#THIS TWO IDIOTS ARE MUTUAL PINNING IDIOTS THAT JUST NEED TO KISS ALREADY ONCE THEY REUNITE

[kelbies-fandom-locker]

Everyone’s favourite power couple . A Mandalorian and a Jedi they’d never see that coming

[pixiemunsons]

just friends (b.b)

a/n: right i promise i'll stop posting a fic a night because this is tooo much for everyone hahahaha

allusions to smut, use of the word whore to describe sex work, mutual pining, benedict needs to grow some balls

you’re not just friends, and you both fucking know it

───✱*.。:。✱*.:。✧*.。✰*.:。✧*.。:。*.。✱ ───

benedict bridgerton had been your best friend for as long as you could remember. it was an unlikely pairing - you had initially come to his home as a friend of daphne’s, and whilst you still loved her dearly it had become very clear that you and benedict were a much better match. well, a much better friendship at the very least. 

it was not very common for men and women to be friends, at least not in the society in which you and benedict both partook. you had only managed to get away with it for so long by excusing your constant presence at the bridgerton house with daphne, and, once she married and moved out, eloise, whose company you had come to appreciate more as you spent more time with her favourite brother. at twenty two, you were on your third season, and understood more than most in your position that if anyone outside of your families were to see how much time you spent with a man - an older one at that, even if not by much - your reputation would be left shattered. you often considered whether it mattered to not what people thought. you knew that you and benedict were to be just friends forever, and there would be no tarnishing of any honour between the two of you.

you could never admit this to anyone, but it was a great source of annoyance to you that he insisted on telling anyone who’d listen just how platonic your relationship was. you weren’t a fool - you knew he spent his nights doing all sorts of sordid deeds with other women, you had heard the whispers between him and colin. there was also the season you and eloise had once spent trying to work out how ladies came to be with child, and benedict had blushed and sputtered his way through an explanation. you had pleaded, insisted and begged that he told you, and he hadn’t been able to look you in the eye for a week afterwards. privately, you wished that it was because he wanted to commit those acts with you, but you weren’t pinning your hopes on it. the closest the two of you ever got was only in the privacy of aubrey hall in the summer, and even that was limited - side hugs as you sat together on the couch, linked pinky fingers as you walked around the grounds and maybe the occasional kiss on the cheek as you left. each touch lingered for hours, spending pleasant sparks through your skin and mind for weeks afterwards. everyone around you saw it, the way you felt towards him. violet always commented on how much of a lovely daughter-in-law you’d make, and eloise had once divulged in you that, despite her hatred of all things romantic, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you married her brother. even anthony seemed to allow the two of you a few more unchaperoned moments than what would be seen to be proper, letting you sit in benedict’s bedroom just a few minutes past what he should before coming to collect the two of you. not that any of it mattered of course. benedict didn’t feel the same way. he was having too much fun with his art and his whores, and you weren’t getting any younger. you resolved that this season would be the one that you would push your dark haired best friend from your mind and settle on a husband.

───✱*.。:。✱*.:。✧*.。✰*.:。✧*.。:。*.。✱ ───

‘why in the hell is she dancing with him?!’

colin followed his brother’s gaze with amusement, and his eyes fell on you across the dancefloor. you’d done your hair up in a style that was very becoming of you, and your lilac dress was very flattering. you looked lovely; colin had already told you that when you had arrived. he’d always thought you were very beautiful, but by the time he had grown old enough to appreciate you as a young lady, benedict had all but laid claim to you. his idiot brother had never been open about his feelings towards you to anyone but colin himself, declaring once drunkenly that he thought he might die if you were to ever marry anyone else. colin thought he was a fool for never telling you himself, and as he watched you dance with lord hillmore with a smile on your face, colin realised that his brother may have missed his chance entirely.

benedict was feeling very much the same way.

he was gripping his glass of lemonade with a force that was whitening his knuckles, and he wished there was something stronger in it so that he could… process what he was seeing. you looked happy. happier than he’d seen you in a while, he supposed. he knew you were approaching your third season unmarried, and he knew deep down that he should have done something about it sooner. your very first season you had been presented by your mother alongside daphne, and his heart had almost stopped entirely in his chest. he had known you for years, but this was the first time he had truly noticed you for what you were now - a woman. your long hair had been tied back in a fashionable style, showing the creaminess of the skin at your neck, and all benedict had thought about that morning was how he wished to press his lips to the exposed skin behind your ear and listen to the beautiful sounds he just knew you’d make. he could see your shape from the silhouette of your dress, the curve of your breasts and the dip of your waist, and oh how he yearned to grab them, to touch you. he’d never quite managed to get the words out, however, and instead satiated his urges temporarily with whores who looked like you or smelt like you or sounded like you, closing his eyes as hard as he could as he laid with them and pretending that it was you crying his name and kissing him. he was regretting every moment of that now, and decided that was it. it was now or never, and he didn’t think he could live with never.

───

you nodded your head at the man in front of you, smiling demurely as your dance came to an end. lord hillmore was pleasing enough to look at, you supposed, although with his blonde hair and brown eyes he was the complete opposite of benedict. you wondered if that was a good thing - you were after all trying very hard to get over the man who you had decided was never going to make a move. the lord placed a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, and you wandered off to the lemonade table to get yourself a refreshment after the exercise.

at least, that was your intention before a hand gripped your wrist and pulled you towards the door leading into the garden.

you made multiple swipes at whoever had accosted you, hitting their arm as they dragged you unseen behind some statues and onto the porch that wrapped around the whole house. his hand felt strong as he pulled you outside, and the mystery man had all but pressed you against the wall when, filled with adrenaline, you surged forward and bit him on the forearm. triumphantly, you listened to his cry of surprise and pain, before a familiar voice whisper shouted, making your stomach sink.

‘christ, y/n, what was that for?!’

you looked up to finally see that the man who you were now alone with was benedict bridgerton, nursing his bruising arm with a confused look on his face. indignantly you crossed your arms and furrowed your brow, looking up at the man in horror.

‘you dragged me off the dance floor and out here alone, what did you expect from me?! what if someone saw?’

he waved a roughened hand dismissively, ‘colin’s watching to make sure no one comes out.’ this only served to confuse you further.

‘why the hell is colin waiting? why did you drag me out here to speak? i need to go back in, i’ve-‘ you pushed yourself away from the wall to make your way back inside, but benedict caged you back against the wall with strong arms, and it took everything you had to maintain eye contact with him and not glance at his muscles as you so often found yourself doing. his chest was heaving and there was something almost angry in the way he looked at you, as if merely looking at you filled him with negative emotions. you felt an overwhelming urge to cry, and dropped your gaze to your fingers.

‘why were you dancing with him?’

you sprung back into eye contact with benedict, and now the anger in his gaze had been replaced with something almost beseeching. you, however, were furious.

‘i do not believe that that is any of your business, my lord.’

‘drop the formal act, you haven’t called me that since you were thirteen,’ he seethed.

‘i danced with him because i spend every ball dancing with you, but i am looking for a husband and you have proven that i am wasting my time when it comes to you,’ you spat back at him, and you almost apologised at seeing the hurt in his eyes.

‘you don’t get to say that. you don’t get to tell me that now, not after all this time.’

‘benedict, you have made it abundantly clear that i am nothing but a friend to y-‘

‘we’re not just friends and you fucking know it.’

you stilled at benedict’s words, and even he seemed taken aback at his own language. that, however, was not what was bothering you, you had heard worse during games of pall mall. you stared up at him, urging him to continue. benedict ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before continuing.

‘i have never been able to quite find the words to explain myself to you, and i am well aware that this may have come too late, but i can not allow you to commit to marrying anyone before i get this off my chest. i have never, never felt the way i feel about you towards anyone else. every time you touch me or brush against me, i am filled with an overwhelming urge to take you in my arms and kiss you until you can’t breathe. when you asked me about how women become with child, i dreamed about you having my children every night for months. there is an emptiness within me that is only full when i am with you, and i believe it is because you are a part of me, indistinguishable from myself. i am wholly in love with you. i understand if you wish to marry another, god knows i made you wait long enough, but if you will have me, i will ask your father’s permission tomorrow and i will get on one knee and you will be my wife.’

you had no words. it was as if someone had punched you in the stomach and snatched the air from your lungs entirely, and you thought that this might be the feeling benedict was talking about when he said he’s never been able to find the words. you could see the hope fading in his eyes, eyebrows furrowing as he ran a hand once more through his dark hair and opened his mouth to speak. desperately, you grasped for the ability to form words, but you couldn’t find it. so, you looked around and seeing that colin was doing his job and there was still no one around, you did the only thing you could think to do.

you gripped benedict’s shoulders in your hands firmly, and as quick as he had turned to look at you, you had flung yourself at him, attaching your lips to his in a way that you thought was probably very messy. you pushed every emotion, every feeling, every ounce of love into him, and you could feel your feet lifting from the floor as he wrapped a muscular arm around your waist and hiked you from the floor as though you were weightless. his other hand explored you in a way that indicated he had been waiting for years; he grabbed at your hips and your neck, and his lips left your own and traced back to your ear, whispering over the lobe before suckling on a spot that made you gasp his name. your own hands traversed the firmness of his chest and stomach, rubbing over his firm shoulders and you latched your own lips to the bit of collarbone that poked out from behind his dress shirt. you could swear that you felt something distinctly hard against your thigh, and just as you moved a hand to explore the mysterious object, colin’s head popped around the corner and benedict placed you hastily on the floor.

‘as much as you probably hate me right now, lady danbury and our mother are coming,’ he whispered, striding towards the two of you and linking his arm with yours, ‘so i suggest you sort yourselves out before-‘

‘-so i told penelope that the four of us simply must go to the tea room later this week, i was thinking friday?’ the two men were astounded at how easily you had slipped into the lie as the two older women turned the corner, and you winked at them both subtly before curtseying to benedict’s mother and her companion, smiling brightly.

‘i must be taking my leave now, my ladies. i do believe my mother will be waiting for me inside.’ you turned to both colin and benedict, the latter of whom still looked slightly flushed from your encounter not moments before. you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same, but you thought you were holding yourself together quite well. you curtsied to colin, allowing him to kiss your hand with a knowing smile on his face, before turning to benedict and offering him your right hand. a smirk on his face, he grasped your left, and kissed right over your ring finger.

‘i shall see you tomorrow morning, then, my lady?’

you scoffed internally. just friends? what a fucking idiot.

tagging @chasingthepoguelife and @joline12829 who, like myself, can't get enough of ben<3

[falling-pages]

Oh no I'm late to the Bakugou party! (if you want to) I'll send a request of Bakugou using his quirk to light your cigarette. Perhaps you two are sitting outside a coffee shop, talking or rather bantering back and forth, and you pull out a cigarette to which he leans forward and sets the tip ablaze, all while keeping eye contact -

Sis 🥵 Thank you for this!! I deviated it a little bit to make it a hurt/comfort fic, so I hope that’s okay. It took me a minute to figure out, but in the end I’m happy with the result! I had fun with the banter and making their history. I also threw in a little bit of mutual pining to tug at the heartstrings.

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Description: When Bakugou’s childhood best friend is injured in battle, he goes against all hero training to get them to a safe place and comfort them against the pain, realizing new feelings in the process.

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Pro-Hero Katsuki Bakugou x Pro-Hero Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Fluff, Childhood Friends-to-Lovers

Warnings: Smoking, blood.

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“Just give it to me!” you snarled, lashing your fingers at Bakugou as he dragged you along the sidewalk. Even as the rough concrete dragged against your back, grating against the sensitive skin exposed by the rips in your hero costume, all you could focus on was the aching need lodged in the back of your spine.

Bakugou listened to you whine, only rolling his eyes as he continued to haul you along the street. He wished he could carry you--it would be a lot faster, and it would put you in less pain--but with his left arm wounded by the same villain that took a bite out of your side, you’d have to be content with the bumpy ride.

It was the opposite of everything he’d ever learned in his hero training, but this was you, his best friend, and he couldn’t leave you vulnerable and hurt on the ground for the villains.

“No, dumbass,” he grunted. His right arm muscles strained from carrying you. “You need medics, not a cigarette.”

“Give me both then!” you demanded. “Baky, come on, you know I need one right now!”

“If you need a smoke that badly, I’ll explode in your face. Inhale that.”

“Not the same.” 

Bakugou ignored your rant, only focused on finding a safe place. When he was a student he would have thought this cowardly, running away from a battle, but as soon as he saw you fall a few minutes ago all he could focus on was getting you away from the fight and hidden from villains. Despite the public oath he took upon graduation to protect the city and its citizens above all else, you were his best friend, and you came first.

His eyes searched the streets for any refuge. Despite the nice weather, no one was outside, a welcome relief. For once they actually listened to orders and stayed inside. He didn’t have to worry about you and some clueless civilian getting mixed up in a villain’s way.

But, if someone were here, maybe they could have helped.

Soon your complaints turned to pained whimpers, and Bakugou’s heart raced as he realized he had little time left. You needed a hiding spot and a doctor, and fast.

“Hang on, dumbass,” he said, tightening his hold on you. “You’re not dying on me. That’s extra behavior.”

“I’m not an extra,” you grumble.

“Hell no you’re not. So just stay with me.”

Despite the raging pain flowing through your body, you cracked a smile. He couldn’t see it, but it warmed your heart to know he cared. Even if he was awful about admitting it.

As he got more fatigued, your body got heavier. For both of your sakes, he needed to find a hiding spot fast.

Finally, he found a closed coffee shop with a broken lock and dragged you inside. He hid the two of you behind the counter, amid bags of coffee beans and pristine equipment. Though the lights were off, the windows were big enough to let him see just how badly you were injured.

Slightly delirious, you rested your head against a sack of flour to stop the world from spinning. Your injury was bad enough, but him dragging you across the city exacerbated the blood loss. The edges of your vision were fogging up.

You felt his hands on your stomach, hooking under the torn strips of cloth and ripping to expose your lower abdomen where the bite was. Too hurt to even be embarrassed, you let him examine you. The rush of air was cold against your burning skin.

Bakugou sucked in his breath. You had been attacked by some sort of poison villain, a new one. They had sunk their fangs into you and pumped toxins, causing the veins stretching across your stomach to turn a sickly neon blue as the poison spread. When they detached their fangs, they took a chunk with them, leaving an exposed wound down the side of your body.

If the poison were as dangerous as it looked, you would have died already. What he needed to focus on now was your blood pooling on the floor.

He crouched above you, instinctually shielding you in your weakened state. The villain had attacked him too, but he managed to rip them off before the toxins could paralyze him, only leaving a bloody wound in his bicep. In the heat of battle, he had to cauterize the wound to stop the bleeding…

“Hey, idiot,” he said, snapping his fingers. You slowly opened your eyes, watching him in paralytical annoyance. “I’m going to use my quirk to stop the bleeding, okay? Bite this.” He found a spare dish towel and strapped it in your mouth, both to protect your tongue and keep your screams quiet from anyone who may have followed the blood trail outside.

You accepted it, but your eyes betrayed the fear ricocheting through your body. Just as he lowered his good arm to your wound, a tear slid down your face, catching his attention. With the most comforting expression he could muster, he lifted his numb hand and wiped the tear away, letting it rest against your cheek for a few subtle moments.

“Hey,” he whispered, gruff voice lowered into a calming tone. “I know this is going to hurt. I’m sorry. But this is the only way to stop this type of bleeding, so you need to be brave for me, alright?”

A couple more tears escaped as you nodded. He dutifully wiped them off. He pushed your hair back from your eyes and made you look at him, showing you his blown-out pupils and just how scared he was, too. 

“You are the bravest person I know, and that’s saying something, especially considering myself.” You smiled at his attempt at a compliment. “So I just need you to keep being brave.” In lost judgement, he leaned forward and kissed your forehead, feeling how hot your face was even beneath his lips. You shed another tear, not from pain, but from gratitude for not being alone. 

As he kissed you, he activated his quirk, letting the heat consume your side. Fire licked at your skin as you mustered a scream, biting down on the dish towel in an attempt to lash out. Bakugou pressed his forehead against yours, pinning down your legs with his own to keep you still as you thrashed, muffled curse words mixing with your cries. 

“Just a few more seconds,” he whispered, feeling your skin close beneath his hand. “Hang on.”

You grabbed his other hand and squeezed, needing something to anchor your consciousness. He let you, returning the affection even with the little feeling he had in the wound. Each scream pierced his heart.

Finally, he felt the wound close completely and released your side, waving away the smoke that scorched your skin. You panted and spit out the towel, eyes rolling back from the shockwaves of pain. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but it would have to do for now. At least the bleeding stopped; an antidote could come later.

“Baky…” you whined.

He knew what you needed, silently getting up and finding a mug to fill with water. You struggled to sit up, pain blinding every move, until you felt hands shift beneath your armpits and pull you into a sitting position. He moved your head to rest against the counter and brought the cup up to your lips.

“Drink.”

You did as you were told, gulping the liquid as quickly as you could. Bakugou yanked the cup away mid-sip, making you choke. Water dripped down your chin as you shot him a dirty look.

“Small sips.”

You grabbed the mug to hold it for yourself, though his hands still hovered lightly against you. His bright red eyes stayed trained on yours as you followed his instructions, draining the cup bit by bit, until it was empty and you were satisfied. 

You held his gaze for a little while longer, daring him to do something, anything.

“Thank you,” you finally whispered, feeling the pressure of his strong hands overcome you, making you put the mug down on the floor. His hands covered yours, worn scars upon worn scars, warmth upon warmth.

He rocked on his heels and smirked. “You’re not dying on me, extra. You’re damn wrong if you think you can get out of opening an agency with me.”

“I’m not an extra,” you spat again, but he heard the mirth in your voice. The promise you made together in high school makes you feel warm, flooding your insides with nostalgia, filling your mouth with honey. Open your own agency together, be Heroes together or not at all. 

Today, it was almost not at all.

“I want--”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bakugou read your mind. He reached into the hidden compartment of his gauntlet and presented your favorite pack of cigarettes, pulling out a long, slender stick and perching it on your lips. His hand lingered a second too long, brushing against your chin, but his eyes widened as they met yours. 

A fleeting desire crossed your mind, like a comet streaking against the sky, but then the ache in your side sent you back to earth.

“Thanks.” You said, lifting your hand to push the cigarette further into your mouth. 

“Tch. Those things will kill you,” Bakugou grumbled, but he leaned forward, not breaking eye contact, until he was close enough to almost taste the other end. His gaze dropped down to your mouth, back to your eyes, and then down again as he raised his hand.

With a tiny pop, his palm connected to the cigarette butt and produced an explosion just big enough to light up the end. The buzz filled your mouth and crawled down the back of your throat, scratching that sweet itch. As you inhaled, Bakugou shook his hand out to clear the smoke.

“Can’t be much worse than this poison villain.” You took a breath. “I’m bouncing back fine.”

Bakugou huffed, setting his sight on the blue veins on your abdomen. “You weren’t the one carrying a basically unconscious body.”

“First of all, I was conscious, and second of all, you were dragging me. There was no ‘carrying’ in this scenario.” You watched the guilt manifest in his eyes, that rare sight of remorse. “So if I get skidmarks on my back, that’s on you.”

“Would be a cool scar. You could match Dunceface’s lightning strikes.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, watching as he inhaled the smoke. His eyes sparkled like rubies in the night sky. “Maybe. But at least I know you’ll save me again.”

“Tch. I have since we were kids, haven’t I? I will, forever.”

He wasn’t looking at you. Guilt settled in his stomach as he stared at the charred skin stretching between your ribs and hip, thinking about how much pain he must have caused you. You winced as you leaned forward to touch his shoulder, leveling eye to eye and just a few inches apart. The movement seemed to send an electric shock through him as he forced himself to meet your gaze. 

He had been your partner, your protector, for as long as he could remember. And today, he let his guard down, and you got hurt. You almost died. And in saving your life, he had caused you more pain.

Your aching scream would fill his nightmares for the rest of his life.

“You didn’t do this to me, Katsuki.” His teeth rippled along his lower lip as you said his first name. The familiarity of your voice, your scent, your touch washed his heart in peace. You were here. You were with him. You were safe.

“I did. I exploded your side.” He wanted to shake you off, pay penance for his guilt with a broken heart, but your grip was like steel. “Some hero I am, doing this to--”

“You saved my life!” you screeched. “Katsuki, look--look at me!”

He turned his eyes to you, but he wasn’t looking at you, he was busy searching for any other explanation for how close you were now.

“If you hadn’t been watching me when that villain attacked me, I would be dead. If you hadn’t dropped everything and dragged me to safety, I would be dead. If you hadn’t used your quirk on me, I would be bleeding out in front of you.” You pant and grab his face, forcing him to look into your soul, into your heart, into the very depths of feelings you had for him. “You saved my life. You are a hero.”

He was puzzled. You were a pro-hero. He didn’t need to protect you anymore. So why was he insistent on watching?

Because he could never take his eyes off you.

He whispered your name as if it were a prayer, thanking everyone who cared to listen, as he leaned in and kissed you.

Your heart shattered, but in the best way, as if it had been puzzle assembled incorrectly and each piece was falling back into its perfect place.

As if he could control it, the pain lessened the longer Bakugou kissed you, gently grabbing your waist opposite your wound. The kiss was salty, and warm, and long, the product of years of pining and pent-up feelings. Every time you tried to pull away, he would bring you back in, as if he couldn’t believe this was actually happening and needed more proof. You, too, couldn’t believe how gently your angry blond friend held you. It was the opposite of everything you had ever known about him, but maybe you had a good influence on him.

Maybe, this was the start of something new.

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[kim-monsterlings]

Tyr - M Firbolg x NB Human (Reader) // NSFW Monster Match

Monster match for @wildcardwithaheart​​ / @monsterdaydreamz​ <3

Matches under the read more!

Content: NSFW/Lemon; drinking alcohol (unspecified), intimate embraces (cuddling, sitting closely together, thigh touching), teasing, flirting, light kissing, mutual pining (idiots to lovers/friends to lovers), slight possessiveness/protectiveness, throat kisses, dirty talk, praise kink, giving oral/blowjob (no explicit release), receiving oral (+ release), fading out

Masterlist // Monster Match Info + Masterlist // My Ko-Fi

Headcanon

So rarely you let your thoughts free in unfamiliar environments that your soft commentary remained unchallenged. You hadn't then considered how out of place you were - invited by a friend, and the burden of a stare weighed heavy on your conscience.

Had you overstepped?

Conversation drifted from the topic (one contentious after your input), though cushions sunk beside you. Returning with two new drinks, braids as thick as an orc's tangling at his nape, you shared a small smile with the firbolg leaning close, braced by an arm behind your shoulders.

From the first question, you knew Tyr would ease his way into your heart.

Voice naturally low, he rumbled, "why would you think that?"

Even the alcohol hadn't coaxed you from your shell, though he presented a newer challenge. "Why wouldn't I?"

When your friend extended an invitation to another gathering - promising it to be not quite a party and not all strangers you couldn't help wondering if Tyr would be there.

The firbolg and the stubble gracing his dusk-toned, rounded jaw barely left your mind before entering another lounge. For having met him only once, you agonised for far too long over what to wear.

It felt like so much longer with how easily you warmed to his presence, and the press of a heavy hand to your lower back came without any sudden nerves on your part - only a flutter in your navel.

Every hope of steering the conversation to something you were knowledgeable on fled. Time passed by clinging to his flippant comments, wanting to learn more about him and by extension, his interests, but you could remember nothing as you found his dark lips rising, frame leaning down against you.

Two unopened bottles clinked in his palm.

"Shall we?"

Sentences flowed without inhibition, even before alcohol banished any last anxieties. At any potential intrusion, Tyr gently guided them away - each time encouraging you to continue with a gentle nod.

That he wanted to hear more flustered you well past finishing your drinks, when he leaned closer.

So close, his hand reached for your thigh and tightened.

"While you find the end of your sentence," he murmured. "I'll get us another drink."

He didn't seat himself that near when he returned and a sudden ache crept over the pleasure of the evening; a reminder that what you shared was nothing more than a common interest in knowledge, not in one another.

Until the next, smaller night, you forced all thoughts of Tyr from mind.

A passing comment had burned you. It lured you together and he braced himself by holding a hand over yours.

Only when your friend laughed did his proximity register.

"Why don't you just kiss already?"

Tyr's words faltered on a sharp breath and you swallowed, whispering, "why would we kiss?"

Nothing more was said, and you left for refills before the firbolg could, desperate for air.

He still followed.

Wide, furred ears twitched as you scuffed your feet.

"Let me be the first to say it." Careful steps closer brought him to stand almost flush against you. "I've been an idiot."

Why don't you just kiss already?

"Glad you've finally come to your senses."

In the pale light, you almost deceived yourself into believing his cheeks were flushed darker when he stroked calloused palms to yours. "Quiet, you." He bowed his head to whisper, "let me kiss you?"

Too shocked to nod - too scared of scaring him away, you lifted to kiss him yourself. If muffled voices searched in your path after a prolonged disappearance, neither of you cared, lost as you were in finally having the other, his touch flitting along your hips.

He tasted sweet on your lips.

"I could learn something from you."

Tyr chuckled. "Took you long enough to admit it."

"Kiss me again?"

There came the conclusion to persisting debates turning into arguments. One lift of your chin or a tap to his jaw signalled the end by a slanting of lips, often too breathless to speak for a long while after.

Drabble

Tonight of all nights - somewhat an anniversary of little more than a month officially dating, the tension knotted through your body couldn't be displaced by a guiding tap of fingertips to your cheeks. However much you adored the firbolg pinning you to his lap by an arm thick with muscle, his lips occasionally soft against your shoulder, your debate wasn't with him.

Never conceding or admitting the retorts you offered were far more comprehensible than their alcohol-induced rant, you itched to leave. Tyr no longer needed to hear you express your unease - when you tried to explain, all that left you was a strained whine - and your slight fidgeting became enough of an indication that he hid a smile in your nape.

He steered you out, eventually leading you home - not without a sharp warning gritted between teeth when the drunken guest baited you back. All of the strain from the night seemed to drain from you indoors, a plea for a calm remainder of the night on the tip of your tongue, only for it to be swept away by Tyr's parting your lips and his deep groan.

Rough palms ran over your waist, down lower, sinking into the backs of your thighs. "You make me so proud," he murmured, thumbs stroking heavy patterns nearer your aching hips. "Clever little thing."

Stuttering and gasping at the arm of the sofa digging against your back, you breathed, "I am?"

"The things your pretty lips can do."

Like that, so simply, you buckled. Resting back and allowing him to guide your palm to his unbuckled trousers, you stroked his hardening length - the same darker hue as his lips, trembling. Tyr nudged his hips forward and stroked over your hair.

"Want to show me what else they do?"

The promise of how your evening would now be spent made your chest tighten. "Please."

Having him ease the swollen head of his cock between your lips filled you with the same warmth he let free in a husky breath of your name. His pleasure surrounded you in every sudden intake as you cupped him, leaning forward, taking him deeper.

"Keep being good for me - so, so good, aren't you?"

When his cock twitched at your tongue tracing his seeping slit, so very near now, he returned the favour by taking you in his arms and laying you on the bed. Tyr never failed to undress you by admiring your outfit, the effort gone into it, and you felt his adoration with the weight of his hips dragging up between yours. Soft sighs nuzzled against your inner thigh - "look at you, waiting so patiently for me," he'd whisper with a gentle kiss - before bringing his tongue where you ached most until you bucked against him.

If engaging in debate with someone else led to this, you would do it more often.

[theowriteswhatever]

Zuko Story With No Title Part 5

Hey guys! I really appreciate all your support for this story and hope I don’t disappoint those of you who are enjoying it. Thanks for reading!

-Your pal, Bubbles

I was all alone in the deep tunnels of the forgotten crystal catacombs and was extremely bored. I had tried every way to Sunday to find a way out and nothing was working. I wished more than ever that I was an earthbender, but I knew that wishing would change nothing. 

I would starve down here if nothing changed soon. My friends were spread all across the planet and I couldn’t just summon them unfortunately. 

I began to lose hope and sat down on the one rock I found that wasn’t covered in glowing blue crystals. I pulled my legs up to my chest and put my head down on my crossed arms.

I imagined the worst and couldn’t get it out of my head. I would die, my friends would lose to Azula, Ba Sing Se would fall, and the world would soon follow. Like a stupid pathetic domino. A weak domino compared with the strongest tap. And all because I was too stupid to realize what was really happening. I really couldn’t see how convenient it was that 3 Kyoshi Warriors came to protect us right now? I felt like an idiot. A soon-to-be-dead, end-of-the-world-causing, gullible idiot. 

Suddenly, a tunnel opened from above me and Zuko came tumbling down. He crashed to the floor and quickly sat up.

“You can’t treat me like this! I’m the prince!” He yelled at the Dai Li traitors. 

“Yeah, we know.” One yelled back before he slammed the tunnel closed once again. Zuko groaned in annoyance and pounded his fists into the dirt ground once just for good measure.

“Are you ok?” I asked in almost a whisper. I knew I was probably one of the last people he wanted to see right now, but it would be impolite to just stare. 

“Of course you’re here.” He muttered before pulling himself up and walking away. I stood up and chased him, because he was the only other person I had seen in a couple days and I truly wanted to make amends.  I grabbed his wrist and turned him around to face me. He finally saw the mark that Azula gave me and for a second, just one, he looked at me with pity. But he quickly changed it back to his regular scowl.

“I know you’re mad and you have every right to be, but if you would just listen-” I started, before being ironically interrupted.

“I don’t want to listen to you.” He seethed before turning to walk away again. I walked around him to stop him once again. I needed him to forgive me. To understand why I did what I did. I couldn’t die with him hating my guts. 

“You don’t have anything else to do down here, so you might as well.” He sighed and made a gesture with his hand to go ahead. I cracked a small smile at him and I could tell he was retraining himself from returning it.

“When I came into the slums looking like that, my intent was not to find you. But when I did, I stopped and decided to give it a shot. I truly believed that you deserved a second chance and someone to talk to. It’s obvious that you don’t have many people to open up to, other than your Uncle, and I just wanted to help.” 

“Why should I believe you?” 

“If I didn’t want to help, then I would have told everyone you were in town and would have gotten you arrested. But I didn’t. I never said a word to anyone and even risked getting in trouble to go see you. I care about you Zuko. You mean alot to me.” 

He looked at me and I finally saw his small smile return. I didn’t realize how much I missed that tiny smirk until I finally got it back. It was practically a cryptid. Rare, but the most amazing beautiful thing when you finally got to see it. 

But I didn’t just miss his smile, I missed him. I missed talking to him and sharing tea with him and laughing with him and simply existing with him. Everything seemed good again and I knew this was probably a bad thing, but I didn’t stop myself. I didn’t want to.

I hadn’t even noticed that he had bent down to kiss me until he pulled away. It was too late to kiss back, but not too late to kiss him again.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked quietly. I shook my head and he smiled once again.

I leaned up and kissed him again before he smoothly wrapped his arm around my waist. I could tell he was smiling and I couldn’t help but do it too. 

He finally took his lips away, but continued to lean his forehead against mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and just stood there to look at his amber eyes as he looked at mine. His smile grew the widest I have ever seen and I giggled at how happy he is. 

“What is it?” He asked with a hint of fear and sadness.

“Nothing. I’ve just never seen you so happy.” 

“Don’t get used to it.” He sassed. I laughed again and he laughed a little too. We went back to silence when we heard footsteps approaching from around the corner and quickly let go of each other. 

Katara, Aang, and Iroh rounded the corner and smiles automatically grew on their faces. Katara and Aang ran towards me and wrapped me in a large bear hug. I wrapped my arms around them, but watched over Katara’s shoulder as Iroh wrapped Zuko in an identically large hug. 

We smiled at each other during our separate hugs but then quickly looked away when they pulled back.

“What happened to your face?” Aang asked. “And your arm.” Katara added as she grabbed my wrist to get a closer look. I hissed a little at the pain and Katara quickly let go. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok.” I said as I cradled my arm once again. “It was Azula.”

“She burned you?” Zuko and Katara angrily asked simultaneously. They exchanged a look of disgust before looking back at me. 

“Just a little.” I squeamishly answered. 

“Why?” Aang asked while coming closer to my face and inspecting it.

“I spit in her face.” 

Katara and Aang laughed and Zuko smiled. Even Iroh looked a little pleased at my answer. I guess even if we were “enemies” we could bond over our mutual hatred for that psycho.

“We need to get out of here.” Iroh announced. “It won’t be long before Azula and the Dai Li find out that we came to rescue you two.” 

We all nodded and let out murmurs of agreement before Iroh gestured for us to follow him. He led us through several little catacombs of beautiful blue crystals before we came to an opening with a beautiful waterfall on the other side. It must be the way out through here. We began to run through the clearing with Iroh close behind, before we were rudely interrupted.

“Going so soon? You’ll miss the fun part if you leave now.” That iconically evil conniving voice said from behind us. We turned around to be met with the evil witch herself along with her two henchmen. 

She gave us her signature evil smirk before turning to Zuko.

“Zuzu, don’t tell me you’re going with them. You know father would never even consider restoring your honor if you leave now.” Zuko gulped in thought, but only for a second before crystals shot up around Iroh trapping him in place. The Dail Li approached from the shadows and surrounded us.

“If you come with me, you’ll have all the love and honor you’ve ever wanted. You will be the prince once again and you will be glorified like the rest of us. Come back with us Zuko and live like a king.”

“Don’t do it Zuko.” Iroh warned.

Aang and Katara had made their way to the waterfall to escape, but I stood there and watched it go down. I wouldn't risk losing Zuko. Not when I just got him back.

“Zuko-” I began before a dome of earth was suddenly formed around me, trapping me in an air-tight chamber. “Zuko! Don’t do it!” I yelled, but I knew it was in vain. There was no way he could hear me. I couldn’t hear them. Just faint murmurs and possibly footsteps. 

I sat there in silence for who knows how long before the dome was gone. I was face to face with Zuko, but no longer with love in his eyes. He had only one thought on his mind and that was himself. Him and his stupid honor. 

He shot fire at me and I quickly dodged. I pulled water from the nearby lakes and extinguished everything he threw at me. I wouldn’t hurt him. But I wouldn’t let him hurt me either. He had already done that enough.

“Zuko, what are you doing?” I yelled as he continued to throw flames towards me. It was like he was a different person. Maybe 20 minutes ago his lips were on mine and we were smiling and happy. And now he was trying to kill me. 

Suddenly, a large flash of light spread through the room and I heard Katara scream. I looked to my right and Aang was lying on the ground lifeless. I had looked too long and Zuko pinned me to the ground. I knew he could kill me right then and there, but instead he just kept staring with flames swimming around in his hand. 

I mouthed the words “I’m sorry” before conjuring water from the lake and wrapping it around his waist. I threw him across the room into the wall before running over to Katara who was crying over Aang’s corpse. 

“Get out of here. I’ll hold them off!” Iroh yelled as he broke through from the crystals. He began to fight, but neither of us cared or paid attention. Katara picked Aang up and I used the water of the waterfall to fly us out. 

We made it to Appa after what felt like years and Sokka quickly climbed off in panic mode. Katara and I ignored him as we got Aang on to Appa and climbed on ourselves. Sokka climbed back on and continued to panic even as we flew away.

Katara took out her water tribe healing water and spread it across Aang’s back and held it there. He eventually woke up, but immediately passed out again after a few seconds. But that was all the reassurance we needed to know there was a chance he was alive. 

We flew over the burning and dying Ba Sing Se and I heard Sokka mutter something, but I didn’t care to listen. 

I watched the town as we flew away, knowing somewhere in there Zuko, the person that I thought I loved only an hour before, was acting like his same villainous self. I wanted to believe he was just confused and scared, but he made his choice.

I just didn’t expect it to hurt this much.

@vintageroses1014516 @rintheemolion @shephard17895 @aphrodites-perfume

[firebrands]

the enormity of my desire | stevetony

2.8k, M, angst & sexual tension | stony bingo prompt fill “games ” | on ao3

Something has always simmered between us. It’s felt like we’ve just been pushing, inch by inch, to see how tenuous the wall in between us really is. At least, it’s been that way with me—constantly testing, trying to figure out his limit. Of course we were friends first, until one day something shifted between us. In the years that have passed I can’t say when it was, or how. It’s not like I kept us under surveillance. Well. I think I’m above using what surveillance I have for that, at least.

This is despite the fear that I was making it all up in my head, inventing intention where there was none. After all the romantic failures in my life, it seemed safer to accept that I couldn’t read Steve, even if it was Steve. But there were times, too, when it felt too blatant that it had to have meant it. He’s not an idiot, after all. At least, not all the time.

Not that anyone’s asked, but I do have a supercut of moments that play in my head. Scene one: seated beside each other, our knees touching, then our thighs pressing against each other all throughout trips to wherever we need to jet off to to save the world. Scene two: hugs of relief that lasted a fraction of a second too long, punctuated by a squeeze, or the one time Steve had been bold and cupped the back of my head and held me even closer. Scene three: Steve inviting me to his apartment, the one safe space in his world, and with a gesture so simple showed me that his trust was complete.

Scene four, five, six: the sureness of his arm around my waist as I picked him up off the ground in the suit, a mutual understanding that neither of us acknowledged out loud.

That night seemed like it’d be another image added to the montage.

So, scene seven: standing on Steve’s balcony, standing closer than we need to, like always. After our debrief Steve had seen me slumped over my desk, exhausted, aching for a drink. He touched the back of my wrist.

“We can watch a movie, or something,” he said.

“Unwinding with Captain America?” I’d teased, with the last of my energy.

He smiled. “How about relaxing with Steve?”

Who was I to say no? Kindness was always few and far between. Then again, I knew I was fooling myself; I wanted to be alone with him. It thrilled me that he’d wanted the same.

We’d ordered Chinese and watched a rerun of Golden Girls, and now they were just passing time. (As always been a waiting game.)

I took a deep breath and dug my hands into my pockets. They’re safer there, less likely to do something rash like reach out and touch Steve, which I knew I could do, anyway, I’d done it before without any repercussion but—something felt different that night. Maybe it was my own exhaustion, the fact of my base humanity making me feel weak. Maybe I was finally at my breaking point, after months of this dance.

Maybe it was because Steve was the one who reached out first—wrapped an arm around my shoulders and held me against him.

I followed without comment, encircling Steve’s waist with my arm and resting my hand just shy of Steve’s stomach. We’d stood like this before, triumphant and rejoicing over a battle well-fought and won. Or other times, in private, too, fulfilling some base desire for human contact and trusting the other to provide it. But that was simplifying the issue; I wanted to be close to him. I wanted to get closer, always, and I’d take any chance I could get.

So like always, I silently savored how nice it felt, the solid warmth of Steve lined up against my side. I could smell his cologne, and I knew that if I looked up I’d see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw.

But I didn’t do that; I never could. It would bring our faces too close, and I didn’t trust myself with that proximity.

Truth be told, I didn’t know why I held back, either; it’s not as if Steve hasn’t already telegraphed his desire. But there was never anything overt, just the lingering look Steve would give me when our eyes met across a table, across a battlefield, across worlds, coupled with everything else.

I let out a shaky breath. Steve seemed to feel it, and tightened his embrace around me.

A beat passed, then Steve pulled me into a full hug, fast enough to make me gasp. We were silent, and Steve pressed his face on the crook of my shoulder, so close that I could feel Steve’s eyelashes against my neck.

At that moment, I thought about how easy it would be to spoil it all, to kiss him and ruin the years of friendship between us. I didn’t know what I wanted. What I did know is that it felt good, and that was enough.

I breathed in through my nose, my own eyes shut against Steve’s chest. We’re so close that I can feel the heat of his breath against the collar of my shirt.

I turned my head, just a little, just enough so there was only an inch between us. Then I felt Steve’s breath stutter to a stop.

The air felt thick. I didn’t move, and Steve didn’t either. For a few moments, all we did was breathe, knowing full well how close we were, close enough for one of us to finally make a move. Could this be it? My ears felt warm and I took a deep breath.

I leaned forward just as Steve pulled away, then he pressed a quick kiss on my forehead.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?”

I took a second to fully come back to myself; I’d almost kissed him. I’d moved to kiss him and he’d moved away.

We were so close, and then Steve was walking back inside.

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’ll go ahead.”

Steve turned back to me sharply. There was a look in his eyes that I couldn’t decipher. But above it all I still couldn’t believe I’d almost kissed him, out here, the only witness to what had happened being the bright lights from the condominiums in the building across us.

“Stay for a while?”

Shame was burning in my belly, but the question lifted my spirits somewhat. Still, I knew I couldn’t stay; inexplicably, I felt like getting back at him for walking away. I felt like I needed to keep some of my dignity despite the fact that I’d almost kissed him, just then.

“Maybe next time,” I said, giving Steve a small smile and a wave before I turned away and walked to the door.

Once I was in the safety of the elevator, I formed my hand into a fist, bit into it, and screamed.

***

Looking back at it now, I was a fool to consider Steve’s apartment a haven. But it was learned behavior, pavlovian—every time I’d go there, he would touch me, and I would touch him, simple and chaste, except in the four corners of that space I didn’t have to think of what it would look like to anyone else.

Nothing about that night was different. Another battle, another debrief, another blasé invitation to unwind. Always, against my better judgment, I’d agreed: what about tonight could be different? Nothing, nothing at all.

They call me a genius. Me. Clearly, I’m a simpleton, easily wiled. But then again, it’s not as if Steve meant for this, I cannot imagine him to be the type to have designs—no. He was considerate, and kind, as he has always been.

Perhaps, then, this was inevitable.

I don’t know how it happened, I mean, I do—we were on his couch watching a stand up comedian or something then we just sat closer together until I was leaning against his chest.

Then, somehow, we lay down that way. We didn’t say anything to make it happen, simply followed and predicted each others’ movements as well as we did in the midst of the battle.

Then he asked me if I wanted to move to the bed, and of course I said yes. After all, I’m only human aren’t I?

We didn’t say anything, once we were lying down. First both facing up, then he touched my arm and I curled against him because I know that’s what he wanted. He slid his arm under my neck, closed his eyes and wrapped his other arm around my waist and pulled me closer.

I’d been this close to him before, hip to chest flush against each other, but never lying down. It felt like we were both just pretending to be asleep; I couldn’t look up at him because my head was tucked under his chin. All I could do was watch his chest rise and dip.

I felt very brave, moving my hand from his waist to rest against his chest. I could feel his heart beating under my palm.

I’m not exaggerating when I say this was the most intimate I’d been with someone, despite us being fully clothed.

I wondered if this would just be another moment to add to the list of things we’d done, things that weren’t strictly platonic anymore, but not overt enough to mean anything. We’d gotten so good at pretending none of this mattered.

I remember breathing out very slowly, shifting my hips to get a bit more comfortable.

The next thing I know he’d flipped me onto my back. My hands flew up to his shoulders, but I didn’t know if I was going to push him away or pull him closer.

We stared at each other in the darkness, only punctuated by the hum of the air conditioning unit.

Then, he closed his eyes and kissed the inside of my wrist. It punched the air out of me.

I said, “What the fuck is going on,” because it was too much, he could have fucked me raw and I wouldn’t have said a word about it, but this—who had taught Steve Rogers about these signs of affection? It made my heart ache.

He took my hands and pressed them against the bed, pinned my hips down with his. I would’ve been embarrassed by how hard I was, except he was, too, and I didn’t know what to do, but I knew, too, that I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t want us to pretend, like all the other times, that this didn’t happen. It was happening. Something was happening and one of us was going to break.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, leaning over me and adding more pressure against my wrists.

I didn’t want to fight back.

“Is there a line we can’t cross?”

I swallowed down a hysterical laugh and flexed my hands in his grip. “Well, Steve,” I said, smiling a little and trying to sound more confident than I felt, “I think we’ve already crossed it.”

I remember thinking, we can’t be friends after this. He must have been thinking the same, because he looked at me, really looked at me, and asked if I wanted to stop.

“No.”

His lips curled into a small smile. “Good.”

He moved forward just as I was leaning up, and we stopped midway.

For a few moments, we did nothing else but breathe. I wanted him so badly it felt like an ache inside me, but what I wanted more was the victory that he’d break first.

He let go of my wrist and held my chin in his fingers.

“Tony,” he said, calling my attention as if it was on anything other than him.

“Yes,” I breathed out.

He pulled me closer then finally, he kissed me.

Everything is fuzzy after that; I can’t recount in time what happened next. Kissing Steve was a revelation, and it made me think that this like it’s what kissing should feel like, made me hot all over and desperate to press his skin against mine. I was moaning throughout, unable to stop myself and not even wanting to—I moaned as he tugged on my hair to expose my neck, I moaned when I finally got my hands under his shirt, digging my nails into his skin, I moaned when he lifted my arms up above my head and held my wrists down with one hand.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Yes, yes,” I said, scrambling to kick my pants off.

“Stop,” he said, so I did, my breath coming in short bursts as he undressed me.

“Steve.”

“I got you,” he murmured, finally undoing the last button of my shirt and unzipping my pants. I watched as he touched me, his hand moving from my shoulder, to my chest, pausing to tweak my nipple before continuing down my stomach and stopping at the band of my briefs.

“Steve,” I whispered, struggling slightly against his hold. I wanted to touch him the way he was touching me.

“Tell me what you want,” he said.

I wasn’t trying to be dramatic, but looking at it now it certainly sounded that way. “You,” I said, breathless and half-crazed with desire. “You.”

“Good.” He moved back on top of me, pinning me down with his hips and letting my wrists go.

We kissed again, messy and desperate, almost knocking into each other in our haste to get undressed properly. In the back of my mind, hysteria was simmering—I kept thinking, this is happening, he’s kissing me, his tongue is in my mouth—

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Steve said, his breath hot against my stomach.

“Please don’t tell me you want to stop.”

“I don’t.” He looked up at me and smiled, simple and easy, as if we weren’t naked and he wasn’t about to blow me. “I’ve just wanted to for so long,” he said, kissing the inside of my thigh. “I can’t believe this is real. Can you?”

I laughed. “No, I can’t either.”

***

 It’s been two days since I’d snuck out of Steve’s apartment, gathering my clothes and getting dressed in the living room before tiptoeing out. We didn’t speak, after, didn’t text or anything.

I didn’t want to break first, except over the past 48 hours I felt like a dog trying to catch its tail: what did it mean? What happens next? Are we still friends? Are we going to pretend that didn’t happen? On the ride home, I could still taste him on my tongue. As I stepped into the shower, I could smell his cologne on my skin.

I didn’t want to break first, except we’d still catch each other at odd hours in the mansion, but neither of us would stay, already deviating from our standard patterns and signaling that something had changed.

I didn’t want to break first, but how could I not?

“We should talk,” I said, on a cool Tuesday morning. I hadn’t slept, and he looked ready for a jog.

He assessed me, for a moment. “Sure,” he said blandly, as if he hadn’t held me down and fucked me ‘til I screamed his name.

I didn’t have to think hard of where to go; there were only so many places in the mansion that afforded privacy.

“The roof?” Steve asked, but followed me up anyway.

From up there, you could see the sunrise peeking through the buildings. We stood beside each other, almost a foot apart. I hated that I wanted to get closer, despite it all.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to speak first.

I can’t say how long we were there. Then, Steve sighed, heavy and deep.

“Well,” he said.

“Yeah.”

I looked at him, then looked away. I couldn’t stomach it. With one look at him my fears were confirmed. Something was wrong, and I was on the losing end.

“I’m sorry.”

I nodded. “Me too.”

“We shouldn’t have let it go that far.”

“No, we shouldn’t have.”

We were silent. A plane flew overhead, and I wished I was on it, wished I was anywhere but here, like a coward.

“Do you think we could…?” Steve trails off, as if he knew how stupid his question would be.

“Maybe,” I said, because I’m a weak man that’s grown attached. “But not for a while.”

“That’s fair.”

None of it is fair. It was never fair. I should have seen from the start that I was always going to be on the losing team—but then again, I did know. I always knew, but I thought that I was strong enough not to care.

The conversation ended too quickly, didn’t last long enough, and everything was tangled inside me like wires that needed managing. I left without saying anything else.

He didn’t follow after me.

I hate that I wanted him to.

[mymoodwriting]

Perfect Love

Bang Chan/Jisung, Bang Chan/Felix, Felix/Jisung

Genre: Yandere AU

Warning: Drugs, Nightmares, Anxiety, Collars, Electrocution, Medication

Words: 1.9K

Chapters:

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Epilogue

Prompt: When Jisung started dating Chan it was a lot of fun, but that’s all it was and he wanted more. It was a mutual break up, or at least he thought it was. He had no idea what Chan was capable of, that is until he finally went to his house, carried into it actually. A second chance at love is entirely out of his control, and he might not have been the first of Chan’s lovers to be in this position.

   When Jisung came to he was sitting at the table. His arms were pinned to his sides with rope, hands tied together and wrapped with tape, legs also tied together, he could barely moved. Felix was sitting across from him, quiet, he wasn’t his usual self, well, not his happy sunshine and rainbows self anyway. His eyes were hazy, clearly not all there, Jisung wondered if that’s how he looked like after some of his treatments.

   Chan was cooking, finishing up anyway, and setting the table. Jisung didn’t know what to say, but he didn’t look at the older boy, keeping his head down. This new quiet was unsettling, he felt like the worst was upon him. When the table was set Chan sat next to him, trying to feed him.

“I’m not some pet that needs to be fed.”

“So he speaks.” Chan put down the utensils. “Well then, if you’re hungry, you can eat with your face. Felix needs more of my attention anyway.”

  Chan moved over and sat next to Felix, feeding him. The boy smiled and leaned against the older one, but he was still pretty quiet.

“What did you do to him?”

“I saved him, and now I need to look after him after the stunt you pulled.”

“What? Trying to wake him up!”

“You triggered him you idiot.”

“What…”

“It’s gonna take a while to fix him up, but at least I know how to fix you too now.”

“Chan… you need help…”

“Me? I’ve always taken care of myself, I had too, and now I can take care of you two.”

“Not like this… you don’t have to…”

“Eat… if you can.”

  Jisung felt the tears sliding down his cheeks, falling onto the table. He heard scratching on the window again and jumped, nearly falling over. He looked around but there was nothing, Chan wasn’t bothered, he hadn’t heard anything. Jisung heard the noise again, frantically looking around for the source. It had to be in his head, it couldn’t be real. He closed his eyes, wishing this nightmare would just end.

   He only opened his eyes again when he heard the others move. Chan had picked Felix up and took him upstairs in silence. Jisung stayed put, he thought the other would come back soon, but he didn’t. He was left alone, unable to move. His stomach growled but he refused to eat, there was no way he’d stoop so low. So he was left with nothing but his own imagination, and it was driving him insane.

   The scratching on the windows kept happening, each time getting louder. He shut his eyes again, singing a song hoping he could drown out the noise. He stopped when he heard footsteps. When he opened his eyes he realized it was dark out, it was nighttime, the house was quiet. He heard footsteps again, running around upstairs, then suddenly in the living room. It felt like something or someone was in the house.

“Chan!”

   He started squirming in his seat, screaming for the older again. He was panicking and he was terrified about what was happening. He screamed again, starting to sob. A hand grabbed his shoulder and he yelled again, nearly falling over but he was caught. He looked around, it was day again and Chan was steadying him.

“Easy, Jisung, I’m here, it’s okay.”

  He didn’t understand what just happened, but Chan pulled him close and pet him gently. He couldn’t help but sob into the older boys shirt. His head was spinning and he just wanted it to stop. He didn’t want to say what he was going to say next, but he just needed the peace.

“Chan… I’m sorry… can I please… can you make it stop… please make it stop…”

“Oh baby, I can’t do that right now, I need you to get clean, okay.” Chan kissed his head. “I’ll make your pills tonight.”

“No! No please… I can’t…”

“You’ll be okay, it’s all going to be okay in the end.”

“Chan!”

“Come on, I can’t leave you up here and I need to take care of Felix.”

“What? No… no don’t…”

  Chan picked Jisung up and took him down to the basement and sat him down, untying him. When his hands were free Jisung wiped away his tears, trying to pull himself together. The older boy reached over and caressed his cheek before taking the collar off.

“Now I want you-”

  Jisung bolted when the collar was off, scrambling up the stairs and bursting out of the basement. He took a second to catch his breath, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed that dark figure that had been haunting him. He screamed and got up only to see that same figure standing in front of the door. He fell back, crawling back, bumping into the older one who had come upstairs.

   Chan bent down and hugged the boy. The little one was shaking in his embrace, eyes glued to the door. He couldn’t help but chuckle, wondering what the other was seeing. He had an idea, but he just cuddled Jisung, whispering words of comfort to help soothe him. He heard footsteps coming from upstairs and saw Felix coming down.

“Is Sungie okay?”

“He will be, he’s off his meds right now, you know how bad it can get.”

“When will he be better?”

“Soon, soon, I see you’re better aren’t you?” Felix nodded. “Are you still mad at Sungie for what he did?”

“No… he’s off his meds… can’t be mad for that.”

“You hear that Sungie?” Chan kissed Jisung’s head. “Felix isn’t mad at you anymore, that’s good, I can’t have my two boys fighting.”

    Jisung hadn’t been listening, but he was holding on tightly to Chan, scared of what would happen if he let go. The figure didn’t move, and even without eyes, without a face, he knew he was staring at him, burning a hole into his soul.

“Sungie, baby, you need to rest, and not to run off, come on now.”

  Chan managed to get the collar back on the other without much issue and got him on his feet. Felix ran down and grabbed Chan’s hand though.

“No, Jisung should stay with us.”

“Lix, I need-”

“Please, I’ll take care of him with you… I know what happens when I don’t take my meds…”

“Alright, but he needs to go to sleep first. Go upstairs and put your headphones on, we’ll be up in a minute okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, now go.”

    Felix nodded and headed upstairs. Chan carried Jisung into the living room, sitting him down on the couch. He was clearly in his own head, still shaking. Chan pet his hair, waiting a moment before setting off Jisung’s collar. The boy screamed and curled up on the couch, the screams only stopped when he passed out.

   Chan didn’t move for a while, letting the other calm down. He got up and kissed his head then carried him upstairs. Felix moved over to let Jisung lay down, he took off his headphones and lowered the volume on the TV.

“Chan…”

“Hm?”

“What happened to Jisung…”

“Hm… I suppose it’s best for you to know, so you can better help me take care of him. I have his records right here.”

“Records?” Felix had put Jisung’s head in his lap, petting him. “He’s done bad things?”

“No, no, no, bad things happened to him.”

“Oh… did you know? Is that why you brought him here?”

“Honestly, no, I didn’t know what happened, but I had a feeling. Besides, life wasn’t good to him anyway.”

“Life wasn’t good to me either…”

“Don’t think about that baby, you’re okay now.”

  Chan and Felix spoke for a while, Felix understanding Jisung a little better, hugging him tight whenever he whimpered. By the time nightfall came Felix asked not to take his medicine, not wanting Jisung to be alone in case he woke up, knowing Chan was gonna be busy that night. Chan was a bit hesitant, never having done so before.

“Lix, you won’t sleep well if you don’t take your medicine.”

“I know there’s a chance… I won’t sleep well… but I can’t leave Jisung alone. It’s just one night Chan, please.”

“Felix-”

“You’re not giving Jisung any meds either.”

“Fine, but I don’t want you asking not to take your meds in the morning.”

“I’ll take it, promise.”

“Okay, try to have a good night sleep, yell if you need me.”

“I will.”

  Chan gave them both a kiss before going down to his lab to work. He didn’t like the idea of leaving either for the night without their medicine. He couldn’t give it to Jisung, but Felix, he hoped nothing bad happened. He wasn’t gonna get Jisung’s medicine right on the first try, he knew what he needed but the dosage was probably gonna need to be adjusted.

   Since he was already doing that he figured he’d refill Felix’s meds too. He spent the whole night in the lab, thankfully there was no issue from his boys. When he finished he added pills to Felix’s bottle and place another in the medicine cabinet for Jisung. He wouldn’t try anything on Jisung for a few days at least, so tomorrow would be worse than today. At least he could trust Felix would help him out.

♥♥♥♥♥

   Felix only woke up once in the night, when Jisung was subconsciously squeezing the life out of him. He squirmed to turn around, gently shaking the other until he opened his eyes. Didn’t help much since Jisung only gripped him tighter.

“Jisung… it’s okay… nothing’s gonna hurt you… breathe…”

   The other nodded, slowly loosening his grip. He was taking deep breaths, calming himself down a bit.

“I should go get Chan.”

“No… no don’t go… just stay…”

“But-”

“Please… if… if you really wanna go get him… then we go together…”

  Felix thought for a moment, seeing how shaky Jisung was and just laid back down. It wasn’t a good idea for either of them to be walking around the house at night. He took Jisung’s hand, soothing the other so he could go back to sleep staying awake until he was sure the other was back in dreamland.

♥♥♥♥♥

   Chan woke Felix up in the morning, asking him to go down and set the table. He knew they both needed his attention so he planned for a simple breakfast. As Felix ran downstairs Chan told him to take his medicine as well, saying he’d be busy with Jisung for a while. Felix knew where his pills were, the bottle in the medicine cabinet with an ‘F’ on the top. He noticed a new bottle in their too, a ‘J’ on it.

   When he grabbed his bottle he noticed it had been refilled. His eyes lingered on Jisung’s for a while, knowing the boy wouldn’t be taking any medication for a while. He grabbed a pill, rolling it around in his hand. He promised Chan he would take it, but he was having other ideas. He knew the older one kept count of his pills so he never over did it or forgot.

  Felix dumped the pill in his hand into the sink and then turned the faucet on to get rid of it, putting the bottle back just as Chan came down with the other. He smiled at him, grabbing the plates and setting the table as he was asked. It was probably a bad idea not to take his meds, he figured he could handle it, and that Chan wouldn’t noticed. Jisung didn’t seem so bad and he gave the boy a smile, knowing the next few days were gonna suck.

[animetrashlord-007]

M.I;; Chapter Seven

Word Count;; 4.3k

Genre;; Fluff, Suggestive, Eventual Smut, Slowburn

Pairing;; Oikawa x Ushijima

Side Pairing;; Kuroo x Sugawara

Summary;;

Them boys eat cake.

Published;; 08.14.18

Notes;;

My Masterlist

Mutual Interests Masterlist

   It was two o’clock in the afternoon and the cafeteria was bustling. Students congregated in small groups and the noise level continued to rise as people poured into the large, open space. Most teachers chose this time slot for their meal break so the majority of students followed suit. Since it was one of the few times everyone in the group had available most days, they often joined in on the lunch rush madness.

   Kuroo and Oikawa were bickering over something inconsequential, as per usual. Ushijima stared between the two, taking small bites of his hayashi rice. He had planned to wait for them, since that was the polite thing to do, but it became obvious pretty early on that his food would go cold before they settled down enough to eat.

   “I was being a bro and this is how you repay me.”

   “What does that even mean?!”

   “I did a quick tidy up in my room and freshened up the place before you arrived and gave you time and space. The ultimate bro move.”

   “You call that a tidy up?! Your side of the dorm was a pigsty! How can you say it was for me? If you weren’t being a pervert, I wouldn’t have had to go to your bed in the first place!”

   “Well, I’m a little too busy to make the bed everyday, you know.”

   Ushijima nodded at the approaching figure, clearing off the garbage from the table and brushing off the empty seat beside him. Oikawa and Kuroo continued their conversation, their tones rising to match the volume of the rest of the student body. Ushijima held back a sigh. Weariness doubled the effort and drained the limited energy he had. He took another bite of his rice.

   “What, too busy screwing Suga?”

   “Ah, but Oikawa-san, you misunderstood the situation.” Kuroo, who was just about to respond as well, slammed his mouth shut and turned to face their approaching friend. Suga’s warm smile was contagious and soon the entire group perked up. Ushijima pat the seat next to him, a silent plea to the setter to sit between him and the others. “We weren’t having sex.”

   “Yeah,” Kuroo piped in. “You could have come in.”

   “As if!”

   “It was just some light BDSM. What’s a few spanks between friends?”

   Suga laughed, though his smile no longer reached his eyes. “Kuroo is just a really good friend. He’s straight, after all.”

   “Exactly. See, he gets it. It was just some fun between friends.” Slapping his knee, Kuroo cooed at Suga and called out to him as one would a pet, drawing out his words and blowing small kisses at the end of his sentences, “Now come here, sweetie pie. We missed you.”

   With his wide smile and twinkling, sweet eyes, Suga slapped Kuroo upside the head before sitting next to Ushijima.

   “Ouch! You’re gonna leave me by myself? Sugar buns? My lollipop? Baby cakes?”

   “You’re not by yourself, Kuroo-san. Oikawa-san is right next to you.”

   Kuroo chuckled, swivelling around to face his usual target, mischief brewing in his eyes. Following Oikawa’s groan and pointed glare at Suga (who threw up a peace sign in response and started eating), the two delved back into their usual bullshit.

   “Cheer up, plum pudding. I’ll let you sit on my lap if you’d like.”

   “Stop calling people weird names!”

   “Honey bear, do you need a hug?”

   “Get lost, Kuroo-chan!” The two began to wrestle, Oikawa throwing off Kuroo’s arm while Kuroo inched closer and closer to the setter. It wasn’t until Suga was taking a sip of his drink and the table slammed against him, spilling the drink onto his shirt, that the two stopped. The fearsome aura Suga exuded was enough to stop even the heartiest person dead in their tracks. With a smug laugh, Oikawa continued, “No one wants you around, not even Mr. Refreshing, sweetum.”

   “I can’t believe you’re angry at me just because you wasted your chance to fuck Ushijima.”

   There was absolute silence at the table for seven seconds, just enough time for the words to be processed. Once everyone was back on the same page and Kuroo’s implication was explicitly understood, the floodgates of Hell were about to shatter.

   Ushijima choked on some grains of rice, coughing and spluttering as he reached for his water bottle, a tinge of red on his cheeks that matched his watering eyes. Suga, who had been in the middle of pointless small talk with the ace, let his jaw hit the ground while snapping around to face the others, shock written plain as day across his features.

   “Not again,” Ushijima managed to gasp out between gulps.

   “Again…?”

   “Are you telling me again that I need to bone Bakatoshi?” The air chilled around the group as a murderous atmosphere surrounded Oikawa, his eyes darkening and all traces of his cheerful facade erased.

   “Again?!” Suga squeaked, looking between each of the boys while slapping Ushijima’s back.

   “Yeah, because you need a good dicking, you little bit-”

   “Kuroo-chan,” - a shiver ran down Suga’s spine at the whispered words, the air around them further darkening - “I’ll fucking kill you.”

   Ushijima knew he wouldn’t get around the table fast enough to stop them before they embarrassed themselves in front of a large majority of the school. He also knew that his energy was too low to keep them both in check right now, especially after the effort it took just last night when he felt somewhat less crappy than he did right now. What he fully understood, though, was that he had to do his best to stop them anyway. That’s what friends do, after all.

   And it was in this moment that Ushijima knew there was a heaven as four angels descended upon the group, their bright eyes dancing in anticipation as they bounced and skipped and beamed at the boys. Soft, gentle smiles greeted them and their voices were melodic and calm. Giggles erupted between them as shy glances were exchanged.

   “We’re sorry to disturb you!” One of the girls started, twirling her black hair between her fingers, oblivious to the scene that had been playing out only seconds prior.

   “We saw you from across the way and, well…” the brunette on the right chimed in, trailing off when she made eye contact with Oikawa who was already back in character, his face brightening as he watched them each in turn.

   “I made extra treats today and thought…” the second brunette added but also fell victim to his heartstopping smile and gorgeous chocolate eyes.

   “Oikawa-san, you like milk bread, right?” It was the black-haired girl again. She was more confident in herself, voice nor gaze wavering as she spoke. “Ushijima-san, Kuroo-san, there’s plenty for you as well. Cookies and cupcakes, too, if milk bread isn’t your thing.”

   “And some for you too, cutie,” the tallest girl in the group, the leader if her strong tone and protective stance in front of the others was anything to go by, winked at Suga as she placed the bag of goodies on the table. She had short, wavy blue hair with dark roots peeking out at the top, a few black strands braided from her fringe and pinned to the back. She was spunky and cute, the type of woman that would never put up with Oikawa’s bullshit, and was obviously doing this for her friends.

   “Thank you so much! You’re all so sweet and beautiful!” Oikawa grinned, jumping from his seat to stand next to them. He towered over the girls, even the leader, which in turn caused the two shy brunettes to back away and hide further behind their friends. Honing in on this, Oikawa smiled at them and asked their names, opening the gate for mindless chatter and casual flirtations.

   Kuroo pretended to gag as he listened to Oikawa and his honeyed, fake words before joining the new group, wrapping an arm around Oikawa’s shoulder and nodding along with him. There were a few others around the room (mainly women) that allowed their curious eyes to land and linger on the group, gaping at how smooth the two men came across. Charisma oozed off their tongues, lulling their admirers further into a trance.

   “So… again, huh?” Suga murmured, his volume low enough to avoid being overheard.

   “Yes. That’s part of the reason they started fighting last night. Kuroo is having too much fun riling Oikawa up and Oikawa is stressed over something. He’s letting his guard down and letting it get to him. The idea that he wants to sleep with me is absurd, but Oikawa isn’t himself lately and is allowing the idea to fester and irritate him.”

   “Or maybe he wants hot, angry, hate sex.”

   Once again caught in a coughing fit, Ushijima smacked his fist against his chest, a blush reddening his ears. Suga laughed, the sound loud and joyous, gaining a curious look from the girls. He waved them off and as soon as their attention was focused elsewhere, Suga nudged and prodded the ace, raising his eyebrows in a rapid, suggestive notion.

   “Not you, too, Sugawara-san. That’s exactly what Kuroo said…” Ushijima sighed and let his head fall against the table.

   “You sure are taking it in stride.”

   "It’s all speculation created for the sole purpose of upsetting Oikawa. It’s baseless.”

   “Hmm, true. I guess the real question is, would you do it if it were true?” Ushijima didn’t respond. He didn’t want to provide any more ammunition but that didn’t stop Suga from taking it how he wanted. “You’re a super trooper, Ushijima-san! A real man! No wonder he wants to sleep with you!”

   “Who wants to sleep with that idiot?” Oikawa hissed as he slithered into his seat, his eyes sharp like knives as he glowered at Suga.

   “You,” Suga sneered, pointing his finger at the brunet.

   “I know where you sleep, Suga-chan!” Oikawa laughed, taking a bite of the milk bread left behind by the girls who had since disappeared.

   Slapping Oikawa’s back, Kuroo fell into the seat beside him. He slung his arm around his shoulder once more and tugged the setter to his chest. “Listen, Oikawa, I think we should be each other’s wingmen. You’re hot. I’m hotter. We’re loveable, at least until they get to know you better. We’re perfect for each other.”

   “Honestly, I hate to admit it, but you’re not wrong about us making a good team. Very wrong about who’s hotter. The other stuff, though? I’ll give it to you. And yet here I am” - grabbing Kuroo’s wrist and bending it backwards, Oikawa waited until the blocker cried out in pain before flinging his arm away - “preferring to die rather than spend unnecessary time with you.”

   “Geez, when did you become so violent? Stop spending so much time with Suga!”

   “Get lost.”

   “Yeah, get lost, sweetie,” Suga snapped.

   “Fine, fine. I can tell when I’m not wanted. You’ll miss me soon enough, anyway. Bye-bye Ushijima, see you back at the dorms.”

   With a wave, he departed, stopping to chat with a few members of the volleyball team on the way out of the cafeteria. Now that the aggravator had left, both Suga and Oikawa calmed down, placid smiles resting on their faces as they chatted. Their lunch break was coming to an end and Ushijima was considering taking a nap instead of attending their study session when he felt someone tug at his shirt. Blinking twice, he tried to refocus and clear his bleary eyes, yawning in the process.

   “Ushijima-san, are you okay?”

   “I think…” Oikawa started, squinting as he observed the ace. “I think he got brain damage from that shelf.”

   “Don’t joke like that!”

   “I’m okay, thank you for your concern.”

   “So boring! Why couldn’t it have rewritten his personality and made him fun!”

   “That’s what we say about you, Oikawa-san!”

   “‘We’ as in you and your lover?”

   “How many times do I have to tell you it isn’t like that!”

   “He called you Koushi. That seems a bit intimate, especially given the circumstance. Wouldn’t you agree, Bakatoshi?”

   “Perhaps. But you call me-”

   “See? We all agree. You’ve hit rock bottom, Suga.”

   “For the last time - we’re not dating!”

   “That’s worse, Suga-chan. It truly is an act of desperation. A cry for help, even. Do you need someone to talk to? Because Ushijima is right here and he’s a great listener. It’s one of his only strong points. Just don’t expect a meaningful reply.”

   “You’re such a dick, Oikawa-san! Be more considerate of his feelings!”

   “It’s fine, Sugawara-san. I’m used to it,” Ushijima shrugged, indifference and exhaustion etched into every fiber of his being.

   “You’re trying to change the subject, aren’t you? Everything you do makes me think you’re on a downward spiral.”

   “For fuck’s sake,” Suga muttered under his breath, his hands covering his face as he tried to regulate his breathing and let the other setter’s words roll off his back.

   “Idiot 1, comfort Idiot 2 while I go find Kuroo.” Oikawa nodded to himself as he stood. He pointed a long finger at Ushijima and tutted. “Do us all a favour and just listen to him, don’t try to speak. You’re shit at it.”

   “I can’t decide who I want to kill more. Ushijima-san, let’s change schools.” Suga looked up at the ace once they were alone. When he saw Ushijima’s lip twitch and a small chuckle echo from within his chest, Suga continued, “Or at the very least, let’s ditch those two and become roommates instead.”

   “I’m worried they might do something illegal if left unsupervised.”

   “Ha! That’s a good point.”

   They finished their food in comfortable silence. Once they cleaned off the table and divided the baked goods into fourths, they left the cafeteria and walked toward their usual study spot: the library. The librarian seemed pleased at the lack of the rowdier two members of the group, offering additional, friendlier help. It was a nice change. The peace and quiet was more than welcome but the group felt lacking at the same time.

   Settling down in their preferred seats and pulling out their respective textbooks, both of the boys read and studied in silence. Ushijima didn’t need any help with the current curriculum and Suga was working several weeks ahead. It was a relaxed session, with the two chatting on occasion and sharing their cookies and drinks. After a few hours passed, Ushijima closed his books and packed up his supplies. A headache was starting to fog his already exhausted mind.

   “Are we done?”

   “If you don’t mind.”

   “Of course not, Ushijima-san.”

   “Sugawara-san… I apologise for earlier. I should have been quicker to respond to you and given you a proper explanation.”

   “Huh?”

   “You were obviously concerned and when Kuroo-san and Oikawa-san didn’t answer, I should have taken it upon myself to answer instead. We were all tired but that’s no excuse. I hope you can forgive us all.”

   Suga scratched his head, a nervous bead of sweat rolling down his temple while he watched Ushijima bow in apology, the whole situation becoming too formal and stuffy. “It’s fine, honestly. I hope you can forgive my outburst as well.”

   “Of course.”

   “Don’t apologise for those jerks, though. They don’t deserve you as a friend-”

   “Well, well, well. Look at you studious nerds,” Kuroo chuckled, walking behind Suga and placing his arms around his neck, resting his chin on the setter’s head.

   “You have no room to talk, Kuroo-san. You have a hard-on for Chemistry.” Kuroo scoffed, placing his hand over Suga’s heart in mock pain and pretending to cry. Knocking his hand away, Suga glanced over his shoulder as he spoke, “Where’s Oikawa?”

   “Why would I know?” Suga and Ushijima shared an exasperated glance. “I haven’t seen him since I was banished by you all.”

   “I’ve decided, Ushijima-san. I’m going to kill Oikawa.”

   Oikawa strolled into his dorm an hour later, his skin glowing and bright. His face was void of stress. No longer wearing a mask (in both a metaphorical and literal sense. The green tea soothing essence masks he bought last month do wonders), his face was relaxed and smooth. He hummed to himself as he put away his spa bag. Once settled in, he acknowledged the simmering ball of fury in the corner of the room. He never made eye contact with Suga’s two oversized bodyguards, both of whom waited behind the silver-haired setter, one with a frown and the other a smirk.

   “What’s wrong with you? Did Ushijima speak or something?”

   “How did your talk with Kuroo go? You know, the one where you were going to lecture him and belittle him like you did me. Or maybe, and I know it’s a long shot, you’d grow up a little and work out that petty bullshit between the two of you?”

   “Oh! I forgot about that!” Oikawa’s eyes widened as he tilted his head toward the blocker, the words bouncing off the tip of his tongue. “Kuroo-chan, you’re trash and Suga deserves better.” Flashing a peace sign and a large, fake smile, he looked at Suga again. “All done!”

   “I told you I’m way better than him,” Kuroo snickered, shifting on his feet.

   “I know I deserve better, which is why I’d never date him! How many times do I need to say this?!”

   “Oi, I’m right here!”

   “Did you work out your issues, then?”

   “I have no issues!”

   “Stop lying!”

   “Like you can talk! Stop denying your feelings!”

   “I don’t have any!”

   “You can say that again,” Kuroo snorted. When everyone stopped to glare at him, he threw his hands in the air and huffed. “You know I’m right!”

   Suga left first, rolling his eyes and mumbling about needing a drink. Kuroo followed behind, waving goodbye to his dormmate and flipping Oikawa off with a sneer. When it was time for Ushijima to leave as well, his legs wouldn’t listen to him. He remained grounded in place. Oikawa tapped his foot in impatience, holding both of his forearms with his hands, resting them in front of his chest.

   “Well, Idiot 1? What are you waiting for?”

   “I don’t know.”

   “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

   “Not really.”

   Oikawa waited. He waited for Ushijima to leave. He waited for him to at least move. He waited for his line of sight to shift, to break eye contact. He waited for him to speak, to explain something, to explain anything. When no answers arrived and instead new questions began to surface, Oikawa gave in.

   “Come on then, let’s go.”

   Oikawa interlaced their fingers, holding onto Ushijima’s hand as he dragged him out of the dorm and through the school. It became clear where they were headed so it came as no surprise to Ushijima when Oikawa stopped in front of the gym. Grabbing the spare key that was hidden under a rock (an obvious spot, but how Oikawa knew to check there was beyond him), Oikawa unlocked the door and pushed Ushijima inside.

   “Alright, let’s play.”

   “Right now? Should we even be here?”

   “I’m offering to work with you, to set for you and your first response is to question me? You really are an idiot. Can’t you just live in the moment and enjoy yourself?”

   “... Okay.”

   Oikawa grinned, triumph stretching across his face as he bounded across the court and wheeled out the volleyball trolley. With Ushijima’s help, they got the net up and the court ready. Without warning, Oikawa took his shirt off and tossed it to the side. Quirking his eyebrow, faking confusion as he tapped his finger along his lip, he motioned for Ushijima to do the same.

   “What’s wrong? We’ve seen more of each other than this before. Besides, there’s somewhere I want to go after this and we need to be presentable.”

   The tables turned when Ushijima stripped down to just his boxers, leaving Oikawa flabbergasted.

   “What the hell are you doing?!”

   “You said we need to look presentable.”

   “How does that equal stripping down to your damn underwear?!”

   Ushijima shrugged. “It makes sense to me.”

   It was nothing new and yet it felt like Oikawa was seeing him properly for the first time. He looked attractive, and Oikawa hated it. He rubbed the back of his neck as Oikawa stared at him, his arm muscles flexing and bulging. Oikawa continued to look him up and down until their eyes met. He refused to be outdone or intimidated. With a light laugh, he brushed the unspoken exchange off and went to stand in the middle of the court, gesturing for the ace to follow before taking off his own pants.

   It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was odd to play in just their boxers. Oikawa found himself losing focus more often and ended up spiking the ball out of court when he saw Ushijima bend over to collect some of the stray balls. After a few more rounds of serving practice and setting some spikes for the ace, Oikawa called it quits. Even though the majority of fault fell on him, Oikawa blamed Ushijima for the practice failing.

   “I thought volleyball would be fun since it’s something we both enjoy but you’re hopeless, Bakatoshi.”

   “Maybe we should try with our clothes on?”

   “Maybe if you weren’t being a pervert and staring so much, it wouldn’t be a problem!”

   “I wasn’t-” Oikawa’s irritated tapping echoed throughout the room, his foot setting a relentless pace. It was getting late and Ushijima could just about pass out at this point. He was in no mood to argue. ”Sorry…?”

   “Whatever . There’s a bakery nearby. Let’s wash up and go.”

   If playing in their underwear was hard, trying to wash together was worse. Oikawa shut it down pretty fast, forcing Ushijima to wait until he was done even though the shower room was huge and they could have each taken opposite corners. It proved more troublesome for Oikawa, however, as his mind kept wandering to how built and muscular Wakatoshi was. There was a voice in the back of his head that wouldn’t cease, that insisted he reenter the shower and approach Ushijima. It would be easy. There was no one around. He could just walk in, help him scrub his back, wash off the extra soap, clean his hair. Would it be weird? Was why he even thinking this way about Ushiwaka of all people?

   He wanted to blame Kuroo, to say he poisoned his thoughts with all his suggestive, crude remarks, but in the silence of his mind, he knew the truth. He was starting to fall-

   “Oikawa-san, do you need help?”

   “What?!” He squealed, latching onto the nearest towel and pressing it against his body. His distraction had cost him too much time. Ushijima was dressed again, looking as handsome as ever, and staring at him with concern. Oikawa was still undressed, water dripping into his eyes from his wet hair, his clothes waiting for him by the mirror and sink. “I’m fine! Get out!”

   “Okay.”

   The walk to the bakery was silent and awkward. Oikawa refused to look Ushijima in the eyes and neither would speak. When Ushijima thought of something to say, the timing felt wrong so he looked off toward the horizon instead. The sun was setting and the air was beginning to chill. The streets were empty as they navigated toward the family-owned bakery. A few street lights flickered on here and there but the plethora of colour dripping from the sky was enough to keep the roads bright and clear. Once Oikawa announced that their destination was just a few stores ahead, Ushijima noticed that most of the other family-run businesses were closed already.

   “Will they be open at this time of night?”

   “Would we be going if they weren’t?”

   The sharpness of his tone ended the conversation, cutting it short with brutal efficiency, leaving no room for even a peep or murmur. It didn’t help that Ushijima was practically a walking corpse by this point, either. His body threatened to give out under him with every step. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and seek out the comfort of his bed but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the rare moments he spent alone with Oikawa.

   As he had been briskly informed, the bakery was indeed open. The elderly couple behind the counter beamed when they saw Oikawa. The man disappeared behind a makeshift curtain into the storeroom while the woman greeted them, talking with Oikawa as one would a son.

   “Tooru-kun, take a seat. We’ll get your order right out for you, okay? Do you and your friend want some tea?”

   “Thank you, ma’am! We’d love some!”

   With a bow that each of the boys reciprocated, she wobbled to the refrigerator and grabbed out a jug of iced tea and started to cut some fresh lemon slices. Ushijima sat across from Oikawa. Without his usual cologne and fragranced body wash, he smelled musky. His hair stuck up in every direction, unkempt and carefree much like the setter himself. His eyes were distant, as if he was deep in thought. After a few minutes, the couple brought over the tea and a small cake. When they were alone again, Oikawa pushed the dessert to Ushijima’s side of the table.

   “I didn’t know what to get you. I didn’t want it to be too personal and for you to think we’re friends or something. I figured you liked volleyball, and cake is standard for birthdays…” Oikawa laughed in embarrassment, his cheeks tinged pink as he continued, “I didn’t plan it very well though. It was a last minute, snap decision. I really screwed it up, though, huh?”

   “It’s wonderful.”

   “Bakatoshi, only you would say that. Well, whatever. Happy birthday.”

   “You remembered?”

   “Of course I did. What do you take me for? Do you think I’d willingly hang out with you for any other reason?”

   “I didn’t think anyone knew.”

   “Idiot.”

   “Thank you, Tooru.”

   “Just shut up and eat the cake already.”

[inevitably-johnlocked]

CHRISTMAS FICS 2019 Pt. 2

(PART 1: Bookmarked Fics HERE)

Happy holidays everyone!! Here’s the promised Part 2 list for y’all!!! This one is all the fics I have RECORDED (not necessarily all the fic I have) on my To Read list (which I only started recently so I wouldn’t have to keep copy-pasting stuff from old Tumblr posts), and I would LOVE for y’all to add your own winter holiday themed fic recs onto this list if it’s not already here!! <3 This is the community gift to the community, and the more fics the better! Any holiday / observance welcome!! <3

Happy holidays, guys!! I hope these two lists help get you into the holiday spirit!! <3

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MARKED FOR LATER FICS

A Study in Pink Pyjamas by alexxphoenix42 (M, 1,628 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Est. Rel., Pink Pyjamas, Fluff, Cross-Dressing) – Sherlock hasn't been a fan of either Christmas or fancy pyjamas for a number of years, but John has a way of changing his mind about things.

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard's secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

He's an Angry Elf by Ewebie (T, 2,168 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Crack, Frosty, The Gingerbread Man) – Sherlock as a bad mall Santa and John as an elf... I make no apologies for this.

Santa Claus Is Going To Town by stravaganza (E, 2,253 w., 1 Ch. || Santa!John / Elf!Sherlock Costumes, Rimming, Rutting, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Blowjobs, Sex in Costumes, PWP, Humour/Crack, Christmas) – herlock and John are invited to a Christmas party at the Yard. In costume! Sounds legit, right? Riiiight...

Impossible Things by A_Candle_For_Sherlock (G, 2,413 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Marriage Proposal, Christmas, Fluff) – He'd promised himself he'd do it before Christmas, because otherwise Mummy WILL ask, probably in front of John.

John Likes Christmas by Arcwin (G, 2,638 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff, Kid Sherlock / John, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Nostalgia, Sherlock Holmes POV) – John likes Christmas. I fail to see why. This is where we find ourselves on this dreary, December evening in 221B. “Sherlock, but, it’s Christmas!” I sigh. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

The Biscuits May Look Terrible But At Least We’re Satisfied (E, 2,745 w., 1 Ch. ||  Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Christmas, Fluff & Smut, Christmas Cookies, Jealous Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Voice Kink, Dirty Talk) – The whole baking craze had started two days ago when Sherlock had casually mentioned that he hadn’t eaten his mother’s famous homemade Christmas cookies in years. Ordinarily such a comment wouldn’t have stuck with John, he knew Sherlock wasn’t close to his parents, but the touch of wistfulness in Sherlock’s voice had John calling Mrs. Holmes as soon as Sherlock was in the shower. An attempt at a Christmas surprise and a flirtatious client all lead to some loving Christmas smut.

The Case of the Frog Murder and the Disembodied Dog's Head by a_different_equation (T, 2,794 w., 1 Ch. || ACD Canon || Victorian, Period-Typical Homophobia, Christmas, Est. Rel., Hound of Baskervilles, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending, Romance, Fluff and Humour, Miscommunication) – The true story behind the Baskerville case, and its strange and rather queer conclusion via Christmas Cards.

The Old Town by a_different_equation (T, 3,573 w., 1 Ch. || Hans Christian Anderson Fusion || Magical Realism, Christmas, Fairy Tale Elements, Love Stories, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Museums, Sweet Sherlock) – Once upon a time there were two boys. This is the story how once upon December, they found the missing Christmas Spirit, true love and new beginnings. A Queer fairytale for all seasons.

New Memories by WhouffleLover24 (T, 4,072 w, 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holidays) – “We all have memories. This is so you can capture new ones.”

i read your book, you magnificent bastard by a_different_equation (M, 4,145 w., 1 Ch. || Writer Sherlock AU || Coffee Shops, Bookstores, Alternate First Meeting, Epistolary, Love at First Sight, Romantic Comedy, Metafiction, Falling in Love, Sherlock Wears Glasses, Gay John, Matchmaker Mike, Storytelling, Christmas) – In which John Watson, recently returned from the war, buys a book in Mike Stamford's bookshop and Sherlock Holmes is a famous, openly gay, crime fiction writer whose hero is in need of a partner. Part 1 of the Magnificent Bastard!AU series

Knit Two Together by shinychimera (G, 4,726 w., 2 Ch. || Platonics/Friendship, Best Friends, Knitting, Christmas) – Sherlock Holmes can master any skill to which he sets his mind -- why should knitting a jumper for his best friend be any different?

Oh, Holy Night by sussexbound (E, 5,311 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Smut, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Fluff) – Sherlock manoeuvres them towards the bedroom and then lowers John carefully onto the bed. “Take off your shirt and trousers. We should wash the shirt, just to be on the safe side with the poison, and you’ll want the ice directly on the bruise, I assume.” John winces and rolls onto his uninjured side. “You just want me to get my kit off.” “Mmm, well it is Christmas Eve, and I have been a very good boy this year.” John’s eyes widen a little, as a smile teases the corner of his mouth. “True.” Part 6 of Home is Not a Place

Winter Ficlets by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (M, 6,239 w., 11 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff & Smut, Jealous John, First Kiss / Time, Marriage Proposal, BJ’s, Suit Porn, Domestic Fluff, Cuddling, Snowball Fight, Winter, Sherlock Cooking, Bed Sharing) – A collection of winter and holiday stand-alone ficlets.

It's Cold Outside by Salambo06 (E, 7,357 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, Cuddling, Snuggling, Frottage, First Kiss / Time, Bed Sharing, Miscommunications, Love Confessions) – John and Sherlock, Christmas night, the heat broke, add some shared body heat and (not so) accidental erections mixed with some miscommunication and awkwardness and, you guessed it, they’re sharing a bed.

if you like him so much then why don't you marry him by zigostia (T, 7,750 w., 1 Ch. || Teenlock, Oblivious John, Christmas) – Am I going to regret this? SH Not one bit. JW I’m going to regret this. SH

You Don't Need Wings to Fly by Laiquilasse (T, 11,326 w., 11 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Bullying, Angels, Suicidal Ideation, Christmas) – John, an angel, is sent from Heaven to help a desperate Sherlock Holmes by showing him what life would have been like if he had never existed.

2017 by 7PercentSolution, J_Baillier (T, 11,466 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Case Fic, Est. Rel., Angst, Mental Health Issues, Autism, Anxiety, Family) – Sherlock takes on a case that raises unexpected challenges, both professional and personal. Memories of times before John complicate matters. Part 9 of On Pins And Needles

Five Christmases that went wrong and one that didn't by love_in_mind_palace (M, 11,685 w., 6 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff & Smut, Domestics, Est. Rel., 5 and 1′s, Canon Divergence, Tooth-Rotting Fluff) – John isn’t sure about most of the things in his life. Except for the fact that he loves Sherlock, Sherlock loves him back and that after years of bad luck, he is getting the Christmas he always deserved.

Snowed In by Salambo06, WhatIfIAmInsane (E, 15,687 w., 5 Ch. || Christmas, Smut, Unilock, Alternate First Meeting, Anal, Bottomlock, Army!John, BJ’s) – Sherlock had everything planned out for months now. Today he would finally put an end to this case. Even if that meant keeping an eye on his suspect in a crowded, german airport on Christmas Eve. The same crowded airport John was waiting in for his final flight back home from his first deployment to Afghanistan, not at all thrilled by the prospect of spending Christmas with his possibly drunk sister. Although the airport was stuffed to the brim with holiday travelers and tacky decorations, he was enjoying his time alone, mostly. But then, snow began to fall.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

On the Table (Eventually John Watson's Favorite Christmas Story) by emmagrant01, numberthescars (E, 18,135 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Mild Angst, Fluff, Masturbation, Anal, Rimming, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Christmas) – Set after TRF. Someone's leaving John strange little gifts in the weeks before Christmas. But who could it be?

All I Want For Christmas by Mssmithlove (E, 19,508 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Mystrade, Christmas, Holmes Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Pining) – Taking Sherlock's platonic university flatmate home with him for Christmas can be a tricky business. Especially when he wishes their relationship wasn't platonic at all. Part 18 of Happiness Awaits

Home for Christmas by SilentAuror (E, 19,499 w., 1 Ch. || S4 Fix It / Post S4, Doctor John, Christmas, Glasses, Domestic, First Time, Slow Burn, Rosie) – It's been eleven months since Eurus Holmes happened, and just one since John and Rosie moved back into Baker Street at last. With Christmas just around the corner, both Sherlock and John are slightly baffled when Mrs Hudson decides to give them a slow cooker as a "house-warming present"...

Advent Calendar 2017 by Hotaru_Tomoe (E,  41,952 w., 25 Ch. || Not S4 Compliant, Fluff, Humour, Smut, Light Angst, First Kiss/Time, Est. Rel., Hurt/Comfort, Spanking, Christmas Party, Lingerie, Various Universes, Advent Calendar Fic) – My Advent Calendar, 25 one shots from 1st to 25th December, Christmas-ish themed.  Each story has its own rating. Part 23 of The English job

In Bed by Ellipsical (E, 46,922 w., 12 Ch. || Autofellatio, Vibrators, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Liminal Identities, Christmas, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Fingering, Jealous John, Therapy, Flirting, Texting, Fluff, Sherlock’s Violin, Anal, Est. Rel., Semi-Public Sex, Harry Watson, Communication, Coming in Pants, Spitroasting, Double Penetration, Dirty Talk, Internalized Homophobia, Self-Acceptance, Happy Ending, PTSD John, Coping Mechanisms, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – It’s almost Christmas, John thinks, and this, this is bullshit. The epilogue to Guilty Secrets. Part 2 of Guilty Secrets

Raison d'être by AmphigoricSymphony and DemonicSymphony (M, 148,721 w., 21 Ch. || S3 Compliant, Sick Fic, Sherlock Whump, Protective John, Major Injury/Illness, Mentions of Past Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation) – The missing months of His Last Vow, starting from Sherlock dropping in John's arms at 221B and carrying through the months of Hospital he endured. This is a study in emotional and physical trauma, striving to stick as close to the canon plot as possible. At Christmas Dinner, Mycroft asks why they are even celebrating. His mother's answer, 'Sherlock is home from hospital,' leads us to believe Sherlock was in hospital the majority of the time frame of his fall from shock at Baker Street, to nearly Christmas itself. We have no explanation for what John was doing all that time, so this is an effort to fill the gap. Part 2 of the Word Play series, Part 1 of the Reason and Ashes series

Extricate—An Ex Files Special by 7PercentSolution (E, 231,432 w., 41 Ch. || Not Johnlock, Sherlock/Victor Trevor, Unilock, Multiple POV’s, Drug Use, Classical Music, Chemistry, Slow Burn, Serious Injuries, Autism Spectrum, Bullying, Rugby, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sherlock Whump, Friends to Lovers, Protective Mycroft, Psychological Trauma, Christmas, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Sherlock’s Violin, Sulking, Late Nights, Sexual Identity, Social Awkwardness, Suicide, Homophobia, Clubbing, Big Brother Mycroft) –  When Sherlock met Victor, and what happened next. A backstory that explains why caring truly may not be an advantage. This follows ACD canon and ignores BBC season 4, allowing the two of them to meet while at University.

MFL WIPs

First Christmas by PipMer (T, 4,199+ w., 19/31 Ch. || WIP || Est. Rel., Friendship, Fluff, Humour) – It's Sherlock and John's first Christmas together as a couple. Written as an interconnected set of 221b's for the Sherlock December Ficlet Challenge.

John Watson's Twelve Days of Hiccups by ChrisCalledMeSweetie (E, 8,394+w., 11/12 Ch. || WiP || Hiccups, Experimental Cures, Digital Rectal Massage, Orgasm as a Cure for Hiccups, First Time, Humour, Crack, Friends to Lovers, Christmas) – For John Watson, being afflicted with an intractable case of hiccups was a source of intense irritation. For Sherlock Holmes — his mad scientist of a flatmate — it was a golden opportunity for experimentation.

Your Many Tendencies Series by apliddell (T, 52,222+ w. across 5 works || WiP || Femlock, POC Characters, Enby Character, Sherlock’s Violin, YouTuber John, UST, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Slow Burn, Domesticity, Fluff, Recreational Drug Use, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock’s Past, First Kiss, Love Confessions, John’s Family, Christmas, Anxious Sherlock, Hurt / Comfort, Institutional Racism) – John Watson returns to London after a long absence, somewhat the worse for wear. She meets Sherlock Holmes, and starts feeling excited about life again.

"Merry Christmas" I wrapped it up and sent it with a note saying "I love you" by starrysummernights (E, 135,132+ w., 30/31 Ch. || WIP, chapter missing? || Post S4, Slow Burn, Mary is Not Nice, Christmas, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Parentlock, Past Torture / Rape) – John has moved back into 221B with his daughter Rosie after Mary was killed, but things are not exactly comfortable between him and Sherlock. After everything that has happened, they are trying to become friends again...and maybe something more. What better time than the Christmas season?! Takes place after TLD.

The Good Morrow Series by greywash (E, 216,513 +w. across 5 works || WiP || Post-TRF Divergence, Horny John, Smut, Feelings, Negotiations, Christmas/Advent, Sherlock is a Mess, Relationships, Addiction Issues, PTSD, Therapy, Injury, Aging, Loneliness, Marriage, Family, Friendship, POV Second Person, Travel, Character Studies) – A post-S2 series where everyone has a lot of feels about everything and plausibility is stretched unto breaking. Also: fucking.

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AGAIN, PLEASE suggest your own or your favourite holiday fics!! The more, the merrier!!! <3

[mando-vibes]

Shiver

Series: To Him, with Love (Part 2)

(Part 1) (Part 3)

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: After Pablo Escobar is gone Javier finally returns home.

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Angst, slow burn, there will be smut

A/N: Thank you all for all the kind things on the first part. It made my week. I do hope you like this part as well, tell me your thoughts! The song that goes with this part as they dance I highly recommend listening to while reading called “Crimson and Clover” and as said before I ALSO TAKE REQUEST FOR JAVI AND MANDO SO FEEL FREE TO SUBMIT WHATEVER YOUR HEART DESIRES!

Ah, now I don’t hardly know her

But I think I could love her

12 years prior

It had only been a matter of two hours since you had seen your brother, Damon, but to your mother who was now pacing the dining room screaming at you, well it seemed like days. This was how the cycle was for you being the eldest and much more mature sibling. You remember the night two years ago when Damon had driven your father’s 61’ Ferrari right into the town’s local bank high out of his mind.

 “(Y/N) I expect many things out of you. You know that. And one is to take care of family no matter what.” She had said that night.

 Now things were full circle and it was you who received the punishment once again for Damon’s whereabouts. Your mother finally shifted from the dining room and into the pantry using the phone to call whomever she thought could help. A knock on the door startled you from your roaming thoughts, making you turn towards the door and open it. Just outside was your friend Coraline. Her blonde hair laid curly and pinned up and she had a small sparkly dress that reached her mid thigh. 

“Hey babe, I just found out about this party and I guess it’s at some macho guys place. Wanna check it out? We never go out.” Coraline insisted. But before you could answer for yourself your mother had entered the door frame behind you.

“She’d love to, come in dear while (Y/N) gets ready. Your brother might be there.” She said, a smile laid sickly on her fake expression. You sighed, motioning for Coraline to come in.

 You weren’t the type of person to go to parties at all. In fact out of all your 18 years you had not been to any type of party. Your family on the other hand, have been so famous from your mother’s career in modeling, it made it hard to avoid parties. Socializing wasn’t your strongsuit and you weren’t even of age to drink. You decided to just make it your mission to find Damon and leave. It’s what your mother wanted anyway.

Hurryingly you found a skirt and long sleeve shirt to wear. Coraline told you it would be the closest thing to a somewhat college girl party goer you would look like. You fixed your hair, pinning it up like Coraline’s and decided on minimal makeup. It was no time to impress anyone, just time to fit in with the crowd. 

“I think it is time for you two to go. Find Damon (Y/N) or I will not be happy.” Your Mother mumbled the last part under her breath and handed you her keys. 

You sighed, taking them into your hand and holding them tight, “I will make you happy. I promise.”

***

The drive to the party was not that long but the information you gathered from Coraline was that it was for mostly college graduates celebrating their success. It wasn’t surprising information but it made you even more anxious given how young you both were. You noted to keep an eye on Coraline so that she would not get taken advantage of by any of these guys.

Once you entered the small tavern you immediately found Damon. He was on top of the pool table raising a glass of unknown alcohol and yelling, “One for the DEA! I love drugs too!” over and over again. You gathered the courage to push through the crowds of men and pull at your brother’s pant leg.

 “Damon! Damon! Come on!” You yelled but the music was too loud.

Before you could make much more of a fool of yourself a pair of big hands covered yours and pulled them off of Damon’s jean sleeves. This gesture made you angry and you turned around to see the stranger who detested your moves. Your eyes sprung to life once you saw the man who was now looking at you.

He appeared to be in his mid twenties maybe. Dark hair and even darker eyes. The man had a thin mustache and stubble that spread across his jawline. He was beautiful, wearing a simple red and white checkered button up and dark jeans making it appear that he was older. You could drink him all day if you were allowed to. You didn’t have much experience with men or dating life in general since your waking hours were more focused on your mother and Damon’s antics.

“This is Damon (Y/L/N). You can’t go at him like that. I got him.” He said softly.

In a trance like state you nod and watch as the man helps Damon to his wobbly feet without any hesitation. He is laughing with Damon but you cannot make out what they were saying. With that, you watch as the stranger takes Damon upstairs and comes back down and throughout that whole time his gaze never really left you. He could have stared at the other pretty girls through the crowd who’d be more than willing to go home with him but he didn’t.

“I own the Tavern. He’s in my spare room hopefully sleeping it off. Looks like you could use a drink. What do you like?” He tentatively asked, furrowing an eyebrow.

Snapping out of your trance state, you blush and look down, away from his dangerous gaze. “I don’t know what I like.” You stated but instead of being disappointed the man simply goes towards the bar and asks for two whiskeys on the rocks.

When he came back he had the glasses, handing you one and begins talking.

“My name is Javier. I’m the new DEA agent your brother was so proudly shouting about. I don’t like drugs as you’ve been convinced.”

You smiled, twirling the ice in your glass out of nervousness. This man was toxic and you hadn’t even touched him.

“My name is (Y/N). I am that idiot’s sister and I came here tonight in search of him.”

Javier chuckled, tapping his glass to yours and then chugging it. You suppose you should do the same. The night stayed like that, Javier buying you drinks and him tapping his glass to it. You both talked about his new job and how stupid your brother could be. It was a game between you and him that made you feel special for the first time in your 18 years. Someone was actually interested in you. You wasn’t sure what it exactly meant but you felt so warm after the third one that you thought maybe it was love juice because all you wanted to do was climb on Javier’s strong thighs and tell him that you were his.

“Let’s dance.” Javier stated and you complied moving your hips to the beat everlessly.

He took the lead, coming closer but yet having a mutual respect to stay within the limits your body showed. Out of all the girls he could’ve had grinding on him you didn’t understand why he was okay with the lack of contact you instilled. 

“Maybe we should dance with other people.” You say matter-of-factly.

“Do you want to?” Javier asks, voice soaked in what you could only determine to be hurt.

You smiled, wanting the assurance that this is what exactly he wanted. “No, I like your button ups better than the other gentlemen here.” 

Javier chuckled, taking one hand and brushing it on the curve of your jaw. God you wanted him to touch you. It felt almost like extinct when you settled into his warm palm.

“And out of all the girls here- I picked the prettiest on accident. So I do have that going for me. But you do dance for shit.”

You blushed and rolled your eyes. Just as his other hand traveled to your waist a slower song began playing. You gather the strength to put your hands on his shoulders and caress them just as his hand had to your face. It all felt like a lul of a dream. It all felt good and you’d never danced so close to someone like this. Both your bodies had found their way to each other and his buttons tickled your navel.

Javi was in for it and he knew that. He wanted to kiss you, your breaths were already sharing the same air it seemed. But seeing as the way you were dressed you weren’t looking for that kind of entertainment tonight. Hell, he supposed that you weren’t looking for a dance but yet here you both were looking at each other as if you both were the last people to ever exist. 

He knew he needed to make a move before you slipped from his fingertips but all he could manage was caressing your facial features, dipping a hand at the nape of your neck. Your noses were practically touching and Javi never thought touching someone could feel this intimate but here they both were laying it out just like the romance movies made it feel. It made him scared and excited all at once.

Never had he met such a dominant girl like yourself. The way you walked in a bar full of mostly men and demanded for your brother turned him on to where he had to fix himself before everyone could see it to. This little girl, all hell bent on wanting what she thought was hers. Javi was a dead man at the sights of it.

Before he knew it, the slow song had ended and you were falling from his fingertips just as he thought you would. Damon came crashing down the stairs, yelling at a couple girls who swooned at him. Where was the hardass? The Javier Peña who was known for getting what he wanted. Javier hoped for you to return to him when things wouldn’t be so timely. But he was a man, a DEA agent at that. And he only had just met you so why did he shiver just looking into this little girl’s eyes?

“Looks like it’s time for me to hit it. Thanks for a dance Javi.” You said.

He nodded, mind racing and heart yearning. Javier knew that he was fucking in for it the moment he grabbed your hands to warn you, but he was good at not showing feelings and keeping his cool.

 “Goodbye Cinderella, maybe again?” He enquired.

You laughed at his joke, brushing through the crowd towards Damon. He had already downed a third of a beer and was about to take a shot with Coraline.

“Yeah,” You snorted, what would be the odds?

“Maybe.”

And at that Javier found another girl to occupy his racing thoughts and you pushed your brother and Coraline out the door.

Tags: @takemepedropascal​ @stevieharrrr​ @spookyold-saintjm​ @onebatch–twobatch​ @mrsparknuts​ @randomness501​

[nemo1230]

A thing or two about vulnerability

Richie had lived many years, 41, to be precise, and he hadn't known a thing about vulnerability. Such thing was a complete stranger to him.

But now, lying in a bed together with the love of his life, he let his thoughts wander. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking over to Eddie, who was still asleep. And finally some things made sense to him. It wasn't that he hadn't felt like this before per se, after all he had pinned after Eddie for the better half of his teenage years, but right now, the feeling wasn't tainted with repression and internalized hate. It was free and transparent.

Vulnerability in its essence is one of the greatest dangers and weapons of humanity. In vulnerability there's always a sense of duality, and while being vulnerable you agree to both sides, whether deliberately or not.

It can be peace and misery, a curse and it's cure, all at once. You place your heart and soul in the palms of another person, giving the person the liberty to do whatever they want with them, even breaking them. You just trust them enough that they won't. A trust like that is something that can either crush you in pieces or mend you.

A trust like that is strength, despite what many might believe, Richie realized. It's bulletproof, wholly and irreversibly indestructible down to the very core; it protects you, because it allows you to find a home in another person. A home that's beyond material values is a small salvation of its own; it's safety and security, it's pure, unadulterated love that vividly pierces trough you, providing you with strength unlike any other.

That is, if the love is mutual of course. To misplace trust like that can cause such heartache that can shake the very ground you stand on, to make it crumble beneath you, taking you with it. It's a huge risk, but Richie has always been a risk taker, and oh, how easy it was to take this one. After around 8 years spent pinning and 27 not remembering, that is of course.

To love and to be loved like that was something that Richie never consider to be possible for him, yet here it was, right in front of him, in a form of this small, hyperactive hypochondriac 41 year-old who calls him an idiot on daily basis. With him, he finally felt at home, with him all the misplaced pieces suddenly fell into place.

Richie looked at Eddie, eyes running over every feature of his, watched how the sunlight from the window created a soft glow and delicate shadows on his face and it finally hit him; the fact that he could just do this now. He could love Eddie, as a man, and as a human, with nothing stopping him.

Eddie sighed and shifted in his sleep, turning his face to the side, his hair falling on his face. Richie reached over and pushed the escaping lock of hair behind his ear, then gently run his knuckles over his cheek.

Eddie was snoring not so quietly and a little drool was coming out of his mouth and he hadn't taken a shower yesterday because he had had a quite tiring day at work, and oh dear god and all heavens above, he looked so stunning Richie could cry.

He had picked up the habit of just simply watching Eddie. He liked watching him do simple, mundane things, like reading a book or cooking, or anything really. While there was a certain thrill of doing new things with Eddie of course, there now was newfound enjoyment in simplicity. Maybe he was really getting old, but he found that just being with Eddie was enough. Or maybe it was the fact that he had come so close to losing Eddie, that now he really was relishing that he was alive, breathing.

"Fucking creep." Eddie's voice echoed trough Richie's thoughts, making him snap out of it. He looked down and noticed Eddie's vivid, sparkling eyes looking at him.

"Well, good morning to you too, spaghetti-man, " Richie said, a smile already forming on his face.

Even just woken up, sleep mussed Eddie was able to direct a death glare Richie's way. ''I swear to god, if you don’t stop calling me that, dude.''

Richie raised one eyebrow. "And how is calling me dude any better? As if we're two straight dudes, complaining about our wives, watching sports, ya know, living our best heterosexual lives. If you need to be reminded, we fucked yesterday. That's not very 'dude' of us.''

Eddie signed, sat up in the bed and run his hand trough his hair. Then he turned to Richie, who was watching him with a grin on his face. ''You know what, you're right, I just realized that I am, in fact, a heterosexual man, sorry, dude,'' he said, making sure to emphasize the word 'dude', ''I gotta go back to my wife, I don't think she'll be very happy if she finds out that I have once again stayed the night at some attractive mans house.''

Richie snorted and sat up too. "Hmm, and how often exactly do you stay at the houses of these attractive men?" He slowly put his hand over Eddie's chest, gently running his hand over the big scar that now decorated Eddies front and back. Eddie was still quite insecure about it, so Richie never stopped reminding him how beautiful he was and that a scar like that could never change that.

Goosebumps rose on Eddie's skin and he shivered.  He put his hand over Richie's and laced their fingers. "Every night." He whispered, then leaned forward and softly kissed Richie, to which Richie was quick to respond. Kissing Eddie was something that he never got tired of.

When Eddie pulled back slightly, Richie spoke again, changing his voice to sound more like a professional doctor. ''Well, Mr. Kaspbrak, I sure do have some new for you. I have to diagnose you with Richie Tozier-sexuality. This includes being incredibly attracted to dudes with dad bods and terrible personal hygiene. '' He announced, matter-of-factly, counting the things he listed on his fingers for emphasis.  

Eddie pulled back a bit more, just enough to fix Richie with a pointed look. ''Is there any cure to this horrible disease? '' His voice was serious, but his eyes twinkled with amusement.

''Yeah, I recommend getting under the covers with me immediately, that should help you quite alright. '' Richie declared, while pointing at the blankets on their bed.

Eddie raised one eyebrow and tilted his head. ''Are you always this flirty with your patients? ''

''Yeah, actually. I am flirty with every single one of my patients, which include, hmm let me check, '' He then pretended to check an invisible list of patients that he apparently has, and then continued, ''Eddie Kaspbrak. Yeah, that would be all. ''

Eddie smirked, leaning forward, and slowly running his thumb over Richie's lower lip. ''How very unprofessional of you, doctor. ''

Richie had no idea how they always could go from stupid jokes like that, to heavy flirting like this. But he wasn't about to complain, rather the opposite.

Richie already felt his cheeks reddening. ''Will I get punished for it? '' He whispered, pressing so close to Eddie that they were breathing the same air.

''Oh, most certainly. '' Came the reply, which Richie felt more on his lips rather then heard.  Then Eddie pulled back, Richie chasing after him, and while still having that suggestive smirk, calmly said, ''Go do the dishes, babe. ''

Richie gasped and scrunched up his face in disappointment. ''Bro, really?!''

Eddie only snorted and tilted his head. ''And who's being a straight dude now, huh?'' He laughed, so open and happy, that Richie couldn't help but to swoon at, after all this time all he still could think was - 'cute cute cute'.

''Well, shit you caught me, all the internalized homophobia that I've felt my whole life has been fake and I actually do like boobs!''

Eddie signed, laid back down on his back and sprayed out his hands. He looked at Richie, pressing his lips in a thin line and then smiling sadly. ''I fucking hate this. It's fucking bullshit. That we had to go through that. ''

Richie joined him, snuggling up close to Eddie, laying his head on his chest. ''Yeah. It sucked ass, but I am happy now though. You make me so happy, Eds.'' He took Eddies hand and started playing with his fingers. A stupid joke about sucking ass was on the tip of his tongue, but he held back. He has used humor to hide his true feelings for his whole life, but being with Eddie made him realize that maybe, sometimes it was good to just feel.

Being this close to another person was still a challenge to him. Living a life mostly all by himself, never letting anyone close left it's impact after all. He had built walls upon walls, but with Eddie there beside him, he could feel them slowly crumbling.

''You make me so happy too, Rich.'' He kissed the top of Richie's head, took a deep breath and whispered, ''I love you.''

Richie tried his best to still his beating heart and blushing cheeks. This wasn’t the first time they’ve told these words to each other, but every time they still made Richie's breath get stuck in his throat, and his heart skip a beat. ''I love you too, Eds, I love you too. ''

Then Richie looked up, into Eddie's eyes and saw that he too was still affected by words like that. He smiled, open and bright, and Eddie smiled back, just the same, his eyes full of fondness and unmistakable, undeniable love.

And Eddie looking at him like that made him realize that perhaps being in love really was an endless free fall. You trip over the edge at that's it, no ground to reach, just you falling deeper and deeper and deeper. And he never wanted to stop.

Now he could say that he knew a thing or two about vulnerability, and honestly, it's a pretty fucking good feeling.

[kiruuuuu]

Bandit/Jäger oneshot in which they’re on holiday, and maybe, just maybe, Bandit is up to something. Includes Sledge/Maestro, Smoke/Mute, Blitz/Rook and my recruits!! (Rating T/M, chaos, shenanigans + fluff, ~9.3k words) -  written for @grasshopper643​! This was an absolute blast, thank you so so much for commissioning me, and also for including the recruits 💖💖

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Bandit awakens to birdsong, crickets chirping up a storm, bright sunlight falling into the comfy room smelling of old wood, and another body draped over his. Mind blissfully blank, he takes advantage of the marvellous situation he finds himself in: a deep breath fills his lungs with warm, fragrant summer air, and when he tilts his head to feel the soothing rays on his cheeks, he just happens to snuggle closer to the man atop him. Hands wander over exposed skin, travel down the dip of the lower waist, climb the gentle rise a bit further down, fingertips digging into inviting flesh.

Jäger stirs, not much, just enough so Bandit knows he’s awake, and wraps even tighter around him with a contented sigh. Normally, an embrace this snug would feel suffocating, and normally, the start of a new day would be met with unwilling groans and mutual shoving, but they’re on holiday. Bandit’s mind is at peace here, aided by the floral scent of all the flowers thriving not only outside the small house but scattered inside, too, inhabiting vases everywhere and mixing with the building’s own organic smell. Jäger’s personal one is merely the cherry on top.

Lazily, Bandit mouths at his lover’s shoulder while continuing the really quite lovely groping, massaging plump cheeks in preparation of early morning sex, something for which they rarely have the time. But they’re on holiday. They can do what they want. If he was any more awake, he might endeavour to take Jäger apart with his tongue until his moans turn into these hoarse pleas which never fail to drive Bandit insane, yet he’s afraid they’ll have to make do with languid humping amid deep kisses – travelling to their destination yesterday was surprisingly exhausting and they needed the sleep.

Nibbling at Jäger’s nape of the neck earns him his first moan for the day, so he uses more teeth, continues down that vein and grins to himself when Jäger stretches into his ministrations, sees a shadow move by the window and looks up, over Jäger’s shoulder, to -

- to be faced with five pairs of eyes. Very wide, and very curious.

His gaze must’ve turned murderous as all five idiots drop out of view immediately and, from the quiet sounds of it, scramble to get away. Vague regret befalls Bandit not for the first time: this half-baked plan might come to bite him in the arse eventually.

Oblivious to this distraction, Jäger curls into him and captures his lips in a sloppy kiss, and just for a moment, Bandit considers not getting up at all. Give ‘em a show, who cares – part of him wants to show off his boyfriend with his long limbs, the adorable little smiles, confident movements so unusual for him. And Jesus fucking Christ, not even twenty-four hours in Italy, and he’s already let its sappy atmosphere seep into his thoughts.

“Off”, he orders and slaps Jäger’s backside hard enough to leave a bright red mark. With a dissatisfied grumble, Jäger obliges and rolls off him, but not without reaching between Bandit’s legs and hell, he really doesn’t make anything easy, does he? There’s a brief scuffle accompanied by sleepy giggling on Jäger’s part and vanishing resistance on Bandit’s, and when he ends up pinning the other man down by the wrists, he still hasn’t won. Because Jäger beams up at him so unguardedly that it feels like a stab to the heart. He’s just, he’s just so -

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots movement once more and that’s it.

“I’ll be right back”, he promises and, despite being incredibly pissed, briefly sucks on Jäger’s neck for good measure just so his smile doesn’t fade before untangling their limbs and getting up. On the way out, he pulls on a t-shirt and underwear since he doesn’t feel like digging through their luggage for his sweatpants, takes one set of keys and leaves the house to face his delegation of idiots.

The five recruits have piled up outside the door, the majority visibly uncomfortable.

“Sorry for interrupting, chief”, the Irish lad, Shay, brightly addresses him and gets shushed by the others immediately before continuing much more quietly: “We just wanted to report back.”

“Did anything happen?”, Bandit asks and looks to the only competent one of the bunch, the Russian lurking in the back, always seeming uninterested yet no doubt watching like a hawk out of the corner of his eyes. Bandit probably likes Ivan Ivanovic the most as he has him largely figured out – he’s familiar with the cool façade of nonchalance hiding a sharp mind, while he never has any clue what’s going on in Shay’s, Jojo’s or Gian’s heads. Nor is he particularly curious. And Valenti reminds him too much of Blitz sometimes: an overachiever, someone who fancies himself a leader.

“They had romantic breakfast, so Gian called cops on them”, Ivan Ivanovic replies levelly.

Bandit waits a second to see if they’re joking, but Shay merely nods encouragingly and since he can’t lie for shit, they must be serious. He massages his temples and, to buy time in order to process this revelation, barks at Valenti and Jojo: “If either of you glances at my cock one more time, I’m going to shove it up your ass.”

Both gazes snap up in instant terror and both faces flush a satisfying crimson. Well. He could’ve phrased this better.

“To be quite frank, we were in a state of non-negligible panic”, Gian points out calmly. “An interruption seemed the necessary course of action, yet revealing our presence unwise, so I acted swiftly.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal anyway”, Jojo cuts in, sensing Bandit’s disbelief, “they turned out to know some of Maestro’s relatives, we think, so they had a pleasant chat and left and were none the wiser.”

“So let me get this straight – you made a false emergency call and are patting yourselves on the back now?”

Valenti opens his mouth to protest yet realises much too late that this is exactly what happened. His sheepish expression soothes some of Bandit’s anger, though it does nothing to improve the situation. “You did say we could use whatever means necessary”, Shay chimes in good-naturedly and Bandit belatedly understands how in the world these five usually land in these kinds of situations.

“Not only did you fucking violate the law, but you also ogled my boyfriend in order to tell me that ultimately nothing happened?”

They exchange uncertain glances until Valenti of all people attempts to appease him: “Well, we figured -”

“Fuck off. Don’t talk to me again unless it’s urgent, and if you miss me so much that you can’t bear living without me yelling at you, text me. Got it?” His razor sharp tone has them all nod and flee into different directions, leaving him to consider just aborting the entire mission.

But no. He has to get revenge.

The infuriating incompetence at least does have a positive side effect – he’s not only awake but also riled up enough to tongue punch Jäger into never-never land, and when he returns to a long body prettily stretched out on the bed, one hand wrapped around a very interested member, he only needs to grit out a turn around to spark a smile full of anticipation.

He still closes the curtains for good measure.

.

When it comes down to it, it’s Jäger’s fault. He fed Bandit genuine laughs, secretive grins and all the attention he could ever ask for whenever he let the other German in on a joke, and over time Bandit got used to it: shenanigans mean admiration, a few stolen kisses here and there, a re-telling both excited and exaggerated, and even pride. Jäger used to be proud of his innovations, all the creative ways in which he terrorised those around him. Therefore, when Bandit changes all of Blitz’ personalised ring tones to – as he finds – fitting alternatives and merely garners a crushing, accusing look together with a devastating sigh, his world view crumbles.

Admittedly, it did take Blitz an entire weekend to set up the system Bandit single-handed destroyed during two afternoons. Admittedly, most of the song choices were in poor taste and some of them genuinely offensive, but that doesn’t make them any less funny, does it? And admittedly, maybe, just maybe choosing Weird Al’s ‘Fat’ for Rook when the Frenchie only recently voiced wanting to lose a few pounds was a tad misguided. Especially when Blitz hadn’t noticed Bandit’s stunt and asked Rook to call him to locate his misplaced phone.

Well. Alright. Maybe he did deserve the tired look Jäger gave him.

But after that? No matter how hard he tried to impress him, how much of a menace he was, he never managed to regain Jäger’s favour. Instead, he got a talk.

Please stop, was the baseline. Don’t play pranks anymore. Focus on other, more constructive activities. Stop wasting all these resources on messing with people.

And so Bandit stopped. Not because Jäger told him, obviously, but without his partner in crime it just wasn’t fun anymore. It took most of his self-discipline not to tamper with Rook’s new shoes – heelies, of all things, it would’ve been child’s play to make him eat shit – and leave Mute’s new jammer prototype alone, despite him forgetting to lock it away one day. God, it could’ve been glorious. Bandit could’ve strapped it onto Diana and declare her a denial of service dog.

But no, he didn’t even want to mess around anymore anyway, and if he stretched towards Jäger’s resulting affection like a sunflower, it merely was a pleasant side effect. If only the others didn’t notice.

Smoke was the first. Out of boredom, he taped the kitchen door shut and texted Bandit about Monika having baked fresh brownies, then recorded him enthusiastically giving himself a black eye, and Bandit couldn’t retaliate. Because that night was going to be the fourth night in a row on which Jäger would pet his hair until he’s asleep which he’d never really done before, and Bandit wasn’t going to let anything get in the way.

Then Mute hacked his phone and literally every link led to fucking Rick Astley and every time Bandit typed ‘I’, his keyboard replaced it with the entire lyrics to the song, and Bandit still couldn’t take revenge because Jäger was in the middle of watching a series together with Bandit despite not being super into it, and he didn’t want to finish it alone.

And when a handful of others got wind of being immune to his wrath, it turned into hell. People openly approached him to criticise the way he led his team during a training exercise, and sure, he did a shite job due to acute laziness, but who does that? Others let him know they appreciated all the extra care he put in during their most recent mission and fucking Christ, if they don’t even stop shy of compliments, he might as well quit because what’s even left of him in that case? Horrifying.

Obviously, he keeps track of every misdeed. Just in case Jäger gets deployed for a few weeks, allowing him to punish all the wrongdoers. Even if he has the feeling he’d be too distracted to really make it count in that case.

But Sledge puts the cherry on top. One day, he pulls Bandit aside and says a few things which are inexcusable. Unforgivable. And thus, Bandit hatches a plan.

.

They have breakfast in a small café together with Smoke and Mute, both of whom immediately expressed the wish to tag along when Bandit mentioned his plans to go on a short holiday to the beautiful Western coast of Italy and who is he to turn down their company (especially when they potentially distract Jäger, allowing him some breathing room)? The Brits share the vacation house next to theirs and Bandit just hopes they didn’t notice the early morning commotion, but then again it seems as if Mute ensured they haven’t noticed much since their arrival.

“I’m going to eat fucking ten of these overpriced cardboard pastries”, he announces mid-chew and chases down the second half of Smoke’s cornetto with a sip of Jäger’s coffee before anyone can stop him.

“Babe”, Smoke tries to gently reason with him and earns a wild glare.

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, not my fault they fold up the footpaths at night, I’m starving.” He gestures to the vaguely horrified-looking waiter to bring more sustenance and finishes Jäger’s latte in one go.

“If I’d stayed up all bloody night high on energy drinks I’d be starving too”, Smoke mutters with a helpless shake of the head which alright, that explains both Mute’s manic restlessness as well as the bags under Smoke’s eyes.

“Are you sure you should be getting more caffeine?”, Bandit wants to know dubiously and realises too late that the young lad’s gaze is worryingly unfocused.

“Huh?”, he makes and it’s obvious he hasn’t been following anyone’s conversation but his own so far. “Bloody hell, if this horrifically sweet stuff is all they eat for breakfast it’s no wonder Seamus is getting fat. I’ll ask whether they have bacon. They must have bacon. Right? Everyone has bacon. Or sausages at least. Fucking cold cuts, anything. Maybe there’s a salt shortage going on in Italy, though the people definitely had more than enough. Bacon.”

The other three stare after him as he makes a beeline towards the poor guy stuck serving them. “I would be salty, too, if some asshole insisted on New York style pizza being better than the original”, Smoke points out drily.

“Is he gonna be alright?” So far, Bandit has witnessed Mute on caffeine overdose (result: the attention span of a squirrel), sleep deprivation (result: endless ideas better suited for a mad scientist, particularly terrifying coming from someone who can actually implement most of them), and excessive hunger (result: an exceedingly sharp tongue plus an infinite supply of irritation), yet never all three together. He has to admit, it’s a sight to behold.

Smoke shrugs. “The crash is gonna be hilarious, no lie. He did tell me he hates energy drinks but didn’t specify why. Had I known, I would’ve put up more of a fight.”

Just as Mute returns triumphantly with an entire plate of fried eggs probably meant for all of them despite him making no move to share, Bandit notices that Jäger has been unusually quiet ever since they’ve left the house – and it’s even odder that he’s just watching Bandit with a small smile. Does he… does he know about his plan? Is he suspecting something? “What?”, Bandit asks defensively.

The smile widens. Uh oh. “Nothing. I’m just happy we’re here.”

Abort mission, abort mission. “Yeah, me too, and isn’t it a shame Elias and Julien have to rot at base without -”

“I was really surprised when you made the suggestion to come here, I would never have expected anything like this from you.”

“Well, we’re here now and we should make a list of everything that’s bad so we can annoy Maestro when we’re -”

“But it’s wonderful. The house is pretty, the beach is gorgeous and the town picturesque. It’s really romantic and I like it here. A lot.”

Bandit just laughs nervously. His face is on fire and he has to get out of this as soon as possible. Maybe he should split up the dumb recruits and have two of them watch him so he can give them a secret signal whenever a situation like this happens because holy shit, this is -

“Even so, you could’ve chosen any place and it would’ve been great, just because you’d be there. Thank you, Dom.”

He’s scarlet. Across the table, Mute is still stuck in the motion of salting his eggs while gaping at the two of them, unaware he’s created a veritable heap crowning one of the yolks by now. Jäger continues to smile at him and there’s no way he can bear another second of this. “I have to take a piss”, he declares loudly before fleeing to the men’s where he sits down on the lid, trying to will away the blood from his cheeks. Maybe coming here was a mistake after all.

To distract himself from the odd sensation in his stomach, he checks his phone and finds a message from Valenti: two lovebirds heading to the water, unsure how to interfere.

Alright. At least he can do something on this front. Once he’s cooled off a little, he returns to Mute nearly dunking half an egg into Smoke’s glass and Jäger observing them with a shit eating grin. “We should go to the beach afterwards”, he suggests and tries his best not to react to the hand straying to his thigh as soon as he’s sat down.

.

It wasn’t pickpocketing per se. Not really, because the odd object was half sticking out of Sledge’s trousers anyway, screaming to be taken. A rectangular box, while not too bulky, definitely not made for being carried around in front pockets for an entire day, and so Bandit merely… relieved the Scotsman of this burden. After all, he might’ve lost it otherwise and who knows how valuable it is. Better keep it safe for him than fill him with panic when he can’t find it and has to retrace his steps.

Bandit can’t deny it came at a pretty fucking opportune time seeing as he’d been obsessing about vengeance for Sledge’s uncalled-for insults, and so he nicked the velvety item without thinking and, as he hopes, without anyone noticing. For once, having to sit next to Sledge during meetings paid off. He’s patient for the rest of the day, carries his prize around without taking a proper look in case anyone catches him, yet when he opens it at home, he blanches.

Oh the possibilities.

For a few seconds, his mind is filled with delicious scenarios, one better than the other: replace the ring with one from a bubblegum dispenser. Replace it with bees. Add a noisemaker which produces a fart sound whenever the box is opened. Superglue it so it can’t be taken out. The more he thinks, the more absurd his ideas become: have it reduced in size. Engrave it with a random name. Coat it in a substance which dyes skin for weeks.

It’s a really tasteful ring. If he’s honest, it’s gorgeous. At the same time, he knows Maestro will flip the fuck out no matter what it looks like because it’s the act that counts, the intention.

Not only that, but Sledge is certain to inspect the entire box with extreme prejudice once he gets it back, and if he identifies any tampering, Bandit is dead meat.

“You dropped this yesterday”, he says the day after and hands the box back.

Sledge, as expected, examines it thoroughly before nodding – he doesn’t even hide it and alright, that’s fair. Given Bandit’s history of messing with him, he wouldn’t even bat an eye at Sledge sending it in to some lab. “Thanks”, he replies, and Bandit isn’t even offended at the astonishment in his voice. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

Relationships really do turn most people into utter fools if Sledge deems it a fruitful idea to ask Bandit for his opinion. Fortunately, he’s very different. He’d never change himself just because of Jäger or fall into the trap of hopeless, helpless infatuation. He’s always in control. “It’d be way too small for me”, he shoots back, unimpressed, “but hey, you measured it, so I’m sure Maestro will love his new cock ring.”

The genuine laugh he gets in return tells him that Sledge really has it bad. “I’m planning to propose to him on our trip to Italy next month”, he foolishly divulges and Bandit’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh?”, he prompts politely. “Tell me more.”

.

If looks could kill, Bandit would’ve dropped dead the instant Sledge catches sight of him. He would’ve spontaneously combusted and his ashes been blown away by the wind, because the Scotsman must know instantly that he’s up to something, judging by how the sun itself darkens along with his mood. He’s stretched out on a towel on the beautiful fine-grained white sand, shielded from the harsh sunlight by a large parasol and ready to wring Bandit’s neck.

“What? How?”, Mute is still going on, not having recovered from this remarkable coincidence. “It’s impossible that we end up in the same vacation spot by pure chance!”

“Yes”, Sledge grits out. “Impossible.”

“Adriano recommended this place to us”, Smoke jumps in and Bandit owes him so many drinks, “and I thought you were gonna visit his family?” Some of Sledge’s suspicion fades, even if Jäger throws Bandit a curious glance. He still needs to be careful, so he keeps quiet.

“This… isn’t a set-up? You’re not up to anything?”, Sledge wants to know accusingly and Bandit just snorts.

“Of course not, as if I didn’t have anything better to do in my free time. Are you getting paranoid?”

Sledge looks like he has a few choice words to say, but when Maestro joins them, his attention snaps to him like metal to a magnet – not like Bandit could blame him, not with the Italian’s tan skin glistening all over and his dangerously short swimming trunks clinging to his body. Bandit takes note of this: should he ever need to divert the Scot’s attention, he merely needs to dump some water over his boyfriend.

“Amici miei! What a wonderful surprise, how great to see you!”, Maestro greets them warmly and smooches their cheeks, in the process getting all of them wet, and then turns to where Mute is chasing seagulls while screeching along with them. “What, uh, what happened with my cucciolo?”

“He’ll tire himself out”, Smoke assures him with a sigh.

“How do you like it here? I will show you everything! Isn’t it such a fortunate coincidence, cioccolatino?”

“Marvellous”, says Sledge.

“We can spend all our time together and I will teach you the most important phrases!”

And while the Scotsman looks like he bit into a lemon, Mute rushes over to detail all the sand castles he’ll build.

.

No more than five minutes later, the youngest Brit is already conked out and snoring softly on the very towel Sledge had occupied previously, and when he seems to be wholly unperturbed by the others talking around him, they set up their own beach equipment and share their experiences and impressions of Maestro’s home country. He seems genuinely delighted over their presence, unlike Sledge, and generously shares anecdotes about this particular holiday favourite. Normally, Bandit would rather chew off his own leg than allow the Italian to chew off his ear, but Jäger’s holding his hand and so he really has no other choice. Besides, his lover seems stoked over the opportunity to ask about everything local and his enthusiasm is contagious. At least a little bit.

Eventually, the group breaks up a little, with Sledge announcing his intention to go for a walk along the beach with Maestro, and Jäger urging Bandit to go swimming as well. He shoots Ivan Ivanovic a message about keeping an eye on the unlikely couple and interrupting them should the atmosphere become a little too amorous, and notices a text from Rook: the Frenchman seems to be making the most out of being stuck in Hereford and challenges the holidaymakers in a group chat to snap the best ‘out of context’ selfie they can. Attached is a peace-signing Rook in the foreground, with a half-naked Buck getting his chest hair shaved behind him, looking not at all amused with a doubled-over Valkyrie.

Half a minute later, Blitz contributes by sending a photo of him giving a cheery thumbs-up, while Rook in the background is apparently getting yelled at by a half-shaven Buck. Days since the last superglue accident: 0, Blitz adds.

Bandit, despite being highly entertained, silently vows to upstage him, upstage all of them really, even if he hasn’t figured out how yet.

“At least he’s prepared if he wants to compete with Meghan in the pool again”, Jäger comments good-naturedly, following the chat on his own phone. He turns around to photograph himself grinning while also capturing Smoke drawing a dick on his boyfriend’s unconscious body with sun cream. “You guys are cute”, he adds inexplicably.

Smoke takes one look at the drooling man haphazardly flung onto the fabric, shirt riding up enough to expose a canvas for him to abuse, and nods. “I’ve never loved another human being more”, he responds gravely and adds a few cum spurts shooting from the tip.

“Give the balls some hair too”, Jäger suggests sweetly before dragging Bandit off towards the splashing waves.

The hot sand burns their soles, so they awkwardly skip towards the sea, tackling each other once they’re largely submerged and nearly lose the beach ball they brought. Bandit supposes it’s a bad time to mention how he never really liked going on holiday, figures it’s usually more effort than it’s worth, and hanging around at the beach all day not having anything to do seems like a massive waste of time – but since his presence here has purpose and the cogs in his head never stop turning, it’s actually not that bad. He keeps one eye on the couple strolling along the beautiful shore, almost far enough away that he can’t see them anymore, and focuses the rest of his attention on Jäger.

Because dear God.

He belatedly understands Sledge’s distraction upon seeing his boyfriend emerge from the sea, cheeks rosy, rivulets running down exposed skin, playful smile plastered on his face and -

- and there’s an entire pack of dogs swarming Sledge and Maestro in the distance.

Bandit stares because what else is there to do? It looks as if all stray dogs from the region had assembled to circle the two, jump up and apparently try to slobber all over them, and while his brain is still trying to process the view, he gets thwacked in the head full force by the beach ball, losing his footing in the process.

He’s still coughing up salt water as Jäger drags him towards the sand, unsuccessfully trying to stifle his laughter and apologising simultaneously. He should be more upset, seeing as not only did the recruits choose one of the flashiest ways of bothering Sledge again, but also he’s got a headache now and his lungs are burning, he will probably end up with a nasty sunburn on his scalp as he refuses to wear any kind of hat, keeps stepping on sharp seashells, hates the way sun lotion feels on his skin and despises the taste of tangy water – but when they trip and fall, and his field of vision is filled with nothing but Jäger, and his lover smiles and quietly asks whether he needs CPR, and when there’s warm lips on his own cool ones, none of it really seems that dramatic.

.

Mute is awake and has aged by ten years as they return, but at least he seems to have mellowed out considerably – even though he doesn’t look at all amused with the jellyfish Smoke keeps lining up next to their shadowy spot. “Can someone tell him that sleeping for sixteen hours is a worthwhile activity?”, Mute sighs, massaging his temples.

“If I hadn’t sent you out to get some food, you wouldn’t have let me sleep last night either, babe. Stay up till evening and reset your sleep schedule.”

“I’ll reset your fucking schedule if you don’t stop with these stupid gelatine blobs. We’re not taking one home and that’s final.”

“Glad to see everyone else also enjoying their holiday!”, Jäger pipes up cheerfully while towelling himself dry. “But what happened to you two?”

Sledge, sipping what looks suspiciously like coffee instead of his usual tea, glances down at his scratched up legs, at Maestro’s paw print covered loafers as well as the general dirt smeared over them, and replies flatly: “We’ve gone to the dogs.”

“This has been a really odd trip so far”, Maestro adds, “the first evening we couldn’t turn off any of the lights in our house though they switched off by themselves some time during the night. Just this morning, we were approached by policemen about allegedly causing a disturbance even though I’m fairly sure we had the curtains closed the entire time -”

“He’s referring to the fact that he likes to sleep naked”, Sledge hastens to explain due to several pairs of eyebrows shooting up at this comment.

“Then someone threw a few Playboy magazines through the letter slot, and just now we became an irresistible attraction for the local wildlife.”

“It’s almost as if someone was up to something.”

And while the others continue discussing these odd and unfortunate turns of events, Bandit pretends he missed Sledge’s meaningful comment.

“I think I’ve got sunburn on my hands”, Smoke mutters to himself as Jäger and Maestro encourage each other to come up with the most complicated conspiracy theory which would explain all that’s happened to the happy couple, with Sledge merely shaking his head. “They’re pretty red.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your collection”, Mute prompts tiredly and indicates the shrivelling, dead creatures by Smoke’s feet.

“You see, most of them are just see-through slime, but this one is real pretty. Looks like an omelette almost, don’t you think, babe?”

Mute blinks slowly. “Go and buy some vinegar with Adriano, will you? Doesn’t matter what kind, and don’t ask.”

The suggestion makes most of them spring into action as Jäger was considering heading out for lunch anyway, yet he lingers when everyone but Mute and Bandit trail after a happily bubbling Maestro. “Don’t you think it’s weird that all these things happen to the two of them?”, he asks and it takes all of Bandit’s willpower and focus not to smirk. “You’re not up to anything, are you?”

“Of course not”, he promises as sincerely as decades of professional lying allow it, and sends his boyfriend off with a kiss to his nose.

Once he’s out of earshot, Mute mumbles: “You’re absolutely up to something, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am”, he scoffs and blames it on the energy drinks that it took Mute this long to realise.

“It’s a fucking fried egg jellyfish”, Mute explains without being prompted. “Nothing serious, but the bloody idiot is probably gonna feel it for a few days.”

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“And have him start early with asking me to piss on his hands? No thank you.”

.

~*~

.

“To be fair”, Valenti, the little fucker, tries to justify himself, “you didn’t say not to use perfume bombs.”

The effects of just 24 hours of Italian air are noticeable on the five recruits: Valenti has gotten even cockier than usual and revels in the warm weather, Shay has turned a lovely shade of lobster red, Jojo has bought a new wardrobe and, remarkably, looks just as fashionable as Maestro, Gian is distracted by everything and anything around him, visibly enjoying himself and writing novellas into his notebook, and even Ivan Ivanovic is smiling. If only Bandit himself felt the soothing touch of the country, he probably wouldn’t be this close to shaking some sense into the confident tiny Frenchman.

“You’re extremely lucky Seamus isn’t into crossdressing or any of that shite, because his soon-to-be fiancé smelling of several whorehouses at once caters pretty well to these fantasies and would’ve set him off, and then you’d have to keep two randy lovebirds apart and not just two sappy ones.”

“How do you know that’d happen?”, Jojo chimes up curiously.

The five of them are eating ice cream while sitting on the stone balustrade separating the promenade from the beach below and Bandit develops the sudden urge to toss the other German off it. “Look”, he starts and immediately gets interrupted by Shay smushing his face into his chocolate ice and Gian starting to giggle uncontrollably.

“The hell are you doing?”, Valenti wants to know, aghast, and rolls his eyes at Ivan’s reply: “I told him milk good for sunburn. Takes off heat.”

“I do feel much better already!”

Jojo grabs the cone out of the Irishman’s hand and sticks it against Shay’s forehead. “Shame you’re not called Shaun because now you’d be a uni-shaun.” Without any hesitation, he leans in and starts licking the ice cream off of Shay’s cheek, causing him to squeal and wield his damaged cone like a weapon and mere seconds later, they’re having a lightsaber fight in the middle of the fortunately empty street, with Valenti acting as referee.

Bandit’s earlier headache is starting to come back, and this time he’s sure it’s not related to heat stroke.

“Like children”, Ivan comments. He’s still got that smile on his face.

“Regardless of how we might achieve the goal you set for us”, Gian addresses Bandit, “our reward remains unclaimed. You’re confident you can procure it?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you what you want, provided you guys keep your end of the -” And then he’s cut off by a screaming Shay colliding with him full force, sending him stumbling and dangerously close to the low banister but not yet over – though when he tries to turn and yell, Jojo joins the dogpile and sends them flying.

.

Jäger looks fucking gorgeous when Bandit returns to their cottage, shorts and boots really hitting the spot and if he complains about having forgotten lighter shoes one more time, Bandit is going to show him just what he thinks of his outfit by having him keep it on as he blows both him and his mind. Thoughts like this one have become second nature and he’s still not entirely sure how.

“Don’t touch me, I need a shower”, he warns his lover before he can wrap around Bandit the way he usually does, no matter how long he’s been gone, “I’ve got sand everywhere, even up my arse crack.”

“What did you do?”

“Slipped and fell on the beach. And other people might’ve also slipped and fallen on me.”

“Odd. Seamus had ice cream tossed at him from inside a bush.”

“Huh. Did he find out by whom?”

“It was a thorn bush, so he stayed away from it.” Yikes. Bandit feels like his conscience shouldn’t be as clear as it is, but on the other hand he’s largely paying for their trip. So if he gets free entertainment out of it, he’s not going to complain. “Look, Elias and Julien sent another selfie.”

On screen, the happy couple is smooching in front of Echo sleeping on one of the workshop tables, with a variety of objects stacked on top of him in an impressive display of balancing skills. Next to him, Dokkaebi is showcasing a veritably demonic grin, much to Hibana’s concern. “Cute”, Bandit comments sarcastically yet it seems Jäger takes him at face value.

“Right? I still don’t understand why you kept gagging next to them when they were freshly together. They’re so good for each other.”

And he’s never understood how Jäger can support kitsch on four legs this openly. “This might come as a shock to you, but I’m not really the romantic type.”

The knowing smirk following his statement is what drives him away, ears burning, and it’s still adorning soft lips when Jäger joins him in the shower a few minutes later.

.

~*~

.

“Mutiny”, Bandit repeats after a grave-looking Jojo. “Are you taking the fucking piss?”

“We’ve spent almost three days of constant surveillance, spontaneous action, consistent communication as well as doing a remarkably good job, if I may say so”, Valenti jumps in, eager to support his mate, “and you’ve not met your end of the deal.”

They’re huddled behind the very stone balustrade which has painted Bandit’s back a hideous shade of yellowish-green due to an acute case of getting bodychecked over it, and he’s beginning to feel like a repeat performance is preferable over dealing with these numbskulls. “My end of the deal?”, he parrots in disbelief. “I’ve paid for your fucking vacation, you ungrateful little shits, and all you’ve done is ruin their holiday.”

“I wouldn’t go that far -”

“Well I fucking would. You nearly gave Seamus food poisoning, caused him to fall into the sea, harassed him with prank calls which weren’t even remotely funny -”

“Billy’s roadkill diner – you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em”, Shay interjects cheerily, earning a snort and an addition from Jojo: “You frag ‘em, we bag ‘em!”

“- and you even egged Maestro’s favourite shirt.”

“That was little funny”, Ivan Ivanovic butts in, and alright, the string of expletives exploding out of the hot-blooded Italian was admittedly hilarious, especially when even Sledge seemed genuinely scandalised over some of them.

Still, he’s understood by now that engaging any of the clowns leads to madness, so he simply keeps talking. “Besides, what the fuck do you want me to do about a Scot who flat out refuses to take off his shirt at the beach? I can hardly go and undress him, can I?”

“You could show creativity, like we have. Aren’t you supposed to be resourceful?”

If this had come from anyone but the Russian, Bandit might’ve slapped some sense into them, yet this gives him pause. “I mean – I tried, but he wouldn’t budge. Why is this so fucking important to you anyway, are you that bloody horny?”

Jojo looks ready to hold an entire speech as to why it’s crucial for mankind’s survival that they witness the buff Scotsman shed his shirt, but fortunately it’s Gian who speaks up instead: “I cannot help but feel your heart is not in this endeavour.” How fucking dare he. “You informed us of your wish to exert revenge, yet your glee has been muted, your undertakings half-hearted and your satisfaction with our actions astonishingly low.”

Bullshit. Bandit enjoyed watching the one guy suffer who usually throws wrenches into his plans, who reprimands him constantly and sabotages his pranks – it was extremely satisfying, he enjoyed it so much that he’d say it was the best part of his holiday so far.

…he would say that, wouldn’t he? And simultaneously know he’d be wrong.

Because his focus really wasn’t on Sledge, and with passed time it’s gotten harder and harder for Bandit to remind himself of why Sledge’s words stung so much. Why what he said sent Bandit into a white hot fit of rage.

Five pairs of eyes are staring at him expectantly. They might’ve gone about it arseways, but they did indeed accomplish what he asked of them, to the best of their capabilities. They even managed not to get caught, and while there’s no doubt someone is up to something, no one has been able to prove it was Bandit, even if Sledge, Smoke and Mute continuously side-eye him.

Maybe he should call the whole thing off after all and enjoy what’s left of his holiday.

“Give me a minute”, he asks and thankfully, all of them nod. When it comes down to it, they’ve proven reliable in the way a thunderstorm is – no way of telling when the next lightning strikes, but thunder always follows. Besides, now that they’ve overcome their terror of speaking with him, their natural banter reminds him of the familial atmosphere of his own team. Fuck. He’s starting not to mind them, even if they look like vaguely reverent meerkats staring up at him for any kind of signal as he paces back and forth next to them.

This is when he spots Sledge and Maestro, a short distance away from where Jäger, Smoke and Mute are building a proper sand fort: they’re holding hands, facing each other and seem to be deeply moved and fucking shite, it’s the perfect atmosphere with the gentle sea retreating in low tide behind them, the sun sliding lower and lower and flooding the beach in a warm, orange light. Sledge is gonna go down on one knee any second now and Bandit has no way of stopping them.

Shay must’ve noticed the horror in his expression as he peeks over the banister and immediately rips open Valenti’s backpack. “Code red”, he announces more professionally than he’s ever sounded in his entire career, stands up and -

And lobs a water balloon at the two lovebirds. A water balloon which bursts upon impact with Sledge’s broad chest, no doubt interrupting their little moment. A water balloon filled with neon yellow paint.

There’s a second of perfect silence.

Then Shay throws a second one.

In an impressive demonstration of his skills, Sledge catches it without it detonating in his hands and hurls it back full force, a detail the other four recruits quite obviously missed as they rise to get a better look, and when the second paint bomb explodes on the balustrade in front of them, literally all five end up coated in hot pink, with Bandit only suffering a light dose.

Well. That could’ve gone better. For another brief moment, the spattered recruits, Bandit, and the eye-wateringly yellow couple stare at each other.

“You fuckers”, Maestro then screams, and Sledge yells: “Dom, you little prick!” And the recruits and Bandit exchange a single glance before individually coming to the conclusion that an escape is in order. Especially when the two star-crossed lovers start running.

Shay shrieks like a little girl, Ivan takes a brief moment to wipe some of the paint off Valenti’s eyes with the inside of his shirt, and Jojo is already halfway down the street. Bandit is in great company. Gian nearly gets run over by a scooter and apologises in fluid Italian, Bandit slides over the hood of an expensive-looking car and leaves behind frankly hideous pink streaks, and Ivan seems to consider scaling the nearest building while Valenti is still coughing up paint. Shay trips and gets dragged along by Gian, and together the six of them scramble their way through the picturesque seaside town, garnering more than a few odd looks from the locals.

“Whose fucking idea was this?!”, Bandit wants to know and struggles to make it up the steep stairs to another busy road, though he does appreciate Ivan lending him a hand eventually.

“I didn’t think he’d catch it”, Valenti admits between breaths.

“He played fucking rugby, you moron!”

“May I suggest postponing this argument and instead focusing on the task at hand?”

“This colour actually suits you, Jojo, did you know?”

“Let us make left here, come on.”

“Jesus fucking Christ”, Bandit mumbles to himself though he can’t curse away the rush of endorphins in his system – he’s started to become complacent, and though Jäger will no doubt be disappointed in him, he’s missed this, the chaos, the knowledge of doing something forbidden, the guilty laughter bursting out of them now and then as they weave their way through alleys and between cars. He wastes no thought on what’s going to happen once they’ve successfully evaded their pursuers, right now he’s preoccupied with feeling the wind in his hair, jumping obstacles, running with the pack, rushing around corners and -

And apparently colliding with what feels like a brick wall. Something that doesn’t look like one though. Because it’s neon yellow.

“I will fucking castrate you and shove your own balls so far up your ass you’ll be able to taste them”, Maestro growls while Sledge causes another pile-up next to him by letting the recruits bounce off him easily.

It seems like this is it.

“How on earth are you so fast?”, Shay wants to know with wide eyes as the five of them take turns shoving each other to the front to face the Scotsman glaring daggers.

“Shouldn’t have let the one guy among you with no sense of direction lead”, Sledge explains. All eyes slide over to Jojo whose face starts matching the paint he’s covered in.

“Who’s the ringleader here?”, Maestro demands to know. All eyes slide back over to Bandit.

“It was a group effort?”, he tries.

“Will you let us live if we tell you?” Hell, he really should’ve gotten rid of this French gremlin sooner. A single nod from Sledge, and now five fingers are pointing at Bandit.

“Look”, he begins and gets interrupted by being slammed into the wall next to him, and it’ll be a miracle if the furious Italian lets him get away with mere bruises, though fortunately a hand on Maestro’s arm stops him.

“Adrianito. Let him go.” Sledge’s intervention is welcome yet Bandit’s relief short-lived when the two of them part to reveal the rest of their group: Mute and Smoke who are only missing popcorn, judging by the unadulterated amusement in their expressions – and Jäger.

A very unimpressed-looking Jäger. This is worse than a few bruises. He pushes to the front, brow raised and demeanour so calm it instils paralysing fear. For the first time ever since they came here, there’s not even a hint of a smile on his lips and it does unpleasant things to Bandit’s insides. He wasn’t meant to prank anyone, let alone follow Sledge and Maestro like this just to terrorise them. Whatever will come out of his lover’s mouth next is sure to be devastating.

“What were you doing?”, Jäger asks quietly. So far, so good. Around them, everyone seems to be holding their breath.

It’s the perfect opportunity. Seeing as Bandit won’t be able to interfere anymore after this, he could mention his plan off-handedly, complete his revenge by spoiling the surprise waiting in Sledge’s pocket. He can see it in Sledge’s eyes that he knows it too: a few words, and he’d be forced to show the ring, do it all on Bandit’s terms. He holds power over the Scot he never thought possible, and even if he doesn’t ruin his proposal right now, he could use it as an excellent source of blackmail later. The idea of Sledge having to do whatever he wants is more than enticing. “Annoying the hell out of him”, he replies, buying himself time. Sledge’s hazel eyes are boring into his.

Jäger just shakes his head a little. “And, what, were you planning on following them to his parent’s place too?”

Maestro senses his hesitation and though he hasn’t overcome his animosity, he doesn’t leave Bandit in the dark: “My mamma invited us for a family reunion. We’re leaving tomorrow morning and spending the rest of the week with my family.”

Oh. He didn’t know this, their plans must’ve changed since he talked to Sledge about their vacation. It’d be lovely. He pictures it, Sledge kneeling down, surrounded by Maestro’s relatives, all of them freaking out and cooing over them. It sounds heart-warming. And he could destroy it with a single sentence. If he doesn’t do it now, the two will be gone tomorrow and he’ll have missed his chance.

“Well”, he says. Jäger looks ready to cross his arms. “I hope you two have a great time.”

And Sledge gets it. His smile speaks volumes, he relaxes and even graces Bandit with a slight nod. Despite how much they clash the rest of the time, Bandit doesn’t want to do this to him, not like this. There are other methods he can employ without messing with Sledge’s love life and potentially ruin what could’ve been a wonderful memory.

Even so, he’s not out of the shite yet, there are still five recruits looking like they’re going to be gutted any second now, a seething Italian just waiting for his signal to rip them apart, and Jäger. So far, he’s not done one of his sighs. There is hope.

“Why did you do all this?”, he wants to know and Bandit realises something belatedly: namely just how truly fucked he is. Conveniently forgetting about this little detail, he pushed it to the back of his mind, merely holding on to his rage about Sledge’s words yet ignoring their content. His gaze snaps to Sledge and oh boy, how the tables have turned.

.

You’ve been behaving well recently, Sledge said to him that fateful day Bandit swore revenge at all costs. It’s Marius’ influence, isn’t it?

Bandit grumbled a little, waved him off, tried to change the topic but Sledge wasn’t having any of it: Have you told him you love him?

And fucking Christ, how presumptuous could any one person be? Not only wasn’t it his business, but also was he plain wrong. One fact Bandit had accepted long ago was that he cared about no one but himself. His life was littered with selfish decisions, no matter how much he tried to care, tried to hold on. Ultimately, the only one he ever protected was himself. He said something along those lines, unusually earnest with his nemesis, and felt more than just irritation rise in him when he received the response: Stop running from him and ask him to move in with you.

Preposterous. Frankly insulting. And Bandit silently vowed to have Sledge’s head for this.

.

“Oh well, who cares, just yell at me and let’s move on, alright?”, he hastens to change the topic and doesn’t miss Sledge’s grin amid everyone’s bewilderment.

Jäger doesn’t seem happy with this answer. “What do you mean? You can’t tell me there was no reason for you to pull this shite.”

“He pissed me off, I wanted revenge, here we are, now let’s stop dwelling on the past and -”

“What did you do?”, his boyfriend turns to the Scotsman in question, fuelling Bandit’s panic.

“Don’t ask him, he probably doesn’t even -”

“Be quiet. If you won’t give me an answer, Dom, let him.”

This is bad. Bandit’s and Sledge’s eyes meet and he’s well aware to be completely at his mercy – and he doesn’t harbour much hope, not after the past three days of constant torment, not after he very nearly spoiled their holiday. The recruits are holding their breath, neither of them fully aware of what’s going on but Bandit knows they treat the members of Rainbow like celebrities, so it must be exciting for them to witness drama like this up close. Smoke and Mute are following the conversation silently, gazes darting back and forth like in a tennis match, and Bandit wouldn’t be surprised if they’d placed bets on the outcome. Maestro has postponed his fury, though he’s clearly waiting for his time to lay into pretty much anyone involved.

Sledge seems to have made a decision and there’s no way in hell he’s not disclosing Bandit’s innermost thoughts to the world. He simply has to take this opportunity to humiliate him, uncover the secret he carries in his heart, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal it. He fixes Bandit with a level stare and says: “I insulted his bike.”

A beat.

Oh, thinks Bandit.

“You did what?!” And suddenly, Jäger’s composure has vanished. “How dare you! It’s a piece of art!”

Like a real trooper, Sledge keeps it up. “I called it a death trap waiting to happen and the decals juvenile.”

“Luce dei miei occhi, you can’t be serious!” Unbelievably, even Maestro looks offended. “It has fire, spirit, passion – that motorcycle has a soul, who are you to call it names!”

“I bet you’ve never even ridden it, it sounds like a large cat purring”, Smoke chimes in as well now, and all of a sudden, nearly everyone is directing their ire at Sledge who admittedly takes it like a champ. It’s a miracle. And Bandit instantly forgives him everything he’s ever done, from uncovering his candy related Ponzi scheme which not only involved Rainbow’s recruits but even spread to the SAS ones, to winning against him in hand to hand literally every time. He can’t believe it, merely gapes at the outrage directed at Sledge of all people and vows to try and never cross the Scot again.

Even so, there’s something he still has to do. “We need to talk”, he quietly informs the very upset Jäger and gently drags him a few steps away from the loudly arguing group, ignoring Mute’s encouraging about time! and Smoke’s meaningful wink. For some reason it seems that pretty much all people present know more about Bandit’s emotions than he does, and though he should find this fact concerning, his mind is currently trying to wrap around what he’s about to say. It’s been a while since this particular phrase has left his mouth, indubitably much too long. He doesn’t use it nearly enough and is painfully aware, so now’s his chance.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Jäger simply blinks at him. “What for?”

Now it’s Bandit’s turn to be gobsmacked. “Wha – for doing all this behind your back. For not listening to you. For almost ruining this holiday.”

His lover softens and shakes his head with a smile. “Dom. I knew you were up to something. I may be horribly in love, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind.” Bandit almost chokes on nothing. He what. “It was never about the stupid pranks, it was about them getting so elaborate that we spent less and less time together. I’m fine with you doing whatever as long as you pay enough attention to me. Which you have in the past days. I’m really happy with this vacation – and besides, you’re adorable when you’re shifty.”

Closing his mouth seems impossible at this point. “You – I’m -”

“We’re staying here for the rest of the week, right? So let’s make the most of it.”

The friendly, unguarded smile is killing him. Killing him. How can Jäger say – how can he stand there and just – it’s impossible, and his face is on fire yet again, and maybe, just maybe Sledge was spot on with what he said. He should stop running. For now, he merely nods, disarmed, and avoids Jäger’s much too intense gaze. There’s so much he still has to tell him, but it can wait. He doesn’t think there’ll be a shortage of romantic moments any time soon.

Looking towards the others, there’s at least one battle he can win. Maestro has switched to yelling at the poor recruits and doesn’t seem to notice anything else, so Bandit calls: “Seamus! Could you take your shirt off for me?”

.

The selfie Bandit posts in the group a minute later has him and Jäger in the foreground, lips touching and both ears crimson, but the background is pandemonium. A neon yellow Maestro is giving the splattered recruits a well-deserved bollocking, though neither of the five seems to be listening – instead, they’re staring over Maestro’s shoulder, eyes wide and transfixed on a shirtless Sledge who seems ready to humour anyone (probably courtesy of the fact that Bandit will leave him alone from now on) and is flexing for their benefit as well as showing off suspicious scratch marks and bruises all over his chiselled torso. Next to him, Mute has donned Sledge’s paint-soaked shirt and dragged his fingers through the viscous liquid to write TWAT on the bandages around Smoke’s hands, both of them beaming into the camera while making obscene gestures.

Blitz’ reply summarises the scene quite aptly: wtf, he writes and adds a row of appropriately dumbstruck emoji. Are those our recruits??

You guys are cute, is Rook’s contribution and for once, Bandit wholeheartedly agrees. And while he holds on to Jäger’s slim form, ignoring the chaos next to them and grinning at his lover’s suggestion of involving him in future plans so they can kill two birds with one stone, he decides to let the recruits enjoy the rest of their holiday unbothered.

After all, everyone deserves a bit of peace and quiet now and then. And it just so happens that he’s currently embracing his own.

[thefangirlingdead]

Prompt!! Dave (in modern time) not being used to affection in public bc obvs with his original time period. He eventually adjusts, but somebody makes a homophobic remark towards him and Klaus that sends him into a panic. Cue protective Klaus.

OH SHIT. I AM ALL ABOUT THIS. 

Here’s something that I intended to be a little Drabble but ended up being much longer. Let’s just say for the sake of this lil’ ficlet that the apocalypse never happened and Klaus has a little bit more control over his powers after his time in Vietnam. (also I wrote this while kind of day drunk on a Friday afternoon SO DON’T CRITIQUE IT TOO HARD)

“It’s a little different than the disco, huh?” Klaus asks, glancing back in Dave’s direction with a sly, wicked little grin. He’s pulling him by the hand through the vibrant, loud club, his voice barely audible over the thumping of the bass-heavy music, but the glint in his eyes accented in the neon lights.

Dave had been the one to suggest going out a few weeks ago, but Klaus knew that he didn’t anticipate this when he asked to see the types of clubs that Klaus frequented. And to think, this one is a little more tame than some of his other regular stomping grounds. This club in particular is actually rather small, the majority of the room taken up by a spacious dance floor and long bar that stretches from one end to the other. There’s a small balcony that overlooks the crowd, but Klaus rarely hangs up there. No, he’d rather be on the dance floor, letting loose, losing himself in the music, dancing with someone special. Someone like -

Dave. Dave, who pauses as Klaus drags him through the club, hesitating long enough that is catches Klaus’ attention and causes him to turn, shooting him a concerned gaze, head cocked just slightly to the side.

“You good?” he asks, just to make sure. Sometimes, the loud noises are rough. Sometimes, crowds can be too much. Even a few months past Vietnam, even a few months since Klaus brought Dave back to 2019, there are still some scars that run too deep, some battle wounds that still need healing. He gets it, because he feels them too.

So when Dave pauses, pulling Klaus’ arm taut, Klaus is quick to check in with him, to make sure he’s okay.

“Yeah,” Dave assures with a nod, but Klaus doesn’t miss that it seems like he’s trying to convince himself. “Yeah I’m good, I just - I’m not used to… this.” Dave motions between himself and Klaus, then, at the junction of their hands, and Klaus quickly understands. In return, he offers Dave a gentle smile, taking a few steps toward him to close the gap between their bodies and get close enough to speak over the thumping music.

“Hey…” he murmurs gently, and for a split second, they’re the only two people in the club. Dave is the only person who matters, and Klaus is determined to make him feel comfortable. Sure, Klaus wants to share this part of his life with Dave, but he also wants to make sure Dave has fun. If he isn’t enjoying this, they can leave. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he assures, “If you’d rather go somewhere else, do something a little more low-key, that’s cool too.”

“No,” Dave insists with a shake of his head, offering Klaus a tight, reassuring smile, even as Klaus laces their fingers together, one hand reaching up to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “No, I want to - I mean, you wanted to come here and -”

“And it doesn’t matter what I want,” Klaus insists, “We’re not staying here if you’re not comfortable.”

Dave swallows, but he doesn’t balk away from Klaus’ intimate touch, nor his searching eyes. “No I’m - it’s just… an adjustment, is all,” he says at last, “I know you keep saying things are different now, but it’s just hard to believe sometimes, you know?”

“I know,” Klaus agrees. His hand drifts, thumb brushing Dave’s cheek, fingers tickling the short hairs at the back of his neck. “And I know I seem to have a pretty blasé attitude about everything, but I promise, we’re safe here.”

Then, with a smirk, Klaus adds, “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen people practically fucking on this dance floor before. We’ll be okay. I promise.”

And finally, Dave cracks a smile, rolling his eyes at Klaus’ words. “Well, I’m not trying to -”

“Hey, how about we just see where the night takes us…” Klaus teases with a wink. “Do you want to get a drink?”

And that’s how Klaus and Dave end up about three drinks deep, dancing close together among a swirling mass of bodies on the dance floor to some song that Klaus loves and Dave has certainly never heard before. It takes a little bit for him to fully come out of his shell, but once he does, he seems like he’s in his element, hands on Klaus’ hips, lips just brushing his on the dance floor. That’s how Klaus ends up winding his arms around Dave’s shoulders, leaning forward to press a passionate kiss to his lips and that’s how, ten minutes later, Klaus ends up pressed against the wall in the hallway near the bathrooms, arms pinned above his head, Dave hard against him, uncaring of whoever might see.

“Now that’s more like it,” Klaus murmurs in between kisses, a smirk spread across his face before their lips crash together again and god, when he first met Dave, the sweet little momma’s boy, the same man who actually asked before kissing him for the first time, he never thought he’d find himself here, pinned up against the wall of a club, getting the life kissed out of him.  But here they are, Dave easily pressing both of his wrists together against the wall with one hand, the other sturdy on his chest, Klaus struggling to keep his composure, struggling not to drag Dave into the bathroom and have his way with him.

They’ve come a long way since they first met, since they first realized that the feeling was mutual, and Klaus wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s already a miracle that Dave agreed to take the leap and come here with him, that they managed to survive this long, so Klaus can’t help the way he kisses Dave back as if he’ll disappear any second, as if he’s surprised that he’s still holding onto him, forgetting the world around them for a few moments and just focusing on Dave.

So it’s no surprise that Klaus doesn’t notice the group of men approaching them, that he doesn’t register their jeers and hateful slurs until they’re a little too close for comfort. And then, just as fast as he’s there, Dave is gone. With his attention focused on Dave - his lips, his hands, his body - Klaus doesn’t notice when some stranger purposefully shoulder-checks him as they come out of the bathroom. He doesn’t notice until they’re shoving Dave backwards and Klaus hears the end of some insult hurled at him -

“…fucking faggot.”

“Sorry -” Dave starts to mutter, but not before Klaus is moving, acting on instinct, his emotions taking over.

Klaus takes a step in front of Dave, putting his arm out as if to stop him from moving. “No, don’t be sorry,” he bites, loud enough for the stranger to hear him over the loud thumping of the club’s music, “This asshole should be sorry!”

And the stranger, the guy who Klaus didn’t even see because he’d been too busy kissing Dave, turns on his heel, eyes narrowed in Klaus’ direction, a smirk spread across his ugly fucking face.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

The man (and his two friends) steps forward, but just as he does, Klaus moves on instinct, acting before he thinks. He reaches a hand out, clenching it into a fist and the stranger freezes in place.

“I said,” Klaus growls, “That you should be sorry.”

The man’s expression quickly changes from anger to horror, his features transforming in the blink of an eye. And while Klaus despises using his powers like this - he only did it once or twice in Vietnam and it was awful - he doesn’t even hesitate when it comes to Dave.

“What are you doing to me, you freak?” The stranger cries, his voice terrified, strained. He tries to move, but Klaus keep him in place.

“You might want to watch what you’re saying,” Klaus mutters, voice barely audible over the sound of the music, but he knows that the man hears him. He knows, and with a slight flick of his wrist, the stranger is falling to his knees, unable to control his own body.

And god, Klaus hates his powers sometimes, but right now, it feels right. It feels just. Because shit, it’s 2019, and this idiot shouldn’t be talking to him and Dave like that, because this asshole deserves to learn a lesson.

But then, Dave’s voice is cutting through the noise in Klaus’ head, and the moment is broken.

“Klaus…” Dave sounds worried, he sounds upset, and the sound of his name on his lover’s lips breaks his concentration, it has his concentration breaking and the stranger scrambling to his feet and scurrying away without another word.

It isn’t until he’s gone that Klaus registers the gentle hand on his arm, the soft voice in his ear. “Klaus, I’m right here, come back to me -”

And Klaus shakes himself out of it, coming back down into his body, back to earth.

“Fuck,” Klaus mutters, shaking his head before he turns back to Dave, “Sorry, I just got carried away and -”

He stops speaking, however, when he spies the wide-eyed look on Dave’s face, just on the verge of panic, and -

“Oh shit,” Klaus gasps, reaching forward to touch Dave gently, pulling him close. He knows that look, because he’s seen it on himself before, has seen it in the mirror, just on the verge of a breakdown, and god, he hates seeing it on Dave, but he’s not surprised.

Without thinking, Klaus grabs Dave by the arm and pulls, dragging him into the nearby bathroom, away from the gaze of onlookers and away from the loud music pulsing throughout the club. And shit, Klaus doesn’t have any excperience in dealing with something like this - hell, he’s not even quite sure how to deal with it on his own - but he assumes that Dave needs a quiet space, that he doesn’t need to chaos of the club or the audience of strangers. If it were Klaus, he’d want quiet, so he tries to find that for Dave, secluded in the bathroom, alone, even if just for a few moments.

Whenever Klaus has dealt with the panic that he currently sees in Dave’s eyes himself, he’s only ever seen it in the mirror, staring right back at him. He’s never seen it on someone else, and honestly, it’s kind of terrifying. He doesn’t know what to do, but he tries to stay level headed for Dave.

He doesn’t know quite how to comfort someone, so Klaus lets them both slump to the ground, his hands hovering just over Dave’s arms, unsure of what to do. When he reaches out to touch, though, Dave jerks back, as if Klaus’ touch burns, and Klaus suddenly understands. Or, well, he thinks he does.

“Shit. Shit, shit,” Klaus mutters, backing up slightly where he’s crouched on the ground, hands raised in a placating gesture, as if to say he means no harm, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, back there. I just - they can’t just talk to you like that and -”

“No,” Dave croaks out at last, shaking his head. His voice is breathless, barely there, just on the verge of a panic attack, but it sounds like a scream to Klaus’ ears. He reaches forward, gripping Klaus’ wrist before he can pull away fully, stopping him in place, “No, Klaus. That’s not it. I just - it reminded me of back… before we met, I was out with a guy once and - I - we -”

Oh. Oh.

“Ooooh. Shit,” Klaus mutters, sitting back on his heels at the realization of what Dave’s words imply.

He’s been through this before. He thought he was safe, and the same fucking thing happened.

Klaus isn’t dense. He knows what Dave means, and it’s insane, seeing someone like Dave, such a strong person, such an adept fighter, a fucking soldier reduced to this because of some shitty, homophobic comments from some stranger, because of something that happened to him in the past. Because of that fucking world, and close-minded assholes and the 60’s… and shit, Klaus had been the one to convince him that he was safe here, and look what happened.

“Fuck,” Klaus mutters again, “I’m sorry, Dave. I shouldn’t have pushed you into this, I -”

But Dave is quick to interrupt Klaus before he can finish his thought. “No,” he repeats, “It’s not you. Shit, Klaus, it’s not you. It’s just… a lot, is all. I know things are different now, but it’s still hard, hearing that and -”

And Klaus doesn’t let Dave finish before he’s pulling him close, embracing Dave on the floor in some shitty club bathroom, and fuck anyone who can see them like this, open and vulnerable and helplessly in love.

[variabels]

Fitober19 #3 Roy buys some chocolates for Marth

A/N: What you need to know is that Marth and Roy have been mutually pinning each other for a long time, Toon Link unknowingly revealed to Roy that Marth liked him and Roy was too stupid to confess.

Prompt number:  4  “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

Fandom (AU if applicable): Super Smash Bros

Rating: T because of the implications at the end.

Warnings/Tags: Roy throwing a box on Ike

Words: Idk, I never know.

Ships: Marth x Roy

Roy was hesitating between two wrapping papers. The first one was a sappy white paper with red hearts and the second one was blue and gold which reminded him of the prince he was deeply in love with. He ultimately chose the second one because he was sure everyone would start rumors if they saw him walking around with a present wrapped in hearts.

He set the wrapping paper on his desk and took out a box of chocolate and a card he had hidden in his closet. He had spent hours choosing the right chocolates and days drafting what he would write on the card. He needed to make sure it was impossible to misinterpret anything.

The redhead was in the middle of wrapping the box when he heard a voice asking him what he was doing. He turned around to face Marth who was really curious about the box Roy was desperately trying to hide. Roy had been so focused on the box that he didn’t notice the prince taking the defenseless card lying on the table.

“I’ve had these feelings for you since-” Marth read out loud before Roy snatched the card out of his hands, “Who’s this for?”

“Um, it’s from my dad to my mom,” Roy lied, “He’s telling her that he misses her and wants her to visit him in Pherae.”

“So, why do you have it?”

“Dad, wanted me to give her chocolates. It’s totally normal in the plains to get your kid to give your present to your spouse. She loves her homeland so dad likes honoring their traditions.”

“Can I see?”

“No, it’s embarrassing!”

Roy’s protests weren’t stopping Marth from trying to figure out what was being hidden. The prince tried grabbing the partially wrapped box but his grabbing range wasn’t that good anymore. Roy lifted the box in the air where the shorter swordsman had no way of reaching it. Sadly, he hadn’t taken into account that Marth could see the box from where he was.

“Those are some nice chocolates. What’s wrong with me seeing them?”

“I told you it’s embarrassing!” Roy blushed, “I don’t want you seeing it.”

The redhead regretted his lie as he noticed that his crush was visibly hurt by it. He tried coming up with a way to assure Marth that he didn’t really mean it but the prince told him it was fine. The two awkwardly sat in silence until Marth broke it.

“Hey, Roy, do you like someone? That box is for who you like, right?”

“Um… It’s...”

“You told me I was your best friend. Why can’t you tell me? Are you in love with someone I hate? Or is it someone who hates me?”

“No, that’s not it. I-I’ll tell you when I deliver it. If I forget, you can punch me or something.”

---

Roy spent the rest of the day trying to avoid Marth. He wasn’t doing a very good job since the blue-haired prince kept following him. Roy couldn’t blame him, he knew Marth liked him and would probably want to know who Roy liked. It was endearing in a way, Marth had no idea he was jealous of himself.

Roy walked around the mansion at least four times before giving up. He could already hear rumors spreading about him and he didn’t want anything to do with them. He grabbed Marth by the hand and took him outside to the garden which happened to be devoid of any fighters. There was nothing that could get in the two swordsmen’s way.

“Marth, do you want to tell me something?” Roy asked as he looked at the man of his dreams, “You’ve been following me all day. You don’t need to be afraid.”

“I’m...” the prince blushed as he avoided eye contact, “I’m in… I’m… I’m in desperate need of some Japanese lessons! Cloud told me my Japanese has gotten worse lately. We should start speaking Japanese together again.”

Roy knew that was a lie. He didn’t call Marth out on it as he could tell he looked distressed. Instead, he took Marth by the hand and led him to a bench where they both sat down without saying a word.

“Roy, I know you probably don’t want me to, but can I look at the card you wrote?”

“No… I should just tell you myself what’s in it.”

Roy threw the card in a nearby trash can and moved closer to Marth. He wrapped his arms around the prince and let him rest his head on his shoulder. The two enjoyed each other’s company and the warmth radiated by their embrace.

“I guess I should start by apologizing to you,” Roy smiled nervously as his face heated up, “I’ve been ignoring your feelings for way too long and I’ve hurt you.”

“That’s an understatement,” Marth frowned as he pushed the redhead away, “It’s not like apologizing will change what’s already happened...”

“Marth, please let me finish! You never let me!”

“What? I let you finish, you just choose not to. You never go through with anything when I’m involved! That or you just leave me behind.”

“I-”

“Forget it, it’s not like you really care about how I feel anyway. I hate that about you.”

“Of course, I care about you! I care about how you feel. Why would I apologize for hurting you if I didn’t? I want you to be happy.”

“Roy, if you hate me, just tell me. I don’t want to be hurt by you even more. Once was more than enough.”

“Ugh, why can’t I ever get through to you? You’re so stubborn, it’s like you want me to hate you. That may end up happening if you carry on like this.”

“Gee, I’m sorry for not wanting to be hurt again by an idiot like you. But, I don’t even know what you think of me. You know how I’m in love with you. So, why can’t you-”

Marth’s response was interrupted as Roy pulled him in for a kiss. As the redhead deepened the kiss, Marth closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Roy’s neck. He wished the moment could last forever but before he knew it, Roy had broken the kiss.

“M-Marth, I-I love you!” the redhead stuttered as his face turned the same color as his hair, “Ever since Melee, I’ve been in love with you. W-will you go out with me?”

“W-what!?” Marth asked as he covered his face to hide his blush, “Y-you’re joking, right? I’m just imagining things I want to hear. You don’t actually want to go out with me.”

“Life would probably be easier if that were the case… But I wouldn’t want it to be that way.”

“Same here,” Marth grinned before giving Roy a quick peck on the lips, “I love you too.”

“Um… I know you didn’t ask for this,” Roy blushed as he shoved the neglected box of chocolates into the prince’s arms avoiding all eye contact, “But this is for you.”

“Thanks,” Marth smiled as he saw the badly wrapped box he was now holding.

“No complaining about how it will make you fat?” Roy teased before being pushed off the bench.

The newly formed couple laughed and spent the rest of the afternoon eating all the chocolate in the box Roy bought without a care in the world. They just wanted to be together and enjoy each other’s company without being disturbed.

---

Marth and Roy returned inside the mansion holding hands and catching their fellow fighters’ attention. Most fighters assumed they had finally decided to make their “secret” relationship public. Master Hand was paying Crazy Hand because he lost the bet.

Cloud and Peach were congratulating Marth like normal friends. Meanwhile, Ike was speaking way too enthusiastically to Roy. The dude was having the time of his life. He was really excited to not have to deal with unresolved sexual tensions anymore.

“If you two ever need the room to yourselves, just tell me and I’ll gladly leave, I’ll even leave right now if you want,” the mercenary told Roy as he gave him a gift, “Just don’t forget to use these. Don’t want anything bad happening to you.”

“Ike, what the actual fuck?”

“Hey, no need to thank me. I’m just doing what anyone would do for their favorite boy.”

“I don’t want your condoms!” the redhead blushed as he threw the box of condoms at Ike’s face before grabbing Marth’s hand, “We’re going on a date, Marth.”

“Have fun Marth,” Cloud waved.

“Aw, I wish I had a nice boyfriend too,” Peach smiled.

“Same...”

“What?”

[dewitty1]

Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Ginny Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Padma Patil, James Sirius Potter, Albus Severus Potter, Lily Luna Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson Additional Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Blended family, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Pansexual Harry Potter, Gay Draco Malfoy, Smut, Frottage, Anal Sex, Harry-centric, POC Harry Potter, Slow Burn, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Still Married, Marriage of Convenience, Relationship of Convenience, Unconventional Families, Alcohol Consumption by Adults, brief Harry/OMC - Freeform, Brief Draco/OMC, Consensual Aphrodisiac Use, Brief Scene of Racism/Racist Language, coming to terms with sexuality, Healthy Relationships, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Harry Potter & Blaise Zabini Friendship, Harry/Draco Big Bang 2018, Occasional Law/Politics Discussion, Community: harrydracobang, Hand Jobs Summary:

Harry’s happy with his life twenty-two years later. He has his job as the Head of the DMLE (albeit with a bit too much bureaucratic nonsense for his tastes), his not-really wife (and her incorrigibly charming shit of a boyfriend), and his three children (plus Scorpius Malfoy, who’s somehow become the fourth child in their brood). The only thing that’s missing is a partner, though not for a lack of trying on his part. However, the assignment of one case to Barrister Draco Malfoy – a polite and cordial acquaintance on the peripheral of Harry’s life �� leads to a deep friendship and the slow realisation that the partner he’s been waiting his whole life for has been standing right in front of him all along.

Excerpt:

Draco eyes him, the grey orbs narrowed in curiosity and wariness, so Harry simply goes for it with his usual aplomb: “My children adore you.”  Draco’s eyes widen slightly, the wariness all but disappearing at the clearly unexpected start, but Harry just evenly continues, “James and Lily both have always appreciated cleverness and adventure, so they’re quite fond of you.  Plus you’re the only one besides Gin that’ll braid Lily’s hair, so that tickles her to death.  As for Albus, well, it’s obvious that he skips right past adoring you into love – he thinks of you as a second father, honestly, and I can see why.  You’re brilliant with him, indulging him when he needs to be indulged, complimenting him when he needs to be complimented, and nipping any rule breaking or other issues in the bud before they can get him into trouble or send him down the wrong path.”

Harry sighs, taking a conservative sip of his wine and letting the subtle hint of honey roll across his tongue, before he continues, “And then there’s everyone else.  Gin is more than friendly with you, and Blaise is your best friend.  You’ve been attached at the hip to Hermione since you both went to your law academy together twenty years ago.  Ron even gets on with you in his own way, which I would’ve never imagined back in school.  In fact, the Weasley family as a whole haven’t a problem with you, though I’m sure you’ll never be as chummy with them as you are with me and Gin and Hermione.”

Harry takes a deep breath, trying to get this all out despite wanting to address the realisation that he can see blooming in Draco’s eyes, and says, “You’re one of my best friends.  Everything about you just fits.  You understand me on a fundamental level, and while we chafe each other in a lot of ways, and we bitch back and forth in a way that most people wouldn’t find healthy, you’re like the missing piece.”  Harry lets his lips quirk in a smile, almost shy, and adds, “Doesn’t hurt that you’re incredibly fit.  Always have been really, though I didn’t allow myself to acknowledge it until I was nineteen, for obvious reasons.”

Harry fiddles with the stem of his glass and says, “So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I quite fancy you, and I’d like to take you to dinner if you’ll have me.  Not tonight, obviously, as I’m still rather stuffed, but...well, soon.”

At the end of his spiel, he just watches Draco process.  He’s still sitting with that same impeccable posture, one hand holding the untouched glass of wine while the other is lightly resting against the armrest.  Most anyone else would see only the impassive, almost calm countenance of the posh Malfoy patriarch, but Harry’s too close to him now to miss the little flickers of emotion that show in his eyes and expressions.  It’s rather hard to pin down any of them, so Harry simply holds his breath, waiting for the final verdict.  It’s really up to Draco here, obviously, and even though Hermione is under the impression that Harry hasn’t a thing to worry about, he’s still inevitably nervous.

After all, he’s seen a lot of friendships break apart due to unrequited feelings, and he does not want that to happen between him and Draco.  Until (if) Draco accepts his invitation, he’ll be a bundle of nerves regardless of Hermione’s words, because even despite the relatively short period of time they’ve been friends (in contrast to the long history of bitter rivals and then polite cordialness) he still doesn’t want to lose this friendship.

To Harry’s surprise – with a small sprinkling of horror for garnish, if he’s honest – Draco rather suddenly stands up, placing his wine on the side table untouched and an unfamiliar expression on his features.  Harry stares up at him, wondering if he’s ruined positively everything because Harry can’t place the emotion on his face, but then Draco says in a remarkably smooth tone, “Bed first; dinner later.”

Harry’s heart thuds heavily in his chest, mouth falling open in a likely unflattering show of shock because what in the hell, and he feels like time has stopped.  After a long moment of just gaping at Draco, who’s looking remarkably confident but has a surprising amount of nervousness in those eyes of his, Harry asks, “Are you sure?”

Draco rolls his eyes with a huff, the tips of his ears pink, and snarks back, “Obviously, you idiot.  I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

Well.  Okay then.

Harry stands up himself, placing his own wine glass on the coffee table, and then advances on Draco, heart pounding and his breathing already a tad choppy.  He can feel his hands shaking but it doesn’t stop him from reaching up, cupping Draco’s face and brushing his thumbs along the sharp juts of his cheekbones, eyes flicking back and forth between Draco’s eyes for any hint of unease or wariness.  He only sees anticipation and amusement though, and Harry’s heart flutters with affection.

“Anything you’re not comfortable with?” he asks quietly, needing to get that out of the way before anything happens.  Draco hasn’t talked about that one bloke he took home (Harry can’t remember his name off the top of his head) back in March, and as far as Harry’s aware, Draco’s been celibate since then, so he’s not sure what Draco’s comfortable with.  After all, Draco’s whole realisation of his queerness is fairly new, and Harry will be damned if he oversteps based off his more considerable experience.

“I’ll tell you,” Draco murmurs, hands reaching up to touch Harry’s wrists, the softness of it contrasting to the intensity of his eyes, the deep pool of his anticipation.  His pupils are dilated, half from the rapidly fading light coming through the windows and half from the beginnings of arousal that Harry can see on his face, and he can feel Draco’s breath against his nose.

Harry smiles, nods once, and then slowly tilts his head up, letting his mouth brush against Draco’s own.  It’s a bare touch, just testing the waters a bit to see if this is okay, but Draco lets out a long, lingering exhale through his nose, hands tightening against Harry’s wrists as he steps close enough for their bodies to press flush against each other, and Harry figures that Draco’s totally fine with this, at least.

Harry lets his hands wander to the back of Draco’s hair, digging his fingers into the soft, short blond hair at the back of his scalp as he kisses him with a bit more pressure.  Draco lets go of Harry’s wrists, opting instead to place his palms on Harry’s chest as if he’s feeling his chest move or his heart beat, and responds in kind.  It’s a quiet moment, both of them just exploring this new thing between them as if they’ve got plenty of time to discover each other – which, Harry figures, isn’t too far from the truth.  He quite likes this, just simple, rather tame snogging in the middle of his cosy, familiar Camden flat, full of mutual hope and excitement for the future.  It isn’t like Harry’s not aroused by it, of course, but it’s fair to say that while his blood feels heated and his skin is covered in gooseflesh, he’s not really...well, out of his mind with it.

That is, until they open their mouths in simultaneous cohesion, and their tongues touch.

The only warning Harry gets is a sharp inhale and the delicious bite of short, groomed fingernails digging through the thin fabric of his shirt before Draco surges forward, like the dam’s broken and he can’t really stop the instinctive urge for more.  Harry finds himself being pushed back, suddenly being kissed within an inch of his life – and fuck Draco knows what he’s doing with that mouth of his – as his back hits the wall separating the sitting room from the kitchen.  Now Harry feels too hot in his skin, that tongue doing wicked things in his mouth and those glorious, elegant fingers edging down to the hem of his shirt, lightly sweeping under it to touch the warm skin of Harry’s stomach.

He doesn’t even get the opportunity to respond in kind, because they separate for breath and Draco nuzzles down into Harry’s neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses intermixed with the drag of his teeth against his skin, and all Harry can do is feel, breath coming out in harsh gasps and his fingers clutching mindlessly in Draco’s hair to keep him in place.  

He can feel his hips aimlessly pushing into Draco’s thigh, which is nestled in between Harry’s legs, and his prick is steadily growing against the expanse of lean muscle, increasingly achy and becoming steadily confined in its denim and cotton trappings.

And Draco himself is letting out near-constant sounds, something between a groan and a whimper, low and rough and enough to send a solid rush of arousal to the heavy heat between Harry’s thighs.  Harry can feel Draco’s own prick growing more rigid against Harry’s hip, and it’s intoxicating, this rush of almost easy passion between them, comfortable and right.  He suddenly can’t take the separation anymore and he pulls Draco’s face up, pushing their mouths together in a heated, intense glide of tongues and teeth as he forces his hands away from Draco’s hair, letting them trail down the bumps of Draco’s spine.  When he reaches the bottom hem, he brings his hands to the sharp bones of Draco’s hips through his trousers, caressing them with his thumbs before he attacks the buttons of his shirt.  It makes Draco exhale shakily, and then they’re mutually trying to take off each other’s shirts, Draco having a much easier time with it considering Harry avoids buttons like the plague.

He disconnects for a moment so the apparently offending fabric can be pulled over his head, and then he returns to the buttons, eventually managing to unclasp all of them.  He’s too impatient to yank it off him though, opting instead to just wrap his arms around Draco’s middle and pull them flush together, the warmth of their bare skin delicious and soothing all at once.  He tears his mouth away to finally return the favour, dragging his lips against the smooth skin on Draco’s throat and tasting salt and man, and gods he’s needs Draco on a bed right-fucking-now.

He pushes, Draco stumbling a bit from the suddenness but thankfully keeping his balance thanks to his own natural grace as well as Harry’s hands on his ribs, and Harry gets out in a rough whisper, “Bedroom, now.”

[kpopfanfictrash]

Santa Suit

Pairing: You / Baekhyun

Rating: 18+ (smut, part of the Holiday Drabble Game)

Word Count: 2,925

Summary: Baekhyun / friends to lovers!AU  / “What’s so great about Santa? I hear he only comes once a year.”

“I don’t understand,” Baekhyun mutters, from behind his controller. “Why do you have to go to this thing tonight, anyways?”

“Because,” you respond, tossing both legs over his knees. Leaning against the armrest, you wriggle your toes. “I promised Jules that I’d go – and you know what they say about promises.”

“They’re made to be broken?” Baekhyun returns, cutting your car off with a sharp right turn.

“No,” you counter, sitting up. “They say only idiots hurt the ones that they love.”

“Who says that?” Baekhyun complains, whiny as ever. “Never heard it before. Now get the fuck out,” he snorts, pushing your legs from his lap.

Nearly falling off of the sofa, you grab onto his arm. “Hey!” you yelp, toggling your controller back and forth until your car slams into his. “Don’t be an ass, just because I’m winning.”

“I’m only an ass,” Baekhyun grunts, flexing his muscles when he moves, “because you’re a cheater.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are,” Baekhyun bucks his hips, kicking your legs sideways, “too.”

You yelp, car swerving into a ditch. “You ass!” you gasp, tossing your controller aside.

Baekhyun cackles, in that high-pitched way that he has – this is interrupted by gasping, when you knee him hard in the side. “Ooh,” he complains, grabbing your waist to half-throw you off. In the process, your limbs become tangled in his and you end up half-sprawled in his lap. Breathing unsteadily, you try to pretend you don’t notice all his extremities poking hard into yours.

“I...” Baekhyun catches his breath, while you roll quickly off of him. “Yeah. Anyways.”

Hovering awkwardly at the end of the sofa, you begin fixing your hair in a ponytail. TV lights flash red and green before you, on the screen. YOU WIN, at Baekhyun. YOU LOSE, at you. Frowning, you pull your legs beneath you on the couch. “Anyways,” you sigh, looking his way. “I need you to be my date tonight.”

Baekhyun frowns, fiddling with the controller. “Why me?” he responds, and your heart slowly sinks.

You expected Baekhyun to have reservations about this, sure. You two are friends, have not been more since – a flush crosses your cheeks at the memory. It was a late autumn, some night freshman year of college. That was the first night you met Baekhyun. Before, of course, you discovered your best friend was hooking up with his best friend. It was also the first – and last – night you hooked up. It was only that one time, but it was the hottest, most mind-blowing sex of your entire life.

Until your friend called the next morning and informed, she’d just slept with Chanyeol. Park Chanyeol, Baekhyun’s best friend and while Julia was gushing, she let the crucial detail slip. She was hooking up with Chanyeol, despite his pig of a best friend, Baekhyun.

Hearing this, your stomach sank. Apparently, there was an incident between them freshman year – from the rumblings you’ve heard, he turned her down for a date, or something. Whatever the case, Jules would not have been happy to hear you liked Baekhyun. Which is why you quietly rolled from his bed, and pretended the night never happened. Baekhyun didn’t call either, which annoyed you at first – until you remembered you were the one who left him. Right.

It did make things awkward though, once you two became friends. Chanyeol and Julia began to insist you hang out, despite her initial hatred of him. That was when you and Baekhyun discovered your mutual love of crappy video games, and that was that. You began hanging out – platonically, of course, only like this. Never alone, never in close quarters, never in a way which could be misconstrued as a date. Until tonight, that is.

Baekhyun squints in your direction. “You want me to be your date?” he confirms, as you nod.

“I have no one else to go with,” you grumble, pushing yourself up to stand.  “Benny is already home for the holidays, and Landon just agreed to take Jenny.”

Baekhyun just stares for a moment, expression impassive. “Fine,” he agrees, the answer all of a sudden. “Though, I don’t understand why I need to dress up. What’s so great about Santa?” he postures, clearly hurt by the notion that his daily wear is not good enough. “I hear he only comes once a year.”

With a snort, you push open the door to his room. “It’s a Christmas costume party, okay? Bye, Baekhyun,” you wave, wriggling your fingers. “Eight ’o’clock sharp, right?”

He nods, albeit begrudgingly. “Okay.”

The music at the party is terrible. As you think this, you sip on a cocktail that’s more whiskey than juice. Wincing, the burn travels down to your throat – at least it serves to help ward off the chill. Baekhyun did his part by dressing up, though you did fight back a laugh when you opened the door to your room. He dressed in a Santa suit, yes – but one without a shirt, his blonde hair slicked back and sunglasses on. The sight of him is ridiculous – it’s oddly sexy though, which has your stomach in knots.

A fact which you hate, since it means you are entirely too aware of his presence. Too aware, of walking next to him in the hall. Too aware, of his hand on your waist helping you out of your coat. Too aware of the warmth from his body, while his lips move dangerously close to your ear. Each time though, Baekhyun pulls back before you get used to the sensation. So, here you stand, staring listlessly out from the edge of the party.

Baekhyun is conversing at the next table, drinking the same drink as you – though he swallows this easily, laving the corner of his mouth with his tongue. You cannot help but imagine a different night, the things Baekhyun did with his tongue then and, flushing heatedly, you chug nearly half your drink.

Removing the sunglasses, Baekhyun places these into a pocket. When he looks up and sees you – he smiles. Something in his gaze remains nervous though, tentative and just for a moment, you imagine it’s that first night again. You remember the feel of him wrapped around you, eager to please you and – you inhale, when your phone suddenly dings.

Baekhyun: what’re you looking at [10:14 PM]

Wincing, you move your fingers quickly over the keyboard.

Y/N: nothing. You? [10:15 PM]

When you look up again, Baekhyun has disappeared from view. Frowning, you begin searching the room while your phone dings again.

Baekhyun: looking through the coat closet. Forgot my slip. Can you come down with yours? [10:17 PM]

Hovering, you stare at his text for a moment – before draining the rest of your glass and following suit. Your heart thrums from the warmth, walking into the crowd. All around, various levels of drunkenness run rampant. To your right, a girl is shot deep; to your left, a dude three beers in. Out on the dance floor, are the two plus mixed drink-ers.

Elbowing past them, the music grows dimmer while you walk towards the staircase. At the coat check you pause, since Baekhyun isn’t here. No one else is but you, until you turn to go – and a hand reaches out to wrap around the edge of your wrist.

“Hi,” Baekhyun breathes, pulling you forward. He shuts the door easily, shutting you into the dark. “I lost my coat check number. I was wondering what yours was, since mine is probably beside it.”

Breath catching, he walks the two of you backwards. Baekhyun’s body curves above yours, hot and wanting in the dark. He doesn’t kiss you, doesn’t touch you – just looks on, wonderingly, at the shape of your mouth. It has been over a month, since Julia and Chanyeol ended. Over a month, since they stopped sleeping together – which means, the original reason you left Baekhyun is obsolete.

Seeming to realize this, Baekhyun’s chest rises and falls. “Why did you leave me that night,” he exhales, knowing you’ll understand what he means.

The question is sudden, out of nowhere – and yet, it also isn’t. The two of you have been flirting for months, without really thinking about it. Unwittingly, your hands move higher to curl about his waist. His belt is made of leather, holding up those ridiculous red velvet pants. Baekhyun’s face remains serious though, his eyes wide with confusion, and you realize he genuinely wants to know the answer. Licking your lips, you consider. The two of you have never discussed that night. You assumed he’d forgotten, assumed he didn’t care but here Baekhyun is now – asking.

“Why does it matter,” you breathe, tilting your head up. “That was just one night. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

“Friends,” Baekhyun half-laughs, fingertips tracing your waist. “Friends don’t think about their friends’ lips wrapped around their dicks – do they?”

“I – I don’t know,” your breath hitches, when his hips move to press lazily to yours. “They might, if their friend had particularly good lips.”

Baekhyun laughs, a gentler sound. “You and I both know that wasn’t one-night stand sex. That was mind-blowing, knock-the-world-from-it’s-hinges kind of sex. The kind you can’t stop thinking about – the kind I can’t stop thinking about. I... fuck, do I want you, Y/N.”

When he speaks, you can’t think of an answer straight away. No words come to mind, except for the obvious. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes. “I’ve wanted you, too,” you explain to him, soft. “I just... Jules didn’t like you, and I didn’t know why. She explained later, but by then...” You trail off, opening your eyes to see Baekhyun’s gaze darken.

“Is that it?” he murmurs. “You didn’t want to hang out because I once turned down Julia? Shit,” Baekhyun breathes. “That was freshman year! She isn’t even hooking up with Chanyeol anymore. And I still want you.”

Barely a moment passes between you, before he crushes his lips to yours. When you gasp, Baekhyun responds, twisting you eagerly to pin your back to the wall. His hands grope for your dress, pushing the hem higher – only to forget this entirely, shoving his hands through your hair. His fingertips curl, pulling you into him and both your mouths open, clashing in a heated, frenzied dance.

It has been so long, since you’ve had him like this. So long, since you’ve had him at all that your hands are frantically grabbing on his thighs. Brushing his pants, you grab for his ass and Baekhyun loses his footing for a second, hands finding the wall. “Y/N,” he moans, before his lips reclaim yours.

The kiss between you is hot, messy – and in the back of your mind, you know someone could walk in any moment. Someone could easily enter for their coat, but rather than be appalled by this, the thought turns you on. Hands gripping him tighter, you yank him close. “Baekhyun,” you whisper, into his ear. “I want you. Now.”

His breath hitches as he nods, turning your body around to face the wall. “Dress on, or off,” he murmurs, kneeling until his knees hit the ground.

It is hard to contain your enthusiasm, when his hands slide up your thighs. Baekhyun lifts your dress over your waist, bending you forward. Cool air hits your center, already wet with desire. To be honest, you’ve been soaked since Baekhyun pulled you into this closet.

With a groan, Baekhyun tugs your panties aside. His thumb traces over your center, feeling your wetness. “Y/N,” he moans. “You’re so wet for me. So tight, so pink.” He pushes his index finger inside, listening to the sound of you groan. “Does that feel good, baby? Tell me.”

“Yes,” you gasp, hands adjusting higher on the wall. “God, yes – Baekhyun.”

Though you cannot see, you hear when he laughs. Spreading your legs further, Baekhyun pushes your thighs apart. “There,” he breathes, breath fanning your skin. “Just like that, for me.”

When his tongue finds your clit from behind, you gasp. You thought he would start lower, work his way up, but it appears Baekhyun has other ideas in mind. Tracing your swollen bud with his tongue, he gently licks over your sex. He teases you mercilessly, fingers teasing your cunt. Tracing slow circles around your opening, his tongue trails similar movements at your sex.

When a finger enters, your body presses further against the wall. Hardly able to think, you moan when his digit curls deep inside you. “Baek,” you whimper, pushing your ass back against him.

Baekhyun is too busy to answer, licking your clit in small movements which leave your legs trembling. When he deems you ready, grinding yourself hard against his fingers, he pulls roughly away.

Looking back at him, you whine at the sight of him pulling out his cock. Unzipping his pants, Baekhyun shoves them halfway down his thighs – his boxers soon follow, dick hitting his stomach. He’s already hard, tip glistening with pre-cum while he takes a step closer. Staring hard at your cunt, Baekhyun presses his tip experimentally to your folds.

With a soft exhale, you push your ass backwards. Your body is so wet, you practically drip down your legs – Baekhyun takes advantage of this, pressing his finger into your opening and trailing a wet path up your ass. “Ah,” he breathes, moving his thumb gently, making you moan. “Maybe next time.”

Unwrapping a condom, Baekhyun tugs the rubber over his dick before returning to your pussy. Sliding his cock up and down, he slaps your clit once before shoving your ass cheeks apart with his hands. “Like that,” he whispers, before pushing inside.

You can barely think, when he enters you. Baekhyun is – you suck in a breath, remembering. It was hard to recall every moment, with both of you half-drunk and giggling. Now, though, you feel every inch of him. Baekhyun moves into you slowly, digging his hands into your flesh. He goes deeper, letting you feel him – before he pulls back out, to shove roughly inside.

“Baekhyun,” you cry out, when he thrusts your ass forward. “Oh, fuck.”

With a chuckle, Baekhyun pulls your hair to one side. Leaning down, he brushes a kiss to your neck. “Am I being too rough?” he whispers, hand caressing your thighs. Then he withdraws, spanking you firm on your ass. “Do you not like that anymore?”

Now, you remember. Now, you remember teasing Baekhyun, forcing him to pull at your hair. You recall him shoving you into the mattress, bruising his hips against the touch of your body. You like sex that way but are surprised to find that Baekhyun remembers. His hand slides down to your front, rubbing your clit harder when your eyes flutter shut.

“We have to be quick,” he murmurs, fucking you roughly. “As much as I’d love,” Baekhyun grunts, grabbing hold of your hips and thrusting into you faster, “for someone else to walk in and see me fucking you like this, with your dress up above your ass – I doubt you’d be very happy about it in the morning.”

“Ah,” you moan, while Baekhyun rubs tight circles around your swollen clit. “But what if I do want that? What if I want someone to hear us, to walk in? Maybe they can join,” you pant, imagining.

“Fuck,” Baekhyun mutters, fucking you harder. “You’re so sexy, goddamn, Y/N. A threesome? Okay,” he murmurs, chest falling hard to your back. “I have no problem with that – guy or girl. Next time,” he whispers, sucking a hickey against the skin of your neck. “Right now, I want you to come on my dick, screaming only my name.”

“Oh,” you arch your back, when he slaps you again on the ass, “Baekhyun!”

“That’s right,” Baekhyun grunts, shifting his hips higher to hit your g-spot. You begin to see stars, while he pounds into you from behind. “Just like that. Fuck, Y/N – are you coming? Are you going to be a good girl, and come for me?”

Your walls tighten, vision turning black at the edges. “Y-yes,” you pant, pushing your ass into him. “I’ll come, just keep, going, like – ah!” you break off, as Baekhyun fucks you even harder.

He starts to lose himself, hips stuttering when he comes. Your own orgasm crashes into you, shaking while Baekhyun continues to thrust in and out. His movements slow, easing your breathing while you soften against him. “Shit,” you whimper, as Baekhyun withdraws slow from your body.

He ties the condom in a knot, slipping it into his pocket when you turn back around. It is hard to keep a straight face, when Baekhyun pulls up his boxers – now, you’re left facing the red Santa pants. When the corner of your mouth lifts, unable to help it, Baekhyun arches a brow.

“What?” he demands, smiling as well. “What at you laughing at?”

Grinning, you tug your dress down. “Nothing,” you respond, stepping closer and grabbing his hand.

Baekhyun’s grin falters, staring at your fingers intertwined. “Y/N,” he hesitates, when you take another step forward.

When you kiss him again, it effectively shuts him up. “I like you,” you whisper, hovering there at his lips. “If you like me, too... tell me now.”

“Y/N... I like you, too.”

You open your eyes. “Then come on,” you tug at his hand. “I can think of a few more things for us to do back in my room.”

Baekhyun grins, following fast and grabbing his coat. He had the slip all along.

  part of the [Holiday Drabble Game]