#i mull it over in the shower and it’s always so impressive thinking back

[coffinwoodx]

couple of screenshots of kim’s wikipedia page that i felt so deeply in my soul

[qveerthe0ry]

The D-Files

Summary: Something weird happens when Dieter tries to post his X-Files fanfiction Word Count: 14,941 Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Fox Mulder x Dana Scully Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: threesome, oral (m & f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected PIV, rimming, d/s undertones, poor explanation of time travel and quantum physics, it's a little cracky tbh Beta: the one and only @for-a-longlongtime obviously A/N: listen. I have ten episodes left of the whole series so if something is totally off and not accurate to x files canon just ignore me :) Also I'm absolutely aware of how completely ridiculous this fic is but I heard the voice of Dieter Bravo speak to me and could not ignore it Ao3 link

Curled up under at least three blankets, in just his underwear, stoned out of his mind (just weed— he’s California sober now) Dieter watches Mulder and Scully shake hands for the first time. 

The first time for them. 

He’s had to have seen this episode at least a thousand times by now. 

He’s in one of those funks again. His therapist calls it a depressive episode, but that’s so dramatic. He’s just a little bit down in the dumps thinking about how worthless he is and how no one’s ever really loved him before, not even his own parents, and how he hates himself so much he’s not sure if he would ever get rid of the guilt of letting someone else love him because he knows he’d just be a waste of their time.

It’s no big deal. Nothing an X-Files rewatch, weed, and a footlong Subway sandwich can’t fix.

Except this time, the way Scully and Mulder instantly mesh so well kind of makes him feel like he smoked too much pot. His stomach’s a little queasy as he watches him give her his undivided attention, and fuck, maybe this is a job above these FBI agents’ pay grade. 

He eyes that stupid notebook on his nightstand, still wrapped in plastic from the Amazon order. 

His therapist told him to start writing his thoughts down in a journal. He doesn’t like writing. It’s not what he does. He can’t stand those actors who think just because they’ve starred in a few movies means they should start writing them, or scrawling down some convoluted, conceited novel. Just fucking act, y’know? 

But as Scully throws herself into Mulder’s arms after knowing him for only a few days, and they both look so comfortable, Dieter rips open the packaging and swallows down the bile threatening his esophagus.

—

I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing here. What should I even write down in this thing? How lonely I am? Get in line, right? I’m not the only one. Even though sometimes it feels like I am.

Maybe it feels so bad because I know I did this to myself. Everyone always told me I’d always be a piece of shit. Even when I was young. And I just let their narrative take over and now here I am. The biggest piece of shit. 

It’s like Mulder. Everyone always called him Spooky and said he was too ‘out there’ and he ended up in the basement chasing Bigfoot. 

Except I don’t have a hot redhead in my life to balance me out or slowly fall in love with me.

And I’m not a tall, boyishly handsome, charming FBI agent. 

I’m just a washed-up actor, and a slob, and a drug addict. That’s probably why.

Golly gee, doc, this sure made me feel better.

—

He writes in his journal a bit here and there. He also slowly rots away in his bed, takes far too little showers and far too many THC gummies. He talks to his therapist two weeks later and tells her he’s been writing down his thoughts and her impressed hum and “That’s very good, Dieter” has him riding a high the rest of the afternoon. 

So he keeps it up. 

He doesn’t leave the house much, and when he does, he just wants to get back into his permanently affixed blanket fort to watch more X-Files and get high. 

He writes a little about his day, about what he’s mulling over in his mind. But as he reaches the end of season two, he’s out of his funk enough to start feeling horny again. 

Who wouldn’t, watching the world’s hottest FBI agents on a near constant loop?

So who can blame him when his journal thoughts get a little spicy?

—

God, Mulder’s such an idiot sometimes. So is Scully. They waste so much time getting on each others’ nerves. This entire show is just years-long foreplay. I swear they get off on irritating each other.

I irritate so many people, why aren’t any of them ever turned on about it? 

They should have just let them kiss in the first season. There could have been so much sex. All the motel rooms these two wasted! On the government’s dime, too! 

Rental car sex, alleyway sex, OFFICE sex. The Sex Files. That’s what this show should have been. 

I wonder if Mulder’s better at eating ass or pussy. I just know he’s freaky with all the porn and phone sex hotlines. And the auto erotic asphyxiation thing, can’t forget about that. I’d choke the shit out of him if he wanted that. With my hand or my cock, his choice. 

I wonder if Scully is freaky, too? I think she’d deny it, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she was filthy kinky. She always has to be in control. I wonder if she’d be like that in bed, too? I wonder if she’d get off on torturing me and making me beg. Or maybe she’s always so in control that she wants to relinquish all of it when she’s in bed.

—

Dieter remembers that fanfiction exists shortly after that. 

His dick is raw and he hasn’t even made it through half of the explicit entries on archive of our own. But everything’s so… Vanilla. 

Don’t get him wrong, he’s a total sucker for tender, missionary love-making. But where’s the experimentation? Where’s the creativity? And why the hell does everyone think Fox Mulder is such a dom?

Just look at him.

He’s pathetic. Scully could have him begging on his knees with nothing but the snap of her finger and one of her sexy, stern glances. Maybe he’s projecting a little bit, but not much.

He gripes to his therapist about this while he avoids the topic of his greatest fear being dying without ever having a meaningful relationship in his whole life.

“Have you ever thought about writing your own fanfiction?”

And no, he truly never has. It seems like something so far away from appropriate given his profession. But then again, when has he ever been totally professional?

So he starts writing. At first he finds himself falling into the popular tropes— love confessions and sweet, romantic first times. Just little blurbs in his journal he ends up scrawling out with his pen. There’s enough of that already. He needs to explore the fun stuff with these two.

One night/early morning, he finally grabs his laptop from his rarely-used office. He snuggles up under all the blankets he can find, turns on The X-Files, and gets down to business. 

—

“I’m sorry Scully—”

“Don’t.”

Her icy blue stare pins Mulder in place. His pouty lips close and his sharp jaw clenches as he looks down at his feet.

“You almost got us killed!”

“I wouldn’t have let you get hurt, you know that.”

Scully doesn’t know what comes over her, but she crosses what little distance is between them to grab the back of Mulder’s hair and tug.

His jaw drops and as hard as he tries, he can’t stifle the whimper that slips from his lip. 

“You were reckless with your own life. You can’t— Do you know what I would do if anything ever happened to you?”

Scully’s sharp gaze softens. Tears prickle at Mulder’s eyes, partly from Scully’s death grip and partly because of the way her voice wavers. 

“Scully—”

“Get on your knees.”

——

Dieter fights the heavy, sharp arousal in his gut as he writes Mulder on his knees for Scully. He just knows he’d eat pussy like a champ, what with those sunflower seeds he’s always got between those pillowy lips. He’d be great at sucking cock, too. Dieter thinks they would look so fucking pretty around his own dick.

Or Scully’s strap. 

Perfect.

He stays awake for way too long, writing about Scully trapping Mulder between her thighs for hours, and then making him choke or her strap, and then making him beg and whimper and cry for it as she teases his prostate with her fingers. 

Scully’s so dainty, but the idea of her fucking into her big, tall partner with fury has Dieter leaking into his boxers as he types away. It takes all of Dieter’s willpower to write the sweet aftercare scene. Scully gently cleans up his cum and sweat and tears, telling him what a good boy he was as she pets his hair and kisses his face. 

As soon as Dieter writes the last words, he’s fumbling for his lube and dildo in the bedside drawer. He’s too worked up to prepare properly, and it burns, and he hears Scully’s disappointed tuts in his head as he fucks himself into a mess. 

He whines her name, and Mulder’s name, as filthy images of the two fill his head. 

He comes without even touching his dick. He makes an absolute mess of his sheets and just grinds into the puddle beneath him as he fucks himself through the aftershocks. 

And if he cries a little bit at the thought of two beautiful FBI agents telling him how good he was as they stroke his sweaty skin, that’s between him and his open laptop. 

—

“Do you think I should post my fanfiction?”

His therapist’s perfectly shaped eyebrows perk up. 

“Do you think you should post it?”

“I dunno. Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t it be a little weird? An actor writing fanfiction about characters his peers portrayed?”

His therapist hums. He knows that’s his cue to keep talking, but they just sit in silence for a bit. 

“Do you want to post it?” She asks. 

He huffs. 

“I don’t know. What if everyone hates it?”

She shrugs and nods at him to continue.

“I’m afraid no one’s gonna read it. Or if they do, they’ll hate it. And leave mean comments.”

“Would that bother you?”

“Well yeah, duh.”

She hums again. Dieter rolls his eyes, half at her but half at himself. 

“I know, I know,” he sighs, “I’m a walking contradiction. I crave praise but I’m too afraid to put myself out there to receive any.”

“That’s not necessarily true. You’re an actor. It’s your job to put yourself out there and be consumed and reviewed.”

“Yeah but that’s not me, it’s just the guy they tell me to play.”

His therapist smiles. 

Shit. 

“I think you know what you need to do, Dieter.”

He does leave that therapy session crying, thirty minutes later. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs. 

It takes him six days to work up enough courage to even make an account. And then another two days to pour over every single word he wrote, change it, change it back, wash rinse and repeat. 

When he finally works up the nerve to post it, his laptop dies just as he’s about to press the publish button. 

You gotta be kidding me, he thinks, maybe this is a sign.

But then he thinks about what his therapist would say, that things that are worth it rarely come easy, and that he should probably stop assuming everything is a sign, and so he plugs his laptop in and waits for it to charge enough to come back to life. 

It’s the longest four minutes of his life. 

He stares at the black screen in silence. He blinks at his reflection as he listens to the storm brewing outside his window, only flinching slightly as lightning illuminates his dark room. 

His heart leaps up into his throat when the screen lights up again. Everything’s right where he left it. All he has to do is press that little button. 

He takes one, two, three deep breaths with his finger on the trigger and then—

CRACK

—

Everything hurts. Like, bad.

Dieter groans and tries to blink his eyes open. It’s bright. He’s no stranger to waking up in an unfamiliar place with a terrible headache and no recollection of how or why he’s there. However, he hasn’t touched a party drug in a year and a half, and hasn’t even been to a party for even longer than that. 

He finally blinks away the sleep in his eyes. He’s on the cold ground. The grass is plush and dewy under him. When he sits up, the world spins around him for a few moments and he just barely keeps his stomach from emptying. 

He checks his pockets. At least he has his phone on him. No wallet, though. And he’s in his pajamas, which is fine, not unusual attire for most of his outings. 

He goes to unlock his phone but of course it’s dead. 

Shit. 

He looks around a bit more and all this scenery does not look like Los Angeles. There are hills in the distance that are much more rolling than the jagged peaks in California. The smell of campfire fills the air and it’s humid, he realizes. Stiflingly so. 

He stands up. His joints ache even more than they usually do, stiff and popping. When he runs his hand through his hair he’s got wicked bed head. 

At least he can make out a dirt path amongst the grass and trees around him. He follows it for a while, and just as he thinks he might be wandering to his own death out in the boonies he sees a little shack in the clearing just by what seems to be a lake. 

It looks… Strangely familiar, despite the fact that he’s certain he’s never been here before. There’s a sign that reads “Bait & Tackle” that’s seen better days and a big giant inflatable… something tied down to the roof. 

He scratches his head as he stares. He has the feeling of something being on the tip of his tongue, but it’s on the tip of his brain instead. 

As he approaches, a high-pitched growl startles him out of his daze. His eyes frantically search for the source, and as he walks closer he spots it.

A tiny little yappy Pomeranian, tan and fluffy. 

It hits him all at once. 

He gasps and moves toward the fiesty little thing as his heart pounds. There’s no way…

It snarls and yaps at him as he crouches down to greet it— him. 

Once he starts giving the dog butt pats and head scratches, it warms up to him pretty quickly. He searches for the dog tag hiding under all that fur and gasps as he reads it.

QUEEQUEG

“Oh my god, Queequeg, I thought I’d never see you again, buddy.”

The pup wags his tail at the sound of his name and Dieter goes down on his knees to accept him into his lap. 

“How are you real? What’s happening?”

Tears well at Dieter’s eyes as he holds this fictional dog in his arms, who’s been dead since season 3. Sue him, he’s very confused and vulnerable and it was the most devastating death of the series by far.

As he pets the derpy little thing, he tries to wrap his head around everything that’s going on. Last he remembers, he was holding his breath and clicking the mouse pad and now he’s here, in the middle of nowhere Georgia if he remembers his X-Files trivia correctly. 

Which means this sweet little pup is going to die in this… episode? And if he’s in the episode, that means—

“Hey! What are you doing? That’s my dog!”

Dieter’s heart pounds, heavy and fast, like he’s done way too much coke. He looks up with wide eyes and it’s unmistakable, her bright red hair and sexy scowl and the lanky handsome man attached to her hip. 

“Scully?”

Dieter watches her face twist up in confusion, and watches Mulder’s eyebrows raise with a smirk on his face as he looks between him and his partner. 

“You know this guy, Scully?”

She squints at Dieter as they walk closer. He feels very warm under her gaze. He pets Queequeg’s head for comfort.

“No, I don’t. What’s your name?”

Dieter clears his throat. 

“You don’t recognize me?”

Mulder presses his lips together, trying to hide his amused smile as he nudges Scully’s side. 

“Should I?”

“Wait… what year is it?”

Scully’s face turns from annoyed to concerned. She kneels down in front of Dieter and looks into his eyes, and her gaze is too heavy, it spears right through him. 

“It’s 1995. Are you concussed?”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean— Maybe. Probably, to be honest. It’s 1995?”

“Has been for five months, now,” Mulder supplies. 

Dieter nods. 

“Do you know where you are?”

“I think so… listen. You guys aren’t gonna believe this— well, Mulder might believe it— But I’m from the future.”

Scully’s concerned gaze turns right back to annoyed very quickly, and she stands back up to cross her arms. 

Mulder just chuckles. 

“How do you know our names?” He asks.

Dieter feels a little weird on the ground while they’re staring down at him, in a horny way, so he gently places Queequeg back on the gravel to stand up himself.

“Would you believe it if I said I’m from an alternate reality where you guys are the main characters in a cult classic sci-fi television series?”

Mulder blinks at him. Dieter shrugs with a sheepish grin.

“Honestly? That’s more believable than the time travel.”

Dieter smirks. 

“That’s such a Scully thing to say.”

“That is such a Scully thing to say,” Mulder agrees. 

“Oh my god.”

“I can prove it! I swear. C’mon, let’s get this little guy safe and sound in your cabin and I’ll prove everything.”

Mulder shrugs, and gives Scully one of his looks, the c’mon, let’s see where this goes look that Dieter’s so used to seeing. 

She just scoffs.

“Mulder, we don’t have time for this. People are dying left and right, you’re on a wild sea-monster chase, and half the town is—”

“Wait, Scully, look at this guy. He’s going to tell you another body’s been found in the lake. Well— half of a body.”

They all turn to the man running up from the docks, and sure enough, it plays out almost exactly how Dieter remembers from the episode. Scully’s very focused on the legs floating in the lake, but Mulder keeps eyeing him in a way that makes him wish he was wearing something more than just flimsy pajama pants. 

“Scully…” Mulder mumbles as they walk back toward their car, “I think we should hear him out.”

“Hear him out!? We should be shoving him in handcuffs, he’s the only suspect we have that isn’t mythical.”

“I’d be into that, actually,” Dieter says, holding his hands out toward them, wrists pressed together. 

Scully grimaces and Mulder smirks but he drapes an arm around her shoulder in a way that seems suspiciously protective. 

“There’s not enough evidence to cuff him, but we can at least keep him close and see what else we can get out of him.” 

“Mulder—”

“If anything, he can just dogsit for us.”

The way they’re talking about him like he’s not even there makes the tips of his ears burn.

“I’d love to dogsit! I miss Queequeg.”

“What do you mean you miss him? He’s right here.”

Dieter winces. 

“Actually that’s a big plot point in this episode,” Dieter whispers.

They stop at the car and Scully glares at him, and Mulder looks a little bit like he’s just brought a stray dog home without her permission. Dieter kinda likes it.

“You never told us your name,” Scully grills.

“Dieter. Dieter Bravo.”

Mulder huffs. 

“What kind of name is Dieter Bravo? Do you do adult films?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Fox?”

The way the giggle bubbles up out of Scully’s chest makes him preen. 

“Alright. Where do you live, Dieter?”

He winces and scratches the back of his neck.

“Los Angeles.”

“Oh brother,” Scully grumbles. 

“How did you get here then?”

“Y’know, it’s the weirdest thing. I was writing a fanfiction about the two of you and when I went to post it, I think lightning struck my house and sent me here.”

The two agents stare at him in silence for so long that Dieter has the time to question every single moment that has led up to this. He determines that this is all his therapist’s fault when Mulder finally clears his throat. 

“You can bunk with me until we get everything sorted out, alright?”

Dieter straightens up and salutes him.

“Yes, sir, Agent Mulder.”

Scully rolls her eyes and turns to open the car door for him, but Mulder smirks.

“I think I kinda like this guy, Scully.”

——

Mulder’s nice enough to let him shower and lend him spare clothes that aren’t caked in mud and grass stains, once they’re back at the cabin. He cleans up in silence trying to wrap his head around this entire pickle he’s in, and how to go about making them believe him.

He’s got his work cut out with Scully, he knows this. But he works over every bit of information he can remember from each season, each episode, to remember something that couldn’t be denied. 

They’re doing their Scully and Mulder thing when he comes out with damp hair and Mulder’s clothes on. (He definitely had to will away a half-chub at the thought of being wrapped in his things.) 

They sit around the small living room with photos and paperwork all sprawled out and Dieter feels like geeking out a little bit. This is like the world’s greatest and most interactive X-Files museum. 

“Okay. I’m going to try to do this in the best way I know how. Just— Bear with me.”

They sit back in their seats, and Dieter lifts Queequeg onto his lap to take his place on the couch. He waits for them to give him a go-ahead, but neither of them are responsive. He tries not to feel so aroused by their focused gazes. Maybe he should have jerked off in the shower, as a precaution.

“Okay then… let’s see… this is Season 3, Episode… 22? So. You guys just went through the whole Skinner thing, right? With his— his bad dreams lady killing that prostitute?”

“How do you know Skinner?”

“I told you, it’s a TV show. Skinner’s always busting your balls. Big tough assistant director business. He’s actually just a softy though, I think.”

Scully looks disinterested and a little annoyed, but Mulder’s starting to shift forward in his seat.

“What’s the show called?”

“The X-Files.”

Scully snorts. 

“How creative.”

“Okay, okay, I know. It sounds whacky. But I’ve seen the show a billion times over, I’ve been unknowingly preparing for this moment since the pilot aired.”

He takes a moment to determine what to say and how to word it before he continues.

“Okay… Well… Your first case together was that weird kid in Oregon that kept helping aliens abduct his classmates. Scully conveniently missed the UFO though. Ever the skeptic. Then… let’s see… Deep Throat turns up in the next episode. Scully, he ended up dying in your arms and his last words were trust no one.”

“Mulder, we’ve been bugged for 90 percent of the time we’ve known each other, this doesn’t mean anything.”

Dieter huffs and Mulder shrugs. 

“Keep going. Give us a deep cut, man. You gotta try harder than that.”

“When did you become the skeptic, Mulder?” 

The agent shrugs and raises his eyebrows to urge him to continue. 

“Okay… Scully, when you were at your god son’s birthday party, you told your friend that Mulder is a jerk.”

“Hey, what the hell, Scully?”

“No, I said he was just—”

“Obsessed with his work, yeah. After you called him a jerk though.”

Dieter hates to see the way Mulder’s eyebrows draw up in the middle. It’s kind of funny to see Scully so embarrassed, though. He figures he’ll keep what else she said to himself, about him being cute, because it looks like she’s praying that he doesn’t blab about it.

“You wound me, Scully.”

“Oh, yeah, and there’s the time you shot Mulder in the shoulder.”

“You’re kind of a bully, y’know?”

Scully shoves at his shoulder to prove their point, and Mulder just laughs and leans into it. 

“Do you want to know what happens in the future? Wait, if I affect the future will the show be different? I dunno how I feel about that… new X-Files episodes in 2024 would be incredible. But what if the new episodes suck, though?”

“2024? That’s what year you’re going with?” 

Dieter nods. 

“It kinda sucks. We have smartphones and streaming services and stuff but also, you wouldn’t believe who the last president was if I told you. Also there was a global pandemic. Still kinda is one, but everyone’s just ignoring it. Actually, come to think of it, you guys would thrive in 2024.”

“Do we die before then?”

“Oh, no, no, the show just finished. And then came back and then— it’s a whole thing. But neither of you die.”

“Hmm.”

Mulder hums, and Dieter knows exactly what he’s thinking. Scully too, by the faraway look on her face. Total idiots. Why couldn’t he have landed at least after the first kiss. Or even the almost-kiss?

“Well, I’m tired, and this case isn’t going to solve itself. And Queequeg needs to go potty, so, I think we’re done here.”

Dieter’s whole body feels hot, like the time he was stabbed in the chest with that epi-pen. He shoots up off the couch so fast that Queequeg yelps and hops down to cower behind Scully’s ankles.

“Wait! It’s an alligator. Literally. It’s just an ordinary alligator killing these people. And if you let Queequeg walk into the woods he’s going to get eaten and if there’s one single thing you believe me about it has to be this, okay? For Queequeg’s sake.”

Dieter’s got his hands clasped in front of him, pleading. Scully looks startled and Mulder looks awed, but he’s desperate to drive this point home. 

“…Okay. I’ll keep him close. Thank you.”

They think he’s crazy. Scully does, at least. Mulder’s just quiet, uncharacteristically so. 

“Thank you.”

“Alright,” she sighs, grabbing Queequeg’s leash and hooking him up, “goodnight guys.”

“Goodnight Scully.”

Dieter sighs and sits back down. 

“She thinks I’m insane, doesn’t she?” 

“Welcome to the club.”

Dieter chuckles and looks to Mulder. He’s still got that pensive look on his face. It suits him, all brooding with that fucking jawline and those plush lips and sad eyes. He wants to kiss him so bad. He almost says it out loud, so used to his horny musings while watching this guy on TV that his filter is a little out of whack. 

Dieter doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Mulder tilts his head at him, confused. He opens his mouth and takes a breath but the door ripping open cuts him off. 

“Mulder, there’s something in the woods; Dieter was right. I think we should check it out.”

Mulder jumps up at her beck and call and seeing it in person is even more overwhelming, how he follows her without question and trusts her, so eagerly. 

“Queequeg?”

“He’s here, can you watch him?”

Dieter nods.

“Me? Yeah, yes ma’am, Agent Scully.”

He doesn’t miss the amused look on her face just before the door slams shut behind them. 

He lies on the couch with Queequeg on his chest, enjoying the silence after the… everythingness of his day. He really wishes he could smoke some pot, but even if he could get his hands on some, he’s sure it would be weak as hell. And there’s the FBI agent thing. 

Dieter’s not sure how long he’s been staring at nothing and snuggling Queequeg when the cabin door finally opens again. 

“Did you catch the alligator?”

The eerie silence he’s met with makes him whip his head around. Scully and Mulder are staring at him. He’s pretty sure 80 percent of his X-Files fantasies have started exactly like this. 

“… We did. We caught it just in time to save Ted Bertram.”

“That’s the guy with the lake monster feet, right?”

They both nod slowly. 

Queequeg hops down from his perch on Dieter’s chest, so he sits up. 

“I told you. You guys believe me now?”

He watches as Mulder nods his head yes and Scully shakes her head no. All he can do is shrug and start wondering what’s next for him, in the year of 1995.

“Hey, do you guys need an assistant? I could tell you how to solve the next case! I think it’s the one with the mind control cable. Mulder, are you really red-green color blind? I think that was a major plot hole. How do you tell the difference between human blood and alien blood if one is red and one is green, then?”

“Mulder’s not colorblind,” Scully says. 

“Uhh… Actually, yeah. I am.”

“What? How did you pass the color vision test?”

“I’m colorblind, not an idiot. I can still tell them apart, they just look different to me than they would to you.”

“I— I can’t believe you’ve been colorblind this entire time.” 

Mulder shrugs. Then his brow quirks up.

“Why does that matter?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you. It might mess with the space-time continuum and— quantum physics, you know?”

Scully’s clearly had enough. She sighs and finally kicks off her shoes. 

“I’m grabbing a shower and clearing my head,” she says, “don’t— don’t let him out of your sight for now, Mulder.”

Mulder nods and half smiles at her. They both look pretty tired. He wants to remind them that he’s the one who traveled 29 years into the past today, but it seems like a pretty sore subject. 

They stand still and silent in the living room until Scully closes her bedroom door behind her, Queequeg in tow.

“You heard the woman. There’s a TV in my room.”

Mulder nods toward the other bedroom door and Dieter follows dutifully.

“Does it get the good channels?”

He hears Mulder chuckle and watches from behind as he sheds his jacket. He admires all those lean muscles in his back, now that he’s not wearing one of those god awful baggy suits. Maybe he should suggest a tailor, he thinks, and wonders if the later seasons would be filled with more eye candy if he did. 

“You know about that?”

“All the video tapes that aren’t yours? And the hotline lady that leaves messages on your answering machine? Yeah. You wouldn’t believe what porn is like in thirty years. You’re gonna love it.”

Dieter’s torn between looking away and staring shamelessly while Mulder unbuttons his fly. He settles for nonchalant, hoping his eyes don’t pop out of their sockets like a cartoon character when he notices the outline of Little Mulder. This is even better than the gray sweatpants in the Humbug episode. 

“I was hoping to kick the habit in thirty years’ time, actually.”

Dieter shrugs and his staring contest with Mulder’s crotch ends abruptly as he slides into a pair of pajama pants. Which is weird, because usually Mulder sleeps in his underwear. Must be the fact that he’s sharing a cabin with Scully.

Mulder throws Dieter the remote and settles onto the bed. There’s no couch in here, not even a cuck chair, so Dieter settles next to him. His whole body burns. God, if 20-year-old Dieter could see himself now, he’d ruin the pants he was wearing. 

The silence feels a little awkward, so he turns the TV on. Nineties TV is so simple. It’s easy to settle on a channel playing Invasion of the Body Snatchers and sink into the mattress under him. 

It only takes a few moments before he realizes Mulder’s staring holes into the side of his face. 

“What’s up?” Dieter asks. 

There’s so little room between them it’s making Dieter’s entire body throb along with his pulse. 

“You’re telling the truth.”

Dieter nods and tries to give him a reassuring smile. Mulder sighs and throws his head back onto the pillow. His eyes close and his brows furrow and his jaw does that sexy clenching thing again. It’s all Dieter can do to not bite at it and soothe the sting with his tongue. 

“What happens to us?”

Dieter clears his throat.

“I mean— I know, you shouldn’t affect the future, yadda yadda. I just…”

Fuck it, Dieter thinks, if I’ve already solved the case way before the episode is supposed to end, I’ve thrown everything off anyway.

“You end up together.”

Mulder lets out a big, long breath. His face instantly relaxes. His hands flex by his sides and Dieter goes out on a big giant limb and grabs one of them.

Mulder starts at the touch, but lets it happen. 

“When?”

“Way later than you should have shacked up, in my opinion.”

He grumbles. 

“My opinion, too.”

“You should make a move, then. I’m pretty sure at this point she’s only waiting for you to make a move.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Oh, it’s a whole thing involving a shapeshifting guy with a tail. Trust me. She’s got it just as bad.”

They’re still holding hands. Mulder hasn’t moved a muscle. An idea so bright pops into Dieter’s head that he’s certain there’s a lightbulb floating above him. 

“You know when you met Bambi on that cockroach case?”

Mulder nods. 

“She was so jealous. Didn’t you pick up on that?”

“I— I thought so. But I also thought she was just annoyed with me, y’know, how she usually is.”

Dieter squeezes his hand. 

“She was annoyed because she’s into you, dude. It was envy. Very, very clearly.”

He hums. 

“So? What now? Do I apologize for something that happened months ago? You apparently know Scully as well as I do, how do you think that’ll blow over? ‘Hey, sorry I made you jealous because you have a big fat crush on me.’ She’d deck me.”

Dieter shakes his head. 

“No, man. You need to make her jealous. So jealous she can’t deny why she’s upset with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, and I mean, why not just start right now, y’know? Get a head start on the whole thing. I mean, you’re here, I’m here, there’s only one bed…”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were coming onto me.”

“I would love to come on you, actually.”

Mulder laughs, and Dieter deflates a little at the sound. But when he goes to pull his hand away, Mulder cinches it in his own. 

“Dieter…”

“Mulder.”

“We’re doing this, then?”

Dieter nods like an overexcited puppy wagging its tail. Oh my god. Oh my god. Fox Mulder in his prime, how fucking lucky can one guy be?

Mulder glances at the door to make sure it’s open. The faint sound of running water can be heard from Scully’s room, and he thinks he smells her shampoo wafting out with the steam. 

Like two nervous teenagers, they shift to face one another. Dieter brings their joined hands together on his own hip. Mulder’s palm is warm on his skin where his shirt rides high, and it makes Dieter’s breath hitch. 

Slowly, Dieter urges him to keep his hand still with a squeeze before mirroring Mulder’s, creeping his hand under his shirt and feeling his solid, trim waist.

Mulder hums into his touch and Dieter realizes this man is possibly just as touch-starved as he is. He starts swirling circles into his skin with his thumb and inches forward, but those beautiful hazel eyes hold apprehension in their timid gaze.

“What if this blows up in my face?” Mulder whispers.

“It won’t. I guarantee it. I’ll make sure of it. Trust me?”

A soft grin tugs at Mulder’s lips and he nods, and it’s all the permission Dieter needs.

Christ, his lips are soft. Soft and plush and exactly how Dieter imagined only a million times better. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this good, not on any drug, and they’re just kissing. 

It’s chaste until he feels Mulder’s tongue prod at the seam of his lips and then it’s filthy. As soon as Dieter opens his mouth to him, Mulder takes it with a grunt. His blunt nails dig into the soft flesh at Dieter’s hip as he traces the arch of his bottom teeth. Dieter tries to keep up, but his brain constantly shorts out at the thought of who’s tongue is poking and prodding around in his mouth. 

He’s a great fucking kisser. His tongue tickles the roof of Dieter’s mouth and it makes him shiver, makes his cock swell against his borrowed sweatpants, against Mulder. 

He doesn’t seem deterred. Quite the opposite actually. He tugs Dieter by the hip and presses his own solid prick right up against Dieter’s, and they both groan into the sloppy kiss. 

“It’s been quite a while,” Mulder says. 

Dieter can’t tell if the huffed little laugh is directed toward the eager way he chases Mulder’s lips, or toward himself for being out of practice. He likes the thought of either. 

“For me, too,” Dieter mumbles. 

Mulder hums and rolls his hips. As their dicks press together and twitch, Dieter decides they are not naked enough by any means. 

He presses his hand up, up, bringing Mulder’s shirt with it and grabbing a handful of his sturdy pec, admiring how stiff it feels under his palm when his lungs inflate. He gets with the program, and Dieter pulls his own shirt over his head, then promptly salivates over all the lean muscles and wiry hair and pale skin in front of him. 

“Fuck,” he breathes.

It’s not until Mulder’s breath hitches does he realize he might actually be into this, not just their plan, but being here in bed with Dieter. His pretty hazel eyes are dark now, pupils blown out, and his chest is heaving, and the tent in his pajama pants is far too enticing to resist. 

Dieter reaches down to cup him through the flannel material and Mulder gasps and falls flat onto his back. His eyes close and his jaw hangs open like an invitation. Dieter wiggles and shifts to press up against the length of his side and to finally press his face into the crook of his neck. 

The hint of aftershave that’s been teasing him all day is now overwhelming his senses, sharp and spicy. Dieter is delighted to know that his skin tastes just as delicious as it smells, salty and heady under his tongue. Mulder’s prick throbs in his grasp and Dieter’s torn between wanting to tease him over his pants and feel the hot skin of his cock in his palm. 

“Feels good,” Mulder whispers. 

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.”

Dieter nips at his racing pulse first, then down to his jaw and the impressive five o’clock shadow he’s always been jealous and in awe of. The prickly hairs there tickle his tongue and lips, and he grinds into the outside of Mulder’s thigh for a bit of relief. 

“You think about Scully doing this?” 

The way Mulder’s dick jolts in his grasp is answer enough, but he speaks up anyway. 

“Yes.”

The admission is so hot it makes Dieter’s brain spin. He himself has thought of it many times before, Scully torturing him with teasing touches, her little sharp canines digging into his flesh, but the thought of Mulder thinking of it too… 

All those heated glances Dieter’s mulled over, he wonders how many of those were fueled by Mulder’s dirty thoughts about her. Wonders how many times he’s seen a flash of something in Mulder’s gaze and it’s been him fantasizing about getting Scully in bed. 

Dieter huffs against the heated skin of Mulder’s neck before he pulls back. His head his thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, and he’s fucking gorgeous. He lightens his touch, teases the underside of his cock with one fingertip, and delights in the pleasure scrawled across Mulder’s face. 

“How often?”

Mulder’s gravelly chuckle is cut off by a low groan when Dieter presses against his sac over his pajamas. 

“All the time,” he confesses, “every time.”

“In the office?”

Mulder whimpers and nods his head. 

“On the job, in the field?”

“God yes.”

Dieter hums, squeezes his balls to goad him into continuing.

“When she— when she’s so serious, it’s hot. She’s so smart, it turns me on.”

Dieter smirks. He completely sympathizes.

“You like it when she debunks you?”

Mulder whines and nods his head again. Dieter tries his hardest not to react to the sound of the water shutting off across the cabin, or Scully’s door creaking open. Instead, he shoves his hand down Mulder’s pants and hopes to god he keeps his eyes closed, hopes Scully’s ever present need to call out his name is tampered down when she inevitably hears him talking. 

Mulder gasps and raises his hips into the circle of Dieter’s hand, and his brows furrow as he shuts his eyes even tighter.

“Why?”

Mulder moans. 

“Because she— she balances me out. Makes me feel even. Whole.”

Dieter chuckles. 

“Aww, does she complete you, Foxy?” 

He scoffs but bites his lip when Dieter thumbs at his head and spreads his slick, sticky pre-cum all around. 

“Tell me what you think about, Mulder.”

His breathing is so ragged that Dieter thinks he should maybe be concerned. But he can tell things are about to come to a head, can hear Scully’s little footsteps inching closer to their room, pointedly quiet. 

“Her, I think about her body against mine. And touching her.”

As if on cue, fiery red hair peeks through the door frame. Dieter’s got his free hand up and a finger at his lips before Scully’s face can even twist up in concern and shock. He gives her a pleading look as she stands stock-still and wide-eyed. 

“Where would you touch Scully, if she was here?”

“Everywhere. Anywhere she wants me to. I just wanna make her feel good.”

Dieter turns his head back to Mulder to confirm that his eyes are still closed. They are, positively scrunched shut as sweat threatens to penetrate his brows and slip into his eyes.

“Do you wanna taste her?” 

Mulder’s breath hitches and his cock pulses and dribbles more against Dieter’s hand. 

“Yes, yes, so bad. I think about it every time I— every time I touch myself.”

Dieter turns back to Scully. Her hair is damp and her silky pajama top is unbuttoned more than it was just a moment ago. It just barely hides her heaving chest and he has a hard time not giving her away when he realizes his plan is working. Her lips are parted and wet, like she’s licked them, and god he really fucking hopes they don’t kick him out once this all comes to a head. 

“You do?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Mulder nods, “I could spend the rest of my life down there and die happy.”

Dieter chuckles then, and Mulder does too, but he opens his eyes. It takes him just a second to blink and adjust but, ever the vigilant one, his eyes jolt toward the now closed bedroom door and Scully standing in front of it. His body goes stiff and still, aside from his prick, which twitches wildly in Dieter’s grasp. 

Mulder’s voice cracks amusingly around Scully’s name. She crosses her arms and lifts one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows as she shuffles to the foot of the bed. 

“Boys.”

Dieter smiles sheepishly at her. Mulder’s staring and gaping like a fish out of water, all tense now, one elbow on the bed so he can prop himself up. Dieter doesn’t miss the way Scully’s eyes trace over his naked torso or the activity going on at the front of Mulder’s pajamas. 

“Is it true, Mulder?”

He’s nodding his head before she can even finish the question. 

“Yeah, Scully. I—” 

He cuts himself off when Dieter squeezes and strokes him, and Scully’s gaze is locked on the movement.

“It certainly feels like the truth,” Dieter supplies. 

Mulder whimpers under him and Dieter swears he sees Scully’s ears perk up at the sound, like some kind of predator. 

“Mulder, c’mere.”

God, the way he follows so readily, like he always does, it warms Dieter’s heart just as much as it makes his dick throb. He kneels on the edge of the bed right in front of her. His cock is protruding obscenely out in front of him, but Scully doesn’t seem to care about that. 

No, she’s focused on his face instead where it’s settled gently between her dainty hands. God, the way they look at each other is so fucking intoxicating. Dieter’s bound by it, physically stuck on the mattress as he watches. 

Her brows furrow slightly as she looks at him, but Mulder’s face is slack, almost dazed as he meets her eyes. 

“What did he tell you, Mulder?” 

Mulder shifts awkwardly from knee to knee. His mouth opens and closes a few times, and she giggles under her breath. 

“You’re not in trouble.”

Dieter laughs, and god, it’s so fucking weird. It’s like he’s watching a director’s cut. 

Mulder sighs, though. 

“We end up together, Scully. You and me. And I— I believe it. I believed it long before this guy showed up, and it… Out of everything I believe, everything I’ve been working toward… it might be the only belief I have that keeps me going.”

Scully’s gaze grows soft as his confession, and Dieter refrains from squealing in delight at how sweet Mulder sounds and how Mulder it all is.

“Why now, then?”

Mulder huffs and tries to turn away, but she keeps his face tight in her grasp. His cheeks are so pink. 

“Just worked up the guts, I guess.”

Dieter doesn’t miss the quick flicker of Scully’s eyes down to his lips. His fingers twitch with the urge to smash their faces together. 

She sighs and brushes some errant strands of hair from Mulder’s forehead. 

“Well,” she says, and her voice wavers with a heavy breath, “I’m glad one of us did.”

Mulder visibly melts. His shoulders slump and he leans forward into her touch. His face loses all of that tension from earlier, and his lips look loose when Scully’s own finally brushes against them. 

He’s so gentle with her, in a way he definitely wasn’t with Dieter. His hands are nearly hovering over her with how lightly he places them on her waist. His lips stay slack and still as he lets her control the kiss. The only thing giving him away is the comical bobbing of his prick disrupting the front of his pajamas, and there’s no way Dieter can blame him for that. 

One of Scully’s hands tangles in Mulder’s hair and produces a beautiful, high pitched sound that Dieter and Scully both react to. 

She pulls away. Mulder chases her lips, but her grip on his hair tightens. He curses under his breath with a face more flushed than Dieter’s ever seen on him.

Her eyes flicker over to Dieter and he feels like a deer in headlights. Why is he still here? Is this weird, is he being a creep for staying? 

“C’mere,” she mumbles, tipping her head to urge him to kneel right beside Mulder on the bed. 

He does, of course he does. He wants to be good for her, for them.

He kneels, shoulder to shoulder with the man panting beside him. He grasps his hands behind his back and waits patiently as she looks the both of them over. 

“What did I walk in on, Dieter?”

The way his name sounds coming from her low, rasping voice makes his spine tingle. 

“It was my idea, Agent Scully. I was trying to make you jealous. I’m sorry.”

She clicks her tongue and the noise makes his cock throb. 

“And you went along with this plan?”

She looks back to Mulder and Dieter shivers. He instantly misses the warmth of her gaze. 

“I— yeah. I did... It worked, didn’t it?”

Scully’s eyes narrow, and Dieter can’t tell if Mulder’s an idiot or a genius for riling her up. He should have known Fox Mulder would be a brat. He thinks if he plays his cards right, maybe Scully will forget the whole plot and he can be her good boy while Mulder gets punished for his smart mouth. 

A whimper falling from Mulder’s parted lips knocks him out of his daze and he notices Scully’s grip all tight in his floppy hair. 

Fuck, he wishes that were him. Maybe he should mouth off too, maybe then he’ll get the attention that he craves. 

“Get on your knees, Mulder.”

“I am on my knees.”

Dieter gasps as Scully tugs on his hair and leaves him no choice but to scramble off of the edge of the bed, lest she rip all that perfectly coiffed hair out of his head. His shoulders rise and fall with baited breath when he’s finally sunken his knees on the gaudy rug on the hardwood floors. Dieter whimpers and no one’s even touching him. 

“You too, time bandit.”

Dieter gets whiplash with how quickly he gets on his knees for her. He breathes out a labored ‘yes ma’am’ and Mulder throws him a look of disbelief. He shrugs, what can I say?

They’re both rock hard for her, on the floor, staring up at her. She looks like an angel, or the devil, or maybe like God herself. Her breathing is suspiciously calm compared to their own, even though her nipples create tantalizing nubs at the front of her silk pajamas. 

“Keep your eyes forward, both of you.”

Dieter nods at her commanding voice. He wants to look to Mulder for— direction? Comfort? Some kind of trauma bonding? But he doesn’t. He wants to be good. 

He hears Scully behind them, bed creaking under her weight, sheets ruffling underneath her. There’s a pregnant pause where all of their heavy breathing can be heard and the anticipation is so much Dieter might explode on the spot. 

“Strip.”

Twin breaths release from both Dieter and Mulder and he swears he hears her giggle behind them. He’s quick to comply, tugging at the drawstring of Mulder’s sweats he’s borrowed and awkwardly shuffling them off while he tries to stay kneeling. 

He notices Mulder still motionless beside him. 

“Scully…”

Idiot, Dieter thinks. 

“Good boy, Dieter, doing exactly what I say.”

He can’t help the satisfied smirk that twists his lips up, or the way the back of his neck burns at the praise. In his peripheral, Mulder hastily shucks his pajama pants. 

He has a pretty cock. Dieter knew he would. Everything else about him is pretty. It’s long and lean, just like he is, and the upward curve of it makes him jealous. It’s going to feel so good for Scully, if she lets him fuck her. 

There’s more shuffling behind them, and he flinches when a pair of satin pajama pants land on the floor in front of both of them. He has to dig his nails into his thighs to resist the urge to turn around. Something nudges his arm. He doesn’t dare move his head, but from the corner of his eye he sees a pale, smooth leg and his breath catches in his chest. 

He hears Mulder curse under his breath and can nearly feel the tension in him vibrating out energy into this rickety old cabin. Dieter feels a gentle hand in the short curls at the back of his neck just a moment later, her nails scraping his scalp just right, and his leg may just start shaking like a dog’s.

“You want to taste me, Mulder?”

“Fuck yes, Scully, please.”

She hums. Her hand in Dieter’s hair stills. 

“Go on, then.”

A lightning flash of movement stirs beside him, but Dieter keeps dutifully still. He’s twitching in anticipation but he doesn’t dare turn to look. 

Scully sighs, all breathy and high-pitched, and Dieter’s never heard a more beautiful sound. Then Mulder whimpers, and it’s muffled by Scully’s thighs, and there’s a wet smacking noise and Dieter thinks this obscene music could be a platinum album. 

Scully gasps, and Mulder groans, and Dieter aches. He can smell her, a sharp and tangy scent of arousal underneath the flowery soap and shampoo. Her hand is still in his hair and it hasn’t moved since Mulder got down to business and he feels forgotten about but in the best way.

“Dieter, honey, you can watch.”

He breathes out with relief and shifts to get a good look of the action. She’s perfect, gorgeous, breathtaking. Her silky pajama top hangs open on her pointy shoulders and her perky breasts rise and fall with her breathing. Her nipples are a brownish pink that stand erect in a way that makes his mouth water like a leaky faucet.

Her toned, porcelain legs spread wide enough to accommodate Mulder’s shoulders. The man is greedy, and Dieter can’t see a thing aside from the triangle of copper curls on her mound. He wants to nuzzle them so bad, he wants to feel them tickle his nose, smell the arousal that catches there. 

“You taste so good.”

Mulder’s words are squished against her center. Dieter whimpers at the thought of her flavor. Her hand soothes through his hair. He wants to touch his cock so badly, but Scully hasn’t told him that he’s allowed. Instead, he balls his hands into fists and bites his lip. 

Scully moans, and Dieter watches her face fall slack with pleasure. 

“Feels good, just like that.”

Dieter can’t help the sounds that eke out of him, desperate and a little pained. He’s so hard that he’s lightheaded, but Scully’s firm grip on his hair grounds him just enough. 

“Don’t be selfish, Mulder.”

He makes a questioning noise between her legs. He looks up at her with wide eyes, mouth open, tongue out and flat against her slit. 

“Give him a taste.”

“Oh fuck, please.”

Dieter can see the reluctance in Mulder’s motions, like he’s struggling to break free from her orbit. He looks so fucking hot, absolutely wrecked. His plush lips are red and shiny and his chin is dripping and his pupils completely usurp his irises. Drunk, drugged off of Scully.

He leans away from Dieter to make room between her legs but she tugs his hair. Then she tugs Dieter’s hair, and their noses are bumping together before either man can put two and two together. 

He can smell her on his breath. It’s so intoxicating that he loses any crumb of decorum he may have had left. He licks a broad swipe from Mulder’s chin to his Cupid’s bow and groans at all the slick he’s able to lap up. 

Mulder’s mouth opens up to him, and he chases the taste of her off of his tongue, his teeth, his gums, anywhere. They’re both panting into each other's mouths, exchanging breath. Dieter feels a big, strong hand on his jaw and neck, and the contrast to Scully’s smaller, gentler touch has him leaking all over the rug underneath him. He feels like he’s drowning, and he just wants to go even deeper, like even death won’t be enough. 

He waits for Scully to say anything about Mulder touching him. When she doesn’t, he takes it as permission to reach up and find purchase in his hair. His fingers tingle when they find Scully’s still there, and his whole body shudders and twitches when she links her fingers with his. 

“You want more?” 

It’s depraved, the way they both pull away from the kiss so fast. Dieter’s nodding and looking toward her, her glistening cunt, her smooth skin and her mischievous gaze. 

“Please, Scully,” Mulder mumbles. 

His head lolls back against Scully’s thigh so he can look up at her. He looks like he’s just run a marathon, the way sweat is beading at his forehead and his chest is heaving. 

“Yes, please, Agent Scully.”

She chuckles. The sound is torture and it’s bliss. She ruffles Dieter’s hair and he hums and leans into it. Mulder whimpers at the lack of attention, so she ruffles his too. 

And then she spreads her thighs even wider, like, gymnast levels of flexibility, and both of their eyes are drawn to the way her lips spread open in invitation, puffy red, her clit all swollen while she drips onto the old comforter under her.

“Think you can share?”

Dieter curses. Mulder whimpers against her thigh.

“Play nice, boys.”

Mulder looks at him with a heated gaze that makes him a little bit scared but really really horny.

“Yes ma’am,” Dieter says, but he’s staring at Mulder. 

Be good, he’s trying to tell him through telepathy, we’ll get rewarded if you’re just good.

Mulder glances up at her, bats his pretty little eyes, and licks his slick lips. 

“Yes ma’am.”

It sounds more teasing than anything, but Dieter doesn’t miss the way she squirms when Mulder says it. He just has that effect, doesn’t he? Such a charming little shit. 

He and Dieter look at each other, assessing, when Mulder finally goes low. It’s a little bit awkward, at first. Dieter’s jaw prods at Mulder’s sharp cheekbone as they find a good position. 

He traces around her clit with a pointed tongue, delicately, so eager to work her up. He can hear Mulder’s tongue fucking in and out of her, a wet cacophony of sounds that make his ears ring. So much so that he nearly doesn’t catch the sounds of Scully’s breath hitching, her soft little mewls as her hips cant up into their faces. 

He’s hyper focused on her pleasure, so lost in it that he doesn’t even recognize how turned on he is until a heavy, warm hand wraps around his cock and he nearly blows his load. His tongue presses broadly against Scully’s clit when he groans. She curses and her hand tightens in his hair and it’s so much. 

He reaches out for anything, really, but Mulder’s cock is there, hard and proud and twitching when he wraps his hand around him. He finds solace in the fact that he’s leaking just as much as Dieter is, sticky and slick all the way down the underside of his shaft. His noises get breathier, and his tongue seeks higher ground just as Dieter’s travels lower. They lap at her folds together, briefly, trapping them between their tongues, trading their tastes as she whines above them. Dieter doesn’t even realize his free hand has grasped Scully’s slender hip until she squirms against it. 

All of a sudden, Dieter feels her go stiff under his grasp. Her hand tightens in his hair just shy of enough to make him lose it. She lets out stuttered little sounds and Mulder hums below him. 

“You like that, Scully?”

“Oh my god, Mulder.”

He groans and shifts and she begs and Dieter’s aroused haze clears enough to make him realize that he’s eating her ass. 

He makes a pained sound himself and sucks Scully’s throbbing clit into his mouth. She shakes, and her stiff body loosens just enough for her to roll her hips into them. 

“Don’t— don’t stop, I’m so close. I’m gonna come.”

Neither of them would dream of stopping, not for anything. Dieter works his tongue in pulses against her clit as he suckles, and he feels Mulder slip a finger in between them just as she cries out, loud, and falls apart against their tongues. 

Dieter drinks up the way her clit jerks and pulses between his lips. He drinks up her gasps and breathy noises. He drinks up the way Mulder’s cock mirrors his own, twitching with pure arousal at the way she’s coming just for them.

They’re both humming satisfied sounds as they work her through it. Their hands on each other’s cocks have stilled completely, just a loose grasp as they coax every last bit of pleasure out of her until she’s lax and shying away from them. 

Dieter pulls away first. He watches with a sticky feeling in his chest at the way Mulder kisses her holes gently, and the skin around them, nuzzling between her thighs so tenderly. Both his hands free, now, Mulder soothes them up the outside of her thighs as they tremble in her aftershocks. 

Mulder’s babbling, Dieter realizes, once the ringing in his ears finally subsides. Just under his breath, a chant, over and over.

“So perfect, Scully, thank you, thank you, Jesus Christ, Scully…”

Dieter settles back on his heels to keep gazing at them. Scully’s hands both pet through his hair as he leaves wet kisses that make her pale thighs glisten in the dim cabin lighting. He’s panting harder than she is, and his prick dribbles and twitches, and he looks up at her through misty eyes. 

“Oh, Mulder,” she sighs.

She bends down at the same time he arches up and their lips meet in a kiss so blindingly passionate that Dieter debates whether or not he should look away. Only for a split second though. Because Scully moans into his mouth and licks herself out of it and Dieter grabs his throbbing dick at the base to chill himself out. 

Mulder’s fingers run through her damp hair so gently, but his jaw works and his mouth takes from her in stark contrast. They look so goddamn good together, it’s insane. He’s torn between holding off to see how this plays out, or coming all over himself in three strokes or less as he watches them together. 

“Come up here, Mulder.”

Her voice is intoxicating, it sounds so fucked out and blissful. She shuffles up the bed some and Mulder chases her, always touching at some point, until she’s lying back and he’s covering her body with his own. 

He dwarfs her. It’s cute, in the show, the way she’s always looking up at him with a craned neck. Now, it’s just filthy, how Mulder’s cock looks so fucking huge lying hard against her small frame. The way he has to scrunch himself up to kiss her so his prick doesn’t go anywhere it’s not supposed to, yet. The way her tiny feet rub up and down Mulder’s calves, only half their size. 

The way his hand eclipses her face when he cradles it and pulls away. How his thumb sweeps so easily from her lips to her cheekbone as he sighs. 

“Scully…”

She hums and closes her eyes and smiles, a sated and relieved grin that makes her look so serenely beautiful. 

“I know, Mulder,” she sighs, “me too.”

Dieter huffs. Chris Carter himself couldn’t have created a more Mulder and Scully-esque love confession. It’s precious. He might cry. 

Unfortunately, the sound makes them both look over. Scully’s all relaxed but Mulder’s hackles are all raised, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Dieter slowly moves his hand away from his leaking cock and feels himself blush from his face down to his nipples. 

He’s caught in their crosshairs, stuck, eerily still and silent. Should he offer to leave? He really doesn’t want to leave. Maybe he can just peek through the keyhole of the door and leave them to it. 

“You too, Dieter,” Scully says, “get up here.”

Relief floods through him and makes his limbs all tingly. He’s nervous as he stands, gently making his way to the side of the bed and settling one knee on, then the other. Mulder shifts to the opposite side of Scully, their legs still tangled, as he watches Dieter with emotion he can’t quite put a name to. 

Dieter practically purrs when he slides right into their space. His cock drags a sticky design onto Scully’s smooth thigh and he apologizes, but she just chuckles and gently scratches her nails along his scalp. 

“Are you both going to be good for me?”

The tone of her voice makes them both shiver. Mulder huffs out a laugh but Dieter gasps as she tugs a little at his messy, sweaty curls. 

“Yes ma’am, Agent Scully.”

Dieter’s voice completely betrays him. He’s so turned on. There’s so much blood pumping to his cock that there’s a real and serious threat of him passing out. He hides his face in her shoulder and tries to even out his breathing and not hump her leg like an unruly dog. 

“I’ll be good for you, Scully.”

Mulder sounds a lot more in control. His deep, syrupy voice is just shy of even, only cracking on the second syllable of her name. Dieter feels the way she starts giggling before he hears it, her shoulders jostling with it. 

“You’re going to play by the rules, Mulder?”

He chuckles and it sounds dark, and Dieter opens his eyes to watch him smirk that irresistible smirk. 

“Hell, Scully, I’d write the rules over and over on the chalkboard to keep this going.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but she’s still grinning. His eyes flicker to her lips and there’s no hesitation this time when they kiss again. It’s tame and loose, until Scully wraps her dainty hand around his cock and he groans. Dieter matches his sound, and he just can’t help it, he rolls his hips into Scully’s thigh as he watches Mulder melt into a puddle against her. She bites at his plush bottom lip before she pulls back. 

“Fuck me, then.”

“Jesus,” they both say in unison. 

Scully bites her lip to keep in her giggles and it’s cute and debauched and insane. She’s insane. She’s going to kill them both, and Dieter’s going to return to his reality with 8 less seasons of The X-Files, and a season finale where Scully gets locked up for double homicide.

Mulder shuffles to straddle her. Dieter watches his heavy eyelids flutter and his jaw hang open and knows he likely looks the same. His cock twitches heavily where it hangs below him, and Scully teases the underside of it with her fingertips. He shivers, and so does Dieter, where he rocks his hips gently into Scully’s smooth skin. 

“You’re sure, Scully?” 

Dieter turns away and hides his heated face in the duvet. It’s too tender and raw and he doesn’t deserve to watch them love each other like this. 

“Positive, Mulder.”

He hears them kissing, wet, smacking sounds that give Dieter goosebumps. And then a whimper, a huff, muffled into Scully’s mouth and he drags his face away from its hiding spot. 

Mulder’s inching inside of her slowly, so slowly, with patience Dieter couldn’t even dream of. He cranes his neck to watch her take him, inch by inch. She looks so tight, and he bets she is, if the way Mulder’s eyes are squeezed shut is any indication.

Scully’s head tips back and breaks their kiss. Her eyes roll into the back of her head before she closes them. Her chest is heaving now with shallow breaths, her nipples taut and inviting.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. 

Mulder’s hips stay flush once he’s all the way in and he pants too. It looks like it takes all the strength he has to just flutter his eyes open and look down at her. His brows furrow and he licks his lips and gasps. 

“Scully,” he whines. 

She smirks, and christ, Dieter knows she’s clenching around him like a menace. Poor Mulder. He’s got the restraint of a god, he thinks, Dieter wouldn’t have made it even halfway inside of her. 

She soothes him by brushing the hair from his forehead, all damp with sweat. She does the same to Dieter and he hums as her fingertips massage his scalp. 

Mulder pulls out just as slowly as he entered her. She‘s soaked. He can hear it so well in the stilted silence of the room. When he pushes back in, she sighs and tightens her fist in Dieter’s hair and he needs something. He rocks against her again, and again, and the steady friction makes him gasp. 

Her hand slides down to the back of his neck and guides him to her breast. His cock throbs, deliciously trapped between his stomach and her silky skin. His tongue tests the waters, swirling around the pronounced peak of her nipple. When she sighs and arches into it, he takes it into his mouth and sucks. 

The noises she’s making are perfect. High pitched, breathy, needy. She’s letting herself go to Dieter and Mulder and it’s gorgeous. He presses his cock against her even harder and closes his eyes and whines around the bud in his mouth. 

Mulder’s starting to pick up the pace. Dieter can tell by the way her breast is jiggling just slightly under his mouth. And the sounds, god, the filthy slick sounds coming from her cunt. He’s leaking all over her just thinking about what it must feel like, how snugly Mulder must fit inside of her, how warm it is. 

As if Mulder could read his mind, he gasps out and his hips stutter against her. 

“It’s so good, Scully.”

Scully arches her back to grind down onto him and moans his name and tells him she needs more and Dieter bites down on her tender skin. 

She jolts and tugs his hair and curses and he looks up at her as he soothes it with his tongue. 

She’s the poster girl of pleasure. Her face is twisted with it, every beautiful feature dripping with tension. The length of her neck is so apparent with her head thrown back, and her skin is pink and looks hot to the touch. She begins to bounce when Mulder fucks her faster and harder. Dieter wants to do something, anything to make her feel good. 

He replaces his mouth with his hand, squeezing her flesh and teasing her nipple with his fingertips. He trails kisses up her chest, little love bites and suction until he reaches just below her ear. Her pulse is fluttering rapidly under his tongue, and she keens just as she turns her head and presses their lips together. 

They’re kissing. He’s kissing Scully. Oh god, her lips are so fucking soft against his. Her tongue ripples in his mouth and it tastes so good, minty with a hint of her arousal straight from Mulder’s lips. He whines and rolls his hips against her like he’s in heat, and he’s so close, and he wonders if she’d be mad if he came all over her warm, smooth, freshly showered skin. 

She jolts against him, against them, and bites down on Dieter’s lip with an almost pained noise. She turns away from Dieter and they both look to Mulder, who’s circling her puffy clit with his thumb as he fucks her. 

He’s looking to her for direction with a glazed expression. He looks like he’s hanging by a thread. 

“Here,” she whispers, and takes two of her fingers into her own mouth. 

Christ. The way her lips look wrapped around her two digits is sinful and debauched. Mulder must think the same, because he grabs her wrist and makes her stop. 

Dieter holds his breath as he waits for his next move. Is he going to pin her arms to the bed? Is he going to stretch them over her head and make her squirm on his cock, make her beg? 

It’s sweeter than that. Of course it is, with these two. Mulder brings her hand to his lips and kisses her palm, and then her knuckles. She sighs his name, and watches Mulder smile.

That soft, dopey smile gets an edge to it. 

“Let me, please,” he whispers. 

Dieter only gets the chance to be confused for half a second when he slips those two fingers into his own mouth. 

Scully gasps and moans and wiggles against him. Fuck, it’s beautiful. Mulder’s full lips take her all the way to the last knuckle and he hollows his cheeks as he sucks them. Scully’s hips squirm and rock and the way she moves against him is a sight. Mulder groans when Scully begins to thrust her fingers in and out, just a little, not enough to choke him but enough to make him close his eyes and sigh and start slowly fucking her again. 

They leave his mouth all wet and shiny. Mulder’s tongue tries to follow them and it makes Scully huff out a weak laugh. 

“You’re too good at that, Mulder.”

He hums, tries to hide his sheepish smile by ducking his head. But Scully grips his chin with her wet fingers to prevent it. His eyes struggle to focus on her, Dieter notices. He can’t blame him, it’s like staring into the sun. 

“Why don’t you show off to your little time traveler, huh?”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. His eyes dart nervously from Scully to Dieter. 

“I— what?”

“Don’t be dense. Make him come. Make me come. You can multitask, can’t you?”

Dieter lies as still as the dead, afraid that if he moves maybe Mulder will snap out of this horny daze and tell him to get lost. He wouldn’t blame him one bit, either, but god he really wants to see this man’s lips wrapped around his cock. 

Scully chuckles at Mulder’s frozen stature. Or maybe she’s chuckling at the way Dieter’s heartbeat is pulsing through his dick against her thigh, dribbling all over it. 

“I bet you’re so good at it,” she continues to tease him, “with these pretty lips?” 

Mulder huffs and squirms when she rubs the pads of her wet fingers against his mouth. His tongue peeks out to taste them, coax them back inside him, but she doesn’t let him. 

“For me, Mulder?”

And Dieter can’t help but grin, because he’s never seen such a visceral loss of resolve so clearly before. Mulder closes his eyes and whines and nods his head. 

Scully makes a satisfied little noise, and her free hand sneaks down to squeeze Dieter’s slick cock, and he has to bite his own lip really hard to keep from losing it before the fun even begins. 

Then there’s some awkward repositioning and shuffling, mostly on his end. He kneels just above Scully’s head, and when he looks down she’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat from under his cock. He has to reach down to collect some of the pre-cum oozing out of him to keep it from dripping onto her gorgeous face, but she grabs his wrist and licks it from his fingers anyway. 

And then there’s Mulder, who’s slowly thrusting in and out of his partner like it’s second-nature, like auto-pilot, as he surveys the scene in front of him. 

“Mulder,” Scully mumbles. 

The deep, breathy, commanding tone of her voice makes Dieter shiver. 

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Make us come. Then you can.”

He groans, and his hips stutter then slam into her. Dieter’s torn between looking at the blissed-out look on Mulder’s face or the mischievous look in Scully’s eyes. 

“Are you— are you sure?” Dieter asks. 

Like an idiot, looking a gift horse in the mouth. But how can he not? They’re so perfect, so made for each other, and he’s just some weird fucking guy. 

But then Mulder’s expression turns into something darker, determined, and he nods with glassy eyes. 

“C’mon, McFly.”

And that’s all the encouragement Dieter needs, really. He widens his knees to line his cock up with those shiny, plush lips. Mulder gives Scully one last glance before he’s craning his neck forward and closing his eyes. 

Scully and Dieter gasp at precisely the same time, just as Mulder’s tongue swipes at his frenulum. Dieter’s eyes lose focus as he watches Mulder open his mouth wider, then looks past to see Scully’s icy blue gaze fixated on everything going on above her. It’s like an erotic kaleidoscope, the way they’re all blending together in pleasure. 

He suckles on Dieter’s head, a little too hard, but he thinks it might be on purpose. He hisses and grabs Mulder’s hair in one clammy, shaking hand. His tongue works the underside of his cock as he fits more into his mouth, and Scully was right, he is way too good at this. 

Scully curses under them, and only then does Dieter notice she’s touching herself as Mulder keeps pumping into her with a shaky, stilted rhythm. 

“So good, Mulder.”

His responding moan turns into a whimper as Dieter’s prick slides across the back of his tongue and hits his throat. 

“Fuck, yeah, so good,” Dieter agrees. 

It’s more than good. It’s incredible, unbelievable. He watches Mulder’s shiny, puffy lips wrapped around him, so in awe of how gorgeous he is. His pretty eyes are closed, half concentration and half bliss as he slides in and out of Scully’s dripping cunt. 

It takes him a while to find a rhythm that works, but when he finds his groove he fucking finds it. Of course he’d be good at this, too. He fucks in and out of Scully once, twice, and then sinks his mouth down as far as he can on Dieter’s cock (all the fucking way— Jesus christ) and holds there while he pumps in and out of her some more. 

And Dieter’s so, so torn. He wants to be good for Scully, wants to challenge Mulder for her and keep up the show. He wants to hang on so she can crumble as she watches her partner taking and receiving so perfectly at the same time.

But he wants to be good for Mulder too. He wants to come in his mouth and give him the satisfaction of satisfying. He wants to let Mulder prove to Scully how good he is, let him make them both come and writhe under his skill and rapt attention. 

And it’s like Scully can sense it. With her free hand, she reaches up and cups his balls. It makes his fucking toes curl, makes him cry out her name and slam his eyes shut to stave it off. He’s being tagged teamed by the objects of some of his earliest sexual fantasies and it takes him biting his lip so hard he draws blood to keep it together. 

He realizes the noises he’s making are borderline embarrassing. He’s mewling and gasping and whimpering as she squeezes and strokes, as her fingers meet Mulder’s lips every time he takes him deep. He’s shaking with the effort it takes to not fuck Mulder’s mouth. And he’s sweating, and he hopes to god it doesn’t start to trickle down and land on Scully’s blissed-out face.

And then it doesn’t much matter, because those dainty fingers and well-kept nails travel back, across his taint, and press. 

“I can’t— I can’t, oh my god.”

Mulder hums around his cock in an echo of the noise Scully makes under him. He’s teetering on the edge, tensed up, out of his mind as Scully massages that spot and Mulder swirls his tongue around the head of his cock. 

And in sync, like they always are, in a way that takes him completely off guard but should be absolutely predictable, they unravel him. 

Mulder takes him down his throat and swallows, and the pad of one of Scully’s fingers taps his entrance, and he’s done. 

He might scream, if he’s being honest. There was never any hope for a warning, the way they ganged up to play him like a fucking fiddle. Mulder groans as the first explosive spurt of Dieter’s cum shoots down his throat. He pulls back as Dieter continues to spill with each spasm of his muscles, as he tries but fails to suck Scully’s finger up inside him. He writhes and curses and clenches Mulder’s hair a little too tight as he works through his orgasm. 

Mulder dutifully collects every last drop, extremely intent on keeping it from spilling down across Scully’s face. He is such a good boy for her. Mulder whimpers when she tells him so in her breathy, sexy way she does. His hips stutter inside of her just as Dieter slips from his swollen lips. 

He doesn’t get reprieve yet, though. Mulder’s long, lean body arches up, and his arm reaches to grab a fist full of Dieter’s hair and tug and oh, god, he might just come again.

Their lips crash together, and before Dieter can think of how metallic the taste is, Mulder’s pushing his own load into his mouth forcefully. Dieter takes it all, sucks it down and swallows as he pants against Mulder’s mouth. 

Then he thanks him, and he thanks Scully, over and over with baited breath until he collapses to the side of them, completely spent and overstimulated. 

“You did so good,” he hears Scully say. 

Only she’s not talking to him. 

She’s got both her hands on Mulder’s face. Her lips just brushing against his own as she whispers. He watches her hike her legs up to wrap around Mulder’s waist, watches Mulder sag into her so he’s plastered against her front. 

“Scully,” Mulder whines. 

“Harder, Mulder. Make me come.”

He kisses her one last time before he buries his face in her neck and obeys, pulling nearly all the way out of her before driving back in. She’s really vocal now, now that she has Mulder’s undivided attention, now that he can focus on fucking her steadily and deep and fast.

Her head is thrown back and she looks so fucking beautiful. Mulder should be looking at her, shouldn’t miss a moment of the way she looks as he’s making her fall apart. But Dieter can’t blame him, or the concentrated, almost pained look he has on his face that’s just peeking out under her chin. 

It’s crazy how she seems to be fucking him from under all his weight, but she’s doing exactly that. Her toned legs pull him into her, her hips arching to meet his, so frantic and hot. One of her hands is leaving red marks down his back and the other one is petting through his hair, scraping his scalp and pulling so many gorgeous noises from him. 

Dieter couldn’t look away if he tried. His spent cock is twitching, trying it’s damndest to steal what little blood is left in his brain. He wants to help them along, maybe take Scully’s nipple into his mouth, but they’re both crushed under Mulder’s body in a way Dieter’s extremely jealous of. He could touch Mulder, could grab his pert little asscheek and squeeze. But he resigns to the sidelines instead, lets them share this intimate moment with only the intrusion of his eyes and heavy breathing. 

It’s over pretty quickly, anyway. Mulder starts babbling again, a great fucking look on him, there where he’s hidden in the pale crook of her neck. 

“Please, Scully. Come for me— I wanna make you come. I wanna be good, let me make you feel good.”

And she’s grinding her hips up as her back arches off the bed, no doubt catching her swollen clit on that enticing patch of wiry curls above his prick. She’s panting and gasping and then she’s shouting.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, Mulder, oh my god! So good, good boy— I’m gonna come—”

And she does. Beautifully. She tenses up and then she shakes, convulsing under him, around him. She moans and mumbles through it, with her eyes shut tight and her cute little nose all scrunched and her mouth hanging open. 

It’s so beautiful that she outshines Mulder. Dieter barely even catches his groans, the curses under his breath as his hips stutter and grind into her. They both ride it out for a while, it’s like it’s never going to end. They writhe against each other and Mulder’s panting into her mouth as she tries her best to kiss his open lips. Their rhythm takes forever to slow, and even longer to come to a stop. 

It’s better than anything Dieter ever could have imagined. He’s already half hard again, just watching them be together, and that fact only makes him want to leave, disappear, let them play this out without some stranger in their bed. 

But christ he wants to stay and watch just as bad. 

Their eyes flutter open at the same time, and the smiles on their faces are as nauseating as they are precious. Scully looks like the cat that got the cream, and Mulder has the audacity to look sheepish. 

“I uh—” Mulder’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat, “I didn’t pull out.”

Scully giggles. 

“I noticed.”

He huffs, and she smooths his sweaty hair from his forehead.

“I’m on the pill.”

Mulder sighs. 

“That’s— that’s good.”

Idiots, Dieter thinks. The situational irony is off the charts. His huff alerts them both, snaps them out of their little bubble to look over at him. 

He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes to mind. Scully gives him an amused little smirk and reaches over to pet his hair. 

“You were so good,” she muses. 

He shivers at her words and her fucked-out gaze. 

Mulder shifts on top of her, and they both gasp a little noise when he slips out of her, but they’re both focused on him. 

Mulder looks him up and down and for a moment he isn’t sure if he’s about to kick him out of bed or kiss him within an inch of his life. 

He does neither, it turns out. Instead he holds the side of Dieter’s face in his big, sweaty palm and it’s so soothing that he closes his eyes and leans into it. His thumb strokes Dieter’s cheek while Scully plays with his hair and he could die happy here. 

“Yeah man, thank you. That was good— you were good.”

Dieter’s eyes open wide at that. They’re both looking at him with fondness— appreciation. His chest swells with a heavy feeling just as his eyes begin to sting. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

He just barely catches the confused looks on their faces before he hides his own, rolling over into his stomach to let his pitiful tears fall into the blanket below him. Scully ruffles his hair with a sympathetic coo and Mulder pats him on the back of his heated neck before he hears rustling and feels the bed shift. 

“Oh my god.”

Scully’s voice sounds horrified. For a quick moment, his tiny little pea brain thinks of Queequeg— is he alright, did he get out while they were occupied?

“What the hell?”

Mulder’s voice sounds much more amused. 

Confused, Dieter wipes his wet eyes in what he hopes is an inconspicuous move before he looks over his shoulder at them.

Scully and Mulder are both standing at the foot of the bed, looking equal parts mortified and puzzled. And they’re staring at Dieter’s bare ass. 

His bare ass that he now remembers is tattooed. Tattooed with Mulder and Scully’s face on each cheek, respectively. 

“Oh, ha— yeah. Maybe that could have proved it faster?”

His face feels hot. He’s had these asscheek tattoos for so long he sometimes forgets about them. He was young and drunk and high when he got them, but they still hold up. Full color portraits of his favorite FBI agents. 

“What do the words say?” Scully asks. 

Mulder takes one for the team and leans in closer to Dieter’s ass, and he wonders if his blush goes all the way to his buttcheeks. 

“Mine says the truth is out there, and yours says I want to believe.”

Dieter lets out a nervous chuckle and shifts, a little scrutinized, a little embarrassed, a little bit turned on at the way Mulder’s gaze settles over his body.

“When did you get these?”

“1998, right after the movie came out.”

“There’s a movie?”

“Two, actually.”

Scully shakes her head and looks from Mulder to Dieter’s butt, back and forth a few times. 

“I’ll give you this one, Mulder. Only because there’s no lake monster for you to boast about.”

Mulder preens, a satisfied smirk settling on his handsome face. 

“Finally,” he and Dieter say at the exact same time. 

She rolls her eyes. 

“Brag about it in the morning. I’m tired— and my bed’s clean,” she throws her voice over her shoulder as she leaves the room. 

Dieter stays put. His ankles roll around in an attempt to hide his hesitation. He stares at the empty doorway and avoids Mulder’s lanky form. 

“You coming, Doc Brown?”

He’d be stupid not to follow like an eager pup. 

They all nestle into Scully’s bed. She’s in the middle, wrapped up in blankets, and the guys take either side of her. Dieter rests his head on her naked breast as she kisses Mulder goodnight, as Mulder’s fingers intertwine with his own over her smooth stomach. Their pillow talk lulls him to sleep and he goes to bed happy for the first time in years.

He wakes up alone, on his couch, in his own clothes, with his face smashed against his open laptop. 

A dream. It must have all been a crazy, weed and hormone induced dream. Best dream he’s ever had. He sighs, scratches his head and takes in his surroundings. 

Everything’s normal, exactly how he left it. Except, when he moves to his bedroom to mourn the loss of the day he never had, he sees a red and white trucker’s hat on his nightstand. 

Show us your bobbers

[piecksz]

dirty little secret | (m)

pairings: jock!eren yeager x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, dub con, cheating, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), mouth fucking, saliva, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, sneaky sex, explicit language

words: 3.2k+

summary: eren’s unsatisfied in his relationship with his girlfriend, so he looks to you for sexual gratification.

a/n: all the characters in this story are adults! it was originally meant to be a college au but the whole “fire drill” detail doesn’t really make sense in a college setting since fire drills are typically held in dorms, so as per usual 18+ minors dni. 

Your legs moved quickly against the polished tile of the hallway while you sped up to meet with your class who had already been far ahead of you, disappearing into the throng of people filing outside at the blaring signal of the fire alarm.

You’d excused yourself during your lesson to use the bathroom, unaware that an unplanned drill had been scheduled for that day, so with haste you finished up and rushed to rendezvous with the rest of your classmates before you were left inside the building.

As you rounded the corner, you felt a pair of hands wrap around your forearm, forcibly pulling you behind the small door that stood at the end of the corridor.

Instinctively, your hands balled into fists, and you threw them blindly in the direction of your assailant. You hoped that you’d at least land one successful hit, and it would give you enough time to break out of their hold and flee.

“Y/N, relax! It’s just me!”

Your hysterical flailing ceased, and you opened your eyes hesitantly at the sound of your attacker’s familiar voice. “Eren?”

Frantic pupils fell upon a pair of mischievous jade eyes, and your terror-stricken expression contorted into an angry scowl as you drove the palms of your hands into his chest, sending him careening back into the metal shelf behind him. “You asshole! What is wrong with you?”

Eren’s quick reflexes allowed him to catch himself and the rack before both were sent tumbling to the floor. “Ow,” he grumbled, rubbing away the soreness spreading over the skin of his arm from your knuckles’ potent impact. “You’ve got a brutal left hook.”

“Yeah? You wanna see my right one?” Your right hand tightened as if you were projecting another throw, but Eren’s outstretched arm maintained a safe amount of space between you two. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

Eren’s tightly-wound eyebrows began to arch as his distressed face eased into a buoyant grin. “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

You blinked. “Were you the one that pulled the fire alarm?”

“No, I didn’t pull the fucking fire alarm,” he replied sourly, evidently offended that you’d suggest he’d do something so juvenile. “I just got lucky.”

Your curled lip relaxed, and your irritation waned into a resigned stare. You desperately wanted to trust Eren’s saccharine words, and it didn’t take much effort to believe him while you were faced with his stupidly winsome expression. His smile was warm, eyes glossing over with adoration like he was truly expressing what he felt, and it wasn’t just empty flattery, yet you’d been more perceptive than to just take his intentions for what they were. Rather, you’d been smart enough to learn from last time.

He’d said something along the same lines, after you two had hooked up in his car after his lacrosse game. He was feeling mirthful after winning and wanted to celebrate with you, but on the cusp of his orgasm, he’d let the “love” phrase slip, and when you’d asked him about it afterward, Eren mulled over it for a second before nodding, admitting that he had feelings for you.

His confession had been somewhat of a relief, and you’d expected him to end things with his girlfriend shortly after he’d realized what he really wanted, but the following day in the courtyard, you were stunned to see Eren sitting with her and the rest of his friends, showering her with kisses like nothing had taken place the night before.

You swore you’d learned your lesson.

“Are these new? Can I see them?” Eren’s fingers gently wrapped around the frame of your glasses, pulling them from your face, and he slid them onto his ears, adjusting their position on his nose. “How do I look?”

“I can’t see, Eren,” you answered simply.

Eren laughed bashfully. “Right, I think they look better on you instead.” He slid your glasses off and tucked them back behind your ears.

Your lenses restored your lucid vision, and now that you could properly see, you noticed the way Eren’s lips were parted, lids low and languid as his face lingered only inches from yours. He’d used your glasses as leverage to get closer to you, a crafty technique, and now that he was close enough, he could whisper.

“You know what else looks better on you?” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards into his cheek, and he closed the space between you two, fixing his lips onto yours while his thumb and index finger supported the curve of your chin. His kiss was slow, mouth undulating with the most tender of movements, and when he carefully slid his tongue between your teeth you could taste the vague chill of spearmint on his breath. He proceeded timidly, as though he was touching you for the first time, but that was the very detail of your couplings that always had you running back. He handled you like he cared.  

The tip of Eren’s nose skimmed against yours, ever so slightly, while he continued prompting his tongue further into the depths of your mouth, eager to have you savor his desire.

Your body was traitorous and unmoving, allowing Eren to command you with his lips, and for a few blissful minutes, you forgot the two of you were crammed into the unyielding space of a storage room.

Eren withdrew from your mouth, and tilted his head to the side so he could occupy the empty curve of your neck, and once you felt him press mild kisses to the hollow of your throat, you freed a displeased sigh and sent him backwards with an assertive push.

“Seriously? In the supply closet?”

“We’ve got like fifteen minutes before everyone comes back.” He reassured you, shrugging dismissively before tipping his head in for another kiss.

You shifted backward, studying Eren as he continued to lean in until his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Wondering why he wasn’t receiving any contact, his eyes flitted open.

“You still haven’t broken up with her have you?” You pressed your lips into an unamused line.

Your question had Eren angling until he was standing upright, and then he rolled his head back and released a groan as though already tired from your question. “Y/N, come on. I don’t feel like having this conversation.”

“Have you?” you probed.

“No, I haven’t. It’s not that easy.”

“It really is.”

Eren drew his eyebrows up, now in regret. “We’ve been together since freshman year. Do you know how big of a douchebag it makes me look if I break up with her two months before graduation?”

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest. “Do you know how big of a douchebag you look fucking me behind her back?”

Eren’s eyes drifted to the side.

“Or are you just embarrassed to be seen with me?” you questioned, canting your body into his view.

“Okay, you sound ridiculous,” Eren laughed dryly.

“Because I’m not a cheerleader or an athlete, and I have about one other friend. You don’t want everyone to know you’re fucking the girl that spends lunch in the library.”

“What kind of cliche movie do you think we’re in right now?”

“It’s just something I’d expect from someone who peaked in high school.” Your words were sharp on the tip of your tongue, and you could tell by the way Eren recoiled that your statement managed to penetrate his seemingly careless guise.

“I’ll handle it okay?” Eren’s hand slid over the back of his neck, looking blameworthy of all the faults you’d accused him of. “But right now I really need help handling something else.”

Your eyes narrowed in his direction after realizing he’d managed to do it again, forcing you into forgiveness with his charming abashed impression. He’d taken advantage of how spineless you were when it came to matters concerning him.

“Please?” he urged.

It was his thick brown brows that were creased in the middle and opalescent green eyes that stared you down that made him look so sincere. He was easily one of the most spellbinding people you’d ever met, attractive and likable, he knew exactly what cards to play to get his way, and even though you were aware of it, you always found yourself wrapped around his finger. A pretty face and a sweet tongue was a recipe written up by the devil himself.

You lowered yourself onto your knees, leveled with Eren’s hands working swiftly against the buttons of his slacks. “I’m done doing this, Yeager,” you announced wryly.

“I know,” Eren said, as though guaranteeing you it would be the last time.

He pushed his pants down along with his briefs in one swift motion, freeing his cock from the tight cotton confines of his underwear. His length was already rigid, the sticky beads of precum leaking out of his swollen head the result of your stalling. He’d already provoked himself by thinking of all the ways he wanted to have you, you didn’t have to do anything more to get him hard.

A relieved exhale left Eren’s lips once he grabbed the base of his cock in the sweaty heat of his palm, tapping his wet tip against your bottom lip, then he pulled the hem of his shirt up slightly, allowing you enough clearance to take him into your mouth.

You wrapped a ginger hand around his length, feeling the way his warmth throbbed in your fingers, and you leaned in, using your tongue to lap along the rim of his cock.

“Fuck—” Eren’s voice was husky as it ripped through the depths of his throat. He watched you with heavy lids, observing the way your tongue’s tip danced around his swollen head, giving coy licks to his slit, and the way his cock twitched with need at the slightest provocation. “Jesus Christ—”

You gave him a few generous pumps before taking him whole, humming at the way his girth felt against the inside of your cheeks. The skin of his length ran like hot silk over your tongue as you fell into a natural rhythm, and your lips and hand rocked back and forth against him.

Eren’s face broke out into a dirty grin. “You’re such a little slut for my cock, aren’t you?”

You glared up at him over the edge of your glasses.

“Sorry,” he responded meekly, fingers brushing away the strands of hair that fell loosely against his forehead.

You continued working against him, excited by the honeyed melody of his moans every time your fingertips ran over the sensitive skin of his balls. Eren’s cock pulsated against the surface of your tongue with each small ministration, and you watched the muscles across his abdomen tense.

“I know you hate me,” he started. “But you have no idea how hot you look on your knees right now. Keep glaring at me like that, and I’m gonna cum in your mouth.”

The mention of Eren’s warning had a torrent of heat surging between your legs, and you fought off the urge to dip your fingers beneath your skirt and begin rubbing away your discomfort. You didn’t want him to know you were enjoying this almost as much as he was.

Your heavy yet stifled breathing caused your glasses to fog lightly, so you sat back on your knees, withdrawing your mouth from him briefly to catch your breath. You lifted a thumb to wipe away at the saliva that dribbled down your chin, but Eren’s fast fingers stopped you, holding your wrist away from your face.

“Don’t,” he breathed. “You look pretty like that.”

You ran the back of your hand across your cheeks, as though you were trying to rub off the furious heat that crept across your skin and over your nose. “Shut up.”

Eren only responded with an amused smile.

Then when you brought him back to your lips for the last time, his hands settled on the crown of your head, and he pushed his cock back in until his tip relentlessly prodded the back of your throat. Holding your head in place, he began jerking his hips, fucking your mouth at an agonizingly slow pace that had heavy tears cascading down your cheeks.

Every time his cock slowly and deliberately pressed against the back of your throat, you gagged involuntarily, fingertips digging into the side of his thighs.

“Feel how hard I am?” Eren asked. “You did that.” He rocked his pelvis forward again, muffling your whines.

“Yeah? You like it when I fuck your pretty little face, don’t you?” He thrusted himself between your jaws, throwing his head back and liberating a series of foul swears. “I really need to feel you.”

With the declaration of his wish, he pulled his cock out of your mouth, inhaling sharply at the obscene sight of his length coated and dripping with your spit.

After your dry heaving subsided, Eren helped you up with a gentle hand, running his palm between your shoulder blades to soothe your coughing. He made sure you were steady before cuing you to turn so that your back was facing him, then he watched as your shaky hands slid underneath your skirt and fingers hooked around the fabric of your underwear.

“Pull out this time, Eren. I mean it,” you rasped, cautioning him ahead of time. You stepped out of your underwear and used the toe of your shoe to cast it aside.

Eren’s hands reached under your hem, large palms gliding over the curve of your ass. “The odds of you getting pregnant are like one in what?” He flipped up your skirt and continued teasing the skin of your backside. “Plus I always cover you for the pill, don’t I?”

“I don’t care, cum in me and you’re dead.” Your fingers gripped the edge of the metal shelf, and you slid your arm around Eren’s shoulder while he placed one hand on your waist for support and curved the other under your thigh. Then, he brought your knee up to his chest until all of your weight was allocated onto one leg.

Eren held his cock with his fingertips and slid himself between your folds from behind. You let out a soft, unanticipated whimper, but quickly brought your teeth down on the flesh of your tongue to smother any more sounds of pleasure. You didn’t even bother looking over your shoulder at Eren’s satisfied smirk, you could tell by the way his hand squeezed your thigh that he had noticed it.

Eren positioned himself at your entrance, skimming his wet tip over your hole before sliding himself inside you. His cock slipped in with ease, your saliva acting as a crude lubricant.

“Oh fuck—” His breath was hot over the span of your neck.

“Eren—” you sighed, forgetting all your pretenses. You closed your eyes, enjoying the way he stretched you out, and then he started moving causing a pattern of shallow cries and moans to fall from your lips.

“Fuck Y/N, you drive me fucking crazy,” Eren groaned, thrusting up into you, slowly and rhyhmically, steadily filling you to the hilt every time, while his hand traveled beneath your ribcage to cup your breast over the crisp fabric of your uniform. “She doesn’t take me as well as you do.”

You shook your head, making weak sounds of protest between delicate whines. “I don’t wanna hear that, Eren—”

“But it’s true.” Eren moved quickly between your legs, hissing every time your slick walls tightened around his aching cock. With each punctuated thrust, you continued to lose yourself, until your need unfurled and Eren had you under siege. His methodical pace sent you into a flurry of moans, and you cried his name over and over.

His even strokes began to stagger, and his breathing became rapid and shallow, chaotic pants of hot air rolling out over the span of your shoulder.

“I’m gonna cum—” He continued pounding into you, faster now, harder, keen on drawing out his orgasm, and then Eren gave one last thrust, so deep it had you shutting your eyes and pursing your lips to keep from screaming. Then he shuddered, his body convulsing with the bout of his orgasm, and you felt him release inside of you, thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy with every twitch of his cock.

“Y/N—” he moaned, resting his chin in the curve of your shoulder while he continued to jettison every drop of his release until he was sure he was empty.

Your hands tightened around his shoulder, as the ripple from Eren’s climax had your cunt tightening around his length, and ecstasy spread over the span of your pelvis and down your thighs. Once he grew limp, he slipped himself out of you, and you felt a slow stream of his cum run down the inside of your thigh.

“I said not to cum in me you fucking idiot.” Your legs were sweaty, making it easier for you to twist yourself out of Eren’s hold until you were now standing upright, both legs planted unsteadily on the ground.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” Eren wrapped his arms around you apologetically, but you shrugged him off, using your elbow to drive him back.

Your eyes scanned the closet with haste, looking for tissue paper you could steal to clean up the mess between your thighs, and Eren must have sensed your aim because he made use of his height, seizing a large roll from the top shelf and unwrapping it before handing it to you.

You grabbed it out of his hands, waiving a statement of gratitude, and ripped away a few plies, crumpling them up into a generous wad. “You owe me eighty dollars.”

Eren’s eyebrows lifted and his face twisted into an incredulous expression while he stuffed himself back into his pants and buttoned them up. “Are you running a prostitution ring?”

“I’m serious. Fifty for the pill and thirty just for dealing with you.” You straightened out your uniform, and watched as Eren did the same, tugging on his collar to smooth out the creases.

“You’re a mean little bitch,” he jeered with a slight playful undertone, and then he looked off to the side in concentration. He turned around, pressing his ear to the door of the supply closet, and then he looked back at you. “I think they’re coming back.”

You hummed.

“I’ll walk out first.”

“Right,” you said unenthusiastically, recalling that no matter how many praises he lavished you with in private, in public you were still his dirty little secret. He vowed to you that he would end his current relationship because it was clear you were growing tired of being his toy, good enough for him to fuck but undeserving of anything else. And after all was said and done, when you two passed each other in the halls, he’d still glance at you with the cordiality of a stranger.

Eren had promised to handle it, yet it was obvious he had no intentions to, and you knew that while you watched him give you a fond smile before slipping out of the supply closet.

[differentkettleoffishalltogether]

#1 Fan [Part 1/2]

Summary: Spencer knows he’s seen his new neighbor somewhere before.

A/N: This was a blurb request from my sideblog that got completely out of hand so here she is as a full fic! (We’re gonna pretend like I know how OnlyFans works)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff & Smut 

Warnings/Includes: smut, graphic descriptions of sexual acts, masturbation (male & female), voyeurism(?), please let me know if there’s anything I’ve missed!

Word count: 2.9k

Request: “Blurb about basically the same fic as the other one except she just moved in and he recognizes her as the person he subs to on OF. She’s describing her hot neighbor- and yeah” from @thatsonezesty13​

Masterlist

Read Part 2 Here

The first time Spencer sees her in the lobby grabbing her mail he thinks he’s in a dream. Or maybe he’s seeing things. For a second he’s terrified that he’s having a hyper-realistic, yet somehow mundane, wet dream.

He’s been subscribed to her for a while. To be honest once he’d found her account he didn’t have much of a need to subscribe to anyone else. She was almost tailor made for him, it was sort of scary.

So when he saw her that day, and she smiled at him, giving him a small wave as she passed him in the hall, his heart all but stopped.

That night he checked her page. He compared the pictures of the sweet girl in the hall with the ones in front of him. The photos where she was wearing next to nothing, or sometimes nothing at all. The ones where she had her fingers inside of her panties, or her mouth.

He ended up spiraling that evening, partially forgetting why he was even looking in the first place. Until he was watching videos of her, fucking into herself with a toy until she was squirting onto her bedsheets.

The following morning when he woke up he tried to convince himself that it wasn’t her. How could it be? And if it was, would he have to stop looking? Something felt a bit perverted about that.

So he pushed the thoughts from his head. And that lasted all of 10 seconds because there was a knock on his front door. When he opened it up it was her standing there, the girl from the mailboxes, and the girl from the videos. He knew they were one and the same, who was he kidding?

“Hi!” She sticks out her hand to introduce herself, “I think I saw you the other day, I’ve just moved into the building, Y/N.”

He knows her name already, well he knows her first name, and part of him’s a little surprised it’s not fake.

He takes a moment to consider her hand, he wouldn’t usually shake a strangers hand like this but for some reason he didn’t feel like she was a stranger. The real reason her didn’t want to shake her hand was because of all the things he’d pictured her doing with them. Touching herself, touching him.

But he’s hesitated for too long, so he takes her hand, shaking it gently, “Spencer, Dr. Spencer Reid. Nice to— uh, meet you” he has to force his breaths out or they might not come. Looking at her up close, in person, she was too beautiful. And he already thought that about her pictures.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, I always like to know the folks in my building. And especially you if we’re gonna be neighbors”

“Neighbors?” He tries to stop his eyes from popping out of his head but she doesn’t seem to notice. She just nods happily.

“Yup, I’m right on the other side of that wall” she points to her right and giggles, “knock if you need me” she jokes but Spencer’s breathing stops entirely and he can only nod.

“So um, if you wanted to hang out or anything you know where to find me” she smiles at him and starts to head back to her apartment.

He’s not sure what’s come over him, but it feels like adrenaline is coursing through his entire body as he speaks.

“I’m free right now if you’re not busy?” He asks before she can get too far away but she shakes her head.

“I’ve actually gotta head out for a bit but if you’re free tomorrow do you wanna come over and see my place. I’m sure it’s probably the exact same as yours but—”

“Yes!— I mean, um, yeah, that sounds nice, cool” she laughs at him a little, probably at his eagerness, or maybe at the way he’s blushing, he can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.

“See you then Spencer, Dr. Spencer Reid” she giggles and he’s smitten already.

— —

He’s pretty much counting down the seconds until the following evening. His mind is completely restless, he’s got no idea what to wear or how to act, or what to say.

She was just so pretty, he could barely have a 2 minute conversation with her in the hallway. How was he supposed to hang out with her for an evening.

She slips a note under his door the following afternoon:

I’m on my way out but I should be back around 8! See you then x

He wishes he didn’t stare at the little ‘x’ on the note for quite so long but he couldn’t help it. Even her handwriting was cute.

He doesn’t want to think about why he knows her already but he can’t help it. He decides that he’s not going to look at her page again, taking a cold shower as part of his preparation for that evening before agonizing over what to wear.

He settles on a purple sweater and he already feels like he’s made the wrong call somehow as he’s knocking on her door at 8pm on the dot.

“Well aren’t you punctual” she smiles at him as she pulls open the door. His stomach drops when he realizes that he recognizes the little dress she’s wearing. He’s seen her take it off before. He tries to steady his breathing but it doesn’t work super well so he just waves hello as she ushers him inside.

“I guess you got my note then” she smiles and he smiles back.

���Yeah, your— um— handwriting is really nice” he wants to slap himself in the face. What kind of complement was that?

“Thank you?” she giggles at him, “no ones ever said that before, you’re a bit of an oddball” she points him to the sofa so he sits.

When she comes to sit next to him she’s holding a bottle of wine and two glasses and he has to stop his eyes from bulging out of his head.

“Would you like a glass?” She asks and he nods his head, it probably wasn’t a great idea, but neither was any of this. She hands him a glass of wine and takes the seat next to him on the couch, turning to face him as she tucks her legs up under herself.

“So Spencer Reid, what kind of doctor are you?” she asks as she takes a sip from her own glass.

“I’m—um— I work at the FBI actually, I— I’m a profiler” he’s already conscious that he doesn’t want to bore her by harping on about work, or by rambling like he does right before people usually roll their eyes. But she doesn’t, she leans in.

“That’s so cool, well it sounds like it is anyway? Does that mean you read people or something?” her eyes look like they're after lighting up and she's smiling at him encouraging.

“Y-Yeah? It’s sort of like reading people I guess. We catch killers by getting inside their heads in a way, trying to figure out why they’re doing what they’re doing, and hopefully what they’re gonna do next so that we can stop it. It’s a little more complicated than that, but that’s the gist” he’s smiling now too, the way she’s looking at him makes him feel like he’s actually doing a sort of good job not embarrassing himself.

“So you said my handwriting was nice” she says, gears clearly turning, “Can you read anything about me from that?” she looks like she's challenging him, if he didn’t know better he might call it flirting.

“Well actually graphology—sorry— handwriting analysis has been deemed a pseudoscience by most, the validity of handwriting as evidence in court has always been dubious and many of the techniques used today are the same as those employed in Renaissance England.” he rambles but she’s still engaged when he stops speaking.

“So you’re smart smart, huh?” she smiles at him, and he nods.

“I don’t believe intelligence can be neatly quantified but I do have an IQ of 187” he feels paradoxically stupid saying that, it feels like bragging or something and he already wants to take it back.

“Wow, a doctor with an IQ of 187” she takes a second to mull it over, “What are you doing hanging out with the likes of me?” she jokes, but his eyebrows knit together, he had no idea what she did, other than that thing he knew she did.

“I wouldn't sell yourself short like that, what do you do?” he asks her, at the very least it’ll stop him from spiraling.

“I work in a vintage bookstore, the one two blocks over?” She motions behind her as she tells him, and he knows it well, in fact he spends so much time there that he’s shocked he’d never seen her before.

“You work there? I’m there all the time, how have I never noticed you before?” she chuckles at him.

“I’ve only just started, I just moved in, remember?” and he wants to slap himself again, something about being around such a pretty face slashed that impressive IQ in half.

They spend another while and the rest of the bottle of wine getting to know each other before Spencer has to call it a night. Part of him wished that she was boring, or rude, or hated him, then maybe he’d be able to quell his infatuation. But this just made it worse, now that he knew her, now that he had spoken to her and she was so sweet, so smart, so funny, and still so damn pretty. He was absolutely fucked.

— —

He swears to himself that the wont look at her page again. Now that he knew her and he liked her more than he even did before, it felt like a real invasion. Part of him still felt bad about it in general, like he should've told her right away, been up front. But the moment for that had already passed so this was his next best plan.

Until he returns home the following Friday. He’s exhausted when he crawls into bed but he’s still somehow restless, the gears still turning in is brain. So he does what he always does when he wants to forget about everything else in the world.

His muscle memory opens it up, and he’s on her page before he even realizes he's done it. And she’s posted a few new videos this week. He wishes he had better willpower, or any willpower at all, but he can’t seem to stop himself from clicking on one.

It begins with her kneeling on her bed, wearing lingerie he’d seen before, it was baby pink and it was one of his favorites. She starts by dipping her fingers into her panties, teasing herself as little moans toppled from her lips. Then she started talking.

“I’m gonna tell you guys about a little dream I had last night, well, I’ve been having it all week really” she continues to tease herself a little, her other hand coming up to grab her breast over her soft pink bra as she speaks. Her voice is smooth and perfect, if he only had the audio he’d still be turned on right now.

“It goes like this. I’m lying in this bed right here, doing something a little like this, when there’s a knock at my front door. When I get up to answer it he’s there, with his shaggy brown hair, and his huge doe eyes, and he’s got these lips that are just so fuckin’ pink. I want them all over me. He comes inside and he grabs me with those huge hands of his and he pulls me right into him before he kisses me.” she moans a little as her fingers brush right up against her clit, but Spencer’s vision has almost gone blurry.

He’s not sure he’s even breathing when she starts talking again. “Then I lead him to my bedroom, and I get him out of those clothes. He dresses like an english teacher and I wish I didn’t find it so fuckin’ hot. Sometimes in the fantasy I take his cock in my mouth, I suck him off until he’s whimpering. Other times I can’t wait, I just need him to fuck me right away.” she takes off her panties then, leaving them to one side, while she grabs a toy from her bedside table.

“I like to fuck myself with this, but all week I’ve just been imagining that it’s him. He’s just so pretty, I know his cock has to be too. I want to know what it feels like when he’s buried inside me, so fuckin’ deep” she continues to fuck herself with the toy, and he’s tuned back in now, he’s achingly hard without even noticing, his hand wrapping around his cock as he pictures the other side of that fantasy.

It doesn’t take long before he's releasing, spilling all over his hand in tandem with the video. She takes a moment to relax, steadying out her breathing before she speaks to the camera again.

“I think I have a crush guys” she gasps out, “I moved, and I think I’ve got a crush on my fuckin’ neighbor already”

Not that he needed any more confirmation, but those words hit him like a fucking train.

It’s already midnight, it’s not so late that he couldn’t go over there, but it sort of is late enough that he shouldn’t. He really can’t bring himself to care though, getting out of bed and cleaning himself up he decides to ride this uncharacteristically confident wave as far as it’ll take him.

He’s knocking on her door before he’s had a chance to second guess himself. When she answers she’s in a little robe, it’s ivory and satin, and he recognizes it too. He doesn’t say anything, neither does she. They just look at each other for a little too long, eyes taking each other in. He wants to lean in and kiss her, just like in her fantasy, but he’s not that guy.

“Hi” he breathes out instead, “I know it’s late, sorry, I shouldn’t be here—but I— I just wanna say” he pauses to take in a labored breath, “I like you a lot and I think you’re really pretty and funny and smart and would you wanna go out sometime? With me? Maybe?” he doesn't realize he’s closed this eyes until he’s got to pry them back open.

“Well that’s not how the fantasy was supposed to go” she giggles, her eyelashes fluttering as she looks up at him and the blush that’s steadily spreading up his face and neck.

“What do you— I don’t— what?” he’s stammering, doing a god awful job of playing dumb.

“In my video, you were just supposed to kiss me. This isn’t as sexy but it is a hell of a lot better”

“I don’t— I’m not—” he can’t get a sentence out, he’s got no idea what’s happening right now.

“It’s alright Dr. 187, I know it’s you” some part of him genuinely wants to throw up. Why did he think that would be an innocuous username. He was the stupidest genius alive.

“I’m sorry, I should've told you. I had no idea how, I just never thought— how could I have known you’d move in next door to me? And that you’d be even prettier in person but you’d be so cool too” he’s got to cut himself off before he really starts apologetically rambling.

“Spencer stop. It’s fine. I make that content for people to enjoy, you’ve got nothing to feel guilty about. I made that video because I wanted you to see it, that was intentional.” she reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder, and it’s more comforting than it has any right to be.

“Was that—your fantasy—the uh the video—were you telling the truth?” he can feel his heart absolutely racing in his chest as he waits for the answer. And she breaks out in a huge smile, nodding up at him.

“Every word.” he doesn’t let himself overthink it this time, he just leans right in, pressing his lips to hers. It’s soft and gentle, a sweet kiss rather than a heated one, it’s not just infatuation, there are feelings behind it now. He can feel her lips smiling against his own and his heart’s fit to burst now.

When they break apart she looks giddy with excitement, her hands come down to the little bow that holds her robe closed, toying with the ends of the tie. “I’m actually about to make a video now if you’d like to see behind the scenes?” she asks and his breath gets stuck in his throat.

“Fuck” he rasps, “You’ve got no idea how much I want to do that” he pauses, scolding himself in his head already, “But I think I wanna take you to dinner first, if you still want that?”

She’s grinning at him again, “I still really want that, tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night.”

-- --

Comments, reblogs, and tags are always appreciated, I love you all x

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Read Part 2 Here

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[ragingbookdragon]

If You Ever Want To Be In Love, I'll Come Around

Barry Allen x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: Based off this ask here! I hope you enjoy!

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

Living in Central City, he expected a lot:

Being held up at the bank because Snart decided to rob it? Check.

Having a car window blown out because the Flash sped by? Check.

Be best friends with said Speedster? Check.

Be best friends with said Speedster and fight crime along side him? Check.

Still though, he never expected to see Barry’s bright and bubbly face at seven A.M. on a Saturday morning when he’d just rolled out of bed, not bothering to pull on a shirt or a pair of sweats, merely hobbling to the door as he tried to avoid bumping into things with his bruised side.

He pulled open the door, blinking blearily at the man who was beaming back at him, hands placed on the shoulders of a young boy who came up to their middles.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” Barry greeted. “I know it’s early.”

“Really?” (Y/N) muttered, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “What gave it away? The sun peeking in through the windows?” he lowered his hand, blinking hard once more. “Mornin’ Wally.”

The kid smiled and waved. “Good morning, Mister (Y/N).”

“Why’d you bring me Kid Flash?” he asked, looking at Barry and the scientist sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I forgot I had a conference in Coast City and Iris asked me to watch Wally today.” He smiled apologetically. “I’d take Wally, but it’s a work thing and it wouldn’t be professional to bring him in with me.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I got it.” His gaze drifted to the boy. “You like video games?”

Wally’s head tipped up and down rapidly. “I love ‘em.”

“Got a new PlayStation system in the den.” He tipped his head. “Help yourself.”

The kid was gone, whizzing by in a flash and Barry smiled, wide and toothy. “Thank you, (Y/N). I know this is last minute and you’d want to enjoy your Saturday but—”

(Y/N) reached out, resting a hand on Barry’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m happy to help you out.”

“Yeah?” Barry questioned and he nodded.

“Always.” They gazed at each other for a moment, and (Y/N) felt his heart stutter in his chest at the closeness. “But knowing you, you’re going to be late, so I’d get a move on.”

The Speedster looked to his watch and his eyes widened; he turned, hurrying down the hall. “I’ll make it up to you, (Y/N)! Thanks again!”

“Be safe!” he called back, closing the apartment door; turning around, he saw Wally stretched out on the couch, a controller in his hands, a bag of chips open, along with a two-liter soda cracked. “This is gonna be a long day,” he muttered, wandering back to his bedroom to shower and dress.

***

He held an easy pace beside the young teen, but he could tell the kid was itching to run a mile a second. Wally did that thing that Barry did when the anticipation was running in his veins; he’d start buzzing, until he seemed like he was going to phase out.

“You good, Wally?” he asked, and the boy looked up, nodding his head.

“Yeah. Just…going slower than usual.”

(Y/N) snorted. “Sorry I can’t run as fast as you guys. I’ve only got super soldier legs.”

Wally laughed. “You are faster than most humans, Mist—uh, (Y/N).” he’d told the kid after four times of hearing, ‘Mister (Y/N)’ to just call him ‘(Y/N)’. “Barry says you might be faster than Batman.”

“Bruce is pretty fast,” he acknowledged. “Though that’s because he’s been conditioned to run that fast.” (Y/N) glanced over. “Speaking of Batman…how’s that crush of yours going?”

The kid’s face turned red, and his eyes shot to the ground. “Uh…it’s good…we’re gonna hang out on Friday.”

(Y/N) smiled. “It’s the son, isn’t it? Dick?”

“Yeah…we met a few years ago.” Wally had a bashful smile on his face. “I like him a lot.”

“I think you two are gonna be great together. You’ve got that bond that most people don’t before they get together.”

Wally blinked curiously. “What do you mean?”

(Y/N) met his gaze. “You two are best friends. Folks who get together after being friends for years on end are usually better off than those who aren’t.” he nudged Wally in the side. “I think in a few more years, the lot of us will be watching your taillights as you head to your honeymoon.”

“(Y/N)!” Wally blurted out, cheeks turning crimson, though his smile only grew.

“I’m teasing, kid. But really, I think you and Dick are gonna be great.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Wally looked away, his smile falling and (Y/N) caught it. “What’s up, kid?”

“You don’t…you don’t think it’s weird because we’re both boys?”

He blinked, not expecting that conversation to come up, but he recovered, shaking his head. “No matter what you identify as Wallace, whether gay or bisexual, it’s not weird or shameful.” (Y/N) came to a stop and placed his hand on the kid’s head. “You’re perfect the way you are and who you love is your business alone. And if people don’t respect that, then they’re not worth your time or concern. Okay?”

Wally’s eyes glazed over with unshed tears, and he suddenly lurched forward, wrapping his arms around the super soldier’s waist; (Y/N) smiled heartfully, wrapping his arms around the boy’s shoulders, patting his back. “You’re okay, kid. All of this is completely normal. You’re not weird or anything deviant because of this.”

The boy sniffed harshly. “Thanks (Y/N).”

He squeezed Wally’s shoulders. “Alright kid, let’s keep running, yeah?”

As they fell into another easy pace, the boy murmured, “You and Barry are best friends.”

(Y/N) shrugged. “I mean, I’m not Hal, but yeah, I think I’m one of Barry’s best friends.”

“Do you like Barry?”

He choked on his spit, skidding to a halt as he coughed harshly, hands on his knees. “What?”

Wally merely blinked. “Do you like Barry? Like I like Dick?”

(Y/N) felt flustered, which didn’t happen easily, and his mouth opened and closed, but all that came out was a croaking sound. “It’s complicated, kid.”

“How so?”

He sighed. “I don’t think Barry’s into guys, Wally. And besides, he’s with Iris. It’d be wrong to say something.”

Wally gazed at him. “Barry didn’t tell you then.”

“Tell me what?”

“He and Auntie Iris broke up a few months ago.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“Barry said they were at different points in their lives, and it didn’t seem right to keep a relationship going when they weren’t at the same spot.” He waved. “Or something like that. There was a lot of big words and metaphorical shit.”

“Hey!” (Y/N) shouted. “No cursing.”

Wally stuck his tongue out, then started running again, leaving him to follow. “But yeah, they broke up.”

“Why hasn’t Barry told me?” the question was more to himself than Wally, but he took it as if it were to him.

“I think Barry likes you, but he’s not sure how to approach it.”

(Y/N)’s lips pulled downwards. “Has he said anything that gives it away?”

Wally shook his head. “Not really, but any time I’m around you guys, he’s always watching you with that dorky smile on his face…like just the sight of you makes him happy to be alive.”

His cheeks felt hot, and he tried to remember every moment of being around Barry. “I feel like a fool.”

“He does talk about you a lot. How you impress him by always being a good man. Having good morals despite all your hardships.” Wally looked unimpressed. “It’s kinda gross how sappy he is.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Alright, kid. Rein it in. You talk about Dick like that.”

Now it was Wally’s turn to flush with embarrassment. “I do not!”

“Do too,” he shot back, before shoving the kid in the side and sprinting as fast as he could. “Last one to the end of the trail has to buy ice-cream!”

“Hey! No fair! You cheated!”

“What are you talking about! You literally have super-speed!”

***

By the time Barry made it back to (Y/N)’s apartment, it was a quarter to two; he opened the door for the Speedster, pressing a finger to his lips. “I just got the kid to go to sleep.”

Barry smiled. “Where is he?”

“I let him have my bed.” He topped his head to the living room. “I set up on the couch for the night.”

“That was nice of you,” he murmured, following (Y/N) into the den. “How’d it go today?”

He laughed quietly. “I’ve discovered the one difference between the two of you is that Wally’s mouth doesn’t move as fast, and I can actually understand what he’s saying. But damned if you two don’t talk fast.” (Y/N) grinned at Barry. “We played video games and went for a run to burn off all the junk food we ate. I think we had some good fun.”

Barry smiled, taking a seat on the sheeted sofa, (Y/N) beside him; their thighs brushed together. “I’m glad you two had fun today. I really appreciate you doing this.” He started to pull out his wallet. “I picked up a hundred for you.”

He shoved the wallet away. “Gimme a break, Barry. I did this for you. Not so you could pay me.” He shrugged. “Besides, I like the kid, so it’s free anyway.”

“Thank you, (Y/N).” He nodded, resting his head back, mulling over his thoughts, and Barry knew it. “Is something wrong?”

“Wally and I talked about a couple things today…one’s easy to tell you but the other…not so much.”

“I’m all ears,” Barry promised.

(Y/N) sighed heavily and opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. “You know Wally’s questioning himself, right?”

“About his sexuality? Yeah, I knew. Why?”

“He’s…concerned that it might be weird.” He hummed. “I think maybe someone at school or somewhere else might’ve said something homophobic and he’s not sure how to deal with it. But I told him what he’s feeling is normal and there’s nothing wrong with having a different sexuality other than heterosexual.”

“I—I didn’t know,” Barry murmured. “I knew he was questioning, but I didn’t know that…”

He seemed so hurt, so upset, so ashamed and (Y/N) didn’t look at him as he rested a hand on Barry’s thigh. “He’s probably just nervous about breaching the subject. He would’ve come to you in his own time, Barry. We know both know that—know how much he respects and trusts you to help him.”

Barry swallowed thickly, eyes concentrated on (Y/N)’s warm hand. “Yeah…I guess you’re right.” He patted the Speedster’s thigh before pulling away, resting his hands back in his lap. “What about the second thing?”

“What?” he said.

“You said you had another thing to talk about.” Barry seemed curious. “What is it?”

(Y/N) inhaled deeply, not wanting to look away from the white ceiling, but he willed himself to do so, meeting Barry’s bright blue eyes. “We’ve been friends for a long time, Barry. A few good years now.” He swallowed thickly, searching the man’s gaze for a moment, and admitted, “I…love you, Barry.”

The Speedster’s eyes went wide, jaw dropping in shock, but it didn’t stop him from speaking.

“Wally said you and Iris broke up a few months ago, but even before then, I’d never try to worm my way into anything, especially your personal relationships, so I kept quiet about my feelings, but…but if there’s any way you feel the same about me…I’d love to explore that with you.”

Barry’s cheeks were turning pink in the moonlight and (Y/N) took a leap of faith, turning slightly to rest a hand on his cheek, softly bringing their lips together. The Speedster melted into the kiss, his own hands coming up to cup the soldier’s cheeks. They were so warm under each other’s palms, giggling like two teens under the bleachers at a football game, coming back to each other after each gentle kiss.

They pulled away and pressed their foreheads together, both breathless with giddy smiles on their faces, small peals of laughter falling from their mouths and (Y/N) dumbly giggled, “Do you wanna go on a date with me sometime?”

Barry nodded, body starting to vibrate as it did when he was excited. “I’d like that a lot.” He thumbed (Y/N)’s lips, smiling as the super soldier’s eyes slipped shut, pressing his lips to the pad of Barry’s finger. “And (Y/N)?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

[wwilloww]

unwind - m | knj

Pairing: soft dom Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Smut. Explicit. 18+.

WC: 5.5k

Summary: You come home after a long, stressful day at work to your boyfriend, who does his best to cheer you up and remind you that you can always rely on him. Sometimes the best form of self-care is simply accepting affection and care from someone else.  

Warnings: softdom!Namjoon. Dom and sub play. Dirty talk. Spanking. Fingering. Oral sex (f receiving). Edging. Orgasm denial. Thigh riding. Begging. Unprotected sex within a committed relationship. Multiple orgasms. Creampie. Aftercare.

A/N: This story is a commission by an anonymous donor through @ficswithluv‘s Changes With Luv project. Thank you so much for your donation—I hope it lives up to your idea! I’m sending my whole heart out to the incredible Luna @moonchild-og​ and Ash @ot7always who beta read this very late last night! Also, shoutout to @meowxyoong @strawbxxymilk @randombtsprincessa @diedinwarofhormones for sharing their thirst for soft doms with me.

|| masterlist || ao3 ||

wwilloww ©️ do not repost, translate, or copy.

The door seems particularly heavy as you close it behind you. You slump against it, dropping your bag on the floor as you close your eyes.

Today has been an absolute shitshow. Not only had the day been long and arduous, but your asshole boss seemed to have some kind of personal vendetta against you.

You take a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.

When you open your eyes, you are met with the sight of Namjoon reclined on your couch, a thick book held up to his face. He looks over the tome at you, an eyebrow raised.  

As he takes in your sinking shoulders and tired gaze, his excitement that you’re finally home shifts into concern. Immediately, he hops off the couch to come to you, slipping your coat off of your shoulders before wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” You untuck yourself and press a kiss to his lips. When you pull back you can see a crease forming between his brow, so you reach up to roll your thumb over his forehead, smoothing out the skin for him before bringing your hand down to cradle his cheek. “Everything’s fine.”

Namjoon tightens his grip around your waist, knowing you well enough to spot the tension in your posture.

“Why don’t you go shower and I’ll whip something up for dinner,” he prompts, brushing a strand of hair that has fallen out of your ponytail behind your ear.

“You? Cook?”

He nods eagerly.

“I have a new recipe I’ve been practicing.” He grins, pushing you lightly away from him. “Go. Shower. You’ll feel better.” You throw him a weak smile as you make your way to the back bedroom.

You emerge from the bedroom twenty minutes later, smelling of balsam wood and lavender and wrapped in your softest sweatshirt and a pair of sleep shorts.

You wander into the kitchen, slipping quietly into one of the stools at the breakfast bar where Namjoon has left a glass of your favorite red wine. You sip the wine, pursing your lips together at the swirling bitterness that takes over your mouth. As you relish in the feeling of the cool liquid trickling down your throat, you prop up your head on your hand to watch Namjoon move around the kitchen, stirring noodles and chopping garlic and parsley.

“Babe, you look like you know what you’re doing,” you tease, sending him a wink.

“Of course I know what I’m doing!” he scoffs. He notices your wine glass is empty and makes his way around the bar with the bottle to fill it up. You eagerly offer him the glass. He fills it generously before pressing a quick kiss to your wine-stained lips.

As he turns away to return to the kitchen, you pull him towards you again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and deepening the kiss. He softens against you, letting his hands press into your lower back. However, he quickly remembers himself and pulls you away, a slight smirk on his face.

“First, you need to eat.”

He rounds the counter and proceeds to finish cooking, while you watch on with a slight pout. Your frown cracks into a gentle smile though as you study the care with which he carefully twists the pasta onto a dish and does his best to delicately sprinkle parsley on top.

He brings two identical plates to where you’re sitting. As he slides into the seat next to you, you twist so that you’re facing him, pulling his face to yours and kiss him deeply. Needing more, you tease his lips open with your tongue, sliding one hand up his thigh to squeeze the thick muscle. He kisses you back before tensing and pulling away.

“Babe, come on,” he groans, laughing.

“No, I want this,” you say, pushing your hand up until it meets the junction between hip and thigh. “I want you,” you look up innocently at him, doing your best impression of doe eyes, even as you move your hand to trace his quickly forming bulge.

His gaze hardens from playful to something more serious. He shows no sign of being affected by your increasingly distracting hand and instead picks up your fork and twirls a noodle around it, bringing it to your mouth.

“Eat or nothing else happens tonight.”

You smile sheepishly up at him and open your mouth. He feeds you until you take the fork from him and finish your meal.

“You had a tough day?” Namjoon finally asks as you finish your plate.

“No, everything’s fine.”

Namjoon watches as your brow creases. You always do this. You come home after a difficult day, and think it would be a burden to your boyfriend to share the details. So you keep them to yourself, unsuccessfully pretending that nothing has happened. Namjoon loves that you care so deeply about the way other people feel, but he hates that you do this—that you feel you need to hold back—with him.

So he sighs and puts down the dish he’s currently holding to turn to you.

“Babe, I know something’s wrong. Right?”

You pause, mulling over your options before deciding to tell him.

“Yeah,” you murmur, dropping your gaze.

“I’m not saying you need to tell me the details. I know you need time to process these kinds of things. But I also don’t want you to...to hold back from me simply because you think it’ll burden me in some way.” You meet his eyes. Instead of pity or even frustration, there’s softness there. “I’m an adult. If I can’t handle something, I’ll let you know. I don’t want you to feel like you need to hide from me or lie to me to keep me happy.”

You sigh and put your dish down so you can wrap your arms around his waist.

“I know. Thank you, Joon.” You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. “I know I do this a lot. I promise I’ll work on it.”

He smiles at you.

“How can I help?”

“Is it possible to fuck the frustration away?” you tease.

You watch as something dark flashes in his eyes.

“Sure is.” He bends down to kiss you. “Will you let me take care of you?”

“Joonie, that—that’s not what I meant. You don’t have to.”

“Babe, I want to.”

“No, really, this is my shit, it’s my bad day—”

“Get on the bed.”

“What?”

“Leave your clothes at the door and get on the bed.” His voice has dropped, deep and serious, signaling his switch into his more dominating persona. “Let me take care of you.”

You leave your plate where it is and start down the hall, tugging off your sweatshirt. It’s quick work undressing, seeing as you’re only really wearing two items of clothing. As you slide your shorts down your legs you know Namjoon’s eyes are on you. You put an extra ounce of energy into slowing down the process and arching your back slightly—just enough to let his gaze linger. You peek back at him as you stand, now naked, and trail your hand over your bare skin. A soft chuckle echoes from behind you as Namjoon dumps the dishes in the sink, a task for tomorrow.

Knowing he’s shortly behind you, you step into the bedroom completely naked, and plop down on the bed.

“You know what I want, babe. Ass up.”

You smirk at him before flipping over onto your belly, kicking up your legs playfully. You rest your head on your arms as you watch Namjoon lean against the doorframe. He tugs at the top button of his shirt, his gaze roving over you: Roving over the slight valley of your lower back, the waterfall of hair against your neck, the sweet swell of your ass. He could watch you all day but knowing that he gets to touch, too, that knowledge means that just studying your form will never be enough.

He strides towards you, unbuttoning his shirt as he walks without entirely untucking it.

The bed dips under his weight as he comes behind you, swinging one knee over you so that he’s effectively straddling your upper thighs. He smooths a large palm over the smooth swell of your ass, first one cheek then the other. You melt into the sensation, his light but spanning touch raising goosebumps all over your body. He brings a second hand down on your ass, now mirroring his ministrations on each side, roving in large circles.

Slowly, he works his way upwards, palms spreading across your lower back. He’s gentle at first, hands warming you up against the cool air of the bedroom. But then his touch becomes heavier. He uses the heel of his palm to knead into the flesh and muscle of your back. Gradually he works his way up along the curve of your spine, left hand mirroring right, each one delightfully heavy as he digs into the tension you’re holding in your body.

Namjoon hits a particularly tight knot in your shoulder. As he fluctuates between the dancing pads of his fingers and the deep pressure of the heel of his hand, it slowly unravels. You groan at the painful pleasure of the pressure releasing and you know he’s smirking from behind you as he continues to work at it until he’s satisfied that he’s released it.  

“I know you had a hard day, kitten, but you should know that I’m going to take care of you—no matter what. No matter what it is that you need.” His hands come down to smooth over your back, brushing back and forth, redistributing the stagnating energy that he’s dug up. “I keep telling you this. Do you need me to remind you again?”

You nod furiously.

He leans down so that when he speaks his voice feels like it's brushing over your ear.

“You remember your safeword, love?”

You nod and mumble a soft “Mhmm.”

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Kaleidoscope.”

“Good girl.”

He watches as a faint blush begins to creep up your neck at the use of the pet name. Gently, he unstraddles you and pulls you up to your knees, maneuvering you to his own will. He moves so that he is sitting on the edge of the bed, and pats his lap. As if it’s second nature, you obediently lay yourself across him so your ass is up in the air.

“You know exactly what to do,” Namjoon muses, almost more to himself than to you. He runs his hand over the dip of your lower back and the rounded curve of your ass. “So pretty, just for me.”

You push up into his hand involuntarily at his words.

“Do you know why I’m doing this?”

“To remind me,” you say.

“Yes. And?”

“And?” you twist back to try to gauge his expression, but he pushes your head back down.

“And because you were so greedy earlier. Trying to get me hard at dinner, trying to get me to fuck that needy cunt in the kitchen of all places.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing and Namjoon grins when he sees the subtle movement.

“So eager, already? I haven’t even gotten started with you.”

“Plea—”

You’re cut off as his hand comes down on your ass. It’s a light slap, more of a practice run than what he knows you can take—than what he knows you crave. Still, the smallest of oh’s slips past your lips. As he runs his hand over your backside in a circular motion, you press your ass back into his touch, desperate for more.

“Is that alright?” he asks, knowing that you’re one to lean into the sting of his hand, but still wanting to check in with you.

“Yes, please, more.”

Namjoon doesn’t need any further convincing. His hand comes down on you—hard. Hard enough to elicit a gasp from you. You bite your lip to hold back the sinful sounds that threaten to escape. His hand comes down again—and again—and on the fifth hit you groan, loudly. You can feel him harden beneath you.

“Good girl. You’re doing so well.” Despite his obvious arousal, he does nothing but focus on the sensation of his hand hitting your supple flesh and the sight of you beneath him.

Above you, Namjoon watches as after each spank your body relaxes further in his grasp. Each strike feeds the healthy glow beneath his palm and he smiles because even as your breathing picks up, the tension you’re subconsciously holding in your body begins to slip away, allowing for a new kind of tension to grow between your legs.

His hand comes down a final time and you whimper beneath its strength.

“Okay, love. I think that’s enough for now.” He begins to pull you up, turning so he’s got one leg hanging off the bed and you’re sat upright on your knees between his legs. “You did so well.” He wraps his arms around your waist, coming to gently squeeze your ass, knowing how sensitive you must be. As you sigh into his touch, he leans in to kiss you, his lips moving tenderly over yours. “You always look so pretty for me, bent over my lap.” You flush at the praise, leaning back to push a loose strand of hair out of your mouth.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he helps move the hair out of your face.

“Much better,” you smile sweetly as you bask in the sunlight of the endorphins rushing through you.

“Better than before?”

“Mhmm. Thank you.” You press your lips against his once more before starting to slide off the bed. You move between his legs, fingers running over the leather of his belt. He’s still entirely dressed, although his shirt is hanging obscenely open, his toned chest shining softly with sweat. You tug gently on his belt, eyes looking up through your lashes and pleading.

You look gorgeous like this, on your knees, eyes wide and wet. Namjoon runs a hand through his hair, letting his head fall back just enough to expose his neck to you and groans. He reaches down to stroke your cheek as you fumble with his belt buckle.

“Darling,” he murmurs. “You are so good on your knees for me. I love it when you suck my cock—but not now.”

You pout slightly. “But, Joon, I want to make you feel good.”

“You will,” Namjoon smiles gently. “But nothing feels better than you being a good girl and listening to me.”  

He wants to say that watching the tension unravel itself from your body is what makes him feel good. That watching a smile grow softly on your face feels like heaven, or that seeing you unwind beneath him, underneath his touch, is the hottest thing he’s ever experienced.

“But—”

“No. You heard what I said.”

Your pout deepens. He knows he’s not going to be able to talk you out of this, so instead, he diverts your attention.

“Go lay down.”

“I—”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow and you shut your mouth.

“Go lay down and put your hands above your head.”

You do as he asks, moving slowly until your head is resting on a short stack of pillows. You arrange yourself, knees together and hands twisted above your head. With a smirk, you spread your knees apart, revealing your inner thighs, glistening with sweat and arousal.

He watches you do this and raises an eyebrow.

“Someone’s feeling extra needy tonight, hm?” Still, he doesn’t hesitate to crawl towards you, pushing your knees even farther apart as he settles between them, still dressed.

For a moment you think he’ll stop the teasing and finally press his lips against your clit. As if reading your mind he grins up at you as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“You should know better.”

You groan in frustration, reaching down to pull his chin to where you want him. With a growl, he pins your hand back above your head and sits up slightly.

“You do know better, don’t you?” The threat is implicit in his tone: do as he’s asked or he’ll stop. You nod sheepishly. “Words, baby.”

“Yes, I’ll do what you’ve asked.”

“Good girl. Anything I want?”

You nod. “Whatever you want.”

He slowly lowers himself back to your stomach, kissing up your soft belly until he meets the slope of your breasts. He wraps his lips around your right nipple, teasing it softly, sucking, and rolling it around in his mouth. And then—oh—his teeth graze over the sensitive bud. As he continues to suckle at each nipple, your groans become louder and you squirm up into him.

Namjoon is still fully clothed and your burning skin finds little relief against the rough texture of the fabric. Still, you press up, closer to him.

Namjoon chuckles and you look down to find his lips pursed perfectly around your breast, his tongue flickering out to tease the already-bruising skin and the hard bulb of your nipple.

“God, you look wild right now, babe,” he murmurs against your skin.

“Joonie—” you gasp as he bites down particularly painfully. “I need more.”

Usually, Namjoon would draw things out or scold you for being so vocal. But alongside the dominating personality that he regularly assumes in the bedroom, tonight something softer sings alongside that hard edge. Tonight, he wants to see you unravel for him.  

You suck in a sharp breath as he pushes one long finger into your cunt without warning. Your body tenses as he begins to draw it in and out—and then quickly relaxes as he finds his pace.

He adds a second finger as he lowers his head to wrap his lips around your clitoris. With his other hand, he pushes down on your stomach, quelling the desperate movements of your hips to get more of him, to get closer to him. As he sucks on the delicate bud, it swells, pulsing rhythmically beneath his attentions. You gasp.

Namjoon gazes up at you through the swell of your breasts, watching the way your brow furrows and mouth gapes in pleasure. You can feel his lips spread into a grin against you and you look down to find him drowning in his own intensity, his shirt slipping down his shoulder, only to throw your head back again as he adds a third finger and scissors them apart.

“So obedient. You’re taking everything I give you.”

“Mhmm,” you manage to mumble through clenched teeth. “For you—”

“For me, baby girl? Just for me?” All you can do is nod stiffly as a tremor of pleasure races through you, eliciting the sweetest sounding moan from you. “That’s right, love, moan for me. You sound so gorgeous when you make those pretty little sounds.”

Your back arches as he hits a particularly spongy spot within you. As you do, he sucks extra hard on your clit, sending stars shooting up and down your spine and into your vision.

“Can I come?” you plead, breath coming in short gasps. “I-I’m so close.”

“No, baby. Hold on a little longer for me.”

Still, he doesn’t falter in his punishing pace. If anything, he picks up the speed and force. You whimper beneath him, squirming and twisting the sheets by your head between your fingers.

You do your best to hold on to the pleasure that is coiling so tightly in your belly, to hold it there, just at the edge—but then suddenly his pattern changes and you’re tipping over.

“Joon—I-I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“No,” he growls. And then as quickly as he had begun, his touch, his tongue is gone and all that is left is the cool air of the bedroom.

Tears of frustration well up in your eyes as you lift your head to see Namjoon sitting back, his mouth set in a hard line.

“I told you not to come.”

“I was so close,” you whine as you throw your head back on the pillow.

“When you come, it’ll be around my cock or not at all.”

You sit up again, crawling over to him. You tug on the loose ends of his shirt.

“Then fuck me,” you say, making your eyes big and wide just for him. You know he always goes a little weak when you do this.

His eyes grow large and he pulls you against him to kiss you furiously. He quickly slips his tongue between your lips and swipes it against the roof of your mouth. You groan into him, pressing closer, finding his clothed thigh between your legs. Unabashedly, you grind down on it, your clit rubbing against the rough material.

“Shit,” he murmurs against you, taking one of your lips between his teeth.

You continue to circle your hips against his leg, undoubtedly ruining the pants. Namjoon bites down on your lip, causing you to yelp into his mouth.

“I love to see you this desperate,” he groans. “So worked up that you’re going to use my thigh to cum, huh? Is that enough for you? Are you so fucking desperate for me that you’ll get yourself off on my thigh when you can’t get my fingers or my tongue?”

“Yes, god, yes.” Your movements become erratic as the tension he left broken within you minutes ago quickly rebuilds.

At this point your arousal has soaked entirely through the fabric of his trousers, leaving the skin beneath it wet and sticky. You’re so close, if you could just get a little closer, a little more, a—

“Stop.”

The word cuts through your blissed-out haze. You slow but don’t stop.

“I said, stop.” Namjoon's hands come down on your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he halts your movements. “My girl is having trouble listening today, hm?” He takes a finger to tilt your chin up as you whine and continue to try to press against him. His fingers dig deeper into your hips. That’ll definitely leave a mark for tomorrow, and the thought of it has your cunt clenching. “What did I say about cumming?”

“Not to,” you frown.

“Unless?”

“Unless it's on your cock.”

“Good girl.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Joonie, I can’t wait anymore.”

Looking down at you, he can see that. You’re covered in sweat, love bites, and fresh bruises. Your skin is so delightfully flushed and the look in your eyes is desperate. So slowly, he nods his consent and lets you unbutton the remaining button on his shirt and slip if off his shoulders.

He watches as you unbutton his trousers and needily push them down just enough that you can slide the band of his boxers down and slip your hand inside. His cock springs free, the tip an angry red and leaking precome.

“You’re so hard for me.”

You wrap your hand around the base, stroking up once torturously slow. He loves the way your hand looks wrapped around him, and when you look up there’s a new fire in his eyes. He’s held back for about an hour, untouched, and now that your beautiful hand is stroking up and down his length, every sensation feels wildly intense.

You let go of him to reach down in between your legs and slide two fingers into your cunt to collect the slick that has gathered there. Without breaking eye contact, you wrap your hand around his cock again, spreading your wetness onto his length.

“Fuck.”

He freezes for a moment before springing into action.

Before you know what’s happening, Namjoon has wrapped his arms around your torso and is flipping you over onto your belly. The air wooshes out of you as you hit the bed, but he’s done this enough times that he knows exactly how to cradle your fall. You start to twist back to him to see what he’s doing, but he moves quickly, pressing your thighs together and coming to straddle you, similarly to how he had when he massaged you earlier. He leans over you, pushing your shoulder down so you’re facing forward again.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget everything except for this cock. How it feels inside of you, filling you,” he whispers in your ear, raising goosebumps over every inch of your skin.  

And then his movements slow. His hands disappear and you’re left touchless, squirming on the bed.  

“I-I want it,” you whine, lifting your hips up just enough that your glistening folds brush back against his cockhead. You do your best to push back onto him, to get him inside, to fill you, but his hand comes down to press on your lower back, his fingers spreading out in a fan against your skin. He pushes your spine into a delightful arch, successfully restraining your movements.

Normally you love his calculated movements: the simplicity and strength that this kind of gesture has to put you exactly in the position that he wants you in usually has goosebumps peppering your skin and a shot of adrenaline heightening all sensation. And that remains true in this moment. However, the coil in your stomach is quickly unwinding and you’re left aching for something more, for him.

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Ngh—yes,” you groan, squirming against him.

“Baby, I need more than that. Use your words.” Still, he doesn’t move and instead pushes down on your back so your movements are further limited.

“I want your cock. I want your cum,” you gasp. “I want everything,” you add with a shaky breath, knowing that although you being wordy isn’t going to speed up the process, it will make Namjoon harder.

You can almost hear the smirk that spreads across his face.

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, yes, Joonie, please. I need you.”

Namjoon reaches down to grip the base of his cock and slides it against your slick folds.

“Hm, but this feels so good. I could do this all day.”

“KIM NAMJOON. If you don’t put your fucking cock in my cunt right this second I will march into the bathroom, lock the door, and finish this myself.”

Namjoon fucking laughs—a big, hearty, jubilant laugh that echoes around the room—as you wriggle beneath his weight in your best display of anger.

Finally, finally, he slots the head of his cock against your entrance and leans over to whisper against your ear.

“I don’t want you to think that that comment is going to go unpunished,” he whispers. The hair on the back of your neck rises with the promise, but your next comment is quickly silenced by a roll of his hips as he slides the first inch of his cock into you.

This is nothing like his fingers. He’s girthy, filling you to the brim. The slight stretch of his cock against your sensitive walls straddles the delicate line between pain and pleasure and you groan as he slides further into you.

He begins at a slow pace, his hips rolling forward into you. In this position, it feels like your walls are sucking him in.

“God, you look so good taking my cock.” Namjoon moans. He can’t take his eyes off the way your lower lips part around him, the way he seamlessly glides in and out of you. Each time he withdraws, he comes out glistening in a mix of your arousal and his precome.

He comes down to rest on his elbows, in the process shifting his hips slightly up. With this new leverage, he begins to drive into you with a new ferocity. The slight shift has him hitting your g-spot. As he continues to pound against that soft spot within you, you reach out to wrap your fingers around his forearm and press your face into the pillow.

There were times when Namjoon took extreme pleasure in tying you up and refusing to let you touch him. But now he wanted nothing more than to be as pressed as close to you as possible. As he lowers his weight onto you and onto his forearms, he can feel the muscles of your back and hips ripple beneath him as you thrust back in tandem to his own pace.

“You feel so big,” you moan.

You don’t usually cum without direct clitoral stimulation, but after being unwound just to be riled up again and then left on the edge of your orgasm, the repeated pounding against your g-spot is consistently building up a warm pressure at the front of your pelvis. You dig your nails into Namjoon’s skin and feel him press harder into you. Between the comforting weight of his body and his unyielding thrusts, you can feel your orgasm quickly rising within you.

“Joonie—” you gasp.

“I can feel how close you are,” he groans, sweat beading on his forehead.

“I’m so close, Joonie, please, can I—”

“Cum, baby. Cum for me.”

At his command, you press back into him and dig your fingers into his arm. Your vision goes white as pleasure ripples through your pelvis and outwards, into your belly, your limbs. You vaguely understand that Namjoon is still grinding his hips into you, helping you ride out your orgasm as long as possible. You continue to clench around him and he hisses.

“Shit.”

Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut, doing his best to hold back from drilling into you. Instead, he circles his hips against you, grinding into your still-clenching walls as he guides you down from your orgasm. Your breath is coming in pants and huffs now, and you turn your head so that you’re looking up at him. He’s got that precious fold in his brow that appears when he’s close but holding back.

“Babe, I need—” he grunts.

“I know, I know,” you weakly lift your arm to stroke his burning cheek. “It’s okay.”

He finally lets go, allowing his pace to stutter and falter against you, morphing from a circular grind into something more primal. At this point, he’s chasing his own pleasure in a way that you almost never see. He’s still hitting your most sensitive spots and you groan in overstimulation.

All of a sudden, you’re coming again.

“I-” is all you can stutter, a long, silent groan shaping your swollen lips into a perfect O. As you come, you reach up behind you and grab onto his neck, your nails raking down the sensitive skin. All he needs is to feel the blood rise to the surface and see your neck arched back for him to come undone. His hips stutter into you, and with one final, deep thrust, he presses as deep as he can and lets go. His pleasure unravels in his stomach and you can feel him spurt again and again within you.  

Seconds after he’s come, he’s rolling off you, exposing you to the chilled air of the room—but he doesn’t want to crush you. As if reading his mind you say, “I like you on top of me, like the weight.”

He chuckles at the sleepy lilt in your voice.

“I know babe, I just don’t want to crush you.”

“You won’t.”

Namjoon doesn’t argue. He knows you become stubborn when you’re sleepy. Instead, he rolls you gently onto your back and comes to press himself almost chastely against your lips. You smile into the kiss, sliding your hands into his hair.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispers into your shoulder, giving you a gentle bite before pulling back to look at you. He wants to spend the rest of the week in bed, tracing the features of your face like this: relaxed, blissful, unquestioning. Instead, he savors your expression for one final moment and brushes a sweaty piece of hair out of your eyes. Namjoon rolls off the bed and walks to the bathroom where he grabs a clean towel and dampens it. He almost doesn’t recognize his reflection in the mirror, hair unkempt, cheeks flushed, skin glistening with sweat—and something unrecognizable in his eyes. He splashes his face with water before returning to the bedroom where he sits gently on the edge of the bed. You’re already starting to fall asleep, but he runs his hand over your forehead and your eyes flutter open.

“You did so well for me baby,” he coos as he first wipes your brow before moving down your body and wiping away the mixed cum from your still-dripping cunt.

“Yes,” you mumble, lids heavy with sleep. “‘M good for you.”

“Yes, good for me. So good for me. I’d even say you earned yourself a reward.”

“Can my reward be you cuddling me?” You reach out, eyes closed at this point, trying to grab at him.

“Sure, baby.”

He reaches up to cup your cheek, running the rough pad of his thumb over your warm flesh. You sigh into his touch, nuzzling closer. He tosses the wet towel in the direction of the bathroom and climbs into bed, pulling you gently into his chest.

“Mm, love you, Joonie.” He feels more than hears you mumble into his neck.

“I love you too.”

|| masterlist || ao3 ||

[redgillan]

Under Pastel Skies - 7

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 6,480

Warnings: none

A/N: This is long overdue, sorry - hopefully it’s worth it. It’s also incredibly long... idek anymore. I want to thank you all for your patience and support. It means a lot to me.

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

You grumbled into your pillow when you heard your phone buzz on the bedside table. Cracking one eye open, you lifted your phone and squinted to read the neon numbers showing on the screen.

7:12 a.m.

You had an email notification, nothing important, but it somehow managed to come through the ‘Do Not Disturb’ feature. You knew you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep so you got up and padded barefoot into the kitchen.  

A smile curled up your lips when you saw the leftovers from your made-up holiday. There were a few cookies and muffins in a plate, a large bowl of cereals, and two dirty milkshake glasses on the counter.

It had been a fun and relaxing couple of days. You ate, talked, played board games, and watched movies in your fanciest loungewear attire. Bucky sought your touch more than usual and it left you a little confused. Every time he touched you, the line between feelings of friendship and feelings of love became blurred.

Bucky was an early riser, always up before you, dressed in his usual khakis and long sleeved Henley shirts with his hair slightly tousled. He looked effortlessly sexy and always had a warm smile for you even though you looked like a hot mess in your mismatched pyjamas, staggering into the kitchen, blindly following the smell of food cooking on the stove.

Today, the kitchen was silent. Bucky was probably still asleep, so you decided to cook breakfast. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d catch him in his night clothes.

Wasting no time, you made a beeline for the coffee machine. You filled the water tank and measured fresh grounds into the filter, but your task was interrupted when you heard groans coming from somewhere nearby. You soon figured out that the sounds were coming from the living room.

Curious, you silently made your way toward the sound. The shades were up, and you could see the midnight blue sky fading into pastel hues of yellow and pink with the approaching dawn. Under any other circumstances, you would have been completely enraptured by its beauty, but something else caught your attention.

Bucky was standing upside down with his head on a yoga mat. His eyes were closed and his features were set in an expression of serious concentration. You half hid behind the wall and observed him.

You were impressed, his headstand was perfectly vertical and he was doing it without hand support, meaning that he was supporting his entire weight on his neck. He slowly lowered one toe back down, then the other, before he rested his forearm on the mat and lifted his butt toward the ceiling, his body forming a perfect inverted V.

“You’re up already,” he asked, sitting back on his haunches. “I can hear you breathing behind that wall.”

Busted...

You peeked out into the living room and cringed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you but that was sooo impressive.” You walked into the room and perched yourself on the arm of the sofa, facing Bucky who was kneeling at your feet. “How do you do that?”

He chuckled, his cheeks red from exertion and bashfulness. “Practice. Yoga’s good for building strength.”

He looked up at you with a boyish smile, his hair damp with perspiration. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, rolling too close to his eyes and making him squint.

His pants left little to the imagination, the fabric stretched across his powerful thighs, and his sleeveless shirt clung to his drenched chest, outlining his muscles. Your eyes darted to his left shoulder where his stump was visible.

Despite living with him for over two months, you had never seen him in one of those sleeveless shirts before, though you couldn’t blame him since it was the middle of winter and you hadn’t been wearing any either. It was warm inside the apartment but not enough to walk around bare-armed.

“It’s easier to do yoga when the sleeve isn’t slapping me in the face every five seconds,” Bucky said, looking at his stump. “But I can cover it up if you prefer.”

“No! Of course not,” you rushed to say. “I’m sorry. That was really rude.”

“You were just looking, it’s only natural,” he said. “People are curious. Staring... well, staring is different.” His frown smoothed away and he turned to you with a smile. “Are you hungry?”

You smiled down at him. “Starving.”

“I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick, then I’ll start breakfast.”

“Actually, I was about to start cooking before I got distracted.” Bucky looked away, a slight blush covering his cheeks. “But I think we have plenty of food left over from last night.”

“We’re not eating cookies for breakfast,” he said. “We’ll save them for later. Right now we need something healthy.” He grinned as he pushed himself to his feet and ran upstairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You shook your head at his antics and returned to the kitchen to finish making coffee. After all he��d done for you, it was the least you could do. You knew Bucky liked cooking –and he was damn good at it- but sometimes you wondered if this was a fair arrangement.

He had given you a place to stay, money, food to eat, your own artist’s studio, and you had given him... nothing. Admittedly, you knew that your presence calmed him, comforted him. You gave him the emotional support he desperately needed and it was important, but he could also have adopted a pet.

Too tired for coffee or tea, you poured yourself a glass of orange juice, hoping it would wake you up. It worked but your self-deprecating thoughts were still playing havoc in your mind.

You were fixing Bucky’s coffee when he came back downstairs after his shower, and you were pleasantly surprised to find him wearing a clean sleeveless shirt. You met his eyes and found that he was watching you intently. You offered him a smile and leaned back against the kitchen counter.

“Looking good, James.”

He looked down at his feet with a bashful smile as he crossed the room slowly. You observed him in silence while he prepared breakfast for the two of you. It was a simple breakfast bowl with yogurt, granola, fresh fruits and honey but he somehow made it look like a gourmet dish.

“There you go, angel,” he said, setting your bowl in front of you. “What are you going to do today?”

You took a slice of kiwi and dipped in yogurt. “I think I’m going to paint. You?”

Bucky licked his spoon and you stared at it longingly before you quickly averted your eyes. No, you couldn’t be jealous of a goddamn spoon. Catch yourself on.

“I have an idea for a new book,” he said, running his tongue along his teeth to clean them before he spoke again. “I had a meeting with my agent last week. It went well, my old publisher really wants to work with me again. I’m signing my contract this afternoon.”

“Bucky!” you squealed after swallowing your mouthful of yogurt a little too fast. “That’s amazing!”

“Thank you,” he said, staring into nothing with wide eyes. “I’m nervous, scared and excited at the same time. It’s strange, y’know, all these feelings mixed together. It’s a bit overwhelming and I haven’t even started yet.”

“Don’t think too much,” you said. “You’ve done this before, you can do it again.”

“Yeah,” he replied, smiling.

You scraped your spoon around the bowl and licked it clean. “What’s it about? Is it a novel? Can I be in it?”

Bucky chuckled to himself and you figured that every single writer had friends who begged them to appear in their books. You couldn’t help it, the idea of living forever as ink on a page was too tempting.

“It’s not a novel,” he said. “It’s the third instalment of my series. The style is a little hard to explain but this is what I like to say: self-help book meets Bridget Jones’ Diary.”

“I tried to look you up but I couldn’t find anything written by a James Barnes or a Bucky Barnes.” You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you a fraud? Or are you using a pen name?”

He pretended to think about it. “I’m a fraud.”

“I knew it,” you mock-sighed.

Bucky took your bowl and placed it in the sink along with his. When he started cleaning them, you joined him and took a dish towel.

“I’ll tell you soon,” he spoke after a moment.

“It’s okay, take your time.”

You knew he wasn’t going to tell you what his pen name was, not now at least. His books were a reflection of his struggles, his success, and his fears, and you could understand why he preferred to keep you in the dark for now.

The people who read his books didn’t know him, they were just anonymous faces in a crowd but you were real. You were his friend, his new friend, and your opinion mattered.

“It’s been a couple of years since I’ve published my last book. My agent said that people haven’t forgotten about me but I still have to,” he made air quotes with his fingers, “’show my face’, just to remind everyone that I’m still writing.” He sighed.

“There’s a charity event next month at the museum of Natural History,” he continued. “It’s a huge event, a lot of important people will be there, including some of the most famous gallerists and curators in the country. You’re allowed to say no but,” he paused and turned to look at you, “do you want to come with me?”

You pressed your lips together while you mulled this over. There was no doubt in your mind that it was a great opportunity, one that you would have never had without Bucky, and you knew you had to say yes. But this was your least favourite part of being an artist.

You didn’t know how to sell yourself and you always felt like an arrogant asshat when you spoke about your paintings, even though you had every right to be proud of your work.

You had managed to persuade yourself that this new life would last forever. Eat, laugh, paint, repeat forever. But it wasn’t real. You had to put yourself out there, even if it made you uncomfortable because painting was only half your job.

Something else bothered you. You didn’t want to be the poor, struggling artist who took advantage of a charity event to make herself known. It seemed wrong and hypocritical.

You voiced your concerns to Bucky who looked at you with a pained expression.

“Yes, it’s a fundraiser but I can assure you that everyone at the party will be talking business and exchanging business cards,” he said. “And they’ll compensate with a huge donation to clear their guilty conscience. Is it false philanthropy? Absolutely, and I’m ashamed to say I’m one of them. You’re not taking advantage of a good cause, we are.”

“You’re nothing like them,” you said. “You’re kind and selfless, you’re a good person.”

“I’m not sure that’s true, angel,” he said with a tight smile.

When you opened your mouth to protest, he leaned forward and cupped the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, ending the conversation. He had never done that before and you froze, feeling equal parts confused, incredulous and appreciated.

He pulled back and wiped down the sink with the sponge, acting like kissing you so sweetly was something completely normal, like he was unbothered. Meanwhile you just stood there wondering if you would ever be able to breathe normally again.

You pressed your lips together hard and tried to gather your thoughts but your mind was reeling. You were about to leave the room when your eyes landed on a pile of mail on the kitchen counter.

The first letter was a cheesy view of the Tower Bridge, the words ‘Greetings from London’ written in bold cursive letters across the postcard.

You only knew one person who still sent postcards.

Wanda.

“What’s this?” you asked, nodding toward the stack of mail.

Confused, Bucky looked to you then followed your line of sight and saw the mail. “Oh, Natasha dropped these off last night. She wanted to see you but you were already asleep.”

You nodded distractedly while you picked up the postcard. The sight of it filled you with anxiety. Your sister didn’t’ send these postcards often, but every time you received one it reminded you that things were different now. Gone was the happy and supportive family you used to cherish.  

Your breath caught in your throat as you read Wanda’s hastily written words.

I’m coming home.

She was coming home. A wave of nausea ran through you and your breathing came shallow and fast.

“Wow, wow, wow.” You felt Bucky’s hand at our waist, steering you toward a chair, and you realized your legs were giving way under you. “Deep breaths, angel. Look at me. There you go!”

“Sorry,” you said. “See what happens when you don’t let me eat cookies for breakfast?”

Bucky smiled at your poor attempt at humour. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

You debated telling him but you weren’t sure how to voice your concerns so you handed him the postcard instead. You had told Bucky about Wanda. She had disappeared after Pietro’s death, sending postcards from time to time as proof that she was still alive and well.

“Your sister is coming home.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I haven’t seen her for six years. She doesn’t know our mom has Alzheimer, she doesn’t know I sold our old childhood home. She keeps sending those postcards there. I gave the new owners Natasha’s address in case they still receive our mail. They’re very nice.” You let out a humourless laugh. “I had absolutely no idea what I was doing when I sold our house, and they could have taken advantage of me but they didn’t. I guess it’s not every day you buy a family house from a 24 year old girl. It probably screams tragic backstory, uh?”

“You did this on your own?”

“Yup.”

Bucky put his hand on your knee and gave you a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

You looked down at his thumb rubbing soothing circles just above your knee. “Yeah, it wasn’t easy.” You paused, then raised your head to look at him. “Living with you makes my life so much easier. I live in my own little bubble where I don’t have to be an adult. I feel like I can finally breathe. And I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me and all you continue to do.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, shaking his head. “We help each other. We’re good together.”

“Yes, of course,” you said with a smile. “But we both know it’ll have to end one day. It has to, one way or another. I want to be more independent, start my career and support my family. I don’t want to rely on others anymore. I want to rely on myself.”

“But there’s no rush, angel.”

“I know, but nothing’s gonna change if I stay in my little bubble. I have to do things that make me uncomfortable.”

“What are you trying to say exactly?”

“I’ll come with you to the fundraiser.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in surprise but a smile broke across his face. “That’s great! But what about your sister?”

You shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do. She’ll probably go to our old house, realize it’s not ours anymore. If she’s lucky they’ll give her Natasha’s address. I’m sure she’ll have lots of questions but she can’t show up six years later and act like our bond is still intact. I’m not at her beck and call. I’m only responsible for myself and, Bucky, I’m so tired of trying to please everyone. I deserve to live my best life, goddammit.”

“I am so happy to hear you say that,” Bucky said, his smile blinding. “Celebratory cookie?”

“Yes! Two cookies, please,” you replied, out of breath. “I’m slightly freaking out.”

You spent the next couple of weeks planning for the event; painting, taking pictures of your work, posting them on Instagram, searching for gallerists and curators you wanted to work with and cross-checking the attendees.

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but wonder if Wanda was already in New York and if she was looking for you.

“Check this out!” you exclaimed, shoving a business card in Natasha’s face before you pushed past her to get into her apartment. “It’s official, I’m an artist.”

She laughed as she closed the door, her eyes on the card. “Hi, it’s nice to see you, too,” she deadpanned.

“Sorry, hi.”

“Well, looks like you’re all set. When’s the party?”

“Next week,” you replied, taking a seat on you former bed, her sofa. “I’m a little nervous, but also excited. I don’t know, it’s a strange feeling.”

Natasha pinned your business card onto the fridge using a magnet before she opened the refrigerator door and retrieved a bottle of orange juice. She took two glasses from the cupboard and joined you on the sofa.

“But, yeah, I’m ready. I have over two hundred business cards, I know who I want to work with, and I even bought an external battery pack just in case.”

“And what are you going to wear?” Natasha asked before taking a sip of orange juice. You looked at her with wide eyes, panic written all over your face. “You forgot to buy a dress,” she concluded out loud. “Why am I not surprised?”

“With everything going on, I completely forgot I had to... wear clothes.”

“I’m sure James wouldn’t mind seeing you in your birthday suit.” She laughed when you practically shoved her off the sofa. “Come on, I’ll help you look semi-decent.”

You groaned. “I don’t want to go shopping right now. Plus, I blew all my money on business cards.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s freezing outside, I’m not leaving my apartment,” she replied, reaching for her laptop. “You’re going to rent it.”

“Ew,” you made a face.

You remembered the formal wear store where you had rented your prom dress. The place smelled like moth balls and sweat, and the dress had given you a rash. Not a great memory.

“Trust me, I know this is your first but I’m a seasoned veteran. I’ve been to dozens of fundraisers, and I had to wear dozens of designer dresses. Do you even know how much a Saint Laurent evening gown cost? You can’t wear the same dress twice. That’s a big no-no. And it’s not just the dress. You need a clutch, a pair of shoes, jewelry, a coat. You have to rent them.”

“You’re giving me a headache.”

She opened up her web browser and typed in the website address for the dress rental. As she entered your size and budget, it was obvious that she knew her way around the website and you had to admit that it was a lot easier than traditional shopping.

You looked at the collection of dresses, not entirely convinced, when you found it. You instantly knew it was the right one.

You stared longingly at the beautiful wine-red dress, made entirely of velvet. The bodice was cut on the bias, the fabric draping itself elegantly to contour the shape of the model’s upper body. The skirt was long and flowing, and the waist was cinched in with a thin black belt.

You clicked on the second picture and Natasha let out a strangled gasp. The open back was draped at the waist and weighted with a crystal on a golden chain.

The dress gave off 1930s vibes, it was elegant and refined but the back was daring and sexy. It was exactly what you needed. You paired it with a black wool cape, and Natasha offered to let you borrow a pair of shoes, jewellery and a bag.

The dress and coat arrived the next day. The woman who delivered them was kind and polite, she stayed in the kitchen while you tried on the dress. Once you gave the all-clear, she handed you your receipt.

The dress was yours for an entire week.

On the day of the gala, you were a nervous, sweaty mess. Natasha’s clutch was on your nightstand, filled to the brim with business cards. Your hair and makeup were already done. You sat on your bed in your underwear, staring at the dress hanging in your closet.

“I can do this,” you whispered to yourself.

You were adjusting the fabric around your cleavage, making sure everything flowed nicely, when you heard Bucky shouting from the kitchen.

“The car will be there in fifteen minutes.”

You took a deep breath and smoothed your hands down the sides of your dress, the tickling caress of the velvet calming you almost instantly. You reached for the handle, your heart hammering in your chest, and opened the door.

Bucky was standing at the kitchen island, looking down at his phone. He looked up when he heard the sound of your door opening.

“Hey, are you-” The rest of his sentence died on his lips as he froze. He stood there, staring at you, his eyes roaming your body in a manner that could only be called amazement. “You look-” He shook his head as if he couldn’t find the right word.

You looked down at yourself, grinning. After weeks of seeing you in your big woolly jumpers, pyjamas and painting overalls, you could understand why this was a shock. It was one to you as well.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice sounding strangled.

“Thank you.” He stood a little straighter when he noticed you were checking him out. He wore a dark blue suit with black lapels, a white shirt and a black velvet bow tie. You matched. “You look like a real heartthrob in that suit.”

He laughed and looked away, embarrassed. It was your favourite look on him; when he couldn’t maintain eye contact and his cheeks were slightly red and his nose crunched up a little.

“You’re wearing your prosthetic,” you said, noticing the stiff arm and fake hand.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking at his left arm. “This thing itches like hell, but I don’t blend well in a crowd when I’m not wearing my prosthetic. These people know me, they’ll be looking for me. Let’s not make it too easy for them.”

He finished his sentence with a wink and your entire body threatened to spontaneously combust. Do people still wink? Apparently. You walked over to him and briefly stroked his arm before you walked past him to the bathroom.

It gave him a great view of your bare back and the little crystal nestled just above the small of your back. You didn’t see his reaction but you heard his sharp intake of breath.

You left the bathroom door open while you rummaged through your makeup bag, relief flowing through you when your fingers brushed against your favourite lipstick.

You straightened up and looked at yourself in the mirror. Bucky was leaning against the bathroom door frame, observing you. You uncapped the lipstick and brought it to your lips, locking eyes with him in the mirror.

“Don’t worry, I’m almost ready.”

“I’m not worried,” Bucky replied with a mischievous smile. “Please, carry on.”

You rolled your eyes at his sudden smug expression, trying to look unbothered, but you could feel his eyes on you and you willed your hands to stop shaking. Today was not the day to look like Miranda Sings.

“What’s it called?” Bucky asked from the threshold, spellbound.

“No idea, the label has faded,” you said, rubbing your lips together to smudge your lipstick. “It has probably expired by now, my mom gave it to me when I was a kid.” You blotted your lips and tossed the balled tissue into the wastebasket. “She called it ‘Carter Red’.”

You dabbed the lipstick on your lips. “When we were kids, we used to watch her apply her lipstick. We thought she was the most sophisticated woman in the world. When she was done, she’d turn to us and ask ‘Who wants red lips?’ Then we’d leave the house in our matching red lips.”

Bucky entered the bathroom and took a seat on the edge of the tub. “Did your brothers wear red lipstick too?” he asked with a grin.

You laughed. “Pietro did. Scott was more into nail polish.”  

“Do you think I can pull it off?”

You turned to him with a wicked grin and waved your lipstick in his direction. He stood when you took a step closer to him. He seemed to enjoy the playful glint dancing in your eyes. You beckoned him closer like some kind of old witch.

“I’m sure you’d look real cute with lipstick all over your face,” you said, taunting him with your tube of lipstick.

Something in his expression changed, darkened, making you feel hot and cold at the same time. His eyes travelled down your face to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “Yeah, I’d really like that,” he spoke so softly you almost missed it.

It was your turn to freeze. You parted your lips to speak but nothing came out, you just blinked hard and stared at him incredulously, waiting for him to explain what that meant. But he never did, and you took a step back.

Did he just...? Did he just try to kiss you? No! No, that’s silly. Why would he want to kiss you? He was just being playful and you simply projected your own desires onto him.

He took a step back too and gave an imperceptible nod. “The car should be here any minute,” he said, smiling. It was a tight smile and you didn’t like it at all. “I’ll let you get ready.”

After he closed the door behind him, you dumped your lipstick back into your makeup bag and took a long look at yourself in the mirror. You looked deflated, miserable. You sighed... the night was off to a great start.

Bucky waited for you while you finished getting ready. You picked up your clutch, slid your feet into a pair of high-heel shoes, and struggled with your cape until Bucky came to your rescue. To your surprise, his smile was genuine again, and it made your heart soar. Maybe you had just misread the situation and he wasn’t upset, offended –or whatever that tight smile was.

The heels were higher than you were used to, but Bucky gave you an arm to hang onto. The sky was already dark when you arrived at the Museum of Natural History. You walked up the stairs and left your coats in the coat-check room before you took a look around the room.

Hundreds of people were milling around the hall, a glass in their hand as they weaved between the jaw-dropping dinosaur skeletons that were on display. You kept your arm linked through Bucky’s and tried not to stare at anyone.  

“Be careful,” Bucky whispered in your ear, making you perk up. “Someone once told me that the exhibits come to life after the sun sets.”

“Remind me to stay away from the Biodiversity Hall,” you chuckled. Then you spotted one of the curators you wanted to work with, you let go of Bucky’s arm and squared your shoulders. “Showtime. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, angel.”

“God, I’m sweating. Is it noticeable?”

Bucky smiled at you. “No, you look perfect.”

You gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks. I hope I won’t make a fool of myself. I hate small talk.”

As soon as you were gone, someone took your place by Bucky’s side. You grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and made your way over to the curator. You didn’t drink alcohol but the glass made you look like you were part of their little group.

It went horribly wrong; you stuttered when you said your name and everything went downhill after that. While you were talking, he subtly looked around to see if he could find a more interesting person to talk to, which made you stutter even more. Then as you opened your clutch and fished out a card, several others fell at your feet in slow motion.

Between the dress, the glass and the shoes, it was practically impossible to bend over. The curator left and you stood there alone.

“Let me help you,” one of the waiters said. He gathered up your business cards and handed them to you.

You sheepishly took the cards and shoved them back in your purse. “Thanks. Can you take this? I’m not going to drink it.”

“Would you like something else to drink?” he asked as he took your glass of champagne.

“No, thank you. I... I think I’m going to go find my friend.”

You smiled politely at the young man but he had a strange look on his face. He looked like he wanted to say something but hesitated.

“I saw you with Mr. Thomas,” he finally said. “I’m not supposed to talk to the guests but can you tell him I love his work.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Grant Thomas,” the waiter pressed on. “The writer. I saw you two together.” Then he leaned forward and whispered, “He only has one arm.”

Oh...

Grant Thomas was Bucky’s pen name.  

Your face broke out into a huge smile and you started giggling to yourself. The waiter recoiled a bit, confused and a little freaked out. You scanned the room for Bucky.

“Of course, I’ll tell him,” you told the waiter. “He’ll be very pleased to hear it.”

You went in search of Bucky, wobbling around in your high heels, a permanent smile on your face. After walking around for a few minutes, you felt more stable and in control, even going so far as to power walk from room to room.

You found him in the Hall of Ocean Life, entertaining a small group of people. You walked over to him, your heels clicking like typewriter keys. You heard bits and pieces of their conversation as you approached.

“Oh, it’s absolutely lovely,” a woman cooed, a hand over her heart. “Who was your inspiration for your new book, Grant?”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly when he saw you. You gave him a small wave and he held out his hand in your direction. He introduced you to the group, and while it was strange to hear him say your name, you kept a straight face.

“I’ve looked everywhere for you, Grant,” you told him, emphasizing his pen name. “I should have known I'd find you in good company.”

“Oh, she’s the painter,” the woman said. “Darling, I hope you don’t mind me saying this but-” she extended her arms in your direction “wow!”

The woman next to her looked half amused, half exasperated. “It means you look beautiful in that dress.”

“Oh, she knows what it means, Sylvia.” The ‘oh’ woman swatted Bucky’s fake arm. “Grant, isn’t she gorgeous?”

Bucky looked at you with a fond smile. “Yes, she is.”

“Oh, my heart is about to explode,” the ‘oh’ woman squealed before enthusiastically waving to someone behind Bucky. “Sylvia, darling, take her contact details. We need new blood at the gallery. Please, excuse me, I haven’t seen Michael in ages,” she said, stretching out the last word.

She was gone before you could comprehend what was happening. Her laughter echoed through the room. Oh, I hadn’t seen the back of that dress! Sweet baby Jesus!

You found her whimsical and quite intense but if you had to work for her, you’d probably end up looking like her assistant, Sylvia, who seemed at her wits’ end.

She sighed and opened her leather-bound notebook. There were several business cards attached to the pages with paperclips. You handed her one of your business cards as her boss shouted, Oh, Michael, isn’t this party deliiightful? It was Sylvia’s cue to leave.

“Thank you. We’ll take a look at your work and get back to you as soon as we can. Enjoy your night.”

Sylvia rushed to her boss who was looking around like a lost puppy. When she saw her assistant, a look of relief crossed her face. It was a little over the top but it made you smile.

“So, Grant Thomas,” you said, planting yourself directly in front of Bucky now that you were alone. “Cute name.”

“Agh, I wanted to tell you before the party but...” He shrugged. “How did you figure it out?”

“One of the waiters saw us together. He’s your biggest fan. Said you were talented, humble and devilishly handsome in that suit.”

“The waiter said that?” Bucky asked with a frown as he led you toward an empty corridor.

“I think he has a crush on you.”

“I seem to have that effect on people,” he said, linking his arm through yours.

“So humble.” You entered the Hall of Biodiversity together. “What’s the meaning behind your pen name?”

There was a small pause before he answered. “Grant is Steve’s middle name, Thomas is Sam’s. I wanted to honor them. Steve literally saved my life, and Sam... well, he stood by my side even when we barely knew each other.”

“I’m sure they were touched.”

“Meh,” Bucky said with a grimace. “Steve said it sounded like a fake name, and Sam tried to make me use ‘Thomas Grant’ instead. I think deep down they like it.” He turned his head to look at you. “How did it go with the curator?”

You cringed. “Just to give you an idea, imagine an amateur magician performing at their first show. I was sweating, I stuttered, and I dropped my cards. It was awful.”

He laughed softly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m not upset. At least he’ll remember me, right?”

You spent the next couple of hours mingling with a bunch of rich people; most of them were incredibly weird, the others were strangely relatable. You were a lot more cool and collected with Bucky by your side. He always had really nice things to say about you or your paintings, and his words rang true, giving you yet another reason to fall for him.

When you reached the planetarium, Bucky took your hand in his, his eyes sparkling with childlike wonder.

You practically had the place to yourselves, everyone else was either in the Grand Gallery or in the Roosevelt Memorial. Since no one was around, you decided to take your shoes off and walk around barefoot.

You lost track of time, listening to Bucky’s stories about the universe as he guided you along the spiralling walkway.  

“We’re just tiny little specks living on a bigger speck, floating around,” he said, gazing up at a model of Jupiter hanging from the ceiling. “Our time here is so limited, our bodies are so fragile.”

“Umm,” you hummed. “At least we’re not at the bottom of the food chain.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that would be a bummer.”

“Do you know who’s at the bottom of the food chain?” you asked. “French fries. I’m starving.”

His laughter rang out, loud and clear, in the silence of the planetarium. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

You headed for the coat-check room, where Bucky left one of his ridiculously generous tips, and stepped outside, shivering from the cold winter night. You looked up at the stars glistening in the dark sky while you walked the short distance to the fast food restaurant.

You ate your fries in silence as you glanced around the restaurant. It was bright and gave off a friendly vibe. There were several other patrons even though it was almost two in the morning, though you and Bucky were the only ones wearing designer clothes.

Your high heels and clutch rested on the booth next to your hip, and Bucky’s bow tie was tied around your wrist. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a tanned, muscular chest and a smattering of dark hair.

Bucky had removed his prosthetic after you’d found a booth. His fake arm rested on the table, scaring the hell out of the waitress when she came to take your order. Bucky apologized profusely, probably mentally adding another twenty to her tip.

You dozed off in the cab, utterly exhausted, your cheek resting against his shoulder. His arm was draped over your shoulders, his thumb sweeping up and down your collarbone. When you remembered that you still had to remove your makeup before going to bed, you let out a whine and nestled closer to him. He rested his head on top of yours, and you closed your eyes, enjoying his closeness.

A few days later, you told Natasha about the party, and she reminded you to be careful, to protect your heart. She wished someone had given her this advice when she’d met Sam.

It had never occurred to you that Natasha might have feelings for Sam, not because he was an awful person. No, it was quite the opposite. He was handsome and funny, always looking for some kind of trouble. She’d mentioned multiple times that he was really good in bed, which honestly didn’t surprise you.

You knew she liked him, but you didn’t know she liked him.

On your way home, you mulled over the things she had told you. About a block away from your apartment, you took your keys out of your pocket and stared at the little angel keychain, wondering if your feelings for Bucky were real. The line between friends and lovers was definitely blurred but you couldn’t cross it. There was too much at stake, you couldn’t risk ruining your friendship.

As you turned the corner into your street, you spotted someone standing outside the building’s front door. You slowed down, dawdled, so you could observe them.

You couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, though you suspected a man. They were carrying a traveller’s backpack on their shoulders, blocking your view. Whoever it was, they had a fantastic ass.

They pushed the intercom button, waited a few seconds and pushed it again. When the doors remained closed, they turned around to leave and you came face-to-face with a man with long dirty blond hair, a bushy ginger beard and striking baby blue eyes. You immediately recognized him from the photos you’d seen on Bucky’s laptop.

“Oh my God, Steve!” you exclaimed, startling him.

Part 8

[echoghost1]

Dannymay 2021 Day 06: Core

Shaken To The Core

Summary:

Word Count:

AN/TW: This is a direct sequel to You Walked Right Into This for those of you who were wondering where it was that Danny walked to. Because there is carryover from that where Danny recounts what happened to him and I'd still consider it talk about child abuse.

You can read this sad angsty sequel on AO3 or down below the cut

Tucker was messing around with the settings on his computer when his phone buzzed. He picked up the device and unlocked his phone with practiced precision.

The message was from Danny.

He nearly dropped his phone on his keyboard as he read the simple text.

S.O.S

He immediately messaged back, “Are you hurt?”

There was no reply.

He decided to go with the old adage of, no news is good news.

He slipped his phone into his pocket and raced downstairs to find his parents. He found that his mom was in the kitchen and remembered his Dad wouldn’t be back from work just yet.

“Hey mom?” he asked trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “Would it be cool if Danny came over and spent the night tonight?”

Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.

“I don’t know honey, it is a school night.” she started.

“He uh,” he had to think of an excuse fast.

He pulled his phone out again and pretended to read a new message, “his parents are working on something and it doesn't seem like they’ll be done anytime soon. He was hoping he could actually get some sleep tonight.”

His mom sighed and set the dishtowel on the counter, “why they haven’t soundproofed that lab when they have children…” she muttered to herself and Tucker knew he had her.

Anytime Tucker even vaguely mentioned that Danny wasn’t getting enough sleep or if he hinted at how inconsistent his diet was, his mom was likely to just invite Danny over herself if Tucker hadn’t already asked first.

He didn’t like using his mom like that, but with how so few adults actually seemed to care about Danny’s well being he figured it was fine.

“Thanks, mom.” he kissed her on the cheek and ran out of the kitchen.

“I didn’t agree to anything!” she tried to protest, despite how obvious it was that she did.

“He’s already on the way so I’m just gonna wait by the door.”

She sighed and leaned in the doorway, “If I find out you lied to me,” his mother warned with only the barest hint of a threat.

“I’m not,” he lied.

“You two better not be up all night playing video games.”

“We won’t.” he wasn’t sure what they’d be doing. It all depended on what state Danny was in when he got here.

His mom, thankfully, went back into the kitchen so Tucker could wait impatiently by the door in peace.

He thought he heard a soft knock on the door but he wasn’t sure. Maybe he was just getting antsy and was hearing things.

A louder knock this time and Tucker immediately opened the door. Danny wasn’t covered in green or red and appeared to be standing upright just fine. With no visible injuries, Tucker pulled him inside and closed the door behind him.

Danny was shaking and his eyes were open, but he wasn’t taking anything in. Tucker gently led him to the living room and guided him to the couch.

Danny walked right into it and collapsed into the cushions as he started to cry.

Tucker pulled him close but that only made him cry harder.

For a second he thought maybe Danny was injured and holding him had hurt, but the way Danny clung onto him as if his life depended on it instantly blew that thought away.

Of course, the sound of Danny balling his eyes out summoned his mom from the kitchen.

She didn’t bother to ask if he was okay. She just sent a worried look to the two boys. Tucker just shrugged, because he had no idea what happened either.

All he knew was that FentonWorks wasn’t safe anymore.

They had come up with the SOS text ages ago. Danny was always so paranoid that his parents would find out his secret and that they wouldn’t take it well. It was Sam’s idea to come up with an escape plan, but it was mostly to help calm him down.

If he ever felt that FentonWorks was unsafe, if his parents ever hurt him, if they ever found out, all he had to do was sent the S.O.S. and make his way to Tucker’s. The trio figured he’d have better luck there seeing as Tucker’s parents actually liked Danny, unlike Sam’s parents.

Tucker never thought that they would ever use it.

It seemed like just because he was paranoid, doesn't mean that they weren’t out to get him.

Danny’s sobs were starting to die down and Tucker wasn’t sure he could hold in his questions anymore.

“Danny?” he started cautiously, “do you think you can tell me what happened?”

Danny sniffled and turned his head to the side so he was looking into the living room instead of only at Tucker’s shoulder, “they had this new thing.” he started slowly, his voice soft and cracking on every other word, “they didn’t even warn me. The spray. I couldn’t breathe.” his voice hitched and he gripped Tucker’s shirt so tightly that he untucked it, “they were so angry. They didn’t listen, they wouldn’t listen. Kept calling me a liar.” he sat up and locked eyes with Tucker, “They didn’t even say they were sorry. They hurt me. They called me a liar. Said I wasn’t their son. Then they realized they made a mistake but they never said they were sorry. If they just said sorry I wouldn’t have left. Why didn’t they just say they were sorry?”

He broke down in tears again. Sobbing just as hard as before.

Tucker couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. What the hell was wrong with the Fenton’s?

His mom moved first. She gently pulled Danny off of Tucker but pulled back when he flinched.

“It’s just me, Danny.”

He wiped his eyes but didn’t say anything as he looked at her.

“You said you got sprayed with something right?”

He froze up for a second as he realized that meant she had heard everything he had just said but then relaxed just enough to nod.

“Have you been able to wash it off?”

He shook his head no.

“Okay, why don’t you take a shower and Tucker can find you something to change into. That sound good?”

“I can stay?”

The fact that he even had to ask was heartbreaking.

She pulled him into a hug and just held him for a moment. She whispered something too soft for Tucker to hear despite not being that far away.

Whatever it was it must have been perfect because he hugged her back before he started to finally relax.

They stayed like that for a few minutes until a timer went off in the kitchen. “Oh, that means it’s time to cook!”

Danny instantly backed up into the couch, “sorry.”

Tucker bit his lip to keep himself from telling Danny not to do that. He hated that Danny would always apologize for everything when he was upset. As if he was just a problem. As if just existing meant he was in everyone’s way. As if he wasn’t allowed to be upset about things.

He didn’t know how to make him not think that.

“It’s alright.” his mom consoled gently, “dinner can wait.”

Danny fidgeted in his seat clearly not used to this much attention from a concerned adult.

It only made Tucker angrier at the Fenton’s.

“Did you want to take that shower now?” she asked clearly giving him an out.

He nodded.

“If you need anything at all, I’ll be in the kitchen. Okay?”

He just mumbled an “okay” and stood up.

“And I mean anything. If you want to talk, or hug it out, or just sit in the room, you go right ahead.”

He hesitated and just stared at her for a moment, “really?”

“Really.”

He took a moment to mull it over but then he finally smiled, “Thanks Mrs. Foley.” he gave her a quick hug before pulling away and running up the stairs

“Anytime!” she smiled and waved him off.

Once he was out of view she locked eyes with Tucker, “Make sure he’s got something soft to wear when he’s done in there.”

He nodded and started towards his room already planning on letting Danny barrow that oversized hoodie he liked so much.

“Try to convince him to get a nap in before dinner. That poor boy always looks exhausted.”

“Okay mom, will do.”

That probably meant she wanted to talk more about this. Not that he blamed her, that was a lot to take in.

He was definitely impressed that she had taken it so well. Or maybe ‘taken it well’, wasn’t the right way to think about it.

She just had remained steady. She stayed strong, acted as a pillar for Danny to cling to when his whole world was falling apart.

He was so glad she was here for this. He didn’t think he would have been strong enough on his own. He knew he wasn’t.

He didn’t know how to thank her, so he just hugged her instead.

“You want to call Sam too?” she asked wisely knowing he was going to be doing just that as soon as he went to his room.

“Can she come over after dinner?”

“Sure thing.”

[amchara]

Talking Bodies - Kit/Ty/OFC fic (Explicit, 1/5)

Ty has been observing their friend Ellie during her unexpected stay at the Herondale townhouse and believes he has found a solution to her problems - or at least, her problems with men. And Kit is usually up for his plans, even if this one is a bit unorthodox.

Yes, this is an Kit / Ty / OFC fic, set five years post-The Wicked Powers, while Kit and Ty are living and working in London. Ty POV. Part of my London Files ‘verse but you don’t need to have read them to read this mostly pwp story ;) Ellie is a school friend of Kit’s and has been in other stories of mine - and if you like the idea of Mari the werewolf, maybe you’d like this story? 😊)

While this chapter and the next don’t have any actual sex in it (talking and consent is important, yo) be forewarned, it’s going to get smutty from chapter three onwards, so has an overall explicit rating. Those chapters will not be posted on tumblr but will be linked to Ao3. Thanks to @dontmindmyshadowhunting for the feedback on the story so far!

Chapter One: Talking Bodies

Ty was again mulling over a problem that had been nagging at him for several months now. A problem that had just entered the kitchen from the downstairs flat that had previously been used as the servants’ quarters in the Herondale townhouse, and was padding across the cold floor in fluffy pink slippers. And hadn’t yet noticed him.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ty!” Ellie yelped, as she turned around from where she had put on the coffeemaker. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Upstairs,” Ty shrugged, as he sat down at the table, watching her carefully. As she finally took in what he was wearing- or wasn’t wearing, as was his case, being only clothed from the waist down. He watched as her eyes surreptitiously lingered over his shoulders and trailed down further. He lifted his arms up, in a casual move he knew showed off several muscle groups in his upper chest and her jaw moved slightly as she swallowed, trying to remain casual. Ty took another couple mental notes.

Ellie noticed his gaze and she quickly looked away, stretching for the laundry basket and launched something at him.

He grabbed the soft t-shirt - one of Kit’s - out of the air before it could hit his face.

“Put on a shirt, you’re blinding me with that glow-in-the-dark chest,” she scowled as she busied herself with putting on the kettle. But her voice held that tone that after three months of living under the same roof, Ty knew didn't actually mean she was annoyed. Well, fairly sure- but as he had confirmed the reaction he expected, he pulled on the t-shirt, just as he saw Kit come into the kitchen, all sweaty and flushed after his morning run.

“Pretty sure that’s one of mine, Ty,” he said affectionately, coming over to give him a light kiss on the mouth. “But it looks good on you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ty could see Ellie’s eyes snapping back to them, almost unwillingly.

“Ellie’s request,” Ty said.

Kit looked over to her. “Oh- and what pray tell, is your reason for protecting his modesty? From one of your conquests?” he teased, his eyes flickering to the open door downstairs.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she replied, a fleeting smile crossing her face. “I’m used to the Shadowhunter genes but I’m worried my one night stands might find Ty irresistible and decide to use me as an excuse to see him again, and no one wants that, believe me.” Her voice was light but Ty could see a small crease form on Kit’s brow, and Ty thought he was also recalling the incident from a few nights ago when Ellie had ejected an angry, drunk Irish guy from her bedroom and Kit and Ty had had to escort him out the front door.

But Ellie had already apologised profusely the morning after and Kit wasn’t about to give his friend more grief about it. “Very noble of you,” he said, winking at Ty. “I’d hate to add more bloodstains to my clothes defending Ty’s honour.”

He sauntered over to the counter, his face brightening as he saw the coffeemaker light go off. “Ah coffee- my love,” he stopped short as Ellie poked him in the stomach. Ty straightened up to watch the interaction.

Her eyes were glittering as she held her hand out in front of the pot. “I made this for myself, angel boy- get your own.” Kit bent his head down, close to her face, giving her his sweetest smile. “Yeah, but you’re not about to drink it all,” he said, in a wheedling tone.

“Oi- your Herondale charm does not work on me,” she informed him but Ty could see her smile widening and her breathing had sped up, just a touch and he wished he had his notebook out. But he couldn’t risk it and so he turned his attention instead to Kit’s reaction.

Kit had grabbed a coffee mug and was feinting, trying to get around as Ellie - who had been to the Academy, even if she had dropped out - put up a good defensive shield.

Despite that, they all knew Kit could have easily gotten around her, if he wanted to. He instead put down the coffee mug and grabbed her in a big hug, squishing her close to him.

“Oh my god, you smell,” she complained.

“Pour me a mug and I’ll go away,” he said, looking over to grin at Ty, who just smiled and shook his head. Originally, it had been an unwanted addition to his and Kit’s routine but now he was used to their occasional morning antics. Although they had been few and far between recently, as Ellie had retreated downstairs more often. And it did kind of remind him of chaotic mornings at the L.A. Institute.

“Go shower and I’ll put another pot on for you,” she countered.

“Deal,” Kit said, instantly letting go, although Ty could see how he subtly moved his eyes away from where Ellie’s low-cut top was peeking through her dressing gown.

After Kit left the kitchen, Ellie turned and held out a cup to him, filled with steaming tea. She always remembered.

“Thanks,” Ty said, taking it.

She sat down with her own large mug of coffee and a bowl of cereal and nodded at the pile of files he had left on the table overnight. “Busy day of work ahead?”

“Kind of,” Ty replied. “We have a few days of senior Clave members visiting so we’re preparing summaries and presentations of all the recently-closed cases.”

“Sounds important,” she said, looking over the files with a critical eye.

“It’s not really - they all get reports sent when we close them out, they just choose not to read them. It actually takes up time we could be spending working on new cases,” Ty said, trying not to let the irritation color his voice - he had promised Anush he would try to be more polite this quarterly meeting and he might as well start early before he headed to the Centurion office at Whitehall.

But he could see that Ellie had caught on. “Sounds annoying, then,” she clarified. “Do you- do you need-“ her voice suddenly went softer, shyer. “Anything I could help out with on the ground, while you’re stuck impressing the senior brass?”

Ty wished there was - she had been extremely helpful in the dragon scale smuggling case - but he had to be truthful. “No,” he said and he could see her face fall. “But if there’s anything Shadow Market related that you could help with, I’ll let you know.”

She nodded, catching his drift but she still looked sad. “Great, just let me know.”

After Ellie had left to get ready for her university classes, Ty pulled out his notebook from the middle of the pile of files and wrote down that morning’s interactions. He tapped on the table with his pencil as he thought, and then expanded further on his conclusions. He was almost entirely sure they were correct, and that he had found a course of action he was happy with.

Problem was, he still wasn’t entirely sure how Kit would react and he was key to anything progressing further. He watched as Kit returned to the kitchen table, running his hands through his still wet hair and figured now was as good a time as any to let him in on it.

“I think Ellie needs something to boost her confidence,” Ty said, without any preamble. “And find someone who appreciates her. Someone she can sleep with and not worry that they won’t call again or handle her moods.”

Kit gave him a quick look from across the table, a bit confused at Ty’s interest. “Agreed,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He grabbed at his cup of coffee, taking a big swig. “The men she’s recently been seeing have been trash.”

“Do you have a plan?” he asked casually.

Ty nodded.

Kit sat back up. “I’m in.” He nearly always was, when it came to Ty’s plans. “So we’re matchmaking Ellie? Setting her up with a nice Shadowhunter boy or girl or were you thinking more traditional - overseeing her swipe rights on Tinder?” His eyes danced as he started getting into the idea, pulling out his phone.

Ty skimmed his hands over the surface of the breakfast table. He knew what Tinder was - Dru had shown him it earlier in the summer, when Thais had briefly installed it to get over her latest heartbreak. “Maybe for step two. Step one is us sleeping with her.”

Kit choked on his coffee. “Um…” He refocused his attention on Ty, his blue eyes subtly darting over Ty’s face, as he quickly assessed Ty’s reaction.

Ty waited for him to finish. As it often was, he figured it would be easier to have Kit read him, rather than have to explain. He waited for a couple minutes and then prepared to show him his notes, if he needed to explain further.

Kit sat back. “You’re serious?” There were further questions in his voice but also, tentative interest, Ty thought.

“Yes, I am.” Ty nodded. “Don’t you think she’s attractive?”

Kit let out a brief, nervous chuckle. “Of course- but she’s also my friend. So that’s a boundary that we’ve not crossed- or at least, not since school. Plus, I’m with you.”

“You know I don’t mind. You can’t control who you find attractive,” Ty said. They had spoken about this early on in their relationship - Kit’s flirting with whoever caught his eye never bothered him. Ty knew he was the one who had Kit’s heart. Plus, he wasn’t suggesting they do this separately.

“My question- do you find her attractive?” Kit asked, his voice deliberately light. “I know you were with both girls and guys at the Scholomance but I wasn’t sure if you still…”

Ty thought back to the way that Ellie often held herself, her angry stance challenging the world, her blue eyes flashing when she and Ty had spotted the caged dragons in the London Shadow Market and how she had charged right in; how she flung her arms in casual exuberance around Kit when she came in after a night of drinking and dancing, how the dimple in her cheek deepened when she gave one of her rare smiles, her habit of tapping her fingers to her lips as she read one of her psychology journals in the library. He had spent the last three months observing her - and Ty knew one of his conclusions would be: yes; he found her attractive.

Ty shrugged. “Yeah, I do.” Kit took in this information, mulling it over, and then he looked up.

“Wait- but does she think we’re attractive?”

“Yes,” Ty said. He held out his notebook and passed it to Kit. “I’ve been making notes.”

Kit let out a quick laugh, as he flipped through the pages. “Ty- I both can and can’t believe you took notes on it.” His eyes widened and the flipping of pages slowed as he started to read more thoroughly. “I see you took notes on all of us…” he said, as he gave a lingering, inscrutable glance up at Ty before returning to read.

Ty could feel a small flush creep up from his neck. “Yeah, I did- I’m glad we offered her a place to stay until her loan money comes in, given the living arrangement with her boyfriend after they broke up. But it was strange at first. This was just a way to deal with that and well…” he rubbed the back of his neck, watching Kit. “Then it just seemed helpful to continue with it.”

Kit had let out a soft growl at the mention of Ellie’s cheating boyfriend, but his eyes softened as he looked back to Ty. “I know I’ve said this before - but I really appreciate you were willing to have her stay, given how much I know you hate disruption and she’s more my friend than yours.”

Ty watched as Kit traced his voyance rune, a familiar tic that he had when he was feeling nervous around Ty.

“She’s my friend too,” Ty said firmly, and he looked up to meet Kit’s face, eyes resting just below his cheekbone. “Especially after the past few months and the stuff around the Shadow Market case.”

Kit nodded, reassured. He handed back the notebook to Ty. “This was absolutely fascinating- I had no idea I had so many tells, especially when it comes to pre-jumping you,” he said, a smile playing on his lips and his normal cheerful manner returning. “But I’ve also realised - I didn’t need notes to know that Ellie thinks we’re both hot. Maybe it’s been less frequent recently, given everything but she’s made plenty of comments over the years on how attractive she thinks we both are. In very loud, complimentary terms- and…” he added, the smile mixing with a small wince, his eyes focused on past memories. “Sometimes in very inappropriate places.”

“The other thing is,” he said, speaking slower as if he were thinking out loud. “Is it - we wouldn’t be taking advantage of her, you know- her grief?”

“Her mother died two years ago,” Ty pointed out. He could see Kit about to protest and he continued. “I know, believe me, I know that grief doesn’t just go away…” Livvy was the unspoken word between them. “But also-” Ty searched for the words. “There comes a point when you want people to stop treating you like this fragile, broken thing. You need to start making your own decisions again and decide how you want to live… after,” he said. “And that’s partially why I think we should do it. I think she’s… stuck in that. Also stuck in that she dropped out of the Academy so she’s not exactly a mundane anymore but she’s not a Downworlder either.”

He paused, wondering if he needed to explain the other part but he thought Kit already knew about it.

Kit looked thoughtful.

“She can also always say no,” Ty pointed out logically.

“True,” Kit admitted. He grinned. “Okay, if she’s in, and you are, so am I.” He poked Ty’s arm playfully. “And to think I was going to just grab a coffee and head to the Institute. I didn’t expect to get a threesome proposition from my boyfriend over breakfast,” he said.

“What’s that?” Ellie had reappeared at the top of the stairs, now fully dressed and Kit looked over at Ty, the question in his eyes.

Ty shook his head, and mouthed. Tonight

Kit nodded, blushing slightly as he looked over at Ellie. She had her back to him as she went rummaging in the fridge and Kit snuck a glance at Ty, as if watching for his reaction.

Ty couldn’t help but find it hot that Kit was looking for his approval. His boyfriend didn’t blush that often, especially not almost five years into their relationship. He smiled into his tea. Depending on Ellie’s reaction to their proposition, this could be an intriguing dynamic to play with. His imagination began to play in full technicolor as he played possible scenarios in his head. He took a sip of his tea, and made the effort to meet Kit’s eyes.

Whatever Kit saw there made him blush even harder, and Ty’s smile grew wider.

(Chapter Two)

—-

Hah, this has been consuming me almost my whole holiday but I will get back to the Hadestown fic soon, as I’ve almost finished this one, just doing the edits on most of the other chapters .

Tag list: @jesse-is-spiraling maybe @thechangeling for the Ty POV? But let me know if not… and let me know if you want to be added/removed.

[popcorn-kitten]

AITA? i stole my crush's cat (not as bad as it sounds)

Rating: M

Warnings: crass language, unhealthy romanticization, injuries mentioned

Pairing: peter/you, peter/reader

Summary: When Peter had finally approached you, your response wasn't what he'd wanted. And then being snubbed a second time had only fueled the fire to win you over. And to do so he'd have to get a little creative. But but but - it's for love! He knows what he's doing, and it's all for you!

Read on ao3

Pets were important, Peter knew this intimately. John Wick’s response had been more than justified. If anything happened to his beloved Rat there was no telling what his reaction would be. And Peter knew how much your cat meant to you.

He’d often found himself struggling with misplaced jealousy when seeing the creature sleeping peacefully on your chest, unable to let go of the thought that it should be him in that space. He’d watched with envy as your perfect fingers stroked the cat’s fur and melted at the thought of you touching him like that

Peter knew it was silly; who gets jealous of a cat? But he couldn’t always stop the feelings, and his psychiatrist had told him all his feelings were valid, furthering the justification in his mind of what he had to do.

He’d spent the better half of the last few months becoming acquainted with your feline companion (while also looking over you, of course.) And he had to admit, he’d grown rather fond of the fuzzy thing.

Which was a change, as the first few nights Peter had tried to come into your room was borderline disastrous. The cat hissed loudly when Peter had finally slipped through your window, causing him to lose his grip and fall backward, landing hard on the ground, ass first.

Peter had been terrified it had awoken you and cautiously he peeked up. Delight filled him to see you’d merely turned in your sleep. God, you looked amazing even when just lying still and breathing. Peter had been pulled out of his stupefied staring by a deep growl coming from below the window sill on your side.

He hadn’t thought to prepare for the pet and cursed himself for the stupidity. If he was going to show you the two of you were meant to be then he had to be more thoughtful. More precise in each move he made.

Slowly Peter held his hand out to the beast for it to sniff him. The cat was still heckled and guarded as it did so, Peter screwed his eyes shut internally prepared for a bite or claws but had been pleasantly surprised when none came. He slowly opened one eye and found the cat had not only found him to not be a threat, but boring as it had trotted off and out of the room entirely.

After that first night, Peter came prepared. He’d spent a little time searching the house for the cat treats. He peered at the options trying to memorize some to bring in the future but was shocked again when something brushed against his leg. Peter bit down on his tongue to keep from yelping and looked down. Wide-eyed he saw your cat rubbing against his leg, purring, and staring intently at the treat shelf Peter had been inspecting.

Peter grinned as he took the hint and opened one of the bags, your cat mewed at him and looped between his ankles a few times. Peter smiled at the small creature and pulled out a handful of the treats. Kneeling, Peter allowed the cat to eat directly from his hand, as it purred. Peter’s heart melted at the feeling of the rough tongue against his palm. He’d never been licked by a cat before.

Peter knew that the transition of you living with him would be easier with your pet and that you’d trust him more if your cat already loved him.

And thus, every night, Peter would be sure to bring treats to keep your cat occupied and work towards ingratiating himself to it. Some nights, while holding you in your deep sleep, the cat would curl up with you both. Peter smiled at the domesticity of it and imagined this is what your lives would be like soon. Peaceful, full of love and closeness…

But things hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted them to with meeting you. You’d been repulsed by him. It hurt.

But but but-

He knew better than to give up. He was made for you. You were made for him. You needed him. He just had to help you see that.

And so, a scheme was hatched.

Your cat was easy enough to catch. It’d learned to trust him and had no issue with him picking it up. However, problems arose once the carrier was brought into the picture. The once docile animal hissed like it had the first time Peter had come by, but this time the sound was accompanied by claws, teeth, and a spine that could twist in any direction.

Peter flinched each time the cat’s defenses broke his skin but he had to keep a straight face, he had to keep going. He had to do this. For both of you.

It was by pure fluke he managed to wrangle the animal into the plastic carrier. A sigh of relief left him as the cat continued to hiss and bat at the side of its containment.

“You’ll be out soon, don’t be so scared,” Peter muttered, trying to keep his tone reassuring.

Peter slipped several treats into the slats, hoping to calm the furry thing. He was disappointed to see there was no change in the cat’s demeanor.

The next obstacle came with where to keep the cat. He knew he had to bring it to his place and try to figure out a room to put it in that it couldn’t escape. He’d have to try not to leave it alone for too long. But he also couldn’t miss out on time watching you. He was already putting you in too much danger with having to drive home and back. Peter grumbled to himself while internally trying to figure out a schedule that would work.

The thought of you being alone without him to watch out for and protect you was almost enough to make him change his mind. But the memory of your face scrunched with confusion and and and- no, he wouldn’t think about it. After this, your eyes would always be filled with love for him.

That was the thought he had to cling to as he drove for 3 hours, your cat yowling and making all manner of terrifying noises the whole trip. It didn’t help that he had to make a pitstop to get all the materials needed for the cat.

A litter box, identical to the one you owned. Food and dishes, the same brand of wet and dry. The store didn’t have your cute plates, so generic ones would have to do. A couple of toys to keep the thing occupied, and one bag of litter for the next week.

Upon his arrival home, Peter was quick to get your whimpering cat inside and hopefully quieted down. He’d hurriedly cleaned out some of the items in his recording room so the cat couldn’t ruin it. He’d seen the way it chewed your cords in the middle of the night.

Once satisfied he ran back out to his van, collecting and bringing all the needed items back into the house. He closed the door of the room and opened the carrier while hastily setting up all the things he’d bought.

Satisfied he turned and was surprised to see the cat still in the carrier, pressed as far against the back as it could be. Peter tsk’d and put a hand in to try and coax it out, only to be bit once again.

Peter shouted and pulled his now bleeding hand out, glaring at the carrier. He stuck the bleeding finger into his mouth. It wouldn’t be helpful to return your cat in bad health. Or for it to be completely traumatized and hating him. It would unravel the whole point of this!

Peter slipped out of the room so he could think clearer. His eyes scanned the area and fell on the door leading to The Shrine. Peter pulled his finger out of his mouth only to bite his cheek and he mulled it over. Yes, taking some of your things off The Shrine and putting them in the other room would help your cat. BUT that also meant things from The Shrine smelling like your cat instead of you.

He closed his eyes and imagined your face upon him bringing back your beloved animal after a week of worrying and how thankful you’d be. What you’d owe him. He’d wave you off of course ‘no-no, really I’m just glad it’s safe now.’ He smiled to himself thinking of how impressed you’d be with him. How awe-struck you'd be with how comfortable your cat was with him.

Peter huffed a final time before deciding to grab ONE shirt from The Shrine for your cat, but that was it!

The choice of which shirt, however, was harder than he’d thought it’d be. Each one smelled like you. Each one had looked so damn cute on you! Each one was special and parting was nearly impossible. Almost as impossible as ignoring the hard-on he’d achieved while sniffing your clothes again.

He couldn’t help it though.

You’d understand.

You were irresistible.

Peter let a hand trail down his chest, eyes closed, imagining it was your fingers. You were rewarding him. He’d been so good, so amazing to return your cat to you. So sweet to demand nothing in return. So...

Peter hissed as his watch alarm blared, bringing him from his fantasy and reminding him he had to leave now if he wanted to walk you home…from a distance.

Peter cursed quietly at the situation and grabbed a shirt at random, trying hard not to think about it as he quickly tossed the fabric into the room with your cat. He’d have to check on it later, he was already running late.

The next few days for you and him were agony.

Peter watched from afar, heartbroken, as you desperately searched for your cat. The first night had been the hardest. He’d arrived just in time to watch you enter your room. He smiled as you went about your usual evening post-shift. You’d come in, remove your clothes (Peter would watch with rapt attention), grab a clean set and a towel before going for a shower.

This was normally the time Peter would let himself in if he was feeling bold, but tonight he knew it wouldn’t be smart. You’d want to look in the closet after all, once you realize your beloved pet was missing.

And notice you did. Peter watched from his spot as you wandered in and out of the room, a confused look on your face (God even that was adorable). You looked under your bed, the closet – as he’d suspected, through your laundry pile, and then to the rest of your apartment. Peter stayed still and listened to your footsteps as much as he could.

But the sound was lost once you started calling out for your cat, shaking the treat bag that usually summoned them. Peter heard the worry in your voice as your calls got more frantic. He slunk along the wall and under your good for nothing roommate’s window to see if he could hear anything else. He was lucky enough to be graced with your voice asking Lucy if she’d seen your pet.

Peter flinched as he heard your worried voice explaining that you couldn’t find them. It was hard to hear you so panicked, but he knew it would be worth it in the end.

But then that whore bitch offered to go out looking with you. Peter growled and clenched his jaw in anger. He hadn’t thought of that. Of that useless drug-addled cunt getting to stay close to you, console you in the middle of the night. That should be HIM.

But but but-

He had to be patient. He knew what he was doing. You were made for him. He was made for you. You would be his.

So, Peter watched. He watched as you and Lucy searched the surrounding area and held himself back from slitting her throat when she put an arm around your shoulder as you cried. He grounded himself in that sound. In your pain that he would be ending soon. He reveled with the knowledge that as soon as you were together, he’d never have to hear you cry like that again.

Once you were finally home it took you ages to fall asleep. Peter seized his chance and curled himself around you. His hand caressed your still damp cheek where he placed a chaste kiss.

“Don’t worry, darling. Everything is going to be alright.” He whispered, burying his face in your hair and inhaling the scent deeply. Time together was short however and Peter slipped out your window before your alarm startled you awake.

Peter again watched. He saw your disgusting coworker hug you as you explained your situation. Peter growled but didn’t move. Soon though, you’d be the one wrapping your arms around him…

Peter watched you spend your break creating a flier to start hanging up during your break. He was impressed by how nicely you made it look! You were so creative! So good with your hands!

Hours later Peter followed as you went into the local Kinkos. After half an hour you came out with a stack of papers and a staple gun.

Peter scowled slightly, that was a lot of extra money for you to spend. He’d make sure to leave some extra money around for you to ‘find’ next time you did laundry as a way to make it up for you…

And so, the week went on.

-

You handed out and hung up all the fliers you’d been able to afford. TK and Lucy had been nice enough to help spread your social media posts, and even your grumpy landlord allowed you to hang up 1 (one) flier on the building’s main entrance. You’d passed out other fliers to the tenants individually too, just to be sure.

If your job had been hard before it was worse now. Your every waking thought was of your missing pet. They weren’t an outdoor cat and you couldn’t imagine how it’d be surviving. It was a little stupid and you doubted it’d be able to hold its own in a hunt let alone a fight.

God what if your cat got into an alleyway brawl? They’d be torn to pieces!

What if they’d eaten some bad plants? What if they were sick??

What if someone took them? And they would never return it to you because they’d fallen in love with it?!!

A million scenarios ran through your head, each worse than the last. You were going crazy and couldn’t focus on anything but looking for your cat. Every time your phone rang you would answer instantly hoping for good news but were continually let down.

Until the call you’d been waiting for finally came. You’d answered the phone quickly as had become your new habit and breathed a short acknowledgement to the person on the other end of the line.

The caller’s voice was shaky and hesitant, taking a moment after your greeting to speak. “H-hi, hi sorry is this uh…is this Y/N?”

The voice was deep and somewhat familiar. You frown thinking this may be someone’s number you didn’t have saved instead of news about your pet.

“I’ve seen your posters around for your missing cat?”

You instantly perk up, waiting for them to continue. The person pauses and the length of the silence almost kills you. Your response is still hopeful as you prompt them to continue with a, “Yes? You found them?”

A chuckle comes from the other end and something about it sends a shiver down your spine. “I think so, at least it looks like the picture…I was in the park when I grabbed it.” The initial hesitancy in their voice seems to dissipate more with each word. Confidence takes over in their tone. “I’m here with your cat now. Can we meet in the parking lot?”

“Yes!” You shout your response. You’d already jumped up from your spot and were quickly putting on your shoes while grabbing your wallet and keys. You were so lucky you weren't working right now! “I’m on my way! I’ll be there in five minutes! Thank you! Thank you so much!” You hang up and burst into a full-on sprint towards the park.

You cross into the parking lot and whip your head around, looking for any sign of who may have your cat. You hear a ‘Hey!’ from your left and turn quickly towards a waving figure.

A very familiar waving figure.

Another shiver ran down your spine; your emotions were in a flurry at the moment. You could see in his arms was your cat. You were relieved, excited, weepy. And yet there was a tug of apprehension as well as fear at recognizing the face of your cat’s savior.

The guy from the bench! From the flower shop! The weirdo who said he was your boyfriend before he actually asked you out.

You’re face to face before you’ve figured out your strategy and choose to focus on the matter at hand; your cat.

Your shoulders relaxed as you laid eyes on what was for sure your missing pet. They’re comfortably curled in the man’s arms and look remarkably relaxed. This is a shock as your cat, while never mean, had not cuddled with anyone but yourself...ever!

Your eyes finally meet, and he smiles at you. He’s blushing as he looks at you, and you can’t help but find it kind of cute in a weird way. You’d been put off the last time he had approached you, but there was something different now. Maybe it was how comfortable your cat looked with him, or how soft his eyes were as he stared at you.

“Oh, it’s you! I’m happy to see you again!” He beams at you for a moment before looking down at the furry bundle in his arms. “Sorry you had to worry about your cat but they seem fine!” He’s cheerful as he says this and readily hands your cat over.

You scoop your cat into your arms quickly; the small thing meows loudly and stands unsteadily on your arms to lick your face. You clutch it tightly to you, sniffling as tears started welling in your eyes. You were so happy they were ok! They seemed to be ok at least.

It was hard to pull them away but you had to do a quick once over. There were no visible marks or cuts, no matted fur, but some dirt and leaf remnants. You quickly brushed those off and went back to burying your face in the soft familiar fur while your cat continued to lick you.

It’d only been a week since your cat had gone missing but the time spent on it, the money, and the energy made it feel like it’d been months. Your cat purred loudly and pawed at you for your undivided attention.

Which is hard to deny, you pet your cat fervently while leaving kisses on its soft little head. You quietly cooed to them as they rubbed their face against you, marking you with their scent. Your tears have stopped and you can’t stop smiling, no matter how badly your cheeks hurt from it.

You don’t look up to see the man’s face. You don’t see the expression of pure adoration, the intensity with which he watches you. His cheeks flush as he imagines pulling you against him to wipe away your tears. To bring his damp fingers to his lips. To sample you at your most vulnerable. Would the tears of joy have a different taste than your tears of sorrow?

Peter had to take a deep breath to steady himself. He was losing focus and losing that could mean losing you.

When you looked up his expression had melted back into a casual smile. You thank him profusely and hold your cat with one arm while reaching for your wallet with your other hand.

His brow furrows as he watches you try to balance your cat and dig in your pockets. “What are you doing?” He asks.

You don’t look up as you respond, “Well, there was a reward and you brought them home so I have to re-”

“No, you don’t!” He all but shouts. You look up in surprise and see his face flush again as he quiets his voice. “What I mean is, you know, what kind of person would I be expecting a reward for doing the right thing?” His words trail off and he looks away as though expecting to be reprimanded.

“O-oh” Now you’re the one blushing. You’d been caught off guard with such an unexpected and intense response. You clear your throat and try to tame your warm face before muttering out, “Well, I mean I have to do something to thank you.” You insist. Your cat continues purring as you bury your fingers in their fur, suddenly feeling nervous about the response you’d get.

The tall stranger hums and closes his eyes, fingers to his chin as though in thought. “Hmm…if you really want to you could…let me take you out to lunch?” His cocky tone returns but a moment later his eyes shoot open and he lifts his hands as though to show he’s got nothing up his sleeves.

“N-not as a date or anything! But as uh…friends?” His tone’s shy again and you can’t help but find it a little endearing seeing him become so flustered. And over you of all people. His hands drop and his face looks a little defeated as he mumbles out; “I-I really do like you and I want to get to know you, but I…I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

You can’t help but smile and glance up at him, your cat is making biscuits against your arm. “I don’t think letting you buy me food counts as a reward…so how about I treat you to coffee sometime?”

Your counteroffer is met with a slack-jawed face for a moment. His lips quickly turn into a wide grin however as your words seem to sink into him. “Yes! Er I mean, yeah, yeah tha-that could work.” His hand rubs the back of his neck as he looks away from you, face burning red.

You chuckle and feel yourself relax more. Maybe your initial nervousness about him was wrong. You take a step closer to get him to look at you again, it only takes a second before he’s at full attention.

“My schedule gets a little crazy. You have my number now so text me aaaand…we’ll figure something out?" Your voice takes on an uncharacteristically flirty tone and it’s rewarded with his blush spreading to his ears and neck.

He nods once and opens his mouth, as if to speak, but closes it and nods a second time. “I would like that.” He whispered, smiling dumbly.

You grin and nod, “It’s a date then.” You don’t wait for him to say anything as you turn to go. You’d been purposeful in your wording and hoped that any ill feelings he may have developed from your coldness when you’d first met had been lost.

But right now, you need to get your cat home, cleaned up, and in for a vet check ASAP. You began walking towards your place but stopped to shoot another smile at the tall stranger who waves as you walk out of eyesight.

Peter lets out a relieved sigh, a dopey smile on his face as he waits another few seconds before following behind his future spouse. He couldn’t wait to let you take him out.

[willowbird]

Congrats!! If you want, how about the first time Ronan sleeps over at St. Agnes? Like the pining!!

Yay! I was SO EXCITED to get a Ronan/Adam ask!! I may have gone a little overboard with the pining, but I hope you still like it <3 <3 This is actually my first Pynch ficlet! I hope you like it! Lemme know if you think I should post it on AO3 ^^; Since it’s my first time actually writing them and I haven’t read the books as many times as I’ve read AFTG I hope it’s okay!

-----

Ronan bounced the rubber ball against the sloped ceiling from where he lay on Adam’s bed, waiting for the other boy to get out of the shower. He’d been out, just driving around with no discernable purpose or direction, when it came around that time for Parrish to get out of work so he’d swung by and picked him up. There’d been no reason to say no when Adam had asked if he wanted to come up for a while. After all, he and Adam were friends -- no matter how much they seemed to bicker -- and Ronan liked being at St. Agnes. Sometimes, it was honestly more satisfying to be there than it was to be at Monmouth. Nothing beat being at the Barnes, but still -- St. Agness had a particular energy, it always had. 

After all, Ronan Lynch was no stranger to St. Agnes. The hours he’d spent in the quiet pews could stack together to build a universe apart from the rest of the world, a separate realm that even the horrors inside his own mind couldn’t touch. And yet, since Adam came to live there, the hallowed halls of that familiar place had developed a completely new,,, feeling that Ronan had no idea how to feel about. 

A part of Ronan wanted to be pissed off about it. 

A bigger part of Ronan was fascinated in the way that the travelers in his father’s stories had always been fascinated by the glow of will-o’-the-wisps between the branches of the deep woods and frosted bogs. The peace that the church had once given him was spiked with something else now, something that fizzed like pop-rocks under his skin, and as annoying as that was -- he really couldn’t say that he hated it. 

Considering he knew that the fizz of... enchantment was most definitely caused by the boy now living in that small, slanted room above the church? No, he really couldn’t say that he hated it at all. 

Not to say that Adam I’ll-be-independent-if-it-kills-me Parrish didn’t make him want to punch his fist through a fucking brick wall -- because he absolutely did. But there was also something... undeniably right about the boy taking up residence above the church. After all, the infuriating pest already lived full time inside his head, he might as well sleep in the building that housed Ronan’s soul as well. At least he was fucking consistent. 

The shabby door connecting the bedroom to the tiny bathroom creaked open and Ronan caught the ball on its rebound and didn’t throw it again, instead turning his head to look as Adam entered the room. 

He did not expect to see Adam walk into the bedroom in nothing but a towel and instantly looked back up at the ceiling, throwing the ball again with a bit more force than necessary. Only his quick reflexes saved him from losing a fucking eye. He tried not to think about the way the other boy’s skin had been flushed pink from the heat of the shower, his hair damp and pushed haphazardly back from his face, exposing cheekbones and eyes that...

Okay, he tried -- that didn’t mean he succeeded. 

“Sorry, it’ll just be a minute. I forgot to grab something to change into.” Adam’s voice was soft, lilted with the Henrietta accent in the way that only happened when he was either really emotional or perfectly at ease. Ronan would never tell him how much he loved hearing the edge of gravel and wild country grass around his vowels, not on pain of death, but that didn’t make it any less true. 

“Take your time, Parrish. I don’t fucking care.” No one needed to know that the sigh that followed was relief at how nonchalant he had managed to make the words, instead of the dry irritation it sounded like. 

Adam huffed a soft laugh and Ronan could feel the eye-roll being directed at him. He didn’t bother to hide his grin, just gave it a bit more teeth as he tossed the ball up and caught it again. 

It was only another few minutes before the door creaked open again and Adam came out -- this time fully clothed. Ronan caught the ball and sat up, scooting over so that Adam could come over and sit down, which the other boy did with a flourish and a groan. 

“Ugh, I just do not wanna do homework.”

“Then don’t.” Ronan shrugged and bounced the ball on the floor this time, angling it slightly so that when it rebounded it went toward Adam. 

Adam caught it easily and bounced it back, timed perfectly with a familiar scoff. “Some of us care about school, you know.” Ronan waited for a beat, but when Adam didn’t follow that up with chastisement or prod for him to start caring about school, he gave a small shrug. 

“Sure, but tomorrow is Saturday. It isn’t like you’ve got anything due tomorrow. You just got off work, learn how to fucking relax.” He caught the ball and held it for a moment, tilting his head back as he mimicked a thoughtful expression. “Oh, oh that’s right, you don’t know how to relax.” He gave a deep, mournful sigh and bounced the ball back at him. “Shame, for man so smart to be missing such a vital real-life skill.”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious,” Adam sniped back, but his words were sharpened more with amusement than irritation. 

“Oh, I know. I’m a regular comedy special,” Ronan agreed readily. “But that, actually, was not a joke.” He could press here. He could remind Adam that his whole world didn’t need to be as rigid as he was making it to be. He could tell him that he could afford to take a break every now and then, that he deserved to chill the fuck out. But if he did that he risked sounding too much like Gansey or repeating an argument that neither of them probably felt like jumping into tonight. So instead, he caught the ball and cocked his head, studying the other boy curiously. 

Then he asked, “Where would you go? If you could go anywhere in the world with no consequences. What would you do? And not to accomplish anything great or whatever -- I’m talking just for fun.”

Adam held up his hand for the ball and Ronan tossed it to him. His eyes caught on the way he began to roll it between his palms, those long fingers curling around it, bony wrists twisting to pass it from one hand to the other. Ronan had the sudden urge to brush his lips over the prominent bump in each wrist. Not in a kiss -- but just to feel the protrusion against his mouth. 

“That’s pretty broad,” Adam said with a hum, oblivious to his distraction. “There’s a lot of places I could go.”

“That’s the point. There’s no consequences, no limits. You could go anywhere.” He dragged his gaze away from those hands but this time they caught on the exposed bit of Adam’s collarbone on the way up to his face. “So pick a place, Parrish. Never known you to be so indecisive.”

Adam’s eyes dropped from where they’d been thoughtfully searching the ceiling, locking onto his as he flashed a sharp smirk. That expression cut him right between the ribs, twisted, and nestled in nice and deep for the winter -- because this, this was the Adam Parrish he couldn’t stop thinking about. Everyone seemed to underestimate him. Everyone thought he was so soft, thought he was so polite and sweet and yeah sure, he was all of those things, but that was only one part of him. It was just the surface setting to the multiverse that was Adam Parrish, and this sharp, biting, cunning side of him was closer to his core. Ronan knew he was one of the only people who knew that side was there, and was probably the only person who truly understood how much a part of him that facet was. 

“All right,” he said, his voice smooth and low and Ronan had the distinct certainty that if that sound were a drink it would be a spiked mulled cider, husky and tart in a way that made your head light and your chest warm. “I’ll play. But you go first. Where would you go? Somewhere outside of the States,” he added, before Ronan could say the Barnes -- because he was apparently that predictable. 

Ronan rolled his eyes, but shrugged and slipped off the bed, laying on the floor beside the bed and pillowing his hands under his head as he thought. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Adam stretch out on the bed on his stomach, hugging a pillow and using it to prop his head up a bit as he looked down at Ronan. The feel of Adam’s full and undivided attention on him did things to his pulse he didn’t want to think about. 

“Probably Ireland,” he finally said after a long moment of thought that was torn up and distributed between flickers of distraction caused by Adam’s silhouette in his peripheral, from the way his damp hair was falling into his eyes now that it was beginning to dry all the way to the slump of his broad shoulders and the sharp jut of his elbows against the cushions. There just really wasn’t any part of Adam Parrish that Ronan didn’t want to look at. 

A soft huff of laughter had Ronan turning his head to look at him straight on and the amusement on the other boy’s face told him that he was being predictable again. Ronan frowned -- he didn’t like being predictable. 

“Don’t give me that look. Tell me why, Ronan Lynch.” There was a teasing note in Adam’s voice, and if it were anyone else that would have brought Ronan’s back up -- would have made him snap his teeth and snarl. Coming from Adam, he had to give himself a moment so he didn’t trip over his own foolish tongue. 

Somehow he managed to avoid that humiliation. Instead, he told Adam about Ireland through his father’s eyes. He told himself he didn’t care about the softening of Adam’s smile, that it did absolutely nothing to him to watch the other boy close his eyes and rest his cheek on the pillow, leaving himself vulnerable as he dipped into his own thoughts. Rather, he focused on the stories he was telling Adam, reliving them as he did his best impression of his father’s cadence and storyteller’s hum. He told him stories about the fair folk, the fey and the night creatures. He told him about the magic of each valley and river and dale. He shared his favorite tales about cheeky brownies and powerful, dangerous sidhe that became captivated by the bright, fleeting magic of a human’s ability to create. 

Adam listened to each one, and that smile...? It never faded, not even once. 

“It’s your turn,” Ronan finally said, when his heart was full and his lungs tight -- torn between the memories caused by those stories and these newer, more electric feelings caused by the proximity of Adam Parrish’s smile.

“Mm, I think... I think that if I were to go anywhere in the world I’d want to see high mountains. High mountains and dark woods. Deep lakes. Flowers that seem to have their own language between the brightness of their colors and the way they sway toward and away from each other in a wind that affects them and them alone. Butterflies that cast shadows like birds of prey...” As he spoke his words drew further and further apart, his tone drifting as fatigue from the long day dragged him down toward sleep. 

Ronan held his breath, almost wanting to prod him for more -- because it was rare to hear Adam talk... well, like a dreamer. Adam was a boy who kept himself grounded so deeply in reality it was sometimes painful for Ronan to be around him. This secret side of him, this side of dreams and hope and wonder... it was a vulnerable side that he knew Adam wouldn’t be indulging in if he weren’t perfectly comfortable and probably way more tired than he’d originally thought he was. It was a side of him that Ronan had always known existed (you couldn’t chase a dead Welsh king without being at least part whimsy, no matter how charismatic Gansey was) but one that Adam kept very close to the chest. 

“Mm... Ronan?” Adam’s voice was soft and sleep-slurred, his eyelashes shielding the color of his eyes, he was barely able to keep them open. 

“Yeah?” Ronan’s voice was rough, even to his own ears, but Adam didn’t seem to notice.

“Do you think a place like that actually exists?” The question was light, but there was a raw, sweet shard of hope beneath the words that cut Ronan in a tender space below his throat. 

“Yes,” Ronan promised with certainty, not even needing to think about it -- not even needing to question it. “I know it does.”

Adam’s eyes dropped all the way closed and he smiled, sighing in relief. That sigh transitioned directly into the deep, slow breaths of sleep. 

Ronan knew that he should get up. Sleeping on the floor would give him one hell of a backache, and Adam hadn’t said he could stay over. He should get up and stretch, then drive back to Monmouth, where he should crawl into his own bed for the night -- or maybe stay up longer and bother Gansey, because fuck knew that guy didn’t understand the concept of a regulated sleeping schedule. 

Instead, Ronan watched Adam until his own eyes just couldn’t stay open any longer. Then, from the floor of St. Agnes, beside the boy who called to him like a fire-sprite, Ronan dreamed. He dreamed of dark woods and flowers that seemed to have their own language, between their bright colors and the way they swayed in their own self-contained breezes. He dreamed of butterflies that cast shadows like birds of prey. He dreamed of safe places even in the dark woods -- and when Ronan dreamed... well, when Ronan dreamed, reality itself seemed to listen.

[yoonsshadow]

BLIZZARD BLUES ⎯ myg

⇰ summary ; There’s a storm coming. Literally. And some idiot is standing outside singing Christmas carols.

⇰ pairing ; yoongi x fem!reader

⇰ genres ; strangers to friends to lovers[?], snowstorm!au, romance, fast burn [?]

⇰ themes ; fluff, a bit of crack

⇰ warnings ; talk of a natural disaster [blizzard], lots of banter, brief talk of male genitalia [balls lol], a bunch of sweetness

⇰ word count ; 1.8k

⇰ note ; Happy holidays everybody!! I hope that you all have a safe and happy day, no matter what you are celebrating. [Also this is largely unedited.] xx

It doesn’t always snow on Christmas Eve. Sometimes, when the sky feels selfish, it will open its clouds and welcome through the sunlight, especially harsh against the previous snowfall that is melting on the ground. What was once a white wonderland, snowflakes clustered together in a fine powder, becomes a muddy expanse of grass, dampened by the flowing tears of the melted icicles.

The magic of Christmas, so often associated with the pure white sheen of snowfall, is gone within hours of a clear sky.

But not today.

Today, the sky is selfish in a very distinctly opposite way.

“Temperatures will be reaching a record-low tonight, and snowfall is expected to only get heavier. With the possibility of a blizzard on the way, citizens are urged to stay indoors tonight.”

“Aish.” Licking droplets of mulled wine from your lips, you sigh at the latest news update. Just yesterday, you had been complaining of the warmth in the air, expecting yet another disappointment out of Christmas Eve. The universe seems to have answered your pessimism with a natural disaster.

Thankfully, you are one of the many lucky ones with a roof over your head tonight. The townhouse is small by standard means, but it feels so big to you. Though it may be cosy, it holds everything that is important to you, every memory that you have collected over your life, every momentum that has ever brought you joy. It is an extension of yourself, of your innermost being, and now it even protects you from the howling wind that you can hear picking up outside.

As you sit in front of your roaring fireplace, wrapped in blankets and listening to the Michael Bublé christmas album play on your scratchy record player, you think that maybe this is serenity; this feeling of calm, of contentment, when chaos surrounds you.

A harsh knock at your front door breaks through the sound of the wind.

At first, you think that maybe it was a trick of the mind, or perhaps a branch hitting a window, but the rapid knock-knock-knock against the wood is far too deliberate to be a mistake. Plus, when it’s followed by several more⎯⎯less patient⎯⎯knocks, you know that someone is here. At your house. At ten o’clock at night, as a blizzard is brewing.

It takes a moment to detangle yourself from your comfortable cocoon of blankets, but you eventually shuffle to the door as quickly as your cold toes [the things just never seem to be warm] will allow. You’re expecting an emergency official telling you to evacuate, or a neighbour asking to borrow supplies.

You don’t expect a shivering, disgruntled man reluctantly singing ‘Oh Christmas Tree’.

“Your boughs so green in summertime...stay bravely green in wintertime...O tannenbaum, O Christmas Tree...How lovely are thy branches…”

“Are you seriously carolling right now?”

The man stops his ‘singing’ to glare at you, as if you’ve just interrupted the most important performance of his life. “Hey, either let me finish the song or let me move on. It’s fucking cold out here.”

“No, but like, why are you singing at all? Didn’t you see the news?” The chill of the wind is biting at you even through all of your layers, so you don’t know how he’s surviving right now.

The man sighs, the air fogging in front of his face. “Look, lady, I lost a bet, okay? I gotta sing these carols, and I’m not backing out just because it feels like my internal organs are shutting down. So, what’ll it be? I can take song requests, if you’re feeling spicy.”

It takes you barely a moment to make your decision. “Option C. Come here.”

And you all but drag him into your house.

“Y’know, this could be considered kidnapping,” the stranger says as he slides out of his soaked jacket and toes off his boots. Despite his words, he doesn’t seem at all reluctant to be within your warm abode. “You could at least take me to dinner before inviting me in.’

His voice sounds harsh, mean even, but for some reason you aren’t intimidated by him. Maybe it’s the way his nose shines pink from the cold.

“Well,” you say, already gathering some towels for him, “it seems as though you haven’t watched the news in the last three hours. There’s a blizzard on the way, buddy, and you looked about halfway to frozen already. I thought that I would save the neighbours the trauma of digging your body out of the snow.”

“How considerate.”

“What’s your name, by the way? Since I’m extending my home and hospitality to you. I’m Y/N.”

“Yoongi. Also, you barely extended anything. More like forced. But, I’m a kind man, so I’ll let you believe that you’re being selfless. It is Christmas, after all.”

“And a merry Christmas to you too, mister Yoongi.”

“Ugh. Don’t call me mister.”

“Whatever. You should go take a shower to warm up, I should have some of my dad’s clothes for you to wear. I also have a shit-tonne of blankets and a big pot of mulled wine, so whenever you’re done just come downstairs and sit by the fire. And don’t steal anything. Or piss on the carpets.”

“Oddly specific, but okay. Thanks, generous kidnapper.”

Yoongi takes nearly an hour before he re-emerges from upstairs, to the point where you wonder if he’s actually pissing in your carpets. He looks clean, though, and flushed with warmth. And absolutely adorable in the ugly, oversized Christmas sweater that you laid out for him.

“This is fucking horrendous.”

A snort escapes you at his blunt statement, watching as he sinks into an armchair opposite you. His hair is sticking out from where he’s hastily dried it. “Thank you. My dad is the reigning champion in his workplace ugly sweater competition. He takes immense pride in inducing nausea. Want some wine?”

“Absolutely.”

When you pass him a mug, the liquid steaming and aromatic, he seems to pause, hesitation in the grip of his fingers. You give him the time he needs to arrange his words.

“I guess, um...thank you. For bringing me inside.” Yoongi isn’t meeting your eyes, but the tips of his ears are turning pink. “I was probably too stubborn to realise how bad it was and...I don’t know, it could’ve ended up really bad. So. Thanks.”

“Hey.” His eyes flicker up, briefly, but enough to see the bashfulness hiding behind all that sarcasm. “It’s seriously fine, but you’ve got to make a habit out of taking care of yourself. I’ve known you for two hours and even I can tell that you don’t take yourself very seriously. Hell, I could’ve been a serial killer, and you still just walked into my house.”

“I could’ve been a serial killer as well, hypocrite.”

“Killer Caroller does have a certain ring to it,” you admit. He’s deflecting, but you accept the divergence easily. “So, mister serial killer-”

“Don’t call me mister.”

“-Why don’t you tell me about yourself? There’s a chance that you’ll be here for a little while, so we may as well become acquainted.”

Taking a lingering sip from his mug, Yoongi keeps his eyes trained on the fire before him. “My name is Yoongi, I’m a Pisces, and I enjoy long walks on the beach.”

“Romantic.”

“I was born in Daegu.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’m a music producer.”

“Impressive.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, though they hold more mirth than annoyance. “Oh, and what about you, miss charity? Tell me about yourself.”

Biting back a chuckle, you reposition yourself in the armchair to face him better. “Well, my name is Y/N, and I have never been to a beach.”

“That’s sad.”

“I take self-defense classes.”

“Convenient.”

“And I’m a social worker.”

“Very fitting.”

The quick banter between the two of you pulls a smile across your face before you can tamp it down, but it seems like Yoongi is fighting one of his own.

Somehow, you have both converged to your larger couch, huddled together in a wine-drunk, giggly mess.

“No, I seriously would’ve won! But then he totally caught me off guard. I was sabotaged.”

Yoongi’s recounting of the story of how he lost his bet is nothing short of hysterical. “This Jeongguk guy sounds like a menace,” you say, throwing your legs over his lap. “I mean, who swings their balls in a friend’s face just to distract them? That’s just low.”

“Right?!” His voice is so loud, but your little bubble is barely disturbed. “And they were all hairy, too. I swear that I found a pube in my hoodie.”

This sets you off, for some reason, and your chest erupts in light giggles. Yoongi has only told you a few stories about his six male friends, and it has filled you with a kind of joy that you don’t remember ever feeling.

“It’s just...I bet that women aren’t this immature with each other. Am I right?”

You hum. “Sort of, but also not really. A friend of mine once stole my diva cup just because she was mad at me for using her hair brush. I tried to explain that it was an accident, but man was she pissed.”

Yoongi pauses. “What’s a diva cup?”

Blinking at the man that you’re draped across, you bring a hand up to pat his soft cheek. “Oh, honey,” you whisper, offering a small smile.

Slowly but suddenly, his hand comes up to cover yours, keeping it on his face. Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t notice.

“You’re really nice,” he says. His pupils are blown from drinking, and maybe from your faces being so close. Your cheeks are flushed for the same reasons. “And totally not a serial killer.”

“I’m still undecided about you,” you joke, breathing out a laugh. “But I do know that you’re pretty nice, too. And not as bad of a guest as I thought you might be.”

“Is it-” Yoongi cuts himself off, takes a slow breath as he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he seems determined, if a little nervous. “Is it weird if I say that I enjoy spending time with you? And would, maybe, want to spend more time with you in the future?”

A lazy grin stretches your cheeks as you tuck yourself a little closer to him. It’s peculiar, maybe, that you’ve just met a man that you feel you’ve known your whole life. Curious, perhaps, that conversation with him feels more natural than with most people you know.

But weird?

No, you don’t think so.

“No. Not weird.” You lean forward a bit, shyly; wait for him to maybe do the same. “You do owe me the rest of a Christmas carol, after all.

He does lean forward, just a bit, and just as shy.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Waking Up In Vegas: Chapter 4

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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More Chapters

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Chapter 4

[Hermione]

Hermione breathes a sigh of relief when she enters her hotel room, and the door shuts behind her. She pulls off the Chudley Cannons t-shirt and boxers, throwing them into a pile on the floor by her suitcase, before making her way to the bathroom for a shower.

Her suite's bathroom is an assault of color, too happy and cheerful to match her sullen mood. The tiles form an elaborate design which Hermione guesses is supposed to be a mermaid, but who knows, really. She stopped trying to identify any cohesive theme to the hotel's elaborate decor the moment she arrived.

As she scrubs herself clean, she can't help but wonder about last night. Did they really have sex? If they had, it would be a first for her. She's had sex before, of course, but only within the boundaries of a committed relationship. Never a one-night-stand, if that's what that was.

The idea that she and Ron Weasley might have shagged last night doesn't bother her in the way she'd expect — in fact, there's a small, but very present part of her that hopes they did. Hermione's only slept with one other man before, and her anxiety surfaces every time she imagines having sex with someone else — someone who might see her differently than her ex-boyfriend Viktor. She often wonders if there's anyone else out there that finds her attractive enough, and hates to admit that insecurity led her to stay with Viktor much longer than she really should have. It's that same fear that makes the thought of taking her clothes off in front of another man so daunting. She's often tempted to numb her worries with alcohol, and get it over with. Maybe last night she did.

Hermione glances down at her body and tries to keep her insecurities at bay, but she can't. She's never been one to concern herself with cosmetic endeavors, not like Lavender, who is always talking about tanning lotion and bikini waxes. She wonders what parts of her Ron had seen and touched, and oddly, she's desperate to know if he liked it.

She's imagined sleeping with Ron before. Not intentionally, of course. It's just a passing thought that occurs with any single, attractive, age-appropriate man, but for some reason, it happens more frequently with Ron. Neville, Dean, and Seamus, Harry's other groomsmen, are all just as attractive, but she isn't nearly as curious to know what it would be like to shag them. Maybe it's the way that Ron bickers with her and irritates her — there's something so focused about it. It's like he knows exactly how to push her buttons. Her need to learn more about him in bed must be purely academic — if he can drive her mind crazy, what might he be able to do to her body?

It's tempting to reprimand herself like she might a friend after a one-night-stand, but she doesn't feel guilty. If there's any reason to be angry with herself, it's not because she slept with Ron; it's because she can't remember it, and she really, really, wants to. For science, of course.

Unable to avoid the day any longer, she turns the shower off and reaches for her towel to dry herself. Any guilt she feels is mostly about ditching Ginny last night. This week is for Ginny, and as her maid of honor, Hermione has a duty not to abandon her to rendezvous with her brother.

She wraps her towel tightly around her body and heads back into the bedroom. The bathroom's aggressive color scheme continues into the rest of the suite, but the mermaid tiles are now replaced with lime-green area rugs, lava lamps, and an ombre accent wall that fades from white to teal. The whole ordeal feels both retro and modern, like she's entering both the past and future at the same time. While rummaging in her suitcase, she finds her phone, blinking with dozens of missed messages from Ginny. Scrolling through the messages tells her that Ginny was really worried about her last night.

Where did you go?

Are you ok?

Are you with someone?

Please text me back, I'm worried!

The phone buzzes and startles Hermione. She glances down to see Ginny's name again, this time accompanied by a new message.

Don't forget about brunch! You owe me a mimosa and an explanation! 11 am :)

Okay, Ginny doesn't sound too angry. Hermione checks the clock and groans. 10:55 am.

She extracts a clean change of clothes from her bag, which happens to be a periwinkle sundress that Ginny convinced her to buy for the trip. It's a little shorter and more revealing than Hermione would typically choose, but seeing her in it might make Ginny feel more sympathetic. Plus, if she shows up looking perfectly put-together, she might have a chance at convincing the girls that she did not get blackout drunk and shag Ron Weasley last night. Still, she imagines showing up to brunch in Ron's boxers and Chudley Cannons t-shirt, and the picture brings a smile to her lips. Of course, she'd never do that, but the look on Lavender's face might be worth it.

Hermione sends Ginny a quick text to tell her she's on her way and pulls the sundress over her head. She then stations herself in front of the bathroom mirror to work on both her hair and an alibi.

x

One step into the god-knows-what-themed restaurant gives Hermione an instant headache. The music, the conversation, and the smell of breakfast food and alcohol instantly remind her of her hangover. She passes the giant, decorative goblet in the middle of the room and spots Ginny's red hair, standing out against the forest-green wall paint behind her. Ginny sees her too, and waves her down.

"Hermione Jean Granger!" says Ginny as soon as Hermione sits down at the creaky bamboo chair across from her. Also at the table are Luna, Demelza, and Lavender, who eyes Hermione's dress suspiciously. "Dish!"

Ginny's already halfway through her first mimosa and is smiling brightly. Hermione instantly relaxes at her demeanor, her guilt melting away. "Dish? About what?"

"Where you ran off to last night, of course!"

"Ginny thinks you shagged someone, but I think you just went back to bed," says Lavender, and Hermione is briefly tempted to wipe the smug smile off her face with the truth, but she resists.

"What does everyone else think?" asks Hermione. Maybe they'll come up with a better alibi than she has.

"We took bets. I think you ran off and shagged a stranger, because I know there's a rebel in there somewhere," says Ginny, waving a lazy finger toward her face. "Lavender thinks you just went to bed early like a party-pooper. Luna thinks you got lost. And Demelza thinks you disappeared with Ron."

"What?" says Hermione, glancing curiously at Demelza, "Ron?"

"Yeah," shrugs Demelza. "It would make sense."

"Would it?"

"Not like that," chuckles Lavender, rolling her eyes. "It would make sense because he's the best man. Demelza thinks you two are planning something for Ginny and Harry, and that's why you two disappeared. We can't figure out where he went either, but Harry's working on finding out," she adds bitterly.

"Oh," says Hermione, breathing a sigh of relief. "I thought you meant—"

"We didn't," laughs Demelza.

"Definitely not," says Lavender cooly. "You're not his type, anyway."

Hermione turns away from Lavender, ignoring the prickle of insecurity ignited by her comment. "Well, not to let you all down, but I had too much to drink last night, so I just went back to my hotel room early. I meant to send a text, but I passed out pretty quickly."

"Knew it," says Lavender.

"As for Ron," she adds, turning back to face Lavender, "I did run into him. He was with a girl, but I don't know who she was. Super pretty, though." Hermione can't help but enjoy the flash of jealousy on Lavender's face.

Lavender meets her eyes with a scowl before dropping her gaze to Hermione's exposed legs. "Nice dress. Who's it for?"

"Sorry? Who's it for?"

"Your dress is awfully short," she adds matter-of-factly, taking a strategic sip of her mimosa.

"Oh, well," Hermione shrugs. "It's warm out."

"Well, you look very attractive. Almost like you're trying to impress someone." Lavender's cheery tone juxtaposes her icy stare. If only there was a prize for backhanded compliments, Lavender could finally consider herself a winner.

"I just like this dress," says Hermione through gritted teeth. "Who would I be trying to impress?" The table has gone awkwardly quiet, the air suddenly thick with tension.

Lavender shrugs. "Nobody. Wouldn't be worth your time," she says, bringing her mimosa back to her dolled-up lips.

Hermione rolls her eyes. Lavender doesn't seem to like Hermione, and Hermione cannot figure out why. It might have something to do with how often she and Ron talk to one another. Lavender has a habit of inserting herself into their little arguments and trying to redirect Ron's attention as if she's trying to save him from Hermione's incessant pestering. Maybe she means well, but Hermione finds it condescending.

They only ever talk about wedding logistics — It's not like they flirt. As far as Hermione knows, Lavender has nothing to be jealous of. Either way, Hermione doesn't have time to mull it over because Luna breaks the tension. "Are you sure you didn't get lost?"

"Sorry, what?" asks Hermione, having already forgotten the previous conversation.

"Last night," clarifies Luna. "You weren't lost?"

Oh. "No Luna, I wasn't lost. Why?"

Luna shrugs. "I just checked your room before I went to bed. You weren't there."

Hermione feels Lavender's piercing stare once more and tries to send a quieting glance to Luna, but Luna remains oblivious. "Are you sure you didn't get lost?" Hermione retorts. All the girls, except for Lavender, laugh.

Luna smiles wistfully. "Maybe I had the wrong room."

"Probably," says Hermione firmly, then in an attempt to change the subject, "Another round of mimosas?"

Ginny's beams. "Sure! But this round's on you!"

"Sounds good," says Hermione, rising to her feet. "I'll be right back."

It's probably in her best interest to keep the drinks flowing.

x

Hermione is waiting at the bar for another round of mimosas, tracing the playing cards ingrained into the counter with her finger, and mulling over her conversation with the girls. Something feels very off with Lavender, and she wonders if she suspects anything. Hermione glances down at her dress; it is awfully short. She tugs self-consciously at the hem. Lavender doesn't think she's wearing this dress to impress Ron, does she?

Sure, she wore this dress the day they arrived in Vegas, and at one point, she noticed Ron's gaze drifting from her face to her chest then to her thigh. Normally, she'd react by calling a man out on that, but with Ron, she said nothing. It was such a fleeting glance, probably because Lavender was watching, and he might not have wanted to offend her. But she also liked it. Something about his eyes on her body made her feel sexy, and it's been a while since she's felt that way. The memory of Ron's wandering eyes and how they made her feel might have been part of her motivation to wear the dress this morning. A small part, but a contributing factor nonetheless. Maybe Lavender can sense that. She seems to detect any possible interest in Ron like a bloodhound, and clearly, she still thinks Ron is her man.

A sudden voice startles her out of her reverie.

"Hey! Good to see you again!"

Hermione turns to see a woman about her age. She doesn't recognize her at all. "Hey," she says tentatively.

The woman is wearing a green jumpsuit that almost camouflages her into the restaurant's decor. Her bright pink manicure reminds Hermione of claws, and her large gold spectacles magnify her eyes, giving her the appearance of an insect. She looks like she's intentionally trying to dress as an animal, but hasn't decided which one.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

Did Hermione meet this woman last night? "I'm okay. Doing better," she adds, hoping her tone is neutral enough to be non-committal.

"Okay, that's good to hear! We had so much fun last night, by the way!"

Hermione is more confused than ever, but she feels like her opportunity to admit that has passed. "Thank you," she says instead. "I… did too. I think."

The woman laughs, an almost-maniacal cackling sound that makes Hermione shudder. "Honestly, I'm so honored that you included me. I know we just met last night, but I already feel like I've known you two forever!"

Okay, what the hell is happening?

"Oh, of course, I feel that way too!" she lies. Hermione needs to find a way to end this conversation.

"I'm glad I found you! I tried to send you this photo, but I realized this morning that I didn't have your number." She pulls her phone out of her pocket and scrolls through her camera roll. Hermione curiously looks over her shoulder, hoping that maybe this photo will spark her memory of last night. "Here it is!"

The woman shoves the phone into Hermione's face, and Hermione's jaw drops.

"I know! It's so cute, isn't it?"

It feels like her heart has stopped. She's looking at a photo of Ron holding her up, one hand is under her knees, and the other supporting her back. Hermione's arms are laced around Ron's neck, and their lips are pressed together in a passionate kiss. Above them is a sign that reads Just Married.

"That's definitely one you should get framed!" says the woman excitedly.

Hermione tries to steady her breath, but she feels about to panic. This has to be some sort of joke. "Yes, thank you," she says in the giddiest tone she can manage.

"Go ahead, send it to yourself!" says the woman.

"Right, right," says Hermione. A few clicks of the keypad later, Hemione feels her phone buzz again in her pocket. She hands the phone back to the woman.

"And now I have your number,'' she says! "We should definitely celebrate again. I will text you!"

"Yeah," says Hermione mechanically, although she knows it won't happen. "Of course."

"Congratulations again!" The woman hugs Hermione before sauntering away.

As soon as she disappears into the crowd, Hermione pulls out her phone to examine the photo. She recalls how horrified Ron was to wake up next to her and has no idea how she'll be able to have this conversation. She's tempted just to delete the photo, but she knows that won't make it go away.

Then, something jumps out at her. On the wall below the words Just Married are the words Follow your heart's desire! They're small and easy to miss, but it sounds like bad branding.

She switches her screen to search those words. A single click pulls up a website.

Erised Elopements

Follow your heart's desire!

Maybe there is a way to make it all go away.

She saves the address into her phone, right as the bartender pulls up with five mimosas. "Sorry about the wait!"

"No problem," says Hermione distractedly, pocketing her phone. She smiles and pays for the drinks before heading back to a restless table of girls.

"What took you so long?" asked Ginny.

Hermione shrugged, setting the drinks down on the table. "Busy, I guess."

"Are you ok, Hermione?" asks Luna.

"Yes, why?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine." Ginny looks at her with concern, and Hermione waves her off. "I'm great."

"Are you sure you haven't seen a ghost? This hotel is haunted, you know."

"No, Luna, I haven't seen a ghost." Just accidentally got married.

"Okay," says Ginny. "If you're feeling ill, just let us know. You can go back to your room and rest…"

"Actually, that might be a good idea," says Hermione quickly. "Are you sure you won't mind?"

"No, of course not," says Ginny, although Hermione can sense the disappointment in her voice.

"Sorry. I'll be ready to rally tonight, I promise." Hermione snags her purse and slings it over her shoulder. She slides her untouched mimosa across the table to Ginny. "An extra for you."

Ginny perks up and takes a sip. "Feel better, Hermione!"

"Thank you," says Hermione as she waves goodbye and turns to leave the hotel restaurant, still aware of Lavender's eyes on the hem of her dress. At first, she heads in the direction of her room. Then, checking over her shoulder to make sure the girls aren't watching, she pulls out her phone and searches the address from the website. She'll be able to fix this; she's sure of it.

[withkun]

visage | j. jaehyun

genre: enemies to lovers... kinda? with some fluff and smut :) word count: 5.2k  pairing: reader x jaehyun warnings: graphic hetersexual sex (oral, penetration, etc), swearing, excessive world building summary: Your first day of work at your first real job began terribly. You hadn’t got enough sleep, you could barely eat your breakfast, and you managed to get lost on the way. Soon, you discover you’re working alongside serial charmer Jaehyun Jung and that he will stop at nothing to be the best. 

a/n: this is a mess im sorry lmao. i somehow managed to use jaehyun 86 times in here ... girl...

You felt completely, utterly, and hopelessly lost – all on the first day of your first real job. That morning, you awoke two hours earlier than you had to. If you had a choice, you would’ve face planted into your pillow and died right there. However, your anxiety decided against it. And with that extra time, you managed to pull off an extended morning routine. A warm, long shower. Ten-step skincare routine. Eggs, toast, and black tea. Despite your attempts to regain your confidence, all was lost as you circled the office building.

           The orientation guide you received hadn’t helped much. All you knew was that you should report to building B. Whichever building that may have been, you had no idea. Your feet grew weary and you cursed yourself for wearing heels. You rounded the corner of the office park for your fourth or fifth lap, only to be cut off by an overdressed jackass. Before you could sidestep him and continue your hopeless journey, the perpetrator turned to face you.

           “Oh, no. He’s hot,” you thought to yourself, praying your cheeks weren’t stained red. Despite wearing a well-tailored gray suit, you realized that he was likely your same age. He took in your slightly disheveled appearance, probably noting your ruffled hair and askew skirt.

           He tilted his head in the direction of the closest building. “Are you here for orientation, too?”

           Of course he had to be in your hiring class. Twenty-two and already looking like he owned the building. You nodded, then turned on your heel to rush inside. Trailing your steps, you heard him chuckle lowly.

           You finally joined the rest of the new hires in the security lobby, managing to fix your appearance before you reached the door. To your gratitude, they dressed similarly to you. Just plain business casual. The boy you met earlier definitely stood out, making the others wonder if they hadn’t dressed well enough.

           Within ten minutes, you all received security badges and shuffled into your orientation room. You preferred the back, whereas the business boy sat directly in the front. Rolling your eyes, you realized his game. You met plenty of people like him in college, ruthless climbers that destroyed everything in their paths. He knew he had to make more than an entrance, he had to make an impression.

           You grew to dislike him more and more as your training sessions progressed over the course of two weeks. An insufferable know it all, answering all the questions managers prompted. Volunteering for everything first, unafraid. You on the other hand, did not find his actions necessary. He left a glowing impression, yes, but you found it meaningless. Like hell the trainers cared about how well you completed your general training. Maybe he wanted everyone to relate this to his future performance, for you to watch out for his dominance. For you to fear him. Worst of all, he saw you struggle with the most simplistic task on your first day.

           He easily made friends within the group, as there were plenty others like him. All recent college graduates, fantastic resumes, and working for one of the best companies in the field. You, on the other hand, did not have such luck. Your social circle consisted of yourself and another quiet trainee, a quiet finance major named Doyoung. The two of you kept to yourselves and became the outliers of the group, so much to the extent that you sat alone for training sessions.

           Two weeks came and passed, and you finally received your team assignments. You found your name on the bulletin, right next to Jaehyun Jung’s. Of course. It had to be this way.

           Jaehyun approached the bulletin board aside you, and grinned as he found his name. “Looks like we’re working together,” he commented, still wearing the same expression. You realized why he appeared so happy. People like Jaehyun would not recognize someone like you as a threat. You barely appeared on his radar.

           You grit your teeth and forced a smile. “I look forward to it.”

           With your whorish luck, you found that your desks were right next to each other and you’d be essentially working back to back. You already hated being watched, and Jaehyun could easily look over his shoulder and see you struggling to keep up.

           Jaehyun settled into his seat with ease, already look at home in his new desk. You sat gingerly on your office chair, gathering your surroundings.

           Your desks sat right in the view of your department lead’s office, likely to Jaehyun’s excitement.

           Being on the same team, you and Jaehyun had the rest of your training sessions together.  Just you two and your manager. He always seemed to grasp the new concepts immediately while you merely pretended and made notes to ask Doyoung later.

           They assigned your first project sometime later, one that you and Jaehyun would have to complete jointly. You dreaded it, knowing he would try to take over the project.

           That first morning, Jaehyun was already at his desk. You glanced at your watch, nearly scoffing as you read off 6:59. Despite having the ability to make his own schedule, Jaehyun chose to arrive before seven. You collapsed into your desk chair, jealousy eyeing Jaehyun’s full coffee mug. He already had time to help himself to coffee. Typical.

           “Morning,” he greeted, fully awake and energized. “I set up a meeting for 8 today to start working on the project.”

           You powered on your desktop, mentally groaning at the hundreds of emails present in your mailbox. “That’s…fine,” you murmured, praying that you could address all your client emails in a measly hour without the aid of caffeine.

           He glanced behind him to see you hunched over and lifelessly typing. “I’ll make that 9.”

           And yet again, you were caught in a moment of weakness. Great. “Yeah, okay.”

           Those two hours passed slowly, but at least you managed to prepare a cup of tea. By 8:55, Jaehyun already settled into the conference room and wrote diagnostics on the whiteboard. All while you still went through your emails.

           You joined him, a fresh cup of tea in one hand and your laptop in another. “All right, I see that you’ve already set up the basics,” you said monotonously, nodding towards the whiteboard. “I conjured up some of my own ideas as well.” Without prompt, you rose and added a few bullet points under Jaehyun’s “approaches” section. You scanned his ideas, noting that they weren’t bad, but not what you had in mind.

           “I see,” Jaehyun commented, still standing. He put his hands on his hips, carefully mulling over the options. “They’re quite good.”

           You felt ashamed of your satisfaction for his response, but also surprise. He sounded genuine enough, but you knew that his type always had some angle to work. Prodding you board at your second option, you decided, “I think this is our best bet.”

           Jaehyun remained quiet for a moment, eyes flickering across the board. “What if we combined a couple?” he inquired. He pointed to your idea, then his. “It would streamline the process more holistically.”

           “Holistically??” you thought. You hadn’t heard that word since high school English class. It was so painfully pretentious to you.

           He went on to explain how it would work, but you were still caught up on the pure obnoxiousness of the word “holistically.”

           “Y/N,” Jaehyun tried. “Hello?”

           You blinked, finally hearing your name. “Sorry, I was thinking about how this will impact everything.” A lie, Jaehyun didn’t need to know how long you caught yourself on a single word.

           “So, what do you think?” Jaehyun leaned against the wall, eyes searching yours.

           Oh god, now you were thinking about his eyes. Pushing those thoughts aside, you answered, “So long as we put a heavy emphasis on my part, I think it’ll work.”

           He agreed and you went on, mostly working quietly. You avoided asking him questions, even when you became desperate. Jaehyun, meanwhile, tried to engage you in small talk.

           “Where did you go to college?” he asked, to which you gave him a one-word response.

           “Are you from here?”

           “Do you have a boyfriend?”

           “What was your major?”

           You barely answered, but he failed to get the point until he finally inquired to something relevant. “Did I do something that offended you?”

           You drew in a breath, fumbling for the right words. If you were honest with him, you wouldn’t have to put on a façade. If you lied, you wouldn’t get on his bad side. Even pretty boys like him could be ruthless if given the opportunity and reason. You saw it before, you knew you would see it all over again.

           “No,” you decided, pulling on a tight-lipped smile. “I just want to do really well on this.”

           That last part, at least, wasn’t a lie. You felt that you had to prove yourself, especially against the Jaehyuns of the world. If only briefly, you saw his relief. His face relaxed a little, and his shoulders lost some tension. “Me too,” he agreed.

           The following month went on similarly. You completed the project quietly, only interjecting to make corrections and provide your input. When you finally reached the day of your presentation, your nerves caught you once more. You woke up far too early and arrived at the office at the same time as Jaehyun. A new record.

           If he was on edge, you couldn’t tell. Outwardly, he appeared the same. Nothing could take away his quiet glow of confidence. Jaehyun worked, unbothered, sipping his coffee almost casually.

           “Are you ready?”

           Jaehyun turned to face you. “Never been readier.”

           You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if readier is a word.”

           With a shrug and smile, Jaehyun returned to his work again. Odd, considering he was always chatty.

           You attempted to mimic him, to work without doubts and review your notes. But your hands shook as you tried to type. You knew you couldn’t focus until you finished the presentation.

           Although you hadn’t noticed him leave, you saw him approach your desk. Jaehyun gingerly placed a styrofoam cup on your desk. Your eyes met his. “Jaehyun?”

           “Just some tea before the presentation,” he explained. “I noticed you like black tea with honey.”

           You brought the cup to your lips, delighted to find that it was the perfect temperature. For once, you didn’t care about his motive. “Thanks,” you said. And you meant it.

           He gave you wink. “We’ll be great today.”

           You hoped he was right.

           The presentation crept up on you suddenly, much faster than you had anticipated. Jaehyun found you outside the conference room, where you managers and team lead had already gathered, pacing and talking to yourself.

           “Are you okay?”

           He caught you again, there was no use in denying the truth. “Absolutely not.”

           Jaehyun laughed lowly and put a hand on your shoulder. A part of you wanted to shrug it off, but you felt a strange comfort. “I’m nervous, too.”

           You almost burst out laughing. Like hell he was nervous. But his concession, fake or real, made you feel some comfort.

           Having reeled yourself in, you entered the conference room together.

           And together, you made it through the presentation. You both had prepared excessively, ready to answer any question thoroughly. Management applauded your efforts, declaring that you had exceeded expectations. They rewarded you with a gift-card to a nearby steakhouse and urged you to celebrate together. Hastily, you attempted to invite the managers, only to be declined. They had work to complete in the office.

           Your cheeks lit up red with embarrassment, but you agreed to make reservations for that night.

           Jaehyun offered a ride over, to which you vehemently wanted to reject. Before the eyes of your manager, you took him up. You assured yourself that he was still the same person you knew. Nothing different. Nothing could’ve changed that. Seeing his car certainly helped. You never knew any recent college graduates that drove a Tesla, and yet…

           Once you arrived at the restaurant, you quickly ordered yourself a martini. You didn’t care which one, so long as it had plenty of alcohol. Jaehyun simply ordered a beer, quoting driver safety commercials. “Just this,” he promised you, then proposed a toast. “We pulled it off.”

           You drank your martini with gusto, and then prompted the waiter for another one. Jaehyun watched as you became drunk, consistently grinning as began to ramble. “You know I hate you, right?”

           Your question caught him off guard. “You hate me?”

           With a smile, you brought the martini glass to your lips. “You’re too perfect and try too hard.” His expression fell, but you forged on. For months, he made you feel inadequate and beyond anxious. You befuddled mind justified this bluntness. “Every day feels like a goddamn competition.”

           Jaehyun reached across the table, taking your hand. “I had no idea,” he admitted quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

           “It’s whatever. You’re no different from most in our hiring class.”

           With a sigh, Jaehyun took an elongated sip from his beer. “They’re not all bad.”

           Despite the alcohol coursing its way through your system, you realized that a few strands of hair fell out of place. He hunched over, brows furrowed, lost in thought. It wasn’t the first time you saw that either. Just out of your periphery vision, you saw him buried in work while you finished the project. 

           Jaehyun swept his hands through his hair. The way he bit his lip made you wonder if he was holding himself back. And the waiter arrived with your meals before you could muster a response.

           You sat in silence, Jaehyun haphazardly cutting his steak. He refused to look at you.

           As you absentmindedly twirled your pasta onto your fork, Jaehyun finally spoke up. “I’m not perfect, and you’re not easy to work with either.”

           “Excuse me?” You couldn’t conceal your anger at this sentiment.

           Jaehyun met your gaze, eyes determined. “You had to control every part of the project. Had everything your way.”

           That, you had heard before. And you absolutely hated it. “We did well on the project because of me,” you said defensively. “Lest you forget.”

           The two of you went on bickering like this, angrily finishing your meals and drinks. The waiter hesitantly approached your table, and you demanded the check. The sooner you could leave, the better.

           Once paid, you managed to not storm out of the restaurant. But you wore a disgruntled expression and balled your fists.

           You reached your work parking lot, and instantly ejected yourself from the Tesla. It wasn’t until you reached your car, however, that you realized that you didn’t have your keys. Probably left it in the passenger seat.

           Angrily, you stomped back to Jaehyun’s space where he twirled the keys around his index finger. “I’m not letting you drive. You drank too much.”

           You gritted your teeth. “I sobered up plenty.”

           Jaehyun approached you and held a square device in front of him.  “Well, then you can prove it.”

           You yanked the breathalyzer from him, not bothering to ask why he had it. Made sense for someone like him. With a groan, you realized he was right. 0.1.

           Not wanting to admit it, you continued your enraged march to the nearby retention pond where a lone bench sat in front of the water. You crossed your arms, and bitterly stared at the water from there.

           Jaehyun followed you, leaning onto the back of the bench. “I didn’t know this place existed.”

           You laughed bitterly. “It’s because you never leave your desk. You’re always working. Always networking. Always trying something.”

           To your surprise, Jaehyun appeared to calm down from earlier. He regained his flawless demeanor. “It takes me a lot longer to do things.”

           Well that, that took you off guard. “Doing extra work,” you said, making a weak attempt to correct him.

           “No.” After a long pause, he asked, “Do you really hate me?”

           His tone made you feel some guilt. “Don’t you hate me?” you shot back, remembering his comments at the restaurant.

           “I don’t,” he affirmed. “I never have.”

           You considered that. In your college career, you made plenty of enemies with the same behavior. Those times, you ensured yourself, were valid. Those classmates never completed their work and simply didn’t care about the performance. You had been left with ten-page papers to complete on your own. You turned poorly written trash into works professors recommended for publishing. But you knew Jaehyun wasn’t the same as them at least.

           Behind Jaehyun, the sun had just begun to set. The sky lit up with orange and pink hues. “I shouldn’t have taken over the project,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. A part of you hoped he wouldn’t hear.

           “Oh,” Jaehyun said softly.

           You gave him a warning expression. “Do not let that get to your head. You came into this job with an agenda.”

           “Jesus Christ, Y/N,” Jaehyun groaned. “Where the hell are you getting these ideas from?”

           You couldn’t bear to look at him, imagining the smug look on his face as he basically told you that you were crazy. “People like you are always ruthlessly ambitious.”

           “And what am I like, then?” Jaehyun mused.

           Without skipping a beat, you explained, “Attractive, charming, overcompensating.”

           You could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head, and just knew his smug smile made another appearance. He chuckled and said, “Sounds like you.”

           “Funny,” you mocked. “Last time I checked; I’m only overcompensating less outwardly.”

           He joined you and took a seat on the bench, stretching his arm over the top of the bench. Only inches away from being on your shoulders. Disgusting. “You’re wrong.”

           Without prompt, he suggested a game of twenty questions. Jaehyun clarified his intent, stating that perhaps you misunderstood each other. Sensing your doubt, he held his pinky finger out and searched your eyes. You hesitantly connected your pinkies and brought your thumb to your lips, both promising to be truthful.

           “Do you think I’m good at my job?” you inquired first, eyes cast out to the sparkling pond.

           Almost instantaneously, Jaehyun firmly answered, “Yes.” You concealed your satisfaction, biting your lip to prevent you to smile. “Do you think I’m good at my job?”

           You replied almost as quickly, “Of course I do.”

           The questions got progressively less serious, some among the likes of favorite movies and which books you were currently reading. Somehow, you felt relaxed. Jaehyun didn’t feel like competition, but rather just a normal stupid boy. He let you have another try at the breathalyzer, and you felt relief in the .05 reading before you. At the same time, you wanted to remain beside him.

           “I don’t think I hate you anymore,” you conceded, accepting your words as truth. “If you stop coming off as perfect all the time.

           He let out a laugh, a sweet sound of joy and relief. “Hey, you come off as perfect too. You were just quiet around me.” With a devilish grin, Jaehyun ventured, “Is it because you think I’m attractive?”

           You glared at him from the corner of your eye. “Are you trying so hard because you find me attractive?” you challenged him.

           Jaehyun turned his body to face you. “That depends on whether it’s working.”

           Now games like these you didn't mind as much. A harmless game of chicken, testing your limits. Work had its difficulties, but boys? Easy. You cupped his cheek, amazed at how soft his skin felt to the touch. Your eyes met, beckoning the other to try something. "So, this is why you asked me if I was dating anyone?" you dared. "Under the guise of getting to know me and making small talk. I thought someone as perfect as you would have more...subtlety." You let the last word slip out of your mouth slowly. Registering his surprise, you continued, “I don’t forget things easily, hence why I’ve been able to hate you so long.”

           Jaehyun grinned cockily, placing your hand on his chest. You felt defined muscles straining against his button-down. Already, you figured his body would match the rest of his veneer. “You really have nerve being out here like this,” Jaehyun overserved, gesturing the office park a short walk away.

           “Oh, uncomfortable here?” you drawled playfully, then took his hand. “I know somewhere you may like.”

           You felt a wave of confidence wash over you, and you realized this what you assumed Jaehyun had always felt. Then you decided that you’d make it up to him one way or another. He followed you, only letting your hands detach as you got closer to the infamous “B” building you worked in. You noted his nervousness and gave him a reassuring smile. “Trust me,” you urged.

           Entering through the side door, you managed to avoid security. Your entry would appear on a log, but you could easily bristle over it and say that you forgot your laptop at your desk. Most of your coworkers avoided the stairs, so you led Jaehyun away from the elevator. Though, you had forgotten that you were wearing heels. You struggled up the steps by the second flight, clinging onto the railing for dear life. Jaehyun noted this, but said nothing as he swept you into his arms.

           “I wish you did on the first floor,” you joked. “Or maybe I could’ve just taken them off.”

           Jaehyun refused to let you down until you reached the fourth floor. Whenever you found yourself in a vulnerable state, you hid out beside the decommissioned wing. The unused nursing room featured its own bathroom and a small futon. Having visited the location so often, you knew that the cleaning staff rarely came by. You asked once and discovered that they only visit at the beginning of the month. No one else ever came by in your experience. It appeared that only you knew about this place, and now Jaehyun. “This is where you run away to,” he deciphered. “I always thought it was the café.”

           “I prefer privacy.” You leaned against the door as Jaehyun took in his surroundings. “And I wanted to go somewhere you couldn’t find me.”  

           He fell back onto the futon, looking at you in awe. “Just when I think I know you.”

           You fumbled for the lock behind you until you heard a distinct click. “Do you remember when you first met me? When I was so stupid and got lost?”

           Jaehyun rose, appearing concerned. “I didn’t know. I just thought you were cute.”

           He cornered you against the door, body close enough to feel your shaky breath. All that time just hating him when you could’ve been seducing him for the purpose of hindering his goals and ultimately find the truth much sooner. You wasted so much time, held so much resentment. In front of you, you saw a seemingly perfect boy study your movements, waiting. A position you would have never imagined yourself mere hours before. Yet, you saw it all in hindsight and perhaps always knew the truth. It was then that you decided that you didn’t want to play games anymore or mull over an agenda.

           Jaehyun angled his chin downwards, gazing into your eyes with a mix of emotions. Excitement, fear, desire. You kissed him, gently and slowly. More carefully, you wanted to know him in this way. Feel the way his lips moved against yours, his increasing heart rate. He rested his hands on your hips, gripping them as if he couldn’t support himself without them. Soon after, you wrapped your arms around his neck and gradually deepened the kiss. These moments you shared felt like high school, so unassuming and simple.

           You pulled away, resting your forehead on his. You caught your breath and entangled your fingers with his. “I’m sorry,” you murmured.

           He idled, drawing kisses down your cheek and neck. “For what?” Jaehyun ventured.

           “For not knowing you until now, and maybe still not knowing you.”

           With his thumb, he drew circles on the back of your hand. “Do you want to know more?” he asked, his voice quietly sultry.

           “Yes,” you whispered. With this admission, Jaehyun’s butterfly kisses became more daunting. He crashed his lips upon yours and held you closer. Your tongues soon met, messier and carelessly. Feeling daring, you ran your hand under his shirt, digging your fingernails against his abs. A bit lower, and you realized he was straining against his slacks. 

Jaehyun bucked under your touch, gasping against your lips. You gripped his clothed cock with more certainty than before and Jaehyun fumbled to reach your breast. Still against the door, you held each other. “We’re lucky this room is soundproof,” you commented, noting your precarious position. 

Not waiting for his response, you quickly undid Jaehyun’s belt followed by his zipper. You tugged his pants to his ankles and brought your attention to boxer-brief covered erection as you supported yourself on your knees. Laying a flat tongue against his balls, you drew a line from shaft to tip. He sucked in a sharp breath and watched you with hungry eyes as you finally removed the final layer of clothing. 

His erection sprung upwards, precum already forming. Zealously, you took the tip into your mouth and ran your tongue over the wet slit. You leaned back, seeing Jaehyun absolutely desperate as he stood over you. Continuing, you wet his dick with sloppy kisses. You wanted him to have everything, feel every part of your mouth. With one hand on the base, you craned your neck to take in more of him from the tip. You used your whole body to rock your mouth further down his dick. When he reached the back of your throat, you gagged slightly but didn’t care. Gently at first, he began to rock his hips. Becoming restless, Jaehyun held your head and pushed his erection further down your throat with messy thrusts. You looked at him with wide eyes, conveying for him to continue. 

Jaehyun instead picked you up as if you weighed nothing and placed you precariously on the couch. While naked from the waist down, you were still fully clothed. Wasting no time, Jaehyun ripped your blouse off - buttons and all flying wildly around the room. He pulled your bra cup down to reveal a nipple, to which he immediately pinched between his fingers. Already excited, he removed your black jeans and panties. Jaehyun lowered himself to your glistening pussy and brought a digit to his mouth before pushing it inside you. The penetration left you unwinding as he added another finger. He curled his fingers upwards, each push and pull hitting your g-spot. As you thrashed, he held you down with a firm hand, especially after he began sucking on your clit. In mere minutes, he brought you to your orgasm. You wished you had the words to describe the way you felt that immense pleasure, but nothing would ever be sufficient. 

Breathlessly you beckoned Jaehyun to the bathroom. “I have an IUD,” you confirmed. With your new found trust, you knew Jaehyun wouldn’t even attempt to sleep with you if he had an STD. There, you gazed at him from the mirror. Watched him approach you and run his hands up and down your body. He positioned one leg so that you were half propped over the sink and still standing on the other. Jaehyun’s dick teased your aching pussy as he dragged it from your folds to your clit to your entrance. Both facing the mirror, your eyes locked as Jaehyun pushed himself fully in you. You both drew in strained breaths. Once he ensured that you adjusted, he fucked you. Neither of you ever watched yourselves have sex, but you were even more turned on watching Jaehyun clutch onto your tit and whisper obscenities in your ear. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he growled, burying himself deeper in you. 

Jaehyun slowed his pace, suddenly lifting you and pushing you against the wall. He supported your entire weight as he fucked you there. 

“I’m going to ride you,” you said breathily, to which Jaehyun obliged immediately. He sat up straight on the futon, leading you to his cock once more. In that position, you put yourself to work. You bounced atop his dick, only stopping to grind your clit against his pelvis. You came unexpectedly, the sensation getting fucked and stimulating your clit becoming too much for you. Jaehyun and you both were surprised when a stream of liquid sprung out of you. 

With his mouth agape, Jaehyun looked at you. “You can squirt?”

Before that moment, you would’ve answered that no, you couldn’t squirt since you never had. Until then. He registered your shock and turned you so that your back rested against the futon. Jaehyun hovered over you, hair askew and face reddened. You imagined that you appeared the same. He kissed you, breathing “I don’t know how I got so lucky,” on your lips. 

Jaehyun unraveled quickly in this position, and you urged him to come on your tits. Following his orgasm, you attempted to clean yourselves up in the bathroom. “Everything smells like sex,” you observed, frivilously spraying Febreeze everywhere you could. Between futon cushions. The door handle, Jaehyun’s general direction. You didn’t realize you were shirtless until you saw a mess of buttons on the floor. 

A weak solution, but Jaehyun offered you his suit jacket. You’d have to walk out of the building crossing your arms and praying a nipple wouldn’t escape, but something. Once the room was clean, Jaehyun and you fine-tuned your own appearances in the bathroom. Neither of you looked refined or polished, but human. 

“I want more,” you admitted. 

At the same time, Jaehyun asked, “Can I buy you dinner?”

You shook your head. This version of Jaehyun, the one messily fucking you in an office nursing room, you preferred. “I just want to spend time with you.” 

Jaehyun smiled and agreed.

You left the room separately as to not arouse any suspicion. Jaehyun met you outside your car, once more carelessly spinning your keys. The sun had set by that time, leaving you both shrouded in moonlight. Despite the sun’s absence the air remained warm and inviting. “We’re going stargazing,” you decided. “After we change.” 

Jaehyun arrived at the agreed upon park first, sporting a loose shirt and Adidas joggers. You never had seen him dressed so casually. He already set up a blanket at the top of the hill and rested on his back. 

You wore a nearly identical outfit, and went without makeup. Normally, you hated it when your partners saw you without anything on. But you wanted Jaehyun to see this part of you, too. Despite living in a well-populated city, the stars appeared very clearly that night alongside a waxing crescent moon. 

“Do you think the managers set us up?” Jaehyun pondered, wrapping an arm around your waist as you joined him. 

“Without a doubt. And we’ll probably have to tell them about this at some point.”

And he kissed you again. How many times that night, you lost count. Looking at him, the image of the boy you met months ago flashed before your eyes. The one with the suit, the dashing smile, and dough-like dimples. You, a nervous wreck getting in her own way. 

You fell asleep on his shoulder that night, head buried in his neck as he snored quietly.  

[missjanjie]

Crash and Burn | Rosnali

this is a commission for @violetloves based off of this post from the other day - rosé is an established drag racer and denali is an up-and-coming talent, so obviously they're going to be rivals... or are they?

Ship: Rosnali Word Count: 1.2k Rating: E

comission info | ko-fi

“And coming in first place for the third race in a row, Rosé McCorkell!” Cheers from the crowd followed the announcement and continued through Rosé’s victory lap. Dubbed ‘Red-Hot Rosie’ due to both her red hair and propensity for getting on streaks of podium-placement races, Rosé was one of the hottest names in racing. Of course, being one of the only women in the game brought her an extra dose of attention.

However, it also meant she often had to field questions at post-race press conferences that her male contemporaries would never get. And as of late, there was one topic that kept coming up. “You’re set to race against up-and-comer, Denali Foxx next week. Should we be expecting the rumored rivalry between you two to come out in full force?”

At this point, Rosé couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “I’m going to lay these rumors to rest once and for all. There is no ‘rivalry’ between Denali and I. I haven’t even properly met her yet, but frankly, I welcome more women into the racing world. I don’t hold any more animosity towards her than I would any of my male competitors. That’s to say, of course, that I have no qualms about going out for drinks after I mop the floor with her.” She had to throw in a bit of trash talk - the media needed soundbites like that to stay interested.

The next morning, she awoke to a direct message on Twitter from Denali herself asking if she would be interested in getting lunch sometime before the race. Rosé agreed without hesitation, treating it like she was hanging out with a friend as opposed to a business meeting - no going through her assistant or manager, she simply wanted to finally meet the woman everyone kept bringing up to her.

While Rosé was waiting at the restaurant for Denali, she found herself feeling nervous. Maybe it was her desire to make a good first impression, or maybe it was because she was up all night stalking her Instagram and couldn’t get over how hot she is. And when she saw Denali walking towards her, those feelings multiplied tenfold. She stood up to greet her, biting back a smirk when she realized she had over a half-foot on her. “So nice to finally meet my sworn enemy,” she chuckled.

Denali grinned, tucking her hair behind her ear. “The feeling of loathing is mutual,” she winked and they shared a quick hug before sitting down. “So, I finally get to meet the famous Red-Hot Rosie,” she remarked, a playful smirk on her lips. “That your natural hair color?”

“You asking if the carpet matches the drapes?” she accused with a raised brow. “I mean, they do, but I don’t go around advertising it.”

She blushed, but tried to deflect with, “what, none of those guys on the track ever came at you with a line like that? Though I guess it wouldn’t matter to you, and, you know, same here.” While Rosé had openly discussed her sexuality in the media, Denali had chosen to carry on her life as openly gay without making any formal statements.

“Oh, I know,” Rosé told her, then realized she nearly exposed herself as having stalked her on social media, so she quickly followed up with, “I mean, I had a sneaking suspicion.”

“She’s got gaydar, huh?” Denali propped her elbow on the table and placed her chin on the palm of her hand. “I didn’t realize you were so perceptive.”

Rosé wanted to laugh, because if she were truly perceptive, she would know for sure whether or not Denali was truly flirting with her or just teasing her. But she was far too proud to ever admit something like that. “It’s always a skill worth having,” she hummed, lips pursed around the straw in her drink.

As the meal progressed, the connection between them was palpable, enough so that Rosé felt obligated to remark, “they’re not gonna make it easy for us to hang out like this once we start competing against each other, you know how it goes.”

Denali shrugged. “You said it yourself, there’s no rivalry between us, women racers ought to be allies,” she hummed. “Though I think you said something about mopping the floor with me, which I respectfully object to,” she winked.

Rosé chuckled softly, looking down and shaking her head. “I don’t recall.”

-

The race was highly anticipated and the reaction to Denali breaking Rosé’s winning streak by bumping her into second place was sure to be even stronger. But Rosé wasn’t bothered, in fact, she was impressed by her competitor’s skills and mulled over where she would go from there once she got to the locker room.

Having gotten so used to being the only one there, she made no attempt to make her presence known as she stripped out of her outfit. It was only after she’d finished undressing and turned to walk towards the showers that she remembered she had company.

Denali stood there with a towel wrapped around her body, trying not to stare outright. “I guess you really weren’t lying about being a natural redhead,” she joked to break the tension.

Rosé covered her mouth with her hand when she snorted with laughter. “I’ve gotten so used to having the place to myself, didn’t mean to catch you off guard,” she told her once she’d composed herself.

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” she assured with a soft laugh. “It’s a shame I just showered, I might be inclined to have you join.”

Her brow arched and her lips curled into a smirk. “I don’t think there’s any harm in getting extra clean,” she hummed, walking into the stall and beckoning Denali along with her finger, then backed her against the wall once they were together under the hot water. “I think you deserve an extra congratulations on your win.”

Denali could barely get out a reply before Rosé dropped to her knees in front of her and nudged her thighs apart before dragging her tongue along her pussy before circling her clit.

Rosé smirked to herself as she eased a finger into her, thrusting and curling it as she sucked on her clit, then added a second finger as well. Her free hand kept a steady hold on Denali’s hip, keeping her body steady as she skillfully worked her tongue and fingers, occasionally switching the positions of either to keep her on edge.

Perhaps it was the residual adrenaline from racing coupled with heightened adrenaline, but Denali found her orgasm approaching sooner than she expected, and barely managed to squeak out a warning before she came. “Fuck,” she exhaled, “now I really have a reason to keep winning.”

She chuckled softly as she got back to her feet and pressed a slow, deep kiss to her lips, her arms snaking around her waist. “Don’t worry, baby. I can always offer it as a consolation prize.”

“Guess the feud is still on, huh?” she teased.

Rosé smirked as she backed off to shower. “We gotta keep up appearances, baby. But that’s just gonna make what goes on behind closed doors that much more fun.”

[bre-meister]

9 &/or 10 (Dialogue Prompts) for cleon !! TY FOR FEEDING US

9. “I just wish things could have turned out differently between us, you know?” 

Mall trips were always...interesting. Perhaps it stems from the insanity that was his everyday life, but Leon always felt that doing things so mundane like going to the mall was kind of weird? But, weird in a good way. He wasn’t sure exactly how to describe it. D.S.O Agent Leon Kennedy wasn’t sure exactly how to feel about it as he stood surrounded by little tiny onesies and itty bitty tutus and headbands; cribs, strollers, changing tables, and more displayed on top of the shelves reaching up towards the high ceilings of the store. Well, that’s a lie, Leon did know how he felt - awkward, out of place even.

He wasn’t exactly sure why that was the case, especially considering this wasn’t his first rodeo so to speak. Though, last time Claire had done most of the shopping for the smaller things. His preparatory skills were mostly limited to ordering the bigger things online once Claire had picked them out and then assembling them after they had arrived. 

When his wife had asked him to come along this time - mainly to help wrangle little Izzy who had insisted on helping pick out clothes for her new little sister - Leon couldn’t say no. He had nothing else to do on an unnaturally normal Saturday and spending the day with his family sounded like heaven after spending the week doing paperwork. He just hadn’t anticipated the sheer amount of things they actually needed to get. Technically speaking, they should have all of the said items at home from when Isabelle had been little - and they did have some. Some of her baby things had been lost in a move a while back - a two-bedroom apartment in the heart of D.C was great for him and Claire but not necessarily for a little girl. The couple had also given away some things to one of Claire’s co-workers who had needed some baby clothes and such. They truly had not expected to have another child, what with their hectic lifestyle but Leon would be lying if he said he wasn’t extremely excited for the new baby.

So, things having been lost one way or another, they had to replace almost everything; which was fine considering Leon’s paycheck alone was enough for them to live fairly comfortably. Chris was always making snide comments about his “government money”, he might as well put it to good use. Which is how the small family found themselves in the non-descript baby store on an even less notable Saturday afternoon. But, despite coming in with two girls, Leon now found himself alone hence the unnecessarily awkward feelings. Claire and Isabell had stepped out for a short moment to find a bathroom, his pregnant wife needing to go nearly just as bad as their four-year-old. 

“Leon?” a voice called from the doorway of the store that leads out to the mall.

Leon looked up confused, that was the direction that his wife and daughter had disappeared to but that voice sounded nothing like Claire’s. Upon laying eyes on the source of the noise Leon felt his confusion shift to something else.

He hadn’t thought he could feel more awkward but somehow, he managed. Calling his name was a living ghost. Leon didn’t have much time to consider that oxymoron before the blast from his past in the form of an objectively beautiful woman entered the store and made her way towards him.

“Oh my gosh! It is you - Leon Kennedy. What’s it been, like five, six years?”

“Yeah,” Leon swallowed awkwardly, “something like that.” If he remembered correctly, it had been much longer than that.

As if coming to his senses, Leon suddenly realized how rude he was being - a former fling or not, Claire would have scolded him if she saw the way he was behaving now. He chuckled awkwardly to cover up how...awkward he was feeling. Quietly, Leon wished he could think of a word or a feeling that was not “awkward”.

“How have you been, Cindy?” He hoped she didn’t catch the upward lit of his greeting when he got to her name - he wasn’t exactly sure he’d remembered correctly.

“Oh ya know, working, shopping,” she gestured to the bags in her hands, “this and that. I’m good though, how about you?” If she noticed his hesitance at her name she didn’t let it outwardly bother her.

Leon looked around before answering, trying to see if he could spot Claire anywhere - no luck. Apparently, at this moment, Leon was two things: awkward and incredibly unlucky.

“Ya know, work, family, shopping,” he mirrored Cindy both in his statement and bodily actions. Motioning to the pack of baby bottles in his hands that he had been mulling over he hoped that Cindy would take the hint - Leon purposefully having emphasized the word family.

Yet again, if Cindy noticed she didn’t let it deter her. She placed a well-manicured hand on Leon’s bicep, gently squeezing all the while batting her eyes in what he assumed was supposed to be a sultry manner. Not many things could be taken as sultry when surrounded by pacifiers and burping cloths. 

“I was genuinely surprised when I saw you, and in a baby store of all places. Never would have thought of you as the settling down kinda man. Then, I thought that you were probably just shopping for a friend or a family member, ya know like a shower gift or something. I also thought you’d might want some help, ya know, a woman’s touch. So, here I am” 

At that the hand on his arm began to move up and down, those red-colored nails causing involuntary goosebumps to rise on his skin. Apparently, Cindy had been doing a lot of thinking in the last few minutes. Doing some thinking on his own, Leon came to the realization that he’d used to think he loved the color red on a woman. Now, he realizes that he loves the color red on one particular woman. 

Before he could get a word in to stop whatever was happening in its tracks, Cindy started up again. Her attention had shifted to the things on the self in front of him, finally removing her hand from his arm. That didn’t mean that she wasn’t done with her not so subtle come on though.

“Sometimes I just wish things could have turned out differently between us ya know? Maybe this could have been us together, shopping for our own baby,” Cindy let out a small laugh at her own imagined scenario. 

“I don’t.” He said confidently, happy that the awkward had finally made his way out of his system.

Apparently so had the unluckiness because as Cindy looked up at him, a confused frown on her face, any response she was about to formulate was cut short by a tiny body barreling into Leon’s legs.

“Daddy, Mommy and I saw the coolest candy store and she said that if I’m a good girl then we can go after we're done here! Are we done yet?” Isabelle let out, seemingly in one breath.

Leon laughed, both at his daughter's enthusiasm to curb her sweet tooth and at the look on Cindy’s face. He knew it was rude but the genuine shock was just too good to let slip and she was too wrapped up in said shock to notice.

“No baby girl, we are not done yet. Although trust me, I would much rather be in the candy store,” She looked to Leon as she approached, her next words directed towards him, “their chocolate display was pretty impressive.” 

Leon wanted to laugh at his two girls. Instead, he coughed a little, nodding his head discreetly towards Cindy - an action he knew only his wife would notice.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. How rude of me, I'm Claire and you are?”

Cindy had managed to pick up her jaw from where it had fallen on the floor but still seemed to be too stunned to speak.

“Claire, this is Cindy, an old friend of mine. We haven’t seen each other in a while so when she spotted me from the window outside she came in to say hi. Cindy, this is my wife, Claire, and my daughter, Isabelle.”

Isabelle waved shyly from where she had retreated behind her daddy’s leg. Leon felt that was a little odd considering usually Izzy was a boisterous little girl who loved to talk - even to strangers. Perhaps she was tired, or maybe Cindy just rubbed her the wrong way - he’d heard kids were perceptive like that. It certainly didn’t help that Cindy’s face had been akin to a fish what with all the open-mouthed gaping when both girls had returned. 

“It's wonderful to meet you, Claire.” the tone of her voice said that this meeting was anything but wonderful. 

Still, Cindy held out her hand and the two politely shook. Leon couldn’t help but notice Cindy’s gaze falling on Claire’s hand returning to her noticeable bump as they pulled away. What was left of the color in her face drained and at that moment, Leon could tell that the woman made a tactical decision to save whatever was left of her dignity. 

“Well, I just came in to say hi. Leon looked a little lost on his own but now that I see he is not alone I suppose I should continue on my way. I still have a few stores to hit before I can go home. Congrats, by the way.” Cindy motioned towards Claire’s midsection at her baby bump.

“Thanks,” Leon said, in unison with his wife. 

Cindy turned to leave, giving one more awkward smile before she left - funny how the tables had turned in that way. Leon almost felt bad for her. It was obvious by her comment that she was still searching for the peaceful family life that he was forever grateful he’d found with Claire.

 I just wish things could have turned out differently between us ya know?

That one statement carried so much weight. Leon knew that eventually, Cindy would find the one who was right for her, and together they could shop baby necessities until her heart's content. But, as for him, looking at his two girls fawn over pink and purple onesies meant for his soon-to-be girl number three, he couldn’t say he agreed. This is where he was meant to be - with them. 

He knew he’d do anything for them, follow them anywhere. Even, he thought, overpriced, extravagant, mall candy stores. Although he had to admit, Claire wasn’t wrong about the chocolate display, it was pretty impressive.