#I will sleep as long as I wish and then pick up laundry detergent for the wash and then start unpacking all my stuff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mygloviesme · 1 year ago

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cool about it, eleven years later. || myg || story finale

no. 3 out of 3: i can’t hide from you like i hide from myself

predebut/debut!yoongi x female idol

summary: eleven years later, kanako lives in nyc with her childhood best friend keiko. bts have become a household name that floods her every day life, and she's learned to ignore it. after years of moving on from those months she spent with the seven boys, she finds herself in a good place. what happens after one fateful night she finally runs into faces she's tried so hard to run away from?

(definitely inspired by boygenius)

word count: 10.5k (yup)

genre: ANGST, fluff, melodrama

chapter warnings: mentions of mental health, drinking (casual wine sipping), mentions of toxic ex, smut (missionary, oral f. receiving, dirty talk, praise? idk)

if you see any edit mistakes, no you don’t. it’s 5 am and I’m too eager to release this!

inspo song: xo by beyonce

"your face is all that i see, i give you everything"

JULY 10TH, 2023, 9:46PM

It feels silly, us all being so much older and sleeping over in Jungkook’s hotel room. Although, it is a huge hotel room. Anyway, it feels like we're too old for sleepovers like this. Even Yoongi, who stayed quiet most of the car ride, groaned in annoyance. Shouting, ‘Why did I spend so much money on a nice hotel if I was just gonna sleep on a couch?’

But Jungkook insisted and so did a still-tipsy Jimin. Namjoon was pretty neutral like always. I think he’s secretly excited though. I’m not sure if I can say the same for Yoongi. I couldn’t stop glancing at him during the car ride, examining his quick-witted retorts to Namjoon like I remembered. We’d swap eye-contact every once in a while, though fleeting, sending shock waves down to my core every time. But, the dust (my non-stop adrenaline) luckily settled once we arrived at the luxurious building.

As we entered the room, an eager Jungkook races to his room, shuffling around to only come out with a set of clothes. And for a second, a brief moment, I swear he shrinks a couple inches. Like he’s as small as he was then. It’s not like I miss that version of him more because I can still feel he’s that boy in instances like these. But it’s nostalgic. “Here.” He says, handing me the stack.

The sweats are soft and gray and the shirt I can smell even from here. Like laundry detergent, the one with the teddy bear on it. They feel undoubtedly expensive.

“O-Okay, I’m just gonna change in the bathroom.” I say, Jungkook nodding and pointing to the direction it’s in. I follow his finger and approach the tall door, turning the handle to enter inside. It gives me time to call Keiko and gather my thoughts. It’s been a long night filled with all sorts of things I have to sit and think about before I get back out and deal with it again.

Maybe not the yelling and shouting that occurred, but the thick awkwardness of the fact that we’re still getting used to each other. Eleven years is too long and two days is too short to recount everything we missed from each other's lives. The clock is ticking and I’m not sure how to slow down time.

I place the clothes on the counter and reach inside my purse for my phone, opening my contacts to dial Keiko. Quickly. She picks up instantly like always. She’s great at that.

“Hey Koko, how’s everything going? Do you need a ride?”

I gulp, “N-No, I’m actually staying at their hotel tonight.”

I hear her freeze, “WHAT? You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m not!” I whisper and cover my mouth to muffle my voice as much as I can. It would be another problem if they heard me gossiping about tonight. But I have to debrief with her, it’s what we do.

“What do you mean by their hotel?”

“Well it’s Jungkook’s, but everyone agreed to have a sleepover.”

“What the fuck. I wish I was there! Hook me up, dear god.” She whines.

I laugh loudly, slapping my hand over my mouth when I realize the echoing it caused.

“Shut up. Maybe. But anyway, I’ll be here.”

“So what’s gonna happen? You gonna snuggle up to Yoongi or what?” She says and I hear her eating on something. Probably the rocky-road she claimed to hate. Liar.

“No, I’m not. Definitely not. We got into it tonight. Bad.”

She gasps, “Tell me.”

I exhale softly, “It’s a long story, I’ll tell you later. But everything’s fine now. We made up.”

“You made up, really?” She says with doubt. Don’t sound so surprised, jeez.

“Sort of. But there is one thing I wanted to tell you. Jimin got drunk and before me and Yoongi had…argued or whatever, he said ‘Yoongi isn’t the only one hung up on you.’ Talking about Jungkook. Isn’t that…crazy? What do you think it means?”

She sighs, “You know what it means, Koko. What did you expect from the boy? You guys cuddled like, every night.”

“He told me he considered me to be a sister!” I whisper-shout into the phone.

“I mean at first, yeah. But a hot girl coming to stay with seven boys every night? Come on.”

My face falls flat, my voice monotone. “I wish you’d keep some thoughts to yourself.”

“Anyway, that sounds complicated. But you’re a new Koko, new and improved. You can deal with this, I know you can. And if you wanna bail just call me up and I’ll come get you. I’ll be up for a while.” She reassures me.

I smile, “Thanks, Keiko. Love you. I’ll see you later.”

I hang up the phone and set it down, placing my head on the counter to take a deep breath. My forehead sits on the cold marble as I try to ground myself, calm myself. I don’t want the events of tonight to tamper with me. I want to enjoy this.

It hurts to think that they’ll be leaving in a day. That this night and tomorrow will be transient, because I miss them. I miss them like hell. I miss their laughs, their arguing. Their warm company that never fails to aid my stubborn, sad heart. As I lift my head to look at myself in the mirror, I witness the time that’s passed. The unmistakable creases on my face that have evolved as I got older. I wish they were here to see them as they came to fruition. I wish they could’ve seen and witnessed all my milestones. How did time pass by so quickly? I could’ve gotten so many more moments with them if I hadn’t left.

So many birthdays, holidays, everything. It’s not guilt that I feel, not even mourning. It's aching for all the time that I lost with them. They’ve always been my chosen family. And with Yoongi, even now I hurt when I think of everything that could’ve happened between us. Even if we stayed friends. Even if we stayed friends.

I take a break from my feelings and put on the clothes Jungkook gave me in a hurry. I know I’ve spent an absurd amount of time in this bathroom, but I still hear them from behind this door. So I know they can’t be settling for bed already.

Tonight calls for a later bedtime. Although, I do have work tomorrow.

JULY 11TH, 2023, 1:34AM

We’ve shared a bottle of wine or two throughout this night. Chatting about my own stories this time. All the things I’ve gotten into while living in this big city. Some stories I keep for myself, unsure of whether they’re appropriate for this late-night banter. Like the time in my work bathroom with a colleague of mine. That’s definitely unimportant.

It isn’t long until Namjoon and Jungkook are calling it a night, surprisingly. I look at Yoongi who isn’t saying anything at all. Is he not going to bed? Should I say I’m calling it a night too just to avoid being alone with him?

I’ve wanted to talk with him ever since I saw him that night, but right now it scares me shitless.

“Kanako, you coming?” Jungkook asks me while carrying wine glasses to the sink. I revert from looking at Yoongi for reassurance, allowance, to stay back with him. I go with my gut.

“N-No, I think I’ll stick around for a while longer.” Jungkook darts his eyes from me to Yoongi, sucking in his teeth. Is he upset?

“Well you can sleep in my bed. The three of us are taking the floor. It’s a big room, so. You know. Hope that’s okay.” His voice drips with irritation. He’s obviously discontent with me staying with Yoongi. I’ll take care of that later.

“That’s okay with me.” I smile weakly.

He doesn’t necessarily listen to my response, instead turning his back to walk to the room. Namjoon and a sleepy Jimin bidding a good night before following suit.

I watch them leave, counting down the seconds until they’re out of sight. It’s easier if I act like I’m distracted by them instead of talking to Yoongi.

I grab the second bottle of wine that’s been opened by Jungkook earlier tonight, pouring myself another glass. Keeping busy. Still avoiding. I feel his eyes on me, though. I think he’s wondering if I’ll say something first. But to my surprise, he speaks.

His isolated voice sends chills down to my abdomen, echoing in this sleek lounge space. His voice has always been low, smooth. Perfect to listen to as you’re falling asleep. I remember that so vividly. Him whispering to me as we both drifted off to sleep, kissing my sleepy face. His affection was constant. I remember the relentless hands all over my body when he got the chance. Shit, what did he say?

I widen my eyes, “S-Sorry. What was that?”

He laughs and takes a sip of the dark red liquid, talking in the glass.

“So you and Keiko get along well?” He repeats.

I bob my head from side-to-side, “Something like that. I’m kidding. Yes. We got along great, she’s like my sister.” There’s a loud nervousness in me that he’s not reciprocating. His words are confident, curious. I’m not used to this. Is it bad that I’m so anxious around him? Those almond eyes look ethereal beside the glow of the city lights. He’s beautiful. I wish I could take a photo of him right now.

“That’s great.” He responds casually.

Silence.

I drink from my wine again, “Mmm- I listened to your solo album. It’s amazing.” I say, acting like the thought just came to mind.

He nods, “Thanks. It took a while to make but I’m happy with the outcome. And tour was good too.”

“Right! Tour! I saw photos.” I wince at how well I’ve been keeping up with all of their extracurriculars.

His eyes never break eye contact with me as he speaks, “What’d you think?”

I chortle nervously, “It looked really cool and thought-out. I think all of your songs are great.”

“All of them?”

Shit. The elephant in the room has stomped its way through the door.

“Y-Yeah. All of them.” I whisper, fiddling with the stem of my wine glass.

I want to ask, how many other songs are about me? And have you written as much about Aimee? But I’m too old to be spiteful. It’s making me gray faster.

His veiny fingers push through his long hair, falling perfectly back into place as he sets his hand down on the kitchen counter. It suits him so well. He looks so sophisticated, and it’s still so surreal that I’m in front of him once again. Just like an inevitability, like death (morbid, I know) I had weirdly accepted that I would never see them, him, ever again. Was that selfish of me?

The reechoing of stillness makes my mind wander towards the city that never sleeps. It’s especially louder tonight during the absence of either of our voices.

I hear the honking and bustling of city life, something that never gets old. I loved it when I first got here. It filled in the gaps of silence so I wouldn’t be forced to think so much when I was sleeping at night. When I’d be crying myself out of tears because of the long-haired man sitting beside me. I would think about the young kids, whose night was just starting. The people closing up shop, the babies being put to bed. It was easier to live outside of myself here. You can’t help but love everything around you. Even the sweaty summer and nasty rain and the smell of garbage that never leaves certain streets. It’s become my new home. Nothing like Korea or Japan. Maybe that’s the point.

As I sit next to Yoongi, someone who reminds me of the past loneliness I used to feel, it scares me again. I’m not sure if him turning out to be a complete stranger, or the same Yoongi I used to know, is better. It’s nice to know that after all this time he can still look at me like an equal. Like I didn’t abandon him. But do I want him to have completely forgotten about the girl I used to be? I did not prepare for this in therapy.

“I wish I had invited you to visit me.” I confess, staring off into the glass window behind him.

He looks at me softly, “I wish you did too. But I’m here now. We’re here now. It’s okay.” He says, and I have a feeling he’s talking about us two instead of all five. It’s consoling. And there it is again, that x-ray vision he has into my thoughts. Or am I being ridiculous once more?

“Is it?” My overthinking takes over. It was eleven years ago, yes. But it was hard, it was breaking. How could I not apologize, or even ask how I can make up for it? I have so much to say, but I await his answer instead.

He shifts, “It is. I’m sorry for…what I said at dinner. It was impulsive and not thought out. I should’ve known not to say that.”

My expression grows dejected. I feel like I should be the one apologizing, so I do.

“Don’t be sorry. At all. I mean– it had to come up either way. I know what I did must’ve affected you all. It affected me a lot. So, I’m sorry. For not reaching out, for leaving everything unsaid.”

His lips curl into a weak smile, “We were all young. We didn’t know the full extent of what you were going through, Kanako. All is forgiven, I promise. I’m just happy to be talking with you now.”

I nod slowly, partially accepting his forgiveness and willingness to move on. It’s hard to believe that’s all there is to it, but I want to believe him. I’m not going to blame myself for the feelings I had because of my failing career and abusive relationship, but I can feel guilt for not talking to them even after the healing. That’s what I thought was best for myself at the time, what would help me move on better.

And maybe it did in some ways, but I now know it just feels good, as well as other things, to be under the same roof as Yoongi again.

And between the beat of silence I get the confidence to ask, “So you and Aimee?”

He throws his head back with an amused smile, “Ah- no. I just ran into her that night and we kind of- kissed. Or something. But she’s way too young for me.”

I’m glad he feels comfortable enough to tell me, but it still stings just a little bit. But they’re not even together. All this overthinking only gave me more stress. Old habits die hard, I guess.

“I see. So you’re…”

“Single? You’re quite nosy, Kanako.”

With a slip of the tongue I say, “I love it when you say my name.” But yet, nothing about it is sensual. It’s like I’m dancing around a thought neither of us want to fully think about. There’s a line.

His gaze becomes gentler, “I know.”

God, he knows?

He grins at me before grabbing the bottle of wine to top off my glass, saying nothing. How could he just say that? It’s impossible to read him right now, which is something I would’ve never expected. If it was eleven years back, that is.

“I’m single.” He responds and sits back comfortably in his chair.

His words sound premeditated, like he knew I would ask. And he would answer. It seems the both of us are being a bit self-indulgent with our questions tonight. But the way he talks to me is seemingly affectionate. He’s no longer carrying me like water in his hands. I’m the glass he’s drinking in.

I still feel inexperienced, something he obviously isn’t anymore. I can’t leech onto anything to make me feel more at ease, not even his presence that radiates heat.

“And you? Were you being honest at dinner or do you have a secret boyfriend?” He teases.

“I’m not sure why I’d keep it a secret.” I laugh, “But no, no one. Just me and Keiko.”

He hums and peers around the room. “Like Jimin said, has there ever been…someone?”

I hesitate for a moment. “I was being painfully honest about that too. I’ve seen guys, I guess. But this city feels so small sometimes I think I’ve run out of options.” I inch my gaze towards him like I’m afraid to know the next answer, “You?” I ask.

“Sort of, yeah. One. I was twenty five and it was only for a year. I just got too busy and she got impatient with me, so we thought to just end it.”

“Was it hard?” I whisper.

“Yeah it was.” He chuckles and scratches the back of his with nervousness, “I loved her but…life just gets in the way. It’s annoying. I’m over it though.”

It feels so odd to talk to him about this. Would you call it exes bonding over exes? Or lack thereof on my part. But I’m glad he’s been loved. That he found that. It’s comforting to know about him, even if I wasn’t there. It hurts, but I’m putting maturity above my feelings.

“So-”

“I wanted to-”

We speak at the same time, sharing casual laughter soon after. I let him go first.

He puffs out, “Uh, I just– wanted to say that…I hope you didn’t feel offended. After I released those songs.” He says repentantly.

“Oh,” I tense up, “Not at all. Not at all. If you felt so musically inclined-”

“Shut up.”

“If you felt so musically inclined to, then I can’t blame you for it, right?”

He titters slightly, swiveling his drink. I can tell he’s relieved by the way his smize stays on his face, but there’s a disinclination to him as the seconds turn into minutes.

He taps his glass, “I meant every word, Kanako.” He says quietly.

There’s no need for repetition, I digest what he said like I’ve been starving for days.

I hang onto every word for what feels like hours, mouth slightly open before I can figure out what I’m going to say. I enjoy seeing him like this, honest. Vulnerable. I want to savor it. It’s sparking something inside of me that I thought had been shriveled into nothing.

“I know, Yoongi.” I make it sound like it’s about to end. This, all of this. Like the feelings we had, or have, are only being brought up in passing. But there’s nothing about this that I’m ready to finalize. I now know, ever since that time I left, that his love for me ran like the ocean. I was the combining waves to his body of water. It’s still there. Am I getting ahead of myself?

As we settle into each other's energy at this moment, it’s a shared realization that there is no fire we have to combat anymore. It’s a mutual source we both want to indulge in. Calm. It would be a lie if I said it wasn’t a stormier, thrashing feeling than I’d planned.

But it’s all the same.

His hand lingers face down on the wrap-around kitchen counter, begging for touch. I keep mine on my glass, not giving in just yet. It could either turn out to be embarrassing or something else I need to procrastinate from dealing with.

“Any other songs I should know about?” I joke.

His expression is stoic, “Most of them.”

My heart skips a couple beats. If I didn’t know any better I’d think I was going into cardiac arrest. With his body language it seems like he’s being completely serious. Completely, utterly serious.

He keeps his gaze on his hand, chuckling to himself.

“What?” I share his amusement with a bit of confusion.

He clenches his jaw.

“I think I’ll go crazy if you don’t touch me, Kanako.”

I’m stunned by his frankness, not being able to speak. Is it now that I’m suddenly at a loss? Why is it now I have nothing to say anymore? All the worry, the thoughts, the stress course through my veins pour out of me as he looks at me. His gaze can’t be more gentle, more loving. But there’s a neediness within him that’s seeping to me. I can’t deny him of that, or myself.

“Yoongi-”

“I need– I don’t even– I’m sorry. I’m not sure why I said that.”

“You don’t?” I ask, because the answer is obvious to me. I want to touch him too. I’m letting my childlike recklessness take over. There’s not one voice in my head saying ‘no’ louder than the ones saying ‘yes’. Yes, yes, yes.

“I don’t know where to start.” He whispers.

“I don’t know either.” I respond. Because the answer to that is obvious as well. It’s painfully, unfortunately obvious. We just want each other, that’s all there is to it. Why speak when we can forget it all? Maybe even start where we left off? That could never happen.

His hand strides over to my face in what feels like a quiet but grand gesture, leaning his body slowly into mine. It’s impulsive, rushed. We both have no idea what we’re doing and what this will lead to.

“Yoongi…” I breathe as he draws his lips closer to me. They’re so shiny, and I remember that cupid's bow so well. His mouth brushes over mine and before I can take another breath, he plants onto me softly. I’m almost too afraid to touch him, knowing it’ll make it all the more real. If I let myself enjoy this moment, will it go too far?

Will I expect things from him he won’t be able to give me? Because I can’t live another eleven years without him. Now that I’m tasting him again, I’m not sure how I even lasted.

It’s slow and his tongue speaks a language that makes the minimal space between us agonizing. Closer, wetter, sensual. It’s what I crave most as his mouth moves with mine in a deep rhythm. I feel the vibration of a low hum coming from this throat, causing me to release the tiniest moan only he could hear. His fingers are relentless with caresses to my jaw, neck, anywhere.

I keep my hands in his hair, diving into the soft strands that were once mine. I follow the natural growth and end up at his neck, tousling with the hair that almost reaches his shoulders. It was never this long, never this thick. Everything about him is pillowy and soft, so easy to get lost in. He’s eating me whole, and I let him.

But, there’s a familiar stinging of discomfort when I try enveloping him fully, something that tugs at my heartstrings. Telling me that this is all too much, it’s too painful. I can taste the spotting of wine in his saliva and can only think to pull away in a sudden movement. I need to click my heels to get back into reality, I need to go home.

“Kanako-” He whispers, caught off guard by my swift action.

“This is all too–I don’t know if I can do this.” I mutter breathlessly, my head still caught up in the moment we had a second ago, the feelings that are boiling to the surface. My insides are twisting and being turned inside out. This is not how I thought any of this would go.

“Don’t do that, not now.” He asserts.

I’m choking up now, the tears that live inside of me never fail to reset whenever I’m caught. But I know exactly what he’s referring to. No need to play dumb. He knew me then and he can recognize me now. Maybe not know me, not fully, but we’re intertwined together whether we like it or not. His eyes scan me, needing an answer. Don’t run away, they say.

“I’m not trying to,” My voice shakes, looking back into his gaze again. “I just–I still, I love you.” I say, like I’ve been holding it back since last night. Because I have, every inch of my body is regurgitating those words like they were never supposed to come up.

He doesn’t speak for a moment, causing me to get up from my seat and try to collect myself. I’m thinking he doesn’t love me back, how could he when it’s been so long? I’m so stupid.

He takes a short breath, “Of course I love you too, Kanako. How could I stop? How could I have ever stopped?” He says almost angrily. He’s frustrated with my need to escape him again. I can sense it.

“It’s been too long, we’re strangers.” I respond, fighting the idea that we could ever go back.

“We need to try. I need to. I couldn’t stop writing songs about you, I couldn’t stop hoping that one day I would find you again. It was never supposed to end that way. Don’t you think so too?” He pleads, his words come out in a blurt-like manner. He’s standing with me as well, his frame still a few inches above me like it was that time ago.

“And then what– everything just turns out perfectly? We all just live like nothing ever happened?” I shake my head in visible denial.

He takes a step closer to me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “No, but we can figure it out. Slowly, but it can happen. Unless you don’t want it to. I can respect that, Kanako. We don’t have to be romantic. Just don’t leave. Pick up my calls, write to me, visit. Anything. Just come back to me.” He whispers. He’s stripped any wall down that stood there previously. We’re now eye-to-eye, lips closening once again.

He’s magnetic. He’s my home. I’ve tried clicking my heels but I always end up back here, with him. Even if it was just in my dreams. But now he’s real, and how could I ever reject something that makes me feel this good? This loved?

And as he pulls me in once more, to kiss me once more, he says, “Let me in.”

So I’m now his, completely. I don’t feel spun around or twisted into nothing, I feel like his lips are the warm blanket wrapping around my aching body. His mouth aids my thoughts and his fingers ease my tense shoulders. I give in to him. He’s promised himself to me and pleaded that I come back to him. So I will. This time with no hesitation.

We’re underneath the roof that hides the night sky but as he holds me to lengthen our kiss, I feel like the stars are twinkling above our heads. Like there’s constellations brushing against my neck and the moon is only inches away. I move our bodies closer to the couch, Yoongi’s back now pressed up against it.

He takes my hint and swiftly walks around the gray fixture, taking my hands so I follow him. I turn to him and push his chest softly so he lays down on the plush cushions, his eyes following every single movement I make. He has this smile he always used to have whenever it was just us. Whenever I’d be above him, tugging at my shirt like I am now.

He sits up, placing his hands over mine that were about to take off my shirt. “Can I do it?” He whispers quietly, desperation leaking off every word. I nod slowly, feeling as he begins to peel off the thin fabric. His fingers brush over my stomach, causing a chill to run down my arms. He gives me goosebumps without having to do anything.

As he has my shirt fall down on the floor, he runs his hands down my stomach slowly, curling his knuckles into the band of my skirt. He shimmies the tight material down my thighs until it pools around my ankles, leaving nothing to the imagination. His eyes carve out the small details of my body, my mind reeling every time he looked me up-and-down as if we were just two strangers ogling each other.

Although he’s seen me before, seen all of me, that version of me doesn’t exist anymore. I have new spots and scars and a good amount of weight that wasn’t there previously. It has me feeling a little self-conscious, hoping he isn’t disappointed. I don’t feel a need for his validation, but his reassurance.

“I don’t have my idol body anymore in case you couldn’t tell.” I joke sheepishly, dropping my head slightly to scan myself.

He pulls me in, having me straddle his now laying body. “You mean you don’t have the same body you did when you were eighteen? That’s normal and completely, totally fine with me. I want you how you are now.” He kisses my fingers individually as he speaks. I sigh into the softness of his lips as they plant on my fingertips, needing more of him.

I then jerk my hand from him playfully, a confused expression morphing on his face.

“I wanna see you now.” I say lowly.

He sets his arms above him like he’s waiting to be undressed which causes a small laugh from me. I lift his shirt off of him, crawling down his body awkwardly for his pants next. “This isn’t as sexy as I’d want it to be.” I mutter.

He chuckles, “But you look cute doing it.” He reaches over to pet my head, which I realize I liked more than I’d be able to admit.

I huff and yank the ankles of his pants to get it over with, once and for all. I let the piece of clothing fall down beside the couch and go back to where I was previously.

He hums, “As much as I like seeing you on top of me, I think we should do this properly. It is our first time, isn’t it?”

A smile extends on my face hearing him say those words, although we’re still doing it on a couch, it’s the effort that counts, right? So I abide, letting him sit up so we can trade places. I feel much younger again with the way everything is so airy. My first time with Haneul wasn’t as loving as I had once thought it was. Nothing about that relationship was loving, but it makes me happy to know that I could do this with Yoongi. As if it was a redo, after all those other men these past eleven years.

I’ve had good sex, don’t get me wrong. But never anything as intimate as this.

As Yoongi hovers over me, he leans down to press his lips against mine. We get back into what was happening earlier, desperately locking into each other. Filling any gaps of space, which resided into Yoongi sneakily sliding his knee between my thighs. There’s heat radiating off of my sensitivity, including a pooling of wetness as he grinds into me.

He looks so hot in his black boxers and I use his nearly nude body to my advantage, caressing his soft shoulders. Every part of his body is warm, it’s real. He’s real. His body has changed too. I can tell he’s been working out a little more. Which is never, ever a bad thing. I can’t get enough of him, bucking my hips into his knee further.

“I’ll give you what you want in a moment,” He teases as his lips part from mine. He kisses down my chin to my neck, licking softly on my collarbones. As his tongue lingers on my skin he lifts my back to unhook my bra almost seamlessly. It causes a gasp from me, feeling the cold air as it bites at my breasts suddenly. His fingers make circles on the sensitive area, teasing my hard nipples.

His mouth travels down my body but his hands stay on my chest until he’s reached the start of my underwear. I arch my back further when I feel his hot breath against my clothed heat, Yoongi pecking a kiss before he redirects his hands. “This okay?” He asks quietly while his hands play with each side of my panties.

“Yes, yes.” I whisper quickly. I need him so badly, his mouth, his tongue. I want him inside of me, most importantly. To know what he feels like on top of me. But I can wait, especially if that means he’ll mouth-fuck me first.

He slides down my underwear slowly, leaving me fully nude. My breath hitches when I feel his hands, quick to spread my legs. He urges me to throw a leg over the couch, so I do. This, I’m not as insecure about. Not when I’m so desperately needy.

His finger glides over the slit of my pussy, “Pretty Kanako. So wet for me. Is it? Just for me?”

I release a shaky breath from my throat, nodding slowly.

“Let me hear you, pretty. Tell me it’s just for me.”

He’s making an absolute puddle of me, literally and metaphorically. Feeling my secretion dripping down to his already drenched finger that’s barely touched me. “Just for you. All for you.” I whine.

My hips stutter against Yoongi’s curious mouth, “That’s my pretty baby,” He purrs. He lets his tongue sliver to my opening, flattening the center and licking me slowly.

“Oh– god,” I choke out, feeling his lips suction around my clit and tugging at it teasingly.

His mouth releases in a quiet pop– delving back into his previous motions. His tongue shamelessly digs into me, my wet mess painting his chin erotically. He hums into my pussy with devious intent, knowing the vibrations of his velvety voice would send me into a spiral.

– And it does, my hands trying to grab into anything I could to contain myself. I had to remember we were doing this with three people in the next room over, unfortunately. The only time I didn’t want those boys in the same presence as me.

I try to whisper a ‘f-faster’ but all that escapes is a sigh. I think he understands because before I know it, he uses his fingers to spread me open, covered in my slick. His eyes dart to mine, looking into me as he plants his tongue on my vulnerable clit. My brows furrow and my mouth forms a quiet whimper, feeling him burying his face into me.

My cheeks are burning with a dark red, sweat forming at my forehead. The sight of his moppy hair and bare skin tugging at my thighs is enough to make me want to call it. I need to know how it’d feel to have all inches of his length in me. I remember how big he was– how much I would’ve given to have him tear me open then. And now the moment is so close, including my approaching orgasm.

His tongue is greedy– and if I didn’t know any better I’d assume this act was for himself. How much he’s sucking and licking me clean, making sure I'm trembling– he loves this.

“I c-can’t come yet– I need you..” I complain as my body says otherwise.

He lifts his head to stop, making sure to replace his tongue with his thumb to play with my clit instead. “You sure? My Kanako doesn’t want to come all over my face? Because I know how much you loved it then.” He retorts. It’s hard to wrap my mind around having a normal conversation in the midst of my shaky legs and swollen clit, so I speak, although foggily.

I place my wrist on my forehead, “I-I do, but I need you inside me. Please.” I plead breathlessly.

His thumb stops and he travels to my upper body slowly, not bothering wiping the glossy slick that’s smeared on his face. Instead he rushes for a kiss, all forms of fluids being swapped between our mouths. “My needy girl.” He taunts with a smirk on his face.

His hands travel to his boxers, taking them off swiftly. My wandering eyes still lock on his lengthy dick, seeing it bounce straight up due to how hard he’s become. There’s a familiar liquid that has the head glistening– precum. He gulps as his eyes look back to my body, hot and swollen. I’m a mess for him, I’m utterly open for him. My fingers trickle down to my saturated pussy, circling my clit to provoke him.

His fingers grip his cock, pumping slowly as he stares at me playing with myself. He’s set in stone, groaning at the scene before him.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He mutters, making gentle eye contact with me. I smile warmly as a thank you, feeling him line his cock against my opening. He pushes in enough to where the tip is fully in, moving his hands so they’re on both sides of me.

I grab a handful of his hair, bringing his head into the nape of my neck as he makes his first thrust. I let out a gasp that echoes throughout the lounge room when his thrusts become two, three, until he’s created a slow rhythm to ease us both into it. Kanako, pretty pretty Kanako. I love you so much, love being inside you, he moans into my skin.

As pleasure cases him in a haze, his movements speak for him, his cock twitching with every inch he buries into me. I’ve hit the point where I’m beyond words, just spiraling into the mess he’s created of me. All that’s coming out is pitiful whimpers as my hands grip at his hair and back.

“Y-You’re tightening around my c-cock, you know that?” He moans in disbelief. He removes his head from my neck to sit up right, continuing to pump into me. They’re growing faster by the second but by his sultry eyes I can tell he wants to savor every moment of this. I take in the crevices that outline his skin. The soft muscles around his stomach and his veiny hands that are holding steady on my stomach.

He’s focused on pushing himself further into me, wanting to fill up my insides with as much of his cock as he can. He slips a hand to my ankle that’s resting over the couch, placing it on his shoulder to gain more momentum. My head brushes the arm of the couch as he fastens his pace, watching as he bites his lip. “You look so good underneath me, baby. Keep your eyes on me– wanna see how you look taking all of me,” And so I do, enjoying every single second of my view of him ramming into me like he knows nothing else.

His thumb climbs back over to my clit, rubbing it gently to induce an orgasm from me. I can only assume he’s close, seeing his mouth agape and his thrusts becoming pounds. He’s hitting that spot inside me repeatedly, the overstimulation making me forget about how quiet I’m supposed to be.

“Yoongi…yoongi…fuck-!” His name rolls off my tongue effortlessly.

“Give it to me, pretty. Cover my dick in your cum, please,” He grunts quietly, leaning his head back with elation.

His sweaty bangs hang over his reddened face as he pumps into me in-and-out like clockwork. I watch him clench his jaw, his hold on my calf becoming tighter as his body reaches closer and closer to release. I tighten around him as the thumb he has pressed against my clit becomes too much to bear, tears pricking my eyes. “Yoongi, please–” I whimper loudly, digging my hands into his back.

He groans behind his teeth– snapping his hips to pump into my slick heat, our fluids conjoining together, making his dick glisten with a foggy whiteness. I shut my eyes quickly and let the sensations take over, a rush of warmth starting from my toes to my head.

It makes me hazy in every sense of the word, high off the feeling of his dick hitting my sensitive spot over and over again— whilst he simultaneously circles my swollen clit with the pad of his thumb.

“O-Oh shit–” I moan, my legs nearly going limp underneath him. I feel Yoongi slide his cock out,

grabbing a fistful of my hair to bring my face up to his dick. “Open f-for me, baby,” He demands, and I do so, having him stuff my mouth full of his length.

I place my hands on his hips and stroke him with my tongue, suctioning his hard cock.

“God– fuck!” He moans, tugging at my hair as he paints the inside of my mouth with white. I don’t let go from my grip on his skin, bobbing my head into him to stretch out his orgasm as much as I can. We’re both as tired as can be but watching him from below like this, seeing him unravel, is all I need to keep going.

“Baby– baby…” He cooes as he glides his length from my mouth, collapsing from his knees and pressing his forehead against mine– breathing heavily. He grabs my face with his hands and kisses my mouth lazily, “My Kanako…I love you,” He whispers, moving his lips to scatter pecks all over my face.

“I love you, Yoongi. I love you so much.” I reply lazily, succumbing to his sloppy kisses. He holds me like this for moments on end, forehead pressed against mine. We share each other's air as our chests move fast, heavy. I can see his tired state and yet– he’s unable to let go of me. Breathing me in as I am him, not wanting to end this just yet.

But of course there seems to be always something, especially when it comes to the fact we just had sex on this hotel couch. Nice hotel couch, ‘kay?

“What the actual fuck.” The moment is interrupted, like a dumbbell being dropped on a glass coffee table. I’m struck with the deepest sense of horror and embarrassment, reality hitting me hard and fast. Jungkook is stood there, boxers only, rubbing his eyes as he stares at me and Yoongi. We’re both covered in sex and must smell like it too– Yoongi grabbing a pillow to throw over me.

“Jungkook, this is– it’s-” Yoongi starts, but the young boy cuts him off.

“You guys are really…” He trails off in his scratchy-sleep voice.

I furrow my brows angrily, so many feelings being present at once.

“Just- let me get dressed and we can talk about this.” I urge him, darting my eyes around to emphasize the current situation. My naked body, Yoongi’s now soft dick, and a messy couch.

Jungkook shakes his head and goes back into his room to get dressed as well, is what I choose to assume. The door shuts quietly and I turn to Yoongi– my eyes wide. “Fuck. Fuck.” I whisper yell at him.

“I’m sorry, I know-”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Kanako, he’s older now. He isn’t fifteen anymore, don’t you think he can handle it?” Yoongi questions. I bite my lip and pick up my clothes from the floor, deciding to put Yoongi's bigger shirt on instead of my tight one. I don’t bother snapping my bra back on– too much work.

I answer while changing, “There’s other conflicts at hand. I think you know what they are.” I respond. Yoongi grows faint, only nodding.

As I struggle to put on my skirt I decide to leave it off, knowing the baggier top will cover whatever my underwear can’t. “Just let me talk to him. I’ll be back. Tell him to meet me out there.” I say evenly, pointing my gaze to the balcony.

Yoongi sighs in acceptance and plants a kiss on my forehead, “As long as you come back.”

JULY 11TH, 2023, 3:30AM

I stand on the balcony, arms resting on the railing. There couldn’t be anything more nostalgic than standing out here. Under the stars in this summer air. Reminds me of all those good and bad moments I had in their dorms. This would be the perfect way to end this night– if it wasn’t for what just happened.

I hear Jungkook behind me, his hand closing the sliding door. “Hey.” He mutters.

“Jungkook…” I say almost immediately, needing to hash whatever it is to come.

“You know it’s funny,” He shifts, walking next to me with his hands stuffed in his pockets.“When I got here at first, I didn’t even know it had a balcony. It’s covered behind those curtains, but I felt drawn to it. So I opened them and discovered this. You were the first thing I thought of when I got out here.”

“Really?” I ask, entertaining the sudden change in topic. If it keeps me from having to talk about what he walked into, I’ll gladly do so.

“Kanako, you pop up into my head at least once a day.”

“For the past eleven years?”

His mouth stutters before he speaks, “Never skipped a day. I…don’t think any of us went a full twenty-four hours without thinking of you.”

I whisper a small ‘oh’, looking at him fondly. The night sky shadows his face perfectly, following the curvature of his nose to his lips. That lip ring, I can’t deny it looks great on him. My eyes

can’t help but trail to the sleeve on his arm, scattered in permanent ink. I crave for the mutuality we had before. But I don’t regret doing what I did with Yoongi, even if it makes me selfish.

“What about you?” He meets my eyes, “Did you ever think about me?”

I ache at his voice, hearing him ask that. Like he should know. He needs to know.

“Every day.” I confess easily. I’ve been needing to say that. “I’m sorry I didn’t call…or-or pick up. I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t…” My voice gets shaky and my throat gets caught.

He wraps his arm around me casually, like he used to before. This time it’s able to loop around my shoulder fully, and it covers more. It’s solid and warm, comforting.

“I forgive you.” He says, placing a kiss on my head. I nuzzle into his embrace, accepting the forgiveness I don’t think I deserve. Maybe I will one day, but I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for everything I lost.

“Thank you, Jungkook.” I smile, persevering through the stinging that’s currently ripping me in two. A beat of silence floats above us, but it isn’t unwanted. It’s singing softly, like background music. I settle into the darkness of the sky, enjoying the feeling of having him here again.

I always dreamt about this. About seeing them, him, Yoongi, all over again. I’m so content. But still, there’s a question. Undeclared queries my mind is aching to figure out the answer to.

“Jungkook–”

“I know.”

“But-”

“I’ll get over it.”

He sucks in his teeth, nodding as if accepting his fate. I shake my head and separate my body from his. He looks at me like I’m being difficult, “Kanako, let’s not do this.” He argues.

I bite the inside of my cheek, “I can’t…be truly happy with Yoongi if you’re in pain. It’s not fair.”

His expression softens. It’s almost like he’s the eldest, the one to talk me down. It makes me devastated to see him take on this role. The bigger person, the mature one.

“I can’t be truly happy if you’re not. I love you, so that means I want the best for you. I-I would’ve fought for you. I could’ve. God Kanako– the things I would’ve done to have you–” He chuckles to himself, running a hand through his messy hair, “But you’ve never been mine.” He finishes, pupil’s still focused on me.

You’ve never been mine. Those words pain me, thinking of what he must’ve felt through all of this. The heartbreak, the loss, and now the rejection. If only I could feel what he felt, if I could aid his pain in some way. The thought of giving up Yoongi for Jungkook is not at all an easy one, not one I’d choose in this lifetime. The boy was never that to me. if I could be two different people, just so he could have a part of me in the way he wants, I would.

But that’s not possible. It never will be.

I exhale heavily, processing everything he’s just said. Everything that’s happened the past few hours.

“How did it even come to that? The last thing I remember…” I whisper.

“It wasn’t until you were gone, like really really gone, Kanako. I was just a kid, I didn’t know what those feelings were. How I felt about…a life with you. One that was different than I initially thought. And when I finally did I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I needed to talk to you, to know if that could ever happen.”

“Is that why? You called for-for months?”

He looks down, “Towards the end, yeah. Until it was clear that you didn’t want to be…known anymore. I know different now, obviously. But, it broke me. I was so angry that every girl I was ever with was compared to you. Every girl I wanted was just a replica of you. I mean– whatever. It’s…whatever.” He shrugs and shifts his gaze back to the streets before us.

I peer my head over to him, “I’m sorry, Jungkook. I’m so sorry. I wish…that I could-”

“Don’t do that to me, Kanako. Please.” He mutters, still refusing my direction.

I reach my finger for his chin, tilting it towards me. There’s watery tears pooling his eyes, making me crumble at the sight. I would do anything to heal his hurt, to make this all the easier. But would it be selfish of me to choose Yoongi? There is no other option for me, besides no one at all.

I don’t love Jungkook the way he wants me to, I don’t think I ever could. He holds a big piece of my heart, one made especially for him. He fits into the crevice so perfectly, but the space for anything more is nonexistent. I could never kiss him the way I do Yoongi, never look at him like a lover. He’s my Jungkook. While Yoongi holds the position of soulmate, Jungkook is my twin flame. Connected by familiarity and nostalgia, everything that has to do with the word ‘home.’

He smiles, the one he does where I can see his two front teeth. He’s back.

“I won’t. Just stay by our side again, okay?” He says, though I know through layers of pain.

He almost jumps at me– bringing me in for a tight hug. I go on my tip-toes slightly to rest my chin on his shoulder, surrendering all my tension into his arms. “I’ll stay. I’ll stay, Kookie.”

He hums and rocks me slightly, from side-to-side. I reach my hand over his arm to wipe the small drops that were close to running down my face. This time, and maybe one of the firsts, the tears being happy ones. Pure, indescribable bliss runs through my body like clear river water, knowing I’m back with them for good.

“You’ll be here tomorrow, right? We can go to breakfast and maybe some art galleries?” Jungkook sniffles, parting from the hug.

I sigh whilst my body cringes, thinking of work. Fuck.

“I have to go to work tomorrow, my boss needs me to review some stuff.” I whine, showing my blatant annoyance.

He frowns, “You can’t call out?”

I puff out, placing my hands on my hips. “Jungkook.”

“Sorry, sorry. That’s okay, I suppose. But you’ll make it to visit us before our flight? It’s at 6 pm, but you can see us at four-thirtyish, before we head out so you’re not caught by paparazzi or something.”

I nod quickly, “Yes, absolutely. I can do that.”

Some quietness passes, he shuffles his feet awkwardly.

“What?” I squint, confused.

“Well, what about…after? Will we hear from you? WIll you…visit?” He mumbles coherently enough to where I can understand. I hesitate, but only for a millisecond. I’m sure of it now, all of it. I won’t run away. Not when it’s good for me. And they’re good for me.

A part of me flickers thinking of Korea again. But I think it’ll look different, feel different. I’m embracing the old Kanako as much as the new one. If anything, I’m excited to experience it as the person I am now. See it in a different lens. Maybe I’ll visit the Han River again, ride bikes with Namjoon and have picnics with Yoongi.

And most importantly, I know my mothers spirit resides there. She isn’t a ghost to me anymore, something I’m afraid of. Keiko’s made it easier to celebrate her. I can do that again. With them.

I reassure the young boy, “I’ll call, text, send letters, and facetime. And…maybe I’ll stop by for a visit or two. Possibly stay at your place?” I bite my lip, staring up to him teasingly. Knowing he’ll definitely like the idea of me sleeping over like all those times before.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, “Sure, yeah. Whatever. You’re gonna have to tell Yoongi that he’s gonna have to split the time up…or we’ll just share the bed again.”

“I’m nearly thirty, Jungkook. I can’t do that.”

He pouts.

I roll my eyes in response, “Ok. Maybe.”

The sliding door opens once more, a now-dressed Yoongi peering from inside. Jungkook tenses just a bit, not saying anything as he enters.

“Everything..okay?” Yoongi asks, folding his arms to protect himself from the slight cold that lingers.

I smile at Jungkook who in turn eases back up.

“I was actually just telling Jungkook,” I turn back to Yoongi, “That I’ll be visiting you guys before you head off for the airport. Work and stuff.” I finish. Jungkook nods in agreement, shoving me playfully. “Tell him what else.” He whispers.

I suck in a breath, “Andddd, I’ll be visiting you soon. In Korea. So don’t get sick of me just yet.”

He follows to where me and Jungkook are, placing his elbows on the balcony railing. We all look at each other fondly, taking mental pictures of this moment.

Yoongi exhales, “If you're the one taking care of me, I hope I get sick all the time.”

Jungkook cringes, “That was so bad, hyung.”

JULY 11TH, 2023, 4:27PM

There’s been many times throughout my work day that I’ve fallen asleep. If it wasn’t for this day being especially busy, I would’ve passed out on my desk. But everything in me was fighting to stay conscious. Not because I was needed, but because of the boys.

Embarrassingly so, they were my main priority of the day. I made sure I got everything done just in time to clock out early, rushing to gather my things and speeding out the door.

Now I sit in an Uber in the middle of traffic. The hotel they’re staying at is ten minutes away by car but fifteen minutes on foot. I bounce my leg anxiously as I dart my gaze from my phone to the busy road. The minutes are passing quickly and I can’t seem to slow time down.

“Five o’clock traffic, right?” The driver laughs, tapping the wheel to the song that’s playing on the radio.

My brows are furrowed and I’m biting my lip, hard. Ignoring whatever the man at the front said when my thoughts become deafening.

Shit. I have no choice.

It’s already four-thirty, so I grip the door handle and apologize profusely.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’ll pay you for the full thing! Bye!” I exclaim, opening the door. I grab my bag and throw it over my body, cross-bodying it. I look down to my sneakers that I swapped out before I left for work, thanking God I didn’t forget my usual routine. New York is the most walk-able, non-walk-able city to ever exist. You always need a pair of these if you are gonna go anywhere. Or, suffer for the intention of beauty. That, I’ve done plenty.

Anyway, I start running. Full on sprinting. I know starting off with such speed will only tire myself out. But, I need to get there on time. I can’t have them thinking I’m bailing on them. As I pass the confused, scared people I grow to be beyond shame at this point.

I throw my hands over my breasts to keep them still, again, beyond shame. I pass by stores, outlets, apartments, and this run is probably the most cardio I’ve done since my idol days. I can see the entrance of the hotel inching closer, yet I have so many crosswalks I still need to pass.

One by one I wait every single time. Safety first?

I’m a heavy-breathing, sweaty-hairline mess by the time I’ve met with the last crosswalk. There’s already paparazzi hiding behind cars and bushes, ready to sneakily snapshot the moment those boys leave the building.

I have to think fast as I approach the hotel, not knowing how I could possibly hide my face. I could not, in any shape or form, have my face back in the tabloids connected to BTS’s name. There’s already enough of that in the news now, considering the release of their book.

I did snoop around during my lunch break, seeing old photos that somehow leaked. Ones where I know staff took them, which is disappointing knowing they probably turned those in just for a couple hundred bucks. It’s nothing defaming to the boys or me, just private moments I wish had stayed private.

So, my name is already circulating around. I dig in my bag for an old face mask that’s been there for months, probably. I throw it on my face and release my hair from my ponytail, attempting to hide as much of my features as I can.

I take a deep breath as I begin the pathway to the hotel doors. I attempt to look as casual as I can, passing the paparazzi as a regular city-goer. Just a very rich woman who is always staying at this hotel, nothing to see. Nothing to notice.

I reach my hand for the door handle until it bursts open, knocking me to the ground suddenly. Namjoon stands with luggage in hand, stunned and apologizing profusely before really understanding what just happened. I too am confused, rubbing my butt in pain and the brightest red shading my cheeks. I just got knocked down in front of all these paparazzi, and as I see Jimin my eyes widen when he shouts loudly, “KANAKO! NAMJOON, YOU IDIOT!”

The blonde, leather-jacketed man drops his suitcase to run to my rescue, helping me from the ground. The snapshots of cameras become faster, flashier, seeing the very popular star assisting the woman they now know as Kanako Fujishima.

The retired, scandalous idol.

Jungkook and Yoongi are close behind, witnessing the sight of my disheveled state.

JK splits through Joon and Jimin, “Kanako, we thought you couldn’t make it!” He exclaims, hugging me even with the prowling eyes.

I hold him firmly, warmly. Feeling relief knowing I could still see them off.

“I jumped out of my Uber to be here if that tells you anything. I had to see you guys before you left, you know.” I smile through my teeth as I speak.

Yoongi peers from Jungkook's broad shoulders in a baggy white button-up, paired with even baggier black sweats. He looks amazing even with such little effort, and I couldn’t be happier to see his face.

The events of last night rush past the walls of my mind, having to push them down if I was ever wanting to speak normally again. I attempt to not become a stuttering mess, feeling like a nervous mess with a school crush.

“Hi Yoon.” We share a breathy laugh before he pulls me in his arms as well.

“You’ve never called me that before.” He says, his embrace making all of my surroundings suddenly melt into the back of my mind.

The cameras haven’t halted their flashing and I try not to picture the headlines in my head when I hear them, overlapping one another.

He pulls away from me, taking a risky hand to caress my face. Pulling the face mask off my face, he tucks it into his pocket.

“Yoongi, there’s people–”

“I know.”

He eyes my lips in a swift move before dipping his head to kiss me. His cupid bow lines perfectly with mine, moving in a soft flow. It’s nothing ostentatious by any means, not even heated. It’s short and enough to say something, but not shout it.

I’m the first to break the kiss in an anxiety-induced cloud, looking at him, my expression completely bewildered.

“So…” I say in one breath, pursing my mouth in an even line. I look around to the gawking pedestrians and then to Yoongi, who’s enamored…by me? He has an uncomplicated gleam in his eyes that isn’t fading. His hand drops to his side, head nodding to the paparazzi.

“They don’t matter to me, just you. I love you, Kanako.” He states, his sure gaze pressing into my unraveled smile.

“I love you. I love you,” I repeat, giving him one last kiss before grabbing his suitcase to hand to him.

He accepts it hesitantly, brushing our hands together. The boys taking that as the cue to start moving into the car. They all give me more hugs, more temporary good-byes as they step inside the shiny, black vehicle.

It’s bittersweet, seeing them getting ready to leave. Bitter because I can’t wait to see them, him, again.

But sweet because I know I will see them again. I’m strong enough now. There’s not a doubt in my mind that I’ll be on the next flight to Seoul as soon as I’m able to. And who knows? Maybe I’ll gain the courage to relocate. Perhaps Keiko and I can use a change of scenery. She’s never been to South Korea, and I know with her and the boys by my side, I’ll soothe into it.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I’m too excited not to.

Before Yoongi enters the car he turns to me, giving me a gummy smile that buzzes through my body instantaneously.

“I’ll see you back home.” He says.

click here to start from the beginning!

an: holy shit you guys. this has been so healing and so fun for me to write this past month. seeing this community of people enjoy my writing has been so extremely eye-opening and crazy since this has always been a passion of mine! thank you, thank you, thank you for tuning into to all chapters of cool about it! and to readers who are joining after it’s all finished, thank you too for keeping it alive!

im thinking about doing little drabbles or one-shots here and there (of all the members bc ot7) as well so stay tuned for that!

don’t get sick of me just yet!

love you all. thank you.

37 notes · View notes

nancywheelersgirlfriend · 2 years ago

Note

I really love your ronance fics 😍

There is something id really really like to read: Robin and steve go ring-haunting and then Robin proposes to nancy. Both know they can't actually get married but Robin has this while speech like "i know, and you know, and that's enough for me if it's enough for you"

Basically a bly manor propose scene + ronance ahahah

thank you for the compliment!!! i've never watched bly manor BUT i did watch the clip of the proposal and omg now the show's on my list

i hope u enjoy!!

everytime we say goodbye (3,117 words)

Robin knew it was stupid to be caring about this stuff. This stupid stuff she would never be included in if reality had stayed its course and the apocalypse hadn’t begun six months ago, considering her lack of affection for frilly white dresses and an overabundance of flowers. She was allergic to most kinds, anyway.

But Nancy had her changing her mind. About everything, really. In the long periods they had during days where nothing happened - out in nowhere, Indiana, where the town had crumbled in on itself from the cracks - they had hours-long conversations about nothing. About everything. About things Robin had never even thought about before. She could listen to Nancy describe how paint dried. She would enjoy it if she did.

And Nancy deserved something better than a nameless death in the middle of the suburban desert. She deserved something extraordinary - just like she was.

Resting for a spell in the back of Steve’s pick-up (and by Steve’s, she meant Eddie had been the one to hotwire it off the street and steal it for their apocalyptic army), Robin let Nancy rest her head in her lap. The backseat was packed with weaponry and food, bottled water and tissue boxes. She hardly had a place to spread her legs. Robin was cramped to all hell, but it was all made worth it when she felt Nancy’s limp brown hair between her fingers. Dead-ended perm from the lack of a hair salon, her once curly hair had returned to its natural state of straight. Robin still thought she looked beautiful - a combination of waves, chopped down her neck in an effort to keep it out of her eyes. Nancy had taken to wearing bandanas at every moment of the day, holding back her bangs as they toiled underneath the hot sun or harsh rain. The weather was never nice.

She ran her fingers along Nancy’s forehead and pulled away the bangs, giving her skin room to breathe. Nancy’s eyelashes fluttered in a loose sleep. She could only sleep when Robin was around - it was one of the reasons they’d become so codependent. So deeply interconnected, physically and emotionally. Robin wanted to cup her face in her hands and never let go. But her fingertips drifted away, off the cheekbone and onto the curve of Nancy’s perfect ear.

“You alright, Rob?” Steve asked from the front seat, peering at his best friend through the rearview mirror. He’d sprawled himself out across the passenger, waiting for Eddie to return with a few mismatched supplies from the general store they’d parked themselves outside of. If they heard the signal (a high-pitched whine) he’d go sprinting to the rescue. But Eddie had managed to convince them he could handle his own, at least when it came to retrieving crackers and laundry detergent for the town’s last working washer.

Along the street, tumbleweeds made of old lawn ferns crossed over the road. The sidewalks remained a solemn empty, as they had been for weeks. People had either managed to run past the city limits with their tails between their legs or disappeared. But Robin and her family - yes, her family, whether by blood or blood loss - had stayed. Fools, the lot of them. She loved them anyway.

“I wish things were different,” Robin said. It wasn’t enough. He nodded anyway in agreement, though it was so completely nondescript. How to go into the various things they were missing, being a part of this endless nightmare? But the worst, the most regrettable thing was that Robin couldn’t give Nancy anything. She could only tangle her fingers in her hair and try to help her fall back asleep after a nightmare. She could shoot down a demodog for her. No flowers or chocolates in sight. “I wish me and Nance could…it’s stupid. Nevermind.”

“Nothing you say is stupid,” Steve replied simply.

“I want to - marry her,” Robin whispered as if Nancy would wake up and hear her admitting to this. As if it were some terrible secret.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about it. Late at night, tangled in the sheets they never used, leg to leg and armpit to armpit, butterfly kisses and all. Robin was never the first to bring it up. It was always Nancy. Tiny confessions whispered into Robin’s hairline. Or, very rarely, Nancy would talk about it when she thought Robin was asleep. She wanted flowers. She wanted the frilly dress. The white. The crowd of family and friends. The damn pastor. She wanted all of it, and she wanted it with Robin.

But maybe - maybe this apocalypse was a blessing in disguise. There were no more watching eyes. The government, at least in Indiana, had crumbled to the point of extinction. As the Upside-Down rampaged America, spreading out slowly across state and town borders, the army had focused all its efforts on destroying the extraterrestrial threat. Surely they wouldn’t care about two girls getting married. Two girls who were hopelessly, disastrously in love.

“Why don’t you?” Steve asked, shrugging his shoulders and following Robin’s exact line of reasoning. They made eye contact in the rearview mirror, realization coming upon them at the same time - it tended to, with their shared brain cells and whatnot.

“But I need a ring,” Robin said. “You don’t just rush into marriage, right? Don’t you do that little thing where the guy gets down on a knee and says a bunch of stupid shit?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s how it goes, yeah,” Steve hummed in agreement. He tapped out a little song on the steering wheel and glanced into the general store. He always got nervous whenever Eddie was out of his eyesight as if five seconds without Steve’s long limbs tangled around him protectively would end with another rouge bat attack. “But, you know. That was pre-apocalypse.”

“And now we’re mid-apocalypse,” Robin nodded. She looked back down at Nancy, who let out a little noise of contentment and shifted in her sleep. She hoped she was dreaming of better days. When the lawns were green and people left their houses. Robin’s fingers traced along her eyelashes, her chin. Down her neck. She was a sculpture. She deserved the world. “I’m still gonna get her a ring.”

“Of course,” Steve said. Eddie burst through the doors of the general store then, arms laden with goods and a goofy grin on his face. Robin could see Steve’s chest heave with a breath he’d been holding.

“And you’re going to help me,” Robin continued. Eddie banged on the trunk door in a signal for Steve to pop it open, waving around the bags. Steve pursed his lips and Robin leaned into the space between the seats, careful to balance Nancy’s sweet head on her knees and between her hands.

“I’ve actually got a lot to do,” Steve trailed off. “My nailbat’s a little rusty.”

“You’re going to help me,” Robin repeated. He glanced back at her and slowly grinned. Eddie banged again.

* * *

Ted’s Jewels, the only jewelry store on Hawkins Main, was absolutely trashed. As she and Steve stepped through, heavy boots crunching down on the glass spread from the front window, Robin realized that she should’ve come to that conclusion sooner. Days sooner, maybe. Clearly, the richest store on the block would’ve been broken into ten times over. No matter how little Hawkins’ population was at that point, the leftovers would be searching for monetary anything - including the lackluster diamonds now no longer behind the glass. Robin peered over the counter where the register was tipped over onto. The glass had been halfway broken into. Necklace and bracelet holders had been crashed onto their sides. There was nothing left.

“This is harder than I thought it was going to be,” Robin said in a sigh, shaking her head as she surveyed the damage. Steve kicked experimentally at a fallen earring tree.

“You don’t see anything?” He asked in disbelief, glancing over his shoulder to check out the rest of the store. He grimaced in sympathy as she tossed up her hands. Robin headed for the back of the tiny store. She remembered a time when it had been cluttered with people and things, busy upper-class folks buying the jewels only they could afford. The Hawk theater hadn’t been too far down the street from Ted’s - she’d peered through the windows a few times. She liked to people-watch.

And now it was completely empty. Worse than empty, it was destroyed beyond repair. Just like so much of Hawkins. She felt like the ceiling could cave in at any moment.

“Do you know what happened to Ted?” She asked, drifting her hand along the torn wallpaper. She was thankful for the severe lack of windows; the shattered glass carpeting was only really by the entrance. Once she reached the back, where some reserves had been stored and less extravagant jewelry had been displayed, she found no more dangerous pieces. Just empty shelves. All empty and dull. Devastating.

“I hope he got out,” Steve said. He didn’t sound too convinced. She looked back to see him leaning up against the counter, eyes far away. Perhaps remembering something before the world went to shit, the same way she was. Robin didn’t try to pry or breach through it. When they got like that, both knew the best thing to do was to let it run its course. Memories would come and go. It was nice to be able to escape back for a bit, even for a moment.

Robin tried the door handle which led to the Employee’s backroom and, presumably, the stairs up to Ted’s apartment above the store. It gave easily. Whether it had been left unlocked or had been picked, she had no idea. But she let the door swing open. The dark room beckoned her closer.

Robin yanked on the flimsy cord for the overhead light, taking in the rinky-dink microwave and minifridge in the corner. In front of her was a set of chairs and a round table, no doubt the hiding place of the two teenagers who worked here and had to suffer the daily dramas of the richer side of Hawkins. She wondered if Steve had ever been in the store with his parents. Maybe that was what he’d been remembering. It hurt to swallow when she thought about the Harringtons. Hurt even more to consider her own lost parents, whom she’d watched drive off in the family minivan she’d planned on learning how to drive in. If things had gone the way she was wishing they’d go. If the world hadn’t halted her senior year.

“Rob!” Steve called. She stepped back out of the memory and back into the store to see him holding up his hand. There was something clutched protectively in between his fingers, but she couldn’t quite see it.

She walked to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder. There he lowered his hand just enough so that she could get a good look at what he was holding - two plain silver bands. No diamonds or jewels or nothing. But rings nonetheless. The only rings, Robin suspected, left in Indiana - unless they wanted to pick up a gravedigging habit. She’d have to check her schedule.

As she looked closer at the rings, she realized that the one on the left had some flower engraved on it. It looked as if it’d been done by hand.

“Can I-?” Robin held out her hands expectantly. Steve dropped the rings as if they were priceless into her palm, letting her marvel as he radiated pride. “Good job sniffing these out.”

“Not to brag, but I think they’re perfect,” He said. She squinted. The flowers twisted around the band as if holding all the metal in place. Holding the ring to her finger. Robin fully shut her eyes and imagined what it would look like on Nancy’s hand. Particularly what it would look like on the trigger of a shotgun. She opened her eyes again and grinned at Steve appreciatively, humming.

“Ehh,” She dragged out. He bumped her shoulder, rolling his eyes as she burst into laughter and clinked the rings together. “Yeah. I think so too.” Robin slipped them into her pocket. Now came the hardest part:

‘Proposing’ to Nance. What that meant, Robin had no clue. She had no speech or plan. She had no time, really. Days were spent on the run or on the hunt - switching from predator to prey within seconds of an attack. The only peace she and Nancy had were when the sun went down and they were able to pass out on the mattress they were currently sleeping in on the floor of El’s old room - she slept with the rest of the kids in the next room over. Robin and Nancy had taught each other morse code, just to be able to communicate secretly when Eddie and Steve were in the bed above them. No words were necessary, just taps on each other’s arms.

That night Robin slipped the rings from her jacket pocket into her sweatpants. She handled them like baby birds, cradling them in her palms and patting them once they’d fallen into her pocket. The group gathered in the kitchen for dinner made up of miscellaneous soup and bread baked fresh by Max earlier that day - she enjoyed beating out her frustrations into the dough. It was delicious.

They all crammed around the small living space, eating off paper plates and spreading over each other. Max, Lucas, and El were a tight ball on the floor. Mike and Will were practically sharing a spoon. Robin stole the good couch spot from Steve and had Nancy sit on her lap. Nancy gave her a bite of her Italian Meatball - Robin gave her some Chicken Noodle.

After the kids had been put to bed and Joyce and Hopper had waved goodnight, the four older kids retired to their bedroom. Argyle and Jonathan would come in much later, as they tended to, after ‘going for a walk in the forest. The others trusted they could take care of themselves. They didn’t go outside of the light of the cabin, anyway, just staying to the treeline and sharing a blunt to calm the day’s nerves. Robin didn’t need drugs. She had Nancy.

They got into bed the same way they always did, arm to arm and face to face. Nancy sprawled herself out over Robin despite the growing heat, arms flopped up over her head and face grinning brightly. Even in the dim light of the room, Robin could see the full heat of her smile as Nancy’s hair tangled with hers. Robin reached out to yank her close, arms wrapped around Nancy’s exposed waist. Her fingers trailed up her spine. Nancy kissed the spot where Robin’s jaw intersected with her neck and pressed her smile to the skin, completely content. Robin would let the world end if she could experience this moment forever. She would never get out of bed if it meant she and Nance could lay like this and do nothing else.

Robin began to tap with her pointer. Long, short, long…

Nance.

After a moment of shifting, Nancy’s hand came up to rest on Robin’s cheek. Steve flicked off the bedroom light and suddenly they were shrouded in darkness. All black except for the dim amount of moonlight through the singular window, which happened to land on the two girls just enough for Robin to see Nancy’s crinkled eyes.

Rob.

I have to ask.

Ask me.

Robin moved her shoulders so that she was fully facing Nancy, protective hand still splayed across her back. Nancy’s eyebrows went up in confusion but she went ragdoll in Robin’s grip accordingly, allowing her girlfriend to shift her around. When Robin’s pointer finger came back down on her spine, it was sweaty and shaking.

I don’t know how much time we have.

Nancy’s eyes furrowed in a pang of deep sadness. It was complete agreement.

But I want to make the most of it. Want to give you. It's enough for me. If it's enough for you.

She cut herself off as she scrambled for her sweatpants pocket. Robin’s hand came out slippery but the rings rested on her palm. She grabbed at Nancy’s hand and rested it atop her own so that she could feel the full weight of the rings and could recognize the meaning without having to see. Nancy’s eyes went wide. With the hand still resting on Robin’s face, she tapped:

Are you real?

Robin let out a loud, surprised laugh. She quickly slammed her mouth shut, glancing back at the now-silent bed of their companions. No stirring from the peanut gallery. She was glad for it.

Yes.

Nancy lifted her hand from Robin’s palm. For a moment, Robin’s heart dropped to the soles of her feet. But then Nancy was knocking the side of her hand into the side of Robin’s - she’d flipped her hand over. Nancy raised her eyebrows in challenge.

Put on.

Robin grinned so hard it felt like her face was about to split apart. She felt for the ring with the flower indent. Tracing it absently with her finger, she slipped it onto Nancy’s waiting ring finger. Nancy flexed her hand, feeling out the ring. Robin put the other on herself, reaching around with the hand against Nancy’s back. In the shuffle, she pulled Nancy flush to her chest. Nancy laughed into Robin’s collarbone, barely hiding the flushed sound. Robin’s hand, now bejeweled, wound its way into her hair and pulled her close. She pressed her nose to her hair and took a deep breath in. As she let it out, both girls sagged to the mattress. It felt like a release. A hello. A promise. Nancy tilted her head up, chin to Robin’s chest, and brought their lips together. Due to the position, it was less of a kiss and more of a meeting of the mouths - a simple press. As Robin pulled away, unable to keep her head in such a cramped position, she could feel Nancy smile.

“I love you,” Nancy whispered. It was the best thing Robin had ever heard.

“I love you too,” Robin replied. Nancy rested her head on Robin’s chest, clearly having decided to go to sleep. But Robin was going to stay up a little longer. It meant she got to look at Nancy for a few more minutes, see the way her chest rose and fell with sleep. The all-consuming mass of her hair. Robin liked to recognize the feeling of having her pressed to her. But most of all - she loved the way the moon reflected off their matching rings.

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absolute-flaming-trash-archive · 4 years ago

Text

Hurt - Part 2

Was not expecting that many people wanting a part 2, but who am I to deny y'all?

Trick question, I myself am insatiable

Pairing: Hisoka x Fem!Reader

Smut and Angst

Word Count: 4′645 This was supposed to be short

Warnings: NSFW, Dubcon (bordering on Noncon), Unprotected Sex, Blood, Hisoka being a cheeky little shit. Semi-edited.

I’m gonna use this opportunity to say that, even if your partner doesn’t outright say “no”, that is NOT consent. Unfinished sentences, hesitation, and no response at all does not mean “yes”. Always check in for consent.

That being said, enjoy my fellow Hisoka fuckers. I loved writing this and I will actually cry if this flops.

Part 1, Part 3

----------------------------------------

The silence that filled the room was palpable, interrupted only by the rhythmic drips of water falling from the cloth into the bowl.

Hisoka had yet to release his hold on you, making you narrow your eyes in annoyance. He licked his lips as he stared down at you, enjoying the direct line of sight he had down your shirt.

“And what if that isn’t my cards, what would you say then~?”

“Then I’d say that if you have enough energy to be thinking about that, then you are capable of cleaning yourself up. Your wounds have stopped bleeding, anyways.” You wrenched your wrist from his hand, trying not to think about how easily he let you go as pushed yourself to your feet. “You know where the shower is, there’s clean towels under the sink as usual.”

He leaned back against the couch, tilting his head slightly as he regarded your aloof attitude with a chuckle, “What if I really do require your... assistance? I have lost a lot of blood, after all.”

You scoffed and folded your arms in front of your chest, “I think we both know it takes a more than a little blood loss to make you lose consciousness.”

He hummed and stood, walking towards you to bring a finger underneath your chin, “Will you be joining me, just to make sure?”

You swallowed thickly as your cheeks burned when his hot breath fanned across your face, and you wanted to kick yourself. His heavy-lidded gaze did nothing to help the feeling that stirred deep in your gut. You pulled yourself away from him, taking a step back to collect yourself and fixing another glare on him, only making his smirk widen. “Don’t be ridiculous, and don’t use up all the hot water.”

I’m gonna need one after cleaning up all your shit

You let out a sigh of relief as he relented, walking towards the bathroom. You hadn’t realized you had been holding your breath.

Running a hand down your face, you slung the bloody cloth over your shoulder and turned your head to examine the damage done to your couch since his arrival. You groaned at the sight. Deep red patches stained the cushions and armrest, there was no way that those were coming out no matter how deep you cleaned. There was only so much that online tips and laundry detergent could do, but that was a problem for later.

Your attention turned to the bloodied shirt that Hisoka had tossed unceremoniously on the floor, grimacing slightly at the way the clotted blood stuck to your fingers when you picked it up. Fuck, it was.... absolutely drenched! How the hell he was even able to stand was a miracle to you, but you didn’t want to think about it too much. That man was an enigma enough as it was.

The faint sound of the shower starting filled the silence in the house, making you relax slightly; the tension from earlier finally beginning to dissipate a little bit. You moved to the kitchen in order to attempt to restore the atrocity in your hands. It would need to soak in cold water for at least an hour before you could even begin to try scrubbing the blood out.

The sound of the sink filling with water aided in calming your nerves further as you held your fingers underneath the stream to test the temperature, tossing the bloody cloth onto the counter. It didn’t take long for the water to reach the halfway point before you turned it off.

The water immediately turned a deep red as soon as you placed the shirt in the sink. You repressed the urge to gag as gobs of clotted blood began to float off and onto your hands. No matter how many times you bandaged him up, you would never get used to the sight of the blood...

You paused briefly; your hands starting to get numb from the cold of the water as your mind wandered. How many times had you done this? How many times had he come into your house whenever he pleased, only for you to treat him without question? You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at yourself. ‘Without question’ wasn’t entirely accurate, but who could blame you for asking the Magician with a death wish what the hell he gets up to every once in a while. You frowned, looking over your shoulder towards the hallway that led to the bathroom. What were you going to do with him?

Guilt began to eat away at your heart as you thought about the gash going down his chest. You made him clean himself up, then again, he deserved it, but you wouldn’t leave him to patch himself up. You sighed, and picked the shirt up out of the water, ringing the material as much as you could before pulling the plug in the sink. You’d have to keep changing the water if you wanted any hope of getting the majority of the blood out.

While the sink filled again, you retrieved your kit from the living room and set it on the counter by the sink; pulling out what you believed you would need. Gauze for sure, it didn’t matter if the wound had stopped bleeding, you would need to pack it. From the state of his clothing though, you figured the worst of the bleeding had stopped before he arrived. Antibiotic ointment was mandatory... so was the compression bandage...

You groaned and massaged your temples in an attempt to relieve the oncoming headache. You couldn’t do stitches, which meant he would have to stay in your home so you could monitor his recovery. Which meant you’d have to get close to him to change his bandages. Multiple times.

The couch was out of commission as a place to sleep on now, given the state it was in...

You wanted to scream.

Hitting the handle on the tap a little harder than necessary, you placed the shirt back in, this time the water turning only a dark pink as it began to soak once again. You worried your bottom lip while wiping your hands with a dishtowel, trying to think of any possible sleeping arrangements that didn’t result in him sharing your bed; your anxiety rising the more you realized that it was looking like he might just have to share your bed...

God. Fucking. Damnit.

You shook your head, glancing over at the stove to read the bright red numbers that displayed the time.

11:06pm

With another sigh, you threw the towel on the counter and turned around to go deal with the couch. What you did not expect was to see Hisoka standing directly behind you, making you flinch in surprise and letting out a startled gasp.

“Holy mother of hell, Hisoka, warn a girl would ya?!” You panted, placing a hand over your now racing heart, sending yet another glare to the offending man in front of you. The glare, however, was short lived as soon as your realized his state of undress. The only thing keeping this man from being entirely stark naked in your kitchen was a grey towel that was slung a little too low on his hips for your comfort. You coughed and averted your eyes, despising the heat you could feel creeping up your neck and onto your cheeks.

“Would it kill you to put a pair of pants on?”

It was difficult to keep yourself from tripping over your words at the sight of him, and you glared at the wall when you heard him laugh in response.

“You’re so red, my dear, am I making you uncomfortable?”

You grit your teeth in frustration, seething at how his casual drawl wasn’t making anything better for you. You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply through your nose in an effort to calm yourself down before looking back over at your newly acquired house guest.

“You are beginning to overstep your bounds when it comes to my hospitality, either cover up or find someone else to treat your wounds.”

It was an empty threat and you both knew it. You both knew you were too kind to kick him out of your house, despite how uneasy he made you. It just wasn’t in your heart to do so. You ran your hand down your face again, your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose as you felt the headache begin to form once again.

“Just... grab the pair of sweatpants from the top left drawer of my dresser at least. I’ll wash your clothes tonight, since that’s the only guess I have for you being naked as a jaybird. I’ll meet you in the living room when you’re done.”

Grabbing your kit and a chair from the kitchen table, you brushed past him as quickly as possible and placed it in front of the one patch of the couch that wasn’t covered in blood and set your kit down on the floor. You peeked over your shoulder to see if he was still standing here.

He wasn’t. Thank god.

He reappeared moments later in the pair of grey sweats that looked way too good on him for how small they were. You felt heat creep back into your cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

“Take a seat in front of me, please.” You began to pull out what you would need, “it’ll make things easier if I don’t have to crouch in front of you.”

It would also make it harder for him to pull the same stunt he did before. A look you didn’t recognize flashed through his eyes before he complied. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, holding your hands under your chin as you began to reassess the damage.

The injury on his torso wasn’t as bad as you initially thought. It was deep and would still require stitches, but with the blood washed away it didn’t look as horrid as before. Clearing your throat, you began to work.

“I’m going to have to do this once or twice a day depending on how you heal,” you said, scooping some antibiotic ointment onto your fingers, “you won’t be able to do any more jobs until the large gash is fully healed, or anything too strenuous really.”

He simply hummed in response as you began to apply the ointment to his chest, trying to ignore how his muscles twitched with every swipe as you worked over his wounds. God, his skin was so hot against your hands...

“That being said, this isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be,” you began to pack the wound with gauze, being careful not to press to hard on the wound, “with the amount of blood on the couch and on your clothes, I was expecting a lot worse...” you trailed off, the realization hitting you way later than it should have.

The sly smile that graced his face was frightening.

“Most of it isn’t mine, darling”

Your stomach lurched when he confirmed your suspicions out loud, but you forced the bile rising in your throat down; only nodding as you reached for the compression bandage. Your discomfort was still noticed by the magician, however, who leaned forward towards you a little more than necessary as you began to wrap the bandage around his chest.

“Because of the state of your injury, I would suggest you stay here for the next little while so I can keep an eye on your progress.”

You didn’t like the smile that crept across his face at that, or the way he leaned in closer to you when you wrapped the bandage around his back, “How long are we playing house then, hmm~?”

You gulped. His voice was teasing as always, but the implication behind it combined by the fact it was spoken directly in your ear sent shivers down your spine.

“I’d say about week or two.” You didn’t trust yourself to say much more as you secured the bandage with tensor clips. You checked your work over one last time before beginning to gather your things up. A frown tugged at Hisoka’s lips from the less than pleased tone in your voice.

“Don’t you want to play with me~?”

You shot him an unimpressed look as you stood up, wanting to be away from this man sooner rather than later. “I’m not your toy, Hisoka. I’m doing this for the sake of your health, because believe it or not, you are mortal.”

He followed your movements, standing in front of you before you had the chance to create any more distance between the two of you; once again taking your chin in his hand, this time more gently than before. It was.... caring almost.

“And it’s for reasons like that, my dear, that you are my favourite toy, and the idea of... playing with you in such a way is too much to pass up.”

It was your turn to frown at his words, “I don’t know what you mean, and I’m quite sure I don’t want to know.” That was a lie. You got the message loud and clear, but by god you wanted it to be wrong.

A dramatic sigh left his lips before he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“My my, do you need me to explain it to you more simply?”

He didn’t. Shit.

You stared up at him, his red locks tickling your face from how close he was to you.

“Why me?” Your voice was barely a whisper. He tilted his head almost mockingly so.

“What was that, my dear?”

You narrowed your eyes, a sudden resurgence of bravery. “You could have anyone you want, why me?”

You expected him to give you that insufferable smile of his, or to at least laugh at you for even daring to ask such a question. Instead his eyes bore into you with an intensity that you’d never felt before, “Because you’re the only one that I want. You healed me when you didn’t have to and did so without question. I don’t think you understand what that means, my dear.”

You let out a surprised squeak as his lips collided with you in a kiss that held pure unbridled lust, teeth clashing from the intensity. He left you panting when he pulled back, licking along the shell of your ear. “You’re mine”.

You couldn’t even get your bearings before he kissed you again, just as bruising as before. Your gasps granted him the access to your mouth that he so obviously desired. The feeling of his hands wandering up your sides to your breasts brought you back to your senses enough to pull away from him and send a hand flying towards his face.

The smack resonated around the room, leaving your hand stinging while your chest heaved. You felt dizzy. Too much was happening too fast.

“How fucking dare you,” your voice was barely audible as a whirlwind of emotions ran through you. Hate? Want? Fear? You didn’t know anymore, but all you knew was that it was too much for you to handle, “You mistake my kindness and hospitality for something more. I am not yours, Hisoka.”

His head was still knocked to the side from the force of your slap. He wouldn’t admit it, but you hit harder than he expected. His shock was quickly replaced with a look that could only be described as predatory as he looked back towards you, licking his lips, tasting the blood from the small split you had caused; a mixture of a moan and growl leaving his throat.

“Oh, but you are, Y/N. You have been mine for a long time.”

The dread hit you like a bus. He had never said your name before, never in all the times he had come into your home. He was serious.

Oh fuck... what had you gotten yourself into...

In a last ditch effort, you bolted, but you didn’t get far.

You felt yourself getting yanked back, making you lose your balance and land on the floor; knocking the wind out of you. You wheezed, coughing from the force of the fall, stars littering your vision from your head smacking against the floor.

You regained clarity to the sound of your clothes being torn from your body, making you yelp, kicking and slapping the man on top of you in a vain attempt to get free. He chuckled and easily batted your hands away, gathering them into one hand and pinning them above your head. You whimpered, your clothes around you in ruined strips, leaving you bare beneath the man you had just treated moments ago; a small feeling of betrayal forming in your chest.

You were trapped.

The room was silent as Hisoka stilled above you for a moment, seemingly admiring the view. You were frozen in a state of shock and fear, tears beginning to form in your eyes while he ran his other hand down your body, stopping to cup your sex. You squirmed at the look he gave you when his fingers came away wet. How could you be wet from what he was doing to you?

He began to stroke your folds, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck and letting out a loud groan.

“Why you, you say?” He dipped one of his fingers into you, smirking into your neck as your breath hitched, placing open mouthed kisses along your throat as he began to thrust slowly.

“Because of this.” He punctuated the word by biting into the skin on your collar bone and sucking harshly, making you keen when he inserted another finger. “I’ve dreamt of this~”

You turned your head to the side, refusing to acknowledge the pleasure he was giving to your body when his lips wrapped around one of your nipples; his teeth lightly scraping making you shudder involuntarily. He groaned in response, shifting his heavy-lidded gaze towards your face and releasing your nipple with a pop.

“Oh, no, no, no, my darling~” He quickly withdrew his hand from your cunt hand and gripped your cheeks, forcing your head straight; his nails on his fingers, still wet from your arousal, digging into your skin harshly. You whimpered when your eyes met his, the intensity almost too much for you to bear, “I want you to watch every single thing I do to you.”

He slowly let go of your jaw, dragging his claws lightly down your throat to your breasts, giving them a light squeeze. You flinched, your hands clenched in fists at your side.

“I’ve dreamt of you under me...” He continued; the sentence broken up by wet kisses placed down your body. Your eyes widened, realizing his intentions immediately, but forcing yourself not to look away in fear of what he would do if you did.

“S-stop.” God, you hated how weak you sounded. Tears began to slip down your cheeks as he ventured lower down your body until you could feel his breath right on your cunt. “Please, Hisoka, I-”

A loud growl against your skin killed whatever pleads you had on your lips; the pupil of his eyes blown so wide they nearly swallowed the golden iris. He looked feral.

“I love the way you say my name, Y/N”

A squeal left your throat when you felt his tongue on your slit, your hips bucking on their own accord when the hot muscle dragged from your core up to your aching clit before he latched onto it and sucked harshly; making you toss your head to the side as you squeezed your eyes shut at the burst of pleasure that shot through you, more tears dripping onto the floor.

The breathy moans and growls from Hisoka only added to your reluctant growing arousal as he ate you out like a man starved. His hands gripped you from under your thighs so he could pull you close to his face while holding you down; the sounds coming from his mouth loud and downright lewd as he lapped at the new slick.

“I want you to say my name over, and over again; I want you to scream it so loudly your neighbours can hear exactly who you belong to.”

Your breathing hitched as you felt a familiar tightening beginning to form in your lower stomach. You bucked against him, the last of your resistance starting to die out as your orgasm continued to build. You felt him groan into your core more than you heard him, making you shudder.

“Moan for me darling, don’t hide any of those pretty noises from me.”

You cried out when you felt his fingers back at your entrance, dipping into you with less caution than the first time. You could feel his nails dragging along your walls as he fucked his fingers into you at a steady pace, scratching lightly on your g-spot in a way that should not have felt as good as it did.

“Hisoka!”

“Cum for me, darling, let me hear you~” He purred, suckling on your nub with vigor as he pumped his fingers into you faster.

You came with a chocked sob mixed with a moan, your pussy clamping down on his fingers like a vice, gushing around him. You felt sick as you came down from your high, watching as he released his assault on your clit with a lewd pop, a thin trail of drool connecting his lips to your swollen cunt.

“You’re so good for me, darling.” He cooed. You could only muster up a withering look, your words failing you. This, of course, just made him chuckle as he pushed the grey sweats down his hips, his length springing free and slapping against his stomach. “However, I’d much rather feel you come undone on my cock.”

Your eyes widened... he couldn’t seriously go through with this... could he?

Could he?

“Hisoka wait!”

Your shout made him pause briefly before he kissed his way back up your body, coming to hover just above your lips; that insufferable smirk back on his mouth that shone with your slick. Your face flushed at the sight, and you rolled your head back to the side in shame.

“Please... please don’t...”

Another silence filled the room as he regarded your trembling form pinned beneath him. A spark of hope was reignited in you, his hesitation giving you the courage to bring your hands up, pressing lightly against the bandage on his chest in your attempt to push him away.

That spark was quickly snuffed out when he let out a guttural moan, his eyes rolling back slightly before focusing back on you.

You forgot he liked pain.

“Didn’t I already say, love?” He teased the head of his cock against your swollen clit making you squirm, new tears forming in your eyes from a combination of the stimulation and the hopelessness. Your back arched off the floor and your jaw fell open in a silent scream as he sank into you in a slow, agonizing thrust. He licked a stripe up your neck with a possessive growl, stopping just in front of your ear. “You belong to me.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust to his size before he pulled back and thrust his hips against you harshly, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing throughout the room along with your moans and hiccupping sobs.

“Oh fuck, Y/N...” He gasped, his head tilting back in ecstacy, your walls fluttering around him as he hammered your insides; stretching you out in a painfully blissful way.

You loved it, and you hated yourself for it.

“Oohhhh darling, you were mine the first time you treated me.” He grunted, shifting the angle of his hips to penetrate you deeper. You bit your lip, desperately trying to contain the whines leaving your throat with each brush of his cock on the bundle of nerves deep inside of you, his words only making you flush deeper... if that were even possible.

“I would’ve taken you then and there, had you begging and crying under me like you are now.” You felt his dick twitch inside you at his own words and your pussy clenched around him.

God, what was wrong with you?

He growled, and suddenly pulled away from you. Relief flooded your system for a split second before you felt yourself being flipped over, your hips being pulled back and his cock sheathing back inside you with a thrust that made the whines finally spill from you; your arms laying limply next to your head as he resumed to pound into you at a pace that could only be described as inhuman. His balls slapped against your clit each time he bottomed out, making your breath come out in quick, desperate gasps.

“Do you like that, my dear? Knowing that I could’ve done this to you sooner?”

You only groaned in response, the coil in your abdomen beginning to form again. The tears slipped from your eyes as you weakly shook your head. Why did this feel so good? Why did your body react to him like this?

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip when you felt his hand circle around to your clit, rubbing in rough circles that made your eyes roll back into your head.

You couldn’t take it.

You couldn’t help the wanton moan that passed through your lips as you came, your head hanging loosely as your body continued to bounce from the power of his thrusts; your pussy convulsing around his cock as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“Hmmm~ you didn’t want to cooperate a few minutes ago, look at you now,” He fisted the hair at the base of your skull and pulled you back to his chest, his thrusts never wavering as he spoke into your ear, “coming undone for me a second time.” His chuckle gave way to a breathy moan as his thrusts became more erratic, losing rhythm as he began to slam into you with fever.

“I’m going to fill you up, my dear.” He growled, biting down on the junction between your neck and shoulder, making you cry out when his teeth broke the skin. The sight of your blood making him thrust into you harder and faster. “Then you’ll truly know that you are mine.”

Your moans left you with no restraint, incoherent babbling falling from your lips at the overstimulation. You could no longer think, all your energy focused on the dick that was pistoning in and out of your squelching cunt.

Hisoka’s hips stuttered as he came inside of you, his cock spurting thick hot ropes of cum right against your cervix, coating your walls as he bit down on your neck once more, lazily fucking into you a few more times before he stilled.

Your breathing was ragged as everything slowly came to a stop, the weight of everything crashing over you as your lids dropped with exhaustion. You whined weakly as he pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness now foreign to you. You slumped to the floor, emotional and physical fatigue washing over you as you stared blankly up at the man who had just ruined your trust and your body. Your eyes flickered to the bandage on his chest, a thin line of red beginning to form from your exertions.

Even after all that... you still cared.

Damn him.

He ran a hand through his hair as he stared down at you, a pleased smile on his face as he took in your fucked out form, his dick twitching at the sight.

Oh yes.

He would enjoy playing house with you much more now.

----

Part 1, Part 3

Tag List: @prettycutebunny, @my-child-gaara, @shorkbrian, @luesi, @mynameseri, @yep-seeyalaterbranflakes, @trash-writings

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sneezefiction · 4 years ago

Text

please don’t go

Ushijima x Reader - Scenario

@moonlightaangel‘s event request: “congrats on reaching 600 followers!! 🥰 can i request ‘please don’t go’ with ushijima, if it hasn’t been requested yet! i need some angsty feelings in my life”

a/n: mmmm angsty Ushijima is my aesthetic :,,)) i also messed around with some flashback formatting, so i hope you enjoy!!

warnings: angst, breakups

wc: 1640

---

“Please don’t go.” It’s a soft, tearful whisper.

“I thought you would understand, y/n. We had established this.” His reply was blunt. Like a dull knife to the chest, digging deeply only to pull right back out, leaving you gushing and writhing at his words.

“Please don’t.” Your cry reached his ears this time.

“I need to focus.” He sighs, twinging with guilt.

Why didn’t you understand? Had you not known that his career would come first? Above everything else?

Or had he misspoken at some point, giving you the false assurance that this relationship would work forever? That he could always treat you as though it were possible to balance both you and his life’s work.

“Then I won’t distract you! Just don’t leave me. Please.” You begged, knees painfully falling to the cold floor, but your cries fell on deaf ears.

He remains resistant to change. Without accommodations. Nothing left to give or take.

“Maybe someday, y/n. But this isn’t working out for me anymore. I have to leave for now.” Ushijima’s response is icy.

He meant for those words to somehow be heartening. Promising, even. That maybe this was just the wrong time and place for a relationship. Where time could ebb and flow and someday he would be able to draw you back into his life.

Yes, there would be a day where you could take priority.

Because he wanted you… but not above his first love. Not above his skills and lifestyle. Not enough.

Volleyball comes first. Plain and simple.

And for that, he wouldn’t compromise.

---

White, crisp linens and fresh lemony scents.

Fluffed pillows fitted with new covers and soft patterns. Feather filled duvets. Curtains drawn to keep out the early morning light.

Everything has stayed clean, clear, and Pristine. Even the dust particles, dancing around the room, have always seemed to find their own peace, settling mildly in gentle formations.

You sleepily blink open your eyes, rustling your arms over the bedspread to what should be a happier sight. Soft pillows hugging your sides, the gentle birdsong outside your window, a conceivably delicious cup of coffee to be made in the kitchen.

Yes, you should be filled with contentment. You were safe. Physically you were fine, and nothing was on your checklist for today.

In fact, things had appeared fine for months now...

Yet all you notice is who’s missing.

There’s no longer a delicate divet where his dozing head used to lay. The scent and shape of the pillow had only recently dissipated thanks to your citrusy laundry detergent and the slow passing of time.

You don’t awaken to a recently showered, olive-green eyed boyfriend. You could still picture the water droplets, hanging freshly on the tips of his tufts of hair. How the towel draped around his neck, over his shoulders, catching the drips and drops as they fell.

That warm smile he shared with you before placing a chaste kiss upon your forehead, caressing the side of your face. It was pure. You can almost feel the ghost of his lips. Still lingering. Mocking you.

You were liberated from his presence… but you never wanted to be.

Being absorbed in his chaotic life had kept you busy, but you had never minded it. There was never a doubt in your mind that volleyball would be his first priority. That he would follow his passions. His plans. His abilities.

You just wanted to tag along. To sincerely celebrate his victories and mourn his losses. Supporting him and holding onto him when he needed it. Yes, he got home late at night, left early in the morning, and only connected with you on his very few off days… but you cherished every second of it.

Because you loved him. You poured your soul into watching him flourish and thrive. It made you feel whole.

However, eventually, to Ushijima, you started to rival volleyball, becoming a distraction. He had made space for you in his already complicated life. And at first, it was a welcome change. A breath of fresh air to his methodical and planned out character. You were complex, bringing new perspective and sunshine into his typically boring apartment. Beautiful in a natural, yet eye-catching way. Furthermore, you somehow knew how to keep up with his hectic pace along with his gruff personality.

In every aspect, you were perfect.

Expect one.

You were a diversion from the life he had in mind.

And even though you never pushed him to give you more… he longed to give you more of his attention. More time. To share his success with you. To love you deeper. To give you what you deserved. Because you are a profound being… and it burdened him to have to choose between his two greatest desires.

But, as most things do, these thoughts of love and devotion go unspoken, coming out all wrong. Mangled, unemotional, and misrepresented. Looking back, Ushijima wishes he’d been able to express it to you with empathy. To erase the tears that followed his brutal narrative. But softness isn’t his strong suit… and he needed you to know that, as powerful as he was, he wasn’t strong enough to balance you and volleyball.

---

“Ushijima, if you leave…” You take a deep breath, tears slipping down your face, “... you have to promise me you’ll never come back.” You choke out, your request came out in a sobering snarl.

For a moment, you question your own words- but your dignity was on the line.

“You can’t just break up with me and expect me to be there when you get back. I’m not disposable, you know?”

His body goes rigid. He hadn’t meant it that way.

You meant more to him than words could express… so why couldn’t he get it out clearly enough? How could he make you understand the gravity of his choices?

“...Y/n, it doesn’t have to be like that. I just need to concentrate right now.” The alarm, though subtle, shines in his eyes.

His usually composed, confident figure began to show cracks of uncertainty. He didn’t want you out of his life… Not at all.

He just needs you out of his mind for the time being. Just until he had things settled. You could come back at some point and he could love you so well. Just the way it was supposed to be.

But clearly he’d struck a deeper chord. He’d selfishly assumed you would wait for him. You weren’t some prized pony.

You’re a person. Someone with worth, plans, and dreams, just like him. He’d failed to acknowledge just how demeaning the truth of his actions were. But it’s too late.

You haven’t replied and the pain is etched intricately across your face.

“Okay, fine.” He breathes in deeply, letting out one final exhalation of defeat, “I... I’m sorry, y/n.” His brows furrow in deep, conflicted thought, but his mind is made.

He won’t be back.

---

Ushijima’s life hasn’t changed much.

It’s the same old routine. The standard, grueling workouts. Typical volleyball practice, group meetings, finances, paychecks, physicals, doctor’s appointments, fan meet-n-greets.

The usual.

But there’s a void settling like glacial frost in his soul. A snowy blue that seemed to melt into his bones, slowing him down.

He didn’t go a week… a day... a minute without thinking of you.

Even now, lying in bed, the room cloaked in a tranquil darkness, you rest on his mind.

It’s not just the emptiness of the bed or the lack of physical touch. It’s the bitter, clawing memories of what he’d done to you and your gentle spirit. His body is frigid and forever frozen in the recurring visions of his foolish explanations, by how heartless and indifferent he’d seemed.

He’ll never get over the venomous tinge to your words.

You’d felt used.

He’d never meant to make you feel that way.

But since he moved out of your apartment, everything has felt glaringly hollow. The icy, barren tundra he crosses every time he realizes he won’t come home to your sunbeam smile and those thoughtfully lit candles, wears on him. How you would lavish him in comforting words, lulling him into a restful sleep.

Ushijima hardly remembers the last time he slept well.

Those dark circles under his eyes follow him everywhere. His whole team can see the exhaustion seeping into his execution of serves and spikes. He’s never struggled with his game performance before, but somehow the crashing reality of you leaving him has broken his patterns and systems.

He’s weary from searching for an answer to his emotions. Your warmth gave him life… and with that gone, what was the point of all of this?

And then it struck him, the realization sinking its needle-sharp claws into his soul, shredding it in seconds.

He’d found something far more valuable than any unique skill. More remarkable than the legacy he’d built as a world-class volleyball player. Someone who wanted to be with him just for the sake of… love.

And for the first time since he was young, he lets a tear slip into his white pillowcase.

Just one.

But it’s for you.

Because in chasing after what made him feel known and alive...

He’d lost the only person who had ever wanted to show him that he was important all along. The only person who was satisfied with his bizarre schedules. Someone who expected nothing more than gentle kisses and weekend dates.

But you were right.

You aren’t dispensable. Nor are you someone to drop for the purpose of picking up later, like loose change on a sidewalk. You deserved to be cherished. Held tightly. Given the love that you offered others.

He wishes he’d listened when you’d pleaded with him to stay. That he’d thought it through and functioned on more than just logic and reasoning. If only he’d known what it really meant to choose you.

Because if you were here now, he’d be the one begging,

“Please don’t go.”

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @kaidasen, @miss-rin

(comment or send an ask to be added to my general tag list)

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima #hq #ushijima scenarios #ushijima imagine #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuucreations #hq ushijima #hq scenarios #hq imagines #shiratorizawa #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fanfiction #600 follower event #sneezefiction

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burnedbyshoto · 5 years ago

Text

disconnected

— Kirishima answers a phone call that wasn’t intended for him, and of course he can’t help but be interested in the beautiful voice and soul that angrily began to rant about their day. —

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pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, lil angst (lol sorry), cursing

word count: 7,786

a/n: this was a stupid thought that slammed into my mind, and here it is!!!! now I have a calc midterm tomorrow that I did not look at because why think about double derivatives and integrals when I can think about kirishima????

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It was eleven at night when Kirishima strolled out of his bathroom, ready to go to bed. After a rather long day, he was looking forward to sleeping and not having to wake up at the crack of dawn. Tomorrow for the very first day in a very long time, he wouldn’t have to work at the local coffee shop he was hired at. It was a job he had acquired with his good friends on the promise of it being a manageable job on top of his college work, and of course, the pretty girls who would go in.

From what Kirishima had gathered from the four months working there was that there were a lot of pretty girls who entered the coffee shop — most of which were focused on the angry ash-blond friend of his — and that it was so unnecessarily stressful.

Some days he was up at four in the morning to open at six for the morning regulars, then he’d go to his afternoon classes, only to return for a two-hour shift in the middle of rush hour, and would leave while trying to keep the peace between a certain ash-blond and two new hires. To say the least, it was hell on Earth at times.

Regardless, he didn’t have to open tomorrow morning, so he was content! On top of not having classes tomorrow, Kirishima was excited to sleep in.

Falling on his bed with a massive sigh, Kirishima snuggled his face into his pillow, rejoicing in the way that the laundry detergent still clung to the fabric and relaxed.

Sleep sounded so—

RIIING.

Kirishima’s eyes slammed open, his head snapping to see his illuminating phone on his nightstand. He had no idea who the hell was calling this late. There was no way it was Bakugou; he was asleep already at this point. Sero had broken his phone two days ago during a failed stunt and wouldn’t be able to get a new phone until the weekend. Kaminari only called him when there was a bug in his apartment, but he was currently closing… maybe it was Mina? Kirishima shook his head, no, he hadn’t spoken to Mina in ages.

Grabbing the phone, he didn’t bother to look at the caller ID and answered.

“Hello—?”

“Oh my god, I am fucking raging! You can’t believe what kind of fuckery I just went through tonight!” a voice shouted into the receiver, and Kirishima flinched a bit at the loud and angry voice. “So you know how I wasn’t supposed to work today, right? Because my coworker had sex with her ex-boyfriend like an idiot, and I owed her for covering my shift three months ago, but anyways irrelevant. I’m taking the order of this one group of adults. That’s right, A-D-U-L-T-S, adults! They are completely staring at my tits the entire time, and not my face. At first, I thought maybe you know, I had spilled something on my tits earlier, no. No! NOTHING! So I call them out on it, and they say something along the lines of ‘you could be a camgirl with that body, but like not in a sex sort of way’ I’m sorry, WHAT?! Like yes, continue sexually harassing your server who is a college student and therefore has no will to live, so will gladly beat your Gucci belt wearing ass into a bloody pulp! What they gonna do? Sue me? I have one dollar to my name, fucking take it, I don’t care, I’ll find another dollar in the sewer after I beat their asses up!

“But you know, I’m saying all this in my head because I’m broke and can’t afford to be fired from this place because the tips are hella good here. But they continue saying dumb shit, and then the obvious ringleader — I know he was the ring leader because his beard looks like it was the first picture printed on a new ink cartridge and his manspread was ten times wider than all of theirs — have the fucking audacity to slip his number while only tipping TEN DOLLARS ON A TWO HUNDRED DOLLAR TAB!!!!” Kirishima doesn’t know what to say, his jaw on his mattress, breathing having stopped while your voice wheezes from your lack of air. He makes a croaking noise, wanting to speak up and apologize for what had happened and for not being the person you thought it was, but it seemed that you weren’t over. “AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THAT FUCKING KAREN!!! ‘I didn’t like the way you looked at me so I won’t be tipping you tonight!’ yeah, well maybe if you didn’t order enough FOOD TO FEED AN ARMY AND KEPT SENDING IT BACK I WOULDN’T BE LOOKING AT YOU LIKE THAT!!!”

There was a pause, and Kirishima, while feeling entirely sorry for you, finally spoke, “Fuck, that sounds... horrible.”

“Damn right, it was horri— wait, who the fuck is this?” your voice squeaked, and Kirishima almost started to laugh at the difference in the tone your voice took. Once so loud, angry, and entirely ‘fuck the world,’ had changed into a meek and embarrassed voice.

“Um, this is Kirishima. Kirishima Eijiriou?”

“This isn’t Hagakure?” you moaned into the phone. “03-9082-2395? That isn’t this number?”

“2-2-9-5,” Kirishima repeated his own number back, a small smile overcame his features knowing that you had accidentally misdialed a number.

“Fuck my fat fingers,” you cursed, and Kirishima chuckled lightly at the mutterings that were poorly picked up. “Well, um, I am so sorry for calling you and dumping that unnecessary bullshit on you—”

“No, no,” Kirishima interrupted, rolling onto his back, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling. “It’s totally okay! You seem less stressed out now too, and it really isn’t a big deal!”

“You are very kind, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, and Kirishima can’t help but imagine a figure curled up on a couch.

“Thank you!” he beamed, a hand threading through his hair, “um, but what happened with the Karen? And why were you typing in your friend’s phone number?”

“Do you really want to know?” you ask after a fit of bubbling laughter; it seemed that you were not at all convinced.

“I work at a coffee shop for one, so I totally understand the Karen situations! Secondly, all my contacts are on my phone, I don’t have a single one of them memorized!”

“Okay, okay, okay, I do not have this number memorized! Hagakure is my roommate, and she has a new number that she left posted on our fridge and because Mr. Sprinkles left in the middle of my rant, I called her to finish it!” you explain in what Kirishima could only consider being childlike glee. “And a coffee shop? Oof, Kirishima, you might have it just as bad as I do then.”

“Ever had a boiling cup of coffee thrown back at your face?”

“Shut. Up.”

“I wish I was joking!”

“The nastiest thing I’ve ever been put through is a highschool couple breaking up in the middle of the restaurant, and a bowl of cold soup and milkshake were thrown at me! And I had to work for another five hours!”

“That… that beat mine by a long shot…”

“Okay, but like, it was cold. If you hadn’t dodged, you’d be dead!”

As time passed Kirishima soon found himself sitting up on his bed, his back pressed against the headboard, a lamp on so that he wasn’t in the dark while he talked to you. Somehow conversation flowed so perfectly between the two of you, so smoothly, so naturally. You had extremely compelling energy and a pretty bright one at that as well. Your stories were exceedingly extravagant, most derailing into hundreds of side stories before making its way back to the main point, but he didn’t mind. Though there was no proof, he imagined that your arms were swinging around while you talked, a bright smile on your face, and lights shining in your eyes.

“So anyway, I had to beg my professor to let me remake this exam because, for some reason, my brain would not switch back to Japanese. I almost cried because I was only speaking in English, and I think because I am an amazing person, my professor let me do that!” you laughed after explaining an issue with being fluent in a third language.

“My English skills deteriorated after leaving high school, I’m rather jealous you can speak three languages,” Kirishima admitted, his head falling back onto the cold wall. “My Japanese professors probably think my Japanese sucks too.”

“Just because I am amazing and can speak three languages doesn’t mean I’m perfect at it,” you laugh, obviously trying to make him feel better about himself.

“Mm, I don’t know, you’re painting yourself as a pretty perfect person,” Kirishima sighed. “Or you have an enormous ego…”

A loud scoff came from your end of the phone, and Kirishima waited for your verbal retaliation but was met with a moment of silence.

“Oh! Welcome home!” you called out, and Kirishima quickly put together that your roommate Hagakure was home. “Yeah, no, I’m talking to someone right now! ...who? Oh, um, a friend! ...no, I tried to call you when I got home but misdialed your number and got him instead! NO! You’re not going to get a pic of him! Wait, it’s what time?!”

Kirishima’s eyes fell over to his alarm clock and saw in the dim red light that it was 04:57.

His jaw dropped.

“Well, um, Kirishima, it seems that our call is going to end,” you whisper into the phone, and Kirishima lets out a breathless chuckle, sudden sleepiness creeping into him. “It was pretty fun chatting with you stranger, thanks for putting up with that ranting in the beginning! Most normal people wouldn’t have picked up or let me rant like that!”

“It’s no problem,” Kirishima smiled softly, his fingers stretching out to turn off the light. He licked his lips, five hours on a phone call with an absolute stranger, and he didn’t have your name, and better yet, a part of him wanted to ask if it was okay to be friends. You were magnetic to him, and he wanted to know more about you, even if this was this weird modern and accidental penpal thing. “I didn’t have anything to do today, and you were fun talking to!”

“Aww, thank you!”

Silence.

Ask, he thought, his teeth biting down onto his bottom lip. Ask!

“Um, I know this is weird and all, but do you think I can keep your number?” you ask, your voice almost timid and meek.

Kirishima’s heart rate spikes at those words, he very much wanted that, but his mouth had a mind of its own it seemed. “Why?”

“Wha— well, I just had a lot of fun talking with you! It was fun, and I don’t know, you seem like a pretty chill guy!”

His fingers gripped his phone, a warmth spreading through him when he relaxed under his sheets. “On one condition.”

“Oof, if you’re going to ask to decide between Crimson Riot or All Might you’re going to be—”

“No, no,” Kirishima lets out a snort, his shoulders rolling while he imagines the curious look coming over your face. “I would like to know your name?”

“My name? Why would you want— HOLY SHIT! I never gave you—” there was a loud noise on your end of the call, and Kirishima heard you apologize profusely before returning in a hushed whisper. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t give you my name?!”

“No,” he laughed loudly, one that was pushed from his belly, spreading warmth through his body. “You never did, but I did learn every name of every person you’ve ever talked with!”

“God,” you groan, a small whine emitted from you. “I’m an idiot, I’m so sorry! Y/l/n y/n at your service!”

Y/l/n y/n, that’s a pretty name, he thought while imagining just what you could look like.

“Well, goodnight y/l/n, I’ll save your number, and we’ll see if you still would like to be friends when you wake up?”

There was a small noise of agreement, “I’m like a drug, Kirishima, you’ll be back for more.”

“Okay, okay, goodnight…”

“Goodnight, sweet dreams!”

“Sweet dreams.”

Kirishima listened to the line ending, and he pulled his phone away from his ear and no sooner did he do that, a text came in at what he believed to be your number:

don’t let the bed bugs bite! 🕷😱‼️

He snorted and replied back before eventually letting sleep consume him.

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“You’ll never believe what just happened!” you squealed into the phone, and Kirishima laughed while wiping his sweaty face with a white towel. You had called thirty minutes earlier than usual and had caught him leaving the gym.

It had been a bit over two months since your misdial, and things with you had been going pretty well for strangers. The two of you didn’t talk every day, most weeks going by with just a single call, but they were always delightful talks. You worked most nights, and he most mornings, the two of you discovered. So most calls took place the night he didn’t have to work the following morning.

“You got a customer who complained that there was too much salt in their meal that had no salt in it?” he asked, pulling a random story of something that had happened at his own coffee shop today. You let out an amused snort, a clear indicator that he was wrong, but found his guess to be amusing at the very least.

“No, but oddly enough, someone did ask for an insane amount of salt on their food and hated it!” you sang, clearly happy with how you found their distress to be funny.

“Close enough!” Kirishima laughed, but he was straight out of guesses, so he stopped. “So, what happened?”

“I tried coffee for the first time ever today!” you squealed loudly, and Kirishima cheered happily.

Through these two months, there were some hard facts that Kirishima had learned about you. One, you were living in the same city as him. Two, you worked at a semi-classy restaurant. Three, you had two roommates named Hagakure and Jirou. Four, you were twenty, just like him. And five, you were a child who only drank hot chocolate and tea because you were afraid of coffee.

“Caffeine is a drug you know,” you had snarkily teased him one night when he said he was going to make a cup of coffee. “Nice to know I’m friends with an addict!”

“If drugs were as amazing as coffee, I’d be an addict!”

“You know…” your voice whispered, your voice suddenly taking a guilty approach. “I’ve never actually tried coffee…”

“WHAT?!”

“Wow, look at you, becoming an old woman in front of my own eyes!” Kirishima chuckled, starting his walk back home.

His fingers pushed the headphones to be more secure over his ears, hopeful that there it wouldn’t pick up too heavily on the wind of the outside world.

“To be honest, it wasn’t that good, your taste buds are just tarnished from drinking that bitter crap all day!” you huff and he half imagined you turning your nose up.

“Okay, okay,” Kirishima laughed, a warmth flooding in his chest at the sounds of your muffled laughter. A visible indicator that you were also amused at this. “I hated coffee until I started working at a coffee shop, and that was because I needed to know my shit.”

“Wow, you only got that job while not being a coffee addict?” you tease. “Seems like a fake barista to me.”

“It’s pretty hard to believe, I know,” Kirishima stated his tone one of fake melancholy. “I’m so sorry for deceiving you, and honestly, I am a shit barista.”

“Aww, don’t say that!” you exclaim, and it seems like you’re ready to fight him. “I bet you put all those fancy TikTok baristas to shame!”

“TikTok?” he laughed, his pace speeding up just a bit so he would get home faster. “Wow, I am honored you think that!”

The light conversation continued, nothing too deep or too intense, just chatter about today's shifts and classes. Eventually, Kirishima made it back into his apartment complex, and stumbled into his room, collapsing onto his bed.

“Can I ask something?” you ask suddenly, and Kirishima lets out a small hum.

“Yeah, of course, what’s up?”

“What do you look like?” you asked softly as if you were curled up in bed, seconds from letting sleep consume you. “I haven’t come up with a mental image that I like, and well, I want some hints.”

“I can just send you a picture of me,” Kirishima smiles, his eyes closing. “It would be much easier than me trying to explain to you what I look like.”

“No!” you disagree, and there's a long sigh from your end of the phone. “I’m not ready for that kind of information yet, Kiri. I just… I can’t accept a pic of you without sending one back, and I’m not mentally ready for that yet…”

“Don’t tell me the big fat Gucci bougie you is shy?!” Kirishima exclaimed, humor drowning his words as he referenced you to something you had called yourself one drunken night weeks ago.

“Not shy!” you bemoan, your voice muffling out at the end of it. “I’m more scared you’ll find me ugly and ghost me…”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Kirishima interjected, his voice stable and confident.

“Which part?”

“Both parts.”

“How do you know that? You don’t know what I look like…”

��...call it… Kirishima’s intuition,” Kirishima slowly stated, his eyebrows furrowing. “I find your voice and your personality to be attractive on their own, so I would never ghost you. And of course, appearance isn’t anything; plus, there’s no way you’re not gorgeous.”

He says these words with honest truth, and a part of him fears he overstepped and made you wildly uncomfortable with the amount of silence that is heard from your end of the line. But finally, as Kirishima is ready to apologize to you, a soft exhale is heard.

“You’re a dork,” you whisper, and a soft grin spreads on his own face. “Anyways, I’ll ask questions, you answer them first, and then I’ll do the same.”

“Sounds good!”

“Hair color?”

“Black, but I dye it red.”

“Mm, edgy teenager, I like it, and also knew that because you complained about your stained sheets! Eye color?”

“Red.”

“Oh, am I sensing a theme? How tall are you?”

“I’m… a bit over six feet?”

The list went on, most questions becoming more of a joke than anything else, but he was glad that you were asking these things because now he had an insight on how you looked too. You had told him your eye color, your hair color, how tall you were, and a whole bunch of trivial things he would have never thought to ask about to begin with.

“Okay, last question!” you cheered, happy to have finally included Kirishima into your inside joke that revolved around your eyebrows. “Do you have any distinguishing features?”

“Well, I don’t actually...” Kirishima admitted, his fingers brushing against the scar on his eye, and then it hit him. That was one! “Oh, wait—” CRASH. A loud crashing noise emitted from your side of the call.

“Shit, hold on!” you curse and Kirishima can only remain silent while he hears you yelling in the background, it was too far away for him to quite understand, but it was enough to know that it didn’t sound okay.

Kirishima sat on his side of the call, the phone pressed to his ear while he tried to strip his gross and sweaty shirt from his body. His teeth bit into his lip, his canine pressing into the permanent indent of his lip, an indicator of how anxious he used to be.

“Fuck, Kiri?” your voice suddenly snapped back onto the call, your tone frantic and quick.

“Everything okay?”

“No, Hagakure showed up drunker than… a drunken drunk, I don’t know expressions, ANYWAYS I know tonight is our unofficial official call night, but anyway I can get a rain check?”

There was guilt that swallowed your voice, a pang of guilt that made Kirishima warm a bit because it showed that you valued these calls, just like him.

“Of course, I don’t have class or work Friday morning this time around, so Thursday night?”

“That works perfectly,” you sigh, gratitude. “I owe you, text you later if you don’t fall asleep! Goodnight, sweet dreams, love ya!”

Kirishima couldn’t repeat the whole statement before you hastily hung up, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face the entire time he showered. The shower didn’t take too long, and by the time he emerged from the shower, towel around his neck and his waist, he had a text message.

sero - hey bro!!! i can’t pick up my morning shift tomorrow i know you have tonight to speak w y/n but todoroki and bakugou can’t cover it!

Kirishima sighed, he definitely didn’t have anything tomorrow anyways, he could manage with going in for an extra shift to help a friend.

kirishima - yeah sure what time?

sero - youre a life saver T-T im covering 8 am - 3 pm!!!

Kirishima sent a simple affirmative emoji before finishing up his nightly routine.

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Kirishima looked at his apron while he was assembling himself in the backroom. The aroma of roasted coffee beans and pastries was almost pungent in the back, and he was eager to get out of there. As per employee regulations, he was to wear a black apron, a name tag, and something to hold his hair because it was a bit too long, for that, he wore a white bandana around his forehead.

“Wait, where’s my name tag?” Kirishima called out, his eyebrows furrowing when he turned out to Kaminari, who was currently in the back with him.

The blond froze and scratched the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly, “About that…”

So Kirishima was in the front of the store with a shiny silver name tag that read Hanta Sero. Because Kaminari was the best barista they had on hand currently, he was busy teaching Midoriya — their newest hire — around the bar. For now, Todoroki was nowhere to be found, and Kirishima was handling the cash register.

Today was a slow morning, most people had their day off today, so morning coffee rush wasn’t in existence. Sure, there were a few outliers, but it was never chaotic.

The gentle bell of the front door rang, and Kirishima automatically called out.

“Welcome!”

You had walked into the store, your eyebrows furrowed while you prayed that this was the coffee shop your roommates had been raving about. You’d never been here before, but it was the closest coffee shop available that wasn’t something generic and basic like Starbucks. You looked up from your phone at the voice, a thank you automatically being repeated while you neared the register.

You froze when you saw the red hair and the red eyes of the handsome man at the register. A careless thought entered your mind, Kirishima said he had red hair and red eyes… but he said he didn’t work today…

A kind smile sat on his face, his eyes taking you in, waiting for you to approach him.

This couldn’t be him, right?

The last time you had assumed a redhead working in a coffee shop was Kirishima, it had ended embarrassingly.

“Um, hi,” you drawled out, your eyes reading the board to figure out your own order.

Kirishima couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, you were exactly what you had described to him, but he wouldn’t ask until he was sure. He would ask you for your name after collecting your order for either tea or hot chocolate, and if it was you, he’d reveal that he was Kirishima. But he didn’t want to be wrong; he didn’t want to pin any other person as you, after all.

“I’ve never been here before,” you confess, your hand rubbing the back of your head. You were transfixed on the caramel macchiato that was spelled in the prettiest font, though, plus Hagakure promised all their coffee was good.

“Oh, well, welcome! If you need any recommendations or have anything else to order, I can put those through while you look?”

His smile was kind, and you felt blood rush to your face, something you desperately tried to fight off by thinking of anything you didn’t like.

“Oh! I do have two orders, though! There’s going to be one chai tea latte with three pumps of vanilla, and a lavender tea with a splash of oat milk.”

Kirishima nodded his head, “Will this be for here, or to go?”

His voice sounds so similar to Kirishima, you hoped, studying his face. While you answered that it was to go, you saw a distinctive scar on his right eye. Kirishima had said he didn’t have any distinguishing features…

“What are your favorites here?” you ask, your eyebrows scrunched in confusion, your thoughts very evident in your face.

Kirishima couldn’t help but find hope bubbling up in his chest, there was always the possibility that you two lived in the same city-based off the same area code, and with what seemed like an incomplete knowledge in coffee, maybe…

Kirishima rambled off about the different seasonal drinks right now, his recommendations leaning towards the teas and non-coffee things primarily after his general and basic list. You seemed to take every word out of his lip like gospel, agreeing and nodding when appropriate, and his lips stretched into a grin when you bluntly exclaimed your ill knowledge of this all.

“To be honest, I only step into coffee shops to take a cute pic and then leave,” you laugh, pressing your hands against your lips and screaming a bit in your throat.

Kirishima laughed, more confidence blooming through his body over the hope that this was you. It had to be you.

Your eyes then found the nametag on his apron, and like a sinking ship, you read Sero.

Not Kirishima.

“And for you?”

“I’ll have the caramel macchiato,” you decide, a grateful smile on your face while he looks down and writes the orders.

“A name?”

“Penny,” came your automatic response.

You never used your real name in coffee shops.

Kirishima suppressed the way that his mouth wanted to drop into a sad smile, and like two rejected teenagers, the money was exchanged. Before Kirishima could attempt to calm his disappointed soul, you walked out of the shop with the coffees and tea in hand.

“What was that about?” Kaminari asked, his eyes wide. “There was so much flirting and then poof, gone from both sides. Come on, dude, it’s my job to fail at flirting, not yours!”

Kirishima laughed, ignoring the way that his three friends looked at him with concern and curiosity. “Nothing, I just… the customer looked like how y/n described herself to be…”

“Oh… sorry, bro.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Kirishima waved it off, and without so much as another slap on the back, he went back to work.

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“What the hell are you doing?”

Kirishima looked up from his phone, his fingers mid-type pausing only for a millisecond before continuing to text blindly.

“Oh, hey, Bakubro, what’s up?” he cheerfully spoke, ignorant to the controller in the ash blond’s hand.

“It’s your turn, shitty hair, pay fucking attention!” Bakugou barked, tossing the plastic controller into his chest. Kirishima grunted, the feeling of the plastic slamming against his chest was less than ideal, but the smile on his face didn’t waiver while he offered his best friend the controller back.

“It’s all good, you can have another turn, I can handle being out this round!”

“Kiri, that’s six rounds in a row,” Kaminari spoke up, his face in a teasing smirk.

It was then that Kirishima’s face turned approximately the same color as his hair. “I didn’t—”

“Awww, Eijirou has a little crush on y/n!!!” Kaminari sang, resulting in agreeing with noises from Sero and Midoriya. Only Bakugou and Todoroki remained silent.

Kirishima only laughed, he knew he couldn’t deny that fact, but he wouldn’t say it aloud — especially because Bakugou seemed to hate you. It had been now four months since the two of you had ‘meet,’ and while he still had no face to imagine you with, things had taken a slightly flirty route between the two of you.

Calls were much more frequent, nearly all nights the two of you would speak, even if it was just a measly summary of the day and a ‘sweet dreams’ and a ‘goodnight’ and an ‘I love you.’ It always happened nowadays.

Tonight was an exception, of course, because he was out with his friends, and apparently, you were doing the same.

“You can’t be fucking serious?” Bakugou spat, a laugh spluttering from his lips, but it was cold and held no humor. “You caught feelings for a person who’s too much of a fucking coward to reveal a picture of themselves?”

“That’s not fair; besides, it's not about physical appearance!” Kirishima waved him off, pressing send to his text message.

have fun tonight! text me when u get back home if ur able to!

“Just how naive can you be?” Bakugou sneered, his hand taking the phone from Kirishima's side. “Six months of talking every week, texting every day, and this y/n still hasn’t trusted you with a single picture of them? I know you said that she told you how she looked, and all that shit, but let's be real, it’s so easy to lie about how you look like when you don’t have to provide a picture. What y/n say? Big tits? Big ass? Small waist? What about her did she say that made you so fucking insane over her?”

“N-Nothing! We didn’t talk about our body types!” Kirishima’s eyes widened significantly, the once comfortable atmosphere of the room wholly gone while Bakugou’s vermillion eyes seethed silently. “None of that matters! I told you the truth! I like y/n because of her personality, she’s manly, and I like that a lot! It’s not about her appearance, how pessimistic can you get, bro! I promise you, she’s trustworthy!”

“Is she really?”

“What?”

“How can you be in love with someone who you trust entirely, but doesn’t trust you at all? You said that y/n won’t show you a picture of herself because she’s scared you won’t like her? How is that trusting you? How is that fucking fair? To me, that sounds like some fucked up catfishing thing.”

“We talk on the phone, dude,” Kirishima said softly, but those thoughts were invading his mind. Did you not trust him? He knew he wasn’t the best option in the world, and he had accepted that in time and by improving on what he thought he was best at. But did you, after all this time, really not believe him when he claimed nothing would change when he saw you? “Catfishes don’t even do that… besides, the first call was by accident, why would someone—”

“Dunce face, what’s that one fucking idiotic thing you do for fun?” Bakugou snapped at the blond, not even bothering to look at him.

“Well, there’s a lot of things I do that you—” Kaminari laughed awkwardly, his smile tight and awkward.

“Kaminari.”

“I call… random numbers… pretending to have a big issue to see how they react…” he admitted, and Kirishima’s stomach clenched.

“And?” Bakugou snarled.

“I pretend to be a girl…”

“Don’t be stupid, Bakugou, this is more than one time!” Kirishima groaned.

“It's a voice that you can’t attach a face to, who knows if this is a person you can trust! People with voice acting exist in this world, how the hell do you possibly know that they’re not one of them?! Be fucking real, if ‘y/n’ trusted you, if that’s even their name, they wouldn’t be hiding their face from you.”

Kirishima didn’t say anything else, the acid piling in his throat was too much for him to even look at his friend. The night didn’t really recover from that conversation, and Kirishima eventually found himself back home.

He sat at the edge of his bed, his phone in his hands, waiting for a message from you. He couldn’t sleep, and even though he had work tomorrow morning, he found himself wide awake, unable to let sleep consume.

It was three in the morning when you sent a text, his eyes still wide awake, and with shaky fingers, he read the message.

i just got home can you believe that i drank three cups of wine and didnt get tipsy??????? thats on being a raging alcoholic ;D

Kirishima wanted to laugh; on god, he would’ve found this beyond delightful to read because he knew you couldn’t handle your liquor, but that bitter stream of acid destroyed the humor in his thoughts.

Were you really telling the truth? Was this all a lie?

He didn’t text back; instead, his finger pressed the call button, and he held his breath.

“Helloooo?” a voice picked up on the second ring, but it wasn’t your voice. It was a voice he didn’t recognize at all.

‘Voice actors,’ Bakugou’s voice reentered his thoughts, and the phone in his hand nearly dropped.

“Sorry, hello?” the voice he knew as you finally came through, and Kirishima let out a shallow breath, one so small, so mediocrely weak it burned his lungs.

“Do you trust me?” he asked softly, maybe too softly because you asked with a strained laugh for him to repeat his words. “Do you trust me, y/n?”

There was a pause on your end, too long a beat for Kirishima to be comfortable with.

“Of course I trust you, Ei, are you okay?”

“Do you actually trust me, or are you lying?”

“Woah there,” you said a small laugh on your tongue, but there was only confusion in it, not your contagious sound. “Did you drink? It’s a work night, you never do that!”

“Answer the question,” Kirishima spoke with finality, his shoulders tense, tears pushing past his eyes while he struggled to maintain composure.

Prove Bakugou wrong, please, prove Bakugou wrong.

“Of course I do,” you spoke with genuine clarity, but still, Kirishima was rattled, his confidence blown. “What’s going on?”

Did he want to confess to his insecurities? Was it worth it? His breathing became frantic, almost as if he was going insane just thinking about where his thoughts were. But Kirishima was never good at hiding things, no he was as open as a book.

“Why won’t you let me see you… we’ve been friends for six months, and the only thing I know about you is your eye color and your hair color. It’s so insanely generic that I can’t… I can’t do this.”

“What are you trying to say?” you ask, your voice small, almost a whisper of all the energy one could have at this time of night.

“I can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t trust me, who’s using me,” he spoke with perfect clarity that hid away his insecurities about this all. “For all, I know nothing about you is real, that this is all just some ploy to hurt me in the end. Six months and you can’t trust me with a single meet up or even a picture? I just… has this been a game for you, y/n? Or is that even your name.”

The call ended and a single message held on his screen, this call has been dropped, but you didn’t seem to want to call him back.

Kirishima didn’t sleep a wink that night, his words coming back to bite him in the throat each and every time he thought he was close enough to sleep. Insecurities riled up in him, consuming him entirely.

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He tried to call back.

For fourteen straight days, Kirishima attempted to call you back.

Every time he called you, he would always hang up before he could take back his words. But each call, after he had prematurely hung up, he would recant his mean words to the unresponsive phone. He did trust you, he was weak, he was unmanly to assume those things. You could take, however long it took to finally trust him again because he would wait for you no matter what. He apologized again and again until the very last one he broke down into silent tears, a single message of ‘I hope one day you’ll forgive me’ hung weakly on his voice and put his phone away.

It was sixteen days since he had spoken those cruel words to you, and in that time, he didn’t regret finally talking about his ill feelings towards wanting to reveal yourself to him. But he did regret the way it came out; instead of it being a deep and personal conversation, it came out as bitter and one-sided. The two of you were disconnected, and he felt empty.

But he couldn’t focus on it, not today, after all, it was Bakugou’s birthday, and everyone was gathering at the local fancy restaurant to celebrate.

Kirishima dressed up presentable, wearing a navy blue button-up, and dark slacks. He walked towards the entrance of the restaurant where Kaminari, Sero, and Midoriya were eagerly leading the group of them into the building. Typically Kirishima would’ve been with them in terms of spirit, but he felt energyless at the moment.

With the moon high in the sky, Kirishima stilled when Bakugou called out his name.

He stared at his best friend, the ash blond’s lip curled into a sneer while he huffed, “Listen, Kirishima, I’m sorry for what I said that night.”

“What? Oh, no, it’s okay, Bakugou!” Kirishima laughed, his hand slapping to the back of his neck. “You weren’t wrong.”

“I never said I was wrong,” Bakugou grunted, his eyes locked on Kirishima’s while he shoved his hands into his pockets. Kirishima stilled, unsure as to where this would be leading. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. I know that Mina hurt you badly, and you’re too big of an idiot to not see when things arise. Maybe y/n is genuine, but if you aren’t fucking honest with her about your own feelings about how she’s so secretive, it’s not going to work.”

Kirishima smiled softly, a weak shrug moving through him, “I know, thanks, man.”

Bakugou nodded, and without a word, he continued on ahead where Midoriya was yelling at them to hurry up and come so they could be seated.

Kirishima sighed, rolling out his shoulders before following afterward.

Kirishima followed after the hostess, smiling at her gratefully when she sat the group into their own private room and left.

“Bakugou’s paying, right?” Kaminari stage whispered to Midoriya while staring at the prices on the menu.

“Eat shit, dunce face, learn how to save up your fucking money the next time you offer to come to this fucking place!” Bakugou roared, hearing the whisper.

“I’ll be covering the bill,” Todoroki informed with a smirk on his face. Kirishima laughed, looking at the prices and indeed agreeing with Kaminari’s statement. Having a wealthy friend was very convenient at times like this.

“Hi, welcome to Eiko, I’ll be your waitress today!” a voice chirped from the entrance of the room, and Kirishima froze, he recognized that voice and face.

It was the person he had mistaken for you all those months ago.

By the smile on your face, it seemed that you recognized them all too.

“And what is your name,” Sero winked, his eyes captivated by you.

“Oh, haha, sorry, my name is y/n,” you smiled, moving the menus you held in your hand to show the silver nametag on your uniform.

“Oh, like Kirishima’s y/n,” Kaminari laughed, pointing a finger at Kirishima, not at all being as quiet as he probably thought himself to be. But it seemed that he wasn’t the only one who thought that because while Kirishima was staring at your face, embarrassingly taking you in, you followed Kaminari’s finger.

Your sight sat on the redhead in the middle whose name was Kirishima, and you straightened up in what felt like panic.

“You’re Kirishima?” you asked quietly, your finger grasping the menus so tightly, your knuckles turned white. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

“The one and only,” Kaminari voiced for him, his arm thrown over Kirishima’s shoulder while he nodded like a scholar. “And why do you ask?”

“Shut the fuck up, dunce face.” Bakugou hissed.

Kirishima continued to stare at you, a million words running through his head, yet not a single one being translated on his tongue. You were beautiful.

What should he say?

What could he say?

Your lips pursed, and you shook your head, a smile of disbelief spreading across your face, “Unbelievable.”

“Y/n—”

“Be quiet,” you snap, your tone angry, but your eyes beyond hurt. “What can I get you guys to drink?”

Dinner wasn’t exactly a pleasant time, you came in and left faster than anyone could blink, and yet none of their drinks went empty, nor did they really have a problem. Much quicker than Kirishima would’ve liked, they were done and were soon piling out of the restaurant after Kirishima decided to leave a very, very generous tip.

“I’m going to stay until I can speak to y/n,” Kirishima said, waving off his friends who were expecting him to follow. But he couldn’t, not when he felt like the world's biggest ass for what he did to you.

“Good luck,” they all wished him well before eventually leaving, knowing better than to stick around.

So there at the outside bench, Kirishima waited.

Two hours he sat there until you emerged from the front door, your hair was no longer put back, you held your apron in your hand, and your purse on your shoulder.

“Y/n!” he called out, his feet no longer cemented into place; he strode after you.

You didn’t seem to pick up the pace, nor did you slow down. You were focused on your car that sat at the edge of the parking lot, and you ignored his calls.

It wasn’t until his hand touched your shoulder, and he appeared before you did Kirishima freeze again. Angry hot tears slid down your face, your face screwed up, your shoulders stiff.

“What do you want, Kirishima?” you spat, but there was only exhaustion in your voice, nothing bitter, nothing at all what Kirishima deserved from you.

“I want to apologize,” Kirishima whispered, his hands struggling to reach out and wipe your tears away. You were crying because of him, he did this to you. “I was a dick, I was… beyond unmanly to you, and I’m so sorry! I just let Bakugou get into my head, and I’ve never been a secure person because, well, I’m just… fuck, I don’t even know, but all I know is that you didn’t deserve this. And I like you so much, but I didn’t — I don’t know what to do?!”

Your eyes stared up at him, they were bright with tears, wounded beyond anything Kirishima could hope to fix.

“That night, you said if I didn’t trust you, but I did trust you! I’ve always trusted you—” your finger jabbed his chest— “but it was you who didn’t trust me! I get that it’s hard to not have a picture of someone you care about after a long length of time, but we were always fine for a while! It was going to happen, but while I trusted you, I didn’t trust myself, okay?! I couldn’t trust myself to see that if you were so much more handsome than me that I couldn’t be confident enough to let myself be friends with you! I constantly fuck up relationships when I have crushes on people because… I don’t know, I just do! But you were someone with no risk and the highest risk, and I wanted to be sure in my own feelings before giving you a picture of me! But… fuck, Kirishima, you didn’t trust me!”

Kirishima’s throat tightened, the tears on your face a guilty reminder that this was because of him. But how could he fix this?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his hands grabbing onto your arms just above the elbow, and his head hung by your forehead, not quite touching you, but just enough that his spiked hair teased the atoms between you. You were taller than he expected, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t deal with, no, not at all. “You’re right, I didn’t trust you, and you didn’t deserve that. I don’t think there’s anything that I can say, or do for that matter, to change your mind, and I’m sorry. I just panicked because who gets into this type of situation, how do I tell my phone friend that I have feelings for her? I was weak, and I am so fucking pathetic, and I just want to make things better. If you’ll let me be your friend again…”

He slowly looked back up at you, and you were frozen in your place, tears falling down your face still.

“I don’t think we can be friends,” you confessed, and Kirishima’s heart broke in two, his hands dropping from your arms in his embarrassment and humiliation.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry still, um… maybe I’ll see you again?” Kirishima smiled despite it all, he kept smiling despite the crack in his chest and his soul.

“You will,” you murmured, and before Kirishima could blink, your fists wrapped in his collar, and you brought him down for an ardent kiss that he was not quick to respond to. It took three seconds for him to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in, kissing you again and again and again.

It didn’t seem to matter to either one of you that you were both now kissing without a care in the world in the middle of a parking lot, because you both had your emotions exposed to the other, and you didn’t want to be friends. At least not when the man who held your heart confessed that you held his in yours.

The two of you weren’t truly disconnected, it was just a little lost moment in your call.

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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weasleywinchester · 4 years ago

Text

It’s A Low Number

Cassian Andor x Reader

Welcome to the first fic I’ve ever written for one Cassian Andor. Rogue One is one of my top favorite Star Wars movies and Cassian was immediately crowned as another Space Husband.

Warnings: Blood, shooting Imperial Officers and Stormtroopers, female masturbation, K-2SO’s legendary sass

Summary:

You never expected to be any kind of medic, let alone one for the resistance. You had once tried to tell a crewmember you weren’t a medic (more of a simple first aid person) when he shoved you onto a mission with Captain Cassian Andor, and then you managed to save the captain’s life. And now you’ve been put on every mission Cassian has ever put together, which made you, Cassian and K2 very happy. K2 loves to make you squirm about your little crush on Cassian, but you had no clue about Cassian’s true feeling towards you. All you both needed were simple calculations.

The ship rattles as it speeds away from the failed mission, various alarms warning that something is about to go wrong or the ship needs fuel. No one has said a word since you boarded, not even K2. Thankfully the same amount of people you left with are also coming back; but the resistance is no closer to winning the war.

Captain Andor had managed to connect with someone who has information, and who needs protection in return. Unfortunately when you all had gotten there the imperial troops were crawling all over the city; leaving you no choice but to run.

The ship gives one last jolt before touching down in paddock 5. No one moves at first, you all brace for (another) tongue lashing from Captain Andor. But he remains seated, only nodding his head to the crew. Everyone shuffles about, gathering their things, noting what needs to be repaired and heading back to their rooms.

“Everyone get some rest, and be ready.” Captain Andor shouts as everyone hops out of the ship.

You quietly shuffle about, making a list of any supplies you need to replace as well as if any equipment indicators that are flashing red. K2 runs diagnostics from the port next to you, still surprisingly not saying anything. You take a look at where the med kit is stashed, it’s a wreck since you had to patch up your crewmates arm. You sigh and dump everything out onto the seat, you pick out everything covered in blood, tossing it into the trash bin. You sneak a glance at Cassian… Cassian, you wish you could call him that. You did, accidentally, once; he assigned you to clean the ship for an entire month! Although after that, he started using your first name whenever he was talking to you. Threw a few people off guard since he was so strict with everyone else.

You refocus your eyes from the memory and see he’s currently taken his puffy jacket off, his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his head is completely inside one of the side panels of the ship. He reaches around to grab a tool from the box on the seat, his hands already covered in grease.

“The probability of him discovering you staring at him is about 80%.” K2 mentions. You side him, only to hear Cassian bump his head and curse. You both turn to him, waiting to see if he’ll stop working, but he continues.

“What’s the probability he’d sleep with me?” You sarcastically whisper. You let yourself focus on the movement of his arms. His forearms are flexed, his hands steadily working on whatever is broken in the panel.

“It’s a low number.” K2 loudly whispers next to my head. You go sass him back when what he said actually registers. He was NOT supposed to hear that! Let alone calculate it!

“K2. I swear. IF you say ANYTHING to anyone I will rip your circuit board out.” You growl, poking a finger into his chest.

“K2 I’ll be back, have to grab a part.” Cassian says as he walks out the door, giving you a small nod.

“By my calculations you have a high chance of being sexually frustrated. Is that why you’ve decided to fixate on Cassian?”

“K...”

“If you look for a partner at a lower rank your chances of not being sexually frustrated go down significantly. Although you don’t like lowering your standards of washing detergent, so why would men be any different.”

You turn to look at K. He may not have eyebrows but if he did they would be raised, begging you to challenge his analysis. You move your jaw, trying not to punch him in the face; which you did once, it was not a good recovery process for your hand or your ego. You finally let out a sigh and turn back to the med kit.

“K, I’m fine. But every once in a while a girl just wants a really hot guy to screw her really good. It’s not like a lot of us have a big future ahead.” You shove all the med kit contents back into the bag and briskly walk out of the ship.

_______

The next few hours continue as normal; you refill the med kit, grab some dinner and finally get to take a hot shower. You let the water run over you, relaxing every muscle and taking the feeling of failure down the drain with it.

You replay the mission in your head, having to comb over every detail. The morning you left, Cassian had come to get you himself. He had said he finally made contact with someone and that he was assembling a crew to leave before first light. When you got to the ship you recognized some familiar faces, most of whom Cassian worked with often.

“Good to see the Captain finally picked a medic he trusts.” One of the crewmembers commented, patting your shoulder as he pulled himself into the ship.

“(Y/N), ready?” Cassian asked, raising his eyebrows at you in that super adorable way he does. You lost any ability to talk so you simply nodded. The journey to the meet up was fast, Cassian and a few of the soldiers coming up with a plan for how each member of the team would move.

“(Y/N), You’re with me.” Cassian comments, continuing to study the map of the city.

“Captain?” You frown, sharing a look with the guy who talked to you earlier.

“In this part of town,” He points to what looks like a marketplace, “it looks suspicious to be traveling alone. Since you’re the most inexperienced out in the field, you’ll stick with me. Everyone will pair off and take the following routes” He points at a few sections of the map.

“And let me guess, I stay with the ship.” K2 sighs. Cassian nods and continues to work out as much of the plan as possible. You feel the nerves work their way up your spine; you have to get out of the ship and into the line of fire. You sit on your hands, trying not to squirm too much. You’ll be with Cassian, it’ll be fine.

You jump a little as the ship touches down. Cassian lets the others jump out ahead of both of you.

“Take this, It’s set to stun.” He whispers, placing a small blaster in your hand. He hops out of the ship and you holster the gun.

“Try not to die, I don’t hate you.” K2 whirs from the pilot seat. You roll your eyes a jump from the ship, jogging to catch up to Cassian. He leads you through the city at a leisurely pace, his gaze steadily moving around the area. You pass a few imperial robots, no sorry, soldiers. And then you start to see more the closer you move to the meeting place.

“Captain...” You whisper, he looks at you following your gaze. Stormtroopers, and a lot of them. He grabs your hand and changes your route to intersect with the others. You happen upon a pair of your crewmates and then Cassian shoves you into an alcove as he runs for them. He tackles both out of the way of oncoming fire. You wrestle your way out of some wooden crates as the shooting gets heavy. You see one of the guys has been shot in the arm and the other has taken off to find the others.

And you run... towards Cassian.

You run until you stand back to back with him, gun out and ready.

“(Y/N) get him out of here!” Cassian demands, blasting two troopers.

“Only if you’re coming with me.” You shout, blasting an officer that comes around the corner. Cassian grunts and turns to help you move your crewmate. You manage to get him into the alley when more troopers start firing at you.

“We have to buy some time.” You look down the alley, seeing the rest of your crew running towards you. You point your blaster up, taking it off stun. Cassian nods and the two of you walk back out, dodging blasts and fighting back. A few manage to get close enough for you to fight hand to hand, easily kicking their asses with your karate skills.

Cassian peels you off the stormtrooper and takes you by the hand, running back to the ship. Thankfully everyone else made it back and K2 takes off as soon as you hit the floor of the ship. You immediately start tending to everyone’s injuries, the one who got shot already has blood everywhere. You manage to get every patched up to survive the journey home.

You sit in your seat, strapping yourself in so that if you fall asleep you don’t tip out onto the bloody floor. You look over at Cassian in the copilot seat, he has the faraway look he always gets when you’re coming back from a mission...

You realize you’ve been in the shower so long it’s gone lukewarm. You quickly get out and get dressed. And then you remember your conversation with K2. Damn him! He said your chances with Cassian were low... but not zero, those odds aren’t the worst. But you would have no clue how to get from where you stand with Cassian to being in his bed.

His bed. It probably smells like laundry detergent, you can’t imagine him spending any time in it; not with the war going on. Although you have heard rumors about him going back to a few different women’s rooms. And for a brief moment, you wish he would come to yours. Your mind begins running wild with things he would do to you, and you would do to him. You lay down on your bed, letting your hands trail over your body. You peel your clothes off, your fingers eagerly moving to your throbbing clit. You imagine they’re Cassian’s skilled fingers, gently toying with you, making the right patterns and using the perfect amount of pressure to make you

“Cassian...” you whisper to the four walls of your room as the warmth of your orgasm spreads leisurely through your body. You sigh, any tension you had left is quickly being replaced by exhaustion.

Knocking? Is there actually someone knocking at my door? You open your eyes to look at the ceiling. It comes again, so you quickly pull your clothes back on, take a few steps across your tiny apartment and swing the door open.

“Y/N.” Cassian says. You feel your jaw moving up and down but no sound seems to be coming out. “May I come in?” He raises his eyebrows the smallest fraction.

“Yes of course, Cass- Captain.” He moves the corners of his mouth just enough to make a smile.

“Using my name recently?” He gives you a sly smile. You mash my lips together and cross your arms, if he only knew. He steps toward you, his fingers lightly grazing the thin fabric around your hips. “Were you cursing my name?” he presses his palms to your hips, the heat shooting through you like lightning. “Or moaning it?” His lips lightly graze your ear, the fan of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. You close my eyes and mash your lips again. Fantasies really do… come...

Oh.

No.

No no no nonono!

“Mi Amor?” Cassian gently whispers, stepping back to look at you, brushing your hair away from your neck. He looks concerned... not like when you’re on a mission; like the only thing that matters is how you feel.

“What did K2 say?” You whisper back, laying your hands on his chest.

“Something about calculations and you and me.” He lets out a small laugh. You push a little on his chest to give yourself room to breath. After a few seconds you look up at him.

“Are you doing this because of what he said?”

“Yes.” And with that you can hear your heart shatter into a thousand pieces. Of course, now you’re easy so why would he not seize the opportunity? “Mi amor, I want to be with you.” He tilts your chin up so he can look at you, “What K2 said gave me the push I needed to go after you.”

“You’re not here just for...”

“I’m here for the possibility of us.”

#captain cassian andor #cassian andor x reader #k-2so #star wars fanfiction #rogue one fanfiction #plus size reader #female reader #cassian andor x female reader #rebel scum #space husband

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anlian-aishang · 4 years ago

Note

ooooh 10, 17 and 14 from the prompt list? hope it's not too much!

Here is 17! 10 and 14 will come later I promise! I hope you enjoy this for now 🤗

Word count: 500 Tags: sfw, fluff, fem!reader

17. “Is that my shirt you’re wearing?”

Another night alone.

Opening up your dresser drawer, you were sad to find it empty. Only now did you realize just how long he had been away. The house’s neat freak had been gone for at least a week, leaving your laundry undone and your pajama drawer spare. A tired sigh.

There were sweatshirts, long sleeves, even tee shirts you could wear instead, but none of those would be as comfortable or comforting as what you had in mind. You reached over to Levi’s dresser, pulled the top drawer open, and smiled, I miss these. Then, you lowered your fingers to his pajama drawer, finding plenty of shirts to pick from. They were all the same style, same cut, same color, all different shades. Black, grey, dark grey, charcoal. You chuckled to yourself, One of a kind.

A white cotton tee seemed to call your name. Clean, fresh, ironed, pressed, - even his pajama shirts? - the shirt smelled just right. Not only because it smelled like detergent, but because it smelled like him.

You unhooked your bra and slid it off, wishing he was the one doing it instead. As soon as you draped his shirt over you, though, the warm feeling was immediate. Collar was tight around your neck and chest. Sleeves were loose around your not-quite-as-muscular arms. The straight figure hid some curves, accentuated others. It was as close to a real hug you would get. While not as nice as the real thing, it was not too bad either.

You brushed your palms up and down your outer arms, thin cotton felt nice on your skin. I should do this more often.

Hands first, then knees, you crawled up onto the bed. It was nice to have some extra space, but you would have given up that and so much more just to have him here, lying beside you. Hands folded across your stomach, you looked up at the ceiling, wondering where he was, how he was doing, when he would come home - if he would come home.

Body was exhausted, mind was restless. As you dwindled in and out of sleep, you found yourself scooching further and further to his side of the bed in a subconscious chase for him. You reached your arm out many times, hoping he would be there.

Finally, near 3 AM, he was.

Levi was hasty in stripping himself down, eager to join you in bed. He got in behind you, making the most of what little space you had left him. As long as he was your big spoon, he would never complain. As long as he could home to you, he would never be ungrateful.

He slung his arm over your abdomen and rubbed your belly, quickly noticing something new, “Is that my shirt you’re wearing?”

A sleepy nod, “Mhm.”

He smirked to himself, “Did you miss me?”

An identical nod, an identical tone, “Mhm”.

Levi chuckled, She’s too cute.

By now, you had already drifted back off to sleep. However, like forgetting to check the lock, it would bother him all night if he did not say it back. He moved his hand along your side until settling on your hips.

Levi tugged your strands aside, allowing him to mutter in your ear, “I missed you, too.”

// masterlist //

#levi x reader #levi #anon #answers #request #fluff #prompt #my writing #alias's #2020

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puckinghell · 5 years ago

Text

11:11 | Carter Hart

Summary: Hockey players are a little superstitious, so wishing on shooting stars, rainbows and dropped penny’s isn’t a rare occurrence. Normally, they’re wishing for things like wins and awards and cups, but Carter has a little something else on his wishlist. Words: 2,5k Note: based on the song 11:11 by Jae Jin which is the cutest songs I’ve ever heard. Note 2.0: This has been sitting in my concepts for over a year cause I just don’t love it but I like it too much to throw it away, so I finally decided to just post it and be done with it. Hope you guys like it anyway!

---

It’s a well known fact that hockey players are superstitious.

It’s a better known fact that hockey goalies are stupidly superstitious.

So far, Carter has been trying to break the stigma, and he’s pretty damn good at it, thank you very much. He doesn’t care if he puts on his left or right skate first, he doesn’t have to turn the shower on and off twice, there’s no pregame meal better than others. Winning games depends on how well he’s playing, not on setting his alarm at 4:32 when he takes his pregame nap.

Carter isn’t superstitious, but he is a little stitious - and he’s watched The Office way too many times, clearly. There’s just one thing he can be superstitious about. Only one thing.

You.

---

You’ve been sitting on your porch, sketchbook in hand, drawing your neighbor’s dog. He’s big and black and at 11 years old, you’re not really sure if you’re supposed to be scared of him. He looks a bit scary, but he’s never done anything bad, and your parents don’t seem to mind him.

It’s hot outside. Too hot, really, to be outside your air conditioned living room, but your brothers are yelling inside and you just wanted some peace and quiet.

Some peace and quiet, and to stare at the boy next door.

He’s a little older than you, a lot taller too, and he’s always intimidated you a bit. Sometimes he hangs out with your brothers, who are older too, but today he’s with some boys from around the neighborhood.

They’re playing street hockey, like they usually are. You like watching them play; it’s such a fun game to watch, and you really wish you could try it, see if it’s fun to play too.

But your brothers always tell you to go away, and you’ve not had the guts to ask Carter. That’s the boy next door’s name; you heard it one time when his mom called him in for dinner.

You’re focused on where the dog’s ears meet his head - on your paper it doesn’t quite look right - when something goes flying past your head.

“Duck!” you hear someone yell, but you’d already ducked in reflex. A plastic ball comes zooming past your ear, hits the wall behind you and bounces back; it rolls past your feet and ends up in front of somebody else’s.

“Are you okay?” the same voice asks, a little worried, and when you look up it’s Carter staring at you with wide eyes. “Did he hit you?”

It takes a while for his words to synch into your brain, but then you shake your head. “No, he didn’t.”

Carter smiles, at that. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’ve told Alex his aim is so bad he shouldn’t be allowed to play in public, but he didn’t believe me.”

The other guy, Alex you presume, comes running over, his hockey stick still in his hands. “Shit, sorry,” he says, and you’re pretty sure you’re not allowed to say that word but you don’t mention it.

“It’s okay,” you say instead. “You didn’t hit me.”

“Maybe keep an eye on the clock,” says Carter to his friend. “If it’s 11:11, you can wish to actually hit the target, some time.”

“If you catch 11:11 you can wish to actually make a save,” Alex shoots back.

“If I caught 11:11 I would wish for you to shut up,” Carter snaps back and that’s when you giggle.

Instantly, both the boys turn to you. Carter is grinning at you, a wide and happy grin that makes it impossible for you not to grin back. “What would you wish for, if you caught 11:11?” he asks.

You know the answer; it’s right there on the tip of your tongue and it tumbles out with thinking, words filled with earnest honesty like only those of a kid can be.

“I would wish that I could play hockey.”

The boy in front of you smiles, yanks the hockey stick out of his friend’s hands and extends it in your direction.

“Come play,” he says. “It’s not like you could be any worse than Alex, anyway.”

And under loud protest of Alex, a new friendship is born.

---

Your 16th birthday party is crazy exactly the way 16th birthday parties are supposed to be, with beers snuck into the kitchen as your parents go away for the night, telling you again and again that you can always call them if you need them, even if you think they’ll be mad.

There’s loud music everywhere, and people; you don’t even know half of them, but your brothers promised you they’d make it a party to remember and they’ve kept their promise.

The thing is, well, you’re not the biggest fan of parties, actually. You thought it would be cool, would be like in the movies and you’d feel all grown up and cool, but instead you feel a bit lost, with the noise of the people too loud and their drunken dancing having you worried about your parents furniture.

You also found out you really don’t like beer.

You get a Pepsi from the fridge, where some friend of your brother’s is mixing some of your dad’s rum into a bottle of Sprite - it doesn’t seem like a good match, but then again, you’ve never tasted rum - while your brother is eating cheese straight from the packet.

It’s all a bit too much, too sudden, and you find yourself yearning for some peace and quiet, some familiarity.

You make your way to the back yard; it’s quiet, there, the October air a little too cold for your guests, and you sit down on the porch, wrapping your arms around your knees.

The music booms through the walls and you can still hear people screaming, but it sounds more muffled, and it allows you to breathe.

Almost immediately after you sit down, you hear the creak of the backdoor and footsteps against the wood of the porch, and then a familiar body sits next to you, smelling like foresty cologne and floral laundry detergent.

“Hey,” Carter says softly, smiling at you when you gaze up at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just needed some quiet.” You take a deep breath. “It’s a bit too much, I guess.”

Carter is your best friend; has been, for years, and you would trust him with literally anything, so you don’t hesitate, telling him the truth. You don’t think there’s anything you’ve not told him the truth on.

Except when he asked you why you never said yes to the boys asking you out on dates.

First, you’d tried to dodge, told him you never got asked, but that didn’t work because James had asked and you’d shot him down, and James was on the hockey team with Carter so obviously Carter had found out.

When he confronted you with that, you just shrugged.

“Just not into it, Cart.”

Because they’re not you. I would say yes if it was you. But those are words only meant for your own ears, words your heart utters into the silent void because there’s no way your brain would even let you say them out loud, not when it could ruin the best friendship you have.

“You know,” Carter says now, “maybe we see a shooting star. Then you could still make your birthday wish.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “What are you on about?”

He laughs, lightly. “I saw you when you blew out your candles, on the cake, earlier. You were super quick with it, there’s no way you made a wish.”

It earns him an eye roll, from you.

“Maybe I didn’t wanna make a wish. Maybe there’s nothing I wish for.”

“Everyone has something they wish for,” says Carter wisely. He bumps your shoulder and then frowns, suddenly. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re freezing.”

You put your hands on your own arms, wrap your arms around yourself, to feel that indeed your skin is cold and there’s goosebumps on your arms. Before you can comment on it, Carter has taken off his hoodie and is tugging it - not so carefully - over your head.

“Auw,” you whine, “you’re pulling my hair.”

He immediately stops, then very slowly pulls the fabric down the rest of the way. It’s worse, that way, makes it feel more intimidate than it is.

“Well,” you say finally, “there’s no shooting stars, so I guess no wish for me, this year.”

Carter sighs, sounding defeated, then glances at his watch and his whole face lights up.

“It’s 11:10! You can make a wish at 11:11!”

You can’t help but giggle at his excitement. “Cart, that doesn’t even have anything to do with my birthday.”

“No,” says Carter, talking slow, as if he’s explaining something to a toddler. “They’re more special. Everyone gets a birthday wish, because everyone has a birthday. Not everyone catches the 11:11, though. That’s the universe telling you it’s your turn for a little bit of luck.”

It’s dumb, and you don’t believe it, but he says it so adorably convinced, that when he motions at his watch that it’s time, you close your eyes and make a wish.

It’s fine if the wish will never come true. As long as it makes the tall, slender boy next to you happy, the way he does you.

---

Carter’s first year as a Flyer is stressful.

You get to watch it from up close cause you followed him to Philly; there was never really an option not to. You know, after years of searching for something else, someone else that makes you feel the way he does, that it’s a lost cause.

It’s him, for you. It’s always been him.

You’re driving to his apartment, the night of what you knew has been a hard game. They lost, again. You know Carter will - wrongfully - blame himself, again. You know you’re gonna do whatever it takes to pick up the pieces, again, and probably fail, again.

Maybe Carter’s stupid goalie superstition has rubbed off on you, but when you drive through a tunnel, you hold your breath until the end of it.

Let him be okay.

His front door creaks as you open it; he gave you a key as soon as he moved in, and you’ve been using it ever since. You don’t even think you know what his doorbell sounds like.

“Carter?” you call out. You know he’s not asleep; he never sleeps well, after losses. It takes him ages, tossing and turning in his sheets until he just gives up and sits on the balcony, staring at the stars.

He says it calms him down.

You’re pretty sure you know where to find him.

“Cart?” you mutter, opening the balcony door carefully, and indeed, there’s a human figure slumped over the railing, head down, hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie. At your voice, he looks up, and you’re struck with how tired he looks.

Dark circles surround his bright eyes, which seem to light up the dark night as much as the city lights below you.

You go stand next to him, close enough for your shoulders to touch; warmth is still radiating off him, his cheeks are flushed.

“I don’t get what you’re looking at, here,” you tell him, giving him time to decide whether or not he wants to talk about the game. You know he doesn’t do well when you push him. “You can’t even see the stars. The city lights are way too bright.” You crinkle your nose in disgust. “The stars were so much more beautiful back home.”

“Do you miss home?” Carter asks.

You shrug. “Sometimes. Some things. You?”

“I miss my family.” Carter pauses. “Not home, so much. I thought I would, but, the one part I thought I’d miss the most...” Another pause, then a tentative smile. “Well, she followed me here.”

Your heart flutters at that and you have to remind yourself that he’s just in a mushy mood, probably trying to hide his emotions about the game.

But you still wanna let him know you appreciate it, and you feel the same, so you lean closer, letting your head drop to his shoulder. Right away, his head is resting on top of yours.

“Can you wish on city lights?” you ask, just to fill the quiet night, and he chuckles.

“Probably not, but I don’t think I’ll need the stars to wish on. I make wishes when I hold my breath in tunnels, when I throw pennies in wells, when I blow out candles...”

“There’s no wells around here,” you interrupt, and you feel Carter’s shoulders shake with muted laughter. It’s so much better than the sad expression he wore when you got here, and you feel the brick that’s settled in the pit of your stomach since you saw the score, slightly dissipate.

“I think it’s probably around 11,” says Carter, then. “If we catch it, we can make another wish.”

You know what you would wish for; the same thing you’ve been wishing for for 8 years. You also know you might as well be wishing for the sky to turn purple, so you’re not really too worried about catching 11:11.

“What do you wish for, anyway?” you ask him. He turns slightly, so he’s facing you now, and incredulous look on his face.

“You really don’t know?” he says. “It’s the same thing, every time.”

“How would I know?” you huff. “You’ve never told me.”

“Guess.”

You don’t see the fun in this game but you’d do anything to see him smile, anything to keep his mind off the game, so you humor him.

“Stanley Cup.”

“No.”

“Vezina?”

“Nope.”

“World peace.” Carter seems like that guy.

“No, but I would, if I thought it was possible.”

“A puppy.”

He laughs. “No, but I should.”

“I don’t know, Cart,” you tell him, smiling now. You expect him to say something silly, but a serious expression crosses his face, and then his hands come down and grab hold of your hips. He takes a step closer and your breath hitches in your throat.

“What...” are you doing, you start, but he interrupts you.

“When I wish on 11:11, I’m wishing for you.”

His lips touch yours before you’ve processed the words, but as soon as you realize what’s happening, you hook your arms behind his neck, push up on your tiptoes to kiss him deeper.

You try to put everything you have into that kiss; try to tell him, wordlessly, that you wanna grow old together, wanna be his person, want him to stay with you even when you’re scared, that you think he’s beautiful and magical and everything you could ever wish for.

That every time you wish on shooting stars and ticking clocks, you’re wishing for him too.

“I think we might’ve missed 11:11,” is the first thing you say when you finally pull apart, breathing a little heavily, Carter’s cheeks tinted a little pink.

He breathes out a chuckle, rests his forehead against yours.

“That’s okay,” he says.

“I’ve got all I’d wish for right here.”

#carter hart #philadelphia flyers #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #carter hart imagine #philadephia flyers imagine

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wxlfstxrx · 4 years ago

Note

Sleepy and cuddly O'Knutzy headcanons to warm my heart?:) Please and thanks🥺❤️

ANON WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME i am craving cuddles so bad now and i got none :( hnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggggggggghhhhhh okay let’s go *cracks knuckles*

am going for the cliche here so tiny 5’9 logan likes to sleep in between his two big boys. he doesn’t really sleep with his head on the pillow (“it hurts my neck” “pillows are meant to protect your neck, lo” “i doN’T KNOW IT JUST HURTS”), instead he scoots down a little so he can bury his face in leo’s chest, and most of the time only the top of his mop of brown curls peeks out of the duvet. he snuggles in close to leo and throws his leg over his, latching onto him like a koala. he breathes in leo’s scent, a mixture of their shared soap and laundry detergent, and he loves that they all smell vaguely the same because it signifies their relationship and the bond they share. he misses living with dumo and his family, he really does, but he loves that the three of them are now living together and it’s all so domestic he can cry.

finn spoons logan, his chest to logan’s back, and arms wrapped around his waist. because he actually does sleep with his head on the pillow (“like a normal person” “shut up”), logan’s head is practically tucked under finn’s chin and his face is inches away from leo’s so when he wakes up the first thing he sees is leo’s peaceful, unguarded face, one side of his face mushed into the pillow, his long eyelashes fluttering lightly as he periodically frowns and mumbles incoherently in his sleep. his ankles are entangled with leo’s, bringing them close and basically sandwiching logan in between them. he loves being the first one to wake up because he gets to savour the few quiet moments where he can just appreciate his two boys, especially because they’ve practically become his family and he’s not so alone anymore like he was when he first joined the lions, scared shitless and always guarded.

leo, with his long arms, wraps around the two boys easily. his hand rests on finn’s waist and that means his arm is draped over logan’s shoulder, and he loves that he can hold them both in his sleep; it grounds him and reminds him of a time where he would wish for himself to someday find a love so genuine and unapologetic. he falls asleep and wakes up intertwined with the two people who have given him everything, who have shown him what love is, and who have taken care of him like nobody else (besides his family) would. he loves that, and he loves them.

when finn’s inevitably the first one to wake up in the morning, he spends a good fifteen minutes just playing with his sleeping boys’ hair, trailing his fingers up and down leo’s cheek, tracing patterns on his freckles, and burying his face in logan’s hair, wrapping his arms even more tightly around him.

leo’s the heaviest sleeper on the planet so he doesn’t stir at all, just continues snoring softly, but logan makes a small noise or two and brings his free hand to rest atop of finn’s before falling back into a light slumber.

eventually, finn decides to get out of bed, wanting to use the bathroom and brush his teeth, but when he pulls away from logan he hears a soft whine and his heart just swells tenfold and he almost doesn’t want to get up. but he really has to pee so he kisses logan’s cheek and whispers i’ll be back before slipping out of the covers.

although logan is practically a walking heater, he instantly feels the cold air on his skin when finn gets up, and he blinks a few times to wake himself up, one hand still flat against leo’s chest and his leg now resting on top of his calf. he turns around slowly, stretching his lower back as he does, and he wraps leo’s arm around himself as he presses his back to leo’s front, feeling his hardness digging into his back. he smiles sleepily as finn comes back, and lifts the covers, holding his hands out.

finn breaks into a soft smile and climbs back into bed, feeling logan’s arms circling around his waist and pulling him flush against his own body. he presses himself closer and finn lets out a soft moan as their hips grind against each other. logan starts nipping at finn’s chest, licking and kissing his way up to his neck, and finn just buries his fingers in logan’s hair, massaging his scalp gently and making him hum in contentment.

logan starts running his hands up and down finn’s back, feeling the muscles rippling underneath his touch. his skin is one of logan’s favourite things about him; it’s smooth and always warm and he loves to run his index finger over the freckles splashed all over his body. he thinks freckles are the sexiest thing ever. at one point, his fingers slip below the waistband of finn’s boxers and he starts to knead the firm flesh of his arse, drawing out long, breathy moans from the redhead, who hauls him further up the bed to kiss him with an intensity that was entirely too inappropriate for… five forty-eight in the morning. logan’s not complaining though.

suddenly, he feels a warm mouth pressed on the back of his neck and a large hand coming round to palm him slowly, thumb rubbing over the tip of his now fully hard length. he gasps loudly into finn’s mouth and then whimpers when he feels leo’s equally hard erection pressed up against his arse. he can’t decide whether to thrust forward into leo’s hand which by now has found its way into his shorts, gripping onto and stroking his throbbing shaft, or to grind down onto leo’s heavily leaking cock which is sliding up and down between logan’s arse cheeks in sync with his hand.

finn helps logan to make that choice; he shuffles down the bed, red curls disappearing under the duvet, and yanking his shorts down, he closes his lips around logan’s cock and starts sucking him devotedly. leo hauls logan up onto his hands and knees, making finn shift so he’s lying underneath logan, cock still buried in his mouth. leo moves to straddle finn’s hips, grinding down on him as he leans forward and licks teasing circles around logan’s entrance at the same time, and both finn and logan let out positively indecent sounds that just make leo even harder.

finn’s hand finds its way to the waistband of his sweats and pulls them down enough such that his leaking cock springs free and he starts pumping him with his fist, smearing the precome all over the swollen tip and driving leo absolutely insane.

logan’s barely coherent but he chokes out a plea for leo to just eat him out now, please, stop teasing him, he can’t wait any longer, and leo happily obliges, driving his tongue into logan, who bucks his hips into finn’s mouth, making him gag.

they build up a steady rhythm and it frankly doesn’t take long for the three of them to climax, one after another, their limbs trembling violently as they ride out their orgasms. logan barely manages to roll off to the side before he collapses onto the mattress, fully kicking the duvet off of them. leo has fallen forward onto finn’s chest, still breathing hard and clutching at the redhead’s biceps as he tries to steady his breathing. finn just looks like he’s in complete bliss, running his hand up and down leo’s sweaty back soothingly and pressing his face into the crook of his neck.

at one point, logan reaches over to the nightstand, picks up his phone and suddenly jumps up, exclaiming in alarm as he practically drags the other two up by their hands. we’re going to be late for training, he rushes out as he nearly trips on the way to the bathroom.

finn gets confused for a moment. isn’t today sunday? he asks, frowning at logan who’s frantically brushing his teeth. logan’s eyes widen and he spits the toothpaste out, rinsing his mouth and splashing water on his face before straightening up again. part of his hair is dripping wet and falling over his forehead in rivulets and water is dripping off his chin, and finn’s suddenly turned on again. he presses his hand down on his half hard cock, trying to control himself as logan checks his phone again.

fuck, he breathes out, his shoulders slumping. yeah, it’s sunday. leo’s rolling his eyes amusedly while leaning against the doorframe and he holds out a hand, pulling them back to the bed. he’s already yawning again, the adrenaline from earlier having worn off and he’s back to being a sleepy baby giant.

finn and logan look at him curled up on the bed and smile at each other, eyes full of love, and they join him back under the covers for a couple more hours of sleep.

#Finn O'Hara #Logan Tremblay #Leo Knut #O'Knutzy #lumosinlove #tooth rotting fluff #with a dash of smut #you're welcome #i wrote this half drunk

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klarsynt-arc · 3 years ago

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SENSES AND OTHER ODDLY SPECIFIC HEADCANONS

1. WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE: he generally has a very clean smell, that fresh out of the laundry detergent scent in his clothes, pine and vanilla after shave, and sometimes he has a sort of metallic undertone.

2. WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE: calloused but not dry. his hands are very worn but he takes care of himself and moisturizes.

3. WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY: when he’s in tantalus he has a very strict eating regiment. that being said, he doesn’t hold to a three meals schedule as it’s better to eat in smaller spurts throughout the day. typically he’d fruit and eggs for breakfast. he takes food with him to work which would consist of fresh vegetables he can snack on as he needs to and something easy like sandwiches, gyros, dumplings etc. he usually will have go to restaurants wherever he’s stationed if he wants to eat out. the one big meal he typically has is dinner. that’s when he lets himself have more fun with what he’s eating, less about all the nutrition and more about just having time to unwind and cook. it could range anywhere from some easy pasta to super complex artisanal cuisine. really just depends on his mood.

4. DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE: not really lmao he hums to music and can kinda follow a tune but definitely not the guy you ask to whip out wonderwall

5. DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS: fidgeting and ticks aren’t bad in and of themselves. that being said, emil will bite the inside of his lip sometimes which can make him get blisters. he grinds his teeth. when he’s nervous, he often fidgets with his clothing or will have his hands clasped together so he fiddles with his own fingers.

6: WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE/WEAR: when he’s on duty, his clothing is typically pretty plain, comfortable and practical. fitted cargo pants, combat boots, and a sweater or long-sleeved turtle neck. he’ll just wear a plain t-shirt if it’s summer or somewhere hot. off duty he is a lot more expressive with his clothing. he likes wearing a lot of crop tops and blouses at home. he also often has his nails painted on and off duty.

7. IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE? HOW MUCH? HOW SO: emil is tactile with people he feels close to and safe around. contact with him can be complicated because of his abilities. he tries to only do it with people who 1) would be comfortable with him picking up memories 2) wouldn’t use that vulnerability against him. when he is around those people he can get pretty affectionate. casual touches to cuddling. he finds it very grounding. he’s also affectionate in non physical ways. he likes acts of service. making people dinner, coffee, tea, cleaning up around their house for them, anything that can show he cares through action is a big thing for him.

8. WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN: he starts out on his back but usually ends up on his side curled up or on his stomach splayed out. he doesn’t move around too much when he sleeps, though.

9: COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM: as big as he is, emil is very graceful and was also taught to be quiet and not draw attention. so it’s kind of a toss up. i think if he’s completely relaxed you might hear his footsteps. otherwise he just kinda poof i’m here now.

TAGGED BY: stole it from @gcroinya

TAGGING: @seekme @seesgood @shesdaylight @executiioner @undred (noelle) @wyhlds (june) @elskcv (whomstever you wish my love) @pryceism @slaysevil @shieldcaught @triquestar and whoever wants to! you can say i tagged you

#〖 AESTHETIC: I FIND BEAUTY IN THE MOST COMMON DREAMS 〗

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benji-writes · 5 years ago

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The Laundry Room

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3416

Summary: Bucky is soft. He finds love in the laundry room of his apartment building.

He wasn’t sure what it was like to be in love. He had loved people, sure – his ma, his sister, Steve. But he didn’t really know what it was like to truly love a woman, and to be loved by her in return. He thought it must be beautiful.

It wasn’t what he’d wanted in the forties. He was so young – handsome. Girls wanted to be around him all the time, looking up at him wide eyed and lashes fluttering. He’d take them dancing, because that’s what they wanted, and he’d walk them home. He’d get a kiss on the cheek from the girls who were looking for a boyfriend, and a kiss on the lips from the girls who were looking for a good time, and he’d walk home alone.

It was never more than that though. No one ever made it past a few dates, and then came the war, and the dark, and the cold, and suddenly his hair was long. When his hair was short, and his body whole, he was someone else. He didn’t know who that was anymore, angry that he would never get him back. Girls didn’t look at him anymore. No wide eyed women he could call “doll.” No one who’s eyelashes would flutter. And if girls wouldn’t look at him, what did the rest of his life look like?

Back then, he thought he’d eventually find someone to settle down with. He dreamed about the end of the war, soldiers coming home to the ones they’d left behind. He dreamed he’d meet a girl. One he could write letters to while he was away. One he could come home to. The war would end, and he’d have long since asked her father for his blessing. He’d get down on one knee. In a house of his own, with his wife and a baby. A big backyard where the kids could run around in the grass. If anyone had known how much he thought about it, he never would have lived it down. But the world was different now. He was different now. And how could he let himself dream of a life where all those old wishes came true? He would just be disappointed in the end.

You met Bucky in the laundry room of your apartment building. You lived in a pretty nice place. Not so nice that you had a doorman or security, but you needed a code to get in the first door, and a special key to get in the second. A nice enough place for there to be a laundry room in your building so the tenants wouldn’t need to block out the hours in a day to go and sit at the laundromat.

You did your laundry every time your hamper was full, and you had two hampers. One for your clothes, and the other for cloths and towels. This meant that you washed your clothes every Saturday. Every other Wednesday, you did your towels. You liked the regularity that came with this schedule. The routine nature of it comforted you, and so unless there was some terrible emergency, absolutely nothing was going to disrupt your laundry schedule.

You loved your laundry time, in part due to how much you loved the laundry room itself. When you got off the elevator and walked down the hall to the laundry room, you saw the machines lined against the back wall. They stacked one on top of the other, and there were four washer/dryer sets. There was a big soft couch in the laundry room, with a big purple plush chair and a coffee table. There was also the long table in the middle of the room where you could fold your clothes, or put down your detergent or dryer sheets. The walls were a soft green, and it felt like a safe space, and no one was ever there when you went.

You always did your laundry fairly late at night. For the most part, midnight would roll around, and you’d transfer your clothes from the hamper to the laundry basket and putter your way downstairs. No one in the building ever did their clothes at this hour, and that meant for the hour and forty five minutes while your clothes cycled through the machines, the laundry room was yours. Sometimes you’d just sit on the couch. You’d read romances or watch tv shows on your phone. Sometimes you sang, and sang, and spun around the room to the Tangled soundtrack. When everything was too much, you would sit on top of the long table and watch the laundry spin.

The night you met him, you’d fallen asleep on the long table. He’d just moved into a new building, enjoying the quiet that came with being slightly farther away from the city. It was a nice enough place, and it felt good to be on his own again. To open the windows as wide as he wanted, or keep the tv on the Food Network channel all day. He never had to wear shoes, and he could take his arm off without worrying about anybody looking. A spider plant he’d bought at the farmers market sat on his window sill. He’d named it Dave. There was a laundry room in the basement, and he could buy the Gain detergent (because it smelled better than the Tide they used at the compound) and the Snuggle dryer sheets and fold his own clothes again. He liked it better this way. On his own where he could choose.

It was about a week after he’d moved in. His arm was off, and it was time to do his laundry. Unwilling to risk the possibility of running into neighbors in the hallway or the laundry room, he waited till night. After all, who did their laundry after midnight on a Saturday? In a white t-shirt and blue fleece pajama pants he made his way downstairs. Holding the laundry basket against his hip, he walked off the elevator and down the hall to the laundry room. What Bucky had not factored into his night, was a beautiful woman snoring softly on top of the table in the middle of the room. Bucky stood there for a moment, not quite sure if what he was seeing was actually real or not. He walked backwards out of the room, waited a moment, then closed his eyes and shook his head back and forth a few times, as if to erase the image like nothing more than powder in an etch a sketch. He opened his eyes and walked back into the room hoping it would be empty, but there you still were. Sleeping. Your clothes from the wash now done, just waiting for you to wake up and move them to the dryer.

Bucky didn’t know what to do. Just standing in the doorway, he couldn’t help but stare at you. You’d sprawled out, limbs hanging off the side, with your phone laying on the ground where it had clearly fallen out of your hand. You wore a big shirt with a picture of an alien on the front that said “Humans aren’t real,” and a pair of boxers as pajama shorts. One of your flip flops had fallen off your foot, and he noticed your fingers and toes were painted a matching shade of periwinkle. He couldn’t stop looking at you, which he realized was perhaps kinda creepy, but there was just something about you. He wanted to look at you, and to keep looking at you. He wanted you to wake up, and to look at him too.

He wasn’t sure what he should do. Should he turn around and come back another time? Should he just put his stuff in the laundry and leave? Should he wake you up? Why were you on the table when there was a couch not five feet away? Should he try and coax you up and gently over to the couch? But if he did that why wouldn’t you just go back to your own apartment? He wasn’t even wearing his prosthetic. Fuck. Okay. Here’s the plan – pick the phone up from the floor, put the phone on the table, quietly put the clothes in the washing machine, and leave.

With his mind made up, he put his basket down in front of the machine. He picked your phone up and placed it by you on the table. He opened the wash, which made a very loud clicking sound as it opened. He threw his clothes in, filled the machine with detergent, and shut the door to start the cycle. Naturally, echoing through the silence, the door made the same loud clicking as it closed, and an even louder click as the machine locked. Taking a deep breath, and feeling like he’d just run a god damn marathon, he turned to leave only to make eye contact with the woman. Fuck.

You had woken up, probably from the loud click of the machine, and Bucky imagined what he must’ve looked like to you. A one armed man you’d never seen before standing in the laundry room at almost one in the morning. He was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that he was not wearing shoes, and that his big toe stuck out of the hole in his left sock.

Uncertain of what to do, Bucky just stood there. Looking at you, as you looked at him. Two people frozen at the threshold of something nameless. A liminal moment in time.

You reached your hand up to wipe the sleep out of your eyes and said, “Good mornin’.”

Rolling with it he said, “Mornin’.”

After a big yawn you said, “You the guy who just moved in 4B?”

He nodded, almost solemnly.

“I’m in 4A.”

He was quiet after that, as if taking in the information. You weren’t sure what else to say, and neither was he really, but he still stood there.

After a moment you said, “Sorry I was asleep. That was probably pretty weird.”

He shrugged his shoulders, not particularly worried about it. It took a second, but then he spoke up again and said, “Your laundry is done.”

You let out a big sigh, and hopped off the table, sliding your shoe back on once your foot hit the ground. Wordlessly you started to change your stuff over. Bucky, uncertain of what to do, simply watched you for a bit. When you turned back to look at him, he was gone. If it weren’t for the laundry basket sat in front of his machine, the clothes inside spinning around, you’d have sworn you dreamt the whole thing. You imagined what you must’ve looked like to him. He looked like a sculpture of Adonis and you’d been drooling, asleep on top of a public table. Thinking too much about it was going to give you a headache.

When he came back downstairs to move his clothes into the dryer, you were sat on the couch like a normal person. When you glanced over at him, you noticed he’d changed into a long sleeved hoodie, and looked like he had two regular arms. Before common sense or any semblance of decorum could stop you, the words tumbled out, “Was I dreaming or did you only have one arm half an hour ago.”

The second you said it, you smacked you hand over your mouth. He turned to look at you, since he’d just finished moving his things and closed the dryer door. He stared at you, though not unkindly, and as if desperate to make up for asking you rushed out all at once, “I am so sorry you do not have to answer that question. That was so not the right thing to say, I am so sorry. Oh my god, I’m so so sorry. Please don’t hate me forever, I promise I’m not normally this rude.”

You could see the corner of his mouth turn up, “It’s alright. I put my prosthetic back on.”

You sat there looking at him, and nodded earnestly. You were too embarrassed to say anything else, and suddenly overwhelmed, you couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“Have a good night, doll.”

You threw your head back and groaned once he was gone. What an embarrassment.

—

The next time you saw him was a week later. Saturday night, laundry time. You were wide awake that night, and playing solitaire on the coffee table when he walked in. “Dancing in the Moonlight” played on your phone in the background, and he gave you a soft smile when he walked in. You wanted him to smile at you again, so you just smiled back. He went about his business, you went about yours, and from there on out, that was how it was. He came back every Saturday after that. Normally you two didn’t say anything, the first few Saturdays especially. In those days, there was no more than passing smiles, glances stolen when the other was looking away. Back then, you only knew what his voice sounded like in a sleepy memory at the back of your mind.

But the weeks went on, and suddenly he would linger for longer in the laundry room, rather than going upstairs right after he’d put his stuff in the machines. Before you knew it, he took up residence in the faded purple chair, that you’d now come to think of as his, while you sat on the couch, or sometimes on the long table.

One day, seated criss cross on the table, you finally heard him speak again, “What are you doing when you sit up there?”

You turned back to look at him, and you met those curious blue eyes, looking at you like they could figure you all out if he just looked long enough.

“Well,” you said. “I watch the laundry spin.”

He contemplated that for a moment. Eventually he just said, “Why?”

Not quite sure how to articulate it out loud, you told him, “Why don’t you come try it and figure that out for yourself.”

Physically unable to resist the pull, he got up from his chair, put down his book and walked over to you. You moved over a little bit, and patted the spot next to you, and he sat with his legs hanging off the side. The two of you, in the dim quiet of Saturday night, watched the laundry spin. It hadn’t made sense to him before, but sitting there with you, he felt like he was beginning to understand. It was peaceful. Watching the colors go round, and the water splash against the door. Bubbles of detergent rolled gently, and there was an ease that blanketed across him. He couldn’t describe it, that same nameless thing, but in that moment, Bucky was certain that he would be okay. That everything, in the end, would be alright. He wasn’t sure if it was you, or the laundry, or the way your knee lay lightly against his thigh, but he could feel it. The threshold of something. He looked over at you, only for a moment. Your eyes, trained on the gentle spin of the washer, he thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful than you. And in that instant he allowed himself to dream the dreams of his youth. Those hopes of a woman who’d love him someday. A girl he’d get down on one knee for. The house, with the backyard big enough for a swing set. A baby he’d rock to sleep. This time, he imagined a laundry room. One with a big warm couch sat right in front of the machines. They could cover themselves in blankets, listen to that easy hum, and watch as bursts of color went by. He imagined one hamper, where both of their clothes went. A washer mixed with his and hers. Right then, Bucky Barnes knew he would marry you, and by God, he still did not even know your name. You looked at him, only to find he was already looking at you. You gave him a thousand watt smile and he couldn’t help but give you one right back.

Soon enough you were both folding your clothes downstairs rather than taking your baskets up to fold them in your separate apartments, and before you even realized, you were doing towels on Saturday nights too. The time spent downstairs growing longer and longer. You didn’t always talk, but sometimes he’d ask what song you were listening to and you’d spend hours showing him songs you thought he might like, the ones you loved the most. He’d show you the ones he listened to as a kid, and he’d spin you around the laundry room to Vera Lynn. You’d sway back and forth, and he’d place his head gently on top of your. You’d ask if he was down for a game of cards, and suddenly four hours had gone by and you were getting your ass handed to you at gin rummy. He once apologized for taking his prosthetic off in front of you, and you smacked him across the chest and told him not to talk stupid. You saw him without it a lot more after that night. You sat together on the couch. You set up your laptop and watched The Wizard of Oz and the Fast and the Furious movies.You’d bring drinks and snacks and share them freely. Those walls were yours, and Saturday nights together became the most sacred of practices.

It was early one morning when there was an erratic knocking from the front hall. They were pounding on your door, and it was six am on Sunday morning. You had only left the laundry room an hour and a half before. Rolling out of bed with an angry groan, you opened your door, and there he was. Half dressed, prosthetic off, he looked to be in such distress it woke you right up. Before you could ask what was wrong, he said, “I have something very important I need to ask you, and I keep thinking about it, and I just need you to give me an answer okay?”

“Of course,” you said without a trace of hesitation.

He took a deep breath to calm himself down, “What is your name?”

You blinked at him for a moment, and maybe it was the seriousness on his face, or the lack of sleep, or maybe it was just him, but you burst out laughing. A bottomless belly laugh, that you felt flutter in your chest. Had you not laughed so hard you began coughing, you wonder if you ever would have stopped. He still stood there, deadly serious, and noticing this you breathed deep and settled.

“Will you tell me, please?” He whispered it so tenderly, that you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching up to cup his cheek with your hand.

“My name is Y/N.”

He closed his eyes, “Y/N.”

He repeated it once, then twice. It sounded like reverence. Fell from his lips like a prayer. And when he opened his eyes you whispered, “Will you tell me yours?”

The corner of his mouth turned up, “My name is James. But, most people call me Bucky.”

You closed your eyes, much like he had, and almost on accident you breathed out, “James.”

Before you could open your eyes, you felt his lips on yours. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he possibly could. For the first time, he knew what it was like to love a woman, and to be loved by her in return.

You slept beside him that morning – shared blankets and body heat. You watched him sleep, the sound of the rain hitting the roof and the windows. For just a moment you imagined a ring on your finger. A house, with a laundry room of your own. Walls that kept the two of you safe and warm. You could see the first time you held your baby. You’d look into their little eyes and they’d be his exact shade of blue. You moved closer to him, and on instinct, in his sleep, he adjusted to you. He pulled you to him, and bleary-eyed you snuggled as far into his warmth as you could, closed your eyes, and fell asleep.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #marvel fanfiction #marvel #bucky x reader #bucky x you

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fleckcmscott · 4 years ago

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Homemaking

Summary: In the middle of the night, Arthur finds comfort in routine. When Y/N follows, he doesn't mind at all.

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

Words: 4,640

A/N: This request came from @jokerownsmysoul! She asked me to expand on a paragraph in Ch. 25 of Watch What Happens. Thank you so much! I hope this meets your expectations!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Changing the sheets and pillowcase on the couch at regular intervals. Emptying the ashtrays littered around the apartment. Taking the trash to the dumpster in the alley next to the building. Dusting, dusting, dusting. There'd always been a chore to do in 8J.

Outside of therapy, Arthur rarely mulled over the past, instead putting to use the skills he'd been learning to make the present worthwhile. But when he did, he could recall the moment keeping house had become important to him. More than a task to be completed.

Dinner had been freezer burned chicken nuggets and rice mixed with ketchup. Milk had served as an additional side. His mother had pecked the top of his head and told him to be a good boy. "Happy, I'll see you in the morning."

The length of her upcoming absence had registered once the door was shut. While she'd not been an attentive parent, she normally hadn't left him alone for more than three or four hours, plunked in front the television with a blanket, a cup of juice, and a toy. What had he done to make her leave for an entire night? Had she been mad at him for laughing during a presentation on the school's dress code? Was it because he hadn't finished his food? Then he'd feared the neighbors would start fighting, and he'd have to listen to their yelling again. Ickiness had built in his tiny body. He'd had to do something.

He'd dragged the step stool to the front of the sink. Squeezed too much yellow detergent in it. Turned on the water and tested the temperature with his wrist, the way he'd seen Penny do it when he'd dried dishes. Once his old stuffed giraffe sat on the counter next to him, he'd carefully scrubbed the swirls of dried tomato off the plates. Washed the stuck-on crumbs from the forks. Wiped the streaks off each glass. He'd felt calm when he was done. Grown-up. Accomplished. It hadn't taken him long to grab a rag and get started on the breakfast bar.

As he'd grown, housework continued to help him maintain his composure on days he'd needed distraction from his intrusive thoughts. The stresses of survival. But he also liked the sense of control it imparted. A mentally ill, disabled, put-upon caretaker who also worked fifty to sixty hours a week didn't have many choices. The lack of options left him feeling unmoored. As if the wind would blow and he would have no alternative but to go along with it.

Buying the good sponges, the ones with the green, abrasive side, was a decision in his hands. Doing the laundry on Saturday was the schedule he set. Serving dinner at seven (unless he had a late job) was the hour he picked. Small victories in a life of losses.

But now the days were filled with fewer defeats. His paradigm was shifting, albeit incrementally. Chores were no longer only a soothing necessity. Having a girlfriend meant they were also shared activities. Indications of partnership done together. (Except for cleaning the toilet, which Y/N, bless her, continued to do.)

She moved the floor lamp when he vacuumed. He put away their clothes after she folded them. With her at the office full time while he gigged and tried to break into comedy, he liked doing extra. Taking care of her. Contributing to the household they were building. He'd been the man of the house since he was fifteen; it was a role he continued to take pride in. Especially with all the "thank yous" and "I'm happy to be home with yous" she gave him.

Dishes had quickly become his favorite errand. They took turns washing and drying. He'd splash her lightly and she'd whack him with the towel. Random kisses abounded. Frequently, he'd reminisce about her coming to his apartment unannounced last November.

Surprises made him nervous. But it had been nice to see her a whole two days sooner than planned. He hadn't been certain of what to do. His intuition was to hang onto the doorknob to remain grounded and not err. When she'd said she'd missed him, however, some of his anxiousness had dissipated. Without that, he wasn't sure he would have gotten the nerve to invite her in, no matter how badly he wanted to.

The visit had gone well, their conversation sparse but kind. Even though she'd spotted his medication, she'd let him kiss her. Pin her against the counter and embrace her. Inhale the strawberry scent of her shampoo and thank whoever might have been listening that she existed. God, he'd felt like a teenager.

At that point, he'd imagined being intimate with her countless times. The evening after she'd introduced herself, he'd tuned into a variety show, tried to enjoy the music. Penny was already in bed. He'd been alone, laying on his beige and brown sofa, blanket strewn across him, cigarette smoke floating in the air. Y/N's pleasant visage had taken shape before his eyes. Their handshake lingered in his senses, making his fingers twitch.

He'd tried to ignore the hunger it'd caused. The acute ache. It struck him as wrong, somehow - he'd just learned her name. But his arousal had overcome any residual guilt.

The warmth of her cuddling his side as they watched TV had permeated his skin. He'd entwined their fingers. Put his arm around her shoulders. During a particularly slow song, her touch drifted to his thigh. He'd twisted to admire her lips, full and smiling at him. She'd been beautiful. Happy. His. As he'd lowered her to the cushions, his hand had sneaked into his briefs. It was the first of many occasions that he'd had to muffle himself so his mother wouldn't hear him moan Y/N's name.

It had been years since he'd felt a morsel of hope. But one had welled in him. Like the fool he was, he'd kept it. And for once, hope hadn't cheated him.

~~~~~

They'd gone to bed a couple hours prior, after the news and the late show. The normal five or six minutes of cuddling had ensued. With a soft "sleep well," Y/N had rolled onto her left side and turned out the light. He'd drifted off within a few minutes, ignoring the blare of a passing siren.

But then he woke to faint giggling. Drowsy bafflement fogged his brain as he peered in her direction. Whispering her name and pulling on the cover didn't quiet her. He shushed her gently, chuckling. She laughed harder. He wondered what she was dreaming, if she was amused by him or one of his jokes. Following a messy kiss to her cheek, he left to putter about the apartment.

Goosebumps rose in response to the breeze, but Arthur, sitting on a metal step on the fire escape, enjoyed the drags from his cigarette regardless. The nights were getting cooler as autumn approached. Y/N had told him the climate was much hotter in her part of Missouri. Did the leaves change there, too? They'd have to go to Gotham Park so he could show her the bright colors, so different from the city's usual grays.

He decided to keep himself busy - it was better than getting frustrated because he wasn't tired. But he didn't feel like journaling more. He checked the kitchen. Dishes had already been put in the cabinet. The counters were clean. She'd swept the linoleum and he'd wiped the table. There wasn't much left to do. Hm. Maybe the shower door could use a good scrub. It had been a while since either of them had tended to it.

As he worked, his circular movements on the pane of glass slowed, his stare glazing. They'd last been in there together a couple weeks ago. Though he'd acted spontaneous, he'd planned the whole thing. The radio was tuned to the station with Dr. Sally's show (which had been set to start in twenty minutes). He'd measured out a capful of Y/N's bubble bath, which he'd never seen her use. Facing each other, they'd lain in the tub, talking and trying to fit comfortably.

The faucet was quite low, though, and he'd bumped his head on it when he'd leaned back. Not too hard but loud enough to startle Y/N. She'd speedily washed and climbed out to give him more room, despite his insistence he was fine. "We'll listen together another night," she'd said with a smooch, kneeling next to the bath with her towel under her armpits. "When we're not so squished." Once she was out of the room, he'd submerged himself completely with a sigh.

Arthur had learned of Dr. Sally about four years ago. She was controversial, according to Murray Franklin, but ended up becoming a reoccurring guest. The frankness and positivity with which she'd spoken about sexuality had shocked him. (And made him wish Penny had gone to bed early, so he wouldn't have to watch it in front of her.) Outside of the handful of adult films he'd seen or magazines he'd gotten, he hadn't heard anyone talk about it without making dirty jokes or being evasive.

Sitting at the corner table in his living room and listening to her pleasant voice as she doled out advice became a habit. He'd made notes here and there. One thing she'd said stuck with him, though he couldn't recall the exact wording. The meaning had been clear - and what he wanted. Sex was the closest two people could be physically. It was important to connect mentally, too. To communicate.

He'd been tempted to call in. To ask how the hell he could meet or attract a woman. He had cologne. He wore pinstripe pants. What else could he do? It would have been nice to no longer have to deal with his circumstances and illnesses alone. But he'd abandoned that idea. He hadn't wanted to reveal himself as pathetic to the whole of Gotham. Weakness put women off. By his early thirties, he'd known discovering that part of himself would nev-

"If you wait until the alarm, I'll be happy to help you." Arthur turned and found Y/N standing in the doorway. Their floral comforter was wrapped around her shoulders, only partially covering her short nightdress. He noticed the deep V-neck its straps formed as she took a step towards him. "Was I snoring that loudly?" she asked, smiling wryly.

His cheeks burned and he stepped to the sink to rinse out the sponge. "I'm almost done. And you were laughing." The confused expression she wore as he studied her in the mirror prompted a slight smirk. "What was so funny?

She hugged him around the waist, and the heat of her caused his eyelids to flutter. "I don't know. But I didn't mean to wake you," she said, tone apologetic. Her fingers splayed on his stomach, and she pressed her lips between his shoulder blades.

A huff left him as he shrugged, patting her hand. "I don't mind," he rasped. Whenever he felt the tenderness of her touch, minding wasn't possible.

"Good," she said, her hold on him tightening. The promise of her next words sent an arc of electricity up his spine. "Because I'm not tired."

~~~~~

"And so my teacher, Mr. Howard, took me in the hallway, and told me I'd tucked my blouse into my sanitary belt." Snorting, Y/N adjusted the bed cover on her lap and crossed her legs "I fixed it and got back in there to take my algebra test." After a long sip of the chamomile Arthur had made her, she poked him. "All right. It's your turn. Tell me something embarrassing."

It was nearing three o'clock, but the time had flown by, sitting with her there on the couch. Neither had bothered to turn on a lamp. Instead, they enjoyed the intimacy provided by the faded, orange streetlights coming in through the windows. He liked how the play of shadows accentuated the girlish curve of the apple of her cheek, quite dissimilar from his own sculpted features.

The escalating game of twenty questions had started off easy, the information shared tame. She'd confirmed her favorite color was lilac, and when she'd asked for his preferred subject in school, he'd merely stated, "I hated school." She'd left it alone. He'd inched closer as she said he was funniest when he didn't try. And he'd admitted her divorce puzzled him, casually saying, "Why would anyone want to be without you?" A soft sound had caught in her throat and she'd leaned into him.

But she was challenging him now - the glint in her eye was obvious, sparkling even in the dark. It was his own fault, really. He'd been the one to take the game to another level by getting personal. Resisting the chance to learn about her was not an option.

Fiddling with the handle of his mug of decaf, he furrowed his brow. "Um." He'd fucked up around people a lot. Whenever his condition had made an appearance during a meeting at work, he'd wanted to sink into the floor. Sophie's conversation with him after he'd trailed her had been distressing, notwithstanding her kindness. It was difficult to pick a safe answer.

But after some deliberation, he found one that would fit the mood. "I used to- Used to dance in my living room." He scoffed at himself. Put his arm on the back of the sofa and brushed his hair back. "And pretend women - a woman - noticed me." He pulled at a loose thread in the cushion.

Y/N didn't miss a beat. "Was it me?"

"No," he said with a shake of the head. "I didn't really know you. Not yet." Her nod was slight, her stare going to her lap. A few seconds later she chuckled, covering her face. "What?" he asked.

The flush rising through her shoulders, to her neck, to the top of her ears intrigued him. While he was proficient at making her blush (a fact that tickled him), she never seemed to be shy about anything. She put her cup on the table, ran her hand along her forearm. "I was just remembering when you left after our dinner."

His eyebrows shot up and held there. "What happened?"

She waved dismissively. "I was swooning like a woman half my age." Her gaze flicked to his and his pulse flipped. "I'd intended to change so I could start putting everything away. But..." The corner of her mouth lifted. "I ended up on my bed. Wishing you were with me."

He exhaled sharply. "Oh." Had the details in her imaginings been similar to his? He wondered if candles were lit. If they'd gone slowly. If she'd told him she loved him. How close had it been to what he'd yearned for after spilling his heart all over his journal?

He surveyed her. Took in how she massaged where her neck met her shoulder. The way she opened her legs further as she shifted in her seat, the bed cover falling away. The desire in her half-lidded eyes made his mouth go dry. "I wished for you a lot, too," he said quietly, glancing at the carpet.

Given what he sometimes sketched in his notebook, painful things he didn't understand the impetus of, he'd worried his impulses would be freakish. That they'd be off-putting, like the rest of him was. But Y/N assured him they weren't and told him not to worry with her. That him getting up and telling her to never hit him when she'd slapped his ass in the heat of the moment hadn't offended her. That it was normal to like it when she nibbled his collarbone or the tendons of his neck. That her not being able to come sometimes had nothing to do with him.

The hesitation currently churning in his gut was ridiculous. While he was getting better at initiating, having built up some confidence (and feigning it when necessary), it wasn't yet second nature to him. He needed to now, though. And there was no reason for caution with her. Her sensitivity and consideration had borne that out.

It was that thought which finally spurred him to scoot closer to her, cradle her cheek, and kiss her firmly.

Her response was swift, as though she'd been waiting for him. The insistence of her tongue prompted the parting of his lips. She carded through his hair, tugged at his curls as she curved into him. Her nipples grazed his front through the chiffon of her nightgown, and he savored the fire stoking in him at the contact.

His fingers whispered lower, wandering between her legs to caress her through her underwear. The cotton was soaked through. She met his touch insistently, sighing his name. He couldn't recall hearing anything sweeter. Blood was rushing to his cock, lending him some daring. "I want you," he rasped, compelling himself to be assertive. And relishing the hint of power it evoked in him.

He focused on the front of his blue pajamas being untied. The slide of them and his briefs past his narrow hips. They gathered about his knees as she curled her fingers around his erection. "Shit..." He thrust into her grasp with a grunt. The swipe of her palm across the head felt like he was burning, and he twitched in her hand. She was smearing his slick over him, along his rigid length.

Demand was already building in his abdomen. Needing to last longer than three minutes, he withdrew to stand. The bedroom was too far to go. He moved the coffee table back, towards the television, and grabbed the comforter. "You really are in a hurry," she teased, stripping off her nightshirt while he clumsily arranged the thick cover on the carpet. Their eyes locked and he offered his hand. She took it eagerly.

With a soft grin, he guided her to lay beside him. He ran his palm down her back and cupped her bottom, adoring being immersed in her. He pressed her into the soft fabric beneath them as he settled on top. When he rutted against her heat, she hissed and sealed their lips.

A low groan left him. Would the sensation of her supple mouth ever become mundane? His former co-workers had often complained about their wives. Had become bored with them. Fed up. He couldn't fathom ever tiring of the taste of Y/N's smile. Or the excitement of having her feminine form so close to his.

He kissed her neck, stopping only when he reached the swell of her chest. Nuzzling her cleavage, he pushed her breasts together before taking a dusky peak between his teeth. She moaned and clasped his biceps. The increasing canter of her pelvis, how she asked him to enter her without words, was driving his fervor higher and higher.

But he was enjoying himself. The playfulness from their earlier game hadn't yet left. After pecking a line down her stomach, he boosted himself up. She was panting raggedly, clearly fighting to keep her eyes open as she ground into the air. "Please..." she breathed.

Voice thick with arousal, he asked, "Please what?"

She bucked against the grip he had on her hips. "Put your mouth on me."

He laughed lightly, grateful to be at ease rather than flustered. "You mean here?" His soft lips met her navel. "Or here?" A smooch to the top of her thigh. Backing away, he kissed her knee. "Maybe here."

Halting his retreat, her calf caught him by the shoulder. "You're such a tease," she said. Wantonly, she arched towards him, and he grasped the waistline of her panties. The tang of her scent hit him as he pulled them off. He shivered, then threw her thighs over his shoulders. He was ready to give into her, to give into what they both desired. But she shoved a couch cushion at him. "Here."

After a pause, he took it with a murmured "okay," the last syllable elongated. She propped herself on her elbow, helped him get it under the swell of her bottom and lower back. When he asked what it was for, she explained he could strain his neck. He pushed his face into her leg, snorting. That had happened last time, after a long day at work. He didn't think it would happen again. It was sweet of her, though, to consider him, so he didn't argue.

His gaze flitted to her vulva. While he couldn't see much in the low light, he was well acquainted with her body. The first time he'd really seen her, he'd been a little surprised. She wasn't like the models he'd seen in photographs. Her inner lips were visible, extended past her labia, especially when she was turned-on. Her clitoris was easy to find, thank god. Once, she'd told him she used to be self-conscious about it, the result of a doctor making a disparaging remark when she got her first IUD. She claimed it no longer bothered her, but Arthur knew the lasting sting of unkindness. And wanted her to know she was beautiful.

"Mm," he breathed, kissing her pubic bone gently. Then he dipped lower to press his tongue to her plump folds. She rolled up to meet him with a sharp cry. "I love your taste."

She giggled and his eyes darted to hers. Thankfully, it had become easier to watch her while he did this. Her pleasure at his compliment was obvious, what with the flirtatiousness of her gaze. He thought he could make out a growing ruddiness in her cheeks, and admired the round shape her lips formed.

It was impossible to lay still. His nose brushed her as he nestled in her short curls, gripping her thigh and skimming the soft skin. Her bud was engorged, jutting out slightly from its hood. The tip of his tongue darted out to flick at it, and her hand flew to his curls as she called his name.

He altered his angle, tilted his head to the side while he stroked her labia. She was getting wetter, her arousal more abundant under his attention. Knowing he satisfied her filled him with pride. Those lonely nights listening to the radio had been good for something.

As his fore- and middle fingers traced her entrance, slipped inside her, she whined and bore down on him. Groaning, his thin lips enclosed her clitoral hood. He concentrated on getting the rhythm right, coordinating the movement of his hand with the passes of his tongue. The clutch to his locks grew stronger as she rocked, pulling him harder to her flesh. One of her legs wrapped about his upper back, the other braced on her foot by his side. His thrusts quickened and he bent his knuckle, her increasing cries emboldening him further.

At her short wail, he lifted himself to look at her. Observe her frame as she bowed backwards. The rise and fall of her breasts with the exertion of her punctuated gasps. The way she blindly reached for purchase. He yanked the cushion out from under her. Unable to wait any longer, he crawled over her until they were face to face, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and lined himself up with her opening.

His eyes screwed shut as he sunk into her searing, snug walls. He let out ragged breaths, tinged with low rasps. "I love you," he blurted.

She grasped his sides. "I love you, too."

Hips snapping into hers, he gritted his teeth. "Fuck, I love you."

"Fill me up," she whispered, her heels at his ass. "Fill me up."

Quickly, he reached between them to toy with her nub, wanting his actions to match the urgency of her pleas. But she took hold of his wrist, ran her thumb along it as she pecked his chin. "I'm good so enjoy yourself," she laughed. Then she pressed her forehead his. "I just need to have you."

Her hands cherishing his back, caressing and holding him close, elated him. She always managed to do that, to make him feel esteemed, even on days he didn't value himself. Sometimes he pined for their coupling to be endless. Being a part of her felt like home.

But he couldn't stop. She was gazing at him unblinkingly, adulation clear in the flecks of her irises. Begging him to come inside her. Saying she needed him. The scorch of her was potent, the friction staggering. Somehow, the undulations of her pelvis managed to meet his pace...

The tempo of his rushed movements became uneven. His brain suddenly went white, only aware of her surrounding him. Cock throbbing with pleasure, his hips stuttered involuntarily while he emptied into her, a gravelly moan on his lips. After those too few, exquisite seconds, he fell onto her, gasping and thoroughly spent.

Y/N's calf left his waist, and she let out a long breath. "I need a cigarette and I don't even smoke."

Arthur grinned, mind awash with dreamy stupor. "You're not gonna start. 'It's a nasty habit,'" he said wryly, quoting her. He rolled off and lay on his back by her side. Stretching the loose part of the comforter over his middle, he chuckled. "You know, of the few things I thought I'd be okay at, this wasn't one of them."

The smile she gave him let him know what she was thinking. She'd said she wanted to hear him compliment himself more, that he deserved it and didn't do it enough. When she nibbled his earlobe he jerked slightly, a tickle in his neck. "Gotham has no idea what it's been missing." Her tone turned serious. "But you can make it about yourself, too. I'd enjoy that."

Brows pinching, he frowned slightly. She'd appeared pleased just a minute ago. Had he done something wrong? Or was he misreading her now? He gaped, about to ask what she meant.

But she started again, smoothing her hand across his stomach. "Hey, I'm not complaining. I'm here for you, though. If you need to fuck a bad mood away, it's fine. If I don't want to, I'll tell you."

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the stray couch cushion. "You never don't want to." He put it under his head, adjusted his neck until he was a version of comfortable. While it has true he had bad days, he tried to shield her from them. He'd be lying to himself if he pretended her suggestion hadn't crossed his mind. It'd never stuck, though - he couldn't bear the thought of using her. With her permission, maybe it would be all right. He pressed his lips together. "But I'll keep it in mind."

Eventually, Y/N sat and stretched, placed her palms on her back as she popped it. "I'm going to drift off at my desk if I don't go to bed." She stood shakily, grasping the arm of the sofa. "And I'll need a hot water bottle if I stay on the floor." After she gathered her clothes, she turned to him. "Are you coming with me?"

He pulled on his briefs with a shake of his head. "I can't sleep now."

There was a pause, then she gave a small shrug. "Keep me company until I do?"

Stilling, he looked up at her, a smile spreading across his cheeks. "Yeah," he said warmly, his heart in his throat at the request. A request couldn't deny. "I'll be right there." She bent and pecked his forehead, then scurried off into the bedroom, comforter in hand. He watched as she retreated, listened as she flopped down on the mattress. Hurriedly, he put the cushion back in its place and followed, already impatient to have her in his arms again.

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve, @howdylilflower, @sweet-nothings04, @stephieraptorr, @rommies, @fallenstarsabyss, @gruffle1, @octopus-plasma, @tsukiakarinobara, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile, @another-day-in-chuckletown, @hhandley80, @jokerownsmysoul, @64-crayon

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck smut #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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steppedoffaflight · 4 years ago

Text

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 13

Catch up on Chapter 12 here

“Not true!” You scoff. “I missed you! And I didn’t get to see you on your birthday!” You return your voice to normal, taking your eyes off of the road to look at him real quick. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Van laughs. “Worst hangover I’ve had in years. Or maybe I’m just too old to handle ‘em now.”

“Could be,” You tease. “27, really getting up there now.”

You try to make Van’s (belated) birthday special for him.

Word count: ~11k

A/N: content warning for a little bit of under-negotiated edging and some negotiated bondage :)

Chapter Thirteen August 2019

Van sends you more snaps on his birthday than he probably has the entire time you two have had each other added on there.

“Ugh!” You sigh as you sit with Mary in your usual booth at the diner. You’ve got your phone held away from you, both of you leaned over the table as you open the third batch of snapchats from Van today. These ones include photos of the cake the boys had surprised him with, and a small stack of badly wrapped gifts they’ve presented him with. You pull the phone away from Mary when the interesting parts are over, when the snaps turn to clips of Van harassing the boys; Bondy laughing as he flips off the camera, Bob shying away as Van tries to shove the phone in his face.

“I haven’t gotten him one single fucking gift,” You groan, lowering your head onto your folded arms.

“Sit up, Alexis is back,” Mary tells you, and you pull yourself into a sitting position with another sigh, as Alexis comes back to the booth with your food. You’re absolutely starving, but can’t find it in you to dig into your club sandwich in your sour mood.

“Oh, Jesus,” Mary sighs in exasperation, watching you pick at your french fries. “It can’t be that hard to think of something!”

While Mary speaks you finally take a bite of your sandwich. “It is!” You argue after you’ve swallowed it down. “He’s a millionaire! Anything he wants he just buys it for himself! What am I supposed to contribute?”

Mary narrows her eyes in thought as she chews on a bite of her veggie gyro. “Alright. What do you guys do when you’re together?”

“We fuck, we eat, smoke, watch Netflix, and sometimes hang out with his friends.” You tick each activity off one of your fingers.

“Okay. How about you just cook him something nice? You know, have a nice date but, like, at his house? I’m sure he’d like a home cooked meal after touring.”

It’s a good idea, but still you sigh. “I don’t know what he likes.” No matter what you cook, Van both eats and compliments it. You have a suspicion that everything you make actually sucks and he’s just too polite to say. “He literally eats everything. You should see those boys on tour. They’re maniacs over the catering.”

“Plus,” You continue, “There’s no way I could cook at Van’s house. It’s a fucking dump right now.”

Mary’s eyes widen as she sips her iced tea. “What about paying someone to come clean it? He’d probably love coming home to a clean house. Especially when he thinks he’s got to deal with it.”

That’s not a bad idea, actually. You don’t feel comfortable letting strangers into Van’s house without permission, but a new idea has bloomed in its place.

“I’ll clean it,” You tell Mary. “I don’t know how he’d feel about random people coming in when he’s not even in the country.”

“Okay, so that’s one gift.”

“I’ll clean the house and…” You gaze down at your food when the next idea works its way into your mind, “I’ll get him dinner from his favorite restaurant.”

“Yes!” Mary claps her hands together in excitement. “What are you gonna get him?”

You try to spit out the name of the French restaurant Van likes the lobster dinner from.

“No fucking way, you’ve been there?” Mary’s eyes widen. “I didn’t know that’s where he took you out!”

“I’ve been there twice, actually,” You admit sheepishly. “That’s where we went for Benji’s birthday.”

“You lucky bitch! Theo and I have tried so hard to get a table there for our anniversary and their waiting list for reservations is so long! I guess the rumors are true. They really do only give a fuck if you’re famous.”

“Weird, I’d never heard of them when Van took me there.”

Mary only shrugs, but you figure you already know why she’s heard of the place when you haven’t. It’s not obvious behind her down-to-earth personality and humor that made you adore her from your first meeting, but Mary comes from money. She’s even got a degree from Stanford to prove it. It’s in accounting (because those were the easiest classes for her), it’s never been used a day in her life, and was entirely paid for by her parents.

“When’s your anniversary?” You ask, ready to change the topic now that you’ve gotten two gifts under your belt. You’ve got a little under two weeks until Van will be back in town for a couple of days, and now you were feeling more confident that you could pull something together.

“The end of September, but they’re booked until next year,” Mary sighs.

When you get out of the shower that night, there are three missed calls from Van. You don’t even bother to get dressed before calling him back, sitting on the edge of your bed wrapped in your towel, the ends of your hair dripping onto your comforter.

The phone rings until it’s almost gone to voicemail. At the last second Van accepts the call, and there’s some rustling before you decide to speak.

“Hi, birthday boy,” You giggle softly down the line. “How was your big day?”

“It’s been good, yeah. Good.” You’ve heard Van stumble over his words after drinks, but never slur like this.

“You sound like you’ve had a good day,” You laugh.

“Had a class night,” Van agrees. “Fucking class.”

You’re still not used to communicating across a time difference. The mention of nighttime brings it back in your awareness. “Wait. What time is it for you?”

There’s some rustling noises while Van checks the screen, then the phone is pressed back to his ear. “Half four. Just got back to the hotel.”

“Jeez, Van! Why aren’t you sleeping already?”

“‘Cause I wanted to talk to you,” Van replies. “It’s not right.”

You’re beaming, charmed by this drunken Van. “What’s not right?”

Van scoffs. “That I don’t get to see my best mate on my birthday!”

“You spent the whole night with them, didn’t you?”

“The lads. Not you.”

The earnesty in his voice makes your heart squeeze. “That’s okay. I’m gonna see you soon, right?”

“Yeah. Really soon. Super soon.”

You smile to yourself. “Where are you?”

“In my room.”

You cackle out loud at that. “I know that. I meant the country!”

“Right. Um. Christ, I don’t fucking know. I forgot.”

“You’re so drunk,” You tut. You expect him to deny it, but listen to his distant laughter instead.

“I’m completely fucked,” He agrees. “Beyond pissed.”

“But you had fun? Was your cake good?”

“Loads of fun. Loads and loads of fun. I don’t remember how many pubs the lads dragged me to. As soon as one closed, bam, next one. It was great.” There’s some shuffling, then: “I forgot about the cake. Gonna have some right now, as a matter of fact.”

You hear the chaos of drunk Van serving himself a piece of cake.

“Wish you would’ve been here,” He says through a mouthful of dessert. “Woulda had so much fun.”

You don’t know which one of you he’s declaring would’ve had fun, but it seems he’s still not over the fact you two have spent the day apart. “I know,” You sigh, feeling a pang of disappointment for not the first time today. “I wish I would’ve been able to see you today, too.”

“Next year.” You hear the soft gulp of Van swallowing another bite down, and then his voice is much clearer. “Better request it off work now,” He teases. “You’ll never spend another first of August without me.”

“Okay,” You agree, only to mollify him. “You should probably get to bed. Text me tomorrow, okay?”

“If I’m alive,” Van chirps.

“You’ll be okay,” You assure him. “Drink lots of water.”

“Yeah.” Van’s voice is starting to grow quieter, rumbling like he’s close to falling asleep. “See you soon.”

“See you soon,” You promise. Your heart hurts at the fact you’re both sleeping alone, the distance between you two suddenly feeling overwhelming. “I miss you.”

Van yawns, and you have a feeling he didn’t catch your words. “Goodnight. I love you,” He slurs.

His words send a cold shot of adrenaline rushing through your veins, even if you know he doesn’t mean them. You almost end the call right there, but you don’t.

“I love you too,” You say instead. “Night.”

Even if Van’s declaration only comes from a place of drunken sleep-deprivation, it feels nice to have the opportunity to say it back. There’s something relieving about admitting it out loud, for the first time, even if this’ll be the only time.

Van’s breathing is soft on the other end as you hang up.

If giving Van’s neglected house some TLC was going to be the foundation of your gifts, you had no time to waste. His place was massive- not a job that could be tackled in one day- and during the week you had absolutely no desire to do anything after your workdays. You’d have to put some real work in on the weekends to make sure you pulled this off, which is why bright and early on Saturday morning you were pulled up to his gate, struggling with the 8 on the keypad.

You’d made a trip to the store last night to prepare your arsenal, and you struggled to lug it all inside. Unsure of what horrors you’d encounter, you’d bought different cleaning sprays for an assortment of surfaces, mildew, molds. You had boxes of trash bags, not sure whether Van was stocked with his own; and plenty of air freshener to try and chase away the stagnant smell that hit you as soon as you walked in. Then there were the tools; fancy antibacterial toilet brushes, fresh sponges and cleaning cloths. Lots and lots of paper towel. You even haul in a gallon of laundry detergent (and the accompanying softener, of course) and some detergent for the dishwasher. You knew that if you were going to be efficient, you’d need to eliminate time trying to understand where Van would store the things you might need.

His living room is just as you two had left it the night he went to the hospital. There’s a lump of blankets overtaking half of the couch, and seven mugs of tea, three with leftover liquid that was now home to some fuzzy mold. The crewneck he had changed out of is rumpled on the floor, reeking of B.O. from his sweaty fever. The briefs nearby smell similar.

In the spot where there used to be a stunning monstera plant by the front door, there’s now a yellowed, withered corpse, surrounded by dead leaves that have fallen to the floor. You inspect its limp stem carefully before solemnly declaring it dead. You really had your work cut out for you.

Your main thought as you turn your bluetooth speaker on and get your phone connected, prepared to blast the cleaning playlist you’ve carefully assembled, is that Van better fucking love this gift.

By the time you’re heading home, you feel satisfied with what you’ve gotten done. The kitchen is cleaned, the dishwasher rumbling as it sanitizes the mugs and dishes that had been left lying around. Your biggest obstacle had been locating the washer and dryer (which are nestled in a tiny room at the end of the living room hall), but now you could hear the sound of rushing water as the washer started on tonight’s load of laundry. You’d throw them in the dryer tomorrow morning, when you’d be back to tackle the half bathroom down the hall and start on the next level of the house. You carefully close all of the windows and lock the patio doors, which had helped air the place out today, before locking up the front door behind you.

There’s something domestic about cleaning Van’s house that keeps the project from being entirely unpleasant. You pick up little quirks of his in every room you explore: wrappers in the trashes reveal his favorite snack foods, the bathroom cupboards only store one chosen brand of toilet paper. His cereal cupboard is well-stocked but with only a small variety. His mailbox by the gate is overstuffed from his time away, and while you throw away any junk catalogues you note what companies he receives bills from. All of the important envelopes are addressed to his legal name, a small detail that amuses you endlessly.

In the process, you also manage to get a few gifts out of it. You pick up a ficus during your weekly grocery shopping to replace the dead monstera plant by the door, and while passing the candle section you decide on impulse to buy him a candle for his bedroom. He had decided not to take one of his bags to Europe with him, and had instead left the suitcase of dirty laundry to stink up his entire room. You haven’t figured out his scent preferences, but you decide on something that smells like pine trees just because you keep picking it up to sniff it. It’s in these moments- casually grabbing some things at the store for him- where your mind wanders over the what-ifs. What if he was your boyfriend? What if you two lived together? What if he had someone around to make sure all the food in the fridge didn’t rot when he was away? What if you didn’t have to squeeze time with Van into your schedule, because your life would be entwined with his? You know most of the reason he doesn’t want a relationship is because he thinks it would make things complicated, but to you it feels like everything would be much simpler.

You sigh sadly to yourself, place the three-wick candle carefully on the child seat so that the glass can’t be damaged in the cart with your other things, and continue shopping.

When Tuesday finally comes, you’re bouncing with excitement as you leave the office early, preparing to pick up Van from the airport. He had tried his hardest to resist, dead set on letting you finish the workday while he grabs an Uber home, but there was no way you were gonna let that happen. You head home to change and pack your overnight bag to stay at his, grab the wrapped gifts you’d left on the kitchen table, and head over to Van’s, where you make sure everything is ready.

You’d be stopping by the restaurant to pick up the carry out on the way back from the airport, so you carefully set the dining table in advance. You put out two plates, two wine glasses, and you’d even grabbed a package of tealights at the store. You set three of the little tins between your place settings, and stash the rest in his miscellaneous drawer. On the end of the dining table that wasn’t being used tonight, you display his wrapped gifts. The ficus has to rest on the floor, but you’d tied a nice silk bow around the plastic trunk. Was it all a bit cheesy and over the top? Probably. But with the way Van is quite the romantic, you think he’ll enjoy it.

You never get tired of the feeling that washes over you the first time you see Van. He looks dazed and exhausted fresh off of his flight, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his worn leather jacket slipping off of the other. As soon as he sees you he perks up, starting to walk at a faster pace as you approach him.

You reach out for a hug without a second thought, and Van smiles as you pull him in, happy to have him within reach. It doesn’t feel real the way his body is solid against yours. It feels like the dreams you’ve started to have on occasion, ones that leave a fog of disappointment lingering all day.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” You sigh when you pull away, because those words just aren’t enough anymore.

Van smiles, but it’s a tired smile. Suddenly you worry he won’t have the energy for any festivities tonight. “Missed you,” He croaks.

He laces his fingers with yours, swinging your palms slightly as you two head to collect his baggage. You take one suitcase, he takes the other, and then you head out to the Range Rover.

“Are you hungry?” You ask nervously, once Van’s slumped into the front passenger seat. You’d been excited for tonight, but with the way Van’s energy is off your confidence that he’ll love what you have planned has instantly dissolved.

“Fucking starving,” Van groans. “I’ve been living off of airplane peanuts all day.”

“You didn’t eat on the flight?”

“No,” Van adjusts his jacket on his shoulders. “Been sleeping. Wanted to make sure I wasn’t shit company tonight.”

You’re busy navigating the parking lot, but still reach one hand out blindly to nudge him playfully. “You’re never bad company!”

“Yeah, right,” Van rolls his eyes. You’re relieved to hear him start to shake off the sleep, sounding more like himself. “Bet you’re just glad you didn’t have to deal with me the last couple’a weeks.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Van laughs. “Worst hangover I’ve had in years. Or maybe I’m just too old to handle ‘em now.”

“Could be,” You tease. “27, really getting up there now.”

“Oi. Shut up.” Van grumbles, but he’s not able to keep a straight face. He gazes out the window for a moment. “Why’re we taking this way home?”

“There’s an accident,” You lie. “Got caught in stop-and-go on my way here.”

Van accepts your reasoning, lifting his hips so he can pull his phone from his back pocket. You watch him flick through different notifications, staying blissfully unaware of your route until fifteen minutes later when you’re pulling up to the restaurant.

As your car slows, Van comes back to reality. “What’s up?” He asks, looking around.

You avoid an actual explanation as you put the car in park and start to unbuckle. “Stay here, I have to run in real quick.”

The carryout is already prepared, a large bag with ‘McCann’ written on it sitting on a surface behind the hostess booth. You pass over your card, trying not to cringe at the price, and in return you’re passed the bag of food and a cardboard carrier with two bottles of Van’s favorite wine. It was all a bit pricey, sure, but worth it when you see Van’s eyes widen through the tinted windows of the Rover when he sees what you’re up to.

“Are you fucking kidding?” His voice has risen a few octaves in his typical amused/disbelieving tone. “What have you done this for?”

You set the food on the back bench before climbing into the driver’s seat. “You said you were hungry!” You laugh. “I hope you’re in the mood for lobster.”

Van is grinning so wide that his dimple is making an appearance. “Why the fuck did you do this?”

“For your birthday!” You exclaim, starting the final stretch of the drive to Van’s place.

“My birthday was two weeks ago!”

“A week and a half,” You correct him. “And I didn’t get to see you, so it doesn’t count. So today is technically your birthday all over again.”

“Ridiculous,” Van shakes his head. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t wanna celebrate with me,” You shoot him a glare. “Mr. ‘you’ll never spend a first of August without me again’.”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of Van. “Did I say that?”

You nod. “You did.”

“I’ll be honest, I don’t remember a word of that phone call.”

“Well, you were very drunk,” You shrug. “Drunker than I’ve ever heard you.”

“Why don’t we ever go out to pubs? Do you get pissed with Mary?”

“I used to go clubbing with Mary a lot,” You tell him as you turn off of the main road, the hill of his neighborhood visible in the distance. “Never really been a bar person, but we could go out one weekend.”

Van makes a displeased noise in the back of this throat. “Not here, in all these hipster cafes. You gotta come to London, we can do a proper pub crawl.”

“I don’t have a passport,” You admit sheepishly, as if that’s the only reason you can’t leave the country on Van’s whim.

“Christ. Americans never do! Mental.”

“Yet again,” You start, leaning out of the window slightly to punch the gate code in, “You hate America so much but you keep coming back!”

“The lobster is good here,” Van deadpans as you pull into the driveway.

Van grapples with both of his suitcases while you’re busy trying to unlock the front door with the food in your hands. You hold the door to let him in first, watching him carefully. He barges his way to the middle of the room before he pauses, realizing what he’s walked into.

“What is this?” He’s got a confused smile, looking over at you by the door. He’s gaping at the clean living room, and the surprise on the dining table.

“Surprise,” You giggle nervously, letting him take it all in.

“You tidied up the living room?” Van asks, carefully looking around. The mantle is dusted, the rug is vacuumed, and the place finally smells like someone actually lives here.

“I tidied up everywhere, actually,” You admit. “The bathrooms, the bedrooms, the kitchen. All clean.”

“Holy shit. You shouldn’t have. Really.” He’s clearly stunned by the gesture, carefully removing his shoes and even going so far as to set them on the mat by the door. “You really did not have to do this, love.”

At the nickname, you know you’ve impressed him. You glow with pride as you bring the bag of food to the table, making a quick detour to the kitchen to grab some utensils to transfer the food out of the containers and onto the plates.

“Do you wanna open your presents before or after we eat?” You ask, carefully spooning the seasoned butter that was melted at the bottom of Van’s container onto his food.

“After,” Van says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he starts to seat himself. You grab one of the bottles of wine, heading into the kitchen to find the corkscrew.

“I love the tree,” Van says when you return, nodding to the ficus standing proudly with his bow at the head of the table. “Thank you.”

“Your plant died,” You inform him, pointing to the empty space by the front door where the monstera used to sit. “It feels empty without it.”

Van frowns. “I told Bob not to give me anything that needed watering. I’m shit at remembering.” He shrugs. “He had a good half a year.”

“Bob got you it?”

Van nods. “For Christmas. It was one of his, to be fair. Got a green thumb. Great at pawning off his plant spawns to us lads.” He smiles affectionately, and you can’t help but smile as well. They were such a strange group of friends.

You don’t sit down after you’ve poured wine for you two. “Do you have a lighter?” You’d forgotten to grab one in the kitchen for a tealights.

Van procures one from the front pocket of his button up without question, and you light the candles before you sit down. You notice that Van hasn’t started eating without you.

“Very posh,” He smiles at your setup, raising his glass of wine. “Cheers.”

“Cheers to 27,” You add, clinking your glass with his.

There’s not much conversation as you two eat. Van is ravenous, and is done with his meal before you. You’re only halfway through your chicken parmesan, but you decide to save the other half for later. It wouldn’t do you any good to get all sluggish and bloated before the night’s even begun.

You start to clear the table, Van standing to help automatically.

“Don’t help!” You scold him. “This is a gift!”

“You’ve already cleaned the place once!” Van insists, holding his dirty plate out of your reach when you attempt to take it from him. “That’s more than enough!”

He helps you rinse the dishes, marveling at how you put them directly in the dishwasher. It’s clearly not a habit he’s developed.

You two keep the wine glasses out, not finished drinking for the night. Then Van opens his gifts while you radiate nervous energy the entire time.

He’s not someone who gets worked up over gifts, but his quiet gratitude is special in it’s own way. He loves the wooden rolling tray you’ve gotten him to replace the dented up tin one he carries around, and he laughs at the pack of THC water you’d gotten from your clients. He places the ficus by the front door, refusing to untie the bow around its trunk. When he’s done he pulls you in for a big hug.

“I know it’s not much…” You start nervously, but Van shakes his head.

“Thank you,” He cuts you off, rocking your bodies side to side. When his arms finally loosen you tilt your chin up to look at him and he leans down to give you a kiss.

“Thank you.” He repeats, giving your arms a small squeeze before releasing you.

“What do you wanna do?” You ask, now that dinner and gifts are over.

Van shrugs. He’s gazing out of the patio doors at the Hollywood cityscape. “Do you wanna go for a dip in the hot tub?”

That’s about the last thing you expected him to say. In all the times you’ve been over you have never seen Van use his pool. But you wouldn’t be the one to say no to the birthday boy himself. “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

“I’m all cramped up from sleeping on an airplane seat,” He explains. “Nothing sounds as good as those jets.”

He heads upstairs to get changed, but you’ve got nothing to change into. You’ve got your matching set of lace bra and underwear on, the same set you’d worn on your first date with Van. In any regular case you’d be strictly opposed to swimming in them, but you did have a change of clothes in your overnight bag, and you’re curious about how Van will react.

When Van comes down in his swim trunks, he realizes you’re still in your clothes. “Oh, fuck. Do you have something to wear?”

You can see he’s ready to retract his request, so you offer him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, let’s go!”

He clearly doesn’t understand what you’re up to, but leads you into the kitchen and out into the backyard. It’s the one area of the house that stays perfectly maintained no matter how long he’s gone; he’s got a landscaping company that comes over regularly to trim the grass and clean the pool.

At the bottom of the cement steps that descend from the kitchen, Van makes a right around some lounge chairs. You don’t understand what he’s doing until he tugs back a heavy set of curtains, revealing a small cabana built right into the house.

“Are you joking?” You gape in disbelief as you check it out. There’s a seating area, a television mounted on the wall, and a door to a small bathroom in the corner. “What the fuck is this, oh my God?”

Van shakes his head, popping into the bathroom before coming back with two swim towels in hand. He passes one to you. “It’s my patio!”

“A patio is outside,” You correct him, “This is a cabana with a fucking television that’s attached to your house.”

Van gestures to the pool past the open curtains. “It’s got curtains. It’s outside.” The way he’s smiling reveals he knows exactly how luxurious it is.

The pool thermostat is installed in one of the walls, and Van pokes at it before you hear the rumble of the hot tub coming to life, the jets starting to bubble.

Van heads straight for the hot tub, but you start to get undressed while he’s not paying attention. You kick off the sandals you’d worn over here, peel off your shirt and shorts, and dig around in your shorts pockets for a hair tie.

A bra and underwear set has the same coverage as a bikini, but there’s something about openly walking across the backyard in your underwear that feels forbidden. Of course, nobody’s able to see you considering Van’s privacy bamboo that surrounds the house, but the sun is still out and you still feel exposed as you approach Van.

He does a double take when he finally settles onto the stone seat that encircles the small spa. You use the metal railings to start stepping in, pretending you don’t notice him staring.

“I knew you didn’t have anything to wear!”

You smile, giving a small shrug like this is nothing out of the ordinary. “I’m wearing something, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but now your knickers are soaked.”

You frown as you sit next to him, the hot water saturating the padded cups of your bra. “Ew. Don’t say knickers.”

He snorts, sinking deeper into the water until the ends of his hair are wet, the jet foaming directly on the back of his neck. “Fuck. This feels so good.”

The legs of his trunks have floated up around his thighs, and in the clean water your eyes can linger over him while he’s got his eyes closed, enjoying his makeshift massage.

“So how was tour?” You ask after there’s been some silence.

“Incredible,” Van tells you, sitting back up. His back is in front of the jet now, and he arches into it. “Europe fucking loves us. The crowds go wild every night. We only play Glasgow in Scotland, everyone loves that. It’s such a good time.”

He tells you some stories about the festivals they’ve done, some ridiculous questions interviewers have asked. You relax into the warm water as you listen to his voice, falling into a content daze. You suddenly feel like nothing in the world could feel as good as relaxing in a hot tub with Van after a couple of glasses of wine.

“How’s work been?” Van asks when he’s finished filling you in. You can feel your muscles start to tense, your mind start to remember the numerous frustrations that have been chipping away at your sanity lately.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” You sigh, shaking your head as if that’ll clear your thoughts. “I just wanna forget about it and have a nice night with you.”

“Fair enough.” Van shrugs. “Are you?”

You’re resting your neck against the cement edge of the tub, your body floating weightlessly in the water as you gaze up at the light-polluted sky that is rapidly becoming darker as the day comes to a close. “Am I what?”

“Having a nice night?”

“Um, yeah,” You answer like it’s a stupid question. “We should use your hot tub more often. This thing is magic.” You imagine this is what babies in the womb must feel like, completely doused in warmth and without a care in the world.

“We should. You can keep a suit over here.”

You laugh at that, sitting up and looking over at him. You shiver as the tops of your shoulders are exposed to the air. “Why do you keep mentioning my suit? Do you not like what I’m wearing?”

“That’s the opposite of how I feel, actually. Just figured an actual suit would be more comfortable.”

You smile at his admission. “Oh, so you don’t actually hate this set?”

The water has carried one of the straps of your bra off of your shoulder, and you watch Van’s eyes dart to your bare skin.

“Course I don’t. Christ.”

Now it feels like you’ve got him where you want him. You ease up onto your knees, Van’s eyes dragging over the sopping lace as gravity pulls the cups lower, revealing more skin. You fight the urge to tug your strap up as you move closer to Van, who licks his lips.

“Okay.” Your voice is quiet, your body dangerously close to Van’s. You can feel the steam radiating off of his flushed body. “I was worried for a second.”

Van can tell you’re teasing, and he breaks out in a grin. “Shut the fuck up,” He laughs right in your face before his hands are on your hips, yanking you off balance and onto his lap. There’s the rush of water splashing around your bodies and a sickening twist in your stomach as you lose your balance.

The first thing you comprehend is Van’s lips against your neck, hungrily mouthing at your damp skin. Your knees have found their way to either side of his thighs, your hands gripping the edge of the tub for dear life. As soon as you feel steady again you stop clutching at the cement, gripping Van’s dripping shoulders. You let your hips sink down, your thigh muscles loose and relaxed enough to open wider without any discomfort.

You can’t feel if he’s hard through the water, but the way he groans is enough of a hint. Every noise you two make bounces off of the water, magnifying the sound.

You wrap your legs around his waist, his hands leaving your sides in order to cup your ass through the lace. You feel his fingers pinch at the fabric, rubbing it between his fingertips before he nestles his head into the crook of your neck, biting down where your neck meets your shoulder.

“Van!” You gasp in shock. His body is rocking so you grab the ledge to steady yourself. There’d always been an unspoken rule not to leave marks. At his name Van pulls away with a guilty grin.

“Too much?” He asks, carefully watching your reaction.

“No,” You assure him breathlessly. Your hand comes up to stroke his hair, wetting his roots in the process. You were aching for him to do it again. “But warn a girl, alright?” You breathe.

Van’s grin widens. “Yeah, alright,” He promises before his arms tighten around you, his mouth latching onto the same spot. This time the sting of his teeth makes you moan, your legs tightening around his waist, trying to press him as tight against you as humanly possible.

You close your eyes, your nose buried in his hair. You breathe in the scent of chlorine as you let him take the lead for this brief moment. It’s something you want to savor before you go upstairs, where the dynamics will be different.

When he pulls away he presses his lips to the top of your shoulder before you start to untangle yourself from him. You watch his expression cloud in confusion.

“You haven’t even seen the bedroom yet,” You tell him, starting for the steps. Out of the water, gravity feels too strong, the air icy cold compared to the water. You regret leaving, but there’s more in store.

The spot on your neck that Van had focused on throbs in residual pain as you grab your towel off of one of the lounge chairs, trying to dry off as best as you can. Van turns the jets in the tub off, closing the curtains to shut down the cabana.

“Want your clothes?” He asks, and you realize your shoes and outfit are slung over the couch.

“I’ll grab ‘em tomorrow,” You decide. You wouldn’t need them anymore tonight, so there was no need to waste precious time on a distraction.

The two of you struggle up the stairs to Van’s room, your muscles feeling like jelly.

You proudly open the door to present the room for him. Fresh sheets, washed comforter, fluffed pillows, and an empty hamper. Van laughs in disbelief.

“I got you this, too,” You tell him, holding your damp towel around your body with your elbows as you pick the pine candle off of his dresser. You hadn’t wrapped this gift, instead wanting to make it a nice touch for tonight. “I dunno if you like pine-scented things, but I thought it smelled good.”

“Love pine,” Van nods, coming up behind you. He opens his hands for you to pass the candle over, and you do. He sniffs at the wax before nodding his approval, passing it back to you.

“Hand me a lighter,” You request, and Van tosses you one before he starts to strip down, keeping the room neat by placing his wet towel and trunks in the hamper.

You struggle to get all three of the wicks lit, but you’re pleased at the warm glow the candle emits.

Van is already tugging the blankets down, ruining your hard work in the name of climbing into bed naked. You peel away your soaked bra and underwear, dropping them in the hamper with Van’s things.

“So,” Your heart starts racing now, but you try to remain nonchalant as you stride over to Van’s closet, sliding the door aside. “Do you have a robe anywhere?”

“Yeah, you need one? I have one hanging in the bathroom.”

You didn’t actually need one, but you nod, grabbing your overnight bag from the floor. “I’ll be right back.”

You feel like you’re about to start hyperventilating as you lock the door behind you. Van’s plush robe is dangling from the hook on the back of the door. Duh. You were the one who had washed it and hung it there, after all. The nerves were clearly getting to your head.

Your hair looks like a frizzy birds nest, every section a varying degree of damp. You extract your hair tie from the mess, and borrow Van’s brush to do some damage control. Once you’ve parted your hair correctly and smoothed it down, you look a million times better.

The only thing left to do was get dressed. You grope around in your bag until you feel the silky cloth of the lingerie. You’d purchased it just for this occasion, a sheer scrap of black fabric that Mary had helped you choose. The website called it a ‘babydoll set’, a lace bra with a silky transparent fabric draping off of the band. The airy cloth fell just below your ass, but it didn’t really matter how low it covered because you could blatantly see through it. There was a slit directly down the front, giving Van the ability to easily push the extra clothing aside in case he needed to access your skin. It had come with a matching thong but you don’t bother to put that on. You figure the bra is enough.

You unravel the tie of Van’s robe, your fingers shaking. You take a steadying breath before finally twisting the doorknob, turning the bathroom lights off as you step back into the bedroom.

“Oh, Christ.” Van groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. “You want me dead.”

You head to the bedroom door first, sliding the dimmer all the way down. The room is still lit from the flickering candle and the lights of the city shining through the open window, but without the overhead lighting everything feels much more relaxed.

You approach Van then, sitting down on the edge of the mattress next to his body. While you’d been adjusting the lights he’d propped himself up into a sitting position, and as soon as you sit down his hand comes to rest against the back of your neck.

You don’t speak. You want to poke around for some reassurance that he likes what he sees, some validation that Mary had been right when she’d pressured you into adding this finishing touch. But instead you let him cradle the back of your neck while he takes you in, his neck craning so he can give you a full onceover before meeting your eyes again.

“I’m convinced you’re trying to give me a heart attack,” He jokes, before hauling you in by the back of your neck for a kiss. “What is it with you and lace?”

“This is, like, all of the lace I own.” Per usual, you’ve got to brush off the compliment even if it’s the confidence boost you needed.

“And I got to see it all tonight? I’m one lucky lad.”

He looks annoyingly smug, the face of a boy who knows he’s about to get laid tonight. You kiss him again (and again) just so that you don’t have to look at him anymore.

You climb onto the bed completely, crawling into Van’s lap. Van startles when the robe tie crinkled in your hand brushes his ribs.

“What’s that?” He asks, peering down at your hand for a better look. You extend your fingers, the length of cloth unfurling, tumbling onto Van’s lap. “Is that the string on my robe?”

“Yeah,” You confirm. You want to explain, but your mouth suddenly goes dry, waiting for his reaction.

“What’ve you got that for?” He cocks his head in confusion, looking between the rope and your wide eyes.

You gulp. “I was thinking, y’know- if you were into it- we could try something kind of like the last time?”

Van’s expression is blank for a few moments, no doubt trying to recall your last time having sex. You watch his expression change as soon as he’s remembered.

“Are you gonna tie me up? Is that what this is?”

His voice has gone up in pitch, like he doesn’t really believe this is actually happening. You nod slowly.

“I mean, if you want. Just your wrists. Unless you have cuffs?” You ask the last part hesitantly, predicting Van’s answer. He confirms your suspicions when he shakes his head. “That’s what I thought.”

“You know how to tie me up with that?” Van asks, nodding at your palm.

“Yeah. Hold on.” You shuffle off of his body, laying the tie out flat on the mattress next to Van. It’s a trick you’d learned from Mary years ago, and was easy enough to Google and relearn. With minimal fuss you’ve tied a handcuff knot, holding it up for Van.

“No shit. You’re full of surprises tonight,” Van marvels.

“So… do you wanna try it?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Van grins. “I’ve already told you, you can do whatever you want to me. Consider me at your mercy, always. How do ya want me?”

You giggle, rolling your eyes at his dramatics. “Off of the bed,” You instruct him.

“How kinky are we goin’ tonight?” Van asks as he clamors off of the mattress. “Am I supposed to get down on my knees?”

He’s teasing, beaming down at you from where he’s standing. You get off of the mattress as well, trying to nudge it downwards.

“I need some space between the headboard and the mattress,” You explain, out of breath with the effort of trying to move it on your own. Van’s headboard was solid wood, not wrought iron like yours. You’d need to secure his wrists to one of the support beams holding the mattress up.

“You really thought this out, huh?” Van gets on the other side of the bed, helps you nudge the mattress a few inches down.

You don’t answer him, distracted with rearranging his pillows nicely before patting them. “Come lay down.”

Van obliges. As he’s holding his wrists out so that you can loop your handcuff knot around them, he nods to his bedside table.

“Don’t forget to grab a condom,” He reminds you.

You pause where you’re tightening the cloth against his skin. “About that.”

“We could skip it,” You suggest, trying to keep your voice light. “I mean, I know you’re clean. I’m on the pill. And I’m clean, but I don’t have, like, the records on hand, so, if-”

“Skip it.” Van cuts you off. “Deffo.”

The robe fabric is nice and snug against his skin, and you’re pleased when Van tests the restraint and it holds perfectly. Suddenly, everything is feeling very official.

You need your phone flash light in order to loop the extra length around the support slat you’d moved the mattress to reveal. When you’re done tying that knot you’re out of breath.

“Good?” You ask Van when you stand up. He’s got his elbows bent, his wrists comfortably resting right above his head, and when he strains to move them there’s not anywhere for them to go.

You get back on his lap, but the air in the room has changed. The anticipation is stifling. You’ve never felt so unsure and so certain at the same time. You desperately hoped everything went off without a hitch.

You could do anything to Van with the way he’s restrained, but for some reason it feels right to get a hand around him, starting to jerk him off slowly. It’s weird to think you’ve never given him a hand job before, as simple the act is. You only really get your hands on him for foreplay purposes, but thankfully Van doesn’t seem to mind, arching his back into the sensation. Then you remember his balls, and your other hand slides between his thighs, brushing against the soft skin of them. You feel them tighten reflexively away from your fingertips, Van whining when you cup them.

You could be minimal with Van’s foreplay, let your eagerness get the best of you, but you don’t. You keep your hand slow and steady, your rhythm perfectly even, and feel him swell in the palm of your hand, his hips wiggling to chase more friction.

You snap out of your trance when you suddenly feel Van’s thighs tremble underneath you, a small dash of precome blurting from the head of his dick when your hand brings his foreskin down. You hadn’t realized how close he was getting, too engrossed in touching him. You bring your hands away from his dick but let his balls still rest in your palm, giving them some gentle attention while you let Van back away from the edge.

Once Van has cooled down, that’s usually your cue to get started. His breathing has relaxed slightly, not so harsh and loud, and he’s not shaking anymore. But without really thinking about it you wrap your palm around him for a second time. His stomach tightens in surprise, but he doesn’t protest, so you decide to experiment with starting your slow, even tugs again.

This time you push your luck, still jerking him off even as you feel the warm drops of precome drip onto your fingers. You wait until he’s progressed past the trembling, until you feel his thighs tighten in anticipation of his orgasm before you release him, his dick coming to rest against his belly. While he’s trying to catch his breath you release his balls, letting them hang heavy between his legs in favor of having another hand free. He groans at the loss of contact, but you’re surprised at how quiet he’s been. You rub your hands up and down his thighs, accidentally rubbing his own precome over his skin. You wait until you feel his muscles unclench, until he relaxes into the mattress again with a sigh before you start up yet again.

There’s a strange thrill at what you’re doing, a dopamine rush like you’re playing the lottery. Van is clearly coming undone, hissing through his teeth at every slight touch, twitching and tensing helplessly beneath you. This time when you withdraw your hand you’re afraid you’ve misjudged him, because he tries to buck his hips up against your weight, his dick throbbing, and you’re positive he’s about to come all over his stomach even without your touch. When he doesn’t there’s a strange rush of pride that consumes you, only adding to the adrenaline rush.

Van’s been a good sport, but when you trace the vein on the underside of his dick with the tip of your finger, giddy with the way he startles, he stops staying quiet.

“Holy shit,” He gasps, and you can see his biceps flexing against his handcuffs. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” He chants, his eyes squeezing shut so tight you’re sure he sees stars when he blinks them open again.

“Too much?” You’d assumed Van was having a good time, but your heart sinks when you realize that he had no sort of safeword, that maybe you were getting a little too power hungry.

“You’re driving me fucking mad,” Van groans, slamming the back of his head against his pillow.

“Do you want me to stop?” You’ve stopped messing with him in case that’s what he’s getting at, absentmindedly tucking your fingertips under one of his knees, petting the thin skin back there.

“I would like to fuck you some time this year,” Van snorts, his voice laden with frustration.

You keep caressing the back of his knee. “So… stop?”

Van lifts his head enough to shoot you a weak glare. “You can do whatever you want. Just wondering how long a lad’s supposed to fucking hold off.”

It takes one more go to rid Van of his pesky stubbornness. He’s reduced to a flushed, sweating heap on top of the sheets, and although he doesn’t tap out you wouldn’t feel comfortable edging him any longer.

His body jerks as you rub up and down his sides, trying to ease him into the next thing. He clearly thinks you’re getting ready to play games again, unable to settle down.

“I’m done, I’m done,” You find yourself whispering, his body instantly starting to relax in relief. “Are you good? Still want me to fuck you?”

Van cracks a smile at that, although he doesn’t look like he’s entirely with you. “You better,” He croaks. “Don’t let that be for nothing.”

“Still want to skip the condom?” You decide to double check for good measure. It had all been fun and games until now, when you feel an increasing sense of duty to make sure Van’s taken care of. “Do you want your hands free?”

“You’re acting like you broke me,” Van chuckles. “Yes to skipping. Leave me be and get on with it.”

You offer his cheek a reassuring pat before brushing the sweaty hair away from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear as you’ve so often seen him do. You lean down for a kiss before sitting back up, positioning yourself over him.

The absence of the condom is strange when you hold the base of his dick, and you jump when you start to position his head between your legs. He’s warm and throbbing with anticipation, and you can feel every pulse of his heart beat against your opening, your stomach fluttering as your body prepares to make room for him.

“Oh my God,” You gasp as you start to lower down. Condoms had a tendency to make things a bit dry, to make the first few thrusts a bit tricky, but you’d forgotten how much simpler sex was without one. Van slides in without the slightest hold up, easily working his way deep even as you feel yourself tighten, your body instinctively trying to draw him in deeper. Once seated you force yourself to draw in a few shaky breaths, mentally willing yourself to relax around him.

As you’re lifting yourself back up Van moans, a vulnerable noise that has you clutching at his ribs.

“Oh, Van,” You whimper, aware that you’re losing control of the situation. But it’s been years since you’ve had unprotected sex, and that was when neither of you had any idea what you were doing, and this is a million times better, and Van is watching you with wide, blue eyes as you struggle to fuck him. “This is so good. Fuck, Van, it’s so good.”

He’s watching you in awe. “I know,” He nods, too consumed in you to fight his restraints, his wrists resting limply.

It’s evident that neither of you are going to be able to hold on; your time apart, the hot tub makeout, fantasy turned reality and the lack of any barrier between your bodies has made tonight come to a rapid boiling point. Your hands scramble against his skin as you try to keep your balance against the shocks of pleasure that twist through your stomach, each one feeling like an orgasm that doesn’t quite make it to climax. With each exhale you’re making what you’d consider the most unattractive noises possible, crying out in desperation when each shock doesn’t make it all the way, your own body keeping you on edge the same way you’d done to Van.

“I’m gonna fucking blow,” Van breathes after you have to pause to catch your breath against the feeling in your belly. “If you don’t want me inside get me the fuck out.”

“You’re fine,” You assure him, steadying yourself for another thrust. This time you support all of your weight on the palm pressed into Van’s chest, your other hand slipping between your legs so your fingers have access to your clit. When you meet Van’s gaze he’s gaping at you, mouth ajar.

“What?” You ask as you start quick, tight circles that combine perfectly with the fullness of Van.

Van shakes his head. “You’re incredible,” He sighs, melting back against his pillows.

Your orgasm blooms hot and heavy between your legs, the pressure of your fingertips becoming unbearable, your legs collapsing under the weight of anticipation. You scream Van’s name embarrassingly loud, desperately wishing you had a pillow to muffle yourself.

His own orgasm is unmistakable when it arrives only moments after yours. You have a flash of panic when you feel the warm gush of Van coming directly inside of you before you relax, remembering that it was intentional. This orgasm lasts noticeably longer than his usual ones, and with each pulse of his dick inside of you you feel impossibly fuller. When he’s done, his face smoothing out as he finally blinks up at you, you’re distracted by the syrupy heat between your legs, terrified for him to pull out.

“Don’t pull out yet,” You plead, your arms shaking as they continue to support you.

Van gives you a lopsided grin. “Couldn’t if I wanted to.” He tugs at his tied wrists for emphasis.

At this you can’t help but laugh. “Right.” It takes a strenuous amount of core strength to lift both of your hands, picking away at the handcuff knot until Van could slide his wrists out. His palms immediately come down to hold your hips in place, his skin warm against the wispy fabric of your lingerie.

“I’ve got to take a shower,” You explain, your body shivering against his. You can feel Van shivering, too, the intensity of everything putting your bodies into overdrive.

“I’ll take one with you.”

You cringe as you finally lift yourself off of him. Although things feel normal for a moment, by the time you’re standing next to the bed on shaky legs you can feel the trickle of Van’s come sliding down one of your thighs. There’s nothing to do but helplessly allow gravity to do it’s thing while Van leads you into the en suite, getting the hot water running in the shower.

As soon as your bra is a silk puddle on the floor and you’ve both stepped in, Van closes the glass door behind you before standing directly above the drain, pissing right into it.

“Are you peeing?” You ask incredulously.

Van twists his neck, grinning over his shoulder as he finishes. He gives himself two firm shakes, the shower water cascading down his shoulders and rinsing him off. “Yeah. You don’t piss in the shower?”

“I mean, yeah,” You admit, shifting your weight uncomfortably. You actually needed to pee right now, but there’s absolutely no way you’ll do it in front of Van. “When there’s not an audience.”

Van just shrugs, using his fingers to work the warm water through his hair. He reaches out for the bottle of shampoo he keeps on the small shower ledge, but before he can pop the lid up you wrap your own hand around it.

“Lemme do it,” You say quietly, not meeting his eyes as you take the bottle into your own hands, pouring an ice-blue dollop into the palm of your hand.

Van doesn’t protest, instead stepping out of the stream of water so that you can warm yourself underneath it instead. He turns so that his back is facing you and you reach up, starting to work the shampoo into a foam over his scalp. He’s always felt so much taller than you, but his head isn’t too far out of reach, and you realize you two are closer in height than you’d thought.

Standing in the small glass square space of Van’s shower, the events that just happened in the bedroom feel surreal. Usually, you two snap right out of your bedroom mentality, moving on to the next part of your day easily. But something about tonight lingers over you, and as you wash Van’s hair you get the feeling he’s on the same page. Everything still feels tender and vulnerable, your bodies still shivering even in the steam, and the protective urge to make sure Van’s comfortable and safe still hasn’t faded. You’re careful to use the side of your hand to smooth any suds away from his forehead, keeping his eyes shampoo free, and when you’re satisfied that his hair is clean you lean forward, planting a kiss on his shoulderblade. He switches places with you silently, rinsing himself off as you gather some stray streams of water into the palm of your hand, flushing between your thighs out as best as you can.

“Want me to suds you up?”

You hadn’t planned on washing your hair, but considering you’d gotten it damp with chlorine in the hot tub you might as well. “Yeah.”

You shift so that you’re in front of him, your back to him. Van squeezes some shampoo into his hands, and suddenly his palms are smoothing over your head. His hands trail down the back of your neck in long, even strokes as he makes sure he distributes the shampoo all the way from your roots to the very end of each strand.

At first you’re gazing out of the shower walls at the enormous marble countertops housing the his-and-hers sinks, but once Van’s done smoothing his hands over you and starts to dig his fingertips in, really scrubbing at your scalp, your eyes lull closed. You hadn’t expected him to be so thorough, rolling your head back to lean into his fingers as he massaged every inch of your head, the foam of the shampoo running down your back.

“Lean forward,” Van grumbles, gently tipping your head forward again. “You’re messing me up.”

You do as you’re told, disappointed when the washing finally comes to an end and Van withdraws his hands from your hair, stepping out of the water so you can have a turn to rinse.

When you’re both finished you get to see Van’s reaction to the bathroom closet brimming with freshly washed towels. He doesn’t seem to understand the extent to which you’ve cleaned, and you suspect he’ll be pleasantly surprised for weeks to come when he sees all the work you’ve put into the guest bedrooms, not to mention what you’ve done with his favorite sunbathing patio. You swipe the towel over your skin, wiping away the excess droplets before wrapping it around your hair. You reach for your overnight bag again, this time to grab your Las Vegas shirt. You pick your lingerie up from the floor and slip it back into your bag, mentally congratulating it on a job well done.

When you’re done tugging on a fresh pair of underwear (cotton, since itchy lace was no longer needed) and removing your contacts, you come back into the bedroom to see Van’s pushed the mattress back in place and remade the bed, his robe tie crumpled in the center of his comforter. He’s got a fresh pair of boxers on, and shakes his box of cigarettes in his hand as soon as you step out.

“Let’s smoke.” He nods toward the giant glass window that stretches across the front wall of his room. There’s a narrow balcony on the other side, bordered by a sleek glass railing. You’re confused about how to step outside, but Van easily slips his fingers against the edge of the window, which slides open to expose the bedroom to the outdoor air.

The balcony is unfurnished, Van plopping himself down in the corner, his back against the house. He’s brought the ash tray from his bedside table out, and you sit down next to him, stretching your legs out in front of you as Van doles out cigarettes to you both.

“I didn’t even realize that window was a door,” You mumble before inhaling as Van holds the lighter flame to the end of your cigarette. Once it’s lit he does his own, peering out at the city twinkling beyond the railing.

“Don’t really bother to come out here,” He shrugs. “Rather just go out on the patio.”

“So why are we out here tonight?” You ask, looking down between your bodies at the ash tray while you tap your cigarette into it.

“Needed some fresh air. Get my head on straight.”

He punctuates his sentence with a long drag of his cigarette. You let the silence drag on, your body feeling heavier as the adrenaline from the sex starts to wear off.

“Was it good?” You finally decide to ask. You don’t know if it’s the same for Van, but the whole handcuff thing feels like the elephant in the room. For all intents and purposes it seemed Van had enjoyed himself, but now you’ve got the creeping anxiety that the reality might not be as appetizing for him as the porn made it seem.

“The sex?” Van asks, looking over at you. When you nod, he hooks his thumb over his shoulder, grinning as he gestures to the bedroom. “Are we talking about the same thing? Because that was clearly brilliant.”

You roll your eyes at his teasing, your arm coming to rest over his shoulders. You give his body a playful shake. “You know what I’m talking about. Would you do it again? That… whole thing?”

It’s Van’s turn to roll his eyes before exhaling a warm burst of smoke right into your face. “Christ, I hope we give that a go again. You weren’t fucking kidding about celebrating my birthday. You were absolutely mental in there!” He’s beaming right at you, nudging you with his shoulder. “I’ve never seen you act like that! With the lingerie and everything! What came over you?”

He’s clearly having a blast teasing you, so now it’s your turn to smoke him out. It only pleases him more to know he’s embarrassed you, a blush blooming over your cheeks as you remember how it felt to be completely in control of Van. You lift your arm from his shoulders to ruffle his hair, and he snuffs his cigarette butt out, resting his head on your shoulder.

“This is a daft question, since the deed’s been done and all…” You can feel his voice vibrating against your skin. “But you’re not fucking anyone else, right?”

You can’t see his expression while he asks, the only thing visible in your peripheral vision the part of his hair as his cheek stays pressed on your shoulder. As you ash your own cigarette out you plant a quick kiss in his hair. It’s more romantic than you would allow yourself on a regular day, but tonight wasn’t a regular night. “Nope. Just you.”

Van lifts his head from your shoulder. “You really got the shit end of the stick. Sorry, love.”

“Shit end of the stick?”

“Well, yeah! You’re in there in lace tyin’ me up, and all I’ve got to offer is some shit missionary.”

“I like missionary,” You frown. “And you’re forgetting about the head.”

Van frowns. “You think it’s good?”

You shrug, looking away. “Best I’ve ever had.”

Van knows from your previous conversations with him that’s not a lie, so he doesn’t argue. You watch his eyelashes as he blinks, and it looks like he’s struggling to keep his eyes open.

“You tired?” You ask, unwinding your arm where it’s snaked around him so that you can lift yourself off of the ground.

He yawns, nodding. He takes your hands and you help hoist him up until he’s standing over you.

Once inside, you both immediately climb into Van’s bed, the sheets still smelling like the fabric softener you’d used on them.

Van doesn’t even go on his phone, too exhausted from today’s travels to fight his exhaustion. The lights are clicked off, and Van’s back is to you, his usual sleeping position.

You should roll over too, like you always do, but for some reason you nestle yourself against his back, throwing an arm over his side so that you’re spooning him.

“What’re you doin’?” He grumbles, clearly almost knocked out after only five-ish minutes of silence.

“Spooning you,” You say, as if that was any explanation at all, and kiss his hair again. You let your face linger by his scalp for a moment longer, breathing in the smell of his shampoo, before resting your head against your pillow. The skin of his stomach is soft against your fingertips, and the feeling of his body shifting rhythmically with his breathing immediately has your eyelids drooping.

You just loved him so, so, so much. And even if he didn’t love you back, you hoped he realized how much you cared for him. Because you realize now it’s more than you’ve ever cared about anyone else.

#summer's a knife #van mccann #catfish and the bottlemen #catb #van fic #van mccann fanfiction #catb fic

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platypanthewriter · 4 years ago

Text

The Prince and the Pauper (Who Drives An Uber) Ch. 5

(Prince Steve flees his wedding, and asks his Uber driver to take him bowling...and on a date. WIP) Part One | Two | Three | Four | Five

Billy stumbled into his room, wishing he'd drunk a little less, and flopped onto his bed—then slapped around beside him for where he could hear Steve’s muffled laughter, and found his phone. “Steve,” he mumbled.

“You sound sleepy,” Steve told him, and Billy growled.

“My dick isn’t,” he muttered, and Steve laughed again. “It’s not,” Billy snarled, yanking his jeans open. “Heard your voice.”

“Ohhh,” Steve said. “...that happens to me, too.”

“Your dick likes me?” Billy asked, feeling kind of fuzzily like it was a weird question to ask, but Steve sounded like he was smiling when he said “Yeah, Billy, it does.”

“What about your hands,” Billy asked, sliding his shirt up to his chest. “They like touching me?”

Steve muttered something that sounded like vlakoss, or vlakas, maybe, and Billy mouthed it to himself, so he’d remember. “All of me likes you,” Steve said softly, and Billy rolled sideways into his blankets, laughing into his pillow as he flushed.

“...lemme put you on video,” he whispered, feeling kind of like they were hiding, together in his bed.

His face warmed further as Steve whispered back, “Show me.”

Billy’s fingers were clumsy, but finally he could see his prince, leaning back on a shiny green overstuffed chair kind of thing, in a soft yellowy robe, his skin lit with warm morning light. He was smiling, his hair bed-ruffled.

“...oh,” Billy said, biting his lips together, and hoping Steve couldn’t really see the taco stains on his shirt, or the Thomas the Tank Engine twin-size sheets Max had picked up as a joke at Value Village.

“Want to turn another light on?” Steve asked, and Billy snorted a laugh, shaking his head.

“You can see more than enough,” he said, grimacing, and Steve frowned.

“I can barely—”

“Shut up, it’s fine,” Billy sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Look, I’m—I’m going to bed, actually. I’ll—I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Steve blinked back at him, wide-eyed, and Billy hung up, yanking the pillow over his head with a groan.

His text alert—it was the treasure chest noise from one of Max’s Zelda games—made its ting ting ting noise, and he lifted the pillow to look. Sleep well, Steve had sent. I miss you.

Billy nearly called him back, staring at the words, and then sat up and yanked his stained t-shirt off. He flung it into the corner with the other dirty laundry, and then sighed, and stumbled out of bed to gather it all up and stomp downstairs to the laundry room. When he got there, he had no quarters, and he sat heavily against a washer, wiping his eyes, until the door creaked open, and it was Max, carrying the box of detergent.

“What gives,” she said suspiciously, and he shrugged.

“...just thought I’d do some laundry, y’know,” he said, laughing. “I’m such a fucking slob.”

“Did he say something,” she bit out, shooting him a glare as she fed quarters into the machine.

“...he didn’t,” Billy sighed, rolling his shoulders, and frowning around the laundry room. “Stinks in here.”

“It’s apartment 312,” Max growled. “She washes and lets it rot. All the time.”

“Once I have my degree I’ll get us somewhere better,” Billy promised, wincing. “Once I get a real job.”

“It’s not so bad,” Max told him, grabbing his wrist and hauling him back out. “Come on, you don’t need to watch, that washer knows what it’s doing.”

“...didn’t look all that smart to me,” Billy told her as she drug him back upstairs, not because he desperately wanted to stick around smelling the sour, heavy funk of rotting laundry, but because Max was handling him again, like she was the adult. “I bet I’m smarter than that washer.”

“I sure hope so,” Max told him, shoving him inside their apartment. “You, uh…” she said, glancing up at him, and then frowning, and Billy tried to stop being an asshole.

“I’m fine, Max, play your game,” he told her, and she narrowed her eyes at him. He opened his mouth to try and argue with her cutting look—proving he was actually not smarter than a washing machine, really—and his texts chimed again. It was just a red heart emoticon, but Billy’s whole body warmed again at the thought of Steve sitting there for so long, typing and then deleting. He started to send back a kissy face, and then realized it’d be obvious he wasn’t asleep, and Steve would call, and Billy groaned, mashing his face against his phone.

“...is he being a dipshit?” Max asked, reaching up to grab his phone, and Billy stuck it in his pocket.

“Get one out we can both play,” he told her, waving at the Xbox and dropping on the couch. She grinned, delighted and a little evil, before rummaging around and returning with a selection of five. They looked like little kid games, he thought, all bright colors, but it wasn’t like he needed to murder zombies, so he decided to let Max cheer him up. He hummed thoughtfully, and let her lean in and advise—ruffling her hair to make her yell—before sitting elbow-to-elbow with her until nearly midnight, yelling insults at each other and at the screen.

Over the next few weeks, his most royal prince-ness kept texting, sending pictures of everything from a frog he found in a downspout licking its own eyeball to pictures of plasticine-covered dead people in a museum exhibit. There were rows and rows of people posed like they were playing tennis, or crouching, their skin peeled back to show musculature.

I’m in Germany…said the text, with a picture of Steve posing with a horse whose skin and muscles rippled out like its mane. “#notaserialkiller” he sent, immediately after.

tell that to the horse judge, Billy sent back, grinning.

“Who is this guy,” Max asked, leaning her sharp little chin on his shoulder as Billy flipped his phone so she couldn’t see the screen. He tried to tuck it into his Trig textbook, and it slid out. “Your Uber fare?”

“He’s, uh, he’s not the kind of guy I usually date,” Billy said, swallowing, and thinking about his last ‘date’ before Steve, who he’d never seen in daylight. Billy’d awoken—hungover, late to class, on the floor, with his head pillowed on the remains of a half-eaten six-foot Subway sandwich, and a used condom stuck to his thigh—to Max’s unimpressed glower. He tried to imagine Steve’s clothes on his apartment floor. A crown on his bedside table. “He, uh. He’s a good tipper.”

“That’s a good sign,” Max told him, blowing into his hair as she sighed, her weight against his back, watching the microwave rattle its way through heating her Hot Pocket. She leaned to flip the phone over—My Prince, it proclaimed. Three missed calls.

“He’s a nice guy,” Billy told her, trying to grab his phone back. “He’s too nice, probably. Calls me his bad idea.”

“If he calls you a bad idea,” she enunciated carefully, through gritted teeth, “—he’s not nice.”

“No, he’s—it’s not—” Billy groaned, then scrambled to try and snatch the phone back from his sister as she hit redial. “Give it back,” he growled, and she raised her eyebrows, knowing he wouldn’t so much as step towards her angry, since—since they’d written everything down, how much he’d drink, and when, and how often he’d see his therapist, and came up with rules about when he was angry. “Max,” he hissed, through his teeth, and she smiled her widest fake smile and turned away to talk on the phone.

“Yeah, hey, it’s Billy’s sister,” she said. “Oh, gee, did I wake you up?”

“No, no, no,” Billy muttered, trying to block her in around the table, so he could grab the phone, but she paced away, keeping the table between them.

“Your bad idea has a sister, didja know? Oh? Huh. Yeah, shut the hell up now. How come you’re giving my brother shit when he calls you his prince, huh?”

It sounded like Steve just said “Uhhhh,” and Max growled just like her brother.

“You got money?” she asked sweetly, and Billy slid across the table and grabbed for the phone. She grabbed his little finger and bent it, making him spin in place to face the wall, cursing the self-defense he’d taught her. “Yeah? Okay, how come you’re snogging my brother in bowling alley bathrooms? How come he’s secret, huh? You in the closet?”

“Max, stop,” Billy hissed, but she’d frozen in place, and dropped Billy’s hand to grab the phone with both of hers.

“...I don’t know!” she sort of whisper-yelled, and he started laughing.

“What,” she whispered, and Billy started to snicker. “What are you—what?!”

“Give him back!” Billy whispered. “He’s a prince, right?!”

“I don’t know where he wants to go!” she hissed into the phone, waving Billy off. “But you should ask him!”

“Give him back,” Billy begged. “Max!”

“Fine!” she yelled, slapping the phone into Billy’s hand.

He could hear Steve laughing. Billy took a relieved breath, and held it to his ear. “Glad you’re still there.”

“Your sister loves you so much,” Steve told him, and Billy glared after her.

“Loves making fun of me, maybe—”

“She’s right, no, she’s right, pick somewhere you’d like to go, okay? I should take you someplace nice.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Billy told him, with a snort. “I seriously don’t care.”

“No, no, look, I found this restaurant, it’s like. There are knights. They fight each other. On horses. We could bring her?”

“...what,” Billy mumbled, blinking.

“It’s, um, it’s a medieval...kind of thing. Would she like it?”

“Death-match dining? Fuck yeah.”

“Okay,” Steve took a slow breath. “Okay.”

“...why you so worried, Prince Harrington?” Billy laughed. “You want my little sister to like a restaurant, Mister Royal? My Stevie Wonder?” Billy asked, feeling over-warm again, even next to the air conditioner.

“What?!” Steve laughed. “She’s important to you,” he said, sounding a litle confused, and Billy started laughing, not even because anything was funny, just his stupid feelings leaking out everywhere.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, yeah.”

“I, uh,” Steve said, and cleared his throat. “Um. So. Nancy and Barb are having their honeymoon later, next—next year, they wanted to know if, uh. Uh, um.”

“Want me to suggest words?” Billy laughed. “I can just say words, tell me when I hit the right one. ‘Chickadee’ is a word, is that any help?”

“Shut up, dickhead,” Steve said, but it sounded like he was smiling. “Darn you. They wanted to know if we want to...drive and meet them. Road trip. Thought I’d be your Uber fare again.”

“...you...what?” Billy mumbled. “You want me to…”

“We can fix it so you don’t miss too much class,” Steve wheedled. “They just need to know your schedule. Max could come.” There was a pause, and then he talked really fast, all in one breath. “Lot of Uber fare, there. I mean, if you’re—if you’re afraid of missing work. You don’t have to come though, it’s okay—”

“No, I—” Billy swallowed, dry-mouthed, imagining—how long?! At least a week?! Of sharing hotel rooms with his prince. “I—yes. Yeah. I wanna go, yeah—”

“Hey,” Steve said, and stopped, and Billy shut his eyes.

“—if you want me to,” he said quickly, wiping his suddenly-sweaty hand on his jeans. “—if you’re not just—you don’t have to—” he tried to take a silent deep breath. “Don’t have to see me if you don’t want to—”

“Babe, babe, no,” Steve told him. “Come on, take a breath, okay?”

“Yeah,” Billy nodded, and did, holding his phone with both hands so it wouldn’t shake.

“Billy Hargrove,” Steve said, “—you know you’re not a bad idea, right?”

“I’m your bad idea,” Billy told him, laughing, and wiping his nose.

“No, no, no—no, I didn’t—I never meant—you’re a good idea. Billy. You’re such a good idea.”

“Bullshit,” Billy whispered, laughing.

“Shit,” Steve muttered, and the phone went kind of staticky, like he took it away from his ear. Billy could hear his voice speaking...some language. He’d have to see whether they offered Greek or Danish classes at the college, he thought, listening. When Steve’s voice came back, he was still mumbling in definitely-not-English.

“Need to call me back?” Billy asked.

“What?! No! I need to—I just didn’t—augh,” Steve groaned. “Look. Puttemus. You are a good idea. Leaving my wedding to go bowling without calling anyone was a bad idea. Taking a stranger to my hotel for sex was a bad idea. I—ag—argh, Billy. I did—I did that because I was upset, and—”

“Are you...swearing at me?” Billy asked, fascinated.

Steve’s end of the call went staticy again, and Billy heard him roar—kind of pathetically, like a baby predator at the zoo. “No! You aren’t listening!”

“Oh, I’m listening,” Billy told him.

“I’m so glad I met you,” Steve said hurriedly. “Not someone, you. I’m so—thank you for being there. You made me feel better, I—” he started mumbling again, incomprehensibly, and Billy listened, smiling.

“Need to learn more languages, don’t I?”

“...how will I mutter about how stupid I am if you can hear me,” Steve huffed. “I’ll have to make up words.”

“...speak English,” Billy told him. “I can’t tell you if you’re being a dumbass right now if I don’t understand.”

Steve took a deep breath. “I—I think about you all the time. Not just—not just you naked, I—I want to take you on a boat. I want to watch you out on the water, let you relax. In—in the sun. I want—” he stopped, taking a shaky breath. “—I want you with me. I want you here, I know that isn’t—possible always, but I want that—”

Billy was doing his breathing exercises, holding it in for a few seconds, letting it out, not because he felt bad, but he was feeling a lot.

“I’m yours,” he laughed. “I-I mean, as much as you want me. I need to be here for Max, but…”

Steve groaned. “I want to see you. Damn it.”

Billy trotted to his room, and hit video call as he dropped to lie back across his bed. “Hey,” he whispered as Steve answered, frowning intently at his phone in a flurry of feedback noises.

The tall white arches around him blurred as he walked quickly down a hall, then sat against the wall under some huge portrait with a gold frame. He sighed. “No, this is worse, look at you.”

“I can’t see my own face, my eyeballs don’t work like that,” Billy said, licking his lips—he could try to be sexy, he thought, running his fingers slowly down his face to try and look seductive while checking for mustard—and Steve leaned out of frame, muttering in a language Billy didn’t understand.

“I want to see you, not just...see you,” Steve muttered, and Billy snorted a laugh.

“Well, I can’t fly to Europe,” Billy told him, “—so this is what you get.”

“I can’t kiss you like this,” Steve huffed, and Billy laughed, punching the pillow up behind his head.

“I could put on a show,” he offered. “Probably nothing that great—”

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed, then bit his lips, and frowned away. “Uh. Do—do you want to?”

“I got a couple hours,” Billy told him, trying not to squirm as his dick woke up in his jeans, and started feeling squished. “You wanna watch me get off?”

“So much,” Steve groaned. “Um, just a second, okay, I—I gotta make something up, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, Steve—” Billy shouted, but the line was dead, and Billy had the sinking suspicion he always got with Steve Harrington, that Billy’s overeager dick was causing a war someplace.

The phone rang again, and Billy answered with “Don’t bail on your job just because I’m horny, christ—”

Steve laughed, his face lit mostly by the phone. “Lynn’s covering for me,” he said, as Billy squinted.

“Are...are you in a storage closet, or something?”

“No, I am not in the closet, I told public relations about you, and they’re figuring out what to say,” Steve said cheerfully, as Billy stared at him.

“...what...what did you tell them,” he whispered.

“I told them I had a boyfriend, and they should be prepared for somebody taking pictures, or something,” Steve said. “Why?

The idea of being the boyfriend was new to Billy, and he stared back. “...you tell people about me?” he asked softly, and Steve bit back a weird little spluttered laugh, grinning at him.

“I tell everyone about you,” he whispered. “I pick up my phone and everyone laughs and rolls their eyes, because I’m checking how long until I can call you, and if you’ve sent a text, everything stops until I send you hearts back.”

Billy, who’d been feeling a little dismissed when he’d ask a question, get a string of hearts, and no answer for five hours, groaned, smacking his hand over his face. “Kinda thought you were telling me to fuck off,” he mumbled into his hand.

“Wha—no, I—why?!” Steve yelped, waving his hands, one of which contained his phone, so everything whirled.

“You didn’t actually answer, I dunno, I just—”

“I can answer faster! I’ll answer faster,” Steve told him, grimacing. “I’m sorry—”

“No!” Billy laughed. “No, now I know what the hearts mean, I mean—you’re just busy.”

“I’m busy and I l-like you,” Steve told him, a little clumsy over his words, for somebody who probably had a speech coach. “And I wish I wasn’t busy. But I’m checking my phone, because if you need me I’m not busy, not for you, I just don’t know whether—”

“Relax, your highness,” Billy told him, grinning. “It’s cute.”

“I’m never ignoring you, you’re too distracting,” Steve said, his eyes narrowed, and Billy laughed.

“You still wanna see me strip down?” he asked, cocking his head against the pillow, and Steve laughed.

“More than almost anything, I just wish I could touch—”

“Mmmm,” Billy said, taking the zipper of his hoodie between two fingers, and dragging it slowly down his body, his hand flat. “Maybe you better hurry back and do that, then.”

“God, I wish I could,” Steve whispered, as Billy reached back up to slowly pull one side of his open sweatshirt off his chest, revealing his grotty t-shirt, washed until it was the greyish color all t-shirts eventually ended up. “...you look so soft,” Steve whispered. “Is that t-shirt as soft as it looks?”

“...what,” Billy said, having frozen at the word soft, because he’d been drinking less beer, and he’d thought he’d prevented his developing beer gut, but then Steve looked at his stomach—“My...t-shirt?”

“Your t-shirt,” Steve breathed, “—and your hoodie. You look so soft, I want to squeeze you.”

“Soft,” Billy repeated, unimpressed. “Soft?!”

“Oh, he thinks he’s hard,” Steve laughed. “Only your dick, babe.”

“The man who was that disappointed he couldn’t get a buffalo wings plushie does not get to lecture me about being soft—” Billy told him, growling, but Steve laughed.

“I just wanted a souvenir. I kept a coaster.”

“...you what,” Billy muttered, disbelieving.

“I kept a coaster,” Steve said cheerfully. “From our first date. At the bowling alley.”

“You what...took it back home with you?” Billy asked, sneering a little, but he could feel how wide his eyes were.

“If I can’t drink my Billy, I’ll at least—” Steve began, slyly, but Billy started laughing so hard he stopped.

“If you’re so thirsty, how come you’re telling me I’m soft instead of seeing the evidence otherwise,” Billy asked, still snickering. He held the phone out to show the lump of his dick in his jeans.

Steve shut up quite respectfully after that, and Billy got to finally tease him with the slow zipper reveal. “Put your hands everywhere,” Steve whispered. “Pretend they’re mine.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Billy told him, waggling his fingers. “Where d’you want to touch me...your highness?”

“...everywhere,” Steve said again, his brain taking a second to catch up, and then, “Oh, ah, touch—push your jeans down, I can’t see.”

Billy snorted softly, thinking maybe he needed to try and get...something sexier, to have on already, when this kind of thing happened. He couldn’t always be wearing stained, stretched-out cotton. He sat the phone aside—Steve yelped—and shimmied out of his old saggy jeans, and then grimaced down at the holes along the elastic waistband of his briefs, and yanked those off too. The threadbare t-shirt went next, he pulled it off over his head, and then ran his fingers through his hair, wishing cologne worked through the phone, or that he’d shaved. “Prince tames wild jungle beast,” he muttered, glaring into the mirror over his dresser in the dim light. “—suspected to be time traveling caveman.”

“Billy?!” came Steve’s voice, laughing, and Billy groaned, scooping it up, and dropping back to lie on the bed.

“Should I get like a...g-string, or something,” Billy blurted out, angling the phone so Steve could see his hard dick, which was looking stellar, he thought, surrounded by the red marks from his jeans, on a body that hadn’t gone tanning in recorded history.

Steve bit back a laugh. “A what?” he asked.

“You know, those stripper wedgies,” Billy said, frowning. “Instead of my stretched-out gray cotton undies…”

“Are they comfortable?” Steve kind of wheezed, and Billy rolled his eyes.

“I feel like I need to up my game, what with all your...everything,” he said, waving at his prince’s gleaming medals. “Look, my dick’s sprung a leak,” he growled, pointing at it smearing pre-come over his belly, and feeling his face flush as Steve made a weird swallowed moaning noise.

“I’m honored,” Steve said, in a strangled voice, and Billy couldn’t help it, he started cackling. “Billy,” Steve said, softly, and Billy’s dick bounced. Billy smacked his hand down over it, blushing hotter. “...you don’t need a G-strip,” Steve said, and Billy laughed harder. “Billy,” Steve whispered again, and Billy’s cock jerked again, and Billy curled onto his side he was laughing so hard. “Billy,” Steve groaned, but he was laughing too. “I love your clothes,” he said, and Billy tried to shut up and listen, shaking with snickers, and wiping his eyes. “You feel good. My clothes are scratchy—”

“Your clothes are fucking silk,” Billy told him, grinning. “Don’t try and tell me you’re always in that stupid uniform, highness.”

“Every time I see you in your soft shirts I want to hold you,” Steve breathed, and Billy swallowed back a soft grunt at the thought of the crown prince of anywhere wanting to put hands on him. “I want to slide my hands up underneath.”

“Now you’re talking,” Billy said, grinning, rubbing his thumb over the wetness at the tip of his dick.

“I can’t touch you from here,” Steve said, softly, and Billy sighed, then, reluctantly, took his hand off his cock, and scraped his fingernails down his chest, and up his abs. Steve sounded like he choked.

His big brown eyes looked deeper in the shadowy light of the storage closet, and Billy watched him stare, licking his lips. Billy rolled back onto his back, smoothing the flat of his hand up his thigh, and over his belly to grip himself on the ribs in a one-armed hug, and Steve made a soft noise in his throat. “Cristos,” he muttered.

“You’re so easy,” Billy laughed.

“Only for you, malaka,” Steve laughed, and he sounded so fond Billy flushed hot, staring at his face, and repeating the word in his head, wondering what he’d just been called. “...with only the light from your mobile, it looks like candlelight.”

Billy laughed, feeling a little gooey, like one of those chocolate cakes that were melted inside. He tried not to squirm, panting as Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, sure, blue candlelight—”

“I wish I could kiss you,” Steve said softly. “Lean over you, slide my hand down to thumb over your cock.”

“Jesus,” Billy panted, gripping himself as instructed, his dick hard as a rock in his hands.

“If I was actually there I’d put my mouth over it,” Steve huffed, and Billy groaned, licking his hand so he could jack himself. His feet started to cramp, he was clenching them so hard, trying not to just jizz all over himself at the sound of his prince’s voice, and he shifted, trying to take deep breaths. “Suck you down,” Steve whispered.

Billy came over his fingers, panting, and Steve sighed.

“...I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said. “Sorry I had to leave, I mean, I’d...I’d just met you, and—thanks for waiting for me, Billy.”

“...there’s not really a long line of people beating down my door,” Billy mumbled, curling up, and pulling the blanket over himself as the breeze from the fan over his sweat made him shiver.

“Thank you for waiting,” Steve said again, softly. “I want to kiss you as soon as I can.”

Two months later, Billy was paying bills, while Max hovered around saying things like “I don’t really have to go on school trips, they can’t make me,” and “These sneakers are fine.” When he was done, there was just enough money to pay rent, the water bill, and send Max on the trip with some food money, and Billy folded forward on the table, dropping his face with a thud among the envelopes. His heart was pounding. “...maybe some new shoes next time,” he mumbled, and Max kicked his chair.

“These are fine,” she said stoutly, and he eyed the frayed, greying converses where they sat next to the duct tape. She’d started just wrapping the whole shoe every couple of weeks, and they smelled horrible in the summer heat. “It’s so hot the tape kinda sticks to the sidewalks,” she said, like that wasn’t depressing, and then, “—and I know they’ve got no traction now, so I’m more careful on the stairs,” which was worse.

“...yeah,” he sighed.

“...this prince of yours,” she said, and he smiled automatically.

“Yeah?”

“...you trust him, right?”

Billy opened his eyes, frowning at her, and she shrugged, biting her lips. “...yeah, I trust him,” he said, feeling his stomach twist a little—he trusted Steve to act like Steve, but Billy couldn’t help wondering at what point his life would wear Steve to the end of his patience. “What d’you mean, Max?”

She stared back for a long moment, then bit her lips. “...nothing.”

“Why are you asking?” Billy asked, trying to think of what she could have seen, passing through while he and Steve played League of Legends.

“Nothing, moron, shut up, he’s so into you, stop freaking out.”

“O-okay,” he said, burying his face in his arms to hide his grin.

“God, stop,” she sighed, but she was gentle as she punched his shoulder on the way by.

My other Harringrove stuff

#Harringrove #Long distance relationship #But soft #I promise #They love each other so much

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