#Leslie Odom jr. smut

[hengqarae]

to the victor go the spoils

PAIRING ❄ lee chan x afab!reader WORD COUNT ❄ 11.3k GENRE ❄ chan is a bartender au, romance, smut (minors dni), mutual pining, angst WARNINGS ❄ legal alcohol consumption, making out, swearing, oral (f receiving), not proofread

chan is the bartender at your favorite restaurant, and you're his favorite patron: the person that comes in every single week with a new guy, always wearing the same perfume and always ordering the same thing, always complaining to him about the losers that your father keeps setting you up with. he'll lose his mind soon if he keeps having to watch you on these shitty dates. how much longer until he's declared the winner and you finally choose him?

PLAYLIST ❄ love language by sza / go crazy by leslie odom jr. / vanilla by kai / lies by marina and the diamonds / what can i do by reneé rapp / nervous by john legend / chance with you by mehro / maroon by taylor swift / toy by block b FROM THE AUTHOR ❄ thanks for reading <3 the beginning is stronger than the end because i got covid in the midst of this and lost my motivation, but i hope you enjoy it regardless! have a safe and fun transition into the new year, if you observe it :)

Chan thinks that he must be losing his mind. 

He started bartending when he was in college, just as soon as he was legally able to do so. Known for having a competitive streak, the fact that he needed to pass a test to obtain licensure to serve alcohol spurred him on more than it should have. He was even more motivated when his friend, Soonyoung, wasn’t able to pass it himself. He landed a job at one of the more upscale restaurants almost immediately and being downtown meant that the people were more affluent and, thus, more generous. It was a total win for him, and nearly three years later, he’s still around. Chan only really bartends on weekends, reserving his weekdays to get his schoolwork done. In all honestly, he doesn’t need the job. He’s never needed it, but he’s stuck around for so long because he enjoys meeting different types of people; he likes hearing the deep, dark secrets that spill out once enough alcohol has been consumed; and he really appreciates the ego boost that he gets every time an older woman comes in and tips him generously, just because they think he’s cute. 

It’s not his job that’s making him feel like he’s losing his mind. He likes his job, and he’ll be satisfied with the time he’s spent behind his bar once he finally graduates and moves on to something more applicable to his degree. No, he feels like he’s losing his mind because of one specific patron. There’s this one gorgeous individual that comes in every Friday night, always meeting a different man, but always wearing the same floral perfume and wearing the same silver necklace that dangles around their neck, resting on their sternum, glinting in the dim lights of the restaurant. This person always arrives early and sits at the bar, talking with Chan about school, about their family, about how poorly they know their date will go. They’re always sitting at the same table, one of the ones closest to the bar, and they always order the same thing. The dates always last two hours and not one minute longer, and Chan always feels a sense of longer after they bid him farewell and leave the restaurant, the scent of their perfume never lingering for long enough. 

Chan is absolutely enamored with this one individual, but he’d rather plead insanity than admit that. 

“Hi Chan,” You sigh, sliding onto the barstool that was situated directly in front of him. You shift until you’re comfortable, placing your bag on the counter. Chan, in the middle of washing and drying his shaker, offers you a smile without actually looking up at you. His heart has been racing since he caught sight of you walking in, and he’s afraid that if he looks at you, it’ll induce a heart attack. He could already tell from across the restaurant that you looked good, even better than usual. You smell even better than usual, too. He’s sure that nothing has actually changed, though, and that serves as just another sign that he’s losing his mind. “How was your week?” 

You follow his movements with your eyes as he places the shaker on the counter, throwing his hand towel over his shoulder and wiping his forehead with the back of one of his hands. One of his rings catches the light and you’re drawn to his hand, shifting uncomfortably on your stool when you notice how pretty his hands are. It takes you another minute to notice, but his hair’s lighter this week than it was last week. He must have had more free time than usual, dying it and all. “It was okay. I lost a bet and had to dye my hair. I’m also considering sleeping with my neuroscience professor so that I pass the class. “ 

“Your exam didn’t go well, then?” Chan shakes his head. “Is she cute, at least?” 

“Yeah, he’s pretty easy on the eyes!” 

He’s able to make you laugh so effortlessly. You throw your head back, hands gripping the countertop so that you don’t lose your balance and slide off your seat. Chan smiles to himself, turning so that he can start mixing you up a drink. This week, like every other week, you were going to get whatever he decided to give you. It’s not like he charged you for drinks anyway. When you finally settle your laughter, wiping away a tear that had started to collect at your waterline, you watch him make his drink. You smoothen your expression when you realize the fond smile that was plastered on your face for everybody to see, and your heart aches when you think about leaving Chan to sit through another dry, humorless, boring date for two hours. 

This was the reason you always made sure to arrive early at the restaurant. You always insisted on driving yourself, you always made sure to arrive thirty minutes early, and you always soaked in as much time as you could get with Chan before you were subjected to yet another torturous date that your father had planned out for you. Your dates were never able to hold a conversation as well as Chan could. With him, words flowed naturally. He didn’t talk about himself too much, and he remembered anything that you told him, and you had considered, on multiple occasions, skipping your dates in favor of sitting with Chan through your shift. Up until now, you had never been able to find the courage to do so. 

Only recently, you had realized that maybe, possibly, you had started to harbor a little crush on him. Keeping that in consideration, it was unlikely that you would ever find the courage to engage in anything further with him. Your weekly chats were doomed to remain as weekly, thirty-minute occurrences, no matter how much more of him you found yourself craving. 

“What about you? How was your week?” 

“It was okay.” You echo his words, eyes trailing his movements again as he sets your drink in front of you. He steps away to tend to the other patrons, and your heart aches again as you watch him laugh and flirt with the females perched at the bar. You aren’t jealous, per se – you've known Chan for long enough to be able to recognize his fake, polite smiles from his genuine ones, and you’re able to find some comfortable in the fact that the smiles he gives you are different from the one he’s offering to those other customers right now. You hum quietly and take a sip of your cocktail, eyebrows knitting together as you taste it. When Chan returns, you ask what he made you. 

“It’s called a Painkiller.” He grins, grabbing the bottle of rum he had mixed in to show you what he had used. “I figured you were going to need one. Today is lucky number seventeen, right?” 

You raise your eyebrows, a smile growing on your face. “How did you remember that?” 

“It’s a good number.” He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the other side of the bar. “So, your week was okay? Why’s that?” 

You sigh, massaging your temples to prevent the headache that tended to appear whenever you recounted everything that was stressing you out. “I have my thesis proposal in a few weeks, and my defense closer to the end of the semester, but my dad is still incessant on setting me up on these dates. He wants me to be engaged by graduation, but I don’t even know if I want to be married. It feels like a war of attrition.” 

“Should I make you another one? A little stronger?” 

He’s just joking, evident by his grin, but you almost want to take him up on his offer. Tonight’s date, whose name you couldn’t even recall, was projected to be especially bad. The guys that your dad seemed to like the most always ended up being the worst. You straighten yourself back up with another sigh, and Chan curses under his breath as you offer him a tired smile that makes his stomach somersault in response. Your lipstick smudges against the glass as you take another sip of your drink, and he thinks that the shade you’re wearing tonight would look good on him, too. 

Just not on his lips. 

“It’s so tiring.” You take another long sip of your drink, your tongue poking out to collect the liquid that had gotten caught at the corner of your mouth. Chan has to look away, face nearly contorting in pain as he feels himself straining against his pants. He’s thankful to be hidden behind the bar tonight; you looked and smelled even better up close. He’s more thankful that your outfit is a little more conservative than what you had worn last week. That white outfit had revealed just enough to put his imagination into overdrive. He was still thinking about how good you had looked. He had jacked himself off to thoughts of removing the outfit, draping it carefully over the back of his desk chair before fucking you into his mattress, more times than he’d feel comfortable admitting to anyone. He has to squeeze his eyes shut and take a few breaths to keep from getting hard again, turning around only when he’s ready. You had descended into a rant about your love life, and he wishes that he hadn’t entered the conversation that you were having with yourself. 

“--like, what if I don’t want to be married? That’s not crazy, it’s almost 2023! I haven’t even had sex in months because my dad keeps setting me up with losers. It’s not for lack of trying, either; these stupid dates occupy all of my free time, and the only redeeming part of these dates are the free meals and being able to sit with you beforehand. I’m exhausted, though, Chan. Seriously. I-I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be meeting tonight! My dad says that he really likes him, but I don’t even know what his name is. It’s either Minho, or Mingyu... it could be Minhyung, too, though. I don’t--” 

As much as Chan would enjoy talking about your sex life with you, his attention is brought from you to the door of the restaurant, and he straightens up as a young man walks into the space. There’s no doubt that he’s your date, Minho or Mingyu or Minhyung or whatever, if his Armani suit, Rolex watch, and excess of hair gel is anything to go by. Chan clears his throat, looking from the man to you and then back as the man continues his trek toward the bar. “Should I start a tab for you?” 

That was code. You straighten your own posture, taking a deep breath before turning in your seat, a saccharine smile decorating your features. Chan knows you too well by now to be fooled by the mask that you slip on whenever you’re on a date. He collects your bag as you’re led away by your date, tucking it underneath the bar while he starts washing some glasses. The sight of you getting whisked away had become nausea-inducing for him, and tonight was no exception. As soon as you had taken your date’s hand, Chan had looked away to avoid getting sick. He keeps an inconspicuous eye on you as your date pulls out your chair for you, busying himself as you get your date started. He knows that you’d much rather be spending your time with him – you'd said so just earlier, after all – but he can’t help the dull ache in his chest at the sight of seeing you with another man. 

The only consolation for him was that he would see you again in a week’s time, laughing once again at his jokes, further exacerbating the symptoms of his lovesickness. He mutters under his breath as he finishes cleaning his glasses, setting them on the countertop to dry. He offers one final glance in your direction, his chest clenching when he sees that you’re already looking at him, in a plea for help that you both know he can’t answer. 

The bar gets crowded as the night continues, and Chan occupies himself with other patrons. He’s trying to compartmentalize, trying to forget that you were somewhere else in the restaurant, but it’s hard; with every fake laugh that he hears from you, a warmth blooms in his chest. He’s the only person in the whole joint that has ever made you genuinely laugh, and he carries that knowledge with pride. 

Two hours come and go, and just like clockwork, you bid goodbye to your date. It was unusual for you to settle back at the bar following your dates, but you chose to do so tonight. Chan knows that usually, you’re so tired from listening to your dates talk about themselves without reprieve that you just bid Chan farewell and leave immediately after your dates. He’s happy that you’re back, but there’s always a fear that lingers in the back of his mind that one day, the reason that you’ve come back is to tell him that you had a really good date and that you’d be going on another one with the same guy. He hasn’t prepared himself for when that day comes. 

“That fucking sucked,” You groan, covering your face with your hands. Chan tries, and fails, to bite back a smile, setting a glass of water down in front of you. You grumble a quiet thanks, sipping your water as the bartender floats around behind the bar, checking in and cashing out his patrons. You lean back as best as you can while sitting on a barstool, watching him as he starts cleaning up. His shift should be over soon. You always scheduled your dates halfway through Chan’s shifts so that, whenever you stuck around, you could walk out with him. It felt like a reward for getting through the awful date in the first place. 

Your breath hitches every time that Chan breezes past you, and you curse yourself for that. While your date with Minhyuk – you had learned his name, finally – hadn't been the worst date that you’d ever experienced, he was definitely getting struck from your father’s (dwindling) list of potential sons-in-law. You try to wrack your brain and figure out how many people were left on that list. Once you reach the end, you’ll need to find a new reason to come to the restaurant every week; having a crush on one of the bartenders, you’d rationalized, was not a good enough reason to come all the way downtown every Friday. 

It feels like your heart is being squeezed when you dare to look to your left and see Chan flirting with one of his female customers. Her fingers are dancing on his chest, and you nearly fall off your stool when she dares to unbutton his shirt a little more. You know that you can’t fault him for someone else’s behavior, but if generous tips meant that you could help him out of his shirt, you’d start bringing some cash with you. 

“Gimme a few more minutes!” Chan offers in passing, causing you to perk up a little. It was cathartic, spending time with him. Your dates were draining but being with Chan had the opposite effect. You felt like being with him recharged you, like you could endure another two hours with another loser if you had time with him in between. Two hours with one of your father’s dates felt like a torturous eternity, but two hours felt like ten minutes with Chan. It didn’t feel fair. 

Your stomach does a flip when Chen rounds the bar. The sleeves of his black button-down have been pushed up to his elbows, and his shirt is unbuttoned dangerously low. You knit your eyebrows together, beckoning him closer so that you can button him back up. He laughs quietly as you do it, and you hope that by ignoring the warmth that’s flooding into your face, he won’t notice it. You use his shoulder to steady yourself as you dismount from your stool, smiling as he offers you your bag. You take it, slipping it over your shoulder, tailing him as the two of you make your exit out of the restaurant. He bids farewell to the remaining staff, holding open doors for you until you’ve both made it into the elevator. 

Chan’s heart is thudding heavily against his ribcage, and he hopes that the elevator music is loud enough that you can’t hear it. This wasn’t a weekly occurrence, per se, but it was still rare that he was afforded the opportunity to walk you back to your car. His fingers itch to reach for you, to pin you against the wall of the elevator and to press his lips on every inch of your exposed skin, but he refrains. Instead, he leans against the wall, trying to appear nonchalant, while you stand, rigid, next to him, wringing your hands together. It’s not necessarily awkward, but you’re suddenly missing the bar that usually separates the two of you. Conversation flowed easier when you were able to sit safely on the other side of the bar. 

“How was your date? Bad, you said? N-No, wait, you said that it ‘fucking sucked,’ right?” 

You groan, shaking your head at the reminder of why you had come to the restaurant in the first place – something that had been lost as you sat at the bar, daydreaming about what it would be like to go on a date with Chan instead. “I-I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. It would be so easy to just, like, tolerate someone, right? I don’t know why I can’t just find someone that I can tolerate and call it a day.” 

“You have standards. Big deal.” He scoffs, trailing after you once the elevator opens. Your pace is slow as the two of you meander through the parking garage, in pursuit of a goal (your car) but with no sense of urgency. You shake your head, letting your hands fall to your sides. 

“Standards are one thing, Chan, but I haven’t had sex in months, and I haven’t even kissed anyone in weeks. I’m just so worn out from all these shitty dates. Between writing my thesis, studying and reading for my classes, and then carving out three hours every Friday night to listen to a different loser talk about himself and his stocks, I feel like I’m on a downward trajectory.” 

Chan’s eyebrows raise, but he quickly smoothens his expression because you’re turning to look at him, expectant, like he should be offering something insight or helpful. He has nothing prepared. As soon as you mentioned kissing, he started thinking about how it’d be to have you pinned against the flat surface, to have your lips on his. He clears his throat. “W-Why haven’t you been kissing your dates?” 

“I used to!” You groan, propping your hands on your hips. “I used to, but then they’d always call me the next day. So, I stopped kissing on the first date, and they stopped thinking that there would be a second date. None of them were any good, either! It was like kissing cement.” 

“Soft yet firm?” 

“Cold and wet.” 

“God, where did your dad find these guys? Reddit?” 

You laugh, and it echoes through the parking garage, and Chan feels light on his feet. He tucks his hands into his pockets, looking down at the asphalt as the two of you continue your stroll. He’s considering his options of what he could say next, and suddenly, he wishes that he’d thrown back a shot or two during his shift. “Y-You can teach someone how to be a better kisser, though. I don’t think that should be, like, a dealbreaker.” 

“I mean, sure. Yeah, that’s true. It’s... less about the actual kiss, though. Y’know?” Chan knits his eyebrows together, confused, and you sigh before elaborating. “Like... I didn’t feel anything. There should be sparks or something, but there was nothing like that. It’d probably be more gratifying to kiss a piece of cardboard.” You catch a glimpse of a column and an image of Chan pushing you up against it, lips fiery against yourself, causes you to grimace. If only. 

Chan hums in response, at a loss for words, afraid that there’s nothing left that he could offer to the conversation unless you were looking for him to get on his knees to beg, to plead, for you to give him a chance. He was a good kisser and everything! You stop walking and he lifts his head, his heart falling as he realizes that the two of you have reached your destination. He’d wasted all of his precious time convincing you that you should be less harsh on your dates if they were bad at something teachable. 

How nice of him. 

“Thanks for walking me.” You say, eyes fixating on the strands of hair that had come undone and that were resting in front of Chan’s eyes. You're itching to reach forward and sweep them out of his face, but you refrain. 

“You’re welcome.” 

The two of you lapse into silence, staring at each other. There’s a warmth that’s creeping across your body, starting in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it was tactless to talk about kissing other men in front of Chan, but a small part of you had been hoping that he would contribute differently. Maybe he would offer to kiss you. Maybe you could fulfill your desire to have his hands on you. Maybe he would press his lips against yours, and there’d be fireworks, and you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about coming to the restaurant to see him instead of going on your stupid dates. 

Chan is kind. He’s handsome. He’s gentle, and he’s funny, and he’s sexy, and there’s nothing more that you want in this moment than to have his tongue down your throat. 

He forces a smile, nodding before turning on his heel, but you reach forward to wrap your fingers around his forearm. He turns back to you, eyebrows quirked upward. It’s sitting there, right at the tip of your tongue. Can you kiss me? Can we kiss? 

You aren’t able to convince yourself to verbalize your desire, though. Instead, you open your mouth, and then close it, and release him. “S-Sorry.” 

“Are you okay?” 

No, I’m not okay, but it would make it better if you kissed me. “Yeah! I’m good. Sorry.” 

He doesn’t seem convinced, and he hesitates to say or do anything else. He’s providing you with a window of opportunity, but you aren’t ready to take it. You want to take it – God, you want him pressed against you so badly – but you just aren’t ready. You’ll suppress your feelings, at least for another week. Maybe you’d have the courage next time that you see him. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Yeah. Yeah! I’m sure. I’ll see you next week.” 

He knows you too well to accept the fake smile that you offer him, but he’s too dejected to say anything. Next week. On another date. Another date with a different man. What did he need to do to show you that he was better than all of your stupid dates, combined? 

“Okay.” He offers you a fake smile in return. “Goodnight.” 

+ + +

You should have kissed Chan. 

It was pathetic, the way that you got home that night, unable to stop thinking about him. You couldn’t stop imagining him, imagining what could have been, even after slipping your fingers into your underwear and making yourself cum... twice. You had hoped that you could scratch the itch and it would go away; that was not the case. You touched yourself while imagining that it was him, deep and slow, planting wet kisses along the column of your throat while your hands roamed all over his body. Even after orgasming, you still felt unsatisfied. 

Maybe, if you had kissed him, your curiosity would have been squashed. Maybe there wouldn’t have been any sparks. Maybe he could have told you that he wasn’t interested, and you would have been able to return to the platonic relationship that you’d had before you’d fallen in love with him. Maybe you would lose out on Chan but, eventually, you’d meet someone that you could tolerate. 

Or, maybe, you would have kissed, and it would have become something more. Maybe you could have asked him to take you in your backseat and he would have, deep and slow, fogging up the windows. Maybe you could have ignited the spark that’s always been there, and you would be able to convince your father that you were happy, that you didn’t need to meet anybody else. 

That’s why it’s Saturday night, the very next day, and you’re contemplating getting dressed up and going down to the restaurant. You didn’t have a date – you never scheduled dates outside of your Friday nights. You would be getting dressed up and fighting traffic just so that you could sit at the bar and talk to Chan. Just so, for one more night than usual, you could bask in the attention that he gave you. You could take advantage of his availability and take more than you deserved from him. 

Your body trembles at the thought of seeing him again. You could wear something more revealing; you could dress up even nicer than usual, and you could tempt him. You could dangle yourself in front of him and see if he, too, has an itch to scratch. 

But would that be fair to him? 

No, it wouldn’t. You might as well be throwing yourself at him, showing your tits and forcing him to look. Chan is a sweet guy. He’s kind and gentle, he’s funny and he’s compassionate, and you don’t need to stoop to the level of some of his other patrons, the ones that touch him and flirt with him and make him work even harder for his tips. As much as you’d love to have your hands on him, to flirt with him (and have him flirt back), you know it wouldn’t be fair to him. You’re friends now, after everything. 

You’re friends. That’s how you rationalize showing up to the restaurant in a hoodie instead. 

He spots you as soon as you walk in, smiling and laughing with the hostess, and your heartrate quickens as you cross the space. His eyes are on you the entire time, like he can’t believe that you’re real. It’s Saturday night, right? You wouldn’t be wearing that on a date, right? 

“I never thought I’d see the day.” He laughs, nervously, arms crossing over his chest as you situate yourself on your usual barstool. Why are you here right now? Should he be worried? 

You offer a bashful smile in response, face already feeling warm under his gaze. “Jenn said the same thing.” Chan continues staring at you, still trying to gauge if you were a mirage or not. You adjust the strings of your hoodie, shifting uncomfortably on your stool. “W-What?” 

“It’s not that I’m not happy to see you,” He starts, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “I just don’t know if I should be worried that you’re here right now. This is out of character for you.” 

“I just wanted to see you.” You scoff, suddenly scrambling to add to that once you realize how it sounded. “T-To hang out with you for m-more than, like, thirty minutes.” 

Chan keeps his expression even, but internally, he’s screaming gleefully. Still, he can’t hide the small smile that blooms on his face. “Are you drinking tonight?” 

You hold up hands up, absolving yourself from the responsibility of choosing a drink. “I have no free will here, Chan. You know that.” 

“If you had done better research before showing up and asking for a ‘blue motherfucker,’ whatever the hell that even is, then I wouldn’t have taken away your freedom of choice.” He scoffs, turning around to start concocting you a drink. Today, you’ll get a vodka martini, just to keep things simple. Chan still isn’t fully convinced that he should be happy that you’ve come by, even though the warm feeling in his chest says otherwise. 

You’re grateful to be able to take your drink and gulp it down. Hopefully, the alcohol will loosen you up. You’re practically buzzing, as if you were being risky or adventurous by visiting the restaurant just to see Chan, outside of your normal routine. He’s alarmed that you’re drinking so much right from the start, and so he leans forward, resting his arms on the bar top and speaking as low as he can. “Are you okay? Seriously.” 

“Stop harassing me.” You frown, waving him off. “I’m fine, Chan. I’ll let you know if that changes.” 

He’s not convinced, but still, he steps away and takes some time to check in with the other customers. It was slow for a Saturday night; you were surprised, and also thankful, that there were barstools open. Had you not been able to sit at the bar, you probably would’ve turned around and driven home. There was no reason to come to this place if you weren’t going to be able to see Chan. 

“I’m just worried.” Chan sighs, sliding back in front of you. You groan and he holds his hands up. “Look, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you on any day other than a Friday, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen you in casual clothes, too. I’m trying to figure out if this is one of the signs of the apocalypse. There’s gotta be something you aren’t telling me.” 

“I already told you that I came to hang out with you.” 

“I’m not worth that.” 

“Says who?” 

You realize what you’ve said only after the words tumble out of your lips. You’re quick to raise your glass back to your lips, turning your face away. If Chan heard you, he doesn’t act like it. Instead, he clucks his tongue at you and steps away to tend to one of the waitresses that had approved the bar. You feel like you can stop holding your breath only after he’s stepped out of your zone of proximity. 

Chan heard you, though. He heard you loud and clear, and now he’s afraid that his heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he won’t be able to hear anything else that anyone might tell him tonight. He fumbles his way through two Cosmopolitan orders and chooses to clean his spills immediately so that he has some time to even out his breathing before he faces you again. You really came all the way downtown to see him? It doesn’t seem real to him. Was this an episode of Punk’d? 

He’s gone for long enough that you start to panic. You hadn’t betrayed yourself that badly, so why was he keeping his distance? Maybe he’s known all along that you have a crush on him, and maybe you just confirmed it for it, and now, you’ve ruined your friendship and any possibility of becoming more than friends, which means you can’t come back to the restaurant anymore and-- 

“Do you want another, or do you want something different?” 

Chan gestures to your drink. You look down, see it’s empty, and realize that you hadn’t even realized you had finished it off. “Surprise me.” Preferably, with something stronger. 

Your knowledge of cocktails and liquor in general was, admittedly, poor. However, you feel proud of yourself when you’re able to identify what Chan has made you before he even hands it to you. In fact, if you had to pick a favorite cocktail, you’d probably say Shirley Temple. Chan notices how wide you smile when he sets your drink down, and he makes a mental note to add Shirley Temples into your rotation of drinks. 

“How much longer ‘til you’re off?” You ask, stirring your drink. Chan takes a moment to check his watch. 

“In... eight minutes.” 

You raise your eyebrows, checking the time for yourself on your phone. You had intended to leave your apartment right at seven, but it was already almost nine. You must have spent more time than you realized to deliberate coming here or not. “What are you doing after you’re off?” 

“Usually, I’d be going home. Unless...” Your heartrate quickens in anticipation. Chan takes a breath, steeling himself. “I have another neuroscience exam coming up in a few weeks. What are the odds you’d want to help me study?” 

“I’m better at human anatomy, but I can try.” 

Chan realizes what you’ve said before you do, and he’s laughing so hard that he has to turn around to compose himself. You groan, rubbing your temples, a nervous smile decorating your features. If you had only used a different tone, you could’ve taken the opportunity to try and flirt with Chan. Instead, he wipes tears from his eyes, still laughing quietly. You’re left to ruminate while he starts his final rounds, cashing out patrons and bidding his farewells with a newfound pep in his step. You don’t notice, too focused on cursing yourself internally. 

You’re forced to chug down your drink only when you notice that Chan is already rounding the bar. He gapes at you before laughing again. “You’re gonna be so drunk later.” 

“I’ll be fine.” You huff, taking his outstretched hand to help yourself down from your stool. You almost whine at the loss of touch when he pulls his hand back, but your chest flutters when he settles behind you, hand pressing against your lower back to usher you through the restaurant that had finally started to become crowded. He bids one final farewell to Jenn, the hostess, his cheeks burning as she gestures between the two of you and winks. Chan’s thankful that you didn’t notice. 

He knows that it’s only a matter of time until your intoxication hits, and since he’s never seen you drunk before, he needs to get you to a more controlled setting. Chan can only assume that you’re a lightweight based on the partying stories you’ve told him, and his hand had been a little heavier tonight than usual – he was going to blame that on you, breaking your routine and thoroughly shaking him up. 

“This is the part where I find out that you’re actually a murderer, right?” You tease, rocking back and forth on your heels as the elevator makes it descent. 

Chan laughs, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, I’m not a murderer.” 

“Unfortunately?” 

“That’s what I said,” He’s nonchalant as you follow him out and back into the parking garage. You’re getting déjà vu, but you’re trying your best to swallow down the same urges that you had last night. Instead, you’re quiet as you follow him through the garage to his car. Chan hums quietly to himself, his hands tucked into his pockets again. Only once you’ve reached his car does he pull them out, opening the passenger door for you. You quirk your eyebrows at him, an amused smile ghosting your lips. The tips of his ears bloom red almost immediately. “D-Don’t look at me like that!” 

“Like what?” You laugh, feigning innocence as he closes the door, and you twist to buckle yourself in. He shakes his head at you again, climbing in and getting the car started. Almost immediately, his fingers itch to reach out and lace with yours, but he swallows thickly, choosing to ignore that urge. “Your car will be safe here while we’re gone.” 

“This means that you’re committing to bringing me back here, though. No matter when we finish tonight.” 

Chan holds up one of his hands while he eases his steering wheel with the other. “I promise to uphold that commitment.” 

“You’re annoying.” You scoff, without any real bite to your words. Chan smiles in response, and soon, the car lapses into silence. The radio of his car plays softly while he navigates the car through downtown, but to your surprise, he’s pulling into another garage only a few minutes later. “Wait, do you live downtown?” 

“Is that surprising?” 

“Yes, actually. Why aren’t you walking to work?” 

“Because it’s winter. Plus, I don’t want to get kidnapped.” 

“Why would you get kidnapped?” 

“Cute people get kidnapped.” 

“So why are you worried?” 

Chan sucks in a breath before he reaches over and pinches your thigh. You swat him away, laughing, warning him that he was going to crash if he didn’t pay attention to the road. Begrudgingly, he returns both of his hands to the steering wheel, but not without muttering a few insults back at you under his breath. You left that slide since you’d instigated it, but if it meant he’d put his hands on you, you’d probably try to rile him up a little more time. 

He parks the car without any further hitches. He lets you open your door for yourself while he opens up the backseat, pulling his backpack over his shoulder. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him, messy hair and unbuttoned shirt with a backpack slung over his shoulder; he looked less like Chan the bartender and more like Chan the student. 

He looked good either way, but being a student yourself, you’re a little more partial to the latter. 

It’s nice, being able to spend time with Chan outside of your... arrangement. Each time that the two of you fall quiet, it feels less and less awkward. The two of you stand closer to each other in the elevator this time, and even though the desire to ask him to stick his tongue down your throat is ever-present, it’s not as prominent. Chan is your friend. He’s your sexy, intelligent friend, and you’ve gotten off to thoughts of him fucking you with his tongue more times than you’d like to admit, but you feel happy, being invited to see this other part of his life. 

“How are you feeling? Drunk yet?” 

You shake your head, tailing after him as he lets himself into his apartment. Your first impression is that it’s clean, cleaner than you had expected from a college boy. After slipping your shoes off, you follow him into his living room, beelining for the pictures that were hanging on one of the walls. “Holy shit, is this you?” 

“Don’t look at that!” He whines, grabbing you by your shoulders and turning you around. He shuffles you back toward the couch despite your protests. “You’re here to help me study. You are not here to look at my pictures from high school.” 

“Your hair was so bad!” 

“Do you want some water?” 

You ignore him in favor of advancing toward his pictures again and he groans, grabbing you by your waist and dragging you back to the couch. You were definitely starting to feel the effects of the liquor, whether you realized it or not. “I’m going to tie you to the couch if you don’t stop.” 

That’d be hot. Please do. “Fine, fine! I’ll look at them next time.” 

Next time. That makes Chan’s stomach do a somersault. He can’t fight the smile that blooms on his face, sitting cross-legged on the floor and opening his backpack. You mimic his sitting position, tucking your legs under one another. He holds out a stack of index cards, holding them out for you. You take them, shuffling through them while Chan continues to dig through his bag. Once you look at him again, he’s wearing glasses, and you have to refrain from moaning out loud at how good he looks. 

“Read me the cards. Does your vision go blurry when you’re drunk?” 

“I’m not drunk, Chan!” You huff, lifting the first index card closer to your face to read it. “Broca’s Area?” 

“Um... it’s where someone can, like, recognize something, but they can’t speak.” 

“Hemisphere?” 

“Left.” 

“Is this the kind of study session where I’m supposed to remove a piece of clothing for everything that you answer correctly?” Chan’s eyes widen at your proposition, and you just laugh, setting the first card down next to you and moving onto another one. “Just kidding. Wernicke’s Area?” 

“Th-That’s -- fuck, you distracted me – it's, like, the opposite of Broca’s Area. S-So, the language production component is still intact, but the words don’t really make sense.” 

“Hemisphere?” 

“Also left.” 

You hum quietly in approval, picking another index card from your stack. “Hemispheric lateralization?” 

“Okay, so, we have the left and the right hemispheres, right? Basically, the brain isn’t symmetrical. The left hemisphere doesn’t function the exact same way as the right hemisphere, and vice versa. The left hemisphere is responsible for certain things, like language production and stuff, but the right hemisphere is responsible for other things, like visual stuff.” You simply nod while Chan tries to fully answer the question, as if you have any idea what he’s talking about. Maybe with a clearer mind, you could contribute a little bit better. “There’s this whole debate about being left-brained or being right-brained, and also about how people are determined to be left-handed or right-handed.” 

You look at the backside of the index card for a few beats before giving up. “I don’t know if you answered the question or not.” 

“Because you’re drunk, or because I didn’t answer it correctly?” 

He takes the card from you. His fingers brush with yours, and you suddenly feel like you’re on fire. “I think I’m a little drunk, actually.” 

“That’s crazy!” He smiles, reading the card, his tone indicating that he does not find it to be crazy. “Do you want some water now?” 

No, I think I just want to kiss you. 

“W-What?” 

“What?” You realize too late that you’d said that out loud and gasp, covering your mouth. Chan is equally surprised, eyebrows raised as far as they could physically go, and for a few moments, the two of you stare at each other like that. 

Calmly, Chan clears his throat. There’s a hint of smile on his face that, unfortunately, you aren’t able to catch. “W-We can revisit that when you’re sober.” He wishes that he could be a little less polite in this situation – adrenaline is pumping through his veins at your sudden confession, and he wants nothing more than to pin you to the couch and give you exactly what you’d just asked for. But you’re drunk, and even though he knows that he’s not going to be able to retain any more information, all that he can do is continue studying while waiting for you to sober up. Hopefully, you’ll still want to kiss him when you aren’t being driven by your own intoxication. Chan, personally, has never needed alcohol to get the urge to kiss you, and he hopes that the same can be said for you by the end of the night. 

You, on the other hand, are mortified. The alcohol is only just starting to hit you, and you had started off strong by telling Chan that you wanted to kiss him. You’re afraid now that you’re going to end up saying something even more embarrassing – that you love him, that you’d always loved him, or that you want him to fuck you until you’re seeing stars. Any of those things would certainly result in your own demise, and the destruction of your friendship, and for that, you’re terrified. 

For better or for worse, you and Chan get through the rest of the index cards without any additional love confessions. 

“How are we feeling now?” He asks, setting down a glass of water on the table after he finally convinced you to take some. To answer his question, you’re dizzy. You don’t dare try to stand up, but you’re also starting to feel tired. Crashing on Chan’s couch was definitely not what you had planned to do tonight. 

“My head hurts.” You groan, massaging your temples. 

“Drink your water, then.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because.” You huff, grimacing at the thought of putting any additional liquids into your body tonight. Chan quirks an eyebrow at you, arms crossed over his chest. You shake your head. “I don’t want it.” 

“Yeah, but you need it.” 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“You’re gonna have a monster hangover.” 

“I’ll be fine, Chan.” 

“I’ll kiss you if you drink it all.” 

Truthfully, Chan is not this bold. He’s been longing for you since he met you, but he knows that he doesn’t have a shot in hell. Your dad wants you to be with a particular type of person, the kind of person that he is not, even if Chan knows that he deserves you more than any of the guys you’d seen so far. He deserves you, and you deserve someone that can make you happy, to keep you laughing, and that will take care of you. He knows this, and he’s been waiting for you to figure it out, too. 

He knows why you told him that you wanted to kiss him. He can easily think back to the night before, when you had been complaining about the physical contact (and lack thereof) that you’d suffered since being forced on all of these dates. Chan is convenient for you, and he’s safe, and fuck, if he can’t have you completely, then he’s willing to settle. 

“Y-You’re blackmailing me.” You huff, snatching the glass of water and drinking from it, nevertheless. You choose to look away, to focus on drinking the water and not on Chan and the kiss he had just promised you. You’d make yourself choke if you thought too hard about that. 

“No, I’m bribing you.” 

You’re already feeling better by the time that you finish your water, and the expectant way that you look up at Chan drives his heart rate up. Still, he’s a man of his word. He takes a seat on the couch next to you, laughing quietly when you close your eyes, tilting your face toward him. He cups your face with both of his hands, holding you still while he leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You scoff, eyes flying open, grabbing his wrists. 

“That is not the kind of kiss that I wanted, and you know that.” 

“You’re still drunk! I can’t kiss you.” 

“Fine, then stay still.” 

Chan’s heart is pounding so quickly that he’s afraid he’s going to blast off. You, on the other hand, are eerily calm. Time almost feels like it’s standing still as you lean in, slow that you can offer Chan an out if he wants to take it. He doesn’t, and that’s how you’re able to press your lips against his. It’s a chaste kiss, devoid of any tongue or teeth or movement, but Chan is practically trembling against your lips. He wants to pull you onto his lap. He wants to let his hands snake underneath your sweatshirt and roam across your skin. He wants to stop holding back, but he can’t. Not right now. 

You pull away after a few moments, still slow, offering him a chance to chase your lips. Your heart falls when he doesn’t, but you do your best to keep your expression even. You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at him. 

He clears his throat. “More water?” 

Only if you kiss me again. “Yes, please.” 

+ + +

You don’t remember much about that night with Chan. You remember the kiss, and you remember going through his neuroscience flashcards again, but that’s it; any additional details have been buried in your consciousness, and when you woke up in your own bed the next morning, you have no idea what course of events led you there. You can only assume that they involved Chan. 

And that’s why, contrary to how you usually felt in the days leading up to your weekly visit to the restaurant, you’re nervous tonight. Debilitatingly nervous. You don’t feel excited at the thought of visiting Chan. You don’t want to spend your whole date feeling his eyes on you. You’re afraid to face him, all because of what you can remember from last weekend. You kissed him, and he didn’t kiss back. You had forced yourself on him and you weren’t ready to face the consequences of that tonight. 

That’s why you don’t come to the restaurant early. You meet your date in the parking lot and walk in together, and you burn with shame as you walk through the restaurant to a different table than usual. You can feel Chan’s eyes on you, practically burning a hole through you. You don’t dare to twist in your seat and look in his direction. You don’t get up, even when you need to use the restroom. You keep your eyes glued to your date the whole time. Maybe it’s the lack of alcohol in your system, or the fact that you hadn’t had a meaningful conversation beforehand to tide you over, but this date was especially bad. You can’t even remember his name when everything is said and done, after two torturous hours have passed. 

Your date was awful, and you don’t know if you did the right thing by avoiding Chan, but at least it was over. Maybe you could start having your dates at a different restaurant. Maybe you would be able to peacefully disappear from Chan’s life, and convince yourself that it was never love in the first place, and-- 

“So, you’re hiding from me now?” 

The voice makes you freeze, fingers stilling in your bag since you’ve been searching for your keys. You don’t need to look up to confirm what you already know. Instead, you stay in place, a feeling of dread pooling in your stomach. “I-I’m not hiding.” 

“Then look at me.” 

That you can’t do. Chan scoffs, shaking his head even though you don’t see it. Internally, he’s pissed off. He, too, has been overthinking everything since Saturday night. He should’ve just kissed you, properly, like you’d asked. He should have just scratched the itch that had been plaguing him for months, taking advantage of your drunken state to confess how he really feels about you. He’d make mistakes, but he wasn’t expecting everything to backfire on him so badly. Were you upset with him for not going further with you? Had he done something wrong? Maybe, but does that excuse your actions tonight? Absolutely not. 

“What did I do?” 

“Nothing!” You scoff this time, squeezing your eyes shut. That same feeling of shame, that burning feeling, was beginning to overtake you. “Y-You didn’t do anything. I did something wrong.” 

“What, by kissing me?” 

“Yes!” 

That hurts Chan, but for reasons different than you realize. His expression falls, and the prolonged silence is why you finally dare to look at him. The expression on his face squeezes your heart, and you scramble to try and rectify things as best as you. “I-I shouldn’t have kissed you. I was drunk, and I-I forced myself on you, and I’m sorry.” 

“You...” He trails off, clenching his jaw. That’s what you think? “I-I don’t--” He doesn’t know how to respond, but it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that the two of you are on different pages. “I wanted to kiss you, too.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” Your words come out louder and clearer than you had expected. Chan pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, trying to calm his own irritation, but unable to look past the fact that you’d ignored him all night because of a misunderstanding. 

“You were drunk.” 

“It was just a kiss!” Your own anger is starting to flare up. You’d been led to feel like you had seriously crossed a boundary, but as it turns out, Chan was just chivalrous to a fault. How annoying. 

“You were drunk, and I was not, and that wouldn’t have been okay!” 

“It was just a kiss, Chan!” 

“Fine, since you’re telling me that it shouldn’t have mattered--” Chan is quick to bridge the distance between the two of you, cupping your face with one of his hands and gripping your hip with the other. He pulls you flush against him and then leans in, pressing his lips against yours. For a few moments, you don’t know what to do; it’s not a matter of whether you should kiss him back, but you don’t know if you and him need to talk through anything else. Ultimately, you decide that talking can wait and you wrap your fingers around his forearms. 

You pull away just enough to dive back in, lips slotting between Chan’s. Your hold on him couldn’t get any tighter as he holds your head in place, capturing your lips again and again and again. Once bitten and twice shy, you wait for him to slip his tongue into your mouth to go deeper with things. The feeling of your mouth against Chan’s, your tongue sliding against him, quickly becomes intoxicating, but your desire to taste him trumps your desire for air. It isn’t until your lungs are burning that you finally break away, just enough to breathe. Your lips, swollen and chapped, remain pressed against his even as you pant quietly, eyes squeezed shut. His grip on your hip was tight enough to bruise, but when he finally realizes and relaxes his hold, he rubs his thumb against you to soothe the dull ache. 

Chan doesn’t know when he’s supposed to release you, and truthfully, he doesn’t want to. He’s aware of how un-romantic it is, standing in the middle of a parking garage, clinging onto each other like this, but Chan will take whatever he can get from you. He isn’t involved in the revolving door of those stuffy businessmen that your father has been forcing you to date. He’s just... Chan, the bartender that’s in love with you. And he knows that fact won’t be able to sustain the relationship that he wants to have with you. 

Where do you go from here? Neither of you have any idea. 

“Chan...” You sigh. You’ve finally gotten exactly what you wanted from him, and unfortunately, you’re still craving more. The scent of his cologne is making you dizzy, and the feeling of being pressed against him is intoxicating. You’re afraid you’ll never be able to pull away from him. 

“Don’t say my name like that. It’s dangerous.” 

“Dangerous for who?” 

“For you.” 

You’re glad that Chan is holding you and supporting you, because otherwise, you might’ve keeled over at his response. You can’t count the number of times that you’d thought about Chan while touching yourself, fingers playing with your clit while imagining that it was him instead. There’s a carnal desire that has been driving a large part of your interactions with Chan, and yet, in this moment, you don’t have those same urges. Right now, you want tender touches and soft kisses. You want him to keep you grounded, to hold you and to never release you. 

You want what you can’t have. 

“Should we keep standing here like this, or should we go back to my place?” 

You sigh deeply, and from that response, Chan knows what’s coming next. He’s gotten a taste of you, just enough to get addicted, and now... 

“I still have a date scheduled for next week.” You say, reaching up to thread your fingers through the hair near the nape of his neck. “And the week after that, too, I think.” Your heart practically splits and shatters at the look at Chan gives you, but you spill out the rest of your thoughts as quickly as you can. “I-I’m going to talk to my dad. Tomorrow. Just... wait for me, okay?” 

Chan has always waited for you, so it shouldn’t be a problem. 

+ + +

It’s definitely causing problems for Chan, still having to watch you on your stupid little dates. 

He shouldn’t be jealous, he knows that. You’ve already made it painfully obvious that you want him, and he’s still had a hard time wrapping his brain around the fact that he can finally call you ‘his’ -- almost. 

You’d asked for time so that you could talk to your date, to tell him that you’d found someone and that you were done with the dates. Your dad hadn’t taken the news well, insisting that you needed to marry within your family’s tax bracket, that your marriage needed to help the family politically and fiscally. Chan didn’t know the rest of the details because you’d been too distraught to recount them, but he knew that you were still bound to go on your dates. He’s been understanding, but that doesn’t stop the ugly jealousy that rises in his throat whenever one of your dates leans in too close, gets too touchy. 

Tonight, as he’s done every other night, he’ll just look away. He’ll take a deep breath. He’ll tend to his patrons and avert his eyes, even though he’s dying to get another look at you. Then, after his shift, he’ll go back with you to your apartment and remind you that you love him, that you’ve always loved him, and that he’s always felt the exact same way about you. 

“How was your date?” Chan asks. It’s much later in the evening now. The two of you had gone back to your apartment. He’d tidied up your living room and kitchen while you changed out of your date outfit and taken off your makeup. Eventually, once both of you were ready, you’d both slumped on the couch. Chan was on you in an instant, touching you after another torturous evening of only being able to look at you. One of his hands is splayed against your head, his fingers pressing against the upward curve of your jaw while his palm cups the underside of it. He’s pressing wet, feverish kisses against the other side of your neck when he pauses to ask about your date. He doesn’t really care, though. 

“Terrible.” You sigh, leaning in against his hand to grant him better access to your neck. He responses positively to this, dragging his tongue against your skin. You groan lowly as a result, clutching his t-shirt a little tighter. “I thought about you the whole time.” 

“The whole time?” His tone is patronizing, but the words go straight to your cunt. “What were you thinking about?” 

You bite your lip, suppressing a sigh that bubbles up as Chan sucks a patch of skin between his lips. “Y-You. This.” 

“Yeah?” The feeling of his teeth forces a hiss through your lips, followed by his laughter. You would consider withholding the details of your thoughts from earlier if the desire to reenact them wasn’t so overpowering. 

“Don’t tease.” You huff, threading your fingers through the hair near the back of his neck so that you can hold him a little closer to you. “I-I was thinking about being rescued from my date. You, meeting me in the bathroom and fucking me against the mirror.” 

Chan has to still his movements so that he can fully process your words. The same thoughts now race through his mind, and he groans against your throat. He would be toast if he ever tried anything at the restaurant, but he could still indulge the thought – especially if those same thoughts were keeping you sane through your dates. He drags his hands down to your hips, squeezing and pulling you closer to him on the couch. 

You’re folded underneath him in a matter of sixty seconds. 

“F-Fuck, Chan--” He’s moving so fast that you don’t even realize he’d shimmied his way to between your thighs until he pauses, hands planted atop your thighs. Your heart is racing, and your lungs feel constricted, and as badly as you want this, there’s something terrifying about each and every new step that you take into this uncharted territory with him. You’ve been dreaming about having Chan inside of you, in every way possible, since you met him; your dreams never considered anything beyond that, though. “W-We-- hold on--” 

“This doesn’t have to be c-committal.” Chan rasps, eyes flickering between yours and your core, likely indicated by a wet patch on your shorts. “I-I just really want to taste you, this doesn’t h-have to be anything-- y-you said--” 

You want it so bad that you’re afraid to give yourself any additional time to overthink and ruin things. “P-Please, Chan, I want you.” He tugs your shorts down only enough for access to your cunt, flattening his tongue against the wet spot on your underwear. He rubs his hands up and down your thighs as he goes in for another taste, hot and wet and separated by such a thin layer. Your cries for more are weak but unnecessary; he hooks a finger around your underwear, pulling them aside for full access. His mouth is watering at the sight of you, and the moment that he gets his first real taste of you is one that he’ll cherish for eternity. 

Chan eats your pussy like a man starved. You know that you don’t imagine the ripping sound that you hear before your underwear ends up on the floor, but then Chan immediately crams his tongue inside of you and fucks you with it, and you accept his form of apology. He pulls away only to press himself flush against you, slurping and sucking against your slit and collecting all of the arousal that’s been pooling out of you. You swear that your grip on his hair can’t get any tighter until he kneads your clit with his tongue, and then you’re pulling even harder. 

“Chan, y-yes, fuck, p-please--” 

“K-Keep saying that--” He groans into your pussy, and you involuntarily roll your hips in response to the vibration of his words against your folds. “--my n-name.” 

You sigh his name again, untangling one of your hands from his arm to drape it across your face, eyes falling shut as you focus on the feelings of Chan’s tongue laving over your clit again and again. It feels even better than you had imagined it would, soft and slow and warm. Each involuntary clench of your thighs against his head is met with firm hands prying you back open, and the few times that you’ve dared to look down at Chan, you’ve been brought closer and closer to your orgasm. There are two reasons for the feverishness that’s overtaken your body: because you’re with Chan, and because you’ve never wanted anyone the way that you’ve wanted him. 

Your orgasm rips you out of your bliss. It’s like you’ve been struck by the lightning, the way that your body writhes and shudders while Chan sits back, his lazy grin covered in your slick, admiring his work as you fall apart. He tells himself that, if this ever happens again, he should record you; the sound of you moaning his name is what he hopes will play on an endless loop for him in his afterlife. 

His touches are soft as you come down from your high, brushing stray strands of hair out of your face. You grab a fistful of his shirt to pull him down to meet your lips, groaning softly when you taste yourself on his tongue. At the risk of doing too much too quickly, though, Chan pulls away from the kiss once he senses it’s about to escalate again. 

“W-We— s-sorry, I--” 

You’re, admittedly, disappointed, but you pull him back down into your arms, nuzzling your face into his neck this time. He relaxes in your hold, and the two of you lapse into a silence punctuated by the ticking of a nearby clock and each other’s heartbeats. Even in the comfortable silence, you still feel compelled to say your piece, though. 

“I really like you, Chan.” 

He only hums in response. He hopes that you can’t feel his heartrate increase as he lays against you. You wouldn’t break up with him right after he fucked you with his tongue, right? Of course, he knows that you wouldn’t, and yet... 

“We’re gonna be together soon, okay? I promise. I-I'll find a way to stop the stupid dates, and then we can be together. That’s all I wanted to say.” 

God, he hopes that you can find a way to keep your word. 

+ + +

Truthfully, Chan can’t figure out if he’s lost his mind or not. He still thinks that he might be stuck in his own fantasies, dreaming up a life with you that doesn’t really exist. 

Even as he helps you carry boxes from your apartment out to the moving van that you rented out, he’s not sure that this is reality. He pinches his fingers as he sets down one of the boxes in the truck, and still, he thinks that he’s imagined the pain. You plant a kiss on his cheek as you breeze past him and back into the building, and yet, he still can’t fathom that things had ended up as they have. 

You’d actually been able to keep your promise. He still can’t believe that. 

After months and months of dating in secret, you had managed to convince your dad that the family could survive without the nepotism marriage that he desperately desired. It had taken a few sabotaged dates where you’d spewed on and on about your sex with Chan, and countless conversations where you begged and pleaded with him to see things the way that you did, and somehow, Chan ended up victorious. You were someone that he only deserved in his dreams, and somehow, he had found a way to dream while he was awake. 

He has to take moments to ground himself, to let himself remember that you are real, that you do love him back. That’s how you find him on your trip back to the van, zoned out and staring at the ground. He doesn’t snap out of it even as you slam the doors of the van shut. Only when you hug him from behind, cheek pressed against the center of his back, hands sliding along his chest does he finally descend from the clouds. You inhale deeply against him, smiling involuntarily at the scent of him that you were expecting to fully engrain to memory soon enough. 

“Hey. Sorry.” 

“Daydreaming again?” 

Chan laughs, turning in your arms so that he can hold you, too. “Trying to convince myself that this is real.” 

“Why wouldn’t it be real, Chan?” 

“Because since I met you, I knew that I loved you. But that didn’t matter until recently.” When you open your mouth to reply, to scold him because he could’ve said something sooner, he shakes his head. “I always hoped that you’d be mine. I just didn’t think it was realistic.” 

“It was never us against the world. Just... us against my dad.” 

“Yeah, well, regardless of that,” Chan kisses you softly, pulling away only far enough to put distance between your lips as he speaks again. “I feel like I beat the world, and your dad, and won the most precious gift in the process.” 

“You won?” 

“I did. I won you.” 

“Do I need to remind you that I’m not a prize?” 

“You’re my prize.” 

[pochunts]

JANELLE MONÁE GIF PACK

— ✰ on the page linked below in the SOURCE LINK, you will find ( FOUR HUNDRED ) hq gifs of JANELLE MONÁE sourced from her role as CASSANDRA ‘ANDI’ BRAND/HELEN BRAND in GLASS ONION: A KNIVES OUT MYSTERY (2022). janelle is 37 but was 36 while filming this movie. she is of african-american ( unspecified ) descent, identifies as non-binary, and uses the pronouns they/them and her/she, so please cast accordingly. all gifs were cropped at 245x145 and were made from scratch by feifer for roleplaying purposes only. therefore, i am taking full credit for these. DO NOT: add these gifs to any other gif hunts, gif sets, edit, redistribute, claim as your own, use in real-life celebrity rps, smut rps or for smut writing. DO: please give this post a like or reblog if you found these useful or have any intention of using these.

gifs feature: Daniel Craig, Leslie Odom Jr., Kathryn Hahn, Dave Bautista, Kate Hudson, Madelyn Cline, Edward Norton.

warnings/triggers: Boxes, googles, boats, sand, being shot at, masks, water (in a glass jar and cup) mourge, bars, alcohol (hard kombucha, whiskey), courtrooms, motion sickness (boats), conversations/dialogues about murder (poisioning)/someone getting murdered, bushes/grass, neon lights, sharp objects (speargun), gun powder residue, smashing things (broken glass), fire.

[madxwonderland]

GET TO KNOW THE MUN.

what made you pick up the current muse(s) you have? I've told this story before but long story short, I was obsessed with the game in middle school. I had a total Alice in Wonderland phase. I started RPing in high school with just oc muses. But then in 2011 I saw other people doing canon characters from different fandoms so I thought I would try writing Alice. I just fell in love with her and had so much fun making her my own character. It's hard to believe that I've been writing her for 13 years.

is there anything you don’t like to write? Smuts not really my thing. I mean I will write it but I'm not good at it. I love reading it, when it's well written and fits into a plot well, but I suck at writing it.

is there anything you really enjoy writing? All things horror! Anything just dark and fucked up is my vibe. I also love anything action and fantasy and lots of angst.

how do you come up with headcanons? I'm always being inspired by other games, books and movies. Honestly I don't have a process. Things just come to me and I'm like "oh that fits Alice!"

do you write in silence or do you play music? It depends on my mood. Most of the time I have a movie or a show on. A lot of the times I like having music too. I gotta have background noise when doing anything.

do you plan your replies or wing them? A bit of both! Like the above answer, it depends on my mood. Sometimes I'll read a reply to a thread and don't write mine right away and just think about it all day and come up with an outline in my head. Other times I'll just come up with a reply on the spot. That's why my activity is so sporadic.

do you enjoy shipping? Yes! Though it's not easy with Alice since she's demisexual and is heavily affected by her past and that makes it hard to trust people. But I am always wanting her to find some sort of connection.

what’s your alias/name? Mad

age? 30

birthday? July 12

favorite color? Purple and green

favorite song? Wait For It - Leslie Odom Jr. (from Hamilton)

last movie you watched? The Tutor

last show you watched? Law and Order SVU

last song you listened to? reckless driving by Lizzie McAlpine

favorite food? Mashed potatoes

favorite season? Fall

do you have a Tumblr best friend? Oh man I've had so many through the years. Like I said, I've been here for a long time. Sadly all of my partners and besties have moved on with their lives. Currently I don't have a singular bestie. I have a lot of friends on this blog and my others that I love RPing with and talking to outside of tumblr!

tagged @mxlevolence (speaking of besties <3)

tagging @kylo-wrecked @bewitchingbaker @scftheartiisms @whyscserious @hauxtedbeauty

[ramp-it-up]

Ma’am were you the one who wrote the cute Leslie Odom jr story?

Yes.

My little Leslie Odom Jr, series is here (Cold, and Go Crazy) that’s still unfinished almost a year later. 😔

At least I think they were cute. Not many people read them. The second part is VERY smutty.

This reminds me that I need to fix the Hamilfam Link on my Masterlist. Thanks! 😃

Thank you for the ask! I’m honored. 🥰

Appreciate you for remembering and joining in the visit!

[obinamseok]

How A Winter's Ball actually went

Burr: *full of confidence, smirking* LADIES!

Hamilton: *nervously glancing at Laurens* L-Ladies?

Laurens: *doing quotation marks* Ladies… ;)

[lipstickbisous]

wait for it

notes: i HAD to do another hamilton song, it’s just too good, alright? also, this is just a short thing. not really a drabble but, isn’t it?

THIS SONG IS TOO GOOD, ALRIGHT? LESLIE ODOM JR. MADE ME CRY WITH IT.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

summary: din’s new to love, and his love for you enables him to wait.

warnings: um, lil angst, but fluff? soft!din, sort of domestic!din, mentions of smut

word count: 2.3k

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

but he can keep all of georgia. theodosia, she's mine.

you were...ethereal. anyone could see it, and din was sure that everyone knew it. the maker had truly sent him a dream, a dancing grace, a moving beauty, and he could only imagine how clear and vibrant you looked without the visor of his helmet. in your first meeting, he had every piece of his mind to relieve himself of his helmet right there and then. if you could share your beauty with him, he would want to share the small bit of looks he had.

din swore he could feel your radiance. when he had walked into the market, smelling of turmeric and rotting meat, you were the opposite. you were sitting in your stand, full of colored fruits that, when compared to the rest of the vendors, looked vibrant against drab. you were summers in mandalore, the scent of home, flowers in the fields of the countless planets he’d flown to--he would’ve loved to show you them, to take you with him on his ship so that you wouldn’t have to live with the stench of old spices and flesh everyday. he saw the aged clothes you’d worn, similar to the scratched and dented beskar of his armor, and thought of how when he earned himself enough credits, he would spend them all on anything you needed. he could see that you loved to cook, and he wondered what your favorite food was and if you would be willing to cook it for him.

he wasn’t the domestic type, he had never been and he didn’t think he ever would be. but it was one look at you to know what home was--it wasn’t a cold ship that broke down every few months, or a guild or a creed he’d sworn himself to. it was in the embrace of your arms, his head on your chest with your eyes closed. it was his helmet sitting on your table, the promise that you would never look because you were understanding, the feeling of your breath fanning through his hair, your skin against his. that was his home, and he wanted it.

maker, he knew it was wrong. it was so wrong, but there was nothing else in the galaxy that he could’ve wanted. your husband was a soldier protecting the limits of your city from war. din hadn’t purposefully landed in the middle of a war-zone--he had stopped for some supplies and figured he would be on his way until he glimpsed of you and came back for more.

your husband was never there, and it broke his heart. if your husband couldn’t be the one to hold you during the night, or cooking your morning meals, or walk you through the city, or even spend a minute to share a conversation with you, then din would. 

he felt childish for it, but these feelings were unbelievably satisfying. he had stuck everything together inside of him, hoping that it wouldn’t fall apart someday. the only thing that had been keeping him together were prayers and one day, even those wouldn’t be able to do it. he thanked the makers he found you, sitting in your market stand, reading what looked to be an ancient book, ignoring the calls and yells of other men. 

they disgusted him, really. men who thought it romantic or morally alright to call out a woman for certain reasons had always made din cringe underneath his helmet, but never had he called them out on it before. in fact, it was what had grabbed your attention. the modulated voice yelling a, “hey!” towards those men and the armored frame that towered over them. you hadn’t said anything in response--just a simple nod and you looked back down at your book. 

and din fell a little bit more in love with you.

he was sure you were falling in love with him too. din was hoping--no, praying--that you hadn’t just let him inside of you and your home just because you needed it, although he needed it as well. he was wishing there was feeling there, inside of the complicated mind he tried so hard to understand. 

which is why when you hesitated to reply to his question of, “will you fly away with me?” your eyes were wide, your lips parted, and even though you had just woken up, you looked just as beautiful as the day he’d seen you, but your silence was breaking his heart. you had sat yourself on top of your hands but he knew you were fidgeting with your fingers when he couldn’t see. 

his insides were burning. his heart was going up in a blaze, all he could see past you was fire. his head and vision were blurred by gray smoke, and when you inhaled to speak but nothing came out, it extinguished every flame he felt. now, it was all dumb, and every feeling he had ever experienced with you was in ashes. your chest still rose with the breath you had taken but never let go. your eyes looked to the floor of your house, noticing how the dust was just slightly collecting.

you had helped him place the armor on his body, admiring the small marks from age. you had even cooked a special breakfast for him, knowing that he would be leaving for a mission soon but he came back to you--he always came back to you. only this time, his leaving was a bit different.

this town was your home. it had been your home since you were a child and you had never seen any other planets or cities; you never felt the need to since you had known were home was. it was in the small house you had bought when you married your husband, it was being held in his arms, it was him telling you that he had willingly joined the forces--it was...saying goodbye to him when he was sent off to the outer limits in your city. home was knowing that there was a chance your husband could return to you lifeless in a body bag. 

with your silence, din rose from where he sat and walked to the door. his hand hovered over the scanner, contemplating whether or not he truly wanted to leave you like this. your expression was blank and it was clear to din what you were thinking. 

no. that wasn’t home. it used to be home, but now, home had changed. home was in the arms of the mandalorian. home was feeling the scruff on his chin and jaw, the softness of his lips, his eyelashes and his hair when you couldn’t look at him yourself. home was feeling his lips on your cheek with your eyes closed. home was imagining every feature of his face. home was feeling him nuzzle himself into you because you knew he had never felt this before. home was hearing all of the stories about his original family, about being a foundling. home was him telling you his identity. home was feeling his breath on your neck. home was thinking about how he was here instead of your husband.

“wait,” you whispered so quietly that din almost couldn’t hear it through the metal of his helmet. “i-” you were quiet again as your chest rose and fell in quick breaths. “i want to. i do, i promise, din,” he loved to hear you say his name and no one else. “i just- i can’t. not right now.”

he didn’t know how or why, but he understood. he understood exactly what you meant. you were sitting there alone on the couch, your eyes lost, your lips parted in sadness, and din couldn’t help but think that this what your life consisted of before him. he hated to admit it stroked his ego a bit, but despite your job in the market, you were alone. you would go to cantinas alone, you would eat meals alone, you would go to sleep alone. but with din, you two would drink together, make dinner together, and instead of sleeping, he would make sure to praise your body with all of his love.

his love. so this was love? this was the feeling din had wondered about on the sleepless night aboard the razor crest--when he was the one who ate alone, who slept alone, who worked alone. and he had you and he never wanted to go back to the way it was. it would hurt far too much.

“i know, cyar'ika,” he whispered the name you’d grown to love over the months. he left his spot near the door and set himself down on his knees in front of you, listening to the metal hitting the clay floor. “i know.” you couldn’t see it, but his eyes teared. “i don’t know what else to do.”

he was hoping that this wasn’t love. he was hoping that there wouldn’t be so much hurt and crying and separating. of course, he didn’t want to leave, but he was a mandalorian and you were understanding. every time he would whisper a ‘goodbye’, he would be gone for no more than two days, and when he returned, he would either find you asleep in bed or working back in the market. this time, he wasn’t sure if he could come back. 

this mission had been rumored and whispered about, and from what greef karga had told din, this would be a high-paying bounty--din only hoped he was ready.

what he wasn’t ready for was this goodbye. “you always come back,” you whimpered. was he truly going to leave you just as your husband had? he had promised he was different, that he was new to this and that he loved you far too much to hurt you. 

but wasn’t that love? wasn’t it that raw and powerful emotion that was full of highs and lows, crying and laughing, hurting and healing? you’d been so used to it, your husband had done the same, but never--never--did you think that din djarin, the feared warrior, your mandalorian could do such a thing. 

“you always come back,” this could’ve been the first time where you could accept what was happening. “i just don’t understand, din, i-”

his gloved hand cupped the side of your head, soon to rip off the leather so this his fingertips could feel the strands of your hair. it was soft when compared the roughness of his hair, but you had never cared. “i know,” he repeated himself. “ni mesh’la, this one is a big one. it’s hard to understand, please, i know, but you just have to realize-”

realize what? that the one person who had shown you far too much love than you deserved when your husband wouldn’t was finally saying goodbye? that you would have to try so hard to purge yourself of him and anything about him? you didn’t want to realize this. you wanted him to hold you and rest in bed with you, and then maybe he could slip away during the night so that you wouldn’t have to feel a thing. you’d wake up alone, but in your eyes, that was better than watching your own love just walk straight away.

“i understand,” you lied. he looked up to you, and you desperately wanted to rip the helmet from his head and connect your lips to his. his hold in your hair softened. “will you wait?”

of course, he would wait. you weren’t ready yet, and he truly understood that, but maker, did he want to take you with him. he couldn’t even explain how much he wanted to show you the galaxy because you deserved to see every fucking thing you wanted to see. he wanted to hold you every night and wake up with you every morning because you deserved to have someone with you. he wanted to show you his love in any possible, simply because you deserved that. 

and if there’s a reason i’m by her side when so many have tried, i’m willing to wait for it.

he nodded and set both of his hands in your lap. “always,” he whispered through his helmet. his helmet. your brows furrowed as his fingers touched the bottom of the metal, followed by a “no!” your hands flew to his to stop him from doing something you knew he would regret. “please, mesh’la,” you closed your eyes and everything went a little bit fuzzy with the hiss of his helmet. “please, just look. i need you to look.”

you began to shake, and it broke his heart. your hands shivered as you let go and opened your eyes.

beautiful. you thought as your eyes trailed over his face. small lines around his eyes and mouth that had appeared over the years were beautiful. the mud-color of his eyes and hair was beautiful. his tan shades and the small scars he had scattered around were beautiful. the way his lips naturally curved, and eyelashes stuck together. every feature you had felt with your fingertips during the nights spent together was now displayed right in front of you and you still shook.

“please, just wait,” you whispered hoarsely. you wanted to go to bed. you wanted to sleep and find your mandalorian sitting in front of you. you wanted to cook him breakfast and enjoy the morning air. 

he brought your knuckles to his lips. “always.”

i’m willing to wait for it.

tags: @javierpenaspinkshirt @cyarikaaa @pedropasscals @zeldasayer @wakalas @honeyedspace @absurdthirst @agent-whiskeys-sweetheart @otherthingsinhead @talesfromtheguild @pascalisthepunkest @thewaythisis @forever-rogue @foreverlostindreams 

[sillyteecup]

Birthday wishlist (20th of February):

Some filthy ass smut featuring one of the following men:

Daveed Diggs

Lin Manuel Miranda

Rafael Casal

Henry Cavill

Chris Evans

Sebastian Stan

Anthony Mackie

John Washington David

Regé Jean Paige

Michael B Jordan

Yahya Abdul-Mateen ii

Leslie Odom Jr.

Ryan Coogler

Trevor Noah

Kit Harrington

Thank you😌😂

[chanelhamitlon]

requests are always open

• fics wth "*" = smut

✰ Hamilton Characters ✰

Alexander Hamilton

coming soon

Aaron Burr

coming soon

John Laurens

coming soon

Marquis de Lafayette

coming soon

Hercules Mulligan

coming soon

George Washington

coming soon

Thomas Jefferson

But its always been youuu ( Part I; Part II) — You and Thomas can't stop thinking about each others seemingly 'insignificant' high school relationship.

James Madison

coming soon

Philip Hamilton

I mean 10! — You had an idea to surprise Philip with something for the first time.

Angelica Schuyler

coming soon

Eliza Schuyler

coming soon

Peggy Schuyler

coming soon

Maria Reynolds

coming soon

✰ Hamiton Cast ✰

Lin Manuel Miranda

coming soon

Leslie Odom Jr

coming soon

Anthony Ramos

coming soon

Daveed Diggs

coming soon

Okieriete Onaodowan

coming soon

Cristopher Jackson

coming soon

Renée Elise Goldsberry

coming soon

Philippa Soo

coming soon

Jasmine Cephas Jones

coming soon

✰ Timothée Chalamet ✰

coming soon

[susierpt]

I want to write. Hit me up. Details below the cut. Smut is a-okay, but not required – and obviously not gonna happen if you’re under 18. Please note that I only RP on Tumblr.

wanted opposites:

tom ellis

ben barnes

sandra oh

charles melton

ross butler

cillian murphy

oscar isaac

chance perdomo

lucy liu

idris elba

aidan turner

chris hemsworth

zac efron

dan stevens

elizabeth lail

richard armitage

hugh dancy

keira knightley

jamie chung

ryan guzman

chris evans

daveed diggs

harry shum, jr.

james mcavoy

manny montana

michael fassbender

michael b. jordan

brenton thwaites

michelle gomez

aidan turner

leighton meester

rachel mcadams

rachel weisz

john boyega

leslie odom, jr.

faces i wanna play:

blake lively

sonoya mizuno

annie briggs

jodie comer

sandra oh

ross butler

jameela jamil

lily james

liz gillies

anya taylor joy

lana condor

laura harrier

katharine isabelle

lily collins

park chaeyoung

emma watson

anne hathaway

keira knightley

yves

amy adams

elle fanning

jamie chung

miles heizer

brenton thwaites

michelle gomez

alisha boe

ashley moore

emmy rossum

rachel mcadams

wanted plots:

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven (first or third)

eight

nine

ten

eleven (second or third)

twelve

thirteen

fourteen

HIT ME BITCHES

[foundinfuckboys-blog]

aaron burr aka leslie odom jr does not get the respect he deserves when it comes to imagines. im about to write some fluffy imagines for my baby leslie

and maybe some smut if im not lazy :333

[imaginesfordayss]

I’ll Be Home for Winter Break

Imaginesfordayss 25 Days of Christmas Challenge

Day 18: Song Fic

Summary: Salim doesn’t even celebrate Christmas, but that doesn’t mean he wants to spend it apart from his boyfriend. Too bad he’s on the opposite side of the country. 

Long Distance AU based on I’ll Be Home for Christmas by Leslie Odom Jr.

Warnings: Smut, Cursing

Word Count: 6.8k

Also on AO3

“I'll be home for Christmas

You can plan on me Please have snow and mistletoe And presents on the tree...”

The clock on Salim’s laptop had just ticked over to nine o’clock when he opened Skype and made his daily Skype call. The usual choppy chime came loud through his speakers and he turned the volume down, getting comfortable in his desk chair. Only a few moments passed before the call picked up and his boyfriend’s scruffy face popped up on his screen.

“Assalamu alaikum.” The Jinn said, smiling into the camera.

"Wa alaikum assalaam.” Salim replied, adjusting the screen so his face was properly in the frame, “How was your day?”

“It was long,” The bearded man replied, running a hand through his hair, “I feel like I worked eight shifts instead of two.”

“Two?”

“I covered a morning shift as well as my mid shift. I felt like I would never get to go home.”

Salim frowned, “You must take care of yourself, habibi, or you will burn out and at such a young age.”

The Jinn, or Ibrahim as was his real name, had moved to Los Angeles five months ago, at the beginning of their junior year in college, to complete a film internship with CBS. He wouldn’t say it was his dream or anything, working for that specific company, but it was one step closer to his goal of being a film producer and he couldn’t just turn down the opportunity. The internship was only a few weeks, but he didn’t see any sense in moving out there for only a semester and decided to transfer to the New York film academy’s Los Angeles campus. So, with a heavy heart, he said goodbye to his boyfriend and his friends and made the move from New York to LA.

Since it was the same school, he was fortunate in that his tuition didn’t change, but it was so late in the year he couldn’t find a dorm so he was rooming in a too small and too expensive apartment with a roommate. To cover costs he had gotten a job as a waiter and drove for Lyft when he ad the time. Between that and his internship and also going to school, the man felt like he was exhausted 100% of the time. Salim worried about him working so hard, but also did his best to support him whenever he could.

“Don’t worry,” Ibrahim replied, “I have tomorrow off, so I can sleep in and eat a real breakfast and all those other mundane things you want me to do.”

Salim smiled, “Thank you.”

“And how was your day?”

“Normal. Boring.” Salim said, “Laura showed up to class drunk and got into a row with the professor.”

Ibrahim laughed, “So it was a very normal day then.”

At that moment, the door to Salim’s room suddenly opened, revealing his giant, red-headed roommate.

“That the Jinn?” Mad Sweeney asked, dropping his bag down with a thump.

“Yes,” Salim said, angling the screen to Sweeney, “Say hello.”

“Hello asshole.” Ibrahim said, giving a slight wave.

“Prick.” Sweeney said in greeting.

Sweeney and the Jinn had an odd, tentative friendship. When they were together they more often than not argued and yelled and once or twice even physically fought, but otherwise seemed to enjoy each other's company. They had actually given each other their nicknames. Mad Sweeney’s real name was Finnegan, but due to a drunken night out and some naked wandering by the irishman, he was dubbed Mad Sweeney by Ibrahim and to this day most of the campus knew him as Mad Sweeney. In retaliation, Sweeney had nicknamed Ibrahim the Jinn after he set himself on fire during a film project. It was an odd and slightly dysfunctional relationship, but they seemed to enjoy themselves.

“Don’t mind me,” Sweeney said, plopping down on the couch under his bunk, “You two can go back to eye fucking through the screen.” He put his headphones in and waved dismissively. He was used to this by now. Salim and Ibrahim skyped almost every night since they’d been apart.

Salim turned back to the screen, “I think he misses you.”

Ibrahim rolled his eyes, “Oh I know. No one takes his shit like I do. And it’s not like he can really fight with Shadow anymore now that they’re dating.”

Salim grinned, “You should see him now, he is so dopey around him. He opens doors and holds his hands and is a complete gentleman. Nothing like our usual rude and aggressive Mad Sweeney.”

“He’s a Mad Sweetie, now.”

“Stop gossiping about me when I’m right here.” Sweeney said gruffly.

“I thought you weren’t listening?”

“I wasn’t,” The redhead responded, crossing his arms, “Netflix was buffering. Shitty wifi.”

“Sure.” Ibrahim said dryly.

The three of them bickered harmlessly for a few moments before Sweeney huffed and pointedly watched Frontier on his laptop.

“It feels like years since I last saw you,” Salim murmured softly, “I can’t wait till winter break.”

Ibrahim paused, “About that…”

“What?”

He sighed, “I don’t think I will make it out there.”

Salim’s heart sank, “Oh.”

“I’m so sorry,” He said, “I got an offer to work with this up and coming director in Santa Monica and they’re willing to pay me really well. I’m trying to see if we can reschedule a different time, but he is being very difficult. And he heard I don’t really celebrate Christmas, so he thinks I have all this time on my hands.”

“I understand,” Salim sighed, “You need the money, and I wouldn’t want you to turn something like that down.”

Ibrahim knew he had hurt Salim with this. They hadn’t seen each other physically since August, only texting and regular skyping. Ibrahim knew Salim comforted himself during their time apart with thoughts of the three uninterrupted weeks of winter break, and now he was taking that away. Who knew when they’d see each other next.

“I haven’t cancelled my plane ticket,” Ibrahim urged, “I’ll work this out.”

Salim smiled slightly, “It’s okay if you can’t. Don’t worry, we will work something else out.”

Ibrahim felt something heavy settle in his chest, “Don’t count me out just yet.” He said, trying to lighten the mood.

“I won’t.” Salim replied, but disappointment still hung heavy around him.

“Are you going to decorate your room again this year?” Ibrahim said, trying to change the subject.

Salim looked around. It was only the first week of December, so he hadn’t really thought about it yet, “Not yet, but maybe I’ll go with Laura or Audrey this weekend.”

“You should get a tree this time, a small one. Something to put your presents under this year..”

“Sweeney will probably destroy it first chance he gets.” Salim said, throwing a look at the man still curled up on his couch drooling over Jason Momoa.

“Tell him he’s dead if he does.” Ibrahim growled.

“Cause he always listens to you,” Salim rolled his eyes, “I’ll just put his present from Shadow under it. Even drunk, he wouldn’t risk that.”

“Smart.” Ibrahim conceded.

Salim yawned widely, the long day suddenly catching up with him.

“It’s getting late over there,” Ibrahim said, noticing his boyfriends exhaustion, “You have your 8am class tomorrow, you should get some sleep.”

“You’re right,” Salim said, stretching and yawning again, “I’ll call you after class tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll text you when I wake up,” Ibrahim said, leaning forward slightly “Ana ahibbak, habibi.”

Salim smiled, “I love you too.”

After he hung up, Salim blew out a long sigh, sitting back in his desk chair.

“Trouble in paradise?” Sweeney asked after a moment.

“Ibrahim isn’t coming home for Christmas break.” Salim said sadly.

“What a dick,” Sweeney said, “You gonna go home now?”

Salim shook his head, “I already told the RA I was staying.”

“Yeah, but almost everyone is staying.” Sweeney pointed out, “This is international housing, everyone lives like light years away. I’m sure she’d rather one more person left.”

Sweeney had a point. Their dorm was specifically for international students like Salim and the Ireland born Sweeney. Most students couldn’t, like Sweeney, or, in Salim’s case, wouldn’t justify the cost of the plane ticket. Especially if they didn’t celebrate Christmas.

“It’s alright, I’ll just hang out here.” Salim said, getting up to change.

“You could come with me to Shadow’s place,” Sweeney offered, “His mom is hosting this big feast for all the witches in Harlem. It’ll be fun.”

“Sure,” Salim said, slipping on his pajama pants, “I always forget that Shadow’s mom is a wiccan.”

“I don’t think she’s actually a wiccan,” Sweeney corrected, “Shadow tried to explain it to me, but I wasn’t actually listening.”

“You’re such a good boyfriend.” Salim said sarcastically.

“I really, truly am.”

Salim finished his nightly routine, brushing his teeth and going through his last prayer. He flopped into bed with an ‘oof’, squirming  around until he got comfortable. Sweeney was still thoroughly engrossed with his Netflix, so Salim through pencils at him until he got up and turned off the light. Sweeney was basically nocturnal, and had been since the pair first roomed together their freshman year, so he didn’t feel bad about making him sit in the dark.

It was a while before Salim fell asleep, sad thoughts of how he couldn’t celebrate Christmas with his boyfriend. He thought back to last Christmas, when their relationship had still been new and awkward. They had been friends for a while at that point, but had only made the step from friends to boyfriends a month ago. Shadow had placed Mistletoe everywhere, and always seemed to conveniently be around to enforce the kissing policy. Salim would shyly protested, but Ibrahim would kiss him sweetly every time.  

‘Don’t dwell on sad things,’ Salim thought to himself, ‘There’s no use in being depressed over things you can’t control.’ Salim grunted and flipped his pillow over, fluffing it with more force than necessary and closed his eyes tightly. He thought of his accounting final, what he still needed to go over to make sure he aced it. He planned out how he would gently turn down Audrey’s offer to knit him a Christmas sweater. Salim went through every dull, tedious thought until eventually he fell asleep.

“Christmas Eve will find me Where the lovelight gleams I'll be home for Christmas If only in my dreams…”

“I wish you had come home for your break, Salim.”

Salim was doing his best not to be pathetic, but based on his current state he wasn’t succeeding. He had barely left his dorm since school had officially began winter break and was steadily sinking lower and lower into a yuletide depression. Salim had been bribing Sweeney in bringing him food so he didn’t need to leave for that, so mostly all he’d done was pray and shower and shove handfuls of Cheez-Its into his mouth from the comfort of his bed.

“It is not like I’d be happier there, Nadira.” Salim said grumpily. In a last ditch effort to cheer himself up, Salim had called his sister. She didn’t seem to be helping much and Salim groaned.

“But you would be with me.” Nadira pointed out, pouting through the tiny cell phone screen, “And what’s better than spending time with your favorite sister.”

“Not much.” Salim admitted.

Nadira was Salim’s best friend growing up, and the first person he’d come out to when he was sixteen. They were only two years apart, with Nadira being older, and had always gotten along very well. Nadira understood Salim in a way their parents never would, and accepted him for who he was.

“It’s too late to come out there now.” Salim sighed, plucking at a loose thread on his pants.

“No it isn’t, I could buy you a plane ticket right now. I could literally be purchasing airfare as we speak.”

Salim laughed, “It wouldn’t be worth it and you know it. Besides, Baba will just drag on and on about moving back to Oman and put an end to my sinning in America.”

“Ooo, what kind of sins are you committing over there.” Nadira giggled.

Salim rolled his eyes, “Beside being gay, not much.”

“Boring.”

“What would you like me to be doing.” Salim asked rhetorically.

“Something!” Nadira said dramatically, “I mean, you are in America. You are in New York! Have some fun, go party, spray paint a building, I don’t know.”

Salim laughed, “You want me to vandalise a building? You think that’s what people do for fun over here. What kind of TV are you watching?”

Nadira huffed, “I only get so many channels over here, do not judge me.”

Salim laughed again and teased her for a bit longer before she had to go help their mother with dinner and they hung up. Nadira had helped raise his spirits a bit so he decided it was time to get up and stop sulking in his dorm. There was a coffee shop a few blocks away that Shadow worked at part time, so Salim threw on as many layers as he possibly could to protect his sensitive desert skin and trekked out into the cold.

It took him twenty minutes to carefully traverse the snowy sidewalks but eventually he entered the peppermint smelling establishment.The place wasn’t packed, but wasn’t dead either. Most of the tables were full, so Salim scooted around a few misplaced chairs and sat at the small bar next to the coffee machines. Looking around, Salim located Shadow sitting at a table across the room, fiddling with his phone.

“Shadow.” Salim called softly, waving to get his attention.

Shadow looked up from his screen and smiled upon seeing Salim. He got up and grabbed his cup and walked over to Salim, “What are you doing here?” He said, hugging Salim briefly before sitting down.

“Figured I should leave my room sometime before everything is closed for Christmas.” Salim said.

“That’s the spirit!” Shadow said cheerfully, “My break’s almost over, how about I make you a drink.”

Salim nodded and Shadow slipped behind the counter and started working with the machines. He did something complicated with milk, coffee beans, and a shaker that Salim was 70% sure was Cayenne pepper before sliding the plastic cup across the counter.  

“Don’t knock it till you try it.” Shadow said, noticing Salim’s wary look.

Salim took a hesitant sip and was pleasantly surprised, “Not bad. I like what you did with the spice.”

Shadow grinned, “That’s why they call me the barista baron.” He said cockily.

“No one calls you that.” One of his coworkers joked.

“Oh I’m sorry, then what does my name tag say?”

Salim peered over and sure enough, ‘Barista Baron’ was printed over the plastic name tag, “Is that why you needed my label maker?”

“Yes.” Shadow said, “And I still can’t get over how you have an actual label maker.”

“Labels are important for organization Shadow.” Salim said, repeating what he said last night.

Shadow rolled his eyes, “Sure Salim, cause just writing your own labels is so hard.”

“Why do that when I can have a little machine do it for me?” Salim said holding back a laugh.

Salim spent about an hour bantering with Shadow and taste testing drinks for him before his manager came out and told him to stop wasting ingredients. His good mood was still going strong so he made good use of it and wandered the streets for a while. He considered going gift shopping for the few people he hadn’t gotten to, but he already had a thing against crowds and this was New York during Christmas and he enjoyed being alive and sane so he did some window shopping before retreating from the cold back to his dorm room.

He did laundry and organized his book shelf and completed his afternoon prayer and skimmed through one of his textbooks for next semester. Salim was collecting trash for a dumpster run when his phone buzzed.

Salim walked over and looked at the caller ID before swiping to answer.

“Hi, assalamu alaikum.” Salim said, cradling the device between his shoulder and cheek.

“Wa alaikum assalaam.” The Jinn responded, “What are you up to?”

“Just cleaning, picking up a few things.,” Salim said, throwing away a bunch of M&M wrappers from under his bed.

“So what you mean to say is you’re picking up Sweeney’s side of the room.” Ibrahim said.

Salim chuckled, “Actually not this time. I’ve let my side get pretty cluttered lately.”

Ibrahim paused, “You are only messy when you are sad.”

Ibrahim knew him too well and Salim shrugged before realising he was talking on the phone, “It’s alright Ibrahim, I know you did your best.”

“Doesn’t mean I still do not feel horrible.”

Salim smiled softly, sitting on the edge of his bed, “Don’t feel bad. I mean, we will have New Years right?”

Ibrahim hadn’t been able to get out of his film obligation, but had worked it out so he could spend New Year's in New York with Salim. It wasn’t as long as he would have wanted, but Salim wasn’t going to be picky about it. All that mattered was spending time with his boyfriend.

“Definitely, I’ll be there no matter what.” Ibrahim said earnestly.

“Good.” Salim said, feeling a bit better, “Where are you? It sounds busy.”

“It’s the traffic,” Ibrahim said, “I’m just walking home from work.”

“You didn’t drive to work?”

“Trying to save gas.” Ibrahim said dismissively, “Hey, tomorrow is Christmas Eve, what are you going to do?”

Salim shrugged, “Probably just watch Christmas movies and skype with my parents.”

“Tell them I said hello.” Ibrahim said teasingly.

Salim chuckled, “I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Alright, I’m going into my apartment now. I’ll have to hang up, I’m getting ready for a night shoot with the director. I won’t be able to Skype tonight either.” Ibrahim said.

Salim didn’t let the sadness get to him, “Okay. Text me when you get home? I’ll be up.”

“I will. Love you, talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you too.”

Salim hung up and sighed, shaking himself slightly, “I’m not going to be sad.” He told himself. He would see Ibrahim in a week. There was nothing to be down about.

Salim continued decluttering his room until he found himself moving and setting down the same objects over and over again and finally retreated to the blanket nest on his bed. He was always cold during the winter, being unused to the season and all, so over the now three years he had spent in New York he had accumulated an ungodly amount of blankets. Some of them were thin generic blankets  and others were thick ones he had gotten online and he had a few handmade scratchy quilts from friends who knew of his obsession and at least six of the super soft ones from Target. Sweeney said he had a problem but Salim just really enjoyed being warm.

The omani spent the next few hours switching between watching movies and scrolling through Twitter on his phone. Salim wasn’t very active on social media, but he had to keep track of all Trump’s dumb tweets and sent his favorites to Ibrahim even though he knew he couldn’t respond until later. Sweeney hadn’t come home yet so Salim assumed he was staying with Shadow that night, or had maybe passed out in a subway station drunk again. Either way he’d be home tomorrow to give Salim a ride to Harlem so they could hang out with Shadow’s mother for Christmas Eve.

It was almost one in the morning and Salim was dozing in and out of sleep while Polar Express played on his laptop. He kept having odd waking dreams where Ibrahim was in New York and they did a number of cliche holiday activities like skating at Rockefeller. They were good dreams and every time he jolted awake he wished they would never stop.

The buzzing of his phone finally jolted him fully awake. Salim rubbed his eyes, searching through his sleepily for the buzzing device.

“Hello.” Salim said, sleepily.

“Habibi,” Ibrahim said, “You were sleeping, I’m sorry to wake you.”

Salim stretched, careful not to displace his laptop from where it was on his lap, “It’s alright. I told you to call. You are home then?”

“Yes, I am home.” Ibrahim said softly, Salim could hear him shuffling in the background, “It’s Christmas Eve.”

Salim pulled the phone away to look at the clock. It was 1:33. Christmas Eve. “You’re right. Happy Christmas Eve.” Salim said.

“Merry Christmas Eve,” The Jinn parroted back, “You’re in your dorm?”

“Yeah.”

“I called in a favor from your Mad Sweeney. He should have delivered something to your room.”

Confused, Salim sat up, looking around their dark room, “I don’t see anything.”

“It must be outside the door,” He urged, “Check for me please.”

Salim groaned but set his laptop on the desk and rolled out of bed. He flicked on the light before unlocking and opening the door.

His first thought was that someone was trying to break into his room and he startled slightly at the person standing right outside the door. Then he recognized him and he almost dropped his phone.

“Ibrahim?”

The bearded man smiled widely and ended the phone call. Standing before Salim, looking sleepy and warm in a green sweater and thick coat, was his boyfriend who was supposed to be almost 3,000 miles away.

“I am home.” Ibrahim repeated, pocketing his cell phone.

Salim didn’t waste any time and threw himself into Ibrahim arms, squeezing him tightly. Ibrahim held him just as close, almost lifting Salim off the ground.

“You’re home.” Salim gasped incredulously, “What are you doing here?”

“I promised I’d be home for Christmas.” Ibrahim said, pulling back to look at Salim, “And I wasn’t going to let some asshole keep me away from you.”

Salim couldn’t help the huge and bright smile that spread across his face. He cupped Ibrahim face between his hands, stroking his cheeks lovingly. The taller man leaned down and pressed their foreheads together softly before capturing Salim’s lip in a kiss.

They pulled each other close until they were flush against the other, every part of their bodies in contact. Salim basked in the feeling of Ibrahim’s beard rubbing against his cheeks and his lips, the burn making it all the more real.

“Excuse me guys.” A voice said, interrupting the men. They broke apart quickly, both breathing hard. A Japanese girl from the end of the hall was there standing awkwardly, “Trying to get to my room.”

“Sorry,” Salim said, blushing intensely. He pulled Ibrahim back into his room, grabbing his suitcase that he just now noticed was sitting next to him, and waved at the girl gracelessly before shutting and locking the door.

Ibrahim snorted before breaking into loud laughter, Salim chuckling with him after the initial feeling of embarrassment faded. He pulled Ibrahim’s suitcase to his side of the room, leaving it next to his desk.

“What are you doing here?” Salim asked.

“Being with you.” Ibrahim said like it was obvious.

“I mean,” Salim paused, “I thought you had to stay in LA.”

“I worked something out with the director. We’re postponing filming until after the New Year.”

“How long are you staying?” Salim asked.

“Until the 2nd.”

Salim brightened, “Really? I get you for the rest of the year?”

Ibrahim smiled, taking the smaller man's hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist, “We get Christmas and New Year’s together.”

Salim gasped and pulled Ibrahim close again, kissing him quickly, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Ibrahim said, “I want this too.”

The Jinn pulled back, giving Salim a smile before walking over to his bed. He pulled of his coat, hanging it on the bed post, and then his sweater, revealing a plain black shirt. Salim stood there as the other man stripped, his blood heating slightly. It had been awhile since they had been together intimately, and his body knew that. Really, there was no helping his response. He moved to sit down on the bottom end of his bed.

“You’re staring.” The Jinn said, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

Salim shrugged helplessly, not even bothering to deny it. The shirt was tight and had ridden up a bit to reveal a part of Ibrahim’s happy trail. The smirk grew under his beard and Ibrahim moved until he was standing in front of the smaller man. Salim’s hand moved on their own accord to rest on Ibrahim’s chest, sliding upwards until he twined his fingers together behind his neck. Salim pulled him down until their lips met heatedly.

Ibrahim groaned lowly before moving closer, bending down as to not separate from him. Salim was only a few inches shorter than him, but sitting on the bed made their height difference all the more drastic and it felt like Ibrahim was surrounding him completely. Ibrahim brought one hand to Salim’s neck, angling him as to deepen the kiss, and the other fell to the smaller man’s waist. Salim felt him stroking a pattern on his hip, with every pass he got closer and closer to his now aching erection.

“I’ve missed you.” Salim gasped, pulling away to catch his breath. Ibrahim moved to his jaw and then his neck, pressing wet kisses anywhere he could. His beard scrapped along Salim skin deliciously, and Salim shuddered as he sucked a mark just under his jaw.

“You have no idea, how much I miss you.” Ibrahim said, pulling back after he was satisfied Salim would sport a decent sized hickey in the morning, “Every day. Every night. When I’m alone and thinking that I could be here, doing this.”

Ibrahim moved his hand from Salim’s hip to the front of his sleep pants, cupping him through the thin material before stroking him lightly. Salim let out a shuddering breath, moaning lowly. His hips twitched, trying to get closer the Jinn’s fondling. Salim removed his hands from Ibrahim’s neck, sliding them down his shoulders and his chest before coming to rest on his ribs, pulling at the black shirt. He pulled it up as far as he could, bunching it underneath the taller man’s arms. He raked his nails lightly down Ibrahim’s stomach, watching him shudder.

Ibrahim pulled back suddenly, removing has hands from Salim to pull his shirt off the rest of the way. He reached for Salim’s shirt, yanking it off in one fluid motion before pushing the other man down on the bed. Salim panted at his rough treatment and scooted up until his head hit the pillows, Ibrahim following him after shedding his jeans.

Salim pulled him down until they were chest to chest and bit at his lips until Ibrahim finally opened mouth to him, twining their tongues together. Salim moaned, pulling him closer until he was putting his full weight on him. He didn’t want any doubt that this was real, that Ibrahim was here and loving him.

Ibrahim kissed him deeply before moving down to Salim’s throat, his collarbones, his chest, his stomach until he was hovering over his waistband. He snapped it playfully, looking up at Salim before inching it down along with his boxers.

“You’re the only man I know that still wears boxers to sleep.” Ibrahim said, locking eyes with Salim as he pushed his last layers of clothing away.

“I have a roommate,” Salim said breathlessly, “I can’t just walk around like that.”

The Jinn smirked, rubbing his hands up and down Salim’s now bare thighs, “I know for a fact Sweeney never wears pants, let alone boxers.” He pressed a long kiss to his hip bone, “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Let’s not talk about my roommate right now.” Salim moaned as Ibrahim licked a path from his balls to the head of his cock. He grabbed the sheets with one hand and Ibrahim’s curls with the other, trying not to buck up into his mouth.

Ibrahim took him deeper into his mouth, holding his hips in place. Salim moaned, unable to stifle his voice as he was touched by another man for the first time in months. He pulled at Ibrahim’s hair, losing his breath when it caused the other man to suck him harder. Minutes passed as Salim got lost in the feeling of his boyfriend’s mouth on him. He could feel his release building quickly and he nudged Ibrahim with his foot.

“Ibrahim.” Salim groaned.

Ibrahim pulled off him, just as breathless as Salim was. Salim used his grip on his hair and urged him to move up, until Ibrahim was within reach and he could kiss him hungrily.

Blindly, Ibrahim reached out to the small nightstand next to the bed. He ripped open the drawer and rifled through until he pulled out the tube of lube.

“Condoms?”

“They all expired. Didn’t think you were coming so no use in buying more.”

Ibrahim nodded, kissing him again. He knew for a fact he was clean and he trusted that Salim had been faithful in their time apart.

Salim felt him moving and soon Ibrahim was pressing a lubed finger to his entrance. Salim gripped the arm Ibrahim used to hold himself up and used the other to cup his cheeks, deepening the kiss. Ibrahim pushed in slowly, stopping briefly when Salim’s breath caught in his throat and he squirmed. Ibrahim locked eyes with him, checking to see if he was okay and only continued when Salim nodded.

“It’s been awhile.” Salim said breathlessly.

“I’ll go slow,” Ibrahim replied, kissing the corner of his mouth, “Tell me if you want to stop.”

The Jinn pressed in again, slowly, watching Salim’s reaction. The smaller man took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he got used to the intrusion. Ibrahim pulled out, reapplying the lube before sliding two fingers inside him carefully. Salim groaned, shifting as Ibrahim began scissoring his fingers and stretching him. They hadn’t been together in months and Ibrahim did his best to take it slow with Salim, knowing that he would be out of practice and, frankly, tight.

After a few minutes, Salim groaned again but this time out of impatience. The Jinn smirked, kissing under his jaw. He mumbled something in arabic to which Salim snorted at before he slid in another finger. He arched his fingers and pressed that spot in Salim that had him gasping and arching his hips. A low rumbling sound erupted from Ibrahim’s chest at the sight and he suddenly agreed with Salim’s impatient sentiment.

He bumped Salim’s prostate a few times before pulling out and grabbing the lube again. He slicked his erection, biting back a moan at the contact on his heated skin, and lined up with Salim’s entrance. The Jinn hovered over him, one arm next to Salim’s shoulders and the other on his cock. He locked eyes with the other man, giving him one last chance to back out if he wanted to before pushing in slowly.

Salim winced, trying not to clench up. Ibrahim stopped, waiting for him to get used to him before pushing in another few inches. He leaned down and kissed Salim deeply, biting at his bottom lip and stroking his tongue with his, trying to distract him from the pain. Ibrahim moved his now free hand to Salim’s softening erection, stroking him back to full hardness. He pumped his hips in short thrusts, pushing deeper with every motion, until finally his thighs pressed shaily against Salim’s ass.

He pulled away from the kiss, just leaning his forehead against Salim’s trying to collect himself.

“Why did you stop?” Salim asked breathlessly, his accent thick.

“I’m going to come in ten seconds if I don’t control myself.” Ibrahim grumbled.

Salim giggled, wrapping his arms around him, “I don’t care. I just want you, right now.” He kissed him softly, “Make love to me Ibrahim.”

Ibrahim shuddered, those simple words making him lose what little shred of control he had. He shifted, getting a better angle, and eased out of Salim before thrusting back inside him.

Salim moaned, his head falling back into the pillows. Jolts of pleasure shot up his spine with every push and Salim tangled his hands in the Jinn’s hair and pulled him down into a rough kiss. They gasped and grunted into each others mouths as Ibrahim sped up is pace, rocking into Salim with enough force to rock the cheap dorm bed frame. Salim worried briefly about the dull noise, but Ibrahim grabbed his hips and angled him so he was nudging his prostate dead on. All thoughts after that were white noise in the Omani’s head, and he lost himself in the pleasure.

The Jinn pulled back from the kiss, moving to kiss and bite the other man’s jaw. He buried his face in Salim’s next, biting and sucking a dark hickey at the hollow of his throat. Salim dug his nails into his back, moaning loudly.

“Close.” He gasped out, grinding his hips up to match the pace.

Ibrahim pulled back, leaning on his elbow, never once slowing down. He wanted to see Salim, wanted to see him fall apart for the first time in months. The smaller man’s eyes were fluttering, a blush rising on his cheeks. He tried to bite his lip against the whimpering noises punching out of his chest, but it’s futile when Ibrahim wraps a hand around him and strokes him quickly. Salim tenses, breath catching in his throat as he gasps. He reaches out for Ibrahim, wanting him close when he comes, and just barely brushes their lips together before he’s grunting and shaking with the force of his orgasm.

Salim comes just like he acts in day to day life, quiet yet expressive. He gasps and whimpers, opening and closing his mouth like he doesn’t know what to say. His eyes are locked on Ibrahim’s helplessly and just watching him fall apart triggers the Jinn’s own release. Ibrahim thrusts a half a dozen more times before he stop cold, shooting his release inside of Salim. Whereas Salim is quiet in his throes of passion, Ibrahim is loud. All curses and groans as he falls apart in Salim’s arms. Salim hums as he feels the Jinn twitching above him. With one final grunt, the he falls forward, laying completely on top of his boyfriend. Salim takes his weight gladly, running his hands up and down his back in a post-orgasmic haze.

They lay there for a while, simply enjoying being wrapped up in each other before Ibrahim worried about Salim being comfortable under him and rolled over, carefully as to not scoot off the already narrow college bed. The long day of travelling finally started to catch up with him and he felt himself dozing.

“I love you.” Salim whispered, turning to lay his head on Ibrahim’s chest.

Ibrahim pulled him close, “I love you to, Salim.”

The two men shifted until they were properly cuddled around each other in the center of the bed, the blanket pulled up to shield them both from the cool air of Salim’s room. One last kiss was shared between the two men before they drifted to sleep.

/////////////////////////////////

When Salim first woke the next morning, a heavy dose of fear settled in his chest as he awaked to an empty bed. He calmed once he realised he was naked and there was a dull ache in his hips that definitely wasn’t a product of her active dreams. He settled again into the pillows, stretching out his legs and arms. Salim was just wondering where his boyfriend had gotten off to when the door opened loudly and Ibrahim stumbled in. He was dressed only in a pair of ratty looking sweats and Salim’s too small slippers on his feet.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” The Jinn murmured apologetically.

Salim waved his hand dismissively, “Come back to bed.”

Ibrahim chuckled, “One second.”

He kicked off the slippers before pointedly dropping his sweats before sliding back into bed. Salim was blushing, but laughed at his antics.

“Was that necessary?”

“Absolutely,” Ibrahim said, completely serious, “I’ve gone five long months without you, and I don’t plan on letting anything get in the way of your body and mine.”

Ibrahim pulled Salim closer, fondling his obvious morning wood. They exchanged a heated glance, Salim more than willing to continue the activities from the night before, but an obnoxious knock came from the door.

“Are you guys fucking? Cause I’m coming in and I’d rather not be caught in the splash zone.”

Mood: Officially killed.

Salim pulled the blankets up to make sure everything was covered before yelling to Sweeney that he could come in.

“It smells like sex and the Jinn’s cheap cologne in here.” Sweeney announced loudly as he entered the room.

“Please keep your voice down.” Salim hissed.

“It’s not like everyone in this hall doesn’t know you got plowed last night,” Sweeney said, slamming the door shut, “I’m guessing our neighbors caught an earful last night. Why buy porn when they can listen to genie boy here squawk all night long.”

“Eloquent as always Mad Sweeney,” Ibrahim grumbled, “I have to say I missed you the least of all.”

“But you admit you missed me.” Sweeney pointed out cheekily. He toed off his snowy boots along with his thick coat, “Get up and go shower, we have places to be.”

Salim groaned, “It’s winter break, where do we have to be this early in the morning?”

“It’s almost noon, I Dream of Genie,” Sweeney said,“You promised you would go to Shadow’s house with me for their spooky Christmas dinner.”

“I had hoped you assumed I wasn’t going anymore.” Salim said.

\Sweeney tutted, rifling through the pile of clean clothes he hadn’t put away since he’d done his laundry two weeks ago, “You two can pull out of each other long enough to socialize with Shadow and his hippie mother.”

The trio argued for another few minutes, before the couple finally agreed that they should go out and see their friend. Salim and Ibrahim got up after awkwardly ordering Sweeney to turn around, and entered the adjoining bathroom. They showered together, taking turns washing each others hair, and fended off comments from Sweeney when asked why they were taking so long.

The Jinn combed his hair and trimmed his beard while Salim prayed and got dressed, and then they switched, Ibrahim using Salim’s prayer rug as he forgot his in LA. It reminded Ibrahim of when they spent almost every night together last semester, living in a sort of domestic bliss. Their lives melded perfectly then, and he was more than pleased to see that nothing had changed.

Salim pulled on the thick, slightly too big wool sweater that the Jinn had got for him for his birthday last year, and Ibrahim felt it was physically impossible to not kiss him.

“We don’t have time for a quickie,” Sweeney groaned, “We have to go or we’re going to be late.”

“Afraid you’ll make a bad impression your boyfriend’s mother, Mad Sweeney?” Ibrahim teased, ending his kiss with Salim but keeping him close, “Or should I call you Mad Sweetie now.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Sweeney growled, “Ask me how sweet I am after I push you into a snowdrift and watch your genie ass freeze.”

/////////////////////////////////

Christmas Eve was a loud affair at the Moon house, and surprisingly it wasn’t Sweeney to blame. Elaina Moon was much like her son, filled with enough energy and love to fuel a nation, and could apparently host a mean party.

Salim was afraid he’d be stepping into an odd sacrificing ritual, but really there was just a lot of wine drinking and an inordinate amount of crystals and a man named Falcon who read his palms. It was unexpectedly nice and after some mingling and chatting with Shadow, Salim and Ibrahim retreated to a cosy corner in the living room and people watched the rest of the night.

Christmas music played over the speakers and Leslie Odom Jr’s rendition of I’ll Be Home for Christmas filled the air. Ibrahim had Salim cuddled into his side and he felt a warm feeling of contentedness spread through him. Even if this holiday was just another day to him, Ibrahim still appreciated the spirit of family and togetherness that was celebrated. Tomorrow he would probably exchange the few gifts he had brought for his friends and watch too many Christmas movies and dodge Mad Sweeney’s famously laced hot chocolate. It would be fun and filled with all the necessary amount of Christmas cheer, and he’d do it all with Salim by his side. All he needed for Christmas this year and every year was Salim, and as long as he had that, he was home for Christmas.

[pochunts]

JESSICA HENWICK GIF PACK

— ✰ on the page linked below in the SOURCE LINK, you will find ( EIGHTY-THREE ) hq gifs of JESSICA HENWICK sourced from her role as PEG in GLASS ONION: A KNIVES OUT MYSTERY (2022). jessica is 30 but was 29-30 while filming this movie. she is of singporean-chinese ( teochew ) & white ( english ) descent, so please cast her accordingly. all gifs were cropped at 245x145 and were made from scratch by feifer for roleplaying purposes only. therefore, i am taking full credit for these. DO NOT: add these gifs to any other gif hunts, gif sets, edit, redistribute, claim as your own, use in real-life celebrity rps, smut rps or for smut writing. DO: please give this post a like or reblog if you found these useful or have any intention of using these.

gifs feature: Dave Bautista, Kate Hudson, Leslie Odom Jr., Kathryn Hahn, Daniel Craig, Madelyn Cline.

warnings/triggers: Dialogue/conversations surrounding use of ethnic slurs, masks (one gif), hugging, vaping, pointy objects (switchblades), alcohol/visuals of bottles, under the influence, witness to murder, dead bodies, searching a corpse, shattering objects (glass).

[serkewen12]

Tag, You’re It!

Tagged by @kimmy-h-life The Rules: tag nine users you want to get to know better I tag: @la-frenchiest-frite @drugsdiggs @lafislife @thepaddyb

Name: Brittany

How old are you?: 27 Current job: Certified Nurse Assistant Dream job: I don’t really know at this point. There was a million things I wanted to do when I was younger. What are you talented at?: Drawing, writing (according to all y’all), making costumes What is a big goal you are working towards, or have already achieved?: I’m always working on staying positive What is your aesthetic?: Um... Fall colored leaves and a nice breeze, musician hands, beautiful smiles, candles, crystals, relaxing in my tub with my music and a bath bomb, Daveed’s flow, the pencil residue that always ends up on my hands when I draw. Do you collect anything?: I collect crystals, anime figures, and wigs What is a topic you’re always up to talk about?: Writing, art, movies, politics, bitches being bitches, fantasy, Hamilton, sexy men, music, books, smut, all the things really. What’s a pet peeve of yours?: People who are intolerant shit lords. People who say rude shit about people to make themselves feel better. Stupid drivers. Slow walkers. Liars. People being arrogant fucks. Good advice to give?: Don’t let other people tear you down out of jealousy. Recommend three songs?: The Deep- Clipping. , Good for You - Leslie Odom Jr, Sour Patch Kids - Bryce Vine

[ramp-it-up]

Go Crazy

(Cold Part 2)

Pairing: Leslie Odom Jr. x Ofc Reader Charlie Lewis (you)

Word count: 4.3k

Summary: Non-profit head Charlie Lewis requests Les in A Box for the New Year. Her best friend Tiffany delivers.

Warnings: Cursing, Parental expectations, alcohol, drunkeness, SMUT 18+, I mean 18+, DID I MENTION 18+?. Breast play, Slight pain for pleasure.

Not Beta’d. Mistakes my own.

a/n: This fic is for @6lackfiction I hope you like it! This is the 2nd of 3 parts.

Two Months Earlier, New Year’s Eve/Morning

Charlie and Tiff were chilling after the ball drop, Tiffany having just almost hooked up with a random guy after kissing him. She asked him to meet her in an hour at her place, but first she wanted to make sure that her girl was good. 

Current situation, dragging Charlie back to her place and trying to hold her up until she could tuck her into bed. She was a good fucking friend.

“Hear me out. Listen. Listen. Look.” 

Tiffany got Charlie’s keys out of her purse and unlocked her door, propping her friend up against the bricks of her doorway.

Charlie hung off of Tiffany for support as they made their way inside and up the stairs, trying to get her attention.  Tiffany turned her head so as not to get more of a whiff of Chuck’s breath than was necessary.

“All I want for New Years is a quality man.  A MAN! With quality penis, who recognizes my worth.  You know who I dream about?  I just want him to turn me outttt!”  

Charlie whipped her head so hard that she stumbled as Tiff got her to her bedroom.

Tiffany laughed as she got Charlie to her bed and knelt down to take off her boots.  She called over her shoulder as she went to the bathroom to get a makeup wipe for her bestie.

“You mean Leslie?  You know he's the homie?”

“Yesssssss. Leslie.  I know he’s your homie?  You talk about it all the time?  Why you ain’t smashed yet???? I don’t trust it.”  

You narrowed your eyes at your friend.

“I don’t know?  Tiffany shrugged.  

“He’s fine and whateva. I hear the rumours about how he can put it down.  Don’t let that angelic voice fool you.  He is a human boy. We just started off as friends when he was with that model chic, and now I can’t just smash and pass.”

She smirked at you.  

“But you two would be perfect together.” You ignored that remark.

“Yeah, cause you a hoe.  You finna smash ol dude.  What’s his name? Bernardo?”

“Fuck you Chuck. His name is Benedict.  You know what. Time for bed.”

You sat up in the bed, head swimming and adamant.

“You say anything to him and I will fucking kill you Tiffany!” 

You threatened her as she slipped your sequined dress over your head.

“Chill, Charlie. Ain't nobody telling your basic ass secrets.  Especially to Leslie.  He’s a good guy.  But I think you two would be dope together.  The question is how…”

“Don’t be scheming none of your hair brained schemes.  I just need to go back in time and ask for Leslie Odom Jr. to be delivered to my doorstep in a box. With a fucking big yellow bow!”

You mumbled as you lay back down and started drifting off into a liquor stupor.

“Yellow, not Red?” Tiffany heard you as she made sure you were in be

“I said yellow, bitch.  I love you so muchhhhhh…..”

And you were out.

Tiffany whispered “Happy New Year.” as she tiptoed out of your place, locked the door with her key and prepared to get dicked down.

Here it was, less than two weeks later and here you were, leading Leslie to your place.  There was a part of you who couldn’t reallly believe it, but you decided not to retreat into self-doubt and fuck this up.

You walked beside Leslie, smiling over at him, mentally hyping yourself up for being a heaux tonight.

Despite the heat you shared at the bar, the walk chilled what was about to go down. By the time you reached your door, you were wondering what the hell you’d done.

But when you looked at Leslie inside your house, you warmed up again.

Leslie didn’t want this to be a one night stand.  He wanted to spend the night with you, of course, but he didn't want you to think that he thought you were just a jump off.

“Do you want anything to drink?”  You slipped off your heels as you closed the door, tossing your purse and your keys on the table beside the door.

Leslie walked into your living room, checking out the decor and art.  He looked impressed.

“Wow.  I don’t know what I was expecting..”

You looked around, trying to see it from new eyes.

“Yeah.  It’s a lot.  My dad. Charles Lewis. He was a lawyer, one of the top ones in Harlem.  Adam Clayton Powell was his mentor.  He owned a firm… well, my family still owns it.  My cousin Frank runs it now…”

“...Lewis Law… I’ve heard of it! It’s historic.” Leslie was looking at you in awe.

You shook your head and laughed.

“Yeah.”  You looked back at him. “So.. do you want a drink?”  You walked over to the bar, which was an actual full size wooden bar that you might see in a restaurant.  Leslie’s eyes bugged out of his head.

“I was going to ask what you had, but.. It seems you have everything.”

He was beginning to seem inadequate.  What would you want with him?  What could he give you. Well, obviously, it was just sex. He could only stare at you.

You laughed again. “Well, you were drinking whiskey at Che’s sooo….” You got a glass and poured two fingers. “Jamesons? Neat.”

He cleared his throat and nodded, embarrassed at his reaction. It was a little awkward.

You went over to the couch and sat as he stood by the bar, drinking, and watching you. You wanted to remain clear headed so you didn’t pour yourself any.

“So… you didn’t want to go into the family business?”

Here we go, you thought.  

“Well, I did go to Spelman because of the connections it would give me to get into law school and beyond.” 

And because your dad was a Morehouse Man, but that was beside the point.   

“But because of the extensive community service requirement every Spelmanite has to complete, I fell in love with working with people who don’t have as much as I do. It was a hard conversation to have with my dad, but he loved me, so he got over it.”

You were oversimplifying.  There were a good six months when you and your dad didn’t really speak, but you were right. 

He loved you and you only had each other, so when he showed up at your graduation, cried and said you were everything he wanted in a daughter and how proud he was, it was squashed.

You were so glad that you all didn’t waste any more time, because less than five years later, he was gone.  

And since your mom had never been around, you were completely lost. 

That’s why Jeremy happened, and the worst three years of your life, up until last year, when you finally dumped his trifling ass.

That led to the holidays and your extended holiday to get your head right. Which led to your first day back at work, which led to Leslie being in your living room right now.

Leslie sensed there was more to the story, but he didn’t push it.

“Spelman, so that’s where that sweet tea southern charm comes into play. Atlanta?  You are so New York, but something about you makes me feel like you could work a root on me in a second.”

You threw your head back and laughed, a vision in black bustier and jeans on a blue settee.  Les moved closer.

“I DID almost go to Xavier to piss off my Dad, but haven’t spent that much time in NOLA to study Vodun, or even Candomble.”

You appraised him as he moved closer to where you were. He sat down at the piano and started tinkling with the keys

“Please, have a seat.  Take a load off.”  

You gave him a sexy side eye as he had already made himself at home.

He’d show you a load.  He cleared his throat. You caught the vibe, but for some reason, were prolonging the inevitable.

“So, what about you? What was the family business, and how bad did you disappoint your folks when you became a singer/actor type person?”

Les stopped playing and turned to you, his knee brushing your leg on the settee.

“I was always going to do what I’m doing now.  Born in Queens, North Philly raised.  I spent most of my time singing in church. Went to a performing arts high school.” 

His eyes were intense and intelligent.  There was more to him than just a voice and nice smile. 

“I did go to Carnegie Mellon in Philly before I moved to LA. Now that’s what disappointed my folks. That I moved all the way across the country.  They wanted me on Broadway from the jump, but I had to make my own way.  You feel me?”

You felt him alright. Deep in your soul which ignited your core. You sat up and tried to clear your head.

This feeling was getting deeper than you intended. You were a sucker for intelligent men. But you had to be careful. You weren’t about to dive in again, oh no.

“Yeah. So all that talent and brains and you’re saying that you didn’t come to my place of your own free will?  That I somehow put a spell on you? What kind of ideas do you have in that mind, Les?”

It was Les’ turn to be amused. You’d read him like some bones. His beautiful smile made you feel some kind of way.  He scooted so that he was now sitting with you on your furniture.

“That’s usually my line.  You know, where I go into soft Daddy mode and ask what’s in that pretty little head of yours. You’re fucking with the script, Charlie.”

He’d moved closer and pulled you close to him, his hand caressing the dark chocolate of your jaw and ghosting over your lips.

You whimpered at the gesture, but tried to remain strong.  You only watched his lips for a sign that he might let you have them.  On yours, and all over your body really. 

You watched as he started to move them.

“I've been having ideas all day since I first met you this morning." That grin and the way that his mouth crinkled at the corner

"Mmmmm.  What kind of ideas have you been having?"  You were not going to be able to keep it together.

"I was thinking about kissing you again.  But then I thought that you couldn't handle it."  The challenge was evident in Les’ eyes.

You scoffed. “It's you who couldn't handle it, Les.  Bet!"

Les was leaning in.  "Bet," was what he said right before his lips touched yours.

You were being pulled into the spell that was Leslie Odom Jr. His lips took control and you were done for the night.  Your defenses were zero. He was about to have his way with you.

He put it on you on the settee. His mouth was insistent, yet tender, while his hands were everywhere, making you feel everything.

He made you feel alive for the first time in a long time.

Les placed his hands on your jean-clad hips and moved them smoothly up your sides, his thumbs moving over the center of your bustier, finding the hard nubs underneath. 

Then, he grabbed overflowing handfuls of your breasts and kneaded them through your clothes, desperately wanting them out, but not going there just yet. 

He reveled in taking in the power of your lips until he was tipsy.

You were getting wetter by the second, but you weren’t about to make a mess where you were. You stood up and reached your hand out to him.

"Let’s go."

Another change of venue.

Les could not quite get what you were saying, because his mind had left him.  He started to understand just as he stood up and you started to kiss him again.  

After the kiss, you lead the way to your bedroom. You’d decided not to think about it too much, because you knew what your head would make you say and do.  It had been too long and Les was too fine to think right now.

Les followed you up the stairs, his eyes mesmerized by your ass and the sway of your hips. He couldn’t leave you alone now if he tried.

When you went into your room, you shut the door as Leslie stood by your bed, his eyes intent on yours.

He couldn't believe his luck, that you were about to let him do the things he'd been dreaming of all day.  He was so deep under your spell.  

Oh well.

He didn't want to ruin things with a simple fuck.  It would be a good fuck, he was sure, but he didn't want for you to get things twisted.  He knew that you had plenty of reason to be guarded.

But right now, looking at you, all he wanted was to be closer than close.

"Come here."

It was a request that you gladly complied with.  You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame and did even think of resisting.

He kissed you again so tenderly, that you felt like you were floating on air.  You could hardly breathe when you stopped.

"Hey, we don't have to do anything you don't want to do.” 

He was giving you the chance to pump the breaks.  But you could feel how hard he was, because you were palming him through his jeans, and you were not about to stop now either.

You looked down at his jeans, which were currently tighter than they were, and smiled.

"I think your friend down there wants more than that.  We can kick it."

You didn't know what you wanted, but you knew you wanted to bone.  Les was just everything right now and you couldn't think about tomorrow. 

You walked to the table next to your bed, opened your enamel box and took out a magnum.  You held it up for him.

“We’re going to need this.”  

You watched his face fall.  He cleared his throat nervously.

Uh-oh.

“Ummm.”

Oh shit. You having condoms was a turn-off.

"Do you have any XLs?"  Was Leslie blushing?

You tried to keep it cute, but inside, you were cheering. 

“Sure.”  

You turned back around and retrieved the appropriate size. You hoped he wasn’t trying to play you.

Leslie relaxed and asked you one more time. 

“Charlie, don’t think that I…”

"Stop talking so much." 

Your eyes were focused on his lips and wanted them on your body as soon as possible.

You put your hands on his shoulders and pushed his jacket to the floor.  Then, you pulled up his sweater and helped him pull it over his head.

He caught you staring at his abs when he came from under the sweater. 

Damn, no one would ever figure that Les was as cut as he was.  Those abs. Those arms.  

He gave you a lopsided smile and kissed you neck and down to your chest.

Les couldn’t lie, he couldn’t wait to see you out of your bustier. 

Your knees almost buckled because that was your spot.  You didn't protest at all when he pulled back to take you in as he reached behind you to take your top off.

You were surprised when he knew how to navigate the hooks and eye.

He saw your raised eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I ain’t a choir boy any more.”

His mouth made an oooh shape as he brought his hands to the front of your body to take the bustier off, his fingertips briefly touching your nipples as they skimmed along your chest.

Leslie’s mouth dropped open. You were very full and beautiful, a 34 double D cup, with sexy as hell dark raisin colored areolas with prominent nipples.  His wet dreams were coming true.

You smiled at him as he ogled you, letting him look for a minute, then moving closer to him.

You shivered and felt Les’s abs, traveling down the route you planned for your lips to take. You pulled him toward you a little bit as you tugged on the button of his jeans.

You reached out and pulled you to him forcefully.  It was the sexiest thing ever. He felt on your ass through your jeans as he whispered in your ear.

"I'm gonna need to help you with that baby.  It's not easy at the moment to take these off.  I’m really excited."  

He kissed you below your ear, then released you to take his jeans off.

Leslie’s eyes were glued to you as you took off your own jeans.  You were more beautiful as you stood there in satin lace boy shorts that matched the bustier. 

You were so glad you weren’t wearing granny panties that day.

"Like what you see?" You were feeling bold as you stood there in his gaze.

Leslie’s felt like his eyes were saucers. You were so beautiful.  His mouth started to water.

When he took of his underwear, You had to sit down.  Baby was indeed packing. You could not tear your eyes away.

Leslie grinned at your astonishment and you wondered if a Magnum XL would be big enough.

You reached out fascinated, like a child at a petting zoo, and tentatively touched it.  

He made a noise, and you jumped and giggled. Then, you calmed down and touched it, the large brown organ throbbing with his need.  He did want you.

Your small hand barely closed around it and your lips opened, your tongue darting out to moisten your lips on instinct. 

The sight made Les throb more and leak into the palm of your hand. 

You withdrew your hand and looked him straight in his eyes as you licked the drop of precum off your hand with a wide swatch, wetting it so that you could stroke him as you kissed the tip of his dick.

Leslie’s head went back as your mouth opened wider and wider to accept him, but snapped back up so that he could see you moaning around him.  You couldn’t fit all in your mouth, but you were giving it a valiant effort. 

Fucking your throat would have to do for another time, but he watched and reveled in the sight of you now. 

He reached for your breasts and was rewarded by the best, most pronographic moan that vibrated around him as he toyed with your nipples.

Before he could shoot off down your throat, he moved out of your grip and next to you on the bed, pulling you with him into a horizontal position.  

You were all hands, mouth and throbbing parts again.  Leslie’s lips moved from yours down your neck to your breasts, reveling in them and teasing each of them mercilessly and making you moan in ecstacy.

He moved down your body and stopped briefly to visit your belly ring on his way to his destination.

He pulled your panties down your legs and then looked up at you. 

"Can I taste you?"

"For someone so smart, that's the dumbest question I've ever heard!"  You were mad.

He laughed at you and went to work, first nuzzling your slit, taking in your aroma and the satin smoothness of your skin, enjoying the sight of your pretty little pussy. 

Les hummed in admiration, and kept humming as his lips met yours, causing you to arch off the bed.

It had been too long since someone else touched you down there.  

He watched the sight of your back arching, making your breasts peak and move as your pretty neck opened up to his view, the point of your chin the goal on his horizon.

He dove in, his tongue parting your inner lips and tasting the tangy sweetness of your core.

“Hmmmmmmmm.”

He moaned in ecstasy as he poked his tongue in as deep as he could, curling it and sucking your clit.  Your toes curled at the sensation and your legs started to shake.

Not so soon.

“FFFuckkkkkk, Lesssssss!” 

He kept it up, adding his the two fingers on his dominant hand so that he could concentrate on expertly sucking your clit and making you see stars.  His arms held you down so you had to take it and as much as you tried to get away, you couldn’t. 

Somewhere, somebody screamed.

You weren’t too sure, but you thought you blacked out for 4-5 seconds.

You were still in another world as he leaned up to put the condom on and spread your legs wide.  You whimpered, as you were still sensitive, but he was relentless. 

Les had your thighs in his hands while staring straight into your eyes.

You wanted to hit a high note when he entered you slowly, the feeling was so delicious.

He gradually sank into you, giving you time to get used to his girth, but it was sinful pleasure and pain.  You couldn’t believe it, so you leaned up to see it for yourself.

Yep, ALL of Leslie Odom Jr. was stretching you out like…. All you knew was that it felt good. So good, that you lubricated him as he went.

  As Leslie sank into your warmth, he went back to your breasts, the beautiful mounds the main focus of his lust at the moment. 

Your warm pussy wrapped around him was getting him close, but looking at the rest of you was going to get him off.

Once he was fully inside you, he started rocking his hips slowly, but then sped up as your nails dug deliciously into his back, urging him to go faster.  

“Harder. Please. Les… Please!” 

You begging for him to hit it harder was the best music to his ears.

He shifted your thighs up and hooked your knees over his arms as he dug deeper and harder, building up pace to match your cries and moans. 

The feeling of his you covered cock sliding in and out of you, stretching your walls and now hitting that spot that made you light up brought you to the brink again in no time.

And no matter how much he wanted to flip you over and fuck the shit out of you from behind; despite the fact that he had a condom on, the feel of you was so amazing that he was at the edge in a matter of minutes.

But he couldn’t go out like that.  Not the first time.

So he pulled out. And off of you.

You screamed bloody murder.  You watched him go over to the box and smile as he found more XLs.

Then, he tore the condom off and started stroking, turning back toward you.

Your hand immediately went to your clit, stroking small, tight circles, and kneading your breast in your hand.  

“So, I’m gonna have to finish myself?”  

You’d caught on to what he was doing, but two could play that game. He stood and watched you as you played with yourself. 

“You can.  But I want to fuck your tits. Your choice.”

For some reason, that was so fucking hot. You were so fucked out and in sex land that you were down for anything.

“Well, come here then.” 

Your grin was everything.

Leslie, more calm and in control, came to kneel over you, his legs on either side of your torso.

He pumped his cock over you a few times, as you licked your lips, eager for him. He dripped onto the valley between your breasts as you put your hand over his and pumped with him. 

Then, you grabbed your breasts and pulled them, by the nipples, close together.  The pain was a preview to the pleasure.

That got him, and he plunged his cock in between your warmth, removing your hands and replacing them with his. 

He twisted and pulled your nipples as he forced them together to give himself the best sensation of his recent life.

He forced himself to keep his eyes open as you stuck out your tongue to lick him as he emerged on the other side of your tits.

Holy fuck this was amazing.

The delicious pain he was giving your nipples made you even wetter and as you watched him grunting and grimacing above you, you couldn’t help but reach for your clit again.  

When he noticed, he stopped, grabbed another condom, then got on his knees, smacked your hand away and ate you out some more as he covered himself again.

After you came for the second time, he grabbed your hips and flipped you over.  

You automatically got up on your knees and arched your back, the sensation of him plunging into you from behind almost making you come again immediately.

He fucked you rough and hard, smacking your ass cheeks alternatively as he started chasing his own release, satisfied that he had sufficiently put it down.

His hips snapped at lightning speed it seemed as he pushed your head down into the mattress.  You didn’t care if you could ever breathe again as he made you cum for a third time.

You heard him shout and you knew that he was done, too, and flopping down beside you.

You gaped at each other.  Leslie felt he had to explain.

‘I, I’ve never…” 

You giggled.

“Me neither…”  

He smiled back at you, chuckling.

“That was….”

“Amazing.”  You spoke at the same time.

Then you spent 30 seconds grinning at each other like idiots.

“Les…” You looked concerned.

“Yes, Charlie.” He was worried now.

“I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?”  Here it comes.

“I’m STARVING. Wanna order takeout?” You were worried that he wanted to jet.

His grin was gorgeous.

“Yeah.”

“Okay! Great, there’s a good Thai place down the street.”

He watched you as you grabbed your kimono and headed to the living room to get your phone. You stopped on the way out of the bedroom.

“You can use the bathroom, the shower, whatever you need.”

You smiled shyly at him.

“Thanks.”  You were so freaking cute.

He had a feeling that what he needed was walking to the living room right at this moment.

——————————————————————-

Hope you enjoyed. 🙈

Tagging:

@6lackfiction @sillyteecup @sebastianabucknettastan @riiyy @thefifthmaraud3r @lonelydance @curtainremote @theatrenerd86

[thebatfamhoe]

01. INTRODUCTION: hi i’m bumble. i’m 25 years old. i’m from est timezone. i use they/them pronouns. fun fact about me, i not only do roleplaying online, but i also play dungeons and dragons. 

02. WHO ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO IN VAIN GLORY? hmm. we’ll i’m currently trying to decide between a few different roles but i am probably going to end up playing eduardo. 

03. FAVORITE CHARACTER TYPES: i love the honey sweet character that are kind to everyone, but may or may not be hiding something underneath it all. i tend to end up playing mostly soft spoken characters that have been through a lot. 

04. FAVORITE FACECLAIMS: i’m not really picky when it comes to faceclaims, but zachary levi, henrik holm, tyler young, austin mckenzie, & the love of my life madison davenport are all favorites of mine. 

05. CREATE A MINI PLAYLIST THAT DESCRIBES YOU OR A PREVIOUS CHARACTER YOU’VE PLAYED: wait for it - leslie odom jr, hamilton soundtrack // something that i want - grace potter, tangled soundtrack // rain on my parade - barbara streisand, funny girl // defying gravity - idina menzel, wicked | i’m a broadway lover, so that’s why i picked what i did. 

06. FLUFF, SMUT, OR ANGST: i’m impartial to angst. i’ll write fluff, but will write fluff if it can be (immediately)  followed by angst. 

07. GRAB THE NEAREST BOOK. TURN TO PAGE 63. WHAT’S THE 16TH LINE ON THE PAGE? ‘you got to keep three eyes open all the time.’ - the heart is a lonely hunter 

08. ( WRITE ONE QUESTION HERE WHICH THE NEXT PERSON MUST ANSWER AND REPLACE WITH ANOTHER QUESTION. ) IF YOU HAVE ONE, WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE MUSICAL? IF NOT, FAVORITE DISNEY MOVIE.

[how-could-i-do-this]

Stage Door (Daveed x Reader)

Pairing: Daveed Diggs x Reader

Summary: The whole “you see color when you touch your soulmate” deal. It’s fluff (and smut. There's some in there).

A/N: Thank you thank you thank you for reading. You’re all too cool for me.

At least it was Friday. You just had to get through a day of work, then you could come home and binge-watch Netflix.  The entry level job you had been given was not challenging, and you spent a majority of your time reading or listening to music.  Though it was tedious it paid well, and you couldn’t complain about being able to make rent for once.  

“Your shirt and pants don’t match.”

You sighed.  Your cubicle-mate had recently met her soulmate, and every day for the past week she had criticized your choice of outfit.  

“It’s not like I can tell, Gina.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but I can, and it’s hurting me. You know what? I’m coming over this weekend and going through your closet.”

Rifling through your bag, you tried to make it clear that you were ignoring her, but she didn’t get the message.

“I’ll mark what goes together, then you’ll look good even when I’m not around to help you.”

“Whatever.”

“Gina!” Your boss’ voice echoed from her office.  Gina sprinted across the room, shutting the room behind her. Finally, peace.

Gina returned after lunch, wearing a dejected look.  “Karen says I’m not pulling my weight.” She put her head in her hands.  “I need this job, dude.”

You patted her back. “Just show me what you’re having trouble with and we’ll figure it out.”

“You’d do that for me?” Gina asked incredulously.

Nodding, you sat down next to her and flipped through the file she was supposed to be digitizing. It was simple enough, but you spent the rest of the day making sure she understood the process you were using.  Helping Gina set you behind a bit, but you figured Karen would be forgiving if you brought some work home for the night.

“Do you want to share a cab?” Gina asked.

“I think I’m going to walk. I could use the fresh air.”

“You’re going to walk the 50 blocks to your apartment?”

You nodded. Spending so much time around Gina had been making you a little lonely, and you needed to feel the human connection you always got from walking through the city.

Lost in your thoughts, you felt a hand grasp the back of your shirt, pulling you out of the walkway. A car whizzed in front of you, seemingly unaware of your presence. Despite the reminder of your mortality you found yourself blinking furiously, hoping against hope that the world would turn to color.  Turning to thank your savior, you found that he was doing the same.  You gave him a sad smile. He was handsome, but not your soulmate.

Living in New York City meant you touched hundreds of people each day, and yet you worked yourself up every single time.

Halfway home, your phone buzzed.

“Y/N!” You held the phone away from your ear, wincing. Mark had a set of lungs on him. “You’re never gonna believe this! I got us tickets to Hamilton! Tonight! Cancel whatever plans you had, we have to go.”

“It only opened like three months ago! How did you even-”

“My aunt had two tickets for tonight, but she’s got some weird bug and has been throwing up all day. She said if my uncle went without her she would kill him. Say you can go!”

“Yeah, definitely.” You checked your watch. “Shit, I need to run if I want to get there on time. I’ll meet you in front of the theater in an hour and a half.”

You hailed a cab, thinking ahead to your wardrobe.  Looking good wasn’t something you normally worried about, but this was a special occasion.

“Holy shit.  These seats.”  You looked up in awe at the set.  You were about ten rows back, dead center.

“I know. My aunt has connections.”

The show was phenomenal. You were speechless when it ended, unable to do anything but nod when Mark asked if you wanted to wait near the stage door.  He didn’t really have to do anything to get you to the front of the crowd. Being built like a linebacker had its benefits, you supposed.

You tried in vain to smooth out your crumpled program, holding on tightly to the sharpie Mark had thought to bring.   The door opened, and the crowd exploded.  Lin was the first to emerge, and you watched as he worked to sign everything he could reach. You knew him from the steady stream of magazine covers and television interviews, and he seemed just as kind in person.  Actors trickled out, matching the crowd’s enthusiasm despite the fact that they had just put on a three-hour show.  

You looked at the cast list in your program, matching names to faces.  Anthony Ramos put his arm around you to take a picture.  Phillipa Soo smiled at you and your heart melted. Leslie Odom Jr. even laughed at one of your jokes! It was all too surreal.  

A young girl wiggled in front of you, shouting, “Daveed! Daveed!” You smiled, and asked her if she would like a lift.  She nodded, and you placed her on your hip.  

A woman tapped your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, that’s my daughter.  She’s just a little too excited.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

A low chuckle drew your attention. The girl in your arms was leaning forward, kissing the cheek of the man who had played Lafayette and Jefferson.  He was almost kneeling to accommodate the height difference, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“What’s your name, hon?” He asked.

“Mary!” She held out her program, and he signed it with a flourish. “I liked your songs the best,” she said, patting the top of his head.

“That might be the best review I’ve ever gotten.” He beamed at Mary, then at you.

Your heart jumped. You scrambled for something to say, but you were saved by Mary’s mother taking her out of your arms.  

“Mary, say thank you.”

“Thank you!”

Lin appeared next to Daveed, who elbowed him and said, “This is Mary, our biggest fan.”

Lin’s face lit up.  “Are you really?”

Mary jumped up and down with joy. “Yes!”

“Well then, I think we need to take a photo together.  What do you think?”

Mary’s mother looked at you. “Would you mind…?” You took her camera without question, moving back to get them all in the shot.

“Honey, it’s past your bedtime.  We should be going home. Thank you so much.” They left with a wave.

Mark turned to get Lin’s autograph, leaving you with Daveed.

“Was that your family?” he asked.

“No, she just wanted to be a little taller, that’s all.”

He looked surprised.  “That’s… that’s really nice of you.” Flashing you a grin, he motioned to your program. “Do you want me to?”

“Yeah! Thanks.” Reaching out to take it, his fingers brushed against your hand.

Suddenly, color.

You stumbled back, staring at Daveed.  He wore the same expression of shock.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

Lin turned to Daveed, concerned. Trying to pick up what he perceived as a failing conversation, Lin asked kindly, “Who’s this?”

Daveed shook his head a little, processing all the new sensations.

“This is, uh… this is my soulmate.” He laughed. “I never did get your name.”

“Y/N.” Out of instinct, you reached down and took his hand, leaning into his side.  What could only be described as small electric shocks flowed wherever you touched. You heard a few small squeals, and saw several teenage girls taking photos and muttering to each other excitedly.  

Mark’s jaw dropped. “You are so lucky I got tickets.” He punched Daveed in the arm. “Congrats, man.”

Lin was smiling like his son had just spoken his first word. He pulled you both into a hug. “It’s an amazing feeling, isn’t it?” He turned to you and Mark. “We were already planning on going out tonight- will you come? You can wait in the theater if the crowd is too much.”  You nodded, not wanting to let go of Daveed’s hand.  Bringing him down to your level, you pressed a kiss to Daveed’s cheek. Mark tugged you towards the stage door, feigning disgust.

You waited on the couch in Daveed’s dressing room, your right leg bouncing up and down.

“Y/N, chill. He’s coming back soon.”

“What if we aren’t allowed to be in here?”

“He’s your soulmate, I think we’re okay.” Mark laughed and put his arm around you.

The door opened, and you shot to your feet.

“Mark,” you heard Lin call from the hallway, “you might want to come with me.  I met my soulmate a while ago, but I remember this part.” Mark left the room as Daveed flung the door shut, striding towards you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as your mouths met. He won the battle for dominance, his tongue exploring your mouth. He bit your lip and you moaned, kissing along his jawline. He lifted you up and set you on the makeup counter like you weighed nothing, fitting himself between your legs.  Your dress rode up, exposing your panties.  

His eyes widened.  Running his finger along them he said, “I haven’t seen many yet, but this is definitely the best color.”  He moved them aside, slowly pushing one finger into you.  You captured his lips again.  He swallowed your moans as he inserted another finger and began rubbing your clit.

You reached to undo his belt but he stopped you. “I don’t want to fuck you for the first time in my dressing room.” Rather counterintuitively, he picked up speed, fingering you faster. “But I do want to make you come,” he whispered, biting your earlobe.  

You bit your lip and whimpered, hips moving in time to Daveed’s thrusts.  “Can you come for me, Y/N?” he growled, and you felt yourself release, calling out his name.  Breathing heavily, your eyes refocused just in time for you to see him licking his fingers clean.

“You taste good.”

You blushed. “I think you’re a little biased.”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

There was a knock on the door. “I’m sorry,” Lin said, “but the cast found out about Y/N and now they’re demanding you come out and introduce her to everyone.”

Daveed looked at you questioningly. “Should we?”

“Will you be okay?” you asked, looking pointedly at the bulge in his pants.

“It’s their fault for rushing me.”

As you were leaving, his eyes landed on the clothes rack.  He stopped dead in his tracks.

“Why did no one tell me that my costume is ugly as hell?!”

You laughed and pushed him out the door.