#and i think he turned once or twice but i don’t think he was mesmerised

[blue-jisungs]

sometimes i wonder if someone genuinely finds me pretty

[abiiors]

𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚠𝚘 — 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚟𝚒𝚒𝚒

✧ — 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

✮ a/n: we're entering sad girl hours beware. also you might see familiar characters in this one

✮ cw: mentions of smut, suggestive content, slut-shaming, physical fights

✮ wc: 3.3k

matty’s hips slam into her ass, and jules moans into the pillow. her long, wavy hair is fisted in his hands, as matty thrusts into her, rougher than he ever has. 

it feels good though—her body is on fire, sticky from sweat and burning with desire, but she can’t get enough of this, of him. once or twice she even bites onto the pillow. 

there’s no one in the house anymore, no one but the two of them, but jules tries not to scream loud enough to alert the neighbours. 

“wanna hear you, darling, please,” matty complains immediately. 

her heart sinks. darling… for weeks she’s not said a single thing against it, against his use of pet names despite it being one of their rules. but now she can’t bear to hear it, can’t bear to look at him while he fucks her. in fact, the last few times, they’ve had sex, she’s insisted they do it this way—him behind her, her cheek squished into the pillow. 

it feels better this way, she lies to herself and to him. 

truth is she can’t bear to look at him without making her thoughts fully known. 

he groans, pounding into her harder, and in spite of herself, she moans. she’s close now, about to cum for the third time tonight. 

“fuckfuckfuck,” matty chants, thrusting deep, and jules feels him cum. 

she clenches around him as his cock twitches, cumming with a cry of her own. her thighs burn from the strain and she practically collapses on the bed, utterly exhausted and completely drained 

matty’s not far behind her, he walks two steps to throw away the used condom and then slides behind her in bed.

“that was hot,” he breathes, sliding her sweaty hair away from the nape of her neck. for a second she’s scared he’s going to place a small kiss on her skin. but he only brushes her hair away further. 

“was i rough?”

“a bit,” she speaks in a hushed voice, still catching her breath, “but i liked it.”

her back is still turned towards him—she can’t face him just yet, not while she feels so vulnerable—but she can feel his mood shift. 

“is…” his voice catches a little, “is something wrong?”

“no, why would you think that?”

for a second he’s silent, and she wonders if he’s going to make her face him. jules just waits for him to speak, staring out the window at the crescent moon. 

“nothing, i—” he sighs, getting out of bed, “i’m probably overthinking.”

she finally turns to look at him then, schooling her face into a carefully neutral mask. he’s in the process of getting dressed, walking around the room completely naked while he looks for the clothes they tossed away so carelessly. she can’t help steal a few glances at his cute butt, at his back and tattooed arms, at his curls that are now slightly longer. 

a second later he finds and puts on his underwear.

“matty?”

he turns to look at her, jumping in place to get his jeans on, “yeah?”

like an idiot she stares—a bit mesmerised—at his stomach and chest and all that skin on display, skin that she has touched and caressed and kissed a million times. and yet she feels breathless.

“jules?” his voice brings her out of her stupid head. he’s grinning, she sees, smiling in a way that makes her heart stagger in her chest. “your head’s in the clouds. did i fuck you that good?” he asks, voice tinged with smugness. 

“don’t call me that again,” she responds. 

matty frowns, about to ask clarification, when she sits up and clutches the sheets around her chest. “‘darling’. don’t call me that again. we agreed on no pet names.”

“oh…” she wonders if his face falls then, at least she thinks it does. the spark in his eyes vanishes giving way to dullness. then again, she’s probably projecting it. 

“sorry, yeah, you’re right,” he mumbles quickly, putting his t-shirt back on. “won’t happen again.”

and that’s what she wants, isn’t it? no pet names? still, her heart sinks when he smiles at her, so much forced and fake this time. 

“good night, jules,” he gives her a little wave, already turning away.

when the door shuts behind him with a soft thud, jules wonders if that’s what disappointment sounds like.

jules: will you come over tonight?

it’s a week later that she’s in bed, bored and horny and missing him. no, she corrects herself, missing his body. 

a minute later her phone dings.

matty: can’t. i’ve got a movie night with cleo  matty: can’t miss that jules: cleo?

her hands tremble while she types the name. it’s unmistakably a girl’s name. another girl’s name. and he’s got a movie night with her which sounds unmistakably like a date night… 

their last rule echoes in her ears—if one of us meets someone, we end this immediately.

matty: oh shit i forgot to tell u abt her didn’t i matty: it’s all been so sudden matty: she’s a childhood best friend. just got back from new york and i want to spend time with her. it’s been so long without her

every words she reads makes her feel worse and worse. she’s not jealous, jules repeats in her head. she’s not, she’s not, she’s not. she’s just…disappointed that she can’t get laid tonight. yeah, that’s what is it… 

matty: wednesday? matty: if ur free? jules: i am :) 

but wednesday morning comes and goes without matty telling her what time he’s coming over. even as afternoon passes and the sun continues its descent west, jules gets no message from him. he’s just busy, she tells herself—busy with his job and music and busy with… with cleo. her stomach feels sour every time she thinks about the other girl. 

it’s all rather dramatic, jules tells herself, he can have female friends. it would be absolutely psychotic of her to be angry about that. and yet as evening turns to night and there’s no sign of him, she can’t help but feel it’s because he’s with the other girl. 

there are no clinks on her bedroom window, no bell ringing in her flat. no new messages on her phone despite how many times she checks it. 

not until practically after midnight anyway when she’s already on the verge of falling asleep. still, when her phone rings, jules jumps on it. smiling like an idiot when matty’s name flashes on the screen. 

“i am so sorry,” he launches into an apology the moment she picks up. “so, so fucking sorry, jules. i know i said wednesday, and then i got so busy with cleo, i completely forgot…”

a stone settles into the pit of her stomach. matty’s still apologising, explaining why he stood her up, but jules can barely hear the words over the blood rushing in her ears. 

he forgot about her because he was with cleo. 

“matty,” she interrupts him, voice as level as she can muster, “‘s alright. she’s your best friend, i get it.”

truth is she doesn’t get it. she doesn’t get how he could have completely forgotten to send her even a quick text to inform her he’s busy. even just a simple ‘rain check?’ would have sufficed. 

but now she looks at the clock, at it nearing half past midnight while on call with someone who couldn’t even be bothered to cancel on her properly, and all she feels is dirty. cheap. like she’s a thing to be used and discarded. 

“jules?” matty interrupts her train of thoughts and she realises he’s waiting for a response. 

“sorry the network’s a bit shit,” she makes an excuse. “can you repeat that?”

“i said are you free on saturday? i’ve got a gig and i want you to be there.”

in spite of herself, she smiles a little at that. any excuse to watch matty on stage is good enough for her. besides, she’s wanted to watch him properly for months now. watch him without running away. 

“yeah?”

“mmhmm.” there’s a smile in his voice. jules smiles too. 

“i’ll be there then, text me the address.”

“oh and,” matty interrupts just as she’s about to hang up. “we’re getting drinks at firebug afterwards. will you be there?”

“i will,” she agrees instantly. 

“good,” he sounds like he’s smiling ear to ear, “i can’t wait for you to meet cleo too. see you saturday!”

and then he’s gone while jules sits there like an idiot with the phone clutched against her ear. 

can’t wait for you to meet cleo…

of course, she’ll be there. of course she will. why did jules think otherwise?

saturday is dull until carly turns up in the evening to get ready for the gig. it’s a nice surprise, jules thinks. she’s missed her friend. she’s been way too alone in this flat. and sure she likes having her freedom and privacy, but jules is still grateful that she’s not a ghost haunting this flat for at least one evening. 

they get ready dancing to paramore hits and belting to classic arctic monkey’s albums. carly helps her with a smokey eye and jules in turn paints carly’s nails for her. mostly they talk. 

it fills her heart with warmth to see how much in love carly looks, how happy she looks while talking about the last few weeks. 

“how are things with nico?” she asks, picking through a whole box of lipsticks for the perfect shade she wants. jules freezes. 

“good,” she says, busying herself in picking a perfume, “casual.”

and it’s not a lie. they are good and casual—things with a boy who is certainly not nico. 

“and you’re happy with casual?” carly opens up the lipstick she’s picked and looks at jules in the mirror. 

“casual is good,” she nods. that is maybe a half-truth at best. 

still, jules refuses to look at carly, refuses to acknowledge her stare that she feels burning in the side of her face. jules knows she will give herself away the moment she looks at carly. 

“should we leave?” she mumbles, practically fleeing out of the bathroom to look for her purse.

thankfully carly drops the subject in favour of blasting songs on their way over. she’s driving, and so jules stares out the window, occasionally singing along to the songs blasting through the speakers just to appease carly. 

she’s even more relieved when the venue comes into view. 

carly drags her to the barricade the moment they get inside. she wants to be front and centre and jules can’t disagree. she wants to experience this properly, wants to see him in his element. 

while they wait for the band, carly taps her on the shoulder. 

“that’s cleo, i think,” she points to a girl only a little farther away from them, “matty’s best friend.”

jules’ heart sinks further. the girl carly’s pointed at is gorgeous. there’s no other way to put it. she’s tall and beautiful, in a tiny black dress that fits her like a glove. her shoulder length black hair shine in the dim lights of the venue. jules even catches the hint of a lip piercing. 

fuck. 

this is the best friend. she has never stood less of a chance. 

and yet when the first notes of piano blare over the speaker, jules instantly turns her attention back to the stage. 

she had planned to get herself a few drinks while watching them, just let loose for today. but watching them is simply mesmerising. 

she can’t stop staring at the way george hits the drums with utmost precision, how he’s always in perfect timing. she watches ross’s fingers move on the bass, watches him smile to himself when he gets particularly difficult parts right. she watches adam get lost in the music, how his whole body vibrates with energy with each strum of the guitar. 

and then there’s matty. 

on that stage, he shines in a way jules has never seen him before. he glows from within and basks in the light that is purely him. he moves like the stage is an extension of his body; a born performer, a natural frontman. she gets lost in his voice. he engages the audience, flirts with them and makes them laugh, then serenades them with the sweetest melancholy.

often he stares at jules, waving and smiling at her, and moving onto other parts of the crowd, moving onto cleo. 

jules can’t help herself. against her better judgement, she stares at the other girl. 

cleo has a camera in her hands, held up and trained on… on george? jules frowns a little, watching more intently. she clicks, takes one photo after the other, all photos of george. 

that is…interesting. 

“cleo, right?” jules is tapping on her shoulder before she can stop herself. “looks like your camera loves george.”

she burns with mortification the moment that sentence leaves her mouth. she had no business saying anything like that! what an odd thing to say to a complete stranger. and yet cleo looks like she’s been caught in a lie. 

“i don’t–it’s not…” she sighs, “it doesn’t.” 

her sentence is short and clipped. frankly jules deserves it. and yet something about the way cleo looks eggs jules on. “he’s really good though, isn’t he?”

as if in a trance, cleo nods. “don’t be shy,” jules continues, “he’s actually a real sweetheart.”

cleo’s jaw drops a little. jules, unable to just fucking stop, continues her word vomit.  

“and you know this…” cleo raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. 

“oh i hook up with matty sometimes, kinda friends with benefits if you wanna call it that,” jules recites it like it’s a practised sentence. 

“they’re roommates,” she continues, “we’ve talked a couple times when he’s caught me trying to sneak out in the mornings.” 

cleo says nothing. curiously enough, she grimaces though. and why wouldn’t she… jules wants to hit herself because she’s already crossed a million different boundaries. and so she retreats, smiling apologetically.  

“anyway, i’m sorry, it’s none of my business. i just got a bit excited.” 

cleo waves it off distractedly, mumbling a quiet thank you. 

“i’m jules, by the way,” she holds out her hand and cleo takes it instantly. 

“cleo,” the girl smiles. a real dazzling smile. 

jules gives her hand one last squeeze and goes back to watching the show, yelling out the lyrics with matty.

“you came,” matty cheers the moment he sees jules, “you came!”

her heart melts in her chest, and she can’t help but laugh along with his enthusiasm. the other three are just walking up behind him. they talk to each other excitedly and just like him, they can’t stop grinning.

“should we leave?” he murmurs, mouth so close to hers she can feel his breath tickling his cheek. “please, i—” he swallows thickly and she sees the desire in his eyes. for her… it’s for her… 

the cool air caresses her sweaty, sticky skin and makes her shiver in pleasure, the moment they step outside. matty holds her hand and pulls her behind him, and he still hasn’t stopped staring. she feels his eyes linger on every single inch of her body, on the dress she’s so carefully chosen for tonight despite knowing better. 

the next thing she knows, matty’s holding her against the wall as he kisses her bare neck. he caresses her breasts through the dress and makes her writhe against him. 

“kiss me,” jules pleads and his warm mouth is capturing hers. 

his lips are soft and electricity zings through her at the contact. he kisses with such reckless abandon that it steals her breath away. her fingers tangle themselves into his hair as she kisses him back hungrily. 

jules can’t care less about how public this is, there’s only him in this moment. she bunches her hands in his t-shirt and pulls him closer. he’s already so hard against her but his hands are so soft. his lips are so delicate but his kisses are nothing but hungry. 

she hears drunken laughter nearby, probably strangers going about their night. she ignores that in favour of feeling the wall dig into her back, in favour of feeling his thigh between her legs, brushing her clit. 

and then there’s a clap. one and then another and another. jules pulls away, freezing at the sight of max.

one look at her face and she knows he’s livid, probably the angriest she’s ever seen him. 

“are you having fun, baby?” his voice is cold and cruel. jules tries not to curl into herself, but her heart speeds up in her chest for all the wrong reasons. next to her, she feels matty straighten. 

“piss off, mate,” matty warns, his voice unlike she’s ever heard. “what she does is none of your business.”

“oh isn’t it, healy?” max sneers, ugly in the moonlight.

“max…” jules warns, “stop it and go, please.”

“look at you, juliette,” he tuts. jules reels back at the use of her full name. her stomach flips and she tastes bile. jules swallows thickly to get rid of the sour taste on her tongue. max just laughs like a lunatic. 

“are my sloppy seconds good, healy?” he taunts. jules knows he’s just trying to goad matty, he’s looking for a fight and she’s not about to give him that. 

“leave,” she says again, more confident than the last time. 

“shut up, juliette,” he barks at her, and before she knows what’s happening, matty moves. 

times slows for her as she sees him balling her hands into a fist, raising it, and then with a sickening crunch, it connects with max’s jaw. max staggers back and falls flat on the ground. he clutches his face and howls, pathetic and sad. 

“don’t fucking talk to her like that,” matty growls. 

jules doesn’t know what comes over her. all she knows is that she needs to get out of here before max gets up, she needs to get matty out of here. and so she holds onto him and pulls with all her strength. it takes a little but eventually she manages to pull him back into the venue, almost on the verge of crying and shaking with anxiety. 

“are you okay?” matty cups her face, so tender and soft it breaks her fucking heart. 

“you can’t do that!” she yells and brushes his hand away with much more force than necessary. “you can’t fucking do that!”

there are tears streaming down her face, salty, hot tears that clog up her throat and make it hard to speak but jules is determined and angry. 

“jules, i—”

“no!” she holds up her hand. 

matty looks nothing like he did just minutes ago. his face is full of confusion and anger and… and heartbreak, she thinks. he looks like he’s about to cry too. 

“when you do shit like that,” she continues, unable to control herself, “when you look at me like that and i don’t know fucking…protect me like that, it makes me want more!” 

she’s yelling now, her voice cracking and hoarse and echoing around the venue. 

“it makes me want things i can’t have!”

matty takes a step forward, his hand stretched out like he just wants to pull her into a hug. but jules steps away and out of his reach. 

“if you’ll just listen,” he pleads. 

jules shakes her head. “no, you listen,” she holds up a finger pointed straight at him. “you can’t make me want things i can’t have!”

roughly she wipes away her tears, still shaking. 

“this was a mistake,” jules mumbles. “this was a mistake…”

and then she turns away from him, not bothering to look back even once. she turns away and runs because she knows nothing good is going to come out of it if she decides to stay.

[buckybarnesandmarvel]

Puppy Interview

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: FLUFF, alludes to smut

Summary: Chris takes you to the set of the already-infamous puppy interview.

A/N: Just a small blurb influenced by these heinous pictures. He’s trying to kill us all. It’s a conspiracy... i love him for it tho...

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

“Y’know, Dodger’s gonna think you’re cheating on him.”

Your eyes were on your phone but you felt Chris give you a look beside you.

“Hilarious. Because I haven’t heard that one before.” He deadpanned.

You just shrugged, a small smile on your face.

“Let’s make a bet.” You spoke up randomly after a few seconds.

Chris raised his eyebrow, prompting you to continue.

“You have to answer at least 5 questions, fully.”

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N, that’s so easy!”

You scoffed. “Yeah, we’ll see. And if I win, we get to take one of the dogs home. And if you win...”

“I get to do whatever I want.” He raised his eyebrows and whispered suggestively and you felt heat rush up into your cheeks. Brushing it off, you just rolled your eyes.

“Deal.”

******

You watched Chris from behind the camera. So far, you weren’t doing so well.  He had managed to answer all three questions properly and you just hoped he would mess up the next one.

Chris kept throwing you confident glances and, every time, you stuck your tongue out like a child while he laughed at your antics.

While you were focused on counting the amount of questions he got right or wrong, you couldn’t help but get mesmerised by the grown man turning into a child while playing with the puppies. You smiled at each sweet interaction and ‘awed’ at the cute nicknames.  You loved seeing him laugh so much. The way his eyes scrunched at the corners. The left-boob grab. No matter how many times you made fun of him for doing it, it actually brought joy to your day.

******

Once the interview was over, Chris stayed with the dogs for a bit. He called you over and you sat down between his legs. There was only one puppy left on the floor. The light brown one with the orange collar. You saw how much Chris loved him and now you knew why. You both giggled as the small pup as he bit on the tips of your shoes.

You watched him chase his own tail as Chris wrapped his arms around you middle and whispered in your ear.

“He’s yours.”

You whipped your head around, disbelief written all over your face.

“Really? You- You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

“But I lost.”

“Then I guess your gonna have to let me do whatever. Twice.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Evans.”

He just laughed as you turned back to the little dog.

“So. What’re you gonna call him?” He asked.

“Ummm... Buzz.” 

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

this man is gonna be the death of me.

@pbnjparker​

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦ ♪ ◦∘ Timothée Chalamet - Concerto ∘◦ ♪ ◦∘

A/N - I wrote and posted this almost a year ago on my Wattpad. My writing has evolved a lot since then, but I’m still proud of this piece, and hope you enjoy it. I do not know Tim, nor do I claim to in any way. This is a work of fiction and entirely my own. 

Warnings - smut. Detailed (but protected and consensual) sex, slight BDSM, overstimulation. Cursing. Legal alcohol consumption and smoking. Also 10k words of sickening fluff though, even the smut is fluffy.

Summary - At a classical music concert, the last person you expect to meet is a young man as charming and suave as Timothée. And the last thing you expected is for him to invite you back to his flat. Turns out music really is food for the soul, and other things...

IT’S A FRIDAY EVENING IN NEW YORK CITY. The sun is setting behind the towering silhouettes of undulating buildings all across the city, the moon casting shadows all around au contraire to the luminescence of building lights, beaming all around as well as the street lamps, bringing colour and light to people’s faces in the dark.

You’re standing on the pavement outside Symphony Space Concert Hall on the Upper West Side, people watching. Nothing more or less conspicuous, just observing everyone flooding into the hall, though none of them seem to be under 50 years of age. After checking the time, you take your phone out of the pocket attached to your delicate silk jumpsuit you’re wearing for the night, the one reserved for classy parties and sophisticated concerts only (though very handy). You open the email holding your ticket for the evening, a Poulenc appreciation concert, and you show it to the bouncer who grants you entry to the auditorium.

The room looks incredible. Photos of Francis Poulenc, as well as some old parchment sheets of his music spread out delicately over the usually bare walls. The lights create a perfect ambience in the hall for what's sure to be an incredible evening. The red velvet seats are half full, dotted with people at least twice your age, except from one seat near the front where you can see merely a defined jaw and brown curls. On the stage stands two glossy black grand pianos, slotted beside one another with plush velvet stools and their lids propped up, allowing one to see the inner workings of such wonderful instruments. Behind the pianos are seats enough for an entire orchestra, creating a crescent moon shape. A couple of the seats already have instruments atop them, aching for their owners to play beautiful melodies with them. You make your way down to where your seat is, familiar with the layout of the auditorium. You’re on the right hand side of the centre stalls, third row back, but as you arrive, there’s a boy you saw earlier, not much older than yourself.

“Hi, do you mind if I squeeze past?” You ask him, watching his head jolt up from the programme to reveal a mop of beautiful dark brown curls framing his chiselled face, piercing green eyes with flecks of hazel when the light changed direction. You recognise him, an actor, you simply can’t place him.

His look of incredulity melts into a smile. “Sure.” He says, moving his legs so that you can squeeze past and take your reserved seat on his left. He turns to face you, smiling. He’s wearing a crisp navy suit with a pale blue shirt and a matching tie. He looks well presented, and by his nervous and lopsided smile, you guess that he’s rather nervous to be at the concert alone too. “Timothée.” He tells you, holding his hand out.

You return his gesture, smiling right back at him, and tell him your name. “You here alone?” You ask him, turning in your seat to get a better view. He nods.

“Thought I’d be the only under fifty here.” He laughs, “I’m 24 by the way, but I shan’t ask your name since you're a lady.” You can't help but laugh at this, just a little giggle at how sweet he is, but your interaction is cut short as the lights turn down in the auditorium but shine brighter on the stage, and a full orchestra enters the stage, accompanied by their instruments, two pianists and a conductor. Murmurs in the hall settle down to a faint hum while the musicians tune to the sound of the oboe, and then begin to play.

The music is mesmerising, starting with orchestral pieces with faint piano accompaniment, then just a nocturne for piano, split between the two lead pianists. You could listen to it all night, but an interval has to come. As the lights slowly turn back up, you see an infantile smile on Timothée’s face, as though he’s just watched the most excellent thing in the world.

“Come on,” you say to him, smiling sadly while you tap his knee, “let’s get a drink.”

He reluctantly stands up to follow you out of the auditorium and to the small bar area. You order two margarita’s without consulting him, but he seems grateful as you sit beside each other on a high table, people watching once again.

“What's your job then?” He asks you, making small talk.

“I’m a piano major at Juilliard, teaching piano on the side though.” You respond, and he seems really taken aback. His jaw falls a little slack while his eyes bulge a tad.

“Wow, you must be excellent!” You blush a little at his words, elegantly taking a sip from your drink while he eyes you carefully. You feel awkward under his gaze, though flattered nonetheless. He’s gorgeous, and he’s complimenting you and accepting drinks from you, what a night.

“What about you?” You inquire. He's an actor, you know that, but asking means that you may be able to get some more context and maybe it’ll click where you’ve seen him before. He clears his throat, and you can see some older people walking by who pull faces, judging the pair of you, but you brush them off.

“I’m an actor, mainly small films though.” He says, remaining vague. You don’t push much more, realising that he probably likes not being fawned all over for once, so you simply ask of the favourite names he’s had the honour of working alongside, which must be an uncommonly asked question because a light flickers behind his eyes.

“Selena Gomez, Steve Carell, Armie Hammer, Saoirse Ronan, Emma Watson, Robert Pattinson, Maia Mitchell…” He begins to list, but only when he mentions Maia does it click. You aren't huge into films, but you have seen him in a film with Maia Mitchell and Maika Monroe a few years ago.

“Hot summer nights, right? You were in that?” His cheeks turn a magnificent crimson and he bows his head as though embarrassed. He mumbles something along the lines of ‘not my best performance’, but you disagree. “I think you were wonderful, and did you mention Armie Hammer?” He nods again, seeming a little brighter. You take another sip from your drink, and he follows suit, watching your poised movements.

“Call Me By Your Name.” You nod in recognition, you remember watching the film when it first came out and loving the music from it.

“You’re excellent you know, at piano I mean, and the intimate scenes aren’t half bad either, you make them better.” You say with a teasing smirk on your painted lips, making Timothée’s eyes widen again. You chuckle and grasp his hand, dragging him into the auditorium for the second half.

The second half is a whole concerto, Poulenc’s Concerto For Two Pianos And Orchestra. Ten minutes in, Timothée’s hand finds your thigh and seems very comfortable, so comfortable in fact that you don't dare move it. As the concerto flows further on, his hand slides further up your clothed leg and squeezes your upper thigh a little You tense under his touch, infatuation and lust filling every cell and exiting through your pores, just waiting for more passion to fill your body and make you drunk on the feeling.

When finally the concert ends, both of you stand to applaud the musicians for a solid few minutes, and you could swear you see a tear leaving Timothée’s mysterious eyes and rolling down his heavenly made, painfully defined cheekbones. While you clap, you surreptitiously edge closer together, millimetre by millimetre until you’re hip to hip with elbows nudging. Your head comes up to his chin, making you feel a little small, but you’ll feel even smaller once your heels come off. Once the majority of the audience have filed out, you grasp his hand and pull him through the crowds where you stand on the corner of the pavement, only metres from the venue. You’re reluctant to loosen your grip on his slim hand, as he is with yours.

“Cigarette?” He offers, holding a half full box out to you. You half smile and shake your head in refusal.

“I don’t mind if you do though.” You say, meeting his gaze. “I love the taste of smoke when I kiss someone.” You add in a whisper, leaning up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He goes rigid, making you smirk to yourself. This is going to be a good night.

He lights his cigarette and takes slow drag, only looking away to blow the smoke in an opposite direction to you. How respectful, you think, as your stomach fills with butterflies and bubbles with anticipation. He puts it out on top of a bin and throws it away without littering, and just that small and helpful gesture makes you crave his touch, having his fingers trace your sweaty skin and making your body tingle, your back arch with desire and pleasure.

“Wanna get a drink?” You ask, pointing to a nice bar across the road. You’re desperate to sleep with him, but not without pleasantries first. He, however, shakes his head and intricately entwines his fingers with yours.

“I’ll do you one better than a drink.” His smirk sets off a different kind of longing in you, forcing your body to follow him wherever he takes you.

As you walk, he starts conversation, but you’re so breathless from the desperation speed walking that your answers are brief. He asks you why you attended the concert, only to remember that you’re a music student and piano teacher; so in turn, you ask him the same question.

“When I was doing Call Me By Your Name, I had to learn the piano, and while I was learning classical pieces, I kind of just fell in love with classical piano music, I don’t know.”

His nervousness is sweet, making him appear far more humble than anyone of his stature would usually be.

You get to his building after a twenty minute dash in heels, and he pulls you flush against him while entering through the revolving doors, allowing you to lay your weight on him for a moment while you gather your breath. You feel his heartbeat thudding and racing against his ribs, reverberating against your own chest. You turn around to face him and place your hand on his chest.

“Breathe.” You say to him, allowing him to release a long held breathy chuckle. You leave the doors, both laughing, and fervently press the buttons to wait upon a lift. “So,” You then continue, breaking the silence where only your breaths were heard. “Favourite piano piece from the Call Me By Your Name soundtrack?”

“Hallelujah Junction!” You both answer at the same time, just as the lift doors open. You fall into the lift in a fit of giggles, clinging onto each other. You find yourself with your back pressed against the cold metal handle bar in the elevator with Timothée’s face inches away from your own. Your breath mingles together. As soon as he presses the button to his floor, he nudges his nose with your own.

“God, you're so beautiful.” he says seconds before his mouth is pressed hotly against your own, kissing you with an unrivalled passion. Your lips mould and move together like it’s second nature. His one hand holds your waist while both of yours grip his face, feeling a slight stubble.

The lift dings and he drags you out, unlocking his apartment door and leading you inside.

“Welcome to Casa del Timmy.” he says while hugging you from behind, allowing you to get a full view.

His apartment is stunning. Sleek, yet also vintage. Your eyes follow across the perimeter through a door to the left, where he has an office area containing a sleek white desk with a mac and a stack of papers and pens, next to it is a vintage white bookcase stacked as high as possible with novels of all shapes and sizes, and even an indie style rug underneath a colourful modern dining set..

The door next to the office is a kitchen, white countertops with wooden cupboards and a beautiful view of the city out of the window. To the right is a set of glass doors that open onto a small balcony where you can see the whole city, even Manhattan and Brooklyn depending which way you look and how the moon beams down. There’s a closed door right in front of you and through the entry hall and living room which you assume is his bedroom held behind a golden doorknob.

His living room, where you remain standing, holds an array of house plants with a couple of very comfortable looking plush sofas, his TV stand as well as his coffee table look like polished vintage items, refurbished from a flea market maybe, while his book shelf and rug are grand and modern. The best part of all though is a grand piano in an oak wood, matching the wood from his television table, and you become instantly entranced by the instrument that you don’t even notice the velvet stool or the perfectly organised cabinet of music, with a guitar propped up against it.

“Wow.” You breathe. Timothée grips you tighter, trailing kisses across your shoulder and up the side of your neck, inhaling every few seconds to treasure the scent of your perfume. Gardenia, rose champagne, grapefruit, davana; heavenly. You grip his hands with your own, holding them tightly where they’re settled on your tummy. You roll your head against his shoulder to give him better access to kiss you, but he stops abruptly and leads you to the piano stool. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a well loved piece of music.

“I know it’s for two pianos, but let's have some fun.” He says, grinning at you, an infectious smile that you can’t help but return. Hallelujah Junction, first movement. He puts the music out on the piano and takes a seat beside you, your thighs touching and hands overlapping as they begin to glide over the keys.

Playing this piece is second nature to you, allowing you to find your way easily, slipping your fingers between Timothée’s, and the white and black keys. You begin a harmonious melody spanning the whole of the piano, but after only a couple of pages, you realise that its not working as your notes cross over, making it very difficult to play on just one piano. You laugh together, but only for a moment before he is trailing his tongue up your neck, then your lips, and delving inside your mouth. You gasp, moaning into the passionate kiss that he’s giving you, and within seconds you find yourself straddling his lap on the piano stool. You trap his thighs between yours, moving and grinding your hips a little against his to receive more friction where you can feel how needy he is.

Within seconds, he has your legs wrapped around his waist and his teeth on your clavicle. The pleasure makes sounds escape your lips that you didn’t even realise were possible. You knot your ankles as he stands up with one hand around your waist and the other feeling his way around his apartment. After a few funny missteps and close calls of him dropping you while only walking the expanse of his living room, he pins you against his bedroom door, finding your lips again

He gently pokes at your dusty pink bottom lip with his tongue, slipping his tongue back into your mouth, exploring avidly and devouring every taste of you that he can muster. You do the same, but become too infatuated by his taste to put much more passion into it: gin, mint, bergamot and smoke. Smoke, sugar and sin, the most deadly combination of them all, and that's all you can smell on him, making you moan even louder. An erotic moan that makes Timothée twist open the handle to his bedroom door as quickly as is humanly possible.

He as good as throws you onto the bed, but undeniably, it turns you on a lot to see his dominant side this early on into the evening. He doesn't seem like the type to pin you down and boss you around, but as he shuts his bedroom door and delicately takes off his probably very expensive shoes, you can see a glint in his eye, almost as if he’s planning on doing unspeakably pleasurable things to you. Just the thought makes you wetter than before.

As he locks the door and shuts his shoes away, you take a quick look around the room. His bed is nice, comfortable and exquisitely large, like other things you hope. He has a nice colourful throw, vintage looking pillows to match his nightstand, holding only a pillbox, a glass of water, hand sanitiser, and a box of tissues. The simplicity makes you want to laugh, but you restrain yourself. He has a big dresser to match his bedside table with the drawers a little skewwhiff and clothes poking out. His wardrobe is fitted to the wall and by the looks of it, surprisingly neat too. That much cannot be said for his sofa though. A plush, light grey sofa sits on one side of his room just away from the window, and it's covered with clothes. At least he made the bed though, that's more than you can say for most 20-odd year old mans rooms that you’ve been into.

He sheds his blazer and crawls up to where he left you on the bed, needy and craving more. He looks down at you with desperation in his eyes, and you can’t help but to attack his lips, threading one hand in his beautiful dark curls while the other nimbly pulls open his tie and undoes his shirt. You shrug it off his shoulders and run your nails up and down his spine. You feel him shiver beneath his touch while your hands travel all over his body. His shoulders, his biceps, his toned stomach; he’s skinny, but has enough substance to him to be strong and sexy as hell.

“You’ll kill me if you stop.” He whispers, followed by a string of breathy curses. His eyes roll into the back of his head, giving you ample opportunity to grasp his shoulders and slip the pair of you over, pinning him beneath you. His eyes flit all over your face before kissing you again.

“You are so freaking beautiful.” He mumbles between kisses. He slips his hands up to find the zip of your jumpsuit which he slides down crazily fast, only breaking the kiss to shrug it off your shoulders. He just lies in awe, noticing that you don’t have a bra on beneath it. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he examines every undulation of your body, following the swell of your breasts right down to your hips. Your nerves return under his scrutiny, making you want to hide your face, but instead he holds your wrists behind you.

“You never have to cover up,” he says, nothing more or less than genuine love in his eyes, “not for me.”

Despite only meeting him hours ago, you know that you can trust him, so you ungracefully clamber off his lap and lie on your back to shimmy off your burden of a jumpsuit. He practically leaps at the opportunity to worship your body, before him in only your panties. He starts at your ankle, placing feather light kisses all the way from your ankle, up your leg, not minding the slight harshness of your legs, and only stops at your knee joint to switch his lips to his tongue, licking a straight line all the way up your inner thigh, stopping centimetres from where you need him the most. Not through any of this ritual does he break eye contact though. He skips over your panties and only pulls them down a little to trail kisses from your pelvic bone, up past your navel, through the valley of your breasts, and finally back to your lips. He makes you feel things that you could only dream of before meeting him.

“Timothée…” you breathe, hearing his breath hitch in his throat at the way your tongue curls around his name.

You reach between the two of you to his trousers. You undo the belt buckle with ease and push his trousers off his hips and down his thin legs, allowing him to kick them off at the bottom. He seems embarrassed, wearing Y-fronts that make more visible just how much he wants you.

“How about we strip together?” You offer, and Timothée reluctantly nods. He pushes himself off of you and stands up, giving you a hand to stand up as well. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment you left the concert hall. “3, 2, 1…”

You both remove your underwear, pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them, only to step closer together so that your chests are flush against one another. He moves his hand up to cup your face, brushing your hair away from your face while tilting your chin up, capturing your lips in a lustful yet also sensual kiss.

He nudges you and your legs hit the bed, making you topple over and break the kiss from a giggle, but he doesn’t seem to mind and only laughs with you, moving your body further onto the mattress. He doesn't go to you again, he just lies beside you and dances his fingers absently down your pubic bone, ghosting circles around your clit.

“Jesus Christ.” You exclaim at the sudden feeling. Timothée kisses your jawline, but adds in between kisses, “Less of that, darling, I’m Jewish.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. You know he’s joking, just trying to mess with you, but as a punishment for laughing, he thrusts two fingers inside you with no warning, making you cry out in a mixture of both pain and overwhelming pleasure.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, never going deeper than the second knuckle even when you cry out for more. Only when your moans turn to gasps for breath and you’re writhing beneath him does he delve in further and add his thumb to your clit, giving you a more intense orgasm than you’ve ever had before.

You immediately feel blood rushing back to your cheeks, colouring them from embarrassment, but Timothée doesn’t mind. He removes his hand from your core, and makes sure your eyes are fixated on his every movement as he licks his hand clean of all your cum. You’re so turned on that you even reach for his own hand, interlacing all your fingers except for his index one, of which he takes the hint and slips it into your open mouth, allowing your tongue to curl around it, making him groan.

He slips further down the bed and locks his eyes onto yours, you can see different shades of green and hazel in them and a whole world locked behind those beautiful eyes. Slowly, he delves into your heat, licking up everything that his hands missed. His mouth works wonders, sending your mind into a state of mild euphoria. The tip of his nose nudges your clit and you can feel yourself involuntarily gasp, so when Timothée finishes savouring every taste of you that he can get, he harshly bites your sensitive clit for just a moment, stimulating parts of your mind and body that you didn’t know could feel pleasure, let alone pleasure that intense.

He comes back up and kisses your lips, planting his hands in your hair as you kiss him back and get lost in the moment, your tongues dance together in an exploration, an experimentation of passion.

You pull away after a minute or so, gasping for air. Timothée examines your face for a moment, and you find yourself once again losing your thoughts and sanity in his eyes, until you feel the tip of his throbbing cock brush against your bare thigh. You feel bad for how much he’s been neglecting his own levels of desire in order to pleasure you, so you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. He takes a sharp intake of breath and flutters his eyes closed, his long dark eyelashes twitching alongside his eyelids whenever you grasp harder or pump him.

He’s surprisingly big, causing you to take longer while rubbing your hand up and down his member. Half way down one thrust, you squeeze his cock a little, hearing him whimper a little. The mere sound of him drowns your core in want. You edge your way down the bed and swallow as much of his dick as you can take until his tip hits the back of your throat. He lets out the most sensual guttural groan that you’ve ever heard, his eyes still closed while placing his hand on the back of your head to keep you steady. You bring your head back up to look at him while your tongue swirls his tip, his mouth is parted a little with breathy moans of your name escaping every once in a while, his eyelids switching from being lazily half open to squeezed so tightly shut that they wrinkle a little.

You go back down slowly, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks. You work your hand in the part of him that won’t fit in your mouth and continue to bob your head up and down. You lick a strip up a vein on the underside of his dick, making him near enough scream your name. With one final bob of your head where you deep throat him, you pull away with plump lips, climbing up his body to straddle his waist. He looks up at you with wide and loving eyes, pulling you down for a sensual kiss.

“Are you clean?” He asks breathlessly, kissing down the hickeys that he’s already littered your skin with.

“Yeah, i got tested after my last break up a few months ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since. Is that because I just…” He nods and you laugh a little, the vibrations from his chuckle rumble throughout your body.

“I did the same, but I’ll still…” You get what he’s saying and climb off him. He flings open the top drawer of his bedside table and after a minute or so of rooting through it he pulls out a condom packet and places it next to his glass of water. You give him a questioning look with your brows knitted together, but Timothée just smiles at you. He slips one slim arm beneath your back and the other under your knee joint before scooping you up and holding you close to his chest.

“Well hey there Timothée.” You say with a chuckle, secretly astonished at how strong he is, because with one arm still holding you, he throws away the decorative pillows and pulls the duvet back, throwing you onto the mattress and leaping on top of you. You smile into his kiss, savouring every second of the feel of his lips pressed hotly against your own, the taste of smoke driving you crazy.

He pulls away and sits up, tearing open the condom packet and grasping his hand sanitiser. He flicks the lid open and squeezes it liberally onto his hands before applying it and rubbing it into yours. “Are you sure?” He asks you, and your urgent kiss to his jawline is followed by a string of fervent reassurances that you are desperate to have him inside you, though you respect that he wants consent and that he wants to be clean. He slips the condom on, his eyes trained on your lips and the way they part from wanting every few seconds. He’s enjoying torturing you and making you wait, the same way that you edged him but denied him orgasm.

He slips the condom on and slowly enters in one smooth stroke. You gasp at the contact, especially how deep he goes with the first thrust, so deep that his pubic bone hits your own. He reaches for the duvet and he pulls it up over his shoulders, covering the pair of you since he can see that you’re shivering a little in the open. He looks for reassurance, but then begins to thrust inside you, holding his weight above you. You can see his biceps tensing while trying to hold his weight up and keep a steady rhythm.

“How about we spice this up?” He suggests, a sly smirk playing on his lips. He cocks an eyebrow, and the sun hits his face at an angelic angle, only making him more beautiful. You nod eagerly to him, only making his smirk grow wider.

“Yes Mr Timothée,” you say, triggering a dominant smirk to relight behind those stunning eyes.

“That's Mr Chalamet to you tonight, Miss.” Words cannot even explain how wet he makes you by saying that, already making your mind want to submit to his every want. You let out a whimper and remove your hands from his hips to lay above your head on the pillows. He joins his fingers around your wrist and proceeds to lay his slender hand flat against your wrists, preventing you from moving.

“Is this okay?” He asks, his movements coming to a halt. You nod and kiss him again. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He must really enjoy what he’s doing to you. “Yes Mr Chalamet.” You reply, making your eyes as doe like and innocent as possible.

Timothée’s thrusts restart, faster this time. You moan louder, ecstasy filling every inch of your spent body before you’ve even properly begun. His moans are lower, more like groans, all of your name. It sounds heavenly coming from his lips, the way his mouth moves when he says your name just makes it better. His hips hit yours with vigour, adjusting to get a better position where he hits the best spot inside of you.

“There Timothée!” You scream desperately, your back arching on the mattress while your hands fight to break free. Submitting isn’t as easy as you hoped.

“I’m close.” He warns you and frees your wrists, but he doesn’t let your hand go too far. He interlocks his fingers with yours, using one elbow to prop himself up. His thrusts turn sloppy, more fervent, and just as he’s finishing, he digs his thumb into your clit.

Your entire body turns limp, screaming his name in a state of complete euphoria like you’ve never felt before. It travels from your brain to the tips of your fingers, setting a fire in your belly and making your toes curl. Your back arches so far off the bed that your chest becomes pressed against Timothée’s, your breasts moving in time with his breathing. You feel him come to his own climax, silencing his screams by kissing you with more passion than he has before.

You ride out your highs, but the level of pleasure illuminating every nerve ending in your body means that you don’t notice Timothée pulling out and disposing of the condom, you only notice when he flops down beside you on the bed and pulls you closer to his slightly sweaty body. You rest your head on his chest that seems to be glowing in the moonlight from the sheen of sweat. He absently plaits your hair, staring off into the distance. The faint thudding of his heart within his ribs comforts you, it's a little faster than would be normal, making you smile a little.

“How was that?” His hand grips around your shoulder even tighter, pulling you closer to his body. He seems content in simply holding you, maybe he just enjoys cuddling. “Wait, don’t answer that.” He corrects himself, his pupils dilating and his excellent, angelic body going rigid. You chuckle to yourself, drawing circles on his chest with the pad of your forefinger,

“Excellent, Mr Chalamet.” You tease him.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He looks fearful, fretting, it's evident in the sudden sulk of his face, pulling his cheeks and forehead down. You shake your head again, slowly but surely moving your leg to lie over his. Ye inclines his neck to place a gentle kiss to our hairline, and you can feel him smile into it.

“Timothée?”

“Yes beautiful?” Just his simple words make you giggle and blush, such a sweet sentiment from a gorgeous and well meaning man.

“I’m hungry.” You say, feeling slightly embarrassed. He laughs, you feel his body move from it, and he proceeds to pepper your face with the softest and sweetest kisses possible.

“I’ll make us some food, grab any shirt you want and meet me in the kitchen.”

You watch him pull on a pair of grey sweat pants and walk out. His pale hips sway just a little as he walks, and he looks so lanky from where you’re laying on his bed, the covers pulled up around your chest. He kissed your forehead before heading to the kitchen, what kind of a man does that on the first night? He’s a famous actor and the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, let alone a couple of years above yourself. He really knows how to please a girl, your skin rises in tiny goosebumps of pleasure while a shiver shoots down your spine and leaps across your synapses just at the mere thought of what he did to you, by far the best climax you’ve ever had.

You slowly slide out from under his warm, plush covers that smell just like him, only leaving with severe reluctance that melts away as soon as you shrug on the pale blue button down that he wore for the concert. Only a few hours ago you’d met at a concert for old people, already having a common interest that few your age have, yet he’s so eager about classical piano which is so special to you. You fiddle with the buttons, leaving the top few open in hopes of another round - he is making you an almost-midnight feast after all.

You walk out of his room and pad barefoot across his living room floor, only to have a little grey cat come and rub at your feet. You lean down to tickle behind its ears, hearing it meow, and you continue your way too where Timothée has left the kitchen door open for you. He’s standing over the stove with some ingredients laid out on the spotlessly clean countertops. You smile in spite of yourself, running a hand through your messy hair before wrapping your arms around his torso from behind. You place a couple of kisses to his shoulder blades until he turns around and picks you up in one swift movement, sitting you on the counter so that you meet his height.

“It looks better on you.” He whispers, pulling you closer by your bare thighs to plant a kiss on your lips. He’s making you feel things you’ve never experienced before, you can’t wipe the smile off your face for the first time in a while, and he's making you food in the middle of the night after cuddling you.

Dreamboat.

After watching him cook for a while, you slip out of his kitchen and take a seat at his piano. You run your fingers over the smooth wood, it’s well loved but well kept. Then you take a seat on the stool. You can feel where Timothée sits to play, your smile turning a little sad. There’s so much to him that people won’t see because he’s getting famous, but he’s still a person and that’s something that you’re able to experience first-hand.

Eyes closed, you feel for F and Ab with both of your hands. You press the keys down gently, creating the soft blend of notes that is Clair De Lune. You fall lost in the music in a new way, a new feeling washing you with all of tonight's new sensations and sitting at a piano that is neither your own nor at school, it feels somewhat ethereal.

Your fingers glide all across the keys, black to white, flats to sharps, switching between octaves like its second nature. Your mind dances along with the rhythm, your whole mind, soul and being becoming lost in the symphony that you’re creating, one that you haven’t been able to create for a while, and it’s only thanks to Timothée.

You become so absorbed in playing that you don’t notice him leaving the kitchen to listen. He just stands in the doorway, leaning against it with his head lolled a little to the side, completely mesmerised by your movements, your music, and just everything you are. Only when you play the final notes are you alerted of his presence from the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. He walks over to you with purpose, a slight grimace on his perfect lips, but he just hugs you. Timothée just holds you close to his chest, allowing you to entwine your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face in his bare chest.

“Stay the night?” He asks, such a simple request but he truly does seem anxious. You want to be genuine, kind, but it’ll be best to relieve the tension.

“You’re making me a late night post-sex feast and giving me your shirt, of course I’m staying the night.” After a moment of silence, he exhales a laugh and node, brushing a curl or two into his face. “Anyway, your cat likes me too, so it’d be a shame to disappoint the little cutie.”

After only a few minutes, you find yourself back in bed with Timothée. He’s carrying a tray full of food that looks and smells gorgeous, followed by his cat who decides to dance between his legs. He serves you a strangely shaped piece of an odd looking pizza, though it still looks excellent, and it has some perfectly cooked and seasoned vegetables next to it on a white plate.

“What is this?” You ask him as kindly as possible.

“Flammekueche with some vegetables. It’s a French pizza with crème fraiche and bacon. My dad makes it all the time and always gives me some that I just freeze and reheat. I can only make microwave meals and vegetables, so this isn’t bad for me.” The way he explains it makes him so endearing, and even makes the food seem more than enticing. “You’re not allergic to anything are you? Or vegetarian?” You shake your head with a smile, kissing him and thanking him for the meal even though he won’t let you touch it before you sanitise your hands.

You talk the whole while that you eat, learning little things about his favourite books and his family. His favourite book just happens to be Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a book you both know and love, and Timothee has a Jewish mother, a French father, an older sister, and he grew up in the city. You however are from out of the city with an exceptionally normal family, and your favourite book is Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. He seems to be growing fond of you, wiping the pizza sauce from your lip, followed by a kiss each time.

He places your plates on the floor as soon as you finish, snatching at the speed of light for some hand sanitiser, lube and another condom. You more than happily oblige with all of his steps and strip off his shirt, kissing the living daylights out of him before he’s even slotted the condom on. He kisses you back with equal fervour nonetheless, exploring your whole mouth with the tip of his tongue. He cautiously adds some lube to the sides of the condom and slips into you while you’re still atop him. You moan at the penetration, arching your body forwards and hereby giving Timothée a full view of your breasts and the way they bounce with his every thrust inside you.

You moan pornographically at his slow and passionate movements upwards and deep inside you, finding your special spot within moments. He settles his hands upon your hips, squeezing them and guiding your every movement. You ride him just the way he wants you to, you can see it in his eyes. He looks at you like a teenage boy would at a naked supermodel, of which you are only naked and most definitely not a supermodel, despite him treating you like one, and Timothée is thankfully older than a teenage boy yearning for sex.

“You look so fucking brilliant.” He tells you, admiring the way that your face contorts with pleasure while taking every inch of him.

You rhythmically grind your hips against him, swirling them occasionally just to hear him cry out. Nothing is a hinderance from you going faster, but this sex isn’t needing to be urgent to be satisfying. He squeezes your hips harder and you decides to move up a little further, bouncing back down on him as he becomes buried to the hilt in your desperate core. You do it again, engulfing him anew and moaning his name continually from the mix of friction and pleasure that’s sending you into another euphoria, but not enough to release again just yet.

Timothée still hasn’t taken his eyes off you, namely your breasts where he’s currently focussed, eyes trained on your hardened nipples - partly from not wearing a shirt and partly from Timothée’s ministrations. He leans up and captures your left nipple in his mouth, sucking and kissing and swirling his tongue around you in the most divine way possible. He moves his hands away from your hips too, allowing you to grind your hips on his in any way that you like. His one hand moves to your other breast, tweaking and pulling at your right peak and sending sensations through your body that you’d never realised could be real before; while his other slips to the rounds of your ass, squeezing delectably.

“Mr Chalamet, p-please,” you find yourself begging, leaning down while still riding him, his torture on your breasts never ceasing, not even when he thrusts his hips up one final time, allowing your core to devour him whole and sending you into your third otherworldly climax of the night.

“Timothée!” You scream, your climax pouring out of you. You feel him come too, and you hear him cry out your name like a blessing.

He doesn’t pressure you, he just waits until you’re able to clamber off him with as minimal pain and exhaustion as possible, though you do whine at the loss of contact as you lie beside him, his arms securely around you and holding you as close to him as possible. It doesn’t matter that you’re both sweaty or spent, it just feels special.

“Look at that, done before 1am.” He chides, cuddling into you. You laugh a little at him, especially his humour, but it is rather remarkable.

“Two rounds, a meal, and a concert. Can’t speak for you, but I’m knackered.” He smiles at you sleepily, passing you the shirt that you wore earlier. You shrug it on and do it up while Timothée puts his joggers back on and draws the curtains, leaving the two of you in dark for the most part. You lie further down, still close to his thin chest, you hear his breathing rattle a little, but it's soothing.

“Night beautiful.” Is the last thing you hear before falling asleep in his arms.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The only issue about sleeping with Timothée is that you forget it's a Saturday morning, and on Saturdays, you have to work. Your phone alarm starts to go off at 7.15 precisely, which when you’re home, gives you enough chance to get ready for teaching in a calm manner so that you aren’t already angry before teaching little children how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Today however, that is not the case.

Timothée sleeps through it somehow, but your eyes are shocked wide awake, causing you to leap from the comfort and warmth of his bed and cuddles just to crawl on the floor in search of your phone and where it fell last night. You find it next to his door somehow, and switch the alarm off immediately, propping yourself up against the door to release a long held breath and to watch the sun rise through his windows. He looks so beautiful asleep, his lips parted slightly, soft snores escaping every so often, dark eyebrows furrowed and his mop of curls haphazardly lying around him like a halo. The morning glow makes his cheekbones appear even more defined.

You want to gather your belongings without waking him, get dressed and catch a cab back to your flat, but just as you go to open his door, he stirs.

“Where do you think you’re going beautiful? Come back to bed, I’m keeping you here with me forever.” You know he’s joking, and his words melt your heart and inhibitions a little, but you can’t justify staying

“I have to work, my first student is at 9.30.” You say, walking across to stand beside his bed and brush some hair off his forehead, kissing him and your lips lingering on his sweaty skin a little longer than they probably should have.

“And? I’ll drive you home in time, if you live near Juilliard then I know a shortcut. Just come back.” He's virtually pleading, puppy eyes and quivering lip just to add to the effect, and you simply can’t say no when he looks so perfect. You place your things on the floor by the bed and slip beside him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut just a moment longer.

His finger traces your naked body beneath the shirt, focussing on the bruises he left on your hips and the marks on your neck. Just his touch is enough to take control of your body, to give you goosebumps, to electrify every feeling of love and lust held within.

“Can I use your shower please?” You ask him, and he nods, placing his chin atop your head.

“I’ll take you to my bathroom and then I’ll make you breakfast. Grab whatever clothing you want from my room, but you can’t leave this bed until you agree to dinner with me tonight.”

Your heart rate increases tenfold at his gesture, and you want to take a leap of faith and say yes straight away, but that would be playing your cards too quickly. “We’ll see.” You respond sultrily, making your way to leave, but his strong grip pulls you flush against him with no space to move. You can hear him laughing in your ear.

“Say yes to dinner and then you can leave.” He slips his hands further down your front without losing his grip and decides to toy with your clit as though it’ll get you to talk.

“Y-yes! God, Timothée, of course I’ll go to dinner with you, just don’t stop!” You find it impossible to understand the shockwaves of pleasure pulsating and electrifying your every sense from an action as simple as the pads of his fore and middle fingers twisting and pressing your sensitive clit. It’s so incredible that after the previous night, it feels like overstimulation, and you can’t get enough.

“I’ll never stop.” He murmurs gruffly into your ear, you can hear the hoarseness that smoking causes but god it sounds and tastes so good.

He pulls your body closer and rolls you over. “Hey baby.” You say as calmly as you can, but within seconds you find yourself sitting on his face, half of his stunning bone structure lost beneath you. He delves his tongue into your already dripping heat, licking as far as he can get and only pulling away to kiss and suckle at your clit.

“Let me come Mr Chalamet!” You cry out, and with one final swipe of his tongue around your core and a squeeze of your ass, you let go. Timothée licks you clean while you still chant his name, and he proceeds to pick you up in order to carry you to the bathroom. You settle your heels at the base of his spine, digging in a little, and his arms tense beneath your ass from the manner he carries you. You like being above him, able to trace every line and bit of stubble on his face with your focussed eyes that he stares so deeply into at any given chance.

“Don’t be too long or I’ll be tempted to join you.”

You slowly cross the threshold of the bathroom, winking at him as you close the door. He inaudibly groans, but you can tell from his facial expression and the tension in his joggers that make him look utterly sexy. You slowly unbutton his shirt, reluctant to take it off, but when you step under the warm jet of his shower, that reluctance washes away along with any inhibitions you may have had about Timothée. He’s an angel: clean, respectful, enjoys classical music, has a cat, isn’t a cocky dickhead, and he’s literally the most gorgeous human being that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You run your fingers through your hair, standing directly beneath his showerhead. The steam clouds your vision, but you can hear Timothée singing while he cooks, Mystery of Love. What a dork, you think, chuckling to yourself while you rinse Tim’s shower gel from your body, and you just know that after this you’ll smell like him, but he smells delectable. As the water hits the most sensitive parts of your body, you remember the previous night. Just the thought of what he did to you makes you crave his touch again.

Through the bathroom window, you can make out the New York traffic that builds every morning, accompanied by the screeching of tires and sirens and car horns. Despite it being a ruckus, it's soothing as you step out the shower and wrap yourself in one of Timothée’s fluffy towels.

“How do you look so sexy when you’re getting out of the shower? God, I can't stress it enough, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my life, even without any makeup and with your hair un-styled, just wrapped in my Goddamn towel. You’re gonna be mine, mark my words.” You feel tears come to your eyes at his kind words, watching him purposefully walk from the kitchen and all the way across his apartment just to place his hands on your waist and tell you how beautiful you are. Those words are better than a concerto to you.

Once you’ve finished getting dry in his bedroom, you ferret through his drawers until you pull out a white top with various tie dye patterns across it. It’s cute, very Timothée. You pull it on and it reaches your mid thighs, making it clock in your head just how much of a lanky lad he is. You bundle together your stuff and head out of his room, closing the door behind you and greeting him with a kiss. He sits you at the breakfast bar and serves you a proper cooked breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, and pancakes.

“There's ketchup and syrup in the cupboard if you’d like.” He offers, sidling up on the seat beside you, nudging the tip of your nose with his thumb. The smile hasn’t left your face since you met him.

“This is good, you’re an excellent cook.” You tell him, resting your hand on his. His cheeks glow an even brighter red in the cascading morning sunlight, dappled by his blinds, but he looks magnificent despite his embarrassment.

You take out your phone, just to take a picture of the breakfast while it’s still untouched, and of your hand held by Timothée’s, already wearing rings. You notice that he’s already wearing a silver chain too, and a couple of bracelets on the wrist away from your own, which you find unusually attractive.

“I wish you could stay all day.” he whispers, placing his forehead on yours.

“Me too.” you say softly, smiling sadly and caressing his cheek.

You finish your breakfast and make your way to the living room in a strange kind of waltz orchestrated by Timothée. He insists on holding your waist and turning around a little, moving your feet in sync until you yank him down onto the sofa, catching his lips mid sigh which leads to a much more passionate make out session than you anticipated. Once that’s over, he plaits your hair beautifully, explaining how it used to calm his sister down before an audition. By the time he’s finished a very good pair of plaits, you check the time and it’s already 9, time for you to leave with NYC traffic, but Tim won’t let you go.

“Not without a photo.” He insists, but you question his reasons. Who would want a photo of you with wet hair in plaits, an oversized tee-shirt and a bare face? But his answer is too sweet to refuse. “I like taking pictures of beautiful things, and of which, you are the most beautiful.” Your cheeks flush a raging scarlet, and Timothée takes your few moments of silence as the perfect opportunity to take a picture of you, sunlight hitting your face in all the right places, and he takes another for good measure, his hand on your cheek and his lips on yours, a kiss that shuts you up for good.

He takes you down the stairs right to the garage where he keeps his car, and surprisingly, it’s an understated car, not crazily extortionate nor flashy, something which you respect highly. He sits you in the passenger side, making sure to kiss you before closing the door, and he gets in the driver's side. After starting the engine and leaving the parking lot, he lays his palm flat against your thigh and keeps it there the whole drive while you change gears for him. You tell him all about your childhood, your high school, your time in uni while he tells you his life at a performing arts high school and then his life as an actor, he truly fascinates you.

Once he pulls up outside your building, he tries to convince you to let him come in, or at least walk you to your door, but on the grounds of not scaring the life out of your neighbours and students, you say no with a promise to see him later.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight that you won’t be able to walk.” He says, pulling you in for a final passionate kiss before you step out of the car. He made you wet just before you have to work, you’ll get him back later, but the revenge melts as soon as he leans out the window to blow you a kiss and tell you how stunning you are.

You’re so lost in your trance of Timothée that you don’t notice your first student tapping you on the shoulder and excitedly saying “Was that the Timothée Chalamet?”

You chuckle to yourself, watching him drive off into traffic, all for you. “Yes it was love, yes it was.”

[wri0thesley]

Hey Nat, I'm kinda blaming you for my budding infatuation with Nanami and I was wondering if I may request Nanami and his s/o having their first kiss? It doesn't have to be long but I'm just feeling soft and with the way you write him it sounds like a treat once this reserved, professional man finally allows himself to give in

oh anon i am so... so very soft.... you cannot blame me for the nanami desire. he is simply irresistible. 

date night - nanami x reader (3k)

you’re nervous about your first date with nanami.

warnings: none. fluffy, soft. neutral reader, some mentions of food and alcohol.

You cannot help but be nervous about tonight.

Your friends have made fun of you, talking about your hot date – Gojo thumping you on the back, Shoko looking at you with her tired eyes but a smirk on her face. Neither of them really get it, you don’t think – to them, Nanami is their former junior who is just a little too serious for his own good. A gloomy, stoic presence who they trust implicitly due to the good head on his shoulders, but who they do not really see as ‘a potential romantic match’. They know that you’ve been harbouring a crush on the former salaryman for months, and they’ve already tried to warn you off him.

“He can be so boring,” Gojo had said, swinging an arm around your shoulders. “Let me set you up with someone instead!”

Your face had heated up at the idea that Gojo didn’t trust you to make your own romantic decisions, but he was already halfway through listing the name of every eligible bachelor he knew (and a few who he said ‘weren’t eligible, but they probably could be, for you!’). You’d been able to do nothing but listen politely as you’d walked with him to his classroom, occasionally gathering strange looks from the students that were milling around in the corridors.

“Think about it!” He’d cried to you as he’d stepped into his bare classroom (you hardly ever see him doing any actual classwork in there; mainly, you see him lying on top of desks and making fun of his students) and greeted the three first years waiting for him. “You don’t wanna be stuck ironing Nanami’s socks for the rest of your life!”

You hope his students don’t hear him, as you decide to go for a walk outside to clear your head.

You and Nanami have been dancing around the idea of maybe possibly being something more than friends for weeks. You’ve felt it, in the brush of his hand against yours, the way that his eyes seem to soften and his tiredness seems to lift when you’re near him. You’ve felt it, as you’ve passed him a cup of coffee and he’s relished the warmth emanating from the cup. In the soft way he speaks to you.

You’ve felt it when he’s held your hand as the two of you have walked together, not saying anything. In his scarf wrapped around your neck, smelling like him.

What you haven’t done, is go on a date.

And perhaps this isn’t a date the way you’d once have dreamed about it. You’re going over to Nanami’s place; he’s going to cook a meal for you, the two of you are going to catch up after he’s been gone on a mission for almost a week -  the two of you are going to watch a foreign film he’s been able to get hold of, that you’ve been saving to watch with one another. You’re going to perhaps have a glass of wine together, or two--

You kind of do want to be stuck ironing Nanami’s socks for the rest of your life.

It sounds so silly when you say it aloud! You haven’t even kissed him, just brushed fingers and held hands and saved each other’s lives whilst on exorcisms together. But whenever you close your eyes and imagine your future, Nanami is always there, right beside you.

You breathe in deeply. You have to ignore what Gojo and Shoko and everyone have been saying. They’ve known Nanami for longer than you – they were his upperclassmen, after all, and you suppose it’s traditional to make fun of and quash your younger classmates a little. You just need to think about what you want, and what Nanami himself may want. Plucking uselessly at your clothes, nerves fizzing in your stomach, you elect to ignore the anxiety gnawing at you until you’re at least outside of Nanami’s front door.

Then, you tell yourself, then, I’ll allow myself to panic a little bit. Seeing Nanami’s calm, handsome face always calms me down. The minute he answers the door, I’ll forget that I was even nervous, and everything will be just as it should.

It doesn’t stop you worrying, as you get dressed and try and fluff your hair and rearrange all of your accessories whilst you get ready. It’s just an evening at his house, you try and keep telling yourself. He’s not expecting me to show up like a runway model, he’d probably hate that anyway--

Still. Having a crush on somebody is never easy, and Nanami can be so utterly unreadable at times, that you get dressed and undressed twice more before you settle on something in between casual and formal; that looks like you’ve made an effort, without looking like you agonised for hours to figure out what the level of effort should be. You’re clutching a bottle of wine and standing outside of his door three minutes early, wondering if he’s the kind of man who gets annoyed if you are there too early.

The door swings open, and Nanami is there, leaning on the door frame. He’s breathtakingly handsome, in casual clothes – an expensive looking sweater in soft grey that gives just a peek at the column of his throat, cuffed jeans. You’ve never seen him look so . . . relaxed. And the fact that he’s looking at you, his lips barely tilting, his tired eyes just a little turned up at the corners.

“You look nice,” he tells you, and you thank God that you went with this outfit. You hold out the bottle of wine for him, and his smile breaks wider as he looks at it. “You didn’t need to bring me anything, you know. I’m happy to be the provider this evening.”

“It’s-- it’s polite!” You insist, and Nanami steps aside to allow you into his house. He’s very proper, and you’d wanted to impress him – you think the young lady who had served you in the specialist store you’d anxiously entered had sensed your worry, and had been very kind as she’d picked something for you she was certain you’d like.

“You made a good choice,” he tells you, as he invites you into his hallway and you gratefully pull off your shoes. “This one looks fine--”

“I didn’t really choose it,” you admit. “I let the experts do it.”

He laughs, the sound like an early spring morning. You don’t think anybody else hears him laugh like that, and the comfort that the two of you share makes you feel soft and warm.

“Even more admirable, then,” he says. “Most people we know would just barrel in guns blazing and insist they knew the right way to do things.”

You both share a secretive smile, your cheeks warming. You can feel tension draining out of you the longer you spend in Nanami’s company. Something about him just sets you at ease.

When you’d first met him, you’d been frightened of him. He seemed so gloomy and intense, so utterly focussed on his goals – when you had tried to speak to him, he had brushed you off with short one word answers and you’d caught him looking at you when your back was turned as if he was waiting for you to slip up.

But as time had worn on . . . as time had worn on, Nanami’s edges had softened. You’d realised that he was willing to talk, when the participant had proved themselves to be worth talking to. He’d told you once, shrugging, that most jujutsu sorcerers just tended to be . . . odd.

“Not you, though,” he’d said, and your heart had leapt in your chest. “Well. You’re not odd in any way that isn’t charming.”

He’s not usually the kind of man who heaps praise on other people; that little compliment, you had carried with you like a flame in your heart. The first time he had held your hand, he hadn’t said anything. The first time he had walked you home, and met you for coffee in a morning a half hour before you were due to be at the scene of an exorcism; Nanami Kento shows that he cares about you in a hundred different little ways that aren’t as simple as telling you it out and out. You admire that about him. You’re so used to putting your foot in your mouth.

“Come sit at the table,” he says, and you follow him obediently. His house is tastefully decorated, somewhere between modern and traditional; he has shelves of books everywhere, and that makes you smile. You’ve heard him say, sighing; “When I’m done with all this, I’ll finally have time to get around to reading them.” The shelf in the very corner of the dining area is the only one that looks well-thumbed; even from here, you can see that it’s where he keeps his recipe books.

“I hope you’ll like it,” you settle into the chair that he pulls out for you. He moves into the kitchen with purpose, grabbing serving dishes and utensils and juggling them with a precision that makes you admire him all the more. “I’m very glad you were on time. It’s the kind of dish that needs to be eaten at the exact right moment.”

He whips the cover off the main dish.

You knew that Nanami was a foodie. His instagram is full of pictures of various places and treats he’s eaten – with a particular focus on adorable baked goods, especially bread, that had made you feel warm inside when you’d noticed. Still, the spread that he’s laid out before you would not look out of place in the most high-class of restaurants; the kind that you’d never had the money to afford to eat in, and you’d have been afraid of showing yourself up at the tables of. You stare at it, mesmerised; the vegetables, so bright and colourful and steaming, lovingly presented – the glaze of the meats, the bowls full of side-dishes that you can’t quite recognise.

There’s an anxiety in his face when he looks at you.

“Sorry,” he says, quietly. “I think I probably over-estimated. And over-compensated, I suppose, for not taking you out to a restaurant--”

“No,” you say, quickly. “It looks delicious. I’m glad you invited me. It’s just . . . a lot.”

“Yes,” his eyes rove over the table. “There are only two of us.”

“It’ll make good left-overs,” you suggest, and he brightens.

“That should have been my line,” he tells you as he retrieves the wine you’d brought. You can see that there was already a bottle chilling in a bucket by the table, but Nanami’s face is affectionate as he pops the cork and pours some into the wine glass by your plate. “I’m supposed to be the responsible one.”

“Sorry for stealing your thunder,” you take a sip of the wine.

“Just as long as you don’t make a habit of it.”

The food really is delicious. You could easily have had seconds, or even thirds – on an ordinary day. A day in which your stomach isn’t churning from how alone the two of you are. There’s a buzz in the air that isn’t quite tension; more, it’s a promise that there’s more yet to come. You and Nanami laugh over dinner, the conversation surprisingly easy when the knot in your insides is so tight. He talks about his old job, and you talk about your own adventures before you’d ended up in Tokyo – he smiles, and laughs, more than you’ve ever seen him do.

He seems so much more at home here. That’s silly, considering it is his home – but somehow, there’d always been an image of Nanami in your head as serious and unforgiving with his tie very tight and his suits perfectly pressed even when he was relaxing in his own rooms.

That image is quickly wiped away, by the way he looks as he rolls up the sleeves of his sweater to take the dishes away.

“Let me help you wash up,” you try and say, but he waves you away.

“I’ll leave them for after you’ve gone,” he says. “I’m not going to ask a guest to do that. Or maybe I’ll even be bold; leave them for in the morning.” His smile makes you feel weak at the knees, this time – a spot of pink high on those sharp cheekbones. Is he blushing, or has his face gone rosy from the wine?

The two of you migrate into the living room. His television is large, but not ostentatiously so; a row of DVDs are neatly in the cabinet beneath it, mainly drama films, period films and some foreign prestige box sets. The movie the two of you have been talking about is one of those – a Danish film about an ageing detective who takes on one last case. You had originally planned to see it together, when it made it to Tokyo cinemas; but one thing had lead to another, and before you could both get the schedules to work out it had gone.

He places the DVD into the player and you can’t help but stare at him; how the soft material of the sweater clings to his broad shoulders, how the jeans seem to emphasise his ass – he’s always in slacks, you’ve never really had the chance to ogle it before, but seeing it in front of you now you suddenly understand why he keeps it covered. Who knows what riots it might incite, if it were just out and about for anyone to see?

“You’re staring,” Nanami turns his head slightly, catching your eye. Heat rushes to your face – but he keeps your eyes pinned with his own for a moment, before deliberately dragging them down the length of you, sat on the sofa. You feel hot and warm and bothered by the way he smiles afterwards, as if he is saying that he likes what he’s seeing too. “You don’t need to be sneaky about it. I don’t mind.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly going very dry. Nanami moves across the room, sitting on the sofa beside you. Heat seems to be radiating off of him; there’s a comfort in having him next to you.

“You look uncomfortable,” he says, five minutes into the movie. He leans back, an arm coming to rest on the back of the sofa behind you. “You can lean on me, you know. I don’t mind.”

He looks inviting. His head is tipped to one side as he meets your eyes; there’s no challenge in his. Just a softness. A quiet affection. Perhaps a touch of nervousness – of trepidation, that you’ll refuse the offer. You hesitantly sidle closer, leaning your head against his side. His scent wraps around you; freshly cleaned laundry, peppermint, coffee, spices, some of the wine from earlier--

You fair go dizzy at it all, but not as dizzy as you go when the arm on the back of the sofa wraps around you, his fingers resting on your shoulder. How are you supposed to concentrate on anything, with him so close to you? With everything about him making you feel like you’re on a roller-coaster climbing upwards and upwards, hurtling towards the inevitable?

You try – oh, you really do try – to keep your eyes on the film and the subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the television. But the aged detective is not half as interesting as Nanami; as the way he focusses on the screen, as his face bathed in the light. As his hand, as it gently starts to stroke over your shoulder, as if he’s barely aware he’s doing it. As his tongue, as it darts out to nervously lick at his lips.

“You’re staring at me,” he says, and you flinch that he’s noticed. His head turns, pinning you with the full force of his gaze. “Are you not enjoying it? We can turn it off?”

How do you answer that?

The real answer: ‘I’m not enjoying it because I can’t concentrate on anything other than you, and how badly I want to be brave enough to kiss you’, feels too bare and bold. You bite your lip.

Nanami leans in closer to you, so close that you can see the flush on his cheeks. The slightly ruffled hairs falling over his forehead. You can count his eyelashes, almost--

“I’m not sure what’s going on either,” he admits, softly. “And I can speak Danish.”

The arm not around your shoulders moves, resting on your waist. You can barely breathe. He’s so close to you; so gorgeous, in the light. All of that former salaryman indifference seems to have gone; he’s not cold any longer, but boiling hot. You’ve been watching it slowly strip away from him since you met him, you think, but tonight might be the first time he’s been Kento Nanami with no pretension.

Nervous about his food, even though he knows he’s an excellent cook. Blushing as he realises you’re checking him out. Almost trembling, as his hand slides up and he cups your cheek like you’re made of porcelain and he’s afraid he might drop and shatter you at any moment. You blink up at him, honey-slow, so dazed by his touch and his presence you can barely make sense of what’s happening.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Nanami says, as a warning. Even now, he seems to think you might pull away. But you cannot, you do not; you just press yourself closer into him, your voice coming out very soft and small as you whisper;

“Please do.”

He does not need to be asked twice. His lips are so soft against yours. The wine clings to them, intoxicating and heady. The hand on your cheek tips your face further up, so he can keep his mouth pressed against you so sweetly. You pull back, your heart pounding.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he’s saying, almost immediately, nervous that you have changed your mind – but all you do is free your arms, so you can wrap them about his neck and pull him in closer, to devour him the way you’ve wanted to for months.

The movie plays on, forgotten.

[sunder-soul]

The Last of Your Rules

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.    

Part 1 ★ Part 2 ★ Part 3 ☆ Part 4         

Summary: Reader figures out a set of rules to survive navigating their FWB relationship with Tom Riddle, which goes great until he starts breaking them one by one. Wordcount: 3.2k Content warning: explicit sex, language.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.   

You resolve to avoid him for a bit and let whatever he’s clearly going through blow over – but your plan is immediately compromised the following Monday.

“We will be brewing our next project in pairs!” Slughorn says loudly, clapping his hands with a wide grin. “Your partners will be assigned randomly, so please take your seats!”

Everyone falls silent at once, the excitement palpable. You wink at Opal next to you, hoping that she’ll be your partner as Slughorn waves his wand and sends tiny little slips of parchment whizzing across the room onto your desks. You seize yours at once, unrolling it only to see –

Tom Riddle.

You blink. The memory of the kiss immediately comes back to you, and excitement stirs in your chest at the chance to talk to him outside of your meetings, at the hours you’d need to spend together in class for the potion –

You catch your train of thought and horror dawns on you at its implication.

No… have I… did I…

The class is moving around and chattering excitedly to their partners as you quietly slip up to the front of the room.

“Everything alright?” Slughorn asked jovially.

“Yes, sir,” you say quickly, “only – I was wondering if I might change partners, sir.”

“Oh?” Slughorn’s brows raise. “Who are you paired with?”

You hold out the parchment, and Slughorn unrolls it. He looks even more surprised when he sees the name. “You… wish to change partners?” he asks slowly.

You nod.

“Tom’s a capable lad,” Slughorn says seriously, frowning, “a very capable lad. In fact, I couldn’t have picked a better partner for you myself.”

“Please, sir,” you press, trying not to sound desperate. “Is it possible to change?”

Slughorn pauses for a moment longer, and then leans back against his desk. “Yes of course,” he says, waving a hand and nodding. “If you really want.”

“I do,” you say immediately.

“Langley!” Slughorn calls, beckoning the boy forward.

You breathe a sigh of relief as the red-haired boy leaps from his seat and hurries forward. Langley is an idiot, but at that moment he’s a hell of a lot better than Riddle.

“Who’s your partner, Langley?” Slughorn asks him.

“Chester, sir,” Langley replies quickly.

“Tell Chester that he’s with Riddle,” Slughorn says busily, “you’re being reassigned.”

Langley glances at you curiously but with unmistakeable glee. “Yes, sir,” he says with a barely concealed smile.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and turn back to your seat – only to find Riddle’s piercing gaze fixed on you from the back of the room. You hesitate automatically, and have to physically wrench your eyes off of him as you hurry away, trying to ignore the feeling of his lingering gaze for the rest of the class.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

That evening in the library whilst you’re bent over your Potions notes, Riddle suddenly yanks back the seat opposite you and sits down. “Did you ask Slughorn to change partners?” he demands colourlessly.

You try to hide your surprise – he never sits with you in public. “Yes, of course I did,” you say calmly.

“Why?” he asks sharply.

You quirk a brow. “Are you joking?”

“No, I am not,” he says mechanically, lacing his fingers together and giving you a very cool look.

“Riddle,” you say dryly, leaning towards him. “That assignment would require that we spend hours together working on that potion, I didn’t think that would be a particularly good idea.”

“Why not?” he asks at once, eyes not leaving yours.

You scoff and lean back. “Don’t be obtuse.”

His eyes narrow ever-so-slightly. “Because of our arrangement?”

“Exactly,” you mutter.

Riddle’s expression is unmoved. “What exactly did you expect would happen?” he asks flatly.

You sigh, frustrated. “Listen, I’m not trying to imply that we’d bloody fall in love or anything,” you mutter, seizing your quill again, “but it’s still just a stupid idea.”

Riddle is silent, and after a long moment you glance at him. He’s just as composed as before, but there’s a strange tension to his posture. “Riddle,” you say carefully, “are you… alright?”

It’s as if you had snapped your fingers in front of his face; Riddle stands at once. “Yes,” he says coldly. “See you in class.”

He’s gone before you can even say goodbye. You stare after him, utterly bemused. He’s such a nutcase sometimes…

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

Tonight, 9pm.

You stare at the note in shock, your head telling you, screaming at you that the smart thing to do is to crumple it in your hand and ignore him.

But…

You refold the note and nod as you pick up your quill again, knowing without checking that his eyes are on you.

He’s already there when you arrive. Riddle’s fingers curl around the strap of your bag and pull it off your shoulder the second you get the door shut, tugging up your jumper and dropping it carelessly to the ground. His fingers dance across your blouse and the buttons spontaneously spring apart one after the next as he walks you back against the wall, and seconds later he’s unclasping your bra with deft fingers. Riddle’s expression is hungry. It makes you nervous in a very good way.

Riddle picks you up again and you wrap your legs around his hips at once. He presses his mouth to your collarbone, trailing downwards and leaving burning electricity behind, and then his lips gently close around your nipple and you gasp. Riddle’s eyes flash up to yours at the sound, and you watch, hypnotised, as his lips tease you there, staring mesmerised at the dark waves of his hair above his burning eyes, at the fine angles of his brows, his lips, his eyes, his mouth on your skin –

Riddle lifts his head and you pull him into a kiss, hungry for him, too. The intensity is almost comforting, far away from that dangerous slowness.

When you’re done, Riddle doesn’t even hesitate once his uniform is back to its usual immaculate tidiness. “Goodnight,” he nods politely, leaving at once.

Back to normal, then, you think as you wander back to the common room. That’s a relief.

But that night in your bed, the memory of the way he’d kissed you comes back again, that slowness, that softness, that hot, gentle pressure…

Warmth spreads through your chest and you frown deeply, rolling over and punching your pillow into place.

That needs to stop. There’s no way you can catch feelings for Tom Riddle.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

Today, 12:15.

You slide the note into your pocket, thoughts whirring. It’s hardly the first time he’s suggested you meet during the day, but with the past week you’d had, things were decidedly getting weirder.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

You bite Riddle’s shoulder hard as pleasure overcomes you, listening to it overcoming him too, your body slick with sweat and your mind blank with nothing but the sound of his breath, tense and sharp through his nose. His hands are against your face, turning you to him and kissing you again, and you’re delirious, kissing him back without even thinking, your arms tightening around his neck and pulling him closer. You’re still hungry for him like your appetite can never be sated, your legs wrapped around his hips where he still has you pinned against the wall. His hands hold you to him firmly, his lips moving against yours in that slow, dangerous way –

You realise what you’re doing very suddenly, pulling back at once. You stare at each other, and you feel a surreal exhilaration like you’re teetering at the edge of a cliff.

“I should go,” you whisper, not moving.  

Riddle nods slightly, not looking away. He doesn’t move either.

You can’t stop yourself. Your eyes drop to his lips again and then back up as quickly as you can – but not fast enough to escape his notice. Riddle’s eyes flicker and he slowly leans in again, stopping right before your lips, watching you like a hawk.

It’s a bad idea.

It’s a very bad idea.

Breaking the rules is already making some very confusing things stir in your chest, but... Riddle’s lips are kiss-swollen and slick, his hair tousled from where you’d been carding your fingers through it, his dark eyes hooded and burning. You’ve never wanted him more.

Fuck it...

You close the final inch and kiss him hungrily, and his hand comes up to your jaw and pulls you closer, slow and hot in that way that made heat curl in you stomach. You sigh, your arms tightening around his neck as he tilts his head to kiss you deeper.

“Riddle,” you murmur after what felt like an eternity, pulling back, “I… really do have to go.”

Riddle’s eyes dart between yours, and then he nods curtly and lets you down.

He leaves without a word and you’re still nearly late to Herbology.

So that’s Rule One and Two just completely in shambles, you think, shaking your head as you speed towards the Greenhouses. What in Merlin’s name is going on?

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

The confusion only triples in Potions that very afternoon.

Tonight, 8pm.

You gape at the note.

Riddle wants to meet twice in the same day? This is getting ridiculous. The weird behaviour, the frequent meetings, the dangerous feelings growing tenaciously in your chest… It makes you all the more certain that something very weird is going on, and there is absolutely no way you’re going to meet him.

“Have you been listening?”

You jump, hastily looking around at Langley. “Huh?”

“Are you going to…” he gestures at the ingredients in front of you that you’re supposed to be preparing.

“Oh right,” you mutter, slipping the note into your pocket and seizing your silver knife, slicing the Deadlyius mushrooms into thin slivers at lightning speed.

“Langley,” you say through gritted teeth, “if you add moonstone powder to the potion at this stage, you’ll make the entire cauldron melt.”

“Oh,” he frowns, putting down the moonstone. “But… the instructions say –”

“To mix it fourteen times counter-clockwise, and then add the moonstone.”

“Oh,’ he says again, reaching for the ladle.

You seize his wrist. “Counter-clockwise, Langley.”

“Oh.”

You manage to stop Langley from utterly ruining your potion before the bell rings, and you leave it simmering in the backroom for you to resume on Monday.

“Good God,” you mutter to Opal as you leave, dragging your hands down your face, “Langley is absolutely hopeless.”

“No sympathy,” she scoffs, “you could have been with Tom Riddle, and you chose to give that up.”

You don’t reply, glaring stonily at the floor. She can’t know that being with Riddle would be a hundred times worse for an entirely different reason.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

Saturday morning breaks over the Castle with a light snowfall and an icy chill in the air that puts a spring in your step, but your good mood is threatened half-way through lunch.

“Excuse my interruption.”

You look around from your conversation with Felicia and Opal to find Riddle with an intimidatingly composed expression on his face, his hands clasped tidily behind him. Your friends start giggling again, whispering to each other behind their hands – which both you and Riddle ignore.

“Yes?” you say slowly.

“Could I speak with you a moment, please?” he asks politely, stepping to the side and gesturing to the door. Felicia and Opal erupt into even louder giggles as your brows shoot up.

“Er… sure,” you say slowly, standing and follow him from the Hall, viscerally aware of the many pairs of curious eyes watching you go.

Out in the Entrance Hall, Riddle steps swiftly towards the dungeons and down the stairs, and you follow him down to the broom closet where you usually meet. He wrenches the door open and stands aside, glancing down the corridor with a tense expression.

“Riddle, what –”

“After you,” he interrupts coolly, indicating through the door.

You hesitate, suddenly rather intimidated. Slowly you step past him, and Riddle shuts the door smartly behind him.

“What’s going –” you begin.

“Where were you last night?” Riddle interrupts again, tone sharp.

You stare. “…What?”

“Last night, I asked you to meet me,” he snaps.

“I didn’t want to,” you frown.

Riddle glares at you intensely. “You didn’t want to,” he repeats contemptuously.

“Is there a problem?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why didn’t you want to?” he demands, stepping closer.

“Geez Riddle, I’m not obligated to have sex with you whenever you want,” you snap.

Riddle falters, his brow furrowing at once. “That’s not –”

“I know you rather famously have very little interest in my life, but I do actually have one you know, I can’t be on your goddamn beck and call whenever you want to let off steam,” you continue angrily, gesturing in frustration.

Riddle looks extraordinarily taken aback. “I didn’t mean –”

“You’ve been acting weird for ages, what the hell is going on?” you interrupt, glaring at him.

Riddle blinks, and then his expression becomes impossibly composed. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says coolly, standing up straighter.

“Oh? Don’t you?” you narrow your eyes, stepping closer.

He doesn’t crack, his eyes impervious as they flick between yours.

“I’m going to go back to lunch,” you breathe, “I’ll see you later.”

“Wait,” he says sharply, catching your arm as you try to pass him.

“What?” you snap, turning to him.

Riddle hesitates. Suddenly you realise exactly how close you are, feeling the tension shift, seeing his eyes drop to your lips –

You both lean in at the same time, your hands immediately tangling into his hair as you kiss him hard and he pulls you close. He’s ravenous again, insatiable, the most demanding you’d ever seen him, and all too soon he has you on the brink, pushed up against the wall of the closet with hard thrusts making you dizzy with pleasure, his lips covering yours as you finish like he’s consuming the moans he’s drawing from you – but when the waves of pleasure fade, the kiss does not.

Riddle’s hands slide up your hips, kissing you slowly as you breathe hard, as your eyes finally open and you draw away. Riddle stares at you, and you at him.

Suddenly, it clicks.

“This… isn’t enough for you anymore, is it?” you say quietly.

Riddle freezes. A long, tense silence passes. “What do you mean?” he asks coolly.

“Is that why you’ve been asking me to meet you so much?” you ask carefully, watching him. “Is this not filling your appetite like it used to?”

His expression is taut, his hands unmoving on your body and his eyes slightly wide. After a very long pause, he finally speaks. “No,” he breathes. “It’s not.”

“Maybe this isn’t what you need, then,” you say quietly.

His brow furrows again.

“We should stop this,” you say carefully.

“No,” Riddle repeats sharply, very quickly.

You don’t bother trying to hide your surprise at the intensity of his response. Riddle’s jaw tenses and he leans in again, his lips pressing hard against yours, but you push him away by his shoulders. He exhales in frustration, glaring at you.

“What we’re doing won’t make you feel better, Riddle,” you say slowly. “It’ll always leave you hungry.”

“Why?” he snaps, looking irritated. “It didn’t used to.”

“Maybe it used to be enough.”

“Why do I still want it, then?” he breathes, leaning in aggressively. “Why do I want…” he trails off, something working in his jaw in the way that usually means something’s really frustrating him.

Oh.

Oh I see.

“Riddle,” you begin cautiously, “have you… ever…”

“What?” he demands, eyes narrowing.

You let your head fall back on the wall. “Have you ever been in love?”

Riddle reacts like you’ve electrocuted him, drawing back sharply and staring at you with open hostility.

“I don’t think you’re in love with me, don’t worry,” you say quickly. “I just mean… this is sort of a cheap imitation of that,” you gesture between the two of you. “Maybe you should think about looking for something… real.”

Riddle looks at you suspiciously, but with something undeniably (and reluctantly) curious. “What do you mean?” he asks slowly.

“It’s different when you’re in love.”

“Different how?” he demands at once.

“Have you ever been touched like that?” you cock your head.

Riddle hesitates, looking strangely… nervous? “Like what?” he says quietly, watching you warily.

It’s a bad idea.

It’s a very bad idea.

You reach your hand up to his face as slowly as you dare and very gently let your fingers trace up the curve of his cheek, his warm, soft skin just barely textured with the faintest pull of stubble, before you reach up further. You softly brush his hair to the side of his forehead and let your fingers push through it slightly. He has lovely hair – well, all of him is lovely, but his hair in particular, thick and soft and dark. You’d always liked touching it, though this is different, of course. This isn’t fiery and filled with desire, intense and hungry. This is reverence, feather-light like he’s something precious that would break if you touch too firmly.

Riddle’s eyes are fixed on yours, and as you meet his gaze again something you don’t care to name stirs in your chest. You gently place your palm against his cheek and lean in, hesitating at the last second, wondering exactly how bad an idea it is. Riddle’s expression hasn’t changed, his eyes flicking between yours. You blink slowly, gaze dropping to his lips, and then you push forward and close the last millimetres between you, kissing him very, very softly.

The dangerous feeling immediately swells up inside you, coursing even stronger when Riddle takes a long breath and lifts his hand to your face too, holding you to him as his lips move gently on yours. You wrap your legs tighter around him but the kiss stays slow, warm, gentle, dangerous –

You reluctantly draw away, but only just. It’s very hard to ignore how fast your heart is beating as you met Riddle’s gaze, dark and burning. “Like that,” you whisper, cheeks aflame.

A long silence falls as he stares at you, as you stare back, trapped beneath his gaze.

“Why is it different?” Riddle asks quietly.

You swallow nervously, knowing that you need to get out of this situation as fast as possible before your inconvenient feelings become completely unignorable. “I…” you whisper, unable to answer. “I don’t…”

Riddle blinks, his brows drawing together slightly, and to your horror he slowly starts to lean in again –

“I need to go,” you say hastily, looking down and breaking his gaze. “I – I have to do extra prep for Potions. Bloody Langley screwed ours up so bad.”

There’s a very painful silence.

“I see,” Riddle says mechanically, before letting you down.

You’d never felt awkward whilst tidying up before, but you certainly do then.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” you mutter to him, escaping out the door as fast as you can. Your cheeks are still warm and your heart is still pounding, so you beeline straight for the dorm to hide until your stupid reaction fades. If you come back from seeing Riddle looking like that, Opal and Felicia would never let you hear the last of it.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.  

Part 1 ★ Part 2 ★ Part 3 ☆ Part 4      

@the-almond-dinger 💕 

[divinefireangel]

Hey there!!! Can you please write a smut on SF9 finding out their partner reading smuts 🥺🌝 (I want to see how dirty they can go🌝) And if you don't want to write for all of them then maybe you can just do it for any member you're comfortable to write on. Literally, ANY MEMBER WOULD WORK. I really want to read something like this haha🤭

Also, I genuinely love your writings! I'm new to Tumblr but I'm literally binge reading your posts. Gosh you're talented as fuck😫💗✨

Lots of love, and thank youuuu💕

OMG YES YES YES YES

TMI: Not gonna lie, I was thinking about this when my mom came into my room to talk to me, and my recent story was literally right there just open and I was panicking. Although she doesn't know anything 💀. She's cute like that, my mom.

You are so sweet anon 🥺🥺. Go on make me cry with your lovely words 😭. I will try my best to write more and sorry this took so long 💞💖 LOVE YOU 💓

S/O reads Smuts 🤭

Disclaimer: This is just a work of fiction. If this piece of fan fiction is offensive to any celebrity, fandom or culture please let me know so I can take it down. Also note that this is my version of a character or celeb, which will vary from person to person.

Copyright: Please note that this is my work and if you want to publish this on any other platform, take my permission before doing so. Taking an author's work and posting it somewhere else without any intimation is just disrespectful. I readily welcome suggestions and criticisms. That being said, Happy reading! 🤍

Warnings: 18+ ages and all readers (nothing specified with respect to gender, appearance, etc of reader). Rough sex (YB). Thigh riding (IS). Dick riding (JY). Marking. Biting. Humping. Dining table sex (DW). Low key strength kink? Idk (RW). Biting using teeth (ZH). Exhibitionism. Terrace sex (TY). Slight voyeurism. Oral - reader receiving (HY). Somehow I end up writing the filthiest things for Hwi. Cockwarming to sex (CH). It's really difficult to think of 9 different things for 9 different people😤. Also some may be unprotected sex, don't do it unless you want kids. Lmk if I need to add more!

Word Count: HAH jokes 😂

All members under the cut!

Youngbin

Doesn't understand at first 💀

But he isn't scared to ask so he'll just ask you

The panic on your face makes him panic

Apologizes 🥺

Then you explain that it's no big deal and that it's just a story

But he saw his name 💀💀💀

So he's curious and so he does research aka Googles it

Has a mixed reaction, doesn't know what to think

On one hand, he's flattered...?

Like, oh sweet, you are reading a story about him probably railing you to death

On the other hand, why are you reading it?

Did he not satisfy you enough? Should he do more? He wants to

So he will pick a random one, read it and be like, Okay. This is how it's gonna play tonight

So determined 🥺

Picks you up for your date and stuff

Timeskip to the bedroom by a steamed dumpling Dawon

So touchy and observant

Tries his best to remember what was in the story

Forgets but that's okay tho cause now he knows what you want

More Dom than usual

More vocal than usual

His grip on your skin leaves so many bruises and literal fingerprint shaped marks

Bites your neck a lot

Doesn't hold back one bit

Secretly satisfies his wishes too

Teases you for being so ready

Teases you for every reaction

Pulls your hair

Overstimulates you

Until you're tired and can't take it anymore

He could go for a round more

So he does

It's also like, he's lowkey angry at himself cause you were reading smut which made him think, maybe you thought he was too vanilla

But after you've both cooled down you ask him what happened and why he was so rough, not that you had a problem

Expresses his concerns and you tell him that you read those only cause you wanted to know what the fandom thinks of him and the way they think he likes to have sex

Blushy babyyyy

So cute 🥺

Inseong

Bro

Do I even need to 😂

He's probably written a few 💀

He seems like he's into roleplay 👀

So when he does find a tab open on your phone about literal PORN, in words

He doesn't think much of it tbh

But is curious

He'll tease you like you are both high schoolers

Holds you phone up high so you can't reach it

Satisfied when you whine and pout

Tucks your phone in his back pocket and grabs your face

" I think it's hot "

Peck's your lips and slaps your butt leaving you wide eyed

You need a minute to process what just happened lol

Running after him you pull him down on the couch, sitting on hids lap

Bite you lip and grab his face pls

Now he's wide eyed 😂

Kiss his neck and talk to him sexily

" Do you really like that I read smut? "

You look so innocent he would cum right there

Poor man is dumbfolded

So much that he doesn't even realize you were grinding down on his thigh the whole while

Grabbing your hips he nudges your hips to continue their movement

Loves having you so close

Especially after discovering your secret

Suck him off after and he'll do any and everything for you 😉

Jaeyoon

Oo this one is fun

He won't confront you immediately

He'll just think about it a lot

" How are they so cute when they read such things for fun? "

Stares at you from across the room

Smirks at your cute smiles

Timeskip this time by Baek Huru

Surprises you by kissing your neck

Humps your butt

Pecks you neck

Rolls your nipples in his fingers

Moans in your ear, deeply and hoarsely

Pulls away dragging you to the bed

Sits near the headboard

Beckons you to come closer and naked 👀

Forces your dick in you, slowly tho, don't worry

Doesn't give you a lot of time to react

But, all this seems familiar

Then you realize that he's trying to recreate the imagine you were reading before

The whole idea made you hot

Istg you've never finished so soon

He tells you that you don't need to read those stories when you have the real deal right there

Sanghyuk

Smug bastard

He's happy that you're thinking and reading about him even when he isn't with you

He will actually read the warnings and is mildly surprised lol

Wow you really into all that?

He has no shame so he will ask you directly

You stop doing what you're doing and just slowly turn towards him

He's scared lmao

Then explains himself and says sorry

Tbh, you're more shocked that he isn't angry

Blinking you slowly make him sit on the dining table chair

Pacing you start to think of and explanation now

Is there any explanation for reading smut? Idk 😂

Honestly, he asked you so that you could actually do what the warnings said in real life

Gets up, takes your hand pulling you close and lifts you, making you sit on the dining table

Removes his shirt before kissing you intensely

Tells you that he wants to fuck you on the table like in the smut

Nodding you let him take over

Makes you cum twice easily

It's more romantic than rough

Passionate, very passionate

Kisses you a lot

Hands on you all over you

Pulls you closer and closer by your thighs

Lays you down and fucks you till your back is no where on the table

Sweet reassuring smooches when you're done

Tells you to talk to him about such ideas rather than just reading them

Seokwoo

He is shocked™

Listen okay

He's tall

He's scared that he'll hurt you if he does what he wants without thinking

Reads multiple smuts 💀

Only the ones you've liked so far tho

Fuckin uses your account so yeah obviously

Now he'll be ready to talk to you about it

So shy omg

Stutters words out cause he's so flustered

You need to read his mind, literally

Once, somehow you are finally clear about what he was talking about

You'd just laugh at his cuteness

Boy is confused ??

Pushing him down on the bed you climb on top of him

Yes climb

Needy but still shy and shocked

Wastes no time in getting naked

Allows you to do whatever you want to him

No, really

Let's you take charge that is only until you tease him

Flips you and thrusts into you so hard the bed is shaking and you feel like it might break

Strong grips on your thighs and hips and belly and arms

Definitely sore for a few many days 💀

Juho

I'm not sure tbh

Either he won't care at all like

" Oh yeah this is just their thing "

Or he'd be so into it like hed wonder why you were reading it, was it for ideas?

He already has those so you don't need them from someone else

He won't ask you about it tho

But you will bring up an idea that was in one of them

And he's down

Or up, whichever you want

Asks you what you want more times than usual

But it doesn't make sense cause you're literally going crazy with the way his cock feels inside you and he asks you what you want?

Starts moving before you answer

Asks you again and again till all you can say out loud is " More "

He's fine with that answer

Hands above your head

Teeth scraping your the front of your throat drawing so many sounds from you

He's driving his dick in you so fast that you're moving away from him

Praises you with his deep ass voice

Gives you his Vampire stare™

That's all you need to cum undone

Keeps it a secret, won't ask you unless you bring up your little extracurricular activity 😌

Yoo Taeyang

SHY BABYYYYY

So pink when he realizes what you're reading lol

But he's so mesmerised that he goes on reading it 😂

You catch him looking at your phone, no big deal

But he's looking at it as though he saw a ghost

He's turned on but at the same time he's appalled

Do people see him like that? Do you want him to be that?

He's gonna need a lot of time to process the information

When you reassure him that he doesn't need to change anything at all, he's more calm then

But on a fine ass blue moon, his fine ass is gonna decide that he's gonna try something new

So there you are, on the terrace talking to someone on the phone. After ending the call he'll come and hug you from behind

It's all aww so cute till you feel his dick press into your butt

Forces your head back to rest on hius shoulder slowly but hotly

Unbuttons your jeans and pulls them down in one swift motion and his hands are all over you

Somehow the idea of having sex in the open night sky is so exciting

Stops just before you reach your high so that he can fuck you

You're leaning on the terrace wall

Face pressed slightly on it as your butt sticks out for him

Giving him permission to do anything to you

The orgasm hits you so fast but it's so fulfilling 🤤

And your pants are being pulled up even faster 💀

Maybe you should leave smut laying around

Youngkyun

You've found the saucuest lil smut about your boyfriend

He's sitting at the table, on his laptop composing and writing songs while you are here on the bed, blanket over your legs

Now see, you aren't really one to get off of smut but this particular one was so realistic

The description

The reaction

The dialogues

Reading it made you body move on instinct

Lower lip getting stck in your teeth

Hand travelling down to your privates

Your hips thrusting forward into your hand and fingers

Your breathy moans, that you tried your best to stick to, were louyd enough for him to hear

At first he thought you were doing a breathing practice or something

That is until he recognized the pattern

Lifting his blank phone up, he moved it to look at you through it

Boy is so shocked

It's like his own private porn show

Placing it back on the table gently, he moves the blanket slowly, getting under it

Licking his lips, he tucks his tongue out, licking the area that your fingers just slid over

Gasping at the sudden feeling you drop your phone and move your blanket off

You inevitably moan at the sinful sight below you

Your lovely boyfriend, looking up at you through his lashes, tongue coated with his saliva and your leaking juices

Holding your wrist, he nudges you to continue what you were doing, with his tongue never leaving you

Gripping your thighs, he bites your inner thigh as you work yourself closer to your high

After you cum, he'll lick off all your juices

Then he'll be all sweet asking you what you were reading

Round 2? 😉

Chanhee

He'll find it funny 💀

Why do people write these things

Why do people read these things

What is the use?

He is partly curious lol

When you tell him it stimulates the necessary regions, boy is shook

Then he's like nah

So you make him read one

He can't even make it halfway through lol

The foreplay itself made him hard enough to want you and to want to be in you

Grabs the phone and sits next to you

" I'm hard "

You look at him like boy what

Then he tell you that he now understood why people read them and that he's happy that people read them too help themselves

And you're like okay and what's the point

Pulls you on his lap

Whines at the feeling of to your butt on his arousal

Makes you stand now lol

Pulls his pants to his thighs and even yours

Places himself in you so that now when you sit on his lap again, not only is your back to his chest

Also his dick is in you

Somehow finishes the rest of the fic and just thrusts up into you

Cause you feel so heavently around him

Goes on and on and on till you're bouncing on his lap

Cums in you and just stays there till you finish your work

Still has mixed feeling now tho

Cause if reads them he wants you to be there near him and he wants to read more cause these fics are very addicting

[orphicrose]

The Only One

Rick x Reader Fanfiction

Summary : life is strange in the rick and morty universe, as we all know. But things get just that little bit weirder when Rick meets you. Something seems oddly familiar with you, but for once In his life he has no idea why. So he searches from reality to reality to try and see if he had met another version of you, only to realise there where none. You where the only one. That’s when it finally hit him…

This is inspired by a song from Rick and morty that I think is beautiful https://youtu.be/epiOcz3HXNo

I accidentally got carried away and wrote too much, so I will probably just do a part 2 so it’s not to much to read if anyone is interested <3

_________________꧁♥︎꧂_________________

Humans are such fragile creatures, always have been and always will be. You knew that, but you refused to surrender down to it. Not wanting to be included In whatever earth had to offer, so you ran away. And not like how a silly fourteen years old runs away from home, Hah… no.

You left the fucking planet, not leaving behind a single trail or speck of dust for someone to follow you with. Your intelligence and ambition was all you needed to carry yourself through life. Travelling the infinite void of space, soon making a name for yourself. For good and for bad. An ordinary person couldnt even dream nor comprehend the things you’ve experienced or seen. And that’s just how you liked it. Being different. It was truly a gift to be intelligent.

And then there was rick, high IQ and normally not happy about it. Seeing his intelligence as a curse. Rick hadn’t seen it all, it was impossible, but he thought he had seen enough to make a valid opinion on life.

It’s pointless.

Such a bitter man with a bitter view on everything, including himself. You see, when you have an overwhelming amount of knowledge weighing down on your mind, you can go two ways. The first being ricks way, not caring about anything since he has seen how big the universe is and doesn’t see a point.

Then there’s your way, feeling blessed to be able to see things that no one else can, and finding a new reason to live every single day.

You two where polar opposites, but also the same. You where both alone in a universe you felt didn’t need you anymore.

The day both of your worlds collided should have been written down in the history books. It was the day both of your beliefs where almost questioned. Wondering whether fate really does exist.

————————————————

Out of the many things you have done, you’ve never visited the same place twice. Making everyday an adventure, as much of a cliche as that sounds it’s true. Not only that, but you seem to have people after you almost everywhere. For your intelligence, or for revenge. But there is one particular spot you cannot get enough of. Finding yourself there when you lose yourself.

It’s an isolated planet in the middle of the andromeda galaxy. It’s a newly ‘emerging moon’ as you like to call it. In fact, you pretty much founded this planet, since its a recent creation. This also means there is no intelligent life yet evolved, so it is safe for you to do what you please.

You go there often, to watch the two suns set over its small horizon and the thousands of stars come into view. Giving you time to reflect on your life. To appreciate it, but not to regret anything. The stars are far to beautiful to bring your mind to anything negative. The planet itself seems to project the meaning of peace and tranquillity even without life. Maybe that’s why it’s so comforting.

Your thoughts where leaving your mind, as you held your eyes closed. Feeling the breeze brush through your hair gently. That beautiful, genuine smile found its way to your face without you noticing. You where to lost in the feeling of relaxation.

But that soon came to an end. That euphoric state was snapped out of you when you noticed a bright light coming towards you. Getting bigger and bigger in just seconds. Until it became more clear, it was a spacecraft of some sort. A poorly built one to say the least. You sat and watched, mesmerised, as the flames from the object slowly engulfed it. Burning in the atmosphere. Finally hitting the ground, you shook your head and sighed. Being brought back into reality.

The flames took a second to fade after the ship had crashed. And it was clearer to see, it was the stereotypical UFO. The type you’d see in cheesy ski-fi films. But it had encryptions written in English. Which was very unusual, especially for it to be in this part of the galaxy.

What was even stranger was that it didn’t have even the slightest burn mark to it’s metal. Your vision of it became clearer and clearer the closer you got, slowly creeping past the incredibly green trees towards it. But just before you got too close, a figure fell out of the vehicle. Swearing like a drunken sailor.

This is what really messed with you, it was a human. You gasped quietly, not being able to remember the last time you saw one. A mix of feelings rushed over you; confusion, fear, excitement? You couldn’t help but stare, his unique blue hair bounced as he picked himself up, not even bothering to dust off the dirt on his lab coat.

“Fuck! You fucking piece of shit spacecraft. You’ve really done it this time Rick you fucking…” he didn’t finish his sentence, as he kicked the lump of metal. Screaming at the top of his voice.

“Fuck!”

You caught a small glimpse of his face, and recognised him. But you weren’t sure where from. You had met millions of people over the years so he could really be anyone. But there was something so compelling about his character. Something that felt like you where being pushed towards him. Or pulled, by a red string perhaps. Something that was just telling you to interact with him.

You stayed hidden behind a rather tall tree, still collecting your thoughts and questioning whether you should help him. Rick had slumped himself against the ship, putting his hands to his face and grunting. Pausing his breakdown for a second to take a sip from his flask, then proceeding to carry on.

He stayed like this for a good few minutes, before you had decided to approach him. Your curiosity and questions where burning at the edge of your mind. You just had to investigate. Keeping a hand on your weapon tucked neatly in a pocket behind your back. You slowly walked towards him, not even being able to speak before he noticed you.

A gun had been pulled to you, aiming directly between your eyes

“What do you want? I’m not in the mood so just tell me in advance if I should shoot you or not..” his eyebrows furrowed, looking at the hand tucked behind your back.

You rolled your eyes, putting your hands up in surrender. Just how you remembered humans to be. Aggressive and impulsive.

“Calm down, I saw your ship crash. Thought you where in need of some assistance. And put that gun down, god…” to your surprise, he did. With a loud grunt he put his gun back into his pocket and turned away. Usually, he probably would’ve shot on site. And who’s to say he still won’t, but right in this moment he is too preoccupied to care.

“God doesn’t fucking exist…” he mumbled “and I definitely don’t need any assistance!”

You raised an eyebrow at him, watching him as he attempted to fix his broken ship. Opening the lid to the engine and being greeted by a storm of smoke. Now Seconds away from another breakdown.

“Are you… okay?” You hesitantly asked, daring to inch closer to him. Probably was the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. He threw the wrench down at the engine as he exploded.

“No, I’m not fucking okay. I lost my grandson, the entire galactic government is after me, I broke my portal gun and I just crashed my ship into a planet with no helpful resources to fix it.!” His speech sped up, and he went dead silent when he stopped talking. Clearly regretting telling you anything. He is usually good at keeping his mind together and keeping his problems to himself. But he had so much adrenaline pumping through his blood, he could barely concentrate.

“I’m, i’m sorry for your loss” is all you managed to get out

“What? Oh no, my grandsons not dead. I just left him somewhere and forgot exactly where…” he spoke slightly softer, still grunting as he tried to analyse his engine.

There was a small silence while you processed everything he had just said. Moving closer to get a look at his engine, you shook your head.

“You’ve burnt it out…”

“Yeah, no shit smart ass” he bit at you

You rolled your eyes and snatched the spanner from the place he had dropped it. Not using it to fix his engine, but you pulled out a small metal box from your pocket instead. Fixing a few pieces together. Rick stood there and watched with a puzzled look on his face. Moving his eyes from the gadget, then up to get a look at you.

His eyebrows softened as he took in your features, the creases in his forehead disappeared. A rush of a strange feeling replaced the adrenaline, not being able to pinpoint what it was but he didn’t like it. He could only describe it as his heart softening, and getting lost in a place that was familiar to him. Thats what he felt when he looked at your eyes, reflecting off of his.

“Hav-have we met before?” He said in a much calmer tone

You placed the gadget on the engine and pressed a small red button on the top, looking up at him.

“I don’t think so?” The box moved around the engine, like a shield. Fixing it effortlessly, Ricks eyes darted from you, to the engine, then back to you. Now with amazement written all over his face.

Deja vu was the only state good enough to describe what he was experiencing. You broke the silence by holding a hand out to introduce yourself.

“I’m y/n”

It took a quick second for him to respond, still trying to process your face and remember how he knows you.

“I’m… Rick” he finally shook your hand.

“Rick Sanchez..”

That name was oddly familiar to you. Like you’d heard it in a dream. Or it was a loved ones name in a past life. You felt like you had heard it before, in a very distant memory. But no recollection of the connection.

“That seems…familiar” you tilted your head, squinting your eyes at the old man who gave you the same look.

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if you knew me. I am the smartest man In the universe”

[bluewhale52]

Little Black Book: Your Kindred Spirit

Summary: There are a few names in your Little Black Book, and these seven hold a special place in your heart. Now that you are closing that chapter in your life, you reminisce the time and experience you have had with your seven favourite men, especially with Jeon Jungkook, your kindred spirit.

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Rating: Explicit. NO MINORS ALLOWED.

Genre: nonidol!au, strangers to lovers, friends with benefits, a bit of angst

WC: 6.1k (my largest so far! 😱)

Warning: talk about loneliness, oral sex by the pool, fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex, multiple orgasm, edging, sex on a chair, Herman Miller chair kink because Hybe got them chairs for their employees while I’m sitting on one from Ikea

A/N : trying some character development this time round, especially since I’m running out of ideas of ways OC can have hot sexy times with her men (3 more to go!). I like being able to explore OC’s backstory and personality more here, and I hope you as readers feel a bit more intimate too with the characters in this LBB universe. As always, likes, reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Enjoy 💜

Series Masterlist: Little Black Book

You got off the plane, still annoyed. Five hours earlier, you had arrived in your office in Seoul, only to be ceremoniously sent off  to Jeju with the order of getting Jeon Jungkook to sign a bunch of papers as well as not returning to Seoul until Monday. You protested, only to have Seokjin, your new unbearable boss, told you that you had not taken any days off in two years and he’d be damned if those days were going to be borne by the firm again.

“It’s all paid for. Flights and hotel. Now go, I don’t want to see your face for the rest of the week.” Seokjin ordered as he pushed you into the elevator. ” But call me on Saturday, hmm?” He added in a whisper. You rolled your eyes as the doors closed.

Five hours later, you arrived in Jeju, and at the first intake of fresh air, you inwardly thanked Seokjin for forcing you to go on a vacation. Maybe, after you were all done with the Jeon Jungkook business, you’d go shopping and get yourself a new lingerie set for your Saturday night fun with Seokjin, as a thank you. MAYBE.

As you entered the arrival hall, you were surprised to find a man in full chauffeur uniform holding up your name. You bowed to him, and he swiftly took your luggage.

“Mr Jeon sent me to pick you up.” He simply stated. “He’s waiting for you at his suite.” You nodded and followed him.

The suite turned out to be a mega luxurious penthouse by the beach. Spacious, modern, floor to ceiling windows with that breathtaking view, and…. an infinity pool on the balcony? You had to stop yourself from gawking too much.

You were asked to wait by the living room as the driver went to the pool and patiently waited for Jungkook to finish his lap before informing him of your arrival. The driver then made his way back to you, to inform you that he would check you in at the hotel. He then bowed and quietly left. You tilted your head and wondered how he could even know which hotel your firm had booked for you, but you let it go- the rich definitely had their own ways.

You turned to find Jungkook getting out of the water, and you swallowed, hard. The many times you had met him, he had always worn something baggy. Never in a hundred years you would have thought that THAT body was hidden underneath all those loose clothing. Thick shoulders, even thicker pecs, and washboard abs. Then those thighs- dear God- sculpted and oh so visible with his wet boardshorts splattered tightly on his skin.

You cleared your throat, then bowed to him. Get a grip, he’s your client, you reminded yourself. “Good afternoon, Jungkook-ssi.”

He bowed back in return. “Hi __________ -ssi.” He sounded shy. “Hope your flight was good?”

“Smooth flight.” As smooth as that skin across your chest. “I’m here for you to sign the papers?”

You sat yourself down by the coffee table and took out a folder. “I’m sure Seokjin-ssi has told you about the settlement? We just need you to sign here, here and here and I’ll send them back to the office to get everything going.”

You went into your work-mode immediately. It was safe, and you knew what you were doing. You in work-mode would not be thirsting over your own client. Jungkook lingered by the door however, water still dripping from his gorgeous body.

“Um, do you need me to get you a towel?” You asked gingerly. Jungkook broke into a small smile and shook his head.

“Sorry, I was distracted.” He went off to grab a towel himself, and you breathed a sigh of relief when he came back, his upper body covered by the terry cloth. “Where do I sign?”

You directed Jungkook, explaining along the way the process of the settlement, what he should expect and what your firm would continue doing on his behalf.

“As agreed, we will not disclose the settlement amount to the media or the public, but this large sum should set off some gossip in the industry, so you’d be rest assured anyone would think twice before mooching off your AI software again.” You grabbed the corner of Jungkook’s towel and dabbed at some dollops of water on the coffee table, worried they could stain the legal documents.

“Ah, sorry, I guess my hair is still wet.” Jungkook said sheepishly. You plastered a professional smile, and resisted tucking his curly hair behind his ear.

“OK, all done, just give me a minute to scan and email these back to the office.”

You moved to scan the documents with your phone and promptly sent them to Seokjin. Jungkook left your side and you heard a splash. Jungkook was back in the pool, but he stayed by the side, head resting on his folded hands, watching you.

You gave him another forced smile. “I’m just waiting for Seokjin-ssi to confirm everything is good. Then I’ll be going.”

“Eager to start your vacation?”  He pushed his hair back off his forehead, and laughed at your reaction. “Seokjin told me you would stay here for a few days before going back to Seoul.”

“Ah yes, I was forced to go on holiday.”

“Good thing I asked for you to come here then.” You saw the corner of his mouth lifted into what you thought was a very sexy smirk.

“You asked for me?” Your phone vibrated indicating an incoming email, tearing your gaze from Jungkook and denying him the chance to answer. The email was from Seokjin, who simply replied with a thumbs up emoji. “Ah, I’ve got confirmation all is good. So I’ll get going now then.”

“Stay.”

You froze. “Excuse me?”

Jungkook still had his eyes firmly on you. The shyness you saw earlier was all gone. “Your holiday has officially started. Have a swim with me.”

You laughed out loud at his request. “I don’t have my swimsuit with me, and your driver has taken my suitcase to the hotel.”

“So?” Jungkook smirked.

“Jungkook-ssi, I’m not going to swim with you in my underwear.” You know you needed to leave, but the temptation was getting too large to ignore.

“Just Jungkook, please.” He licked his lips. “And, you don’t need any attire to swim here. It’s very private.”

“Jungkook-ssi, are you trying to see me naked?”

“And if I am?”

You looked at your phone again. No follow up emails, no calls, no messages. Work had stopped for you. However, Jungkook was your client, a very valuable one at that. This couldn’t be good. But as he said, your vacation had started. Well, you only live once, you told yourself.

“If I’m swimming naked, so are you. It’s only fair.”

Jungkook shuffled in the water. Then his board shorts landed with a loud splat at the poolside. “It’s only fair.”

An hour or so later, you sighed as you spotted tints of orange streaking across the sky. You had to give it to Jungkook for this place- from where you were sitting at the pool, you got a mesmerising view of the sun setting, blood orange angry against the cool blue of the horizon. What a sight.

You sighed again, as Jungkook’s tongue glided against your folds. HIs tongue felt so smooth against your throbbing sex, and a flick of his tongue released a deep moan from you. You threw your head back, your body leaning back supported by your elbows, and you spread your legs even wider for him.

The flicking of his tongue went faster, no doubt encouraged by your moans and the start of your thighs shaking. You gasped for air as your climax was nearing. One of your hands shot out and grabbed Jungkook by his hair, pressing his head firmer against your sex as you rode his mouth. His big doe eyes opened up and met yours immediately, and you cursed- how could anyone who looked so innocent could be so sinful?

You ground your core harder against his mouth, and his tongue went to overdrive, determined to have you come before the sun set. He opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, the pink tip flicking your nub determinedly, his eyes never leaving yours. Your tightened core finally snapped, and screaming his name, you came, just as the sun set at Jeju Island. What a sight.

~~~

You raised an eyebrow when Jungkook ordered another bowl of ramen. It had been a couple of months since your Jeju fling, and you were surprised when Jungkook suddenly turned up at your office, inviting you out to dinner. Your first instinct was to reject him- you did not like fraternising with clients- but his big doe eyes did you in.

“So,” you cleared your throat, “how long have you been back in Seoul?”

Jungkook slurped his noodles. “A couple of days.”

“Oh, are you here for work?”

He shook his head. “I was bored in Jeju.”

“Well, I hope you’ll get to have some fun here.”

He nodded again, eyes still downcast, focused on his bowl. You let silence sit between you; he seemed to still be very hungry, and you did not want to interrupt him eating. He stole glances at you timidly, as if he had something to say but did not have the bravery to say it out loud.

It amazed you how Jungkook could have such a duality. The person in front of you was painfully shy, nothing like the flirtatious sex god that left you trembling throughout your vacation in Jeju. You watched him eat, and his demeanour suddenly threw you back to your university days, when you isolated and buried yourself in books, sacrificing social life for those top graduating spots in law school. You recognised loneliness, having gone through it yourself. Your heart softened even further for Jungkook. When he finally finished his meal, he wiped his mouth and smiled apologetically at you.

“You must be busy,” he said, mistaking your quietness for impatience, “I’m sorry I disturbed you and forced you to accompany me here.”

You shook your head. “I should be thanking you for getting me out of the office. I need to stop being such a workaholic. Probably because I don’t have much of a social life, I just bury myself in work.” You offered an opening to Jungkook to open up.

“I guess we’re in the same boat.” He admitted sheepishly. “It’s not that I don’t have friends, I just… have some trust issue.”

“I would be too if I were in your shoes.” You knew enough of his history from handling his settlement case. He made it big at such a young age and the media elevated him to be the next big tech superstar, which only sent sharks sniffing around him. The case you had helped Seokjin handle, the one that sent you to Jeju to conclude it, involved names of people Jungkook thought he could trust.

“What do you do for fun?” He asked.

“Uh well… I don’t have many hobbies, really.” You were a bit thrown aback by his question, “Some weekends I just pick a random line on the subway and ride it to the end and back. If I see something interesting, I stop and check it out. It’s a habit from law school, it helps me de-stress.”

“That sounds really interesting. Do you do that by yourself? Or with friends?”

“Most of the time I go by myself. I like being alone. I mean, five days out of a week I have to continually talk to and interact with people. My subway time is my time for myself, I guess.”

He nodded at your answer. “I understand what you mean. I like being alone too, especially after big meetings and promotional stuff.”

You smiled at him. “Sounds like we’re pretty similar.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “do you play games?”

“Computer games? Not really, no.” You laughed as Jungkook scrunched his nose lightly. “Just Maple Story, I guess.”

“Do you want to go to the arcade with me? There’s one just around the block.” He blurted it out quickly, as if he had been waiting for the perfect time to ask. You cleared your throat. You were happy enough to accompany him for dinner, sometimes clients expected that, but going to the arcade? It felt very personal.

“Jungkook-ssi,” you started.

“Just Jungkook, please.” He reminded you.

You took a deep breath. “Jungkook, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think I can hang out with you, like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I just thought, you know, we had fun and got along well in Jeju, so…” He shrugged his shoulder and looked down at his hands under the table.

“Well, we agreed what happened in Jeju stays there. And if you want to do it again, I’m for it, but we’ll have to lay down some ground rules.”

His brows furrowed. “I don’t want sex.” He sounded insulted. “I just want… your company. Not in that way. Just, you know, spend time together. With you. Because, I just think we’ll get along well. That’s all.”

You blinked at his confession, and you raked your brain to come up with a response that would not insult him any further. However before you could think of anything, he asked, “Are you not allowed to date your client?”

“Um, is the arcade supposed to be a date?”

“It could be if you want it.”

You rubbed your neck. This was going worse than you had thought. “I’m allowed to date whoever I want. I just… don’t do dating or relationships.”

“Because you’re a workaholic?”

That went straight to your heart. “Maybe,” you answered slowly, “though I think it’s more because I’m selfish. I like my free time for myself. I like not having to compromise on anything. I like making decisions by myself without having to worry about the other person’s feelings.”

“Don’t you get lonely?”

“I do sometimes, but I like being alone so loneliness is sometimes welcome.”

“And when it’s not?” He leaned forward.

“I call some…. friends.” You blushed a little. “And we spend time together, and that’s good enough for me.”

You inhaled deeply. It was odd saying it out loud, and you felt a little twang in your chest. You were reminded of the times when you returned to your empty, dark apartment after your rendezvous with one of your ‘friends’ from your little black book. Most times you were just happy to go to sleep or do whatever else it was you did at home, but there were the rare times when you wish your living room was not so sparse or your bed so cold. You had to admit it to yourself, you did feel lonely.

“Can… can I be your friend?” Jungkook asked, his voice so soft you struggled to hear it. “I do like spending time with you, and I trust you. And we had fun. And I’m not expecting Jeju all over again, it’s just… I don’t know, I just trust you.”

Your heart ached for him. He sounded so lost and so small. Perhaps two lonely people could find some comfort in each other.

“I’d love to be your friend, Jungkook.” You answered, and he gave you a relief smile in return. “Now, I need to clarify my definition of friends, just so we’re clear from the start.”

~~~

You realised Jungkook had liked too much your definition of ‘friends’, and although you had warned him repeatedly that there would be no feelings involved and no sleep overs, you suspected he had developed a crush on you. When he was teaching you to play League of Legends, he liked you sitting on his lap. When you were cooking ramen for him, he liked to stand behind you,rubbing the hem of your top. When you were getting dressed after your session with him, he would, without fail, tell you how much he liked the particular office wear you had on, which made you think that the man very likely had a business suit kink. You regularly reminded him- and yourself- that this arrangement was strictly of no strings attached, but you had to admit, it was nice to have him do all those things to you.

You also realised that Mondays were good to spend with Jungkook. The time spent with him not only chased away your Monday rage and put you in a good mood for the rest of the week. Especially when his chiseled chest was pressed tightly against your back, and his hips snapping wildly behind you, so determined to have your moans and wails travel through your apartment walls to your neighbours’. You threw your head back against his shoulder, and his hand snaked down to rub your clit as his mouth descended on your neck.

“Come on, cum for me again, pretty girl.”

You gasped for air at his hoarse voice, and you closed your eyes tightly as he pulled your second orgasm out of you, keeping his pace fast and steady as you rode it out. You panted heavily as you came down, your back felt slick with sweat against his chest. He pulled out and let you collapse onto your bed, the pure linen sheet felt so good and cool against your heated skin.

Jungkook gingerly flipped you over so you lay on your back. Caging you with his thick thighs, he leaned down and suckled on your tits, moaning against them as your fingers weaved themselves between his silky locks. His mouth left your breasts, and he straightened himself up while grabbing your ankles up and resting your legs on his chest. You shook your head.

“Kook, give me a minute.”

He chuckled. “Did I tire you out already? I remember you having better stamina than this in Jeju.”

“I was on vacation.” You hissed between your teeth.

He grabbed his cock and pushed it in you again. You arched your back when his swollen head penetrated you. “Just enjoy it, then. I’ll do all the work.” He winked. “Two more, pretty girl.”

Damned him and his competitive streak. He had sheepishly asked you if perhaps he could make you cum four times, to break his record in Jeju of three in one night. You were too excited to agree, but you were paying the price now- your whole body felt too sensitive. You wondered if you could wake up for work the next day.

He soon bottomed out in you, and he started to slowly pump himself in your hole, allowing you to recover before he sent you falling over the cliff again. He kissed your ankle, trailing his sinful mouth down towards your calf. You moaned at the sensation, and he, sensing you were more relaxed, picked up his rhythm .

You hands shot up above you to grab the edge of your bed, holding on for dear life when he began to fuck you faster. All you could hear now was the smacking of his skin against yours, and his low guttural groans when you clenched yourself around his cock. He held onto your ankles tightly, and his eyes watched your breasts bouncing in time with the movement of his hips.

“So good, feel so good, Kook.” You breathed out.

“Yeah?” He licked his lips. He pulled out until only his head was nestled in you, and he smirked as your hips writhed, wanting his length back in you. He slammed himself back in you, making you shout in pleasure.

“You like that, pretty girl?” He repeated the movement, and you screamed his name. He went a bit faster, encouraged by the slick that continued to lubricate his cock, and the tightening of your pussy walls every time he slammed into you. He suddenly leaned down towards you, bringing your legs with him, and you moaned loudly at the new depth his cock was reaching in you.

“You OK?” He asked, when he saw your face scrunching up.

“Yeah, yeah,” you hissed, “it’s just so deep. Ah, Kook, fuck me hard, I’m close.”

Jungkook was only too happy to oblige. Pounding his cock into you almost animalistically, he sucked on your ear, knowing it was your extremely sensitive spot. Your legs were soon flailing around his shoulders, and your body jerked and shuddered as your third orgasm hit you like a truck. He continued fucking you through it, but you felt his hips stuttering and he immediately pulled himself out of you.

“Fuck, I almost came.” He panted, but his finger immediately zeroed in on your clit, rubbing little circles on it, prolonging your orgasm. You squirmed under his hand, whimpering as your sex pulsated against nothing. When over-sensitivity came, you weakly pushed his hand away.

“Water.” You requested weakly.

Jungkook kissed your tummy before getting up. “Don’t fall asleep, we still have one more.”

You grabbed a pillow and half heartedly threw it at him. He caught it easily and giggled as he made his way to your kitchen. You lay back on your bed, trying to still your trembling body. It was good to be friends with Jungkook.

~~~

Jungkook’s place in Seoul was a far cry from his opulent penthouse in Jeju. The postal code was prestigious, but the apartment was modest, and in your opinion, more representative of Jungkook. He had entrusted you with the entry code to his door, so you made your way in straight from work after a particularly hellish Monday. You found him in his office slash gaming room, and you squealed when you saw him by his desk.

“You got a Herman Miller office chair?” You slid your hands over the chair, resisting the urge to hug it. “Do you know how much I want a Herman Miller chair? I sit on my ass eight hours a day, Jungkook! This baby would cure my sore back.”

Jungkook looked at you amusingly while you oohed and aahed over the chair he was sitting on. “Do you want to sit here?”

“No, no, no!” You stopped him from getting up. “I can’t. I told myself I would only sit on a Herman Miller office hair if it was mine and only mine.” You smacked his shoulder when he started laughing. “It’s my fantasy, OK! Yeah, my fantasy is to have this in my office.” You rubbed the back of the chair lovingly.

“Why don’t you just get one?”

“Jungkook, it’s $1,000 at least. I’m not spending that kind of money.”

“Well, get your boss to get it for you.”

You guffawed. “He complained about how much we spent on coffee pods, I’m sure he’d buy me a Herman Miller chair.”

“Well,” he rubbed his chin, “I can buy it for you.”

“Jungkook, as much as I want to say yes, I’m going to say no, because one, I wouldn’t even know how to report it to HR, and two, I can’t make you spend that much money for me!”

“Well we’re friends, aren’t we? Can’t I buy a gift for my friend?” Jungkook was spinning in his chair, wiggling his eyebrows. “Let me buy it for you. Just say it’s a gift from an anonymous client?”

“You’re ridiculous.” You grabbed the arms of the chairs to stop him spinning.

“And you’re hot.” He blurted out, and immediately blushed. You felt heat rising to your cheeks too. Shy guy was slowly making way to flirty sex god.

“It’s just a basic blouse and a skirt.”

He cupped your ass. “Yeah, but this skirt really makes your ass look amazing.” He moved his hands to your chest. “And your breasts look so tempting.”

You bit your lower lip as he massaged your tits and let out a shriek when you heard fabric tearing. Sex god Jungkook arrived, and he had just ripped your blouse.

“Jungkook! That blouse cost-”

You lost your voice as Jungkook pushed the cups of your bra down roughly to gain access to your nipples. You mewled when his lips closed in on one of your perky nubs, while his fingers tugged the other.  Losing your footing, you fell forward, and his free hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you on top of him.

“I’ll buy you another one.” He released your nipples and helped you hike your skirt so you could straddle him.

“Damn it.” You said breathlessly. You felt your juices soaking your panties, and more leaked out when your sex rested atop his hardening member. “How many times are you going to make me cum tonight?”

He hummed against your breasts as his hands roamed over your stocking-covered legs. He kissed and licked your breasts, before enveloping your nipple back in his mouth. You arched your back, pressing your chest closer to him.

“Maybe just once,” he said between sucks, big doe eyes looking up to you, “but I promise it’s going to be a good one.”

Your body went rigid when his large hand cupped you, his finger sliding along the slit over your pantyhose and underwear. His mouth went back to attacking your breasts, and you could do nothing but surrender to his ministrations. Very quickly, he made you a breathless mess on his lap. He chuckled at your expression, and his hands sneaked up underneath your skirt, looking for the waistband of your pantyhose. He tugged at it harshly, and before you knew it, he had torn yet another piece of your clothing.

“Jeon Jungkook!” you chastised him. “For fu-”

“I’ll take you shopping. Just relax now.” He cut you off by pulling your panties aside so he could insert a finger in. You gasped at the intrusion, and your inner walls immediately clenched around his digit. His mouth left your breasts and he was watching you. You returned his stare, your eyes focused on his face while you enjoyed the way his finger was gliding in and out. Your eyes fluttered when he inserted a second one. You grabbed onto his shoulders, and his free hand guided you to move up a little, simply so he could pump his fingers faster and harder.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” He pushed a third finger in and you squealed. “Look at me, pretty girl.”

You forced yourself to keep your eyes open, to look at his face. How could someone looking so sweet and innocent could be pulling out moans and screams so easily. Your pussy felt deliciously stretched and he was drawing your orgasm out quickly. Your walls were pulsating erratically around his fingers, and suddenly it felt empty, the orgasm you were chasing disappeared instantly.

“Jungkook, what the-”

He smirked as he looked at his soaked fingers. You tilted your head as your heart beats returned to normal. “Are you trying to edge me?”

He laughed when you smacked his shoulder. “Hold on.” He rolled you both to a set of drawers by his desk. He pulled out a condom, placed the packet between his teeth, then shuffled to pull his sweats down. You swallowed when his cock- hard, angry and red- sprung free. He ripped the foil to get the condom out and rolled it down his dick. Your pussy was clenching hungrily, eager to take in his member.

Jungkook’s hands returned to your skirt, bunching it up around your waist. He smiled at your ripped pantyhose, then with one hand, he tugged your panties aside while his other hand held his cock. You lowered yourself onto him, you kept sinking down on him, letting out a satisfied moan as he filled you in so fully. Your torn blouse was agape, your bra pushed down to reveal your nipples, and that was where his eyes were focused on as you started to ride him, swirling your hips as you went up and down on his cock. You rode him with all your might, eager to chase and get your orgasm before he could stop you. Your clit was rubbing against his lower abdomen, and your body was heated once again. Your pace quickened, your breaths became more shallow, and you were getting close, so close.

However, Jungkook’s hands grabbed your hips and held you above his lap, snapping you out of your near-delirium. He blew at the sweat that had broken out in the valley of your breasts.

“Not yet, pretty girl.” He cooed, and you whined in protest as he pulled out.

He directed you to turn your body around, so that your back was to his chest now, and he pushed his cock into you again. He held your body down, not allowing you to move, making your pussy cockwarming him. He rolled the chair, positioning it just in front of the set of computer monitors. All the screens were black, and you could clearly see your reflections on them. He helped you shift your legs to make you more comfortable while also keeping them spread as wide as possible.

He kissed your shoulder and your neck, while his hips started to move, slowly pumping his cock in and out of you. His strong hands were still holding you motionless, and you gripped the arms of the chair, content to surrender your body to him. His cock moved faster, and your body soon tensed again. Sensing your orgasm nearing, he slammed his cock up to bury it in you. You writhed, silently begging him to move, but he kept you still, away from your climax.

“Fuck, Jungkook, please.” You felt like you wanted to cry.

“No, not yet. I don’t want this to be over so soon.” He sounded like he wanted to cry too. “If I let you cum, will you stay the night?”

You elbowed him weakly. “You shouldn’t blackmail an attorney, Jungkook-ah.”

His chest rumbled against your back as he laughed. “You always cum and leave.”

You wriggled your hips and he moaned. “Let me cum now and I’ll stay for a bit.”

That seemed to be good enough for him. He kissed your shoulder before wrapping his hands around your body tight, pressing you against his chest, as he pistoned his cock fast and hard. The movements took your breath away, your head lolled against his as you both watched yourselves on the dark computer screens. Needing to feel more of him, your hand released the arm of the chair and to reach the back of his neck. He kissed the inside of your upper arm, which made you squeal and clench around him further. He cursed at the discovery of a new erogenous zone on you, and he nipped and licked at your skin as his cock continued to pound you.

You felt your orgasm nearing, and your free hand moved down to rub your clit. One of his hands moved downwards too, pulling the hood back to give you full access to your sensitive spot.

“Rub it good, pretty girl, while my cock ruins your pussy.” He whispered gruffly in your ear. You mewled at his dirty talk, and your finger started to move eratically, certain he would not deny your climax this time. You pressed on your clit and rubbed it hard, causing your pussy walls to tighten around his shaft. You closed your eyes when the edge was finally within reach, your body shook and your hand faltered. Jungkook pushed it away to rub your clit himself while you were finally coming, screaming his name. You felt as if you were drowning in pleasure, you gasped for air and you felt a drop of tear escape down your cheek.  

Jungkook’s grip on your body became tighter, you were sure he was going to leave marks, which you normally chastised your lovers for, but this time you could barely even care. He slammed his cock into you one last time when your orgasm was ending, emptying himself into the rubber.

You both sat on the chair, recovering from the one mind blowing orgasm. Your pants made way to soft breathing. Your ripped blouse felt sticky from the sweat, and you winced as you tried to straighten your legs while he was still inside you. Content of not moving any further, you leaned back against his hard chest, and you let him hug you and nuzzle your hair. You would stay a little while, you decided, as promised. He was worth spending a bit more time with.

“This chair is worth every cent,” Jungkook broke the silence, “it didn’t even creak once.”

You burst out laughing, and you ended up laughing so much that your stomach hurt.

~~~

Today

“Jeon Jungkook!”  You hiss into the phone. “I am going to kill you.”

You groan as he laughs at the other end. You look at the $2000 dollar chair with a big red bow in your office. You have shooed everyone away from your office, including Seokjin who complained that he should get one too since he was the one who got THAT big settlement for that ‘ungrateful brat’.

“You need to get an even better chair for Seokjin, you know. Or we will never hear the end of his whining.”

“He’s treated me to a few meals. I guess it’s only fair I pay him back.”

You make sure your office door is closed before you move to the chair to sniff it. It smells new and promising- you know the moment you sit on it, you will never have a backache ever again, your days will be brighter and you will rise up to the top. Herman Miller will unlock all your potentials.

“Sit on it and take a selca,” Jungkook suggests, “and send it to your boyfriend.”

“Why do I need to show him?” You protest, but you untie the red bow and sit on the chair anyway.

“So you know,” he clears his throat, “you guys can do fun stuff on it.” He drawls as his shyness takes over. You feel your cheeks heated too at the memory.

“Hey,” his voice takes a serious turn and you straighten up, “I don’t think I ever thank you.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I think I’m the one who should thank you? For this amazing chair?”

“I want to thank you for being my friend,” his voice is so soft, but you can hear his emotions clearly, “it means a lot to me.”

You press your fingers to your lips, holding back a threatening sob. “Jungkook, it means a lot to me too that you’re my friend. And please don’t start crying; if you cry, I will cry.”

Jungkook lets out a gentle laugh. “If you cry, I’ll cry, so you don’t start too.”

“We are truly hopeless. But Jungkook, is this what the chair is for? Because you don’t need to-“

“No, no,” he cuts in, “it’s a just-because present. You’ve been going on and on about the chair since... you know when, and I don’t know, when I saw the latest model I just wanted to get it for you.”

“You are too generous, you know that? Don’t let anyone take advantage of your generosity.”

He laughs again. “You’re generous too. You always make time for me, even now when you don’t have to anymore.”

“We’re kindred spirits, aren’t we? Of course I’ll always make time for you. Even my boyfriend makes time for you!” You glance at the clock in your office. “Isn’t it almost time for your pilates class?”

“Yes, your man is signalling me to hang up now.” Jungkook chuckles. “Thank you for letting me be his friend too. He’s been great for my state of mind. All the pilates and the bonsai classes he lets me tag along, I’m feeling much happier these days.”

You hum as you settle more comfortably in your new chair. “I’m happy to hear that, and it means a lot to me you both get along so well. Hey, let’s do dinner this weekend? Let’s crash Seokjin’s place and make him cook for us. It’s been a while since the four of us hung out together.”

“Sounds like a plan. I have to go now, don’t forget to send that selca!”

You giggle as he hangs up. You spin once in the chair, your body and spirit feels a million times better already. You raise your phone up and move it around to get the best angle. Once you have gotten a picture you are happy with, you send it off to your boyfriend.

You [19:02] : I got a present! Come over after your class and let’s take a ride on it 😉 You [19:02] : PS: Don’t change. I like you all sweaty 😋

You smile smugly at your naughty messages, then you realise something. You immediately text Jungkook.

You [19:03] : Kook- is there a warranty on the chair? Just in case we break it.

Published 11042021

[ahtsumu]

A SKY FULL OF STARS (AND A HEART FULL OF LOVE)

pairing: gojo satoru x gn!reader

synopsis: your boyfriend wants to show you something.

tag(s): fluff fluff fluff ; wc: 1k

a/n: a lil fluffy piece to balance the filth that came before LOL btw this was @starrysamu​‘s request for fluff on my other blog i hope you like it miss remy!!

“BABE,” GOJO says with his head popping through your bedroom door. You yelp at his sudden appearance, jumping slightly in your chair.

“Jesus,” you sigh, holding a hand to where your heart frantically pounds. The momentary fear melts into relief, though, once you realise that your boyfriend has come back from yet another mission unscathed.

“Not quite, but you’re on the right track,” the ice blond male laughs, falling onto your mattress with his hands behind his head.

With a roll of your eyes, you shut your laptop and crawl onto the bed, cuddling into your boyfriend’s side. “Normal people say ‘hello’ to announce their arrival,” you tease.

Gojo grabs your hand and interlaces your fingers, retorting with, “I’m not ‘normal people’.” He’s missed this: the feeling of you being so tangled up with him, so close that he could forget where his body ends and where yours begins. It’s the only time he’s ever happy being both more and less than Gojo Satoru.

(It’s the only time he feels infinite outside the void.)

"I thought you were gonna be in Osaka for two more days,” you murmur. He chuckles and presses a light kiss to the top of your head.

"I finished the job early.” You can just hear his grin as he adds, “Like I usually do.” Suddenly, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you on top of his muscled body. "I missed you,” he says softly.

You fold your arms over his chest, rest your chin at the groove of your fingers, and look right where his eyes should be behind his blindfold. "I think I missed you more.”

“Not possible.” Gojo clasps his hands together atop your back. "What’s that Selena Gomez song again? A day without you is like a year without rain? That’s literally what it was like for an entire week.” He pauses, then smirks. "And I had to fight a shit ton of cursed spirits, so I really had it a lot worse than you did.”

Giggling, you nuzzle your face into his sweater. "Are you just here to play ‘I miss you’ Olympics or what?” 

Gojo laughs. "I’m just trying to enjoy a moment of peace and quiet with the love of my life, and you’re––”

"I’m kidding, dummy.” You scoot up and hover over his face, touching your noses together. "I love you.”

"That’s more like it.” Gojo takes your mouth in for a sweet kiss and tugs on your bottom lip with his pearly whites. As he pulls back, he grins mischievously and says, "Actually, I thought of something cool while I was away.”

Star-spinning.

That’s what he calls it.

Standing in the middle of a grassy field (you have no idea how you got here–– it must’ve been Gojo’s work), you tilt your head up at the glittering night sky, close your eyes, and let out a peaceful sigh. Your body involuntarily shivers when a light gust of wind blows by, but you forget about the chill when Gojo snakes his arms around your waist and presses his chest to your back.

“You’re so warm,” you purr, opening your eyes.

He looks down at you–– covering the stars with his upside-down face–– and grins. “You’re welcome.”

"And now you’re blocking the view.”

“My bad, should I leave?” Gojo laughs, raising his brows. His hands, still comfortably gripping your hips, turn you around so that you’re facing each other. Gojo cups your cheeks and kisses you once, twice, three times before enveloping your hands in his.

"Enough chit-chat,” he says. “Let’s do some star-spinnin’.”

The question of what star-spinning is still rests at the tip of your tongue but before you can ask it, Gojo steps back until both your arms are straightened out. “Just keep your eyes on the stars,” he says, tightening his hold on you, "and spin the other person around as fast as you can.”

And with that, everything becomes a blur. The speed at which you’re going, spinning like a tornado with the night breeze and gravity tugging at your flesh, is insane. It’s the same rush of adrenaline you feel on amusement park rides–– the wind in your hair, the flood of blood through your veins. You feel so alive.

You shriek in laughter as the sparkly dots in the dark sky drag into white lines and soon Gojo joins you with his wild hoots and cackles, breaking the quiet countryside atmosphere. He shouts your name. “You suck at spinning!” he yells. “Can’t you go any faster?”

"Shut up!” you shout back with a laugh. And then that snowballs into a series of chuckles. And suddenly, you’re both giggling messes twirling at what you think is a hundred miles an hour in the middle of nowhere and all you can see are the swirls of luminous white in the sky and––

Suddenly, you feel yourself falling. No, not metaphorically (that already happened a long time ago). You’re literally falling and, thankfully, you land on top of Gojo’s firm body with a soft groan. He barely winces from the impact. In fact, he just continues to laugh through gasps of air.

"That was on you,” Gojo finally says once he’s caught his breath, tilting his head back on the dirt.

"If you just wanted me lying on top of you, we could’ve stayed at my place,” you tease, tapping his nose. He shakes his head to thwart your finger but that just causes it to snag under his blindfold. It lifts up, revealing his sparkling set of frost blue eyes.

And in that brief moment, he sees. He sees the navy sky with pools of burnt orange and purple, freckled with ageing stars, each dragging a thin white tail through the dark… and you at the forefront of all that with a euphoric smile on your face, your hair mussed from the wind, chest still rising and falling while you even your breath. The love in your eyes. The pads of his thumbs slowly trace your cheekbones.

“Beautiful,” he breathes.

"Sorry,” you say softly, now that he’s broken your trance. You don’t always see Gojo without his blindfold on and every time you do, you find yourself absolutely mesmerised. Reluctantly, you let the dark cloth fall back over his eyes.

Gojo just smiles, kisses your forehead, and says, “Don’t worry about it. That one was on me.”

[countessren]

The Bad Batch || Writing Prompts

1. If we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English.

2. How is it that when something happens it’s always you guys?

3. I...I didn’t think we would get this far.

4. Please put that down, that’s not for playing.

5. If I had a credit for every time we get in trouble I would be the richest person in existence.

6. Don’t tell me...you broke the hyperdrive.

7. You can’t say that! At least not in front of the child!

8. What does this do?/If you want to find out, you’ll have to close that door.

9. You know I didn’t mean that/Well it sure sounded like you did.

10. If I wanted to waste my time, I would have asked for your opinion.

11. Don’t put me on the spot, I wasn’t listening.

12. Don’t look at me, he did it.

13. I can’t help it, you’re too important to me.

14. If you’re aiming to piss me off, we’re well past that point right now.

15. If one more person damages this ship, I’m taking Lula.

16. I’m sorry...but I can’t do this anymore.

17. Don’t accuse me of being the jerk, I’m not the one who needs to develop a personality.

18. Give me one good reason as to why I shouldn’t punch you in your perfect face.

19. So, what’s the plan?/ You’re telling me that you didn’t come up with one?!

20. Awwww, you’re so adorable when you blush.

21. Get away from me, you’ve annoyed me now.

22. When this is all over, I’m going to take you somewhere far away from all this mess/ I’d like that.

23. If you touch my stuff without asking one more time, I swear.../ You’ll what? Pummel me to death?/ If that’s what it takes, then yes. I will.

24. I don’t think I can do that. I just...I don’t know.

25. Did you...did you just compliment me?

26. The systems are fried because someone didn’t fix the wiring issue!

27. Stop blaming me for your mistakes!

28. I’m tired of trying to fight so hard for someone who doesn’t even want me.

29. Prove it hotshot.

30. You should be more careful, you don’t want anything drastic to happen now do you?

31. You’ve got to be kidding me, I’m not wearing that thing.

32. You know you can tell me anything, right?

33. I’m a little busy right now, but sure, what can I do for you?

34. I’m fine, honestly it’s just a scratch/ That is not a scratch, what are you talking about?

35. Stay awake for me, please!

36. I can’t lose you, please just...just come back to me.

37. Could you stay? Just for a little while, please?

38. You really think I’m a valuable part of this team? Even after that?

39. Please don’t ask me to do that, I can’t.

40. You have to be more careful, one day you’ll come back to me in pieces.

41. I’m sorry, forget I said anything.

42. If I may/ No!/ ...Apologies.

43. Can I interest anyone in a vacation?

44. You can’t keep going around and destroying things/ Oh yeah, watch me!

45. This is never going to work/ You look beautiful darling, stop worrying.

46. Can’t we just relax for the day? I’m tired after yesterday.

47. The stars...can’t do it...not today.

48. I’d laugh but I would prefer to keep my life.

49. Don’t test me.

50. Oh please, I would rather die than be partnered up with him for this mission.

51. Wait, remind me again why we are doing this.

52. I love you so much, I want you to know that in case-/ In case nothing. Nothing will happen. Don’t ever say that again.

53. You’re heavy, get off me.

54. For the love of god, please just be nice to each other.

55. I care too much, so sue me.

56. How dare you, you will treat me with respect.

57. Can I...can I give you a hug?

58. I uh...I don’t know how we managed to get out of that alive/ Well, now that we have, you owe me.

59. Just keep your eyes on me, don’t turn around.

60. Is this...reg...bothering you?

61. I wouldn’t shoot the messenger if I were you/ But it sends a message/ Yeah, the wrong type of message!

62. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to fix this ship, but I’m so over having to stop every five minutes.

63. Honestly, you’re the only person that keeps me calm.

64. Well maybe if you listened to me instead of that damn holopad we wouldn’t be in this situation.

65. I’m really sorry/ Go away, I’m not talking to you.

66. It hurst...it hurst so much/ Just stay with me, don’t you dare close your eyes.

67. If we could stay here all day, you know I would hold on to you and never let go right?

68. Cuddles?/ ...Fine.

69. I’m innocent I swear/ I know you, you are far from innocent.

70. Uh oh/ What? / Nothing...nothing at all.

71. Tech said I was bleeding internally, that’s where all the blood is supposed to be!/ Wrecker...no.

72. I can help, just let me-/ No, you’ve done enough.

73. I...I’m cold/ Well that’s unfortunate, I can’t do anything about the weather.

74. You inconsiderate, lying, two-faced prick!

75. If you don’t remove your hand from my shoulder, you won’t have hands at all.

76. Kill me, but don’t hurt them. Please...

77. Is anyone else having trouble figuring out how we are all still alive?

78. I could seriously just-/ Just what sweetheart?

79. I want you know that I’m sorry if things weren’t easy for you, but it wasn’t easy for me too. I had to be strong for everyone else when you fell apart...and it broke me too.

80. You’re not the only one who’s having second thoughts.

81. Please just...just leave me alone. I don’t want to talk about it.

82. I could honestly just sleep forever right now/ Come here...

83. I love you, but it’s okay if you don’t feel the same.

84. This isn’t you, you have to fight it.

85. Give me a chance, I’ll prove to you that I care/ You have one more chance, otherwise I’m gone.

86. Shoot me once, shame on you. Shoot me twice...yeah that’s my mistake.

87. Ow!/ You deserved that/ What did you do that for!?/ You know exactly what for!

88. It’s so cold in here/ Here, have my blanket.

89. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so mesmerising in all my life/ I have.

SOULMATE AU PROMPTS

90. The first words you say to your soulmate are tattooed on your arm.

91. You don’t see colour until you meet your soulmate.

92. You can hear your soulmates thoughts.

93. When you touch your soulmate, you see glimpses of what your future will be like together.

94. You can feel your soulmates pain.

95. You can feel intense pain whenever your soulmate is in danger.

96. You have random visions of what your soulmate sees, but neither of you know it until you meet.

97. You have a clock that counts down to when you will meet your soulmate.

98. You have the same tattoo/scars as your soulmate.

99. One of your eyes is the same colour of your soulmates.

100. The name of your soulmate is tattooed somewhere on your person.

PLEASE GIVE CREDIT IF YOU USE ANY! WHETHER IT BE A LIKE, REBLOG OR @MENTION! Requests will be open as of 8th of June, so feel free to flood my inbox until then! You can also comment below should you wish to request anything.

[painless-innit-colourful]

After Wilbur leaves, Tommy’s legs give out, and his panic takes over, feat. the rest of the Bench Trio. TW for suicidal ideation, massive amounts of self-loathing. Also, spoilers for today’s stream.

---

"What did you do?"

He falls to his knees, and for a few minutes, the world goes blank.

What has he done? He's doomed them all, that's what he's done. He let one of the only people that believed in him get killed, he failed in his mission, and now he's almost single-handedly released one of the biggest sources of pain and misery back onto the server. Any moment he expects some righteous punishment for what he's done: a cruel hand, the final blow from a sword, the divine arrow, another damn lightning strike, because why not? Why should he get to sit and cry like a baby when the whole server will soon suffer for what he's done?

The reason they had to kill Dream was just like Ranboo had once said: 'If the villains can come back, then what's the point in winning?' Ranboo, whose presence he can feel, vibrating angrily mere metres away. It's like when you agro an enderman; Tommy expects the hit to come, he wants it, he deserves it, because Ranboo was right! They can't win. Not anymore. All Dream needs is the body, and they can welcome back all those they banished to the other side. Wilbur was supposed to be gone. That was supposed to be done with. It can't be happening again. He can't be back.

His mind whirrs, trying for any solution to this mega-problem, no matter how outlandish, but it returns nothing. Wilbur defeated himself last time. They can't conquer the prison again; besides, Sam will kill him if he goes near it again. Sam, who helped him build Jack Manifold's (his, his, his) hotel, who built him a robot that helped him gather materials and work for himself and protected him and refused to hurt him. Sam, who nearly just took his last canon life several times, who told him he should be dead, who told him he caused all the problems at the prison, on the server, hell! Why didn't he kill him? Maybe the server would be safer that way. Perhaps Wilbur isn't the first villain Dream's resurrected.

He'll never sleep again. Partly because he has to find a way to stop this, has to put an end to everything even if it kills him, especially if he can take them all out at the same time. But also partly because that look Wilbur gave him, the fire that burns nations to the scorched earth underfoot dancing behind his eyes, already haunts his dreams. He already knows which words he'll hear when he tries to rest, which crazed looks, which gestures he'll never forget; he doesn't want that. He wants to sleep in peace, without the ghost of a villain returned beckoning "Let's be the bad guys." and "Why not?" and "My hero, Dream!" The roles have reversed, the blackstone table has turned.

"You wanna be a hero Tommy?" He thinks he'd rather have died one than become... whatever monster stares back at him in the glass beneath his feet. Glass that protects the crater of a nation. A nation that he died twice for. That caused so much pain and strife. That ultimately was razed so far down that the earth will never forgive its creators for painting upon it a target so large and flammable. It was never meant to be, indeed.

And he cries. The tears make tiny 'plinck, plinck, plinck' sounds as they hit the glass, forming a small puddle as the once-proud soldier puts his head against the grave of his home, and himself, Prime knows how many times, and sobs. The ground is unforgiving, the silence carries his weeping out to sea. He shed tears like these for Wilbur once. He wants him back. He wants to go back to the Void. And with a whole server of people about to wake up to the news of the impending chaos in the form of one persuasive former president, he doesn't think it'll be long before he returns. He wants to go back to the Void, and play Competitive Solitaire with Wilbur forever, and maybe, just maybe, that'd be enough to give his friends the peace they need to build lives in the shelter of the shadows. In the runoff and the rubble, they could grow old. And maybe they'd mourn him occasionally. He doesn't see the point.

He doesn't deserve their love anymore. He's fucked up. He's fucked up, and he should pay the price. He should march up to Wilbur, and kill him, and die in the process. But if they both woke up, what then? Who knows how many canon lives zombies have anyway.

He doesn't deserve kindness, or love, or affection. He watched the sweet, innocent ghost be slaughtered because of him. A man he might've accidentally called 'father' should've killed him. Ranboo, dear Prime, patient, forgiving, compassionate Ranboo stared at him with eyes full of disappointment and betrayal and anger and stormed off. He doesn't deserve anything but his ruined city's sky, not anymore... But he wants it. Needs it. Needs it, or what is there left?

So when Tubbo stands at his side, his scarred face barely reflected in the glass, he doesn't compel him to leave. When he kneels and puts an arm around Tommy's shoulders, the younger boy does not ask for Wilbur's end. And when he is scooped up in arms that no longer tremble, he does not try to escape. He merely buries his face in his best friend's coat and waits. Waits to be let go. Waits to be thrown from the clifftop. And somewhere along the journey, he blacks out again.

---

"Would you?" "No, but-" "Exactly! He's fucked up, we can't-" "We can't just abandon him, he's my T-" "The whole server'll be out for blood within the week! We can't hide him here!" "Why not? We have basements, and secret rooms and tunnels and-" "They'll find him, Tubbo." 

Ranboo puts his hands firmly on Tubbo's shoulders, staring right into his eyes. Tubbo freezes, as people often do when eye contact is maintained. They're silhouetted in the doorway, haloed by the light spilling in through the ajar curtains. "They'll tear this place apart if they think they'll find him here. We can't do that. We can't let them do that."

"But-" "Michael. That's who you're putting at risk if you do this. People'll tear Michael's loft apart if they think we've hidden him up there, you know they would! They'd frighten the life out of him." Tubbo puts his head in his hands, quickly wiping his hair back from his face. "A life for a- a life. That's what you're saying, basically. They'll kill Tommy. No question." "They'd kill Michael too!" "Would they? Who the fuck is this 'they'?" "Literally the whole server- Look, I haven't been around here as long as you have, alright, but I know enough. They'll come for Tommy, and they won't have mercy for anyone caught in the crossfire."

Tubbo looks up at his husband for a long time, his expression becoming guarded while his posture straightens. "You're right. People don't care who they hurt around here; it's all means to an end. But-" And his eyes dart towards Tommy, Ranboo's following, and while Ranboo looks shocked and maybe a little embarrassed to see Tommy awake, lying awkwardly dumped on the guest bed, Tubbo's expression doesn't change. "-I won't leave him. I did it once, and it was the worst damn choice I ever made." He sighs, taking Ranboo's hands and staring down at them while they speak. "I don't know what to do, truth be told. I won't let anyone hurt Michael, and if they want to try then perhaps I should get back in the nuke lab. But Tommy's a part of my family as much- as much as you are." His eyes flick to Tommy, and the barest hint of a smile appears. "Looks like it's us against the world, again." 

He leads Ranboo with one hand into the room as he sits beside the mute, exhausted form of his best friend. His best friend that leans into the arm he puts around his shoulder and tries not to start crying again. "Us against the world." Tubbo repeats. "And I ain't leaving you behind."

Tommy looks up at Ranboo, who's staring at him with an impassivity that borders on scary. "Did I tell you you have mesmerising eyes? Because I actually think they're very intimidating." The enderboy's face softens. "Where did you find him." He asks Tubbo drily as he also sits on the bed, the other side of Tubbo, who smiles. "You'll have to-" He cuts himself off. "You'll have to ask Wilbur." He says softly.

"Don't sacrifice yourselves for me." Two heads snap in Tommy's direction, and Ranboo tries to answer first. "Oh, well, we weren't exactly planning on-" "I mean like, your happiness." He quietens again. "Don't lose lives, don't jeopardise Snowchester because of me." "How about you let me decide what happens in my nation." Tubbo's voice has regained some element of its smile. "You focus on surviving, alright Big Man?" "Don't- Please, don't let me ruin all this. Again."

‘I don't deserve your support. I don't deserve a place in your family. I don't deserve you.’

"You deserve another chance."

They make no promises in the half-dark. There are no agreements made over the steaming teapot. There are no settlements reached as the minutes tick by, and nothing comes of the quiet hours spent by a warm fireplace. But there are enough things said in the silences to fill the whole house. And even if Tubbo can't make his best friend fall asleep anymore, he can still hold him close somewhere that maybe, once was, once could've been something like a home.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Festive Fuelstop

Pairing: Mando x Reader

Warnings: None.

Summary: You, Mando and the Child end up in a small town and get pulled into their traditions.

A/n: Happy Holidays, my loves!

You walked out of the Crest and took a breath of fresh air after a week of being trapped inside the flying metal. Despite having to make an emergency landing, you were thankful that the fuel line had started leaking just to stretch your legs. You and Mando had landed on the outskirts of a charming village where the mechanic actually refused the credits that the Mandalorian offered to repair his ship.

“Oh, golly. I can’t take payment now - I haven’t made any repairs.” The man chuckled heartily and whistled for his best workers to get on the job. The repairman then focused back on the new arrivals. “Why don’t you hold on to those credits and take your family down to the markets in the meantime?”

Mando appeared to have frozen so you leaned forward and pulled his hand back, flashing a smile to the kind man.

“The markets sound wonderful - could you point us in the right direction?”

You were given instruction to follow the wooden path down the hill until you reached a clearing into the central part of town which you, Mando and the Child followed.

When you reached the bottom, the townsfolk were in a buzz carrying boxes of shiny strings and coloured balls from one part of town to the next. Homes were decorated with lights strewn across the fences and roofs, some even had a green wreaths on the front door. Adults met up with one another with a grin as they walked in the same direction while children chased each other in tow.

You and Mando exchanged curious glances. This wasn’t something either of you had come across and your confused expression caught the attention of a passerby. The man stopped before the two of you and pointed.

“Visitors?” He guessed with a smile on his face that highlighted a hidden dimple.

You returned the smile and Mando nodded, “Our ship is being repaired uphill.”

“Well then it’s in safe hands. Please, feel free to join us in the Square while you wait.” The man invited and then walked away in the same direction as everyone else. It seemed like the whole town was headed that way.

Folding your arms, you turned to the bounty hunter, “Is it bad that I want to know what’s happening in the Square?”

“We have to keep moving.” Mando reminded as he looked around the buildings. “Maybe find a diner of some sort.”

You watched as more of the townsfolk left their homes and bit your lower lip as you thought - then you heard the child croon and idea came to mind.

“If everyone’s in the same place then none of their lodgings, food or otherwise, will be open. We’ll have a better chance to blend in alongside everyone else while seeing what has everyone so excited.” You said. “And the kid might never experience this again.”

The Mandalorian cocked his head to the side when he heard you.

“Are those reasons for the kid or for you?”

You shot him a side-eye and shook your head. Without hearing his argument against the plan, you followed the crowd and - in a few minutes - his beskar arm braces were bumping beside you.

It was a short walk to the heart of the town where a large green tree gleaming with lights and decoration sat in the middle. Your jaw dropped, eyes mesmerised with the sight that you almost knocked into the woman in front of you had it not been for Mando pulling you back. As the last few people joined, you realised that it was getting too close-for-comfort for the child so you moved to a more open space a little further from the festivities.

You returned to staring in awe at the magnificence of the tree and couldn’t help but smile, “What are they celebrating?” You wondered just as a little boy zoomed past with his friends, hearing your question. He stopped before you and Mando and placed his hands on his hips.

“You must be travellers! Tonight begins the First Ice of Holly Day. We gather around the tree just before the snow begins to fall - which should be starting soon!” The young boy explained and then ran off leaving the baby to lean over his cradle and coo.

Soon? You looked up to the skies and noticed that they had now been filled with frosty grey clouds. The sun began to fade away which illuminated the lights around the entire town making everything glow. As it darkened just a touch more excitable voices began talking quickly, most of it inaudible. You were so caught up in the moment that you hadn’t realised Mando tensing up beside you until you turned to him. He looked like he was ready to be jumped. You opened you mouth to chide him when there was a joyful cry from the far side of the tree.

“Look - look! It’s snowing! Holly Day has begun!”

You , Mando and the Child looked up once more and, sure enough, small snowflakes descended upon the happy town. A chilled breeze set in and you remembered that you weren’t properly clothed from when you exited the ship a while ago. You were about to suggest finding some coats when Mando turned his head toward the clearing.

“We should head back. I don’t want to be caught in a snow storm at the base of a hill.” He told you. You glanced at the baby trying to catch the snow in his mouth and sighed. Mando was right.

You shivered slightly, dusting the snow from your shoulders. “Point made. But before we head back, I need to stop at a vegetable stall.”

“Why?”

You pursed your lips and squinted at the green womp rat in the cradle, “Because somebody keeps ‘force-flinging’ the celonslay into the refresher.” you leaned down to the baby and used the tip of your index finger to lightly press on his button nose. “Vegetables are what’s going to make you big and strong.”

You straightened back up and noticed the crowd the beginning to disperse as you looked around them to find some place that sold healthy greens.

Mando pointed over your shoulder quietly and you followed his hand to where a row of merchants stood with their goods just past the tree. You thanked him and requested that he and child stay put until you returned. The bounty hunter didn’t argue and so you ventured off to the markets. As you passed the tree you smiled once more at its beauty. A part of you wondered if Mando would oppose to having a small one in the ship. But then you thought better of it because if Mando didn’t oppose then the kid might tear it apart or worse, jam it into the refresher.

You passed the first stall which happened to be filled with florals and ‘Holly Berry Seed Pots’ and over to the second one where rows and rows of fruits and vegetables sat. Scanning the items, you spotted the celonslay and decided against purchasing it again. The Child clearly didn’t like it. As you browsed, a head popped up from behind the stall - it belonged to the man you first met upon reaching the town.

“It’s you.” You realised.

He chuckled and quirked a brow. “Twice in one day? I’m beginning to think that you’re following me.” He teased lightly and tapped his hands on the wooden counter top. “I’m glad you decided to come to the Square.”

The man inquired about how you felt about experiencing the First Ice and you told him the truth of how you adored the way it was celebrated. You both then returned to the task at hand and you asked for his suggestion on a vegetable that a baby would enjoy.

“Children are tricky to pick for.” The Merchant hummed as he looked over the available selection. “But I do have some gimer canes. If the kid is teething, he can chew on this to get important nutrients with a sweet taste. He might even do a happy dance.”

Your eyes lit up along with your smile, “That’s perfect, I’ll take four.”

“Gimer canes are fairly rare so...”

“I’ll pay you double.” You offered instantly, not bothering to discuss it with the Mandalorian.

You expected the Merchant to take the credits right away but he laughed admirably at you. “I was actually hoping that you’d come with me to the Holly Seed Planting tomorrow instead.”

As much as you wanted to stay, you and Mando were due to leave the planet in under an hour. Your shoulders visibly slackened and the Merchant seemed to have understood. He reached beneath the counter and lifted up a paper bag, handing it over to you.

“Here, consider it an early Holly Day gift.”

Slightly confused, you looked inside and saw four pieces of the rare cane. You didn’t know how to express thanks besides repeating the word in the hopes that it would be enough.

“It’s okay, really.” The Merchant said softly. “Times are strange, we may meet again.”

You flashed a smile and thanked him once more before turning to leave.

You returned to the Child and the Mandalorian shortly after and noticed the mechanic of your ship walking away from the beskar-plated man with a spring in his step and humming a tune.

“Was that...?”

“It was.” Mando sighed. “Apparently, the repairs won’t be ready until tomorrow afternoon because the mechanic doesn’t want to miss out on the ‘festivities’.”

You couldn’t really blame the creature for halting work and you looked over at the hill pathway that led to the ship. “Old fashioned camp out in the broken cargo hold?” You suggested.

“It’s getting dark and you’re exhausted. We’ll stay in town until the repairs are complete.”

This meant that you could repay the Merchant in full.

“Why are you smiling?”

You wiped the escaped emotion from your face and cleared your throat. Balancing the bag against your hip, you looked around the well-lit town, deflecting the question, “I’m sure that there’s a good lodging around here.”

And you were right, a short walk down the road landed the three of you at a comfortable inn for travellers. But as luck would have it, finding a decent sized room in the towns busiest time proved to be difficult and so, you, Mando and cradled baby were placed in a smaller, single bed compartment with extra blankets to compensate. While it was quaint, a part of you wished that you were back on the Razor Crest.

As Mando settled into the temporary sleeping quarters by checking the perimeters, you helped the kid out of his cot and onto the soft mattress. This hadn’t been the first time that there was only one bed between three individuals so you and Mando decided to take one side each to make sure that you were both well rested. And, to be involved, the Child would walk across the surface before sitting on the side that he wanted Mando to be. 

The kid cooed and then smacked his lips which reminded you that he had not been fed the since lunch. You walked over to the table by the door and dug into the paper bag retrieving a stick of the gimer cane before carefully handing it to the baby to taste.

Mando joined your side as the pair of watched the child chew on the cane with a happy squeal.

“He likes it.” Mando noted, relatively surprised. Your mouth hung open as you watched the green womp rat do a little seated ‘happy dance’.

The Merchant was right.

Speaking of the man, you remembered to tell the bounty hunter of your plans the next day, explaining - once again - that it would be a good way for the kid to learn and enjoy other customs. His sigh told you that he wasn’t thrilled but, ultimately, he resigned. “Fine but we’re leaving the moment the Crest is fixed.”

You tried to contain your smile but it slipped out which led to the Mandalorian shaking his head and heading for the bed to get some decent rest. He picked up the child and moved him to the centre before laying down on the sheets. As you watched the baby find a comfortable sleeping position against his chosen-father, you realised that you were fairly exhausted from the day. You took up the blankets that the lodging provided and laid along the empty bed space, covering yourself and the kid just before falling asleep to the burning candlelight.

When you woke to birdsong, you found that the child had switched sleeping allegiances and was now snuggled in your arms. Mando stepped out of the refresher and helped you to get ready for the day by removing the womp rat from your hold which led the child waking up with a small wail until Mando pacified him with a gimer cane.

Once all affairs were in order, you paid the lodging owner in full and left for the Merchant’s stall where the man had just farewelled a customer.

“Can I have four more gimer canes?” You wondered and the moment the Merchant saw you, he abandoned his job, rushing to the front with a smile.

“You- you’re still here.”

Nodding, you gestured to where Mando stood with the child, “Our repairs will be done this afternoon which means we can go to the Holly Seed Planting.”

The Merchant nodded and boldly took your hands when he spoke. “The Planting is in a few hours but there are things we can do before that!” He looked over your shoulder to Mando, “Tell me, friend. Have you ever gone sledding through fields of freshly lain snow under trees of light?”

Mando stared back through his visor, “Only to capture my bounty.”

The Merchant didn’t know what to make of the statement and you chuckled to lighten the air, “Sledding sounds wonderful!”

And that’s what you did. The Merchant took the three of you to a sledding field and you almost forgot about your mission to find the child’s people. Mando took the green womp rat for a ride after caving to his pleading coos while you rode with the Merchant. 

Once the snow-filled fun had run its course, you all ventured back into town for a hot meal at the local cantina and a short rest before learning that enough time had passed for the Holly Seed Planting. You and Mando followed the Merchant over to the large tree where, at its base, several plots were dug in long rows along the white frost.

“What’s so special about this event?” You asked as curiosity enveloped when you noticed people gathering in pairs.

The Merchant took your hand and pointed across, “Holly Seeds are special, they bloom fast with emotion and identical where love is pure. It’s a rare sight to see but it doesn’t make it any less fun to plant.”

“What happens to these seeds after?”

“We nurture them through the year, their roots and leaves merge until they form the Town’s next tree for Holly Day.”

If you had left the day before, you never would have learnt about something so amazing.

“Oh - I think it’s starting. Let’s go get a seed.” The Merchant told you excitably.

Mando made no effort to move quickly, instead he held onto the child and stepped back. “I think the kid and I will wait this one out.”

A part of you wished he wouldn’t remove himself but once the Mandalorian made up his mind, he often stuck to it. You focused on the Merchant once more, painting the snow with your footprints until you both collected a Holly Seed Pot each and kneeled by two empty plots.

“Okay,” The Merchant said, nestling a little closer, “so all we need to do is hold these next to each other and if everything is right, they’ll bloom.”

You held out your pot until it clinked against the Merchant’s. Almost instantly, a bud peered through the Merchant’s soil and it quickly grew into a stem ... then leaves sprang forth ... and finally, a white-petaled flower emerged, tilting forward like a bell.

You looked down at the pot in your hands and there was nothing - not even a hint of green.

You gave a dry chuckle to hide the way your heart sank, “I can’t imagine it’s good news if nothing happens, right?”

The Merchant shook his head to not worry you but you could see in his eyes that this came as a surprise to him too. Clearing your throat, you flashed him a smile and looked around the place where bursts of colourful flowers came to life. “So, what happens next?”

“Usually, we walk around and see if there are identical flowers before we plant them into the ground but...”

You noticed his eyes flicker to the various pots, clearly trying to spot his match, and placed an gentle hand over his shoulder.

“Go ahead, it’s okay.” You told him as he once told you. The Merchant hesitated briefly until you repeated yourself.

You got to your feet as he thanked you and then you watched him walk through the crowd. Glancing at your sad-looking pot, you remembered something and looked up to find your travel associates.

No green or beskar could be seen. You did, however, see the mechanic once again. He had just arrived and was talking to a friend about how he had just finished a job.

The Razor Crest must have been ready. You intended to give a farewell to the Merchant but when you saw him standing by a young woman with an identical white flower, you decided against it.

Let him have this moment. Taking the plant, you decided to blend out of the crowd and back to somewhere familiar.

—

The Merchant was kind but Mando felt his dislike for the local grow every time you were present. He blamed the whimsical nature of the town but Mando felt something envious surge in him whenever you talked about the Merchant with a smile. Then he had to spend the day watching the pair of you laugh and joke and... hold hands - Mando seriously feared that you may have been falling in love. When the Seed Planting came around, he tried to ignore the way you and the Merchant had grown fond of one other so he stood to the back of the crowd. He was blending in quite well until a sweet old lady spotted him and the child and handed him a Holly Seed Pot of his own. He tried to give it back but the woman ignored him and moved on. The Child cooed and Mando turned to see you kneeling by the snow and holding your pot against that of the Merchants.

He heard the baby croon and attempt to speak.

“I know buddy...”

The child started tapping his hands over Mando’s gloves and pulled his attention from the Jedi over to the pot in his hands.

A red flower had sprouted almost instantly while was distracted. The edges of the petals ran gold like ink.

His mind flew to what the Merchant had said about quick blooming flowers and the Mandalorian felt his heart race.

‘Fast with emotion.’ He had said.

Turning around, Mando made a quick getaway just as the townsfolk gathered to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ around the flowers. Thinking fast, he decided to head back to the ship, almost bursting into a sprint. The child had fallen asleep during the trip so when Mando finally got to the Crest, he laid the infant down before getting to work. He took the pot plant over to the carbonite chamber and shut it inside with a hiss.

—

The walk uphill was long and exhausting. There were multiple times when you considered throwing the pot behind you but something always made you rethink and forget the option. When you finally reached the Crest, you spotted Mando fiddling by the carbonite chamber and the kid asleep in his cradle. You dumped the pot on the side bench and headed past the Mandalorian for the cockpit.

“I’m ready to get out of here.” You said, climbing up the ladder. Without missing a beat, you sat in the pilots seat and prepared for take off, closing the doors of the cargo bay. You were a fast flyer so you had the ship up in lightspeed in no time only dropping out when you were several systems away. As you prepped the ship for autopilot, you heard the familiar armour behind you.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” He said gently. “The Jedi Order and the Mandalorian Way don’t give much room for romance.”

You leaned forward and flicked on two switches. A disappointed sigh escaping over the console. “I know. Sometimes, I hope for a sign that will lead me down a different path - one where I don’t walk alone. But it’s always a fools hope.”

The Crest’s engine sputtered, shaking loose a pipe above your head which made you frown when it bumped your head. “Dank farrik.” You muttered. “Can you get me something to fix this?”

The beskar helmet nodded and Mando turned down the narrow corridor. He went down the stairs to grab a wrench from his tools cabinet when a flicker of gold caught his attention.

Sitting on the bench was your Holly Seed Pot, a green stem had rose from the mud, blooming a red Holly Flower with gold trimming - just like his.

Masterlist here

[lavenderboneswrites]

Happy Shizaya week everybody! I, like an idiot, though this week started on the 12th. Luckily I had this one ready to go!

Snowdrift

Day 1: Gay Panic / Accidental Love Confession / Coffee Shop AU

Words: 1148

Rating: General Audiences/SFW

Tags: Shizaya Week 2021, day 1: gay panic, some swearing, fluff, gay panic, Shizuo is a big dumb gay, Izaya is pretty, snowball fights AO3

@shizayasweek

Shizuo had no idea how their usual fight had turned to this.

It had started loud. Spotting that ugly fur coat and smarmy smirk, followed by a beastly roar and the usual barrage of vending machines. The sounds of Shizuo’s fury blending into the busy nightlife. Though, the longer he had chased his prey, the quieter it had become.

The crowd had begun to thin, shops closing up as the trains made their last calls. Night and time swallowed into black. Soft snowfall falling ethereal against that same black sky.

They had left the heart of the city behind. Skyscrapers shrinking to apartments and then to houses. Many had already turned their lights out for the evening, only the pale glow of the streetlight was left to illuminate Shizuo’s way.

He could see his breaths coming out in a cloud of mist. Could hear his heartbeat in his ears, pounding in time with the drum of his steps. Each beat seemed so loud in the quiet of the night, and Shizuo realised that he had stopped yelling and throwing things a while ago.

There was something peaceful about it all. The lack of people, the night, the falling snow blanketing the world in pure white. Leaving all in existed Shizuo and him.

Izaya.

The flea leads him to a park. It’s not like the concrete patches carved out in the city, with gravel and a few meagre benches. No, here in the suburbs towering pines surround a grassy clearing, all blanketed in a thick layer of snow.

The streetlights don’t this reach far in, and yet the world around Shizuo glows pale moonlight on white.

It's a beautiful sight. Trees, grass, bushes, all covered the soft dustings of snow in the early hours when darkness still reigns. There’s something mesmerising about it, something quiet. Shizuo finds himself standing still, breath slowly catching up to him as he takes it all in.

His peace is shattered by an impact. Snow explodes against him and Shizuo takes a surprised step back, shaking his head like a dog as if he could shake some understanding into what the fuck just happened.

High pitched laughter reaches his ears and Shizuo’s head immediately snaps to the sound like a wolfhound.

Izaya stands there, eyes alight with mischief as he raises another snowball in gloved hands.

Izaya’s laugh is like sleighbells in his ears as he lets lose another barrage. Shizuo swats the projectile away with his hand, white power exploding from the force of impact as his smile turns feral.

You wanna play flea?

The silence descends into the cries of battle, that sound strangely a lot like laughter. Snowballs fly between them, and there’s this swelling feeling in Shizuo’s chest as he pelts the louse with the tiny projectiles.

It’s a lot harder to hit a target with such a small weapon, and for every hit that Shizuo lands he’s pelted ten times more from the flea’s side. Izaya’s aim is deadly, probably from all that damn knife throwing. For an annoying little bean sprout Shizuo’s honestly surprised at the force behind Izaya’s throws.

Though, they’re nothing compared to Shizuo’s own.

Ice hits like a bullet against Izaya’s side and he immediately hunches over.

“I think you b-broke my ribs beast.”

Shizuo ignores how Izaya still manages a smirk while wheezing the words out. Instead his smile turns wolfish, snowballs forgotten as he charges at the other’s dropped guard.

“Gonna break more than-,”

-Shizuo slips, an icy patch beneath his feet knocking his legs out from under him. His arms windmill, desperate to find purchase, and as if slow motion, Shizuo watches the way Izaya’s bright laughter at his downfall turns almost comical with horror as Shizuo grabs out for him.

They fall in a tangle of limbs and legs, Izaya swearing as Shizuo takes them both down.

His back hits the ground. Snow that looked soft and fluffy is like hardened ice as the air is kicked from his lungs not once, but twice; a weight slamming atop his chest seconds later.

For a moment there’s only the sound of their breathless panting mixing together, both struggling to catch their breath.

Izaya is straddling his hips, hands splayed on the ground next to Shizuo’s ears as he hovers over him.

Shizuo’s brain comes to screeching halt, swallowed obsidian-copper eyes looking down at him. Even in the shadow of the night he can pick out every speckled star painted in those stunning eyes. He feels like he is falling all over again, tumbling down into the depth of those dark pools.

He can’t look away.

A flash of pink catches Shizuo’s eye and his gaze is pulled down to pale lips.

Izaya’s tongue pokes out only for a second, the subtlest licking of lips and Shizuo can’t help but visibly swallow at the action.

It’s freezing. It’s the height of winter. In the middle of the night. And yet Shizuo feels like he’s on fire all of a sudden.

Surely the snow is melting around him, his body a furnace as his heart starts to drum in his chest. It’s nothing like before, the sensation is terrifying and dizzying, like his heart is going too fast and too slow all at once. Is Shizuo having a heart attack? Is he going to die?

Shizuo’s brain is finally catching up to their position, to the fact Izaya’s lips are only centimetres from his.

What the fu-

Izaya places his hands against Shizuo’s chest and pushes himself up. If Shizuo’s mind wasn’t currently imploding like a dying star all at once he might even notice the way the change in position makes Izaya’s weight shift directly onto his lap.

Izaya’s head is covered in a ridiculous beanie. It looks handmade, with little ear flaps and a pompom and everything. The colour matches the reddish tint of his cheeks, pale skin flushed from the cold. Shizuo can’t help but follow that pretty colour back down, to heated breathes visible between soft parted lips.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck!

Too close. They’re too close. That flea stench is flooding his senses and something warm is pooling in his belly and Shizuo doesn’t entirely hate it and they’re too fucking close.

Shizuo blinks dumbly up as Izaya’s smile creepers wider, going crooked on one side as he stares him down. For a terrifying second Shizuo wonders if the flea can read thoughts and oh god, no, no, no, noooooo-,

Shizuo yelps. A fistful of cold snow is suddenly shoved down his top as manic laughter breaks through whatever mental crisis he was having.

Izaya is off him in a flash, laughter following him as he makes his escape.

Shizuo only lays there, freezing snow melting against the heat of his boiling skin as he his heart continues to race.

[chanswavyhair]

the dancing queen.

pairing(s). akaashi keiji x f!reader

summary. you’ve had a crush on your best friend, koutarou bokuto for as long as you can remember. but surprisingly, the boy saving you prom night after watching bokuto with another girl is his best friend, keiji akaashi.

genre. a little angst?, fluff.

wc. 1657

warning(s). female reader.

Everything around me felt like it was falling, like the world has stopped. People around me weren’t dancing anymore, and the music seemed to have disappeared. I stood there, watching as Bokuto, my best friend and crush ever since I can remember, kissed another girl. She was beautiful, and honestly, I don’t know how I didn’t see that coming.

Once they parted ways, I came back to reality, and blinked twice. Then Koutarou saw me, and with a smile and his arm on the girl’s waist, he motioned me to come over, probably for me to meet his girlfriend. I swallowed, and shook my head. I put my glass in the air, with a fake smile, then I drank, and when I saw him smiling at me, I knew it was time for me to go.

I managed to get some fresh air, while my tears ruined my make up, and I shivered in the cold night. It was some minutes after, I heard some steps, and hoped that wasn’t the one who had broken my heart without even noticing. Luckily for me, it was not. A warm hand rested on my back, trying to reassure me.

When I looked up, he wasn’t staring at me, at anywhere but me. Akaashi was really handsome, he looked really good in his black suit. I didn’t know what was he doing or why was he doing it, but I didn’t ask. I just thanked mentally, and kind of awkwardly rested my head on his shoulder, wondering if he regretted being there, too.

I don’t know how much time we spent there, just being. It felt a bit awkward, but I didn’t feel like any word was needed. After I stopped crying, I finally stood up.

“Are you here with someone?” I asked, watching him who was still sitting on the floor.

“I’m not. I wouldn’t be here, if I was.” he answered with a slight smile, his gaze on the ground.

“Oh, that’s right. So, uhm... do you want to go to McDonalds, or something? I could treat you.”

He got up, and I noticed for the first time how tall he was, probably barely shorter than Bokuto. His blue mesmerising eyes met mine. I analysed his features, he has always been really handsome; different from his best friend, but both of them being good-looking.

“I know better. And you don’t have to treat me, I didn’t do anything to be rewarded. Let’s go.”

Akaashi guided me to his car, opened my door for me to go in and sat next to me on the driver’s seat. To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect. I did know him, but we weren’t really close, we were both Bokuto’s best friends, but we rarely hung out.

We didn’t talk much on the ride. On the radio, ABBA’s Dancing Queen was playing, and I quietly sang along. Although I probably wasn’t as quiet as I thought, because Akaashi turned up the volume with a smile, so I let myself enjoy the song, even though I couldn’t dance while sitting.

Not much later, he stopped the car, and left, telling me to wait. Then he opened the door on my side himself. I laughed softly at him, I felt like I was in another reality with the blue eyed boy.

We entered the local, it looked like a vintage cafe, and a band was playing. There were also some shelves with books, and the lighting was warm and welcoming. Everything looked really comfy. We sat on a coach near the band, but far enough to talk without raising our voices.

“This place... it’s really cool. How did you find it?” I asked out of curiosity, eying the whole environment. It looked like it just came out from a novel.

“Well... I like to try new places to read, but this one is my favourite. I can’t come as much as I wished, though.”

“What a shame... why’s that?”

“I don’t have the time. But it’s okay, I value it more when I’m here.”

“I see. Well, thank you for showing me this, this coach is really, really comfortable. And the music is quite good.” I smiled.

We talked for a while, most of them trivial things; I’d say he even subtly flirted with me, if I hadn’t known any better – he was just a gentleman, and a really nice boy. We also ordered some drinks, and when I got the chance to go to the toilet, I tried to fixed my make up. I somehow ended up with me legs resting over his lap, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Weren’t you willing to dance tonight?” he asked.

“Well, yes, but this is cool too, isn’t it?”

“But you don’t have to sacrifice it. Wait here.”

He removed my legs, and walked over to the vocalist of the group. He told her something, but I couldn’t hear. Then he looked at me smiling.

“This one is for Y/N! Tonight, you’re the Dancing Queen.” She said. And then the band proceeded to play.

Of course, I immediately stood up, feeling the beat in my bones. I sang along, and once I was with Akaashi, the boy sat on the stage, watching me dance.

“You are the dancing queen! Young and sweet, only seventeen!” I reached for his hands, wanting to dance with him. “See that girl, watch that scene! Digging the dancing queen!”

He made me sway, and looked me in the eyes as I was having what, in that moment, felt like the time of my life. I was just there, dancing with my best friend’s best friend, just the two of us. I was wearing a prom dress, and my make up poorly done... but I was having lots of fun.

And the end of the song, he lifted me in his arms, which took me by surprise, and since I wasn’t ready... we both fell to the floor, me on top of him. We laughed, I think that was the first time I noticed how cute his laugh was. He brushed my hair off my face, smilingly.

“I’m sorry, I got overly excited. Are you okay?” he said softly, and I nodded.

“I’m the one who should be saying that, I fell on you. Sorry.” I got up, offered my hand, so he could get up as well. Akaashi looked at my hand, then at me, and he took it.

Because we were kind of embarrassed after that, we left the bar, and sat on top of his car, staring at the sky. The moon was covered by some clouds, but it managed to shine through them. I got a goosebump, probably because of the cool air.

“Are you cold?”

“No, it’s okay.” I lied. Even so, he took of his jacket, and covered me with it. I rolled my eyes, but with a smile on my face. “Isn’t this a cliche?”

“It clearly is, but can we help it? You shouldn’t be cold.”

“There he goes, what a gentleman.” I laughed softly.

“Of course I am. It’s just what I should do.” he smiled back at me.

Then we went silent. Again, we were just being, enjoying each other’s companies. It felt perfect, but I couldn’t help my curiosity.

“Akaashi, why did you approached me?” I murmured.

“I didn’t have much more to do, Bokuto was with his girlfriend, and I don’t usually enjoy parties. So I followed you. Besides, crying on the prom night probably sucks.”

“Well, it does. So, thank you. Do you know why... I was crying?”

“I knew you liked Bokuto... and I actually thought he like you back. But this one time, I wasn’t right about what was on his mind.”

It kind of hurt, hearing it. I took a deep breath.

“How... how did you know?”

“I could see it in your eyes. But I never told him.” I didn’t know what he saw in my eyes at that moment, but it didn’t feel like it was the same anymore.

“I see... you’re really smart.” I tried to laugh.

“It’s nothing... I’m just kind of good at reading people. Oh, by the way, I didn’t tell you before, but you look really good tonight. You’re beautiful.”

I would be lying, if I said my heart didn’t skip a beat when I heard him. But I smiled, my eyes almost fading.

“Thank you again, Akaashi. You look very handsome in that suit, too. It makes your eyes shine.” Or maybe it was the first time that I noticed how they did.

And that’s how fast the night changes. From feeling like it was the end of the world because you saw your crush kissing another girl, to ending up stargazing in his best friend’s car.

An hour later, he took me home. We stood in front of my door, and he looked my in the eyes. He held my face, and kissed my cheek. I swore, his lips were softer than any cotton.

“Don’t cry anymore, hm? You’ll be okay.”

“I know I will. Thank you, Akaashi.”

“You can call me Keiji.”

“Thanks, Keiji... good night.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

With a smile, I finally closed the door. I sighed, thinking about the boy. I was really clueless I would end my night with Akaashi Keiji in mind, but I did. Maybe even in my heart.

I wouldn’t know, but him, on his side, stood at my doorstep. He took of his pone, and texted his best friend.

“I don’t know why or how, and this is not like me... but I think I may have fallen in love tonight, ironically right when she fell on me.”

He texted again.

“What’s more? I must be dumb for thinking this, but something looked different in her eyes. As if she... would give me a chance.”

[keouil]

no longer larger than life

“i just had the locks changed, romanoff,” steve sighs. “you fishing for a spare key or something?" 3k. steve/nat. g. also on ao3 / twitter / cc

Natasha knows something’s wrong the moment he steps into the room.

There are a few tells, when it comes to Steve, that she's grown to expect after working so closely with him for months. The first, because he was truly an old soul in a new world and couldn’t divorce from tradition hard as he tried, leaving his outside shoes by the door.  What are you, ninety? she poked fun at him while stealing his slippers, Oh no wait, you actually are. The second, because he’s a Brooklyn boy through and through, popping open a bottle of Budweiser the moment he crossed over to the kitchen. He’d been storing a few extra cases recently, mumbling that some Russian spy’s been damn near emptying his supply and could they possibly consider Smirnoff. 

But it’s really the third, his most telling, that is also most damning. There’s no non-committal snide remarks of how many times is it this time or there's this thing called a front door you know that graces her ears the way it's always come before: effortless, anticipated. 

Today there is only Steve who hasn’t so much as moved from his spot by the door, laces of his boots still tucked in, and arms not grabbing for the refrigerator. There is Steve, who, doesn’t even acknowledge she’s broken in the third time that week.

“You look like hell.”

It should worry her, the breakneck way his head snaps up at the sound of her voice. Steve isn’t usually so glib, because even through that endearing naivety he lets slip sometimes; the war in his bones and the storm in his soul rang louder.

Natasha found herself wanting to quiet it down these days: hence the usually unannounced visits that grew frequent in number, because Fury was worried he wasn’t adjusting well, and her not having the heart to tell him she didn’t think he ever would—not really—not in the way they all wanted.

Steve was a relic of an old time forged under the brunt of mean words and harsher guns, only to be birthed anew and forced into combat because apparently the violence had endured. It is seventy years in the making, his ire, and she would let him beat it out of himself by his own hands; she’d only act as his sparring partner, never the perpetrator.

“You alright?” Natasha tries again, softer this time, rising from the well-worn loveseat by his window. He still hasn’t moved, bleary eyes struggling to focus on her. “Steve?”

There are thin streaks of sunlight spilling into the living room, painting everything in a hued light that made blonde into golden and blue into sapphire. It was mesmerising, the way the colours shifted and bled over and emboldened scenes like this with more transparency. Captain America into Steve Rogers. 

“Yeah,” Steve clears his throat once, twice. The tight line of his shoulders loosen somehow, like he just remembered where he was, and gingerly moves to close the door. “I’m fine. It’s just—” he turns back around and she  sees  it again; the hesitance, but it’s gone the moment his lips contort into a tight smile. “The mission ran a little longer than I expected.”

Natasha wasn’t easily convinced. “That all?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve is amused, because of course he is, because of course she was never the one to push. But he wasn’t the type to pull himself apart like this either. “Fury gave me an earful during debrief s'all. Rumlow was acting up the entire time, and I may or may not have finally called him out on it. Roughhousing went a little too far, I guess.” 

“Well then,” Natasha narrows her eyes, giving him another quick once-over. When she makes it back to his face, she’s pleased to see some of the light filter back, if the openly amused grin he was giving her now was any indication. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, Cap. ‘Bout time someone did, really, I know Barton’s been eyeing his jaw for a while now.”

The look Steve gives her in return is almost grateful, because she knows getting into a rut with an annoying subordinate really isn’t the reason he’s so scruffed up. But he has his secrets, and after decades of having every part of his life dissected fibre by fibre, she owes it to him to let him keep it. 

 --

 “I just had the locks changed, Romanoff,” Steve sighs. “You fishing for a spare key or something?"

“What makes you think I don’t already have one?”

Steve lets the shield drop to the floor like it was the most burdensome thing, the sound of steel on wood grating on her ears. Natasha frowns, because he’s not usually that careless either; but then he’s searching her face again and she recognises that: him trying and miserably failing to discern whether she was telling the truth or not. 

“Because you haven’t asked,” Steve replies simply after some time. “And I would give it to you if you did.”

“You asking me to move in with you, Rogers?” Natasha teases. “I mean, alright, I’ll admit that’s moving a little too fast for me but I get how deathbed wishes work and you’re pushing a hundred already—”

“I get it,” Steve cuts her off with a smile of his own. He comes up to her slowly, and Natasha braces for a nudge on the shoulder or a hip push or even a flick on the forehead, the way he does and the way they do. But when he inches forward a step, just a little closer than he normally does, and her breath hitches just a little: she tries not to let her surprise at his brazeness show. “I'm just saying.. you know you always have a place here, right?”

She forgot then, that Steve did this too, be a friend. 

“Sure,” Natasha shrugs, taking a step back to place distance between them. “What are partners for?”

His face falls at her deliberate choice of words. A small part of her crumbles, too, because Steve has tried for her harder than anyone else has. But: “Now are you just gonna stand there and brood all day or am I gonna have to get into Disney’s Golden Age alone?”

Silence.

Steve is still just looking at her.

He does that a lot, the looking, but never in this naked and uncertain way she feels herself unravelled. She’s just about to snap and ask him whats really going on, when he sort of comes out of it himself, blinks slowly, and walks away into the kitchen without saying anything.

It’s a moment later she hears his voice again, more composed but still rough around the edges. “You want Chinese?”

 --

 The ringing in his head, she knows, is back. It’s not the first time he’s gotten like this. It’s never really gone and she’s not as naive to think it’ll ever really go away for him; but what she can do, all she really can, is anchor him back. 

 --

 It’s not until they’re an hour into Alice in Wonderland—the 1953 version, because if they were going to do this, they were going to do it right—that it dawns on her.

“Wasn’t today your scheduled visit with Carter too?”

Steve is on the opposite end of the couch, back straight and knees tucked neatly from under him. He tried to be subtle about it, but the almost desperate way he kept patting down the insides of his leather jacket from time to time told her it could only be one thing then. She'd seen him use that pocket watch as a lifeline more times than she could count.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“That’s not it,” Steve shakes his head slightly, looking down at his hands. He’d barely dug into the butter caramel popcorn—his favourite—that sat in between them. “Peggy is.. she’s okay. Has been for the past seventy years without me, apparently, but she’s lived. Big family and white picket fence and all.”

That was something.

It wasn’t really spite, no, because Steve was the last person to ever scorn someone no matter they came bearing down at him with pitchforks. What it was, Natasha thinks, was: admiration? relief? envy?

“Steve,” Natasha says in a voice that prompts him to look at her. “You can have that too.”

Steve looks so drowned and torn, right then and there, so she remembers: anchor.

“It’s never too late,” Natasha continues gently, and when Steve gazes at her that way again, it takes everything in her not to tear her eyes away. She would give him, if anything, this. “I mean what have we been doing for the past year if not that? You can have a full life too, if you wanted. It doesn't have to look the same as the Stepford wife fence – but something, at least, you can have that."

Slowly, a corner of his lips turns up. “I already do.”

 --

 But really, it’s when the stars peek out from the clouds and the embers of dusk slowly creep in, and Natasha has five drinks too many in her system and Steve keeps glancing between her and the clock every five minutes—that everything becomes clear.

It should have been obvious the moment he resorted to being pissy about a mission. 

Steve was bred and lived for the rigidity of battle: the gears in his mind at its most active in the field, the high of it his most natural source of adrenaline burning through his veins in a way no natural substance could ever, and Steve: above everything, could be an absolute madman, for a cause. He respected the integrity of what it stood for—and has stomached, on multiple occasions, the trying dynamics of leading a team—he first did it with her, after all. Rumlow was basically a budget version of all the snarkiness she bodied effortlessly, and even then, Steve had learned to hold his tongue. 

His shoes are still on, trekking footprints everywhere; in a way that told her he had some familiarity with always being prepped and ready to go at a moment’s notice with everything on his person. His footsteps, too, quiet and lithe: when just weeks ago they were almost caught on a deep cover mission because he couldn’t yet master the art of walking in heavy combat boots without causing a sonical ruckus. Natasha didn’t have time to beat it out of him yet, being so obvious, and she knows for a fact no one was working with him as closely as she was.

But now he looked like he’d been through hell and back.

Something about the way he looked so out of his element clued her in the fact this went past the war raging in his brain; no, this was something of the physical fibre, something that ate at him from the outside.

It's the callous way he disposed of his shield earlier that did them both in. The same Steve who polished the thing with fine-grade whetstone every night, and only abused it on the field. The same Steve who preferred Thai over Chinese, who opted for watching movies on the floor with his legs sprawled out from under him to stretch them out, and; the Steve who knew better than to trust her with his secrets.

Steve who never called her Romanoff.

 --

 Fury will fake his death tomorrow. Bucky will drive a bullet through her shoulder three days from now. SHIELD is going to be run to the ground in less than a week.

But Natasha doesn’t know any of that yet; what she does, however, is: “You’re not my Steve.”

 --

 There was a point in the woods where maybe Steve had felt himself too battled out to really pay attention to the mechanics Banner droned on about time travel. The world had felt severely off-kilter, and his head was spinning and the stones felt like the weight of the world inside him, and he just wanted to get this goddamn thing over with already and doesn’t hear the warning in Sam’s voice when he says hold up, bruce, i think something’s wro—

 --

 “What gave me away?”

Natasha kept the same expression on her face, open and light. He’s not surprised to search for the panic in her eyes and find none. Suddenly the sounds from the outside world and the calluses of his grief seem so far away, muted, along with the pounding in his head that simmered down into a moment of tranquility: until all it left, at the end of it all, is this exact moment.

“Just a feeling,” Natasha notes casually, reaching for her cup of tea. “Haven’t really gotten to training you in becoming a spy just yet. You’re pretty much a work in progress right now,” she peers up at him knowingly. “But someone obviously taught you well.”

Steve allows himself a small smile. “Nah,” he says softly. “Still just you.”

A silence blankets the air around them, but it’s not stifling; and he marvels, then, at the ease of knowing what he has with her will be anything but uncomplicated. Five years down the line or seventy years into the past, Steve thinks, they will always be as they’ve always been. “You’re not gonna ask how?"

“I have about a million questions running on my mind right now, Rogers,” Natasha sips on her tea, feeling the warm liquid cool her veins. The unknowing is what’s bothered her, but now that she has a name to the cause of his distress, it’s easy for her to know him all over again. “But something tells me I shouldn’t ask them just yet.”

Steve's smile widens marginally. “Always so sharp."

“But I am curious about something,” Natasha looks him over, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Where am I now?”

The moment of ease dispels and she feels his body tense up almost instinctively. His brow furrows, his breath arrests. The way Steve’s face darkens doesn’t sit right with her—because she had meant it in the most innocent sense, but she could tell right away, this was a topic not to be taken lightly. She’s not sure she wants to find out why.

“Gotcha,” Natasha tries for a laugh, but it comes out airy. She puts down the mug and brings her knees closer to herself. “It's fine. Just.. you don’t have to tell me anything. I like surprises.”

She doesn’t, and her Steve knows: because he was the one who had to drag Tony’s broken nose to the ER at 3am all because Stark had a genius idea of throwing her a surprise birthday party right after a 15-hour flight from Tokyo; and the many times Steve’s had to physically restrain her from lashing out at him on the rare times they had to share a bed during missions and she wasn’t used to another presence in her space. Steve can be loud when he wants to, but he’s been louder for her. 

From the looks of how his face sullens, this Steve knows it too. “Can tell you one thing though,” his voice is thick, like he’s trying not to let it leak out from inside him. “You’re still the strongest person I know. He’ll know it, too, if he doesn’t already.”

Natasha feels her eyes glass over. “Stronger than Captain America?”

This makes Steve laugh a little, jostling some of the tension and levelling his voice down to one where it didn’t sound so much like he was breaking at each word. “Please,” he begins. “He’ll be nothin’ compared to you.”

Natasha can’t see how the trajectory of their relationship goes from her making sure her charge adjusted to the world the way any competent handler would, to her baring herself open to Captain America willingly. They were a well-oiled machine, products of circumstances jaded by purpose and chasing meaning; but at the deepest hollows of her mind, she could admit right then, how he could be the one to make her in a way she felt herself too broken for.

They break eye contact when a small beep goes off somewhere inside Steve’s jacket. It took her a while to register that the beeping sound was actually a timer. She should have known whatever this was—either a very lucid dream or an experiment gone horribly wrong—had an expiration date.

Natasha gestures at his jacket. "Mission still running long?"

Steve turns it off, before looking up at her with a mixed expression of relief and sadness. “I got all the time in the world, Romanoff.”

“I see.”

Steve didn’t pay any more mind to it, just sort of just.. looking at her. It was less intense now, the shadows of his intent less hidden and more split open under the duress of all the things threatening to spill from him. The streetlights from the outside window seeped into the room, and the open breeze swaying through the curtains and prickling their skin didn’t feel invasive. It was comforting.

Steve could very well have been miles and years away from her, but he’s never felt so close then.

There are things about herself, Barton, even her Steve she'd like to maybe get a heads up on; things like whether the Lemurian Star mission is going to be a success, if Fury'll ever stop asking her to double-cross a mission, if whether or not it'll bother her so much in the future as it eats her up silently now knowing how much of Steve's adjustment depends on their kindling rapport.

Because there will always be wars, and some of them burn hot like the emblems of what Steve is used to: metal on metal, dust to ashes, the ugly and grand ethos of living through a global catastrophe. Then there is also the battles she forged on her own, cold and quiet like the rippling feathers of a dove; because a Russian woman ruled with an iron hand painted under duress and honed with grace.

They will always be this, and Natasha, even under all of that unmaking: knew too well this was the one thing they couldn't mold themselves out of.

It is a burden to the grave; but maybe, just maybe, they can also be: 

“You’re happy, right?” Natasha hesitates. “I can't really tell with you right now.. but if you are, if you will be – then – well. Least we got that right.”

Steve didn’t even take a beat to answer.

“I am now.”