’t, then-”

“No,” he said quickly. “That sounds nice. Thanks.”

“Good,” Betty said, rocking a bit on her heels. “So, I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

----

Betty chose one of her favorite outfits for the party and ignored Veronica when she said that proved she had a thing for Jughead. She anxiously waited for him to show up and when he did, she was surprised - and disappointed - to discover that he brought someone else with him. Betty recognized her after a second. Toni Tapaz. She was one of those girls who was effortlessly cool. Absolutely the type she could see with Jughead. Betty took in Toni’s leather leggings and crop top and thought to herself how juvenile her own yellow jumper must look in comparison.

Betty noticed that he wasn’t wearing his usual grey beanie and there was a surprisingly nice shock of ink black hair where the beanie normally sat.

“Hi Jughead.”

“Hey Betty. This is Toni.”

“Yeah, I think we have British literature together,” Betty said, nodding toward Toni. “It’s great to see you.”

“Totally,” Toni said. “This party is kick ass. Thanks for the invite.”

Betty looked over at Jughead and murmured, “Absolutely.”

“I’m going to grab a drink,” Toni said. She saw that Betty already held a cup and asked Jughead, “You want one?”

“Um, yeah, sure. Do you want me to come with?”

“Nah, you stay here. I’ll be back.”

Betty watched Toni disappear into the crowd. “I didn’t know you knew her. Although, I guess I don’t know that much about you.”

“We’ve known each other for a while. So, how exactly did you find this party? It doesn’t really seem like you.”

“That’s because it’s not. My best friend is dating someone in the fraternity.”

“Ah, that makes much more sense.”

Betty nodded, watching Toni make her way back to them. She didn’t know how the girl got drinks so fast, nor did she know why it made her stomach squirm when she sidled up to Jughead and slid her hand over his shoulder as she handed him his drink.

“Well, I should go and find Veronica,” Betty said with a tight smile. “I hope you guys enjoy the party.”

Betty made a beeline for Veronica and Archie, and then at the last moment swerved to the right and left the party, throwing a final glance toward Jughead and Toni. Veronica watched her with concern and followed that last turn of Betty’s head before she left. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Jughead and another girl. Veronica handed Archie her drink.

“I need to go take care of something.”

She marched over to Jughead and said, “You and I need to have a little chat.” She looked over at Toni and asked, “Can I steal your friend for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure. Jug, I’ll be over by the beer pong.”

Jughead nodded and then looked over at Veronica. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I’m Veronica. Betty’s best friend. And because she won’t say something, I will. Why the hell would you bring another girl to something she invited you to?”

“Why does it matter?”

Veronica sighed. “Because she likes you, dummy. She probably doesn’t even realize it yet, but she likes you. And this was the first of many long, tedious and arguably convoluted steps for her to realize it. Which you, for the record, have completely bungled. Honestly, I don’t know if you two can get past this.”

“She likes me,” Jughead repeated. “Huh.”

Veronica shook her head. “Okay. Clearly you both are terrible at this. She likes you. You clearly like her. You need to go and try to make this right. She’s over at Dunphy Hall, room number -”

“She’s not going to her room,” Jughead interrupted. He could picture her. “I know where she’s going.”

Veronica smiled and for the first time since he met her, Jughead was not moderately terrified of her. “I knew I was right about you. Now, shoo!”

----

Betty sat at their table, running her fingertips along the smooth edges. She was still moderately buzzed from the party, which was probably why she didn’t hear him coming. She didn’t even know he was there until he was standing right in front of her. He cleared his throat once. Twice. On the third time she told him, “Don't ask me for a throat drop because I don’t have any.”

He laughed slightly. “That probably wasn’t my best opening line.”

“It wasn’t very charming.”

He settled on the edge of the table and remarked, “You left the party quickly.”

“I wasn’t really in a partying mood. Where’s Toni? You two seemed in a partying mood.”

“Turns out I really wasn't,” he said. “And she’s still there.”

Betty looked up at him. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Toni’s been doing her own thing since we were five. So, no, not really.”

Betty considered that for a moment and said, “I thought you two were...”

“I know. But we’re not. We tried it for about a day in junior high and then promised to never try it again. We’re better off as friends.”

Betty nodded, looking down at the table again. “I didn’t like it when I saw her with you. I don’t know why. But I didn't like it.”

“I don’t think I would have liked it if I saw you with another guy, either.”

She looked up at him. “You wouldn’t?”

He shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t.”

Betty considered this for a moment and then said, “I think I like you.”

She winced afterwards and he laughed.

“Saying that probably shouldn't cause you physical pain. But, you know what, who am I to judge? I think I like you, too. Actually, no.”

“No?”

“No,” he said resolutely. “I know I like you. I’ve known since you first yelled at me at this table. There aren’t many people who would get so worked up over library seating.”

“It was about more than a table.”

“I know,” he said in a sobering voice. And then, she understood that he did know. That he, just like her, had his own hopes and dreams and fears pinned to that table, and as ridiculous as it all was, it was real, nonetheless. They were real.

She scooted over in the seat and gestured for him to join her. They didn’t quite fit, so she maneuvered herself up on his lap. His arms settled comfortably around her waist and she placed her hands lightly on his shoulders. She didn’t know who leaned in first, but time seemed to stand still as their mouths met softly. They stayed close, mouths barely touching and breath intermingling, when she softly murmured, “I still get the table Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, right?”

#oh this one got long #bughead #bughead au #bughead fanfiction #riverdale #Betty cooper #jughead jones #Veronica lodge #Betty cooper x jughead jones #bughead au project

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knotsandknives · 6 years

Photo

prompt fill for anonymous who said: Fic idea of an amusement park date between Robert and Joseph and Robert finds out Joseph is terrified of roller coasters while Robert is an adrenaline junkie. Bonus if they end up fucking in the bathroom stall somehow…..

“You don’t gotta hang on so tight, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Robert tugs up on the metal bar across their laps for emphasis, using the hand not currently locked in Joseph’s vice-like grip. Joseph doesn’t relax an inch; back ramrod straight, staring fixedly ahead, clutching Robert’s hand for dear life. They aren’t even moving. “Joe?”

Joseph glances over quickly, snapping back to attention in the blink of an eye. He’s looking at the mouth of the ride’s tunnel like it’s the gaping jaws of death. Robert is trying really hard not to laugh at him.

“Baby, it’s a kiddie roller coaster,” Robert tries again, amusement bleeding into his caring tone. “It doesn’t go upside down or fast or anything. It’s lame,” he adds, a little disappointed. He hadn’t know about Joseph’s apparent crippling fear of anything fast and fun, or he never would have brought him to Six Flags. Robert had thought it would be a change from their usual dates, which mostly consisted of getting drunk and fucking on Joseph’s boat. It’s hard to get romantic when one of you has a passel of kids hanging around. And Robert had also thought it’d be fun to go on the rides Joseph wouldn’t be able to if the kids were there. Except apparently Joseph is worse than any kid. Robert would bet his best knife that the twins would ride Fireball with him. Joseph, on the other hand, had taken one look at the seven-story inverted coaster and turned an interesting mix of white and green.

So now they’re over in kiddie land, two grown men sticking out like a sore thumb among the throngs of over-excited, over-sugared brats eager to get their first taste of a real roller coaster, even though CatWoman Whip is barely a step up from the train rides you can take at the mall. But Joseph is acting like they’re getting ready to go over Niagra Falls and their barrel’s sprung a leak.

“You’re sure we can’t ask them to move us to the back?” Joseph asks, barely opening his mouth, like he thinks he’ll be sick if he gets carried away. Robert almost wants to ask them if he can move away from Joseph.

“There ain’t no difference between back and front,” Robert tells him flatly, squeezing his hand. “This ride barely gets off the ground, hun. You’re not gonna be starin’ over the edge of a death-defying precipice or whatever you’re scared of.”

“I’m not scared,” Joseph insists, with a tremor in his voice. “I get motion sick, I told you.”

“Funny how you’ve never mentioned it in all the hours we’ve spent on your boat. You know, out on open water? In constant motion? Rocking?”

Joseph ignores him, eyes widening in alarm as they finally jolt into movement. He pulls Robert’s hand into his lap, clutching it with both of his own now, nails digging furrows into Robert’s palm and wrist. He’s trembling, slightly.

“Joseph,” Robert laughs, shaking him off to wrap an arm around his shoulders instead. Joseph’s hands shoot back up to catch his, pulling Robert as close as he can get from his bucket seat. “It only goes 22 miles an hour! You could ride your skateboard faster.”

“Only downhill,” Joseph says, shrilly. “And I don’t go downhill. There’s a reason I don’t go downhill, Robert!”

Robert just laughs again, stroking the back of Joseph’s hand soothingly with his thumb. Around them, kids giggle and shriek and carry on, this being one of the bigger rides they qualify for without a guardian, leaving them free to act up in a way kids only do when they’re surrounded by other kids. Normally, Joseph would be encouraging them, making friends and learning names. He’s a kid-magnet. They flock to him.

Now, they’re quietly making fun of the large, terrified man with the large, amused companion in the front cart. Robert can hear them whispering, imagines the conversations taking place behind grubby little hands. Joseph is oblivious to anything but the track in front of them.

Joseph doesn’t loosen his grip the entire ride. He clings to Robert, stretching over to bury his face in the older man’s neck. He’s breathing fast, practically panting into Robert’s ear. He lets out a little gasp or whimper with every turn, and Robert is loath to admit it’s not not affecting him. Joseph’s fear isn’t supposed to turn him on. But there’s something about Joseph needing him to protect and comfort him, something base and primitive and ridiculous, but something all the same. Something that makes Robert shift in his seat. He’s glad for the wind generated by the ride, cooling his suddenly flushed face.

The ride lasts all of a minute, but Joseph looks like he’s run a triathlon when they reach the end. Sweat dots his forehead and darkens the neck of his polo. He’s still too pale, which only serves to highlight the redness of his bitten lip. His eyes are still wide, nostrils flared with his continued labored breathing. Fuck, he’s hot.

Robert shifts again, uncomfortably. He conjures the least sexy images he can think of, unwilling to climb out of this ride with a hard on, especially considering the number of kids around them. Some well-meaning parent would probably beat the shit out of him.

“You lived,” he says to Joseph, offering him a strained smile. “Doin’ okay?”

“I lived,” Joseph replies, haughty. He shrugs Robert’s arm off, annoyance bleeding through now that he doesn’t need Robert’s comfort. “You are not allowed to make fun of me. I told you I didn-”

Robert leans in to kiss him, ignoring the sullen, indifferent teenager trying to lift the bar to free them from the ride. He kisses Joseph briefly, twice for good measure, brushing a thumb over his bottom lip in apology. Joseph’s got a little color back now, high in his cheeks.

“C’mon, before they send us around again.”

Joseph scrambles away at that, giving a laughing Robert a good look at his perfect ass as he clambers over the side of the ride. Robert would smack him, if they weren’t in public. At least, if they weren’t in front of the children.

Robert follows more slowly, taking the hand Joseph offers to pull him up. When did he get so damn old?

“So, what now?” Joseph asks, with a hint of trepidation. He keeps Robert’s hand, tucking himself close to his side. Robert leads him carefully through the hoards of families scattered around the park, finally finding a secluded bench hidden away in the designated smoking area. They sit, still pressed close, and Robert pulls out his cigarettes.

“Want one?” he offers, tipping the pack towards Joseph. “It’ll calm your nerves.”

Robert almost falls off the bench when Joseph accepts, plucking one free and popping it in his mouth without a word. He looks expectantly at Robert until he recovers, fumbling his lighter out of his pocket and bringing it to Joseph’s mouth. Joseph breathes in, carefully, and the sight of his plush mouth wrapped around one of Robert’s Marlboros is not doing anything to quell Robert’s persistent libido.

“Don’t inhale,” Robert says, too late. Joseph coughs, waving Robert away when goes to take the cigarette back.

“I’m fine, I got it,” Joseph insists, a little hoarsely. “It’s just been a while.” He takes a couple drags under Robert’s attentive gaze, smiling slightly when he catches his eye. “Thanks,” he says, finally, handing the dart over. Robert takes a few slow pulls of his own, imagining he can taste Joseph in the paper, smoke curling out around a subtle smile when Joseph watches him back.

“Anything in particular you wanna do next?” Robert asks, leaning back against the bench and stretching his legs out in front of him. Joseph rests a hand on his thigh, index finger tracing the seam of his cargo pants. He’s frowning, mouth pulled into a petulant but adorable pout. Robert likes Joseph when he’s a little bratty.

“Not really,” Joseph answers bluntly, fingers digging harder into the meat of Robert’s thigh. Not that there’s much meat to be had. Still, the pressure feels nice. “Why?” he asks, shooting Robert a suspicious look. “Is there something you had in mind?

Robert shrugs, carefully, not meeting Joseph’s eye. “I had a couple thoughts,” he hedges, taking another deep drag, letting Joseph sweat it out for a minute. “If you’re interested.”

Joseph narrows his eyes, sensing Robert’s tone. “Such as?”

Robert gives him a significant look, raising his eyebrows. Joseph huffs a disbelieving breath, but his grip tightens.

“Seriously?” he says, glancing around. They’re relatively isolated, but the noise and bustle of the rest of the park is only steps away. “Here?”

“Doesn’t have to be exactly here,” Robert says, shrugging. “Just a thought.”

“You just come up with it or?”

Robert shrugs again, a little less casually. “Been thinking about it. You know, you were gettin’ real close on that ride.” He smiles over at Joseph, cigarette between his teeth. “You bein’ all needy and shit gets me hot.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Joseph tells him, but Robert recognizes the dark look in his eyes. “And I wasn’t being ‘needy’. Holding your hand isn’t neediness.”

Robert scoots closer on the bench, turning so they’re mostly facing each other. He matches the hand on his thigh with one of his own on Joseph’s, sliding up slowly. “Yeah? You wanna show me what needy looks like, then?” His fingers have found the fly of Joseph’s khakis, and the burgeoning hardness beneath it tells him everything he needs to know. “Yeah?” he says again, a little surprised. Joseph glares at him. Robert grins. “The ride get you hot and bothered, too? You get off on danger, Joe? Staring death in the face like that?”

“God, shut up,” Joseph whines, jerking his head away when Robert goes to kiss him. “I told you you’re not allowed to make fun of me.”

“If I can’t, who can?” Robert asks, lips finding Joseph’s jaw instead, undeterred. “I’m down for anything that turns you on, baby.”

“I wish you wouldn’t keep trying to find things here,” Joseph complains, still not doing anything to stop Robert’s questing fingers.

“There’s a bathroom about 20 yards back.”

Robert barely gets the words out before Joseph is yanking him to his feet. Robert manages to aim the burnt-out cigarette for the receptacle before Joseph drags him away, stumbling a little in their headiness. Robert knows they’re drawing looks. He doesn’t care.

Joseph seems even less concerned with the scene they’re making. He practically forces Robert through the door of the family restroom, slamming and locking it behind them. He spins around to look for Robert, who’s lounging against the far wall.

“Now what happens when some poor, stressed out parent comes banging on that door with a pack of kids in tow?” Robert teases, letting Joseph press him back into the handrail that borders the room.

“How many languages do you know how to say ‘occupied’ in?” Joseph asks, leaning in to kiss Robert below the ear. He bites a little, just enough to get Robert’s breath hitching.

“As many as it takes to get them to fuck off.”

Joseph laughs, pulling away to yank his shirt over his head, his normally perfect hair standing up in a blond halo for just a second. “I think ‘fuck off’ is universal,” he says, conversationally, like he isn’t busy stripping Robert out of his pants in a bathroom in the middle of a family-friendly theme park. “Lead with that.”

“Before you turn loose of those, there’s a condom and a packet of lube in my wallet,” Robert advises him, pulling his own shirt over his head. There’ll be time for slow undressing of each other and teasing touches to newly exposed skin later. Right now, Robert needs to satisfy his desire for speed, and if Joseph isn’t going to let him go on any real rides today, he’s gonna take what he can get.

“Do I want to know why you felt it necessary to stock up before bringing me here?”

Robert grins, watching Joseph tear open the lube without any hesitation, holding a hand out for Robert’s own. “I wasn’t sure if places like this still have the Tunnel of Love. I wanted to be prepared,” he tells Joseph, rubbing his freshly lubed fingers together to warm them up a little.

“You’re ridiculous,” Joseph says again, turning away to brace his hands on the edge of the sink. He watches Robert in the mirror, stretching to show off a little. Robert runs his clean hand slowly up over his ass, along the indent of his spine to rest between his shoulderblades, forcing him lower and exaggerating the arch of his back.

“Spread your legs a little more,” Robert says, voice low. Joseph complies immediately, recognizing the relative urgency of this encounter. Still, despite the time limit, Robert takes a few seconds just to look at him, the smooth expanse of his back, the smattering of freckles on his shoulders, the perfect fullness of his ass. “If we were literally anywhere else, I’d eat you out til you cried.”

Joseph moans, softly, pressing back into Robert’s touch as he wastes no time easing two fingers into him. “Trying to make me needy?” he pants, meeting the movements of Robert’s hand with abandon.

Robert stills his hand, watching in amusement when Joseph continues to move against him. “I don’t have to try and do anything. You get there all on your own.”

“Would you just hurry up?” Joseph snaps, a touch desperately. He tries to straighten up a little, gain more leverage, but Robert presses him back down. “Robert. Please?”

“You think you’re ready?” Robert checks, scissoring his fingers to test the stretch. It’s tight, but not unbearably so. He could be ready.

Joseph meets his eye in the mirror, looking faded but determined. “You fucked me this morning,” he reminds Robert. Like he needs reminding. Completely opposite from this, slow and warm and gentle. He doesn’t need reminding, but it doesn’t hurt to think about. “I’m fine.”

Robert takes him at his word, resisting the urge to baby him. Joseph has made it clear several times over the course of their relationship that just because there’s an age difference doesn’t mean Robert gets to treat him like a child.

He rolls the condom on in one efficient movement, sheathing himself in Joseph’s body in the next. Joseph’s head falls forward, hanging between his shoulders for a breathless moment before he looks up, catching Robert’s eye in the mirror. It’s a heady experience, watching Joseph’s face and watching himself sliding into him at the same time. Joseph smirks, a little, bearing down on Robert’s cock once he’s fully seated. Robert’s breath catches, and he takes hold of Joseph’s hips to keep him pressed close.

“You’re full of surprises, sweetheart,” Robert gasps, laughing when Joseph kicks him. “How you want it?”

“Quick and dirty,” Joseph groans back, muscles in his arms standing out when he grips the edges of the sink, fighting against the hold Robert has on him. “Rob, stop making me beg.”

“Haven’t heard any begging,” Robert says, a little labored from the effort of holding Joseph still. The guy is damn strong. “A little begging might be nice.” He punctuates the thought with a couple teasing thrusts, still not letting Joseph thrust back. Joseph glares at him through the mirror. Robert smiles, but it fades when he recognizes the impish light that comes over Joseph’s face.

“Please, oh please, Robbie,” Joseph pleads, as sticky sweet and fake as the cotton candy Joseph had insisted on earlier that Robert can still taste on his tongue. “Robbie, I need you, Robb-”

Robert claps a hand over Joseph’s mouth, meeting his dancing eyes in the mirror. “I take it back. Shut up and be good til we’re done.”

“That’s romantic,” Joseph says, muffled around Robert’s hand. Robert snorts, inelegantly, then thrusts in hard enough to make Joseph slip. He braces a hand against the mirror instead, smiling when Robert drops the hand over his mouth to steady him with an arm around his waist. “Come on, honey. I need you.”

Robert pulls him upright, kicking his feet apart and pressing up against his broad back. The change in angle makes them both groan, and the urgency that abated in the midst of all their teasing comes rushing back. Joseph bends his knees a little to accommodate their height difference, head dropping back to rest on Robert’s shoulder. He seeks out one of Robert’s hands, bringing it down to wrap around his stiff cock. Robert gives him a squeeze before swapping hands for his lubed one, smearing the leftovers as best he can to ease the slide.

“Fuck, you feel…,” Robert starts, turning his head to kiss Joseph’s jaw.

“Yeah,” Joseph agrees, clearly torn between arching into Robert’s body or thrusting into his hand. Robert makes it easy on him, pressing in and holding deep, just undulating his hips, letting Joseph fuck his fist at his own pace.

His own pace turns out to be frenzied, fast and harsh until he’s panting with it, trembling and gasping as Robert bites his neck, low enough that the neck of his polo should cover the mark. “Come on, babe,” Robert commands, tightening his hand, corkscrewing his hips at the deepest point of penetration. Joseph whines desperately, ending on a harsh gust of breath as he comes over Robert’s fist. “Fuck, that’s it,” Robert moans, taking the opportunity to fuck Joseph at the same pace he’d been fucking Robert’s hand, finishing just a couple strokes behind him.

They rest for a handful of moments, both probably too old to fuck like that, needing longer and longer to recover with each passing year. But Robert wouldn’t trade Joseph for his youth, and so he just takes the time he needs to get his breath back, nosing in behind Joseph’s ear gently.

Eventually, Joseph brings their joined hands under the tap, running the water until they’re clean. Robert pulls out gently, smiling at Joseph in the mirror when he winces. “Probably shouldn’t just toss this in the trash, huh?” he asks, glancing around for something to do with the condom. “Don’t need any rugrats digging through while mom’s occupied.”

Joseph laughs softly, wincing again as he bends over to pull his trousers back up. “I guess it’d be okay to flush it, this one time.”

Robert takes care of it, getting dressed under Joseph’s watchful gaze. He doesn’t want to think about what his shirt might have been laying in on the restroom floor, pulling it over his head as quickly as he can.

Joseph’s waiting for him by the door, looking tired and happy. “Think you got a couple more rides in you, old man?”

Robert laughs, buckling his belt and shrugging back into his jacket. “I think I should be asking you that. You were on the rough one.” He winks at Joseph, who scoffs.

“I think we should ride Fireball,” Joseph says casually, leaning against the doorjamb.

“Oh yeah? What happened to being afraid?”

Joseph smiles at him, carefully. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand.”

He ducks out the door before Robert can catch him, laughing.

“I told you you were goddamn needy!” Robert yells after him, ignoring the scathing looks he’s met with when he steps through the door. Who knows how much they’ve heard. Judging by their scandalized faces, plenty.

Joseph is waiting for him by the popcorn cart, and he’s smiling, holding out his hand. Robert can deal with a couple disgruntled parents, so long as he’s got Joseph looking at him like that.

“I’m not afraid, but don’t let go, okay?” Joseph asks, linking their fingers.

“Whatever you say, baby.”

#robert small #joseph christiansen #roseph #dream daddy #ddadds #prompt fill #i loved this one thank you so much to whoever sent it #there are so many good ones in my inbox rn #and i'm definitely going to get to them!#thank you for your patience #and thanks to everyone who reblogs these!#that's aces #my fic

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itispossibleihaveissues · 7 years

Text

Another Perfect Catastrophe -4

AUTHOR: Mikimoo PAIRING: JayDick RATING: Mature

WARNINGS: Non Consensual drug use, Non Consensual touching, Non Consensual kissing, humour, slight mayhem

SUMMARY: Dick goes undercover as himself in order to catch a gang of international thieves. Jason reluctantly tags along as his long suffering bodyguard. During the ensuing mayhem they get to know each other again and build a few bridges.

Thank you to burkesl17 for the beta!

Notes: An embarrassingly long time ago, the amazing and very, very talented Pentapus invited me to do a reverse bang style exchange, and drew me an amazing prompt. I have no idea how this story was the one that emerged from the many options I had, but such is the creative process I guess! Anyhoo, many thanks to Pentapus for both encouragement and patience, and of course the incredible art! (which will be included at the end of the appropriate chapter)

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

“Oh, it’s very rustic!” Dick said, as the limo drew up the grand sweeping driveway.

The place was a damn castle, with an actual turret. Jason tried not to be impressed. “When was it built?” he asked Celia, opening the car door for her. He was curious to know if she had bothered even doing any research about the place.

“Mid Seventeen Hundreds,” she said primly, as she disembarked. Her designer heels crunched menacingly as she stalked towards the house. It seemed Richie Grayson had been getting on her nerves during the long, sober drive from London. At least Dick seemed to be in better spirits, getting under the skin of this little gang of thieves seemed to have improved his mood immensely, and he was practically swaggering towards the house.

“That's kind of old isn't it?” Dick said, in his most obnoxious, dumb-ass tone. “I would have thought your dad would have bought something a little newer, more spunky? Bruce got me an island for my eightieth. A private getaway, you know? But it was kind of shit, so I sold it for a penthouse in New York and a jet.”

Celia forced her mouth into something that resembled a smile, but she still looked like she was thinking about gutting him and possibly setting fire to his innards.

Sofia came to the rescue and draped herself over Dick's arm while she smoldered up at him. “Tell me more about your travels.”

Dick launched into a hugely embellished story about how he had once met the Queen. Jason noticed he left out the fact that he had been ten and had spilled juice down his shirt. Bruce seemed to remember that incident fondly, although at the time they had spoken about it, Jason had felt he had been really glad it had been Dick who had been on that trip with him. He remembered how that had stung, even though he didn’t want to go see some stuck-up old lady in her big stupid palace. He had spent so much time consumed with jealousy and fear of not being good enough, just remembering it made Jason’s chest ache with its echoes.

As they entered the foyer, a tall man came to greet them. “Celia, you brought guests,” he said, smiling insincerely. His eyes lingered on Jason with cool assessment.

“Henry! I didn't realise you would be here!” Celia said, unconvincingly. “This is my brother Henry. Are you here with friends too?”

“Yes, just four of us, but we'll stay out of your way. I'm sure you kids want to have fun.”

He didn't look like her brother, he looked like a bouncer or hired muscle, a mercenary maybe. He moved like a fighter, confident, and like he was used to packing a gun. Unusual for a Brit who wasn't attached to armed police or the military.

Things were taking shape now. They had armed back up and an isolated environment to work with so it probably wouldn’t be long until things kicked off. Hopefully he and Dick would be ready for them.

Jason was given his own room, but he chose to join Dick in his while he 'rested' after the trip. They chatted about the estate, their plans and casually flirted, while carrying on a second conversation via text. Until they could check for hidden cameras and bugs there was no point in taking chances.

So, research house then snooping? Dick wrote, while glibly commenting on the twee furnishings in the room.

find me blueprints while i check for bugs

Jason scanned the room using the Wayne Tech installed in his phone. He detected what appeared to be a crude camera in the light fixture and a recording device under the bedside cabinet. He texted as much to Dick. It was going to be difficult to cover the camera subtly – Jason had a brief vision of tearing Dick's shirt off and flinging it over the light shade, but it was unlikely to actually work in any convincing manner. They were going to have to work fast or things might get awkward, if not downright fucked up.

“If you're going to nap, then I'll take a look round the grounds if you don't mind?” Jason said out loud.

“Cool, wear your jacket, it’s pretty chilly out. I thought we could go to the beach, but it's freezing!” Dick pouted.

“It's England in May, Richie, not exactly the Bahamas.” Jason didn't bother to hide his peeved tone, he didn't need Dick reminding him how to do his damn job, of course he would wear his own, armoured jacket, that was the whole point of bringing it. Although they worked well together, Dick did have a tenancy to drive Jason insane, especially when it came to his duel inclinations towards being both bossy, overbearing and a mother hen.

Still, he felt good putting on his real gear, the weight of it was comforting. His pockets were filled with electrical goodies for planting his own bugs and he felt his mood lift slightly. He was looking forward to getting this wrapped up and hopefully cracking a few heads in the process.

He headed out into the gardens first, checking carefully for surveillance. They hadn't set much up - very sloppy and overconfident. If 'Henry' was a merc, he was a piss poor example of one.

He did a circuit of the house, first he went through what would in summer no doubt be an impressive rose garden, then across a perfect lawn of fresh green grass that smelt like heaven after a week of bar rooms and sweaty drunks. From the edge of the lawn he could see what looked to be a freaking hedge maze, and beyond that, cliffs and the sea.

Finally he made his way back towards the small back courtyard and headed back inside via the terrace. He had yet to see anyone, either the brats or the hired muscle, so he cautiously but casually investigated the lower floors. He planted a few bugs, and mentally marked the location of any he had located during his search. The two rooms he most needed to enter were the master bedroom and the lower office, where he suspected the gang was hanging out and plotting. But there would be time for that later.

He headed back out to the gardens with his cigarettes, making it obvious he was going for a smoke, although the artifice was kind of pointless, nobody seemed to give a shit what he was doing. He easily avoided the crappy surveillance outside and headed towards where the blueprints told him the office was. He wouldn't have a chance to get inside for a while, but he could still gather some intel. He positioned himself by the window and switched on his ear bud, then used a small but powerful microphone to pick up the conversation inside.

“Why the fuck is the bodyguard here?” That sounded like 'Henry'.

“Because Richie Rich is fucking him and can't stand to be separated for a single day.” Celia's voice snapped.

“You know we will have to kill him, it's going to get fucking messy.”

They had no idea how messy. Jason idly wished he could just whack the lot of them, no further investigation, no proof to stand up in court, no more dealing with all of these fuckheads. But the tenuous relationship that had formed between himself and Bruce, and even with Dick, was not something he actually wanted to sacrifice, or at least not for these bunch of morons

“It could work in our favour,” Celia said, jarring Jason from his murderous daydreams.

“I don't see how, and we've never killed a mark before, let alone two.” That was Jack.

“We will do what we have to,” Celia said. “The thing is, Bruce Wayne might be a drunken perv most of the time, but when it comes to business he's very shrewd. He has declared no ransom should be paid in the event of his own kidnap. The few times he has paid a ransom for someone else, he's got his money back after the fact through hiring people to hunt the perps down.”

Maybe she was the brains behind the operation after all. Actually doing research. One point to House Denbury.

“So, what are you saying is ransom is out, so we kill them? Do you think that will make Wayne less likely to come after us?” Jack said, he sounded aggravated, killing was apparently a step too far for him. Or maybe it was the thought of the help that Bruce allegedly 'hired.'

“Not necessarily, it's the loss of face he hates rather than the money, he and Grayson aren't exclusive. He's probably too old for Wayne's tastes anyway, he just keeps him in fast cars and booze in order to keep him quiet. If we clean out his accounts it will still be a huge score, and we’ll probably be doing Wayne a favour if we kill him.”

No points to Denbury for that one. But it probably made scene to her icy-cold, sociopathic little brain.

“But Ed wants him first, doesn't he? He said we should wait until he gets here before drugging them, so he can do his thing,” Jack said.

“Fucking pervert,” Henry muttered, sourly. “He's a sick freak.”

“Be that as it may, he can have his fun after we get Grayson’s account details. Then we make it look like a murder-suicide. They have a horrible breakup - the bodyguard gets fed up with Richie’s philandering ways, kills his erstwhile lover and then himself.”

“It’s hardly Romeo and Juliet,” Jack said petulantly.

“It hardly needs to be. Wayne may look into it, but he won’t come after us the same way as he would with blackmail. I stake my life on it.”

“You’re sure he and Grayson aren’t a thing any more? He will be pissed if we kill his boyfriend.”

“He has at least two younger boys already in his house. I looked into it carefully. Grayson is nothing but an expensive liability. This is perfect.”

Jason wondered just how many people actually believed the slander that just skirted the edge of a lawsuit in some of the shadier gossip mags. It was strangely upsetting.

“You’re forgetting one important thing,” Sofia’s lightly accented voice said. “The police will look into it, and they will discover the missing money. It will be obvious it was more than just a lovers tiff.”

“So we invent a third party. Lay a trail and let them follow that. Then we can head to the continent to lay low and consider our next target.”

“It’s agreed then. Tonight or tomorrow,” Henry said.

“Tomorrow gives us time to prepare. But we should speak to Ed tonight, I’m not sure when he’s due to arrive.”

“He’s the one who’s going to fuck this operation up, you know that right?” Henry said, “His sick games have no place in this.”

“He gets us access, so we need him.”

“If you say so,” Henry said, even more sour than before.

The television was on loudly, but Dick was somehow actually napping when Jason returned to the room. He woke up when Jason tossed his jacket onto the chair, toed off his boots and slid into the bed with him. He pulled Dick close and buried his nose in his thick hair, which smelt like the expensive sandalwood shampoo from the hotel. The position of Jason’s face conveniently hid the movement of his lips, and put his mouth close to Dick’s ear so he could whisper low enough the sound of the TV would cover his words even if the microphone was a powerful one, which he doubted, but it never hurt to be careful.

“They’re planning to kill us rather than blackmail Bruce,” he whispered, and felt Dick shiver slightly in response to the hot breath on his skin.

“Mmm, nice,” Dick purred pushing back against Jason and making him inhale sharply.

“Garner’s in on it, he’s the sexual sadist, although the others go along with it. They’re going to kick things off quick, tonight or tomorrow – when he gets here.”

Dick turned in his arms and kissed his way up Jason's neck, open mouthed and sloppy. Jason had to take a moment to remind his body he was working and not playing. When he reached Jason's ear, Dick whispered, “We need info from their laptop, for proof. When we have that, we can call the cops and be done with it.”

Jason returned the favour, nuzzling against him in a way he had never imagined himself doing – even in his guilty fantasies it was all rough fucking and lacking affection. This was horribly nice and Jason once again forced his wandering mind, and body, back to work. “It’s risky, splitting up – you’ll have to distract them while I get the info,” he said.

“So be quick, I can’t refuse food or drink without appearing suspicious, and if they decide to dose me I'll be useless – you’ll have to look after me.”

To Jason’s slightly addled mind that sounded rather suggestive, at least when Dick was all but sucking on his earlobe. “I will,” he replied, in a slightly breathy voice.

He could feel Dick grin against his skin, the bastard knew exactly what he was doing. In retaliation Jason dragged his teeth across Dick’s throat, pausing to bite gently at his Adam’s apple before kissing up to his other ear. “I will,” he said again, firmly. Then he was suddenly flat on his back and Dick was straddling his waist, looking rumpled and beautiful.

“Lets save it for later,” Dick said, his voice husky. He gave a sinful roll of his hips, that despite appearances, didn’t actually make contact with Jason's crotch.

Jason sucked in a breath, and smiled cockily up at him. He had to get his own mind focused on the job. Despite his teasing, Dick was all business and was doing his best to respect Jason's perceived boundaries, avoiding actual sexual contact while maintaining the illusion of it. They probably should have spoken about it previously, on the off chance there were cameras – how far would they go? There were ways around it of course, without having to have fake sex, or have actual sex, and Jason had to firmly pull his mind out the gutter again. If they didn’t get what they needed tonight and had to continue this charade, then Dick getting wasted and passing out would be the logical way to deal with it. Yup. That was going to be the plan. Assuming the brats weren't actually expecting an orgy.

Dick smiled down at him, expression sharp and almost challenging, then to Jason’s relief he swung his legs off the bed and stood, stretching with his arms up and his lean back twisting to the side with a sinuous motion.

“So, Jase, you want to come to dinner?”

“Do I have to?” Jason asked petulantly. “You know I hate having to sit and watch these things, I fucking hate rich people.”

Dick laughed, there was an edge of mockery to it. “You like me well enough.”

“I like fucking you, Richie.”

Dick laughed again and strode over, all confidence and predatory grace, then he grabbed Jason's jaw and kissed him hard on the lips. It was possessive, more like a dog marking its territory than anything romantic. Jason's pants felt suddenly very tight.

“You’ll join us after though, won’t you? They’re all hot, right? I’m sure the evening will bring some perks,” Dick said.

“They are an attractive bunch, even that brother of hers.”

Dick leaned down over him again, eyes bright and intense. “You can play with the girls, but out of the guys, you only fuck me, no one else. Understand?”

“Yeah,” Jason somehow managed to say without embarrassing himself. It wasn’t clear to him if Dick knew the effect he was having with this sudden random improv. Jason was a bit surprised himself.

After Dick went to dinner, Jason did another circuit of the grounds and house, this time tagging heat signatures. The office was clear, so he figured it was a good opportunity to get in and get into their computer system.

Their security was sloppy for someone of his calibre, and easily disabled. Once into the room he had a very quick look through the draws and loose papers, but there was nothing of any real value, so he turned his attention to the laptop. He hooked up his tablet and got to work cracking the security – it was surprisingly hard, considering how poor the rest of it was, someone was clearly very good with this side of things. He was better, of course, but he was rather tight on time.

His phone buzzed with Dick checking in.

all good. Weird vibe. Heard car in drive they said it was staff, check out?

Jason was starting to get that tingle of intuition that suggested this might all go to shit at any moment. After a brief internal debate he pinged Tim.

“Jason?” Tim’s voice was groggy like he had just woken up.

“Sleeping the day away? Tut tut, what would Daddy say.”

“I work nights, Jason. Double time at the moment due to everyone having broken limbs. What do you want?”

“You got a program that can get us into this system quick? I can do it, but time is of the essence as I suspect Dick might need back up soon.”

“Email me what you have and I'll see what I can do.”

Jason did so, and then went back to poking around the room while Tim muttered about codes and hacks in his ear. He found an interesting array of weaponry poorly concealed under the bed. Two pistols with silencers, a selection of vials with a clear liquid inside, a hypodermic needle that looked more like an instrument of torture than a medical device, and what looked like a dart gun – the kind vets used to anaesthetise wily zoo animals. He pondered for a moment, weighing up the likelihood that things would kick off today, and then emptied both guns and pocketed the bullets, then disabled the rest. He took a sample of the drugs too, for future analysis.

“Any joy?” he asked Tim.

“I know this work, it would have been harder than you might expect to gain access. It’s written by a hacker known as BellaCiao2000. That’s the name of an Italian partisan song.”

“Yes I know what it is, you little nerd. And I think I can hazard a guess which of our little gang of thieves is our techie.”

“Send me their info, I’d love to tangle with them again.” he sounded wide awake and interested now. Dork.

“In more ways than one, she’s smoking hot, if you like that sort of thing. She’s known only as Sofia among this bunch, I don’t have any idea who she is really. Perhaps you’ll have better luck.” He sent the info across, just as Tim cracked the code and the laptop opened up to reveal its secrets. It wasn’t particularly interesting stuff, but there should be enough to be incriminating. Tim stayed on the line, while Jason worked, delving into Sofia’s background.

Jason's phone bleeped again:

Think drufs duckingmice tho

That did not sound good: Either Dick was sitting on his phone, he was having trouble typing or he was off his face. Possibly all three.

“Tim, looks like that back up might be needed now. I gotta go. Can you deal with this crap for me and get anything interesting to the British police, and Interpol maybe. These chumps are global.”

“Yeah, I can monitor things from this end too. Go rescue your damsel in distress.”

“I’m telling him you said that.” Jason rang off and packed up his gear as quick as possible. He didn’t bother covering his tracks too well, he trusted Tim to have ferreted out what they needed and having this wrapped up before it became an issue. He checked his watch. Two hours since he had separated from Dick. One hour since his coherent check in, fifteen minutes since the nonsense one, which Jason had loosely translated to mean: 'I think I’m on drugs, it’s fucking nice though.'

It was too long, fifteen minutes in an altered state with a bunch of potential sexual predators and indifferent sociopaths was an alarming length of time. Especially if that car Dick had mentioned earlier had been Garner.

#jaydick #jason todd #dick grayson #nightwing #red hood #mik trys to write stuff #My writing #My fic #catastrophe

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deepwaterwritingprompts · 7 years

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Here it is! The full version of the story I teased in this post. Thank you once again for your interest in my writing! (Please note this is an adult work of fiction and that the full version below deals with the subject of sex work and includes a scene of attempted sexual violence that may be upsetting. Read at your own discretion.)

The Edge of The Sea

The beginning of a larger, unwritten story, based on the above prompt, and turned in as my final Fiction project. This is first and foremost a rough draft, into which more research and editing will go, should I decide to pursue it further.

I was smoking like death couldn’t come quickly enough when it happened. Boyfriend 6 had called that morning, while I was still half asleep, hunched over a cup of milky coffee. There were no hello’s or how are you’s, just his heavy words pushed through wooden lips. I knew from the moment I picked up that this was a goodbye. He wished me luck, and hung up. I got out my appointment book, and drew a thick black line through his name.

The restlessness hit me hard after that. It was the same every time I lost a client, despite a lack of genuine attachment. Boyfriend 6 had all the youth and spirit of a cracking leather sofa in the corner of a thrift store, but I still felt as if something had been stolen from me as I cracked a few out of date eggs into a frying pan. When we met, Boyfriend 6 had taken me to a sushi joint that sat squarely in the shadow of the Sears Tower. A surprising number of Boyfriends brought me to Japanese restaurants, despite the fact that my face was hidden in all of the photos on my website.

“It must have been my intuition,” Boyfriend 6 had said, raising his eyebrows at me over the rim of his wine glass.

“It must be fate,” I agreed. It took me exactly four Boyfriends, four sushi houses, and four of the exact same exchange to train myself to enjoy the sea urchin nigiri the server put down in front of me shortly thereafter.

The apartment was quiet as I washed the breakfast dishes, the running water mingling with echoes of smug Boyfriends pouring me hot sake. There were five bananas on top of the microwave, a crumpled receipt on the floor near the stove, and a stack of expired coupons gathering dust on the counter. Consistencies I took for granted. I thought about updating my website, decided it was a job for the evening, and got in the shower where I had a good sob. It was the awful kind of crying, and I was worried when it didn’t stop, even after I’d dried off and gotten dressed for work. I splashed some cold water on my face then sat in the bathroom and made a phone call.

“Hey, its me.”

“Who’s me?” I closed my eyes and leaned back on the toilet where I’d perched. Six years I had worked with Frank, and he still hadn’t figured out how to enter my contact details.

“It’s Sonny.”

“Sonny, if the next words out of your mouth are a request for a sick day, I will kick your ass. Employee rights and abuse charges be damned. I will personally kick your ass.”

I opened my eyes again. Frank only threatened ass kicking on special occasions.

“What happened? Did someone rob the place again?”

“Come in and see for yourself. One hour, and brace yourself,”

Intrigued, I felt the strange emptiness inside me ebb. I blew my nose and left the still steamy bathroom, closing the door behind me.

Smoking was good for my nerves. I had a good twenty minutes before I had to leave to meet Frank’s one-hour deadline, so I took a pack all the way up onto the roof of the building and stuck one between my teeth as I leaned over the freezing metal rail. From here I had a decent view of the city. It steamed in the morning cold, a factory shifting into full swing. I wasn’t strictly speaking allowed to be up here, but the lack of enforcement regarding this rule was evidenced by small colonies of empty beer cans grouped around the door. Smoke billowed into an empty grey sky. On days like this, I could almost understand why losing clients felt like losing baby teeth; could almost find the answer in the endless above. Milo said it was like losing any job.

“You’re fired right? That’s a failure. You’ve failed.” He was straight on like that. “So, you mope around for a few days. Then you get back to business.” He would pause here, put a hand on mine. “Feel better?”

“I’m fine.”

“Another always comes along.”

“I know.”

Thinking about it again, a new swell of strange anguish threatened to overwhelm me, but I swallowed it hard. I put away three more smokes, fast. An hour or so had passed since Boyfriend 6 ended things, which meant I had to go now if I wanted to get to work on time and avoid Frank’s mythical ass kicking. I left my last butt sitting on the guard rail, releasing one final, fragile string of smoke.

Back in the apartment, I tried to get my head on straight. I grabbed my purse off the kitchen chair, and a banana off the microwave for good measure. Work lunches usually consisted of whatever we had sitting in the heated rack that day; heart attack food, as Frank referred to it. I wrapped my good health attempt in a paper napkin and shoved it into my coat pocket. The smell of cigarettes was so thick on me I knew Frank would probably consider it a dress code violation. I had a headache from the crying and the smoking. I dropped my keys twice on the way out of the kitchen. I was halfway down the hall. The bathroom was missing.

I stopped walking. I was halfway down the hall that lead to the front door, keys in hand. The door to the kitchen was directly behind me. The door to the bedroom was behind me to my left. Where the door to the bathroom should have been, just to my right, there was a blank stretch of wall. I reached out and touched the place where, for the four years I’d lived in this apartment, there had been a bathroom. The wall was cool and smooth, but I drew my hand back like it had burned me. My phone rang from inside my purse, and I answered it, still staring at the place the bathroom used to be.

“Hello?”

“Sonny?”

“What do you want, Frank?”

“What do I want? If you’re not here soon, the sun is going to set on old Frank. They’re going to put me in the ground, but I won’t rest, no. My ghost is going to come back and kick your ass.”

“Jesus, I’m coming.”

—

I pulled into the gas station parking lot at four past eleven a.m. Frank was waiting for me just inside the Quik-Mart sliding doors. There was strain in every one of his muscles, so his too tight polo looked like it was about to burst right off his skinny body.

“What is the emergency Frank?”

“What’s the emergency? Didn’t you get my text message?” He pronounced every syllable in ‘text message’ like maybe I had never heard of one.

“No, I didn’t,”

“Well check now!”

I was sure I could break one of Frank’s toothpick arms just by squeezing it. Resisting this urge, I pulled out my phone and opened my inbox. One unread message from FRANK QUIK-M, time stamped a little after our first phone call. It read: ‘drunk at work. come fast.’ I looked up, raising an eyebrow at him.

“You’re drunk?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. A drunk. A drunk. He stumbled in an hour ago. I think he was looking for more beer, but he never made it past the pork scratching’s. He’s passed out in the aisle now, and I can’t move him for the life of me. Guy weighs a ton.”

“Did you call the police?” I asked. Frank crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing.

“I don’t like the police. Just help me drag him out back. He can sleep it off by the dumpsters, just not inside my store.”

Frank was an elderly man, irascible at the best of times, with very short white hair and tortoise shell glasses that he polished every few minutes. When he was ruffled, like now, he let out little hissing breaths between the small gap in his front teeth. I couldn’t for the life of me work out why he wouldn’t like the police.

“I’ll get his arms. Can you handle his feet?” Frank huffed.

“Maybe.”

Frank, it transpired, could not handle the drunkard’s feet. He was massive, his whole body shuddering with every shallow breath he took. Sweat was beading across his forehead, and he reeked of stale alcohol. The sweatshirt he was wearing was damp, and I tried not to gag as I hooked my arms under his. Frank got his left foot to nearly knee height before dropping it again, and the drunk grunted in his sleep. He was familiar somehow, with eyes like mine, thick black hair, and a beard that looked like he’d tried to shave it with hedge clippers. Whether I actually knew him from somewhere, or was just remembering every other useless drunk I had ever seen in this sorry bit of Chicago was anyone’s guess. Frank was panting.

“Hold on a minute, my back is just about to give out,” he said. I adjusted my footing for leverage.

“Go man the register Frank, I’ll handle it,” I said, leaning back and managing to scoot the all but lifeless body a few inches down the aisle.

I wouldn’t dare describe the process of hauling a heavyset Asian man through an empty convenience store. It was a drudgery only exacerbated by the faint sounds of European synth pop coming from the overhead speakers. I could imagine the look of sheer terror on Frank’s face as the front doors slid open, allowing this man to stagger onto his beloved white tiled floors. The upside of the task was that it prevented me from thinking about anything other than the next few feet. There were fifteen of them between us and the back door. There was something I had to think about, something I could not think about, sitting like a thorn in the back of my mind. There was Frank, tapping his foot from behind the register, popping his mid-morning aspirin. There was a drunk man in my arms, and I focused on him.

Cold air billowed into the store as I reached the back door and kicked it open.

“Get him outside quick!” Frank shouted. Using the last of my strength I dragged our new friend over the threshold, letting the door slam shut behind us. I felt bad leaving him on his back in this weather, and decided to prop him up against the wall, near enough to the dumpster that he was sheltered from the brunt of the wind. His head lolled to one side as I straightened up, bracing my hands against my aching back. Hands no longer occupied, the thorn in my brain was impossible to ignore any longer. It was just the two of us out here, and I spoke to the drunk between heavy breaths.

“My bathroom is missing,” I said. He gave another sleeping grunt. “I’m losing my mind.”

I considered the possibilities, out in the bitter wind with the drunkest man in Chicago as acting audience.

One: I was imagining things. I would return to my apartment after work to find my bathroom where it always was, my things in the medicine cabinet exactly where I had left them.

Two: I was dreaming. A good option, if not unlikely. The details of this world were too sharp, the air too dry, the smell of alcohol and sweat too strong in my nose.

Three: I needed to be committed. Something inside me had broken, as a part of me knew it eventually would. My kitchen would go next, the hallway now leading only to my bedroom, where I would huddle until that too disappeared. I would come home and find myself faced with nothing but blank walls, standing in a hallway that lead nowhere.

“Bathrooms don’t go missing.” I said.

“Nope,” the drunk breathed from below me, his lips barely moving. I stared at him. His eyes were still closed, but his breathing was easier. The cold must have shocked him back to consciousness.

“Are you ok?” I said.

“Yeah?” It came out like a question.

“Can I call you a cab?”

He let out a huge sigh. His eyes were still shut tight.

“Don’t bother. M’okay.”

Any other day, I might have insisted. I might have asked if he could stand, where his home was, or if he even had one. But not today. I went back inside.

The rest of the working day passed quickly. I juggled the three options as I did the mundane tasks Frank passed to me. I mopped the floors. Option One was the most desirable of the three. I could forget it, or at least pretend to forget it. I wiped down the front windows. Option Two remained unlikely. If this were a dream, how far back did it go? Had Boyfriend 6 really left me that morning? The emptiness that had filled me after his phone call was gone. When the slushy machine broke after lunch, I fixed it. Option Three was hard to consider. I remembered the way the wall had felt under my fingertips, alien in it’s smoothness. Could touch lie to me? I took a break to check on the drunk, make sure he wasn’t freezing to death, but he was gone when I poked my head outside. I informed Frank, who gave one solitary harrumph in acknowledgement. Too soon I was driving home, parking across the street from the apartment. The walk to the building and the ride up the elevator took no time at all, leaving me stranded in front of my own front door. I opened it, and was met with the same blank stretch of wall I had left that morning. It stared back at me as I kicked off my shoes. I approached it cautiously. It was hard to tell exactly where the door had been now that it was gone. I knocked, but this wall was just as solid as the others. I checked the kitchen, which hadn’t changed since I’d left it that morning. The crumpled receipt was still on the ground, the coupons were gathering dust on the counter, and there were four bananas on top of the microwave. I had a feeling I should know what had happened to the bathroom. Like I was missing some obvious trick, and someone smarter would come along any second to point it out. Time seemed to move very slowly. Details were popping out at me, the light from the street below filtering through the nearest window, the burn on the counter where I’d once rested a hot cast iron skillet, and I realized it was the absence of inconsistencies that made the situation disturbing. It’s one thing to realize you’re losing your mind. It’s a different battle to realize you are sane. Only then did a fourth option occur to me. The missing bathroom was not in my head. Somehow, it really had gone.

—

I checked my appointment book, and was relieved to find there were no bookings for this week. As an escort, cancelling is frowned upon. You lose not only a good amount of money, but also a good deal of the client’s trust. They are not paying you to stand them up. I knew for a fact that Boyfriend 6 was the least likely to take offense if I was late or had to reschedule. Boyfriends 1 through 5 were not nearly as old or rich as Boyfriend 6 had been, and the time they were paying for was not to be wasted. Thankfully, they were all working late at the office, or at home with the kids, or at a charity dinner; whatever they did when they were not buying me dinner and booking odd smelling one off hotels.

I glanced once more down the hall at the frustratingly blank stretch of wall. I felt that somewhere, the bathroom door was laughing at me, playing a particularly intense game of hide and seek.

“There used to be a bathroom here,” I said to the empty hallway, “I am not insane.” I was seventy-five percent sure I believed me. In any case, the situation presented a problem. Bathrooms, as I had told the drunk this morning, did not just disappear. I looked back at my appointment book. The next name had a thick black line through it, so I skipped a few pages until I found a booking for the following Tuesday. When I was starting out I took as many appointments as I could. Almost six years later I’d built up a clientele, and a decent reputation. More money. Fewer dates. With no appointments until next Tuesday, I set my mind to the issue at hand. There was a good inch of Cherry Garcia left in the freezer, and I brought it with me to the couch, popping the lid and pulling my laptop open. First, because it was bothering me, I updated my website. A few photo swaps, then I freed the days that were usually reserved for Boyfriend 6. Feeling sheepish, I googled: disappearing rooms. The first page of results were all for haunted houses or mystery shacks; tourist traps full of cheap tricks. The second through sixth pages were not much better; a few accounts of people disappearing mysteriously from locked rooms, and instructions on how to design a bookcase that doubled as a secret door.

I was sixty percent sure I was not insane. Closing the laptop, I reached for my phone instead. The ice cream sitting between my knees, I looked through my recent calls until I found Boyfriend 0. He had insisted I put him in like that. We’d argued about it, but he’d won.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Are you busy?”

“Sort of. Is something wrong?” I debated whether or not I should try and explain.

“Sort of,” I echoed.

“I’m on my way.”

He hung up before I could get out a thanks. Straight on, like always. We’d met through work, which is to say, he was a regular at my convenience store. I told him about my second job on our third date. We went out for Chinese food. I had declined sushi.

“Do you sleep with them?”

“Sometimes. Most of the time.”

“Good money though?”

“It got me the apartment, yeah.”

“Wow, that’s great. Oh, I sell drugs some weekends. It’s low level, don’t worry.”

Milo never waffled. I wanted him to look at the blank wall.

He was at my door in twenty-five minutes, an astounding travel time. He’d sped, and run to and from the car from the look of it. His curly black hair was all over the place, falling down over his forehead in a comically triangular fashion. There was something clear splattered on his glasses.

“What is it?” he said, taking long strides down the hallway, walking right past the newly blank stretch of wall. He was nearly in the kitchen when he realized I hadn’t moved from the door. “What?”

“Milo, look around,” I said. He swiveled, eyes sweeping the hallway.

“What is it?” He said.

“Notice anything missing?”

He blinked at me.

“Did someone rob you?”

“Breathe and look around.”

He turned again, eyes roaming the walls floor and ceiling more slowly this time. For one terrible second, I thought he couldn’t find the problem because it didn’t exist, that the door was there and I just couldn’t see it, or had invented it years ago when I’d moved in. He stopped and squinted at me.

“Didn’t there used to be a door there?”

—

“Yeah, you’ve got a problem alright,” said Milo for the hundredth time. He’d been staring at the wall for an hour, but as per ideas and suggestions he had come up short. In fact, there had been relative silence between us since he’d asked if I’d called the super.

“Call the super?” I repeated. “And say what?”

“I don’t know. It’s a problem with the apartment isn’t it? That means its his mess to fix.”

“I’m not calling the super,” I said. We were having this conversation from opposite sides of the apartment. Milo in the hall, me on the couch, the empty Cherry Garcia container by my feet. I stared at the ceiling, letting Milo’s course of action play out in my brain. If I called the super, he would probably think it was an elaborate prank. If he believed me, what would happen? Would he call the papers? Would they call us crazy? I expected so.

“I’m not calling the super,” I repeated. Milo didn’t answer. Finally, I heard him stand, dusting off his over-tight jeans. He joined me in the sitting room, leaning against the door frame.

“Come live with me for a while,” he said. I sat up.

“What, downtown?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what’s up with this apartment, but I don’t think you should stay here. Besides, if your bathroom’s missing, you’re going to have a hard time living here anyway.”

“Jesus, yeah,” I said. Preoccupied with my own sanity, the logistics of missing a bathroom hadn’t even occurred to me.

“Are you sure? I’ll have to bring a lot of stuff. I have appointments next week, and Frank needs me to work a night shift this Saturday. Maybe next Saturday too.”

“That’s fine. I was thinking we should see each other more often anyway. And my place is closer to your work. Well, your day job anyway,” he added, as if that settled the whole matter. In Milo’s brain, your shower dematerializing along with the rest of your bathroom just meant you needed a new place to shower. He grinned at me, his slightly crooked teeth shining an unnatural white.

“Ok, I’m in,” I said. Milo came and hugged me like we’d just decided to move in together for any reason besides the real one. “Thanks,” I said, breathing in his usual smell of faint smoke and licorice chewing gum. He leaned back and nodded at me.

“I’ll help you pack.”

It wasn’t much of a plan, but it felt good to be doing something. Throwing underwear and satin dresses into one suitcase, Milo throwing pajama bottoms and socks into another was better than staring at the wall. As Milo wrestled my luggage over the threshold and I made to shut the door behind us, I felt as if I were running from the problem. When my dad was still alive, that was one of his ironclad rules. Don’t run from problems. If you run, they know you’re afraid, and that makes them stronger.

“I don’t want to know what’s in this appointments suitcase that’s making it so heavy,” Milo shouted, and I realized he was already halfway down the hall. I quieted the voice in my head. It wasn’t running from the problem if the problem was the lack of a functioning toilet.

We took my car. It was much older, but had more trunk space than Milo’s. Questions of how long I could reasonably stay and what I was going to do with a bathroom-less apartment bounced around inside my head, but I kept them to myself. I examined my hands as we cruised past a piece of moonlit Lake Michigan, icy and shimmering in the wind. They looked normal. I wasn’t dreaming. One step at a time.

—

For the next two days, I went to work as usual. The slushy machine broke again, and Frank threw a fit that lasted the whole of Wednesday, all because some poor girl had thrown up near the sliding doors in the night. I was glad I had missed the event itself, but I still had to hear about it in extreme detail as I ate my wholesome lunch of one jumbo hot dog with extra mustard. I had gone straight back to Milo’s place after work on Tuesday, but the day of Frank’s episode I found myself still wearing my uniform, still smelling of mustard, parked outside my own apartment. It wasn’t a long visit. There was a rubber plant in the bedroom that needed watering, and I had a feeling I had left the lamp in the living room on. When I’d righted these wrongs I stared at the blank wall for a little while, then returned to Milo’s, where he was making smoothies for dinner. It was in this way that I fell into the routine. I went to my day job Monday through Wednesday, sometimes Saturday night if Frank needed me. I went to appointments one or two nights a week. If I had free time, I would go shopping, or go to the bank, or try my hand at making dinner, something neither Milo or I were very good at. Every day I went out, which was most days, I made sure to drop by my apartment to check on the wall. It was blank every time I went back, but this didn’t stop me. After a week or so, I stopped feeling strange about the emptiness that now defined the hall. It became like watering the rubber plant, something I had to do at the end of each day. I did not mention the routine I had worked out to Milo, but would acknowledge it if it came up. It finally did, the Sunday before the Monday that would mark exactly three bathroom-less weeks.

My appointment had been late to begin with, and gone about ten minutes over. I didn’t usually book for Sundays, or go a minute over time, but Boyfriend 2 was one of my most loyal clients. I fostered an additional soft spot, owing to the fact that I found him vaguely interesting, if not at all attractive. Where most of my clients were similarly middle aged, married bankers or brokers or doctors, Boyfriend 2 had remained a bachelor. He dedicated his life instead to the study of East Asian cultures, living and working in Japan for twenty years before returning to the U.S. as a lecturer at the University of Chicago. On our first date, he’d taken me out for Thai food.

“I missed the mark,” he had said over a glass of wine.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re Korean. I chose a Thai place. Not that you’re limited to Korean food,” he said, going an unusual shade of purple, “sorry.”

“It’s fine. How did you know?” The words had slipped out. I never gave personal information to clients, never even used my real name. I was so used to hearing white men name the first Asian country they could think of; I couldn’t help but ask. He explained about his work, the first intriguing conversation of my career as an escort. So, when he needed a few extra minutes on Sunday, I obliged. Once I’d stopped by the apartment and battled the nightlife traffic that clogged downtown even on a Sunday, I found Milo waiting up.

“Good,” he said, once he saw it was me coming through the door.

Escorts have a few options in terms of how they operate. One is to work through an agency, who finds clients and arranges appointments for you. The agencies don’t often have everyone’s best interests at heart, and they always take a considerable cut. If you’re not with an agency, you work independently. This gives you the ability to set your own prices, and decide your own hours. Still, there is considerably more work involved, including setting up a website, getting pictures taken, and pulling in the first few clients. There is also the issue of vetting. Agencies are required to perform background checks on every client who requests an appointment. Independent escorts are left to their own devices in terms of making sure we know who we are meeting. At this point in my career, I mostly took new clients on recommendations from existing customers, or other escorts, but I would also accept an I.D., proof of work, and a verifiable phone number on which they could be reached. As an added precaution, I always made sure someone knew where I was and when I was due back from an appointment. The worry lines on Milo’s forehead were visible even from the dim entranceway, and I hurried to explain.

“The appointment ran a little late, and I stopped at the apartment before heading back. I should have called, I know.” I said, kicking off my heels and curling up beside him on the loveseat before closing my eyes. My thoughts were on a strange email I’d received from a prospective client that morning that needed answering.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he said, “what did you need at the apartment?”

“I just go by there sometimes to check on the wall. I water the plant in the bedroom too.”

I opened my eyes. Milo was squinting down at me.

“To check on the wall?”

“Yeah, you know. Just to see how it’s doing.” I said. The look on Milo’s face was unreadable, almost like a grin.

“You think its coming back,” he said.

“Don’t you?” The words had slipped out, as my words often did.

“Honestly? No,” he said. The way he was grinning at me left me bitter. As if it were so strange to expect the disappearance of an entire room to be followed by something equally as strange, or the reappearance of the room itself. I said as much, but Milo only sighed.

“Stuff like this happens though doesn’t it?” he said. I sat up to face him properly.

“Are you kidding?”

“Well, it has to. If toast can come out burned in the shape of religious figures and people can spontaneously combust, it’s happened I saw a documentary about it,” he added quickly, “then a room can disappear forever. I think it’s a fluke.”

“You’re comparing my missing bathroom to Jesus toast?” I said. He frowned.

“I just don’t see where we can go from here. Are you trying to make sense of this?”

“No, I’m not.”

I remembered the argument I’d constructed when Milo suggested calling the super. Even if I tried to prove it, who would believe me? The trouble it would take to evidence its disappearance paled in comparison to the trouble it would cause if we succeeded. I wasn’t sure there was even an answer for something in this realm of impossibility. It was a perfectly Milo way to think about things. Still.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” I asked.

“Sonny, you know me right? You don’t think your bathroom’s been on my mind? That it’s not killing me that there’s no explanation for this?” The way Milo talked sometimes, it was easy to forget he was human. Being reminded was comforting. He grabbed my hand and squeezed as he continued. “If I think about it, I’ll go insane. I don’t see another way around this. Logically, I have to move on. I made an omelet earlier. I can heat it up if you’re hungry.” For a moment I didn’t understand what he was talking about. Then I realized he’d switched off. It was killing him to think about the problem, so he’d pulled the plug. For Milo, it was that easy.

—

On the way into work the next morning, I thought hard about what Milo had said. I thought about my life up to now. Six years ago, my dad died, and I had to drop out of college. I moved in with my aunt, and got the job at the convenience store to support myself before I started moonlighting as an escort and eventually made enough money to move out. The whole process took almost two years, and most of the time I felt like it had never happened at all. Or rather, that it had happened to me in another life, one that didn’t matter anymore. Maybe it was the same with bathrooms. Maybe they sometimes disappeared, and no one really talked about it, and eventually you moved on. Right then, it seemed likely enough that that’s how it was. With this thought fresh in my head, I entered the Quick Mart paying less attention than most mornings, missing the clear warning signs. Frank said good morning, and did not follow this up with an instruction concerning a mop or broom or squeegee. Then, not thirty minutes into my shift, he suggested I take a break. It wasn’t until Frank left the store at one and returned several hours later that I realized something was wrong. I was restocking the Juicy Fruit when he got back.

“Sonny, dear,” I heard him say. My head whipped around. Frank had never in our entire working relationship referred to me as anything but my name, or more often: you. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t take a double shift tonight. Allen called in sick this morning and Martinique is still stuck in Europe. You won’t have to come in tomorrow, I’ve already got someone to cover.” I took a moment to curse Allen, a gangly college student who studied sport medicine. Working two shifts in a row meant I was stuck here from eleven until three a.m. Still, I had no appointments that night or the next. Frank was already having to cover Martinique’s three to eleven shift, so if I declined, he would be facing a twenty-four-hour work day.

“Yeah, I can do it. But I want free snacks after midnight.”

“Deal.”

As the night arrived and proceeded to drag on, now without even Frank for conversation, I found ways to fill the lulls in customers. I called Milo and told him I’d be back late, then set about answering the work email I’d gotten yesterday. It was from a Dr. Darren Hancy, and it read like the world’s weirdest want ad. The first paragraph was all statistics. Height, weight, the amount he could bench press, all presented clinically. I wondered if he knew the point of my service was that he didn’t have to convince me to go out with him. The next paragraph went on in prose-like fervor about the quality of the meal we would share, and his excitement to get to know me through stimulating conversation. The final line of his email read: I hope you will indulge my wildest fantasies by allowing me to take you on the perfect “date.” I assumed this last bit was a reference to my information page, which stated that I was not selling sex, but would still do my best to indulge my client’s wildest fantasies. This was an obvious lie that nevertheless allowed me to avoid prostitution charges based on the website alone. Darren Hancy had no recommendation, but had attached all the documents I required otherwise in the original email. From his I.D. I could tell he could be my age, maybe even younger. I could not find a good reason to deny him a booking, and replied detailing my rules for up front payment, suggesting a tentative date and time a week from now. The message had just sent when someone cleared their throat in front of me. I looked up.

“How can I help you?”

It took a moment to recognize the man in front of me as the drunk who had collapsed in the chip aisle the day my bathroom had disappeared. His beard was gone. Upright, clean shaven and sober he looked much younger, college age for sure.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“Holdin’ up,” he said, placing two packets of m&m’s and a diet coke on the counter.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yeah,” he said as I rung up his purchases, “actually, I came in to say thanks for dealing with me the other day. I was in a bad way, and I appreciate you not calling the cops.”

“Thank my boss,” I said, “I had my finger on 911.” I smiled before he could take me seriously. “Are you in trouble with the law? I think Chicago cops usually just bring you home and give you a warning for public intoxication.” Striking up conversation with strangers was a habit of escorting that I could not seem to kick. He chuckled.

“No, but I live with my grandma. She’s Chinese, real old fashioned. If she knew I’d been out all night drinking she’d kill me. How’s your bathroom, by the way?” I froze with his change in my hand.

“What?”

“Your bathroom. The missing one. You sounded serious about it. Is it still missing?” I couldn’t think of a reply, which clearly told him enough. “So it is still missing. That’s interesting. I know this is weird, but could I come take a look at it sometime? I’m real interested in this sort of weird stuff. The unexplained you know?” I stared at him, slowly putting up a thin smile.

“I think you had better not drink that much again, if you’re hallucinating conversations,” I said. His face fell, and I wondered if he believed me. As he met my eyes again, I knew he did not.

“I understand,” he said, looking put out but picking up his purchases. “Keep the change. And good luck with everything.” He left without another word, his black coat and matching hair fading ghost-like into the surrounding night.

Frank materialized a few hours later to relieve me, just after two a.m. The store didn’t want me to leave, its harsh fluorescent lighting pulling on my shirt as I crossed the threshold. The walk to my car felt as if every step I took was through wet cement. My mouth tasted like the Quick Mart smelled. I was craving a hot meal. I didn’t realize I was headed to my apartment until I was almost there. Routine. Elevator, front door, key, just like always. I flipped the lights inside, and immediately went for my phone, which took me a minute to find inside my purse. It was three weeks to the day the bathroom had disappeared.

“Hello?” his voice was stuck in his throat, still asleep.

“Milo, it’s back.”

—

It was daylight, and I was examining my toothbrush. It was in the cup by the sink where I’d left it, just like the rest of the things in my bathroom. I had been in and out all morning, opening the medicine cabinet, peering into the waste bin. Nothing had moved, nothing had changed at all, not even the hair stuck to the shower wall.

I retreated to the living room, leaving the bathroom door wide open behind me so I could just see the tip of the door from my spot on the couch. Outside, the sun was breaking through the clouds for the first time in weeks, sending warm gold streaks across the room. The apartment smelled slightly of must after three weeks of disuse, but I breathed it deep anyway. I’d paid for this apartment and everything in it by myself. It was nowhere near as clean as Milo’s place, but I was fond of a few scattered coffee cups, a pile of unread magazines leaning dangerously to the left on the coffee table. I had felt my absence from these walls somewhere near, if not inside my heart. With the bathroom missing, it had felt as if a piece of me too had gone. These feelings, so hard to place for the past few weeks, seemed obvious to me now.

Milo came over right after work, and examined the bathroom just as thoroughly as I had. In addition to his habit of selling an ounce or so of whatever he could get his hands on over weekends, he spent five days a week doing market research for a big foreign company called Sifang. It was a desk job that suited his straightforward method, if no other aspect of his personality. He worked strict hours, and often brought home piles of paperwork that he did while watching T.V. His apartment always smelled of fresh ink, and weed.

“And nothing’s missing?” he said, reappearing in the living room.

“No,” I paused, “but when I first went inside it had a smell.”

“What smell?”

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to remember back. It had faded very quickly. “Almost like your apartment. Like fresh paper,” I looked at Milo, “things always smell different when you’ve been away from them for a while though,” I continued.

“Of course,” he said. Silence fell, until I remembered my manners.

“Hey, thanks for letting me stay for so long,” I said. There was a question on Milo’s face. I could see it rising, waited for him to ask. Then it went.

“It was no trouble,” he said, “yeah, this is good.” He ran a hand through his hair, grinning. “Jesus, I thought you were going to have to sell the place. Would have been a hard sell too, with no bathroom.” He laughed, and I felt lighter than I had in weeks. It felt like we were finally nearing the end of a long, looping tunnel. I sat up, matching his smile.

“Let’s go out to eat. To Giordano’s.”

“Oh, this is an occasion now is it?” said Milo.

“We should celebrate. It’s a Tuesday in the middle of February, I bet they’ll have a table for us.” He didn’t need much goading.

“You’re buying though.”

Clients never took me to Giordano’s, for what I assumed were a number of reasons. One: Deep dish pizza is not exactly date food. Two: it’s cliché, nice enough but mostly for tourists. Three: Still, if you’re going to run into someone you know in Chicago, it’s probably going to be at Giordano’s. High on the return of my bathroom, Milo and I embodied gluttony, with stuffed crust deep dish pizza and loaded potato fritters. When we’d finished, four servers brought around an enormous piece of chocolate cake, five lit sparklers where candles would normally go, making a spectacle of our table. They sung happy birthday, despite the fact that my birthday was in June, and Milo winked at me. We were halfway through the cake when he posed his question.

“So, what do we think?”

“The cake is amazing. Very dark, very moist.” I said.

“I meant about the bathroom,” Milo said, “do you think its going to disappear again?”

“Why would you say that?”

“I just thought you might want to stay at mine a little longer. Just for caution’s sake.”

“Do you think it’s going to go?” I asked.

“I’m of two minds. On the one hand, since it’s never happened before, there’s evidence to the fact that it might never happen again. One off. On the other hand, something like this happening in the first place makes me think there’s no reason we won’t see a repeat performance.”

I leaned back and gave him the look I usually reserved for clients who asked if it was really necessary to pay up front. Or Frank, when he referred to sections of the store as ‘Quadrant D’, and ‘Subsection F.’

“Milo, you’re the one who told me I should move on.” I said. He took an enormous forkful of cake and shrugged. His concession came out muffled.

“When you’re right you’re right.”

—

Now that the bathroom was back, it was much easier to do as Milo suggested and not dwell on the matter of its disappearance. I slipped back into life as if it were an old favorite t-shirt. It was easier to focus on clients at dinner, when my mind wasn’t stuck in my apartment. Even Frank may have noticed the swell in concentration, as he gave a nod of approval to the bathrooms I cleaned on Saturday night, rather than the usual purse of the lips and grunt. If my eyes lingered on the hall before I left for work, or I stopped closing the door to the bathroom entirely, these were habits I knew I would break with time.

The strangest thing about the week following the bathroom’s return was the client I had affectionately dubbed New Boyfriend 6. If he showed interest in becoming a regular, I would drop the ‘new’, and he could go about making the role his own. I wasn’t sure, however, that he had ever used an escort service before, or knew how one worked. When we settled on a date and the payment had gone through, he continued to operate in the strange manner of his first email. He sent three or four more detailing his excitement about our meeting, making specific references to ‘his fantasies’, and the fact that there would be no sex involved. It was a strange juxtaposition, and I wasn’t sure if he was erring on the side of extreme caution, or honestly believed my websites position. A few days before the appointment I called a friend.

Jade’s real name was Melissa Ernst, but I had known her as Jade for so long that it was hard to think of her as anything but her alias. She was the one who introduced me to the concept of selling ‘dates’ for money, helping put me on my own two feet as an independent. She picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, you busy?”

“Not a chance,” her voice was tinny over the phone, “what’s up?”

“Can you do a check for me?” I asked. Jade knew a lot of other escorts. If she asked around, she might find someone who had been on a date with this client. I gave her his details.

“Yeah, I’ll get back to you ASAP. When’s the appointment?”

“This coming Saturday.”

“I’ll put a rush on it then. But if you’re getting bad vibes, cancel. It’s one client, who cares.”

“I know. It’s just been a while since I booked someone without a rec. Thanks. How’s school?” I added. Jade was a dropout like me when she started escorting. Unlike me, she had used the money she saved to go back to college, where she was majoring in chemistry.

“Oh it’s fabulous. Totally Breaking Bad,” she joked. “At least midterms are over. I never want to see a flashcard again you know?”

“I know,” I lied. “Tell me about it.”

—

Jade got back to me on Saturday morning, with the news that no one in the business had anything on Darren Hancy, good or bad. I relaxed. He was a first timer, clearly taking the whole thing very seriously, acting out of nerves. At six p.m. I took a shower and got ready while Milo hung around. I picked out light makeup, and placed a silver ornament in loose hair. Since it was our first appointment, I chose a nicer dress: pale pink, thin straps and slinking satin. Milo looked up from the book he was reading as I appeared in the sitting room and twirled.

“What do you think? Good first date outfit?” He grinned and gave me the thumbs up.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he said. I gave Milo a lot of shit about his straightforward approach to life, but the truth was we wouldn’t be together without it. A lot of girls said you couldn’t work as an escort and be in a committed relationship. A lot of girls said you needed just the right person, that a soul mate might understand, be able to cope. I knew all you needed to pull it off was a Milo. After I told him what I did, I asked if it would bother him.

“No,” he’d said, clear and simple. He had a lovely voice, like a bell. I believed him. I still believed him.

Walking from the car to the restaurant where a date is waiting can fill you with a special sort of fear, the kind that makes your legs stop working. When you first start out, you’re sure everyone is watching you, knows exactly what you came for. It’s nerve, and panic, and maybe even shame. Six years later, the butterflies in my stomach were replaced by faint hunger pangs, and an ounce of pride. Milo was right; I looked very nice. Worth the price. Appropriate for the restaurant he had chosen, in any case. It was a swanky seafood restaurant not far from my apartment, it’s name French and its interior lit in soft yellow light. Once inside, I was told my date had already arrived. I spotted Darren Hancy at a table near the back, in a clean white shirt, looking almost bored. He didn’t look up as I approached him, still focused on something no one else could see, a slight crease in his brow. I cleared my throat as gently as possible, and his eyes moved to sweep over me.

“Kira,” he said, the crease in his brow vanishing. His eyes were a soft brown, a lot like Milo’s. I flashed him an artful smile.

“Hi. Can I sit down?” He smiled back, an act he had perfected, and stood with grace to pull my chair out.

“Of course. It’s so good to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Should we start with a drink?” he asked once we were both seated, picking up and browsing the drinks menu, “White wine? It would complement your dress.”

“I’m afraid I don’t drink,” I said. It was unprofessional to drink on any job. Darren smiled.

“Still, something fun right? Look, this one comes with three different straws,” he showed me the menu, pointing towards a picture of a virgin daiquiri in a novelty glass. I couldn’t resist a daiquiri. I kept the smile serene on my face.

“If you insist.”

The nerves I had assumed from his emails had clearly not been invited to dinner. Darren Hancy was attractive and collected, his words confident and smooth as they reached me across the table. He asked very few personal questions, and apologized when I couldn’t answer. He listened carefully to my opinion on the oysters, and talked excitedly about his career as an orthopedist. It pleased me that he did not pare his medical vocabulary when explaining his work. Near the end of the meal, he asked for my recommendation for a good deli near Hyde Park.

“I moved here recently, so I thought I’d try my luck you know the area,” he admitted over the remains of his scampi.

“I can ask around for you. Are you looking for a place to sit and eat, or would you prefer a hole in the wall?”

“A hole in the wall, definitely,” he said, “I like a cheap lunch. Saves me money to spend on dinners like this. On you.”

“You’re too kind,” I said, putting a hand on my heart and pretending to blush. For the hundredth time, I wondered if he had really booked me for the sake of companionship. A doctor of his age and face shouldn’t have trouble finding someone to share the night with.

A server came by to take my empty glass, setting another daiquiri down in its place. I realized it was my third as Darren stopped the woman from leaving, the crease in his brow back.

“These are virgin correct?”

“Of course,” she replied. He breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief as the server departed.

“I thought there might have been a mix up. You drove here right? I could have really screwed you. You’ve had what, three of those?”

I agreed. Three full strength daiquiris would have been a mistake I could not recover from. The only damage done here was an exceptionally full bladder, and I excused myself after a moment.

When I returned, another server had appeared with a dessert menu. I declined, while Darren ordered a single slice of New York cheesecake. I found this odd, but smiled and sipped my third daiquiri as he ate, driven by an intense curiosity to see where the night would end. There was only one half hour left in his booking, and he seemed intent on taking his time, pausing between bites to talk at length about this and that. As I reached the end of my daiquiri, I found it was harder and harder to concentrate on what he was saying. There was a buzzing in my ears, and my hands felt suddenly cold, even after I removed them from the chilled glass.

“What’s wrong?” Darren stretched a hand across the table to hold my own. “Are you ok?” I tried to focus on the image of our two hands, but the buzzing in my ears was getting louder and louder.

“I’m so sorry. I feel like I might be sick,” I said. It was unprofessional, but my stomach was suddenly churning.

“It must have been the oysters,” Darren said, hurrying to stand, “Wait right here.” I closed my eyes, losing track of the restaurant until I was nearly outside it. Darren was guiding me through the parking lot, my keys in his hand, following the sound of the alarm. “Is this your car? Come on, I’ll drive you home.” He opened the passenger door and arranged me on the seat. This was wrong. I wanted to explain why he shouldn’t go through my purse, shouldn’t read my driver’s license and repeat my address under his breath. I wanted to pull the keys from the ignition, but I couldn’t move. And then, I knew what had happened.

The light from passing street lamps illuminated Darren Hancy’s face as he drove the short distance to my apartment. Each thought running through my head slipped away as I latched on to the next. There was no reason to incapacitate an escort. No reason, unless you wanted it like this. I didn’t want it like this. Out of the car. Through the front doors and up the elevator, I was surprised my legs moved at all.

My empty apartment. I was being half dragged down the hall, into the kitchen. Pushed against the counter, Darren Hancy’s face was buried in my neck, his hands roaming. I didn’t want it like this. My own hands roamed, but over the counter behind me, searching. My left found an empty wine glass, and I grasped the neck. My arms were like lead. I brought the glass down on the edge of the sink, and it shattered. Darren Hancy pulled away. Darren Hancy asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. Darren Hancy caught me by the throat, and slammed my head into the refrigerator, pinning me. The broken wine glass was still clutched uselessly in my hand. His free hand slipped under my dress, and I thought of two large daiquiris, forcing me to leave the third unguarded. The third, which was now sitting heavy on my bladder. I released it.

Darren Hancy swore, his hand retreating. The hallway was a blur as he rushed me to the toilet and turned his back. I stumbled into the door, shutting it, clicking the lock into place. I was sure he would break it down. Before he did, there were things I needed to do. I stood, clutching the sink, head reeling. I was losing time. Darren Hancy’s voice was very far away. I was on the floor, leaning against the locked door. I was nowhere.

—

My left cheek was cold. For a while, my cold left cheek was the only thing in the universe. Then, little by little, the rest of my body came back into existence. When I finally had a head again, I wished I didn’t. Someone was hammering it to the ground with a long nail. I tried to open my eyes, but they were half stuck together with sleep and false eyelash glue. I was lying on the bathroom floor in a nice dress and heels. I smelled like urine. I had no memory of the night before.

A half hour passed before I found the strength to pull myself up. Once I was sitting, I undid my shoes and rubbed at the indents they had left, squinting around as I did so. Some shampoos that had been sitting on the side of the tub had been knocked over, and there was a broken wine glass on the floor. Once I’d peeled the falsies off, I checked my body over. No blood. The wine glass seemed to have shattered outside the bathroom. Once I was sure there was no broken glass on the floor, I stood and looked in the mirror. There was writing on it, so shaky it was almost unreadable, but unmistakably in lipstick. Man in apt. Drg. I looked past the words to focus on my reflection. My makeup was smeared, and there was a nasty bruise purpling near my temple. With these clues, I began to piece together what had happened. I had gone on an appointment, and been drugged. Why, how he’d followed me home, what kind of physical altercation there had been, and how I’d managed to lock myself in the bathroom were all mysteries, but I thought that must be the gist of things. Pain and humiliation boiled inside me. This was the risk escorts took, the thing I thought I could avoid if I was careful, if I worked on recommendations, if I was smart. I glanced back at my writing on the mirror, and fear joined the stew of emotions cooking inside me. There was no way to tell how long I’d been asleep, which meant my attacker might still be here. Could be waiting for me just outside. Rage overruled fear and sensibility. I steeled myself, picking up the broken glass and approaching the door.

I pushed it open, and stepped out into a hallway that was too bright, too wide, too beige. At first, I thought I’d been robbed. It didn’t make sense, but it was the only explanation for why everything suddenly looked different. Or maybe I was simply so afraid, it was impossible to see what was right in front of me at first. The moment passed. This was not my apartment. It was barely an apartment at all. The walls were unpainted, unfinished, and through the empty doorframe at the end of the hall I could see scraps of newspaper and shards of plaster littering the floor. There was a window in that room. I couldn’t see it from here, but the faintest daylight was streaming through, gathering in puddles across the floor.

Towards this light I stumbled. The floor was cold under my bare feet, and I felt none of the uncertainty I had experienced when first facing the blank wall in my hallway. The world around me was definite. I had been drugged. I had been beaten. I was not dreaming. The room with the window was big, a large sitting room or enormous kitchen yet to exist inside. The air here smelled like raw materials, sawdust, and plaster, like brand new paper. I reached the window. The city was not my own, so it was a miracle I recognized it. Two of the buildings were taller than the rest, the furthest right long and curved, the furthest left like a stunted space needle. It was a tiny, barely there memory from years ago, of Boyfriend 2 with his laptop between us in bed, clicking through pictures of his travels.

I tried to breathe slowly, to consider the facts. The bathroom had disappeared again, and this time it had taken me with it. When it first went missing, I spent the minutes before I fell asleep each night imagining where it could have gone. It was always somewhere with no name, the designated place for lost socks, motivations, and other vanished objects. I imagined it stretched forever, with no weather and no sky to hold it, a corner of the universe just outside of infinity. Now, I knew the bathroom was not simply disappearing. It was going to a real place, and that place was Shanghai, China.

#creative writing #writing #L writes #L writes Edge #thanks for your interest everyone!

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