#also yes I’m aware that his neck and shoulders are fucked up but frankly I don’t care and I’m too lazy to fix it 🤡✌️

[simonsezsewart]

Damn it’s been a long time since I posted any art whoops anyways here’s a sketchy panel redraw!! :,D

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Odd Hours//Getting Even

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Warnings: Cursing; Fluff; slow burn but not nearly as slow as my usual slow burns. Notes: This is uh... I don’t know, I’ve had the idea kicking around in my head for a while. Also please excuse the film trivia. I will take any excuse to talk about The Man Who Came to Dinner. I couldn’t decide on which title would suit better so I named it both. Not beta-read. Summary: You’d never spoken to the your new neighbor before, just traded friendly waves… At the oddest times. 

Your new neighbor looked very put together all of the time. Well… The couple of times that you’d seen him in passing. He was always in a suit, his tie was always straight, and his hair was always coiffed so neatly. You just assumed that he looked that good all the time. You’d seen him with a beard once, and then the next time you’d seen him, he was clean-shaven. He was gorgeous both ways, but that beard… Fuck, it had looked good. You’d never spoken to the guy before, just traded friendly waves… At the oddest times.

-- The first time you spoke to him was evidence of that. It was almost three in the morning. You’d just gotten off of work at one of your jobs at a bar. You stifled a yawn as you stepped off of the elevator and fished into your pocket for your keys. You managed to dislodge something on your way, but you didn’t notice. At least, not until you heard: “You dropped this.” You turned to see your neighbor holding out the foldable reusable bag you tended to keep in your pocket. “Oh!” You reached out, smiling, “Thank you-- I didn’t even notice.” “Sure,” He nodded, “We haven’t met, I’m in 5B.” “5A,” You jerked your thumb over your shoulder to your door. “Marcus Pike,” He held his hand out to you, and you shook it, giving him your name. “Long night?” You asked, and he chuckled, nodding. “Very.” The two of you linger for a moment longer before you nod over your shoulder, “I’ve got a couple of hungry cats to get to, so.” “Right,” Marcus nodded. “Nice to meet you.” “You, too.” You ducked into your apartment, shutting and locking the door behind yourself. You flicked the living room light on and tossed your keys into the bowl beside the door. You stepped further inside, smiling at the sight of your two Siamese cats, Princess and Pyewacket. They lifted their heads from where they were both lounging on the couch. “I met our neighbor,” You told them. Pyewacket got up, stretching before jumping off of the couch and following you into the kitchen. “Yes, he seemed very nice,” You answered the cat’s unasked question as you reached down, scratching his chin above the black moon and star patterned collar he had on. Princess slinked into the kitchen behind him, a matching pink collar around her neck. “And hello to you, too,” You murmured, “Let’s get you fed.” -- The next run-in was almost two weeks later. It was nearly noon, and you were coming off of your other job at a bookstore nearby. You ran into Marcus as he was leaving his apartment, and your brows rose. “Hi there,” he greeted, smiling. “Hey,” You shift your bag on your shoulder as you twirl your keys around your finger. “How are the cats?” You laughed a little, nodding, “They’re good. I won’t say they were happy to see me, but I fed them, so they tolerated my existence for another day.” You eyed his pristine-as-usual-suit. “Heading to work?” “Yeah, just came off of a late night. I actually just kinda...Came back to shower and change,” He absently swept his hand over his tie. “Oh, yikes,” Your brow furrowed, “What do you do?” “I work for the FBI, International Art Theft.” Your brows rose. “Wow.” “Surprised?”

“A little,” You admitted as you walked to your door, “I had my money on your being a lawyer.”

“Really?”

You lean back against your door, waving at him, “It was the suits.” 

He chuckled, “I should get going-- as long as you don’t have any stolen art in there.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you, now would I?” You teased, shooting him a wink, “Have a good day, Agent, and uh-- try to get some sleep at some point.”

--

It wasn’t every day that you got a knock on your door at two in the morning. Your hackles were immediately up, and you were quiet and careful as you crept toward your door. You peered through the peephole, frowning at the sight of Agent Pike-- And one of your cats. You hurriedly flicked your light on and opened the door. “Is, uh, this one of yours?”

“Pye,” You groaned, reaching out to take Pyewacket out of Marcus’ arms, “I’m sorry-- sometimes he slips out when I come in, and-- He’s such a weirdo, he always waits right out here.” You cuddled him close to your chest, smiling a little as Pyewacket pushed his head up against your chin. “Thank you,” You added, scratching Pye under the chin, “I hope he didn’t bug you.” “No, he was pretty friendly.” Your brows rose. That was rather unlike Pyewacket. “I’ll be honest, I was a little surprised to see you holding him-- Though that was more because, you know.” “It’s like two in the morning?” Marcus asked. You laughed, nodding. “Another late night for you, Agent?” “Slightly,” Marcus admitted before reaching out and scratching Pyewacket under the chin, “But I appreciated the welcoming committee.” You smiled, glancing down at the cat as Marcus’ fingers brushed yours. “Well, I’m glad Pye could be of assistance.” “‘Pye’?” Marcus repeated, leaning in your doorway, “Like the food?” “Oh, no. It’s short for Pyewacket,” You explained, shifting the cat in your arms. “Like in Bell, Book and Candle with uh-- Kim Novak and Jimmy Stewart?” He asked. You blinked up at Marcus in surprise. “Uh… Yeah,” You nodded, and laughed, “Sorry, just-- Most people don’t know that.” “I’m a fan of classic movies. --Who’s this?” Marcus looked down.

You followed his gaze, laughing, “Someone that was feeling left out. That’s Princess,” You smiled. You took a little bit of a step back as Marcus crouched down to pet her. You were suddenly acutely aware that you were in your pajamas and Marcus was still very...very suited. You couldn’t help but grin as he cooed over Princess, though. “I’m not gonna lie, you strike me as a dog guy,” You admitted. “Oh,” Marcus scooped Princess up, cradling her against his chest, “I do like dogs, don’t get me wrong, but my grandmother had a cat-- big fluffy Persian named Chester.” You were quiet for a moment, watching Marcus and Princess before you glanced into your apartment. “Do um--” You hesitated, “Do you wanna come in for a drink or something?” Frankly, standing across from a cute guy as you each held one of your cats had to be the weirdest way you had ever asked a man into your place. But it wound up with you and Marcus on your couch with a beer each having a shockingly nice conversation. You didn’t keep him long - you could tell it had been a long night for him and you didn’t want to keep him late - not to mention you had come off of a shift at the bar and you were pretty tired yourself.

Pike was out of there by 2:45 (though you’d gotten his number in your phone and yours in his by 2:42). Pyewacket trotted after him to the door. Marcus gave him one last scratch under his chin, one last look at you before he murmured, “Goodnight.”

--

Smitten was not the word you would use.  It was what you were, but you wouldn’t admit it. Hell, you barely knew the guy, had only met him a couple of times. But he seemed sweet-- and your cats liked him, that was a good sign. 

You tried not to reflect on the fact that that thought made you sound like your Great-Aunt Cecily.

You held off on using Pike’s phone number for about two weeks. Then one night, around 10:30, in the middle of a William Powell marathon on TCM, Pyewacket jumped off of your couch and trotted over to the front door. You frowned, watching him and muttering, “What the fuck, dude?” before you heard the jingling of keys. You smiled when you realized why he’d gotten up - and went out on a limb as you pulled your phone out and texted Pike:

-Either you just got home or the ghosts in the hallway are bothering my cat again

You raised your phone, snapping a quick picture of Pyewacket at the door before sending it off. You glanced down at the lone messages in the chat before you closed it, tossing your phone onto the couch cushion beside you. It didn’t stay there long, though-- it buzzed a moment later.

5B: You’ve got a great alarm cat

5B: Just how often do the ghosts in the hallway bother Pyewacket?

5B: And how many ghosts are we talking?

-Like once a week, they’re very mean to him.

-And at least two ghosts, I’m convinced

You put your phone down, figuring that that would be the end of it. You were wrong. 5B: They bug Princess, too?

-Nope, they don’t dare. No one fucks with Princess

-How’s work?

5B: Busy.  -Long day?

5B: Excruciatingly

-Sorry 😞

You winced, resting your head on your hand and considering.  Why did you use an emoji? You raised your phone and snapped a picture of Princess where she was curled up on your lap.

-You could take Princess with you next time if it’ll help?

5B: Might take you up on that. I’d prefer not to be fucked with tomorrow

You smiled. -I’ll see what I can do about a leash

5B: Very kind of you

-Anytime

--

5B: Okay, I don’t wanna be weird, but I feel like almost every time I come in around dinner time, whatever you get or are making smells delicious

You looked down at your phone as it buzzed and chuckled, picking it up from where you’d left it on the counter. 

-Not weird. Not to brag but I’m kinda the slow-cooker queen

You glanced at the slow-cooker, and the timer reading fifteen minutes left on the food you were making. It was a large batch - you’d wanted to have enough so that you could bring lunch to work at the bookstore. But there was enough to spare. You hesitated before texting,

-Hungry? 

--

Marcus brought wine, and stayed for three hours. The two of you ate dinner, did the washing up, and wound up on your couch watching It Happened One Night. Conversation flowed over most of it - you’d both seen it several times. The movie gave the two of you the chance to watch and weave in and out of conversation and film trivia without pressure. Pye and Princess curled up on the couch between you like sleepy little chaperones.

By the time he left, the bottle of wine that he’d brought was empty, and he had cat hair all over his pant legs.

“Thanks for dinner,” He turned around to face you as he stopped in the hall.

“Sure,” You leaned in your doorway, tucking your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants.

“I’ll have to have you over sometime, make us even.”

Your stomach flipped at the offer and you nodded, “I’d like that.”

--

“What’s got you out so late?”

“Work.”

“I’m guessing it’s the bar and not the bookshop?” Marcus asked as he watched you slouch against the wall of the elevator. You smiled a little tiredly. “I see those sharp skills aren’t just reserved for art thieves, Agent Pike.” He chuckled as the two of you stepped off at your floor. “What about you?” You asked. “Grabbed drinks with the team after work. We closed a case.” “Congratulations,” You smiled, “What happened?”

“It’s a slightly long story,” Marcus shrugged, “...Would you like to come in and hear about it?” “Gimme half an hour to shower and feed the babies and I’ll be right over.” --  “...Shit.” “What?” You lifted your head from his shoulder. Considering the last two times Marcus had been to yours, you hadn’t had any reservations about going over to Marcus’ in your comfy clothes. You’d shuffled over in your slippers, and when Marcus had opened the door, you’d held up a bottle of white wine. He’d grinned and told you it would pair well with the grilled cheese he was planning on making for the two of you. Without the cats between you, you and Marcus had settled close together on the couch. As the late night wore into early morning, you’d wound up tucked into his side as you talked. “It’s almost four,” He chuckled, looking away from his watch. “Oh,” You yawned widely, “I should let you get to bed.” “I’m the boss, I can get in a little late.” You smiled, tipping your head up and finding him watching you. “You don’t seem the type to abuse that power,” You teased. “Long as it doesn’t become a habit.” “Mm-mm,” You shook your head a little bit and sat up, “I don’t wanna be a bad influence. I save that for Pye and Princess.” “Can I walk you home?” You laughed and nodded as you and Marcus got up from the couch. You missed the warmth of him as soon as you were up, and you were so tempted to turn back toward him and cuddle into his chest-- if only to warm back up. You chatted a little more on your way to the door, and you tried not to overthink the way Marcus put his hand on your lower back as he opened the door for you. -- “Can you recommend a good book?” You didn’t look away from what you’re shelving, but you couldn’t help the slight flurry of butterflies in your stomach at the question. “That depends on what you’re looking for.” “Oh...Maybe something on classic film.” “That’s gonna be two aisles that way,” You nodded over your shoulder, “Back wall.” “Could you show me?” “You really don’t have anything better to do today, Agent Pike?” You teased. There was a pause before you heard him drifting closer to you. He peered over your shoulder, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmured, “Well, I was hoping I could take you to lunch, if you’ve got time.” “You trying to even out our meal score?”

You glanced up as he leaned against the shelf beside you and met your eyes. “I’m trying to spend more time with you,” He admitted, “If you’re interested.” You lowered your eyes to the books you were shelving, unable to help the smile that grew on your lips at his bluntness. “I’m interested.” 

-- 

Lunch ended with plans for Marcus to come over after your shift at the bar the following night. He dropped you back off at the bookstore and left you with a kiss on the corner of your mouth that you thought about for the rest of your shift. --

TCM was airing a Bette Davis marathon. By the time you got home, it was nearly 10:30. You showered, neatened up the apartment, cleaned as much cat hair off of the couch as you possibly could, and told Princess and Pyewacket to behave themselves. Princess blinked at you; Pyewacket flicked his tail. You texted Marcus that he could come over whenever he was ready, and there was a knock on the door ten minutes later. Marcus looked cozy in a way you hadn’t seen before - sweatpants and a t-shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and strong arms. You stepped back and nodded him in, and grinned as he crouched down, immediately scooping up Pyewacket as he came over. --

“You know, Bette Davis wanted John Barrymore to play Whiteside,” You were cuddled against Marcus’ chest; his arm was curled around your shoulders, fingers skimming along the strap of your tank top, “But he was drinking so heavily he couldn’t remember his lines. They wound up going with Monty Wooley-- he played Whiteside on Broadway, too.” “Really?” Marcus’ question was mumbled against your temple. You nodded a little. “Mhm. Cary Grant was set to play the role at one point, but Davis was so against it that he withdrew.” “Something tells me you like this movie.” You laughed, reaching out and absently picking off a piece of cat hair off of his sweatpants. When you’d disposed of it, you rested your hand on his knee lightly, giving him a chance to shake it off. Marcus just gave your shoulder a squeeze, and you gave his knee one in turn.

-- 

The two of you watched The Man Who Came to Dinner and All About Eve. “I’m worried that I’m setting a dangerous precedent for your sleep pattern,” You sighed as the credits rolled. It was almost half past three. “Mm, don’t worry about me,” He murmured, nuzzling into your neck. You closed your eyes, shivering a little bit. “...Do you wanna stay over?” You offered, raising your hand and lightly running your fingers along Marcus’ arm. “I’d like that.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “C’mon,” You urged, patting his thigh and standing. “Should we clean up?” Marcus stood with you, looking at the empty popcorn bowl and discarded cans of beer on the coffee table. “Nah, we can deal with it in the morning,” You took hold of his hand, leading him back to your room. Marcus glanced back toward your cats, to where Princess and Pyewacket were still settled on the couch. “Do the cats sleep with you?” He asked. “Sometimes.” “They gonna be mad if I shut your door?” “They’ll get over it.”

-- It was your alarm that woke you up. You leaned across Marcus, mumbling your ‘sorry’s and shutting it off. Once you did, you leaned back down, resting your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes again. You smiled as his arm curled around your waist. “You need to go?” He mumbled. “No, just-- Forgot I had it set.” “Good.” You smiled, turning your head and nuzzling against his shoulder. “You sleep okay?” “Mhm,” He hummed, sliding his thumb along the hem of your shirt, “You should stay over at mine next time.” “So we’re even?” You blinked up at him as his fingers curled under your jaw, tipping your head up to look at him. “Things aren’t always about getting even,” He smiled sleepily down at you. “What’s it about then?” “...Why’d you ask me to stay over?” You hesitated before you pushed yourself up to lean over him, “I thought you’d look good in my bed. And whaddaya know? I was right.” Marcus laughed, using the arm wrapped around you to draw you against his chest. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?” He asked. “Mm?” “Kissing you.” Heat curls in your stomach, tingling and pleasant. “Something stopping you?” You asked. The hand on your jaw slipped down to rest on the back of your neck. His eyes darted between your eyes and your lips for a few moments before he leaned up, brushing his lips against yours. You felt that spark grow in your stomach, and you dipped your head a little closer, chasing the chaste touch. You shifted, leaning more heavily against him and resting your hand on his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, hooking in his collar. When he pulled you closer and turned, settling you down on your back, you went easily, letting your thighs splay so that he could lay between them. You moaned quietly as your kisses became warmer, more insistent. You wrapped an arm around Marcus’ shoulders, sighing as he slipped a hand under your shirt. And then you heard a yowl at your door. You groaned quietly, dropping your head back as Marcus laughed, resting his forehead against your neck. “I told them to behave,” You whined. “Don't blame them, this is on me. I should’ve kissed you last night,” Marcus murmured against your throat. You shivered, chuckling a little. “I should feed them before they do something rude like continue to yell... or throw up in your shoes.” “Would they do that?” “Oh, god yeah. I love Princess, but she’s an asshole.” --

You reached down, setting Pye’s food dish down for him and scratching him behind the ears as he began to eat. Princess was already halfway through her food. You glanced over at your phone as it buzzed on the counter and grinned when you saw who it was.

❤️5B: How’s unpacking?

-Nearly finished. A couple of boxes left. Pye was sleeping on a stack, so I couldn’t touch it.

❤️5B: No worries, baby. On my way home. Need anything?

-Cat food and popcorn. Humphrey Boggart marathon starts at 8

❤️5B: Takeout?

-Nope, got dinner covered. ❤️5B: You’re my favorite. -Don’t let Pyewacket hear you saying that. ❤️5B: Favorite human.

-Better. Btw some couple moved in across the hall. I think they have a dog?

❤️5B: I’ll make sure Pye doesn’t get out when I come in

Tag list: @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo; @fantasticcopeaglepasta; @paintballkid711

[talatomaz]

craving her touch | diana prince x fem!reader

a/n: i honestly have no clue what this is but this is set during 1984 because diana was much happier then. (yes, i was projecting, what about it?)

warnings: very brief references to homophobia. brief mentions of a gun. sexual references

word count: 1k

masterlist | request list | request rules

although reader has been in a relationship with diana for a few years, whenever diana does anything remotely affectionate, reader is still shocked that it’s such a normal thing to do, having believed hugs and the like were exclusively reserved for occasions such as birthdays or weddings

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Hey.”

Your head turned to the door where you smiled at the figure that had just entered.

You had been with Diana for almost 3 years now, having met her when you first started at the Smithsonian. You both tended to work closely together since you had been studying similar fields.

After working together for a few months, Diana had boldly asked you out to dinner stating that you were the most beautiful and intelligent person she knew - which was ironic considering that was exactly how you saw her.

Not long after, Diana had asked you to be her girlfriend and a few months after that, you’d moved into her apartment.

You knew exactly who she was; her not wanting to keep any secrets from you outweighing the need to protect her own. And Diana being who she was meant she wasn’t afraid to hide her love from the rest of the world.

Sure, the 1980s were considered to be a relatively progressive time but you still noticed the looks you were given whenever you and Diana were holding hands on the street.

Of course, that type of behaviour was not familiar to the goddess; her having come from an island full of women where practically anything and everything was accepted.

Whilst the looks didn’t bother you as much as they once used to, Diana still felt the need to show them that she, to put it frankly, did not give a fuck what other people thought. If she wanted to hold hands or kiss you, she would do so regardless.

That was just one of the many things you adored about her. The fact that she was also a heroine helping other people certainly increased your love for her tenfold.

That’s where Diana had been before she had just walked in. She’d told you that she needed to help foil a robbery that was currently in place at one of the malls near the apartment. And considering the smug look on her face, you could tell that she had been successful; not that there was any doubt that she wouldn’t have been, mind you.

You stopped cleaning the kitchen island, walking over to the door where Diana stood where you kissed her sweetly.

You pulled away after a few seconds and Diana reluctantly let you go as you continued cleaning.

“Was anyone hurt?” You asked, wiping down the counter.

“Nope. Unless you count the bad guys. But it was his own fault. He should have known guns don’t work on me.”

You stilled at the thought of someone threatening your girlfriend with a deadly weapon.

Yes, you knew she was bulletproof and essentially invincible but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t worry any time she was out fighting.

She knew you worried just like she knew that you would never ask her to stop. It was what she needed to do and you understood that.

“I’m okay, y/n. I promise.” Diana said, sensing the worry in your change of movement.

Your shoulders minutely sagged in relief as you glanced over to see her words were true. She barely had a hair out of place, let alone any marks or scratches.

Your eyes then returned to the black marble you were cleaning when you felt arms wrap around your waist from behind.

Your body tensed for a moment before relaxing into the warmth Diana provided.

Growing up, your family weren’t exactly the most affectionate. By no means were they not loving - they were some of the most caring people you knew - but they just never really physically expressed that love.

Before meeting Diana, you could hardly remember the last time you’d been hugged by...anyone, really.

Even when you became an adult, simple things like holding one’s hand or cupping one’s cheek was still fairly alien to you; having not experienced any of that in your childhood.

You had explained that to Diana when you first got together and she was most certainly shocked. Being affectionate was something she’d always known to be true. And though she’d told you she would definitely be “touchy” with you, any time she was, it still came as surprise to you.

Melting into her arms, Diana gently lay her chin atop your head - your height perfect enough to fit comfortably beneath her. You placed your hands on hers and smiled when she tenderly kissed your head.

“I missed you, baby.”

She said, her accent thick.

“I missed you too. I’m happy you’re safe.” You said, on a whisper.

You both stood there for a few moments longer when you decided to pull away to get her a glass of water.

Turning off the tap, you handed it to her and watched as she gulped it down.

Setting down the, now empty, glass on the counter, she placed her hands on your waist and kissed you.

It was different than the one you’d given her minutes before. This was more filled with the passion and heat that often came when she’d returned home safe after being in harm’s way.

Wrapping your arms around her neck, you drew her closer towards you, moaning at the feel of her body against yours.

Her hands slid down from your waist to enclose around your ass where she effortlessly lifted you up onto the surface you’d just cleaned.

Opening your legs, Diana moved to stand between them and without missing a beat, you closed them around her waist.

You continued kissing until you both came up for air, your breath coming out in harsh pants against her skin.

After catching your breath, Diana tilted your chin upwards with her finger and stared into your eyes.

“I love you so much, y/n.”

Blushing profusely, you replied, “I love you too.”

Diana smirked playfully, aware of the effect she had on you.

Reaching behind her, she removed your legs from her waist and held them to the edge of the counter.

Looking up at her, you caught the mischievous gleam in her eyes and your breath hitched in your throat at her next words.

“Let me show you just how much I love you.”

[sweetiejunie]

Jealous

Summary: You get jealous that he was ‘flirting’ with another idol

Genre: fluff, smut «dont read if you dislike this, you have been warned»

Yeonjun x reader

—.*•—

💕request by anon: Hi! May I request jealous sex with Yeonjun? In which case the reader get's jealous of another idol being too close with Yeonjun?

A/n: havent wrote a smut in a while, hope you liked this!

======================================

You were ignoring him. Was it petty? Yes. Was it necessary? Well, to you it was. Did he deserve it? That was debatable, but to you it was a hell yeah he did.

So, what exactly did he do that made you this mad? Some may say it was harmless. Some may say you were overreacting. But he was flirting with another girl! Right in front of you! Another idol to be exact.

Okay sure, technically the both of you weren’t in a relationship. And yes, he had free will do what he wanted. The relationship between the two of you could have been described as... complicated. It was painfully obvious that the two of you liked each other. I mean, every-time you passed each other, yeonjun would either blow you a kiss or wink at you playfully. And you loved to tease him every now and then. Throwing him random complements that added to his — already— overinflated ego and then breaking it down again and vice versa. It was all in good fun, of course. And he knew that. It was just how your dynamic worked with him. It had been months since it first started, and you practically already acted like a couple, with all the hand holding, kissing and things that were better left to the imagination. You just never made it official, but everyone who knew you, knew the both of you were off limits.

Long story short, that’s how yeonjun ended up in you apartment. You hadn’t expected him to show up so soon. You left shortly after you witnessed the whole... ordeal... take place. You had just taken a shower, wrapping yourself in your thin silk robe when your door bell rang. And here he was.

“Come on y/n, I’ve already apologised.” He tried for what was most likely the tenth time.

You didn’t budge. Frankly speaking, you’ve already forgiven him, maybe after his second apology or so. But seeing his attempts to gain your forgiveness was just too cute to pass on. You were sure he had figured that out by now and was simply playing alone.

“Y/n, please? I’m sorry.” He pouted this time, trying to catch you glance. Giving you puppy dog eyes the entire time. “I was just kidding. You know i would never hit on anyone other than you.”

You didn’t reply, trying your hardest not to let a smile break your, slowly but surely, shattering demeanour .

“Y/nnnnn,” he whined again, poking your cheek. “I swear i was just having a conversation.”

Gosh, why did this boy had to be so darn cute all the time.

You let giggled escape this time. By the time you caught yourself, he’d already noticed. And he took that opportunity to hook an arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him. Sealing your back against his chest.

Something pulled at his lips, “i really am sorry.” A short pause before he continued. “Were you really that jealous?” You weren’t even facing him, but you hear the smug grin that was plastered on his face.

His question caught you off guard. “I- I was not jealous.” Never have you wanted to crawl under the table as much as you did in this moment.

Interest sparked in his eyes. “Is that so?” His hands rubbing gentle circles against your sides. “My mistake, then. But i have to admit,” he leaned in closer to your ear to whisper, “that knowledge actually made me extremely turned on.”

Your cheeks coloured at his confession. How were you supposed to reply to that?

“Baby... let me make it up to you,” he murmured.

He placed his hand on your shoulders, spinning you to face him as he leaned towards you. His lips were soft yet unrelentingly firm. Wasting no time to make your thoughts go blurry with nothing but the idea of him. He let his hand slide down your thighs, over the robe you wore. Lifting you to your toes then hire, he wrapped your legs around his waist. The lower half of the robe parted as the upper half rolled of your shoulders.

Yeonjun’s growing hardness pressed into you, and your body answered on its own accord, moving against him, dragging a grunt out from him. You weren’t sure if it was his hand kneading at your rear, feeling of him between your thighs or the intensity of the kiss that drove you closer to the edge. Perhaps it was a combination of everything. Everything about this man drove you insane.

“Bedroom?” His chest rising heavily against yours.

You nodded and his lips were back on yours as he walked you both to your room. Not having to look where he was going, he knew your entire apartment by muscle memory.

After several moments, one of his arms folded over your waist, his other in your hair as he lowered you onto the bed. The back of head rested on your pillows as his hand eased from underneath you. You opened your eyes when you felt the bed dip with his weight. His hands on either side of your head as he hovered over you.

Noticing that the robe had now slipped even further, you wanted to cover yourself. But you didn’t move. The swells of your breasts were now visible, and an entire leg was out, all the way to you hip. You simply shifted your gaze to his.

Neither of you spoke as his chests rose and fell, his breathing as uneven as yours. His lips parted, but no words came out. His muscles rigid as he held him up before he ducked his to neck. Kissing a trail along your jaw, down to your collar bones. Your breath hitched as you burned more.

“Y/n...” there was an abundance of need in that one word, your name. “Let me make it up to you the only way i know how.”

His hand drifted over you stomach, where your skin had been exposed. You could barely breathe or think as his lips brushed against the neckline of the robe. You felt the warm glide of his tongue through the fabric. You gasped, shocked by the act and rush that it brought you. His gaze lifted to you as his mouth closed over the tip of your breast. He sucked deep and long, and your gasp quickly turned into a cry. You felt his hand move closer to where you needed him the most, pressing down against your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” you sighed.

“Mmm.” His lips shifted back to your neck. “You like that, baby?”

There was no point replying. He already knew the answer, and he did it again, causing you to whimper more.

“You’re very wet, y/n.” He breathed against your jaw. “I like that.” A pause. “I also like how you react to my touch.”

Without another word, yeonjun turned you to the side, away from him. Confused, you looked back to him as he stretched out behind you. He rested on his elbow and met your eyes.

“I’ll take care of you,” he hummed, pulling you into the cradle of his hip.

Your robe had slipped and now there was nothing but the jeans he wore between your bare rear and the hard length of him. You bit your lip as he trailed down you side and lifted your leg, sliding one of his between. His hand drew along your body before meeting with your wetness. His touch remaining light, almost featherlike, as he slid a finger across your center, causing your entire body to twitch. He continued this motion for what felt like eternity, and then he sank that finger in. You kicked your head back against his chest, letting out a breathy moan.

“You’re the only one for me,” he grunted. “You know that.” He pulled his finger almost completely out of you before inching it back in again.

You couldn’t respond as fire sparked inside of you with each thrust of his finger. He angled his hand so that his thumb could brush against your sensitive nerves. Each motion taking more breathe out of you. His worked his other arm around you, and across your chest. Palming and squeezing your breast as he worked in a second finger.

“Yeonjun.” You managed, your hips still moving.

And you could tell he was loosing his composure when he replied. “Ah fuck.” He sucked in a breath. “Just ride my fingers.”

You cried out, rubbing harder against his hand, against him. His breaths hitched in his throat as you did this. Looking back, you saw him watching hand, watching you grind and clench around them. Right then, you couldn’t even remember what you had been jealous about. Was it some bitch? Well, she wasn’t the one here with yeonjun now. Your stomach tightened as you continued to ride his fingers, riding his length that pressed against you behind.

He started to move so there was space between your bodies. Instead, you reached for his hip, nails digging into his skin as a silent demand.

And yeonjun obeyed.

He stilled, cursing as his plunged his fingers faster, rubbing your clit harder. You rocked against him, the feeling in your lower stomach becoming too much. With a final thrust, you moaned out when you came. You shuddered around his fingers and he shuddered against you, still moving his digits, exploiting every sensation from you until you went limb in his arms.

You stayed there, both your breathing slowly steadying. He eased out of you and you turned your head to face him. You expected to see that cocky grin of his. But you caught the red hue that tinted his cheeks instead. And slowly you became aware of the dampness at your lower back. You eyes widened when you realised.

“Sorry,” a sheepish smirk appearing, pulling your robe back to its original state. “Only you could do this to me.”

Now it was your turn for your lips to twitch. “I guess i should get jealous more often, huh?”

“So you were jealous~” he sang.

“Shut up.”

.

.

.

======================================

What was this 😀 i think ive been reading too much

[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

Texts from the Lost Tomb, part 5.4

I swear folks once I get this and the last part up I’m gonna condense it all

But yeah couldn’t resist some <3

Zhang and Wu Chat

Wu Xie: Um. I’m all done with the shower if you want a turn.

Zhang Qiling: I’m alright without one.

Wu Xie: sooo are you pissed at me still?

Zhang Qiling: ? I have not been angry with you since the ladder incident.

Wu Xie: you’ve barely said anything since the necklace thingy

Zhang Qiling: I believe it is a long-running joke amongst my friend group that I do not, in fact, say much.

Wu Xie: okay but there are multiple gouges in the tea house walls that would suggest you had somewhat strong feelings today

and I kinda caused the events that sparked said feelings

so just checking in you know

Zhang Qiling: I was not angry so much as I was afraid. More afraid than I’ve been in a long time.

Wu Xie: ??? But it has worked out fine??? Everyone made it out alive and Uncle Erbai gets to feel morally superior to the Zhang family for a while so today was a win overall

Zhang Qiling: I heard you scream. I didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t get to you right away. Therefore, I was afraid.

Wu Xie: ohhhhh. oh, Xiao Ge. It’s alright now—hey the necklace was actually helping u look out for me:) It’s not like those ppl were actually trying to hurt me, really. Your family isn’t so bad, at least you don’t have any uncles you know of

today was just some big misunderstandings wrapped in some poor life choices. Tbh my memoir title

I feel kind of stupid for screaming but when a glowing necklace wraps itself around your neck it’s a little uhoh moment lol

I did like the design tho def my aesthetic.

Zhang Qiling: I am pleased that it was able to protect you when I was not.

Wu Xie: Uh no you are not allowed to get all emo abt this it’s only like 3pm

damn time flies when it’s flashing before your eyes lol

Are you on the roof? You’re def on the roof. I thought I heard the tiles moving over my head. Come down or I’m coming up.

Zhang Qiling: I will be down in a moment. Do not come outside, it’s cold and raining.

Wu Xie: you know, Zhang Rishan said he thinks the necklace might be linked to you, somehow

something from long ago, even though you wouldn’t remember it.

It’s lucky that it liked me, huh:)

Zhang Qiling: Yes. Quite lucky.

Babysitters Club Chat

Wang Pangzi: AWW LOOK AT HIM NAPPING ON YOUR SHOULDER SO CUTE. BEBES HAD A BIG DAY. YOU TWO ARE PRECIOUS. BE GOOD AND POSE FOR THE PICTURE NOW.

Zhang Qiling: No. Also, I am considering what steps I should take with Zhang Rishan. Regardless of his concern for the Zhang family line, his actions were unacceptable.

Wang Pangzi: HES DROOLING A LITTLE ON YOU WHICH IS LESS CUTE BUT I CAN CROP THAT PART

LOOK I KNOW YOURE STILL PISSED. IM NOT EXACTLY CALM MYSELF, I JUST HAVE WAYS TO SKIRT AROUND TIANZHENS BULLSHIT FILTER THAT YOU LACK

GET ON MY LEVEL

WU ERBAI WILL HANDLE IT, THINGS HAVE SETTLED I THINK

BUT ABOUT THAT NECKLACE

SO INTERESTING HMMM

Zhang Qiling: I am the patriarch of my family. The necklace behaved as I would, apparently, to protect a vulnerable family member. Wu Xie’s bad cold last week activated it, and it responded to a perceived danger to him today. Simple enough.

Wang Pangzi: UH HUH

A FAMILY MEMBER

THE NECKLACE REALLY SAID LOVE WINS

TOLKIEN COULD NEVER

Zhang Qiling: It protected him on a technicality. But I will not allow him to bear the burdens of my family ever again. It has taken so much from him already.

Wang Pangzi: YEAH SURE BLAH BLAH DESTINY BLAH BLAH ANGST

“A TECHNICALITY” WOW WHO SAID ROMANCE WAS DEAD

ANYHOO IM SCREENSHOTTING THIS FOR UR WEDDING RECEPTION SLIDESHOW

YA KNOW DURING MY SPEECH

Friends of Wu Xie Support Group Chat

Hei Yangjing: you’re welcome for everything today<3 I accept PayPal, although of course it is always my honor to assist my friends:)

Wang Pangzi: WE ARENT PAYING YOU SHIT

Zhang Qiling: You did absolutely nothing.

Hei Yangjing: whoa whoa maybe I wasn’t threatening family members or busting up load-bearing walls like some undying divas I could name but I totes helped

or at least I was there for moral support maybe?

Zhang Qiling: The only reason I knew you were there at all was that as I lowered my blade from Zhang Rishan’s neck, I heard the camera click and saw you were taking a selfie making a peace sign, angled to have the two of us in the background.

Xie Yuchen: I saw it on social media just now. The caption is “#greatdaycatchingupwiththelads #blessed”

Wang Pangzi: TBH KIND OF JEALOUS I DIDNT THINK TO DO THAT

Hei Hangjing: okay yeah you see Xiao Ge that is a modern kind of help I should’ve known you wouldn’t be aware

It’s called performance, you wouldn’t understand

it’s a ‘Gram thing

Also it means I’m a great person

Bc letting you handle the situation was my gift to you

Zhang Qiling: Wu Xie mentioned there is something called “blocking ppl” that gets them out of my phone.

Hei Yangjing: nah

Can’t trust that Wu Xie, bae can’t tell a coffin from an urn amirite

it’s not a thing, blocking

Xie Yuchen: It is a thing. I’ll show you later, Zhang Qiling.

Wang Pangzi: YOU BOYS GO GET CLEANED UP AND COME BY AROUND 9 I SNAGGED SOME OF ZHANG RISHANS BOOZE ON THE WAY OUT

Bonnie and Clyde Chat

Hei Yangjing: you looked pretty comfortable in those handcuffs earlier ;););)

Xie Yuchen: Go to sleep, idiot.

Hei Yangjing: You’d have to do something to tire me out ;););)

Xie Yuchen: Are you like this around Wu Xie? Not that I care, I’m just asking.

Hei Yangjing: uh that’s a big nope

First off all Idk when I’ll die but Id prefer it to be on my terms and not at the hands of those other two

Secondly there is a part of me that remembers how adorable he was when he was younger and that makes it weird

(No offense but u were not adorable. He was bebe luke skywalker, you were bebe princess leia I am obvs Han Solo 4lyfe)

Also I’m a little scared that if i flirted with him and he flirted back he’d be better at it.

Xie Yuchen: All valid concerns.

Hei Yangjing: as cute as he is I don’t really wanna tap that.

Xie Yuchen: I see.

Hei Yangjing: do you tho

Main Chat

Wu Xie: okay folks who wants cocoa to top the evening off? I picked some up today:D

Wang Pangzi: UH YOU SPENT YOUR DAY BEING KIDNAPPED AND PLACATING A SENTIENT NECKLACE WHEN DID YOU HAVE TIME TO GET GROCERIES

FRANKLY THATS INTIMIDATING

Wu Xie: the tea house gift shop:)

Wang Pangzi: …YOU BOUGHT COCOA FROM YOUR KIDNAPPERS. FROM THEIR GIFT SHOP. DURING YOUR KIDNAPPING.

WU XIE

WU XIE WHY

Wu Xie: I mean we were there the whole day, it felt impolite not to buy anything.

Wang Pangzi: OH RIGHT GREAT POINT ID HATE TO BE RUDE TO THEM AFTER THEY WENT TO THE TROUBLE OF ABDUCTING US

LISTEN WHEN PPL STEAL YOU IT BECOMES FREE REIGN ON THEIR SHIT

UGH YOU PROBABLY GOT A RECEIPT AND EVERYTHING

WAS UR LITTLE SHOPPING TRIP BEFORE OR AFTER THEY STUCK U IN A DUNGEON TO EXPERIMENT ON YOU

WAIT NVM I DONT WANT TO KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT

Wu Xie: look, let’s focus on the positives/ we are all okay, and we learned something new, that necklace is still active! It’s really quite nice-looking when it isn’t moving of its own volition.

Wang Pangzi: YOU AND YOUR RELENTLESS DUCKING OPTIMISM

ZHANG QILING ARE YOU SEEING THIS

Zhang Qiling: I would love some cocoa. I’ll come to the kitchen.

Wu Xie: I have special marshmallows for you!!

Wang Pangzi: I SEE

WE ARE SUBSCRIBING TO THE PRESTIGIOUS “FUCK IT WHY NOT” SCHOOL OF THOT TONIGHT

LOL SURE LETS GO COCOA IT UP

IVE GOT SOMETHING STRONG TO POP IN IT

Wu Xie: Still thinking about that design… I’d love another chance to examine that necklace under less Zhangy circumstances.

Kinda sad we couldn’t borrow it to use for illnesses and dangerous missions :/

ah well it’s for the best, a family heirloom should be treasured, preserved and protected<3

Zhang Qiling: I put it on your dresser.

Wu Xie: ???????

Wang Pangzi: AND THATS WHY YOU AND I ARE FRIENDS, XIAOGE <3

Wu Xie: I—

Zhang Qiling: Are those bunny-shaped marshmallows for me?

[qitwrites]

|| 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 

Midoriya is the one that begins the entire ‘nervous system compression’ ritual.

Back at the training camp, when he was banged and bruised and tattered to all hell, bumping into Shoji had been the best-case scenario. Being wrapped up in his many, many arms had cocooned Midoriya’s body from further damage, provided him with great mobility, and Shoji’s grounding personality had been a major reassurance during a frankly abysmal situation.

After they’d finally recovered Bakugou, and after that tragically big reveal of All Might’s biggest kept secret, something in Midoriya had broken.

He was still doing his best to train his quirk, he was still doing his best to exist and thrive alongside his classmates, to study and work hard and eat well and sleep on time. For the most part, he was himself, and he was doing ok.

But then there were the nightmares. Nightmares in which Bakugou misses Kirishima’s hand, or All Might dies at the hand of All for One, or Midoriya somehow fucks up and gives the League of Villains One for All. There’s visions of his friends laying dead at his feet, of the world burning to the ground, and the utter helplessness of letting his friends down, letting his teacher and his idol down, letting them burn.

Sometimes, the world exerts a pressure on Midoriya that would put Atlas to damn shame.

2 weeks after the Kamino incident, when Midoriya is sitting at his desk, his dumbbell moving up and down as he pores over his notes, a wave of anxiety, sudden and heavy, rolls over him and he can’t breathe. There’s not enough air in the room, in the entire world probably, and his vision tunnels, darkening around the edges. He drops the dumbbell and clutches his head, trying to get his breathing under control, but it isn’t working, and he can’t seem to hear or see or breathe.

Distantly, he remembers the training camp. His memories of that time are tainted by the agony he felt when Dabi had vanished with Bakugou in his grip. He doesn’t remember the more fun parts, the training and the cooking and the overall learning experience. He just remembers pain.

And then, a small part of him, so small he almost misses it, remembers warmth.

He remembers how warm Shoji was. He remembers feeling, amidst all the panic and chaos, a sense of safeness in Shoji’s arms. He remembers burrowing in that space against his back, and he knows, even though they failed, that he was only able to find a way to help Tokoyami because Shoji gave him his support, took care of him, supported his weight and his burden, if only for those few minutes.

He remembers how warm Shoji was. And he realizes, even as he’s choking for air, that he wants to feel it again.

The walk from his dorm to Shoji’s feels endless. He stumbles along and drags his feet, and he’s not really seeing at this point, moving mostly from muscle memory. He usually visits Todoroki and Uraraka in their rooms, but he’d memorized the entire layout within the first three days of moving in. Shoji lives two floors above him, right next to Kirishima.

When he finally gets there, he’s hollow and empty and there’s still not enough air. A flash of worry pierces through him because he doesn’t want to bother Shoji right now. He doesn’t even know if its ok, what he’s about to ask for. He doesn’t know if it’ll help, if it’s what he needs. He worries, the way he always does, and the air around him is disappearing faster, and he just wants to breathe.

Somehow, before he can talk himself out of it, he reaches up and knocks, pulling his hand away quickly.

10 seconds. He’ll give himself 10 seconds to wait and see if anyone answers, and then he’ll leave and never bother Shoji again.

Shoji comes to the door in 4.

He opens up, clad in pajama pants and nothing else, his iconic mask covering the lower half of his face even in his own room. He looks at Midoriya patiently.

‘I-‘ Midoriya chokes out, voice rough and scratchy. ‘I am having a panic attack.’

Shoji’s eyes widen marginally. ‘Whoa, ok. How can I help?’

If his vision hadn’t started to tunnel again as he hears Shoji say that Midoriya might’ve noted how easily Shoji had understood the situation, and how quickly he was asking Midoriya what he wanted, rather than doing whatever he thought was appropriate. He knew what he was doing. Clearly, he’d done this before.

Midoriya tries to breathe in, and it gets stuck somewhere in his chest and everything hurts but he starts to ramble, ‘I read in a scientific journal somewhere that our nervous system controls our emotions and that when we are anxious, there’s a dissonance in how we function and there’s a quick fix for it, well maybe not a fix, but more like a way to help, if only a little. It’s like a nervous system compression.’

Shoji listens to him with a furrowed brow before carefully asking, ‘Are you saying you want a hug? Will it help you if I hug you?’

To put it simply, yes. Midoriya wants a hug. Midoriya needs a hug. His body physically needs to be grounded because there’s not enough air and he’s going to pass out if his breath keeps getting stuck in his throat and his fingers are numb and the back of his neck is cold and it hurts.

Midoriya nods because the words are getting stuck in his throat.

Shoji opens his arms slowly, and Midoriya looks up. Shoji holds his gaze and carefully moves forward, keeping himself completely in Midoriya’s line of sight.

‘I’m going to hug you now,’ Shoji says, ‘and I’m going to hold you tight. If you want me to ease up, or get off, just tap me anywhere once. If you want me to tighten up, tap twice.’

Midoriya feels himself starting to hyperventilate and then -

Warm.

Shoji is so warm. He exudes heat, his skin soft and warm and alive. He wraps himself around Midoriya, and he blankets him from everything, driving away the light, the distant sounds of Ashido yelling at Kaminari, the cries of the cicadas, everything. He holds Midoriya against his chest, and he holds him tight. Shoji is strong, ridiculously so, and he knows Midoriya is strong too. He holds him with the kind of pressure that actually lets Midoriya breathe.

And so he does. His shoulders start to slump as he takes one deep inhale followed by another, measured and timed. He follows the rhythm of Shoji’s breathing, follows the rise and fall of his chest, and his fingers loosen up, warming slowly. Hesitantly, he brings his hands up and puts them around Shoji’s middle and receives an encouraging squeeze.

From there, the tension seeps out of him, slow and heavy, draining out of every jagged edge and every crack in his body. When he feels another wave of anxiousness, he taps Shoji’s back twice, and Shoji squeezes, hard enough that Midoriya’s breath stutters, but also hard enough that the anxiety slips away, almost tangible in its intensity. Belatedly he realizes that he’s been crying, but he can’t apologize when his face is smooshed against his friend’s chest.

After what seems like forever, Midoriya is breathing again. He feels somewhat normal. He feels as close to normal as possible, at least. He has feeling everywhere in his body. Nothing feels stuck in his throat, and his mouth isn’t dry. His tears have stopped, and his hands aren’t shaking. His heart is beating, fast and strong and slow. He takes in one more steadying breath before tapping Shoji’s spine once.

The arms around him loosen slowly, opening him back to the world. The overhead lights are bright, almost too much, but Midoriya looks straight ahead, right at Shoji’s chest as he pulls his arms off and steps back slowly. Shoji keeps his arms on Midoriya’s shoulders, and he waits. Patiently, he waits for Midoriya to speak, he waits for him to make the next move.

‘I’m ok,’ Midoriya says, rubbing at his eyes. He sees Shoji nod and pull away his arms, always in Midoriya’s line of sight.

‘That’s good. Can you see and hear properly?’ Midoriya nods. ‘Awesome! And your breathing is ok?’ Midoriya nods again.

‘That’s great Midoriya, well done.’

Midoriya barks out a watery chuckle, and then he remembers his tears.

‘Oh,’ he says, reaching into his pocket to pull out a handkerchief, ‘I haven’t used this yet. Please wipe off my tears and possible snot.’ He turns beet red with embarrassment.

Shoji doesn’t laugh though, or even look disturbed. He takes the offered cloth and wipes his chest gently.

‘No problem at all. I will give this back after washing it.’

Midoriya shakes his head, ‘It’s my snot, it’s fine! I can just…’

‘It’s ok, Midoriya. I’ve got it. Really not a problem.’

They stand by the door for a while longer, not speaking but not really needing to either. Shoji is just endlessly patient, and Midoriya is breathing again, and the world feels ok.

When he feels brave enough, Midoriya looks up and catches Shoji’s eyes.

‘Thank you.’ It’s quiet, but his voice doesn’t waver.

Shoji gives him a nod. His eyes are softer, just a little bit. ‘It was not a problem at all.’

Midoriya worries his bottom lip with his teeth before breathing out with a huff. ‘I, um, I was hoping I could, maybe, if this happened again, I could come back to you for a, you know, a nervous system compression? If you’re ok with it?’

Shoji’s eyes go softer still, and he holds Midoriya’s gaze the entire time as he says, ‘Absolutely. I’m here when you need me. Don’t forget that, ok?’

Midoriya gives him a smile, small and tentative but true, and Shoji squeezes his arm. They say their goodbyes in hushed tones and Midoriya walks back to his dorm slowly, feeling more aware of himself than he has in days.

That night, he doesn’t dream. It’s the best sleep he’s had since Kamino.

[nbrook29]

101, 104 and 110 for the dialogue prompts 🖤

Hello!

101. “I’m ok, thank you. Just please, stop talking to me.”

104. “You weren’t supposed to laugh! I’m so embarrassed!”

The 110 one is not included here, but I also got it from someone else so it's gonna be filled later :)

* * *

Robbe hears the doorbell coming from downstairs, but he stays put, knowing his mom is in the kitchen so she’ll open the door while he adds two last sentences to his final history essay. He’s clicking ‘save’ when there’s a knock on his door, and without waiting for a response, Sander’s smiling face pops from behind it.

“I didn’t say you could come in,” Robbe grins at him cheekily, standing up from his swivel chair for the first time in hours. He immediately pulls Sander into his bedroom, looping his arms around his neck as the boy kicks the door closed behind him, licking into Robbe’s mouth in no time.

He feels a light slap on his butt as a response to his words, and then Sander disentangles himself from him to flop dramatically on the bed, a groan leaving his mouth.

“I’ve just participated in the dullest lecture known to humanity,” he complains, pouting at Robbe. “I need you to entertain me or I’mma die of boredom tonight.”

Sander’s pleading eyes make him snort, but he grabs his laptop and joins him on his bed, rearranging the pillows to make it more comfortable for them to sit straight.

“Okay, drama queen, what do you wanna watch?”

“I get to choose tonight?” Sander’s face lights up with excitement and it’s adorable how little it takes to make him look like that. When Robbe nods, amused, he gets a kiss on his shoulder as a thank you before Sander turns his attention to the screen where Robbe started the endless scrolling on Netflix.

He’s a picky viewer so eventually Robbe leaves him with his computer and goes to the kitchen to make them popcorn and grab some chips. It’s where he’s confronted by his mom who catches him midwalk back to the bedroom to gently remind him that she’s staying home tonight and not going out and that please take that into account, honey. And then she shoots him a wink and now it’s Robbe who’s going to die.

Of shame.

Beet red and mortified, Robbe enters his room and at Sander’s questioning look he tells him his mom basically requested them to keep quiet this time. Unsurprisingly, Sander is unaffected, grinning at Robbe like it’s funny.

“It’s all your fault, by the way,” Robbe accuses him, thinking back to last Friday night.

“You’re right, I’m so sorry I’m so good in bed you can’t contain the noise you ma-”

He doesn’t manage to finish his sentence, cut off by the popcorn Robbe throws at him.

“Who’s being a drama queen now?!”

“My mom heard us, Sander, do you understand how embarrassing that is?!”

Sander rolls his eyes and pulls at his sleeve to make him sit back on the bed, careful not to spill the bowl full of popcorn.

Once he has him where he wants him, sulky eyes on him, he frames his face with his hands and says placatingly, “This isn’t a big deal, Robbe.”

Robbe looks very unconvinced so Sander leans in to catch his frowning lips in a kiss to ease his worries.

Then he claps his hands, nodding at the screen. “Look, I chose a movie for us?”

Robbe turns around reluctantly to check it out and cocks his brow when he sees the newest horror that everybody’s been talking about.

“You really want to watch this?”

“You don’t?”

“No, I do, I love horror movies, but knowing you I thought you’re gonna choose some psychological drama.”

Sander shrugs. “I wanna see what the hype is all about.”

It’s a surprising turn of events, but Robbe is not going to question it any longer because he really wants to see that movie. They turn the lights off and get comfortable on the bed, sitting upright for the time being to avoid choking on the popcorn. But Robbe is not capable of having Sander in his bed right next to him and not having any type of body contact so he innocently swings his leg on his lap, scooching a little closer, a small smile blooming on his face when Sander doesn’t even question it, just starts drawing random patterns on his sweatpants-clad thigh.

An hour into the movie and Robbe is having so much fun because it’s just the right amount of scary combined with some weird psycho shit and frankly, that’s his all time favorite combination. He’s been feeding Sander chips for the last ten minutes, his arm absent-mindedly traveling between the bowl and his boyfriend’s mouth as he himself has been completely engrossed into the movie, eyes wide and jaw dropped, not paying much attention to his surroundings.

It’s why he doesn’t notice the slow but steady attempts of Sander’s to merge his body into Robbe’s. It’s only when he turns to him to comment on the latest jump scare he realizes half of Sander’s face is hidden in Robbe’s left sleeve, eyes wide and scared as they peek reluctantly at the screen.

“Sander?”

“Yeah?” he squeaks out.

“Are you scared?”

“No.”

That earns him a doubtful look, and Sander had to realize he’s not very convincing at the moment because his shoulders drop, the defensive look on his face replaced with resignation.

“I have a confession to make,” he takes a deep breath as if he was about to drop a bomb on Robbe. “Horror movies terrify me.”

Robbe blinks at him in confusion. “But you were the one who chose this one for us to watch.”

“I thought I got over it. I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

It’s not that funny. Really, it isn’t. But there’s something about the face Sander is making that pulls an involuntary giggle out of him.

His boyfriend’s not very happy about that.

“Shut up, you weren’t supposed to laugh!” he whines at him, accusation in his voice, and his cheeks couldn’t be redder if they tried, Robbe notices as Sander hides them in his hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“I’m sorry!” he pauses the movie and turns fully to him. “I’m not laughing at you, I swear. It’s actually kinda adorable,” Robbe adds in a soothing tone, trying to remedy the situation, but Sander’s not very happy about that particular comparison.

“Great, now I’m adorable, that’s so much better,” he mutters grumpily, and then he ostensibly leans away from the kiss Robbe’s about to place on his cheek in order to pacify him.

“Seriously?”

His question is met with silence as Sander keeps being stubborn, still offended.

“Play the stupid movie.”

“Are you su-”

“Yes!”

Robbe has to bite his lip to keep from laughing again, knowing it wouldn’t be well received. He’s not exactly worried about Sander being mad at him right now because he’s well aware of having a couple of tricks up his sleeve to smooth his ruffled feathers. For now, he resorts to pressing “play” and trying not to coo at Sander’s pouty face.

The movie only gets scarier and more twisted since then onwards. For Robbe, it’s top entertainment, but when he glances surreptitiously at Sander’s face it’s ghost-white, and something tells him it’s not only because of the light from the screen. And it’s not like Robbe actually enjoys seeing his boyfriend suffer.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly, hand reaching to rub his thigh in what he hopes is a comforting touch.

“Yes, I’m okay, thank you. Just please, stop talking to me.”

Okay, still mad then.

Robbe keeps his hand where he put it and counts it as a win when Sander doesn’t swat it away.

They get to hour and 40 minutes, an hour of the movie still ahead of them when Sander reaches his breaking point.

“Fuck, I don’t care anymore, call me a wuss or whatever, but please turn it off, I’m done,” he groans, a pained expression on his face as he brings his legs in and hugs his knees, looking like a little boy and breaking Robbe’s heart a little.

He shuts the computer right away, his bedroom swamped in darkness as a result, only the moonlight creeping in through the big window making it possible for him to see Sander’s pale face. He gathers him into his arms, grateful he’s not putting up a fight and instead eagerly letting Robbe hold him.

“Do you honestly think I’m gonna call you a wuss? Especially in not, like, a teasing way?”

The shrug he gets as a response is miniscule, but it’s there.

He sighs, nosing along Sander’s hairline and pressing a kiss to his forehead which makes Sander cuddle even more into him. Robbe takes that as a sign of forgiveness for his previous unfortunate laughter.

"I kinda know you wouldn't, but... I want you to think I'm, you know, cool and stuff," comes a small voice from under Robbe's jaw.

Awwww.

"But I will always think you're cool and stuff."

"Yeah?" Sander blinks at him with his insecure eyes.

"Yeah."

He places his head back in the nook of Robbe's neck, nuzzling in like a cat.

"Okay."

"Okay."

They're silent for a few seconds before Robbe speaks again.

"Can I kiss you now?"

"Yes, I'll allow it."

Robbe snorts, fingers tangling in the brown strands as he angles Sander's head for a proper kiss and once he's done with him, his cheeks look much more human-like, blood flowing back to his face.

"Wanna watch stupid TikTok videos for a change?"

Sander nods against his chest, a smile on his lips now.

His arm tightens around Robbe's waist as he says, "I hope you're aware I'm sleeping here tonight cause there's no way in hell I'm gonna be alone in bed after this shit."

[kingreywrites]

There Beside You

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2912

Eugene Appreciation Week Day Three: Home

Summary: Eugene gets sick and needs to rest. His friends and family check up on him, because what's a home if not people taking care of you when you need it?

Note: this is... an extremely self-indulgent sickfic asfhdghj hope you enjoy!!

Read on ao3

At first, Eugene had blamed his headache on the amount of paperwork he had to go through that day. Being Captain was something he loved, but it did involve filling a lot more forms than he had expected, and sometimes he grew tired of looking at papers all day. 

Except that his headache came as soon as he woke up. And with that, the constant shivering, despite having closed the window in his office. Ah, and he was also bone-tired, for some reason. In all honesty, he had an inkling that whatever that was, it was not paperwork induced, but Eugene was trying to power through, hoping that this was simply an off day. 

He did not remember laying his head on his desk, or closing his eyes. 

"-don't know Pete, this isn't like him," Eugene heard, somewhat distantly. He felt cold all over. His cheek was smushed on what felt like paper, and he hoped that he hadn't wrinkled whatever it was too much. Or worse, drooled on it. God, was he drooling? No, no, his mouth was shut, and felt drier than a desert too. Why was he- 

"Eugene?" Stan whispered, way closer than before. Eugene felt a hand on his shoulder and startled. 

In his mind, he was going to straighten up quickly, but in reality, he blinked sluggishly, tried to raise his head, realised that he felt way too nauseous for that and buried it in his hands. Yay. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I was just... uh..." 

"Sleeping on the job?" Pete offered helpfully. "Which is totally okay!" he hastily added. "It can stay between us!" Eugene groaned from behind his hands.

There was no way the entire castle wouldn't be aware of his untimely nap now. He gave it twenty minutes, tops.

"You okay Eugene?" Stan asked. "You really look, uh… tired."

"Didn't sleep well," he muttered. That was partly a lie, because he did sleep all night without a hitch, he simply woke up without feeling rested at all. Sighing, he finally raised his head fully, a dull ache at the base of his neck making itself known. The room was way brighter than he remembered it being.

"You sure? Because-"

"Yes Stan, thank you, I just-"

Eugene tried to get up while he was talking, so he could avoid falling back asleep on his desk. However, he understood very quickly that this was a bad idea - it was as if his entire body became too warm at once, and then he was looking at the ground, Stan's arms around him and keeping him from actually falling on his face.

Huh.

Pete's shrill voice was echoing loudly in his ears, as was Stan's panicked exclamation that he had a fever, and just like that, Eugene knew the next few hours (days?) were going to be a pain.

------

Eugene didn't have to open his eyes again to feel the curious and intense gaze that laid on him. 

"Varian," he muttered, voice not as strong as he had hoped, "I told you I'm fine." 

He opened one eye just in time to see his friend pout from behind his goggles, quickly hiding the contraptions he was apparently trying to put on Eugene when he saw the older man looking at him.

"What's that?" Eugene asked suspiciously. 

"Wha- Nothing!" Varian waved his hands in the air, immediately betrayed by the sound of something crashing on the ground behind him. He grinned awkwardly. "Nothing at all, yep." 

"Liar!" Kiera exclaimed from the other side of the room, dashing to pick the thing up before Varian could even protest. 

Eugene groaned as they started to chase each other, slowly stretching his legs and feeling how much he still wanted to go back to the sorta sleep thing he was doing before that. After the initial freakout of what felt like everyone in the castle, Eugene had managed to convince them that he just needed some rest, which was what he was doing. Or trying to do. He had hoped that lying down on the couch of his own bedroom (because he didn't feel like going to bed so early) would be enough to feel better, but that was without counting the guests that had invited themselves today. He didn't even know when the girls arrived.

A louder noise erupted, and he opened his eyes again to see Catalina dangling Varian and Kiera above the ground. In wolf form, of course. Eugene's head hurt too much for him to try to intervene and, at that point, he would give her an alibi if she needed one, as long as he got some quiet. 

"How's my man feeling!" Lance exclaimed loudly as he opened the doors with a bang. Eugene cringed, trying to hide further under his duvet. 

"Inside voice, Dad," Kiera mockingly reminded him, as if she hadn't been fighting with Varian a second before. 

"Ah yes sorry, what-" Lance paused, probably seeing for the first time the position the kids were in. A dull thud also told Eugene Catalina probably released the others at this exact moment. "You know what, I'm not even going to ask. Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, Eugene!" 

Eugene wanted to be forgotten right now. He felt miserable, probably looked miserable too, and absolutely hated the fact that he was. Lance, who knew him better than most people, also knew exactly the stuff that bothered him, and commented that his hair was a mess, gathering a hateful glare for this. 

"There he is," he announced smugly. 

"Fuck you," Eugene muttered in answer. 

"Love you too, G-bug." 

Lance was very lucky Eugene didn't feel like doing anything, because if he had been only a fraction better, he would have strangled him. He huffed when he felt his friend put his hand on his forehead, a shiver running through him. 

"Oh yeah Stan was not kidding about that fever." 

Given that Eugene felt like death warmed over, he could only guess what the others were feeling when they touched him. 

"Ahem," Varian coughed from where he was still sitting. The kid got up, snatching his invention back from Kiera's hands. "You know, measuring someone's temperature with only skin contact isn't a very reliable method to get an accurate reading. Which is why I made- This!" he exclaimed, brandishing the contraption high in the air. 

"Isn't it the stuff you use to make sure your boilers aren't about to explode?" Kiera asked drily. 

"I repurposed it for human use! I just... never tried it, but it's very easy, you place it under your tongue and-" 

"I'm not putting that in my mouth kid," Eugene interrupted. 

"It's perfectly safe!" 

"I trust you, I'm still not putting it in my mouth." 

Varian grimaced, obviously searching for a convincing argument. "What if I try it so you can see it's safe?" 

"I'm- I'm really not putting something you put in your mouth in mine." Catalina made a fake gagging sound to support his point, which was appreciated, and finally, Varian accepted that the debut of his invention wasn't for today. 

Which was the moment Lance chose to help Eugene straighten up so he could drink. Eugene really didn't want to but his best friend insisted and so here he was, sitting with his head swimming, slowly sipping from a glass of water as Lance chattered in his ear. The kids were arguing about something else now, though Eugene couldn't have told you what, and even if he had wished for quiet, he had to admit this was nice too. He really didn't feel well, but it was better with people at his side. 

"What are you guys even doing here?" he mumbled after a while. He had slipped a little on the couch and was now resting on Lance, who had his arm around his shoulder. "Varian was working here today but... You and the girls?" 

"Oh you know, I was coming to visit my favourite people and it so happened to be the day when- okay, okay," Lance corrected when Eugene raised his eyebrows at him, knowing his lying voice far too well. "Rapunzel asked us if we could keep an eye on you while she's working." 

"I don't need a babysitter." 

"I'd take you more seriously if you weren't also cuddling me." 

"Shut up." 

Lance laughed and Eugene smiled, not really that upset. He had known Rapunzel was worried, and he had had a lot of trouble convincing her she didn't need to put the entire kingdom on pause so she could stay with him. Being sick sucked, but he wasn't dying, he simply needed some rest. But… He had to admit that having some company was nice.

The sound of bickering, Lance's voice telling him stories, all of that was familiar and comfortable in a way that made it easier for Eugene to doze off against Lance. He was somewhat aware of shivering still, and of the brush of fingers against his skin. He could hear murmurs around him, too. 

He mumbled something when he felt himself move, but just as quickly, he was on his bed. It didn't take much more for him to completely fall asleep.

------

He thought he woke up once or twice to the sight of Pascal looking at him, but that could have also been a dream. Eugene wasn't sure. What he knew is that he kept oscillating between being way way too cold and way way too hot, which made for a frankly terrible sleep. Right now, he was on the hot side of things, and despite trying to kick his covers off, he could feel them still sticking to him. 

Something cold and wet touched his forehead, and Eugene opened his eyes with a start, surprising... 

"Your Majesty?" 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Arianna smiled, a wet cloth in her hand. From her shoulder, Eugene could see that Pascal was peering down at him too, a worried frown on his face. 

Eugene blinked several times. 

"What are you- I mean- What?" That made Arianna pause and he worried for a second that he was being rude, but she laughed instead, looking amused. "Sorry I just- did Rapunzel ask you to do this? Because you really don't have to." 

"As a matter of fact, no she didn't. Lance did." 

"Lance did," Eugene echoed, voice strangled. Lance asked his future mother-in-law to babysit him while he was sick. To be fair, Lance and Arianna had struck an... interesting friendship over the years, but Eugene was still easily flustered around her, and really wished she didn't have to see him like... this. 

"But it's really no trouble," Arianna added, after a beat. "I'm keeping you company, while Pascal here is keeping me company. We... Everyone is worried about you, Eugene." 

Pascal squeaked in affirmation, while Eugene just let out the faintest oh. He still kind of wanted to bury himself under his pillows. He really didn't want Arianna to see him in this state, even though it was too late for that. 

"Your fever has climbed a lot this afternoon," Arianna explained, settling back on the chair she had installed next to his bed, "but it hasn't worsened in the last half-hour, so, hopefully that's a good sign." 

Eugene hummed quietly, unsure of how to proceed. Pascal had abandoned his worry for his "You're being ridiculous" look, which Eugene felt was a bit unfair since he was sick and completely unprepared for this situation. Between his own awkwardness, Arianna's memory issues, the attack on Corona and its repercussions, they never really had a chance to become... friends? Maybe? 

Though, of all the occasions to do so, being sick and feeling too weak to even sit up wasn't the one he would have picked. 

"If you want..." Arianna trailed off, before picking up a book that he hadn't noticed was next to her. "I was reading this, with Pascal. Maybe I could..." 

"Oh, uh," Eugene hesitated. He noticed for the first time that she seemed just as awkward as he was, and he wondered if she was thinking the same thing he did - that they never truly had the time to really get to know each other beyond their shared love for Rapunzel. "I- Yes, I'd like that, if that's okay," he finally answered. 

Arianna smiled, and slowly, she started reading. She didn't sound very used to telling stories aloud, but she was trying, and Eugene appreciated the gesture more than she could imagine. 

His only regret was falling asleep before he could hear the ending.

------

Eugene woke up to the soft touch of a hand on his forehead, mattress dipping a little as a new weight settled next to him. He didn't even have to open his eyes to know who it was, didn't even have to think about it for a tired smile to make its way on his face. 

"Hey you," Rapunzel murmured when he slowly blinked his eyes open. Her hand was still on him, gently stroking his hair, and she was lying on the bed on his right. "How are you feeling?" 

"Better now," he whispered, voice hoarse. "Can't feel too bad when you're here with me." 

That made her chuckle, and he grinned. He wasn't even lying - he felt a little better than he did earlier, and had stopped shivering all the time. Right now, he was warm and comfortable, if a bit exhausted still. 

"You'd flirt with me even if you were at death's door," Rapunzel said, more gentle than she had intended, happy wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. 

"Hmm, I think experience has proved that I would come back from the dead to flirt with you." 

Her eyes widened, before she burst out laughing, quickly lowering her own voice despite the giggles, mindful of his headache. He seldom made jokes about his own death to Rapunzel, the subject being a little touchy and all that, but when he did, they always landed. 

"Let's not test that theory further," she snorted. 

"Agreed," he sighed, before they lapsed into a comfortable silence again. 

Despite the dimming light, he could see the love shining in her eyes, wild hair sticking up around her face after a long day of fiddling with it. He had seen her do it so often that he could imagine it clearly, the way she would run her fingers through her hair, eyes narrowed in concentration - or how she would simply shake her head to get stray strands out of her vision. It was the cutest thing to witness, in Eugene's absolutely unbiased opinion. 

Rapunzel booped his nose, breaking him out of his reverie. 

"I'm gonna ask you to stop looking so cute when I can't kiss you," she joked. 

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing," Eugene smiled. "I've always hated being sick, but this is, by far, the worst thing about it." 

And it wasn't... It wasn't that much of an exaggeration. Before meeting Rapunzel, he had hated being sick because that nearly always meant he spent the day alone and miserable, with, if he was lucky, someone coming to check on him once or twice. When he lived on the streets as a thief, sicknesses were also often synonymous with death - if not because of the illness in itself, but because someone took advantage of it to take revenge on you. Thankfully, Eugene hadn't fallen sick often, but he had always dreaded the possibility of it. 

But now... He thought about the day he spent, being constantly checked on by the people he loved. He thought about the warm hands on his forehead, the voices trying to stay quiet for his sake, the worry and the love all directed at him. He thought about having a family he could count on, a home in all meanings of the word, and... And now, the worst thing about being sick, was the danger of passing it to someone he loved, even though he knew that if it happened, he would be there for them the same way they had been for him. 

No matter how many years had passed, it still surprised him, sometimes, to realise how much his life had changed for the better. 

"Come here," Rapunzel muttered, before sneaking her arms closer to him and bringing him into a tight hug. "Not a kiss," she whispered next to his ear, "but still good." 

He chuckled, melting into her embrace, finding comfort in the way he could feel her breathe against him. 

"I'm pretty sure I could still get you sick that way," he mumbled, resting his head on the cool skin of her shoulder, "but yeah, this is good. I missed you today." 

"I missed you too. You're not allowed to be sick when I have work." 

"I'll reschedule next time," he laughed. 

Slowly, he could feel his fatigue come back, his eyelids heavier with every blink. He didn't want to sleep right now - not when he was finally feeling a little better, and Rapunzel was here - but his hold on her kept getting slacker, and he knew he wouldn't stay awake for much longer. 

"I love you," Rapunzel whispered, kissing his hair gently. 

"Love you too, Sunshine," he answered. Or tried to. He wasn't too sure that anything he said was understandable, but she was still holding him close, and he knew she got it. At worst, he could say it again tomorrow, and every day of his life too.

[kakakakashi]

Hokage’s Office: The Door

100 Follower Celebration - Day 5

Kakashi Hatake x Reader || NSFW

Warnings: porn without plot, Kakashi’s a smug motherfucker, cursing obviously, overstimulation, idk man, you know what you’re getting into by day 5 

Word count: 2,855

A/N: I think this one is my favorite tbh. 

- 

Irritated was an understatement for how Kakashi currently felt. He’d been dealing with too many frivolous problems all day long. Even with Shizune and Yamato’s help, Kakashi was still up to his neck in bullshit. He was the Hokage for crying out loud.

When he trudged back into his office with a cup of black coffee to help get him through the day, he found you swaying back and forth in his chair with your feet propped on the edge of the desk while you read his work copy of Icha Icha Paradise. Frankly, Kakashi didn’t have the patience for this.

You’d made him late this morning after trying to entice him with morning sex, but Yamato had ended up knocking on his door right when things were getting good. His friend insisted that they were both needed in the office, and he was sent to make sure Kakashi was okay. Kakashi ended up going into work only for you to pester him all day until now.

“Feet off the desk,” he demanded in an exasperated, low tone. You rolled your eyes at him, pretending like you didn’t hear while you flipped a page in the book. “Don’t think I didn’t see you roll your eyes.”

“Fine,” you huffed, allowing your feet to loudly plop on the floor, hoping to get your point across that a lot worse things have happened to the desk. However, Kakashi seemed to snap at your brattiness, stalking forward until his large frame towered over you.

“I’ve had it with your attitude.” Your wide eyes met his narrowed one for a moment before he threw you over his shoulder and carried you towards the door. “You think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing? I don’t have time for your immature little act. I really don’t want to give into you, but maybe if I do fuck you, you’ll finally do something more productive with your time.”

He flung you from his shoulder so your back lightly smacked against the door. He knew exactly where to position you so that when he put you down, you were only an inch off the ground with his thigh between your legs and his hands beside your head.

His flaming eye and intimidating stature had you panting, allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable with no way to escape. Gazing at him, you’re reminded that he is a deadly shinobi, and you’re also painfully aware that you want him to ruin you.

“By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be lucky if you can walk out of here.”

His voice sent a shiver of arousal down your spine, settling in your lower stomach while his fingers fiddled with your pants until they were undone. Once they were about to fall off your hips, he knelt down on the floor, not breaking eye contact with you until his gloved hands fisted in the fabric of your pants to tug them off along with your underwear. He maneuvered one of your feet out of the fabric before hooking it over his shoulder, effectively spreading your legs for him. Meanwhile, his free hand already had a finger hooked in the edge of his mask.

Watching him in this position had your pulse racing. The sin behind his eyes had you weak at the knees, and he knew he had you right where he wanted you. If his eyes didn’t say it, the smug smirk he exposed when he pulled his mask down sure did. He mumbled, “You know the word.”

“Yes.”

His gaze darted down from your eyes to between your legs where you knew you were already wet. The air felt far too cold hitting your folds, and you knew Kakashi would taunt you for being so eager. As if reading your mind, you heard the chuckle he let out under his breath. Your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, your palms flat against the door balling into fists out of frustration. However, you nearly lost your balance when Kakashi’s tongue unexpectedly darted out to give a gentle lick to your folds.

The gasp that tore from your mouth had him laughing to himself again, his huffed breath fanning against your slick core, prompting another shiver throughout your body. Kakashi’s gloved palms gently took hold of your thigh over his shoulder along with your other hip before he buried his face between your legs and pressed his tongue to your clit, circling the small bud to give you the friction you desperately craved.

A soft, breathy whine escaped your throat while one of your hands gently threaded your fingers through his hair in encouragement. He retreated for only a moment, licking a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit, where he flicked at it with the tip of his tongue only to wrap his lips around it and suck. Your back arched into the contact, head flung back, and you could feel Kakashi’s smirk against your pussy. His tongue began drawing patterns, making your breath hitch in your throat with each stroke of his tongue. You did your best to stay still against the door, well aware of why Kakashi wanted you in that exact spot.

He kept working you so well with his tongue, alternating from his incoherent patterns in favor of dragging his mouth down to your entrance where his tongue circled you before dipping inside. You glanced at Kakashi only to find him completely concentrated, filthily pumping his tongue inside you while pleasure gradually accumulated in your body. The sight of him, eyes closed and swollen lips lapping at you like you were his last meal had you biting your lip to keep from moaning, but Kakashi knew what you had done.

He retracted his tongue and licked his slick, swollen lips before his eyes met yours. He demanded in a rough voice, “Let me hear you.”

“Kakashi, someone’s going to hear.” You panted out, trying your best to hiss at him, but your words only came out more desperate than anything.

Kakashi’s lips were on your inner thigh now, his teeth nipping on the skin hard enough to leave a mark. The sensation had your hips involuntarily bucking in search of friction, and Kakashi’s lips tugged upward. “Darling,” he mumbled with his lips still brushing against the tender flesh so close to where you needed him, “we both know you love the thought of someone hearing us as much as I do, so don’t play so coy.”

Your head rolled back again while you whined out wantonly, your brows furrowed in frustration. Of course the little shit knew what he was doing when he put you against the door. He wanted people to hear you, how much you wanted him. It never ceased to amaze him how such a powerful person who was feared by nations would turn to putty in his hands, begging for him so desperately it would make Jiraya blush.

“Go, on. Let everyone hear those pretty little sounds you make for me.” His mouth found its way to your clit again, puckering his lips around it and sucking hard. The shock of the sensation had you drawing in a loud gasp, and Kakashi’s words rumbled against your heat, “Attagirl.”

That drew a soft moan out of you, and it only continued to motivate him to get more out of you. He began using his tongue again, tilting his head to cover more area while your grip on his hair tightened a bit. Your hips loosened up with each roll of his tongue against you until he did something that made them stutter unexpectedly. He repeated his previous action, and a sound caught in your throat. He continued that motion, alternating between it and sucking on your clit just how you liked it, even going so far as to scrape his teeth against the bud a few times just to get you to cry out in shock.

The cloudier your mind got, the louder your soft sounds of pleasure became, and the louder you were, the more Kakashi gave you. When you began to feel that all-consuming flame in your gut, you started moving your hips in time with Kakashi’s mouth, causing his fingers to dig into your flesh in encouragement.

He sucked on your clit at one particular angle, and a particularly loud moan came tumbling from your lips. It made Kakashi’s mouth vibrate with a grunt against your cunt, and you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t keep your noises to yourself while you began guiding his head by his hair. It only made him moan more. After all, Kakashi loved it when you pulled his hair. With newfound motivation, he was eager to please, driving you closer to the edge with each lap.

“Fuck, you’re too good at this,” you moan out, “Kakashi!”

His hand on your hip slipped down your leg, encouraging you to spread your legs a little wider, and you obliged, trusting him to not let you fall. The new angle had you hurtling towards your orgasm more, that fire in your gut spreading to your entire body, concentrated mostly where Kakashi sucked at you.

You could feel yourself climbing closer to that peak, your body beginning to lose control with each passing moment. Kakashi was obviously aware with the way your pussy quivered around nothing, and just when you were about to cum, he retreated.

You were about to yank his hair to get him back in place, but you knew he’d leave you like this if you did anything like that after everything you’d done before now.

“Did I say you could cum?” He looks like he’s about to scold you with the way his brow is cocked, and you quietly sob out in response.

“No,” you confess, “I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll be good. Just, don’t stop. Please.”

He licks his lips while he admires the wreck he’s made of you. Internally, Kakashi debated if he should humor you or if he should wait until you calmed down so he could really drag it out. You had been waiting for this since you woke up, so he decided to oblige you, but not without warning you, “Very well, but you don’t get to cum until I say you do or else.”

“Yes,” you nodded, “yes, I understand.”

Thankfully, Kakashi dove back in between your legs and started working you up again. You were throbbing against him while he worked your body like only he could. Your nails dug into your palms, releasing his hair in fear that you’d hold him against you until you came.

Kakashi resumed his pace, but he started developing a new pattern. He was well aware that you’d come sooner than he wanted if he continued with the previous one. However, the more he worked you, the more you couldn’t bear it. The fire in you burned your skin so beautifully, it practically consumed you while you moaned his name. And without even realizing, the cord deep inside you snapped, your legs shaking while you released all over Kakashi’s face while his lips assaulted your abused clit. You cried out softly while your hips bucked against his face. You didn’t notice the disapproving glare on his face while he continued to suck, working you through your orgasm.

However, once you came down, Kakashi tossed your leg to the floor and stood up, licking his lips before wiping his mouth on his glove.

“Did I say you could cum?” he repeated his earlier question, this time much more taken aback than before. You deliberately disobeyed him, and he was not happy.

With wide eyes, you realized your mistake. “No,” you softly yelped, “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to. It just snuck up on me.”

Kakashi took the opportunity to loosen his own pants before he caged you in against the door between his arms. His eyes bore into yours when he replied. “No, I didn’t. Did you really need it so badly that you couldn’t even wait for me to give you permission?” He paused. “Fine, you want to cum. You’re gonna cum again and again until I tell you to stop. We’re not finished here just because you came.”

His eyes never left yours while he freed his dripping erection from his slack pants before he wedged a knee between your legs and spread them apart. Taking one of them, he hooked it around his hips while he ground his member against your soaked folds. You mewled at the contact, grinding your hips in time with his while he covered himself in your arousal before he lined up with your entrance, catching inside you before his free palm grabbed at your other thigh, encouraging you to wrap them around his hips. You obliged, and he used the momentum to thrust into you with one hard thrust, trapping your body between his and the door.

You cried out at the sensation of Kakashi stretching your walls almost too much. His hips began slamming into yours mercilessly, not even giving you time to adjust while he set his own pace. The door behind you was thumping with every thrust of his hips into yours, sheathing himself so deep inside you, you thought he might split you in half. Each drag of his cock inside you had you getting louder until you were screaming his name in pleasure. You were still throbbing uncontrollably from your previous orgasm, and Kakashi was giving you too much. In his grip, you couldn’t even squirm much, his grip on your hips holding you right where he wanted you, and all you could do was grip onto his broad shoulders.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room while Kakashi filled you to the hilt over and over until tears prickled at your eyes. “Please!” you begged him through a strangled cry, “Kakashi, it’s too much.”

He grunted in your ear, not even bothering to slow the merciless piston of his hips into yours. “You’re gonna be a good girl and take what I give you, and you’re gonna thank me for it because you were begging for it earlier.”

You moaned so loud your throat cracked. There was no way of knowing if you cried for him to stop or to continue when you replied, “Please!”

His hips crashed against yours, grinding against your clit beautifully with the position, Kakashi’s thick cock rubbing you just the right way while he ripped you apart. When you practically jerked in pleasure, Kakashi knew he’d found that spot inside you, angling you perfectly so his erratic thrusts hit that spot every time.

He was fucking you like an animal up against the door. It was obvious to anyone who passed by exactly what was going on behind closed doors, but you couldn’t find it in you to care when your body lost control, winding tighter and tighter the more Kakashi pleasured you.

“Look at you,” he groaned, biting at the flesh of your neck, “I bet everyone in the building knows what I’m doing to you right now. They probably think you’re a dirty little girl for fucking me in my office in the middle of the day, but I bet you like that.”

You screamed. You were so close you could taste your next orgasm. With Kakashi pounding into you mercilessly, his balls slapping against your ass with every frantic thrust, you were already clamping down on his shaft inside you. He was close too, though, his hips bucking at a less steady pace each time. You could feel his member twitch inside you with a particularly good thrust, and you knew the second that knot in you snapped, he would follow.

“Yes. That’s it. Cum on my cock,” Kakashi practically growled in your ear, and that was all it took for you to break, every nerve in your body unraveling with a snap. You clung to him while your body shook, mind going into a blissful haze.

Kakashi’s hips stuttered for a final time before he was following you, emptying his load inside you with a series of grunts and curses while both of you twitched until you came down from your intense highs.

When you finally had some sense back, you unhooked your legs from Kakashi, placing them shakily on the floor while simultaneously slipping his softening length out of you. You tried to stand, but you almost fell, barely catching yourself on the door handle before you could tumble to the floor. Thankfully, Kakashi also reached out to help steady you. Although he appeared to be just as shaky as you were.

It took a minute for you to regain your bearings. Your entire lower body felt like it might give out at any moment, and all you could do was lean against the door with Kakashi while the sticky mix of cum dripped down your legs. It didn’t bother you in the slightest, though. Kakashi and you were happy to simply gaze at each other, trying to steady your breaths between soft, loving kisses.

[pressedinthepages]

Adrenaline

YOU GUYS. I just hit 400 followers here on the tumble machine. I cannot thank you guys enough for your love and support and allowing me to explore this side of my creativity with you <3 To celebrate, I asked some of my friends in @continentcakeshop to give me pairings to go with a short list of prompts. So over the next little while, I will be posting 6 fics to fill those prompts!

For Prompt #4, we have “Keep quiet or someone'll hear“ for @major-trouble <33

Relationship: Lambert/Jaskier

Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: smut, public sex, voyeurism, oral

Summary: Lambert does his best to escape a party, and finds himself on a balcony with the bard who brought him there in the first place.

Lambert narrowed his eyes at the twinkling stars above, attempting to will away the sounds of the party just around the corner of shrubbery with sheer mental force. He’d escaped the overwhelming sights and sounds quick enough, traversing through twisting hallways and up spiraling staircases, only to wind up at a balcony barely a floor above and no more than fifty paces away from the seemingly never-ending celebration.

He wasn’t even sure why he was there in the first place. Sure, he’d slain the basilisk that had been prowling the countryside for a fortnight, but he didn’t belong at an event like this. He should’ve just taken his coin and left, just like any other contract.

But no.

Of course, Geralt’s fucking bard found him in the tavern, and of course he was the one to inform Lambert of the contract on the damned overgrown lizard in the first place. Now, Lambert knew what a softie Geralt was with his bard. He’d let him tag along on contracts with merely the bat of some pretty eyelashes and a peek of fuzzy chest hair. But that was where Lambert drew the line. He’d told those stunning blue eyes that he didn’t need to be worrying about his tight little ass while also trying to avoid spitfire. He promised a good story in return for the bard’s songs, but that was all.

And then, when he’d come back, Jaskier had already roped the whole damned court into throwing a ball in celebration of his ‘victory over the beast’ and insisted that he join them, ‘just for a bit.’

And damn, did Lambert understand Geralt when he looked into those pleading eyes.

One thing led to another and there he was, alone beneath a clear starry sky with his ears ringing from the countless voices not nearly far enough away and his mind rattled trying to figure out a mental map of the castle to find a better hiding spot.

Before he could get terribly far though, a somewhat familiar set of footsteps pattered up the stairs in his direction, soft and frantic, well used to a Witcher’s ears listening for them. Lambert needn't turn to find Jaskier behind him, he could practically feel the rainwater blue eyes boring into the back of his neck.

“What, bard?”

“Chose a hell of a hiding spot,” Jaskier spoke quietly, his voice like honey atop warm bread, seeping into the cracks and crevices of Lambert’s mind. “What’s on your mind?”

“Not that it matters,” Lambert groused, clenching his jaw, “but it’s fuckin’ loud. ‘S too many people, too close together. Didn’t wanna come anyways.”

“Then why did you?”

Lambert looked over his shoulder, his heart stuttering a beat at the sight of Jaskier bathed in the light of the moon, adrenaline flushed and unkempt from an evening of performing. He’d lost his doublet before the sun had even set, and his chemise was untied and barely still tucked into his trousers. He looked like every wet dream that had been plaguing Lambert since he discovered just what a cock felt like in his ass, and he had this soft look in his eyes that drew Lambert to pause.

He cleared his throat. “Because you asked.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathed with a smirk, glancing down and back up where Lambert leaned against the balcony railing. “In that case, might I suggest a...change of events for the evening?”

Lambert narrowed his eyes and swallowed thickly, his eyes drawn to the warm thrum of Jaskier’s pulse in his neck as he sauntered to the edge of the balcony. “Just what did you have in mind?”

Jaskier slowly reached out and, finding no ill-will or hesitation in Lambert’s eyes, dragged his finger up the edge of Lambert’s arm over his soft undershirt. “I’m sure we can think of something…”

Lambert smirked and glanced off towards the party before nodding. “Yeah, alright. I can see where you’re going with this one. Know where any beds are in this maze of a castle?”

“Oh, no no no. You’re far too pretty under the stars for me to let this go to waste here,” Jaskier set his hands on the balcony around Lambert’s waist, pinning him with a wolfish glint in his eyes. “I think I’ll have you just like this.”

“You’re on, Pretty Boy,” Lambert chuckled and leaned in, capturing Jaskier’s lips in a kiss that burned with fire behind his teeth and the soft echoes of whispers on his tongue. Jaskier tasted of rich pastry and the spice of mulled cider and Lambert lifted his arms to cup his hands around the back of his neck. He could feel that fluttering pulse beneath his fingers and he couldn’t quite help the moan that tore itself from the back of his throat.

But faster than his mind could register, Jaskier parted their lips and shoved a hand between them, covering Lambert’s mouth with his fingers. “Keep quiet or someone will hear,” he hissed, his cheeks flushed around the smirk on his lips.

Lambert narrowed his eyes once more, putting as much venom and disdain into his eyes as he could. Jaskier’s hand over his mouth was...well. His fingers were long and dextrous, and his skin was warm and soft, his fingertips haunted by callouses born from his art. He smelled of lanolin and chamomile and cherry blossoms and Lambert felt the hint of the threat of his knees buckling beneath him.

He nipped carefully at the soft flesh of Jaskier’s palm, all too aware of his just-too-sharp teeth. Jaskier gasped and shook his hand away, shooting a fiery glance at him before the Witcher tugged him back by the waist. “Then make me, bard.”

A devilish look shadowed itself in Jaskier’s eyes and he spun them around, leaning back on the bannister with Lambert overlooking the sprawling gardens and the lights of the party just around the bend. “Go on, get down,” Jaskier whispered into Lambert’s lips, “let’s put that mouth of yours to good use.”

Lambert smirked and dropped to his knees after a cursory glance behind him. He dragged his hands over the supple silk of Jaskier’s trousers and carefully squeezed the muscular thighs that were so wonderfully encased within. “You’re sure about this, Jaskier?”

The bard smiled down at him, that same soft look bleeding through the sass and smirk of the performative practice. “Truly, yes. And you?”

Lambert nodded and started undoing the buttons to Jaskier’s trousers, flitting them apart one by one until his cock hung half-hard into the night air. Well, fuck, Lambert thought to himself as he took in the dark curls that sat nestled around the base of Jaskier’s ruddy flushed cock, he’s even pretty here.

One of Jaskier’s hands balled itself into a fist and rose to his lips, stifling a gasping moan as his other hand tangled into Lambert’s hair as the Witcher wrapped his lips around Jaskier’s cock and began lightly sucking at the sensitive skin. Lambert felt him swell and pulse on his tongue and he hollowed his cheeks, slowly taking more and more of Jaskier’s cock into his mouth. He tasted the salty musk of his arousal dripping onto his tongue and Lambert felt his own cock take interest and start to harden in his trousers.

“Gods above, Lambert,” Jaskier whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear where he knelt between his thighs. Lambert closed his eyes and allowed himself to immerse himself in Jaskier. The feeling of his blood pounding beneath his hands, the velvety hardness resting in his mouth. The scent of his arousal and sweat from a night of performing, mingling with the subtle peaceful aroma that surrounded the bard. The sound of his heart fluttering, his breath hitching in his throat. The fucking taste of his slick on his tongue, the sight of his flushed cheeks and freckled chest beneath the stars.

It was enough to distract him, even to make him feel as though he were hours away, alone in a campsite with Jaskier backed up against a tree. But there was still adrenaline coursing through his veins as the party roared beneath them, and Lambert couldn’t help but imagine the flashes of what may happen if they were found in such a compromising position.

His arousal flexed and hardened as he finally took Jaskier to the base, his nose nestled in the coarse hairs and the head of his cock tickling the back of his throat. He breathed in through his nose, willing himself not to gag on the poor bard, though he’d probably enjoy that, his ego’s large enough for the both of us.

Lambert slurped and licked back up slowly, circling the tip of Jaskier’s length with a cheeky glance up, feeling Jaskier’s thighs trembling under his fingers. He bobbed his head back and forth, never looking away from those bright blue eyes that kept so many, now including Lambert, entranced. He flexed his tongue around the underside of his cock as he rose back to the tip, toying with the sensitive patch of skin and listening to the frankly delicious groans that were only just audible over the din of the party.

He chuckled and pulled back enough to catch his breath for a moment, “I thought we were supposed to be quiet, bard.”

Jaskier dropped his head back with a hearty laugh, born from deep in the chest and with enough joy to even bring a soft smile to Lambert’s cheeks. “You have me on that, Lambert. Alright, alright. Yes, fine, I take it back. Please, just-”

“Ah, my favorite word,” Lambert shook his shoulders out and shuffled his knees into a more comfortable spot, “please...”

Lambert wasted no time in swallowing him back down, setting a brutal pace that had Jaskier’s knees fully buckling into him, letting his arms hold him up around the backs of his legs. Jaskier gasped and moaned and cursed, throwing his head back unabashedly and clenching his thighs around Lambert’s head.

Lambert could feel the bard’s rapidly approaching climax with every stuttered shift of his hips and drip of slick onto his tongue. He hummed around Jaskier’s cock and felt him flex deep in his throat, pulling a cough out of his chest as he readjusted. Close, so godsdamned close.

“L-Lambert, please...please just-fuck,” Jaskier spat through gritted teeth, his blunt nails scratching along Lambert’s scalp, “‘m gonna-where should I-”

Lambert hummed and kept himself steady, taking Jaskier as deep as he could and swallowing around him, encouraging the orgasm that was so quickly looming. Jaskier gasped and gave several aborted thrusts of his hips up into Lambert’s mouth, barely enough to push him any deeper before he finally spilled into him.

Jaskier was hot and musky, deliciously thick as Lambert’s throat worked to swallow every last drop of his spend. His fingers dug into Jaskier’s thighs, his lips relaxing and slowing to ease Jaskier through the encompassing bliss of his orgasm. Lambert finally felt Jaskier’s fingers soften their grip in his hair and he pulled himself back, swallowing the last remnants of his climax with a cheeky wipe from the back of his hand.

“Right then,” Lambert stood and bracketed his arms on either side of Jaskier’s waist, grinding his still-hard cock into the crook of the bard’s hip, “my turn.”

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 137

Trying to figure out Author’s notes is hard.... Sometimes I just don’t have anything pithy to say, or have too much to say and don’t know where to put it all.

Obviously I am an overthinker.

So, for the sake of everyone reading: Let’s cut to the Shoutouts!

The obvious first: @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, @anotherusrname, and @charlylimph-blog! I love all of you, you are the best.

Special mentions to: @zommbiebro bc I miss you and hope you’re okay. @nekohuntslight for being the OG person to message me about liking the story (yes, Bael, this is the dirty secret behind why I thought you lived in Australia when we first started talking.... shhhhhh). And alllllll the binge readers who blow up my inbox every day, Iloveyousomuchyoudon’tunderstand. Very much adore all of you, you have no idea how serious I am being right now. I need to go through and make one post just screaming all your names to the universe.

Tyche brought drinks and snacks from my kitchen before flopping on the couch in my quarters. The guys were at work, along with Antoine, but my office was closed down for the day. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?” she asked.

“Vati and Hannah have everything planned to the smallest detail,” I shrugged. “They’ve already coordinated with Xio and Evan for all the crowd control and monitoring shifts, and the murals are going up today.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m well aware of the logistics stuff. I literally handle all the staffing for the humans on the Ark, and Antoine was also part of the crowd control conversations.”

“Then why did you ask?” I laughed, grabbing a cracker and carefully stacking cheese and other toppings on it. 

Before I could get it to my mouth, she snatched it and held it out of my reach. “Because I’m asking how you feel. You’re only attending as… well, an attendee. No monitoring, no calling the shots, no working from the floor.”

She surrendered my cracker, but I found myself setting it down, appetite gone. “I’m okay - “

“Lie.” There was suddenly a finger levelled between my eyes like a gun. Just as quickly, it was lowered, and my sister was tilting her head at me. “Come on. You know you can’t lie to me - I’ve known you longer than literally anyone on this ship except yourself.”

“Fine! It’s weird!” I admitted in frustration, standing to pace and shoving my hands through my hair. “My skin is crawling with anxiety, my hands are twitching to snatch up the files and nitpick everything to the smallest detail….”

“Except they locked you out.”

“Except they locked me out, yeah. But I’m pretty sure I could get Derek to let me in, which is why I’ve made a point to tell him not to, no matter how much I ask.” Dropping my hands, I sighed. “But if I ever want to leave this position, I have to let them do this.”

She shrugged and stole my cracker, this time chewing and swallowing before she responded. “You could have kept some involvement in it, you know.”

“Pfft, yeah right. I would have taken it over, and you know that.”

“Yep.”

“Then why even ask.” I dropped back down on the couch.

“‘Cause you needed to hear yourself say it,” she explained, nonchalant as ever, snagging an olive and watching me calmly.

I sat in silence, processing it.  I hated when she outsmarted me like that, especially when she was right. “Can I at least eat first?”

She laughed and let it go, telling me how well the murals for the Festival were coming.  I hadn’t even gotten to - allowed myself - to see the designs, and the more Tyche talked about them, the more I wanted to see them.  By the time I finished my share of our snack, I decided to check out the progress.

We finally made our way to the decks where the Festival would take place, and I thought Tyche was going to die laughing at the way I gaped. The alcoves where the vendors would stage looked the same on first glance, but a closer look revealed very subtle shapes added that would give them a more savage, wild look in the right lighting. Metal sconces had been added to hold what looked like torches, but with special light emitters to simulate open flame. As we walked further, swirls of color revealed themselves slowly, first in light, curling tendrils, but slowly sharpening and taking on a more angular shape, twisting together into phantasmal images that vanished as soon as you tried to focus on them.

“It’s like walking through a garden, or a rainforest, but when I turn my head, I’m in a city.”

“Right?” she laughed as we came around the final corner. 

At this point, we were surrounded by this mural.  Just up ahead, there was a messy head of black hair tied back with a green piece of cloth. Bare feet and arms show smears of paint, and overalls covered a tank top - that, or the cloth for the hair had formerly been sleeves, I couldn’t tell.  One hand propped up on hips while the other hung down, holding a very familiar paint pen.

“Christ on a triscuit, Vati, this is incredible,”  I gasped softly.

She turned and smirked at me over her shoulder. “Not yet, but it will be when I finish.”

“I mean, all of it. The sconces…”

“Those were Hannah and Ivan.” Parvati walked over and touched one with her finger tip, stroking it gently.

Tyche made an impressed noise. “I’m only a little shocked that he had enough time.”

“The materials are on loan from the engineering departments, and we wanted them to be rather rough in the finishing. It helped. Sophia, no matter how curious you are, please do not lick the walls.”

A giggle bubbled up through my chest. “The thought never crossed my mind. I was trying to put together all the flavor profiles here. It’s… a lot.”

“Forgive me if I focused more on color than how the walls would taste. I don’t generally cook, remember.”

I stared down a swirl of pomegranate, popcorn, and gochujang. The colors - blue, pink, and yellow, respectively - worked well together, but the thought of the flavors made my stomach churn. “I solemnly swear not to lick the walls,” I promised. “How much of this are you expecting to still be up by the third night?”

“We have a team that will specifically come touch up the mural in specific places the morning before the second day.”

Tyche turned toward me and away from her study of the art. “Also, you would be surprised how much paint is on the walls. It will take a lot for Else to eat it all, once they are allowed in the area.”

“Before you ask,” Parvati cut me off. “We just asked them nicely. Well, Sam and Derek did.  They’ve become quite the ersatz diplomats to Else.” 

“Anything left?”

“Hannah is putting the final touches on the curtains for the alcoves and the seating areas. She’ll have a team installing them tonight once I finish.”

It was clever, and explained why she was only touching up part of the mural halfway between now and the closing of the event. “You two have really put your stamp on it.”

“Feel better?” She held one hand up gesturing at the entire entire project, eyebrow arched  to show me that she hadn’t been fooled for a moment.

I rubbed my neck, and glanced at her from underneath my eyelashes. “Busted, I guess.”

“That would imply that anyone had believed your charade,” she smirked.

Taking a deep breath, I looked around us again. “I honestly do. I could never have done all this. Holding on would have…”

“Kept you in a position you frankly hate,” Parvati interrupted gracefully. “It’s the same reason Sebastian went back to the Undine. He’s passionate about it, and it shows in the quality of his work.” When I gaped in insult, she held up a hand. “Not everyone can succeed through fear of failing and a determination that things be done right if they must be done at all.”

“Everyone talking about me needing to retire, like I’m old or something,” I joked, throwing my hands into the air.  “Physically, I’m only thirty-five.”

Tyche nodded to concede my point. “What about the food? I haven’t seen a menu come out yet.”

The change in topic made Parvati’s face collapse. “What? It should have gone out yesterday…” She flicked open her datapad, which flickered from the overspray that covered it. Frantically scrolling, she groaned. “This was scheduled, why didn’t it send?”

“Did you check the date?” I asked calmly. “Specifically the year.”

“Three times, it’s scheduled for tomorrow,” she insisted. “Right here: May seventeenth, twenty-forty aw fuck….”

“At least you got the decade right,” I pointed out. “You wouldn’t believe how many scheduled emails I’ve tried to automatically send out for ten or fifteen years ago.”

She nodded and seemed to get her bearings back. “So, protocol for this is… just send it right now and apologize for the late notification, don’t try to make excuses or explain?”

“Exactly. They won’t care why, they’ll just be excited the list is out.”

With a couple quick gestures, she sent the email and dismissed her datapad. “Okay, that was the last thing, then.” Turning back toward the wall she was working on before, she waved to us over her shoulder. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I really do need to finish this up. Thank you for coming to see everything… it was oddly reassuring to have both of you give us your stamp of approval before the Festival instead of making us wait until after.”

“For the record, you two have always had my stamp of approval, or I wouldn’t have tried so hard to keep my nose out of it.” I knew she couldn’t see me, but I still smiled. “We’ll catch up with you after the Food Festival.  Remember: both of you need to plan on taking the day off afterwards. I’m serious.  Have your unofficial advisors drop in and chat about everything, that’s fine. But no actual work, and I won’t let either of you see the survey results until the second day after. So rest.”

“Got it, boss lady. Have a good night!”

Tyche and I turned and headed back to my quarters. We remained silent as we took in all the preparations that had been done, waving to the handful of vendors who were bringing their supplies in already. Once we were back in normal corridors, the silence broke almost immediately.

“I think they’ve got this,” Tyche suggested nonchalantly.

“Oh, I know they do.”

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[yeojaa]

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing.  jjk x named f!reader.  a bit of jhs x named f!reader (but not really)?

genre + rating.   rockstar!au.  e2l (exes n enemies!).  general flangst?  anguf?  a blend of angst and fluff, tbh.  mainly angst tho.

tags / warnings.  sibling dynamics, introspective sadness, talk about not-so-healthy relationships (obviously), dumbass!jk, asshole!jk, jealous!jk, how many more jk tags can i add?, a silly reference to scott pilgrim.  nothing serious. 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ aka the loml!!!

wc.  3.1k

chapter four.

You and Yoongi don’t fight.  It’s always been a point of pride - something to look at and smile on. 

That must be why it feels so terrible now, with his knuckles blown white and enough rage to start a war simmering within his veins.  You’ve never seen him like this:  a world away from your soft Yoon, your best friend, your beloved brother.

“Yoongi, really--” 

“No.  Stop saying that.”  Despite the fact that you know his anger isn’t directed at you - that you’re the farthest target in his mind - it still hurts, like getting caught in friendly fire.  Pinpricks of guilt spill across your skin, nerve endings shot to hell by the way his mouth curls and tears, venom laced between his teeth and draped across his tongue.  “He came here and you didn’t tell me?  I told you - I’ll kill him.”

Hyperbole, you’re sure, but you can’t help the way your heart stutters.  A little oh no for a boy who doesn’t deserve it - whose silhouette still carves a spectacularly painful hole in your chest.

“I didn’t want you to worry--”  It’s not an excuse.  It’s not meant to be.  You never lie to Yoongi.  Frankly, you don’t think you could.  

“You’re my sister.”

It’s enough of a rebuttal that you’re reduced to silence.  He’s right.  You’re family;  family don’t keep secrets.

“I’m sorry,”  you try again, feeble and emphatic.  

There’s an unbearable distance between you - a sea’s worth of sadness that rocks the rickety boat you’ve built.  You can practically see it stretching on and on, sweeping you further and further from his safe shores.  It’s an awful feeling. 

“You’re my sister,”  he repeats, suddenly so tired you worry for him.  For once, he looks that much older than you, as if five years have forced passages of experience within his pages.  “You can’t hide things from me.  Who’s going to be there for you if not me?”  

You want to rebuff him - insist that you’re stronger than he gives you credit for - but you know it’s not what he means.  More than anyone, Yoongi believes in you.  He sees your strength even when you can’t see your own;  he’s been that strength more times than you can count.  

The reality of your situation isn’t lost on you.

He’s the only one who knows everything you’ve been through.  A diary in living breathing form, full of your most shameless secrets, your deepest worries, your worst heartbreaks.  

“I know.”  Apology threads each syllable, stitches them neatly to each other.  The sincerity is blinding, bright white and earnest.  “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”  

The smile he offers is rueful, twisting the edge of his mouth in a manner you’ve adopted over the years.  You return it without thought and then, all at once, the expanse is closed.  He’s laughing - a sound that doesn’t ring true in the way you know it should - but it’s a laugh and you know everything is okay.

“Still worried,”  he returns with a quiet sigh and flick of his wrist.

You’re with him in a breath, curled against his side on the couch you’d cried yourself to sleep on just days ago.  While you’re both far closer in size than you’ve ever been - you were always a tiny kid growing up, even against Yoongi’s own slim frame - it’s reminiscent of your childhood and being caught beneath haphazardly strewn sheets and disorganised chaos in the form of blanket forts.

Dry lips find a home against the side of your head, his arm dragging you to warmth.  “You’re an idiot, you know.”  He says it in the way only an older brother can - with all the frustration and love in the world.  

You do know, intimately well, how idiotic you are.  Have been.  Seemingly always will be.

“I know,”  you mumble, sad into the raised hood of your sweater.  “But I made him leave.”  It sounds like a child begging for praise - to be told they’ve done well.  You won’t deny you need it now.  

Good is the first thing Yoongi says, a little flippant and with a hard set of his jaw.  More comes when he catches your expression and the way the dent forms between your brows, the tiny pout of your lips.  It’s the same face you’ve made all your life - one that hits him right behind the ribs like a Whack-A-Mole game at the carnival.

“You did good, Vivi.  I’m proud of you.”  They’re bandages, sticky and adhesive on the stitches Jungkook’s visit had torn open.  “You’re great and he’s…”  There are words he’d like to use - a million scathing adjectives to paint the asshole in technicolour - but he knows better.  Knows you can’t take it, at least not right now.  “He doesn’t deserve you.  You get that, right?  You’re better off without him.”

You nod against his side but offer nothing further.  The silence speaks worrying volumes.

“You’re not going to answer him again, right?”  

Some half-mumbled non-committal response comes.  Yoongi wants to tear his own hair out.  Better yet, he wants to tear yours out.  Instead, he blows a long exhale through his nose, free hand coming to scrub across his face.  When will you learn?  

“I’m scared.”

It’s so quiet even you hardly hear it, ear tucked against the cotton of Yoongi’s flannel.  You think, for a moment, maybe he’s missed it too.  Then he squeezes you a little tighter:  a silent reassurance.

“Seeing him again just brings back so many memories.”  Every other word is muffled but it’s the most you can do.  Courage is carried quietly - too loud and you’ll shatter it.  “I thought three years would be enough.  It should be, right?”

It’s a rhetorical question;  Yoongi still debates answering it, just for his own sake.

“Maybe he’s changed.  Or maybe I’ve changed.  It could be different.”  It’s a clandestine belief and one you shouldn’t speak to life - especially to your brother.  It spills forth of its own accord, wrong for so many reasons but begging to be asked.  You have no control over it and the hope it sows somewhere within your chest.

“You can’t actually believe that.”  

It’s infinitely more scathing than Hoseok’s reaction, tearing out of Yoongi’s mouth like a bullet.  You can’t help the way you frown, brows drawn and lips pursed.  You’ve known Yoongi your whole life.  Reading between the lines feels like you’re fucking stupid but you know it’s not quite so harsh.  A frustrated you dumb idiot, maybe.

“Don’t make that face.”  

“I’m not making any face.”  

“Yes, you are.  It’s the same one you made when I embarrassed you on your first date.  Also the one you made after you threw up all over Hoseok’s shoes the first night you met him.”  The recollection doesn’t help your cause - you’re grimacing even more deeply, chagrin spilling into misery in the form of red hot heat over your cheeks.  “Don’t resent me for being realistic, Vivi.  You know he hasn’t changed.”

The silence is childish.  You know that.

“You can’t fix people.”

He arrives with flowers.  Two full bunches of your favourite blooms - pretty peonies in shades of coral and lavender.  They’re heavy in his arms, held so gingerly it’s almost comical as he extracts himself from the vehicle he most definitely should not be driving.  He wonders whether you’ll be home - if he’ll get to see your expression when he presents them to you.  He hopes you’ll light up, brighter than the sun in the sky and better than any nightlight.  

What he doesn’t expect is someone walking up the sidewalk, gym bag slung across his shoulder like he’s getting ready to settle in for a long night.  Short - atleast a few inches shorter than himself - with a stupid face that makes Jungkook want to punch it.  Dumb shoes, too.  Who the fuck wears Off-White Jordan 1s in that colourway?

There’s a permanent scowl etched across his face as he watches from behind the tinted comfort of his car, single hand caught around the edge of the door.  He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s perhaps crushing the stems cradled in his arms, inked knuckles blown white around quickly crumpling brown paper.

Maybe he’s your neighbour.  Or maybe he’s going to the other house or maybe—

No, he’s definitely walking right up the front path.

The words are out before Jungkook can stop them, shouted into the quiet afternoon more loudly than he anticipates.  “Hey!”

Dumbass with the face turns, full of surprise and wandering eyes.  He hesitates halfway up your stoop, looking stupider than ever as he looks around for the source of the voice.  

Then his stare falls on the brunet with his hands full and it’s like a flip has switched - mouth hardening into a line that raises the hairs on the back of Jungkook’s neck.  He’s glaring at him (or something close to it).  

Seriously - who is this fucker?

“Can I help you?”  Hoseok speaks far more reasonably, at an octave that doesn’t shatter the peace of the residential neighbourhood.  He’s still caught on the steps, fist tight around the strap of his bag as he studies the man - no, boy - that jogs up to meet him, two rungs the only thing separating the two of them.

“Do you know Vira?”

A part of Hoseok flinches at Jungkook’s casual use of your name - like he knows you or deserves to address you like an old friend.  This kid really was clueless.

When he speaks, he’s perfectly composed, tension held tight behind his teeth.  “I said, can I help you?”

Jungkook bristles at the response, some snarky comment threatening to knock the other off his apparent high horse.  He barely catches it, grinding it down into a fine powder beneath his molars.  He has to tread lightly here. 

“I’m a friend of hers.”  Not a lie, per se.  You two were friends;  after all, you’d come when he’d called.  That meant something, right?  Had to. 

“A friend?”  Disbelief slips into place, evident in the tone of Hoseok’s voice, how his brows shift beneath his chestnut fringe.  He knows better than to believe Jungkook - has heard all the heartbreaking stories - but he can’t quite keep the worry from worming it’s way into his thoughts.  They settle uncomfortably, just beneath the surface. “Is she expecting you?”

Everything about Hoseok makes Jungkook hate him.  From the sneakers he wears to the watch on his wrist - understated, all gold, more expensive than a nerd like him should have - there’s something undoubtedly punchable about him.

It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that he’s seemingly close with you.  Definitely not.

“I was going to surprise her.”  The flowers are held aloft, gesticulated in the best manner Jungkook can manage with his arms so full.  “I didn’t know she was expecting you.”  It’s a cheap tactic - recycling words - but he can’t think of much else beyond fitting his foot into this guy’s mouth.

“She’s not.”  Sharp, sparse, with no hint of indulgence.  Hoseok’s not about to get into a verbal sparring match with Jungkook.  It’s not worth his time.  

He is, however, going to put him in his place - and easily at that.

“She’s still at work.”  Slim bundle of keys rise - two unassuming and one for an Audi.  Perhaps unnecessary but Hoseok takes great pleasure in the other’s expression.

Tch is Jungkook’s first thought before the second smacks him straight in the face.  He has a key to your place?  The fact rubs him all the wrong ways despite the fact that he has no right to be bothered;  it isn’t his home any more - hasn’t been in years.  It still hurts, though, right behind his ribs and all the way down to the tips of his fingers.

Is this how you felt all those times?  

Something like nausea builds in Jungkook’s stomach, throwing acid up the walls of his throat.  It burns and strings, licking painfully all the way into his mouth.  His teeth ache - buzz uncomfortably - and his tongue feels suddenly far too heavy.  He wonders if he might choke on it.

Then, slowly, in a voice he doesn’t recognise.  Too soft, years younger, uncertain.  “Can you give these to her?”  He hates it.

He hates even more the way Hosoek looks at him, with such pity Jungkook wants to curl it around his fist and break the older man’s teeth with it.  It’s something he’s seen a handful of times - from you, from your brother, from his worried mother when she thinks he doesn’t notice.  It never gets easier. 

It forces him into a position he hasn’t been in in years:  weak.

“I don’t think so.”  By how calmly Hoseok speaks, it’s almost as if he’s commenting on the weather or passing along a banal bit of information.  It’s far too nonchalant to be breaking Jungkook’s heart, splitting it cleanly in two.

“Why not?”  Jungkook’s petulant, a child denied his favourite toy, forced into time-out.  

That’s not for you screams Hoseok’s expression.  She’s not for you.  “I’m not comfortable with doing so.”  

The sinking feeling hasn’t stopped for Jungkook.  It goes and goes until he wishes he were six feet under, buried under ground as low as he feels.  He should leave.  He knows he should leave - if only to stop the discomfort that’s gripping every nerve, twisting them like an elbow about to snap.  

“Anyway.”  There’s boredom working its way into Hoseok’s stare, relaxing the shape of his mouth until it falls wide around a short, terse sigh.  “If you’re friends, you can get in touch and drop them off later.”  

He’s done playing gatekeeper - can feel his frustration bubbling to the surface in a way he’s not about to entertain.  He nods once, dismissive, before turning away from the so-called rockstar that seems terribly small and the farthest thing from it.

“Goodbye.”  Then he’s disappearing into your home, leaving Jungkook on the steps with his tail between his legs.

You return home three hours later - blissfully unaware of what’s transpired.  

You set your dinner on the kitchen island, deftly unpacking takeout boxes as Hoseok hurries to your side to help.  You don’t mind when he bumps into you, knocking his hip against yours with a heart-shaped smile.

It burns a little brighter than usual.  “Good day?”  

He hums in response, sneaking a yellow tomato from the salad box he’s just popped open.  “Something like that.” 

“Something like that?”  You can’t help but echo him, a pretty parrot with shining eyes and a silk bow in your hair.  “Don’t play coy, Jung Hoseok.”  A digit closes the minimal distance between you, finding purchase against his side - right where he’s most ticklish.

He shrieks, nearly upending the fries he’s tried to dump onto a ceramic plate.

“Hey!”  Hands swat, then fold, catching your fingers between his in an awkward hand-hold.  “Keep your hands to yourself, Vi.” 

“You don’t complain normally,”  you retort.  You’re not wrong.  Skinship with you is one of his favourite things, fourth only to his dog, dancing, and a certain green-labelled soda.

“Well, today’s a special day.”  

Hoseok really doesn’t know where he’s going with his words - only hoping that he’ll find their destination somewhere along the way.  He doesn’t want to tell you too soon, all too aware of how the mention of your ex will bring this perfect moment crumbling down.  He wants to hold it, perhaps a little too tightly, for as long as he can.  He thinks he’s doing you a service, giving you these few extra minutes.

“Oh yeah?”  You’re twinkling eyes and pealing laughter, so far removed from the bag of bones and sadness of only days prior.  It’s hard to believe there’s something broken inside of there - tucked right behind your breastplate and out of sight.

“Yeah.”  

You wait for him to continue, opting instead to fill the silence with mouth noises.  He’ll tell you when he’s ready.  He always does.  

“Jungkook came by.”  It comes halfway through a bite of a french fry, the carb nearly bringing you to an early death when you choke on it.  All at once, everything spins, as if just the name is enough to upend your entire world.  Hoseok’s clapping your back, rubbing soothing circles over the cotton of your shirt, and you’re struggling to find words or breath - heaving around the sudden heaviness.

“What?”  So small, it’s hardly a word.

“He was here when I got here.”  You’re not oblivious to the careful way he speaks, choosing his words with utmost care.  You don’t miss his grip either, gentle and unyielding at your side - as if he might steady you beneath the sudden tidal wave of emotion.  

You do well, keeping your voice level once you’ve found it again.  “And?  What did he want?”

Hoseok does you the great service of pretending as if he doesn’t hear the hope in your voice.  You’re grateful for that. 

“He came with flowers.”  Not quite a laugh comes - more unimpressed and derisive than amused.  “Two bouquets, actually.”  You can feel him studying you from your periphery, his careful stare trained on your face and the dozen emotions that run rampant through it.  “Your favourite flowers too.”

Your laugh matches his own, though far heavier, as if the sound won’t form without immense effort.  “Wow.”

“Yeah.”  It’s a word you’ve heard a lot tonight.  It feels right.  One syllable to encompass every feeling you can’t properly articulate.  “He asked me to give them to you.”  

It should surprise you but it doesn’t.  Jungkook’s never been one to ask - instead taking what he wants - but it’s still funny.  Of course he’d ask that of Hoseok, as if the act itself weren’t terribly strange, the flowers an unwelcome, begging apology.  Jeon Jungkook only did what he wanted - etiquette be damned.

“I don’t see them anywhere.”  

“I told him I wasn’t comfortable doing it.”  There’s a touch of pride, glimmering gold painted over consonants and vowels.  It’s understated in the way that Hoseok always is - not how he looks, but is;  you’re drawn to it nonetheless, squeezing your fingers around his own in a silent thank you.

“I hope it wasn’t weird.”  It must have been.  It’s still the thought that counts.

Hoseok hams it up, scoffing like it’s just been another day.  “Weird?  Of course not.  I have to deal with my friend’s horrible exes all the time.  I’m practically Scott Pilgrim.”  

“Does that make me Ramona Flowers?”  

“No - but you’re my flower.”  He says it in jest, only to make you smile, because he knows you need it right now.

You try not to think of how you prefer Pumpkin, instead.

tag list.  @jalexad @aa-ronpa @kookiesbreaky @celestialflamefairy @xjoonchildx @pars-ley @seokjinssi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @patpus @dazedjjk @koozui @jinhitwhore @always-wishing-for-rain @neverthefirstchoice @snackhobi 

[sayonarasanity]

Reverberation 

Chapter IV 

link to AO3

Chapter 1 - 2 - 3

Hideous. It was the most hideous thing she had ever seen.

Hanji observed her reflection in the mirror, with her mouth twisted in disgust, each and every hair on her body standing on end. Her hair fell down from one shoulder as a short braid, its tip barely reaching the slightly visible bump on her chest under the school uniform.

“Disgusting,” she commented.

“You look beautiful,” her mother exclaimed, wiping the imaginary tear from under her eye. Hanji sent her a very Levi Ackerman signatured gaze from the mirror. “I hate it.”

Her mother approached her from behind. She was a little shorter than Hanji, her head merely reached her neck. The older woman put her hands on her shoulder and caressed gently.

Then, getting her mouth closer to her ear, she whispered, “You lost the bet, honey.”

That she had. Cold-bloodedly and ruthlessly lost a bet which should’ve been the last thing she would agree to let alone losing it in the first place. Never again would she challenge the instincts of her mother while watching a TV series and guessing whether the main character would live or die.

Worst, and biggest mistake of her life.

“Mom,” she whined, losing every drop of dignity she had with playing the emotional blackmail card. “Please. At least, don’t make me do this on the first day of high school.”

“Rules are rules,” her mother said, ignoring her entreaty then proceeded to fold the clothes piled on top of her bed. “And since when do you care about what people think about you?”

“It’s not that,” she sighed. “I just don’t feel like myself like this.” She pulled at her hair, wrinkling her face.

“You’re not a kid anymore, Hanji.” She walked to her closet and put the folded clothes inside one of the drawers. “Bear it for one day.”

“But I don’t want to.” She groaned, covering her face with her hands and lying her head backwards.

Hanji felt her mother come close, then her hands cleared the dust on her shoulders and fixed her hair. “Have a nice day at school.”

Hanji let out a frustrated moan which was very successfully brushed off by her mother.

“Morning,” she muttered insipidly while she entered the kitchen. A bowl of cereal was ready for her already and she poured milk inside of it as she sat down on one of the chairs.

“Morning, honey,” her father responded. Hanji noticed that his voice had faded towards the end. “Umm, you look, uh, nice.”

“Don’t,” she warned, her mouth full and directed her spoon threateningly towards her father. “Dad, don’t say another word.”

Her father’s face was very red as he obviously held back his laughter. He coughed into his hand and cleared his throat, nodding. “Yes, of course, of course.”

Just then, her phone vibrated with a text message. She didn’t need to look to know who it was from. “I’m leaving.”

“You’re not really mad at me, are you?” Her father asked as she got up from her seat and dropped her bag on her shoulder.

“No, dad, of course, I’m not.” She rolled her eyes and waved. “See you.”

Levi was waiting in front of the house, his back facing her. When he heard the sound of the door closing, he turned around.

And he froze.

“Levi, listen to me very carefully,” Hanji started calmly, while Levi stood as rigid as a stalactite. “If you so much as breathe I swear I’ll chase you to the school.”

Levi looked her over, with his customary, blank gaze which was almost impossible to read. Yet, Hanji knew him well, maybe better than he knew himself and she also knew that he was giving one of the biggest wars inside of himself to not give up and laugh at her face.

However, Levi Ackerman was not one to laugh. He had other ways to show his belittlement and mocking. He lifted his fist to his mouth, as his eyes shone vaguely with amusement and snorted, audibly. “Lookin’ good m’lady,” he said as if he was a 19th century English gentleman and was about to ask a high-born lady to dance in a flamboyant ball.

Frankly, Hanji didn’t even know what felt so wrong about braiding her hair, neatly and orderly on the first day of school. But for some reason, maybe because of the goddamn puberty she was going through—she was almost fifteen anyway—it irked her in a way nothing else did. And Levi was oh so aware of it.

“Ackerman!” Hanji snarled, as blood rushed to her cheeks in light speed and hence started their first-day marathon.

Levi had inhumanly fast reflexes. One second, he was standing in front of her, and the other he had already hurled himself to the street, running like a goddamn horse on a race. Hanji didn’t lose much time following after him, her steps were hard and fast on the ground. The braid her mother had so delicately made was winnowing left and right on her back as well as her backpack.

After almost ten minutes of exhausting and intense chasing, Levi was the first one to throw himself into the borders of the school. Hanji’s lungs were burning as if they had been exposed to hot, boiling water when she stumbled into the wide yard, breathing heavy and coughing miserably. Her neck, chest and back were all sticky with sweat. Levi was bent over, hands on his knees, his shoulders were rising and lowering with his fast inhales. He was tired too obviously.

But Hanji wasn’t done with him yet.

After her breaths more or less stabled and her heart quieted down, she sneaked up to him from behind being very aware of the crowd of students around them. No one cared about them just yet. And most certainly Hanji didn’t either. Levi slowly lifted his body, his schoolbag almost slipping down from his shoulder, and his neck shiny with droplets of sweat. He made the mistake of not checking what was behind him and hence gave Hanji the golden opportunity to jump onto his back.

“Hah!” she exclaimed. “You thought you could run away from me that easy—"

Her sentence was cut short when she realized that things weren’t going much as planned.

“Hanji!” he snarled and then, “Hanji, you fucking idiot!” Levi grabbed her legs and stumbled dangerously to the left. To where a table full of plastic glasses of lemonades was located.

“Oh no,” she gasped and held his shirt in her fists, tightly. “Oh, no. Levi, shit, watch out—"

So much for taking revenge. They both screamed at the same time when Levi couldn’t carry her sudden weight with his already tired and unstable body and together, they fell.

“Holy fuck!”

Hanji blinked her eyes. She was sitting on the ground, the ground which was wet with lemonade, as well as her uniform, her legs and she guessed, some parts of her hair. And if she was in such condition, then that also meant that Levi too—

A pair of arms wrapped around her neck from behind, making her gasp in shock. “Make your last wish, Zoe.”

“Levi,” she breathed, as he clung to his forearms with her hands. “Levi, please. Have mercy, have mercy!”

“In your goddamn dreams,” he tightened his arm around her neck just vaguely. Hanji knew he wouldn’t hurt her on purpose.

She couldn’t help it. She started to laugh. “I didn’t mean to—” she managed to say. “But you deserved it.”

He snarled right next to her ear. Oh, shoot. He was so, so pissed. “You’re dead.”

“The first day of high school,” an older and authoritative voice spoke from somewhere above them. Hanji looked up to see a man around his forties, with dark yellow hair and round glasses, wearing a well-ironed white shirt and black trousers. He had a blank, serious and bearded face. “And I see some of our newest students are already having fun.”

Hanji opened her mouth, unsure of what to say, or what excuses to line up, but Levi spoke before her. “It was my fault.”

“Levi!” she whispered harshly, turning her head slightly backwards to look at him.

“I am touched,” the man continued. Was he a teacher or someone else Hanji couldn’t exactly tell. He appeared to be way soberer to be one. “I didn’t know teens these days cared for each other this much. What are your names?”

“Levi,” he answered without so much delay.

“Hanji,” she followed right after.

The man nodded. “I am Adam Smith,” he introduced himself. “The headmaster.”

Oh, dear, Hanji thought bitterly, I wish I had the chance to look at my books one last time. Then she closed her eyes, afraid of having to face Levi’s wrath.

“And this is my son.”

Surprised, and with a slight hope, she dared to have, Hanji half lifted her eyelids, and her eyes travelled up until they met a blond boy around their age who had eyes as blue as agate. He was the most clean-cut boy she had ever seen since Levi. His school uniform was ironed straight without a single wrinkle left, and his hair seemed like quite an effort had been spent on it just this morning. But he looked friendly.

“Erwin, escort your friends to their houses and make sure they come back until the end of the first class,” the headmaster ordered the tone and his expression not altering just a bit.  

“Yes, sir,” the boy affirmed, nodding.

Mr Smith then stared at Hanji and Levi. “I won’t give you two any punishment since it’s the first day of your high-school life,” he said, his eyes moving back and forth between the two of them, intimately. “But I won’t be as considerate as I am now in case of any further improper conduct.”

“Yes, sir,” Hanji said, successfully remembering the fact that she was able to speak.

“And young man,” the headmaster directed his piercing gaze to Levi. Hanji felt the rising and falling of his chest on her back. She wished she could see his face too. “Mind your language or else I might have to speak to your parents the next time.”

Hanji couldn’t see Levi’s reaction but he must’ve at least nodded for the headmaster soon turned around and started to walk towards the door of the building.

“Here, let me help you.” As soon as his father left their side, the boy, Erwin, extended his hands to them to help them get up. Hanji accepted the gesture with gratitude and smiled at him as she stood on her feet again.

“Thank you.”

Levi stood up by himself and glared at Hanji then at Erwin. “Why the hell there was a table of lemonades on the goddamn schoolyard?” he asked, already forgetting the very threatening warning he had just received.

“My father thought it would help new students to get adapted easier,” Erwin explained. “I hadn’t thought it would work, to be honest.”

“Well, it didn’t.”

“I am Erwin,” the boy introduced himself then, nodded at Levi and smiled at Hanji.

“Hanji,” she said, beaming at him. “Say, Erwin, how is it like to be the son of the headmaster?”

“Complicated,” he replied gently. “I can tell you more on the way.”

“That would be great!” she exclaimed. “Right, Levi?”

He was still glaring at her, his clothes were half-wet, one side of his hair was sticky with lemonade, he looked like a forcefully bathed, grumpy cat. “I need to take a shower.”

“We don’t have that much time,” Hanji looked at Erwin for confirmation. “Can he?”

The boy shrugged. “Sure, if he makes it quick.”

Levi nodded then turned around toward the exit of the school. They started to walk behind him with Erwin. Hanji felt pretty much guilty watching him go, although she was the right one here in the first place. Still, she felt bad. She even felt more uncomfortable about the lemonade on him than on herself.

“Best friends?” he asked, probably noticing Hanji’s regretful gaze following the boy walking in front of them.

“Yeah,” she nodded, looking at him. “Childhood friends.”

Erwin hummed; his sharp, blue eyes moved to Levi. “He seems… intense.”

Hanji couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah,” she confirmed. “He kind of is.”

When they got out of the school borders, she realised she wouldn’t be able to keep this tense atmosphere any longer. She needed to talk to him. “Sorry,” she said, sheepishly. “Do you mind if I catch up to him?”

“No, of course. Go ahead.”

“Thank you,” she touched his arm. “It was nice to meet you by the way. I hope we’re in the same class.”

He smiled. “You too.”

Then she turned around and ran up to Levi, who was radiating his dark aura as if he was some kind of a nuclear weapon.

“Frailty, thy name is woman,” she recited when she reached up to him. Then bit her lower lip when he glared at her from the corner of his eyes.

“Fuck off.”

“You can’t stay mad at me forever, you know.”

“Watch me.”

“Leviii!” she exclaimed, then wrapped an arm around his neck. They stumbled together a little until they found their rhythm back. “I am sorry, okay? But I still think you kind of deserved it.”

“Get off me,” he pushed her lightly from the stomach. “You stink.”

“You stink too. We’re both sweaty.” She paused then added. “And we’ve just taken a lemonade shower.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Of us both.”

He sighed. “Whatever.”

She watched his profile for a while. “Am I forgiven?”

He met her gaze, eyes searching hers. He didn’t seem much angry anymore. “I’ll consider it.”

She smirked. “Roof after school?”

He nodded without even stopping to think. Seemed like she was forgiven already. “Sure.”

-

At the end of the first month of high school on a supposedly autumn day, she was standing in front of his door, wearing a black, denim jacket, sweatpants and holding a scissor in her hands.

“Missed me?” she stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. Levi closed the door, eyeing her suspiciously.

“It’s been only two hours since I’ve last seen you.”

She gasped as she stepped out of her shoes. “It’s been precisely four hours, thirty-seven minutes and—” she looked at her watch briefly. “Forty seconds since you’ve last seen me. I can’t believe you can be this reckless about the time we spent apart, Levi. And you call me your best friend.”

“I am regretting that sometimes.” Hanji ignored him as she walked inside the house. “Where is everyone?”

“In their rooms,” Levi raised his brows. It was almost midnight. “Why are you here?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“In this hour, yes,” Levi said matter-of-factly. He had no problems with having her here, never had, but it was Friday, and he was kind of tired. “So?”

Hanji raised the big ass scissor with one hand. “I want you to cut my hair.”

“Your hair?” His eyes scanned her hair, as messy as always, brought together with a black hair tie on the top of her head as a ponytail. “Four-eyes, I think you mixed the buildings. The hairdresser is down the street, on your right.”

Hanji rolled her eyes then stepped closer to him. “I don’t want to go to a hairdresser. I want you to cut my hair.”

“Hanji I’ve never cut anyone’s hair. Are you out of your mind?”

Rather than answering, she pressed the scissor on his chest so much so that he almost felt it on his ribcage. Her eyes were resolute and serious. “I am going to give you all my power.”

Levi sighed; his eyes moved up to the ceiling. The yellow light dazzled his sight, and he wondered what the hell had he done to deserve this at this hour of the night. Yet, there was a part of him, a part he was sure controlled more by Hanji rather than himself, and that part kept up with her bizarre mind almost subconsciously. “Samson?”

“Yes.” She was smirking when Levi lowered his gaze from the ceiling to look at her.

Levi shook her head. “You should stop living your life by fictional or Biblical characters.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Levi took the scissor she was continuing to press upon his chest when she applied more pressure not so subtly to imply him to hold it. She took her jacket off when he did and started to climb the stairs. Levi fell into step with her without losing much time.

“Why do you want to cut your hair anyway?” He asked, wondering.

“Because I don’t want to be the subject of my mother’s evil deeds anymore,” she replied with a low, dark voice.

“You are the one who is adamantly losing the bets,” Levi reminded her. Meanwhile, they had started to walk towards the bathroom through the dark corridor. Levi turned the light on as he passed by the button, then followed Hanji into the bathroom.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Your mother, obviously.”

She threw him a nonchalant look, “Traitor.” Then she reached for her hair tie and pulled it off.

When had her hair grown so long? Levi blinked as he watched the brown strands falling down from her shoulders in waves. Towards the end, a few of them were curling slightly on her back. He also noticed the different tones of brown, light, dark and chestnut, shading some parts of her hair. When her glasses followed the hair tie after, and Hanji put them on top of the washing machine along with her jacket, he asked, bewildered. “Who are you?”

She eyed him first like she was trying to figure out the reason why he was so shocked. It didn’t last long until the wheels sat in their places. “I am the evil twin,” she replied easily then, with a glint in her eyes. “We have to wash my hair first.”

Oh? Hanji willingly offering to wash her hair? She was that desperate about cutting her hair then. “We?”

“I can’t wash it on my own. I am practically half-blind right now.”

“Just say you have no idea about being clean, and we can get it over with four-eyes.” Levi dropped the scissor on top of her jacket and bending over the bathtub he turned on the tap, waiting for the water to get hot enough.

“Who am I to talk in your presence, Your Cleanliness?” She said, then laughed at her own joke, tilting her head backwards.

“Shut up,” he had tried to be strict and curt, not that he had failed. If only he hadn’t snorted right after. “Idiot.”

To wash his best friend’s most of the time hygiene neglected hair was a once in a lifetime opportunity, so Levi took his sweet time, rubbing her skull and her long locks with his shampoo two, three times until he was totally satisfied with the result. Hanji was restless as expected, she whined when shampoo got into her eyes and grunted when he pulled on her hair by mistake. Levi didn’t quite care about her compliments. She was the one to offer this whole thing after all.

After he thoroughly rinsed the shampoo out of her hair, he handed her a towel then got out of the bathroom to bring a chair for her to sit down.

When he came back, she was combing her hair in front of the mirror. “You sure about this?” he asked as he dropped the chair behind her and gestured her to sit down.

“Of course, I am.” Hanji settled down on the chair, and Levi, after getting the scissor back from the top of the washing machine, stood behind her. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“I am not promising a clean-cut,” he warned her beforehand and travelled his hand through her wet locks. The smell of the shampoo was clear and fresh and on the reflection in the misty mirror, her cheeks and eyes were vaguely red. She smiled when they made eye contact.

“I trust you.”

Cut.

The brown strands fell on the white tile one after the other, the metal scissor was the only one making sound inside the bathroom. Levi tried his best to cut her hair in a straight line just above her shoulders as she had requested. He didn’t know if he made a good job or failed miserably and gave her the worst haircut of her whole life. And he wasn’t sure if Hanji was faking it or not, but she looked ecstatic when he was done with the cut.

“I love it!” She was grinning at her reflection, now standing in front of the mirror. “Thank you, Levi!”

“Yeah, sure,” Levi said, doubtfully. He was still pretty much convinced that she was pretending. “You’re welcome.”

The stupid grin stayed plastered on her face as she wore her glasses and tied her now quite short hair. It wasn’t a successful attempt. Only a quarter of her hair had managed to fit into the tie, the rest was falling off on her nape and around her face.

Hanji gave him a thumbs up when she saw the way he was watching her. Still not satisfied but thinking that if Hanji was happy then it was all good, Levi shrugged. “You’re gonna stay the night?”

She paused for a second, thinking. Then nodded seconds later. “I’ll text my mom.”

After cleaning the bathroom, Levi brought Hanji a set of clothes for her to change into. He then went back to his room to prepare his bed for the night.

“I am so tired,” Hanji said, yawning as she joined him after a few minutes. She closed the door and sat down on Levi’s bed.

“You can take the bed,” Levi offered and patted his own pillow which was lying on the head of the makeshift bed on the floor. “The sheets are clean.”

“How very nice of you,” she said, smiling.

Levi turned off the light before he got under the sheets. He lied on his back, watching the dark ceiling. Every now and then, a car swept by and its yellow headlights filtering through the curtains created shadow patterns above.

When only minutes passed by, “Levi,” Hanji called him softly.

“Hmm?”

“These sheets smell like you.”

“Oh?” He blinked up to the ceiling, and his mind made a quick tour around the events of the past two days. He must’ve forgotten to change them. “Well, shit.”

She laughed quietly, and Levi turned his head to the side looking up at her. “Sorry, do you want me to change them?”

“No, it’s okay.” She tossed over to lie face down. Half of her face was on the edge of the bed. He could make out the lines of her lips and nose, and fluttering eyelashes. “You always smell nice.”

“I smell—”

“Clean, I know,” she snickered. “Hey,” she said then.

“What?”

“What do you think about the high school?”

“An asylum stuffed with a bunch of arrogant teenagers.”

“You are a teenager too, Levi.”

“I am not arrogant.”

“No, right, you’re a clean freak.”

“And you are a half-mad genius. We blend in.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, quietly. “We do.”

His eyelids got heavier and his breaths steadier when he thought the conversation was over for the night. Darkness lurked over him, it was deep and wide, and dominant. It demanded him to surrender, and he almost did until he heard Hanji’s voice again.

“I think our classmates are cool, though.”

He blinked open his eyes, “Yeah, some of them,” he muttered, voice dripping with sleep.

“Erwin is very intelligent,” Hanji went on, unaware. “He knows a lot of things. I think I like him the most. What about you?”

And just like that, he was wide awake again. “You sure do seem to get along really well,” he said bitterly, ignoring her question.

“Don’t tell me?” Levi heard the sheets rustling and felt Hanji looking down at him. “Are you jealous?”

“The hell does that mean?”

“So, you’re jealous.”

“Fuck off,” Levi turned his back to her, lying on his left.

A few blissful seconds passed in silence, then Hanji said, “You are though.”

“Am not.”

“Levi, come on,” Hanji urged his side until she made him lie on his back again. “Look,” she took the hand which was resting on his chest and enlaced their fingers. “You don’t need to be jealous. You know why?”

“I am not jealous. For fuck’s sake—”

“Because we are soulmates,” she cut him as if he never made a single word. “Which means there is nobody in the world who can understand you better than me,” she went on. “And there is nobody in the world who can understand me better than you.”

In the dark, Levi stared at their hands curled together, the tip of her fingertips was touching the back of his hand. And he pondered over how warm, smooth and somehow strong her hand felt against his. Strong as her existence, strong as her very soul and mind. Warm like the first days of summer and resilient like the frost-bound fist of a fallen soldier. She pressed their palms into each other, and as another car drove by the street Levi looked up to her face half-hidden in the shadows. Newly cut, damp hair resting like a dark nimbus on her cheek. Dark shades of her eyelashes were lined up on her cheekbones and they were reminding him of the beams around the sun. And she was staring at him like what she had just said was the only truth on earth.

He felt himself nodding, approving because she was right. Of course, she was.

I am an astronaut, he thought abruptly, completely out of the blue .  

“Goodnight,” she whispered then, he caught her smile just as the light vanished, and she was covered by darkness again.

Not entirely. It was innate in her. “Goodnight.”

He had no knowledge of the period after his conscience left the screen but until then he didn’t let go of her hand.

And neither did she.

-

“Hanjooo!” A muscular arm wrapped around her neck all of a sudden, while she was reading a book during the break, in front of the window on the school corridor.

“Hey, Mike,” she said, overcoming her shock at his sudden appearance.

Mike was a blond, green-eyed boy from her class. He was pretty tall and muscular for their age and she was almost certain that if the headmaster let him, he would absolutely grow a beard. “Are you free after school?”

“Umm, I guess?” She blinked. “Why are you asking?”

Mike smirked, playfully and kind of slyly. “I thought we could hang out together.”

“Together?”

“You and me,” Mike explained to be clear.

“You and— oh,” Hanji stopped as she kind of understood what Mike was implying. “But aren’t you, uh, I mean, don’t you have a thing for Na—”

Mike let go an uproarious laugh and patted her shoulder, almost making her choke on her own spit. “Joking, joking. We are thinking about hanging out after school. You know, me, Nana, Erwin, you and your little friend too if he would like.”

“You mean Levi?”

“Yeah.”

She hummed and shrugged. She didn’t think Levi would say no if she agreed to go. “I’ll ask him…”

Just then, she saw Levi climbing the stairs with Petra who was another classmate of theirs and one of Levi’s friends from middle school. They were talking at the same time; Levi was nodding to something Petra was telling him. The scene was quite ordinary, just two friends talking to each other, but Hanji had realized it was the mimics that were kind of different. The way Petra pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, the way she was smiling shyly at something Levi had said, the way Levi’s features were relaxed and almost soft as he talked to her.

And also, as for herself, the way she felt her shoulders tense, the way something murky, almost venomous walking tiptoe on her gut. It was a strange and unwelcomed feeling and she quickly got disposed of it as Levi moved his head and their gazes locked for a second before his eyes travelled down to her shoulder and he glared at it as if he had just seen his biggest enemy.

Petra touched his shoulder lightly and said something Hanji couldn’t hear, and he nodded absently while Petra walked away to the other direction toward the class after a brief glance at Hanji’s side.

Levi walked up to where Hanji and Mike were standing. “Hey!” she greeted him, smirking.

He squinted at Mike who was retreating his arm from around her shoulder at the time and nodded at her stifly.

“I’ll see you after school, then,” Mike said. “You too, man,” he added addressing Levi, then turned around to walk up to Erwin who was sitting at one of the tables placed next to the wall.

“What is that giant talking about?” Levi asked after Mike left.

“Well, buckle up,” Hanji told him while shutting her book with a thud. “We’ve got plans after school.”

-

It was February, and it was cold.

The five of them were walking through a park, all around there were giant, old and naked trees that were reaching high up to the sky. On the earth below them, thousands of pale leaves were piled up. The colours of fall were still visible here and there, on the yellow, orange and red skins of the leaves, on the pine trees down the road, on the dry rustle of the brown branches.

“How pretty,” she cooed.

As Mike suggested they were hanging out after school. If walking through a park counted as hanging out that is. Erwin, Nanaba and Mike were walking before them while Levi and Hanji were following them right behind.

“What is?” Levi asked.

“The colour of fall,” she replied with a smile.

“It is Winter,” he objected but looked around himself nonetheless then hummed confirming.

“Hey,” she urged his shoulder lightly. “Wanna race to that tree?”

Levi followed the direction Hanji’s head gestured with his eyes. A single tree just some miles away from where they were. “Why would I race with someone knowing they will lose?”

Hanji scoffed, “Don’t underestimate me.”

“Are you challenging?”

“What do you think?”

She put an arm on his chest to stop him from walking any further. “On three.”

They took position side by side. Hanji felt her mouth curling up, and a peal of laughter shaped on her throat, but she avoided it from going out and counted to three instead. “Go!”

They both hurled forward at the same time and she felt their friends looking at them surprised as they ran past them, but within minutes Levi was far beyond her. Like the first day of school, he was running like his life was depending on it, his dark hair a wild wave and his steps seemed like he was more like flying than running. Hanji was laughing breathlessly as she forced her legs to their limits, her short hair sticking to her nape with sweat, and she ran, ran and ran to the tree with him, with a wind he carried, the storm he ruled. As if she were a ship without a helm so she merely let the wind lead her to the harbour.

Levi won, in the end, but he lost his balance when Hanji, unable to slow down, crashed against his back. Along with grunts, swears and laughter they fell down, lying side by side on top of the leaves. Breathing heavily and loudly, chest moving up and down, watching the clouds sliding slowly one by one.

She turned her head towards him, still breathing hard and traces of laughter on her lips and she saw him looking upwards with the slightest but peaceful curl of his mouth. His eyes shone like the sand under the midday sun, like invaluable pieces of stone, like the surface of the moon. The colour of fall around his head, sweaty, raven hair scattered on the leaves whose time had long passed. The red colour of fall on his cheeks, because of the cold and because of their race. For the first time, she realised how dark his eyelashes were. Black like the wings of a crow, the feathers of a raven.

For the first time, she realised how beautiful he was.

Beautiful? The word startled her like an unexpected jolt of lightning. She almost winced, frozen on the spot. She didn’t know why, she couldn’t name the curl, crawls on her stomach. She also didn’t know the reason why she felt like crying, her breath hitched, her eyes wide, terrified. She couldn’t understand what felt so wrong about this but somehow it was undoubtedly close to denying gravity.

“What?”

He was staring at her, a frown shaped on his face. She winced visibly; she hadn’t noticed him looking back at her.

“What?” she asked.

“Are you okay?” His frown deepened.

“Yes,” she lied and quickly stood up albeit a little clumsily. Then fixed her clothes and hair. “Perfectly fine.”

He was looking suspicious as he too stood up. “You sure?”

She nodded drastically, avoiding meeting his eyes. “Let’s go join the others.”

Then she turned around without giving him a chance to speak. Crashing whatever had happened just now with each step she took and relentlessly stepping on the wildflower she felt sprouting within her stomach.

-

Watching the way the flames moved was addicting. She couldn’t take her eyes away from the dancing fire, the red knots flying around it like fireflies, the transit of colours from tip to the end and the crackling sound it made. It was a good enough distraction from her uninvited thoughts.

“Didn’t think this was what they meant by hanging up.” He sat down next to her on the sand. They were on the beach, stupidly challenging against the cold weather.

She smiled playfully. “Why? Did you think we would go to a party and get tanked up?”

Levi threw her an unimpressed look, “No. I thought we would go to a café with an air conditioner and drink hot tea.”

He got a point, she couldn’t deny. “They managed to make a fire though,” Hanji said, extending her hands toward it.

“Yeah, I am impressed.”

She snorted lightly and wondered where the other three had been. They had gone to buy beverages and snacks to eat about ten minutes ago.

“Hey.” Hanji felt him sliding closer to her. Their shoulders almost touched. “Are you okay?”

She nodded watching the flames with unfocused eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

She looked at him then to find him watching her carefully, with his full attention on her. She thought about the wildflower, and as she sought a solution, she found it on him again. “We are besties forever, right?”

Seemingly confused, Levi frowned vaguely, trying to see beyond her words. And maybe he did or maybe not when he replied she almost lost her courage to continue. “No, not forever.” It lasted for merely seconds, because she had understood what he was coming to. “To the last syllable of recorded time,” they said at the same time, echoing each other.

She smirked, as he chuckled. “I can’t believe you make me say it every time.”

“I don’t make you say it,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You are saying it willingly.”

He grunted and looked away, a smile stayed hanging on the corner of his lips, the flames painted his face, played with the colour of his eyes. It was there, the word, so close to invade her mind yet again with guns and rifles. It was that perilous to let it stay because it would only cause a ravage in her mind.

For that, she looked away too.

Do not water the plant, she thought to herself then. Let it grow old and decayed. Let it fade away.  

[tangtownie]

Questioning Authority - Reader Insert x Bucky Barnes

Author’s Note: So, I saw someone commenting on TFATWS TV-series and while their comment made no sense to me, it ignited something in me. Which then lead to this, so I’m sorry and you’re welcome.

Also, I was kinda tipsy while writing this, so I might regret it in the morning, who knows? As always, the dividers are by the talented @firefly-graphics​ 

Tried to make some time jumps that seemed natural, so I would love some feedback on whether or not that worked? Or feedback in general, a girl really ain’t picky. Might write a real smutty continuation to this. 

Also, writing for a new hottie this time, so hopefully some of you will like that! 

Warnings: Reader is a BRAT, also a massive flirt, cursing, talk of a foot fetish, so much sexual tension, mention of alcohol and drinking, reader is kind of a bitch to this guy she’s dating, description of drunk reader, descriptions of smut but nothing more than reader’s own fantasies.

Song Inspiration: Shut Up by The Black Eyed Peas

Word count: 2.077

It had stemmed from honest curiosity. It really had. I was genuinely looking for an answer to my question and who better to question than the sources themselves? But the way Bucky’s entire body had tensed: his eyebrows furrowed, jaw clicking loudly as he barred his teeth, biceps and shoulders flexing in tandem with his fists and the slow, barely controlled breaths that escaped him. It was a damn sight. My hand suddenly twitched with want, although it was impossible to tell if I wanted to touch Bucky or myself the most.

Sam had cackled loudly, albeit shortly, as Bucky send his killer glare in Sam’s direction. It was a much better reaction than any answer I could’ve ever wished for. A smug smirk wrapped around my lips as a thrilling rush surged through my body at the thought of all the potential havoc I could wreak. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Bucky, I really did. But the thought of riling him up, whether it was with anger or something else, always sent a thrill through me that I couldn’t quite explain.

There was something so ridiculously attractive about Bucky when he was pissed. Maybe it was the subconscious, and yet never-ending, flexing, maybe it his scowl. Maybe it was just him. I had been careful, though, I didn’t need him to know exactly why I always seemed to be the one pissing him off. So, I tried my hardest to maintain an indifferent look on my face, as I prompted them for an answer again.

“Well?” I said. “Should I call Sam Captain or not?” A loud grunt escaped Bucky; almost like just hearing those words were hurting him. “I mean after all, Steve did give the shield to Sam, so it only makes sense that Sam would also inherit his title.” I shrugged casually, like my conclusion was the only logical one. Which to be fair… it was.

Bucky’s eyes were cold as steel, a small muscle clenching in his jaw giving away just how much restraint it was taking him to keep quiet. I felt a shiver ripple down my spine at the thought of that look being directed at me. Sam, however, was openly smirking at my suggestion and my resolve finally broke as he leaned over the counter toward me. “Oh, you definitely should.” Sam’s voice was low and teasing. His smirk was mirrored on my lips as I leaned forward towards him as well. “Oh yeah? You like that, Captain?” I put on my most sultry voice, practically purring the title back at Sam.

Bucky scoffed loudly, a fresh wave of annoyance and distaste washing over his face. “Could you at least hold off on that until I’ve left the room?” Bucky’s voice was clipped, and for a second I felt bad for him, but only for a second. “What’s the point, James?” I raised my eyebrow with a condescending glance in his direction. “You could hear us through the walls, anyway.” A triumphant smirk curled around my lips as Sam’s boisterous laughter filled the room.

Bucky stared coldly at me; his jaw clenching like crazy and that vein in his neck pounding like it was about to pop. “Stop calling me that.” He practically hissed at me and I could feel my face flush with heat. Fuck, I loved it when he hissed at me. “It’s your name, isn’t it, James?” I said it casually, slowly pushing myself back up from the counter that I had been leaning on.

Bucky eyes quickly flitted down to my boobs that were practically spilling out of my bra and tank top and another smirk wrapped around my lips. Sam and I shared a look, as Bucky continued ogling my boobs. I wondered if Bucky had noticed my pierced nipples yet. I had always had a feeling that they would drive him crazy once he did. Suddenly, Bucky seemed to realize that he had been staring and he turned and stormed out of the room. Laughing gleefully, I couldn’t help myself as I yelled out after him. “See you later, James.”

---

I was lounging in the common room, my favourite sweatpants on, the ones with ‘juicy’ written across my ass, while I was painting my toenails. It was kind of stating the obvious as anyone with eyes could see that my ass was fucking spectacular, but I loved the attention and the sparkle. I was going on a date with Oliver later, so I had chosen a deep red nail polish for my toes. A classic look for a reason.

I briefly glanced up at the sound of someone entering. Bucky had stopped in the threshold of the room, almost like he had changed his mind after seeing me. While refraining from rolling my eyes, I simply said: “Hello James.” Even without looking at him, I could sense his jaw clenching and a wave of annoyance rolled off of him. “That is not my name.” He bit harshly, before throwing himself on the couch opposite of me.

“Whatever you say, James.” I kept my eyes peeled on my toes, as I worked patiently. He grumbled something underneath his breath before angrily picking up the remote and zapping through the channels. Bucky zapped back and forth for a solid 10 minutes before he groaned loudly and turned the TV off again. “What are you doing anyway?” He asked impatiently. Frankly, I was surprised that he even tried to start a conversation with me, but I wasn’t about to let it show.

“Painting my toenails, James.” I said calmly, briefly interrupted by his deep groan as I kept insisting on calling him by his given name. “Why? You bored? Want me to paint yours next?” A smirk curled around my lips as I imagined Bucky walking around the compound with my Bahama Mama polish on his toenails. He stared at me incredulously at my suggestion. “Why the fuck would I want that?”

I couldn’t help but scoff at his question, finally making eye contact with him. “To draw some attention away from those nasty dinosaur feet of yours, James. I mean have you even heard of a pumice stone?” My lie was as convincing, as my tone was condescending and Bucky glared at me in response. Thankfully, he seemed to buy it. It wasn’t really a lie, but I also didn’t particularly feel like sharing the real reason why I was painting my toenails.

How in the hell would I even go about explaining to him that I was trying to get back on my date’s good side? He would just want to know why, which I was never fucking telling him, and why painting my toenails was the way to do it, although that one really should’ve been obvious. I couldn’t very well tell Bucky that my date was upset with me, because the last time we’d had sex I had accidently called him by Bucky’s name.

A shudder went through me when I thought about how Bucky might react. Would he like it as much as I did? I could imagine him wrapping his hand around my throat and roughly pulling me into his lap, still with that displeased, almost mocking expression on his face and his free hand ghosting over my pussy while he drilled me. How often did I think about him? Did I always picture him when I was with other men? And if I told him everything that I had thought about with him and asked real nice, maybe he would give it to me.

A loud scoff broke my train of thought and, as I became aware that I was not sprawled across Bucky’s lap completely at his mercy, disappointment filled me. “Are you even listening to me?” His sharp voice broke the last fragments of my illusion. Swallowing drily, I simply said: “No.” Bucky’s eyes rolled so far back into his head that they might just get stuck. “God, you’re such a brat!” I swallowed back an excited moan, as he leaned over the coffee table toward me, his voice practically seething. I wanted so badly to just weave my fingers through his hair and yank him to me.

Instead, I sent him my signature smirk. “If by brat you mean bitchy, rambunctious and tantalizing, then yes, James. That is exactly what I am.” I locked eyes with Bucky and noticed his heavy breaths, his cheeks slightly flushed. Before I could do anything I would regret, I tore my eyes away from his, recapped my nail polish and strutted out of there, deliberately swaying my juicy ass for him to look at.

---

The date had been a bust. That’s what you called it when you got dumped for saying someone else’s name during sex, right? I honestly didn’t know and as the alcohol pounded through my system, I wasn’t even all that sure I cared. I still couldn’t believe it had happened again, though. I needed to get a fucking grip. Stumbling out of the elevator, I giggled a little to myself. Maybe heading straight from Oliver’s apartment to the bar wasn’t the greatest idea.

But really what was a girl to do when she was left high and dry? And even after I made my feet all pretty for him! I scoffed indignantly, because really, how dare he? Suddenly, I realized that I was in the kitchen. I slumped heavily against the counter and let out a deep sigh. God, I was tired. And as I realized, when my eyes landed on the faucet, thirsty. My fingers could just reach the faucet, so I turned it on, tugging it toward the cold water. Shuffling toward the sink, I ended up bent over the edge of it, hips pressing into the cabinets as I slumped against the counter, too damn tired to hold myself up any longer.

The second the cold water touched my lips a loud moan escaped me. Had water always tasted this good? I honestly couldn’t remember, but as I lapped greedily from the running faucet I could’ve sworn that I was in the Swiss Alps drinking straight from a river. It was the only explanation as to why this water was so damn refreshing.

My feet were aching, so I kicked off my heels and moaned again. All without lifting my head and stopping my slurping. Just a little more of this heaven sent water and I’d go to sleep. Suddenly, someone cleared their throat behind me and I jumped. It felt as though I spun around at the speed of light, but as I would come to realize in the morning, I had never moved quite so slow before.

Bucky was standing behind me with an amused smirk curled around his lips and a goofy smile grew on my face as I saw him. Any other night, I would have flirted with him shamelessly, but tonight I was just too damn tired. “Good evening, James.” For some reason, I spoke with an overly posh British accent and Bucky tried his hardest not to laugh at me. “Enjoying yourself?” His eyes twinkled with amusement, as I stumbled a little while straightening up. “Very much so, James. Had to find some way to turn this night around, just never thought that water would be the thing to do it.”

Bucky’s smile diminished and his brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” He asked guardedly. I sighed deeply before answering him, this time with my own accent. “I got dumped, James, so it’s kind of a shit night.” Again, I stumbled as I bend down to get my heels. Bucky quickly swooped in and grabbed them for me. “I’m sorry about that. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.” Bucky’s voice was soft and gentle in a way that I’d never heard it before and it made a whole mess of emotions flutter in my chest.

Before I could get swept up in them, I pushed them back down and forced a laugh. “You’re telling me! I even made my feet all pretty for him and the bastard still has the nerve to dump me?” Bucky’s face flushed a bright red, as he realized just what I meant. Before he could respond, I snatched my heels from his hands and strutted out of the kitchen. “Good night, James.” I called out after me and I could’ve sworn that I heard him mutter “Good night, Y/N.”

[darker-soft-starker]

la dolce vita

6.4k

Warnings: fluff, domesticity, mob boss Tony, blink-and-you’ll-miss mentions of blood and violence, 100% self indulgence

----

It was the protest of his bladder that woke Peter up.

His toes curl and flex under the sheets as consciousness returns to him, a slow drip at first, unaware if the heaviness of his eyelids or the light on the other side of them are just part of his dreams. His body is warm.

It’s almost easy to succumb to the call of sleep, to slip back where left off in his dreams, however an insistent pressure against his lower abdomen tugs him back to the surface in harsh increments.

The markers of the waking world come to his awareness, slowly as the night yawns into dawn. He tries to ignore the titter of small birds on a nearby windowsill, pecking the glass, the gentle tones of the wind chime on their porch, all of which would otherwise lull hum into sleep. The killer is the unconscious jiggling of his leg, god he had to pee, an earnest request for Peter to attend to the needs of his body.

Groaning, Peter turns over in the sheets, shifting closer, burying his nose into the warm junction between his husband's neck and shoulder, hoping the sandman will come back and welcome him. He thinks he gets close, because after a few moments, despite the insistence of his stomach, his limbs feel heavier, like his body were dripped in molasses, slivered and delivered into a kaleidoscope behind his eyelids.

It’s not to be, however, when Tony snores loudly in his ear.

“No,” Peter whispers sadly to himself, clamping his hands over his ears.

It’s no use. He surrenders to the inevitable; wriggling out from under the sheets he tip-toes along the carpet on his to the adjoining ensuite.

Squinting into the darkness of the room, Peter relieves himself quickly, tipping his head back, sighing softly as his body relaxes. After a moment he flushes and washes his hands, and if he’s already here he might as well brush his teeth too, right?

Free of morning breath he makes quick work of crawling back into bed. It’s still warm from where he left it. Perfect. He resumes the same position as before, pressing against Tony’s broad and delightfully sleep-warm body. Even in slumber, the older man guides his arm to cup the low of Peter's waist like before.

But no matter how comfortably he settles, sleep doesn’t come back. The mistake is checking the time on his smart watch.

Six-forty-four in the morning. Too early to be awake on a day off. Not early enough to justify going back to sleep on any other day.

Goddammit.

Gingerly, Peter turns over to his other side to face Tony, helplessly smiling when he emits another loud snore.

Gently as he can muster, he raises trails his finger down the narrow slope of his husband's nose, tracing down the curve of his nostril, following down the path on his worn smile lines. Unable to stop his own smile he leans in, pressing the print of his lips to the corner of Tony’s mouth before retreating back, hoping he has sweet dreams. The unconscious grab at his hip as he slips out of the bed is almost enough to lure him back in.

Almost.

Shivering at the loss of heat, Peter heads to the drawer, near naked, the satin of his boxers the only warmth he is afforded from the cool room as he pads along the soft carpet. He slips on a pair of running shorts, socks and finally fishes the sneakers from under their bed, lacing them up quietly as the snores continue.

“You’re a fucking chainsaw,” he whispers to Tony, embarrassed by his own fondness.

He leans over to kiss his husband lightly on the forehead before he slips out of the house.

Early sunrise paints the sky a mild grey. This far out, there’s still a couple of stars out and the slim curve of the moon beginning to fade as the morning light emerges. He stretches quickly on the porch to warm up a little, the air still cool despite it being a mid-July morning.

Setting off in a light jog as he exits their property, Peter waves to their neighbours as he passes. Music pumping, he picks up a moderate pace, yelling an enthusiastic hello to Mr Moore as he retrieves his newspaper from the lawn, offering the same Mrs Bowen shoo’s her the neighborhood cats away from her flower beds with a broom.

It’s not a particularly busy suburban street. It consists of mostly retirees and their visiting kin, childless couples who drive Toyota four-doors and suburbia-stricken Jeeps and empty nesters.

The rest are Tony’s employees. One of whom shadows Peter as he sprints down the footpath, about as subtle as bull in a china-shop.

Trying his luck, as he does everyday, Peter raises his hand in a friendly welcome to the person  running behind him. He isn’t sure who it is today, doesn’t look back for appearance sake, but the steps are heavy and uniform enough to know it’s no coincidence.

When Peter first started dating Tony, they argued night and day over the detail. From bickering over babying escalating into arguments over agency, slammed doors and ignored texts, ‘breaks’ that weren’t as much breaks as they were breathers. A leash, Peter called it in those early days, of the non-consensual, not-sexy variety.  Not to mention the furious, heated make-up sex that would always come after.

Those were the days.

After six years together they’d come to a happy medium. They had settled on a mutually beneficial compromise. Peter got the house in the suburbs that he’d always envisioned and Tony got his best men armed to the teeth just a yard-sale away.

Perfect.

Nonetheless as Peter finishes his circuit and returns home, he’s glad he put his foot down on not having guards stationed at the entry and exits of their suburban property. They adjusted to one another's needs, that’s what relationships are all about, right? Tony’s men owned four houses in the busy street and their home was jerry-rigged to decimate all unauthorised intruders upon visual confirmation from JARVIS.

But at least Peter got the house in the suburbs. He’s going to convince Tony to get a pet, next.

Back inside, Peter kicks off his sneakers and locks the door behind him. All four of them. The emptiness of the house, evident in the absence of the music that ordinarily fills their home must mean that Tony is still in bed.

“Lazy ass,” Peter mutters, trying to pull back on the reigns of overwhelming fondness so as to not smile at nothing in his own living room. He does it anyway.

It isn’t until minutes later that he’s staring forlornly at their barren pantry and fridge that Tony wanders into the kitchen, snaking his strong arms around Peter's waist from behind, pressing a sleepy, prickly kiss to his jaw.

“Morning, baby,” he croaks, still sleep-warm against Peter’s rapidly cooling body.

“Morning, mister,” Peter tilts his head back, placing a kiss on Tony’s lips, shifting back slightly until their bodies are flushed together, snorting lightly when he feels something hard in Tony’s sweats.

“Oh my,” he gasps, falsely aghast. “Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“It’s a gun,” Tony confirms, the stretch of his smirk palpable on Peter’s skin. “Colt Python, you know the one. But I’m also very happy to see you, don’t fret.”

Tony’s hips hunch forward. True to his word, there are twin sensations against his backside, rutting against his lower body without shame. “See? All for you. You making breakfast?”

“You tell me,” Peter squeezes Tony’s forearms and settles into his hold. He nods towards the lone, sagging tomato in their fridge and the stale, single line of crackers resting in the cupboard. “Got any ideas?”

“I can think of something I’d like to eat.”

Peter squirms, rocking back on his heels as Tony kisses a line up his neck, facial hair prickling his skin. Heat coils pleasantly in his stomach and his toes curl in his sneakers.

“Stop. I’m -- Tony, stop -- I’m sweaty and gross. I stink.”

“Nope, not true,” he noses along the sensitive upside of Peter’s jaw. “You smell great. But if you’re bothered we can shower together. Great idea.”

His stomach growls again, swooping low. “I’m hungry,” Peter rebuts, turning around in Tony’s embrace to pout directly in his face, hoping he looks sad and forlorn. “I’m feeling faint.”

Tony looks unperturbed. “Well, alternatively, there is something I could feed you, if that’s your preference. Straight from the source.”

Peter groans and swats Tony’s chest, frankly unsure of what he expected

“You’re such a lech. Get help.”

“I’ve tried, darling, but it’s no use,” Tony sighs sadly, squeezing his hips. “You’re just too sexy.”

Peter disagrees, walking Tony backwards until his body makes contact with the kitchen bench, trailing a finger up his chest and poking him lightly in the sternum.

“Yeah? That’s not what you said when I made you take out the trash last night.”

“Well, that’s because trash isn’t sexy.”

Peter pokes him again. “And yet I stay married to you.”

“Ouch,” Tony blinks, slapping a hand to his chest. “Wow. That is uncalled for. You’re calling me trash. I’m reduced to garbage now?”

“Yes,” he pecks Tony’s lips, snickering at his offended face. “I guess I’m just not me when I’m hungry. Can we go out for something to eat, please? I’ll be nice.”

“You gonna shower first? You do actually stink, I mean. Like, really bad.”

Prying himself out of the hold, Peter tries to the best of his ability a sense of mock outrage as Tony reels him back in with an apologetic hug, even as a smile tugs at his own lips.

“You gonna brush your teeth?” Peter dips his chin, deepening his voice to mimic his husbands. “Because wow , your morning breath is bad. Rank.”

The older man looks amused, biting his lips and blinking coquettishly like he always does when he’s up to something.

“What.”

“Nothing,” Tony shrugs, still smiling. “Just wondering if you wanted to keep talking - or if you wanted to shut up and let me go down on you in the shower.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, considering it for a moment.

“Do I have to shut up while you go down on me in the shower?”

Tony’s hand is back on his heart again.

“Absolutely not. I encourage you to be as vocal as possible. Wake the neighbours.”

“Deal.”

---

After thoroughly working up an appetite whilst showering, the call for groceries couldn’t wait any longer.

It’s hardly their favourite domestic activity, but delivery just is not an option. Not only for the obvious security concerns, given Tony’s occupation, but also simply because Peter hates someone else picking out his vegetables. They always give you the bad ones, he thinks, he’s had enough sad zucchinis to know.

Still, the way Tony had sighed and rolled his eyes as Peter packed their canvas bags into the car was rather uncalled for.

Tony did agree to accompany him on one solid condition, however. Breakfast first.

“Okay,” Peter agreed. “Something healthy though.”

“Oh yeah,” Tony had nodded. “Definitely.”

---

Should have known better than to trust a dirty crook.

---

Their breakfast pit-stop, much to Peters dismay, was more grease laden than he’d hoped for. He grumbles as Tony pulls into the nearest car-park, understanding now why Tony insisted on driving.

Don’t get him wrong, he enjoys gooey melted American cheese on a beef patty as much as the next guy, but the taste isn't enough to diminish his mounting disapproval as Tony downs one cheeseburger after another, washing them down with soda and fries.  

“You have a heart condition,” Peter frowns, slapping the bag of fries from his husband's hands as he brings them to his lap. “What are you doing?”

Potato goes flying over the dashboard, smearing oil over the detail in its wake.

Tony blinks.

“Wow. Now that’s just a waste,” he fishes a napkin from the bag and wipes the dashboard with it. “You know this interior is original, right? Vintage, 1973. You do? Just making sure.”

Peter knows. Tony won the car in a poker game against Hammer two years ago. Then he leaked his money laundering to the press. He hasn’t shut up about it since.

Peter fishes out the chicken salad he knows he ordered from the paper bag, flinging it at Tony who catches it easily.

“You promised something healthy. Eat the salad, Tony.”

“Eat the salad, Tony,” his husband mimics, even as he pries open the plastic lid of the leafy meal. “God, look at this thing. It’s miserable,” he spears into it with his plastic fork, shovelling it into his mouth and not looking happy about it. “It looks like clinical depression if it were a meal. Like a metaphor for erectile dysfunction. Pathetic.”

“Are you done bitching?”

Tony feeds himself another mouthful of the limp greens before leaning closer to chew grotesquely in Peter’s ear. “There. Happy, darling?”

Peter winds down the window so the cabin doesn’t reek of red onion.

“Ecstatic.”

—-

Peter is often asked where he and Tony met.

He tells his colleagues and close friends that they met in through their jobs. Look, it’s not a total lie. Except, he says that Tony worked as a consultant to the State-Board for Education and Peter was luckily enough to be invited to some event, somewhere, at some time and at some place where they happened to cross paths and meet. After hitting it off, the rest was history.

Few question it, envious and charmed by their story. A young man meets the man of his dreams, they fall in love, and spend their days happily married, leaving a dreamy white picket fence life.

The fairy-tale ending is real. The reality of how they got it is another story.

Six years ago, rushing to his shift at the grocery store, Peter had accidentally rammed his bicycle into some guys who ran into his path on one cold Sunday, morning in the heart of Flushing, Queens.

At first, Peter hadn’t noticed the gun flying into the mouth of the alley, too busy apologising to hear the clang of metal on concrete. It wasn’t until one of the men, now disarmed, fled the scene that he realised that he’d interrupted Tony’s would-be execution.

A thank-you-coffee was followed by a thank-you-date. Then, Peter got asked on real dates. Real dates led to real kisses that weren’t just a thank you but I like you and then, eventually, I love you.

But it was the I trust you that cemented Peter in Tony’s world.

So maybe Tony wasn’t really a consultant. Maybe Peter fell for Tony, the man, the provider, the person who seemed to have an interest in politics and community as much as he did about the perfect placement of his hair, or ensuring Peter’s comfort and willing consent at any given time.

And he never asked Peter to be a part of the business. Tony’s job was just as important as his own and he always reiterated that.

Which was good, because Peter loves his job. At twenty-six feels, Peter feels like his life is where it’s supposed to be. And maybe he was a local, humble high-school teacher, sure, but he still grew up on the internet. He’d looked into Tony before their first date. You know. Basic database searches like missing persons, most wanted and sex-offender registers. Luckily, Google actually said Tony was a consultant.

He even had his own LinkedIn.

Although further and not-so-legal inspections of encrypted government databases - thanks, Ned - told a different tale.

It was sort of true? Nothing happened in New York without Tony being consulted. Even working remotely he had NYC eating from the palm of his hand.

And Peter?

“I want spaghetti,” Peter decides, reaching for a packet of dried pasta, the plastic wrapping crinkling under his hand as he places it in the shopping cart.

“Spaghetti,” Tony repeats, eyeing Peter dubiously.

“Uh-huh,” Peter nods, eyeing the aisle for an accompanying sauce. “With meatballs. Oh, oh - and parmesan.”

“Spaghetti and meatballs.”

Peter blinks. “Yes. And parmesan. I literally just said that. Oh ohhh, and garlic bread, good thinking,” he says, adding it to his list for when they hit the freezer aisle.

Tony snatches the packet of pasta from the cart and inspects it with evident distaste. “You want spaghetti and meatballs with dry pasta.”

“Oh my god,” Peter groans, snatching the packet back. He throws it back into the cart, swerving it around an older lady eyeing the macaroni. “Stop. I am not having this discussion again. You know how I feel about fresh, c’mon. It tastes weird.”

“Yeah, weirdo,” Tony nods as they round into the next aisle. He takes a couple of diced tomato cans, perusing their label as they talk. “It tastes like how pasta is supposed to taste.”

The man carrying a concealed weapon shadowing their steps some twelve feet away snorts in amusement. He has the good sense to look properly chastened when Peter looks back, unimpressed.

“Are you suggesting my tastes are unrefined?”

“Yes. Profoundly.”

“Yeah, well, your face is unrefined,” Peter deliberately throws a jar of not-fresh parmesan into the cart as he spots it, ignoring Tony’s grimace. “And also, considering you can’t actually cook, and I’m the dumbass that'll be sweating over a stove to cook it for you, maybe shut up?”

“My face is perfect,” Tony sniffs. “You’re rude. You know what? I’m taking my vows back.”

Peter snorts.

“Okay, cool. I hate being tied down anyway.”

“Same,” Tony shakes his head at the man shadowing them. “Can’t wait to be rid of this old ball and chain.

“I know, right? Well, goodbye, I guess.”

“Great. See ya.”

“Hey, you wanna help me clean the fridge when we get back?”

“Okay.”

Maybe their lives don’t mesh well on a surface level - king of the underbelly and a high school teacher - but they each make concessions in their daily lives to make each other happy.

Tony, bless his soul, acknowledges that Peter will never give up his job or make fettuccine from scratch, and Peter realises that there will always be corrupt politicians and black markets that need the guiding hand of a good man. Even if he doesn’t like bloodshed.

Tony never hurt anybody that didn’t deserve it. And no matter how much Peter cares, the underworld is always going to be there. Blackmarkets were always going to run regardless of how much he gave a shit. It was all about management, he'd learned.

Tony was that guy. In fact, if you ask him, couldn’t be a better guy overseeing it. And Peter was there, right behind him. It’s all about balance, you know?

Yeah.

It was never about turning a blind eye. But it kept everyone happy to make small adjustments.

Like when they’re waiting for the number to be called at a deli counter. A short, thin woman cuts in front of the pair just at the moment their number is called, immediately talks over them to get her order in.

Having stood waiting for the better part of ten minutes, his husband audibly had audibly tutted in vexation.

“Anthony,” Peter chides when he hears the sound of the hammer being pulled back in whatever firearm is in Tony’s pocket. “Stop it.”

Tony retrieves his hand from his jacket, raising it in a gesture of innocence. “What?”

“This isn’t the Wild West. You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

“It’s called being courteous. She was rude. Don’t you think she was rude?” he asks one of the men waiting beside them, who only offers a bewildered look in return. Tony huffs, turning his attention back to Peter. “Ridiculous. I’ve flayed for that kind of disrespect.”

Heads whip in their direction, including the woman who had cut in front of them, accompanied by a chorus of scandalised gasps.

“Figuratively, of course,” Tony refers to the crowd, offering a charming grin.

Several shift away from the couple and no one argues when they place their order next.

Peter sighs.

---

Lunch was a truly enormous serving of tomato soup and a veritable tower of stacked grilled cheese, courtesy of Peter’s growling stomach.

After arriving home with the groceries, having foregone breakfast, he was truly beyond hangry by the time everything was unpacked. Canned soup. Single-pack cheese, good god that was the kind of haute cuisine he was hankering for after his morning. Even Tony wolfed it down. However petulant he looked whilst doing so.

“Was lunch okay?” he asked, reaching over and wiping the crumbs from Tony’s beard with his thumb. “Up to your highness' standard?”

“Impeccable, sweetpea,” Tony smiled, setting his spoon into the near empty bowl. “Five stars.”

“Good.”

You’re so unrefined, Peter mimics petulantly in his head, feeling vindicated as Tony scoops up the, quote, ‘sodium cocktail’ with his bread crusts. Although the glare that Tony fixed him as they watched Gordon Ramsay swearing a storm on the TV gave him the impression that Tony knew exactly what he was thinking.

Whatever.

It didn’t stop Peter from sprawling across the length of the sofa to rest his head in Tony’s lap once he’d set his bowl aside, shifting, making himself comfortable. Nor did it stop Tony from unbuttoning his jeans and unzipping his fly, casually, as if to make room for the meal he’d consumed.

Inhaled, more like it, Peter thinks victoriously.

“We should get a cat,” he mumbles, comfortably full. He edges closer to his husband's body, smiling when fingers begin to card through his hair.

“No.”

“Yes. You like cats.”

“We're not getting a cat.”

“Why not,” Peter nuzzles closer to Tony’s crotch, the scent and the heat inexplicably comforting, pressing a kiss just above his groin. A low heat rises in his gut, comfortable and unhurried.

“We are not trading sexual favours for a discussion on pet ownership,” Tony warns, although his voice is soft and the fingers in his hair continue his gentle ministrations. “A discussion you will be losing, by the way.”

No he won’t. He’s going to blow Tony’s mind through his dick.

Or he will in a moment. His body feels heavy, lethargic with satiety, like he’s encased in concrete, sinking, sinking… sinking...

Yeah. He just… needs to rest his eyes first.

“You wanna suck me?” Tony asks softly, brushing his knuckles against Peter’s cheek, his voice low.

“Yeah,” Peter affirms, blinking, eyelids heavy with the impending food coma. But he can do it. “I can,” he mumbles, tongue thick in his mouth, lethargy impeding the eagerness of his hands.

He yawns, snuffling closer to Tony's groin. “I can... do it.”

Tony snorts down at him, thumb gently stroking over his eyebrow. He says something to Peter, like don’t strain yourself , but maybe it was a dream.

So is the case when he falls asleep to the furious swearing of the Scottish chef, fingers raking through his hair, his body conforming to the indents of their old sofa cushions. Sleep comes to him with his legs curled against the backrest, his own breath hot against his face, Mr Marley mowing his lawn a couple of yards over. Tony’s fingers in his hair.

When he wakes an indeterminate length of time later it’s to knuckles stroking his cheek softly and the declining afternoon sun streaming unfiltered through the west-facing windows.

Peter blinks, assessing the man sitting beside him.

“You’re wearing a suit,” he says dumbly, brain still foggy. “Are we role playing?”

Tony smiles. “No, baby. Don’t I wish. I gotta go to work.”

Still sleepy, he doesn’t immediately register what Tony has said until a couple of moments pass, and his heart drops to the floor at the announcement. As he does, he tries to resist the involuntary pout at the news, but the effort fails if Tony’s sad smile is anything to go by.

“No,” he says, voice small. “Tony. It’s our weekend off together. You promised.”

“I know, bug, I’m sorry,” the older man leans forward to place a kiss on his forehead before standing up. “It’s not fair. I’m just as mad as you are.”

“Why?”

“Happy called. One of Mayor Ross’s aides is threatening us with the feds. Gotta step in this time and pretend to be the boss. You know, show of authority. Make someone piss their pants.”

“You are the boss,” he yawns, smacking his lips, watching as his husband adjusts his tie above him. “But you owe me.”

“That because you’re the boss of me?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tony nods. “Alright. Name your price.”

Peter smirks, melting back against the cushions and kicking his feet up on the far armrest.

“School fundraiser, June thirtieth. You and me at a table. You’re gonna use that pretty face and charm of yours to help me sell cookies.”

Tony groans, leaning his forearms over the armrest above Peter’s head.

“You do know that you are the devil, right? You’re in the dictionary next to the definition of ‘heinous’.”

Peter grins.

“Clearly you don’t love me,” Tony tries. “I hate school fundraisers. You know this.”

“I do know this,” he says smugly, stretching his arms upwards on a yawn, fingers gripping his husband's tie on the descent. He uses the hold to tug him closer. “Do you know how many papers I set aside for tomorrow to have this day off together? Do you have any idea what I had planned? I’m mad at you. Livid, even.”

“Can I at least buy out the cookies and cake?”

“And get away with abandoning me? Uhh, let me think -- no.”

Tony sighs, shifting above him. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I know. It’s why you married me.”

“One of the reasons why I married you.”

“Uh-huh. Go away. Be home for dinner.”

“Will do,” Tony affirms, allowing himself to be tugged by his tie until he’s dragged into an upside-down kiss. “Wait, one more for luck,” he says after a moment, leaning in and kissing Peter again.

“I hate you,” Peter mumbles against his lips. “I’m making that spaghetti and you’re gonna pretend to like it.”

“Love you too,” Tony whispers, fond, closing his eyes and planting a final wet peck on Peter’s cheek. He whispers, as Peter yawns again. “I’ll see you soon, speed racer. Don’t burn the house down.”

With that Tony leaves, the sound of door closing signalling Peter’s solitude.

If Tony’s previous ‘quick stops’ are of any worthy precedent, Peter’s in for a couple of hours of boredom.

They should really get a pet, Peter thinks, falling back into twitchy micro-sleeps once he’s alone.

With the low-slinging sun still in his eyes, sleep again eludes him for the second time that day and he can no longer drown out the cheer of children next door and the barking dog on the street over, the summer-time squeak of ill-oiled bicycles and the approaching twilight chorus of cicadas.

Retrieving his phone from his pocket, Peter goes down the YouTube rabbit-hole.

---

By the time he drags himself off the couch at least an hour later, Peter’s watched more episodes of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives than he’d like to admit, hypnotised by the food stuck in Guy Fieri’s incredible goatee.

God. Now he wants nacho chicken wings.

Stretching as he stands, Peter makes work of shutting all of the open curtains in the house, switching on the lamps in the living room and hallway lights as he goes. He keeps the kitchen window open and leaves the screen-door as it is to allow the cool evening air to drift through the house.

He does ensure he locks it, however, mindful of how much Tony hates it when the reinforced door behind it isn’t closed as well. Which is stupid. They have a reinforced door. It has six locks on it. Six.

Explaining that at their housewarming was a real trip.

Smiling at the memory, Peter heads to the kitchen. The house is definitely too quiet, he reckons, and switches on the old radio May gave him when he moved out. He turns it up as loud as it can go, tuning it to whatever station doesn’t come out distorted from the dated speakers.

Tonight, that station was the oldies. To Petunia Clark he peruses through the now more abundant trove of food they had to retrieve the necessary ingredients for dinner. Tomatoes, onion, garlic. Fresh basil picked from the pot on the window sill.

Sometimes he can’t believe how his life turned out. When he thinks back to the young kid from Queens who only had his aunt to impress with his cooking, his skills acquired from his time at Neds, Delmars and online tutorials, from that college kid who lived on packet ramen and energy drinks.

Still does, sometimes, when he thinks he can get away with stashing the packets of Mi Goreng where his husband can’t see them.

Tony keeps threatening to refine his palette. He hasn’t succeeded yet, but Peter suspects it's due to lack of trying.

Or hope.

The song changes again, and to the highs and lows of Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline Peter gets the sauce simmering in a pan, dah-dah-dah-ing under his breath, shimmying his hips and using the wooden spoon as a microphone as the music sweeps inside him. By the time the song ends, the stove backsplash is rendered in streaks of burst tomato but it’s fine, he’ll clean it up later.

It’s not until the pasta is near ready that the front-yard sensor light blinks on and the front door creaks open.

It’s a testimony to Tony’s light footwork that Peter doesn’t notice he’s been crept up on until arms wrap around his waist from behind, startling him as he’s draining the pasta.

“Honey, I’m home,” Tony whispers, leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

Peter smiles, setting the pasta aside on the bench to grip Tony’s forearms as the older man guides their hips to sway to the music.

“How was work?”

“Absolute murder,” he presses a line of kisses across Peter’s jaw, goatee tickling his skin. “And before you ask, yes that is a gun in my pocket.”

“Does that man you’re not happy to see me?” Peter queries, setting the strainer aside and turning in his husband's arms. Settling his hands on Tony’s hips, his dumb mouth can’t help but echo the other man's fond smile when their eyes meat.

“I’m very happy to see you, always,” Tony pecks his lips, pausing. “I bought apology wine. Château Lafite 1787, you’ll like it. Come, let me get you a glass.”

Before Tony gets too far, Peter tugs him back by the wrist to face him.

“Wait, hang on,” he mumbles. Without looking away he brings his thumb to his mouth and licks it. “You’ve got a… thing...”

Bringing his spit-slicked thumb to Tony’s cheek, Peter rubs away at the long smear of blood that he’d spotted moments earlier, deep red and markedly drying in the bristles of Tony’s beard.

“How did that not get on your shirt,” Peter muses, digging the digit in to remove the remaining dried flakes until it’s clear. Satisfied with his work, he steps back and nods. “Okay, Mister-Man, you’re free to go and wash up.”

“Thank you, dear,” Tony says dryly. “You know how messy Barnes gets.”

“I recall. Does Barnes know that it’s a bitch to get arterial spray out of whites?”

“Why do you think he only wears black?”

“The aesthetic.”

Tony snorts, uncorking the wine, leaving Peter to finish plating up their meal.

They take their bowls and drinks over to the sofa, settling close together amongst the cushions. Tony shifts, knocking their elbows together to unmute the nightly news on the TV, leaving the remote lying in the groove between their thighs.

The first few mouthfuls are initially silent, both too ravenous to do more than groan with every slippery slide of noodles into their mouth.

“Mmm,” Tony drops his fork to the bowl with a clang, wiping the stray sauce from his mouth with a tissue from his pocket, throat bobbing as he swallows. “Baby, this is divine. Did you make this sauce from scratch?”

Peter nods, still chewing a bite of meatball. He swallows, twirling his fork into the pasta. “S’it okay? Thought it might offset the pasta taste. I used the basil from the windowsill.”

Tony leans over to press a kiss to Peters lips, his breath against his mouth all rich red-wine and tomato tartness, like all of their good nights before. He chases it with a peck of his own before resuming his attention to his meal.

“It’s amazing. Five stars and I’m not even being facetious. Thanks for cooking, chef.”

“S’ok,” Peter shrugs, a little bashful. With his free hand he picks up the remote and turns up the volume as the news program returns back from the ad break.

“And in breaking news,” the news anchor reads, stony faced and staring directly into the camera, “Paul Morello, aid and confidant to Mayor Ross, has been reported missing since last Wednesday. Close sources to Morello say he was last seen outside of his office getting into his vehicle three days ago. His girlfriend of four weeks says he hasn’t been home since he left that same morning.”

Peter snorts, shovelling another helping of spaghetti into his mouth. God, this would have gone so good with garlic bread, he thinks mournfully, wishing they’d bought a frozen loaf from the store and mentally adding it to his next shopping list.

“Please,” Tony huffs. “We only had Morello since this morning. Two of my girls had him before that. Which was an actual coincidence, believe it or not. Got mouthy when they demanded a condom.”

“Scumbag,” Peter concurs, sipping the wine. It’s pleasantly tart. “Did you give the girls a tip?”

“Sure did,” Tony knocks their glasses together. “Was just gonna cut off a finger at first, but turns out he has a list of buried charges that makes Brock Turner look like a choir boy -- or, well, had a list. Past tense."

“Good riddance,” Peter tilts his head back and downs the rest of his wine.

---

Long after the food is demolished and the food-coma state has passed in a daze, Peter remembers his promise from earlier.

While Tony’s attention is on his phone, scrolling through a Reuters article about himself, Peter takes the opportunity to slink down off the sofa onto his knees and position himself between the older man's  legs. Curling his hands under Tony’s thighs, he kisses his way up from bend at his knee to the junction of his groin where he noses interestedly at the soft mound at the centre.

He mouths at it, peering up through his eyelashes, silently requesting attention at the same time Tony looks down. The man wastes little time in setting his phone aside and cupping Peter’s face with his hands.

“First a world class meal and now this?” Tony sighs, running his fingers through Peter’s hair as his zip is lowered. “I don’t fucking deserve you.”

“Hey, I decide that,,” Peter gently reprimands, tugging down Tony’s slacks, watching reverently as his half-hard length springs from the fabric to rest lazily against Tony’s hip. “And I’m feeling kinda generous, so. Take it or leave it.”

Tony reaches a hand down to caress the lobe of Peter's ear, the corner of his lips quirking sideways. His legs spread further to accommodate the width of Peter’s shoulders.

“Well, if you say so. Guess I better take it.”

Peter licks the tip of his cock, grimacing when his cheek comes into contact with something harder than Tony’s cock.

“Actually, can you just remove the loaded firearm from your pocket, just -- I don’t want it going off in my face? I -- yeah. Thanks. Sorry.”

Tony sighs, fishing out and dropping the weapon on the coffee table.

“Perfect,” Peter nods. “Glock 33. Nice. On second thought, wanna pop that in the safe and I’ll meet you back here pants-down? Cool?”

Tony shakes his head, his cock bobbing as he stands.

“So cool.”

---

Peter sighs softly against the back of Tony’s neck when the sliver of sunlight hits his eyes.

As usual, sleep doesn’t return to him easily once it’s lost, and unlike the previous morning, he doesn’t attempt to fall back under. The humidity of his own breath is uncomfortably warm against his chin. His bladder, full again, presses against his husband's warm body, soft cock against his lower back.

Tony, predictably, continues to snore.

Peter leaves the bed and tiptoes to the adjacent bathroom to pee. When he returns, he closes the curtain, mindful of his nakedness, then returns to the bed.

Deciding to make best use of his time awake, Peter spends the early hours of the morning under the sheets. Shifting down the mattress, he spreads Tony’s cheeks and buries his face between them.

The snores quickly turn into groans.

This is the life. Having his sleeping dragon of a husband kicking out his feet in his sleep, moaning wetly into his pillow as Peter eats him out. He always takes Peter so well, even in sleep. With his face flushed, breathless, it’s no hardship for Peter to tenderly attend to the musky furl of skin, tight again despite their recent loving.

It was magnificent. Even half-asleep, Peter couldn't allow it to go without worship on a Sunday morning.

His jaw is sore by the time Tony comes, his hips driving his release into the sheets. After taking a moment to catch his breath, chest heaving with the aftershock of his orgasm, Tony flips over onto his back, squinting up to the ceiling.

Peter crawls back up, pressing a line of kisses up Tony’s sternum to the hollow of his collarbone. Arms wrap around him tightly until they’re chest-to-chest, sticky with sweat. This close, Peter can feel the rhythmic beating of Tony’s racing heart.

“D’you wan’ me to…?” Tony mumbles, mouth going slack.

“I’m good, go back to sleep.”

“‘Kay. Love you.”

“Love you more,” he whispers.

Later, Peter is going to bring up the idea of adopting a cat again. He’s going to wear Tony down, he knows it.

But that can wait, for now.

Smiling, Peter hooks his leg over Tony's hip, kisses the back of his neck as tenderly as he can muster, and lets the darkness pull him back under. 

[leboutique-lily]

Hello! Ur Namjoon smut fic was so amazing 🥺 I’d really like to request that morning after where Namjoon wakes you up with his tongue bc frankly that sounds like the best way to wake up, also thank you for sharing your talent with us 🥺

Hey my sweet!

Thank you for your support and your sweet words my little flower, I loved your request was secretly hoping that someone asked this.

Here you go sweetie, hope you enjoy it!

Steps 0.2

Who forgot to close the curtain last night?

The sunlight is bright and warm this morning, illuminating the room and announcing the weekend for the sleeping souls out there.

Namjoon must admit, he would love to get back to sleep, he's eyes heavy and slumber possessing his body, but when he lower his head and see your sweet figure wrapped on him sleeping so peacefully, he can't help but admire you.

Your head laid on his broad chest with one arm around his waist, while your left leg rest on his lower half, your succulent thigh on top of his growing morning wood.

The sun touches your skin making shadows between the sheets and you look so warm and comfortable... He run his fingers through your disheveled hair, a smile forming on his lips when you notice the bright light coming through the windows and doing that cute thing with your nose that always melts his heart, to nose your way to his neck to ignore the imminent day.

His hand on your head chooses to lightly brush up and down on your naked back while the unoccupied one goes to your thigh and stroke the soft skin there. You're wandering between your dreams and your consciousness, moving to place your hand right on his beating heart, feeling the beats and his steady breaths on your palm. It's all so nice and warm that you decide to stay on your dreamland for now.

Namjoon on the other hand is trying to stay still for you, but your naked body feels so good, you're soft against him. The way you're so close and so relaxed using his body as your pillow... he could stay like this forever. Memories of last night come to mind and he close his eyes at the tought of your sweet moans and hot pussy around him. He was trying to keep it sweet... and it was a dulcet, romantic moment. Until he remembered the last thing he said last night.

'I can't wait to wake you up with my tongue tomorrow '

He feels himself getting harder at the tought, the idea of having your taste as his breakfast to tempting to let it pass. And he kind promised, right?

Right.

So he moves you very gently, to not wake you already and positions himself at your feet. You look like a goddess to him, majestic in your natural beauty, he can't wait to feast on your nectar.

He pulls the sheets down, uncovering your sleeping body, granting him your glorious naked figure and suddenly he's starved, only you can cure his hunger.

He gives a chaste kiss on calves, his hands climbing their way to the back of your knees with his plush lips right behind. He slowly pushes your legs open, observing your face to see any distress but you're sleeping like a rock now. Last night must've been tiring indeed... that proud feeling deep in his chest.

Shuffling his way up between your legs that are now falling open, exposing your sore pussy to his eyes.

"Fuck, you're pretty all over baby..." he tought out loud, using the tip of his fingers to laid caresses on your pussy and your inner thighs. You squirm a little, stirring in your sleep and he stop, eyes glued to you face. He needs to go slow, because he knows you must be sensitive from the latest activities, so he gently pulls your lips apart exposing your entrance and your clit to him.

This is not new to him, he already had girls like this, but never you. He's dying to taste you for months, he can't wait any longer, so he gives a long full lick from bottom to top in your pussy and he can feel some of your arousal starting to drip out. What are you dreaming of...?

He repeats the action and he feels like he could stay buried tongue deep in you for the rest of his life, your sweet yet slightly salty flavor intoxicating his mouth. The way you're starting to move and mumble some unintelligible sound in your sleep spurring him on. He keeps you open and circle your clit with his thumb, mesmerized by your clenching little hole dripping more of your juices that he's is eager to lick it clean. He run his tongue close to your clit but never touches it, teasing your body to react, happy when you unconsciously follow the stimulation. Taking your outer lips in his mouth and sucking gently he can hear the beginning of your moans trying to break free from your throat, your head shaking slowly and your breath deepening.

He keep teasing you like this until he can't resist to thrust his tongue inside of you, feeling how warm you're inside. Your taste invading his senses once more. He's hands push your knees up to your stomic exposing your clit, peaking from his hood and he takes it in his mouth to give little kitten licks in every directions, eliciting deeper moans from you. You can feel an addictive pleasure not knowing if your dreams became to realistic or if there's something going on.

Namjoon can feel you gaining consciousness, your body waking up on his mouth and he engulfs the engorged bud on his lips and suck hard on it holding your legs up and apart.

The amount of pleasure that he infringes on you makes you wake in a gasp, eyes looking for the source of the strong feeling and finding your boyfriend's head down between your legs that are currently pushed up and held securely by his huge hands. His eyes piercing and mischievous looking up at you. How can someone look so daring looking up at you. Oh fuck... he's talented. His tongue is incessantly liking at your clit bringing you close to the edge before you know what is happening.

You moan his name like a pray, eyes closing at the burning feeling taking over your senses, your juices running down your slip and Namjoon like the starving man he is swallowing every drop. The way he's tongue was eagerly lapping all you have to give and prolonging your high to the maximum, the slurping wet sounds making your breath deep and fast at the feeling of his wet muscle doing wonders on your pussy.

The vision of your squirming body in ecstasy by his touch made Namjoon grind against the bed, his dick twitching at the sound of your cries.

The cries of pleasure were becoming whispers of overstimulation, the feeling of his tongue circling your entrance, dividing attention with your abused clit was too much, the overwhelming feeling making you try to avoid hes mouth freeing your legs from his grasp in an attempt to close them, but Namjoon wouldn't aloud it.

He pushed you open again, one leg at each side of his head over his shoulder, hands looped around your thights to keep your open and still for him.

He looked at your eyes and as if they were a magnet you had your own eyes looking back at him, they holded a firmness and an authority that you couldn't find it in yourself to contest.

"Don't you dare run away from me."

His cheeks smeared with your juices and his lips red from all the action, without more words he was back at devouring you. He's tongue flat licking every corner of your sex, then stiffening on your little bud, his fingers pulling your hood out of the way so he can stimulate you directly. Your whimpers were echoing on the walls, the neighbors probably well aware of the obscenities happening this early in the morning. Your hands went to get a hold on his hair, grabbing and pushing it, your grip tight, not knowing if you want him closer or if you want to push him away.

"J-Joonie... Namjoon I can't! Baby please - oh fuck..- please it's to much."

That strong tight feeling all over you, you head back in pleasure and despair.

"Yes, you can babygirl. Be good and keep this pretty tights open for me" his breath on your clit and his lips brushing on your sensitive pussy sending little sparkles up your body.

All you could do was try to keep them open for him, his tone leaving no space for argument. Your pussy gushing at his sudden dominance and your hands grabbing the sheets, he smirks on your pussy seeing the effect his tone has on your body.

"Taste so good... my babygirl taste like heaven, such a sweet pussy." He said between your lips, the tight coil taking place leaving that slight painful feeling behind.

He plunged one finger in, then another one... two fingers fucking your tight hole while his mouth worked in your swollen clit. His fingers twisting, finding a sweet spot inside of you that made you yelp in pleasure.

"Please.. Da- Namjoon, please make me cum" you begged almost letting scape a certain kink you seem to have but never had the courage to bring it up.

"Fuck, cum for me babygirl " his baritone tone pushing you over the edge again, your head thrown back and your body shaking with the after shocks of your orgasm. Namjoon helped you enjoy every last minute of your high and went to give you a wet kiss on your lips, your taste lingering on his lips, but not disgusting you as you thought it would.

"Good morning babygirl"

You mumbled a good morning back, kind of dizzie by the two orgasms.

"What you were saying back there, hm? It was not my name..." his smirk impossible to hide, his ego so inflated that its was hitting the roof.

You were so embarrassed, cheecks all red -his favorite- and trying to get up but his heavy body holded you down.

"No no no, you're not running away from me. Tell me baby..."

"I'm not gonna say anything and if you want to know, find out by yourself." You said and pushed him, taking a run for the bathroom, shame already forgotten.

You could hear his laughter and his heavy steps right behind you.

"Oh I will babygirl..."

🌸