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oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

Note

Sooo, about the ask thing. First off all congratulations I love you and your writing 💜 you seem like such a nice, intelligent and funny person. But was thinking what if namjoon comes home drunk and guilty about something he did and vixen comforts him. Love u💋

Title: Drunk (&) In Love

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 2.6k

Genre: crack, fluff, (also, vaguely allusive)

Rating: 18+ cause THESE TWO ARE A MESS FOR EACH OTHER

Synopsis: apparently Namjoon's stag party went a bit too wild. Mostly since he was drinking guilt away. What could that possibly be about?

Trigger warnings: swearing, consumption of alcohol, horny!drunk Joon, he clumsily tries to seduce his fianceé in front of yoonjintae (second-hand embarrassment), stressing over vows, mentions of kinky letters, they discuss future and the fear of marrying young and pretty much out of the blue and they be mentioning the idea of having kids. Also, watch Vixen being the caregiver.

Author's note: Thanking the sweetheart @ironicarmy !!! I love exchanging WIPs and Beta reading! It was so fun and I AM LOVING YOUR WIP SO HARD IM GONNA EXPLODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! can't wait for it to be out so I can fangirl in public LOLOLOL; also thanking @dopesportsoperatorzonk for this request! (I got your feminism ask, I promise I'm almost done, I wanted to have a quite thorough view before replying and I'm still thinking about some stuff, but it'll be readdy super soon!!!)

Here's my masterlist, btw, and enjoy 💜✨

You weren't supposed to wait up for him, but it was like your sixth sense was telling you to do precisely that. And your premonition turned especially accurate once you were met with the sorry sight of Namjoon hanging off Taehyung's and Seokjin's body, grinning as he saw you appear at the door, head to toe smitten, only to turn to his friends with a sneer as he realised you were wearing his favourite silk robe. The deep crimson colour seemed to spark the colour of your hair on fire, and make the lineaments of your face sharper, older, with a kind of allure he still couldn't understand. “Little fox,” he said, going grabby hands while his arms were still around his friends' shoulders.

You tried to keep your expression stern as you looked at the two men literally holding him up. “What is this? Didn't I tell you to bring him home whole and safe?”

Taehyung lowered his gaze to the floor.

“Is this your idea of safe, Seokjin? I expected better.”

“You know him. He did this to himself.” Yoongi spoke neutrally from behind the three.

“Yoongi. Him being a fucking grizzly doesn't mean he can hold his liquor. Bring him in,” you said, freeing the entryway for the triplet coming in, Yoongi in tow.

“We should have brought him to the dorms,” he muttered.

“Dorms?!? Aneeyo…” Namjoon babbled, shaking his head, falling with his ass on the sofa. “No babylove in dorms,” he said with a hiccup. “Hello, little one,” he purred, grabbing your hips and trying to pull you towards him.

You blushed and slapped at his wrists. “I'll deal with you later—”

“Feisty brat,” he spoke sultrily, making Yoongi shake his head while Seokjin and Taehyung snickered before being chastised by your scolding stare.

“How come he's drunk off his ass and the three of you are perfectly okay?”

“He's the one getting married,” Taehyung replied, matter of factly. “And yes, he was the one who swallowed a bottle of hard liquor without even flinching.”

You glance at Namjoon with a scornful expression.

He did some very drunk, very clumsy attempt at a wink that made you inhale as you desperately looked for a crumb of patient left.

“You'd better go home, before I smack you all on the head,” you said, shooing them off.

“You'd have to reach it first,” Taehyung muttered, making Seokjin giggle, Yoongi rubbing his face at the verbal violence that was about to come.

“Kim Taehyung. I may not be tall enough for your royal head, but your girlfriend is my best friend. I won't say much more because I'm sure your friends aren't interested in your ass getting bruised.”

Yoongi smiled smugly at that one.

“Hell yeah…” Namjoon chuckled from the sofa, one hand reaching for the back of your thigh.

“No. Not now.”

“Later then?” He asked with puppy eyes before they turned into a very tipsy version of his intense dragon glance. “You’re so sexy when you’re mean,” he rumbled, a hand reaching for your thigh underneath the robe.

“Kim Namjoon, if you don’t stop I will unwife you in this instant.” Still, the other three men in the room were a mess of embarrassed coughing and teasing snorts. “You can all go home right now,” you said with a curt tone.

“You’re not gonna be able to take him to bed by yourself.” Yoongi cocked an eyebrow as he spoke calmly.

“Mh, Vixen, take me to bed, please,” Namjoon murmured as he tried to seduce you, just as you looked at him and replied, “No need to take him to bed. He’s sleeping on the sofa tonight.”

“See? I told you she found out! She has a sixth sense for this stuff! She can sense it! She can smell fear! I told you!!!” Namjoon babbled, grabbing your wrist. “Little fox...” he cooed, making a fool of himself.

“Go home. All of you. Now.”

Taehyung was the first to leave without even saying goodbye. He knew he would pay for it. Seokjin was the next, saying bye to Namjoon very briefly before bowing to you — just slightly. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, goodnight,” he apologised, making his way out.

“Yoongi?”

He rubbed his neck. “I’m sorry. Really. I— I didn’t do my job.”

You shook your head. “This is a mess I’ll have to deal with.”

“You know you’ll kind of have to deal with him for the rest of your life, right?” Yoongi looked at Namjoon, head in his hands, fingers tugging at it nervously.

You followed his gaze, meeting Namjoon in the poorest of states. “I know. He’s my business now. Go.”

Yoongi left without much resistance after that, the door of your apartment finally shutting for good.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon said, staring up at you as you stood before him. “I fucked up, I’m sorry.”

You placed your hands on his cheeks. “What happened, Joonie bear?”

He shook his head, lip going wobbly. “I’m so sorry!” he babbled again, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

“Oh, no, baby…” you managed to whisper before he dove for your lap, burying his face there. “What happened, love?”

He shook his head.

“Nothing’s gonna change the fact that I love you, big bear.” You caressed his hair as his voice confessed, half-muffled against your tummy.

“I sneaked a look at the dress.” You could hear his words coming out from a pout.

“Joonie—”

“Please don’t unwife me!” He cried out, his voice way too high pitched. “I don’t want to sleep alone ever.” He hugged your legs and held you closer. “I want to sleep next to you until I die.” He got even more emotional as he went on. “I want you to always pet my hair and tell me you’re proud of me and cook for me and be my sweetheart and my babylove and my little fox forever, even when we’re old and I get bald.”

You smiled and invited him to let go of your legs before sitting down, your legs slightly parted laying across the sofa. “Come here, big bear,” you said, patting your stomach. He did as he was told, laying his head below your chest and stretching his long body all over the seat. He struggled a little, his sense of balance temporarily worse than usual. “Soon I’ll be lawfully your bride. Forever. We’re almost there, honey. Just a week.”

He nodded.

“And then I’ll be your little fox until I’m nothing but ashes. And then some,” you reassured him, petting his lovely head, digging your fingers into the knots in his upper back.

“Writing the vows was so difficult.”

“I know baby,” you kept rubbing at his trapezoi until he released a relieved grunt. “I know that must have been really stressful for you.”

“I had to rewrite them sixteen times. Sixteen!” His hand absentmindedly reached your thigh and started rubbing small circles there. “Everytime, they were too long, or too cliché, or something I just couldn’t read in public because you know our letters.”

“I know our letters,” you confirmed, thinking about his messy handwriting on cheap paper, and entire sheets of words that he sent you everytime something important happened, everytime he had to travel for his job, everytime he just needed to make love to you on a deeper level. And then, thinking of your replies, always heartfelt, emotional, with fine calligraphy on expensive ivory sheets often marred with rough spots where a tear fell — most of the time because of joy and gratitude and obliterating, overwhelming love. “Will you read to me the other sixteen versions too, once we’re alone?”

He nodded. “I’ll read them all. I’ll write new ones every day. Small, simple, absolutely mundane. Stuff like, ‘I’ll do the dishes tonight’, or ‘Let’s go out for dinner’, or ‘I wanna grow old with you’ or ‘I don’t wanna watch that porn tonight, let’s just stare into each other’s eyes while naked and have the best tantric sex ever performed’.”

You chuckled and placed your hand atop of his. “I like the last one.”

“But I couldn’t say it in front of your parents, therefore I couldn’t write it in our vows.” He scoffed and shook his head before planting it between your breasts, nosing at the lapels of the robe until he could kiss your naked skin.

“I might have written something along those lines in one of my drafts.” Having this conversation with Namjoon while he was halfway drunk off his ass was extremely entertaining; however, you felt sad at the possibility of him not remembering this moment.

“What else did you write in that draft?” He closed his eyes, waiting for your soft voice to calm him down.

You smiled and slightly teared up at the thought, his chin propped on your chest, one of his thumbs reaching out to dry up a tear. “I wrote that I hope I get to make you smile every day and see that insanely cute and sexy dimple of yours every morning after you wake up. And I want to be the only one listening to your deep bedroom voice waking me up. And I want to listen to you as you talk to our children. I wanna hear all the stories, and watch your smile shine on their faces.”

Namjoon hid his face against your chest, feeling tears roll down his cheeks.

“I want them to have your eyes. I want to see your complete wonder as they learn about the world, as you teach them about the world in that grand and beautiful way you see it.” You sniffled and he cupped your face, kissing your lips so slowly, the heavy tang of liquor barely tainting the moment.

“I want to walk by your side, until we’re too tired to walk and watch time pass by, without worries, without haste. I don’t care where we’re walking because you were the place I was destined to be.”

Namjoon couldn’t explain tenderness or love or devotion or faith as deep as the ones he felt for you. He probably wasn’t skilled or trained enough.

“I know we’re young. I know this is more of a bet than an actual marriage. I’ve seen people who have been together for years part ways so easily and I don’t even know why you said yes to me. Sometimes I doubt I’m deserving and I see in how many ways I’m lacking and I ask myself, 'why the hell did she say yes to me?' ” He snickered sarcastically. “I wouldn’t have said yes to myself.”

You shook your head and kissed his brow.

“But I’ve been with other people and you have too and… I don’t know, sometimes I feel like this will take a lot of effort but then I hear you laugh, I hear you calling my name and I know, I can feel that that’s what it is supposed to sound like.”

You smiled at him, fixing your position so he could lay on you without worrying about smashing your body.

“I’m so confused and so grateful for this. It’s like… Suddenly winning the lottery. One minute you’re just a person and next you realise you’re going to be a husband. And you don’t know what’s going to happen to you, how your life is going to change, but with you I’m not scared.” He chuckled. “Well, I am. But you make me braver than my fears. And I know I could lose you any day. I could fuck up, or we could just drift apart or something. But any moment spent with you is bigger. It’s better and brighter.”

By now you were a teary mess, face drenched in tears, his arms around your torso as he held onto you. “My soul has found a home in you and I will cherish it. I’ll take care of that home. I’ll make sure nothing damages it. I’ll help you work on it if you want to change it. I will make more room when our family gets bigger. I will fix it when I can. I’ll stay by your side when I’m not skilled enough to heal you. To fix you.” He sniffled, voice hollow and weak as he spoke through a lump in his throat. “And I’ll leave if you ever ask me to.”

You shook your head and hugged him, letting him sob in your arms. “I hope I never lose you.”

“Don’t be a silly bear,” you comforted him, lulling him, holding him close to your heart. “I’ll be your bride. Your spouse. Your wife.” You kissed his head. “And your home. Your relief. Your dirty, secret affair. Your devoted companion too. Your goddess and your toy. I’ll be your friend. And the mother of your children, when we want to.”

God, if he wanted to… But first, he needed to enjoy having you all to himself for a couple more years. Just to make sure you hadn’t been both bold and immature and absolutely stupid about getting married almost two years after meeting for the first time.

“So I’m not getting unwifed for sneaking a peek at the dress?”

You shook your head. “It looks completely different once worn.”

“Really?” His expression exploded with euphoria.

You smiled. “Really.”

His drunken grin was back. “So I’m gonna sleep on the bed right?”

You acted as if you were even thinking about it. “You’re really drunk.”

“I’m soberer now.”

“And you embarrassed me in front of your friends,” you reminded him with a cocked eyebrow.

“Not my fault my wifey’s so hot,” he said with a slightly more accomplished wink.

“Not your wifey yet,” you reminded him.

He tutted. “Just a matter of days.” He kissed your sweet spot, on the side of your neck. “It’s only a technicality.”

You looked at him suspiciously. “A technicality, you say?”

He nodded and held you tighter.

“This technicality could still leave you at the altar, waiting,” you teased.

“Come on, I want to sleep next to you.” He kissed your cheek. “On our bed.” He kissed you again. “Where we’ll be making so many babies.”

“Stop right there, mister.” You placed a finger against his plush lips before you shook your head no. “No babies for a few years. I want you all mine, hubby.”

He chuckled and pressed his forehead against your chest bone. “Okay, fine, but I just meant hypothetically. You know, for practice.”

“Yeah, I think I could use some practice. I want to be perfect at it.”

He smiled and kissed your nose. If only she knew how perfect she is, he thought, haphazardly sitting up and waiting for you to help him on his feet, the whole discourse sobering him up enough that he managed to sit on the bench in the bathroom as you washed his face and brushed his teeth, as you undressed him and helped him in the shower, undressing and joining him, his body too tired and unstable to initiate anything fancy.

And then you towelled him up, rubbing body lotion on his always-too-dry legs before helping him in his boxers.

And through the process, he understood how it was that you loved him so much anytime he got you ready for bed. He should let you do this more often. Especially when he wasn’t exhausted or drunk, so he could properly enjoy being cuddled and fondled and babied.

What he didn’t expect was for it to feel so comfortable when you slid up against his back on the bed, spooning his ridiculously large body with your smaller one. “Sleep tight, big bear,” you said before kissing his nape. “Eight more sleeps and we’ll be married.”

He smiled. “Goodnight, little fox.” And with that, he caught your hand in his and fell asleep.

#kim namjoon fluff #namjoon crack #bts fanfiction #bts fanfiction blog #namjoon drabble #houseofddaeng #52hertz #thebtswritersclub #thetruthuntoldnet #namjoon x reader #namjoon x yn #namjoon x vixen

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fific7 · 4 years ago

Text

Short Term Loss

Billy Russo x Reader

@omgrachwrites 500 Follower Celebration

Summary: Follows on from That Swept-Back Hair and Velvet (they’re tagged if you want to read). It’s 2 months since Billy got out of hospital. He’s got some memories back, but are they the important ones?

Warnings: Swearing, memory loss, angst/fluff mix.

A/N: well this is really late to the party but here’s part 3, final one. Loosely based on S2 Billy, but this is non-canon and exists only within my personal Punisher AU.

(My GIF)

Your plane touched down at JFK about 30 minutes later than scheduled, and by the time you grabbed an Uber and got home, it was just after midnight.

The trip had been a super busy one, and you were totally shattered. The jet lag was gonna be a bitch. At least it was Saturday tomorrow. Today.

With a sigh of relief, you stepped inside your darkened apartment, dropped your suitcase and bag, kicked off your shoes and headed straight for the sofa. It had your name on it, and you were going to collapse on it for at least half an hour before doing anything else.

You gave a small shriek as a sudden movement from one of the armchairs startled you. Billy’s face came into view in the reflected glow from a streetlight outside, and you noticed he was still wearing his black tactical outfit. He stood up and came over to you, sliding his arms around your waist and kissing your neck, burying his nose in your hair.

“Hey, sorry sweetheart... I didn’t mean to scare you. Dozed off waitin’ for you.”

You stroked his jawline, your fingertips feeling the bristly scruff along it.

“Oh, honey, we agreed we’d meet up tomorrow for lunch.... because my flight was getting in late, and you had a job today.”

His face fell, “Uh, yeah... I... kinda thought we had, but I... wasn’t 100% sure.” Inwardly, you felt sadness wash over you. Absentmindedly, he touched a finger to his largest scar, a frown appearing on his face.

You took hold of his hand, “C’mon you, let’s go and faceplant onto the bed,” starting to lead him through to the bedroom. You heard a chuckle behind you, “Okay... if you say so.”

You began to strip off your wrinkled travelled-in clothes, pulling on one of the oversized Anvil T’s Billy had given you, and which had pretty much replaced your PJ’s for sleeping in.

Billy was down to his boxer briefs and undershirt, and as he pulled the white tank over his head while sitting on the bed, you spotted a big purple-black bruise on his side which hadn’t been there when you left for your trip.

You leant down, fingertips touching it. “Billy? Where’d that come from?” He looked down, his own fingers landing on top of yours.

“Ah, that job today. Some asshole wouldn’t do what I told him to.”

You cupped his face in your hand, “When’re you gonna stop going out on assignments, Billy? You know I worry about you.”

You saw his mouth pull into a line, his eyes looking like black flints as he stared at you. He stood up abruptly, facing you, body tensed, “I’m too fuckin’ tired for this shit right now! If you’re gonna go over it again, maybe I better head to my place.”

He stared at you, waiting for your answer.

You sighed, holding out your hand to him, “You don’t need to do that, Billy. I’m too fucking tired for that shit too.”

He grinned at that, relaxing, taking your hand and sitting on the edge of the bed, where he pulled you to stand between his wide-apart long legs, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

He ran his hands up from your waist to cup your breasts, lingering for a moment, then moved them back down to your waist. He looked as tired as you felt.

You ran your fingers through his hair, thinking how glad you were it’d begun to grow back at last, although not yet anywhere near as long as it had been. But there was enough there now for you to attempt small tugs on it, which you were delighted to find still had the same effect on Billy that it ever did.

He suddenly lay back on the bed, burrowing under the covers and pulling you right along with him.

“Billy!” “What?” “I need to....” “You need to lay here with me.”

You laughed. “If I wake up tomorrow with panda eyes, it’s on you. And I will punish you.”

He sighed, grinning at you, and let you go. “Okay, okay, I know when I’m beat! But... don’t be too long.”

After you’d done all the necessary girl things which needed to be done, you hopped back into bed with Billy, switching off the bedside lamp as you lay down next to him.

He gave you a long kiss, then you felt his lips softly trailing kisses down your neck.

“G’night, sweetheart,” whispered against your ear. “Sweet dreams, Billy.” You tucked your head against his chest, sighing in contentment, hearing his steady heartbeat.

Soon, his breathing evened out and you knew he was asleep.

Tired as you were, your mind wouldn’t let you sleep. You thought of Billy’s words to you when you got home; he’d forgotten that the two of you were meeting for lunch the next day, rather than him coming over to your place that night. He’d tried to cover it up, but you knew he’d forgotten.

Your heart ached for him. He’d made a lot of progress over the past couple of months, recovering well physically. Psychologically.. well, that was another thing entirely.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

As you’d anticipated, Billy had an exceptionally hard time dealing with his facial scarring. The scars were much less noticeable than they had been, but he had taken to wearing caps and hoodies to hide behind.

You often found him gazing into a mirror, lip curled in distaste as he stared at his reflection. You’d make a point of sneaking up behind him, arms going round his waist, asking him, “Hey, who’s that handsome guy in the mirror, then?” He’d smile and turn round, kissing you softly, totally aware of what you were trying to do.

Once though, he’d blown up, whirling round and yelling at you, “How can you say that?! Look at me!! This...” pointing to his face, “...is a fuckin’ mess!!”

You had placed your palm on his cheek, and he’d calmed down, laying his hand over yours. “Billy, I told you in the hospital that you’re still handsome, and I meant it. Okay?” He’d looked unconvinced and said in a low voice, “I know you say that, but I just don’t understand why you wanna be with me when I look like this.”

And you’d have to try and tell him why without using the L word, as you two hadn’t got to that stage before the explosion, and now was not the time to mention it.

You kept constantly reassuring him, and slowly he began to accept that you did still want him, especially as you two slept in the same bed when staying over at each other’s places. You held each other, just that, and this one simple thing seemed to bring him comfort.

His memory still had a black hole in it, covering the period between the explosion and his last tour in Afghanistan. The memories seemed to start making their way back into his head from there outwards.

He was struggling a little with his short-term memory too, forgetting or mixing things up, hence the lunch confusion from earlier. While this worried you, he was silently frustrated by it.

He now remembered his discharge from the Marines, and that it was his decision to leave. The word Anvil was hovering just at the edge of his memory, present but not fully formed yet. Billy was back working there, but Frank was temporarily still in charge. He could also remember most of what had happened leading up to the explosion, but not the actual event itself.

Some memories came back as tiny fragmented pieces. He would remember a comment you’d made in the past, or the way you did something. You’d walk into a restaurant or cafe with him, he’d stop walking and talking, and you knew it had sparked a memory for him.

An important sense to him seemed to be that of smell. You’d spritz your perfume, deodorant, or body spray around you and his eyes would close, you’d hear your name being said under his breath.

He was forever sliding his nose against your neck or into your hair as if scenting you, through your perfume or shampoo.

But he still didn’t really know who you were.

He heard all about your shared history from you, of course. He didn’t remember anything except random moments of your six months together, and nothing at all about the years of being ‘friends with benefits’ which preceded that.

Frank and Karen had also answered questions that he was wary of asking you directly; how the two of you had been together, how you’d acted with each other, had you kissed, held hands, wrapped your arms around each other in public? Telling you later what he’d asked, and you’d reinforce what they’d told him through actions as well as words.

You were like two strangers, who’d only just met and were getting to know each other. Everything had been a little awkward between you since Billy got home from the hospital.

From the first night he was back, he’d started making tentative, fumbling attempts to have sex with you. It had taken you aback, as it’d been so unlike the Billy you’d known. You guessed he thought it was what you’d expect from him as your boyfriend, and was trying to keep you happy.

So you’d sat him down after a few days of gently warding off these attempts, and had a long talk with him.

How he literally didn’t know you anymore, and that he’d be relearning everything about you. How, until you were truly and completely back in his head, he really shouldn’t rush to try and be a boyfriend to you.

While he protested that he didn’t want to wait, you could tell that truthfully he was relieved. He was trying his best to be your ‘before’ Billy which had been a strain on him, and you’d felt like he was on edge all the time.

But since your little chat, he’d been a lot more relaxed and had been more easily affectionate, in public and private. This had finally resulted in a full-on kiss just before your most recent trip, initiated by him while Frank and Karen were sitting there with you. In itself that didn’t sound earth-shattering, but to you it was a major step forward, as it meant he was a lot more comfortable around you.

The four of you had been in your regular after-work bar, just chatting, Billy listening a lot as usual, just soaking up the details of the conversation and making an occasional comment, or more often asking a question.

You’d just finished recounting a story of an arm-wrestling match between Frank and Billy at a backyard barbecue one time, where the two of them had been so competitive about it they’d ended up rolling around on the lawn, putting each other in headlocks.

Billy had laughed out loud, leant forward, slid his hand around the back of your neck and passionately kissed you. He’d then sat back and taken a sip of his beer, before noticing three sets of surprised eyes on him. “What?” he’d smirked.

“Don’t mind us, Bill, you just carry right on,” grinned Frank, waving a hand in the air.

Billy had looked at you, eyes sparkling, “Huh. Yeah, might just do that.”

Frank raised an eyebrow at him, smirking.

“What can I say,” Billy shrugged, “haven’t felt much like laughin’ lately, and.... and she makes me laugh,” grinning at you.

You’d felt a blush burning its way onto your face, and you’d looked down with a small smile, feeling shy all of a sudden. Karen reached over and put her hand on your arm, a cheeky grin on her face. You knew she was worried about you still seeing Billy, she was scared you’d get badly hurt.

A few days prior, she’d asked what you’d do if Billy never recovered his memories of you, and started seeing other women because he didn’t feel any real connection to you.

Truthfully at first you’d been hurt and offended by the question, and felt that she wasn’t being very supportive of you. But at the same time, you knew that she was a pragmatic soul and was merely trying to prepare you for the worst case scenario.

After letting this percolate through your brain for a few moments, you’d answered, “Well, obviously I wouldn’t be happy about it, and I guess I’d finish with him.”

She’d nodded, seeming to take some comfort in hearing that you wouldn’t cling on for dear life to a non-existent relationship.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Now, as you lay there listening to Billy’s regular breathing, you thought back to what Karen had said a few days ago, her ‘worst case scenario’.

Honestly, right now you didn’t think Billy had enough confidence in his appearance to approach any other women. You smiled sadly; whoever would’ve thought anyone would ever be able to say that about Billy Russo?

But he was slowly regaining his equilibrium, so how long would it be before he decided he needed to look elsewhere for what you wouldn’t give him? Especially if he still hadn’t recalled your relationship and consequently felt no loyalty to you.

You sighed, and Billy huffed in his sleep; lying still, you held your breath, you didn’t want him to wake up.

He still slept, so you released a breath and let your mind start spinning again.

You wondered to yourself... would you really do what you’d promised Karen you would - give up Billy without a fight? Pride and jealousy might get in the way of that. And why exactly were you lying awake torturing yourself over something which hopefully wouldn’t ever happen?

Eventually your tired mind wound down and down, and you slept too.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy had woken up before your jaded jet-lagged self did, and you’d groggily surfaced to the sound of cupboards opening and closing, and the chink of mugs and plates. He appeared a little while later, two mugs clutched in one big hand, two plates in the other.

He’d made coffee and toast, which was slightly burnt but you didn’t mind that, as he’d slathered on lots of butter, just as you liked it. You pointed at it, “You remembered,” smirking.

“Uhuh,” he said, “I did,” looking pleased with himself, putting everything down on the bedside table and getting back into bed. He slid closer to you, hand going round the back of your neck and pulling you in for a slow kiss. He pulled away, smirking at you then sat back up, grabbed a plate, handing it to you.

“Breakfast in bed,” he said, to which you replied, “Crumbs in bed,” grinning back at him. He laughed and poked your side, “Now that’s just ungrateful!”

The two of you lazed around, eating your breakfast and drinking your coffee, watching the TV news as you did.

Suddenly, Billy put his mug down and rolled on top of you, dark eyes gazing down into yours, his fingers tracing your cheek and jaw. He leant in and kissed you. “I’m startin�� to remember, you know, I really am. I can feel what we had between us.”

You stroked his face gently, feeling the ridges of his scars against your palm. “Are you, Billy? Truly? I confess I’d be very happy if you are.”

He nodded, still gazing at you. Then you felt his fingers at the hem of your t-shirt, moving it up. You shot up, Billy falling back on one shoulder.

“Wait a minute! Were you just saying that so you’d get laid?!”

He put both hands up, palms out, “No!!” Then a guilty look crossed his face, “But I can’t lie, I do wanna get laid.”

“Oh, and I’m the nearest convenient woman, right?”

He sat up, putting his head in his hands. “No!” he yelled, looking over at you, “You’re my girlfriend! We should want each other!”

“But you don’t remember that I’m your girlfriend, Billy!”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, “You don’t remember.”

He reached for you, and you allowed him to pull you into his arms, kissing your temple. “But I’m tryin’ to, sweetheart, I swear I am.” His dark eyes looked into yours, “Because I want back what we had. I see Frank and Karen together, and I want that too. With you!”

The two of you lay back down, Billy sliding his arms round you, lips next to your ear. “I’ll be here with you till I remember, I’m not going anywhere and... I don’t want anyone else.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Things were a little bit awkward between you for the rest of that day, Billy casting anxious glances at you and periodically repeating much the same thing to you, trying to reassure you. He now knew that you were feeling as insecure as he was, but about a totally different aspect of your relationship. He, deep down, still worried that you no longer truly wanted him due to his scars and continued amnesia.

You were worried that he didn’t want you as he couldn’t really remember you, and would leave you eventually. He’d felt helpless, was trying to make you see that he felt the connection between you, was just trying to fill in the gaps, didn’t want anyone else except you. But he wasn’t sure you believed him.

Karen and Frank had suggested meeting for lunch the next day at a local diner and you’d sent Billy on ahead to meet them, as you’d received a query from your Editor in Chief which you thought you’d better answer sooner rather than later.

As you stepped into the diner 25 minutes late for lunch, you spotted Karen and Frank sitting in a booth but there was no sign of Billy. Your stomach dropped, where was he? Did he forget which diner you were meeting in and was maybe wandering about trying to find you all?

Then your stomach lurched again, but for a different reason. Billy was standing at the far end of the curved diner counter, facing you but tucked out of sight of your other two friends, his head tilted over as he listened to a dark-haired woman speak directly into his ear. Her back was to you so you couldn’t see her face, but suddenly Billy grinned and she moved her hand to cover his, rubbing her thumb over his skin.

You felt rage and jealousy boil up inside you, and you took silent swift steps towards the two of them, catching the tail end of what the woman had been saying, “....so just come to my apartment, and we can have some private sessions, okay?” Your mouth dropped open as you continued walking towards them... what the hell??

Billy caught sight of you heading his way, and his face lit up with a big smile. You couldn’t believe it, this woman was blatantly propositioning him and he was smiling at you?! A murderous scowl on your face, you grabbed the woman’s elbow and swung her towards you. Catching sight of Billy’s astonished face, you then quickly looked at her equally startled face.

Dr Krista Dumont.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“You!” was the first thing out of your mouth. “Consulting in diners now, are you?”

You’d taken an instant dislike to the good doctor when you found her in Billy’s hospital room without permission, feeling that there was something ‘off’ about her. And now you knew why... private sessions? You’d lay odds on those not consisting of psychotherapy. Or not the kind she was licensed to practise, anyhow.

Looking pointedly at her hand on Billy’s, you continued, “Take your hand off Billy, and take yourself out of here... now.” She opened her mouth to speak, but you cut her off, “And if I find you anywhere near my boyfriend again, especially making offers to give him private sessions!... I’ll have you struck off.”

She drew herself up, trying to regain some dignity, but after taking another look at your furious face, she just high-tailed it out of there instead without saying a word.

Billy had watched this exchange between the two of you in complete confusion, but as you switched your attention to him, you saw that he had the ‘Billy smirk’ on his face. He’d just remembered that he loved it when you got feisty. “What are you smirking at? And...exactly what did that woman say to you?”

He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, she said she’d been my psychotherapist in the hospital but didn’t think she’d been allowed long enough to fully rehabilitate me, and wanted me to go to her apartment so we could continue having private sessions.” Looking anxiously at you, he asked, “Would it have been so wrong to go?”

“Oh, Billy,” you sighed, it was breaking your heart how vulnerable this trauma had made him. You took his hand, “Come with me, over to Karen and Frank. I want you to hear from them why it would have been so wrong,” you glanced up at him, “in case you think I’m bullshitting you.” He shook his head, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I’d never think you were doing that.” You in turn shook your head, “It’s better you hear it from them.”

You led him round to the booth where your two friends sat, deep in conversation but immediately looking up as you approached. “Hey! Where were you?” grinned Karen, “we were about to send out a search party!” Frank butted in, “Were you two in the bathroom together?” and wiggled his eyebrows at you both. You punched him lightly on the arm, “No, we weren’t! But I walked in on Billy and an unexpected visitor.”

They both looked puzzled, and as you and Billy slid into the booth, you said, “Dr Dumont.” Karen burst out, “What?!!” and you nodded, “Yeah, exactly. Interesting, huh? Billy... tell them what she said to you.” Looking nervous, Billy repeated what he’d told you earlier and saw amazed looks appear on their faces as he recounted it.

“Wow,” said Karen, “Billy, that is not true. Absolutely not true.” She nodded over at you, telling him you’d declined Dumont’s services in favour of Curtis’ counselling sessions, as everyone had agreed that he’d be more at ease in those. “Yeah, Mask Lady is a piece of work, so we heard,” growled Frank.

“And this just confirms it,” agreed Karen. “Billy, no self-respecting doctor runs ‘private sessions’ from their own apartments.” She fixed him with a hard stare. “You can imagine what one of her sessions would have consisted of, surely?”

Billy’s face flushed red, and he immediately looked at you, “Oh shit! I... uh... I didn’t... I never...” shaking his head back and forth, eyes wide. You put your hand on top of his, “Billy, shush... it’s fine. She tried to take advantage of you. In a really calculated manner.”

You stroked the back of his hand. “You’re still vulnerable, and she must’ve asked you little questions here and there to gauge how much you remembered about your time in hospital. When she’d determined that your memory of it was hazy at best, she spun you that tale of being your doctor. She wasn’t. She tried to be, going behind our backs and starting a session with you, but luckily Frank & I interrupted her when we arrived for a visit.”

Karen tutted, “What a creepy bitch!” You nodded, “You know, I’ve got a good mind to go ahead and report her anyway. She might be pulling this same stunt with other vets!” Frank agreed, “I’ll get Curtis onto it, he’s got so many contacts in that sector he’ll be able to put the word out.”

Billy huffed out a long breath, still shaking his head. “I can’t believe I fell for that.” “Billy - she’s a doctor. People believe doctors,” Karen said. “Yeah, well I’ll be a lot more wary of them now!” he replied.

Then his smirk appeared again, and those dark eyes stared into yours, “On a lighter note...” he said, “while you were verbally beating up Dumont, I remembered that I always loved it when you got feisty. And I remembered that it would mean angry sex for me later on!” And he winked at you, making you blush and give an embarrassed laugh.

Once you’d all eaten and were finishing up your coffees, Billy had sidled up to you and nudged your shoulder with his. “Ready to head for the ranch?” As he asked you this, he took your hand and slid it along his thigh, brushing it sneakily past the large bulge in his jeans, watching your reaction. His eyes had a soft, needy look in them, and suddenly you didn’t feel like keeping him at arm’s length any more. You nodded, and signalled for the bill.

Once outside, Karen corralled you slightly away from the men, who were having a conversation in low voices. She gave you a concerned look, “Are you okay after that little shitshow Dumont put on in there? Honestly, I don’t know how you stopped yourself bitch-slapping that bitch!”

You giggled at her, “With great difficulty, I tell you! I could’ve fucking dropped her where she stood to be honest, but I didn’t think that was a good look. Plus then I would’ve ended up in jail and she’d be free to come sniffing round Billy again. She’s so fucking creepy, Karen! She put her hand right on top of his, stroking it, you know? It was so ... euwwww!”

Karen gaped, “Oh I’d definitely have killed her.”

“Anyway,” you confided, “I think it’s time I lifted the sex ban on Billy.” Karen raised an eyebrow, “Oh.... really? And you’re comfortable with that?”

“Well....” you shrugged, “if Dumont thought it was a good idea...?” you said, voice dripping sarcasm.

Karen burst out laughing. Frank and Billy’s heads swivelled and they smiled at you both, happy to hear laughter after the earlier tension.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Back in the apartment, Billy headed straight for the bedroom, pulling you along by the hand, saying you both needed a siesta. You laughed, “We do?” He nodded, “Definitely. Your feistiness, all the remembering I’ve been doin’, all the sexual tension between us,” he grinned at you.

You laughed, shaking your head at him and started peeling off your clothes. You pulled your sleep t-shirt on over your head, lying down on the bed and sighing as you relaxed into the pillows.

Billy, meanwhile, had now finished stripping off down to his black boxer briefs - a delicious sight to behold, you thought as you lay watching him - and joined you in bed, pulling the covers over both of you. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to his chest, kissing your temple before kissing you on the lips with heated passion. He pulled back, rubbing his bristly jaw along your cheekbone before just gazing at you for a long moment.

He sighed, running his hand over your hair, saying, “You know that... while I might still have gaps in my memory, and I’ve been forgettin’ things... you do know that I love you, right?”

You’d been watching his sensual lips moving while he spoke. Now you looked up, startled, into his dark eyes, “I..uh.... no, I didn’t know that, Billy.”

His eyes got wide and glossy, “I really shoulda told you that before all this shit happened.” Overwhelmed by his admission, you laid your face against his chest. You heard his heart, it was beating fast.

He spoke again, in a low voice. “Because I know I felt this then, and I still feel it now. More than ever. You’ve really got my back, haven’t you?” You nodded, “Yeah, Billy.” His arms tightened around you, and you felt soft kisses on your cheek.

“You love me?” he suddenly asked you.

Again, you looked deep into those dark eyes of his, “Yeah, Billy.” He gave a low laugh, “You gonna actually say it to me?” You smiled, “I love you, Russo.”

He gently tilted your face up towards his and kissed you, long, slow and full of love.

“Oh... we’re doing last names, huh?” he smirked, knowing he had one more bombshell to drop.

He leant down, and you felt his breath on your ear as he whispered, “Well, I hope you like ‘Russo’, ‘cause it’s gonna be your last name too, someday soon.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Additional A/N: Yes, not me still with the 🥊 on Dumont!

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo imagine #ben barnes #short term loss

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tenderlyrenjun · 4 years ago

Text

the one with the morning classes

summary: you don’t really want to go to class, and Yangyang half-agrees.

↛ ↛ ↛ psych major!Yangyang x art history major!reader

↛ ↛ older female reader, college au, mentions of alcohol, yearning, best friends to lovers/ish, smut (18+) - there is literally sex in every scene, best friend!ten on both sides, study dates, love confessions in bed

↛ word count: 11,9k (I am so sorry lmao)

part one > part two > part three

if you are under 18 and interact with this at all, i will block you

An obnoxious ringing interrupts your day, way too early, and you whine at it, suddenly reminded about the terrible decision that you made last year with the on-call academic advisor: selling your soul to Satan, or, as they phrased it, taking an 8 A.M. class. The default iPhone ringtone seems especially heartless right now, even though you have a class at this time every semester.

Still, it takes Herculean effort to pull your hot, sweaty face out of the pillows and actually get a breath of fresh air. You inhale once, twice, then support yourself on your elbows, tossing all your messy hair over your bare back, like a curtain, to draw it away from your cheeks. The sunlight makes you squint, not having given you enough time to adjust to it yet, because laying in bed, naked, is so much more enticing than actually waking up. Unfortunately, the ringing persists, getting louder, you think. You find yourself clawing through the sheets again, in search of that damn alarm. And when you do find it, screen faced down, you hit snooze via power button, giving yourself extra time before class.

After the annoying sound stops, Yangyang leans toward your naked shoulder, his d!ck thrusting in you at a further angle. He kisses the tip your spine with slightly parted lips, peppering more along your deltoid muscles, directed by his trailing tongue. You cannot tell was tingles more – the goosebumps left in his wake, or the blood rushing to your vulva, caused by the nipping at your skin. Yangyang finds a more permanent spot (that would be hidden by a shirt) above your collarbone and sucks deeper for a few seconds. Instinctively, you drop your cheek into the sheets again and swirl your ass up, before propping your lower body on your knees. His groans fall with you, and he nearly did too, but he stands on his hands. You are very aware of his strength, especially now as you close your eyes and he reverses your moves, grinding his hips forward. One of his hands reaches forward to grab your face and finally kiss you. He is slow and head spinning, and he continuously inclines his head at varying degrees to keep the embrace going.

Then, your phone goes off again and you break the kiss.

“We need to get – Oh, God.” Your forehead redirects onto the mattress, and your breath becomes shallow, cracked by sharp whines blurring out the alarm. As far as you are concerned, Yangyang is all consuming, from the way he kisses you to the way he makes you feel. “Ah, right there, please.” He squeezes your ass, fingers drilling deeply into your skin. His touch feels better than a massage, you think, almost loosening up all your muscle tension.

“So naughty,” Yangyang whispers, strongly. He sounds masculine without being so aggressive. It is very sexy of him. You try to show him, too, that he is hot, by reacting more enthusiastically. Unlike him, you say it silently and hope he knows. He replies, slapping your butt again, and smirks when you moan. “Wanna play hooky? You still, fuck –“ His breath drops, voice getting lower, huskier. He propels his d!ck shallowly, at the same pace your mouth widens in an ‘O’ shape. “- remember your manners.”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree. You roll your hips side to side, slowly stretching as if coming out of child’s position in yoga. It similarly feels satisfactory, like an injection of morphine. “We really need to get up. I have class; you – shit –“ His thrust pushes you forward, muting your counterarguments. “- you have class soon.”

Yangyang combs your baby hairs onto your opposite shoulder, gently nibbling around your thyroid, and you whine, knowing that you have an easily swayed mindset right now. “It doesn’t sound like you want to get up yet.” He guides your hips like a figure eight motion. His hand comes around front, between your thighs, holding on in a way that allows him to stimulate your clit with his index and thumb. Every movement gets more intense: the speed, the pressure, even the direction of his fingers, as he elongates all the sensations. It feels like he gets bigger too, lunging more alert with his thrusts. “You need a good wake up call, huh?”

You nod, eagerly, biting your lip. “Mmhmm, my morning ritual is, is really long, fuck.”

Yangyang smirks, motivated even more by the double entendre. And the way his tip rasps against your walls, oh god. You ball the sheets into your fists, putting a protective layer between your nails and palm because he gradually becomes erratic. He comes down to your ear, using his lips to bite at it while whispering, “Wanna turn off the alarm?”

“Hmm?” You open your eyes. “Oh, right.” It doesn’t feel like it has been nine minutes. So, after you pick your phone up again, you turn it over to look at the alarm settings, but it is replaced by the call acceptance slider. You blink a couple times and try getting a clearer look – which is difficult, considering that your head keeps bouncing as he grinds harder and harder, and harder. Then, the call restarts. “Shit.”

Yangyang stops moving to glimpse at what’s wrong. His chest brushes against your back and you can feel his erect n!pples graze your spine. You turn the screen at him, contemplating whether to answer it. Thank God, though, that Ten isn’t asking to FaceTime. You honestly don’t know how you would recover from him seeing Yangyang lay naked on you, especially after that comment at the Halloween party about feeling ‘too comfortable’ with him like this.

“I’m gonna answer it.”

“What?”

“I have to answer it,” you argue. “It’s Ten. He’s going to suspect something if I don’t.” The call ends again, and the notification center shows six missed calls. You turn over your phone again. “Shit, he’s been phoning all morning. I have to answer it.”

You partially expect Yangyang to get up. Instead, he comes down, brushing your hair over your shoulder and pushes you into the blanket. You stretch your arms away from him to redial Ten’s number, although your hands (and thighs) start shakily with his moves. The line rings four times before Ten answers, and you sigh, half-disappointed, half-orgasmically.

“Um, hello?” Ten answers sarcastically, on speaker. “Are you ready? ETA 20.” You hear rustling on the other end that sounds similar to Yangyang ruffling your bedsheets. He is trying to get at your t!ts and you let him, propping up into a true doggystyle. Ten doesn’t appear to discern anything, so you keep the phone on mute – which is necessary because you buck your hips at Yangyang, getting his tip angled on your g-spot. He outlines your n!pples, fingers squeezing over your areola. You almost moan again, but Ten reminds you about his presence: “I’m getting in my car right now.”

“Hmm?” Why?

The silence is deafening, all excess noise stopping, until it is just your heavy breaths and small wet noises. You widen your eyes, thinking that Ten discovered your current … entanglement, so you grab Yangyang’s hand, to suppress anymore sounds. It makes you lose balance temporarily, but expectedly he catches you, by the waist. He waist a few seconds, then drops his wrist to your clit, lightly sliding up and down without thrusting his d!ck. You let him continue, panting with your lower abdomen quivering. He has to stop though, because his exhibitionist tendencies might expose you two. You take his hand off your clitoral hood and kiss his inner wrist before sucking his fingers clean. He shudders his hips. You bite your lip. He smiles. Then, he takes his hand back, planting it into the mattress for extra support so that you can actually answer this call, that the two of you keep forgetting about.

“It’s my treat, remember?” Ten tries to jog your memory, nearly shouting. You can hear him breaking through your bubble. It is just that you are a bit distracted at the moment to really recall any memories. You cannot be entirely held accountable for Yangyang’s big d!ck.

Yangyang starts sucking on your neck again, pushing his pelvis slowly into your ass harder, to give you a better reminder: that you are currently being a good girl for him, to make up for being so naughty this morning (even though he also seemed pretty close to ditching class earlier).

“For breakfast yesterday, after the party,” Ten outwardly tells you. Right, it’s Monday, and you often grab coffee with Ten on the way to campus because 8AMs are hell – you have to absorb new information when you can barely see through all the crap in your eyes, and he can barely comprehend his notes from the night before without the morning bean juice. There is some shuffling on his end again, similar to shaking his wrist free of a sweater to get a better look at his watch. It isn’t enough to hide the moan trapped in your throat. So, you try biting your fist as Yangyang swirls his hips, grazing the ends of your nerves. You roll your eyes to the back of your head and hit mute, in order to moan. “Unless you want to walk? I don’t think you’ll make it though. It’s, like, almost 7:20.”

“What?” your voice cracks. You are still muted though, so you un-mute and repeat the exclamation, whining a little when Yangyang tries to get you to orgasm faster, also having heard the time. Hopefully Ten does not notice anything. You think that you were quiet enough to push it off as a complaint.

“I’ll be outside your apartment in 20.”

Yangyang pulls your chin to make you look at him, staring at you to ask what is going on. You mouth a quick explanation: Ten. Ride. Coffee. 20 minutes. He is so close, warm breath enveloping your skin. You take the distance, initiating yet another kiss, essentially in front of your best friend, although the latter cannot hear or see either of you. Yangyang holds onto your chin, possibly afraid of being swept away or falling again. But you have enough support for both of you, and you know that if you fell, he would catch you. So, you kiss him again, and again.

“Hello?” Ten calls into the void. “Did you lose signal again? See, I told you not to choose the shitty complex on Main because the connection is so bad there.”

You put a hand above Yangyang’s heart and clear your voice, turning to the speaker. “I’m still here. Just, hold on a second.” You hit mute again, then turn to Yangyang. “Do you want a ride too?” Yangyang contemplates for a second, and you drop your forehead into your elbow, biting your lip because, after all, he is still inside you, inside your clenching and very aroused p.ussy, where you want him to finish. He nudges your shoulder with his nose and confirms that yeah, he needs a ride. You kiss him a few more times, unsure why, just wanting to be close – something about want to say in his presence, enjoying his presence. He swirls his hips. It feels really good to be with him. “Yeah, so Yangyang is in the neighborhood.”

“Wha-“

“A huh,” you whine, more at Yangyang than Ten. “He just texted me. He’ll meet you – us! He’ll meet us at my apartment. I’m going to get ready now, bye!” you say everything in one breath, hanging up as equally abruptly before Ten could insert his two cents. You drop the phone and turn around, kissing Yangyang deeply. As he returns your affection, you enunciate slowly, “Five minutes, then we have to get ready. Ten is getting too suspicious.”

Yangyang finishes a little bit after five minutes, not that you mind. Non-residents have to get buzzed into your building, and Ten doesn’t have a key to your front door. You indulge the moment, laying on your arm bent under a pillow. He looks at you with all the care in the world, no longer that suave fuck buddy from a few moments ago but a young romantic who caresses your inner thigh and talks big game about all the connections you two have in common, or don’t. Your hand dips to the top of his head, combing a small section with your nails to his ends. Yangyang asks you for the time, and you almost don’t give it to him, preferring to spend time with him here than overanalyzing some stupid thesis statement that you wrote at 4AM. You pout, and pull his phone between the two of you, showing him that Ten will arrive in ten minutes – ironic, you think.

Yangyang approaches your face, millimeters from your lips. He waits for you to flutter your eyes closed, anticipating a kiss, then runs into the shower. It takes you a minute to join him, and when he sees you, smirking, like you have some dastardly revenge plan in the works, Yangyang shuts the glass door, isolating himself in the cold shower. He holds on extra tightly so that you cannot get in. You look hot when you are annoyed though – he needs to annoy you more. It is even more fun to mollify you. He pulls you into the shower next to him by grabbing your ass and makes out with you against the wall for a few seconds, until you start stretching at the lavender body wash on the shelf behind him.

This time, Yangyang finishes first, hopping out to sprinkle the roots of his hair with dry shampoo so Ten does not get too suspicious. If he has wet hair, then it would be obvious that he stayed over. He puts the powder back on the shelf and wanders into your room, towel wrapped loosely around his waist – even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. There are a few of his clothes in your closet from all the time you stole them, or a couple mini getaways that you two have taken. After he changes into an outfit that he can actually wear in public, he picks out an extra one of his over-sized shirts and drapes it on the towel rack for when you get out. He knows that you really like his clothes, especially the organic band tees. It is another plus that you share the same music taste. Hopefully, none of his friends catch onto the coincidental similarities.

Yangyang likes that you spend a lot of time in his clothes. They always end up smelling like your lotions. It is comforting and reminds him of all the nights ‘studying’ until 3AM. You know, not that he would actually say it out loud (mostly because he also likes to wear his favorite shirts), but you look cuter than him, in his Kendrick Lamar concert tee. And besides, there is a secondary reason as to why he rummaged through your underwear drawer: he wanted to choose your panties for today. It might be a black lingerie set, but how is he supposed to know the difference between a t-shirt bra and a balconette? :^)

Yangyang makes his way into the kitchen, snagging a mini muffin off the island. With the work out he just had, he needs protein but there isn’t enough time to cook anything, not that he actually could; eh, he’ll end up buying something on campus. He tosses two more muffins into his backpack for later – one chocolate for him, one strawberry for you. On Mondays, between classes, he usually catches you in the student experience center, finishing some last-minute assignments. You always end up pushing lunch until after four, ergo he tries to bring you some snacks, whenever he can. Once, his research methods class got cancelled and you didn’t have any pre-lecture materials to work on, so he brought two cups of ramen. You two had a semi-date then. He wonders if it can happen again, today. Ten interrupts the thought though, before it can develop into a real plan, and he sighs. He doesn’t know why, but he keeps thinking about defining this relationship at the worst possible times.

“Yellow?” Yangyang answers, mid-bite. He shifts the phone to his shoulder so that he can check your notification center for any missed calls. You have three. Ten has been going to voicemail all morning, Yangyang deduces, and if he was Ten, he would be damn suspicious at this point.

“Hi, baby,” Ten coos. “I’m outside. Buzz me in, yeah?”

Yangyang reflexively pouts. “I’m not your baby. I’m 20 now.” Still though, he complies, letting Ten into the building, and his friend is upstairs within a minute – not that it is too far. You live on the second floor.

“So,” Ten sings while glancing around the apartment. Yangyang wonders what for – hopefully, not searching for his secret relationship. Ten closes the door, his eyes landing on Yangyang and eying him down suspiciously, in a curious way. “What are you doing in the neighborhood, anyways?”

“I, uh, bought breakfast at Allen’s coffee, down the street,” he lies, “And I didn’t feel like walking back to the frat.” He shrugs too, trying hard to be as nonchalant as possible.

“A huh.” Ten does not seem to accept it, but he lets it slide when you walk into the room, wearing Yangyang’s t-shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans. Yangyang cannot see why Ten would recognize the top because you also happen to like Kendrick Lamar – one of your favorite songs is King Kunta, even though you cannot sing along to save your life. Yangyang finds it endearing that you enjoy rap music, even though you cannot match the flow or pitch.

His gaze is still endearing when you walk into the kitchen, beelining for the last mini muffin. Yangyang catches how intensely he was staring at you, after you blink at him (and Ten).

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” they mutter, looking away.

“Okay,” you drawl suspiciously, swallowing half your breakfast. You fold the rest of it into the front pocket of your backpack and pick up your textbook. Yangyang meets your gaze but you immediately flicker to Ten. “Can we grab something at Starbucks really quick?”

Ten stares at Yangyang. You just got coffee for yourself, even though you were coming here? Yangyang waves a hand, unsure how to respond. This whole secret relationship has gone on longer than he thought it would. It was supposed to be a one-night stand kind of thing when he first kissed you, the night that Ten introduced you two back in March after Renjun’s birthday party, and not even a one-night stand! He just expected you to make out with him, not give him a blowjob in Kun’s bathroom then let him take you back to his room at the frat.

“What?” You look between them. Yangyang shakes his head, nothing. You stare him down and give in, then turn back to Ten. “I haven’t eaten anything. Please?”

“Alright, fine,” Ten cedes. He holds his hands up in surrender, his keys waving like a white flag. As you all file out the door, Yangyang jokingly asks if he can drive. Ten deadpans at him, protective over the car, and smacks him on the back of his head. “Let’s go.”

Yangyang barely notices when they pull into the drive-thru on 1st, too busy scrolling through Instagram while you and Ten talk about an EDM festival coming this weekend. He only picks up his head when you lean over the gear shift, blocking the GPS from his view (in the middle seat) – he was monitoring the distance to make sure that you get to class on time.

“Can we get two breakfast sandwiches, an iced coffee with 2% milk, and an iced London fog latte, extra pump of vanilla, with coconut milk?” You turn to ten. “Want anything?”

Ten furrows his eyebrows. Neither of them looks at Yangyang, and he lowers his phone, knowing that he is about to be caught in a lie. He didn’t think that Ten would ask anything because of the time crunch. Evidently, he was wrong, and now he doesn’t know how to unspin the lie.

“Who are you ordering all that food for?” Ten asks.

You look at him skeptically, a what the fuck hanging palpably in the air before you point to the backseat. “For the baby.”

“Not a baby,” Yangyang pipes up, voice cracking. He tugs on the collar of his shirt, smiling embarrassed.

Ten turns on his side, back facing the window as he stares between the two of you, ultimately settling on Yangyang. “I thought that you said you already got breakfast at Allen’s.” Ten rotates to you. “That’s why he’s in the neighborhood, right?”

A huh, yeah. Yangyang almost tells another lie but the monitor clerk asks if they want anything else, and they are holding up the line with an empty lane in front. Saved by the bell intercom. Ten orders an extra americano, then you all persist through the awkward silence until reaching the front window. You pay with the app as Ten passes out the round of drinks like a bartender. Yangyang pokes his paper straw through the lid. You can’t baby him if he does everything himself first.

“Uh, are you good?”

Yangyang looks up. You have your iced latte between your legs, holding it at the top of your thighs on your crotch like an ice pack.

“Yeah, what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Ten enunciates, putting this drink in the cup holder, “people only put ice on their private parts when they’re sore.” He widens his eyes, posture stiffening and he points at you. “Did you have that guy over? The best y-“

“You don’t –“ You hold up a hand, physically interrupting him. Yangyang should have known that Ten would never seriously suspect him as your fuck buddy; he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or offended. “- have to repeat it. I just feel sore.”

Yangyang smirks at that, but he has to hide it when Ten looks at him, pinching his cheeks down like a Tim Burton character. The look in Ten’s eyes is confused again, and he knows that one of two questions is going to come out: if he met that guy that you’re sleeping with, of if he is the guy that you are sleeping with. Fortunately, Yangyang sees the navigation touch screen, and the time is two minutes until eight and you are five minutes off campus. Ten has to drop the conversation and speed to the art building so that at least you get there on time. The extra few minutes he has to spend alone with Ten gives him the idea to cool things off with you for a few days.

That sounds bad, like he is blowing you off, but honestly, you agreed.

Yangyang caught you in front of the communal office space for linguistics GTAs, a few minutes before office hours ended. He snatched you into a supply closet, dragging you by the waist, and covered your mouth to prevent you from screaming bloody murder. You two acknowledged the thin ice that has been melting for a couple weeks now. And he brought up taking a break from seeing each other for a while. At first, you thought that he was breaking up with you – or as close to breaking up as possible, because still, you are not dating. But then, he saw your face and reassured you that he does want to keep seeing you, even in secret; maybe next time, you two should talk about your relationship.

Friends do not need to see each other every day, you know. Or, like, at least, casual friends don’t. Sure, you FaceTime Ten all the time and Yangyang lives with Xiaojun so he sees his best friend daily by default, but you two are not similarly close friends, especially not when other people can perceive how you two interact. No one has to know just that you see Yangyang just as often, in person. And you do it because, well, because you like him – which explains how he ends up back in your bed by Wednesday.

“I’m gonna be late again.”

“No, you won’t.”

Yangyang reaches around your collarbone, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip until he can comfortably hold your jaw. He draws you in for another kiss, his eyes mirroring yours - distracted, enamored, aroused. You cautiously spin around, throwing your arms around his neck to avoid getting swept away, which seems impossible because he holds you securely, at your mandible and the beltloop on your waist. He inhales upon the next embrace, closing his pretty mouth over your philtrum like a slow bite – like several slow bites. You meet him, every time, at the end of each kiss when he shifts onto his toes, getting too tall for your lips, and pull him back on the ground to get more. He moans, after you start roaming your hands under his shirt, running your nails over the crevices in his body like a memorization technique for an early class you don’t have.

You feel hungry, for love, wanting to feel warm. The sun will not rise for another half hour, but he is the warmest thing in the room, even though you are fully dressed, not expecting to be late like two days ago. He copies your moves, unbuckling his hand like a belt, sliding it under your shirt and palming your b.oobs. Then, you squeal, giggling breathily, when he spins you around again and smacks your ass, pushing your thighs into the mattress that you two are standing over.

“Do you trust me?” he whispers in your ear, sucking upward on your external jugular vein.

“No.”

Yangyang stops, deadpanned. He hits your butt again, like a punishment – his favorite kind of punishment, it seems because he repeats it every morning like a bad kind of player, the rich one who goes to bars and unexpectedly falls in love with an attendee, as if it is a coming of age Netflix movie. He repeats it again until you fall on your hands over the bed. You look behind your shoulder at him, jaw dropped. And he takes no time to interpret it, stumbling next to you.

You roll over, led by your hips, so that you can match him, latching onto his face with your hands on his cheeks. “Of course, I trust you, dummy.”

He looks down still, picking at the seams of your jeans. And you detect his teasing tone, easily, because he goes directly to your inner thighs, tracing up along the thread until he reaches your zipper. “Really?”

You roll your eyes, then make him look at you. He has that kicked-puppy expression in the way the outline of his eyes falls below his eyebrows, but the glint and the gummy smile have you knowing otherwise. “Yes.”

Yangyang pops your pants button undone, mischievously pulling his lips into a dramatic pout. “And you’re not lying to me?”

“No,” you emphasize. You brush his hair back, scratching your nails along his scalp, behind his ears. His smile cannot help itself, breaking out in a way that has you completely immersed. It reminds you of that time when you went go karting with Ten and a few others. You were undoubtedly a bad driver, bumping into the track walls, even during the straight lanes. One time, you made a particularly excellent sharp turn, surpassing Johnny to the finish line. Unfortunately, you were completing lap 3 of 5 and him 5 of 5, but Yangyang still congratulated you afterward – in bed. He also lit up, when you two were just laying under the covers, staring at the ceiling because the stars were too far away. You held onto the arm around your waist, laying on his naked shoulder as he told you about wanting to be a race car driver as a kid, then an automotive or aerospace engineer as a teenager, before he settled on psychology. He kept talking, as if crafting this beautiful galaxy. That is when you knew.

“Prove it.”

“What?” You sit up and straddle him. “How do you want me to prove it?”

Yangyang starts begging for affection, slithering his hand down your stomach, into your underwear. He pulls you into his chest, giggling when you topple him into the pillows, clearly not having estimated the force. You like that you never have to beg for his attention. He always, for some reason, notices you, and it is so hard not to pick up on it. You wonder just how no one has learned about you two yet. It’s not like you are being subtle. Although, the smallest acts he gives you can be found under subtle in the dictionary. Like now, he tucks your hair behind your ear, gaze flickering from his hand across your cheek to your eyes. You kiss him again – only a brief peck, because he inserts two fingers inside you, making you gasp sharply enough to break.

“Can I confess something?” you ask, suddenly braved by an idea to prove that you do trust him.

Yangyang stops fucking you, his fingers flexed still. He scans your face for an actual lie but knows that he will never find one, mostly because he already knows the next few words out of your mouth; he has felt the same way for months. And maybe, at this point, he owes you some explanation, for keeping his own confession unspoken. He wants to give it to you first, before your own declaration. It is something that he thinks he should do, like a societal norm for the guy to confess – that is what all the romantic movies say, right? Well, there is Princess Leia and Han with their whole I love you and I know dynamic, and while that was really cool in the scene, Yangyang has a fixed scenario in his head.

“I love you,” he blurts, quickly, sitting up.

“You love me?”

His heart drops. You are not supposed to surprised. He was nearly 100% confident that you had fallen in love with him, too, but this might confirm that so much was in his head. You keep staring at him, jaw slacked and hands on his shoulders. Only when he starts pulling away do you react, catching his hand.

“I really like you,” Yangyang reiterates, self-pouring salt into his bleeding heart. He hesitates for a second, unsure if he should even be vulnerable again, but what does he have to lose? “I –“ He swallows, still looking into your eyes – “I love you.”

Then you kiss him.

And he lets you kiss him.

He lets you kiss him because of the way you cradle his face, like he is made of glass, like he is the most precious crystal that you have to protect. Your lips get softer when he wets them with his tongue, after feeling confidence in your embrace. You kiss him in a way that takes away the word the love, wrapping him in a security blanket to return the warmth.

“I love you,” you whisper slowly, barely audibly enough for him to hear it over the smack of your tongue as you lower to him. You pause, mouth slightly ajar on his. “Too.”

Yangyang peers at your closed eyes, almost willing you to open them so he can tell you, again, that he loves you, so he can see your reaction when he really tells you. He grabs your face and sits up again. You roll your head to the side, like you anticipate his kiss. He gives it you, simultaneously returning his hand into your pants.

“What time is it?”

“What?”

“What time is it right now?” Yangyang asks you with a sense of urgency.

You turn around, fumbling around for your phone, which is now somewhere mixed in your sheets. The two of you had spent a good ten minutes remaking the bed after the night you had, and currently, blankets are strewn across, folded into messy piles. With the thought distracting you, Yangyang slips two fingers past your underwear again, twisting the crotch area with his thumb for easier access. You pause, sighing heavily, hand bunching up the linen as he scissors you.

“I asked you a question,” he reminds you, slightly stuttering at the end, hesitant to add a term of endearment. Even with the confessions you both just gave, it does not define your relationship and he doesn’t know how to broach it just yet, only wanting to kiss you closely and hear all the love sounds that he feels deprived of.

“It’s 6:21.”

“Good,” Yangyang whispers in your ear as he prepares you to take him. “We have time.”

Yangyang redirects your face to his, tilting your chin up as he leans to the side, almost inhaling your lips. Upon another kiss, he adds his tongue, tired of the light pecks. They don’t express his affection as much as he wants, because small embraces end quicker, causing you to withdraw – which is the furthest desire from his mind, especially considering that he just confessed, multiple times. He curls his tongue, placing only the tip beyond your lips. You check him, trying to catch his tongue but merely snagging his spit. He smirks because you whine again. Was that not enough? Obviously not, he notes after you pull back, breathing on his lips, making him chase you. Your breath sounds rapid and rough, and he wants to alleviate your nerves. Yangyang extends his neck again, craning to meet your lips. He gives you a second to recover, to prepare, panting the faintest ghost kisses across your lower face. Your hand comes above his shaking heart, stopping there as you bite your lip coyly. He wonders if you want to stop. Both of you just acknowledged a lingering more-than-friends adoration.

But then you slide your hand under his chin, making him really look at you.

“I love you,” you repeat.

The repet!tion exceeds his own confession, and he isn’t sure whether to confess again, but you take the initiative for him, rocking side to side like ridin’ d!ck bicycle. Yangyang parts his lips just enough to blow small, uneven breaths. He feels you open his jeans while shifting over one of his thighs, his fingers still trembling inside you. Sex with you always feels so reciprocated. Your nails graze his c.ock erect, your hand tightening at the tip, where you push your thumb on his pre-cum. It gives almost the same sensation as your tongue and the sensation gets more intense. He starts thrusting in tandem, making you clench, around his bicep, for support. When you start flicking the flesh on the underside of his penis (the part that connects the shaft to head), he stops your hand.

Yangyang comes forward, caressing your mouth and massaging your clit. “I’m gonna cum.”

“So cum,” you taunt him, smirking into the kiss.

Your resolve temporarily falters, dripping into a moan that he swallows up wholly. He keeps sinking his fingers at different depths, at a fast and shallow pace, waiting for you to reach the same point. You certainly feel wet enough. He touches that spongey tissue area in your p.ussy that has you seeing stars. You moan his name over and over again, until the two syllables become a tongue twister. He disentangles your tongue, using his own. All those years tying cherry stems in his mouth as a teenager really paid off. He starts making a come-hither gesture, simultaneously flirting with your lips. After your hand ceases, exclusively squeezing his base, right above his balls, Yangyang slows down, slipping his fingers away from your G-spot, up and over your clit, your orgasm weakening.

“Ugh,” you grumble.

“We have time,” Yangyang tells you, “to have sex.” He looks at you through his eyelashes, gradually lowering his head under your shirt, his shirt. After Monday, he wondered if you ever owned any shirts yourself, or if you donated all of them once you ‘discovered’ his closet. “Tell me you want it too.”

“I want you.”

He doesn’t know whether to clown you or flirt with you. The first option would make you laugh, but the second would get him laid. Luckily, you decide for him, shimming out of your jeans and panties, then you slide his pants down to his ankles. He wraps his hand around your throat, drawing you to his lips, and he unintentionally squeezes when you settle on the tip of his c.ock. As you ride him, your walls hug his d!ck nicely, giving it a nice tight feeling that he can’t help but moan at. You straighten your back to gain some height over him and slip your tongue in his mouth. His hands reach out to your ass, guiding your hips forward in waves. He starts breathing heavier and his grip gets stronger.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.”

Yangyang kisses you, pulling your words into his mouth, “So cum.”

“Fuck.”

He chases after your high, under the guise of helping you ride out this orgasm, getting his d!ck to twitch deeply inside you. When his hold gets too firm, you whine, suddenly over stimulated. Your nails dig into his bicep roughly, barely soothed by the t-shirt he still wears. He thrusts asynchronously with you before coming undone and dragging you into his chest. You feel warm and sweaty in this post-sex glow, your hand and head resting on his chest. He traces little hearts on your inner wrist, not wanting to let you go completely.

“You need to stop picking my underwear if you’re just going to destroy them,” you joke, kissing him on the cheek. “I have to double wash these thongs you know.”

“Can we –“ Yangyang swallows a lump in his throat. He feels like he is pulling you impossibly close, even though you are not moving away. “Can we go back to that thing you were saying earlier?”

“Hmm?”

“The,” he pauses, indecisive whether he actually wants to bring everything up right now. He ultimately decides for it. “Part with the ‘I love you’?” He knows that his voice sounds smaller than normal and that his eyes are shifting nervously at yours, but he wants to hear it again, wants the validation.

“Right,” you understand, nodding your head equally slowly. You straddle his lap again, and he immediately balances you by the waist, wanting to keep that impossibly close distance. “I’m – I’ve fallen –“ You swallow, looking away, but he needs you to look at him. Because if you can’t say it to his face, how does he know that you’re not just saying it out of obligation? Thankfully though, you see to be on the same wavelength, returning to his eyes, and his breath hitches, abs shaking in anticipation. You confidently give him the sentiment, “I love you.”

Yangyang tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, watching the way his fingers finish, stroking along our cheekbone. “I know,” he whispers coolly, leaning into your ear. “It’s hard not to love me,” he changes the subject, “I’m the best.” You scoff and push his chest, but he fastens an arm around you as equally fast, smiling too wide. He is a little sorry, for ruining the moment, but his laugh isn’t convincing at all. “I love you too.”

Sex, you think, feels infinitely better once the weight was lifted off your chest, once the spoonful of love was added. And the way Yangyang keeps kissing you, absolutely obsessed with holding your waist, tells you that spoonful is a misnomer, too small. The measurement for an entire ocean might be a better description. Still though, you would never call describe sex as love making, especially not to his face. At that point, you would be faced with an ‘oh, my god; that’s disgusting, man’ – not that you mind entirely, because the teasing smile he uses is so, so important to you, and sex feels just like that – the love part, not the disgusting thing. Although, sometimes he can be quite disgusting, yanno. Ah, he just makes you want to skip class and stay in bed beside him all day.

Except, both of you know how bad of an idea that is, with midterms are right around the corner.

Despite that, he spends the night at your apartment again, staying up until 3AM even though he has abnormal psych at 8 on Thursdays.

“I need a study break.”

You roll the cover of your design textbook towards your spiral notebook and toss the pile onto the floor, kicking the blankets off your feet. Yangyang barely spares you a glance, too absorbed in his case study. It is the last of five, and he only has the results, psychometrics, and summary statement left to write for this one before he is completely done for the week. Similarly, you have an exam on Joseon architecture later today and you are a third of a chapter away from catching up on reading, but honestly, fortresses get annoying to look at, especially when you have to compare militia structures against lower-class housing. So, you infiltrate Yangyang’s personal bubble, sliding an arm over his hips and your head into his lap.

“Does this mean I have you join you?” he teases, already putting away his pens. He pushes all his study materials by his feet, never leaning too far up, to keep your head in place. It gets even more comfortable when he relaxes again, resting across the pillows. You close your eyes, melting, when he massages your scalp, like he immediately knows where every knot or corner of tension are.

“I would really appreciate it, if you joined me.” You sigh. His touch is heavenly, and it makes you tighten your arm over his pelvis.

Eventually, Yangyang goes back to his homework, this time reclining in a way that lets you curl into his side. And you aren’t actually asleep, just mildly daydreaming with your eyes shut, thinking about literally anything (Yangyang) other than structures. When he raises a book midair, in front of his face, you move positions, sprawling across his chest, leg coming between his thighs. You (purposefully) annoyingly stick your head under his cheek, to ensure that you, at least, moderately block some of the passage.

Yangyang giggles. “Am I officially joining you now?” He puts his papers on your nightstand and wraps an arm around your shoulders, luring you to his lips. Your leg slithers above the waistband of his joggers, and he helps you straddle him again, sinking into the mattress to get a good view of the way you look in his oversize hood, in only his oversized hoodie. “You’re clingier.”

“Than what?” you ask innocently, rubbing his shirt fabric along his chest. You start pouting, as a response to his silence. Does he not want to cuddle? You shake your head. No, he does, given the way he pushes up the hoodie and yanks you further up his lap. “We cuddle the same amount.” You lower toward his ear, holding his neck in place, and whisper, “Do you not want to? Because I can leave.”

Before you can even think about getting off, he kisses you, sitting up. “Don’t go.” His hands come under your ass, squeezing as your arms circle around his neck. “It’s just –“ He bites his lip, suppressing a whine, which you can feel clog his throat. “You can’t sit on my lap like this. I’m getting hard.”

“Again?” you taunt. He slaps your butt, rather harshly, leaving a warm tingling sensation that he kneads away. You grind into his touch and kiss up his neck. “We can try the Pomodoro method.” You blow into his ear, shakily, as his hand presses particularly rougher. “I’ll set a timer for 25-minutes.” You look at him with chaste, despite the way you are purposefully making his blood rush. His fingers move to the edge of the hood, lifting it slightly. “Think we can have fun in just 25 minutes?”

“Mmmhmm,” he agrees early, nodding his head forward to kiss you. You don’t let him meet you though, not that you think he really noticed, what with being distracted by your very naked legs. He slowly sits up, all the way, and you feel his d!ck twitch against your thighs.

“Or do you think we won’t be able to finish?”

Yangyang throws you onto the bed and removes his shirt in one fell swoop. “Bet?”

“Missionary?” you ask, almost sticking your tongue out at him. “You’re getting more vanilla.”

Yanygyang gasps, then whacks your butt. “Take that back!”

You prop yourself on your elbows, eying all the naked parts of him up and down, from his low waisted briefs to his well-defined pecs to the rather cross sulk on his lip. “Make me.”

“Don’t have to.” He takes away your smirk, displaying it across his face. You tilt your head to the left, expression slacking blankly, but you catch on, feeling his fingers outline your sides. He slips his thumb between your lips, pushing it slowly until you basically give him a finger job, like a preview to the actual head he wants. “You’re already prepped.”

Your eyes flicker up, purely, as if he is about to ruin you for the first time. It’s his favorite part whenever you blow him – you looking into his eyes, taking every inch of him. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, dragging your lip down until he lets go, your lips smacking together. You bite your lip, suddenly feeling empty, even though neither of you have really done anything yet. “Are you going to fuck me then?” Your voice sounds so harmless, now lacking the bite as you mentally anticipate his d!ck to stretch you open right now. He shakes his head, no. “So what –“

Yangyang spreads your legs a little wider, strictly, darting in the direction of your main bullseye point. His touches remain light and teasing, not getting there yet, responding to all the little mannerisms that make your lower body so rhythmic. He rubs a finger, swirling the ends of his movements to get your hips riding his digits. You whimper breathily, voice cracking at such a high pitch. He sweeps your bottom lip, pressing his tongue softly, making you wish that he would fuck you already. It is insanely evil, for him to give you a preview of the intense foreplay without actually doing it, barely giving you the imagery of it all. You clutch his shoulder, to steady him for a constant kiss and to actually get on his slender fingers. But he never lets you. Instead, he pulls you by your ass, one-handed, forcing you to roll your hips on the silhouette of his d!ck. Fuck, how can you even feel his c.ock? His joggers are so thick. He maintains the stupid, inhumane taunts, kissing the air between you two, caressing everywhere along your hole. A few minutes pass without him changing the routine, so you reverse the positions, throwing him on your mattress and straddling his lap like a stripper. And with almost the same level of experience, or confidence (you hope it’s confidence), you seesaw over his d!ck. He swiftly locks your arms around his neck and his behind your lower back, palming your ass. You look into his eyes for a second, then kiss him roughly, smashing your lips on his.

“You’re. So. Eager. Today,” he says, muddied by elongated spit noises. His eyes are flittered closed as he smiles smugly, accepting your style of manhandling. Your embraces are light and rapid, doing everything in your power to prevent him from straying too far. But his abs get too shaky, too firm, the familiar build up washing over him, so he has to pull away. When he does, you try chasing him and he brushes your hair behind your ear, slowly stroking your jugular vein like ticking baby hairs. “I love you.”

You smile. “I love you too.” You peck his lips, now sitting sticky on his lap. He looks so pretty, eyes glazed and lips slightly parted. You just have to kiss him again.

Yangyang bends your back to the comforter, guiding you by the throat, simultaneously pushing his pants mid-thigh, c.ock bouncing more freely. It slaps your p.ussy, naturally twitching aroused. He is so close that when he pumps himself a few strokes, his knuckles rasp along your clit and you buck your hips for more touches. You feel his wet tip run along your slit, and you just know that his hand locks above his balls, right around his base, ready to push in. But you stop him.

“Let me ride you,” you pant, slowly opening your eyes.

He nods his head enthusiastically, and you pop off his head. You turn around, back facing him as you take off the hoodie, leaning down to graze your n!pples on the blanket.

Yangyang wails. “That’s not fair. I want to see.” He takes off his pants, to be as equally naked.

You redirect his attention back to your p.ussy, using your first two fingers to pinch your clitoral hood and gently tug it up and down, over his d!ck as you back into him. He lets out a loud moan at the sight; it takes everything in him to not thrust, listening to your command ordering him to wait. You brush your hair over your shoulder again and look at him behind your shoulder, sultry. Your mood changes are so sexy. His body moves automatically, hunching over your spine to litter you with kisses, his hand trailing behind his saliva. You take that palm and put it on your t!t as you grind his c.ock between your ass cheeks, sliding it to the most sensitive nerves of your p.ussy. He aids your building orgasm with two fingers, leaning his metacarpal inside of your thigh to rub circles specifically under your nub.

“Oh my god,” you exhale, walls throbbing in a vacuum of emptiness, needy.

You sit up and push him onto the pillows by his chest, then reach behind to grab his c.ock erect. His breath thunders, encouragingly. He waits for you to do something, scanning your bare back for every little love bite and mark. You slowly descend and use your knees to bounce, ass swirling between his thighs. Your hips oscillate from outward jumping to figure eights, to rocking sideways. And his favorite position seems to be when you take all of him, gyrating shallowly, letting only about an inch leave your p.ussy before you slam back down on him. You mimic his slaps, taking your hand off his inner thigh to grip your ass, dragging your nails up, leaving a tingling sensation. He rolls his eyes to the back of his head, recording the moment in his brain forever, then slaps your jiggling flesh several times. This position gets his big c.ock deep within your p.ussy, causing his balls to bump against your labia. Then he starts thrusting with you, pounding his hips up.

“Fuck, Fuck, Yanygang. Mmhm.”

He copies your expletives, adding some bad girl’s and other lewd nicknames, before slamming with some finality. You think that he is about to cum, but he withdraws, making you whine sharply. Yangyang flips you onto your back, immediately attacking your chest. His hands support you like a wired bra and shakes them, pushing the pads of his thumbs into your sternum so that your hardened n!pples remain level with his mouth. He licks one lightly, circling around the areola, then latches on, sucking with his tongue flattened under your skin. You arch your back to him, drawing him close. He repeats the action on the other, but longer, as he pinches and kneads your b.oob.

“Come on my d!ck again, you dirty little girl,” he orders, voice low and hoarse.

“Then stop pulling out,” you whisper, similarly breathless.

“Okay.”

You lean away from him, supported with your hands on his thighs, spinning your hips in circles and side to side. His hands squeeze your waist, jostling you to his chest brutally.

“Don’t do that,” he growls, teeth barring before he kisses you again, croaking the moan in your throat. He drags you close, fingers digging into esophagus so that his tongue and reach inside.

Your grip scratches on his triceps, pink lines haunting his skin. You keep bouncing up and down, until his chokehold drops. His mouth falls open, releasing strings of curses after gasps. He spanks you hard, twice, then grips your ass, jerking it savagely. You change the motion, grinding in tiny, little, miniscule circles. Your thighs shiver, your entire body following. He rotates his d!ck, thrusting asynchronously. And you claw through his hair, tugging the strands rougher and rougher as your abdomen keeps tightening.

“Almost, almost,” you whimper. “I’m so close.”

Yangyang pulls your bottom lip with his teeth. “Me too.”

You begin slowing down, no longer able to bounce up and down, choosing to rock back and forth. Then, everything stops for just a second, your walls compressing his springy c.ock until you break. All of his muscles grate against you, making you feel each ridge and movement. He follows your orgasm, feeling the way you milk every drop out of him, sucking his entire length balls deep. Your whine sounds like a treble, harmonizing with his lower moan. And you two spend another moment in cowgirl position, collecting your breaths, basically fused together.

“I love you,” Yangyang repeats. Ever since yesterday morning, he has been throwing out the sentiment spontaneously whenever he can: during sex, after sex, while cuddling, in the middle of study dates, behind his cup of coffee at the physics café in the afternoon when no one else is nearby. He follows up with another confession, “I want more than 25-minutes.” And it catches you off guard, considering his previous statement and the other, in the midst of sex, or love making, as some people would call it.

“The 25-minutes is just for right now,” you reassure him, gently patting his cheeks. “We have to study. I still have part of a chapter left to read.”

“Then say it back.”

You pull his face to yours, brushing your noses together. “I love you,” you tell him slowly, enunciating every syllable.

“So, spend the night at my place tomorrow,” he requests. His arms come behind your lower back, his eyes pouting like a lamb.

“Of course,” you answer impulsively, immediately going to kiss him after. Then you pull away, stopping him on the shoulders. “Wait. You have roommates. You have six roommates.”

“Four,” he corrects you – Sicheng graduated last year and moved in with Yuta. “We’ll be fine. Dejun is going with Kun to some conference; I don’t remember what. Hendery is staying at an AirBnB before the EDM festival this weekend. Lucas is …” Yangyang bites his cheek, trying to recall his roomates’ schedules. “I think he’s going on a date. I don’t know, but he bought roses and they’re sitting in the fridge. And Renjun … Renjun …” Yangyang swallows. He almost forgot about the tidbit that he learned at the Halloween party last weekend.

“Renjun what?” you ask, pecking him lightly and chastely.

“Won’t be there either.” Yangyang stops you. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

You sense the serious tone and straighten up, clasping your hands around his neck. “What’s up?” you prod slowly.

“Did you really like him?” he questions so softly that you almost do not hear him. “Renjun?” he clarifies after you stay quiet (even though it was just a few seconds).

“Yeah,” you answer quietly, not entirely sure if you even want him to hear you, the ambience settling into something melancholier. “But I love you.”

It seems like he ignores you.

“Why didn’t you get with him?”

“You don’t mean that.”

You shake your head, pulling back, your eyes painfully dry. All the fuzzy spots from your orgasm earlier connect the dots in your head, and you wonder what this is, if he doubts you, doesn’t trust you.

But he agrees, “You’re right. I just … I mean, why are you with me instead?”

“Instead?” you ask. You come back to him – it’s always him, and you hold his face, making him look at you. “I’m not with you instead of Renjun. There’s no compet!tion. I love you,” you enunciate the confession again to really emphasize it.

“But –“

It doesn’t seem to stick. And you sigh with your entire body, slumping away from him. “Does it really bother you that much?” You shift around, biting your lip while his soft c.ock scrambles inside you. He meets your eyes this time, scanning your pupils for more reassurance. “You are kind and smart and hard-working and insanely talented, and … and I love you.” He stays quiet, and you almost throttle him, needing a bit of affection too. “Say it back,” you beg, differently from minutes ago. You drop your forehead on his shoulder. “Please.”

Yangyang seems to understand and reciprocates, “I love you too.”

You pull yourself to face him and beam, mirroring his tender gummy smile. Then, you kiss him again, toppling him into the pillows. He rolls you over, causing you to giggle loudly as he peppers small bites along your cheeks, across your nose, and whispers the same confession on loop.

“I love you,” he ends, kissing you deeply. He comes up for air, inhaling sharply. “So, stay the night with me tomorrow – tonight. At my place.” He brushes your hair away from your face, to get a better look at the sweet glaze in your eyes. You think that you fall in love a little more, especially with all his domestic acts.

“Okay,” you agree.

“Okay,” he repeats. “Okay.” He nods his head, smiling wider, if possible, and kisses you over and over and over again.

Funny thing about Fridays: Yangyang doesn’t have a morning class, doesn’t have class at all actually; meanwhile, you have another art history class, at eight. The damn class is 90-minutes, so it is held three times a week. His lectures, you recall bitterly, go on for 2-3 hours each, granting him the three day weekend that every college student desires, pushing his classes to the first four business days of the week. That means he can stay up all night Thursday to Saturday, gaming for long hours into the night – not that you get to see it often, because when you do stop by the frat house, you spend time with anyone else. And usually, someone is visiting at the same time. You know, you write yourself into Xiaojun and Sicheng’s pool compet!tion, or watch moves with Lucas, but tonight (really morning, considering that it is 1 A.M.), you sit with Yangyang in his wide gaming chair, thumbing at The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (BotW) while he plays Overwatch with Haechan and Jeno. Thankfully, you don’t have any major assignments due later or any in-class presentations, so you can just curl up next to your boyfriend and pull an all-nighter, stealing snacks and drinks from his new mini-fridge so that you can avoid accidentally bumping into one of his roommates. Although, you Uber’ed to his place with a box of friend chicken and side dishes.

After the same gold lynel kills of Link for the third time in a row (the one in the Hebra region, outside the shrine, that has a sword you want), you lazily toss the controller onto his desk. Dying again and again gets frustrating, and you need to relieve the buzz. So, you turn to Yangyang, who looks to be in the middle of a campaign (is that what his levels are called?), and start asking him questions about his video game. Like, you know how sometimes people get so desperately horny that they ask their partner to explain Overwatch to them? Yeah, that is exactly how this feels, as Yangyang’s distracted voice describes his location and next move. And it is no wonder that he is a psych major – he is good at communication.

“What does that character do?” you whisper-ask, while the screen refreshes after he wins a battle.

“That’s an attacker.”

“A huh,” you nod along. You vaguely know what that means, based on the t!tle and all your years of the Club Penguin Card Jitsu game. “And that one?”

Yangyang removes his headset to around his neck and faces you, grinning sideways. “Are we sharing interests right now?” He pushes your legs apart, then straddles you over his thigh. His desk separates you and the game, pressing a fine line between the bones in your spinal cord. He turns the microphone down, muting himself from his friends. It is one thing for the two of you to be alone in the frat house and another for his close friends to physically hear you in his arms. “Or are you just needy for my attention?” Yangyang pulls one hand on your skin, rubbing small soothing circles. “That’s a sign of a relationship, you know.” He leans into your ear, whispering, “Like a date.”

You push him against the chair cushions, scrunching your nose at his laughter. “As if we haven’t done that already,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes for emphasis.

“What?” he asks. “Go on a date?”

You nod your head. Neither of you really call these types of things dates, but they are. Sometimes you also hang out in public, alone, maybe holding hand or kissing, even though lately it seems like you stay inside and study and have sex all the time. Actually, there is a rave going on this weekend with one of your favorite DJs – one shared equally by the two of you. You have yet to invite Yangyang, but now seems like a good time.

“You don’t really care about my games,” he pouts, “Do you?”

“I’m sorry,” you agree, pouting with him. “I don’t speak nerd.”

Yangyang gasps, sitting up straighter. “It’s not a nerd thing! It’s a game of strategy!”

You shake your head, still not understanding. “I don’t speak virgin either.”

He slaps your ass. “We both know that isn’t true.”

“Am I supposed to be the virgin, in this scenario?”

“Are you becoming a born-again virgin?”

You shrug. “What would you do if I did?” You completely straddle his lap, scooting up his thighs until his d!ck sits at attention between your abdomens, and you whisper in his ear, “Would you leave me?” You bite his ear, softly licking the external side then blowing on it. “Would you ruin me? Take it away?”

“Virginity is a social construct,” he reminds you, growling. He slips his hands into your underwear. “I’ll ruin you right now.”

Except, another round on his game loads, and you find yourself leaning onto his shoulder opposite the microphone so that he can play, despite the insane wetness soaking your underwear right now. Then, two more games go by and you want his attention. He asked you to stay the night with him, and this doesn’t necessarily feel like that. So, you get off his lap, slithering down his legs onto the ground, onto your knees.

First, you untie his pants and spring his d!ck out. It’s not difficult, because (1) he has pyjama bottoms on, and (2) he manspreads like a motherfucker, giving you easy access. Then, the blow job starts. You lick your palm a couple times and angle his tip in your mouth, starting soft. His legs tense momentarily, making you consider stopping, but a hand appears, pushing you halfway down his length.

“You look so pretty down there, angel.”

He obviously did not actually look at you; you know because he usually makes eye contact when he is close to cumming, enjoying the way your eyes glass over. And because his keyboard continues clicking.

You continue on that way – keeping one hand squeezed halfway down his d!ck; hollowing your cheeks, adding extra suction all over his tip; flattening your tongue on the underside and rolling it like sushi at the very top. Despite his d!ck being fully erect in your mouth, his attention is less than enthusiastic, fingers working diligently on those numbers. It gives you an idea. You start bobbing your head faster, in tune with his typing, egged on by his compet!tiveness. And when his voice goes up an octave, your grip gets tighter, only slacking when you drop back down halfway. His groan echoes in your ear, sounding like he lost (whatever that means), so you pull off. He breathes a little bit harder after the smacking sound falls from your lips, preceding all the fluttering little kisses down his shaft. You hold his d!ck up and lick one stripe up between his balls, and he shouts at his friends:

“Alright! I’m done for the night. Play tomorrow. Bye!”

Yangyang pulls you to your feet, standing with you. He scans your eyes, pulling you closer and closer, debating whether to kiss you or not; he never really kisses you after you suck his d!ck, unless he eats you out too.

“Bed now,” he orders you in whispers, patting your butt a little too hard. You fall onto his queen-sized mattress stomach down, bouncing with his fluffy duvet. He kneels next to you, lifting his sweater off your thighs and spanking you again, three times. Each smack precedes a loud, high-pitched gasp. “You’re so needy.”

“Fuck,” you mutter at a particularly hard hit, his hand slipping to the wet p.ussy lips that need some friction. “Is that a bad thing?”

A door shuts loudly down the hall, making you two straighten up in attention. You prop yourself forward on your elbows, staring at the door. Yangyang watches your reaction, his ears alert and back facing the door. You hear Hendery walking up the stairs, something jangling with him, like keys or plates. A second pair of feet march with him, making you look at Yangyang. He shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head; he thought everyone was going to be gone this weekend, which does not apparently start on Fridays for his roommates.

“You’re going to need to be quiet,” he whispers. This is nothing new. The two of you constantly fuck, like rabbits, regardless if anyone can hear you, but Hendery is two rooms down and Yangyang is sliding two fingers knuckle deep until hitting the urethral sponge. His curling has your thighs tensing to the point of shaking. As he settles between your legs (not letting up on the pressure), he taps your sternum twice, telling you to keep still and quiet.

But you moan. It just comes out, not something that you can control. Especially when he nips all around your clit, lip biting at your skin and sucking small bruises. He keeps going like this, nodding his head for more vibrations everywhere except the most sensitive spot. Your breath gets more labored, breaking loudly.

“You need to be quieter,” he reminds you.

“Mmm, I can’t. You’ll have to move slower.”

Yangyang speeds up his fingers. “Not a chance.” He swipes his thumb across your clit once, then twice, then harder, giving it a little pinch. “Even if you cum, I’m still going.”

You whine, disagreeing. “Mmm mmm, you can’t say things like that. Fuck –“ He starts crawling over your body, peppering light touches along your stomach, around your b.oobs, above your collarbone. “- I want to cum.” You mewl, again frustrated, because he pulls his fingers out. He gestures you to shush, putting them in your mouth. With his hands occupied around your face and throat, his d!ck jostles, sliding between your p.ussy lips without actually entering. “Please,” you beg, “I want to cum so bad.”

“Ugh,” Yangyang moans in your ear, this time guiding himself inside your warm and aching hole. “I know,” he tells you. “I can feel it.” He rotates onto his side, propping up one of his legs to get into an easier position where he can pound you better. You grab one of the pillows, briefly arresting it with your nails acting like handcuffs before settling it under your oblique. The new angle puts Yangyang right back at your G-spot, his tip abusing the sponge harshly. “You’re milking my c.ock, huh? You’re – You want me so bad, huh?”

“Mm hmm, yeah,” you agree. His gaze fixates on the way your ass claps against his pelvis. He doesn’t even have to lead you anymore; you start backing up on him, motivated the rougher he tugs your hair. “Please, please,” you chant in whispers. He spreads your cheeks, obsessed with the disappearing act you pull, needing to see it more.

“Fuck,” he groans. He cups your b.oob off the mattress, supporting the other one with his arm, and pinches at your n!pple, swirling it around between his thumb and index finger. “Come on, pretty girl. You need to cum?” You nod your head fervently, face warming intensely. “So, cum on my c.ock. You can do it; come on.” He drops your chest for your neck, pushing your head into the blankets so he can kiss you again, incoherently vibrating broken praises on your lips.

“Yangyang, Yangyang, I’m – I’m – Harder, please. I’m so – Oh, fuck.”

He moans your name seconds after, spilling into your pulsating core, and relaxes, chest falling into an equilibria rhythm with yours. His c.ock softens, finishing its workout, so you swing your leg away from him and spin around, placing a hand on his chest. You stare at him for a little bit, like watching the sun set. He peaks an eye open, then closes it quickly, teasing you because he knows that you saw it.

“You’re going to get cross-eyed staring at me,” Yangyang jokes.

“Then let me get cross-eyed,” you counter, slithering an arm under his head like a neck cushion.

“That’s disgusting.”

You scoff, pulling on the ends of his hair. “You’re disgusting.”

He smacks your butt lightly. It is definitely his favorite punishment. “And you can call it a kink, fyi.” He opens his eyes in time to see you pout, and in return, he pecks your lips, pulling away just as fast.

You look over his shoulder at the time: 2 A.M. and bury your face in his chest. “We need to stop sleeping so late. My body can’t handle this.”

“My body can handle yours.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, even though he would not be ready to go again, at least for twenty minutes.

You chew on your lip a little bit, then repeat a post-sex tradition (well, it has essentially become a tradition this week). “Can I ask you a question?”

Yangyang kisses your shoulder, wrapping a leg around yours to keep you locked nearby. “Of course, anything.”

“Do you want to go to the rave with me, this weekend?”

“Like,” he processes, still hidden the crevice of your neck, “as in a date?” He lays across your arm, and you notice the glint in his eye. “Are you asking me out? I was supposed to do that!”

“Oh?” you return the tease. “We can just not go then, and I’ll wait for you to ask me out.” You start getting up, but he drags you back down, tugging specifically on your hand. He kisses you as a confirmation that yes, he wants to go; he wants nothing more than to go on a real date with you.

#wayv #nct yangyang #wayv yangyang #yangyang #yangyang smut #wayv smut #nct smut #yangyang fluff #wayv fluff #nct fluff #yangyang imagines #yangyang x reader #liu yangyang #wayv imagines #nct imagines #wayv scenarios #nct scenarios #/mine

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azucanela · 5 years ago

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Okay so i'm feeling pretty bad atm because my best friend replaced me and i need some fluffy rn. How about hcs for the reader being coldly abandoned by their previous best friend. Believing she is alone, she falls to her knees and cries outside in the middle of the rain. A moment later, she glances over to see Bakugou, Kirishima and Shinsou behind them trying their best to cover her from the rain with their jacket. Thank you♡

COMFORTING YOU AFTER A FRIENDSHIP ENDS HEADCANNONS + SCENARIOS

[ft. bakugo katuski, kirishima ejirou, shinsou hitoshi]

SUMMARY: In which you are abandoned by your closest friend and are found by the boys.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS: mentions of murder, mean friends, me being violent, y/n has those main character moments in the rain its nice,

A/N: bb im so sorry that they did that,,, please know that im here if you need anything and i will fight this person :D with your permission of course.

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

your so called friend ended up ditching you

im going to throw hands literally

you end up leaving the café you have been waiting for her in, near tears, and as if it can’t get any worse, you have no ride home, so naturally, you are now walking whilst trying to keep from crying

you’re about half a mile from UA, the hill is visible in the distance and you are very relieved because you just wanna cry in your bed

then it starts to rain

so yeah it did get worse

out of frustration and the built up sadness, you just kinda start crying, coming to a stop and falling to a seat at the side of the road

you felt so alone, the one person you thought would always be around he replaced you

clearly they didn’t feel the same

meanwhile, katuski is running with his jacket above his head, cursing out the skies

and then he spots someone crying in the rain, he initially thinks nothing of it, until he realizes its you

the girl who he “begrudgingly” helped study on weekends, the one who he was up until 2AM with, even though he slept like a grandpa

now he’s cursing for a different reason, he comes over to you

he is gonna wanna kill someone when he finds out and tbh you should let him but thats just me

in the past, people have abandoned him due to his personality, and though it hurt in the moment, he got over it pretty quickly

and tbh, most of the time he had a little squad of jerks following him around so he didn’t really care abt anyone else.

Staring at the text she’d just recieved, Y/N let out a shaky breath, trying to compose herself. Her so called best friend wasn’t coming, and would never be coming again. Apparently she had better things to do than hangout with some wannabe hero. Blinking away the tears, Y/N stood making her way to the exit of the shop, she stepped outside.

She was beginning to regret ever leaving the UA campus, because at this point she’d much rather be crying in bed rather than in public. Y/N was suddenly grateful that the café was relatively close as she speedily walked down the sidewalk.

The one person she thought would be there for her through everything, through all the pain and joy and anything in between, was gone. Great.

At least it couldn’t get worse than this, she decided as she saw the UA Campus in the distance, relief flooding her as her pace quickened.

Then she saw lightning in the distance, thunder rattling in the sky, Y/N couldn’t help but wince. As water began to poor over her she paused her steps, exhaling deeply as she looked up at the sky.

Then the tears began to fall, a hand coming to her mouth to quiet the sobs escaping her as she fell to the ground, seating herself at the side of the road, Y/N felt her body shake as she tried to force herself to even out her breathing.

Meanwhile, Katsuki was cursing out the skies, he’ been on his way back from visiting his parents when it began to pour. Immediately bringing his jacket over his body to try and shield himself from the brunt of the rain as he ran through the now empty streets. Save for one shaking person on the side of the road, causing him to raise a brow at, it was pouring rain and they were just sitting there?

He slowed temporarily to try and get a better understanding of what was going on, only to realize he recognized the person. Y/N. His classmate, the one he begrudgingly tutored on the weekend, the one he cursed out when she forgot to eat, the one who kept him up until 2AM even though his bedtime was normally 9PM.

Katsuki grimaced, coming up behind her with his jacket overhead to try and shield her from the rain as he spoke, “what the hell are you doing out right now? You’re gonna get sick.”

Y/N jumped at the sudden voice behind her, though she knew it was Katsuki, she turned to see he was holding his jacket over the two of them, the red of her eyes a dead giveaway that she’d been crying. She couldn’t bring herself to speak as she looked up at him in shock. What was he doing here?

Katsuki’s face fell as his eyes scanned her for injuries, “who did this to you?” He wasn’t the best when it came to comfort, and he feared that would show as he began to interrogate her.

Blinking Y/N realized what she must’ve looked like, trying to shake off the feelings she was experiencing she spoke, “we should go.” Wiping the water from her face, she moved to stand, and Katuski moved with her, his eyes still on her face.

“Hold this side of the jacket.” He ordered, and she did as she was told, bringing one hand up to the left side of the jacket, which was now soaked in water and doing little to help. This action provided Katsuki with a freehand to put on the small of her back and push her forward rather aggressively. He lead them to a small grocery store on the street, pushing the door open.

They were dripping wet, and looking up at Katsuki, who had returned to interrogating her, Y/N couldn’t help it when more tears leaked out of her eyes and she lunged forwards to tackle him in a hug.

He quickly shut up, body stiffening momentarily before he allowed his hands to wrap around her waist and return the hug. “Thank you,” she mumbled, burying her head in his chest.

Brows furrowed, Katsuki scoffed, “yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He turned to the view the rest of the store, “pick out some food, I’ll cook you something when we get back.”

Looking up at him, her mouth gaped open, “are you serious?”

“Did I stutter, you idiot?”

kirishima ejirou

okay so

kirishima definitely is gonna hound you with questions when he finds you crying

like he cannot allow his bb to cry

not that you know you are his bb but like

it would be unmanly of him to just leave you in such a state so he does his best to comfort you.

has likely never experienced something like this so he can’t really empathize with you but he’ll try

basically tries to make you smile and laugh the entire time you are upset

contemplates talking to the girls for help, but he doesn’t know if you want others involved

instead texts them how girls like to be treated when sad but in a very vague way and tries to pass it off as some obscure tik tok trend

they go along with it, thankfully, mina has a major obsesssion though so shes upset she didn’t know about this trend

thats how kirishima accidentally started a tik tok trend

will respectfully commit a murder

respectfully

i’ll help

least likely to acc go through with murder tho

he’s going to try his best

also goes the food route, based off his studies via the “tik tok trend” and he will gladly hold you

Exiting the convenience store with a plastic bag of candy in hand, Kirishima sighed. He’d been out longer than anticipated, and it was already getting dark. The grey clouds above signaling the possibility of rain, Kirishima grimaced, he needed to get back to UA quickly.

He’d intended to have a movie night with the rest of the Bakusquad that night, and maybe even invite Y/N. He’d been trying to work up the courage to finally ask her out, but it hadn’t been going well. He didn’t feel very manly each time he chickened out, and Kaminari’s teasing didn’t help at all, escaping him was the main reason Kirishima agreed to pick up the candy that day.

Sighing, Kirishima continued to walk, though the rain came faster, pouring down onto him as he groaned in annoyance, hoping that it wouldn’t damage his snacks as he pulled his jacket off to provide himself with some cover. Though it wasn’t very helpful, it was better than nothing.

He begins to speed up, jogging slightly when he notices someone on the curb, seated. Kirishima frowns, moving behind them and bringing his jacket over them, “hey, what are you doing?” Considering how much it was raining now, and the sound of the thunder overhead, he figured the storm that was coming would only get worse. Being outside was the worst idea. And as a hero in training, he simply couldn’t allow this action.

The mysterious person turns around, and Kirishima suddenly realizes its his classmate, his frown only deepening when he sees her swollen eyes. “Kirishima? She says, confusion clear in her tone as she looks up at him, eyes wide. They knew each other fairly well, though he could be shy at times, he was fun, and nice. And of course, rather respectful during all their interactions, she liked him.

Kirishima pauses before finding himself sitting beside her in the pouring rain and allowing the water to hit him as he lowered his jacket, pulling a candy bar from his bag. “What’s wrong?” He asked, extending the candy to her. Though it would likely react poorly should she open it and the candy came in contact with the rain, it was the thought that counted.

Y/N’s mouth gaped open as she smiled sadly at him, taking the candy bar from him, “thank you.” She whispered, “it doesn’t really matter anymore, though.” She looks up at the sky, water cascading down her face as she inahles deeply.

Suddenly, Kirishima’s hand is in hers, “it’s bothering you, so obviously it matters.” He tugs her hand to get her to stand up alongside him, “and it wouldn’t be very manly of me to leave a pretty lady out in the rain.”

A laugh escaped Y/N at this, “and I could never force a handsome man like yourself to stay out in rain.” Comes her reply, “let’s go.”

She wasn’t alone. Not while she had him.

shinsou hitoshi

WELL

definitely the best at comforting someone especially with something like this

feeds you sweets because food makes everything better, will be affectionate just for this instance because he knows you just want some love during this time

the best to talk to about it tbh, he’s very good at giving advice and listening to your problems

i feel like shinsou has probably experienced something similar in the past and he’s gonna understand what you are feeling

won’t try to make you open up but you’ll want to, he has a comforting presence

very calm about it, gently speaks with you and guides your actions, makes sure you take care of yourself if you are in a really bad place

once you’ve stopped crying he’ll ask you what happened and should you tell him he’ll honestly be VERY mad

like why would someone do that to an ANGEL like YOU???

is genuinely confused and potentially in a murderous mood

and he has the quirk to get away with it

wants to go off on this person though, desperately, and should he ever run into them they are going to get a piece of his mind

a really really mean piece of his mind

Shinsou frowned as he felt a droplet of water fall onto his head, realizing that rain would likely come soon, he picked up the pace of his walk. He’d been out at the bookstore, and was suddenly grateful that he hadn’t bought anything as he watched everyone in the shopping center begin to retreat to their cars and into shops.

He watched a lightning flashed in the distance, brows furrowing at the realization that a storm was coming when thunder accompanied the sight and pouring rain soon followed. UA wasn’t far, but he didn’t really want to have to run in the rain up the hill the school had been built upon.

Turning a corner, his eyes scanned the area in search of a shop he could wait out the storm in when they fell on the figure of someone seated in the rain, no umbrella or hood to protect them from the downfall, and their body shaking.

Then he recognized the hoodie. It was his actually, and he knew exactly who he’d lent it to.

Y/N L/N. The pretty girl in the hero course who’d threatened anyone who spoke poorly of him, defending his honor even though he never asked. She was always kind to him, even when they weren’t the closest of friends. Though that had changed, the pair now talking almost daily about a variety of things, something Shinsou was grateful for.

Questions flood his mind as he removes his jacket and brings it above him, going over to her, and when he’s close enough he can hear her small sobs, barely muffled by the palm of her hand. Shinsou can’t help but feel concerned as he brings his jacket above her to shield her from the rain, “hey, let’s go.” He mumbles gently.

Y/N looks up at him, her eyes red and puffy, and if it weren’t pouring Shinsou would’ve hugged her right there. “What are you doing?” When she’d simply collapsed in the rain, her emotions overwhelming her, she hadn’t assumed Shinsou would randomly appear.

“Getting you out of the rain.” Came his response, “come on, we can wait out the storm in the café.” Shinsou would’ve extended a hand had he not be preoccupied by holding up his jacket, which was now soaking through.

Sniffing, she nodded, “yeah, you’re right.” She stands, and he follows her movements, jacket never leaving her figure as the pair makes their way to the door of the café. Y/N pushes the door open, and they both enter, allowing him to finally put the jacket above his head down, though it started soaking onto the floor.

He threw it outside, much to Y/N’s shock, “I don’t wanna dirty the floor.” Shinsou explained nonchalantly, his purple hair sticking to his forehead. “Have you eaten?”

“Sorry about your hoodie.” She mumbled, at they moved out of the way of the entrance.

Raising a brow, he extended a hand, “that didn’t answer my question.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed as she looked to his hand, tilting her head in confusion as she placed her hand into his, Shinsou gave her a small smile before leading her to the line of the café as she replied, “no. I didn’t.”

His brows draw together as she looks at her, she seems resigned, quieter than normal. “How about a muffin then? Or maybe a cupcake?” He peers into the display window, squinting at the variety of foods. “I say cupcakes,” In his experience, sugary foods always made things better, to an extent at least.

Giving him a tight lipped smile, she nodded, “sure.” He was trying. It was better than nothing if she was honest. Considering the fact that her best friend had abandoned her today, it was a nice reminder, that she wasn’t alone. She had other people, regardless of what had happened.

Shinsou’s eyes met hers as he sighed, bringing his free hand to the back of his neck, “you wanna talk about it?” He knew they’d have to address it at some point, there was no denying that she had clearly been crying, something had upset her.

Shaking her head, Y/N pulled him closer using their joined hands and brought him into a hug, “not right now.” It was an oddly intimate moment, despite the fact that they were in public.

Regardless, he pulls her tightly against him, wrapping his arms around her protectively as he responds, “alright.

A/N: if anyone ever needs to talk or anything pls know im here! my dms are always open to anyone for anything :D

anyways, remember to sleep well, eat food, and drink water!

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queen-scribbles · 4 years ago

Text

Kaira

I figured Father’s Day would be a good day to let Tel unleashed his Dad Energy, so have the fic where he finally gets to meet Kaira. :D

---

Tel’s glance at the wall chrono showed the same exact time as the last three checks and he dropped onto the couch with a loud, disgruntled huff. His knee started bouncing the second he braced his feet against the low table and he let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling.

Elara’s face filled his view, upside down, as she leaned over. “Soon, love.”

“Soon isn’t soon enough,” Tel grumbled. He cracked his knuckles and his knee bounced faster.

“I know.” She kissed his forehead, a faint smile curing her lips when she pulled back. “This is about the state I thought you’d be in today,” she said softly, and kissed his nose.

“I see what you’re doing, Els,” Tel murmured, reaching up to rub her arm with one hand.

“Mm, do you?”

He smiled at the mischief in her voice. “You’re tryin’ to distract me by bein’ all... you.”

Elara laughed softly. “Only temporarily. So you don’t go stir-crazy.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Is it working?”

“Sort of.” His hand slid up to cup the back of her neck and he craned upward for a more serious kiss. “You know I love you, sweetheart, but I’m also really lookin’ forward to meeting her.”

Elara’s smile widened. “Understandable.” She kissed his forehead again, then circled the couch to sit next to him. “I’m glad you’re so looking forward to it, dearest. According to Aleksei, Kaira’s been bouncing off the walls and counting down days since we made arrangements.”

“Sounds about right,” Tel said with a chuckle. “She is my daughter, which means enthusiasm is in her blood. And she’s yours, which means orderliness is, as well.”

She laughed and rubbed his arm. “Only time will tell which she gravitates toward more.”

He was just opening his mouth to reply when his comm beeped, followed shortly by the fuzzy blue holo of Hylo grinning ear to ear. “Shuttle on approach, Commander. Thought you’d want to know.”

“You thought right,” Tel said, already pushing off the couch. “Thanks, we’ll be right there.” He closed the connection and offered Elara a hand up. “They’re early.”

She smiled. “You’re complaining?”

Tel grinned and started tugging her toward the door. “Hell, no.”

---

Tel, with Elara close behind him, made it down to the hanger bay before the shuttle even docked. It took everything in him to keep from bouncing like an impatient child as he watched the small craft ease into the hanger with a near-perfect landing. Elara interlaced her fingers with his and he held tight.

The shuttle’s small size meant it held no more than four or five passengers, so at least it wouldn’t be a long wait for the anticipated parties--

The door was barely open when a short, dark-haired figure came streaking down the ramp and darted across the tarmac. She skidded to a halt in front of Tel and surveyed him with eager curiosity. (An inspection that mattered more to him than any drill instructor or CO’s ever had.)

“You’re my dad?” she asked, shoving hair out of her eyes, back toward her slipping-loose ponytail.

Tel went to one knee, putting them almost eye-level(she was tall for her age). “That’s me-”

Kaira barely let him get the words out before she flung her arms around his neck in a ferociously tight hug driven by so much enthusiasm it almost knocked him over. Her complete lack of hesitation made his heart swell and he tried in vain to swallow the lump in his throat as he hugged her back.

“Mom’s told me all about you,” she said, pulling back just enough to grin at him, displaying the gaps from three lost baby teeth.

“There’s a scary thought,” Tel joked, voice rough, and shot Elara a smirk.

She rolled her eyes and lightly bopped the back of his head. “I promise I painted you in a flattering light, dearest. Hence her excitement.”

“Good point,” Tel relented, and Elara smiled.

“Now” --she turned to Kaira, arms held out-- “do I get one of those hugs as well, darling?”

“Oh. Yeah!” Kaira released her grip on Tel and pivoted to wrap an almost as enthusiastic hug around her mother’s waist. “Missed you, Mom.”

Tel pushed to his feet and turned to the other figure, who had followed Kaira down the ramp and been watching the meeting/reunion with a quiet smile. “Aleksei, good to see you.”

“You as well.” Aleksei grasped the hand Tel held out to shake, his smile turning wry as he nodded at their joined hands. “And with no barriers this time.”

Tel laughed as they released the handshake. “Yeah, Elara told me you managed to earn the brass’ trust.” The scarring Elara had mentioned was obvious as well; up the right side of Aleksei’s neck and climbing over his jaw to stop just shy of his cheekbone, a small divot in his eyebrow, permanently red and rough skin on the back of his hand.

Aleksei chuckled. “Yes, though I do wish it had taken slightly less than getting myself blown up to do so.”

Tel snorted. “Word of warning; they only give you medals for the first couple times you do that. Then it’s more likely they’ll grouse about your medical expenses than commend your braver-- Ow!” He laughed and rubbed his arm where Elara had whacked him.

“Don’t be encouraging my brother to follow in your footsteps, dearest,” she admonished, fighting a smile. “Worrying about one of you is quite enough.”

“I was warning him not to, Els,” Tel protested.

“And he made a very compelling case,” Aleksei chipped in.

“Thank you.” Tel gave his arm another exaggerated rub. “Now, can I spend some more time with Kaira without being assaulted, please?”

“Oh, very well,” Elara said with feigned reluctance, letting her arm slip from Kaira’s shoulders. “I’m certain Aleksei and I will find something to discuss. You two have fun, and don’t cause trouble.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Kaira protested, looking offended at the warning.

“I was talking to your father,” Elara said, smiling as she shot Tel a meaningful look.

“Oh, fine,” he sighed, grinning. “I’ll have to come up with a different father-daughter bonding activity.”

Elara rolled her eyes and laughed, then moved to talk to her brother.

“Do you like causin’ trouble?” Kaira asked as they headed through the base toward the elevator.

“Yeah,” Tel admitted with a laugh, examining the narrow braid around her ponytail. It currently appeared to be the only thing holding it in place. “But it has to be the right kind of trouble, in the right place, to be the most fun. We’ll manage some while you’re here, but for now let’s listen to Mom, huh?”

“Okay.” Kaira nodded, furthering the precarious state of her ponytail. “Mom’s smart.”

“Very,” Tel agreed, grinning.

“Can you tell me stories about her?” Kaira asked as they rode the elevator up to the base entrance. “Mom’s told me a lot about you, but not really about her.”

Of course not, that would be bragging, he thought glibly. “Sure thing, kiddo. One condition: for every story about your mom being awesome, I wanna learn somethin’ about you back. It can be somethin’ little,” he clarified when her nose scrunched. “Like your favorite color or ice cream flavor, or stuff you like to do with your best friend, that kinda thing. Deal?”

“Deal,” Kaira said with a grin wide enough to show off her missing teeth again as they shook on it.

---

They made their way to one of the wide expanses of field and forest that surrounded the base, and spent the next hour or two talking while they looked at the clouds, caught bugs, and (occasionally) climbed things.

Tel told Kaira as many stories about Elara as he could recall(a lot) and was gratified to learn she found her mother every bit as amazing as he did. (”Even when she makes you eat your vegetables?” “I like vegetables. ‘Cept peas. Peas are gross.” “K, I don’t think there’s a kid in the galaxy who likes peas right off the bat.”)

He learned in return that Kaira’s favorite color was purple--and red, she liked them both--she liked Corellian puff-pastries so much she’d once eaten a whole batch and given herself a tummy-ache, her favorite thing was to play spaceships with her friend Elodie, she thought explosions were cool, and she really, really wanted a pet nexu even though Mom said they were too dangerous.

“Well, I dunno bout a nexu, ‘cause I think your mom has a point there,” Tel said with a laugh, swishing a hand through the tall grass around them, “but we can see about a pet.”

Kaira’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.” If they had a bit longer til her birthday, he might’ve set that as the deadline, but Elara would--rightly--strangle him for promising something with only three days to discuss it. “I’ll have to talk to your mom, and it’ll sort of depend whether it lives here or on Coruscant with you...”

Her shoulders noticeably drooped. “Okay.”

Even with his limited childcare experience, Tel knew dejection when he saw it. And he had a pretty good guess as to the cause. “What?”

Kaira shrugged, staring at the ground as she yanked up a clump of grass and let the breeze carry it out of her hand. “Nothin’.”

“Kaira.”

She looked up at him with huge, sad brown eyes he didn’t think he’d have the heart to refuse if she asked him for anything. “I just... I thought I was gonna live here now. With you an’ Mom. “

“Ah.” Tel wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her into a hug. “Sweetheart, I would love nothing more than to have you and your mom here every day. But that’s another thing we have to talk about, ‘cause this is a military base. So if someone gets p- mad at me, or the Alliance, they might attack. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Coruscant got hurt,” she muttered, dragging her boot heel through the dirt in a clumsy line. “A whole bunch.”

Tel laughed and rubbed her arm. “That is a very good point, sweetheart. Like I said, we’ll talk about it, okay?”

“...Okay.” She snuggled closer. “But I still wanna live with you. Even if Uncle Lesky’s really cool.”

“Noted,” Tel smiled and ruffled her hair. The ponytail had fallen out five minutes into their adventure and he hadn’t bothered to help her redo it.

They sat for a moment in silence, then Kaira pulled away and sat back on her knees. “Dad?”

That damn lump was back(and would be, he suspected, every time she called him that for the foreseeable future). “Yeah, K?”

She cocked her head, frowning slightly as she studied his face. “What happ’ned to your eye?”

He snorted a laugh and reached up to tap the cybernetic patch. “Oh, I got that a long time ago, sweetheart. Back when I first became a soldier, before I even met your mom-”

“‘Cause she’d’a fixed it?”

Tel laughed even louder and hugged her again. He wondered if Elara’s ears were burning wherever she and Aleksei were. Best damn medic in the galaxy. “I’ll bet she could’ve. Anyway, me and my squad were scouting, and we stumbled on a group of bad guys we didn’t think would be there. I put myself between my squad and the incoming fire, part of that incoming fire was a rocket, and ” --he gestured at the eyepatch, the implant that curved around it, and the general scarring on the left side of his face. (He didn’t mention all the shrapnel they’d had to pull from his chest, stomach, arm; she was six and the kolto had healed all that with nary a scar.)

“Wow.” Kaira leaned closer and ran her fingers over the cybernetics that curved around his eye socket. “Does it still hurt?”

“No. Hasn’t for a long time,” he assured her, then grinned. “Now it just looks cool. Though it does mean I can’t really wink.”

She giggled and sat back next to him. “But winking’s fun.”

“That it is. You’ll just hafta do it for me.”

Another giggle. “Okay.” She wiggled closer, resting her head on his shoulder as they looked out over Odessen’s forests. “’M glad I finally got to meet you, Dad.”

His grin widened until his face hurt, even as emotion prickled in his good eye. “Me, too, sweetheart. You’re pretty awesome.”

Kaira tipped her head back to smile at him. “So’re you.”

Those two words were worth more than every commendation he’d ever won combined. “Thanks, K. “ He kissed her forehead, tucked wayward black hair behind her ears. “Think we should head back? Find Mom and Uncle Aleksei?”

“Yeah, prob’ly a good idea,” Kaira agreed, though she sounded more than a tad reluctant.

“We can keep hanging out,” Tel promised. “We’ll just be addin’ them to the fun.”

She smiled brightly and jumped to her feet. “Okay.”

Tel matched the smile, pleased both that he’d guessed what bothered her about the suggestion and that she wanted to spend more time with him. “Alright, let’s go.”

They’d only been walking a few minutes when Kaira gave a dramatic groan. “It’s so farrrrr.”

“Yeah, we did cover a lot of ground.” Tel had not been paying attention to the distance they’d ranged and did have to admit, for a six year old, it would be a long trek back.”Want a lift?”

Her face screwed into a pout. “M notta baby, Dad.”

“Not what I meant,” he laughed, and crouched down on one knee. “Piggyback?”

The pout disappeared into an eye-crinkling grin. “YES!” Kaira bellowed as she scrambled to wrap her arms around his neck and legs around his waist. She was lighter than she looked with her height, but still plenty strong enough to strangle him.

“Easy, kiddo,” Tel laughed, tugging her wrist so she’d loosen her grip. “I’ll hold you up, don’t be tryin’ to kill me.”

“Sorry.” Kaira shifted to instead hold fistfuls of his shirt. “Go, go, go!”

They were both laughing as they set out for the Alliance base, where Elara greeted them each with a kiss on the cheek before helping Kaira down so they could go get lunch.

As a family.

#queens fic #telcontar airen #elara dorne #telara #kaira airen #aleksei dorne #*aggressively includes the dorne sibling content bioware won't give me*

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parkertech · 4 years ago

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Tattoos & Tears — CHAPTER 4

a/n: on everybody's 18th birthday, they get a tattoo of their soulmate written on their wrist. for you, it's your best friend who you thought you got over. who even has a girlfriend of his own.

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, jealousy, angst

———————————————————————

MJ was rudely awoken by the morning sun blinding her eyes. She mentally cussed it out in her head, before checking the time. She groaned at the realization that she had to get ready, and turned over patting Peter’s shoulder.

“Pete...wake up...” she whispered. It was Peter’s turn to groan, and he buried his face in his pillow, his eyes still closed. MJ giggled at how much of a couch potato he was being, before running her hand through his hair.

“It’s 7:00 Peter...come ooonn...” He only groaned even louder in protest. He could feel MJ’s body heat, and instead of it being comforting, he found it the opposite. He scooted slightly away from her, and sighed feeling the cool mattress under his skin.

“I don’t wannaaaa...the days gonna be full of boring lessons, and boring teachers, and boring people...”

“Yeah, everyone’s basically boring.” MJ replied. She jumped out of Peter’s bed, grabbing an outfit she left in his closet. “Well, besides your friends, of course.” Peter hummed and nodded in response while MJ left his room to his bathroom to take a shower.

With MJ’s last sentence, he was reminded of all his friends. MJ, Ned, Betty, Y/N...

Wait, Y/N!

He shot up from his bed, realizing he had a big priority on his hand today. All the memories of last night came back, and he mentally cursed himself all over again.

Okay, he needed a plan. That was his thing, that’s how he got MJ as his girlfriend. And that worked out. Even though he technically couldn’t check any of those things off...

Peter started making the list mentally. Okay, step one. Apologize for being a dick. Even if he wasn’t secretly sorry. It was Brad Davis for crying out loud! But that still didn’t mean he controlled you. Step two, basically be your bitch. That would soften you up a bit. Hand her the homework if she needs it, give her notes for the day, etcetera, etcetera. And if all else fails and you’re still mad at him, step 3. Leave her alone.

But what if he doesn’t want to?

No no, not about you, Peter.

If you were really mad, you would just need space to soften up. Then he’d try again. Peter took a breath, letting his plan sink in, before getting ready for the day.

MJ beat Peter to school, when she realized she was going to be late if she waited for him. As she was taking out all her textbooks and notes for her next class, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her. She turned around, only to be cornered by Peter himself, who had a bright smile on his face.

“Hey, you.” He said cheery. MJ couldn’t stop the matching smile that came across his face.

“Hey to you, too.” Peter chuckled a bit before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lips. MJ’s cheeks immediately flared up, and she could tell she was blushing. There was a slight fire in her that she couldn’t put out if she tried.

But Peter didn’t feel it.

He was expecting the butterflies, and the flushed cheeks, but he felt nothing. The only thing he felt was a slight discomfort, as he pulled away with a confused look. He could hear tingling, and knew it was his spider sense.

“What’s wrong?” MJ asked. Usually he would continue his affection, but apparently today was different. Peter turned to look down a hall, and his spider sense turned off once he saw you.

Except you weren’t alone.

There you were, leaning against your locker with a bright smile on your face, laughing at something Brad Davis said. He had a casual arm leaning against the locker above you, and he was slightly towering over you. Peter also took in your appearance. You were hearing a white, long sleeve scoop neckline shirt, along with a dark blue denim skirt that stopped in the middle of your thighs. You had soft, yet gentle makeup on your face, and your hair was a little more neater today.

You were dressed to impress someone.

And that someone was Brad.

Peter grit his teeth a little, before turning back to MJ.

“Nothing, just thought my spider senses sensed danger.” MJ nods with an ‘oh’ face, before turning back around and continuing rummaging through her locker. Peter took this chance to look back up at you. Brad was now smiling at you, and he could see his eyes trail up and down your body. Peter’s chest grew tight, and he felt that familiar jealousy from last night, all because he was checking you out.

Jesus, why was he being so weird?

He knew it was a problem if he could address it himself. MJ shut her locker, and grabbed his hand. Peter took the hint, and walked her to her History class, but his eyes never left the not -so-subtle flirting Brad was doing. And he could tell you enjoyed it.

But little did Peter know, he was far from right.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Peter looking at you. You knew you needed some kind of way to distract yourself. Plus, you needed to keep your lie going. You killed two birds with one stone, and pretended to be interested in Brad. You felt a little bad, honestly. Brad didn’t deserve to be lied to of such a thing, and it made you feel more guilty when you could tell he was into you.

It was easy to pretend to have the same feelings. You giggled at all his jokes, even if they weren’t that funny, maybe touched his bicep a bit, but that was it. The only thing motivating you was imagining it was Peter. You heard the bell rung, and turn to your locker grabbing one last book.

“That’s us. Do you wanna walk to class together?” See, if this were really Peter, you’d be a stuttering, blushy mess. But it isn’t, so you’re not. Brad smiles at your offer before nodding.

“Yeah, maybe we could also sit next to each other?” Brad really was too naive for his own good...you wanted to sit with Peter, but he was probably sitting in between MJ and Ned by now.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Brad waited until you locked your locker before walking down the sea of students to your class. It was silent except for his little comments, but it was a kind of peaceful silence. As promised, you and Brad took a seat in the middle next to each other.

Peter was occupied talking to Ned about his new Millennium Falcon LEGO set, until you walked in the room. With Brad. God, why is he always there?

He practically glared daggers at him, and he pulled a seat next to you. Of course, he was sitting next to you now. He only temporarily moved his eyes when the teacher came in to start the lesson. He stole occasional glances, and when the teacher assigned partners for a new project, guess who volunteered to be your partner?

“Okay, so we can continue doing this at my house?” You asked Brad. Peter growled a little. You just started talking to him and he’s already going to your house? Great.

MJ spotted his tense stance, and gently put her hand on his shoulder. He flinched a little, but nonetheless played it off.

The bell finally rung after what felt like an eternity, and MJ telling him to wait for her was the only thing stopping him from speeding away in annoyance. Him, MJ, Betty, and Ned, all sat in a table, across from each other. He expected you to sit next to them per usual, but he didn’t see any sign of you.

“Guys, do any of you see Y/N?” He asks. Betty’s eyes widen a little at the mention of your name, but she plays it off by looking around. She spots you a few tables down, and points.

“There she is.” He looked where Betty pointed. You had one of your notebooks open, writing away to it. Peter didn’t realize it, but he was admiring how your tongue poked out a little when you were very concentrated, and when you brushed your hair behind your ear because it was getting in the way. It showed more of your face, and for some reason that made his heart swell. As quick as the view was memorable, it became trashed the second Brad came into view. You looked up at him and smiled for what felt like the hundredth time that day. When Brad sat down next to you, he notice he had two trays of food, and handed one to you.

Get a load of this fucker.

Peter was full on fuming now. He could tell you were having fun with him, and it just made the anger in him rise even more. He knew the rest of the day wasn’t gonna be good if he kept seeing you two like this. Most of the lunch period was spent looking and glaring at you and Brad. Peter rarely payed any attention to his friends’ conversations, and only responded with one worded sentences. MJ noticed him being off, because she notices everything, and thought he was having a bad day. Maybe it was just this once. She decided to give him space. If something was wrong, he would tell her. She was certain of that.

“I’ll be right back.” He mumbled to his friend group. Betty and MJ eyed him, and Betty’s eyes widened when she realized he was walking to you.

Does he know? Did he somehow figure it out? Shit shit shit shit!

Peter sat across from you, which snatched your attention from Brad to him. You smiled at him while Brad just gave him a weird glance.

“Hey, Peter! What’s up?” He furrowed his eyebrows at how friendly you were being. Were you really going to act like last night didn’t happen? Or was he making it a big deal when it really wasn’t?

“Can I talk to you? In private?” He glared at Brad a bit, and it was very noticeable. You were about to call him out on it, before Brad intervened.

“It’s cool, I’ll just throw away our trash and let you guys talk, okay?” You nodded as Brad took your tray full of trash and his own, going over to the trash bin.

“So what did you wanna talk about?”

“I wanted to say sorry...for how I acted yesterday...” Peter’s aggressive demeanor was quickly turned into a shy one just by standing across from you.

“Oh, that? It’s okay, I was just in a snippy mood. Probably because of the alcohol.” It was easier to sugarcoat it instead of telling the truth. Eventually he’d wonder why you were so mad and figure it out. Peter wasn’t stupid, just not that observant.

“No, I feel like it was my fault mostly. I mean I’m the one that brought it up, even though I know I can’t control your love life, I’m sorry about that too, and I-“

“Peter I said I forgive you. It’s okay.” You stopped him mid rambling and his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. His palms suddenly became sweaty and he placed them on his thighs instead of in front of him on the table.

“Okay. Cool. Yeah.” You nodded and he awkwardly nodded back, before going back to his seat. He joined in MJ’s conversation a little unwillingly, while Betty took her chance to sit in front of you this time.

“What was he talking about?” She whispered. You shot your head up from your notes and furrowed your eyebrows.

“What?”

“He doesn’t know, right? About your tattoo.” Your eyes widened and you looked around, making sure no one heard you.

“Betty! Ssh! Don’t say it so loud! No, he doesn’t. He was just talking to me.” Betty sat there staring at you for a few seconds before asking another question.

“When are you gonna tell him?” You scoffed and shrugged before turning back to her.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I have to. The tattoo is probably wrong anyways.” Betty furrowed her eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, why are you acting like it’s not a big deal?”

“Maybe because it’s not. A flaw could’ve happened, who knows.” Betty glared at you, obviously annoyed. How did you go from having a full on panic attack to acting like it’s nothing?

“Really? So being in love with him isn’t a big deal?” You clenched your jaw, just wanting her to stop. You didn’t want to think about anything of last night, and Betty wasn’t really helping.

“I was drunk, okay?” But you meant it.

“I don’t think you would have a full on breakdown about that, even if you were drunk.”

“Betty, I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? I’m hanging out with Brad, and I think I might actually be into him. I don’t want a stupid fucking tattoo to ruin that for me!” Betty was way more confused now. But she didn’t have the energy to argue. She rolled her eyes a little, putting her hands up in defense, before leaving the table and going back to Ned.

When school hours were over, Brad went over to your house as planned. MJ went over to Peter’s house as usual, except he wasn’t as enthusiastic about it. He’d rather be alone. With you.

That was all that was on his mind. You, you, you. He mentally scolded himself, constantly repeating that he had a girlfriend to focus on instead. To get his mind off of you, he decided to go through a Star Wars marathon with MJ. He ignored her protests and stayed silent, which was unlike him. He’d banter to her saying it’s overhated, but he didn’t have the energy today.

The distraction didn’t work, though. He knew literally every line, what was going to happen, yadda yadda yadda. It just made him more bored. Peter looked down at MJ spooned up beside him, her eyes closed and her breathing slow. He carefully and cautiously moved out of his place between the couch and her, and didn’t waste any time to put on his red and black spandex and jump out the window.

When Peter started patrol, it was near sundown. When he checked his phone, it was 12 in the morning. He knew MJ would be up by now, and the thought of that annoyed him. He didn’t know why, but now he kind of found the thought of hanging around MJ really negatively. It’s not her as a person, it’s hanging out with her as her boyfriend. As Peter stared at his bedroom window, his thoughts ran wild.

Did he want to break up with MJ?

Peter knew the answer but wanted to try and prove himself wrong. He knew he couldn’t. But he didn’t want to hurt MJ. Sure, breakups happen, but someone gets hurt. He doesn’t want to hurt anybody. Especially someone as good as MJ. The thought of it made his eyes water. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes shut and groaning a little.

“Peter, is everything okay with you?” He heard his new A.I.—E.D.I.T.H. ask. He figured out a way to transfer E.D.I.T.H. to his suit, since the glasses Tony gave him were a bit too big. He never threw them out, of course. He wanted to keep some part of him, besides the suits he made for him.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, E.D.I.T.H.” He knew based off his annoyed and upset tone he was far from right.

“Your heart rate hasn’t been picking up whenever you’re around Michelle.” E.D.I.T.H. stated. Great, he was trying to doubt himself and here goes a computer who literally knows everything. “Is everything okay between you two? I don’t see you argue.” That last word made his mind flashback to yesterday. When he was on your fire escape. It made his heart clench in the worst way possible.

As if the poor boy hadn’t been thinking enough, he went deeper into his mindset. And the deeper he went, the more and more you came up. He saw your smile, how bright and happy it was. He heard your laugh echo in his head, remembering the corny science pun he told you that made him laugh too. He kept getting flashes of you looking at him, of him spending time with you at your place, and how every time you were around you made him smile. He felt that tingle in his stomach, and his hands getting clammy under his suit, and hearing his heart beat in his ear drums. All of this was obvious signs of nervousness.

Peter also thought about MJ. But her smile wasn’t that bright. Her smile didn’t make him mimic it. Her laugh didn’t have as much power as yours did. He saw their moments together, but MJ being replaced with you. He felt his heart tug painfully, instead of any nervousness, and all of a sudden the lightbulb in his head clicked.

“Peter?” E.D.I.T.H. called his name one last time. Peter’s voice cracked as he finally replied to her.

“No, E.D.I.T.H. Everything is not okay between me and MJ...”

———————————————————————

a/n: hehehe that cliffhanger

Taglist 🏷 (requests are open!)

@marvel4geeks @ladykxxx08 @chloecreatesfictions @joyleenl @witchything @pluckypete @yourneighbourhoodclown @whatareyouhidingpeter @elamvlfoy @trumpettay

#peter parker #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #spider-man #spider-man far from home #spider-man homecoming #spider man far from home imagine #spider man homecoming imagine #tom holland #peter parker x you #spider man x reader #spider man x you #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader

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sincerelyasomebody · 5 years ago

Text

Bound To Happen || Jose "Sad Eyes" Guzman

(GIF Credit: @merakiaes)

A/N: A requested piece! My first requested piece, which I hope lives up to your expectations. Mrs Turner's name will be Lynn. Unsure if it's been mentioned in the show. Also the text exchange has been included in the word count - the lesser amount is if it were not included. Hopefully, that makes sense. Apologises for grammatical errors. Feel free to let me know about any corrections I need to make with the Spanish translations, thanks!.

Pairing(s): Sad Eyes x Turner!Reader ▪︎ Jamal Turner x Sister!Reader ▪︎ Turner!Family x Turner!Reader

Requested: By @briannab1234

Summary: Relaxation comes in different forms.

Warnings: fluff, language, mentions of 19th Street incident with DJ's, playlist of songs, slightly smutty?, steamy make out, talks of murder,

Word Count: 1423 ¤ 1409

- ♤ -♡ - ◇ - ♧ -

(Y/N) bopped her head along to 3LW's Playas Gon' Play echoing through her portable speaker as she carried it and her phone into the kitchen. Carefully placing the two on the counter she searched through the fridge, trying to find the food she had hidden in a container at the back. As soon as (Y/N) heard the theme song for The Goonies cut through the second verse, she didn't need to see the name on the screen to know who was calling.

She disconnected her bluetooth, pressed the green button and put it on loud speaker, and answered, "hey."

"A sum of thirty five dollars is owing on your account, please transfer funds effective immediately. Thank you."

At the sound of a beep, (Y/N) stared at her phone for a few seconds before laughing. Her brother was something else. She logged into her (bank) app and made the transfer. Thankfully they were with the same bank. Once it was finalised, she sent a confirmation message.

(Y/N)

Owing balance has been cleared.

She then proceeded to reconnect her phone to the speaker and clicked shuffle on her most recent playlist. She grinned upon hearing Love Like This by Faith Evans playing. Swaying her hips, she grabbed the container and popped it into the microwave for a couple of minutes.

Feeling a familiar pair of arms wrap across her body, she laughed, "was I away too long?"

Jose kissed the top of her head, "yes."

"So needy," she giggled and turned to face him, reaching out and pinching his cheeks, "such a needy baby," she puckered her lips, "beso."

He snickered, but gave into her demand. His hands wandered down her back, deepening the simple kiss. They eventually found their way to her ass, giving it a squeeze. (Y/N) allowed him to take control as her own hands wandered up and down his solid body. The kiss lasted a lot shorter than she anticipated, causing a whine to fall from her lips.

"What's the matter, mi amor?"

She pouted, "nothing."

Laughing, he squeezed her hips, "aw, looks like somebody's a needy baby," he moved his hand to tilt her chin up, "who's a needy baby?"

She huffed, "I'm the needy baby," she was given a peck to the forehead, "but you love me."

"Always, baby."

They held each other close, enjoying the calm atmosphere surrounding them. They had the house to themselves and were going to take full advantage of it. (Y/N) only removed herself from the embrace when the microwave beeped and TLC's No Scrubs hit a blimp.

She glanced over at her phone and pressed her messages.

Jamal

Enjoy the rest of your day.

"Who's on watch?" She asked, popping open the microwave.

Since the 19th Street attack on her dad and his business, Spooky had Santos members watching the house. The image of her father on that night is something (Y/N) would never forget. She was relieved to know that he, as well as the business, would recover but she was upset at the way 19th Street tried to assert their dominance, now that the Prophet$ were out of the picture.

The only thing stopping her from beating up a couple of punk ass bitches, was her conscious reminding her that igniting a gang war wouldn't be the answer. The upside to the incident was getting time off from the hospital to take care of her father (she temporarily moved back in) as well as spend time with Jose. When she came clean to her family about him being her boyfriend, Jamal had leapt off the couch in the living room; did his victory dance and practically shoved his hand into their parents faces.

(Y/N) couldn't believe that they had a betting pool about her and Jose, but they simply shrugged her off and claimed it was bound to happen - she had fallen into the 'best friends who become more' category. But, it was a place she was more than happy to be.

"Joker," he said, bumping his hip with hers, grabbing a tea towel and placing it on her hands, "quit doin' that shit."

She had a habit of grabbing things out of the oven or microwave without anything protecting her hands. With an eye roll, she accepted the tea towel, "okay, okay." he watched as she covered her hands and pulled out the container. Before he could grab some plates, she put a fork in his hand.

"Maldito perezoso."

"Shut up," she replied and shoved a forkful of the stir fry into her mouth, "if you wanna wash more dishes, go ahead."

He gently tapped her cheek, "don't talk with your mouth full," he clicked his tongue, when she opened her mouth wider to show off the chewed up pieces of food, "(Y/N)!" She laughed, but her laughter turned into a coughing fit. Luckily, Jose knew that was bound to happen and held out a glass of water for her. (Y/N) gulped it down, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and grinned happily, "you're the best."

Shaking his head, he helped himself to some of the stir fry, "and you're something else."

They continued to eat and chat about different topics; their families, Santos business (they had a non-disclosure agreement), and a few of (Y/N)'s gossiping coworkers. When they were done, they quickly rinsed their hands off in the sink and wiped them on the tea towel. (Y/N) then dumped the empty container and their forks into the sink. Dip It Low by Christina Milian started to play, which gave her an idea. Her hands trailed up and down his chest, Jose groaned as they wandered lower. She giggled at his reaction and turned around, moving to grind on him. Feeling him getting hard, she continued.

"Si sigues con esto, ya sabes qué pasará," he groaned, gripping her hips.

(Y/N) turned back around and stared up at him, her eyes innocently peering into his, "is it too soon for round three?"

Without a second thought, he lifted her onto the counter. (Y/N) caressed his head with one hand, while the other switched off the music. He moved to suck on her collarbone, earning a moan of approval. She tugged on his shirt and admired his toned body when the shirt was thrown off. Jose smirked, as he connected his lips with hers, helping her to get rid of the tank top she was wearing.

He watched as her boobs bounced, before cupping them both. Taking a nipple in his mouth and fondling with the other, sent (Y/N) into a state of bliss. When Jose turned his attention to the other nipple, she clutched the back of his head.

"Baby," she moaned.

The sound of something dropping followed by a shout of, "OH HELL NO!" is what alerted the couple that they weren't alone anymore. (Y/N) pushed Jose off her, throwing on her tank top and hopped off the counter. She hid herself behind him, peering around his arm to see the bewildered expressions on both her parents faces. Although, her dad looked like he wanted to murder Jose.

Like the smartass she was, she blurted, "mum said no cussing in the house." As soon as she said that, she hid herself fully behind Jose.

"(Y/N) (M/N) Turner, front and centre." Dwayne called out to his daughter, when she followed through he continued, "you're sanitising everything in this kitchen," his eyes trailed over to Jose, "you're helping her, and the next time you're both feeling… frisky - just… you're gonna, you know… you understand me?"

Lynn stepped in, "we understand the sexual desires -"

"No, mum, please, don't."

"I know it's an awkward subject to discuss -"

(Y/N) cut her off, "especially in front of my boyfriend."

"And father," Dwayne chimed in.

"- but, it's completely natural." She continued.

"Okay, mum thanks for that," (Y/N) wanted to crawl underneath a rock, "anyway, we've got some stuff to do," noticing her father's watchful eye, she laughed, "non-sexual stuff, dad."

Dwayne wasn't convinced.

Lynn pulled her husband towards the hallway, "come on, let's leave them to it." As they walked off, they could hear Dwayne telling his wife that he was right to be suspicious of the skinny kid who offered his daughter a toy car to play with back in the first grade. Once they were out of view, (Y/N) wrapped her arms around Jose's waist.

"Round three in the shower?"

- ♤ - ♡ - ◇ - ♧ -

Spanish Translation(s):

Beso - kiss

Maldito perezoso - lazy ass

Si sigues con esto, ya sabes qué pasará - if you keep this up, you know what's gonna happen.

239 notes · View notes

musette22 · 5 years ago

Text

Anal Fingering 101

By @paper-storm & @musette22

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 6.6k

Rating: E (so 18+ only please!)

A/N: Yup. Anal Fingering 101. That’s what we’re calling it. That’s the fic. We're just still quarantine horny and got excited about this concept after discussing the above gif and then we wrote this. It got weird but also (we think) strangely sweet and hot. We hope you agree 🤷🏻

Summary: The one where Sebastian (jokingly) suggests they should make a sex tutorial video and upload it to PornHub, Chris (not jokingly) agrees, and Sebastian doesn't know what he's gotten himself into.

Read on AO3

**************************************************

Sebastian stretches languidly. Feels a slow moan rumble through his chest, unsure if it actually escapes his lips or if it dies before it gets there. He’s warm, and the sheets below his bare skin are soft, and it feels like hours, they’ve been at this, Sebastian laid out on their bed like a sultan and Chris down between his legs, two fingers buried in him. It’s leisurely, this time.

Certainly not always. They have their quick, we have to be there in less than an hour, hurry up! times and their intense, emotional times and their wild times where Chris is worked up and is rough and punishing, making Sebastian see stars and hiss in pleasure-pain and forget his own name six times before they’re done. Other times, like this one, Chris likes to go meticulously slow. Take his sweet time, sliding his warm tongue over every inch of Sebastian’s body, touching him gently and then taking his hands away to prolong it, playing Sebastian like a treasured instrument so that by the time he finally comes, eons later, it’s not with a kick and a shout but unhurried and deep and soulful, like it’s trapped in honey.

He loves every possible way they do this, every single thing Chris does to him and every single thing he does to Chris in return, but it’s possible this is his favorite way. When Chris just adores him, slathers him in attention and kisses to his hipbones and quiet, heartfelt praises. It’s also possible his favorite way is whatever is currently happening, and he’ll change his mind by tomorrow.

“Mm,” Sebastian hums, making a real noise this time, as the tips of Chris’s talented fingers find his prostate again and rub slowly against the gland.

“Feelin’ good?” Chris asks, Boston charm, sweetly eager to please him, while at the same time smug because he knows he is.

“Yeah,” Sebastian sighs. “You gonna get on with it at some point? Or just torture me forever?”

“Hmm.” Chris pretends to think about it. While he contemplates, he takes the head of Sebastian’s leaking cock into his mouth, and swirls his tongue around the head, into the foreskin, where it’s hot and sensitive. Then he slides down, taking Sebastian fully into his mouth, sucking just once before he rises up and lets it fall away. Sebastian swears in a whisper and pants, the tease lighting him up, the cool air on his now-wet dick making him shiver and ache for more.

“Chris,” he says, on a shaky laugh, draping an arm over his eyes.

“I’m undecided,” Chris says, even though he isn’t. He cups one of Sebastian’s legs, just under the knee, and lifts it, so he can slide his tongue along Sebastian’s inner thigh, leaving trails of moisture and blowing on them. The fingers of his other hand, still massaging Sebastian’s prostate, withdraw and press back in a few times, but slow enough that it couldn’t be described as a thrust. Just teasing him.

“You’re evil,” Sebastian tells him.

“You’re beautiful,” Chris returns, earnest against the junction of Sebastian’s hip and thigh.

It makes Sebastian shiver again, for reasons other than physical this time.

“Love this so much.” Chris puts Sebastian’s leg over his shoulder and leans back down, nuzzling into his heavy balls as he continues, “love this body. Love you letting me have it. Love the noises you make.”

His fingers search, again finding that fireworks spot inside and working it, a little more insistent, now, but still meant as a tease. It’s one of those times, Sebastian can tell. It will be ages before Chris lets him come. Chris might not even fuck him. They might not even get that far. He might just stay right where he is, massaging inside, until Sebastian gets too close to the edge of that cliff and can’t stop himself from tipping over it.

“You’re… oh,” Sebastian breathes, chest heaving suddenly, as Chris rubs harder unexpectedly, just for a moment, and then lets up again. “Fuck. You’re good at this.”

“I had a good teacher,” Chris says, earnest again, all that sweetness that ruined Sebastian so thoroughly when they’d first met.

Sebastian closes his eyes and smiles, remembering. Remembering how Chris had experimented a few times with other guys but it had mostly consisted of quick, shameful hand-jobs or hurriedly sticking his dick down some extra’s throat in a back office, before rushing back out onto a set feeling hot and wrong. He remembers showing Chris so many things, when they finally stopped dancing around each other and gave into what they’d both wanted since the moment they shook hands.

“The student has become the master,” Sebastian jokes, and Chris rumbles out a chuckle. “I mean it. You should do like, one of those sex tutorials on PornHub. ‘Finding the G-Spot 101’, except for anal fingering.”

“Ooh, baby, say anal fingering again,” Chris says, faking a moan, and Sebastian giggles and covers his face, his whole body flushing, but in a good way.

Chris returns to his task, dragging the flat of his tongue up the underside of Sebastian’s erection, digging the tip in below the head. Then, in a contemplative voice, he says, “maybe we should.”

Sebastian laughs again, and reaches down to thread his fingers into Chris’s hair, soft right now because they’d showered earlier and Chris hadn’t put any product in it. “Sure,” he says.

Chris looks up at him. Blue eyes shining, through his thick eyelashes, blinking at him with an expression that takes Sebastian by surprise. He pushes up to his own elbows, so they can exchange a more significant look. Not breaking their eye contact, Chris licks at him again, making a show of sliding his tongue in a zigzag across Sebastian’s dick, apparently intent on breaking Sebastian’s brain.

Chris replies to the question in Sebastian’s eyes with a shrug. “Let’s do it,” he says, and Sebastian can’t, for the life of him, work out whether Chris is still kidding.

But then Chris crooks his fingers while his soft, lush lips close around the head of his cock again, and for a while Sebastian forgets everything that isn’t heat and slide and wonderful, delicious pressure.

---

“So, about that video.”

Sebastian lowers his book and looks up at Chris upside down, from where he’s resting his head in Chris’s lap. “Huh?”

“That tutorial you mentioned last night.”

Instead of replying, Sebastian gets temporarily sidetracked by Chris’s ridiculous eyelashes, fanning out delicately over his cheekbones. When the words finally register, he blinks.

“Tutorial? What are you – oh.”

“Whaddaya say?” Chris asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Sebastian’s own eyebrows rise slowly towards his hairline. “You’re not serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Come ooooon, Sebby,” he cajoles. “It’ll be fun.”

“So,” Sebastian says pushing himself up into a sitting position and turning to look at Chris. “You wanna like… roleplay? Pretend we’re shooting some sort of porn video?”

Chris shrugs easily. “Who says we’ll be pretending? You know me, I’m a show off. I kind of like the idea of showing other people how to please their partner.” He raises an eyebrow. “Plus, I’d be showing off my beautiful boyfriend in the process, right? And you can’t tell me you don’t like the idea of me putting you on display and having my way with you in front of thousands of strangers.”

Sebastian swallows. There really isn’t any use trying to pretend he doesn’t like the sound of that – Chris knows him far, far too well for that, judging by the devious twinkle in his eye.

“Think about it,” Chris goes on, slowly running a hand up Sebastian’s thigh. Sebastian helplessly lets his legs fall open a little bit wider. “I’ll lay you out on the bed, make sure the camera captures all of that beautiful, smooth skin. Spread those beautiful legs wide to give ‘em a good view, hm? And then I’ll slick you up and rub on you a little until you’re all pliant and relaxed, slide a couple’a fingers inside, one by one, open you up slowly for everyone to see. And then I’ll show ‘em how to find your sweet spot, all the way up inside you, rub it nice ‘n slow until you start makin’ those pretty little noises for me…”

“Jesus, Chris,” Sebastian breathes, blood rushing in his ears, dick throbbing in his sweats. “You’re a fucking menace, you know that? Everyone thinks you’re this big, happy golden retriever, but really your mind’s in the gutter twenty-four seven.”

Chris’s grin isn’t repentant in the slightest. “Only when I’m around you, sugar. Can’t help it, you’re just so fuckin’ sexy all the time. ‘Sides, there’s no need to act all virtuous, baby. I’ve got your number. I know you need it just as bad as I do.” To prove his point, his big hand slides over the bulge in Sebastian’s sweatpants, squeezing it lightly.

Sebastian curses, hips jerking into Chris’s grip, which only makes the smirk on Chris’s handsome face that much more smug.

“So?” Chris asks again, leaning in to press his nose into the spot just below Sebastian’s left ear. “You in, sweetheart? You gonna let me show you off?”

“Fuck you, Evans,” Sebastian says weakly, tilting back his head to give Chris better access. “Of course I’m fucking in, what do you think?”

“I can’t decide whether you’re being a good boy or a brat right now,” Chris rumbles in his ear, teeth nipping briefly at his earlobe. “But I guess it doesn’t matter so much if I’m getting what I want.”

Before Sebastian can object, Chris is climbing off the couch, his big, lean body towering over him as he holds out his hand. Sebastian takes it instinctively and Chris pulls him up so quickly Sebastian stumbles a little.

“Whoa, we in a hurry or something?” he asks, steadying himself on Chris’s tiny waist.

“To get you naked?” Chris grins, leaning down to steal a quick kiss. “Always.”

---

“Move up a little higher for me, baby.”

The instruction comes from where Chris is squatting behind their side table, looking at Sebastian through the lens of his expensive camera, which he propped up against a stack of books – Foucault’s History of Sexuality among them, Sebastian notes with faint amusement. He wonders briefly how Michel would’ve felt about his seminal work being used for this particular purpose, and then decides that he probably would’ve cheered them on.

“Shift that pillow a bit to the right, don’t want it hiding that pretty face of yours.”

Sebastian still blushes like Chris hasn’t called him pretty a thousand times before, and does as he’s told. “Like this?”

Chris regards him critically, tilting his head a little as if he’s assessing the shot. He’s got his director’s hat on, Sebastian thinks, and something about that, about Chris looking so capable and in charge, has him feeling hot under the collar. Well, that’s if he were wearing one. As it is, he’s not wearing anything at all. He’s stretched out in the center of the king-size bed, propped up a little on a couple of pillows, as naked as the day he was born.

“Perfect,” Chris decides. “Stay right there for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Sebastian mumbles, and Chris shoots him a look that says, don’t get smart with me, sweetheart.

All that does is make Sebastian squirm, which earns him a raised eyebrow, which only makes him want to squirm more. It’s a vicious circle, really. Chris can play him too easily.

“Now what?” he asks, eyes tracking Chris’s movement through their bedroom. Chris is wearing dark wash jeans and a white, short-sleeved t-shirt that strains across his shoulders and biceps but hangs loosely around his waist. His proportions are so ridiculous, it’s damn-near impossible to find shirts that fit him properly. Sebastian thinks he should probably mind that Chris gets to be fully clothed for this while Sebastian’s got all his most private parts out for everyone to see, but he can’t find it in himself to object. If he’s honest, he likes it. Likes it a whole lot.

Chris grabs the lube from the nightstand, tossing it onto the mattress. “Patience,” he says, belatedly replying to Sebastian’s question. “All I need you to do for this one is lay back and look pretty.” He comes to stand at the side of the bed, one hand on the mattress as he leans over Sebastian and brushes a feather-light kiss over his forehead, his cheeks, the cleft in his chin. “You think you can do that for me, Sebastian?”

Sebastian exhales, feeling a little unsteady. “Yeah, I think so,” he nods. He tilts his face up, shamelessly angling for a proper kiss.

Chris laughs silently but obliges, catching Sebastian’s lips in a soft, fairly innocent kiss that still leaves Sebastian feeling like there’s an electrical current running through his skin. When Chris pulls back, Sebastian runs the tip of his tongue over his tingling lips. He wants more, wants Chris to climb on top of him, kiss him again, devour him, but Chris doesn’t, and other parts of Sebastian are left tingling as Chris turns his attention toward the camera and Sebastian realizes again how utterly naked he is while Chris is still fully clothed.

“So, hi,” Chris starts. His voice is different. Higher, clearer, like he’s performing. Which, Sebastian realizes with a swoop in his gut, he is. “I’m, uh, Chris. Evans. You probably know that already. Or maybe you don’t, I don’t wanna act like I’m some big shot.”

He chuckles, and shrugs modestly, and Sebastian snorts. “You’re Captain America,” he reminds him.

“Yes, I am,” Chris agrees, grinning down at Sebastian, and then back at the camera. He gestures at Sebastian, who cringes as he’s slapped in the face with how completely ridiculous this is. “This gorgeous slab of man-meat is Sebastian Stan, my – oh. I guess technically most of you didn’t know, yet, that he’s my boyfriend.”

“Well they fuckin’ know now,” Sebastian cracks up, a little delirious at the notion of what a completely insane way this would be to come out to millions of people. “Man-meat?”

“I also said you were gorgeous,” Chris points out, winking.

Sebastian laughs. “That makes it better.” He feels crazy, like he’s spinning around on an amusement park ride and can’t get off. They’re not going to actually post this. There’s no way Chris was serious, Sebastian thinks. But he doesn’t know. And that thrills him a little more than it probably should.

It’s all hot and confusing and Sebastian is undeniably turned on even though Chris has barely touched him below the shoulders, his cock thickening where it’s laying against his belly.

“Today, we’re going to show you how to… God, how do I even say this?” Chris giggles, embarrassed, and then gives himself a shake and restarts. He points authoritatively in the direction of the lens. “No, this is important. Today we’re going to show you how to make your biologically male partner feel real good using just – ” he wiggles his thick fingers, “ – these.”

He sits, making the mattress dip next to Sebastian’s hip, and looks down at him. There’s nerves and excitement swimming in Chris’s clear turquoise eyes, and he smiles a little, and Sebastian feels like that one is just for him. He’s likely pleading again, with his own eyes, for a kiss, because Chris braces a hand next to his arm on the bed and leans further over to slide their mouths together. His tongue slips in, and Sebastian moans quietly around it, bringing his hands up to hold Chris’s face.

Chris is smiling into their kiss and whispers, “love you,” barely loud enough for Sebastian to hear. Then, louder, talking to the camera and their future audience again, he says, “you gotta warm them up first. Never wanna just dive right in, gotta get them feelin’ good and relaxed and turned on.”

Again, Sebastian is about to say something, add to the commentary somehow, but he’s too embarrassed so he doesn’t. The heated flush travels all the way down his chest. Chris follows it with his lips, sucking small bruises into Sebastian’s neck, collarbone, lips finding a nipple and closing around it. Teeth squeeze the bud and then his tongue soothes the sting and Sebastian gasps a little and buries his fingers in Chris’s hair.

“Not all guys are into this so much,” Chris says, as he moves over to the other nipple. He turns his head to look at the camera, adding, “try it out, though, so you know for sure. ‘Cause he is.”

“I’m –” Sebastian begins, searching for something to protect his dignity, but the words die in his throat as Chris closes his lips around his other nipple and sucks, hard. Sebastian twitches, and pleasure rolls through him, and he whimpers.

Chris lingers, for a lot longer than he needs to, like he forgot himself a bit and got lost it kissing and licking at Sebastian’s chest. By the time warm fingers curl around his erection as Chris sits up, Sebastian barely needs them before they move onto the reason they’re actually here. He’s already hard, moisture already left in trails across his hip, but Chris strokes him anyway, looking down at him with darkened eyes that leave Sebastian shivering. Chris squeezes, twists his fist, works him just perfect, and Sebastian reaches out, patting his forearm.

“Chris,” he breathes. Get on with it, is what he’s trying to communicate, if you want me to last. It’s hardly been anything, it’s humiliating that he’s this worked up already, but it’s everything. Sebastian can’t lie even to himself, the idea that a camera is rolling, that thousands, maybe even millions of people might watch this, has his head spinning. It isn’t news to him that he has tendencies like this, that he likes being on display and appreciated, consumed by hungry eyes and maybe embarrassed a little. It’s news to him that he likes the idea of strangers watching him quite this much.

“Kinda wanna do everything to you,” Chris murmurs to him, probably loud enough that the microphone will pick it up, but soft enough that he’s talking to Sebastian and not their audience. “Show ‘em how to suck you off, how to eat you out, how to fuck you.”

“Chris.” Sebastian shivers again, hot and cold running through him like a fever, and gets dizzy at the thought of it. At people he knows seeing him like this. Seeing him laid out and cherished, brought to orgasm in any number of ways by Chris’s talented hands and mouth and cock. Seeing him loved, but also used. It’s a confusing, desperately arousing tangle of emotions deep in his gut.

“Make sure your fingernails are short and clean,” Chris instructs, suddenly all business again, focusing back on the camera and his task, “and use lots of lube.”

Sebastian can’t even tell if he’s also turned on, because he’s still in jeans and Sebastian can’t really see his lower half from this position. Sebastian almost wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t – if Chris was taking this so seriously, so earnestly, like he does everything, that it wasn’t even affecting him in that way. Too busy being a professional, too busy caring about what they’re doing as if it’s actually important. That thought thrills him too. That in a way, this isn’t even really sex. Not if Chris isn’t getting off on it, too. It’s entirely performative.

“Especially if they’ve never done it before. It’s gonna feel a bit strange at first, before he gets used to it and knows what to expect, so making sure it’s nice and slippery helps. You don’t want it to hurt.”

“Speaking from experience?” Sebastian asks, finally finding his voice enough to make a shadow of a quip.

Chris grins at him. “Yeah, I am.” He looks back at the camera, but nods his head toward Sebastian. “He’s pretty good at this, too. Maybe we’ll have to show you that, sometime.”

Sebastian shudders at the thought. He’s pretty sure he’d be so embarrassed he’d melt right out of his skin, if he was expected to run this show. He’s also pretty sure he’d love it. Getting his hands on Chris’s body and waxing poetic about it are kind of two of his favorite things in the world, after all.

“Now,” Chris goes on, “find a position that works for you both. Your partner could be on his front for this, which could give you easier access, but Sebastian here usually prefers to be on his back.” He pauses and quirks a cheeky eyebrow at the camera before adding, “he likes to watch.”

He’s not wrong. Sebastian can never get enough of watching Chris’s face while they make love, seeing the awe and hunger and adoration there as he lavishes attention on Sebastian’s body, wringing every last drop of pleasure from it. It’s humbling and intoxicating and so goddamn sexy. Still, Chris saying those words to the camera, in that tone, makes Sebastian feel almost dirty, like he’s some sort of voyeur, peeping on his own life. A voyeur and an exhibitionist, it seems.

Chris is kneeled on the mattress now, between Sebastian’s spread legs. “As you can see, Sebastian likes to keep himself nice and tidy. Some people will opt to go natural – not everyone’s going to like waxing or shaving and that’s completely fine, as long as you make sure you’re clean.”

Oh God, Sebastian thinks, a trickle of shame running through him. This shouldn’t be hot. He’s discussing intimate hygiene, for crying out loud. Chris talking about whether Sebastian washed his ass before he presented himself like an offering should not be turning him on, and yet it does. It’s something about the detached tone of Chris’s voice, his almost clinical instructions, that have Sebastian feeling like he’s there just for Chris’s convenience and enjoyment. Like he’s a prop; an instrument that Chris is teaching their audience how to play. It makes Sebastian so wildly, unreasonably horny, it’s almost unbearable. He tries to hide how much it’s affecting him, to steady his breathing as much as possible, but Chris doesn’t even seem to notice, focused as he is on his task.

“Lube’s naturally quite chilly,” Chris states matter-of-factly, as he squirts a generous amount of it onto the fingers of his right hand. Some spills onto the comforter, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. “So you’re gonna want to warm it up a little, by rubbin’ it between your fingers. It’s not imperative, but it is the nice thing to do.”

Sebastian huffs a breathless laugh. “Thanks,” he says weakly.

Chris winks at him. “Anytime, sweetheart.” His expression turns a bit more serious. “Ready?” he asks, as if making sure that Sebastian is still up for this.

“God, yeah.”

Chris smirks and turns towards the camera. “If you’ve done a good job warming him up, he’ll be pretty eager at this point. That’s good, ‘cause that means he’ll be more likely to be relaxed and receptive.”

Sebastian’s face is flaming. He can’t believe Chris is calling him out like that, basically calling Sebastian a needy bottom, but fuck if that isn’t true, at this point. He almost wants to tell Chris to hurry up, to put his fingers inside him already, but stays silent. He doesn’t get to make demands right now. He just gets to lie there and look pretty, let Chris use him however he sees fit.

The next moment, Chris is reaching down, sliding his slippery fingers between Sebastian’s cheeks and starting to slick him up. Sebastian shivers, goosebumps erupting all over his body at finally being touched where he’s been aching for it.

“Like I said before, it’s important to use lots of lube, make sure he’s nice and wet. When that’s done, you can start by rubbing on him a little, to try and relax the muscle as much as possible before you penetrate it.” He does exactly as he says, rubbing slow, insistent little circles around Sebastian’s entrance with his thumb, before switching to his forefinger and finally pressing the wide tip of it inside.

Even though this is hardly the first time Chris has done this to him, Sebastian still clenches instinctively around Chris’s thick forefinger, and Chris reaches for Sebastian’s cock with his left hand, slowly stroking him as he pushes his finger in deeper.

“Always start with a single finger, and go slow when you push it in. It’s normal to feel resistance, it’s the body’s natural response to an unusual intrusion, but do make sure your partner is comfortable and try to help him relax as much as possible.”

“Mmm,” Sebastian sighs, wiggling his hips a little bit to spur Chris on.

Chris chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. “For some people, it might take a while before they get used to the feeling, so make sure you give them time to adjust before you try to up the dosage. Other people, like Sebastian here, are more… experienced, and will want you to start moving right away.” He demonstrates by pulling his finger most of the way out again before pushing back in, rotating his finger as he slides it in and out of him easily. “As you can see, Sebastian has no trouble taking a single finger. He also likes it when it burns, just a little bit – don’tcha, baby?”

Already, Chris is lining up a second finger next to the first and starts to push against his rim, forcing his middle finger inside, too. Sebastian blows out a quick breath, trying to relax. It still burns a bit, because Chris’s fingers are solid and wide, but like Chris said, he does like the sting.

“Uh huh,” Sebastian groans, gritting his teeth.

“Yeah,” Chris replies, sounding almost contemplative, “that’s it. See how well he takes it?”

That last bit is aimed at the camera again, and Sebastian has to stifle a moan. Jesus. Hearing Chris talk like that, as if Sebastian isn’t even there, is so much hotter than he would ever have anticipated.

“Now, with two fingers, you can start scissoring a little. Don’t try to force anything, just incrementally widen your fingers, gently loosening that tight ring of muscle, coaxing him open. Be patient. Don’t rush, and don’t forget to keep checking in on your partner, see if he’s doing alright. You want to be making him feel good, first and foremost. If he’s not feeling good at this point, chances are you’re not doin’ it right.” Chris has been mostly watching either his own hand or the camera up until this point, but now he’s looking up at Sebastian, his expression earnest and attentive. “You feelin’ good, sweetheart? Nothin’ hurting?”

Sebastian, struggling to keep his breathing level, shakes his head. “Nothing hurts. Feels good.”

“Good,” Chris hums, satisfied. “That’s good, baby.”

It’s not even really praise, and yet Sebastian lights up at Chris’s words. Chris is pleased with him. He’s being good. That knowledge alone feels almost as good as the two thick fingers buried in his ass, rubbing against his inner walls as Chris starts to slowly fingerfuck him.

Getting distracted from his lesson plan for a moment, Chris leans down and licks up the underside of Sebastian’s dick. He takes it into his mouth, the same way he had the other day. He sucks, slow and controlled, and Sebastian swears and covers his face. It’s so good, and at the same time it feels dangerous, because they didn’t discuss him doing that.

Chris lets it fall out of his mouth again, and turns back toward where the camera is still rolling, faithfully capturing every inch of this hot, confusing, crazy thing Chris managed to goad him into. “Seb likes just being fingered for a while, not having it immediately leading anywhere, just enjoying the sensations. Other guys might not be into that, so keep communicating.”

He does as he says, just slowly sliding his fingers in and out of Sebastian, slippery from the lube, catching on his rim, Sebastian’s whole body still thrumming with the dirty thrill of having an audience, even though that audience doesn’t technically exist yet.

“When you want to find the prostate,” Chris says, a little quieter, the only sign he’s affected at all by any of this, “you wanna aim about two inches in, and upwards. It’ll feel like… you’ll feel it, when you find it. Kinda unmistakable. Then crook your fingers up and towards yourself, like you’re doing that ‘come here’ motion.”

He does it, and Sebastian gasps.

“Right there?” Chris asks, a self-satisfied grin apparent in his voice.

Sebastian nods and feels like he can’t open his eyes or the room will spin away into space. “Fuck, yeah. There.”

“It feels really good,” Chris tells the camera. “Orgasms from just this are out of this world, I’m tellin’ you. You can also provide additional stimulation of the prostate from the outside, by rubbing your thumb over his perineum, applying light pressure.”

He keeps talking as he fingers and strokes, but Sebastian can’t hear him anymore. It’s just more instructions, more tips, and it all falls away into the white noise rushing through his head. He’d meant what he said, when he made the comment that started all this. Chris is good at this. Too good at it, and Sebastian’s whole body is on fire. Warmth spreads out, his skin prickles, and he wants Chris’s mouth back on his dick but at the same time, like this, he can focus solely on the other sensations because there aren’t competing ones.

“Chris,” he mumbles, feeling it bubble up unexpectedly fast, whether because Chris is paying so much attention to the gland inside or because the idea of doing this on camera is so hot and shameful all wrapped up into one, he couldn’t say, but his gut is clenching. He tries to warn Chris, tries to stop it, but then Chris’s fingers press right there, unrelenting right on the perfect spot, and Sebastian loses it. He grunts and comes in slow, all-consuming waves, cock spilling over his quivering stomach as his breath comes in pants so harsh they burn in his lungs.

Chris stops mid-sentence, and his fingers stop moving, and when Sebastian opens his eyes Chris is staring at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Sebastian wants to hide. To recoil into himself, dive under the covers and never, ever come back out. He wasn’t supposed to do that. They’d discussed it, all the details, this morning. It was meant to be educational, Chris had dutifully insisted with doe-eyes, not actual pornography. Chris was going to demonstrate what needed to be demonstrated and then turn the camera off, and keep the ending just between them. Chris may be a show off, as he’d said, but he’s also possessive, and didn’t want anybody else to see what Sebastian looks or sounds like when he comes. Chris wanted that to remain just his.

Renewed embarrassment flies like wildfire over Sebastian’s bare skin, and he covers his face with his hand. “I’m sorry,” he whines.

Chris is quiet just for another moment, and his fingers slowly retreat and leave Sebastian’s body, and Sebastian prepares himself to be scolded. Instead, Chris’s fingers drag through the mess Sebastian left on his stomach. Sebastian looks down at it, the mess of sticky white on his own skin and Chris’s fingertips in it, and then up at Chris, blinking in confusion. Chris looks back, his mouth still open and his eyes wild.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, shaking his head, and then he’s surging down, mouth crashing into Sebastian’s so hard it hurts, devouring his lips in a ravenous kiss.

“That felt so good,” Sebastian breathes, admitting it into the space between them, and Chris growls low in his throat.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy, I can’t stand it,” he says, sounding almost pained.

It’s a half hour at least before they remember the camera is still rolling.

---

They take a shower, and a nap, and order a pizza. Neither of them brings up watching the recording, but Sebastian knows they both want to. Chris doesn’t mention it, so Sebastian doesn’t either, but it remains unspoken between them. Finally, well after the sun has gone down, Chris just grabs the camera and an HDMI cable and starts hooking it up to the T.V. in his living room, without a word. Sebastian gets nervous all over again, and excited, and ashamed, that confusing jumble of emotions returning in his chest as he settles on the couch and Chris plops heavily down beside him.

“What if it’s awful?” he asks, with a laugh, trying to make it a joke to hide how unsure he is about it. He’s heard horror stories, of people making their own sex tapes and finding out they don’t look nearly as good as they thought.

“Then we delete it and never speak of it again,” Chris says. He puts an arm around Sebastian, pulling him in and kissing his hair. “But it won’t be. You’re gorgeous. Everyone thinks so.”

“Everyone hasn’t seen my dick,” Sebastian points out, and Chris chuckles warmly.

“I’m glad to hear it. But, that’s gorgeous too.” He presses a button on the remote, and they appear on the screen, Sebastian naked on the bed and Chris’s voice behind the camera.

The thing is, Sebastian is an actor, and as such he’s used to seeing himself on the screen. Not that he watches his own movies in his spare time or anything like that, but since he has to attend his own movie premieres, he sees all of his movies at least once. So he’s not a stranger to watching his own face. Watching his own, stark naked body on a T.V. screen, however, is a bit of a novelty. He’s been pretty damn close to fully nude on camera a couple of times but between the combination of movie magic and stunt doubles, it was nothing like this. This is just him. No filters, no clever angles. Bare in a way he never has been before, the shot immobile and continuous and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“That’s what I look like naked?” He’s seen himself in the mirror, but somehow this feels different from that, too.

“It is,” Chris says into Sebastian’s hair. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I look…” Sebastian hesitates before finishing, “…pretty good.”

Chris huffs, jostling his shoulders. “You don’t gotta be so modest, baby. Admit it, you look incredible.”

“I don’t look incredible,” Sebastian protests, but that’s the moment when on-screen Chris leans over on-screen Sebastian and kisses him, and Sebastian transforms. From one moment to the next, he goes from self-conscious and tense, seemingly hyper-aware of the fact that he’s naked and being filmed, to just melting into Chris’s touch. The Sebastian on the T.V. positively flourishes, turning into Chris like a flower turns to the sun, moaning softly as Chris kisses his neck, his chest and then pays special attention to his nipples. Real-life Sebastian’s skin prickles watching it, like feeling ghosts of those lips on his body right now.

And suddenly, Sebastian thinks Chris kind of has a point. Together, they look pretty stunning.

“Oh,” he says, softly.

“Wow,” Chris whispers, seeing it too, just as captivated as Sebastian. “I’ve never… I mean, I see you, all the time. But never like this, never get to just sit back and watch you… fuck, sweetheart. So responsive, so perfect for me, I can’t believe-” He trails off, distracted by the scene unfolding on the T.V. screen.

Sebastian’s not sure whether to focus on the way Chris is lavishing attention on his chest as Sebastian arches up to meet him, or the way Sebastian can see his own cock thickening against his stomach the longer Chris loves on him. It’s mindboggling and strangely exciting at the same time. Watching Chris turn his attention back to the camera, going methodically through his instructions about lube and clean fingernails, fills Sebastian with the same dirty thrill as it did at the time. Although watching it back, he feels a lot less like he’s just a body for Chris to demonstrate on. He sees love in Chris’s open expression, that he hadn’t noticed when it was really happening.

“See that?” Chris asks, as if there’s any chance Sebastian could not be watching the screen right now. He couldn’t tear his eyes away if he tried. Chris is so close to him, still with his arm snug around Sebastian’s shoulders, talking reverently into his hairline. “Now you see why I can’t keep my eyes or my hands off you? You’re fucking gorgeous, Seb, especially when you’re naked and laid out like that, all open and willing. Wanting me so badly.”

“Needy, you mean,” Sebastian murmurs.

“Sexy as hell,” Chris corrects, lifting Sebastian’s left hand to his face and pressing a kiss to the back of it. He nods towards the screen. “Look at yourself. Look how turned on you are from just one of my fingers inside you. Imagine how that makes me feel.”

“How?” Sebastian asks breathlessly, eyes still glued to the screen, where Chris is now pushing a second finger into him, all the while describing what he’s doing while Sebastian tries his hardest not to burst into flames.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Chris turning his head to look at him. When Sebastian does the same and meets his gaze, he shivers at the naked want and adoration reflected back at him.

“Like I’m the king of the fucking world, baby,” Chris tells him in that almost painfully sincere way of his, leaving Sebastian with no choice but to attack him with kisses, breathless, rash and joyful.

A loud moan from the direction of the T.V. pulls their attention back to the screen, just in time to see Sebastian’s eyes rolling back as he comes with his dick untouched, spilling onto his own stomach while Chris looks at him like he’s one of the seven wonders of the world. With a rush of heat in his gut, Sebastian remembers how embarrassing that was, and how hot it was at the same time. How intense it felt, how intense it looks, his own chest rising and falling as on-screen Chris reaches out to drag his fingers through the mess Sebastian made of himself.

“Holy shit, Sebastian,” real life Chris curses, and Sebastian – surprising even himself – giggles. It’s just all so absurd. Hearing himself moan like that and watching himself having sex on T.V. like he’s in some sort of cheap, homemade porno (which he supposes this is, actually) is just a bit of a trip, really.

His laughter is infectious, it seems, because soon Chris is giggling right along with him, pulling him into his arms as Sebastian winds his arms around Chris’s waist and buries his face in Chris’s neck again.

“So yeah,” Sebastian says dryly, once they’ve calmed down a little, “we’re probably not going to actually put this online, are we?”

Chris snorts into Sebastian’s hair. “Probably not, no. This was really fun but also really fucking weird.”

“So weird,” Sebastian agrees, then feels compelled to add, “but I kinda really enjoyed it, too.”

“I had an inkling you might have, yeah.” There’s a pause, before Chris asks, “So we’re totally gonna make more of these, right? Just for us?”

“Fuck yes.”

“God, I love you.”

And then Chris is pushing him back into the couch cushions, while in the background, on-screen Chris and Sebastian are getting increasingly noisy. It’s kind of odd, the notion of having sex to the soundtrack of themselves having sex, but it’s like, good odd. Sebastian and his body are fully on board with it. No one ever claimed actors were not slightly narcissistic creatures.

Read on AO3

#evanstan #rpf #chris evans x sebastian stan #chris evans #sebastian stan #smut #ao3 #my fic #paper-storm writes #mandie things #evanstan collab #we don't know what this is either #🤷🏻‍♀️#enjoy!

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wovenstarlight · 4 years ago

Text

YWBK update: chapter 26 + liner notes

yesterday will be kinder has updated! you can read chapter 26 here, or start from the beginning here

as always, commentary below the cut

Yoojin🐉😊

watch this space....

In preparation for it, Han Hyunjae temporarily requisitions Yoojin’s laptop and combs through the internet looking for photos of the Hunters that he thinks his family should know about in advance. He goes down one too many internet rabbit-holes, takes way too many screenshots, transcribes a summary of the notes in his future diary, then painstakingly puts everything together into a neat little presentation for them.

picture HHJ reading his fifth article wondering where the sung family heir has disappeared to and being like 👁️👁️👁️👁️

had a little giggle to myself about “future diary” that phrasing was definitely on purpose. will exclusively be referring to it as this now

“Right,” he starts, clapping his hands together, after Yerim’s been sent off to play with Hohyoung.

LHH is so much of a background figure.... i want to see more of himself but he likes his privacy.... he’s got his girlfriend and his baby sister and yoojin who’s wormed his way into his good graces by way of Living In Same House but that’s kinda it....... he’s always lurking in the background instead of showing up on screen. come here hohyoung oppa i just wanna talk

Even if Yoojin’s right, Han Hyunjae still has to protest. [...] But he can’t keep it up when Jiyeon looks at him like that.

KJY has the world’s best Stern Mom Voice and Disappointed Mom Glare and to her great delight they work even on fellow adult HHJ. she will use this power For Evil

The other S-ranks are Moon Hyuna, leader of Breaker Guild, and Bak Mingyu of Hanshin Guild.

OK FOR THIS PART I STRAIGHT FORGOT ABOUT HANSHIN GUILD AND I WAS COUNTING UP ON MY FINGERS LIKE WAIT... IF YERIM WAS THE EIGHTH KOREAN S-RANK WHO WERE THE SEVEN BEFORE HER.... (for those curious they were 1. sung hyunjae, 2. han yoohyun, 3. moon hyuna, 4. song taewon, 5. bak mingyu of hanshin, 6. choi sukwon of MKC, and 7. yoon kyeongsoo of soodam. but. i forgot about the last three altogether.)

“Oh, blond guy,” Yoojin says, unimpressed. “Yeah, I’ve seen him on the news and stuff.”

Top 10 Funny Yoojin Moments (I JUST THINK IT’D BE REALLY FUNNY IF HAN “HAVE I MENTIONED IN THE LAST 5 MINUTES HOW HANDSOME SUNG HYUNJAE IS” YOOJIN DID NOT GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT HIM IN THIS TIMELINE....)

Han Hyunjae takes a moment to double-check that he really doesn’t have Noise Resistance (L), and looks back in time to see Yoojin rubbing at his eyes and glaring at the screen.

HEHEHE...... A SECRET TOOL THAT WILL HELP US LATER

“Hyunjae-yah,” Jiyeon says, looking at the photo of Sung Hyunjae on screen, “this man looks—” “LIKE A PIECE OF WHITE BREAD,” Yoojin bellows. [...] “HYUNG THINKS HE LOOKS GOOD? [...] Oh, god, he kinda does, [...] but like, in a trashy romance novel cover way.” [... Jiyeon] gives the computer screen an assessing once-over. “He looks like the models in cologne advertisements.”

this part of the chapter was planned waaaay back in august 2020 and i actually crowdfunded these descriptions from the s-class server dshblksjdfkblsdfb. the original suggestions (thanks to server members for these):

“bland whitie potato with a slap-on seme personality”

“tacky valentine’s day/mom’s cologne advertisement”

“the face of the dude on the cover of all my mom’s trashy romance novels”

and tbh HYJ does think he genuinely looks good but like, disgustingly good, you know... also Hyung Likes Him so [19 gun emojis]

also me handwaving moment of mild homophobia because like. jiyeon doesn’t know yet AND homophobia is a thing in this world BUT i don’t really wanna do, All That (we already did it with HYJ once), so.

“Do S-ranks get rich?” Yerim asks as she enters, because apparently everyone’s coming for his life today. Han Hyunjae closes his eyes and lies down on the bed while Yoohyun calls out an affirmation over his head. “Then I think— oh! He looks nice!” He cracks open an eye just in time to see her nod. “I think ahjussi should marry him for the eye candy and the money.” She beams very wide. Han Hyunjae closes his eyes again and tunes out the loud conversation going on around him. And wishes, not for the first time, that he’d picked literally any other name when he first got here.

yerim says gay rights cuz she’s like 12 rn and she straight up does not really care. but says it in, like, the most frustrating way possible.

sometimes you just need to lie down even as the world keeps throwing shit at you. just lie down and nap for a little bit. especially when the shit in question is the alias regret you had literally back in chapter one of your 25+ chapter story. this is gonna come back to bite you in the ass Very Fucking Soon babe!!!!

You Oh this is like the 17th one I got wrong I swear this course is trying to kill me

me, flicking on that EPSON brand projector,

(i have. been having a Time of it.)

[Yoojin🐉😊 called you (21:35)]

that’s minutes and seconds babey... you can pretty much guess the content of call from context :(

well, uh. most of call. some internal plot and Realizations happening right at the end of those 21 minutes, 35 seconds. namely:

Yoojin🐉❤️

:-)

or i dunno you can be my roommate and we can both leech off my rich and prosperous baby brother!

[extremely sad voice] heehoo... they... care each other....

YMW’s parents are kinda shit ngl. they care about him, but unfortunately, that does not show through in their care for him, ykwim? if they just paid attention to what he was actually talented at and encouraged him in his efforts.................

well, he wouldn’t have met HYJ in canon. but he would also have been a lot happier!! and YMW deserves to be happy!!!!!!!! YMW fucking rights!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You When you came with me to drop off Jihui’s standee.

they finally remembered her name sjfbklsjdfbl

Yoojin🐉❤️ OH right i was talking to one of my new commissioners about their piece realized they were an old friend of hyung’s

HEEHOO.... HONKS MY LITTLE CLOWN NOSE yoojin forgot to ask about pronouns but that’s okay they’re figuring that stuff out still

Yoojin🐉❤️ it’s getting late the kids are going to bed i have to turn off the lights

you can take the caregiver out the role of caregiving but he will still think of his baby siblings as his kids

Part of that is changing his behaviour. Hyunjae and Yoojin sit side by side and watch as Suk Simyeong gently coaches Yoohyun on how to interact with others and present a neutral, if not friendly, exterior.

[same voice as ingredience] neurodivergence.....

try and look them in the eye, or at least look somewhere on or near their face, if eye contact is too much

yoohyun, who’s the type to look people in the eye without blinking until they inevitably look away because then they don’t try that eye contact shit again later:

tbh i kinda made up shit for the Training In Formality section i don’t know shit about being Formal and Polite. hope i got it right :pensive:

“He’s not good with touch,” Hyunjae cuts in. [...] “Sorry,” [Yoojin] says apologetically to Suk Simyeong, crossing the room and gently pressing a hand against Yoohyun’s back. The kid slowly stops rocking and leans into the touch as he talks.

he’s not good with touch, Usually..... there are exceptions :-) every time i think about this being canon i go insane. wow. love and trust and faith.

Suk Simyeong nods understandingly, giving the closed door a considering look. “If that’s the case, perhaps he can take over part of the preparations,” he offers.

SSM who’s frothing at the mouth wanting to know more about this dude who apparently did some killer business deal with the head of Dungeon Task Force who all the dungeon people are gossiping about on their phone calls while they cart around unassuming A-rank businessmen: PLEEAAASEE fucking involve him PLEEEEASE make him involve himself in business with me

Still, Yoojin’s work is fairly repetitive and boring, so Hyunjae and the women pull out a pack of UNO cards from somewhere and start playing while he works, not paying much attention to either of the boys.

plugging my Han/Bak family playing UNO art here, please reblog like and subscribe,

He stares down at Yoohyun’s hair. Yoohyun’s wavy hair sits there judgmentally. Yoojin bemoans his budding career as a stylist and admits, “This… isn’t working.”

i’m sorry sweetie... hair isn’t your forte :( you can still do fashion if you try really hard

(fun fact about this whole scene, yoohyun not being able to straighten his hair until he could control flame resistance is Certified Canon!)

“No, shit, don’t get up.” Yoojin flaps his free hand at him distractedly. Hyunjae and his need to do everything himself, jeez. “I mean, like. The iron is not. Straightening.”

“hyunjae and his need to do everything” says the man who a few paragraphs ago wanted to be hair makeup clothing and management all in one

“Okay, but why is it not working, though? Is the iron not turned on?” Wow. Wow! Yoojin wonders suddenly if Yoohyun ever felt as homicidal towards him as Yoojin’s currently feeling towards his big brother. If he ever had, then it’s frankly stunning Yoojin’s survived as long as he did. “Do you think I’m stupid,” he snaps. “It’s plugged in.” “Yeah, but did you turn it on.” “You know what, why don’t you touch it and see?” Yoojin unplugs the straightening iron for a minute so that he can take it over to Hyunjae, presenting it to him with a flourish. The heat will hold on for the few seconds this takes. “Come on, touch it right now. I dare you.”

zmur put this into words better than i can, she described this part as “the feeling when elder siblings doubt your intelligence”--

“What if you used a regular iron. Like for clothes,” Hyunjae says, completely ignoring Yoohyun. Yoojin hums thoughtfully.

--and this part as “THEY ARE RIGHT TO DOUBT IT !”

“Killjoy,” Hyunjae mutters so only he and Yoojin can hear.

(should doubt your elder sibling’s intelligence too, once in a while. keep them on their toes.)

“HAN YOOHYUN YOU TAKE YOUR HAND OFF THAT RIGHT NOW,” Yoojin and Hyunjae and Jiyeon holler in perfect unison.

parental instinct for particular phrasings of commands

“Flame Resistance,” Yoohyun reads out. “S-rank.” It’s not heat resistance, but it’s pretty close, so it probably still applies.

hum hum the flame skill works on heat as well, huh

Yoojin’s watching Hyunjae idly when the flickers start up at the edge of his vision again. He blinks, rubbing his eyes idly, and looks back up in time to see, just for a split second—

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE VISION PROBLEMS WAS IT? RUBBING HIS EYES WAS IT??

“Eh? It didn’t? I’ll… I’ll try it again, one second.” Nothing, for a second— but no, there is, pale flashes here and there. Yoojin shakes his head and blinks. They die down, then start up again. Fainter, this time. Why?

gonna say this here because i accidentally set it up as a Thing there’s. there’s no reason. whether the message shows up or not is pretty much random error.

“Ahjussi has an L-rank skill?” Yerim demands. “That’s so cool!” Jiyeon and Yoohyun and Yoojin stare at Hyunjae in silence as he returns Yerim’s eager high-five. He cowers when he notices them.

these three are already so mad and they don’t know that between S and L there’s SS and SSS. they’re gonna be SOOOOO mad. anyway yerim remains the chillest in the room

“So, say you needed to cauterize a wound in an emergency, and you didn’t have access to healing items or Hunters. You could drop the Resistance there, set it on fire, and just… sear it shut.” Yoohyun blinks, an intrigued look coming into his eyes, and looks down at his own forearm. “That’s true, I could probably…” “Yeah, food for thought, I suppose.” “What the hell?!” Yerim yelps. “Though it’s up to you if you want to try it. I still think your hair is fine as is, we don’t have to—” “That’s horrifying,” Yoojin blurts. “No, I should know how. In case something happens like you said. How do I do it?” “Now hold on a second,” Jiyeon says, voice rapidly rising in pitch.

sometimes i think about how dungeon stuff made yoojin significantly more chill with violence and murder and self mutilation in some cases. and how he comments specifically (i think this might be in a slightly later chapter, possibly unreleased) that people like myeongwoo who don’t have those extra years of immersion in the dungeon culture still reject and avoid violence and killing whenever possible. really makes you think

anyway! i saved some extra commentary for those okay with spoilers. continue reading at your own risk. extra large warning in case you’re skilling

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE BELOW CONTENT!!!! IT DRAWS ON INFO FROM UNTRANSLATED CHAPTERS, POST-170S AT LEAST!

“How many of these people did you personally know?” “Not many!” “So one, then,” Yoojin concludes. “You don’t know that!”

HE DIDN’T SAY THAT YOOJIN WAS RIGHT, THOUGH..............

“Why did you pick his name out of everyone’s! I thought you weren’t in touch with S-ranks. I thought you picked a friend’s name!”

they wanted some kind of bedroom decoration for a family member, counting sheep or something, i forget

a sheep, for a family member of one of han hyunjae’s old acquaintances, is it

#star.txt #work: yesterday will be kinder #writing commentary #my writing #some family antics to make up for what's next #more and more i feel like i need to write a timeskip. i'm so tired of early guild and dungeon management.#i need to write insanity. murder. kidnapping. classic s-class stuff #AND OF COURSE SUPERPOWERED FAMILY ANTICS WHICH IS SO CLASSIC S-CLASS STUFF IT'S BCE

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isthatbloodonhisshirt · 5 years ago

Note

If you could change ten things about Teen Wolf what would you change??

OMG BUCKLE DOWN BECAUSE IT’S GONNA BE A LONG ONE! Do asks have a word limit? Guess we gonna find out! (Sometimes I wish I could speak these replies, they sound much funnier when I am speaking out loud to myself and then they are just weird and flat typed up but I DIGRESS! I do that a lot, have you noticed? Doesn’t matter.)

(Also, I did put a “Keep Reading” but for some reason it’s not working. Or it’s not showing as working on my end. But it’s right under this paragraph I swear so if it’s not working, that isn’t on me....)

1) SO! Trauma. People be dealing with their traumas. That’d be a thing I’d like, thank you. Like, I’m sorry, but there is a fuckton of trauma in this show and everyone like, goes to bed at night and wakes up cured. Like MAGIC! I mean, yes, I get that magic is a thing in the show (is it? I mean kind of? Idk, I never saw past season 4, they alluded to magic and then SNATCHED THAT AWAY so, side-note, that’s coming up later!) But yes, I would’ve very much liked for people to, you know, deal with their traumas in a realistic fashion. Let’s get some therapy going, or like, idk, some actual negative reactions to thing! They kind of had that with Stiles every now and then, but he seemed to be up and down episode to episode so like, it’d be like they wrote an episode where he reacts to what happened to him and then four episodes have gone by where he’s fine and the writers were like “OH YEAH SHIT HE JUST MURDERED LIKE A WHOLE HOSPITAL, make him have a panic attack randomly over dropping milk, that balances out, excellent, we’re so smart.” So yes. DEAL. WITH. THE. TRAUMA! Thanks.

2) LESS CHARACTERS, MORE DEVELOPMENT! I mentioned this in another recent ask about relationships but like, they just kept shoving characters in there. Like one of those clown cars. So we got like, 30% character development on the core group and then the rest was like “wait, who are you again?” Like, legit, I have a bad memory, you put too many people in front of me, I ain’t gonna remember them unless they have a good personality or a reason to be there. And like, develop their relationships! Not even romantically, but like, Scott’s mom loves Scott, that is sweet and lovely, but like, we never really… see… that… developed? Idk man, like again, I have a bad memory, but when you really develop relationships WELL (ex: Brooklyn-nine-nine), that shit sticks with you and you CARE about people. The friendships are important, and the familial relationships are important and just developing all the dynamics is important! They spent more time showcasing how much everyone hated each other and lied to each other and stuff and that just got really tiring. Yes, you’re allowed to get mad at your friends, but if you’re a Werewolf, and your human friend is calling you when there is a fucking monster running around killing people, can you maybe stop making out with your girlfriend and answer your phone so your friend isn’t treading water with a 200+ pound Werewolf for 2 hours? Like, JUST SAYING! (Spoiler alert: Me and Scott would not be close friends. Like, I think we’d be friends, but not so much that I’d trust him with my life. If I wanted to grab pizza and a movie, maybe play some video games, he sounds like a treat, but if my life was in danger, thanks I be callin’ someone who answers their phone).

3) Actual consequences for their actions! Okay like, I am also guilty of this in fanfic, but at the same time, my writing is free, I don’t get paid for it, and I write what I want because that’s how it works, so I can do whatever I please (If I wanna make the Hales royalty for the millionth time, ain’t nobody gonna stop me!). But like, when you are a legit paid screenwriter who is writing a show? Consequences! Just because it’s a show about Werewolves doesn’t mean there can’t be any consequences! Like, the best scene, and I feel like we can agree, because fuck it like, hurt my soul and my heart and I was just so like ;~; was when the sheriff got fired (fired? suspended? TEMPORARILY UNEMPLOYED!) because Stiles stole a police van when they locked Jackson up in it. Like, that shit was REAL LIFE CONSEQUENCES for actions, and that shit was intense and it HURT and omg I loved it! Give me more of that! Like, I’m sorry, but you gonna tell me Nogistune!Stiles walked through the hospital murdering a bazillion people and not one camera was working the whole time? Not one? Nobody saw that? Nobody went “hey, isn’t that the sheriff’s kid?” Like, CAN. YOU. IMAGINE?! That would’ve been so amazing, a bunch of episodes of the pack scrambling to keep the Supernatural a secret while also trying to stop Stiles from GETTING ARRESTED because saying “Sorry ma’am, I was possessed by a demon fox who likes chaos and thought murdering a bunch of people would be fun” ain’t gonna fly in court and the FBI sure isn’t gonna believe that but like, UGH! Again, bad memory, but was the fact that Dark!Stiles wandered through the hospital killing people EVER brought up again???? CONSEQUENCES. Woulda really liked that.

4) STOP with unnecessary romances. Like, yeah, I get it, the allos like their romances, but shockingly, you can still have a good show without focussing on the romance. Like, it can be there, I’m not saying don’t put it in, I’m saying DON’T MAKE IT THE MOST IMPORTANT THING! Like, the entirety of season one was Scott chasing Allison and Stiles chasing Lydia. This… this does not make an interesting show? Like, is that just me? And then as the season progressed, EVERYONE had to be in a relationship? WHY? Again, haven’t seen past season four, but I mean, I know Scott and Kira were a thing, and then Stiles and Malia, and Liam and some… person? Idk. And Ethan and Danny (congrats Jeff, you get to tick your “I had representation in my show!” box, well done, gold star, or whatever). And Isaac and Allison, and Melissa and Chris (apparently?). And then Stydia was alluded as being canon, and Scott ended up with Malia somehow?? And Derek slept with half the town and all of Mexico, idek. Like, stop it. Stop. Shows work without everything being about everyone banging each other. (See again: Brooklyn-nine-nine, or Avatar the Last Airbender, or The Good Place, or even fucking Supernatural!) You can have a good, interesting story without everyone banging each other. It ain’t necessary.

5) More actual storytelling (again, this woulda worked better without the unnecessary romances taking up 49 of the 50 minutes of air-time). Like, yes, I get it, pilot’s gotta have some pizzaz! Gotta be spicy and sparkly to make people interested (and like, fucking hell, all I can remember of the pilot is sobbing Allison soaking wet–LIKE, WAS THAT NECESSARY???–about the dog she hit and oh noes is it dead well thank God the lead character works for a vet! And somehow has keys and access to the whole clinic like nbd at all hours? Whatever. I wasn’t even allowed inside my blockbuster as a shift lead if it was off-hours but apparently a high school student doing paperwork at a vet clinic is different, I’m not a vet so what do I know? I HAD A BAD DAY OKAY, I GOT FEELINGS ABOUT THIS RN!) I went off-topic, what was I saying? Oh yes, storytelling. You know what woulda been nice? Werewolves! It happens, we find out about Laura, we find out about Werewolves, Scott gets bitten, all that jazz. And then like… ease in the Hunters? Like, why was there Laura/Derek, Peter, AND the Hunters all crammed into the pilot? Yes, I get it, you need the SUSPENSE and the DRAMA, but you can do that without the Hunters right off the bat. Just, how CONVENIENT~ that the same day Derek and Laura come back, Hunters move to town? That’s just lazy, and again, I can be guilty of laziness, I admit to it, but I literally get paid in—like, do hearts count? I get paid in hearts and pats on the back for my fics, I can write whatever I want. If you’re getting paid to write something, try a bit harder, yes? Yes???

What number am I on? Oh good Lord, I got things to say, okay.

6) MAGIC! Can you like—I feel like this one is self-explanatory. Stiles did the whole mountain ash thing in season one, and it was SO PROMISING, and then that just died. It died like Maes Hughes getting shot in a phonebooth (spoiler, but really, you haven’t seen that yet, that’s a you problem). Why even bother introducing magic if you weren’t gonna use it? Like, was it because people like Stiles more than Scott and the showrunner was like “nonono. If we make him magic, he’s TOO cool, and then Scott is unimportant.” I mean, you coulda worked that in your favour, but no. You just murdered the fuck out of it, like straight up took it out back and shot it. Like, yeah, Derek went kiddo again and Jennifer was apparently all magic beauty spell or whatever, but like?? That’s it??? You had a show about Werewolves and you didn’t even try to make it more interesting by making some of the characters magic? Lydia’s basically the closest and they didn’t even explain her powers that well. Magic would’ve been dope and they totally shoved that to the side. That was dumb. Shoulda done something with that.

7) Explain things more? Don’t mention them once and then do nothing? Like, we got some brief stuff about anchors, and emissaries (which are super duper secret according to Deaton but then like, EVERYONE KNOWS HE IS EMISSARY SO WHICH IS IT DEATON? YOU TELL ME!) Like, they had so much opportunity to talk about so many things and again, maybe that comes out more in the later seasons, idk, but they likely coulda done with more explanations and they didn’t and this angers me GREATLY. They mention something once and then it never comes up again. That’s some Lost bullshit right there. Don’t start something if you’re not gonna commit. You tell me the beginning of the story, I wanna fucking know the end, don’t forget halfway through and wander away, that ain’t right, I NEED ANSWERS JEFF! And like, as above, never really got Lydia’s powers. I know what a Banshee is, but her powers did NOT make sense to me. Idk, could just be that I’m dumb, but similarly, don’t write something so convoluted that it confuses people, that is also dumb. As dumb as I am so like, well done there. And also do we get more on Parrish? I know he’s a Hellhound, but how does one get born a Hellhound and not know until you are conveniently lit on fire by someone trying to kill you for money? (Also, you bean, you absolute treasure, “I’m worth five dollars?” You’re so cute. Silly child.) I feel like being a Hellhound is something that woulda come up before getting barbecued in his cruiser. Like, he works a stressful job, you gonna tell me not ONCE while getting shot at he didn’t have a massive heart attack over a close call and like, burst into flames? No? Is that just a me thing? I feel like the slightest annoyance and I’d be fully on fire, not gonna lie. (I’d be on fire a LOT… CLEARLY I AM AN ANGRY PERSON! No, that’s not true. No yes it is, I am angry, but more angry lately because I’m sleep-deprived and work is dumb ANYWAY back to this)

8) EMBRACE THE SIDE CHARACTERS! Okay, so MAYBE Scott is meant to be the golden child. The Dick Grayson of the show, if you will. The original Robin, the creme de la creme. That’s all fine and dandy if he is, no judgement (little judgement), but you know what you don’t do when your side characters are getting a lot of attention and love? What you DO NOT do is give them less screen time. Because then you’re being petty and, shockingly, you get more positive results when you give the fans what they want. I’m not talking about pairings, because everyone is different, and you can’t cater to everyone, but like, the more people moved away from liking Scott, the harder the showrunners pushed him into our faces. And like, that isn’t how this works. If I like side character 87 a lot, and the lead’s getting annoying, you know what’s gonna make me NOT watch the show? Cutting out side character 87 (hey, for shits and gigs, let’s call him DANNY, just, not coincidentally at all) and then just shoving the lead into my face. That is what makes someone go “Well, four seasons is enough, I can happily live knowing I didn’t waste my life watching two more of them.” Like??? I’m not saying cut out Scott, because the show is ABOUT Scott, but the more everyone tried to showcase how amazing and wonderful and pure and perfect he was, the more annoying it got? Like, Scott has flaws. THEY ALL HAVE FLAWS! If you don’t admit that they all have flaws, it gets boring, and you hate the characters. I know that Scott turned into a douche later (apparently, again, haven’t seen it), but even in the early seasons by trying to make him this pure True Alpha golden angel child who spreads love and hope and trusts everyone, it just got boring. He was vanilla, and also a bad friend, because he was too “perfect” to be around someone “imperfect” like Stiles, and even like, the rest of the pack overall. He was always put on a pedestal and it made the show really… irksome? Idk, I just feel like yes, SCOTT is the Teen Wolf, but you added all these damn side characters, maybe use them a bit more? At least Stiles was interesting, and Lydia was fucking badass, and fucking hell, if you’d done right by Boyd and Erica, the actors wouldn’t have left for better shows so like, come on man, you coulda done better. We coulda had such a dope show, why you gotta crush my dreams like that Jeff? What did I ever do to you?

I know this is only eight, but this is long enough, if I go two more, this is gonna be IN.SANE. And also it’s late and I haven’t finished my fic for the day (I mean, I’m almost done, but I’m not done yet!) So like, I’ma stop here. But yes, hopefully this answered your question. Sorry I got REALLY PASSIONATE about it but it’s been a day.

Also, I feel this needs to be said, but obviously these are my own personal opinions, and as opinions, you are not obligated to agree with them. But you are also not allowed to tell me my opinion is wrong. You can disagree with it, but this is an opinion, not a law, so there is no right and wrong. Don’t @ me, my day’s been bad enough kthx!

HAVE A GOOD NIGHT, BE BACK IN LIKE TWENTY(?) MINUTES!

#not tw #but also kind of #Blood's yakkity yaks #I had a lot to say #it's been a day okay!#Anonymous

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