#i hate how you can’t just peal your skin off because it gets so hot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeojaa · 4 years ago

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( LOVED YOU BETTER. )

You put your love and trust into people not things, you tell him.

They’ll leave, he says about humanity - about that precarious nature that both beguiles and terrifies him.

But they’ll love you back, you remind him.

pairing. kth x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life. an angst angel food cake with a fluffy, strawberry centre. general.

tags / warnings. minor (ish) character death, heartbreak, kim taehyung is bad at feelings, summer romance, abandonment issues, moving on, healing. idk.

wc. 4.3k

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif @snackhobi @midnighttifa 💖 i love y’all!

author note. this was written for the 'a long hot summer' event hosted by @thebtswritersclub. my member was taehyung (obviously!) with the sense being sight. this is my first project for a net, so i hope you enjoy it! 💖

He spends most of his childhood in Lyon, skirting the rivers in search of inspiration. It isn’t Paris, his mother tells him, but it’s just as lovely - quieter and more peaceful. She insists, one day, she’ll take him home, where his maternal grandparents are buried and she’ll show him all the parts of her world.

The first time he paints - eleven years old, seated at the edge of the Saône with a brush held between his teeth and pigment smearing his hands - his mother is delighted. He fills the house with his works: pretty watercolours that mimic the blue of the river, the white of boats, the amber of the sky. She loves them and she loves him and she tells him day in and day out, offering praise as readily as he offers his heart on canvas.

He’s sixteen when he migrates stateside, to where his father grew up and his mother’s accent stands out. He hates it there. It’s boring and bland and it stifles his imagination. There are no sail boats, no rivers, no pretty girls. The days turn grey and so does his mother, as if she’d left the best parts of herself back in France. She still tells him she loves him, promises that they’ll go back someday.

At twenty-one, he learns love isn’t real. His father files for divorce and his mother withers away. When he goes, he packs his bags and doesn’t look back. It’s a slamming door in an already abandoned home. Beautiful as it might be, love is nothing but infatuation - fleeting and easily broken and fit only for the books that line the study. It exists truly, wholly, only in the blood that runs in his veins.

At twenty-two, he realises absolutely nothing lasts, for his mother leaves too, taking her lilting laughter and rose perfume with her, buried six feet under soil she’d never called home. Her death is a nail in the door, sealing his childhood shut.

His father does not attend the funeral. Hardly anyone does.

The paintings - lovely portraits of her wide eyes and full lips, of Parisian sunsets and paved streets - are all he has. They serve as memories, painful reminders of the woman his mother once was, of the life he’d once lived. They fill the house that’s no longer a home - hasn’t been, for years - tucked away in a room he refuses to enter.

His mother had called him her petit choux because he was born with dough-soft cheeks, sweet as pie. As he grew older, the name stuck - even if the fat hadn’t, slipping off his face with each passing year. By the time he’s eighteen, he’s uncut edges rather than honey brioche. At twenty-seven, he’s hardened far more than she would’ve ever expected of her beloved boy. He is week old bread, stale and hard to the teeth.

But he is still her petit choux and he thinks she’d love him regardless.

So Kim Taehyung promises to go back. For her - to find all the pieces she’d left behind and fashion them back together. What he doesn’t expect is to meet you along the way.

He discovers you on a day that scorches his bones, Parisian sun shimmering pavement and cobblestone. You are a whirlwind of colour, every shade of the rainbow presented in the glory of your smile. You treat the Seine like a lover, living at the edges of its shores with bare feet and bare legs and a bare face that begs to be memorised.

You laugh and it’s radiant, pealing bells that ring in his ears long after noon has struck.

You call him mon chéri like it means something.

It reminds him of his mother and he wonders whether she ever did these same things, dancing across the grass with an apricot caught between her teeth. He hopes so.

“Come, come,” you coax, with a mouth that threatens to tear his chest wide open. It presents pretty, in shades of ruby and wine; it draws him in, sticky sweet, and he’s defenseless to your whims. He goes where you go, following the flow of your hair, the curtain that draws back and has him seeing in technicolour.

He laughs when you laugh, smiles when you smile. You bring him to all the places he’s never been: the cobbled streets his mother once roamed, the darkened bars filled with champagne, the sunlit warmth of your bedroom where wisteria branches hang low. He paints you in all of them - sweeping watercolours into the silk of your hair, the curve of your lips, the swell of your hips when his palms grip them tight.

You’re an ingenue, a muse, everything he’s ever wanted. But he doesn’t love you - because love doesn’t exist. Not in the ways they portray on the silver screen, with heartfelt declarations and bundles of overflowing roses. He can’t give you those things; he’s grateful you don’t ask.

Sometimes, he thinks you might dare to. Can see it lurking in the lovely shade of your stare, how you study him when you think he isn’t watching. Furtive glances, made beneath the thick line of your lashes, behind the brocade of your sun-drenched strands.

But he’s Kim Taehyung and he’s always watching - always aware. He hates to miss a single thing.

Don’t ask me to love you, he tells you without words.

“Should we go to Lyon for the weekend?”

You’re draped across the bed, drenched in lavender and warm like baked pastry. Your tongue licks cream from your lips, sweetness touched with honey. He drinks in your every movement, dedicating them to canvas. There’s a freckle on your knee and another just below. One more on your ankle and three along the top of your foot. A constellation he hasn’t named yet.

“No,” he answers, devoid of the same delight that frolics behind your teeth.

“Why not?” You press, because it’s what you do - forcing each button until you find the one that stirs something to life within him. A coin-operated boy, rusty and in terrible disrepair. He thinks you’d be wary of the bright red warning light but you seem almost colourblind, looking through rose-tinted glasses that dress all of his actions in warmth he doesn’t deserve.

He doesn’t answer, sweeping his brush back and forth. Lilac filters into water, a lovely shade that grows lighter and lighter with each pass of bristles. It’s not quite the same as your dress - a silk creation that begs to live on your skin - but it’s close enough. He’ll settle for it.

It reminds him of the flowers in the garden back home. Back when his mother was alive and she still breathed life into the greenery, trimming stems and drying petals.

“I don’t want to.” A simple enough answer.

You wait for him to elaborate, pouting and pleading like you might break him down with the sheer force of your beauty. If he were any lesser man, you might have.

“Please,” you purr, too persuasive for your own good. You’d settle into his lap, twist his honey strands between your fingers, if not for the stare he levels you with. One that screams be good and stay still because the last thing he wants is you ruining the painting. He doesn’t want to start all over and the light is already waning, sun lost somewhere behind drooping branches and the gauzy softness of your drapes.

“No.”

“Please.”

Brush to water, then to colour. A sweet orange - the flesh of a fresh cantaloupe without seeds. “No.”

“Mon chéri—”

He booms out “No!” like a cannon. It’s akin to being scolded, stilling the playfulness in your hands. You’re ignorant to all the reasons he refuses to indulge you but you think of it as nothing but selfishness, a cold you can’t weather. One you refuse to when flowers are in full bloom and the air outside lays a salt-crown atop your brow. This is your kingdom, your rightful place - you bow to no one.

You stiffen, rise from the bed in a motion that disrupts every part of him. Motions still, knuckles white. No no no. You’re ruining it. You’re ruining—

“Get out.”

Taehyung can’t quite believe his ears - staring at you in such aghast you almost laugh right in his face. He has the audacity to perform such theatrics after yelling at you? How dare he! It enrages you, brings your blue blood to a boil beneath your skin.

“Pardon?” The sound rolls, trips, and stumbles, dirt on his palms and knees as he stares up at you.

“I said get out, mon chéri.” You’ve unbuttoned the rumpled shirt - his, with his initials embroidered across the cuff - allowing it to drop from your shoulders and into his lap. He glares down at it, stained now with the watercolours in his palette. It’d be pretty if it weren’t so infuriating.

“I’m not done.”

You tch, a derisive sound that bites worse than your love, your nails painted in Chanel. “I don’t care.”

“I’m not done,” he repeats, perhaps a little lost. It crawls out between his teeth, a lost man seeking solace. He needs to finish this. He hasn’t painted you this way yet, bathed in faded light. It’s an empty slot in his album of memories. He can’t let it go.

You’re unrepentant, dismissive. A table turned. “I don’t care.”

He hates you then. He doesn’t realise how close the emotion is to love.

He doesn’t know when his boyhood waned away, lost itself to the wind and the rivers. He only knows, suddenly, he was not a boy but a man, a miserable soldier made to walk the plank. He thinks it might’ve been when she died, taking the last traces of his youth with her. Gone was the innocence, the gentility, the voraciousness; all at once, the ease - the glory, the good - had evaporated, leaving in its place a broken boy too angular, too angry.

He doesn’t know when his boyhood waned away, but he remembers all too well when her death had eclipsed the light, leaving him in perpetual darkness.

It makes sense then - that his whole life is a charnel house, built on the foundation of someone else’s bones. It’s only fitting it becomes a memorial to a long-gone mother, a weeping wife, a star burnt out too soon.

He’s somehow still surprised when his kingdom - formidable, impenetrable, guarded - comes crumbling down, an overgrown old city ruined. As if he’d expected those skeletons to hold him forever, to carry the weight of his desolation within their hollows. He begs for absolution when it falls beneath a thousand leagues, lost to saltwater and liquor. He drowns within it and it seeps, sticks, stirs - catching in his stare and trembling his fingers.

Nostalgia comes like ghosts - old men lost at sea.

They’re dim, twilight, held behind a heavy fog. Old memories on a carousel ride, spinning in perpetual motion. They’re snapshots of his mother, his youth, his home. They pass too quickly; he can never catch them.

Years old misery claws its way up his chest and he chokes on it each night, lying awake listening to the city groan, straining like a dying beast on its last legs. He misses her, he misses you, he misses the person he used to be. He aches for it - a nameless thing just out of reach.

Something Taehyung begs and cries for until he’s blue in the face.

Something you’d given him, in the form of kisses and promises. Something he’d only shoved you down into the dirt for - right where she was. Because no one kept promises, and he didn’t want to hate you later. (For loving, for leaving.)

Instead, he hates himself, and that is a neater, cleaner way to end the story.

He is bereft, drifting between days he has neither the desire nor wherewithal to consider.

He sees women just like you - girls that run barefoot through the grass, fancying themselves dancers, muses, inspirations. They laugh, they kiss, they cite vague poetry. They preen when he asks to paint them, throwing exaggerated shapes with the lines of their necks, the flutter of their lashes.

Still, none of them are you - too soft and rounded.

None possess the same insolence, polite phrases toeing the line of sophisticate and street urchin. They are all wind-up ballerinas, dancing on rotation, with smiles not right, too tight. They’re too flat, too freckled, reminiscent of rotting cherries and mint-green Ladurée bags you’d scoff at. They leave his canvases better off bare, boring and one-dimensional. Taehyung resents them.

But he doesn’t love you, and he tells himself that whenever he misses you.

A victim of ennui, he slips into a pattern he abhors. Supine lounging in the evenings, preceded only by listless wandering during the long hours of the day. He drifts with the rise and fall of the sun, eyes blind to the beauty around him.

Nothing feels quite right anymore - not in the way it used to. There are no memories of his mother, no sweet tales told by a ghost. It’s empty empty empty, only shit-stained streets and hollow bodies.

He prays for an answer, a sign, anything.

It comes in the form of you - nearly three weeks later, beneath a stream of sunlight that casts you in chiaroscuro. For the first time, he itches to paint. The need thrums in his fingers, a million little nerve endings firing off. He itches to touch you too, but he ignores that, shoves it into the deepest, darkest recess of his thoughts as he can. He needs to focus on one thing and one thing only: doing what he came here to do.

“Bonjour.” It comes bare, undressed and vulnerable. By the look on your face, it isn’t what you want.

You twist away, entire body angling uncomfortably in your effort to ignore him. “What do you want?” You’re cruel, capricious - a god looking upon a lowly farmhand with no offering. It stings in a way it shouldn’t, pulls his expression into a frown before he can mask it.

That’s better, you think. He can practically read the smug emotion dancing in those pretty irises.

“You haven’t called.”

“Neither have you.”

“You told me to leave.”

“And you left.”

For every excuse, you have a rebuttal. It’s a game of chess he’s bound to lose. It’s as frustrating as it is enticing, stirring something warm and heavy in the cavity behind his ribs. A little hummingbird come to life, wings beating relentlessly and kicking up all the dust of his childhood trauma.

“I’m sorry.” It’s hardly an apology, too greedy to come the way it should. Taehyung does this for himself, for his promise, for memories he refuses to let go.

You see right through him. “Are you?”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“Tell me what you’re sorry for.”

The words I am are poised on his tongue and reduced to ash with your question. He’s never had to try so hard a day in his life. It feels wrong, messy, awful. Every part of him compels him to rebel - to wax poetic about the things he’s done right, how what you’re asking is too much. I cannot love you, he thinks.

“I thought so.” There’s nothing but disdain in your stare, turning it sharp like a knife that threatens to glide through his armour. “You’re selfish, Kim Taehyung. All you want is to take and take and take. You refuse to give.”

You’re not wrong. He wears his sadness like a solid steel plate; it curls around his vertebrae, writhing in his belly until he’s full, aching, complete. He doesn’t know how to exist without it, apart from it. It keeps him safe, satisfied, out of harm’s way. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

As you leave, he wonders whether it’s worth it.

Six long days pass. Six too many, drawn out and miserable. He aches to create, to sketch, to paint. He calls you in a moment of weakness; you come, nonetheless.

“What do you want?” You repeat, mouthful of thorns and scar tissue.

This time Taehyung has an answer. He’s ready, confident in his recital. It spills forth loosely, with abstract brazenness. “I want you.” There’s no room for uncertainty, zero leeway to be found in between the syllables. It’s the most sincere he’s been all season, made true by the summer sun and your focused, unyielding stare.

“You want moi?” It’s a dance with the devil - question poised like a hand. “Do you even know what wanting someone means?” You’re steady, unwavering, just as he is.

He hesitates then, just barely, with a tick of his jaw, fingers curling around nothing. You take that as weakness, delicate mouth curling into a sneer. He sees it - all the I told you so’s poised on the tip of your tongue, ready to silence him. He beats you to it, crashing his mouth against yours with a recklessness that thrums in his veins, sending his heart on a wild chase for that something.

He’s spent his whole life in pursuit of a feeling, a spectre, a bittersweet memory. He thinks he might’ve lost himself along the way.

“I want you. I want you - and us.”

What he means to say is he wants all the things that come with it: the bratty rebuttals, the early morning eagerness, the taste of you every night. He wants the eyelashes on his pillow case, the lipstick stains, the scent of your perfume - citrus and nectarine blossom, cocoa butter, fresh cream. He wants the trips to the countryside, the new memories, the paintings full of you. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything. He needs it like he needs air, light, art.

He needs you - his muse.

He tells you, shamelessly, around a lump that forms in his throat and makes it hard to breathe. “We’ll go to Lyon. If you want to go, we’ll go.”

The place where he grew up is different, wrapped in ivy and devoid of light. Windows are drawn and everything leans grey, weeds sprouting beneath his expensive leather loafers. They curl around his ankles, creep up the back of his knees; they threaten to crush him beneath their weight. He imagines his insides look the same - neglected and vacant.

He wishes he hadn’t come. This isn’t his home, his kingdom, his heart. Not anymore.

“Come, mon chéri,” you hum, stirring him from his reverie, pulling his thoughts through the seven circles of Hell until he’s back in the present, stiff at your side with your fingers interlaced. You offer an affectionate smack of your lips - wine-stained and pretty - to his cheek. He does not soften.

“Let’s go.” It comes despite himself, before he can help it, in a voice that isn’t his. It’s too soft, too unsure - fifteen years younger and vulnerable.

You regard him closely, with a careful narrow of your stare. He can read the pity there, the frustration that swims in the depths - circling sharks seeking out the scent of his blood. It’s inescapable. He wishes you’d stop. He doesn’t need you to lecture him.

Misery rises, licks up his throat like bile, and he worries it might spill out, red as the crimson sea. Part of him wants it to - a defense mechanism he can’t control; the other part of him knows he should swallow it down. He has no reason to fight you.

“Come,” you repeat, and he’s defenseless, lost to your siren song. He steps back in time, white-knuckled and terrified.

There are no longer peonies in the kitchen, nor roses in the front hall. Dust settles over every surface, dry soil kicked up beneath his feet.

Taehyung tries to recall the way his mother would busy herself in the garden, bent over her flowers like an altar. How her knees were perpetually scarred, dirt caught beneath her nails, dark hair a braided wreath worn like a crown. It was the only time she was anything but composed - full of light and laughter and a love for the alive. He’d eat breakfast with her in the front yard, a shadow that would follow her every move. Back and forth, he’d go - on his feet, with his brush, in his thoughts.

Every painting was of her - of tulips and daisies, bare ankles and sun-kissed skin. The shape of her mouth, the freckle on her nose. Her delight when his father would come home.

He swears he smells her perfume now, standing in the place he’d grown up. He’s reminded of hot coffee and fresh bread, her fluttering laughter and brass watering can. He’ll dream about it for days, memories rolling like a Super 8 film through his mind.

He cries I’m fine when he isn’t. You hold him until he is.

You sleep together on a Sunday afternoon.

When you wake, the sun is low on the horizon and you’re the prettiest Taehyung’s ever seen you, features thrown in stark relief. You’re salt-sweet and striking, dressed in linen whites and the shape of his mouth.

He paints the pale soles of your feet, drawn against your leg, and the shade of your nails, a pretty colour he attributes to springtime and sonnets. He indulges in the sound of your voice, soft and hazy in his ear. You kiss him like he isn’t broken and you taste like memories - ones he hasn’t made yet, but desperately wants to. He is both sinking and floating, as if you’ve taken his heart from his chest and hold it, beating, somewhere high above his head.

He carries your perfume for weeks after, heavy on his skin. Lingering, like you’ve become a part of him, like he’s fallen in love.

Kim Taehyung had once surrounded himself with beautiful things - paintings and drawings and girls. He’d thought if he fenced himself in with all things good, there would be no cracks for the outside world - the real world, full of misery and deceit - to seep through. He’d kept his hands occupied by brushes, by thorns, by a million little material things.

He hadn’t realised all he needed was yours, warm in his.

You put your love and trust into people not things, you tell him.

They’ll leave, he says about humanity - about that precarious nature that both beguiles and terrifies him.

But they’ll love you back, you remind him.

The confession comes at the end of summer, edges past the cage of his teeth into the quiet of the evening. It comes and comes, so softly he thinks you might laugh, corners of your eyes wrinkling like the sheets in which you’re bare.

Maybe it’s the way your hair falls over your shoulders, a curtain he aches to part, to feel beneath his hands. Maybe it’s the way you look at him with hungry eyes and wet lips and teeth that could crumble all of his walls as if they were made of papier-mache.

Maybe it’s just you, skin like silk and eyes like the night sky.

“I think I love you,” Taehyung states, careful, with his entire heart in his hands.

“You think?

He nods, although he mustn’t. He can’t, he reminds himself.

And yet he does, because there is no denying how well you fit each other’s curves, the truth that you are two pieces of the same puzzle. He wakes up early each day with the taste of you still on his tongue, the memory of you seared into his palms. Your body has become his home and it is real, flesh and blood, not broken bones buried six feet under.

You fill his silence with your laughter; it sounds like redemption and feels like hope.

Before he knows it, seasons change.

Autumn becomes a waiting room, a time between the unyielding heat of summer and the unbearable cold of winter. Taehyung loves the quiet of it, the progression as steady as the chill that creeps beneath his clothes, within his bed - everywhere but in his head.

He remembers his mother, his home, all the things he’s lost. He pays homage to the woman who had raised him right but left too soon. He finds the places she’d told him about and folds secrets into their corners. He creates new memories, introducing his present to his past. You call her mamman and tell her not to worry, promising that you’ll take care of him.

He lives beneath the fading leaves that serve as a benchmark for which to measure the growth he’s undergone. He imagines his life in film, in rolling scenes laid out in sepia tones. He imagines weeks passing by and versions of himself doing the things he loves most.

Laid out under the copper sky, your head in his lap and a brush in his hands. He doesn’t need to look at you - can fit you among the pages purely from memory. The turn of your smile, the twinkle in your stare, the little freckle just beneath your lip. He sees you in his dreams and he commits them to paper, filling his sketchbook as you fill his thoughts.

Wandering the streets, hand in hand, guided by your laughter and the smell of warm pastry. Bare legs, echoing footsteps, the sight of your smile when he’s said something particularly funny. You cry Mon chéri! and force a cherry between his lips, savouring the tart taste under the afternoon sun.

Upon your balcony, skin searing beneath high noon and the feel of your mouth. He lets you paint him - sits terribly still as you show him who he really is - stripping his pretenses with each pass of your brush. He is bare but not broken, a beautiful boy painted in earth tones and paired with intense eyes.

Taehyung tells you your painting is beautiful and that he loves it - that he loves you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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ofmythsandmadness · 4 years ago

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stop moving | d.h

you do diego’s eyeliner. 2k words.

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NOTES: gender neutral. long haired diego. i don’t know why i’m writing this and i kinda hate it lol, i rarely write this sort of thing but y’know. i’m going to check all messages, notifs & messed gems in the morning, i’m really only posting this and ghosting again, bc i know otherwise i’ll never do it. and y’know, i want to feel productive about something. take care folks <3

BUY ME A COFFEE HERE. | CHECK OUT MY OTHER WRITINGS HERE.

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"CAN YOU PLEASE STOP MOVING?!”

Hot breath stings your trembling fingers as Diego huffs a laugh; it’s barely a sound, a mumble of a chuckle, but you feel it vibrate through your body and hit your hand and it almost does you in. You almost just give up and confess your undying attraction, right then and there. And as though you need more contact, even more of him pressing against you, egging you closer to the precipice that will surely be your infatuated doom.

“You’re the one who asked to do this, you don’t get to complain.”

“Well, you wanted it. You agreed to this!”

“I--” another exhale against your hand, another peal of laughter following shortly. You've half a mind to clamp his mouth shut with it, if it wouldn’t ignite yet another ill-thought fantasy of yours. “This was still your idea.”

Your smile buds and blooms despite your brain begging your lips to be still. You can’t help it; he’s too good at weaseling into the cracks of your composure. One look, one soft chuckle and you’re set for life. It doesn’t help that you’re basically on his lap, cradling his face in your hands like he’s a baby, and his own fingers tap-tap-tap away on your hips, creating a rhythm no one else but you can make out. Honestly, you’re surprised you haven’t totally cracked yet, this close and this personal.

“Shut your eyes.”

“They are shut.”

“No they’re not!” you poke lightly at the fluttering lids. Your lip snags on your bottom lip; a poor attempt to hide a giggle. “I can’t do this with your eyes open.”

“D'aww…” his lids shut as he groans. “So I’m just supposed to sit here? Let you draw on my face in total darkness?”

You click your tongue, half in disapproval in his exaggeration, and half because you’ve won yet again against his stubbornness. “I won’t be long. Suck it up.”

“Sure. Y’know, I have siblings; I know how long it takes them to do makeup, and-”

“-stop moving, asshole!” Your free hand tugs ever lightly on a strand of hair, one of the many that’s slipped out of his ponytail. Repressed thoughts flash in sultry red across your thoughts and you swallow, quickly letting the hair go. “I-I need you to stay still, or this will take forever.”

Diego sighs and his grip tightens around your hips. Before you know it, he’s moving you. “Then stop wriggling,” he grumbles, flattening you against his legs. You’re basically straddling him, at that point, and your mind goes absolutely blank at how much more intimate this feels. Does he notice? Or is this just another friendly motion you’re yet again reading into?

Your mouth tastes of cotton balls and it’s dry as an Arizona summer. Still, you manage an ‘okay’ before readying your pen again. All you can hope for is a steady hand, though by the way he still holds your waist, and how your mouth lingers mere inches from his lips -- well, you’re coming undone.

It’s just eyeliner, you tell yourself. Your hand rises and swipes; black begins to pool its deep colour against his lashes, low and thin. The line builds taller, thicker as you work, extending out to the corner of his eye. As he breathes, and you try to remind yourself how to, the eyeliner pen works its shaky magic and draws the slightest tinge of a wing against his skin.

“How’s it going?”

At least he’s kind enough to mumble it, though his face still shifts under your hold. Once more your tongue clicks.

“It goes better when you don’t speak.”

He swallows his laugh; you know, because you feel his throat work as you hold his head steady. It’s strange and exhilarating, to be so close and still so far away. You want to cradle his cheeks gentler, to hold his face with the heart of a lover, but you’re terrified he’ll recognise your touch and realise your feelings. So you barely touch him and remind yourself to be professional about this.

It’s eyeliner, not a rom-com.

“I’m bored,” he whisper whines.

“Shh.”

“It’s too quiet.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, patting his cheek gently. “M’working.”

“Y/N...”

You pull away and sit back on his thighs. His left eye doesn’t look half bad, but if he keeps talking… “You can’t talk, ‘else it’s gonna look bad!”

“Then you talk!”

You baulk. “What?”

“I’ll be quiet,” he swears, pouting up to you with eyes still shut, “but please, say something before I lose my mind.”

“Well, I-I-what about?”

“I don’t know. Anything.” He smiles softly. “I like hearing you talk. Don’t care what about.”

You could die right then and there. It’s a simple compliment, it’s really the bare minimum, but you’re already head over heels. And just a couple of soft spoken works are all you need to do you in and nearly keel you over, still straddling his muscular thighs.

“Uh…” you cough, forcing out the giddy tremble that threatens to take your voice. No lovesick teen voice today, thank you very much. “Okay. I don’t have much to...well, the other day, I saw my coworker totally wipe out leaving work.” You pause, expecting some reply, but he stays silent. “And he... he ate so much shit, he might as well dunked his head in a gas station toilet. And - and you know, normally I’d try to sympathise, but when you always make a point to park in my parking spot, I don’t care. Brett’s such an ass. And I don’t blame him, cause he’s got an asshole name -- Brett can’t be anything else but an asshole. So it's his parents fault probably but still, I…”

You continue on, slipping from the topic of your coworker to the free muffin you got with your coffee last week, to the prospects of buying a pet to keep your apartment less lonely, and to what probably felt like a thousand and one things ranted at him. All the while your hands continue, making neat work of a task that had just felt impossible.

And miraculously, aside from a chuckle thrown now and then, Diego stays silent. Maybe he actually means it. Maybe he does like your voice -- or he’s so bored he’s falling asleep, you don’t know. But it’s okay, you don’t let yourself linger on that, too content with taking in his relaxed features and the gentleness of the afternoon sun on the two of you.

“Aaaand….there!” With a triumphant shout, you throw the eyeliner to the side and your hands plunge towards the sky, fist-pumping like you’d just won the lottery. Your body bounces up and down on his lap like a child meeting Santa; in your excitement, you barely notice. “You’re done!”

“That’s it?”

“Yup.” You grabble for a mirror, looking away from him for a moment as you reach for the handle. Wiping it off, you’re focused solely on making sure the glass is clean enough for him to see himself in, and your brain is distracted enough to totally forget what you’ve even done, enough so when you look up, all you have is,

“Oh.”

Look, you know Diego is an attractive man. You’ve known since the day you met; he’s a beautiful guy, a handsome asshole who wormed his way into your befuddled heart before you could even learn his name. He’s pretty enough that if he wasn’t so set on his weird vigilante career, he could probably shoot for being a damn supermodel. He’s a catch! But all those years of knowing that and feeling like that could not prepare you for the sight in front of you.

Diego squints at you, cocking his head. “Is it okay?”

“I…” Delicate black lines his upper lash line, making his deep brown eyes stand out even more. He’s smiling still, full lips curving up to only make your heart pound faster. A strand of his hand falls across his face, painting the gentlest of shadows but it doesn’t bother his pretty face. “I...no, no, yea-ah…”

“Wow,” he laughs, jabbing a finger into your side. “Eloquent.”

“I-I-shut up,” you stammer. You force the mirror into his hands and look away. You’re still on his lap, still straddling his lap and the logical part of your brain begs you to get it together and fall off, already. But the stupid, foolish, absolutely idiotic part leaves you paralysed. “Just look for yourself.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for him in the silence. There’s nothing, though, for achingly painful seconds, until the mirror shifts down. “Huh.”

“Huh, good? Or bad?”

“I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Really? What’s wrong?”

“It’s not bad,” he assures you, his smile evident in his tone. “Just different. Don’t know how to feel about it.”

“O-oh...well, if it makes you feel better, I think it looks great.”

“You do?”

Oh, dammit. That came out with way too much enthusiasm, didn’t it? Your legs are concrete as you shift, face angled towards the floor. Hopefully he’s strong enough to push you off him when your body literally catches flame from humiliation.

“You look good man,” he mocked back to you. But he’s grinning, egging you on like a child who knows he’s got you twisted around his pinky finger. “Come on, say it like you don’t have a gun to your head!”

And maybe you do, maybe you’re holding the revolver to your temple, just asking to get screwed if you dare speak beyond the most stilted compliment you’ve ever extended to someone. He’s a friend, you remind yourself; friends are allowed to compliment the other. They’re allowed to say they look good and not make it a thing, even if they wish it was a thing, and--

“--hey? You in there?”

“Sorry,” you say to the floor. You swear a thousand curses before looking back to Diego. And, yeah -- he still looks impossibly good. The ageing afternoon sun falls just perfectly against his skin, flushing him into the being of a god, standing in your apartment while you, a mere mortal, remains stuck to his thick thighs.

You gulp in air desperately, trying to catch your gaze on something, anything else -- but nothing sticks. He’s still there, inches from you, desperately aching for you to stare at.

“No, uh, yeah. You look - you look hot.”

Wait.

That wasn’t--

“-I look hot?”

That isn’t what you were supposed to say.

“I,” you have literally nothing to save yourself. This is the end! You’re young Leo and Rose is shoving you off the door and into the icy waters, and you’ve just got one last look at pretty Diego to satiate the freezing burn before you succumb to it. “I...wasn’t...that wasn’t what I meant.”

He has no right to look so smug. But he does it anyway. He leans away from your hands as they flutter through the air on their own accord, looking at you through half-lidded pools of caramel. “You don’t think I look hot?”

“Don’t,” you warn, with little strength behind it. “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m just asking.”

He leans back in. You’re almost touching again.

Is this weird? This is definitely weird.

You swallow back the lump in your throat and stare back at him. This all feels like fifth grade all over again -- awkward, sticky and like every move is the wrong move. But you can’t stop yourself from playing into his hands, because that sly, shameful part of you wants this more than will ever be admitted. You want him to look at you like this, like you could hang the stars if he asked you to...and you want him to pull you closer, as he does, and mean it.

Could he?

“Would you hate me? If I thought you looked hot?”

Diego head cocks to the side as he seemingly contemplates your words. A nudge meets your side; you look down to see his hands once again reaching for you. Though it's on their own accord this time, gently landing on your left hip, then the right. You shiver.

“That depends,” he says slowly. His eyes narrow, black wings just barely crinkling in. “D’you mean it like, ‘oH, that’s so-oo hot, woW-’”

Your laugh is hardly a whisper. It cracks even before your lips. “Come on.”

“Or, do you…” his fingers dig in a little more. They nudge at the fabric of your top, daring it to move enough so they could cradle the flesh hidden underneath. “You mean it the other way?”

Heart in throat, all the courage you can possibly muster with it, you mutter, “the...other way, probably.” Then a second later, “is that okay?”

“Mm…” His fingers finally reach your skin. You shiver under his touch, warm and unflinching as they brush against the soft curves. Diego’s face comes towards your own and you force yourself not to move. But he doesn’t stop, instead he goes past you, brushing his plush lips against your earlobe. “I would say...that if all this took was making you do my eyeliner, I shoulda asked years ago.”

“I, okay...don’t play with me, here--”

“--I’m serious,” he protests lowly. His lips leave your ear but they don’t run far. Instead, you find them a brush away from your own, just as you were minutes before. Only this time, you don’t try to clamp your mouth shut and skirt away from the touch. You nudge your nose against his own, exhaling softly as more skin meets the heat of his own. “You think I just let anyone sit on my lap like this, without thinkin’ it could be more?”

You shrug like this is normal. Like you’re perfectly at peace with the universe and the way you’re wondering how his tongue would taste, pushing back against your own. “I mean...do you?”

“No,” he chuckles low. “No, I’m...not into friendly lap dances, actually.”

“O-oh. Mm.”

He pulls you closer. He wants you closer.

“Diego…” You’re unravelling. You’re fucking unravelling, unnerved by his voice and his hands and you’re putty in them, all inhibitions sliding away like you’re three drinks in. His hands by your sides leave their marks against your skin; you can feel the pads of his fingers, burning into your skin like they were molten iron and not just mere brushes. “I...”

“Tell me.” He sounds cocky. He has a right to be, even if you’re damned to admit it. “Tell me what you think.”

Your hands shiver up his forearms, clinging to his bare shoulders as he pulls you impossibly closer. Your mind’s going a mile a minute and you refuse to listen to a single thought. You’re only feeling him.

“Y/N…”

“Fine,” you huff, with a smile. Your noses brush again; your eyes flutter shut with his image imprinted against their lids. “I think you look...hot as hell, Diego.”

“Yeah.” He’s grinning; you can hear it in his voice, that smirk that makes your gut flip like a damn rollercoaster ride. “S’what I thought, baby.”

And then he kisses you.

A/N: i normally hate writing oblivious characters but this wasn’t even intentional really. every time i try to write something remotely sexual i just lead the reader into ‘oH tHiS iS jUsT wHaT fRiEnDs Do’ and ‘iT’S wEiRd rIgHt’. to my defense...i doubt you’re on this page reading this expecting good sexual tension. i’m not the tua writer for that; let me know if you want recommendations for that because trust me, there are better authors for that. for now, you get this. <3

#diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves #hargreeves x reader #tua x reader #my writing #this is so random #I just saw a fanart of completely different ppl doing eyeliner and i thought #why not put diego in eyeliner he deserves it

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talkfastromance4 · 4 years ago

Text

5. Trigger--Ashton Irwin ‘Lovers in a Song’ series

a/n: The final installment is here! I’m so sorry for the delay but I kept bouncing back concepts on how I wanted it to end. This is a rollercoaster. You’re probably going to hate me then love me, then hate me again. Thank you all for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Word count: 11.5k

warnings: mentions of drug cartel/lords/paraphernalia, angst, heartbreak, sexual situations

Masterlist

LIAS masterlist

***

Cressida is awoken by two things, a loud peal of thunder and a combination of Ashton’s warm hands and mouth on her skin. For a moment she forgets that this is their last morning together. Ashton’s large hands lift up her nightgown and he curves his body to mold with hers as his lips kiss below her breast. His fingers rub at her skin in a tantalizing way, her body is humming. Then she hears him sniff and her eyes flash open. His cheeks are wet while he continues to kiss along her ribcage.

“Ashton?” she touches his hair and her heart shatters at the look on his face.

He’s pained. His cheeks are covered in tears, his pretty hazel eyes are bloodshot and his lower lip trembles. Cressida gathers his head against her chest, wrapping her arms and legs around his body so he’s crushing her, so that there’s no spaces between them. If she held him tight enough maybe they’d mold together and would never have to be apart.

His body shakes against hers, hot tears sting at her own eyes as he releases what he’s been holding in. The thought of losing her has finally come to life and it’s breaking him from the inside out.

“I’m trying to…get as much of you as I can,” he whines pressing his tear-stained lips to her neck. “I’m not ready to let go.” He chokes on the words as he tries to kiss her again.

She closes her eyes wishing it didn’t have to be this way. His lips on her skin are burned to her memory and after today that’s all it will ever be, a memory. She feeds into his desperation and sadness, their lips finding each other’s and Ashton presses into her.

Her cries turn to moans, her tears fall free, and Ashton’s movements are frenzied yet controlled. He wants this to last for as long as possible. She stabilizes his cheeks until he’s looking at her, his handsome face twisted.

“It’s okay,” she whispers tracing his brows, his nose, his lips. “It’s okay.”

He nods and slows his movements to a more controlled roll. Their kisses are bittersweet each time, a terrible reminder that their time is up. The storm has arrived. The axe has been swung.

“I love you,” he whispers on her neck lacing their fingers beside her head.

“I love you.”

They prolong the moment for as long as they can, one last thing they can do together, one last thing they’re in control of, but all good things must come to an end. And they arrived at that end together, sighing each other’s names. Soft caresses over shoulders and down hips are touches committing to memory.

“How did you find out?” she asks afterwards while petting his hair. Their legs are tangled, every part of him is touching every part of her.

The bad news he’s been dreading ever since Gavin and Cressida have been ‘together’ is coming into the light. Ashton and Cressida’s relationship has always had an expiration date but now that it’s finally here…it’s a lot worse.

“My assistant Phil and your assistant Chloe are yoga buddies and she told him you and Gavin will be announcing the engagement today,” Ashton responds sadly. His voice tickles her collarbone, and he nestles in closer to her, holding her tighter. “Did he actually buy a ring or is it a prop from your parents?”

“He bought it…I um…have it with me because after this I need to meet him at the Italian restaurant where we had our first ‘date.’” Cressida’s voice is oddly calm, but it doesn’t sound like her, it’s more robotic, monotone. “Paparazzi were tipped off we’d be there and that will be the first look.”

“Can I see it?” Ashton asks after a moment of shared sad silence.

“Ash, I don’t think that’s—”

“Please, Cressida,” he lifts his head, hair falling in front of his tired hazel eyes. “I need to see it.”

Cressida searches his face then finally nods and slips out from underneath him. She shifts through her coat that’s been on the floor since she dropped it there and pulls out a red ring box. Her hands are shaking as she hands him the box. They’re both naked, open and vulnerable to each other like they always have been but for the first time in their five-year long relationship, Cressida feels ashamed as he opens the box.

Ashton stares at the gaudiness of it. it’s a cushion cut diamond; the band covered in tiny diamonds. It’s much too large, so large that it looks like costume jewelry and although Cressida is a larger-than-life woman, she loves the softer things. She doesn’t need or want gaudy; this ring isn’t her at all.

“Hideous, isn’t it?” she tries to joke.

“It’s…” Ashton snaps the box shut, lifts his eyes to hers. Her hair is all mussed and her body is covered in love bites from him, his initials are still present on her belly. “We need to shower before you go.”

He leaves the ring on the center of their bed then grabs her hand leading her into the bathroom. Cressida’s arm loops around his naked waist as he turns the shower on, and they hug each other as the water warms up. The hot water stings their skin as they stand underneath it, she loves the steady stream on her head and the way Ashton’s fingers massage the shampoo into her scalp. She can’t keep her eyes off him as he rubs it out of her hair.

The water droplets roll down his cheeks and nose then disappear onto his lips. When her hair is rinsed out, Cressida grips his face and presses her lips to his. Ashton’s hesitant at first.

“We shouldn’t, angel, you might be late…”

“I won’t be,” she whispers dipping one hand in between them. She strokes him gently and he lets out a soft groan. “Please, Ash, I need you.”

“Fuck,” he moans then pushes her against the wall, his tongue stroking over hers.

Ashton lifts her in the air hiking her legs around his waist. She helps him enter her, biting his lip hard in the process by being filled again. He cups the back of her neck with a secure grip so when he starts to thrust her head won’t knock against the wall harshly. Her nails dig into the meat of his shoulders, his strong shoulders that embrace her so well.

Their breath is shared in heavy pants, lips knocking haphazardly as he thrusts, and she welcomes each one. Cressida whimpers as Ashton grunts, her toes curling in pleasure. Ashton’s tired of keeping his hand on the trigger of their love, so after she orgasms, he releases into her once more. When he pulls out and Cressida drops her feet to the shower floor, he can’t help but stare between her legs as his release drips out of her.

He knocks his forehead against hers. “That isn’t the ring I would have chosen for you.”

Her heart clenches at his words and closes her eyes. Does she dare ask what kind of ring he’d buy her? It would only twist the white-hot knife in her heart more.

“What kind would you buy me?” Apparently she wants to feel the pain.

“It’d be rose gold, a thin band with a round diamond. Not too big, not too small, but perfectly perfect, just like you.” He kisses her nose. “And I would have taken you back to that dive bar where we met and asked you to be the love of my life forever.”

Cressida opens her eyes to see Ashton already staring at her.

“You’ll always be the love of my life.”

The real goodbye is even harder as she tries one last attempt to fix the fall of their star-crossed affair. Her clothes are changed and she’s smeared make-up over the markings on her neck.

“What if I tell them I won’t marry Gavin?” she asks standing in the doorway. “He already knows about us and he doesn’t want this any more than we do.”

“If you don’t marry him, what will your parent’s do?” Ashton’s voice sounds tired because this is a conversation they’ve had many times over the last five years.

“I’ll be relinquished of my duties and cut off, but I don’t need the company or the money. I want you, Ashton. The truth is all I really want is somebody who wants me and that’s you. I want you.”

She touches his cheek, but all Ashton feels is the icy weight of her engagement ring on his skin. She put it on for the first time since the news will be broken to the world, but now its curtain call on their own love. The real show is to begin. It brands him in torture.

“I won’t have you throw away your future because of me, Cressida. This is how it’s supposed to be,” he replies sadly. “How it should have been, us making it linger only makes this worse.”

“We can change it! Please, Ashton,” she begs with tears welling in her eyes.

They stare eat each other, eyes having a silent conversation. She is screaming while he is silent in defeat and acceptance of their reality.

“You should go,” he kisses her palm then removes her hand from his face. “You’re the most valuable, the most precious, and the most beautiful gold in the world, Cressida. I’ll never stop loving you.”

Cressida breaks down burying her face in his chest. Her heart is breaking and even with Ashton’s arms around her, she isn’t getting fixed. Nothing can fix her now.

Six Months After Breakup—Cressida

Cressida’s walking along the aisles of flowers in the large nursery where she and Gavin are picking out flowers for their wedding. Their parents decided the wedding would be in the first weekend of May which fatefully falls on the anniversary of her and Ashton’s first meeting. It’s a cruel twist of fortune. She touches the smooth petals of a white calla lily, her engagement ring sparkling in the afternoon sun.

Cressida’s parents and Gavin’s parents are discussing a flower arch with the florist and Cressida decided to wander off. Her mind is on Ashton but when isn’t it? She’s always wondering what he’s doing, how he’s doing. Is she on his mind as well? She read in a fashion magazine that Lucinda broke up with him and is now dating some minor league baseball player claiming, ‘she’s never been happier.’ Cressida wanted to reach out and ask what happened to their planned marriage, but she decided not to.

Why add salt to a still open wound?

“I think these would look lovely in a bouquet,” Gavin says from behind her.

Cressida turns to see him holding up three marigolds, all of them a brilliant golden yellow. The plumes are lush and full, and the smell reminds her of summer. Cressida looks up to Gavin, his dark brown curls and even darker brown eyes. It’s taken them a long time but they’re finally friends. When Ashton told him to get sober, Gavin tried to but his footprint in the drug dealing world was too vast. She flashes back to that time three months ago.

After Cressida left The Golden Lion to meet with Gavin at the restaurant for their engagement appearance, his eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils made his eyes look like black holes. They made the photo opportunity short as possible, Cressida made sure to show off the engagement ring that felt like a weighted brick anytime she waved her hand around.

By the time they made it to her house, they were trending all over the world.

“I thought you were sober?” she asks throwing her bags on the floor.

“I’m trying,” he grumbles opening the fridge to take out a bottle of water. “Next time you see Irwin, I’ll be out of the ring.”

“I won’t be seeing him,” she mumbles pulling out her favorite bottle of wine from her wine cabinet. Her voice was back to the monotone.

“What do you mean?”

“You and I are getting married. It’s done. We’re done,” she pops the cork and walks outside to her deck by the pool.

Gavin disappeared for the next three days and at first Cressida didn’t care because then she could mourn over her and Ashton’s relationship in peace. Well, not really peace because she sobbed so loud in bed, in her pillow, in the shower.

It wasn’t until her mother called asking for her and Gavin to come over for brunch on Sunday to celebrate the joining of their families that Cressida started to worry. Both of his phones went straight to voicemail and it wasn’t until she got in contact with his best friend Jack that she discovered that’s where he was.

Cressida arrives at Jack’s place to find Gavin beaten up horrendously and lying on Jack’s couch. There’s so much dried blood and swelling on his face she barely recognized him. It took a few shakes and shouting his name before he opened his eyes, but even then they were tiny slits.

“What the hell happened?” Cressida asks in shock as her eyes roam over his body. His Armani shirt is torn and bloody, a very large red stain on the side of his stomach that is oozing onto the couch.

“Left the ring and they uh said this…” Gavin winces as he tries to sit up straighter, “was my farewell.”

“You need to go to the hospital, Gavin, you’re bleeding out.”

“No! I can’t let anyone know I was involved in—”

“You have enough money to keep this on the down low. I’m calling an ambulance,” she shakes her head and pulls out her phone.

While Gavin recovered for a week in the hospital, Cressida stayed with him. The cover story was that he got jumped outside of a hotel, nothing was stolen because he didn’t have anything of value, so they beat him up more for it. Everyone believed it.

The doctors wanted to give him morphine to help with the pain, but he refused because it would offset the other drugs that were still in his system. Cressida’s surprised and impressed that he actually means he’s going to be sober now. With the pain and the start of his withdrawals, he didn’t sleep very well through the night.

On the fourth night he woke up gasping for breath, his body covered in sweat.

“Gavin! What is it? What’s wrong?” Cressida asks turning on the light to see his pillow wet from his sweat. His eyes are large as saucers.

“I’m…fine!” he grits through his teeth staring at the ceiling. “With—withdrawals that’s…. all…”

Cressida sat next to him on his bed and held his hand. His eyes shifted to hers and he grimaces.

“I don’t deserve your help…after what I did to you…”

“Shh, let’s not talk about that now,” she shakes her head. “Let’s get you through this.”

After that, she helped him each time he went through a bad spell. It helped distract her from thinking of Ashton, even though he was always on the back of her mind anyway. She went to meetings with him and helped him with other coping skills. After a month most of his wounds and bruises were healing and there was a new light about him.

When she came home from the office, the house smelled amazing, and he was in the kitchen cooking. His red wine sat at the center of the table and Cressida tried to force the memory of Ashton and that exact wine out of her mind.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I am officially sixty days sober today,” Gavin grins, “and I wanted to make you dinner as a thank you for helping me. I made some appetizers, come taste.”

She stands next to him and eats the appetizer he made, some kind of meatball with a sweet sauce. It’s very delicious. While she accompanied him to his meetings they shared a lot of heart to hearts and became closer than before.

“I also wanted to apologize for how I treated you,” he says pouring her a glass of wine. “And for what happened at The Golden Lion. It sounds like a poor excuse, but I never, ever meant to hit you. I’m so sorry that I did, I think about it all the time and hate myself for it.”

“I know you didn’t mean to and if anyone should be apologizing it should be me. I didn’t treat you very fairly either, Gavin. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for…cheating on you.”

“It’s not cheating when our relationship was never legitimate. I wasn’t faithful either,” he gives her an impish smile.

“I still feel bad about it. I was so wrapped up in….it should have stopped when we started this fake relationship anyway,” she shakes her head and takes a drink of his wine. Her mind swirls and her stomach gets butterflies as memories of Ashton invade her.

“I know it hurts you to talk about him,” Gavin says placing his hand on her shoulder. “I knew this would never be real to you. I know it’s arranged and…I wouldn’t be upset if you’d still want to see him.”

“That’s not fair to you, Gavin, and besides, Ashton and I are over, remember?” she swallows a big gulp of the red wine. It tastes different, it’s not as sweet as it was that night with Ashton. “I won’t be unfaithful to you in our marriage.”

“Let’s start as friends then,” he holds out his hand for her to take.

“Friends after three years of dating,” she giggles shaking his hand.

“We never really got to know each other. We were always so busy and when we were together, it was forced and publicized.”

“Very true,” she purses her lips then lifts up her wine glass. “To a new friendship.”

Their glasses clink and they share a wonderful evening over good food and to finally getting to know each other. He didn’t ask about Ashton and she didn’t offer it up. A clean slate is a clean slate, even though she’s still branded.

“Cress?” Gavin asks pulling her from her quick reverie. He’s holding the golden flowers in front of her.

“They are lovely,” she smiles dipping her nose into the multitude of petals. “And wouldn’t look too bad in the lapel of your jacket.”

“I can make any flower pop,” he grins handing her the small bouquet.

“Gavin! Cressida! Over here!” Cressida’s mother, Maria calls from the front of the nursery.

“We’re being summoned,” Gavin reaches for her hand then pauses, his brown eyes looking up at her. “May I?”

Cressida smiles and takes his hand in hers; her ring twists a little on her finger as she squeezes his hand. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

“I know, but every time I do you get a little flustered,” he smiles.

The rest of the afternoon is spent by going over more wedding plans; the guest list that is always being revised, the food menu that is always being altered, but the one thing that remains is Cressida’s stress and worry. When she worries she twists her ring and only stops when Gavin places his hand over hers gently. She looks up at him and he nods as if in understanding.

“I think my bride-to-be is a bit overwhelmed,” he announces to their parents who are bickering about the silverware. “Can we continue this some other time?”

“Oh, yes of course! We can’t have you wrinkling my dear,” Maria, Cressida’s mother smiles.

“Why don’t you two head on over to Rouge and tell them I’ve sent you, so you’ll only get the best of the best,” her father, Mark beams at his daughter.

“Thank you sir,” Gavin rises from his chair and Cressida kisses her father’s cheek.

“Thank you, Dad.”

“Enjoy yourself, darling. No need to stress.”

Gavin and Cressida do enjoy themselves as they drink and eat at the jazz restaurant. They even get up and dance when they’re called out by the band leader who spots them. Cressida is impressed by Gavin’s fancy footwork; he even lifts her up and spins her around which has them both laughing.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could dance,” she says breathlessly.

“I didn’t either, you brought it out of me.”

His eyes flicker to her lips and Cressida feels her stomach tighten. His hand on her lower back bunches up the fabric of her dress, his fingers squeezing her closer to his body. They’ve never been this close before and it makes her heart pound harshly against her chest. Gavin’s breath slows as he moves forward, his lips ebbing closer. She’s not sure if it’s butterflies or fear at the thought of possibly kissing someone other than Ashton so she pulls away.

“I need to um, use the ladies’ room,” she excuses herself and runs.

More moments like that have happened as they both become a bit more comfortable being close together. Their acting of intimacy doesn’t feel so forced anymore when they’re with their parents. When Cressida tenses at the mention of the ever-growing guest list (she lost count when it surpassed 1,500) Gavin rubs at her neck in assurance. When they’re overlooking options for dining ware, Cressida doesn’t hesitate to place her fingers on his lower back to peer over his shoulder.

That’s as far as their physical relationship has gone, innocent touches that leave a large impact and her mind swimming in many conflicting thoughts and emotions. It keeps her up at night and when she dreams she sees memories of Ashton morphing into Gavin.

It leaves her in even more confusion.

There’s laughter and chatter from her mother and friends sitting outside the dressing room of the bridal boutique. It’s her last fitting before the big day. The big day that has been looming over her head for years. Cressida hasn’t seen what the dress looks like, she’s only been sized and measured multiple times and asked questions about different designs of dresses that she liked.

“It fits you like a glove, Miss James,” the consultant Wendy gushes and fastens the last button. “Are you excited to see it?”

“Yes,” Cressida smiles at her warmly but inside she’s screaming.

“I’ll go out and make a grand entrance for you, just step onto the platform and you’ll see yourself in your wedding dress!”

Cressida took the split ten seconds to mentally prepare herself for the big reveal, to her entourage and to herself. Wendy opened the door and everyone on the white couch gasp as Cressida steps out. The fabric is cool between her fingers as she lifts it up to step onto the platform, keeping her eyes on the floor and not on the mirror yet. Wendy poofs out the bottom of the dress.

“You look divine, darling!” her mother says dotting at her eyes delicately with her fingers. “Do you love it?”

Cressida takes another deep breath then slowly lifts her gaze and gasps. The dress is absolutely beautiful and fits her figure wonderfully, she’s never felt more beautiful in a dress before. It’s perfect. The design is to her taste and with the veil attached to her head, she’s the perfect bride.

“Gavin is going to lose it when he sees you!”

“He won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

“Or his hands!”

More giggles ensue and they continue with their banter as reality sets in with Cressida the more she stares at herself. The dress is exquisite, a perfect dream, but while her entourage were gushing about Gavin, Cressida was picturing Ashton.

Ashton waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Ashton holding her hand as the pastor spoke. Ashton slipping the wedding band on her finger. Ashton telling her the vows he wrote and spoke with conviction. Ashton kissing her.

Ashton Ashton Ashton Ashton Ashton

!!!!!!

His name repeats like a haunted hymn trying to keep time with her rapid breaths. She feels hot. Too hot. She feels like she’s suffocating, and although the dress doesn’t have a high collar it’s as if she’s being choked. She needs to get out of it.

In a few short months she’ll be standing in front of Gavin. There’s a high-pitched ringing in her ears, the voices of her mother and friends are muffled, the light is too bright.

It isn’t until Chloe, her saving grace, catches her right before she’s about to fall off the platform. The other women are crowding around her, but Cressida can’t breathe, she needs air, she needs to get out of this dress.

“She’s fine, she’s fine, she started this new juice cleanse. I guess celery isn’t the one for her,” Chloe laughs off the quick excuse but helps her stand up. “Plus, with pre-wedding jitters and all. Let’s get you out of this for now, hm?”

Chloe drags her back into the dressing room where Cressida is gasping for air and waving her arms trying to unbutton the dress.

“I got it, I got it, hang on…” Chloe works quickly to undo the back of the dress.

Cressida lets out a loud gasp when she feels the dress pull away from her skin, she pulls off the cold shoulder sleeves quickly and carefully as possible. When she’s finally free she collapses to the floor in the heap of her dress, her vision is splotchy, and she sees stars. Chloe drapes the bridal robe over her shoulders and hugs her tightly.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Breathe…easy, easy,” Chloe takes deep inhales and exhales with Cressida.

“I’m sorry, I-I-I…it all came real so fast, and I was picturing—”

“Ashton?” Chloe asks quietly and Cressida nods. Chloe hugs her until her heart has slowed, all the broken pieces of it.

Later that evening, Gavin found out she had a panic attack at the dress fitting. He became worried instantly and held onto her shoulders searching her eyes as if he could see the replay in them.

“How are you now? Do you need anything?” he asks concerned.

“I’m all right, it all hit me so fast when I saw me in the dress, that’s all,” she tries to smile then looks down and away from him.

“Hey,” Gavin ticks his finger under her chin, so she looks up at him, “We’re in this together. I promise I will take care of you and be your friend and confidant throughout all this. We can do this, Cress.” He pulls her into his arms, his embrace is tight, and it makes her feel better, she feels put together for a moment. “Why don’t you go take a bath and go to bed early?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she sighs.

“I’ll get it ready for you,” he kisses the top of her head, gives her one more squeeze, then heads upstairs.

Cressida feels herself walking upstairs into her bathroom but it’s as if she’s on autopilot or watching herself from a distance. Gavin’s reading the back of one of her bath salts when she enters, and she looks at him. Really looks at him. He’s tall and handsome, that’s a fact, but she never noticed before how the symbol tattooed on his back peeks out on his neck under his collar. Or how his hair curls into smooth waves at the back of his head, and how broad his shoulders are.

He’s speaking to her about bubbles or oils, she’s not really listening as she starts to undress in front of him. In her dissociative mind, she wants to experiment with something. The small seed of feelings for him keep nudging at her, if she waters it will it bloom into something greater? When she steps closer that’s when Gavin notices her half nakedness.

“Does the salt stick to—” his eyes take her in slowly, watching her movements carefully as she shimmies out of her pants and then her panties. He swallows audibly, the bottle of bath salts slips from his fingers and falls into the tub with a shallow bump. “What— “he clears his throat when she steps closer, “what are you doing?”

“Can we try something?” she asks reaching for his arms. She grips his forearms, feels the taut muscles underneath his skin.

She knows he can definitely hear how loud her heart is beating. He nods as she lifts to her toes, her hands moving to his neck. Hesitantly, and oh so slowly, she moves closer to him. So close that she can feel his breath on her lips, he smells like a spicy musk, which is very inviting and then her lips are on his. Gavin remains still, letting her go at her own pace.

His lips are soft but are definitely different from the pair she’s used to. His cologne keeps her in check that this is Gavin and not—

“We don’t have to do this,” Gavin pulls back, and she feels a little empty from it. “I know this is so much for you.”

“Can we try?” she whispers, her eyes begging him to say yes.

“Are you sure?” he asks cupping her cheek. His thumb traces her bottom lip, his warm brown eyes meeting hers.

“I’m sure,” she nods.

Gavin crushes his lips to hers and his other hand grips her bare waist, pulling her to him in a tastefully forceful way. He sits on the edge of the tub and she presses herself to him, her hands yanking up his shirt. His hair gets messed up and then she admires the tattoos on his torso, her fingers tracing the designs and lines.

“I didn’t know you had any of these.”

“They’re all a part of my life story.”

“You’ll have to tell me about them sometime,” her gaze is steady on his as she unbuttons his pants. He shuts off the water of the tub standing up.

“I’d be glad to,” he smiles then lifts her into his arms carrying her to her bedroom.

Gavin takes his time kissing her from her lips all the way down to the very epicenter of her. Cressida closes her eyes so she can enjoy the feeling she’s experiencing and not to compare his touch with another’s. Gavin is gentle, touching her like she’s going to disappear into thin air.

She’s exploring him just as much as he is, she likes tracing the large tattoo on his back that goes up both shoulder blades. When they finally connect, she gasps, both in pleasure and at the vast difference. He’s making her feel good, her body is humming and tries to move with his. This is new for the both of them, this is their first time together after all.

At one point, she’s transported to another bed with another man and her nails creating large red arches into his back, they almost look like angel wings. She’s flashing back and forth from memory to present. When her release nears, all she sees is white space behind her eyelids. Then it’s over and they hold each other, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

“Is that what you wanted to try?” Gavin lifts his head from her neck, and she nods. “Dare I ask what the…conjecture is?”

“It was…” she searches his eyes trying to find the right words that hold truth in them, “it was really good.”

Gavin smiles slowly and nods. “I’m glad to hear that, I thought so, too. Do you still want your bath?”

“I can go do it,” she nods brushing away a curl from his forehead then presses her palm to his cheek. “How about you go pick us up some ice cream? We can watch a movie before bed.”

“Mint chip, right?” he grins leaning down to give her a kiss.

“Right,” she laughs kissing him again.

Gavin slides off the bed and hops back into his pants.

“I’ll grab your favorite wine, too. Maybe I’ll join you in the bath,” he winks pulling on his shirt then exits the room.

Cressida feels herself moving again, going through the motions of turning on the water and adding the salts and bubbles. She closes the door and dims the lights, making sure her rotary phone is next to the bath. When she climbs in, the hot water burns the soles of her feet and her hands, but it feels good.

She feels different.

It’s been a very long and very emotional day and Ashton invades her mind yet again. Moving on their own discord, her fingers reach for the phone and dials the number she’s had memorized for almost six years. It rings and rings and rings until the automated voicemail lady comes on. Cressida pushes the disconnect tab in the center and dials again. There’s a click.

“Cressida?”

Her breath hitches at the sound of his voice, then she slams the phone back in its cradle. She sinks below the water level, her head submerging into the vapid silence of the water. How did hearing Ashton’s voice hurt worse than the silence of him not picking up? There’s a purpose for all of this pain, but what is it? She’s falling, but she doesn’t know if she’s falling in or out of love.

Ten Months After Breakup—Ashton

Ashton has been a loaded gun ever since he and Cressida ended. He’s quick to anger and frustration, snapping at people over the simplest of questions. A lot has changed since that last weekend with Cressida and yet it feels like everything is the same.

He’s flipping through his calendar on his desk for upcoming appointments he’s jotted down and pauses on the first weekend of May which is two months away.

In the past, he would already be preparing the secret weekend getaway with Cressida. He’d be confirming with The Golden Lion that his room and floor were reserved for him. He’d make sure the room is stocked with their favorite food and drink and that Cressida’s robe was firmly pressed. Now, that weekend is wide open, staring him in the face with its blankness.

For the first time in six years, the white squares are empty. The Golden Lion isn’t scrawled in his gold fountainhead pen, as if it’s been erased completely but the memories are still burned into his mind. She’s left her mark in him so deep.

Ashton had a very slow incline from the very deep valley of his heartache. His phone beeps and he presses the button with the flashing red light.

“Yes?” he asks through the intercom.

“Mr. Hemmings is here to see you, Mr. Irwin,” his assistant Phil announces.

“Send him in.”

“A package was delivered for you as well; shall I send it with Mr. Hemmings?”

“That’s fine, Phil. Thanks,” Ashton sighs. He leans back in his chair, his calendar still opened to his schedule in May.

Luke was the one who helped Ashton out of his deep ravine.

He watches Cressida walk down the hall and disappear into the elevator. She didn’t turn around once. He shuffles back inside and makes his way to the large windows overlooking the street down below. Cressida is easy to spot, she’s using his red umbrella then disappears into the backseat of her car and drives off. Leaving him behind.

The dark cloud has been hovering over them this whole weekend and he used everything in his power to keep it at bay, out of sight, out of mind. But now Cressida is out of his sight and he’s about to lose his mind, so he pours himself a double of his whisky. Before he knew it, the bottle was empty, and he called room service to send up some more.

He thought of the consumption as a form of poetic justice, or something along those lines. He wasn’t sure, Cressida would know. She always knows things like that.

Ashton stayed in the hotel room for a whole week until there was a loud pounding on his door. When he opens it, he sees Luke in his crisp Armani suit, his golden hair slicked back in a suave style. The smell of his aftershave was fresh. Luke wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“You look like shit, man.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Ashton mumbles using the door handle as a brace to stay standing.

“It smells like your distillery in here and it reeks off you. Have you been here this whole time?”

“Yeah, so what?

Luke glances behind him then asks carefully, “have you been drunk this whole time?”

“Nope. For the first couple of days, I was because I finished my whisky, but now I’m sober and angry.” He turns inside the room and pulls out a bottle of water, Luke follows him carefully by making sure not to step on dirty clothes. “Do you need anything?”

“Yeah, you. You need to get back to work. I’ve been calling and calling but your phone doesn’t even ring. Did you lose it?”

“It’s been in that drawer since about a week and a half ago,” Ashton nods to the dresser. His phone is right where he left it when he arrived for his weekend with Cressida.

“Fantastic. Pack it up and let’s get you clean shaven.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” Luke shoves his hands in his pockets, a golden brow arched upward. “Why not?”

“Because Luke,” Ashton sighs and stares at him with disdain and a far off look in his eyes. “The love of my life is no longer in my life and I’m trying to grab a handle on that.”

“I didn’t know you and Lucinda broke up.”

“Luc--? No! Not Lucinda. Cressida. She’s gone but if I stay in this room… it’s like she’s still here, like she’ll come back.”

“Hold on,” Luke holds up a hand. “Cressida James? How are you in love with her? Aren’t your families cursed or something?”

“No, we aren’t cursed,” Ashton scoffs, “we’re sworn enemies.”

“Ah, because that’s really a big difference,” Luke mutters.

“We’ve been seeing each other in secret for five years, coming to this room every first weekend in May.”

Luke’s eyes widen. “Five years? Okay, I need to be filled in on this but before I am, you need to shower and then we’ll get lunch.”

Ashton explained everything about his and Cressida’s relationship all the way from the beginning. Their first meeting on graduation eve, their months spent in Europe, the highs and lows, their secret discussions of work that made sales skyrocket, secret glances, everything.

“So, let me see if I got this right,” Luke wipes the corners of his mouth with his napkin then sets it on the table. He uses his hands as he speaks. “You and Lucinda aren’t really dating, Cressida and Gavin aren’t really dating, but you and Cressida have kind-of-sort-of been ‘dating’ for the last five years.”

“Correct.”

“But now, because somehow an arranged marriage is still a thing, she’s marrying Gavin and you two had to split up.”

“Yes.”

Luke stares at Ashton like he has three heads and Ashton stares right back, his face passive. He takes a drink of his water then raises his eyebrows.

“You look like you have more to say.”

“Ash, this is insane. You and Cressida are clearly meant to be together, for as long as I’ve known you, you have never been in a serious relationship. Hell, I’ve never seen you go out with someone until Lucinda came around.”

“It’s always been Cressida.”

“It can still always be Cressida! Ash,” Luke laughs dryly, “you need to stop this wedding. Confess your love and runaway with her!”

“Luke, this isn’t some romance movie, this is real life.”

“Real life where arranged marriages still exist?” Luke challenges. “This situation is fucked but you can get her back.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because she’d be disowned and lose the company. I won’t be responsible for that.”

“There’s no way she’d be free of the company. She’s the best CEO James Brandy has had in years, inflation and sales have been astronomical since she took over. Her family and your family are holding an old grudge that could have easily been a big miscommunication.”

Ashton sighs, he really appreciates his friend’s attempt at trying to solve his woes. Woes he’s brought upon himself, but he and Cressida will never be together, that’s just how it goes.

Ashton went back to work after speaking with Luke. He found it helped him not think about Cressida so much while he was in his office or walking among the floors of his distillery. He made sure Phil had him booked from dusk to dawn and when his mind started to wander to Cressida, he’d find another task to occupy himself.

Each day it got better; each week it became slightly easier. Although Ashton shut himself away, he had Gavin under a very confidential and watchful eye. When Ashton heard he still was involved in the drug cartel with a ton of debt, he decided to step in.

He went to Brazil where the drug lord resides; Ashton was welcomed warmly because they know how wealthy he is. Ashton discovered Gavin has been trying to get out of it, but he owes $1.2 billion dollars. He thought back to Cressida’s cheek and his mind is set.

“I’ll pay his debt in full. Expect the money to be wired tomorrow no later than four,” Ashton says then makes his way towards the door. No one questions him on the money because Ashton is known to being true to his word.

“What is he to you that you are willing to pay off his debt?”

“He owes me something as well, something way more valuable than money.”

“Hmm,” Homer strokes his mustache thoughtfully, “I see. We’ll need to kick him out like we would with the rest of them, debt paid and all. It will be painful.”

“I did my part, who am I to tell you how to do yours?” Ashton shrugs and then he’s gone.

While Ashton waits for Luke to come into his office, he peruses through his news app and sees Lucinda and her new boyfriend as they’re walking along the beach with their new puppy. When Ashton returned from Brazil on his little errand, that’s when he learned of his breakup. Lucinda was there at his house waiting for him. She said she couldn’t keep doing this and if it ruins her career then so be it, she didn’t want to lose Stephen.

Ashton was more than understanding and told her he wishes her the best, and he meant it. After she kissed his cheek on her way out, Ashton wondered if his and Cressida’s decision made them weak or strong. He didn’t want to dwell on it for too long and let a second woman walk out of his life.

Luke waltzes in Ashton’s office in a grandeur fashion and waves a rectangular box in the air.

“Delivery for Mr. Ashton Irwin, I accept tips in the form of largely written checks,” he grins tossing the box on Ashton’s desk.

“Watch it, what if that was fragile and you just broke it?” Ashton shakes his head as Luke drops himself on the blue suede chair.

“I didn’t hear anything break. Let’s go on a trip, Canada sounds nice and welcoming, doesn’t it?”

“Why do you want to go on a trip?” Ashton puts the box in his desk drawer and gathers his wallet and two phones.

“Trips are fun, trips have class and culture. Aren’t you going to open that?”

“I will on Monday. I’ve been getting smaller bottle designs from a vendor that won’t take no for an answer. Who would want a small bottle of my whisky?”

They continue their chatter to the elevator in front of Phil’s desk.

“Mr. Irwin, did you receive the package?”

“I did. We’ll have to send something back. Can you do that for me, Phil?”

“Yeah!” Phil’s eyes widen as if in excitement, Luke and Ashton exchange a look. “I can absolutely send something. What would you like me to say?”

“Um, you can come up with the message. I’m sure you’d make it sound better than mine. Have a good weekend.”

Phil scrambles to his phone and quickly dials some number. Ashton thought he heard him faintly say a name that sounded like Chloe. Chloe is Cressida’s assistant. He shakes his head, he definitely heard him wrong and tunes back into Luke who’s talking about Canadian syrup. Ashton feels a picking at his brain, he can’t quite put his finger on what it is. It felt like he was forgetting something.

One Month Until Wedding

Cressida and Gavin are driving back from his property on the lake. They spent a long weekend laying in the sun, cruising on the water in the early dawn on his boat, and cooking meals together. On the mornings where they didn’t wake up early to go on the boat, the time was spent getting to know each other.

Cressida always feels like she’s in an odd déjà vu every moment she shares with him because it reminds her of some other time. She’s constantly having to only see Gavin in front of her and not a ghost of her past. They’ve continued to get closer and closer; a close friendship has formed completely.

Gavin knew this was the first weekend she wouldn’t be seeing Ashton, so he wanted to help get her mind off of it. She notices that whenever they’re holding hands, his thumb will be circling around the ring on her finger. She catches him staring at her from time to time and while it gives her butterflies, it’s also warning signs. Warning signs that Ashton is slipping away, and she doesn’t want that to happen.

“Can we get serious for a hot second?” he asks when he parks in her driveway.

“Yeah, what’s up?” she gathers up her purse, phone, water bottle, and sunglasses.

“I’m all in on this with you, Cress.”

Cressida stops her movements; she feels her cheeks warm up then looks at him nervously. He’s getting really good at reading her.

“I’ve…I’ve grown attached to you and those feelings are growing. I know you aren’t there yet, or maybe you never will be, or someday maybe? I don’t know. But I’m in this for you,” he stares her down, his eyes full of nothing but honesty. “And any way you’ll have me, I’ll take it. okay?”

“Okay,” she nods then touches his cheek, rubs at his skin. He places his hand over hers, his thumb rubbing over her engagement ring and he kisses the inside of her palm. “I’m sorry I have all of this…weight on me and it’s dragging you down.”

“You could never drag me down, you lifted me up in the first place,” he smiles.

Her heart tugs at his words. She hates herself for not knowing if it’s from flattery or an ache for another. She hates herself even more for being caught in the middle of her own feelings.

“Okay, serious talk over until some other time. Let’s set the bags in and freshen up before meeting your parents for Sunday dinner.” He gives her fingers one more kiss then exits the car.

“There you are! How was it, how did it go? Did you get the brace—OH!”

“Chloe?” Cressida’s in shock upon seeing her in her house. Not that it’s abnormal for her to be here but she didn’t have anything planned for her until Monday.

“Hi! What uh, what are you guys doing here?”

“We went to Gavin’s lake house for the weekend. I thought I ran that by you…” Cressida shakes her head. “What are you doing here?”

“Umm…I uh, there was a package for you but it…it’s the wrong thing. My mistake. I will return it,” she responds awkwardly and tries to scurry out the door.

“Oh, was it my shampoo? Let me take a look, I can see if I want to try it anyway,” Cressida drops her bags on the counter.

“You know what, I actually left it at the office. I’ll return it for you first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll see you Monday, bye!”

Gavin watches her leave the house in confusion; he turns to Cressida slowly.

“That was strange, wasn’t it?” Gavin points in her direction.

“Yeah… she was acting weird all week,” Cressida frowns. “I wonder if she’s going through a tough time or something…I’ll have to ask her tomorrow.”

“I’ll check on the plants and water them, then we can shower and head out?” he asks kissing her forehead.

“What do you mean by shower?” she cracks a smile, and he laughs.

“I didn’t mean it that way, I swear. But I’m open to it, always am,” he winks then heads out to her patio where her plants are.

Cressida chuckles watching him get the hose. Chloe had been acting giddy everyday last week, asking her indirect questions about her weekend plans, asking if she’s nervous. She made it seem like she knew where Cressida was going, so why was she surprised to see her home now?

The Big Day

Ashton already predicted this day would be horrible, but he didn’t imagine it happening right when he woke up. His coffee machine broke so he couldn’t have his first cup before stopping at his favorite coffee shop. Turns out that was also closed for renovations, so he messaged Phil to please pick up a new coffee machine and bring two coffees with him.

When Ashton arrived at his office building the computer systems were down which was just fantastic considering he’d be doing a video conference call with Japan at ten. He already wanted today to be over before he stepped in the elevator that seemed to take longer than normal to fly up to his office.

He had a migraine, and it was barely nine o��clock in the morning. Normally he’d be calling the hotel confirming everything. He hated today.

Phil comes rushing in with three coffees in a carrying tray and a box containing Ashton’s new coffeemaker.

“You’re a lifesaver, Phil, truly,” Ashton commends taking a drink of the first coffee. He already feels his headache subsiding. “Can we go over my meetings for today?”

“Yes, let me just…pull it up on my tablet here. Okay, so…”

Ashton listens to Phil rattle off times and names of who he will be dealing with today. While Phil talks, Ashton fixes his desk then opens his drawer and sees that rectangular box. The company hasn’t sent anything back so maybe they finally got the message, but now he wants to see what this bottle looks like.

He cuts it open, humming along to Phil, then sees another box. It’s maroon with a gold band running along the sides. It’s thin and that intrigues him, so he lifts the lid. Nestled inside is not a whisky bottle but the bracelet he bought Cressida three Valentine’s Days ago. Beneath it was a folded note that read, ‘meet me at our special place Friday. It’s important. I don’t think I can go through with it.”

“Phil, what the hell is this?” Ashton holds up the bracelet that is now looped around his fingers. Phil’s mouth is open like a fish out of water. “Phil?”

“I—you—didn’t you open that a few months ago?”

“No, I thought this was the whisky bottle from that company who keeps trying to partner with me. I told you to send them a message I wasn’t interested, but this is clearly not a whisky bottle. So…why is this in my possession?”

“You didn’t open it until now? I thought you did! That’s why I sent—oh no,” he groans and slumps into the chair in front of Ashton’s desk.

“Phil, what the hell is going on?” Ashton drops Cressida’s bracelet onto his desk, it clanks on the glass top.

“Chloe sent this from Miss James because she said Miss James was having reservations about the wedding. That she still loves you and…and you were supposed to meet at The Golden Lion, and you told me to send something back, so I sent your gold ring with a note saying you’ll be there. And oh my God, I thought you went last month but it didn’t end well so you were still angry this whole time,” Phil explains.

“But Cressida herself didn’t send this?”

“No, it was Chloe because she knows Miss James keeps the bracelet on all the time,” Phil pinches the bridge of his nose. “It was supposed to bring you back together and by me sending your gold ring…it was a sign you wanted her back, too.”

Ashton stares at Phil in complete surprise. He could have met up with Cressida a month ago and made up and they would probably be together right now.

“Did she go? Was she there? What did Chloe say?”

“I don’t—she didn’t go. Chloe said she went to some lake house with Gavin and now…she probably didn’t even get your ring…”

“What ring are you talking about?”

“Your gold one, with the ruby inside.”

Ashton’s mind is racing. His heart is about to combust. He’s connecting the dots and finding new ones that didn’t add up but make complete sense now. Why Phil seemed so excited that Ashton wanted to send a reply back. How he thought he misplaced his ring at the hotel but never got around to calling about it when really, it was delivered to Cressida but if she didn’t go to the hotel either…

“She never got the ring,” Ashton concludes and Phil wipes at the sweat on his brow.

“What?”

“You’re one hundred percent certain that Cressida received my ring?”

“I wouldn’t say one hundred—”

“Call Chloe now and find out.”

Phil scrambles for his phone, dropping it on the floor twice before pressing it to his ear. Ashton touches the bracelet before him, images of Cressida flashes in his eyes.

“Okay, thank you Chlo, yes I’ll tell him…yes…yes…well, it’s too late now. All right…yep…okay bye,” Phil ends the call then smiles at Ashton in relief. “She never got it. There’s still time to stop this wedding, sir.”

“If she went on a weekend trip with Gavin then she has to be over—”

“No! no, she’s not over you and you’re not over her!” Phil suddenly shouts jumping from his chair. “I’m sorry sir, if this gets me fired then so be it, but Chloe and I hated seeing you two act like you did. Your company will survive if you both were disowned but I highly doubt that would happen. We’ve seen you two together for six years. We couldn’t let you throw this away for some stupid arranged marriage.”

“Phil—”

“You have to stop this wedding. Two people who should be together and aren’t…that’s the worst kind of love story ever. I know your families are arch nemesis but that was how many years ago? And it’s not even your fight to begin with. Chloe and I think you should be together and it’s our faults that our plan failed but you can stop it today. Right now. I can—”

“Phil!” Ashton shouts causing Phil to shut up. “You aren’t fired. And this was very kind of you and Chloe to do but if Cressida didn’t personally—”

“She’s been on the fence about this wedding for the whole year! You have to go to her, sir, you just have to.”

Ashton sighs and plays with the bracelet. He thinks of the past year, how it wasn’t the best by any means because Cressida wasn’t in his life. She’s always said from the beginning that she didn’t care if she was disowned, that she’s only wanted him, and Ashton’s only wanted her. She’s the love of his entire life. Luke has told him to crash the wedding and he might just do that.

“Where is the wedding?”

Cressida is pacing in the bridal suite of the church. Her hair and makeup are finished, her dress is fastened to the very last button, and her heart has been in her stomach since she woke up this morning. Her hands feel clammy and she’s trying to focus on her breathing by taking deep shallow breaths. Her bridesmaids are drinking mimosas and enjoying themselves while the guests arrive in the large church.

The bridesmaids are discussing the honeymoon and placing friendly bets on if she’ll be pregnant upon the return. Cressida mentions she needs some air and moves into the hallway to continue her pacing. The door opens and expecting her mother, she starts defending herself.

“I’m fine, mother, I just need a minute to collect myself.”

“It’s me,” Chloe says, frowning at her boss and close friend. Cressida relaxes and steps in front of her, smoothing the skirt of her dress, her hands are shaking. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, it’s just jitters. But I…I keep thinking of Ashton,” she whispers his name. It’s been so long since she spoke it out loud.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out at The Golden Lion, but you seemed so happy when you came home with Gavin I thought you were actually happy with him now.”

“What do you mean you’re sorry it didn’t work out at The Golden Lion?”

“I…what?” Chloe shakes her head in confusion. “You were supposed to meet Ashton at the hotel last month, he sent his gold ring and a note to go along with the one I sent him…with your bracelet.”

“My bracelet? Chloe, I didn’t get a ring. What is going on?”

“I placed the box on your desk and when you left for the weekend you seemed so happy, so I thought you were going to The Golden Lion to make up or runaway with him. I came by that Sunday to see how it went but you were with Gavin, so I thought you’d made your decision.”

“But I didn’t send him anything,” Cressida shakes her head slowly.

“That’s because I did,” Chloe fixes her fingers together in nerves. “I came up with the idea and Phil agreed to do it as well, we hated seeing you both so upset. We tried to fix it.”

“If I would have gotten his ring I wouldn’t have left with Gavin,” Cressida’s shoulders fall in sadness.

She starts pacing again, thinking of the good thing Chloe and Phil tried to do but fate seemed to have other plans. Did Ashton show up at the hotel? Was his heart broken even more when she didn’t show up even though she never got his ring and note?

“It’s almost time,” the wedding coordinator announces bustling down the hallway. She opens the door to the suite and orders the girls to get out and into line. “Follow me Miss James and I will make you a Missus.”

Cressida gulps but follows her. Chloe reaches out and grabs her hand, gives her a gentle squeeze. Cressida relaxes a little knowing that Chloe is with her through this as well. Gavin is a great guy; he’s been a good and patient friend with her through the wedding planning. She’ll grow to love him as time goes on, right?

Suddenly she’s in front of the doors and it’s almost her turn to walk down the aisle. How did the other girls go so fast? How does she not remember seeing them?

“You can do this,” Chloe assures her, but Cressida is very doubtful.

The music changes and she stops Chloe from walking down. Chloe looks at her in alarm.

“I need to speak with Gavin, please. Can you bring him to me?”

Chloe nods. “Yes, yes of course. I’ll be right back.”

Chloe opens the doors then slips inside running along the sides of the pews. The guests watch her run her way up to the alter where Gavin is waiting in a crisp suit, his hair perfectly styled, and a large marigold fastened to his lapel. When he sees Chloe running, he knows what that means.

“Is she all right?” Gavin asks when Chloe reaches him.

“I don’t know, I’m not sure. She wants to speak with you, I’m sorry but that’s all I know.”

“It’s okay, I’ll speak with her,” he nods then turns to the pastor. “It’ll be just a few more moments. The bride wishes to speak with me, I’m sure everything’s fine. I’ll be right back.”

The pastor stares after him in bewilderment as Gavin follows Chloe back down the aisle. He smiles and nods at the guests trying to look reassuring. He knows what this looks like, but his mind is focused on Cressida. When he spots her, she’s grasping onto a table, her knuckles white.

“Cress?” he touches her shoulder carefully so as not to scare her. She flinches anyway then turns to Gavin, her face pale and eyes glossy. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t do this, Gavin, I’m so sorry,” Cressida sniffles. She takes Gavin’s hands, and he feels the ring fall into his palm. “You’ve been so kind and patient with me, and you’re a wonderful man but I don’t love you and I don’t think I ever would love you how you properly should be. You deserve more than a woman who’s hung up on another man. You deserve to be loved the right way. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Shh, shh,” he swipes the tears from her face and forces a smile. “I know. It’s all right.”

“It is?”

“I have grown feelings for you, and I know you’ve been trying to find some for me and to be honest, I hate seeing you try so hard. You’re meant to be with Ashton, not me. Go to him.”

“I should tell everyone inside—”

“I’ll worry about them,” he shakes his head, “and I’ll tell our parents. I’ll take care of everything.”

“I’m a horrible person,” she cries, “this is all because of me.”

“Loving someone doesn’t make you horrible. I’ll be fine Cressida, I’d rather have you as a friend than nothing at all.”

“Thank you,” she whispers then flings herself into his arms. He hugs her tightly, breathing in her hair and holds her as tight as he can. She pulls away to look up at him. “I will be a little bit jealous who you end up with. She’ll need my approval.”

“That’s nice to know,” he laughs then kisses her forehead. “Go find Irwin.”

Cressida takes a deep breath, stretches on her toes to kiss his cheek then lifts up her skirt and runs to the main entrance of the church where Chloe is already waiting with her bag and phone.

“How did you--?”

“I had a feeling,” Chloe shrugs. “The car is coming around.”

“Thank you, you’re the best assistant and friend I could have ever asked for.”

Cressida bustles her dress as best she can in the back of her car, her driver is a little bewildered but then slams on the gas to get to The Golden Lion. Her heart is thundering in her chest, her left hand feels weightless without the ring, and she hopes Ashton is there. Should she call him? Just then her phone buzzes and it’s a text from Chloe.

‘He was on his way to the church, but I contacted Phil and diverted his course. You should get there around the same time. Good luck :)’

Cressida lets out a shaky breath and suddenly she’s very nervous again. The hotel is twenty minutes away from the church. What will she say? What will he say? Will he take her back? She’s trying to stay hopeful but what if he sees her and decides it’s better they’re not together?

It’s a very long drive where she has time to recollect their time together. Meeting that night before graduation, the endless mornings and evenings in Europe, secret glances and very well constructed touches at parties they both needed to attend, Bora Bora, each weekend at The Golden Lion. She’s loved him completely forever and she can only hope he’ll want her the same way.

She’s approaching the hotel, the building shines in the golden afternoon, the mane of the lion sparkling. She struggles getting out of the car with her dress and makes her way up the steps and sees the back of Ashton. He’s peering into one of the rooms where they’ve shared many parties together. His hair is longer in the back and he looks broader in the shoulders.

Cressida can’t speak so she walks towards him. Just as she’s about to open her mouth, he turns around and she forgets to breathe. His scruff has turned into a full-grown beard and it’s very well kept, it makes him look even more handsome. Standing in front of him she feels more at peace than she has in months. She feels whole and complete.

“Hi,” he breathes, his hazel eyes scanning over her in her dress. “You’re…you’re an absolute vision, angel.”

“Did you really send me your ring? Because I never got it, but I swear, I would have been here last month. I’ve never stopped loving you and I never will. I called it off. The whole thing. And if I get kicked out of the business then I’ll start my own and we can build our own partnership. It’s always been you—”

Not being able to stand it anymore, Ashton gathers her in is arms and kisses her deeply. His arms wrap around the home he’s been missing for 365 days. His lips are kissing the lips he’ll never get tired of kissing. Cressida’s fingers twist into his hair kissing him back with just as much enthusiasm. It’s like she can finally breathe. Their love is bursting at the seams.

“I’ll never stop loving you either, Cressida,” he mumbles rubbing his nose against hers lovingly. He stares into her eyes. “I don’t care about the ring or the bracelet or our bad timing, what matters is that we’re both here now. And I’m never letting you walk out the doors unless I’m right next to you.”

“I love you,” she smiles and strokes his beard, it’s soft under her fingers. “I’ve wanted to call so many times. You look different, I love this beard.”

“Yeah? I was thinking of shaving it,” he grins.

“Don’t,” she shakes her head, “not yet.”

“Although I’m glad to see you, what about your wedding?”

“Gavin’s taking care of it, he’s a really good man, Ashton. And he’s going to tell our parents the wedding is off, but I want to tell them about you and me. I don’t want to love you behind closed doors anymore.”

“And I’ll be right by your side. Luke made a very good point about our ‘disownment’ and we won’t be losing our companies.”

“It’s settled then,” she sighs but pulls away from him. Ashton looks forlorn from the sudden distance. “There’s only one thing left to do.”

“What’s that?” he asks trailing his fingers down her arm so he can latch onto her own. He’s not letting her go.

Her eyes dance, the gold in them sparkling. “Help me out of my dress?”

They kiss freely in the elevator as they ascend to their floor, to their room. But it feels different because of their decision to finally come clean about their relationship. Ashton’s hands are frantic as he pulls her from her dress, her lips never leave his skin as they fall onto their bed.

Murmured words of love are pressed to skin, their fingers grasp and lock together as they reconnect. This feels different too, it’s not a secret anymore and they never will be again. Whatever happens after they leave this room, they’ll handle it together.

In a rush they come together but they’re nowhere near done. Ashton kisses all over her chest, her neck, her throat, and her hands roam over the dips and valleys of his body. She finds the maps only she knows; touches the freckles she’s discovered time and time again.

“My love for you is pure gold,” he sighs before slipping his tongue in her mouth. “Beautiful, rare…”

“And precious,” she smiles rolling him over onto his back. “It’s me and you, baby.”

They fall and crash together, the golden sun setting on their love. It’s a promise for a golden morning, a new beginning and the start of their life being shared into the light. No more secrets, just Ashton and Cressida loving each other beautifully, gently, passionately. A golden love for the ages.

Taglist: @calpalirwin @myloverboyash @loveroflrh @cxddlyash @princesslrh @spicylftv @notinthesameguey @itjustkindahappenedreally @calumance @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt @sarcastically-defensive17 @another-lonely-heart @devilatmydoor @thatscooibaby @suchalonelysunflower @dead-and-golden @mymindwide @blackbutterfliescal @redrattlers @karajaynetoday @quasighost @i-like-5sos @creampiecashton @calpops @littledrummeraussie @sexgodashton @f-mu @mystic-232

#lias fic #lovers in a song #ashton irwin angst #ashton irwin smut #ashton angst #ashton writing #ashton 5sos writing

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luvdsc · 5 years ago

Text

a-side.

a new a-side has been released.

pairing :: mark lee x reader ( feat. past wong yukhei x reader ) genre :: angst, fluff / best friend + college au word count :: 3,745 words warnings :: drunk mark attempts to fight yukhei playlist :: it was love (lany) ⋆ 7up (boy in space) ⋆ i.l.y. (the rose) ⋆ heart eyes (coin) ⋆ you were beautiful (day6) ⋆ so, soo pretty (lany) author’s note :: inspired by lang leav’s new book which is referenced at the end and because mark deserves a happy ending ↳ sequel to b-side / can be standalone.

Mark is not a confrontational person. Yeah, he can be incredibly stubborn, and he definitely will say something if he doesn’t like where the situation is going, but he isn’t one to seek out a fight. He’s the one who notifies someone else that a fight is happening and that person would break up the fight. He’s the designated driver, the one who plays it safe, the one who makes sure everyone gets home at an appropriate time.

So then why does he find himself standing in front of Yukhei, empty solo cup in hand?

All he remembers is Donghyuck handing him a cup, telling him it’s some kind of juice. Normally, he isn’t one to blindly trust anything his friend hands him, but for some reason, he went against his gut today and here he is. If you were here, you’d laugh at him. But you aren’t because you have a midterm coming up, and so he made a bad decision. He was always such a lightweight. It was partially the reason why he never drinks at parties in the first place.

“Wong Yukhei!” He loudly calls out, slurring the ending syllable slightly and getting the attention of several people around him, and the aforementioned boy looks at him amusedly. Yukhei detaches himself from his group of friends, pushing himself off from against the wall, and Mark suddenly feels the liquid courage drain out of him when faced with the towering boy straight on.

“Hey, buddy,” Yukhei greets him, “Have you been drinking?”

“Just some apple juice,” Mark says, waving the cup in hand around vaguely, before shaking his head several times in an attempt to clear his hazy mind. “Wait, no, I need to talk to you.”

“Maybe you should drink some water first,” Yukhei suggests, gesturing him towards the kitchen. Mark hates this. Mark hates this so much. Yukhei is too nice. Yukhei is a nice guy, he is his friend, he was supposed to be a good guy.

But six months ago, Yukhei broke your heart.

And that thought, fueled by the alcohol coursing through his veins, makes Mark so angry.

Because Yukhei had you. And then he let you go. Why would he do that? Didn’t he know how lucky he was? Didn’t he know how special you are?

Yukhei thought he was being nice, sitting down with you privately, telling you quietly that he didn’t think the relationship would work out, that the two of you weren’t meant to be, and that he was breaking up with you. He thought he was being a nice guy.

But Yukhei wasn’t there afterwards when you fell apart. He wasn’t there when you cried for nights on end consecutively after dragging yourself to your classes and pretending everything was okay while your heart was buried six feet under. He wasn’t there to pick you up after you drank too much at parties to forget him. He wasn’t there when you stumbled across one of his old tshirts and broke down. He wasn’t there to hear you ask why you weren’t good enough.

But Mark was.

Mark was there when you crumpled to the ground once you entered his apartment to tell him you were dumped. He was there when you needed someone to take you home and help you get to bed. He was there, holding you, when you revealed your deepest insecurity and Yukhei only seemed to confirm it. He was there, but he wasn’t the one you wanted.

Seeing Yukhei standing in front of him, acting so nice as if nothing happened, absolutely infuriates him. So Mark does what every intoxicated person believes is the next logical step. He lunges at Yukhei and throws a punch. Eyes widening, the taller boy quickly takes a step back and narrowly misses his fist.

“Woah man, what are you doing?” Yukhei exclaims, bewildered and hands up. More people are starting to notice and gather around, whispers and murmurs flying out. Jeno and Jaemin emerge, reaching out for him, but he shoves them away. He sees Donghyuck pulling his phone out and calling someone from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t care. Mark takes another swing, and another, and another, but his opponent manages to dodge them all much to his chagrin. Finally, Yukhei grabs his wrist before caging him in his arms.

“Let me go,” Mark says through gritted teeth, struggling as he tries to shake off Yukhei’s tight grip. “I said let me go!”

“No. You’re going to hurt someone flailing like that.”

“Stop being so nice! Stop caring about everyone! Stop pretending to be nice!” Mark manages to wiggle around and elbows him in the stomach harshly. Yukhei curses, hunching over slightly, but he refuses to loosen his grip.

“Mark, what are you talking about? You’re clearly drunk.” Yukhei essentially carries him to the kitchen at this point away from prying eyes, and Mark suddenly deflates. He’s too tired, too angry, too sad. Yukhei warily lets him go, moving to stand on the other side of the counter. He feels the hot angry tears welling up in his eyes and notices the alarmed look in Yukhei’s own eyes when he sees them.

“Why?” He manages to mutter, curling and unfurling his fists several times, before continuing, “Why are you nice to everybody but her? Why do you care about everybody but her?”

Yukhei’s eyes soften at the sudden realization, and he slips his hands into his pockets, lips curling inwards before replying. “I do care about her.”

“Then why would you hurt her? She’s so special, so amazing, and you don’t deserve her, but you had her. And you chose to hurt her.” Mark clenches his fists so tightly that miniature moon crescents form in the soft skin of his palms. His voice wavers at the end, cracking, and Yukhei finally understands.

“Why would you break her heart like that?”

You really wonder if your friends actually know the meaning of “Do Not Disturb” when you told them all you were going to study for your Financial Derivatives class and to not contact you until tomorrow. Donghyuck is calling you for the fifth time in a row, and you’re about to flip your phone upside down to avoid any distractions until you see the text notification beneath the missed calls.

[ 12:27 a.m. ] Hyuck: hey answer me

[ 12:27 a.m. ] Hyuck: y/n pick up

[ 12:27 a.m. ] Hyuck: MARK IS TRYIN G TO FITGT YUKHEI

[ 12:28 a.m. ] Hyuck: FIGHT*

[ 12:28 a.m. ] Hyuck: Y/N

[ 12:28 a.m. ] Hyuck: ANSWER YOUR PGONE

[ 12:28 a.m. ] Hyuck: pghone*

[ 12:28 a.m. ] Hyuck: PHOEN**

[ 12:29 a.m. ] Hyuck: YOU KNOW W HAT I MEAN

[ 12:29 a.m. ] Hyuck: JUST COME

[ 12:29 a.m. ] Hyuck: PLEAS E Y/N

[ 12:29 a.m. ] Hyuck: we’re at nu chi theta

Eyes widening, you freeze, staring at the third text message, as the words light up over and over again in your mind even after your phone goes dark. In a flash, you abandon your textbook, throwing on the oversized sweater hanging off the edge of your bed and slipping on your shoes. You type out a response as you grab your house keys and shove it in your pocket after locking the door.

[ 12:32 a.m. ] you: on my way

When you arrive at the fraternity, Donghyuck is waiting for you outside. He grabs your hand, and the two of you enter the house, him shoving his way through and you following close behind. Your eyes scan all the faces around you, but you don’t see Mark anywhere. Donghyuck stops in front of you, and you nearly crash into him. He’s asking Jeno something, but you don’t pay attention, searching the room for any glimpse of your best friend, until you hear his name coming from Jeno, who gestures towards the kitchen.

You let go of Donghyuck’s hand, pushing your way through the other bodies before finding yourself in the kitchen. Your eyes meet Yukhei’s first, and his eyes widen in surprise. He starts to say something, but you brush past him, making a beeline to Mark who finally looks up when you call out his name. You reach out, cradling his face in your hands gently.

“Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” You turn his face from side to side, checking to see if there are any bruises, before snapping. “Why would you do something so stupid?”

His mind is hazy, and he’s having such a hard time concentrating, but his eyes manage to focus on you in front of him. You’re standing there, wearing his sweater, and he can’t think of anything else but―

“Beautiful,” he mutters, reaching out and boldly pressing his fingertips against your cheek, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your cheeks warm up and your heartbeat quickens at those words, but you push his hand away from your face. “Stop distracting me, and answer me! Why would you do that?”

“Because he broke your heart!” Mark bursts out angrily as he throws his hands in exasperation before his shoulders sag and he’s gazing at you once more. “He hurt you.”

Your expression softens, a wave of warmth and affection blooming in your chest and curling around your heart for your best friend. He looks so vulnerable and so defeated, refusing to look at you, as he braces himself for your reaction. You gently grab his hand, intertwining your fingers. He hesitantly meets your eyes, and you squeeze his hand gently.

“Let’s go home, Mark.”

Unlocking your front door, you pull Mark into your apartment. His arms are draped around you, and he nuzzles his face in your hair. The alcohol effect seems to be nearly gone after walking home in the cold night, but he remains somewhat tipsy. Your breath hitches in your throat when he presses his face in the crook of your neck, and you carefully untangle his body from yours as you take off your shoes and he follows suit albeit stumbling slightly. He nearly topples over, peals of laughter bursting from his lips, and you smile softly, admiring the carefree expression on his face.

You gently tug him to your bedroom before carefully pushing him to sit on the bed. He plops down with no resistance, looking up at you with those sparkling doe eyes of his. His eyes glitter even in the yellow glow of the bedroom light, absolutely starstruck, as he gazes at you, swinging his feet slightly as they drag across the carpet in front. You move to get him a pair of comfy pants to change into, but his hand clasps around your wrist.

“Wait, I have to tell you something.”

You stop and turn, looking at him expectantly, but he pouts adorably. “You gotta come closer. It’s a secret!”

You indulge in his request and step closer to your best friend. He pulls you down until you are face to face. Mark leans closer, and you hold your breath until he’s so close that―

“Boop!” He nudges his nose against yours before his eyes crinkle in the corner as an earsplitting grin erupts across his face. He giggles happily. “I just booped you!”

You splutter, sudden heat blazing across your cheeks like wildfire, before a wide smile makes its way onto your face. “Silly boy.”

Mark lets go of your wrist, leaning back on the pillows behind him. You walk towards your dresser and pull out a pair of sweats―one of the several pairs he left here before―before going over and handing them to him.

“Here, change into these.”

He acquiesces, standing up, and begins to tug off his jeans. You quickly avert your eyes, leaving the room for a few moments and returning with a wet washcloth. By the time you return, Mark has somehow miraculously put on his pants correctly, tucked himself under your comforter, and pulled the covers up to his chin. His head peeks out over the top slightly, his dark hair a fluffy and mussed mess sticking out here and there, and he’s clutching onto your spare pillow, eyes fluttering shut.

“Hey, we gotta wash your face first before you fall asleep,” you say softly, kneeling next to him. He opens his eyes sleepily, burrowing himself further in your bed. You push back the covers slightly before carefully wiping his face. His nose scrunches slightly, and your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. You stand up to put away the cloth when his hand shoots out and grabs your wrist for the second time tonight. And perhaps it is because of the last traces of alcohol running through his veins but he is feeling brave enough to ask.

“Will you stay?”

You hesitate, eyes darting from the space next to him to the door. You were planning to spend the night on the couch, and you are about to refuse his request when his hand slips into yours.

“Stay please.”

So you do.

You place the washcloth on the nightstand and slip under the covers. He pulls you closer, throwing one leg over yours before snuggling close. And you don’t know how to explain it, but it simply feels... right. You brush the stray strands of hair away from his face, and he opens his eyes, peering into your own for a few moments, before he whispers quietly, eyes drooping as sleep starts to take over.

“Wanna know a secret? A real secret?”

You smile at him, turning to your side to properly look him in the eye. “Is it another boop?”

“No,” Mark whispers indignantly, and you laugh. He’s momentarily distracted, admiring how pretty you look when you laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners, mouth shaped into the loveliest of smiles, the sweetest sound falling from your lips.

“So what’s the secret?” You nudge him, eyes sparkling. You look so, so pretty, and he desperately wants to stay awake, but his eyelids are feeling so heavy. Still, he manages to answer you.

“Oh! Well, you wanted to know why. And I said it’s because he hurt you. Well, that’s the half truth.”

You change your position, propping your head up on your hand, as your other hand reaches out to tap his nose. “And what is the other truth, Marky?”

He sleepily smiles at you before closing his eyes and reaching out to hold your hand. And four little words slip out between his teeth before sleep finally overtakes him.

“Because I love you.”

It’s past 4 a.m. and you still can’t sleep. Mark’s confession echoes in your head over and over again, and you can’t help but wonder if he really meant it. You glance over at your best friend. Small puffs of breath escape between his lips as he sleeps peacefully, curled up next to you.

The sudden brightness of your phone screen catches your attention from the corner of your eye. You reach over and pluck the device from the surface of your nightstand, squinting your eyes to see the sudden influx of messages.

[ 4:09 a.m. ] DO NOT CONTACT: hey it’s yukhei

[ 4:09 a.m. ] DO NOT CONTACT: idk if you blocked me but i hope you’re doing okay. and i hope mark is okay too. he’s a good guy

[ 4:09 a.m. ] DO NOT CONTACT: i wanted to say sorry. i hurt you and i shouldn’t have. i shouldn’t have given up on you like that. i should’ve tried harder

[ 4:09 a.m. ] DO NOT CONTACT: i know it’s a shitty thing to apologize through text but i don’t think you want to talk to me in person. and i don’t even know if you’ll get these but

[ 4:10 a.m. ] DO NOT CONTACT: i’m really sorry

[ 4:14 a.m. ] DO NOT CONTACT: and mark is right

[ 4:14 a.m. ] DO NOT CONTACT: you are special

[ 4:14 a.m. ] DO NOT CONTACT: i’m sorry it took me too long to realize that

[ 4:15 a.m. ] DO NOT CONTACT: you deserve to be happy

[ 4:16 a.m. ] DO NOT CONTACT: the next one who gets to love you is lucky

[ 4:16 a.m. ] DO NOT CONTACT: whoever you fall in love with is lucky

[ 4:19 a.m. ] DO NOT CONTACT: mark is a very lucky guy

It’s half past noon when Mark finally awakens, slightly disoriented. Struggling to sit up, he finally props himself up on his elbows, looking around to find the familiar surroundings of your room. The reasons why he slept in your bed are somewhat hazy, but all he remembers is you. Rubbing his eyes, he carefully gets out of bed, shuffling out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen in search of the one person who would have all the answers to the questions circling his mind.

Mark finds you sitting at the table, study supplies scattered around you and textbook open in front of you directly. When you finally notice your best friend, your throat goes dry. You had rehearsed what you were going to say and how you were going to act during the hours he was asleep, but all of it has completely flown out the window when you are actually confronted by the sight of your best friend.

“Um,” his voice cracks, and his cheeks warm up at the mistake. He clears his throat. “How did I get here? What happened last night?”

You decide to tell him the truth. “You drank last night and tried to fight Yukhei. Hyuck called me to come pick you up.”

Mark groans, sinking into the chair across from you. He presses the palms of his hands against his eyelids, the memories materializing one by one. You hesitate, fiddling with the pen in your hands, studies long forgotten. “You... you said it was because he broke my heart.”

He stiffens in his seat, inhaling sharply, and you press on, biting your bottom lip. “But you told me later on that was the half truth. You said the other truth was because―”

“Because I love you,” he says softly. He loves you, and now you know.

“Do you mean it?” you murmur, hands curling in your lap. You almost don’t want to hear his answer, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. For some reason, you simply know that you won’t be able to bear it if he says it isn’t true. Somehow, his rejection would hurt more than anything. And you’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you nearly miss his quiet reply. It’s only one word and three letters, yet it makes your entire world spin.

“Yes.”

He finally lifts his head for his eyes to meet yours. For some reason, he doesn’t feel so afraid anymore. At last, his heart is out and vulnerable, yours for the taking if you so choose. His eyes don’t bore into yours, searching for confirmation of your reciprocation, but rather, they gaze into yours, shining with utter adoration for you and contentment with simply loving you.

And in that moment, you finally recognize the way Mark looks at you, the way he has always looked at you. It’s the way Yukhei had looked at you long ago, the way you used to look at Yukhei.

It’s the way you have been looking at Mark after all this time.

It’s the way you’re looking at him now.

It’s love.

FOUR MONTHS LATER.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I― Yukhei?”

An automatic apology is already rolling out onto the tip of your tongue until you glance over and recognize who you accidentally bumped your shoulder into. He smiles at you kindly, albeit hesitantly, and you smile back at him warmly, pausing in your tracks.

He slides his hands into his pockets as he shifts his balance to one side. “Hey, how have you been?”

“I’ve been good! A little busy with classes, but I’m finally done with my midterms. How about you?”

“Pretty much the same, I just have one last midterm tomorrow, and it’ll be over.” He cocks his head slightly. “So what are you up to now?”

“Mark’s class is getting out soon, and we’re getting lunch together.” You beam at him, and Yukhei finds himself relaxing, grinning. He had almost forgotten how easy it is to talk to you, falling into a familiar banter that the two of you used to have, almost like riding a bike again after a long time.

“How are the two of you doing?” The words slip out of his mouth from pure curiosity, but he realizes the potential awkward situation belatedly and quickly backtracks. “Wait, that’s a little weird for me to ask, forget I said anything.”

You laugh freely as your mouth twists into another lovely smile. A small tendril of nostalgia blooms in his heart at that sight. It wasn’t the sad type of nostalgia, but rather, the surprising, almost happy kind that he encounters when he finds the teddy bear from when he was five stuffed all the way in the back of his closet shelf.

“No, it’s okay. Everything’s been, well, perfect. He really makes me so so happy.”

“That’s great. I’m really happy for you and him.” There’s nothing but clear sincerity in his voice, and you thank him before spotting your boyfriend coming out of his lecture.

“Oh, he’s out! I gotta go, but let’s catch up sometime!” You call out to Yukhei as you run towards Mark, and he waves you good bye. He doesn’t fail to notice the way your eyes completely light up, sparkling like a thousand suns, cheeks raising as your lips quirk upwards into the widest smile he has ever seen from you, when you catch a glimpse of your boyfriend.

Mark easily catches you when you throw your arms around him, laughter bubbling, before the two of you pull apart. He intertwines your hand with his, squeezing your fingers tight. You gaze at him adoringly and boldly press a kiss to the corner of his lips, leaving him spluttering as his cheeks burn scarlet red. You pull him along towards your lunch date without any further hesitation, and Mark happily follows, quiet giggles escaping between his teeth, as he peeks down at your interlocked hands ever so often, grinning so brightly.

Yukhei smiles fondly, eyes softening as he watches you for a few moments, before turning and walking away.

Love looks pretty on you.

1K notes · View notes

twinklysmiles · 4 years ago

Text

Not a Word of This to Anyone! (Or: A Ticklish Spa Day) Part 2: Full Body Massage

A Star Trek Tickle Fic

Fandom: Star Trek TOS / AOS Characters: Leonard Bones McCoy, James T. Kirk (McKirk at a stretch), Nyota Uhura, Christine Chapel Warnings: Tickling (turning into a non-con situation) Word Count: 5,423

Summary: Kirk and McCoy get roped into joining Chapel and Uhura on a spa day, which turns out to be a rather ticklish experience. They seriously regret their decision as they helplessly suffer through a pedicure and a full body massage.

Read Part 1: Pedicure here

Inspired by this gif: (although I can actually picture AOS Kirk and McCoy even better in this one)

“We’re not due for our facials for another hour,” Uhura grinned. “Maybe we’d better stay close, right here outside their treatment room, and have some more of this delicious herbal tea? Just in case the rest of their bodies is as ticklish as their feet, and they need us to rescue them?”

Giving her friend an appraising look, Chapel asked, “Why do I get the impression that you’re secretly hoping for the massage to turn out as ticklish as the pedicure, and just want to be here to listen to their helpless laughter?”

Uhura looked away and blushed, then mumbled, “It was quite hot to watch, though, wasn’t it? Them being so incredibly ticklish, and those girls shamelessly taking advantage of it, I mean.”

“It certainly was,” Chapel grinned, hardly believing that Uhura obviously had a thing for tickling, too. “And going by the naughty wink Leonard’s pedicurist gave us, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear some serious laughter again any minute now.”

“Mhm, my thoughts exactly,” Uhura agreed, “let’s get some tea and make ourselves comfortable out here in the sun. This resort is so beautiful! But let’s hurry, I wouldn’t want to miss anything. Jim’s laughter is just too cute! I wish I could tickle him myself.”

‘And you haven’t even heard him in full hysterics yet,’ Chapel thought, grinning to herself as she remembered all the times she’d witnessed the captain roaring with uncontrollable laughter in sickbay, even though McCoy had clearly tried his hardest not to tickle him during his abdominal examinations.

“Actually, I found Leonard’s reactions even more delightful,” the nurse countered. “He was so adorably embarrassed about being ticklish, yet completely helpless to stop himself from thrashing around and laughing his head off.”

oOoOoOoOoOo

Kirk and McCoy stripped down to their briefs as requested, and climbed onto the two massage tables that were standing side by side in the centre of the room.

“Face down please, gentlemen!” McCoy’s pedicurist, who had introduced herself as Pixie, instructed. “Apart from the big hole for your face, you’ll find that you can thread your hands comfortably through the little gaps between the two parts of the armrests.”

The two men obliged, shifting around until they felt comfortable, and then tried to relax for the upcoming massage.

After a few moments, McCoy felt two warm, oily hands starting to gently stroke his neck and back, from his spine to his shoulders. And although it was a very light touch, certainly bordering on ticklish on the doctor’s sensitive skin, it actually felt very nice and surprisingly relaxing. Closing his eyes contentedly, as Pixie lightly raked her fingers in slow waves over his back, he found himself practically purring with pleasure, and heard similar sounds coming from Jim on the table next to him.

But as Pixie’s hands gradually travelled further down his back, he began to wish she’d apply a little more pressure, biting his lip as he was reminded just how ticklish the small of his back was. With every feathering stroke across his lumbar area, his body tensed up a little more, and he found it harder and harder to keep his breathing even, desperately willing her to move upwards again, and hoping he’d be able to stand the irritating touches until she did.

Naturally, she lingered on his lower back for an excruciating eternity, and, clamping his mouth shut, McCoy couldn't help flinching a little every time the devious fingers returned to the spots that really bothered him, seriously making him want to arch his back and twist out of reach. By the time the ticklish touches were finally inching up his harried back again, the doctor was ready to crawl out of his skin, taking shallow breaths and hardly able to hold back the giggles any longer.

“Don’t tell me even your back is ticklish!” Pixie chuckled, but thankfully kept moving her hands towards safer areas when McCoy chose to ignore her, the feathering fingers slowly wandering back up to his neck and shoulders, where he could actually enjoy their touches.

As McCoy gradually relaxed again, Kirk started to giggle next to him.

“A little more firmly, please,” the captain all but squeaked, and the doctor could hear him squirming around on his table. “You’re tickling me!”

“Relax, Captain,” Rosie, Kirk’s pedicurist-turned-massage therapist drawled. “It’s supposed to be soft and gentle. This technique has proven far more effective than the high-pressure muscle kneading you’re probably used to.”

“How can I relax when you keep tickling me?” the captain spluttered, his giggles turning into guffaws.

McCoy didn’t catch the last of Kirk’s words, as he got distracted by Pixie’s fingers now grazing his sides every time she fanned them from his spine outwards and back, running her hands in ever wider strokes up and down his back. Just barely, and probably not even deliberately, but his sides were so horribly ticklish, there was no way he could enjoy the massage anymore.

Too embarrassed to admit how much it tickled and ask her to stop the harrowing touches, the doctor gritted his teeth and frantically tried to suppress the involuntary jerks of his body every time Pixie’s fingers brushed his sides. God, he hated being tickled. And he hated being so helplessly, excruciatingly ticklish.

Desperately holding back the laughter, the doctor got more and more restless as Pixie continued to lightly trail her fingernails a little further around his sensitive sides with every stroke, her touch getting more unbearable the closer it came to his belly. Finally, he just couldn't handle it anymore and let out a gasp and a snort, before dissolving into bright, helpless laughter, his body spasming under the devilish touches, and ticklish tears spilling from his eyes.

Next to him, Kirk wasn’t faring any better. The captain was shaking with helpless mirth, as Rosie’s fingers inflicted serious tickle torture on his body.

“Don’t!” the captain cried out between bouts of laughter. “It tickles too mu-hu-hu-huch!”

“But you asked for more pressure,” Rosie smiled innocently, continuing her torturous ministrations. “You said my touch was too light and therefore ticklish. Make up your mind, Captain! You just asked me to knead, and not feather, remember?”

“But not my ri-hi-hi-hibs!” Kirk was cackling away in earnest now, as Rosie gleefully clawed and prodded up and down his sensitive sides and ribs, while Pixie, at the other table, elicited peals of impotent laughter from a frenzied McCoy, fiendishly scribbling her fingers all over the doctor’s sides and every inch of his belly she could access underneath him, dropping every pretence of not doing it on purpose.

Relenting a little when the captain started to cough, Rosie and Pixie let the men catch their breath, rubbing their backs with proper massage strokes and waiting for them to calm down again.

“You’re really quite the ticklish pair, aren’t you?” Pixie giggled, and Rosie wickedly added, “I wonder, where else they might be ticklish!”

And before McCoy had the chance to pull himself back together enough to even think about getting up and escaping his unbearable predicament, Pixie leaned down, lightly ran a devious finger around his waist, from his belly to the small of his back and on to the other side of his belly, and murmured in his ear, “Now tell me, Dr. McCoy, where are you and your captain most ticklish?”

The doctor tensed up, shivering under the harrowing touch, but determined not to break again and give this sadistic woman the satisfaction of showing how torturous a single fingernail tracing his waistline was for him. He couldn't quite stop his muscles from twitching at the ticklish sensations, though.

Anyway, McCoy was spared from having to come up with a clever retort, when Rosie happened upon Kirk’s absolutely worst spot, and the captain erupted into hysterical laughter, frantically, and almost unintelligibly, begging for mercy in between howls of ticklish agony.

“Not there! AAAAHAHAHAHA! Anywhere but there! AAAHAHAHA! Please STOHOHOHOHP! God, NOHOHOHOHO! I really can’t AAAAHAHAHAH stand this! AAAHAHAHAH! I’m dying! AAAHAHAHAH! Too ticklish! AAAAHAHAHAH! Mercy! AAAAHAHAHAH! Please! AAAAHAHAHAH! Bones! AAAAHAHAHAH!"

“Gosh, I think I struck gold there,” Rosie exclaimed happily as Pixie watched in awe. “What a ticklish, ticklish belly the captain has! And there I thought his feet were bad.”

Forgetting his own ticklish predicament for a moment, McCoy grew seriously angry now and demanded of the women to stop their vicious assault. This wasn’t funny anymore. Despite him lying on his stomach, Rosie had found out how unbearably ticklish Jim was on his belly. But not just that, by the sound of him, she had also discovered his absolute death spots. The ones that Leonard had to avoid at all costs during physical exams, knowing only too well, as Kirk’s doctor and friend, how he couldn't stand to be touched there at all.

Watching his friend bucking and thrashing violently, while desperately begging for mercy through his howls of tortured laughter as Rosie fiendishly reached underneath Jim’s belly from both sides and evilly exploited the newly found weak spots, McCoy made to get off his table in order to hurry over to help Jim and put an end to this madness. Only to discover that he couldn't, because his arms were stuck in the armrests.

That was when fury gave way to panic, as the doctor realised in horror, that his own death spots were now completely exposed and vulnerable, too. This whole scenario was his very worst nightmare come true.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Outside the treatment room, Uhura and Chapel were practically glued to the door, enraptured by the development inside. Quite obviously, Kirk and McCoy had a lot of tickle spots, which the girls seemed to be discovering one after the other. And even worse ones than their feet, it appeared, judging from how the giggles and mild laughter from the first few minutes of the “massage” had grown into full-blown hysterics.

Especially Kirk’s, who was currently beside himself with ticklish hilarity, actually begging for mercy, and making the women wonder what exactly had elicited this kind of crazed laughter from the captain.

“Leave his belly alone!” they heard McCoy roar, sounding truly pissed off. “Can’t you see he’s had enough? That he really can’t stand it there? You’re killing him!”

“So, Jim’s belly, eh?” Uhura turned to Chapel, raising an amused eyebrow, her eyes sparkling with glee over this new piece of information.

“Deathly,” Christine confirmed, trying to picture Kirk being purposely tickled on his belly, when even just McCoy’s careful and considerate touches had been enough to tickle him out of his mind and render him completely helpless. “You have no idea!”

“You knew?” Uhura gaped at her friend.

“I am the head nurse,” Chapel smiled by way of explanation.

“Oh. My. God. He sounds hysterical. Is his belly really that bad?” Uhura was still trying to get her head around the captain being so insanely ticklish.

“Off the charts,” Christine nodded.

“Good, they stopped,” Uhura was actually relieved. “For a moment there, they almost had me worried about Jim. McCoy sounded genuinely concerned. Certainly angry enough to bite their heads off. Or maybe he was just on edge, because there are still some similarly torturous tickle spots waiting to be discovered on his own body?”

The mischievous gleam was back in Uhura’s eyes.

“Well, the good doctor certainly knows how acutely ticklish the captain’s belly is,” Chapel chuckled. “He had to perform a number of abdomen checks over the years.”

Uhura smirked, trying to picture super-ticklish Kirk and McCoy in sickbay, the latter attempting to perform an actual physical on a frantically cackling and squirming captain.

“At least he got those “tickle-therapists” to stand down,” she smiled. “Made them realise that it was really too much for poor Jim to take.”

“Or the captain might have fallen into silent laughter,” Chapel smirked mischievously. “He sometimes does, when his belly gets tickled too long.”

Uhura frowned. “You think he’s all right?”

“Sure. Leonard is very protective of Jim. He’d never let them seriously torture him. Besides, their time is nearly up, anyway.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth, than McCoy suddenly started to laugh hysterically, too.

“Is that the doctor squealing like a little girl?” Uhura asked taken aback. Although it was unmistakably Leonard’s voice, she’d never heard him like that. “Sounds like they hit quite a death spot there!”

Mesmerised, the two friends leaned in closer, straining to hear everything that was going on behind that door.

Shrieking, cackling, more cackling.

McCoy was unquestionably in ticklish agony.

Then one of the therapists’ voices, softly counting.

“Three…”

Shrieking, cackling, more cackling.

“Four…”

“Maybe she’s counting his toes?” Uhura took a guess. “Remember how badly he was suffering during the pedicure? His feet are awfully ticklish, they’re surely hard to beat.”

Shrieking, cackling, more cackling.

“Seven…”

“Ok, not the toes then,” Uhura giggled, eager to know where the doctor could be more ticklish than on his feet.

“I think she’s counting his ribs,” Chapel suggested, then shuddered. “My dad used to do that to me.”

“Yeah, you might be right,” Uhura agreed, fascinated by McCoy’s audibly unendurable ordeal. “Oh my God, someone has seriously ticklish ribs.”

oOoOoOoOoOo

McCoy was in tickle hell. He’d totally forgotten how insanely ticklish he really was. And with Jim helpless with ticklish laughter beside him, too, he was suddenly afraid they might actually die in this very room today. All the dangers and diseases space held, that he’d always been afraid of, and now he was getting himself tickled to death on shore leave.

He’d scared Rosie into giving Kirk a break from the nightmare of having his hyper-sensitive and helplessly exposed belly mercilessly tickled while not being able to do a damn thing to protect it. But once the captain had recovered, she’d started tickling him with renewed vigour. Exploring Jim’s body for further tickle spots, she kept coming back to his ridiculously ticklish belly. It was just too good a spot, and she clearly enjoyed inflicting such unbearably ticklish agony on the poor man.

But now that Pixie was devilishly scouring every inch of McCoy’s own body for more tickle spots, the doctor couldn't even help himself anymore, let alone his suffering friend. After the young woman had discovered the ticklish distress she could cause the doctor with the lightest touches on his sides, she was just finding out how much worse his ribs were, and what incredible fun it was for her to “count” them.

Starting from the bottom, she fiendishly took her time to poke and scratch every single rib, and then lingered even longer on the especially harrowing spots in between, drilling a diabolical finger between each pair of ribs on either side, making the doctor howl and roar and buck and thrash and generally die laughing while longing to jump out of his skin.

“What’s wrong with you?” McCoy barked, when he was finally able to form words again, before being consumed by uncontrollable laughter once more.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic, Doctor,” Pixie rolled her eyes, but relented a little anyway, just lightly tapping her fingers on the pair of ribs she’d just counted, which still tickled terribly enough. “We’re just having a little fun.

“Well it’s no fun for us,” Kirk wheezed, finding his voice again as Rosie eased up on his belly. “Let us go!”

“Not yet, we can’t,” Rosie laughed, taking her fingers off his belly and attacking his armpits and the back of his thighs instead, setting the captain off cackling again. “We still have 15 minutes left.”

“You’re just so much fun to tickle,” Pixie eagerly added. “I knew right at the pedicure how much fun a massage would be. It’s not often that we get such good-looking and deliciously, torturously ticklish men out here.” Poking McCoy’s ribs with every word for emphasis, she nearly made him fall off the table.

Then Pixie let her fingers glide back down to molest the doctor’s sides and lower back with feathering touches again, which was awful, but at least away from his ribs and just about bearable, while Rosie took to alternating between Kirk’s belly and armpits, which were horrendously ticklish as well, but anywhere was better than his belly. And while the captain was hardly able to stand the tickling in his underarms, nor on his thighs or feet, which she was including now, too, he always dreaded the moment she’d go back to his belly. Which she unfailingly did once every minute or so.

As soon as Pixie noticed that her “patient” had recovered and was merely giggling anymore, she went straight back to McCoy’s ribs, a wicked grin on her face.

“Let’s start counting from the bottom again,” she announced cheerfully, “because it’s just so much fun!”

McCoy groaned, although it came out rather as a shriek, when the devilish fingers started drilling into the space between his bottom ribs once more. After less than five seconds, the doctor was screaming laughter again, unable to deal with the diabolical tickling. And he actually started to hyperventilate as the tormenting fingers made their ticklish way upwards, their destination clearly being the spot the doctor feared more than anything else, knowing he simply couldn’t survive being tickled there like this.

“No, please, not there,” he begged between long bouts of uncontrollable laughter, then stupidly cried, “It tickles, it tickles!” much to Pixie’s amusement, who chuckled, “It does, doesn’t it?” as she continued to “count”.

When she was halfway up McCoy’s sides, she asked in a curious tone, “Is it just me? Or are you really getting even more ticklish the higher I go?”

McCoy was helpless with laughter now and couldn't get a word out if he wanted to.

“Well, if you’re not telling me, I guess I’ll just have to find out myself,” Pixie concluded and happily continued on her way up the doctor’s ticklish ribs.

The tickle torture became unbearable, and McCoy was losing all coherent thought, getting more hysterical the closer the wicked hands came to his pits and blabbering incoherent pleas for mercy whenever he could find enough breath.

“Don’t go any higher, please! *wheeze* You don’t understand! GAH-HAHA! I’ll die! BAWAHAHAH! Not funny! *wheeze* Please don’t! HUH-HUH-HUH! Can’t stand it there! AAAAHAHAHAH! Insanely ticklish there! *wheeze* Really, please! *wheeze* This is torture! GAH-HAHA-HAH! No, no, no, you don’t understand! HAHAHA! Not just a little ticklish there! BAWAHAH! More of a *wheeze* pathological *wheeze’ condition! OHOH-HOHOHOH! Hypersensitivity! HUH-HUH-HUH! I’ll go insane, if you *wheeze* tickle me there! EEEEH! Stop! No higher! AAAAAHAHAHAH!"

McCoy went ballistic when Pixie finally reached his underarms, exploding into bellowing laughter and thinking he’d die, as she scribbled and poked around his helpless armpits. And just as he thought it couldn’t get any worse, she stumbled upon his number one death spot and he lost it completely.

Nothing worse than that spot in his underarms, right above his top ribs. No matter how violently he thrashed around, nearly breaking the armrests in the process, he just couldn't pull his arms against his sides to protect himself. He was trapped in the worst possible and most vulnerable position he could imagine. And soon too weak from laughing to do anything about it anyway.

Even being as ticklish as he was and having suffered many a tickle attack from family and friends when he was younger, McCoy had never been subjected to such cruel and relentless tickle torture. Those girls had gone off the rails, they were in a veritable tickle frenzy, and unless someone came and stopped them, he and Jim were certainly done for.

Through his own heinous torture, the doctor could hear Jim suffer just as much beside him, as Rosie was focused on tormenting the captain’s belly again, killing him with the lightest wriggling of her fingers, her nails deviously fluttering up and down his sides and as far as they could go underneath his belly as he frantically rocked from side to side.

Thankfully, when she realised that he had actual difficulties breathing, Pixie eased up on McCoy’s underarms and trailed her fingers lightly down his body and legs until she reached his heels, which she knew to be beyond ticklish, too. Kirk, however, was still dying from unbearable belly tickling on the next table.

Knowing they were completely at the mercy of these two tickle fiends, annoyingly helpless and defenceless against their atrocious tickle attacks, McCoy was aware that their only chance was to be calm and diplomatic, and try to reason with the girls. Not an easy feat while being viciously tickled beyond your limits.

“You’ve had your fun,” the doctor panted, clenching his fists and scrunching up his face in an attempt to talk through the harrowing tickles on his soles. “Now just let us go, and …”

He broke off, when the scribbling fingers on his heels sped up, the unbearably ticklish sensation momentarily taking his breath away.

“At least get away from Jim’s belly” he pleaded, snorting and giggling like a maniac, as the hyper-ticklish backs of his knees were suddenly attacked. “Can’t you see that it’s killing him? You’re AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAH! NOOOOHOHOHO! PLEASE STOOOHOHOHOP!”

Pixie’s hands had returned to the doctor’s ribs, her fingers going straight up to his worst spots, and instantly rendering him completely powerless again, helpless to do anything but surrender to the hellish torture and fight for breath through his bellowing laughter.

“Leave his underarms alone!” he suddenly heard Kirk bark with real anger, as the captain somehow managed to overcome his own anguish in order to help his friend. “Why are you doing this? AHAHAH-notmythighsplease-AHAHAH! He told you he can’t stand it there! AHAHAH-pleasepleasenotmyfeet-AHAHAH! Can’t you see that this is actual torture for him? AHAHAH-nottheregodimtooticklishthere-AHAHAH!”

It clearly took Kirk a lot of effort to get the words out, as his sensitive thighs, feet, and armpits were randomly attacked, but when Rosie’s devious fingers crept underneath his belly again, aiming right at his worst spots and viciously scrabbling and spidering there, he was thrown right back into tickle hell, way beyond the power of speech or even coherent thought, trapped in torturous silent laughter once again.

For a couple of minutes, the captain and his CMO were suffering in silence side by side, their bodies jerking and shaking with hysterical laughter, but no sound coming out of their wide-open mouths, as the sadistic “therapists” tickled the hell out of their very worst spots and subjected them to the most unbearable as well as humiliating torture of their lives.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Outside, Uhura and Chapel were starting to wonder if the guys actually needed to be rescued. Amused by how unspeakably ticklish Jim and Leonard obviously were, they still thought that their almost incessant laughter had started to sound really desperate and hysterical.

“Those girls sure know how to tickle a man out of his mind,” Chapel said. “To think that two grown, strong, well-trained Starfleet officers can be reduced to helpless laughter like this just by tickling.”

“And I never even knew!” Uhura laughed. “It’ll be really hard to keep myself from “accidentally” brushing against Jim’s belly or Leonard’s ribs in the future. My fingers will constantly be itching to tickle those two dorks.”

“Believe me,” Christine chuckled, “knowing all about people’s tickle spots and not being allowed to take advantage of that knowledge is the worst part of working in sickbay.”

“But do you think they’re all right in there?” Uhura asked, feeling a little bad about drawing so much joy from their friends’ clearly harrowing weakness. “They sounded pretty frantic right now. Maybe they’re even more ticklish than we think? And the girls were already pretty merciless at the pedicure. Maybe they really can’t stand it any longer?”

“What, just because they were laughing their heads off and actually begging for mercy?” Chapel joked, but then sobered. After all, she knew that having his belly tickled was definitely no fun but pure torture for Kirk. And if McCoy’s ribs were really worse than his feet, then being tickled there might indeed be extremely harrowing for him. “Tell you what, Ny. It’s pretty quiet again now, so, who knows? Maybe the guys are finally getting their well-deserved relaxing massage after all, in these final five minutes. But if they start tickling them again in earnest, we’ll go in, all right?”

Uhura nodded, and the two women went back to eavesdropping, both hoping and not hoping to hear some more hysterics. Of course, they didn’t want their friends to suffer, but Jim and Leonard being so insanely ticklish and therefore somehow so vulnerable was just too hot. And their adorable laughter was music to the women’s ears.

It was really quiet inside now. The only thing Uhura and Chapel could hear were the men’s low voices as they seemed to softly discuss their ticklish experience with each other.

“Bones … pfpfpf … so bad … pfpfpf … belly … nails right on spots … pfpfpf … can’t … pfpfpf … way too ticklish … pfpfpf … not there … please … pfpfpf … so ticklish … please … I’m so ticklish … pfpfpf”

“I know Jim … chrchrchr … your belly … bad … chrchrchr … but my … spots … chrchrchr … deadly … torture … chrchrchr … can’t take … chrchrchr … tickles so bad … chrchrchr … killing me … chrchrchr”

What Uhura and Chapel didn’t see, were the ticklish tears running down the men’s faces as they wheezed and thrashed around, still caught in silent laughter and trying to beg for mercy whenever they could draw enough breath.

oOoOoOoOoOo

“Let’s give them a break, Rosie,” Pixie nodded at her friend. “Wouldn’t want them to pass out or anything. How can anyone even be this ticklish?”

“No idea,” Rosie replied, dragging her fingers off the captain’s belly with one final, diabolical wiggle in just the right spot. “I’ve certainly never seen anything like it. I mean, we’re only tickling them, right? And they’re strong and important men. Starfleet officers, no less!”

Kirk and McCoy were just lying there limply, enduring the humiliating teasing, panting and squirming, and desperately hoping that the torturous tickling had come to an end, and that their evil ticklers would finally release them from the massage tables they’d so sneakily been trapped on. But Rosie and Pixie had other ideas.

“Ok, last five minutes,” Rosie announced, just as the men had calmed down a little. “Let’s try something special for the Grand Finale!”

McCoy’s heart sank. He didn’t even want to know what she had in mind. Hard to imagine as it was, but those girls could doubtlessly come up with something even more ticklish than what he and Jim had just been through.

“Let’s give your belly the best tickling yet, Captain, to keep you laughing for a minute while I help out my friend here,” Rosie told a flustered Jim, teasingly fluttering her fingers from his sides to his belly, making him guffaw and buck violently despite stopping short of his death spots.

Then she went to a shelf on the wall and retrieved two large, soft body brushes from a basket, which she fiendishly placed underneath Kirk’s belly right at his sweet spots on either side, so that when he started to wiggle and rock from side to side, they would tickle him exactly where he could least stand it.

And rock from side to side he did, screaming laughter at the first contact of the atrocious brushes against his cursed belly, uselessly trying to escape the devilish bristles that tickled worse than fingers or, in fact, anything the captain had ever felt. It was pure, unadulterated torture.

Leaving the captain to deal with this new, unendurable level of belly tickling, Rosie stepped over to McCoy’s table, and, locking eyes with Pixie behind the unsuspecting ticklish doctor’s back, viciously set to work on his sensitive soles at the same time as Pixie dug into his death spots, right between his armpits and ribs, once again.

It was unbearable. With his two most ticklish spots being so cruelly exploited at once, McCoy went ballistic and actually started to scream for help. Scared – and tickled – to death, he didn’t care anymore who saw him like this or found out about his excruciating ticklishness. And knowing that Jim, still rolling with helpless laughter, was unable to join in his shouts for help, the doctor grew really desperate.

But just as he thought he couldn’t take another second of this vicious torment, the door burst open and Nyota and Christine came barging in, pulling the girls and their diabolical fingers off him and ending his excruciating tickle torture. Poor Jim had to endure a few more seconds of this harrowing ordeal, until Uhura finally discovered what had him in such ticklish hysterics, and pulled the deadly brushes out from under the captain’s abused belly.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Beyond embarrassed, but nevertheless immensely grateful to their friends for having saved them, Kirk and McCoy were frantically trying to free their arms, anxious to avoid finding themselves helplessly exposed and vulnerable to another tickle attack.

“OK guys, massage is over, let’s get out of here!” Chapel exclaimed cheerfully, unable to resist poking the doctor’s ribs and delighting in how that brief touch made him jump.

When he wiggled around on the table, but still didn’t get up, she poked him again, to the same reaction plus an irritated growl, and asked, “What’s taking so long? Come on already!”

“I can’t,” he mumbled, visibly annoyed with his predicament, “You’ll have to help me free my arms.”

Chapel took a closer look, only now realising that McCoy’s hands were stuck in the armrests.

“This?” she chuckled incredulously. “Really? Getting a little tangled up in those flimsy armrests was all it took to render you completely helpless and vulnerable? How ticklish are you?”

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in, Christine,” the doctor grumbled. “Now just give me a hand here, will you?”

“Let’s just hope the Klingons and Romulans don’t get wind of this,” Uhura laughed, and Kirk let out a frustrated groan, he and McCoy turning pale at the very idea, the fear of being captured and tickle-tortured for real, for information, probably forever planted in their minds now.

“So, you really couldn't stop me from doing this to you?” Chapel asked, wickedly poking and clawing at McCoy’s ribs a few more times and eliciting frantic guffaws and some violent thrashing from the doctor.

“GAH! Dammit, Christine! AHAHAH! Don’t! AHAHAH! I’m warning you!”

“Sorry, Leonard, but I had to see it myself to believe it.”

“So, those brushes were really killing you, weren’t they?” Uhura grinned mischievously at Kirk, placing her hands on his sides, seizing her chance while he was still immobilised. “About here? On your belly?” She couldn't help it, she needed to coax that adorable laugh out of him once more. And seeing him practically hit the ceiling and fall into helpless, frenzied laughter from just barely wiggling her fingers against the sides of his belly, was simply the cutest thing ever.

“AAAHAHAHAH! Don’t be mean, Ny! GOD! STOHOHOHOP PLEASE! I can’t! AAAAHAHAHAH! Stop tickling me! AAAAAHAHAHAH!” Kirk spluttered, frantically squirming until she reluctantly stopped her assault.

Pixie and Rosie had long fled from the room, and Chapel and Uhura had stopped their teasing and were helping their friends off the tables and out of their ticklish predicament now. But not without indulging in some more “collateral” tickles, careful to make them look accidental, which wasn’t difficult in the highly sensitised state the men were in, and enjoying every single “accident”.

Once freed, the men quickly threw on their clothes and hurried out the door into the sunshine. They couldn’t get out fast enough, still panting heavily, sweat glistening on their foreheads and running down their necks, repeatedly smoothing down their shirts and trying to brush off the lingering ghost tickles.

“Do you want to press charges?” Uhura asked. “That was pretty unprofessional behaviour.”

“God, no!” the men glanced at each other, horrified, and Kirk gave Uhura and Chapel a stern look. “Not a word of this to anyone!”

“All right,” the women laughed. “We’re not telling a soul. But no more massages for you two! You’re way too ticklish, and we might not always be there to rescue you!”

“No more massages!” Kirk and McCoy promised from the bottom of their hearts. They were certainly never going to set another foot in a spa.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing of Star Trek

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onlyfansdotcomslashshawnmendes · 5 years ago

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Shawn Smut // Sub!Shawn // SUB!SHAWN // S U B ! S H A W N // Some light cute bondage, gentle femdom, overstim, needy desperate Shawn, begging, spanking, Shawn in cute panties, the good shit // Word count: 4,763 // NSFW // lovely OC I borrowed from @celinetheseeliequeen // Please excuse any typos, and sry but tumblr mobile wrecks my paragraph formatting (off the record not a hailee stan or whatever but that gif screams subby bby shawn)

“Shawn! What the fuck!” Céline snapped at her boyfriend. As it currently stood, Shawn was sitting on the bed, laptop lid slammed down moments ago, staring at his girlfriend with a blank expression. “What?!” he yelled back, or well as close as he came to yelling, “Why are you yelling at me Céline?!” He barely got it out of his mouth before she answered, “I’m yelling at you because I just asked you what you were doing and you told me answering emails and slammed the laptop shut?!” she snapped. Shawn’s jaw dropped, “I was, I was answering emails and you freaked me out and I instinctively closed it!” he was still almost yelling. “Then why the fuck was your hand down your pants Shawn?! Is that how you answer emails?!” she snapped. “I’m allowed to touch my dick Céline! It’s my fucking dick!” When he said that, she rolled her eyes, literally to the point she tilted her head some, almost laughing as Shawn added a ‘Well! I am!’ he snapped. But Céline did laugh then, half at how stupid it was, “Of course you are Shawn, what the fuck? I never said you weren’t! You’re allowed to do whatever you want. You’re allowed to jack off whenever you want! You’re allowed to watch por-” but Shawn cut her off then, “I wasn’t watching porn!” For a moment they were silent, “I don’t care if you were watching porn Shawn, I’m not a psychopath, you’re allowed to have urges. I mean, I do have questions as to why the MOMENT I left the house to go get groceries you fired up the laptop and got to jacking in the time it took me to realize I’d left my purse…but,” she said waving a hand, “I’d rather know why you’re lying to me first,” she said in a much calmer way. “I didn’t know you were coming back…” Shawn said softly. When he said that, Céline laughed softly, just in a sort of genuine way, “Clearly you didn’t,” she said putting her keys down on the table before walking over to the edge of the bed. “Will you show me what it was?” she asked gesturing toward the laptop. But Shawn shook his head, “No,” he said quietly, “It’s embarrassing,” Céline couldn’t help but smile at him, crawling onto the bed beside him and sitting on the bed, reaching up and stroking her fingers through his curls. “Oh come on baby, I promise you don’t have any kinks any weirder than mine, and how cool would it be if it was something we could do together?” she asked smiling, “But hey, if its something really weird and awful that I hate, I’m not opposed to helping you get that big cock off while you watch the video,” she said sincerely, “Wouldn’t that be hotter than your hand? Your girlfriend’s hands on you?” she cooed. Again, silence was all that filled the room for the next few minutes, before Shawn finally reached down and began opening up the laptop gently, just tapping his fingers over the space key to bring up the screen and unlocking it. Once it was unlocked, Céline could see that Shawn had in fact been watching porn. That part didn’t bother her, and honestly it didn’t really shock her. What did shock her however was the contents of the porn. He video was paused, but in the center of the screen was a man, overly muscular and beautiful looking of course but rather distressed looking and…tied up? Slowly her perfectly manicured pink fingers reached over and tapped the play button on the screen. Céline leaned in curiously, closer to watch the video as Shawn watched her with faint horror. It was one of those preview videos, that showed you the best bits of the longer videos that you could purchase. But even so she watched as the man was tied up, as the pretty domme in flowing curls and stilettos pushed him around, and smacked him around a little. It was nothing too rough, a cut scene of some spanking with a crop that didn’t even really leave the skin pink. A gratuitous handjob with the full eye contact and restraints, the intense dirty talk and sort of bullying that took place. Briefly, Céline found herself wondering if that brief three minute and forty-two second video was enough for Shawn to get his rocks off. But as the video ended, Céline’s attention snapped back to Shawn, “Is that something you’re into baby?” she asked in a quiet voice. After a moment, Shawn nodded, “I mean, I’ve never …like done it, but I’d like to do it…the idea really turns me on,” he said in a quiet voice, “Is it weird, I’m sorry,” he said giving her a rather soft pout. “Oh Shawn,” she cooed, stoking her knuckles gently down his face and rubbing his jaw, “Don’t apologize baby boy, it’s not weird, it’s hot,” her tone was so soothing as she spoke. “It’s hot?” Shawn asked in a soft voice, looking at her with a little head tilt. Céline nodded at him though, “Yes it is, now, put your laptop away and get undressed for me. And while you do, I want you to think of a safeword to use if things go too far,” as soon as she finished speaking though she patted his cheek and disappeared into her closet. For a moment Shawn was left staring blankly at the door she’d gone in, but he did get up, putting the laptop away and closed. He then slipped off his clothes, for whatever reason he felt a bit shy this time. It wasn’t like Céline hadn’t seen him naked…many times before, but he felt a new sense of vulnerability this time. Just as he pealed off the last of his clothes, setting them in a chair beside the bed, he jumped as he heard her speak. “Are you shy baby boy?” Céline cooed in an almost pouty voice, “You know you don’t need to be shy with me right? I’m going to take care of you,” It was a soft soothing purr, enough that it almost did relax Shawn. As he turned around though and his eyes fell on her, he gasped softly. There she stood in a baby pink corset lingerie set, the kind with ruffles and satin and bows all over. Her pantyhose a soft white with pink bows...or maybe that was where her garters attached, he couldn’t tell. She was in pink heals that made her...damn near as tall as he was, and briefly Shawn found himself wondering how she could stand in those. But as he looked down at her feet, he saw what was in her hands. Fistfuls of fabric, a metallic sparkle and some pink ones as well, and he saw…a whip? “What’s all that?” he asked after a moment just gesturing at her hands. Céline beamed, and tossed the contents of her hands onto the bed before picking up a pair of panties first, that looked slightly to big for her. They were of course pink, but a stretchy lace material. “Put these on they’ll make you look cute,” she said shoving them at Shawn’s chest. “You want me to put them on?” he asked in a sort of shocked voice, but Céline narrowed her eyes at him, “Are you going to have to start disobeying me already? Do I have to spank you mister?” she scolded. Immediately Shawn shook his head, “N-no,” he said taking the panties and sort of awkwardly pulling them on, squirming into them a bit. They were ever so slightly tight on him, but honestly because of the stretchy material it wasn’t that bad. “Aw cute,” Céline cooed giving a soft little hand clap. “Now these,” she said shoving a pair of stocking at him, these looking way too large for her. “Why…do you have these?” Shawn asked, but he didn’t argue, pulling on the stockings, with cat prints on his feet and kitty faces at the top of his thighs. “Wish sent me the wrong size.” Céline said with a shrug. Once both of those were on, Shawn shifted slightly, his cheeks pink as he looked around awkward. “One more thing,” Céline cooed, picking up a thin pink ruffled collar with a bell in the center, opening it and wrapping it around Shawn’s neck before fastening it. “Oh look how cute you are,” she cooed, running her fingers over his cheek and down over his chest, rubbing at the soft skin and toned muscle. “So cute in all your pink decorations.” By this point, Shawn’s cheeks matched his ‘decorations’, but Céline seemed rather pleased with herself. After giving him one final look over she nodded and pointed to the bed, “Lay on your back” she said pointing to the middle. “Can I ask, why you have...half of those things, is that a whip?” Shawn asked gesturing toward the pile of things on the bed. “No you can’t, nobody likes nosy little boys Shawn, now get on the bed,” she said in a stern voice, still pointing, “Now!” it wasn’t even a snap. Her voice was bratty, the same kind of tone it had when she whined ‘daddy’ at him while begging for ice cream. “Okay okay, sorry,” Shawn said in a soft voice, crawling onto the bed and laying on his back. Once he did, Céline giggled softly and gave a soft ‘good boy’ as she crawled onto the bed herself. “What’s your safeword baby boy?” she cooed, picking up long thick strips of ribbon, pink, that she’d tossed onto the bed earlier. Shawn watched her as she lifted his arms, beginning to tie them together, wrapping the ribbon around his wrists and tying it there. “I uh, stop?” he asked. There was a brief moment where she looked down at him with a head tilt and an expression that called him a dumbass. Seconds later though she began tying another piece of ribbon around his arms, lower now in the middle of his forearms. “No Shawn, stop doesn’t work. If you say stop, we don’t stop so I need you to give me a word, that if you use it, I know means stop,” she said before stroking his cheek. “Come on, you’re a good boy,” Shawn felt his cheeks heat up when she spoke to him that way, “Rose,” he said after a moment. Céline shrugged some at that, “Huh, well that’s valid,” she said picking up another ribbon for just below his elbows, tying that one around his arms as well. Once she was done with that, she reached down at the edge of the bed and picked up what Shawn had seen earlier, sparkling silver and pink. It was a plug, with a pink crystal. She giggled some then and lifted it to Shawn’s lips, “Suck that baby, get it all nice and wet so it slides in easily,” Despite the fact that Shawn only blushed much deeper now he did open his mouth and slowly suck the plug, only pulling back once Céline pulled it back from his mouth. “Pull your legs up baby boy, as high as you can, bend your knees, spread your legs some,” she cooed. Shawn did as he was told, not really offering to speak as he pulled his legs up and apart some. “Is it going to hurt?” he asked after a moment, as he felt Céline tugging those pink lacey panties aside. “No baby boy, it’ll feel new, but it won’t hurt,” she cooed, her fingers gently spreading his skin as she pushed that plug into him slowly. At first, Shawn’s lips fell open in a silent sort of gasp, his eyes shutting tight, but as that plug popped into him, he gave a soft hiss. “That hurts,” he panted. “Do you want me to take it out?” Céline asked, running her hands up and down his thighs. “No…no ma’am,” Shawn said after a moment, slowly opening his eyes. “Does it make you happy? To do this to me?” he asked quietly. “Of course it does baby, or I wouldn’t do it,” she said quietly, gently dragging her nails up his thighs and over his chest and stomach, “I want you to call me mommy, can you do that for me baby boy?” For a moment, Shawn just watched her, “Mommy?” he asked as she moved over him, her hands pinning his shoulders down. “Yes, mommy, you don’t seem to have a problem when you’re making me scream ‘daddy’,” Céline said quirking a brow at him. “I don’t have a problem with it, mommy,” Shawn said quickly after that, just watching as Céline smiled and then patted his cheek again, “Good boy,” she cooed. And moments later, sitting up on her knees, she reached down and grabbed something else from the end of the bed. It was her pink wand, the cordless one. Despite the fact that Shawn could lean up and see it, he did sort of arch a curious brow, “What are you going to do with that mommy?” he asked her. “You’ll see baby boy,” she said turning on the wand as she moved her position. Slowly she straddled Shawn’s thighs, and just sat back on her heels, running the wand over the bulge in those panties. She could see his cock through the material anyway of course, and she gently ran the toy along his length. Almost instantly Shawn’s hips jerked slightly as he hissed at the feeling, “Oh my god, oh god, oh fuck that’s so much, ohhhh, shit, holy fuck,” his voice was a whine, a whimpering sort of panted version of each word. She couldn’t help but giggle as she watched her boyfriend whine and whimper and unfold beneath her. “Shawn, Shawn look up at me baby boy, I want to know you’re paying attention,” Céline cooed, reaching up and gently cupping Shawn’s cheek, turning him to face her, “Don’t you dare cum without permission, do you understand?” she cooed. Shawn nodded eagerly, “Yes mommy, god..that feels so good..” he whispered, his voice a whine still as he lifted his hips toward the vibration. It didn’t take long at all before Shawn was completely hard, and Céline dipped her hand into those panties to pull his cock straight, the panties keeping it pinned down against his stomach. Still though she dragged the wand up and down the exposed underside of his length through that lace. “You’re such a big boy…” she purred, her fingers and palm running over his chest. Her manicured fingertips teased at his nipples before she just touched down his body. “Did you know you could get so big down here?” she asked with almost a giggle, “This must feel really good on that big, thick, hard cock,” The way she was talking to him made Shawn whimper, and his eyes fluttered shut as he tossed his head to the side. Despite the fact that he was so flustered he nodded eagerly, “Yes,” he gasped, “It feels so good, you’re making me feel so good, I’m so lucky to have such a pretty mommy taking care of me…” he groaned before moaning out again, his whole body sort of arching in a wave of pleasure as Céline rubbed the wand against that slowly forming wet spot in the lace. “You’re not going to cum are you?” she asked in a firm tone, “I see that precum dripping out of that pretty pink cock,” As she said that, Shawn shook his head, “No, no I’m trying really hard not to, it just feels so good..” he said with a soft breathy kind of pant. “Alright baby boy,” she said quietly, still dragging the wand up and down the length of his cock, smiling as she watched him throb. Her hand slipped up his body again though, her hand gently wrapping around his throat, and squeezing just a little bit. As she did, Shawn gasped, his eyes fluttering as his body arched again. “Oh, oh god, can I cum? Please, please can I cum pl-” “No,” Céline said cutting him off flatly. But Shawn only whined, his body still jerking as her hand reached up, popping his cheek gently once, “Stop it, I said no,” she said in a more stern voice. Shawn was shaking his head now, “I’m gonna cum, I-” “No you’re not Shawn, hold it,” she hissed. “I can’t help it, please, please let me cum,” he whined, his breathing ragged now, his cheeks bright pink, his body twitching as his cock throbbed. “Please, please mommy can I cum please-” his voice was on the verge of a sob now, no matter how much Céline simply ignored him. It was only moments later before Shawn was reaching his orgasm, his cock throbbing SO noticeably as his cum puddled onto his stomach, soaking those panties and his skin, dripping down his hips onto the bed. That wasn’t the real indicator though, it was his almost screaming moans, his body jerking as he arched up so high, his eyes fluttering back and his lips falling open as he gasped. “Oh Shawn,” Céline said in a scolding tone, “I told you not to cum,” she said before giving him a tsk, and as she pulled that wand back, and turned it off, she leaned up on her knees. Shawn slowly opened his eyes to see her hovering above him before she slapped him hard, “Bad boy, apologize,” she scolded. Even after the slap, Shawn looked at her in a dreamy hazy kind of way, “I’m sorry mommy...” he whispered, his legs still squirming slightly. “Hmph! You’re about to be!” Céline said in a pouty tone as she got off of his thighs and pushed his hips, so that he was rolling over and lying on his stomach. Once he was on his stomach, Shawn turned his head to the side, resting his cheek on the bed as he looked over his shoulder to look back at Céline. Her hands were jerking those panties off of him then, and spreading his cheeks as her thumb pressed that plug. “You’re such a bad boy, such a dirty little slut cumming so fucking hard like you just did with this plug up your ass,” she said in the same scolding tone, her hand popping his ass hard once. “Say it, say you’re a dirty little slut who gets hard when your ass is stuffed for me,” she demanded as she reached back behind her, to the edge of the bed. This time she drew back a crop, the tongue of this one a pink heart. “Say it,” she said popping his ass once, leaving a bright pink heart in her wake, “Now,” she demanded popping the other cheek. Shawn gasped, his eyes wide, biting his bottom lip hard as he whimpered, before gasping again at that second pop, “Ouch!” he yelped, looking back at her, “Fucking called it, I knew you had a whip, why the fuck do you have a whip?” he asked in a sort of ‘wtf’ tone, but Céline gave him a little baby glare and popped him with the crop a few more times, “I said say it Shawn,” she hissed before just alternating now. One pop to each cheek, back and forth, a constant sort of motion, leaving bright pink hearts over his skin, over his ass and down the back of his thighs. Between yelps and gasps, Shawn whined softly before seeming to collect himself, “I..I’m a dirty slut, who gets hard when..when my ass is stuffed for you, mommy,” he panted, whimpering and whining as his face scrunched up with each sting of the crop. “Ouch mommy!” he yelped, whining as he looked up at her, “Mommy stop! I learned my lesson! Stop it, my ass hurts,” he whined. When he began begging Céline grinned so wide and giggled, giving him a few more pops before just running her hands up his thighs. She grabbed his ass, kneading and pulling his skin, popping him once. “Aren’t you such a cute little slut, your ass is all pink and you’ve got that cute little pink crystal in your asshole,” she cooed, clawing her nails down his ass then just to hear him hiss again. “Alright baby boy, we can stop,” she said, with Shawn sighing a soft ‘oh thank god’ before she spoke again, “IF, you’re willing to use that big cock to get mommy off…or rather, you’re willing to let mommy use that big cock to get off,” When she said that though, Shawn nodded eagerly, “Of course, of course mommy, I’d love to,” he said smiling softly, his cheeks still pink. Now Céline grinned again, grabbing his hips and once more pulling him to lie on his back. This time though, as he gasped softly just at being moved, she was already straddling his hips, one hand reaching underneath her to hold his cock in place as she used the other hand to pull her panties aside and slip down onto him. Shawn gasped at feeling just how wet she was, she was soaked. His cock had only just popped into her and already he felt her moisture dripping down the length of his cock. With a few bounces from her, immediately his balls were wet, that sticky sound already emanating between them. A shiver ran down his spine as he moaned out, his eyes fluttering, the pleasure and arousal was so much that for a moment he almost forgot how sensitive his cock was right now. Céline however didn’t seem to notice or care. One of her hands fell on Shawn’s stomach, and she just used it for balance as her other hand grabbed that wand. Immediately she flipped it on and held it against her own pussy as she kept bouncing against her boyfriend’s hips. Shawn’s eyes were locked on her in aw, his own lips parted in constant soft moans as he squirmed, kind of wishing he had control of his hands, that he could touch her. But Céline kept up her steady bounce on his cock, a permanent smile plastered on her face as she moaned and cursed under her breath, even laughing in pleasure as she did. “Oh, fuck yes baby, give mommy that big hard cock,” “Of course mommy, it’s all yours,” Shawn panted, his body arching some, his hips rolling up against her as much as he could, occasionally jerking from sensitivity. But for the most part he was mesmerized, something about watching her just use him to get herself off was intoxicating to him. He could already feel his cock throbbing inside of her, but he didn’t dare even let himself think about cumming, not that he thought she would stop even if he did. “Do you like that cock mommy? Does it make you happy? Do I make you happy?” he panted. At him asking that, Céline lifted her head back up to look at him, just kind of steadying herself, rolling her hips against his cock and still using her hand for balance. Her other hand did keep that wand pressed against her pussy, “Oh baby,” she whispered, her eyes SO loving, so close to the actual heart eye emoji. “I love your cock baby boy, and it makes me so happy. And you make me so happy Shawn, and I love you so much, you’re such a good boy for me,” she whispered, leaning down just to give him a slow sticky kind of kiss. That kiss had Shawn whimpering into it, the way she still rolled her hips against him. He could feel that toy vibrating against his stomach but he could also feel how wet it was. Even though her panties still half on soaked up a lot of the moisture, she really was soaked. As the kiss broke, Shawn found himself leaning up, trying to steal more soft kisses from her, before finally falling back on the bed. “You’re gonna make mommy cum, would you like that baby boy?” Céline panted, biting her lip hard as she gave a giggling moan. Both of her hands held that wand now as she sat on her knees and just bounced up and down on Shawn’s cock, it was sloppy and messy and only half worked, but it most certainly was working for her. “Of course mommy,” he panted, “I want you to cum so bad, please cum for me,” he moaned, “I would love to make you cum,” “God you’re such a sweet boy,” Céline said in a whimper. At that point, she leaned back, one hand letting go of the toy to hold onto his thigh as she kept bouncing, but leaning back. Her hand that held onto the wand slowly moved sort of grinding it against her pussy as she rolled her hips. But within minutes, she was reaching her orgasm, and she was squirting. Not only did she absolutely soak Shawn, but some actually made it to his face, which caused his eyes to flutter back, and body to arch. “Oh fuck, fuck I’m going to cum,” he groaned in a low husky voice. Céline however was too busy almost screaming, her body jerking and convulsing as she rode out that orgasm, her pussy clenching against Shawn’s cock over and over. As she felt him spilling into her, she only moaned louder, a desperate kind of whimper as she rocked her hips against his, so they could both ride it out. “Yes Shawn, fill up that tight pussy…” she panted, biting her bottom lip hard as she came down from it. Slowly her thumb flipped that wand off, and she sat up straight, grinding her hips against Shawn. He gasped and yelped and whined, on the verge of dry sobs, only murmuring soft ‘please’s under his breath, just at how sensitive he was. Céline was biting her lip hard, giggling and hummin softly as her hands ran up his stomach and chest, over his neck and face. “I got you so messy I’m so sorry,” she cooed as she ran her fingers through his curls. “It’s okay mommy, I’m glad you came…” he panted. “So sweet,” she whispered, kissing over his face, over his cheek and neck and down his chest a bit. All the while her hands were slowly undoing those ribbons that held his hands in place. Once he was free though, Shawn immediately wrapped his arms around her and kissed her so much harder. Céline smiled at the desperation in those kisses, wrapping her arms around Shawn as well. “I love you baby,” she cooed into his lips, grabbing the blanket from the beside and wrapping it around the both of them sO tightly. “Look at that,” she cooed, wrapping her legs around Shawn’s waist as she rolled them around in that blanket, “A baby burrito,” she cooed, booping Shawn’s nose once. Shawn laughed softly, “You…really want me to stay inside of you?” he whispered, blushing some. “Duh,” Céline said with a smile, running her hands through his curls again, “Don’t you feel closer like this?” she asked, and Shawn nodded with a smile before nuzzling his face against her shoulder, just hugging her closer. “Was that too much baby, or did you like it?” Céline asked after a moment. Once again, Shawn smiled, laughing softly, “It was amazing, really amazing, not too much at all, but I really do want to be close to you right now..I can’t believe we just did that.” He said laughing. “Oh we did baby boy,” she cooed, reaching down behind him in the blanket, gently spreading his cheeks and pulling that plug out of him, earning a soft gasp from her as Shawn as she did. With one quick toss, Céline threw it to the end of the bed and stroked her fingertips along Shawn’s neckline, “Now, more comfy baby boy?” she cooed. “Mhm,” he whispered, in a soft sleepy noise, almost purring as he held her and she rubbed at his neck and curls like that, “So comfy, I love you so much..” he said peppering soft kisses along her collar bone. “Mn, I know you do handsome boy, I love you too,” she said just kissing his temple as she held him. “Looks like were ordering in for dinner though, seeing as how you didn’t let me go get groceries,” she teased. “I can live with that,” Shawn whispered in the same sleepy way.

#shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendesxreader #shawn mendesxoc #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes imagine #sub shawn mendes #sub shawn #sub!shawn #sub!shawn mendes #sub!shawnmendes #mine

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korkisobsessions · 5 years ago

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The Oath

VII. The Truth (part 1)

~5 months later~

She was running. Thin stick scratching her face and arms, her muscles aching. Her leg was loosing her fight. She was healed, but her leg was never same. She can’t walk long distance without limping. And running was pure torture. But now she must run. Her life depends on it.

After her return to Sangju things goes bad. Sang-Ho became new leader of guards and gave her hard times. He let her heal, but then she must return to service. To be soldier again.

But she can’t.

Only thing she can think was him.

She needed to find Yeongshin. She wanted to join him. Not because she must, because she swear to protect him. She wanted to join him because she loves him. But Sang-Ho didn’t want to heard anything about it. He forbid it. She would maybe understand it, if there weren’t two or three soldiers who can join Lee Chang’s group without consequences. But she can’t.

She got message from Beom Pal that he gets letter from his highness about they journey to distant villages around Wonju. So she did desperate thing and run away. She knew that Sang-Ho will haunt her, and if he catch her, she will end in dungeon or dead for her desertion.

It took her month to find Lee Chang’s fellowship. She was travelling through the villages asking for strangers, seeking disease. And after long unsuccessful weeks she found small settlement they crossed just one day ago.

Her stomach was trembling just from the image of seeing Yeongshin after long months. She held tighter grip on wooden swallow hanging around her neck. Beom Pal gave it to her, when she was leaving Hanyang and told her that it was made by Yeongshin. It was the most precious thing she ever had, even she used to wear gold and pearls. That simple wooden swallow was her treasure.

She was leaving settlement and head to the mountains in the footsteps of Lee Chang. But then she saw them. Guards from Sangju seeking for her. Sang-Ho and two soldiers were standing in the centre of few houses talking with some old woman.

Nilah almost cried out loud. She didn’t wait and run. She must shook them off. She wasn’t thinking about pain in her leg. She just focused on idea of Yeongshin’s lips gently kissing her forehead in infirmary few months ago. She cherished that memory and it give her strength to continue.

She already saw smoke from camp she were heading. Hot tears were running down her cheeks. She tripped over log and fell to the ground when her leg can’t hold her anymore.

She almost felt his touch when he was treating her burned arms. When he gently touched her skin with his fingers.

And than she saw him. His silhouette between trees. He was talking with Lee Chang. Prince was pointing higher to the mountain and shaking his head.

Nilah found last drop of strength and stood up. It was just few more steps.

Suddenly she felt hard blow to the back. She lost her breath and fell back to the ground. Heavy body pinned her down with face hardly pressed to the leaves and dirt. She wanted to scream, but large hand covered her mouth.

“Shut your mouth Nilah, or I will kill you right here.” Side of Sang-Ho’s face was pressed to hers. He was pushing her down and other man tied her hands with thick rope.

No! No! No! She was screaming inside, fighting for her freedom. She was so close. She still saw Yeongshin’s shadow between trees. If she can’t freed herself now, she will never see him again.

“What were you thinking, stupid girl?” he pushed piece of cloth to her mouth and tied it with strip of other cloth. She almost cannot breath than speak or scream. “That you just run away and you will live happy life with that chakho? You are more foolish than I thought.” He laughed at her cruelty. “Once you became soldier, so you need to face consequences.”

He lifted her from the ground and faced her. Her face was wet from tears and covered in dirt. He wiped away few leaves and smiled. She despise this man with her whole heart. She wanted to spit to his face, or kick him, but her mouth was full of cloth and guards held her tight. So she found her chance. She jerk her head and collide her forehead with his nose. It hurts her, but not as much as Sang-Ho. He catch his face and blood was immediately started dripping between his fingers. His eyes were shocked and angry.

“You bitch...” he growl and it was last thing she herd. He hit her so hard, she loose her consciousness.

~o~

Nilah was violently thrown to the cold cell in dungeons. She recognised Sangju by noises and smells, she was never been so desperate to be back home. She was leaving Sangju without intention to ever come back. And here she was. Dragged back like a criminal.

Her cell was dark with thick bars. Floor covered by mud and dried grass. Only light comes from small hole in the wall and torches. She curled herself in the corner, watching Sang-Ho walking around her like predator circling his prey.

“Deok Sung would be ashamed if he saw you. His beloved perfect Nilah like deserter.” His voice echoed around her.

“You made me run away.” She was at least happy for his face. His nose was broken and under his piercing eyes were dark bruises.

“You still don’t understand it. I was doing you favour.” He sat on the ground next to her. Cold bars was only barrier between them.

“You are doing me a favour?” She laughed bitterly.

“Yeah. I know your story Nilah. Innocent daughter of wealthy merchant; I heard that story. But I heard about your father too. Stories about wild Kallan Nädir, merchant from distant lands. He were became known in here. Until his daughter ruined his business.”

He was talking like he was bored but Nilah was shaking just from mention of her father. And he saw it.

“Yes, I’m right. You were bad daughter.” He smiled like a snake.

“What you want Sang-Ho?” She was so scared that he will give her father know, where his daughter is.

“I want anything. I just want you to know, how I did you a favour. I read a lot of books about your culture Nilah. You are from a land of barbarians. You are violent pagans. What if your father find you and your chakho? Huh?” He came closer, watching her scared face. “I read about yours methods of torture...”

“Stop it.” She whispered with tears in her eyes.

“Just imagine it Nilah. How he is pealing his skin alive before your eyes.”

“Please Sang-Ho stop it.”

“Or ‘blood eagle.’ That is really something interesting and disgusting at the same time...So yes, I did you a favour. I saved his miserable life.” He stood up and cracked his knuckles. “You should sleep. Tomorrow you will be judged for your desertion.”

She covered her head with her arms and cried. Not because her trial tomorrow. She cried because Sang-Ho was right.

She was tired, her leg hurt and she was hungry and thirsty, but Sang-Ho didn’t give her anything. Neither drop of water.

She was laying on the ground, to give her leg some rest and her stomach was shrunken from hunger.

Sang-Ho’s voice still echoed in her head. Yes, her nation was land of barbarians. She remembered her father killed man who was stealing his goods. He was mad and let his men tie up that thief to four horses. She heard that man screams in her nightmares long after that day. She wanted to looked away, but her brother held her chin.

“Don’t look away. You will look weak. Watch it and remember how merciless our father is.”

Then Kallan wave his hand and his men hit the horses. Scared animals neighed and run away, tearing the thief apart. His limbs flew through the air and disappeared with horses somewhere in wilderness. That man never had a proper burial. Wild animals ate his remains and her father didn’t care. That man served him more than ten years and Kallan killed him like a stranger.

She knows he will never show mercy to his daughter.

“Nilah!” quiet voice bring her back from distant memories. She lifted her head and looked through small hole in the wall. Little window was high, and she must stand on her tiptoes, to saw face of man that was calling her name. He was on his knees, because for people outside was window in the level of ankles. She recognised Yun Lee. Her fellow soldier. He used to be her friend, but that was Sang-Ho too and now he despise her. “You look like a horse shit!” He smiled. She was washed with relieve. It was caring smile, not smile dripping with venom like Sang-Ho’s.

“I feel like one.” She was glad that at least one person don’t hate her.

“Here. Water and some dried meat.” He tossed her little pouch. “it’s not much, but at least something. I bet that bastard leave you to starve.”

“Thank you, Yun Lee!” She drank water and saved some for later.

“You will be judged tomorrow.”His smile disappeared and his face was full of worries.

“I know.” Nilah bow her head. “Can you do something for me?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“If they sentenced me to death...” her throat was tight. She never wanted to die like this. When she was young and naive, she wanted death to take her from arms of beloved man, when her time comes. After she became soldier, she dreamed about warrior’s death to head to Valhalla. But she will probably die alone in shame. “Can you be there and smile at me?”

“What? How could I smile, when they will be executing you?”

“I just want friendly face to be last thing I see.”

#kingdom #kingdom netflix #kingdom 2019 #kingdom2019 #yeong shin

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notorious-lightning-thief · 5 years ago

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The Stag and The Doe Chapter 9

Here is a preview of the next chapter! Read the entire story on Ao3!

Chapter Nine: Secrets and Snacks

Lily and James exchange secrets over steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

Lily couldn't sleep. It had to be well after midnight, but she could not fall asleep. She was tired, at least she should have been. Lily and Marlene had stayed out until three in the morning the night before drinking. Then, a hungover Lily had to deal with a drunk Marlene all day, so she should have been exhausted. As it was, she kept tossing and turning, much to the displeasure of her dormitory mates.

"Evans, I swear to fucking Merlin, if you don't fucking shut up I'm going to murder you," Mary MacDonald threatened from her four-poster across the room.

Lily, not wanting to start World War 3 with Mary, didn't need to be told twice. She slipped out of bed, grabbed her shoes, and made her way to the Common Room.

Lily, Mary, and Marlene had been very good friends until fourth year when Lily noticed that Mary had started to distance herself from Lily and Marlene. Lily had tried to bring her concerns up to Mary, hoping the girls could work through whatever issues they were having. But Mary always brushed her off, insisting that nothing was wrong. Their friendship came to screeching halt at the end of fourth year after Mary had yelled at Lily in front of the entire Gryffindor Common Room. Lily had been distraught after Andrew admitted to cheating on her and had sought solace in Mary. However, Mary seemed to have a different opinion. She claimed Lily was lucky to have had Andrew, and maybe if she hadn't been such a prude and just had sex with him, he wouldn't have cheated. Then, in front of the entire common room, she admitted that she had been the one who slept with Andrew.

Things changed drastically in their dormitory after that incident. Instead of everyone getting along pleasantly as they had in the past, it became a war zone. Suddenly it was Mary versus Lily, and everyone chose sides. Marlene, being Lily's best friend, sided with Lily and vowed to hate Mary MacDonald until her last breath. Susan Corner and Lisa Davis, their other dormitory mates, had sided with Mary. Their living arrangements become much tenser after that.

Marlene believes that Mary likes what she can't have and claims that Mary was just jealous because boys started to notice Lily and Marlene and weren't noticing Mary. Lily initially blew her off because Marlene thinks everyone is jealous of her (which to her credit, they usually were). However, after Mary slept with Lily's boyfriend, she couldn't help but agree with Marlene. It didn't stop there either. In addition to her infatuation with the Prewett twins, Mary has been throwing herself at James Potter (unsuccessfully), and whatever Marlene's flavor of the month was (with mixed results) ever since.

Just once I want to punch her in the face, Lily thought while she walked down the stairs. Marlene got to do it in fifth year, and it looked bloody awesome.

Lily, daydreaming about punching Mary MacDonald in the face, did not notice that she wasn't alone in the Common Room. She plopped down on her favorite armchair beside the hearth, and she nearly jumped out of it when a voice spoke to her from the couch.

"Couldn't sleep either, eh Evans?" James Potter sat on the couch, smirking.

"Fuck," Lily gasped. "Potter, I didn't see you there. You startled me."

"I noticed," he continued to smirk.

"Piss off," James laughed. Lily tried to get her heart rate to slow down. "To answer your question, no, I couldn't sleep. I was keeping everyone awake with my tossing and turning, so I was banished down here. What about you?"

"Pretty much the same," James replied. "Although I wouldn't say I was banished. That sounds pretty harsh."

"Well, you know how Mary can get," Lily said grimly.

James's smile fell from his face. "Yeah, we all know how she can get."

They were quiet for a minute when James spoke up again. "You know, that was really fucked up what she did to you. We weren't friends back then, so I never got a chance to say anything to you. But I'm really sorry about what happened."

She gave him a small smile. "Thanks. It was so long ago now, though; I don't really think about it too much anymore. It's really Marlene she has the beef with now, ever since Mar punched her in the face."

James laughed. "God, I remember that day so fondly. It was at the Three Broomsticks, right?"

"Yea," Lily answered. "Marlene was on a date with Sophie Perks, and Mary came over and started to hit on Sophie while they were on a date."

James rolled his eyes. "That sounds like Mary."

"She doesn't even like girls!" Lily exclaimed. "Marlene had just come out as bisexual, and that was her first date with a girl. She was so nervous. So, when Mary came over, Marlene just snapped."

"We were so proud of her that day," James said warmly.

"Why's that?" Lily asked curiously.

"Well, for one thing, she came out to everyone. That couldn't have been easy for her, but she did it anyway," James said. "Then she stood up for herself against Mary. I mean, hasn't Mary dated like all of Marlene's exes?"

"She's tried," Lily scoffed. "She's rarely successful."

"That's because the people who date you and Marlene have very high standards," James said sweetly. "They wouldn't slum it with Mary MacDonald."

Lily's eyes fell to her lap, and she felt her cheeks flush red. "Mine did. My boyfriend slept with her while he was with me. What's that say about me?"

"Nothing," James said firmly. When she didn't look up, James left the couch and crouched down next to her chair, placing a hand on Lily's knee. She momentarily forgot how to breath with her skin burning beneath James’ touch. "It doesn't say anything about you. Andrew Goldstein is a dullard for letting you go."

Lily had to smile at how sincere he sounded. She had rarely heard James speak with such conviction. "I know. But thank you."

They smiled at each other, and Lily realized he still had his hand on her knee. She was suddenly very aware of how close they were and that she was only wearing a flimsy t-shirt and pajama pants. She shivered and rubbed her arms.

"Are you cold?" James asked.

No, I just want to spontaneously combust every time you touch me, was what Lily wanted to say. Instead, she simply nodded.

James took off his jumper, revealing a white t-shirt underneath. Lily couldn't help but stare at the sliver of skin that showed as he pealed his jumper off.

"Here," James handed Lily his jumper.

"Thanks," she mumbled as she dragged it on. She couldn't help but deeply inhale the scent of James that lingered. It smelled like peppermint, and she swore she had never smelled anything better in her entire life.

"I think we could use some hot chocolate," James suddenly announced.

"What!" Lily exclaimed with a laugh. "James, it's 1:00 a.m. Where are we going to get hot chocolate from?"

James fixed her with a serious gaze. "Do you trust me?"

Lily thought about it for a second. Do I trust him? Even when she couldn't stand James, she couldn't deny that he was loyal and dependable. He had always been there for her. So yes, she trusted him unequivocally. James Potter was one of the few people Lily knew she could always rely on.

"Yes," Lily said in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

James beamed at her in response.

Read the rest of the chapter here!

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something-fanfiction-ie · 6 years ago

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Tear Me To Pieces

Pairing: Shadowhunter!Tom Holland x Shadownhunger!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of demons and demon killings, a hot make out sesh, and angst

A/N: Oof, so I thought I was on a writing roll there a while ago but it turns out I was lying. Sorry guys. Anyways, my cat woke my up about four and a half hours ago and this is the result. I’m going to hate myself in the morning. Heh. Heh. So, this is based on the works of Cassandra Clare revolving around a group of demon fighting, half angel warriors. Those ideas don’t belong to be, and neither does Tom Holland. Okay, okay, as always, remember to like, comment, reblog, and send me asks. FOR HEAVENS SAKE, PLEASE COMMENT AND GIVE ME ATTENTION. Heh. Uhm, enjoy and thanking you for reading my little blog! OH! Also! I wrote this while listening to lovely by Billie Eilish on repeat if you want to do that.

___

It was mass chaos. You stood across the room, engaged in combat with a horde of demons, your sword wielded in your hand as if an extension of your arm and your eyes a blazing fury.

Tom could feel your presence the moment he entered the room, a constant throb against his parabatai rune.

Parabatai. A friend in times of need, family in times of happiness, a set of eyes when he was blind, and another set of hands when his were bound. A parabatai was your other half in nearly every way, but never as a lover. The Law forbade any romantic relations between parabatai, nevertheless it didn’t stop Tom’s heart from swelling in his chest when he heard a peal of your laughter, or felt your hand graze his back.

Now, as you plunged your sword deep into the abdomen of a demon, yanking it away as the body exploded into a shower of ichor and dust, Tom knew he needed to get to you. Sweat beaded at your forehead and he could feel the race of your heart next to his own.

Slashing and fighting his way to get to you, twisting this way and that around punches and attacks. By the time he finally made it to you, his own heart racing now, a look of deep gratitude came into your eyes.

“Took you long enough.” You managed to tease as you blocked an attack to your side. Your back rocked against his for a fraction of a second before you lunged forward with your own attack.

“I didn’t want to ruin my hair.” The head of a demon rolled off of it’s grotesque shoulders and onto the floor before disappearing in a puff of dust. You rolled your eyes, sweeping the twisted leg (tentacle?) out from beneath a demon and driving the end of your blade into what could only be assumed as a chest. Ichor, a type of poisonous demon blood, and dust exploded from the body and came up to sting your cheek and chin.

You managed to brush most of the ichor away with the back of your arm before it burned your face too much.

“Tom, they keep coming. We need to get out of here and try coming back in the daytime.” Demons didn’t really come out during the day, they were vicious creatures of the night. Besides, it was just the two of you snooping through this house. Two shadowhunters couldn’t possible fend off this many demons no matter how skilled they were.

You watched your parabatai roll the idea through his head before nodding in agreement. His brown eyes met yours before he reached out with his free hand, his seraph blade balanced in the other. There was not a moments hesitation as you slipped your hand into his, a bolt of lightning went up your arm and your parabatai rune burned as if it were on fire.

<!—more—>

You ran as fast as possible, which was pretty damn near fast given the speed runes you’d drawn on each other before you had come inside. Runes were like tattoos, some permanent and some temporary, that acted to enhance things like speed, hearing, healing, and the like. Only shadowhunters, also known as Nephilim, could bare runes on their skin.

By the time you made it out the door to your busted up 1969 Jeep Commando, the horde of demons were no longer in sight. Still, you and Tom flung all your weapons into the trunk before speeding out of the driveway. Rocks kicked up in your wake.

Alone, no longer surrounded by the buzz of battle, it was hard to ignore the pops and cracks of electricity that bounced in the small space between you and Tom. It almost physically pained you not to reach your hand out and intertwine your fingers together again. Your palm was still warm from his touch.

“You’re bleeding. Pull over.” Tom said, reaching up to the tear in your gear where a mantid demon had managed to slice a deep and burning cut into the top of your arm before you had shred it to pieces.

The Jeep bumped and bounced around as you pulled onto the side of the rather empty highway. First you took off your seat belt, and then your gear top. All the aches and bruises of battle made themselves known as you moved and shimmied out of the jacket-like top.

Bared to the world in only a blank tank top, the wound looked worse than before. The edges were black and blood continued to slowly beat out of it and down your arm. A hiss of pain escaped through your teeth.

“He got me good, didn’t he?” You looked over at Tom to see him staring at you very fixedly. The way he stared made your face heat up like a thousand suns. He cleared his throat, shaking his head and pulling out his stele, a long and slender metal wand used to draw runes on shadowhunters. He leaned close, his breath hot on your shoulder as he drew an iratze, a rune that heals wounds, onto the bit of your arm that wasn’t cut open by a demon.

Your own breath hitched in your throat at the proximity of him. For months the two of you had been dancing around each other, too afraid to get too close. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you knew things had changed between you, but you remembered looking into those deep brown eyes only to look away with your heart lodged in your throat. It was bad, very, very bad.

“(Y/N)?” He touched your thigh with his hand and just like earlier, a bolt of lightning went through you and sizzled into your parabatai rune. You turned to face him, your breath mingling together in the small space between your lips.

His eyelashes were too beautiful for a boy, thick and black as night. You half expected them to leave a dusting of charcoal on the tops of his cheeks every time he blinked. His lips were parted ever so slightly, almost teasingly inviting you with how soft and kissable they looked. You took a steadying breath and immediately regretted it. The smell of him coiled in the air you breathed, surrounding you in a haze of want and crumbling self restraint.

When you finally found your lips on his, gasping into the touch, you weren’t sure if it was you or him that initiated the contact.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care, clambering over the console and into his lap. The kiss was deep and rich, reaching down into even the darkest places of you and warming them in seconds. His hands were on your hips, holding you so tightly that you wondered if he were doing it just to make sure you were real. His perfectly styled curls, that had, somehow, managed to stay perfect during your fight with the demons, was soon ruined and tangled around your fingers.

When he broke away from your lips it wasn’t to end your make out session, but to trail kisses down your neck and your exposed collarbone. Fire blossomed under your skin with each press of his lips, spreading through out your body and lighting your whole world on fire.

Just as you went to reconnect lips, a pounding on your window jolted you apart. Your head hit the roof with a bang and a yelp. A mundane cop, a human or non shadowhunter, stood on your driver side with a blaring flashlight shinning in.

Bashfully, you scrambled back into your seat and rolled the window down.

“Officer.” Your face was on fire again and you wanted nothing more than to bury yourself alive.

“Maybe you kids shouldn’t do things like that on the side of the highway, huh?” The cop had an amused glint in his eye, wrongfully suspecting you as two crazy kids in love, looking for some privacy from parents and the like. If only he knew how wrong it was for you to be doing whatever it was you could call that wild moment of reckless abandon.

“We’re very sorry, sir.” You said, white knuckling the wheel.

“Just don’t let it happen again, the side of the highway is for emergencies only. I’m going to let you off with a warning, okay?” You managed a feeble nod before the officer wished the both of you a good night and walked back to his cruiser.

Your mind was racing as you started the Jeep back up, waiting for the cop to pull off ahead of you before you merged back onto the road. You opened your mouth to say something several times but you always closed it after a few seconds. A line had been crossed, one that was never meant to be crossed, and you couldn’t help but love the way it felt.

“That was a mistake.” Tom said, staring forward with a look of steel. His jaw was tensed and his lips pursed, it was an odd look given the red blush that colored his cheeks and the wild mess you had left his hair in.

“What?” You choked, glancing at him in bewilderment before looking back at the road. Your heart hammered in your chest and you knew that he could feel it, because his own heartbeat drummed steadily next to yours.

“We can’t do that ever again. Never. If anyone were to find out.”

“But no one will.” You meekly protested.

“Can you guarantee that, (Y/N)?” He snapped, eyes zeroed in on the road as you turned off the highway to the road where you lived. When his question was met with silence, he nodded his head.

“That’s what I thought. It was a mistake. We will forget it ever happened and move on. It doesn’t matter, really.” The words were a knife in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs. The remainder of the car ride was silent as you forced tears out of your eyes, praying to the Angel that you could keep it together long enough to get away from him.

You hadn’t even shut the car off before Tom had launched himself out of the vehicle. He dismissed himself with a curt nod and a mumbled salutation. You watched him dash inside the doors of the institute as you sat in your seat for several seconds longer, the tears that burned your eyes finally trailing cool rivers down your cheeks.

It was forbidden, you knew that. The consequences of having a romantic relationship with your parabatai were as severe as they could get. But the song of his heart called to your own in a way that no one else’s ever could. You seemed to want him with every fiber of your body.

Tom. The boy you had grown up training with. The boy who had stood across from you in a ring of fire, reciting those blasted vows before taking his stele and carefully shaping the parabatai rune forever to your skin.

Entreat me not to leave thee,

Or return from following after thee—

You slid out of the car, numbly reaching into the back for your sword.

For whither thou goest, I will go,

And where thou lodgest, I will lodge.

You barely noticed the crunch of your boots against the gravel as you made your way to the door, steeling your soul.

Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.

You grabbed onto the doorhandle, sucking in a clean breath of air. It was like a cold shower turned on over your emotions, trickling down and hardening every hot and steaming feeling that poured from your heart.

Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.

A flash of his lips against your own was briefly disorienting, causing your brows to furrow. You grabbed the stone that was now your emotions and dropped it into a box that you covered in iron chains. A click of a lock and you shoved the box far away for you to never touch again. Forbidden.

The Angel do so to me, and more also,

If aught but death part thee and me.

You pushed the door open, plastering a smile to your face as Haz waved to you from the top of the stairs. The words of the parabatai oath echoing in your mind.

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agapaic · 7 years ago

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[fic] water on the bridge

he tian x mo guan shan

tags/notes: swearing, mention of blood

synopsis: after-shot of chapter 243. originally it was a standalone fic inspired by chelsea cutler’s new song water on the bridge, and then we had a storm here last night and it just... grew from there.

links: read on ao3

It rains hard enough to bruise after that, the kind of rain that leaves acid in the air, that falls hot and leaves skin cold like sweat, that soaks into every open shutter and every car window, that punishes flower petals and pelts down street crevices and fills up the skyscraper gutters and bubbles out the drains, that soaks every piece of fibre and wood and body stupid enough to be running around in it. That has the uncanny ability to wash away every last remnant of violence that might still bear its mark: dirt, shit, piss, vomit—and blood.

Guan Shan, doubled over at the waist, each breath a stinging pinch in his lungs, blinks away the reddened rainwater beading in his eyelashes, a cut on his head washed somewhat-clean, the grazes on his knuckles stinging.

They’ve found a shop-corner awning to huddle under while they wait out the fading sound of running footsteps and metal bats smashing against railings, just audible beneath the raging peals of lightning. The men chased them through half a mile of the city, but the boys were smaller, faster, and it was inevitable that they would outrun the gang eventually.

The city was their childhood playground, and they knew the game.

‘Idiots,’ He Tian mutters, rubbing at his wrist, right where Guan Shan had pulled him.

Guan Shan glares at him. He Tian hasn’t got a scratch on him. Boy-fucking-wonder with his dark looks, stupid height, and the ability to throw a loaded punch or swinging kick or jab beneath the ribs or crushing stab at a throat.

How? Guan Shan wants to ask, and doesn’t. Questions like that are worth something more than their answer, and Guan Shan isn’t sure he even wants to know.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ Guan Shan warns him.

He Tian wrings out rainwater from his shirt, but it’s ineffective. The whole thing is soaked. They both are. Guan Shan needs hot water and a bottle of iodine and his bed and sleep for thirteen hours. His skin is pricked with goosebumps, and he knows it won’t take long for a fever to kick in if they stay out long enough. His home’s a forty-minute walk away. He winces.

He Tian notices.

‘Sure,’ He Tian remarks, tone lazy, but still edged. ‘And if I hadn’t, you’d be lying in the gutter with your head caved in and a broken back. And then who would I have to play with?’

‘I’m not a fucking chew toy,’ Guan Shan spits, and breathes through his gritted teeth as a stabbing pain pushes through his ribcage. He ignores it.

By now, the rain has slowed down, the storm a quick thief in the night. Guan Shan hasn’t heard thunder for a few minutes, and the water drips from the awning like stalactites, not the steady river that ran down building window frames an hour before. By morning, the sun will have burnt away any memory of the night—the fight, Guan Shan’s burgeoning pain, the blood and loosened teeth splattered into an alleyway.

He remembers his father’s odd, humoured saying: There’s nothing a rainstorm and a few swigs of baiju can’t make right. Usually one of them will let you see a rainbow.

Thinking about it, understanding it now for the first time, the acid abates under Guan Shan’s tongue, and he goes sullen. ‘And they wouldn’t’ve killed me,’ he tells He Tian. ‘I’m not that valuable to them. You’re the one who made death be a thing.’

He Tian snorts. He leans back against the store window. There’s water threatening to drip from the dark strands of his bangs. Guan Shan watches it, and somehow it manages to piss him off more. He wonders if he should be grateful for it: that his anger towards He Tian is somehow enough to blur the stabbing pain in his back.

‘Seemed valuable enough to me,’ said He Tian. ‘What is it? You owe them money?’

‘I don’t owe ‘em jack shit.’

He Tian waves a hand. ‘Semantics,’ he says. ‘You. Your mother. Your father. It’s all the same, once it comes down to family.’

‘You know fuck-all about my family. About family at all.’

Maybe it’s an unfair jab, but Guan Shan isn’t a stranger to it: He Tian’s empty home, a studio apartment for one. It tells an easy story.

‘I think you’re wrong about that,’ He Tian says. He cocks his head. ‘The first part, I mean.’

‘Yeah?’ Guan Shan goads.

‘Yeah.’

Guan Shan narrows his eyes. Keep going, he thinks. Piss me off enough that at least you’ll think I’m grimacing for your bullshit and not because someone swung a metal bat into my fucking spine.

The thought comes in tandem with the memory of He Tian launching a kick into the guy that had swung it—instinctive retaliation. Not because they’d hurt Guan Shan, but because it was point-for-point, and He Tian wasn’t one for losing.

‘I know that your father’s in prison,’ He Tian corrects, voice neutral like he’s talking about school homework. Like they’re kids who live easy lives. ‘I know that your mother’s handling two jobs and extra shifts where she can get them. I know that money is more important to you than how much you hate me.’

His father used to tell him not to hate people—that no one ever deserved that kind of energy from him. That if they were abhorrent enough, cruel enough, unkind enough, then their punishment should be shunning. Ostracisation. Barring from any part of Guan Shan’s life that could hold negativity. Lock out the people that hurt you until they can’t hurt you anymore.

And then his dad got locked up, and anger and the poison that came with it—hate—was all that Guan Shan had. For fuel, for his medium, for expression.

It takes different forms. Sometimes it’s physical, sometimes it’s a sneer, sometimes it’s curling darkness in the back of his throat; sometimes it’s a tear-soaked pillow; sometimes it’s raging cries smothered and muffled with a curled fist, cutting against his teeth. Sometimes it’s just a glare, directed more often than not, lately, at He Tian.

He almost says, I don’t hate you. An homage to his father, rotting away in that cell, thirty years older in the face, in his weathered hands, in his eyes, since last Guan Shan saw him. But that would be a lie. He doesn’t know what he feels for He Tian, but the burning—spite, cynicism—sure feels a lot like hate.

‘D’you want a prize?’ Guan Shan says. ‘A gold star for your efforts?’

‘If you want to reward me,’ He Tian says, lowly, ‘there are other things I have in mind.’

Guan Shan glares at him. The remarks brush off him now, a sticky residue left in their wake. It’s a discomfort that he’s almost grown used to them. Almost.

‘Fuck off,’ he mutters.

He Tian sighs. ‘If you need money… If your mom—’

Guan Shan cuts in. ‘You think if it was that easy I wouldn’t have asked already?’

‘Please. Like your pride isn’t what gets in the way.’

‘At least I have some.’

He Tian looks at him. ‘What you have is a chip on your shoulder. A real fucking deep one. Not pride, which is fucking overrated anyway. But don’t dress it up, Guan Shan. No offence, but you can’t afford to.’

Guan Shan bites down on his tongue. He fights off a wave of sudden nausea, and chooses his next words carefully. ‘You’re a real cunt sometimes, He Tian.’

‘Surprisingly, I don’t even have to try.’

Guan Shan wants to laugh at the straight honesty of it. He almost does, but his ribs won’t allow the movement, and he bites back the whimper of pain that threatens to make itself known. Some spark of amusement must show in his eyes, though—He Tian’s returning look is one of dry amusement, and the wryness of it is appealing. It creates some shared humour between them. A camaraderie that lingers on friendship.

Guan Shan thinks it’s a shame things like this—gang fights, She Li—have to inspire something like warmness towards He Tian. He thinks, too, that it’s a shame it can’t be like this all the time between the two of them. In that case, Guan Shan might not be nervous of his company so much, might not feel that twisting knot in his stomach at the mere mention of He Tian’s name.

It could be easy between them, but He Tian’s own words echo back at him: Surprisingly, I don’t even have to try. Things can’t be easy, because He Tian doesn’t know how to make it otherwise.

It’s starting to make sense why He Tian is the way he is. It’s in his hardwiring. Against those men, He Tian knew what to do. Where to block, where to hit, where to dodge. When to run. It was instinctive and natural. It makes sense why He Tian throws punches so easy at Guan Shan: it’s his language. It’s how he gets what he wants. And he’s smart about it.

He didn’t hold and fight when the odds were too great—not like Guan Shan, who hedges his bets and would have stood his ground until he gurgled his last bloodied breath. There was stupidity in it, some bizarre moment of heroism and martyrdom in He Tian’s plan. But above all there’s a rationality in it—in him—that’s almost frightening. The way he looks and assesses and judges. Knows where and how to strike and does it exactly as planned.

Guan Shan doesn’t understand the nature-nurture argument, but he knows that no one’s born like that. They get used to it—they adapt to an environment where it’s kill or be killed. Stand up and keep throwing punches or get put down. They conform. They acclimatise to the conditions, like Guan Shan did.

Or they get trained.

Who turns a kid into a creature like that?

‘Did you start it?’ He Tian asks, pulling out a sodden pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

Guan Shan thinks, Good luck lighting those, and says, ‘They insulted my mom.’

He Tian pauses, cigarette propped in his mouth, then shrugs. ‘Fair game,’ he mutters out the side of his mouth. It takes four swipes of the lighter wheel and a good shake before it sputters out a flame. He Tian’s first drag is long and deep, and he exhales smoke with his eyes closed. Guan Shan shouldn’t be surprised that He Tian gets it lit.

‘They said… said something about my mom paying the debt by taking customers.’ He spits the last word, foul and sullied in his mouth.

He Tian opens his eyes, and latches them onto Guan Shan’s. ‘And you didn’t want me to cripple them? They deserved it.’ He spits on the ground. ‘Fuckers.’

‘I know they deserved it,’ Guan Shan grits out. His breathing is feeling sharper now, his lungs harder and more painful to fill. ‘I was thinking about us not getting thrown behind bars. I’m in uniform. You think they wouldn’t be able to pick us out from a line of kids at school?’

‘For a second there I thought you just had a moral compass.’ He Tian takes a drag. ‘And anyway,’ he says, smoke clouding around them until Guan Shan’s eyes water. ‘You wouldn’t have to worry about that. Not with me.’

‘About what? Prison?’

He Tian nods. ‘It’d be taken care of. My family. You’d be—I’d take care of you.’

He stubs out the cigarette on the brick behind him, and grinds the rest of it out under his shoe for good measure. Guan Shan watches the motion, and eyes the flecks of blood on He Tian’s white sneakers. They cost about as much as a month’s rent for Guan Shan’s mom, and he wouldn’t be surprised if He Tian throws them in the trash when he gets home.

‘That’s nice of you,’ Guan Shan says blandly, unsure what to do with the gesture He Tian’s just offered him. It wriggles under his skin and makes him shake with it. What would He Tian want in return for something like that?

Suddenly, Guan Shan’s ribs twinge, a jagged burn that feels like a serrated knife on his insides, and he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut against the tremor it forces through his body.

‘Guan Shan? What’s wrong?’

When Guan Shan opens his eyes, blinking away the tear-blur, He Tian’s leaning over him, blank-faced, a hand on Guan Shan’s shoulder.

‘My—it’s my back,’ Guan Shan pushes out. ‘Where the bat—Hey!’

It’s maddening that it hurts too much to break free of He Tian’s hold on his shoulder when He Tian yanks his shirt up to his throat, but he forces himself to still as He Tian’s hands wander the pale skin of his abdomen, and as He Tian steps behind him to press at the back of his ribcage and—

‘Fuck!’ Guan Shan shouts, voice hoarse. He’s close to vomiting, vision swarming, and he knows it’s not the muggy, after-storm air that’s making his skin burn.

‘Fractured rib,’ He Tian mutters, barely loud enough for Guan Shan to hear. ‘Maybe broken. There’s already bruising so if it’s punctured a lung—’

‘I can’t go to hospital.’

He Tian looks at him flatly, but there’s a question lingering there too. Guan Shan’s not unused to being looked at like that by He Tian, like there’s some enigma in Guan Shan yet to unravel before him.

‘If your lung’s punctured then you’ll die,’ He Tian tells him. ‘Don’t be an idiot about this.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Guan Shan says, throat tight. His teeth are chattering now, and he’s only half-aware that He Tian’s mostly keeping him standing. It had been fine before He Tian started fucking pushing at him, like always, and now it’s like the pain of it is all that he can register, like always, and everything else is backdrop that he has to fight to focus on. ‘I can’t afford it. My mom—Those guys had every right to do what they did. Should’ve killed me. My mom could get a place for herself. One less mouth to feed—’

‘Oh, fuck off, Guan Shan,’ He Tian snaps. ‘That chip I was talking about? Really fucking big right now. Be grateful that I’ll pretend all this is delirium when you’re better.’

‘You don’t—’

‘Understand? I understand that you’re an idiot. You don’t understand what I meant by I’ll take care of you.’

‘And owe you what?’

He Tian looks exasperated. ‘I don’t know, Guan Shan. Do me the favour of just staying alive, alright? That’ll be enough for me.’

‘’Cause you need someone to play with, right?’

He Tian’s expression is almost fond, almost regretful, but mostly arrogant. ‘Right. Exactly. That’s all.’

Guan Shan shakes his head and puts an arm around He Tian’s shoulder, knowing He Tian can take the weight. ‘Just—just get me some fucking morphine, yeah?’

He Tian rolls his eyes. He starts walking them towards the street, dialing a number in his phone in one hand, the other wrapped around Guan Shan’s waist as a crutch. Each step ricochets a white burn through Guan Shan’s torso, and he’s trying to remember how he managed to run half a mile through the city with only the high of adrenaline and He Tian grinning at his side, wild and dark in the night and marvelous.

‘I don’t make promises I can’t keep,’ He Tian says, dial tone humming at his ear loud enough for Guan Shan to hear, and Guan Shan supposes that’s as good as it’s going to get.

[please like/reblog/consider commissioning me if you enjoyed my work!]

#19 days #tianshan #mo guan shan #he tian #old xian #19 days fanfiction #my work #all likes and reblogs are appreciated!

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ritebeforeyoureyes · 7 years ago

Text

Confessions

Sorry it took me a little longer to post this than the rest, I travelled home this weekend so was preoccupied with spending some time with my family. I was also lacking a lot of creativity for this but I think all in all, this chapter is major fluff!

Masterlist - Plot: Tom takes Zendaya on an unconventional first date.

Confessions (Chapter Four)

“Let me take you on a date.” The statement was out of the blue and Zendaya paused, her hair brush falling into her lap as she glanced up at Tom. His hands were on his hips and he was smiling softly, as if he had been thinking about asking her on a date since she’d come home a few hours earlier.

Zendaya had only required to be on set until midday therefore, giving her and Tom a full day to spend together. As usual, Darnell was more than happy to spend his time roaming the streets of New York, camera and cash card in hand. Harrison had caught on quickly also and had decided to spend some down time with Jacob Batalon, also known as Peter Parker’s trusty sidekick. Jacob had arrived in the city the night before and was spending the next few weeks with some family until he was back on the road for the Spider-Man promotional tour. The whole gang was getting together for dinner later but Jacob and Haz knew that Tom and his girl needed the time alone.

“I’d love to go on a date with you.” Truth was, Zendaya hadn’t been on a real date in a while. Things with Trevor had gone sour a lot before Zendaya had cared to admit and she had forgotten what it was like to just spend good quality time with somebody. “What were you thinking?”

“I wanted it to be memorable so,” Tom elongated his syllables, adding to Zendaya’s suddenly ignited curiosity; the suspense was killing her. “It’s a surprise.”

Tom didn’t even give Zendaya much time to get ready. She was freshly out of the shower and her wet hair was combed flat against her head. She was wearing a casual black skirt and Tom blindly threw any jacket at her, ushering her out the door within the space of twenty minutes. Tom’s need to rush made Zendaya slightly excited. She didn’t know what to expect and Tom’s poker face was a good one, he wasn’t giving her any clues.

“Wait, Tom, where are we?” Within ten minutes of being in the car, their driver pulled up in front of Bang Bang New York, a tattoo place that was notorious for inking celebrities. Coincidentally, it was the spot where Zendaya’s mom, Claire, had gotten her tattoos too. “We are not that couple that gets tattoos.”

After running the idea by both Darnell and Haz, Tom had decided to take Zendaya to a tattoo parlour. He didn’t expect Zendaya to get a tattoo, of course, but he himself had been contemplating getting one for a while. So much had changed in Tom’s life after having signed with Marvel and now, Spider-Man had become an integral part of his life. He wanted to commemorate the good changes in his life by getting a ‘spider’ inspired tattoo. He knew tattoos were a permanent decision but Tom was certain about what he wanted; the added significance would be that Zendaya would be holding his hand as he got one. The whole idea was unconventional and that was what Tom wanted. He was definitely going to remember this day and he was certain that his idea was so unexpected that Zendaya would too.

“You’re not getting a tattoo,” Tom kissed Zendaya’s surprised and pouting lips quickly, his eyes drifting to the driver whose attention was safely directed to his phone. “I am and I wanted you to be here for it.”

“What?” Zendaya scoffed softly. Tom had told her about wanting a tattoo but she’d never thought he was serious. From what she had heard, his parents weren’t too keen on the idea of something so permanent, hence why he’d never gotten one. “Are you serious-“

“Shh, all questions will be answered when we get in there. I don’t want to miss my appointment, come on.” Zendaya wordlessly followed Tom into the store, her mouth still gaping that this was all actually happening.

“Ah, Tom, right?” Keith McCurdy, the owner of the parlour, greeted Tom at the door. The two shook hands before Keith saw Zendaya. He was familiar with her and her family and he enveloped her in a hug all most instantly after spotting her. “Hey, Z. Prettier than ever.” Keith winked at her swiftly before getting Tom into a chair.

“Hey, Keith, still a charmer I see.” She laughed softly before pulling up a chair next to Tom’s seat. The shop was fairly empty, allowing Tom his privacy and Zendaya watched intently from his side.

“This your first tattoo?” Tom nodded and Zendaya discreetly gripped at his shirt, her fingers tracing light patterns into the exposed skin of his torso. Keith and Tom had been conversing for a few weeks now and Tom had finally finalised a design and where he wanted it. Tom nodded, the fear starting to fizzle within him speedily. He had been so wrapped up in the concept of having a tattoo that he hadn’t even anticipated the pain. “Don’t worry, just try and relax and it’ll be over before you know it.”

To Tom, Keith’s ‘over-before-you-know-it’ felt like an eternity. The tattoo gun seemed to buzz for what felt like hours and Tom’s eyes were glued shut, his bottom lip curled into his mouth as he bit down on it, hard. However, Zendaya, as expected, had been the calming factor that he had needed. She held his hand and spoke soothing words as he jumped and swore.

“Fuck, please, tell me,” Keith was progressing towards the last part of Tom’s tattoo and this time, Tom had pealed his eyes open. His fingers were tightly wrapped in Zendaya’s and he was squeezing her as if his life depended on it. “Why did I decide … on … the bottom of my foot?” Keith had warned him that the skin on the bottom of one’s foot was sensitive and it was a spot many tried to stay away from in terms of tattoos. But, Tom being Tom, had been persistent on the idea. Now, he was having to pay consequences because Tom was hurting like a motherfucker. Zendaya just chuckled, giving him a few firm pats on the stomach before it was all over.

“Now, this is you’re master piece, kid.” Keith held a mirror to Tom’s foot and Zendaya admired the piece of artwork alongside her boyfriend. She wasn’t going to lie, it was pretty cool. The goofy grin that refused to leave Tom’s face indicated that he too thought it was rather cool.

“I can’t believe you actually just did that.” With a gauze around his foot and a safety instruction leaflet to follow, Zendaya and Tom were out of the tattoo parlour and grabbing some coffee. His tattoo hadn’t taken as long as expected and so the couple had mutually decided to spend some more time out in the city before heading home to everybody else. The snow fall was light and a light ray of sunshine was lighting up the streets, it was the perfect time to be out as well.

“I’m not going to lie, I can’t believe I did that either.” Tom chuckled, he was still trying to wrap head around the fact that he had a tattoo. “Could I grab an Americano with a hazelnut shot and that coffee cake in the window, please?” Before Zendaya could place her contactless card on the machine, Tom nudged her arm out the way and paid for both her order and his brownie and pink lemonade. She looked up at him with a scowl on her face but Tom just shrugged in response.

“You didn’t have to do that, thank you.” Zendaya and Trevor’s relationship had been so different to hers with Tom that Zendaya was growingly surprised every day. It was so foreign for her to be treated like a lady and Tom seemingly knew that. He hated that Zendaya had to thank him for the simplest of things but he was also grateful that he was the one who could put that cute little smile on her face.

He would buy her all the coffee in the world if it meant she smiled at him the way she was right now.

“Thank you for being there with me today.” As soon as they were back in a car, the space between Tom and Zendaya was minimal. There was a screen up between the driver and them and the two used it as some time to cuddle. Tom wrapped his arms around her and Zendaya rested her against his chest. “It meant the world to have you there with me.”

“It meant the world that you asked me to come with you.” Tom’s idea of an unconventional date had surprised Zendaya and she was glad. “Really.”

“I know it wasn’t the typical kind of date but I just thought having you there would be comforting and we can still go to a movie if you…” Tom was rambling and his eyes glazed over as he delved into a world of his own. “Or we can go for ice cream … I mean no, we can’t afford to get you sick so maybe not ice cream but hot chocolate okay no, that’s stupid too we just bought-“

“Tom, stop it.” Zendaya grabbed his hand in her own, pulling away from his chest to look him straight in the eye. Tom smiled at the sight of her, he pulled their intertwined hands up to her face, his knuckles brushing against her cold skin. “I couldn’t have thought of anything more perfect for us to do together.”

“You sure?” Tom retaliated with the scepticism evident in his voice.

“Certain. Thank you for taking me with you, it really meant a lot.”

“You’re welcome, beautiful.” Zendaya leaned in to kiss him. And, just like the first time they kissed, Zendaya was limbless in his hold. Her insides heated up instantaneously and Tom’s tongue prodded at her closed lips. He teased her first, his tongue strokes gentle and then forceful but still pretty restrained. But as soon as a moan resonated at the back of her throat, Tom couldn’t hold back anymore and he slipped inside her mouth. Their moans, this time, were simultaneous and as things grew increasingly heated Zendaya pulled back. She knew they couldn’t be ripping their clothes off one another in the backseat of taxi and so, she, reluctantly, stopped things before it got too far. She rested her forehead against Tom’s, her breathing heavy and laboured.

“Being there with you today means I can also tell Haz about how you couldn’t stop screaming like a wuss.” Zendaya winked at Tom cheekily and his facial features dropped.

She wouldn’t – but of course, she did. And once again, it was time for the gang to roast Tom Holland.

#tomdaya #tomdaya fanfiction #ritebeforeyoureyes #confessions #confessions chapter four #tomdaya fan fiction #tomdaya fan fic #tomdaya fanfic

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decembercamiecherries · 7 years ago

Text

Walking on Moonlight

Word Count: 2218

Summary:

“Killua?”

Killua grounds his teeth together. “I’m not mad.”

Gon hums. “Okay. But, you know, you kind of sound like you are, so-”

“Gon!” Killua snaps- for real, this time. “I am not mad, okay?! I’m just. Kind of…”

“Pissed?”

This is a fic written for my friend Kaz, aka @softkillua! I told him ages ago that I would write him anything for his birthday today and this was his request! This is a killugon trans crew au in which killua is transgender male and Gon is generfluid- you can find more about this universe in Kaz’s sideblog @thehxh-transcrewau! And lastly, this fic was beta’d by the kind and wonderful @murderxbaby, thank you so much for helping out with this!

I hope you like this Kaz it was a pleasure to write with your characters ^-^ and I wish you a very happy and wonderful birthday!!!!! Eat all the cake haha

P.S. Check out shimmy-sham’s beautiful artwork to go along with this fic!!!

The walk is silent.

Not awkward, really, because things can never actually be awkward when it comes to the two of them spending time together. They know each other too well for that. But the walk is still quiet and kind of weird, and Killua is already more flustered than he would like admit after the events that occurred in the past few hours.

Because Gon had taken him out. On a date. Like, a real date. Not their usual “Hey, hey, Killua, let’s go get ice cream!” or “OH! Killua, let's go home and watch a movie. Aunt Mito’s out for the night!” kind of date that Killua is more than used to and happy with at this point.

No. Like a real, real date. The kind where they’d driven to some fancy restaurant with a fancy name Killua would never be able to pronounce with an equally fancy menu plastered with even more fancy names. On top of it all, Gon insisted on getting all dressed up and nice and pretty and Killua- Killua hated getting dressed up. Hated it with the fiery burning passion of a thousand suns.

But he did it, because it was for Gon. He let Alluka straighten his hair, tie it half up in an eloquent set of knots and braids while the rest cascaded down his back, for Gon. He put on dark jeans and his best sweater- even though it scratched at his skin and itched- for Gon, because Gon liked how those colors looked on him, and Gon was worth it.

But that didn’t mean Killua was exactly happy about it.

“You okay?”

Killua scowls at the question. “Fine,” he bites out, trying his honest-to-god best not to snap (but he’s pretty sure he ends up doing it anyway). “Amazing. Just- you know, peachy.”

Gon laughs. It’s a mix of bells and chimes, the swell of an ocean wave, and the freedom of a bird soaring through the sky. Gon’s laughter is beautiful, honestly. It’s probably one of the most- if not the most- beautiful sounds Killua’s ever heard, or ever will. Killua can’t help the way his sour mood lifts a little at the joy spilling from Gon’s perfect lips.

“What?” Killua asks, brow furrowing.

Gon cuts them-self off, still giggling slightly when they ask, “Are you still mad about dinner?”

Dinner. Dinner, Gon says, like it’s not that big of a deal, like they hadn’t gone and made this entire thing ten times more bizarre and weird than it already was by insisting that they pay for the whole bill and not let Killua hand over a single penny-

“Killua?”

Killua grounds his teeth together. “I’m not mad.”

Gon hums. “Okay. But, you know, you kind of sound like you are, so-”

“Gon!” Killua snaps- for real, this time. “I am not mad, okay?! I’m just. Kind of…”

“Pissed?”

Gon lets out another peal of laughter when Killua whirls around and punches them in the shoulder. “AH, Killua, ahaha-”

“Shut it! Ugh!”

“It’s the truth though, right?”

“No! It’s not!”

Gon nudges him, golden eyes sparkling with mirth in the faint glow of the moon. “What is it then, hmm?”

“I. Am not. Mad.” Killua turns sharply away from Gon’s burning gaze and glowers moodily at the path ahead of them. He refuses to lose himself in the magnetic pull embodied by the one and only Gon Freecss.

In the distance, Killua spots a wooden bridge that curved over the opening to the harbor. He keeps his own blue eyes trained on that as he mumbles, “It’s just, weird, okay? We never do stuff like that, Gon. Not once in the entire time we’ve been dating have we ever done anything that fancy. Where the hell did all of that even come from?!”

Out of the corner of his vision, Killua sees Gon bob their head thoughtfully. “Hmm. That’s true! But, that’s exactly why I wanted to do it, you know?”

“…no. I don’t know.”

Gon clasps their hands behind their back and they disappear from view in the folds of Gon’s long skirt. “Well! That’s kind of why I did all of this, actually? I was just thinking that we’ve never gone on an official date before! We’ve always done a lot of little stuff but never anything official. And that’s what I want for us!”

“G-Gon,” Killua chokes out. He can feel an ugly blush creeping up his neck, blooming across his cheeks and spreading all the way to the tip of his ears. It’s hot and uncomfortable and the small butterflies in his stomach really aren’t making this experience any easier. “That’s…c’mon, we’ve been dating for years now, you never needed to do anything ‘official’. We’re as officially together as we’ll ever be.”

“I know! But Lea and Kurapika go on these really nice dates all the time and they’re always doing a ton of special things for each other. This was never about doing something that ‘needed’ to be done. I wanted to do that with you, because you’re wonderful and amazing, and you deserve to be treated like that.”

Killua ducks his head at that, knowing his entire face is scarlet. Gon’s words were genuine, tender. They weren’t lying about any of that; they were being honest and blunt as usual, and it was…

“Embarrassing,” Killua mutters and hears Gon stifle a snicker.

“You’re the only one embarrassed, Ki-llu-a,” Gon says teasingly. Something warm and soft brushes against Killua’s knuckles and as mortified as Killua is right now, he doesn’t stop Gon from weaving their fingers together lightly. Gon squeezes once and Killua tightens his hip in response.

They’re 20 years old. They’ve been dating for years and know each other even longer than that. And yet, having all that knowledge doesn’t stop Killua’s heart from bursting at the simple contact of Gon’s calloused skin against his. Their hands still fit as perfectly as ever, Killua’s longer fingers fitting snugly against Gon’s broader ones. He still loves the way Gon’s thumb absent-mindedly traces circles into the curve of his bone, how Gon sometimes squeezes his hand too tightly when they get overexcited about something, the light swinging of their arms to match the pace of their feet…

It’s good. It’s good and wonderful and perfect, and it’s so much more than Killua could’ve ever dreamed at the tender age of 12, before he and Gon became an actual thing. It’s so good that it makes him wonder if he’s worth it, sometimes.

But then he sees the happiness brighten Gon’s eyes whenever they lock onto Killua’s face, the automatic curve of their lips whenever they call out Killua’s name, and Killua knows the answer.

Gon gasps suddenly and points ahead with their free hand. “Killua, look! It’s a bridge with fairy lights and water, and-”

“Yeah, I know.” Killua fondly rolls his eyes at Gon’s enthusiasm. “I saw it earlier. Why are you so-”

He yelps at the sharp tug of his arm. And then they’re both running, feet pounding on black cement as Gon half pulls, half races Killua to the wooden bridge. Killua’s lungs burn and his heart pounds, but Gon holds onto his hand tightly the entire time.

The pair only slow after their shoes hit the first wooden block. When they finally stop, both are a panting, sweaty mess. Killua can feel his bangs sticking to his forehead as the adrenaline leaves his veins. His mouth tastes like metal and Gon- Gon is still holding his hand somehow.

Killua swallows thickly at the realization. His gaze slowly traces up the line of Gon’s arm, over their neck to land on their wonderful face. Gon is staring straight ahead, eyes twinkling with simple joy at the yellow lights twisting around the bridge’s railing. Gon tugs gently at Killua’s arm to lead him forward.

“C’mon,” Gon says softly and Killua obeys without hesitation.

The sight at the top of the bridge is beautiful. Killua’s mouth falls open and he gapes at the harbor that unfolds before them, moonlight flickering across shallow waves while stars shine like scattered diamonds in an endless sky of midnight blue. The air is cooler here, fresh, and filled with the low trickling sound of the river under their feet. Killua lets go of Gon’s hand to wrap his long fingers around the wooden railing, drinking in the wondrously peaceful scene around them.

He doesn’t even react when a pair of warm arms wrap themselves around his waist.

“Pretty, right?” Gon says into Killua’s ear. Their warm breath ghosts across Killua’s skin, and Killua can’t help but lean back with a sigh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. He feels soft and fuzzy and content. Gon’s muscled arms around him always have that effect on him. Killua knows he is safe here, in Gon’s embrace, tucked against their beating heart. No one can hurt him as long as Gon is holding him like this.

Killua reaches back to scratch Gon’s head, earning him a happy hum from the person he loved most in the world. Killua admits lowly, “It’s beautiful.”

“So are you.”

Killua’s heart throbs. “Gon-”

“It’s true,” Gon says stubbornly. “Really, Killua. You are. I’ve never seen anything prettier than your smile. You glow from the inside, you know?”

Killua didn’t know. He didn’t understand how Gon could be so patient with him on his worst days, when the depression was heavy and thick and all he wanted was to lay in bed until the world ended. He didn’t understand Gon’s infinite adoration for him, or their unconditional love. He didn’t see most of the things Gon say they love about him. But that’s what love is, isn’t it? Loving someone for every part of them- even the parts they themself couldn’t see.

Killua lets out a long breath, tilting his head backwards to rest against Gon’s shoulder and lifts his face towards the stars. “You’re so weird,” he grumbles as he tries- and fails- to ignore the prickling heat creeping to his cheeks. “People can’t glow, Gon. I’m not a star.”

Gon giggles and nuzzles their nose into Killua’s styled hair. “I think you could be a star, maybe.”

The heat rushing to his skin was growing unbearable now. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m not! I’m just saying, you have pretty silver hair and nice pearly skin and eyes like the sky, and you look like a star, I think! That’s all.”

“That’s all,” Killua parrots back sarcastically and Gon nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah! I mean, I could go on if you want-”

“No, Gon.”

Gon laughs again, light and happy, and butterflies flutter back to life inside Killua’s chest.

It’s stupid. Stupid and cheesy and dumb. But being here, wrapped in Gon’s arms with the heavens spread above them and the quiet chirping of crickets floating through the air…it makes Killua feel like he and Gon belong together, somehow. Like they really are two pieces of a whole, like they are meant to be like this forever.

A slight breeze swirls around them. Gon sways a little in response, forcing Killua to move with them.

“Gon,” Killua starts as Gon begins to hum something, lips pressed to the crown of Killua’s head. “Gon. What are you doing.”

“Nothing,” Gon says, sounding entirely too innocent.

They keep on swaying back and forth. The motion gets stronger, more lavish and flowing, until suddenly Killua finds himself being spun around to face Gon’s beaming face.

“Gon-!” he gasps out but Gon is already grasping his hand, guiding him forward while their second hand presses into the curve of Killua’s spine.

“It’s just a little dancing, Killua,” Gon says. Their voice is so melodic, so enticing, Killua can’t help but be swept away.

“There’s no music,” he says, glancing around anxiously in case someone was watching. He nearly trips over his feet in the process but Gon catches him easily, keeps the pair of them moving as if Killua never fell in the first place.

“Don’t need music, when I got you, baby~”

Killua scoffs at Gon’s teasing. “Yeah, whatever. Sunshine.”

Gon loses it at that. Their whole body shakes with chortling laughter and Killua has to whack them on the shoulder, face burning, before they finally stop.

“You’re so ridiculous.” Killua tugs lightly at Gon’s slicked back hair. He’s not sure how much he likes it; the amount of gel Gon used to get it to stay back like that probably cost them a pretty penny. It was sweet of them for trying though, despite how much more Killua loved Gon’s normal, soft spikes. Gon had tried to look nice for him, just like Killua had done.

“You still love me, though!” Gon chirps brightly and Killua feels his expression soften.

“Yeah,” he admits quietly, silently relishing in the awe that flows into Gon’s beautiful golden eyes. The lights make their tan skin glow, and for a moment, Killua understands what Gon had said earlier. Love made people glow, made them shine. And they were shining here together, under the moon and stars. “I do.”

He cups Gon’s jaw, taking a split second to absorb the warmth radiating from Gon as the other gazed back at him, before pressing his lips to Gon’s and melting into their embrace.

#dc writes #killugon #hunterxhunter #killua zoldyck #gon freecss #au #trans crew au #dc gifts #softkillua

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louisfeatharry · 7 years ago

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* newly added fics to my fic rec page as of 08/18/17 (29 fics in total) all fics are larry unless specified otherwise • more recent recs

✨ indicates favorites of mine!

✨ Be Still by thisonegoes (150k) [zarry, au, detectives, angst, prose]

Zayn hears the telltale sound of stretcher wheels bouncing up over a weather strip. A tech backs out of the door first, as both Zayn and Harry turn to watch. They wheel the black body bag out and lift it down the stairs, to take her away. She's officially cleared for transport, no longer a resident of the household. She's now just a corpse wrapped in plastic.

When they finally turn back to one another, Harry blinks and then shatters into pieces.

Detective Zayn AU.

call me a safe bet (i’m betting i’m not) by mrsenjolras (29k) [lirry, au, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, angst, pining]

They agreed that it would be too hard for them to keep up their relationship long distance, that they didn’t want to risk losing their friendship. So it made sense that when Harry was away, they saw other people. They’re the same as they always are when they’re together--Harry guesses you could call them friends with benefits, but he doesn’t think that really encompasses what they mean to each other. Louis calls them idiots, which, well, probably isn’t all that inaccurate.

It’s not really that big of a deal. Harry is happy. Liam is happy--well, Harry’s pretty sure Liam is happy. So Louis can just shut it.

[Or: Liam and Harry have an arrangement, and it all goes great, until it doesn't.]

Can’t Fool Me by emma1234 (25k) [au, uni, secret relationship, fluff, smut]

“I hate frats,” Louis repeats for what feels like the millionth time.

“Yes, I’ve heard, once or twice or every day for the past three years,” Liam says. His careful tone reminds Louis of how his mom always sounds when one of his siblings is on the brink of a tantrum.

Louis glances speculatively at Liam’s frat brothers, who are still huddled together and chatting, with the exception of the one who’s looking in Louis’ direction. Maybe Louis shouldn’t rule out a tantrum. While making a scene wouldn’t actually free him from fraternity nonsense in the future, it would at least be entertaining.

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

Counting The Steps Between Us by zarah5 (24k) [au, pining, friends to lovers]

AU. So, yeah. That year abroad helped Harry establish that he is in love with his best friend. Now, if Louis would stop treating him like a little brother, that would be awesome. (Additional ingredients: a collapsing tree house, a lot of pining, the other three boys as Louis' new best mates from university, and a camping trip. Serve hot.)

End of the World Tonight by whoknows (12k) [ou, exes to lovers, coming out, angst]

“You remember when you told me that you wanted to live with me for the rest of your life?” Louis asks. His voice trembles a bit, exposing exactly how much he hates what he’s about to do. How much he wishes that he wasn’t about to do it.

“I remember,” Harry says. His expression is a little lost, like he thinks that they’re about to have a fight and he’s not sure what they’re supposed to be fighting about. Louis closes his eyes because he has to, has to take a second to regain his courage. He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep suffering, can’t keep killing himself trying to hide this. He’s ready. He’s been ready for a long time.

feel so foolish by juliusschmidt (13k) [au, high school, pining, fluff]

Louis and his friends keep laughing at Harry; he's sure of it. But he's not sure why.

for now (and forever) by orphan_account (83k) [au, military/war, fake relationship, friends to lovers, slow burn]

"It's nice that you want to offer that, but I just can't do that. First of all, it's illegal."

Louis shakes his head vigorously. "No, no. It's not like one of us is gunning for a visa."

"Listen to yourself," Harry laughs, shaking Louis' shoulders. "Don't you think it's a bit weird to con the country you're supposed to be serving?"

Louis is going into the Army, Harry is going nowhere, and there's nothing like a little identity fraud between friends.

glimpse of the silhouettes by orphan_account (7k) [ou, pwp]

Harry isn't sure what the rules are for this. It's hard to believe that there are any, that's there's a handbook just waiting for him to buy: why is my best mate getting hard in my lap when I touch his arse?

✨ Here In The Afterglow by fondleeds (88k) [au, historical/past setting, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, out, pining, angst, fluff, smut]

“If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have many friends,” Louis whispers, the blossom of insecurity in his stomach unfurling and clawing its way into his throat.

Harry is silent for a long time, and then he speaks; a soft, slow uncurl that makes Louis’ stomach shake. “I’ll be your friend.”

1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

If I Fall For You, Would You Fall Too? by slashter (29k) [zourry, au, fluff, famous/nonfamous, smut]

“Fuck, Louis, most of us can’t even find one person to date, and you go and land yourself two!”

Louis flips Niall off and closes his eyes, trying his hardest to ignore the blond’s peals of laughter. It’s true what Niall says, he can’t have them both. And this is him imagining that either of them would even want to get with him, which he knows is pretty much ridiculous considering the fact that they’re obviously seeing each other and why the hell would you pick Louis Tomlinson over Harry Styles or Zayn Malik?

[Or the one where Louis is a uni dropout who's just managed to land a new job as a housemaid, and he ends up getting to clean the shared apartment of well-known socialites Harry and Zayn]

Infinity in Always by cumquat (22k) [au, hurt, angst]

A stranger greets Louis whenever he looks in a mirror—a stranger with sunken eyes, sharp cheekbones and hollow cheeks, whose strands of mousy hair tangle into intricate knots; curl into something akin to a broken halo.

Every morning he recites, speaks to no one but himself so he could try and remember that, “This is me. This is how I look like.” The simple act is done so often that it has become more like a ritual than a routine; and even then it’s only part of what he must do the second moonlight dies and day breathes again.

(In which Louis suffers from prosopagnosia; he can’t recognize faces, even familiar ones. He can’t remember his own face, let alone Harry’s, but he remembers the way his skin feels under his fingertips, how he trembles under his touch as if Louis is fire, and Harry is nothing but mere paper, disintegrating into ash)

✨ keep the light on by renlyne (43k) [gryles, ou, friends to lovers, slow burn, angst]

but·ter·fly ef·fect noun 1. (with reference to chaos theory) the phenomenon whereby a minute localized change in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere. 2. a cumulatively large effect that a very small or seemingly insignificant natural force may produce over a period of time. In which Harry Styles tears up over glitter, and Nick Grimshaw’s life becomes immeasurably more complicated.

Or: it’s 2020, and really, better late than never.

✨ Like an Endless Summer by Anonymous (87k) [au, summer, slow burn, friends to lovers, pining, fluff]

“You just wanna go fawn over Styles as soon as possible,” Zayn grumbles.

“I do not. Plus, he probably got ugly this year. Eighteen is an awkward time...I bet he’s got acne and one of those terrible fuckboy haircuts all the hipsters are getting these days, with the shaved sides? Just watch, the first year we’re gonna get any time together is gonna be the first year I don’t have a stupid crush on him.”

---

Or, Louis is a riding instructor at a summer camp, and Harry is a fellow counselor who he’s been successfully managing his crush on for the last two summers. That is, until Harry shows up this year leveled up and lethal, and all Louis’s formerly perfected veneer of nonchalance melts like a popsicle in the sun.

✨ Lost for Words by AGreatPerhaps12 (102k) [ziam, au, summer, hurt/comfort, innocent/bad boy, fluff, angst, pining]

"Zayn was so stunning and so consistently kind to Liam that his stupid heart had the annoying habit of practically vibrating in his chest whenever they were together. Liam wasn’t deep enough in denial not to know what that meant anymore, but he was still forcing the feeling down as vehemently as possible. It was difficult, though, when Zayn turned to Liam with that smile and said his name like he was worth time and attention, and all the while in the back of his mind there was this chant of—

Get the fuck out of my house. I’m not having a fag for a son. I want you and your shit gone by the time I get back.

—Yeah. That."

Or: The one where Liam has a stutter and zero self confidence, and Zayn has a carefully controlled temper (also starring Louis and Harry as that disgustingly-in-love couple and Niall as the only straight guy around, apparently).

One of the Beautiful People by cantgetnoworse (24k) [au, fluff]

Louis is a sparkly go-go dancer on Saturdays. Zayn is his lifelong best friend with benefits. Zayn falls for someone new and Louis' world turns upside down.

✨ pray for some sweet simplicity by delsicle (237k) [au, a/b/o, enemies to lovers, sports, secret relationship, angst, smut]

Louis is the only omega to ever make it in the cut-throat world of competitive motorcycle racing—that is, he would be if anyone actually knew about his identity. Now, his sights are set towards competing in—and winning—the European Grand Prix, the biggest and most difficult race of the entire year, so he can disappear underground for good. He’s close enough, too, until an alpha sports journalist is assigned to follow Louis’s every move as he prepares for the event of his career.

Or, an AU where motorcycle racing is the biggest sport in a heavily divided world, Louis is trying to take control of his own destiny, and Harry is in for more than he bargained for.

Small Doses (Loving You It’s Explosive) by Anonymous (38k) [au, enemies to lovers, smut]

Louis Tomlinson finds himself at Vitality Fitness to try and turn his life around after having left his cheating boyfriend of four years. The gym's owner, Liam, quickly becomes a good friend, but his right hand man is rude and dismissive from the get-go. Louis and Harry continue to clash all while Harry is trying to move his way up the ranks in Manchester's amateur boxing circuit, but they can't seem to stay away from each other.

Something That Scares Me About Love by justyrae (51k) [lilo, ou, friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, kid fic]

Louis has always been fairly good at hiding things he didn't want to share. If he doesn't learn to start sharing, pretty soon he won't have anyone left to hide things from.

Something to Be by aguantare (12k) [au, uni, sports, angst]

Louis plays football for UCLA; Harry used to love football.

Standing on the Edge of Forever by EllaO (55k) [au, kid fic, angst]

“So let me get this straight. You took Mr. Squiggles from the classroom habitat, took him with you on your fieldtrip to the zoo, and released him in the aviary?”

Harry Styles is a single father, just trying to keep his life organized after losing his husband four years earlier. Between his daughter, Liam's hellion twins, and Sophia throwing him into any romantic tangle she can think of, life gets a little crazy. Of course, everything changes the moment Lo and the twins get interested in their school musical, The Wizard of Oz. Because the new director, Louis Tomlinson, is just about the most attractive man that Harry has ever seen.

Featuring adorable Dad Harry, hotshot actor Louis, three sassy kids, a badass Sophia Smith, and a Liam who just wants all their kids to be well behaved.

Take Me Back to Where We Started by amory (27k) [au, exes to lovers, famous/nonfamous, angst]

Harry and Louis haven't spoken since they broke up four years ago. As boarding school sweethearts they once spent every waking moment together, but now they can hardly stand to be in the same room. When their five year class reunion comes around, both boys decide against their better judgement to return and (hopefully) have a good time.

The only problem is, they're both still hopelessly in love.

Starring Harry as the petty ex, Louis as the new James Bond, Niall as a boy genius and fake boyfriend extraordinaire, and Liam and Zayn as two friends just trying to make it out of this weekend alive.

✨ Tell Me How To Feel About You Now by justyrae (38k) [au, famous/nonfamous, friends to lovers, exes to lovers, smut]

Louis thought it would feel different once he got to LA. He knew it was best for him; a fresh start as far away as he could get. But when the plane touched down and he stepped out into the hot air around LAX, Louis felt exactly the same.

There's still a hole in his chest where his heart used to be; ripped away even after trying for so many years to keep it from happening. He knows it's not all his fault, not by a mile, but it doesn't stop him from blaming himself for it all going wrong.

If he'd just stayed strong, if he'd said no when he said yes, maybe everything would be different.

Or, Harry has been trying to convince Louis to date him for years, but Louis has always been wary of Harry’s fairly obvious commitment issues. Louis eventually gives him a chance, opening his heart up to the one thing he fears.

under me, you by hazzafrazza (12k) [ou, friends to lovers, pining]

You Won’t Believe Who Was Spotted Leaving Harry Styles’ Primrose Hill Pad!

If Harry was being completely honest, it probably wasn’t the best idea to be a world-renowned popstar and an infamous vigilante.

(Especially when all the comic books said never reveal your secret identity to keep your loved ones safe – which was all well and good, until Louis.)

Or: Harry wants a lot of things – fame, glory, Louis – but that last one is particularly hard to get when everyone thinks you’re dating your secret superhero alter-ego and suddenly you’ve become your own worst cockblock.

✨ we’ll play hide and seek to turn this around (give me love like never before) by Wankerville (19k) [au, uni, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst]

“So here's the thing,” he starts. “I didn't mean what I said a few weeks ago to like, hurt your feelings or anything. If you like painting your nails, then you should do that, and not like, care if anyone else doesn't like it because their opinions shouldn't matter, you know?” Louis takes a breath, finally glancing over to see the boy wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. On a whim, he adds, “And like, I noticed you scraping it off and you haven't been wearing any and I think you should because that's what you like.”

or an au where harry paints his nails and drinks strawberry milk and is too nervous for it to be nothing and louis' just trying to figure out whats wrong with him

We’re Like Bumper Cars by sincehewaseighteen (31k) [au, high school, sports, enemies to lovers, smut]

“I have won, I won the final cross country. I win, Harry--”

“Whoever gets to fucking nationals wins it, pretty boy,” Harry teases. “You haven’t won. Interhouse is nothing compared to nationals, or interstate. You haven’t even won interschool. You can dream all you fucking want that you’ve won.”

Louis becomes so ignorant he decides to no longer eye the boy taunting him. “Trophies prove it all, Styles.”

“Where’s your trophy for biggest asshole?”

“Where’s yours for winning cross country?”

Harry growls before hooking his fingers in Louis’ belt loops and bringing them together for a flat kiss.

Or the AU where Louis and Harry are rivals of the century and Cross Country competitors before things get complicated and they play pretend.

What’s Stopping You? by kikikryslee (14k) [au, neighbors/roommates, friends to lovers, online, pining]

That shirt was what held his attention again. How many other guys had the same shirt that H and Harry had, and – wait. H… Harry. Harry did yoga. So did H. They both had the same shirt, and had both gotten home ten minutes ago and were cooking dinner.

No way.

Louis looked at the picture again, and stared more closely at H’s lips. They were pink and pouty, with the lower lip a bit plumper than the top, just like Harry. And H had brown, curly hair that reached his shoulders, just like Harry.

Louis looked over at Harry, who was putting his hair back up into a bun as the kitchen was most likely getting warmer.

“Holy shit,” Louis whispered. Have I been flirting with my own roommate all this time? --- Or, the one where Harry wants to get over his crush on Louis, so he makes a Grindr account to find someone new. Of course, Louis messages him, not realizing H's real identity. It only takes a few days for them to figure it out.

✨ You’ll Be The Death of Me by YinAndYangOnIce (58k) [au, high school, pining, innocent/bad boy, slow burn]

Louis is a punk who is failing history and Harry is a nerd who's really good at surprising him.

You’re a Rabbit, Louis by sunsetmog (5k) [stylinshaw, ou, fluff]

"Maybe Louis turned into a rabbit," Nick suggests. They both laugh. Louis doesn't. Harry is an idiot and Nick is an even bigger one.

Louis stomps past both of them on four tiny, furry, baby rabbit paws, and into Nick's flat. "I hate you both," he says. He sits on the rug by the TV. "And you can stop following me around too," he says to Pig, who sits down next to him on the rug.

"But seriously," Harry says, from the door. "Where's Louis?"

Louis thumps his back leg on the floor. "I'm here, you idiot."

"I'm not really suggesting this could be true," Nick says carefully, "but are we sure he isn't a tiny baby rabbit?"

✨ You’re A Universe by Jiksa (15k) [au, angst, hurt/comfort, kid fic, established relationship]

Harry doesn’t ever mean to hurt him; Louis doesn’t know how to tell him that it’s the only thing he ever does anymore.

Or, Louis’s a stay-at-home dad in London and Harry’s a business expat in Qatar. Louis doesn’t know how much longer their marriage can survive the distance.

#fic rec list #recentrecs #i got larry and gryles and zarry and lirry and stylinshaw and ziam #the ziam's amazing #the zarry's amazing #the gryles ones is amazing #amazing amazing amazing #there's a lot of fics on this list lmfao

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smutandahalf · 8 years ago

Text

On The Rocks

Author: smutandahalf

Characters: Stuart Twombly x Reader

Rating: NSFW 18+ EXPLICIT SMUT

Word Count: 4805

A/N: Enjoy, my lovelies!

The bar is loud and rowdy, the usual horde of Thursday night morons are out in full force tonight and it takes everything in me to not cringe at the sight of them. My nostrils flare slightly at the effort, thinking about their stupid white t-shirts and wannabe tough black leather jackets as they order endless shots of whatever disgusting liquor they think will make them the most badass. After all, the alcohol is just a method to get at the few women that are draped across them acting as if these guys are kings of the goddamn universe when in all reality they just want to be able to get shitfaced without paying for it.

I roll my eyes at the simpering brunette to the left of me that’s currently perched on the lap of the loudest sleazeball here tonight. A beefy, red faced man, drenched in some cologne that at best could be considered absolutely disgusting and I shudder slightly at the thought of some girl finding it appealing. I try my best to block them out, choosing instead to try and focus on the task in front of me.

“Hey baby, how about you slide me a little shot of somethin’ and I’ll make sure you’re rewarded for it later.” He says, leering suggestively at the girl behind the bar while he slides his hand up underneath the skirt of the chick on his lap.

The bartender glances up at the man in front of her, pausing for a moment before smiling at him, “Sure thing hot stuff, just give me a second.” Her voice is sugary sweet and she shoots him a wink.

I try to push down the sense of disappointment that’s filling me, I was hoping she had better taste than to be impressed by the caveman idiot next to me. He smirks at the girl on his lap, clearly so fucking proud of himself for no fucking reason and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

She pulls a bottles towards her, unscrewing the cap quickly and putting it down on the bar before pouring out a full shot of the clear liquor and then sliding it across the bar to him. She quickly puts the cap back on and shoves the bottles back with some others, out of sight.

“Drink up,” she says with a small smirk, and he throws his head back, downing the whole shot without a second thought. He grimaces slightly, staggering up off of his stool.

“As much as I’d love to keep staring at your pretty little fuck me lips, I’m out of here, I’ve got a slut to fuck,” He says in a slur, pulling the brunette up along behind him, “Don’t miss me too much, Dollface.”

She shoots him a glare as soon as his back is turn, mumbling something to herself in irritation and I bite back a chuckle.

“Can I get a Rum and Coke on the rocks?” I ask her and she whips her head up to look at me, “Preferably without the rubbing alcohol added into it.” I add in a low voice and her eyes widen as she blushes slightly.

“You could tell?” She asks in a mumble and I snicker, which causes her to blush a little darker.

“I could smell it from across the bar.”

“You didn’t say anything, you could have warned him.”

“Why would I do that? He’s trash water, definitely deserved some isopropyl.”

“Did you just call him trash water?” She asks with a laugh and I can feel my face heat up slightly.

“Well yeah, it seemed like a good insult, what would you have called him?”

She slides my drink to me and I take a sip of it, “Off the clock? Probably a cock sucker.” I snort, the alcohol shooting out through my nose slightly and I cough, squeezing my eyes shut as I try to ignore the horrible burning sensation in my nasal passage.

“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry.” She gasps out between peals of laughter.

“Not quite the suave impression I was hoping to make.” I mumble, feeling a bit embarrassed and she smiles at me sweetly, causing my stomach to flip slightly.

“Honestly, you’re the only one in this bar making a decent impression.”

“Really? The nerd boy is making a better impression than all these overaged jock types?” I ask her, quirking an eyebrow at her and she grins and she pours some alcohol into another glass.

“So it would seem. Drink up, nerd boy.” She says with a laugh before sliding another glass towards me, “On the house.”

“Come on Nerd Boy, you’ve been coming here for weeks and you’re telling me you’re still just going to order a ‘Rum and Coke on the rocks’.” She says making her voice rough and low to imitate how I order my usual drink and I find my eyes focusing on the curve of her lips as she pulls them into a grin.

“What can I say, I’m a creature of habit.”

“I have a strict no creatures in my bar philosophy.” She finishes mixing a drink and slides it towards me, “Here, try this one.”

“What is it?” I ask, eyeing the orange red drink suspiciously.

“Sex on the beach,” She says, flashing me one of those winks that makes my heart drop to my stomach and leap into my throat simultaneously, “On the rocks, I didn’t switch it up on you too much.” She adds with a laugh as she leans towards me from across the other side of the bar and I nod absentmindedly, watching as her chest strains against the thin fabric of her crop top, her breasts swelling up over the top slightly and I gulp slightly.

“I see Walt loosened up a bit on the dress code,” I comment, motioning slightly towards her while I take a sip of my drink and she smirks at me suggestively.

“He liked the sudden spike in profit from me getting to wear what I want.”

“I can see that.” I say, shooting a pointed look over at a group of rowdy neanderthals that are ogling at her.

“Jealous, nerd boy?” She teases, winking at the group of guys before blowing me a kiss.

“Of them? Never.” I mumble, downing a bit more of my drink.

“Good, you shouldn’t be, you’re worth ten of them anyways.”

“You’re just saying that because I always let you con me into helping you close down the bar.”

“You caught me, babes, it’s all secretly part of my wicked master plan.”

“Someone call Satan, his daughter is loose in the bar,” I quip back and she grins at me devilishly.

“Where do you think i get my sinfully good looks from?” She asks, biting her lip before shooting me another sultry wink and I gulp, trying to swallow down the lump of nervousness that’s formed in my throat.

“Devil woman,” I mutter under my breathe and she laughs before making her way down to another section of the bar to hustle some tips out of the poor unsuspecting idiots that have been lusting after her all night long.

I gaze after her, my eyes trained on the way her frayed denim shorts that hug her ass like a second skin, and I shift uncomfortably, trying to will away the thoughts of gripping her ass while I have her pinned up between me and a wall.

She leans against the bar, her breasts swelling from the positioning of her arms as she flirts with some sloppy looking fuckboy that can’t keep his eyes off of her cleavage and I clench my jaw, an inferno of jealousy igniting inside me. He splays his hand over the top of hers, leering at her, and I want nothing more than to tear my gaze away and pretend nothing is happening.

I stare at them intently, my eyes scanning her body language. While on the outside she looks like she’s enjoying it, looking a little closer at the more subtle reactions tells a completely different story. While at first glance she looks completely comfortable having him touching her, I can see the slight tense of her jaw, the way she seems to look through him rather than at him, the way her fingers clench slightly onto the worn wood of the bar.

A sense of relief floods through me slightly, along with a hint of smugness that she never has to force herself to endure talking to me, like it’s some kind of chore she can’t be bothered with. I glance back down to my tablet, letting myself focus on some work, attempting to keep myself from continuing to obsess over her.

“I thought they’d never fucking leave,” She grumbles, swiping her ragged towel against the bar roughly, irritation radiating off of her.

“I’m starting to wonder if all bartenders hate their jobs or if it’s just you.” I tease her and she flashes me a withering glare.

“I’m sure the others would hate it too if they had hoardes of scummy fuckboys using shitty pickup lines on them too.”

“Fair enough,” I put my hands up defensively, signifying my surrender and she sighs.

“I like it well enough for the most part,” She mumbles quietly, “I like mixing the drinks, and getting to meet new people, and hear all the crazy stories from people that come to visit from other countries, and not to mention when we get the groups of Aussies and Irish guys because they’re always a good time,” She pauses, smirking at my obvious discomfort at how much fun she thinks the Australians and Irish are, “But the entitlement always gets me. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why these guys think they can just come in and automatically get their pick of whatever the fuck they want. They have no problem flashing around all this supposed money they have, yet they always try and get free drinks. They only tip well if they think I’m going to sleep with them, and many of them just assume I’m going to let them just fuck me against the bar just because they decided to look at me.”

I nod sympathetically, but I can’t help the image of fucking her against the bar that flashes into my mind. The thought of her legs wrapped around my waist while I slide into her, her back arching up off of the battered bar while I bury my face in her perfect breasts.

“Earth to nerd boy,” She says loudly, waving her hand in front of my face, and I blink quickly, trying to banish the thoughts from my head. “What were you thinking about?” She asks, quirking an eyebrow at me and I can feel my face flush slightly as I clear my throat.

“My absolute outrage at the scummy fuckboys, of course.” I pull my beanie off, running my hand nervously through my hair before fixing my glasses and she fixes me with a stare, not looking entirely convinced.

Silence falls between us, punctuated by the bass vibrating through the walls from the club next door. She glances up at the clock on the wall before throwing down the rag and hopping over the bar.

“Let’s go, nerd boy.” She says, grabbing my hand and I drop my beanie down onto my now vacated stool.

“Where are we going?”

“Next door, I wanna dance and you, kind sir, are going to keep all the creeps from putting their nasty little hands on me.”

I gulp, trying not to focus on how her hand feels in mine, and silently willing my body to absolutely not start clamming up.

“I’m not sure you’re ready for my awesome moves,” I mumble and she looks over her shoulder to flash me a grin.

“Bring it, stud.”

She pulls me through the door, and down along the alley connecting the bar to the club, nothing but confidence radiating off of her without a hint of hesitation. I take a deep breath, giving myself a silent pep talk, determined not to make a fool of myself.

The loudness of the music hits me the second we walk in, and my eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness of the club. She weaves us through the throngs of sweaty bodies until she finds a place for us in the middle of the dance floor.

Leaning against me, she doesn’t let go of my hand, choosing instead to rest it on her hip and my hand grips her unconsciously. She sways her hips against me, in perfect time to the beat of the music and I fall into rhythm behind her. My other hand makes it’s way to her other hip, gripping her tightly as I pull her closer to me and she leans her head back against my chest, one of her arms snaking up to grasp the back of my neck.

A shiver goes up along my spine, the feeling of being so close to her is intoxicating. A small bit of courage surges through me and I lean down, brushing my lips against her neck and she lets out a shaky breath. That faint sound of encouragement is all I seem to need before I’m dipping my mouth back down, tracing every inch of her neck with my tongue until I nip gently at the junction between her neck and shoulder. She whimpers softly, a needy sound, and I suck in a harsh breath. I can feel the heat of her as she grinds against me, almost like she’s trying to conquer every inch of space left between us.

“Lemme show you how a real man dances,” Some red headed sleazeball slurs, pulling her out of my grasp until she pressed against his chest, his hands splaying across the bare skin of her stomach where her crop top has risen up. Another surge of jealousy goes through me, watching him put his hands on her. She glances back at me, her gaze slicing through me to the core, and suddenly, the jealousy is replaced with a burning intensity I can’t explain.

“Hands off my girl.” I growl, and he smirks at me.

“She doesn’t seem to be complaining, are you doll face.”

I wrap my hand around her wrist, pulling towards me like she’s nothing more than a leaf on the wind. I fold her into my arm, wrapping it possessively around her waist.

“Back. Off.”

“Look bro, a bad bitch like her doesn’t want some Bing water boy.”

I see red, and before I know it my fist is colliding with his nose and there’s a satisfying crunching sound before blood starts streaming from his nose, “It’s google, bitch.”

I pull her after me, back through the wall of sweaty bodies, and out the door before shoving her against the rough brick wall.

“I hate seeing them with their hands on you, baby,” I growl, my hands finding their way to her waist as I drag the tip of my nose down the side of her neck, my lips ghosting along the shell of her ear, “I hate seeing how they look at you, like they want nothing more than to fuck you until you’re screaming their names,” I suck a hickey onto her neck, rough and raw, claiming her as mine, “The only name you’re going to be screaming is mine.”

“Stuart,” She whimpers, using my name for the first time I can really remember and hearing it roll off her tongue does nothing to quiet the roaring in my blood.

She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me tightly against her as her mouth meets mine in a searing kiss, pulling my lower lip between her teeth and I groan against her mouth. I slide my tongue into her mouth, battling with hers for dominance. I wrap my fist in her hair, pulling her head back to give me unrestricted access to the column of her neck as I nip my way down the soft skin. Her head falls back against the brick wall, as she lets of a soft moan.

“Stuart,” She whines, her voice raspy, “I need you.”

“Better get those keys out or I’m fucking you right here against this wall, baby girl,” I groan in her ear and her breath hitches, “Something tells me you’d like that.”

She slides out from where she was pressed between me and the wall, and I lean against the wall letting out a harsh breath while she fumbles with her key ring before the door pops open.

“You coming?” She asks over her shoulder, trailing her eyes down my body and I can feel my cock twitch at the way she bites her lip.

“We will be,” I mumble under my breath, smirking at her, and she winks at me before reaching her hand out to pull me into the dark bar.

I shove her against the now closed door, returning to my mouth’s assault against the delicate skin of her neck, and trailing my hands down her body so I can palm her ass through her shorts.

“I’ve been thinking about this all fucking night.” I groan, gripping her roughly, my hands under her thighs so I can lift her up, my body slotting in between her legs. Her core hot against my abdomen and I shudder at the thought of how it’ll feel to be inside of her.

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you all night.” She moans in my ear and suddenly my khakis are much too tight and I need her even more than I thought was possible.

“If you want to use your mouth for filthy things then I can think of something much better than just saying naughty things.” I say to her in a low growl and she flicks her tongue out, licking my lips teasingly.

“Anything for you, Daddy,” she purrs, and there’s a roaring in my ears so intense I have to push back the animalistic urge to slam into her and fuck her hard against this door.

“On your knees, now, princess.”

She slides down my body, in a move that in the best case scenario could be described as practically pornographic until she settles on her knees on the hard floor, looking up at me innocently. I take a few steps back from her, the look in her eye almost predatory, as she crawls slowly along the floor towards me. My back hits the wall as she grins at me, her hands splaying across my thighs before gripping them. She runs her nails up and down my thighs, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle as a shiver runs down my spine. She presses a few open mouthed kisses up one clothed thigh and then down the other. Her fingers trail along the top of my waistband dipping under it before sliding back out, teasing me, and I can’t contain the whimper that escapes from my mouth.

“You’re being so good for me, baby,” she says, one hand gripping the buckle of my belt, “Letting me tease you when I know all you want to do is shove your hard cock down my throat,” She purrs, looking up at me through her lashes as she palms me through my khakis and I groan at the feeling of her hand against my growing bulge.

She unbuckles my belt, tossing it to the side before popping the button of my pants and pulling the zipper down slowly- never breaking eye contact, looking like she wants to devour every inch of me. She pulls my pants down farther from where they’re already slung low on my hips, pushing them down until they’re around my ankles so she can palm me through the thin material of my boxers and my eyes roll back slightly as she gently applies some more pressure.

“I’ve been thinking about this for so long,” she says in a sultry tone, “late at night when I get off of work, laying in my bed until I can’t help but to play with myself imagining it’s you.”

She kisses me through my boxers and my hips snap forward, desperate for more attention and she grins at me sweetly. “Let’s see what you’ve got for me, baby.”

She shoves my boxers down until they’re pooled around my ankles with my pants. Leaning forward, she sticks her tongue out, slowly licking the underside of my cock and I shudder as I let out a hiss.

She takes me into her mouth slowly, swirling her tongue around me, teasing me and I lean my head back against the wall. She slides me farther into her mouth, working up and down my length and I can’t keep back the low moans that are coming out from the depths of my throat.

“Just like that baby girl, fuck you do this so well,” I moan, my hips thrusting slightly, keeping in time with the pace she’s set with her mouth. I look down at her, groaning at the sight of my length sliding in and out of her lips as she hums around me, the vibrations shooting through me. She wraps a hand around my base, pumping slowly and then faster.

“F-fuck, so good,” I groan again, tangling my hands in her hair as she bobs her mouth up and down along me, hollowing out her cheeks so she can take all of me until I feel the tip of my cock tapping against the back of her throat and I almost come undone and the mere thought of the fact that she’s deepthroating me. She pulls me completely out of her mouth and I whimper at the loss of the sensation of her mouth when she suddenly takes me back in her throat, sliding me in and out quickly.

“Just like that, princess, fuck just like that. I’m so close.” I grip her head tightly as she works her mouth against me until I can feel that familiar pull in the pit of my stomach. “Almost there baby girl, fuck, fuck fuck, I love your pretty little mouth.”

I cum with a groan, expecting her to pull away, my mouth hanging open slightly as she continues to work her mouth against me, before slowly pulling me out of her mouth with a soft pop.

“You taste even better than I thought you would.” She says nonchalantly, winking at me as she licks her lips.

“Well I’m not fucking done with you yet.” I grab her from her position on her knees, swinging her up over my shoulder as I carry her to the bar before dumping her unceremoniously on the weathered wood.

I pull at her shorts, frantic to get them off of her and she arches her hips up so that I can slide them off of her.

“You’re not the only one good with your tongue, baby girl.” I say against the sensitive skin of the inside of her thigh and she squirms a little.

“Do your best, Twombly,” She sasses back a little breathlessly and I smirk against her before sucking a few hickeys onto her thighs. I take my time, slowly working my lips and teeth against every inch of her thighs and hips until she’s covered in bites and bruises.

“Are you done marking your new territory yet?” She snaps at me, attempting to rub her thighs together to create some friction, and I chuckle slightly as I hold her thighs down and she whines.

“Patience is a virtue, princess.”

“Not one I possess.” She mumbles in irritation and I smirk at her smugly before leaning down and licking a stripe along her already soaked panties and her hips lurch towards me as she gasps.

“Not so sassy now, are you baby,” I ask, pulling hard on her panties until I feel them give way and fall in tattered scraps away from her. “Fuck, princess, you look delicious.”

She whimpers as I lean down towards her, letting out a slow, long breath, loving the way she squirms as the cold air hits her soaked core.

I drag my tongue through her folds, flicking it against her clit and she moans. Her hands are in my hair, pulling at it roughly and I groan against her core which only makes her moan louder and pull harder. I circle her clit with the tip of my tongue before flattening it against her and she grinds herself against my face. I can’t get enough of it, the taste of her is absolutely intoxicating and I could spend hours here with my face buried in her cunt tracing lazy patterns against her with my tongue.

I slip my tongue inside of her, lapping at her greedily and she arches her hips up as she rocks them against me. I slide a long finger into her, and she lets out a filthiest moan I’ve ever heard that always makes me stop what I’m doing, completely entranced by it.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” She growls threateningly and I’m happy to comply, sliding another finger into her before hooking them up into her and hitting that spot deep within her.

“Fuck.” She whimpers, “Stuart, baby, fuck please don’t stop.”

“What’s my name, baby?” I ask her, looking at her as she grasps at her own breasts, palming them through her crop top as I work my fingers in and out of her.

“Baby,” she whimpers, “Stuart, please.” She adds.

“Not quite princess,” I say, my fingers slowing their pace slightly causing her to hitch her breath.

“Please let me cum, please Daddy, please,” She begs, and I lean forward quickly to suck on her clit. Her hips slam up against me as she clenches around my fingers, screaming my name as her thighs quake beneath my grasp. I keep working my mouth and fingers against her lazily, under the shaking subsides before slowly pulling away from her.

“How was that, for a nerd boy?” I ask, winking at her, and she raises up slightly, leaning back on her arms to look at me.

“I need you inside of me now.” She says, her eyes dark with lust and I bite back a groan of my own.

“Anything you want, baby girl.” I pull her by her thighs towards me until her ass if just barely on the bar before lining myself up with her still dripping entrance.

I swipe my cock through her folds, teasing her, before sliding my length into her. She moans, arching her hips to meet my slow strokes.

“Fuck baby you feel so good, so fucking tight.”

“Holy fuck,” She whimpers, rocking her hips against me. I lift one of her legs, hitching it onto my shoulder so I can deeper into her and she moans loudly. “F-fuck baby, right fucking there.”

I draw slow circles on her clit with my thumb, watching is awe as she begins to shake and writhe underneath me.

She’s panting, the rapid rise and fall of her breathing making her tits look beyond fantastic and I can’t resist the urge to suck a few more dark bruises onto to them before pulling her nipple into my mouth.

She whimpers as I pull away, before moaning as I take the other in my mouth, my fingers still working against her clit as I slide in and out of her.

“I’m so fucking close,” She whimpers, her nails digging into my back as she tries to pull me closer to her until my hips are slamming against hers.

Without any warning she clenches around me, her nails digging so roughly into my back as if it’s the only thing anchoring her as she screams my name again. My strokes are becoming sloppier, the sound of my name on her lips like a chanted prayer tipping me over the edge until I’m falling with her, completely consumed by the sensation of her.

I thrust slowly, before gripping the bar so I don’t collapse completely on her and she slides off of it shakily.

“Well, fuck.” She says simply, and all I can do is chuckle in response before pulling her in for a searing kiss. We finally pull away from each other when I feel like my lungs are going to burst from a complete lack of oxygen, not that I think I’d mind that much.

“So, how do you feel about round two back at my place?” She asks winking at me and I smirk at her.

“Like it was even a question, maybe next time I’ll order you on the rocks.” I retort, nipping at her shoulder and she giggles.

“I do love me a good, kinky, sex god of a nerd boy.”

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