#i remember i was sitting with my whole body curled inwards

[yugocar]

anyway read this conversation that is ingrained into my mind from my first week abroad while i was living at an unofficial indie guy frat house:

guy 1: so why did you move here?

me: oh to study fine arts. you can’t do anything with it in belgrade

guy 1: cool

guy 2: cool

guy 1 turns to guy 2: can you do anything with a fine arts degree in the netherlands?

guy 2: more than you can in belgrade 

[bonezone44]

Soooooo how’s Uncle Ezra doing? Good? Is he busy? You know what? I bet his lap is cold. I better go sit on it, warm his lap up for him. 👀

Lol he’s on my mind 😏

LOL omg i love you. 🙏

He's not busy right now. He's watching a Law & Order marathon. 😂

tags: fingering, staying distracted

word count: 686

+++++++

"You wanna come warm my lap up, baby?" Ezra asks with his arm out wide--his middle fingers flicking inward and calling for you to approach.

You step around the coffee table in your thick, fuzzy slippers and settle yourself between his spread thighs. His body is warm against your back and you rest your head on his shoulder.

His broad hands slide up and down your bare arms. "These wintry temperatures are too harsh for your exposed skin, angel," he says into your ear with his breath burning hot down your neck. He takes the blanket from his shoulders and wraps it around your body as well, protecting you both from the cold damp air of the basement. His hands find your waist and you can feel his hardness pressing into your lower back, almost against your ass.

You feel yourself immediately get wet.

"There," he says. "How's that?"

"That's good," you smile and nod.

He squeezes into your flesh, hands following along the shape of your figure through your pajamas. He nods toward the TV screen. "That Jerry Orbach is a masterful actor," he says as one hand slips beneath your waistband and underwear. He cups your sex. "Did you know he was the voice of the candelabra in 1991's Beauty and the Beast?"

"No," you sigh and grip his knees.

"Mhmm." Ezra continues. "And here he is performing a no-nonsense New York detective." He huffs. "They call that 'versatility,'" he says as he slips his fingers into your wet folds. He makes no comment about your gasp. Merely slides his fingers up and around your throbbing clit. "Now Benjamin Bratt's portfolio does not express the same range as Jerry Orbach's own, but that is possibly due to type-casting or perhaps lack of opportunities considering Hollywood's well-known prejudice against actors of color."

You're half-listening to Ezra, half-watching the Law & Order interrogation scene, and half-lost in Ezra's fingers smoothly working you over. Your fingers dig into his knees through the thin cotton of his sweatpants.

"Oh hey! Look at that!" he says as he strokes your clit faster. "That's that woman from Alias--what's her name?"

"J-Jennifer G-garner," you say through panting breaths.

"That's right!" Ezra's laughter shakes your whole body. "Jennifer Garner."

You whimper.

"Wasn't she just in a movie, too?" he asks, smiling against your cheek as he dips two fingers inside of you.

You moan and roll your hips against Ezra's clothed cock. "Y-yeah," you sigh.

"What was the name of it?" he asks. "Uncle Ezra might wanna take you to the show later." He begins to curl his fingers inside of you.

Your body twitches and your breaths stutter. "Umm... Uh...." You want to come but you also don't want him to stop. "It's... It's called..." You whimper.

"It's called what?" Ezra turns his head to get a better view of your terse expression. He's all grins. He grabs your breast over your t-shirt and squeezes it in his hand. His finger gropes for your protruding nipple--pinching it once found.

"Th-th-thirteen Going on Thu-hurty," you manage to say, eyes flicking between his and the TV screen. There's a Tide commercial on now. You remember the large laundry basket up in your bedroom. It's full of clean clothes. You need to fold them and put them away already. You want Ezra's cock in your mouth.

"Thirteen Going on Thirty, huh?" he says. He presses his palm against your clit as he fingers you. Your body is writhing and his fingers curl faster inside of you.

The orgasm hits as a surprise--going white behind your eyes and you moan so loud that Ezra's hand shoots up from under the blanket to cover your mouth.

He shushes you softly. "I've got you." His hand between your legs offers a few slow strokes to your overstimulated clit. "I've got you." Your body trembles in heated waves. He wraps both arms around you and his mouth finds yours for a rough kiss of his lips and tongue.

"My special baby," he says after pulling back. "Uncle Ezra's favorite little niece." He kisses you again with only his lips.

+++++++++++++++++++++

[fountainpenguin]

"It's like a dagger hanging over my head... Every day is just the same; I always have to hang my head in shame..." (x)

---

New Criminal Experience chapter today!

Chapter 4 - “Marked”

Read on AO3

Start from Chapter 1

---

Impulse is in a fight. Mumbo didn't get to watch. After all, Skizz teleported him out of there before long. But while hiding in Skizz's spawn room, Mumbo realizes that a few very important "somethings" got left behind.

Skizz, however, seems oddly reluctant to poof back to look for them. Between that and the whole "Skizz is a wanted man" thing, it would seem these two have a lot to talk about…

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

Marked

Three seconds later…

---

Is this what it feels like to be… carried? To be held not like a package, but like a precious thing? Mumbo curls in on himself, shivering, and reaches for the sleeves of his robes. They aren't there. And his fingers aren't there because they don't exist. Or they do… but not in solid form. It's the idea of fingers, and the idea of Mumbo, and he's hurtling through a river like an arrow shot through stars. He has nothing to hold, and nothing to hold with… so he wraps himself around Skizzleman in his nonexistent way, and Skizz - who doesn't exist - pulls him closer with one arm.

They explode like bursting TNT. Blots of shadow and bright purple sparkles rain around them. Mumbo flops on a bed with a grunt. Is it a bed? He touches it, dragging his fingertips across the quilt. When he blinks, pink lanterns glow back at him. He's huddled in his own robes and silky black bedsheets. One arm clenches his stomach. His fingers curl through it, pinching skin.

Where am I?

It's… familiar, in a way he can't describe. There is something very comfortable about the walls pressing in all around. This room feels like a perfect cube. Is it perfect? Mumbo sits up, nice and slow, bracing himself with his palms. He breathes… He breathes through the pounding in his head.

"It's my spawn room," Skizz says behind him. Mumbo turns his head. Skizz stands in the far corner of the room, fingering the collar of his blue jumper. Mumbo almost makes eye contact, then remembers to drop his gaze. Skizz grimaces in reply. Long fingers pinch the hem of that sleeve. Mumbo watches that instead, just because he doesn't know what else to do with his eyes.

"We're… in the ender-spawn temple?"

"Yeah. You'll be safe here, buddy… No one can get in unless I bring them. Although I wouldn't recommend stepping through the door. I'm, uh… pretty sure that got griefed."

Mumbo's fingers curl tighter in the sheets. Skizz is staring at him with those big ol' eyes. He can feel them tracing up his back, but he can't just look… Or he shouldn't look, anyway. He cringes inward, breathing hard.

Deep breathes. Really, really deep breaths.

"This… this is your room? Isn't that, uhh… kinda…?"

Skizz's fingers fidget in the corner of Mumbo's eye. He takes a breath of his own. "Don't be like that…"

"Right. Yes. Just… a thing. That regular… buddies… do. Yeah. This is, um…." Oh dear…

He breathes again and takes a more careful look around. The room is lit by a single lantern of purple endflame. It's pretty… Much more contained in its little frosted glass than the bare soul sconces back in Little Sun. The glow is so low, Mumbo stares directly at it for several seconds before tearing his eyes away. He doesn't even need to blink to clear any spots from his vision.

This room is 5 blocks across and 5 blocks wide, just like his own spawn room back home. Taller, though, with a higher ceiling. That's only to be expected (body stereotypes and all). It's been cleared out of everything. Bare shelves. Empty trash bin. No clutter on the side table. Double-U stands in the corner, neck bent. Buzz nuzzles against her face with her soft little head.

"… It's quite nice in here, actually. What a lovely little place."

He's not been living here… He's making appearances. Where's all his supplies?

Skizz says nothing. Mumbo looks down at the bed he's kneeling on. The covers are mostly on the floor, like someone kicked them off in a hurry. He slides off the bed, right beside a pair of slipper. This is familiar. It's familiar in a way his beating hearts can stand, straining at his insides they may be.

Oh my goodness, I'm in another man's spawn room. Mumbo's eyelids twitch up. He leans forward, grabbing his hood, and drags it down over his face.

"Mumbles?" Quick little footsteps cross the room. Skizz's arms must be folded, because Mumbo can hear the lurching way he moves- the way his arms aren't swinging, jumper pressed tight like he's holding back a wound. "Talk to me, buddy. Are you hurt? If anybody hurt you, Impulse and I can mess 'em up."

"… N-not that this isn't charming, but can we go somewhere else?"

"Somewhere else?"

Mumbo closes his eyes. He listens to noises outside the spawn room. It sounds like people are moving through the hall, mostly zinging back and forth as they poof away. No one's yelling, though. The glow of the default lights will indicate the room is occupied, but there's nothing to be done about that.

"… Um. Well, this is awkward. Did you not see my wanted poster? I'm a marked man, dude."

"Yes, but… Skizz, this is really very…"

"Hey." Skizz lowers himself, reaching for Mumbo's face. Mumbo flinches back, knuckles tight around his hood. He keeps his face away, keeps his eyes down, and tries not to look at him. Even when his eyes are glowing and it's very, very tempting to look at him right now. "Look, it's… I know it's not super-duper-pooper-scooper, but I'm still your bodyguard. I'm not- I'm not gonna, like, disintegrate you."

"Skizz, that's not- That's not the part that worries me, dude…"

Skizz pauses, breathing against Mumbo's hair. "That doesn't worry you?"

"I mean, yeah! I mean, I'm glad you led with that, but…" I wasn't afraid you'd rip me apart to bulk up your form. You didn't give me that impression. Mumbo's fingers tremble anyway. He removes his satchel. This moves his elbows, forcing Skizz to back off just a hair without being real offensive. "Dude, this is your spawn room. You… You have full control of every pixel in here. I don't think it's a good idea…"

Skizz does not touch him. His hands float in empty space and Mumbo can pick up on the hot glow of his eyes even through his crunched-up eyelids. "I'm sorry… But it's the only place we can be safe. I know it's… Like, yeah, there's some really messed up stuff that could happen in here… but I'm not gonna dooo that. You're safe with me, Mumbo. I promise."

[Cnt'd on AO3 - Link at top]

[sockablock]

hey are requests still open bc I am still FULLY CRYING about Molly coming back to life holy SHIT. I have a thing I want to request and that’s Molly having to come to terms with whatever changes his body went through - new blood hunter abilities, longer hair, the much larger scar from Lucien’s v gory death - after he comes back to life.

Molly doesn’t ask what happened to Nott. He doesn’t ask them where they are. He doesn’t even ask who Essek is, and only gives Caduceus a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning away and wandering off.

His feet are bare on the soft teal grass. This time of year in the Blooming Grove, faint glowing insects hover around his ankles. The leaves of the old blue wisteria trees hang like a sheet across the sky. He is wrapped in a cloak of quiet moonlight, grey on the graves as he passes by.

Eventually, he comes to a lone headstone. It is long, and flat, and smooth. He sits down.

If he is different in any way, nobody says. It’s taken him a few days to find his words again, and it’s clear that his memories are still trickling back. Veth had joked that he used to be more entertaining, but they all know that his returning in any capacity is already nothing short of a miracle. To the Mighty Nein, he is still as miraculous as before.

To himself—to Mollymauk, he thinks he’s a bit leaner. He’d never really been one for rigorous training—not aside from what it took to throw a sword and catch it—and yet, this body seems hardened, now. It’s still a bit sore in some inconvenient places, and the tall one, Caduceus, mentioned that he shouldn’t do anything too strenuous to avoid opening his scar. This newest mark runs like a seam down his shoulder to his navel, making the rest of his scars look like paper cuts. He isn’t exactly sure how to feel about that, yet. Beau offered to help him design a tattoo to cover it, and he isn’t sure how to feel about that yet, either.

A faint breeze runs through the Grove, tousling his hair. It’s longer now, and Molly might have liked that more if he’d been around to enjoy it. He suspects that he might have been, in one way or another, though not nearly present enough to make the executive choices. Otherwise, he might have tried braids. Maybe hair dye. Not  only that, but the...what had Caleb called him? The “previous occupant” had taken off Molly’s horn charms and necklaces. For the second-life of him, Molly can’t remember if he’d kept them. He can’t remember much about the last ten months—which might be alright. He doesn’t know if he wants to.

(He does remember some things, though. He remembers taking his shirt off the first night at the Grove and seeing the other scar left behind. It is closed now, and healed well over with blood magic, but when Molly reaches up and traces it down, he can feel how the cut drips into his abdomen. He remembers how it felt to have the blood pouring over, to boil with fury and die of shock, under the stars.)

He looks at them now. They haven’t changed a bit.

Another wind kicks up. Molly isn’t sure exactly what time of year it is, but he shivers. The Clays are kind, but the whole family towers over Molly, so their spare clothes fit him poorly. Firbolgs are also—well, furred—and Molly suspects that this borrowed tunic is on the thin side. His tail curls inward as he realizes he’s going to sneeze. He feels his muscles tense, he breathes in—

And suddenly, something warm is draped across his shoulders. He glances up.

“Oh. Yasha?“ His voice is strained. It feels as if Molly hasn’t spoken in a year, but at the same time, he feels like his throat is worn. Almost like he’s been giving frequent speeches with wild abandon. Now that he’s had some time to recover, the combined effect sounds like someone trying to remember how to talk, but only being allowed to do it through a rusty pipe.

“Come to join me in my musings?” he still says, stubbornly.

“She’s not the only one. ‘Sup.”

Molly doesn’t have to turn to know that Beauregard has walked into the rows of graves just behind Yasha. The two of them have been pretty attached to each other lately, except for when Yasha comes to check on Molly. The strongest part of him, the part that hung on the longest, is privately quite pleased by this.

“And you’ve given me your cloak.” He grins, but just at Yasha. “How kind of you, my dear.”

Okay, so not that privately.

“I was worried you’d be cold,” Yasha says, concern endearing. “Sorry your old coat wasn’t doing better. Jester says she can probably Mend it, or try to paint you a new one—“

Molly waves his hand. “No, no need, dear. I should do it. It’ll give me a thing to work on.”

Yasha nods. “I’ll let her know.”

Distantly, Molly can hear footsteps approaching. He counts four, maybe five pairs, if one of them is lighter. After a moment, there’s the sigh of cloth, and six pairs are walking.

Movement joins Molly on the headstone. He turns, and now Beau is seated beside him. Yasha stands like a guardian at his back.

Both of them are much, much wearier, Molly notices. Even though it’s been less than a year since his “death,” Beau is riddled with new scars from combat, and Yasha’s tattoos have gotten much bolder. Oddly, that’s reassuring.There’s something in the fact that Molly’s body changed, but theirs did too. And even if he can’t remember it, that’s something they have in common.

On the other hand, though, it makes him feel...he shakes his head. He gazes outward.

He asks, “Why did you follow me, then?”

Beau responds first. She does so with a snort. “Of course we’d follow you, you idiot. You were our friend—or...okay, technically, at the time you’re actually a crazy cult leader—“

“No, I meant—“

She cuts him off. “Right, yeah, details. Not important. Listen, it...it was a whole long thing, and it was complicated, but the important part is that we really, just really wanted you back. That’s why we did any of it. All of it. And why nothing could stop us.”

“Not even me?”

“Hell, no. Since when could you stop me?”

Molly chuckles at that. He glances at Yasha. “Is that true?”

“Which part?” she says. Then she says, “Yes. It is.”

He matches the tiny smile on her face. Then he turns back to stare at the woods past the graveyard while behind him, the rest of the Mighty Nein come to a halt.

His smile widens. “What I was actually trying to ask, though, is why you all followed me here. Just now. I thought you were going to prepare for dinner?”

“My parents took over,” Caduceus says. “They told us to take a break.”

“Besides!” With a burst of jewelry and her flouncing skirts, Jester squeezes onto the other end of Molly’s headstone. “We wanted to spend more with you!”

“Now that you’re interesting again,” adds Nott, taking a seat at the base of the stone with Fjord. He reaches up to wink at Molly, “Hey, roomie.”

“I thought I should get to know you as well,” says the new voice. Molly remembers that his name is Essek. “We, ah...we are both purple, so that is something we already have in common.”

Molly laughs at that. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Caleb. “It’s like there are two of you now. Like your shadow. Or a duplicate.”

“I am still the funny one,” Caleb says. “I plan on defending that title. Even from you.”

Molly laughs again, and this time, he does turn. He can see that the whole group have gathered around him now, sitting beside him, standing behind him, in the grass.

They are all so tired. They are all much stronger. Molly has gathered from the scars on their bodies—as well as from the scars on his own—just how powerful they must be now. He knows that he isn’t the same, either. Sometimes his blood feels like its boiling. Sometimes he is moving, and he can swear that it’s through snow.

But the Mighty Nein are here. There are nine of them, now. And that, he thinks, in and of itself, must be a miracle. And as he looks at them now, drinking their presence in, he thinks...

Maybe some things haven’t changed, after all.

—

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

[blu-joons]

When You Get Clingy ~ Min Yoongi

Your eyes lit up as soon as you saw Yoongi walk down from the stage, wrapping your arms around his frame. You didn’t care about the sweat, or how warm he was, despite him trying not to get it all over you as he hugged you back.

It was your first show of the tour, and as always, you were by far impressed with everything that they managed to achieve. Each show took your breath away as if it was your first time seeing them all live and on stage.

You could barely let Yoongi go as the rest of the boys filled off the stage, offering warm smiles at the interaction between you both. Yoongi’s lips rested against the top of your head, loosely moving his arms around you to try and keep you dry.

Eventually, he took a hold of your hands and tried to unwrap them from around him, much to your disapproval. “I need to go and get sorted, the sooner I’m ready, the sooner we can head back to the hotel and get out of this place.”

Your head nodded, with a soft pout forming on your face, which Yoongi quickly pressed a kiss too.

As he began to walk down to the dressing room, you picked up into a jog, reaching to take a hold of his hand. “I’m all sweaty,” Yoongi reminded you, but your shoulders shrugged back in response.

He could only manage a chuckle at how keen you were to be beside him, tightening the grip that he had on your hand. As you walked, you began to swing your arms back and forth, staring across at him every few moments with a smile.

“I can feel you watching me,” Yoongi teased as he felt your eyes glancing across at him yet again, “anyone would think you’ve never seen me before.”

“I just think you look handsome right now,” you responded.

His eyes glanced questionably across at you. He was exhausted, his hair was a mess, most of his makeup had come off, he failed to see how any part of him could attract you right now.

“I don’t,” he tried to argue, but your head shook immediately back at him. “Look at you, and then look at me. There’s no way that you can tell me that I look handsome right now, especially when I’m walking next to you.”

Your eyes rolled as he left you speechless, feeling the corners of your mouth turn up into a smile at yet another sweet compliment from him.

“I guess your silence means that I win,” he sniggered, nudging his hip into yours. “I’m glad you can see that you’re the better looking one of the two of us.”

“That’s definitely not true, I refuse to accept that.”

His eyes rolled as you suddenly found your voice, “just accept it, without arguments, and sit back whilst I get myself sorted to head back to the hotel,” he spoke, guiding you to one of the chairs as you reached the dressing room.

“Be quick.”

His head nodded, quickly grabbing his change of clothes, walking into the bathroom to get himself changed and strip himself of his makeup. When he came out, you’d already packed up his bag for him, keen to head off as quickly as you could and get away from the boys.

You impatiently waited whilst Yoongi finished off all the bits he had to do for the fans, signing a few photos, filming a video to go up on their social media, and taking a group photo with all the staff who worked at the arena to remember the show.

Once all of that was done, you had your hand in his, pulling him out of the dressing room and down the corridor to the carpark. Yoongi soon found himself quickly walking to try and keep up with you, following your demands for him to follow.

The entire drive back to the hotel was nervy for him as you drove as quickly as you could to be able to get back to your own space and enjoy having him to yourself for a while.

As soon as you got into your hotel room, you pushed Yoongi aside, making sure that the door was locked so that management couldn’t get in and disturb you.

His arms wrapped around your waist as soon as the door was shut, pulling you back until you both fell onto the bed. As needy as you were for company from him, Yoongi was just as, if not more, needy for some time with you as well.

He’d spent weeks travelling without you, that when the time came to finally be able to be with you again, he couldn’t snap it up quick enough. He didn’t care about your arms and legs being tightly wrapped around your body, or the feeling of your lips constantly pressing to your cheek., it was just nice for him to feel loved again.

Above all else, he was thankful for you being so close to his side, because with it, he knew that he’d be lost. He didn’t care if others looked at the two of you at times and thought that maybe together you were too much, because what you gave was exactly what he needed, and that was all that mattered to him.

“I want to stay here forever,” he whispered softly into your ear.

“Well, I have locked the door.”

“You know what I mean,” he laughed, “time with you always just feels so precious, even if you refuse to let me go. I just wish we had more times like this sometimes where I could let you be by my side and never feel like I have to let you go.”

“Think of it this way, I cling to you because we don’t get many times like this together. If I was with you all the time, I’d probably get sick of the sight of you.”

His eyes rolled, bringing his hand around your waist to tickle into your side gently. You quickly reacted, swatting his hand away from your side before you felt a loud giggle escape from you.

“I really feel like I don’t tell you enough how thankful I am for having you by my side,” he whispered across to you, “there’s so many things that I want to tell you, but most of the time I just don’t feel like I have the time to say it to you.”

“Why don’t you try now? We’ve got the whole night together,” you reminded him.

His head nodded, smiling just at the thought. “The night still won’t be enough, but I just want to make sure that you know that I never want you to change. The you that you are right now is perfect, and I don’t ever want you to leave my side.”

Your grip around him tightened, with words failing you, you opted instead to press several kisses against his cheek, curling your body further inwards so that you were tucked up tightly against his side.

“I’ll never leave your side,” you whispered into his ear once you began to feel yourself settle, “as long as you promise not to leave mine either.”

His head nodded, “I’ll be right here with you, and I want you right here with me, because together, we make quite the time.”

“We’re the best team,” you acknowledged, “which is probably why everyone else hates us,” you laughed.

“They’re only jealous,” he assured you.

“Who wouldn’t be?”

---

Masterlist

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: What We Don't Know Can't Hurt Us

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Librarian!Reader (cishet female) meet-cute

Warnings: No warnings really, some language and mention of masturbation and sex. Reader doesn't like kids. Yearning. Frankie is a TOTAL DILF SWEETHEART. Sad ending.

Summary: Reader is a librarian who has to temp at the kids' section desk from time to time which is a pain because she doesn't like kids. And who is a regular if not a very hot, scruffy-looking dad with the very polite and mild-mannered daughter? Sparks fly but some things maybe aren't meant to be.

Words: 5,155

a/n: Just to be clear, this one doesn't end well. I just wanted to write something sad, I guess.

Oh, shit, there he is again. The Hot Dad.

You straighten a little in your chair and once again curse the fact that you’re working in the children’s section at the library: the only desk that isn’t adjustable. You prefer to do your service desk duties standing up, not only for ergonomic reasons but because you hate how patrons look down on you – literally – when you’re seated by the desk. Also, you tend to slouch and it’s not an attractive look. And at the kids’ section, you’re all supposed to work on the same level as the little tykes. And you’re not particularly keen on those.

You are, however, keen on hot dads. God knows you only get them once in a blue moon and if they show up, it’s usually in tow of a whole clan of children and a wife. But this dad has been in once before when you’ve had desk duty and you saw him stop at the shelf for picture books about divorce and pick out a few. You also heard him tell his little girl that she shouldn’t bring the books she chose to her mom’s. Divorcee, so fantasizing was even more allowed – although he probably had a girlfriend. Guys like that always do.

“You don’t want to lose them, sweetie,” he had explained patiently to his daughter. “You can keep them in your room at my place but if you take them to your mom’s there’s a risk you lose them and that means I have to pay for them. You see, we’re only borrowing these books, that’s what you do in a library.”

You had smiled an inwards smile when listening to him. There was nothing you loved more than parents who actually seemed to understand that all the material in the library was free at one simple condition: return it in time, in the same condition as you borrowed it. A lot of people did not seem to grasp this and made a huge deal when they failed to meet these conditions and were faced with late fees or even had to compensate for lost books. But when parents who knew how to use a library include their offspring, explain how it all works for them, well, that’s how you foster a new generation of good library patrons.

This dad did just that. And he was very careful with the books, prompting his daughter to be the same. Every book she pulled out of the stacks, he helped her put back in the right place. That’s practically marriage material right there and it was enough to make you weak at the knees, to be honest. After almost ten years working in a public library, you were disillusioned about people in general and their intelligence in particular. Sure, you liked your job enough to not cry in the mornings when you had to leave bed, and you did enjoy the work itself (mostly), but… having to deal with people was exhausting. Having to deal with little people even more so, and the worst was having to deal with adult people who had little people with them. Parents.

Hence your absolute obsession with Hot Dad who was soft-spoken, really good with his kid, understood to appreciate the library and its services, nodded his hello to you when passing by the desk, didn’t make a mess, clearly read to his kid regularly and encouraged her to read for herself. You just didn’t get to see people like that so often, and it triggered your interest. You allowed yourself to daydream about him.

Francisco Morales. You remember his name from his last visit, when he and the kid came up to the desk with their haul. You always encouraged patrons to use the self-service check-out (the less you had to do deal with them, the better), but for this guy you were more than willing to go the extra service mile, even with the kid staring at your every move from across the desk as you registered all the loans. You silently gave her plus points for not trying to “help” like some kids did, and for the quiet but clear Thank you she gave you without prompting from her father.

You’re busying yourself with the returns, loading them onto a cart, when you hear a soft, deep voice go Excuse me behind your back. You twirl around and see Morales, pulling his baseball cap off his head to reveal curls that would make any hair model cry of envy.

“Sorry to bother you,” he offers. Take me now, you think to yourself but instead, you give him your brightest customer service smile, the one you rarely give patrons.

“No worries, how can I help?”

“We’re looking for picture books about farm animals. You don’t happen to have those separated? I noticed you have some subject areas separated.” He gestures back towards the picture book stacks where his daughter is quietly perusing.

“We don’t, but I think we have some Julia Donaldsons available, let me come and have a look.”

You don’t always offer. With most patrons, you’d tell them to look under D for Donaldson and then smile sweetly and ask them if they’re okay to do it themselves. You can’t do everything for everyone, that way they’ll never learn. But for Francisco Morales and his well-behaved little girl, you’re absolutely willing to make an exception.

There are some Donaldsons that the girl, whose name you learn is Sofia, eagerly accepts when you present her with them.

“I love fawm animals,” she sighs happily as she browses the first one. “Do you?”

“Who doesn’t love animals?” You make the effort to small talk although communicating with kids usually makes you awkward.

“What’s youw favowite? Mine is bunny. And howses. And lambs.”

“Goats! I love goats, they’re so cute and sweet and playful.” You almost add something about goats being the devil’s favorite animal as well but manage to stop yourself in time.

“Is there something else you want to ask the librarian?” Morales asks his daughter. “If not, I’m sure she has a lot of work to do, and we shouldn’t keep her any longer.”

“I’m here to help,” you shrug and give him a little smile: not a polite, impersonal one that you’d give a patron, but a more intimate one. A flirty smile. “You just need to ask.”

The smile he gives you back is warm and grateful, and you realize that he doesn’t have different facial expressions for different people. He doesn’t work in customer service because if he did, he’d know the difference. Not that you ever thought he worked in retail or anything like that, well, maybe a hardware store, but no. He just doesn’t seem like the type. The way he moves his body suggests something a lot more physical.

Oh, you’d like to get physical with him, alright…

All the sucky library-themed pick-up lines flash through your head. Can I check you out as an overnight loan? Can I insert my private collection into your empty stacks? My reference desk or yours? Am I being too loud, well, you’ll just have to shush me with your lips. You’re like an overdue library book because you have fine written all over you.

Worst part is, if Hot Dad Morales tried any of these on you, you’d probably forgive him and go for it. Maybe. You’re really not that simple, but a girl can dream, right?

The kid thanks you and you return to the relative safety of the desk and the mundane task of alphabetizing returns. You need to calm the fuck down and act professional. Daydreaming is fine but you’re barely toeing the line.

God, you need to get laid. As if that’s something that one can remedy just by walking into a store and ordering a medium dick with a side of hands and tongue.

📚📚📚

The next time you see Francisco and Sofia Morales, you’re taking your lunch break in the small park outside the library. It’s a sunny day and you didn’t fancy sitting in the breakroom with your salad, listening to colleagues talking about who cares what. So you took your lunch box, fork, and water bottle, and went to sit on the park bench the furthest away from the swing set and sandbox. The weather is nice and you enjoy yourself and your break from the library’s chat service. You never know what you’re gonna get when you work the chat: a stupid question about opening hours which anyone could google the answer to, or something more complicated like requests for books with partial or no titles, rarities, or subject areas that you don’t know much about. That’s when you get to use your whole competence and really dig deep, think outside the box, solve problems. You love it but it’s challenging at times, and takes a lot of energy. Your outdoor break is welcome.

“Hi!”

You hadn’t noticed the girl walking up to you and the greeting startles you.

“Oh, hi.”

“We’we wetuwning the animal books,” Sofia informs you seriously. You have to smile.

“Good job. You want more of those or something else this time?”

“Mowe. Will you help me find some?”

“I’m not working the desk at the children’s section today but my colleague there will absolutely help you. Just ask her.”

Now you see Morales walking towards you from the swing set, carrying the large, flowery canvas tote that says “book bag” he always brings to the library.

“Hello,” he nods with that warm smile that he definitely gives everyone. “Sofia, don’t disturb the lady on her break. I’m sure she wants some peace and quiet before she has to go back to work.”

Jesus fucking Christ. How does this man just know shit like this?

“I’m sowwy,” Sofia immediately offers. “I wanted to say hello.”

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” you allow, although technically, he’s not wrong. “I’m almost done. It was nice to see you. I hope you have a good visit to the library.”

“Thank you!” She skips along and Morales chuckles as he takes off his baseball cap and scratches his head, swipes his long locks out of his forehead, then puts the hat back on.

“You’re her favorite, you know,” he tells you. When you raise your eyebrow, not comprehending, he hurries to elaborate. “Of the librarians. She says you’re the best.”

“Thank you, but whatever for?” You know you do a good enough job at your usual position and that your regulars appreciate you, but you are also very aware of not being at your finest in the kids’ section.

“You have to ask her,” Morales grins as he looks out for his kid, who has returned to the swing set and is pumping her legs on the swing, brows knitted in concentration. “But she’s very taken with you. I think it’s because you’re very calm and focused with her.”

Calm and focused??? You almost laugh out loud. That’s everything you’re not when you’re at the kids’ desk.

“Thanks,” you manage, because you have to say something.

“She’s also really interested in your tattoos and I definitely think she wants to get her nose pierced now,” Morales goes on. “I told her that we don’t comment on people’s appearance, but just a heads up, she might ask you about those.”

Ah, the unpredictability of children.

“I appreciate it.” You really do. You don’t mind talking about your tattoos or the septum ring you have but if a kid suddenly asks about it, you’d rather be prepared.

“Anyway, sorry to intrude on your lunch.”

“No worries,” you reassure him. “You can… sit down for a while if you want to? I have ten minutes left.”

Your heart beats faster at your proposal. It’s not exactly appropriate but you just want to enjoy his company for a moment. And discreetly sniff him because he smells so fucking good, woodsy and smokey but with a hint of… vanilla? You’re terrible at recognizing smells but it reminds you of some aroma reeds you had a couple of years ago that smelled like a wood cabin with vanilla sugar spilled on the floor. You loved it but like everything you love, it was discontinued.

Morales looks over at his daughter before nodding, the book bag slipping down from his shoulder as he places it next to the bench.

“If you’re sure?”

“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”

He likes your straightforward answer, you can tell from how his eyes crinkle a little and how relaxed his body language is when he sits down.

“I’m Frankie, by the way,” he says, like he just remembered that introductions are a normal part of human interaction. He extends his right hand to you and as you accept it and tell him your name, you can’t help but marvel at how huge his hand is. Big, warm, slightly damp but not in a weird way.

“Nice to meet you, Frankie.” Frankie. Francisco Morales is Frankie. It suits him better than Francisco, to be honest.

“And that’s Sofia.” He points to the girl who seems content swinging by herself. You realize you’re expected to say something nice about her to the proud dad.

“She seems sweet.”

“Yeah, she’s awesome. And she loves coming to the library, it’s all she talks about when I have her.” He clears his throat and adds: “Her mother and I got divorced quite recently. I only get her five days every other week.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Shit, it’s divorce and custody talk from the start. You have no idea how to respond to that.

“That’s life,” he shrugs, “but I figured that going to the library every time I get her could be a good routine to ground her. And then we have books that we can read together for her entire stay.”

It’s definitely a good routine as far as you can tell.

“When I was between nine and thirteen years old, my dad would take me to the local library every Monday evening,” you tell him, smiling at the memory. “My dad never opened a book in his life but he patiently read the auto and tech magazines while I collected half the kids’ section with me. When I went to tell him that I was done, he always pretended to object to the amounts, but then he’d help me carry it all to the car.”

As you tell him this, you’re looking at him, no, staring at the patchy, grey-splashed beard he’s sporting. It’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. What’s the story there, why doesn’t it grow evenly? Is this a thing? You don’t have enough experience in the field of facial hair. Is it genetic? Is it always like this?

He keeps looking at his daughter as he listens to you with a small smile on his face, clearly enjoying your little anecdote.

“That’s lovely,” he says, turning his attention back to you when you’re finished. “Dads and daughters, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

You pick up your phone to check the time. Shit. You have to return to the chat.

“I gotta go. Lunch break’s over.”

You collect your things and stand up, brushing off your skirt. Frankie stands up as well and picks up the book bag.

“I’ll see you in there?”

“I’m not a the desk today.”

“Oh.” He seems disappointed, his eyes flickering from you to the ground. “That’s too bad.”

“And the kids' section isn't my primary department.”

“The bad news just keep on coming, don't they,” he jokes as the two of you start to walk towards the entrance. Sofia jumps from the swing and comes running.

“She's not at the desk today, daddy,” she tells Frankie precociously.

“I know, mija. We'll have to ask someone else about the animal books, okay?”

Sofia doesn't seem too happy with this solution but nods. You take your leave before she has the opportunity to ask about your body modifications, and disappear through a door marked “Staff Only”.

📚📚📚

The following weeks you seem to see Frankie everywhere. You run into him at the supermarket and get drafted into advicing him on what cereal to buy for his kid. “Something healthy, but good so she'll actually eat it.” How the hell should I know? you want to scoff, but you're simping for him enough to help him choose something you'd never in a thousand years touch yourself. You see him in town one afternoon when you're running errands and he suggests you grab a coffee - holy hell, in your book that's a fucking date - but you decline as kindly as you can, citing a busy schedule when in fact you're mostly just scared out of your mind. The daydream is becoming a little too real and you're absolutely not ready for that, especially not because of the kid. If it wasn't for Sofia, you could have dared the leap, but dating a guy relatively fresh out of a marriage, and with a kid to boot? No, that's asking for trouble and you don't want trouble.

One afternoon at the kids' desk, you once again get to help Sofia find books, this time on sharks.

“She went from farm animals to sharks in one week,” Frankie confides in you when the girl is sitting quietly in a reading nook, carefully studying every page and occasionally widening her eyes at what you suspect is pictures of shark teeth. “It's sharks this and sharks that. She asks if there are sharks in every body of water she sees, from the pond in the park to the ditch outside my parents' house.”

“Have her watch Jaws and she will never want to think about sharks ever again,” you suggest, earning a laugh although the idea was probably a little bit on the morbid side.

“Maybe, but that would probably scar her for life. I actually want her to learn how to swim.”

“Then best not.”

You pick up a couple of books someone else left behind on a table and make a gesture that says I have to re-shelve these, come with and Frankie follows you to the right shelf.

“You know, she talks about you as her friend at the library.”

Now, some people would find that adorable but you don't. You're not friends with this kid, you're in a position where you could possibly influence her keenness to literature and literacy but you will always risk critique from her guardians. Being a children's librarian is like a hybrid between being in customer service, and being a teacher. You get to form young malleable minds but you are always subjected to criticism, even when you've done nothing wrong. Kids are patrons, like adults, and to have them see you as friends is only going to complicate things.

“That's nice,” you reply carefully, not really sure what else to say. It's so hard to talk to parents sometimes, one wrong words and you're basically Satan, you can't know because you don't have kids yourself, how dare you not worship the ground my offspring just vomited all over?

“You're definitely her favorite librarian.”

That you can take. You have a couple of adult patrons who come in regularly and prefer to get their reading recommendations from you. They always have time to discuss literature and they bring you a box of chocolates for Christmas.

“Well, she's easy to help. She always knows what she wants and she's polite. And quite easy to please,” you smile, meaning every word. You don't mention that the only time you like kids is when they're like Sofia is right now: reading quietly in a corner, handling the books with care.

“You're my favorite librarian as well,” Frankie adds, and now that sweet smile he's always wearing when you see him is shy. There's definitely a red tinge on his cheekbones as well and it makes you want to lean forward and kiss him on his goddamn mouth with that goddamn full lower lip that he sometimes sucks into his mouth or fucking licks...

“How many librarians do you know?” you ask and manage to sound easy-going, or at least you think so. The laugh Frankie produces is low and rolling and it makes your stomach coil in on itself. Fuck him and that deep voice he rode in on!

“Got me there. It's basically you and Mrs Wilkerson, the school librarian who scared the shit out of me when I was in elementary school. She made sure I didn't step foot in a library until, well, now.”

“Oh, I so wanted to be a librarian like that when I was a kid!” You grin at Frankie's horrified expression. “No, no, hear me out! I always had this idea that those librarians led these super rich, fulfilling lives as night-time vigilantes or that they were actually millionaires who spent their free time floating around in pools with fancy drinks in hand.”

“Were you... a normal child, besides these illusions?” Frankie teases you and before you can stop yourself, you're slapping his arm playfully. Like a girlfriend would. Or someone more intimate than a Favorite Librarian, at any rate.

“I'll have you know that the voices in my head are saying that we had a very normal and healthy childhood,” you reply with as much dignity as you can muster, while desperately wishing for the phone to ring or another patron to ask for your help. But no, the ones present seem to be managing on their own - except for one mom who seemed to have overheard your joke because she is now staring at you with hesitation in her eyes.

It's Sofia who comes to your rescue with her request of being taken to the bathroom. By the time she and Frankie are done there, your colleague has come to relieve you of your duties at the children's section.

📚📚📚

You knew of course that it was coming. You may not be that experienced in the terms of dating and relationships but you weren't stupid and you had some experience: Frankie was going to ask you out. It had to happen. Technically, it had already happened that afternoon in town when he asked you out for coffee. He maybe didn't see it as a date, but you certainly did.

It happened when you had just started your shift in the children's section and it was a fucking mess. A class of kindergarteners had just left and the teachers hadn't bothered to keep them in check, so there were not only books on every available surface, they were also put in the wrong way and in the wrong places. Your colleague who you were relieving stayed behind to help you, feeling too bad to leave it all to you.

That's when Daddy and Daughter Morales showed up. You weren't really happy about the existence of kids in the first place but made an effort for Sofia, who brought you a drawing she had made in preschool that day. It featured some figures in green, slightly reminiscent of animals and one human but you wouldn't be able to tell. Luckily, Frankie explained it to you.

“She's waited all day to give you this drawing of you with goats.”

“Wow,” you manage. “Thank you, Sofia, this was so kind of you.”

The girl is beaming with pride. “Will you put it on the wall?”

“Super probably!”

“I can see you're busy,” Frankie notes and ushers Sofia along. “We won't distract you. Come on, honey, let her do her job now and maybe you'll get to talk to her later.”

You nod your thanks and focus on cleaning up the entire department before you colleague leaves and Frankie and Sofia come to the desk to borrow this week' picks. Sofia seems uncharacteristically giddy.

“Do you want to come with us to the awbowetum?” she asks with a wide, expectant smile. Fuck shit ass hell.

“We're going on Saturday,” Frankie fills in, “and we were both hoping you'd want to join?”

Saturday. Thank goodness.

“Sorry, I work on Saturday,” you say, trying to sound rueful. It's true and you're relieved about not having to lie. “But thanks, it's sweet of you to ask.”

Sofia is clearly disappointed and so is Frankie, but he masks it better.

“Some other time, yeah?”

If it were only him, you'd tell him it wasn't a good idea. But you can't say that with the kid right in front of you. You may not like kids but that doesn't mean you want to scar them for life.

“Yeah, maybe.”

You loan them the books and as they leave, Sofia waves happily at you and Frankie shoots you one last smile that makes you press your thighs together in your seat.

Come Saturday, you're by your usual desk in the section for adult fiction and you almost fall off your chair when you see Frankie come up the stairs and straight up to the desk.

“Hi.” He's had a haircut and a shave and looks different. Still good, but very different. The dark locks of his hair are more tamed. The mustache is still there but you miss the patchy beard.

“Um, hi? Where's Sofia?”

“In the car, with a friend. We're going to the arboretum.”

“Right. I hope you have a good time, the arboretum's lovely.” You still don't understand what he's doing here and he seems to have some difficulty in telling you. Moving his weight from one foot to the other, he scratches his neck and looks down - why does he have to be so freaking cute? - before looking up at you.

“About that... I wanted to apologize. I wasn't sure it was a good idea to ask you to come with, but Sofia was so persistent. She likes you so much. I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that. I'm sorry.”

“That's alright,” you brush it off because there's not really anything else you can say. “Don't think about it, just go have a good day.”

“I also wanted to ask if you wanted to go grab a drink with me. Just me. Maybe next week when Sofia's at her mother's.”

Fuck, there it is. His hopeful face makes you hate yourself for the answer you have to give.

“I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Frankie,” you begin carefully. “I'm really flattered, but you're... recently divorced with a kid. That's a lot of baggage and things could get complicated. I don't want to get caught up in that.”

You've practiced this speech at home but it still breaks your fucking heart because Frankie is so good-looking, kind, funny, and sweet. You would've asked him out yourself already if it wasn't for the baggage. Fuck, you masturbate to the thought of him, for crying out loud! You imagine what it would be like to be with him, to make dinner together and watch movies and go to bed and wake up in each other's arms. You think about sex with him a lot. You make an effort with your appearance those days you know he'll show up at the library, you don't even mind the kids' section that much anymore because you get to talk to him.

You are fucking in love with him, or at least the idea of him because you don't know much about him, only that he used to be a pilot in the special forces but now he trains new pilots, he has best friends who are like uncles to Sofia (and who have been asking about this mystery librarian she always keeps talking about), he likes cooking and loves baking with his daughter, he hates working out but knows he should take better care of himself, hell, you even know what brand of milk he buys.

He's clearly disappointed but keeps a brave face, one that you can see right through because he wears his heart on his sleeve.

“I understand that,” he says quietly, mildly. “I'm sorry, I hope I didn't embarrass you.”

Jesus fucking Christ can this man not???

“No, don't worry. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the answer you wanted. It's just... not a good time.”

Shit. You shouldn't have said that. Now he might think it could be a better time later.

Frankie nods and smiles sadly. “Yeah, you're probably right.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He clears his throat and nods. “I better be going. You have a good weekend now.”

“You too.”

He shoots you one final smile before he turns around and leaves. As you watch him go down the stairs to the exit level, you just want to call his name, do your run through the airport and hurry after him, throw yourself into his arms, kiss him, Jesus, imagine that somewhere there's someone who'll get to kiss him some day, tell him that you made a huge mistake and you want to go out with him, you want to have drinks with him and dinner and breakfast and lunch for the rest of your lives because nothing would make you happier than making him happy. You want to be the reason his eyes crinkle and his cheek displays that little dimple that makes you lose your train of thought every time you see it.

But it's not for you. People with kids need to prioritize their kids and you know that you can't be anyone's number two. You don't want to get caught up in custody disputes, you don't want to be "your father's new slut", you don't want to be anyone's stepmom. You don't want to have to spend five days a week in the same house as a five-year-old. Being in a relationship is difficult enough as it is and if you can make choices that avoid some of the problems, you're going to make them, no matter how much it hurts.

And it hurts. A lot. But so much in life hurts and you've made it through before.

He must already be out the door, probably in the car. Does he say something about this to his daughter and friend? Is it a female friend? No, it must be one of his army buddies, probably one of the brothers.

You pull up Frankie's profile in the library database and see his phone number. You could call him anytime. Or send a text. Keep talking to him, flirting.

Shit. It's a bad idea.

A patron approaches the desk and you force yourself to look mild and service-minded.

“Hi, do you have Hate To Want You by someone called... Ray, I think?”

“Please hold a moment, I'll check.” You stifle the sigh that threatens to escape you and hope that the day will be busy so you won't have time to think about Francisco Morales again.

[angstyaches]

Hey! Here’s the headache request #2 lol

Charlie or shayne (this feels more like Charlie to me, but whatever you feel like!) with an awful headache that is absolutely killer, and it’s lay-on-the-floor-of-the-bathroom-with-the-lights-out-and-cool-washcloth-over-the-forehead-time, except the other one doesn’t know that quite yet until they find them in pain and puking their absolute guts up, which cues lots of gentle caretaking, soft comforting whispers, and maybe camping out on the floor together until the poor kid is able to get some sleep and wake up feeling a little better.

Again, I'm so sorry for losing your original request! I didn't quite make it to the sleep/feeling better, because I felt it come to a natural end.

Word Count: 1458

CW: headache, emeto, demon possession, character needs help moving.

___

He gasped deeply, swallowing back a howl of pain. His stomach was lurching under his ribs, unable to still itself under the amount of pressure that radiated from his left temple.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt so much that he couldn’t believe this was real, he couldn’t believe he’d ever known a time when his head hadn’t felt like it was being drilled into.

With clammy hands, Charlie felt around on the floor for the wet cloth that he’d been holding against his head before the vomiting had set in. It’d been his second course of action, after downing some ibuprofen (which were now swimming in the toilet drain), and before killing the bathroom light. He finally found it and dragged it towards himself, pressing it to his head and holding it up with an elbow on the toilet seat. Usually, he’d have shuddered in dread at the thought of putting a cloth on his face if it had just been sitting on the bathroom floor, but there was no room for pickiness now.

Besides, he was sure the floor had been washed that week. Yeah. Maybe.

An unproductive retch made his throat clench and forced his jaw open. He was almost relieved to think that he was nearing empty; once the nausea passed, he could focus on becoming a reclining statue on the floor again. Most annoying was the fact that the puking was a result of the headache, but was also making it worse.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the demon CT mumbled, Human bodies make no sense.

“Charlie, you okay?” That was a voice from the real world, specifically from the other side of the bathroom door. “You’ve been gone ages.”

Before he could even entertain the idea of responding, thick chunks rolled up Charlie’s throat and into the water. He dreaded to even begin to think what those chunks once contained.

“Charlie…?”

Before Charlie could protest, CT’s telekinesis kicked it and unlocked the bathroom door. Shit, he thought, flinching at the sound of the door clicking open. He yanked the cloth down over his eyes, desperate to keep his eyes covered.

“Don’t turn on the light,” Charlie hissed, feeling the demon’s energy kicking in to replace that which he’d already lost from his own body. The effort of talking was so intense, like every word was a kick to the inside of his skull with a steel-toed boot. He barely mumbled out a groan as he pushed himself upwards, his whole body thrusting back and forth lightly with the repeated spasms that went through his tummy.

“You’re sick?” Shayne mumbled, clicking the door shut slowly and cutting off the light from the landing.

“Mmhmm…” Charlie reckoned Shayne had figured it out hours ago, despite his best efforts to appear cheerful during the evening. It wasn’t often that Elliott and Felix made the trip out to Mulberry, and the last thing Charlie had wanted was for anyone to be worried about him. “Headache… bad one.”

As expected, Shayne let out a sigh. “You should’ve said something…”

“Please don’t yell at me,” Charlie gasped, saliva running down his chin as he hovered about the toilet seat.

“This is literally as quiet as I can –” Shayne shut himself up with a soft grunt. He knelt beside Charlie. It was obvious that he intended on rubbing his back while he continued to heave over the toilet, but Charlie had other intentions now that his boyfriend was here.

And by boyfriend, he meant human pillow.

The tiles were freezing as he lowered himself to the ground again. He’d sweat so much more since he’d started throwing up, and his clothes were a little damp and felt disgusting against his skin.

He didn’t really care about the rest of his body, though, as long as he could lay his head in Shayne’s lap. Shivers ran down his back, direct waves of tension that trickled down from his skull.

Charlie whined, low in his throat, as Shayne brushed his hair back from his forehead and laid the cloth across it. His fingers moved slowly and gently as always. It was as though Shayne believed Charlie’s skull was made of eggshell, and that it might have cracked and collapsed inwards if it was put under any serious amount of pressure.

Whereas honestly, it felt more like his head might crack from the pressure coming from the inside.

Even as he was lying still, Charlie felt like his head was being wrenched to the side, as though he was nailed to a turntable that was set spinning slowly. Only the sensation of Shayne playing with his hair kept him somewhat grounded, and even that didn’t feel like nearly enough.

“Just cut it off.” His voice was getting higher as time went on, like he was an old tea kettle slowly coming to the boil. “I want it gone, just – just chop it off.”

Shayne frowned. “Your hair?”

“My fucking head!”

“Sssshhhh…” Shayne’s fingertips glided down the nape of Charlie’s neck. In contrast to the light touch, Charlie could feel his own muscles tensing up, hard as rocks. Every inch of his body was reacting to the pain which, in itself, only really took up about one inch of his skull. "It's okay."

“It's not! I hate this,” he whimpered.

“I know...”

A low groan from the pit of his stomach alerted him to the fact that the convulsions were traveling through his insides again, and he choked on a sob. His head was still in pain after laying it in Shayne’s lap, but it was the most comfortable he’d been in ages. He didn’t want to get on his knees again and lose even more of his dinner.

His chest tightened with a hiccup. Shayne cupped a hand around his shoulder, ready to help him back up.

Charlie tried to hum in protest, but squeezed his lips together upon tasting acid on his tongue. His spine jerked him forward, curling him up even tighter. The cloth dropped off of his forehead again, but this time Shayne grabbed it before it could sit on the tiles for too long.

“Charlie –”

“I c-can’t, I can’t sit up!” He clapped a hand over his lips as his stomach clenched again.

“I’m so sorry, Charlie, just remember I love you.”

“Wh-wha –?” The floor suddenly seemed to tilt in the opposite direction, or maybe it was entire fucking planet, because Charlie suddenly didn’t know which way was up or down. He felt Shayne pulling his arm up around the back of his neck, dragging him to his knees and draping him over the toilet seat. Charlie could barely see for the stars exploding in his vision, but when sickly liquid clawed its way up his throat, he heard it hit another body of liquid at the bottom of the bowl. “Fuck…”

“You’re okay,” Shayne whispered, right next to his face. Charlie’s chin was practically resting on his shoulder. His arm was draped over Shayne’s other shoulder, like he was injured and being dragged off the battlefield.

He felt another wave of nausea bubble up under his ribs, his stomach letting out an uneasy gurgle. Charlie shut his eyes as a mouthful of bile stung his throat before cascading out of him. Needles of white-hot pain shot through his head.

A gentle knock on the door sounded like an elephant being dropped on the landing.

“Fuck – what?” Shayne hissed, turning his head to project his voice away from Charlie’s delicate eardrums.

“Is everything okay?” a voice asked from the other side of the door. Sounded like Felix. “Do you… need anything?”

Part of Charlie wanted to beg for some more ibuprofen to kill the agony in his head, but another wrenching pain in his gut told him it wouldn’t stay down this time either. He heard Shayne hesitate, probably having the same realisation.

“Water might be good,” Shayne said back.

“Blanket,” Charlie choked out softly. He had a horrible feeling he wouldn’t be moving from the tiles for a long time yet.

Shayne sighed again, rubbing a hand along Charlie’s spine. “And the blanket from the sofa, Fee.”

After chucking up another sliver of whatever was still in his stomach, Charlie turned his head and nuzzled into the hollow between Shayne’s shoulder and neck. His body would have crumpled to the ground if it hadn’t been practically tangled up with Shayne’s.

“P-please don’leave me,” he mumbled, realising his was slurring his words.

“Love,” Shayne whispered, sighing in the way he did that let Charlie know he’d just said something mildly infuriating. He wrapped an arm around Charlie’s waist and pulled him even closer, taking even more of his weight now that the sporadic vomiting seemed to have stopped. For now. “I’d never dream of it.”

[lucky-catttt]

Maxwell Lord’s Aphrodite - Pt 2

Summary: When Maxwell Lord’s world comes crashing down, you, his personal assistant bring him back from the pits of despair.

Pairings: Maxwell Lord x Reader (female), Maxwell Lord x You

Rating: Mature 18+ ONLY, NO MINORS ALLOWED TO READ.

Word Count: 3,885

Warnings: Prepare to put a towel down or go touch some grass after, either or LOL Mention of genitals, oral sex, squirting, face fucking, choking, names, foreplay, degradation, aftercare, BDSM, sexism/sexual harrassment.

A/N: This is my first fan-fic, so the writing might not be fantastic, but if you have any pointers/advice please tell me! I’ve also added images and gifs to help readers imagine the scenarios and reactions!

“So what kind of proposal were we thinking of that would save Black Gold corporation?” Max quizzes, leaning back against his chair. You pause to think while finishing your pastry. “Well” you begin “This space is huge, around 4,300 square feet. The lease Black Gold is renting this office floor has no major restrictions on it, so you could potentially sub-let the space on the floor for a monthly or fixed term lease to people who work remotely or teams that don’t want to commit to a larger office space. It's becoming more common because of the GFC, people can't commit to large long term leases for whole office floors anymore. You could also rent out the boardroom by the hour & also lease the private manager offices to businesses that want their own private room. And we already have a reception near the lifts, just re-hire them and make them pretend they work for all the businesses on the floor, answering their calls, doing admin work like scanning and faxing etc. As far as the business’s clients that show up are concerned, each business looks like they own the whole floor.

If we do a cost analysis and then get a small investor to cover the startup costs, we could guarantee them a return if businesses pay contract deposits or pay their lease in advance up front. Plus the landlord we owe money to. And with the top floor with amazing views and location, we can charge top dollar” Max stares at you in disbelief. “Wow, are you sure you don’t wanna be CEO?” He laughs, still in shock. You laugh, blushing. “I started working on a business proposal for one of my university assessments, if we customise it for this project we could pitch it to some investors and banks and speak to the landlord about it as well” You reply. “I could kiss you right now.” Maxwell sighs, gripping his fist. “Please do” you giggle, leaning towards him. Max reaches out both hands to cup your face, before planting a passionate kiss on your lips. “Well, I guess we have a lot of work to do!” Max yells, before striding towards the bathroom to take a shower. Two weeks go by and the proposal is ready. Max calls you from the company car, on the way to your house to pick you up before the big investors meeting. “I’ll be right outside your place in a few minutes my sweet” He coos, beaming with excitement to see you. As his car pulls up, you collect your compendium, presentation cards and your pointer rod. Struggling with all you have to carry, Alfred rushes out of the car and up the steps to the front door, collecting all of your belongings. 

Maxwell peers over the top of his shades but the sun from behind your house blinds him. He shuffles across the seat and opens the car door, the sun now hiding from his view. As he removes his shades and looks up the stairs towards your front door, he sees you standing there, fixing your outfit. He’s stunned. 

It might be 1984, but you’re wearing a stunning outfit pulled straight from the 50s. A black suit dress with a pleat in the front with a thin gold belt around your waist. You accented the look with strap Mary jane heels, a black and gold handbag and a neat beret fascinator. Your hair was curled, accentuated with bright red lipstick and a single set of pearl earrings.

Max looks like he’s about to drop to his knees in awe, but his knees bend into a lengthy stride up the stairs, rushing to your side. “A heavenly vision of beauty'' Max gasps, giving you a kiss on the cheek in an attempt to preserve your makeup. He puts out his arm and you wrap your hands around it, as he leads you down your stairs to the car, staring at you the whole time, letting the universe guide his steps as this absolute goddess graces his presence. You both slide into the back seat of Max’s company car, his large hand immediately passing along your back and resting on your hip and ass, pulling you as close to him as possible. “I dont know how this presentation is going to go, but I can be absolutely certain that myself and every other person in that room will be enraptured by your presence”. he murmurs into your neck, squeezing your ass.

Max was wearing a pinstripe royal blue suit with black laced oxfords. His matching tie and pocket square peeking out. “I would kiss you right now but i don't want to get lipstick on your face just before our meeting” you blush, rubbing your nose against his. “I know. We have all the time in the world after” Max replies, running his nose down your neck, breathing gently against your skin.

 “We should probably prepare for the meeting, Max” you chuckle, seeing the office building not far up the road. You pull out your compendium and flip to an architectural blueprint of the office floor. 

“I had this drawn up by an architectural drafter last week. As you can see the large blank space is your office and private room, you already have the glass frosted for privacy. All the other office cubicles will be converted to private offices, as well as boardrooms, co-working areas and remote working hot spots.” Max’s eyes widen with surprise at the level of detail. “How did you get this done? I certainly don't remember commissioning this'' rubbing his chin. “I paid for it” you respond, nonchalantly. “You spent your money, for me?” Max inquires, now in disbelief. “Of course. I told you I would help you, Max. Consider it an investment”. You wink, flipping through more pages of the presentation. Just when Max thought he couldn't fall more in love with you than he already has, your hard work and giving nature makes his heart swell even larger to make room. After a few minutes the car pulls up to the investor’s office building. “Before we go in there, I want to ask you something.” Your eyes widen with intrigue. “While we're there, I’m not sure how these businessmen will react to a woman being anything more than my personal assistant. I’m not intimidated by you at all, but I suspect some of them might be” He continues, his eyes falling to your lap as he holds your hands. “Max, this project is my dream, but it’s your company, so i’m giving it to you to present. You’re the only person I trust with this”. 

As Maxwell begins to get himself together, you take a seat adjacent to where Max is standing. Although your knees are together with one ankle behind the other, you can feel some of the businessmen closest to you looking you up and down like a piece of meat. You quickly turn to face Max, giving him your undivided attention. “Well, I know you’re all very busy, so lets get started” Max smiles, wringing his palms together. The businessmen listen intently to Max’s pitch for the restructure of Black Gold corporation, before they begin to ask questions on financials. You begin to notice the men losing interest and Max starting to lose his confidence. He looks at you, his expression half pleading and half embarrassed. Without any hesitation, you stand up from your chair, striding over to Max’s side, picking up the pointing rod from the easel and pulling it to full length with one swift pull. 

The men all sit upright at attention from the sound of the rod. “If I may, Maxwell” you butt in, politely. “Gentleman” You steady the pointer rod against the chart on the easel “the profit figures on the project are as follows; 36 external view offices, charged at $3,000 per month each, generating $108,000 gross profit. The 25 internal offices with no view will be $500 per month, generating $12,500. We also have hot-desks with memberships starting at $20 per month. If companies want us to answer their phones, do their mail, bring them coffee, do their shopping, take their dry-cleaning, walk their dogs or bring them lunch, that's an additional fee. Essentially, we are looking at a monthly profit turnover of $150,000+. Our current lease fee is $50,000 a month with about $15,000 in body corporate and utilities, leaving $85,000 per month net profit, $225 thousand per quarter and over a million annually. We currently are looking for a combined setup cost of around $500,000. The more you invest, the bigger your return.” You swing the pointer road and rest it on your shoulder. 

Silence fills the room and you panic. Your assertiveness may have turned them off, so you pretend to be ditzy and dip one of your feet inwards. The men who are all sitting up at attention, look between each other and nod. Your charm and business acumen seemed to have put them under some kind of spell. “Thanks for your time gentleman. If you have any questions please feel free to call” you finish, walking around to hand each of them Max’s business card. The men begin to chat amongst themselves, before one of them approaches Maxwell. They introduce themselves and begin chatting about the pitch “You should be very proud of your assistant Maxwell” they chuckle “she seems very switched on and driven”. Max shoots you a smiling glance, before turning back “Yeah, I’m actually going to make her the CFO” he responds. “Well, we’ll deliberate here and be back in touch with our offer”. The meeting finally wraps up and you both head back downstairs where Alfred is waiting with the car door already open. You both slide inside and Max wraps his arms around you before passionately kissing your lips as the car drives back to his office.

“You want to make me the.. CFO?” you pant, breaking from the kiss. “Yes” Max smiles, staring into your eyes. “You have worked so hard and today at the presentation..I know you’re the woman for the job. Do you want it?” You blush, holding his face “Well how can I say no?”. The company car finally pulls up back at the office and you both head through the lobby and into the lift. Max stands behind you with his arms wrapped around you and his head on your shoulder, talking about the enormous amount of work that will potentially need to be done if this deal goes through. As the lift doors open into the reception area, you both step out and Max hears the phone in his office start to ring. You give him an excited smile, encouraging him to go take the call in private. He begins striding through the empty office before making it to his office, pushing the doors open and heading over to his desk.

You take your time walking back to his office, giving Max time to finish his phone call. As you approach his office doors, you hear the click of the receiver as he hangs up. You watch Max’s shadow behind the frosted glass walk up to the doors and swing them open, a neutral look on his face. You look puzzled, thinking it was bad news before he burst out laughing with a smile, swinging you over his shoulder and carrying you to his bedroom. “You did it baby!” He yells, slapping your backside before throwing you both down onto the bed. “We did!?” you scream, a wave of relief and excitement washing over you. “Yes! I’m so proud of you. You saved Black Gold corporation. You saved me.” Max smiles, brushing a lock of curls away from your face before cupping your cheek and passionately kissing you. 

You kick off your shoes, belt and take off your beret fascinator as Max removes his suit jacket, suspenders and belt, before kissing each other again. “I was so turned on by you today” Max moans, writhing his hands all over your body, before ripping the bust of your dress open, the two buttons pinging off onto the carpet. “Watching your voluptuous ass in that dress walking into that boardroom and how you commanded the room’s attention, took control and sealed the deal. I wanted to put you over that boardroom table and worship you like the goddess you are. But I guess I can do that now”. Something about wearing your favourite suit of his, the unwavering progressive support of women and eagerness to pleasure you unlocks your most ravenous sexual desires. You stop Max, sitting up at the foot of the bed. He gets up from laying down and looks at you, worried he said or did something wrong. “Whats wrong my love?” he asks, looking concerned. ****MAJOR SMUT WARNING AHEAD**** “Max… you’ve shown me the romantic love making version which was so beautiful, but I want to make you feel worshipped” Max gives you an interesting glance. “You’re such a giving person but I want to give back. You’ve suffered neglect and mistreatment most of your life. I want to give you a different kind of passionate sex. I have fantasies and wild ideas that I think will give you immense pleasure. I want you to….” You stop yourself, not sure how he will react. Max's eyes widened with intrigue. “Go on?” Max squeezes your hand. “Well” you begin. The passionate fire is burning hotter and hotter within you. “I want you…” you hitch up your skirt and sit across Max’s lap, with one leg over each side “to straddle my chest and fuck my throat while I rub my clit” you get closer to Max’s face, pulling on his tie “And I want to cum while you’re throat fucking and choking me with your cock” you begin to undo his tie “And then I want you to cum in the back of my throat and make me swallow it”. There’s dead silence, so you bat your eyelash extensions, throwing a sexy yet innocent gaze followed by “hmmm?”. Max’s mind goes completely blank, the blood rushing from every inch of his body straight to his cock, which you feel hardened against your crotch as you straddle him. “Uhh wow honey that sounds very dangerous.” Max chokes, embarrassed he's getting turned on at the idea of hurting you. 

“For you or me?” You giggle, biting your lip. “For you” Max says, wrapping his arms around you. “Are you sure that’s something you want me to do to you Hermosa?”. “Yes Maxwell. I love the way you worship and pleasure me, but I want you to feel the same way. I have a kink when it comes to being dominated. Seeing my man so turned on and using his strength and body to please himself using me, makes me feel incredible. I know you would never hurt me, it’s something I would love for you to experience” You answer before kissing his neck. “You really are too good to me, princessa” Max sighs, running his hands down your back to your ass, squeezing both cheeks. “Of course, we don’t have to if you don’t want to, Max” you give him a reassuring look, worried you might have overstepped. “No baby, I’d love to, if that’s what will bring you the most pleasure” He coos, kissing your neck.

You begin to take off your dress, revealing under a black and gold laced lingerie set. “Black and Gold” you chuckle, watching Max’s eyes widen at the level of detail. “How did I get so lucky?” Max pants, pulling off his shirt and pants, leaving his boxers to contain his rock hard cock. You go to reach for Max’s crotch when his hand stops you. “Before we do this” Max begins “I want you to stop me at any time if it hurts or you can’t breathe or you just don’t want to do it anymore. That is the most important thing to me”. You nod and smile at Max, leaning in to kiss him, before your hands start to remove his boxers.

You reach down and begin to tease his cock, tracing your fingers tips against the tip. With your other hand you guide Max’s hand down, placing it at the top of your panties. As he starts to put his hands under your panties, he notices there’s a hole in them. Max stops to inspect. “Crotchless panties? Me vuelves loco” Max pants before he begin kissing and biting all over your body.

You’re in for it now. Like a virus, you’ve taken over Max’s brain, flooding it with animalistic desire and passion. A switch has been flipped and hell bent on blowing your mind, leaving all of his inhibitions and reservations about what he’s about to do to you at the door. Max climbs on top of you, wrapping his large hand around your throat, gently squeezing as you gasp for air. “Is this what you want?” He growls into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe before kissing down your neck. You manage to nod before moaning, indicating that you’re enjoying it. He’s never treated a woman like this before, but he manages to find the personality and words seemingly from thin air, like it was repressed all this time. “Start touching yourself for me now” Max commands. You slide your hand down into your panties and start rubbing your clit, sparks flying through your body and the slick now leaking out of your pussy. He groans at the sight of you touching yourself. Max moves up the bed before straddling over your chest. With your head propped up on some pillows, you look in Max’s eyes and ready your mouth and jaw for his throbbing cock. Max thumbs your bottom lip before grabbing just under your jaw to keep your face steady. “Open wide like the good little whore that you are” he hisses, smacking the tip of his precum soaked cock on your face.

The degrading name only makes you wetter, as you furiously rub your clitoris whilst pinned under Max’s legs. You moan as Max pushes his cock into your mouth and down your throat. “Oh my god my love your mouth feels incredible” Max moans, his character from before severely altered by the pleasurable sensation. He realises his mistake and compensates by pushing his cock as far as it will fit into your mouth and throat. “That’s it, take it all” he smirks, exhaling with a moan. You use two fingers to scoop up some of your slick and rub it into your clitoris, which is now super sensitive. Your stifled moans humming against Max’s veiny cock cause it to twitch. With your hips bucking from pleasuring yourself, Max takes both of his hands and puts them on your cheeks. “Fuck your mouth feels so good” Max moans, slowly thrusting back and forth out of your mouth, his cock touching your uvula and causing you to gag with each stroke. Your eyes begin to roll back in your skull as you continue to moan & choke, your swollen clitoris edging closer and closer to orgasm. “You like this huh? You like it when Daddy fills your throat up and fucks it?” Max hisses, wrapping your hair in between his fingers, gripping hard as his thrusts gain more momentum. Thick strings of spit is now spilling out of your mouth, down your chin and onto your breasts. “You look

The taste of Max’s precum coating the back of your tongue. You’re fighting to contain your orgasm but Max’s cock and brutal punishing words are sending you dangerously close to the edge. “Mmmmm, mmmmm!” You choke, tears welling in your eyes as you’re trying to nod and send Max a pleasured innocent gaze, driving him wild. You concentrate on breathing through your nose, each time Max’s cock leaves the back of your throat for a split second, giving you enough time to take in air. You decide to start moving your flattened tongue against the shaft, rubbing against the tip as it passes back and forth. Max let’s out a groan “You’re such a good little putá for papá”. There’s no holding back now, you increase your moans to signal that you’re on the precipice of an orgasm. “Cum for me” Max hisses, continuing the ecstasy inducing tempo of thrusts into your mouth and throat. You continue to rub your clit and gesture for Max to keep his cock still inside your mouth and throat for this moment, riding the crashing wave of your orgasm, squirting furiously onto your legs and sheets below. The writhing and shaking of your body underneath him, the sound of your squirting and muffled cries and moans from behind his cock is too much and brings him closer much faster than he ever anticipated. The eye-watering sensation causes the tears to flow down your cheeks, causing your mascara to run.

As your orgasm begins to subside you gesture for Max to continue thrusting, which he does as he moves his large hands to cup your face. “That felt fucking amazing” Max moans, continuing his fast and hard strokes. Your gaze, burning with passion and framed within smudged running eyeliner locks with Max’s, his domineering yet still showing affection. “I’m gonna cum” Max pants, keeping the pace as his grip on your face grows tighter. “Fuckkkk!!!” He shouts, holding your head still as he holds one final thrust as far in as it will go. Your eyes roll back into your head again as you feel the warm thick ropes of cum spurt onto the back of your throat. It was lucky you had taken a large enough breath before that moment, enough to sustain you for the few seconds Max held his cock still inside your mouth, throbbing and pulsing as he moans and shudders, cursing in Spanish. Coming back to reality, Max immediately pulls his softening cock from your mouth and wraps his large hands on the top and bottom of your face, closing your jaw shut. “Now Swallow” he commands, bending down so that his face inches from yours. With a cheeky gaze you oblige and swallow the remains of his cum tangled in your throat, before opening your jaw to allow him to inspect if there was any left. “My good little leche putá” he whispers, before spitting in your wide open mouth.

As if like breaking character on a movie set, Max immediately reverts back to his original self, climbing off to the side to lay next to you. “Was that good for you my love? How do you feel?” Max asks, worried he’s harmed your physical and mental state. “Incredible” you pant, smiling, lying in a pool of your own squirt. Breathing a sigh of relief, Max quickly brings up the blankets to cover you both, embracing you and peppering your spit, mascara and tear soaked face with kisses. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Max quizzes, checking your chest and throat over. “No” you reply, your throat somewhat hoarse. “Okay good. I love you so much” Max sighs, brushing your hair out of your face and kissing your forehead. “I love you too, Max”.

————————

I got impatient and wanted to post it now so I guess this chapter is finished 💀

@anaaaispunk @mandoalorian @pintsizemama

[sparetimeimagines]

Undeserving | Bakugou Katsuki

Tags; Smut, Dom!Bakugou, Oral Sex, Degradation

Masterlist

Assume everyone is of legal age unless addressed otherwise

Sunday mornings, the ultimate serenity. Hoping for slowly aging hours to match the pace of your agenda. Sure, heroes don’t have off days, but everyday you can hope manipulate his time to a domestic scene out of a novel. He walks back and forwards from the coffee pot to the stove top, nursing his black coffee to his lips. He’d low key die if anyone knew he added sugar to the jet black fuel.

You admired him, those sleeves cuffed, rolled up as he fiddles a fork along the strips of thick bacon.

“You know I can’t make it crispy right?” He pokes his head out from the kitchen.

“That’s fine babe.” You sip from your coffee. “You know I can make it...”

“Yeah and ruin the food? You burn the bacon every time. No thanks.” He scoffs. “What kind of idiot burns bacon?” He rolls his eyes.

“I’ll remember that.” You mumble taking a sip.

He sticks his head out from the hall and watches you without a word.

“I like how Dad makes eggs.” Dishes cling to each other then he yells. “Come get your food, dumbass.”

Straight out of a novel.

He hands you a plate and you reach past him for a fork, brushing your ass against his crotch.

He grabs your hips and thrusts into them.

“Woman, I’m warning you.”

His hands graze across your hips and you swerve past him in retreat back to where you were sitting.

“Bakugou, the bacon king.”

Though he won’t let you see it; but hearing you moan over his food brings a smirk to his lips.

He gathers his food and collapses on the couch beside you.

“How do you watch this shit?” He aggressively shoves food his mouth watching the trash tv.

You ignore him turning the volume up.

“So what’s her problem?”

“She doesn’t love him but wants to live with his family for their son.”

Katsuki would never fess up if he were caught, however he enjoyed your taste of reality tv.

“Hell no.” He shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth.

“Then she wants to date another guy.”

“While living with his parents?” He raises a brow in confirmation.

“Yes.”

“I’d kill you.”

“Bakugou I-“

“I’ll blow your ass up into next week!” He sets the plate down, his hand moving to your thigh.

“Katsuki.”

“That’s not my name.” He takes your plate setting it on his.

“My bad, demon lord seven eight two.” You giggle.

Katsuki sits up on his knees in your direction.

“Excuse me?” He smirks, placing both hands on your hips pulling you down between his legs.

“Demon lord seven-“ before you can finish your sentence he grabs your cheeks in a pinch to silence you, your lips cinched like a fish.

“You’re such a smartass.” He spreads your legs with a pat to your inner thigh. The blond slides down hoisting your legs around his hips. He pulls your lips to his, leaning over your body, hooking his finger into your skinny straps letting them fall to the side.

“Did I hurt your bitch boy feelings?” You smirk as he retaliates with his lips sucking your breast, the blood rising into a pretty bruise. He switches to the other tracing your nipple with his tongue in circles, his crimson eyes showing that cocky glint watching you part those lips in a breathless awe.

“What the hell did you say?” His hand traces along your chest, his nail arching to your neck.

You smirk, the excess saliva in your mouth to reply.

“Bitch boy.” You spit, droplets of water spraying across Bakugou’s face.

His face straightens into an angry glare, his jaw straining.

Without notice his fingers pinch your nipple tight in unison whilst he pulls your hair.

“Mmm yes. You stupid fucking bitch.” He crashes his lips to yours, muffling your whimper. He twists your nipple for a greater reaction. “You think you can get mouthy with me huh? How about you put that bratty mouth of yours to use and suck me off.”

He releases your nipple climbing off you, dragging you to the ground with a low thud. He returns to the couch, pulling you in between his legs.

“Ready, Babe?” He pulls the hard cock from his sweats and smearing to your lips “Open.” It was less of a request and more of a demand.

Your lips part and take him with a simple gesture.

“Eyes up here, Princess.” He taps your forehead as a warning with his two forefingers.

Your eyes stay focused on him, your tongue circling his head. He lets out a long frustrated moan, his hand weaving through your hair, cinching then releasing like a pulse. His calloused thumb runs over the loose strands, gasps leaving from his lips each time you sink lower on his cock.

“Fuck Babe...” he rolls back, pulling your hair with him. “You feel...” he stops himself to watch you. “So fucking pretty.”

You’re drooling over his cock, saliva and precum dressing him like dessert. You gasp, coming up for air running your hands over his head. The veins in his neck bulge, him shoving your head directly down onto him, a clear shot into your throat.

“What did I tell you about doing that?” He holds your head and thrusts inward, fucking the walls gaining a gag in advance. “Fucking dumb bitch.”

His free hand combs through your hair as the other holds you still for his cock.

He slows his thrusts as his heart begins to beat against his chest and he brushes your hair back, sitting up to tower you.

“My stupid fucking Princess.” He moans watching you take his cock. “Fuck Babe.” Tears down your cheeks from the gag. “Take me whole. Swallow me like a good girl.”

Katsuki rests his hand on the crown of your head watching you rise and fall like his chest. His heavy breaths are shortened as he’s growing close. His tip touches the back of your throat and your walls tighten. “Mmm Princess.” His body attempts to betray him but he’s faster, catching his composure as you try to finish him off.

“No nooo. Sit up.” He pulls himself from you. “You’ve been so undeserving with that fucking mouth of yours.” He begins to stroke his red, swollen cock. “You don’t get to taste me today.” His stroke picks up, his hand curling over his head. “You-“ he watches your composure, tits exposed and lips fucked out. “Dirty Bitch.” His hips jolt electricity as he releases himself over you. Hot drops of cum lands on your face, sliding down your breasts, coating your hair with white sticky fluids.

“You’re fucking gorgeous.” He wipes your lips with his thumb, pulling you into his. “Now get your ass in the shower, I’ll be in there in a minute, don’t you dare touch yourself or I’ll change my mind about joining you.”

[quickspinner]

Oops - Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

Summary: A little too much alcohol, a drunken hookup, it happens all the time, right? Marinette didn't mean to drink so much, and she didn't mean to wake up in a stranger's bed, but she did, and now this morning isn't going at all the way she expected. When Luka asks to see her again, she can't think of a good reason to say no...and the one night she never meant to have turns out to be the beginning of something she never could have anticipated.

Alya thinks its hysterical--only Marinette could take home a one night stand and end up with a date. But when the one night stand turns into a series of hookups, Alya's starting to get concerned. Clearly it's up to her to rein Marinette in before the girl gets seriously hurt.

Rating: M - this is a little spicier than my usual fare but not really explicit? There’s a lot of off screen sex and reference to sexy things and adult activities, some drinking (obviously), cursing/foul language. 

Credit to my tumblr followers for this one, because one day I went "hey, you guys want to see some bits from the folder of fics I'm never going to finish?" and one of the bits I posted was the beginning of this story, and people liked it more than I was expecting, and then it was "well, you know, I did think about doing blahblah" and "I'd sure love to see that!" and the next thing you know I've added five thousand words with no sign of stopping. In Marinette’s words: Oops. So, with much love to my followers and readers across platforms, here's the fic I never intended to finish, and I hope you enjoy it!

I'm splitting it into two chapters but they'll both be uploaded within a few minutes, so if you finish the first part and the second one isn't posted yet, just wait a little and try back. Also, much love to @livrever for talking me down off the ledge and beta reading this one. 

Marinette woke up with a mouth that felt like cotton and a pounding headache. She groaned, and pressed her face into the pillow. It...smelled funny. Not bad, just...not like home. 

Oh. Because she hadn’t gone home last night. At least, not to her home. 

“Are you shitting me right now?” 

Marinette jumped, and sat up, clutching the sheets to her still-naked body. Her head reeled and she whimpered as she pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. The door to the bedroom was cracked and she could see a sliver of light beyond it that blinked in and out. It seemed her...friend, was pacing in the other room, and from the sound of it, he wasn’t very happy. 

“—crosses a line, Jean. What? No, that’s not the point, Jean, you got me hammered without my consent! How can you not see the problem here? No, you know what, my head is killing me and I’m sick of yelling at you, obviously this can’t be fixed. As of right now, we are no longer friends. Don’t call me, don’t talk to me, if you see me coming just walk the other way. I’m done with you.”

There was a thump and a sigh and an emphatic “Fuck.”  

Marinette just sat there, holding the sheet over her chest, and blinked, trying to figure out what she should do and think through the fog in her brain. She didn’t exactly have a whole lot of experience in these situations. Was she supposed to just…

Before she could form any ideas, he came in with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. He had a pair of tattered but well-fitting jeans on with patterned boxers peeking out from the waistband, but no shirt, and there was a lot of muscle and bare skin on display and oh God he had sex hair, and it was her hands that had done it. Marinette swallowed and twisted her fingers tighter in the sheets, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded.

“Hi,” he said gently. “I’m Luka, in case you don’t remember. Sorry if I woke you. How are you feeling? I mean, hung over, obviously, but on a scale of just let me die to I might conceivably want to live to tomorrow …” He gave her a smile that perhaps wasn’t entirely confident, and Marinette couldn’t help a small smile back. 

“I think I’m not quite up to dancing to the metal band playing in my head, but pretty far from oh God where’s the bathroom, so I’ll take it, all things considered.” She took the glass of water he offered and he opened the aspirin bottle and shook a couple out into her palm. That was sweet, she thought. At least he wasn’t just tossing her clothes at her and kicking her out. How could she have let herself end up in a position like this?

Luka sat on the edge of the bed and watched her take the pills. “Man, you’re really gorgeous. I thought at least some of it would be the booze, but—“ He looked away, clearing his throat. “Lucky me.”

Marinette’s face burned. “Thanks,” she said softly, not sure what else to say. At least he was nice, she thought. At least she hadn’t slept with a jerk. And he’d certainly been...considerate. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t enjoyed herself, just...

“How much do you remember about last night?” he asked. His voice was rough, but he kept it soft. “I’m sorry for asking but I was way more drunk last night than I ever let myself get and I don’t think I blacked out but some things are...spotty.”

“Most of it, I think,” Marinette flashed him an embarrassed smile. “The good parts for sure. The details and...transitions, I guess, are a little hazy. I don’t remember how we got here from the club, for example.”

“But you remember being here, with me.” His eyes fell to her neck and shoulders and he winced. “Man I really marked you up, I’m sorry. I hope that’s not going to get you in trouble.” His eyes widened slightly. “Please tell me you aren’t married.”

“No,” she yelped. “No, I’m not married. Totally single.” She put her face in her hand. “Absolutely, devastatingly, recently single.” 

Luka let out a sigh of relief and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Bad breakup?”

She sighed. “Very. Bad breakup, bad best friend applying bad breakup logic that lands me my very first one night stand. Yay me.”

“Um, I’m honored?” Luka grinned sheepishly. “Although, I mean...it doesn’t have to be. Just the one night, I mean. Not that—” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Even as drunk as I was, I know I had a lot of fun last night.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “And even before I got too drunk to function I wanted to get your number.” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently one of my so-called friends decided I needed a little extra liquid courage.” 

“I wish I had an excuse,” Marinette muttered, shoulders curling inward. “I just...didn’t want to be sad anymore.” She frowned as what he’d said and the conversation she’d overheard connected in her brain. “Are you...okay?”

“I’m pissed off,” Luka huffed, and then smiled again. “But I’m fine. I didn’t do— much I wouldn’t have done anyway. Just, not necessarily in that order, or that soon. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m...not sure,” Marinette sighed, adjusting her grip on the sheet she held to her chest. “I don’t know how I feel. I definitely did some things I wouldn’t have done sober. You, specifically,” she joked weakly. “Not that you aren’t—not that I didn’t—“

“I get it,” he chuckled. 

“But...I’m on birth control, and…” she turned and craned her neck to look at the spilled box and empty wrappers on the nightstand. “We used protection, and…” she looked at Luka, worrying her lip. 

“I’m clean,” he supplied.

“Me too,” she whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “And you’re hot and you seem nice and it’s not like it didn’t feel good, and I definitely wasn’t sad for a while, so…” She shrugged. “I’m a little embarrassed but...I think I’m okay too.”

“Well, no need to be embarrassed with me,” Luka grinned. “I’m definitely not judging.” 

They sat smiling at each other for a moment, and then Luka seemed to remember something, because he winced. “Umm...about your dress,” he coughed. “I am so, so sorry but it seems drunk me was kinda impatient and your dress is in pieces on my living room floor.” 

Marinette just blinked at him for a moment...and then she started to laugh. Luka grinned, and then started to chuckle along with her. She laughed harder and grabbed her head. “Ow, ow, oh my God.” Without thinking she leaned forward to drop her head on Luka’s shoulder. 

He stiffened up for a second, but then relaxed, and one of his hands slipped into her hair. His fingers began to rub in small circles. 

“Mmm, that’s good,” she sighed, and felt Luka’s chuckle.

“Well that sounds familiar,” he said, his voice going a little deeper. Marinette shivered. She felt him swallow, and his face dipped slightly towards her. “I like your perfume,” he said, and had to clear his throat again. Marinette’s face warmed.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. His fingers continued to rub her aching head, and the pain actually seemed to be receding a bit, though whether from the massage or the painkillers he’d given her, she wasn’t sure.

She should sit up. He was a stranger, after all, and just because they’d—she wasn’t exactly experienced at this kind of thing but this wasn’t really fitting in with what she imagined a morning after to be like. She probably looked weird, leaning on him like...like they were a couple or something, and—

Luka’s hands shifted and began to comb gently, slowly through her hair, and Marinette let out a small moan. She felt his breath hitch and bit her lip, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“What for?” he asked, but there was a rough edge to his voice that—she was being silly though, he’d performed last night, and then they’d done all that drinking, and...and those other things, and it was no wonder if his voice was—

That voice was doing things to her, though, and reminding her of—things, and this time it was her breath that caught as the fingers that had been moving through her hair kept going down this time, sliding along her spine, raising goosebumps and reminding her that she was still very much naked. 

“Do you, um,” Luka began, in the exact same deep tones that had made her leave the club with him last night. “Do you have anywhere you need to be right now?” 

His fingers stilled, resting at the small of her back, and Marinette couldn’t see his face since hers was still buried in his shoulder. It was hard to think when he was so warm, and her nose was brushing his collarbone, and she’d hardly have to move to press her lips against his smooth skin. 

She barely knew him. But...well...that hadn’t stopped her last night, so...

Marinette took a deep breath, and lifted her head, sitting back slightly to look at him. His breathing was steady as he looked back at her, almost too steady, but his eyes were dark. 

“No,” she managed, barely above a whisper. 

Luka’s hands moved up her back to trail up and down her arms. “Then, do you want to stay for a while longer?” They were swaying towards each other. “Maybe…” They were kissing before he could finish the thought. Marinette put her arms around his neck automatically, but as his arms went around her, pulling her closer, she dropped her hands back down again to rub over his broad, firm shoulders. 

“Again?” he managed to get out between the fevered kisses, and Marinette made an affirmative noise, but he didn’t move until she broke away long enough to gasp, “Yes.” 

He was pulling away the sheet between them even as he wrapped one arm around her and dragged her more fully onto the bed, settling her below him with surprising gentleness. Okay, that was hot, Marinette decided, burying her fingers in his already-messy hair as he began retracing the path he’d marked along her neck last night. Last night had been a really, really stupid decision, but this? As he pulled back to look at her, eyes clear and sharp instead of the hazy, unfocused gaze he’d had the night before, and brushed her hair tenderly back from her face before kissing her again, softly, and then deeply, Marinette began to feel that this morning was by far the best decision she’d made in a long time. 

***

He should get up, Luka thought hazily, listening to his shower running. He should at least put his boxers back on or something. Change the sheets. Make some coffee. Something.

Instead he lay there, limp and relaxed, listening to the shower, and trying to hold on to this feeling of languid contentment.

God, he felt so good. Marinette was an amazing partner, sweet and so responsive, practically melting under his touch, firm and toned but soft in all the right places, and her little gasps and hums drove him crazy. She was bolder than he expected, an amazing kisser even drunk off her ass last night, and her mouth was so pretty and soft, and this morning...his body hummed with echoes of pleasure as he thought about it. 

He rolled over, hugging his pillow, and grinned. He could still smell her perfume. That scent was engraved in his mind; it was one of the things that was clearest to him from the jumbled mix of memories of the night before. Luka remembered dancing with Marinette, dropping his head to hear something she was saying, and inhaling that scent, vivid despite the riot of smells that permeated the dance floor. He remembered being surrounded by it in the blur that was the cab ride home. He remembered gasping it in on the living room floor...did they fall? He thought he remembered one of them tripping over the doorstep. Even just now, with all his senses full of her, he had found traces of it on her skin, at her jaw and right behind her ear. 

Luka shivered, buried his face in the pillow, and breathed deep. 

He’d played a killer set last night, he’d gone home with a beautiful woman who was great in bed, had somehow managed not to humiliate himself despite his spiked drinks, and he had nowhere to be today. This morning would be perfect if he wasn’t dead certain that Marinette was going to leave and he would never see her again. 

He really wanted to see her again. 

Which was why he hadn’t wanted things to happen this way, damn it. He sighed, this time burying his face in the pillow to muffle his groan. He was supposed to flirt with her, get her number, ask her out, think with his brain and not his—hormones. 

He was still going to kill his so-called friend. There was no justifying what Jean had done. If Victor had been working it never would have happened, but he’d called out for the night and apparently whoever had replaced him had been more than happy to make sure Luka’s drinks were stronger than advertised.

Bastards, both of them. 

Even if it hadn’t turned out too badly. 

Rock Giant blared out from his nightstand, and Luka flopped on his back and grabbed for his phone, forcing his eyes open as he answered it. “Hello?” he grumbled. 

Silence. Luka frowned, and opened his mouth, but the person on the other end finally said, “I’m looking for Marinette.” 

What? Luka frowned, and then pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. It was pink. 

Right. Because he’d found Marinette’s dead phone on the floor this morning when he got up, and he’d picked it up and set it in his charger, while he took his own to the living room to call and yell at Jean. Then he’d hurled his phone into the couch and left it there.

Shit. 

“Ah,” he said, reaching up with his other hand to run his fingers through his hair. “She’s, um, in the shower. I can tell her to call you when she gets out.” 

“Tell her to call Alya. If I don’t hear from her in fifteen minutes, I’m calling the police,” the girl on the other end of the line said coldly, and then hung up.

“Oops,” Luka muttered, setting Marinette’s phone back on the nightstand with a sigh. He hoped she wouldn’t be too mad at him. He probably should have come up with a more ambiguous excuse, something she could use for a cover if she didn’t want to admit to this Alya person that she’d gone home with a guy, but he wasn’t exactly thinking on his feet this morning. 

He should get up. He sat up with a groan and swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

He registered that the shower was no longer running at about the same time that the door opened. Luka looked up and his jaw dropped as Marinette shuffled shyly into the room.

Shit, he’d seen her naked less than an hour ago, why was he still blushing?  She was wearing two of his shirts, a t-shirt with one of his button-ups over it, open at the front and with the sleeves rolled up, cinched at her waist with her scarf from the night before. He couldn’t look away from that scarf for a moment, a pink, gauzy thing the sight of which brought Luka another vivid memory of pressing his face against her neck to inhale her perfume as he untied it. His eyes flicked up to the lovely pattern of bruises along her neck. 

“Thanks for letting me raid your closet,” Marinette said, tugging slightly at the hem of his shirt. She had what looked like a pair of his black bike shorts on underneath. They were too big for her but damn did her legs look good anyway.

“No problem,” he coughed, and cleared his throat, reaching for the glass of water that was still sitting on his nightstand. Ugh, when did he become such a horn dog, drooling like this over a woman who had already more than satisfied him. Why did Jean have to decide to be a jerk last night, of all nights. Luka didn’t want things to end like this. 

“Well, I should...If you maybe have a bag I can put my dress in? Then I can just go and get out of your hair.” Marinette couldn’t seem to be still, feet shuffling, hands fluttering, not looking at him.

I have to fix this, was the only thing he could think as he stared at her. I’ll regret it forever if she just walks out.

“Actually,” Luka said quickly, trying desperately not to sound too desperate, “I was going to ask if I could buy you breakfast.” 

That stilled her. She froze, staring at him, and he forced himself to go on. “No pressure,” he shrugged, “But the café on the corner has a great all-day brunch menu. And I’d like to make it up to you, about the dress.” He grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. Marinette’s eyes followed the motion and he thought he saw pink tint her cheeks. Well, at least it wasn’t just him. “Breakfast probably doesn’t begin to cover it, but it’s a start. If you don’t mind waiting for me to shower.” 

Marinette was shuffling again. “O-okay,” she said. “I’ll, um...I’ll wait for you in the other room?”

Luka chuckled. “Sure.” He waited a moment, but when she just stood there, he tossed aside the sheet covering his lap and stood. “I’ll be quick,” he told her with a grin that he was extremely sure she didn’t see. She squeaked as he passed her and he had to smother his laughter, even as he closed the bathroom door behind him. She was too cute, and her ogling made him feel less like a creep for his own.

Then he cursed and opened the door again, leaning just his upper half out. “Oh, I need to tell you, you need to call, um, Alya? I’m really sorry, but we have the same ringtone and I answered without thinking. Can you call her back before she sends the cops after me? I can’t deal with Officer Roger this early in the morning.”

Marinette paused, and then let out a strangled laugh, dropping her head into her hand. “Yeah,” she sighed, but she was smiling when she looked up at him. “Sure, I can do that.” 

Luka smiled back. “I'll only be a few minutes.” 

He did want to be quick, but he also wanted to be clean and attractive, so he throttled back his impatience as best he could to make sure that he both smelled and looked good. The bedroom was still empty when he came in, but the door wasn’t shut all the way and he could hear Marinette on the phone. He felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but it wasn’t as if he could help it. 

“—about that but it’s not like I ditched you on purpose. Well obviously I was wasted, Alya, so I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.  No, I’m really fine. I’m kind of embarrassed and I feel really stupid, but...it turned out okay. Hmm? No, he’s really sweet and considerate. He’s, um, buying me breakfast, so…what? No, Alya, I’m not stupid, I know that. He’s just being nice and—okay that is none of your business! ” There was a giggle that followed that, and then her voice dropped too quiet for him to hear, and another giggle, one that made him smile from the sheer joy evident in it. “I guess I got lucky in more ways than one.” She sighed. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me. I really am fine. Not even sick, much. I mean I had a headache for a while, but...” She giggled again. “Luka took care of it. Mm-hmm, so good, Alya, oh my God.” Luka grinned to himself as he dug in his closet to find the stack of leftover merch he had crammed into the back corner. “Nuh uh, also none of your business. Anyway, I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way back, okay?”

Stop being a smug bastard , Luka told himself, but it wasn’t working very well. Given the state she had reduced him to, it was gratifying to know she’d enjoyed herself too. Well, he had known that, he’d made sure of it, but it still felt good to hear it from her. Maybe his odds were better than he thought. He found what he was looking for and tried to turn his smirk into something less incriminating before he opened his door and emerged into the living room. From the way Marinette’s face turned red, he failed. “I really gotta go,” she mumbled into the phone, eyes on him. “Bye, Alya.” 

“I hope this will do,” Luka said, offering her the cheap mesh tote with his band logo on it. “You can keep it, we use them to bag up merch when people by t-shirts and stuff for the band...I hope it’s…”

“It’s fine,” Marinette smiled, taking the bag. The pieces of her dress were already neatly folded on the couch, and she turned away from him to put them in the bag. 

“I’m really sorry about that,” Luka told her, frowning a little. “I’m...not usually like that.”

“It’s okay,” Marinette sighed. “It was kind of flimsy, with just those straps to hold the pieces together. I’m not usually like this…” she gestured with one of the folded pieces, “either. I’m not, you know, sexy like that. I made it because I thought...well, I thought he would like it, and maybe I could wear it for a special occasion at home, but I never meant to wear it out , and then when everything happened, I thought I’d never wear it at all, but then Alya insisted that I had to wear it at least once and…” She shrugged, and slipped the handles of the tote over her arm, smiling up at him. “I’m just as happy to have an excuse not to wear it again.” 

“Well, you looked amazing in it,” Luka told her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But I have to disagree with you about not usually being sexy. My clothes have never looked so hot.”

She tried to hide how much she enjoyed the compliment, but couldn’t quite manage it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’d had a breakup, he remembered, and probably wasn’t feeling too good about herself when she walked into that bar last night, dressed to the nines, and started knocking back drinks. 

Then her blue eyes flicked up to give him a look through her lashes. “I find that hard to believe,” she murmured, and then blushed. 

Oh he was gone. Luka found himself reaching for her, but stopped his hand before it touched her cheek. “Can I kiss you, Marinette?” 

Her eyebrows shot up. “Now, you’re asking?” 

“Yes, I’m asking,” Luka replied, amused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Marinette’s eyes darted to his mouth, and then back towards the bedroom. “I don’t, um...think I can…” 

Luka chuckled. “Thanks for your opinion of my stamina, but frankly, me either. I’d be more than willing if I could, but, right here right now? I just really want to kiss you.” 

“Why?” Marinette blurted, and then covered her mouth. Luka blinked, but before he could come up with any kind of answer, Marinette straightened and squared her shoulders. “Look,” she said briskly. “I’m sorry, I just...I’ve never done this before, and I don’t know what...I don’t know what the rules are? The...etiquette, or whatever...I mean I kind of thought once we were done with…” Her eyes shifted towards his bedroom again. “I thought it was just, over? And I would go home? So I’m...I guess I’m confused. About why you’re still...um...breakfast and kissing and all that, it just…why would you still want that, after you—I mean we—aren’t we, you know…” She floundered. 

“Okay, hold on,” Luka raised his hands placatingly. “Relax, Marinette. That was kind of a lot to take in.” Luka chuckled, and looked away for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m not gonna say I’ve never done this before, but...listen, I don’t have a playbook. This isn’t...a business transaction, or whatever. I just do what feels good. Dancing with you felt good. Kissing you felt good. Everything we did after felt good. This morning felt really good.” Marinette blushed, a smile tugging at her lips. “I just feel good with you. I don’t see any reason to put a time limit on that, just because we’re, um. Worn out.” They both giggled self-consciously, and Luka reached for Marinette’s hand, cradling it in his. “If you want to go, or you need to be somewhere, or if you’re just tired of kissing me—”

“I don’t,” Marinette said quickly, taking a half step forward. “I’m...not.” Luka smiled.

“Then just do what feels g—” 

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, dropping the bag on the floor. Luka’s hands found her hips automatically, steadying them both from her hasty move, and the kiss softened as they both relaxed into it. 

“You’re right,” Marinette breathed, sending a shiver up his spine. “It does feel good.” 

Luka kissed her again softly, savoring the soft plumpness of her lower lip between his, and rested his forehead against hers. “I could kiss you all day,” he rumbled, and cleared his throat. “But fainting from hunger probably wouldn’t feel so good, so. We should probably go.” 

“Okay,” Marinette said, and then bit the lip he’d just been enjoying. “But maybe we could...keep doing what feels good? For a while? Until I have to go?” 

“Hell yeah,” Luka grinned, and grinned wider when she rose up and kissed him again. He picked up her bag and offered it to her, and walked her to the front door and opened it for her, his other hand still entwined with hers.

They made it to the landing when Marinette hesitated at the top of the stairs. Looking over her head, Luka saw one of his nosier neighbors staring up at them, judgment in every line of her body. Marinette was frozen under the stare, red slowly creeping up her face. He could sense the sudden panic in her, and put a hand on her hip. 

Luka leaned down by her ear. “You were the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen last night,” he murmured, smiling when Marinette shivered and turned her head slightly to listen to him, jolted out of whatever spiral she’d been in. “You completely blew my mind this morning. You’re a goddess. Own it and walk out of here like one.”

Marinette felt as if Luka’s words sank into her skin, warming her in such a way that she almost forgot what they were talking about. She was busy reliving the way he had arched against her, the praises he had whispered into her skin, the way he had clung to her, moaning as he came apart. She did that to him. 

Luka watched as Marinette bit her lip, fighting the smile that was suddenly trying to break out. He brushed his lips against her temple and she looked up at him, still blushing but with a sparkle in her eye that did things to his heart. She reached back and caught his hand, tangling her fingers with his, and marched down the stairs, offering a cheerful smile to the old lady at the bottom. “Good morning,” she said, and Luka grinned shamelessly as they walked out of the door.

When they made it out of the building Luka suddenly pulled back on her hand, and Marinette gasped as he whirled her up against the wall and leaned down. Marinette rose up on her toes to meet him, cupping his face in her hands and they kissed fiercely. Luka braced his hands on the wall and leaned into her. 

“Perfect,” he breathed, though even he wasn’t sure whether he meant her performance just now, or her in general. 

Marinette’s hands slid from his face to his shoulders as she blushed and looked down, but then she looked back up at him, beaming, and Luka couldn’t help smiling back at her as he cupped her cheek and kissed her lightly one more time. “Breakfast,” he sighed, and pushed off the wall. He held out his hand, and Marinette put hers in it, and they were both grinning as they meandered down the sidewalk. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and Marinette sighed blissfully. 

“I feel...really good,” she answered. “Thank you.” She paused, and scrunched her nose. “Is that weird to say?” 

“No,” Luka laughed, and brought their hands to his lips to press a kiss against her fingers. “Thank you too. I had a really good time. I’m glad you did too. I’m glad that...well, with the way things started. It could have all gone really badly, or not at all, and...I’m really glad I could show you a good time.” 

Marinette blushed. “It was good. Really, um. Really good.” She sighed. “I promise I know more words than this.” 

Luka chuckled. “It’s okay. Here, it’s this one.” He opened the café door, but he didn’t let go of Marinette’s hand, following right behind her into the café. They were directed to a booth, and he tugged at her, urging her to sit next to him instead of across. 

Marinette only hesitated a moment. Do what feels good . Luka’s arm felt good against her shoulders as he laid it along the back of the booth, and he leaned down and kissed her without any trace of self-consciousness. Marinette’s fingers curled in his shirt. Kissing him felt really good. She should be embarrassed; she should be pushing him away. Hadn’t she heard over and over how important image is, and here she is making out with her one night stand, wearing his clothes, in a public diner booth. 

Do what feels good . 

It definitely felt good. 

“God that feels good,” Luka sighed as they parted, and Marinette giggled. He kissed the top of her head, and then picked up the menu as a slightly wary waitress approached. Marinette glanced up at him in surprise at the rather domestic gesture, but then quickly away again. Stupid. They’d already had that conversation. It was just an impulse, not something to read into. Marinette looked up at the waitress instead, feeling her cheeks heat. 

The waitress didn’t look phased at all. If anything, she looked bored. “Coffee?” she offered in a disinterested tone.

“Um, no, thank you,” Marinette managed to smile. “I’d like some lemon tea with honey, please.” 

The waitress nodded, and glanced at Luka. “Usual, Lu?” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Luka said, flashing a quick grin before looking at the menu again. 

“Come here often?” Marinette teased, and Luka chuckled, then coughed lightly.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s close and I’m lazy, so…” He shrugged. 

The waitress returned and set down a little pot of hot water, a cup with a tea bag in it, and a container of honey. 

Marinette pulled away from Luka slightly to prepare the tea, but his arm remained behind her on the back of the booth. 

“Here,” Marinette said, sliding the tea over to him when it was ready. “This’ll help your throat.”. 

Luka blinked, and then smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and Marinette found herself blushing under his suddenly soft gaze.

“No, thank you,” she said, and he laughed as she reached over and stole his coffee cup. She sipped it carefully. It wasn’t quite as sweet as she liked it, but it was good enough. She glanced up at Luka over the rim, and he was still giving her that soft look. 

“I should figure out a ride,” Marinette murmured, looking away, and she picked up her phone.

“I can get you a cab if you want,” Luka offered, but Marinette shook her head. 

“My roommate’s boyfriend works nights around here, and he should be getting off soon. I’ll see if he can pick me up first.” She smiled at Luka. “If not, we can revisit the offer. Thank you.” 

He leaned down and kissed her again, and she kept him close for another, and her next text to Nino wasn’t entirely coherent. 

They had to disentangle from each other when their food came, but Marinette remained very aware of Luka’s arm brushing her own, and the soft smiles he gave anytime she glanced at him. She glanced away, tucking back a lock of hair to cover up the fact that she was grinning like a fool. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? she wondered. Was this just like, afterglow or something? Would it fade away once she left?

Luka touched her shoulder and Marinette jumped. He blinked. “Sorry. I was just asking if you got your ride worked out, but I guess you were a bit zoned out.” 

“Sorry,” Marinette said quickly, and stuffed her phone back in her purse. “Yeah, Nino’s going to pick me up here in a little bit.” Luka nodded. 

He put his arm back around her when they were finished eating, and he ordered another lemon tea instead of the coffee she expected. “You were right,” he smiled. “It did help.” 

Marinette mixed it up for him again when it came, and then settled in and leaned against Luka’s side as he sipped it. He smelled nice, and he was warm, and she loved how easy he made everything feel. 

Luka watched Marinette’s eyelids begin to droop. He nuzzled her hair and kissed her temple, but she just smiled, her eyes still closed. She was adorable, and Luka sighed before jostling her slightly.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he warned, and Marinette blinked her eyes back open. “I don’t particularly mind, but we can’t stay in this booth all day.”

“Can’t we?” Marinette sighed. “I’m so comfortable. You’ve been...really great Luka. I’m kind of sorry it has to end.” 

Luka took a breath, and took the plunge. “Well, about that. I was hoping maybe we could see each other again.”

Marinette blinked uncomprehendingly, and then blushed as she sat up and looked at him. “Y-you mean, like a...a b-b—” 

“I mean like a date,” Luka corrected, mouth twitching. She was really too cute. “The kind with talking and dinner and movies or whatever. I’d really like to spend more time with you, Marinette. Talking, and not just...well. I’d be lying if I said I wanted to stop doing everything else, but...I want to get to know you.” 

Marinette’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

Luka tilted his head slightly. “Why are you surprised?” 

“I just don’t—I mean I didn’t think I’d be…” Marinette ducked her head, drawing circles in the ring of condensation forming around the base of her water glass. “You don’t even know me.” 

“True.” Luka raised his eyebrows, and shifted his gaze away so he wasn’t looking quite so fully at her. “That’s why I’m asking you out. I don’t know you, but I want to. If you want to call it quits now and go home and never see me again, I’ll accept that, but...it’s definitely not the way I want this to go.”

“I…” Marinette looked down, twining a finger nervously in her hair. “I don’t know, Luka. You’re really sweet and—I really did have a great time with you. It’s just…I don’t want you to get hurt because I’m on the rebound, I…I don’t know if I’m ready for another, um...relationship, right now. I mean...”

Not what he wanted to hear, but...“Okay. That’s fair,” Luka nodded, the fingers of his free hand beginning to tap the table lightly.. “What if we just keep things casual for now? We can go out sometimes, and have some fun together...do what feels good…” he squeezed her hip, and watched her try to keep back the smile that wanted to break out, “get to know each other, and if you want to see other people or whatever, I’m cool with that for now. I’d just really like the chance to spend more time with you. If it doesn’t go anywhere then…” He shrugged, “at least I tried. You’ve put me on notice now, so it’s my choice to take the risk. I think you’re worth it.” His heart was beating so fast, and the tap of his fingers picked up tempo as he watched Marinette consider. 

“Why?” Marinette whispered at last, with a sigh that hurt his heart. Her last relationship must really have done a number on her. 

Luka cupped her cheek in his hand, coaxing her to look up at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just...have a feeling about you. I’ve learned to trust my instincts about people. I can’t explain it logically, I just...know. You’re someone I want to know. I felt it from the moment I saw you, before I’d even had a single drink.” 

Marinette pursed her lips, looking up at him. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live up to that,” she said after a long moment.

Luka let his thumb stroke lightly against her lower lip. “You don’t have to live up to anything. Just be you, and let what happens happen.” He bent and kissed her, slipping a hand behind her neck to get a better angle as he plundered her mouth in a way that was definitely not appropriate for a public place. Luka was pretty far beyond caring at the moment though. That this gorgeous, sweet, vibrant woman, could question that someone might be drawn to her, attracted to her for more than a passing moment...it just wasn’t right. 

Marinette relaxed into him with a quiet moan. Her hand slipped under his jacket and pressed into his chest, feeling him up shamelessly, and his own fingers tightened on her hip. 

“So,” he breathed, when he finally let her slip reluctantly away. “What do you say?”

Marinette looked up at him, and bit her reddened lip, and then quietly asked, “Are you free this weekend?”

Luka grinned. “Actually, not so much, I’m usually playing gigs on weekends...how about Thursday? That way I don’t have to hurry away.”

Marinette hummed, and pulled out her phone. He watched the fingertip she pressed against her lips as she considered her schedule, and admired her bright eyes when she smiled up at him. “Okay, Thursday works.” 

“It’s a date,” Luka smiled so softly that Marinette’s heart fluttered. How did he do that, kiss her like that and then do something so—so sweet . 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought as he got out his own phone to swap numbers with her. What if she fell for him? 

But...he sounded like he wanted her to fall for him. Maybe? But what if he fell for her, and she was just using him for sex? Because he’d made her feel so, so good...important and beautiful and wanted and…

It might not even be like that again, she told herself. Maybe I just imagined it because I was lonely and depressed and feeling unwanted...maybe I would be thinking about anyone who gave me some attention that way. Maybe we’ll just...fizzle out and it won’t even be an issue.. 

Luka curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. “You okay?” he asked softly. 

“I…” her voice was shaking, and she took a breath and forced a smile. “Yeah. Just. I’m tired.” 

He didn’t believe her. “You’re okay,” he told her, kissing her cheek gently, and then the corner of her mouth. “Whatever’s going on, it’s going to be okay.”

Marinette’s phone beeped, and she picked it up with relief. “He’s almost here.”

She slid out of the booth, and Luka followed. He left some bills on the table and took her hand as they walked out. 

“That’s my ride,” Marinette gestured as Nino pulled up at the curb. She turned to face Luka, stepping close. He set his hands on her hips and squeezed as she leaned up to kiss his cheek, but she paused, and then turned and caught his mouth instead. Luka moved easily to meet her in one of those slow, deep kisses that made it seem like he had no other place in the world to be. She stroked his cheeks with her fingertips and kissed him again, and then again as she slid her fingers back up into his hair. “Goodbye, Luka,” she whispered, and he shook his head. 

“See you later,” he corrected softly.   

As he let go of her she felt something slide along her hip and looked down to see the pink scarf that had been tied around her waist slipping away. She looked up at Luka’s grinning face as he winked at her and draped the gauzy scarf around his neck. He raised the fabric to his face and inhaled. “See you Thursday,” he told her, eyes twinkling, and turned to walk away. 

Marinette’s knees felt shaky as she stepped down the curb and opened the car door. 

Nino was hunched down in the front seat, both hands pulling his cap over his face. “Geeze, Nette,” he muttered as she fell into the seat and tucked her feet inside. “I really didn’t need to see that.” 

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, but as she flipped down the visor to check herself in the vanity mirror, she saw pink cheeks and sparkling eyes and a broad smile, and knew that she wasn’t convincing. She pressed her fingers to her lips and, for Nino’s sake, fought down the urge to squeal. 

Her glow dimmed a bit as she followed Nino up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Alya. She loved her friend, but...she wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. She tugged the collar of Luka’s shirt a little higher on her neck, and tried to remember what Luka had told her. She had nothing to be ashamed of. 

“Well well well,” Alya drawled as Marinette slipped into the apartment after Nino. “Your very first walk of shame.” She smirked. “Marinette, I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

“What I had in me was a lot of vodka,” Marinette huffed, and came over to the table, accepting the glass of ice water Alya pushed across to her.

Alya waited until Marinette had the drink at her lips to add, “And a hot guy, apparently.” 

Marinette choked, just as Alya had intended. “Alya!” 

“Don’t tell me he wasn’t, girl,” Alya snickered. “You, my friend, look very well fucked.” 

Marinette blushed hard. She was, at that, but Alya didn’t have to put it so...crassly.

Nino groaned. “You know what, just...knock and let me know when you’re done. I don’t want to think about it.” He went down the hall into Alya’s bedroom and shut the door. 

“So you said goodbye to Mr. Right For Tonight?” Alya asked, tapping her fingers against her own glass. “You have all your stuff, right?” She frowned. “Are those his clothes? What happened to your dress?”

“I have it with me,” Marinette defended, picking up the bag she’d dropped. “He just...thought I’d be more comfortable in something else.” Not for a million euros would she have told Alya the whole truth about the dress. “And yes, I said goodbye. For now, anyway,” Marinette muttered, and caught Alya’s gaze when she looked up. Something in that look made her squirm. “Actually we have a date later this week,” she admitted. 

“A date?” Alya raised her eyebrows. “Marinette, maybe I need to clue you in on a few things about this whole one night stand business. As in, one single night. After which you…” She made a fluttering motion with her hand. “You’re not supposed to get a date.” 

Marinette shrugged, and reached over to pluck a croissant from Alya’s plate, just to have something to do with her hands. “Oops.” 

Alya’s frown deepened. 

“What? It’s no big deal,” Marinette defended, though she wasn’t even sure why she felt the need. “We just...thought we’d like to see each other again.” 

Alya looked troubled for a moment, and then grinned. “It was that good, huh?”

“Well—” Marinette squirmed in her seat again. “It was fine, okay? He just...seemed nice.” 

“Uh huh.”  

“It was your idea anyway!” Marinette pointed out defensively.

“My idea was for you to go out and get buzzed and enjoy being drooled over,” Alya grinned. “You decided to get hammered and then get laid all on your own. I hope you’re satisfied .” 

Marinette couldn’t cover the silly smile that wanted to come up at that, but when Alya snickered, Marinette shook herself back to reality and sighed. “It was probably my imagination making things better than they were. I was feeling pretty down last night and I did have a lot to drink. And it has, you know. Been a while.”

“Maybe started seeing through beer goggles?” Alya teased. “Not that I blame you, I thought he was pretty cute when you were dancing, but I’d had a few myself by then too. Not your usual type, but it’s good to branch out.”

Marinette blushed. She didn’t want to tell Alya that while her memories of the evening were hazy, she remembered Luka in the morning very clearly, not only the lines of his body but the broadness of his back beneath her arms as she clung to him, the ripple of the muscles tensing and releasing against her as he moved, the dark intensity of his eyes and the way they fluttered closed when she did something he liked. 

She picked up her water glass and took a long gulp. No, she hadn’t needed the liquor to be attracted to him. Not at all. 

Still. She wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, even now. “Watch,” Marinette sighed, setting the glass down. “The date’ll be a bust and that’ll be the end of it. We probably won’t have anything to say to each other and we’ll exchange awkward texts for a few days and then we’ll never speak again.” 

“Hmm,” Alya raised her eyebrows. “We’ll see. It’s fine if you want to have fun, Marinette, you sure as hell could use some. Just be careful, always use protection, and don’t let him take any nudes.”

Marinette blushed deeply, and bit into her croissant. “Thanks so much for your concern,” she muttered around the mouthful. 

***

Marinette knew she was in trouble as soon as she locked eyes with Luka and her stomach started doing somersaults. The slow smile he gave her was so distracting that she barely heard his greeting, or the compliment that followed. She didn’t remember putting her hand in his, it was just there, his fingers rubbing lightly over her knuckles. They hadn’t even made it to the restaurant when Luka tugged her into a shadowed corner and kissed her in that slow, purposeful way he had. His voice surprised her a little, smoother than it had been, without the roughness of hard usage, but, she found, just as seductive. Any resistance Marinette might have had crumbled the second he turned them out of the light and breathed may I ? against her lips. 

When they did finally make it to their table, Luka was just as easygoing as he’d been on their first...night, and he meant it when he said he wanted to get to know her. He asked her questions, and seemed interested in what she said, even when she babbled, watching her with a quietly amused smile. He was interesting, too, telling her about his travels for the past year with his band. They had a surprising number of tastes in common. His eyes were fixed on her whenever she spoke, and he was touching her whenever he got the chance, taking her hand or playing with her fingers, brushing her hair back or letting his hand rest on her shoulder. Despite the kisses they shared whenever one of them couldn’t help themselves, his touch didn’t feel like seduction, just tenderness. Marinette felt like the center of his world, and after so long living on the sidelines of someone else’s life, she reveled in it. 

They were laughing as he walked her home.

“You did not,” Marinette gasped, one hand over her mouth and the other curled around Luka’s arm. 

“We totally did. What can I say, it was a full moon and my best friend is crazy.” Luka shrugged, and grinned while Marinette laughed.

“Wait, so are you a werewolf?” Marinette asked teasingly, as they approached the awning of her building.

“No,” Luka chuckled. “Unless you’re into that. If so, I can see what arrangements I can make for the next full moon.”

“You’d get bitten by a werewolf for me?” Marinette giggled. “How sweet.”

“I’d rather be bitten by you,” Luka teased back, and his hand found her hip, and her arms came up around his neck, and then they were kissing. Heat welled up in her, making her push up against him. Luka made a sound low in his throat and his hands slid to her lower back, pressing her closer. Oh, she wanted him, and by the feel of him he wanted her too, and…

Well. There really wasn’t any point in denying their mutual desire, was there. Marinette pulled away to press her lips along his jaw, and he made that sound again as he tilted his head for her. 

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Marinette asked, toying with his collar. “My roommate’s out of town tonight, so we won’t be, um...bothering anybody.” 

“I’d love to,” Luka told her, voice deepening. “I’d hate for you to be lonely, all by yourself.”

“Oh, I can entertain myself,” Marinette said daringly, looking up at him through her lashes. “I have an excellent imagination. There’s definitely advantages to having the real you here, though.” 

“Play your cards right and I’m sure we can manage the best of both worlds.” Luka bent and kissed the join of her neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to make her shudder. “You can start with telling me how you imagine we get upstairs. Are we making out in the elevator or am I chasing you up the stairs?” 

“Elevator,” Marinette sighed, head tilting as he retraced his favorite route up her neck. “I don’t want to wear your legs out just yet.” She paused to consider. “Maybe you could chase me that far, though.” 

Luka pressed another long, slow kiss to her mouth. “Then you’d better run,” he told her, grinning playfully. “I won’t be responsible for what happens when I catch you.” They both giggled, and then Marinette broke away, running for the building doors. Luka darted after her, staying just at her heels, sweeping her up in his arms just in time to carry her through the elevator doors. Marinette spared a brief moment to wonder what she was doing, being so bold, and in sight of the entire lobby, too, but Luka grinned at her, and she forgot to care. Marinette leaned over him to press the button for her floor, and then forgot everything but his mouth under hers. 

Later, when they said a lingering goodbye at her door, and he asked her if she’d like to go out again, she didn’t even hesitate before agreeing. She’d figure out a way to explain it to Alya later.

Fiction Master Post

[aliwritesfic]

The Night Shift Part 9 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Summary: Your first night at Frankies, yearning mostly . . . no hanky panky! (yet 👀)

Warnings: Talk of abuse, talk of death of loved ones

W/C: 2.2k

Spotify

Part 1 Part 10

Frankie was buzzing with adrenaline as he drove you and Manny back to the restaurant. His hand hurt slightly, but he couldn’t stop think about how damn goodit felt to punch Kurt in the face, how when he heard the fear in your voice, everything turned red. How it took everything not to crush the vermin under his boot. But, he would unpack those feelings later, preferably over a case of beer with the boys. They, of all people, would understand.

You got out of the truck to say goodbye to Manny, and Frankie didn’t miss how you rubbed your lower back, how even from where he sat, he could see the ring of a bruise blossoming around your wrist.

“Sorry that took so long,” you said, climbing back into the truck. Frankie glanced at the clock on the dash – barely five minutes had passed. “Are you completely sure it’s okay I stay with you?”

“I want you to stay,” Frankie said. “Please, don’t get it in your head that you’re an inconvenience. I know you well enough by now to see that’s exactly where you’re heading.”

You laughed weakly. “I hate that you’re right,” you said, “I’m just not used to having extra help.” Frankie nodded, and waited for you to continue. “For a second in there, before you and Manny came in . . .I was terrified. I forgot I wasn’t alone and I – thank you, for what you did in there. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come in when you did.”

You slumped back in your seat and closed your eyes.

“I think this whole thing got rid of my hangover, though,” you joked.

“You’re young enough that you can bounce back quickly from hangovers,” Frankie said, taking the obvious hint for a change in the subject.

“Please, you’re barely older than me,” you said. “You’re like, what? Thirty?”

“Thirty-two,” Frankie corrected.

“Oh my apologies, you’re ancient,” you said with a roll of your eyes. Frankie grinned and shook his head. It amazed him how easily you could still make a joke, despite everything you had been through today alone.

It was almost sunset when he pulled up to his home. Golden light splayed across your features, making you glow. Stunning. The thought was in Frankie’s mind before he could stop it. You turned to smile at him.

“Nice gnomes,” you said gesturing to the dozens of gnomes of varying sizes that were scattered around Frankie’s front garden. He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced.

“Thanks. My Abuelo used to give me one every Christmas, right up until he died last year.”

“I’m sorry,” you said your voice sincere, “I know how hard that is.”

Frankie shrugged, not wanting to talk about how after his Abuelo died, he made himself sick with grief. Instead, he chose to share something happier. “He used to hide things in them, since they’re all hollow. Sometimes it would be candy, or money. Once he hid my first iPod in one.”

“Sounds like he was a cool dude,” you said and Frankie nodded.

“He was the coolest,” Frankie agreed.

You were quiet for a few moments, holding your arms across your chest. The toll of the day was written plainly on your face, weariness lending itself to the dark circles under your eyes, to the way your shoulders curled inwards. Without thinking about it, Frankie wrapped his arms around you. You leant into the hug, burying your face into his neck. He rubbed your back gently, careful to avoid the spot he knew you were still hurting. You stood like that for a while, warmth leeching into him, and when you finally pulled away, you were almost quick enough to hide your damp eyes.

“Wanna go in?” Frankie asked, already feeling colder without you. He wanted to tug you back, hold you to him and not let go. You nodded, still not looking directly at him.

Inside, the house was cool and dark. Frankie tugged his cap off and placed it on a hook by the door, running a hand through his curls to fluff them up. He was suddenly more self-conscious than he had ever been before. He very rarely brought women back here, and when he did, he never liked them as much as he liked you.

He tried to imagine what you were thinking – were you grossed out at his unwashed breakfast plate sitting in the sink? Was the number of photos of family and friends that hung up on the walls and sat framed on every surface excessive? He didn’t remember seeing any photos like that at your apartment. But then, he also hadn’t been looking.

“It’s uh, not much,” he said rubbing the back of his neck.

“It suits you,” you said. Was it a compliment? Frankie wasn’t sure, until you continued. “Like, at first, it seems a little understated, but the more I look the more I see how you it all is.” You wandered over to a shelf stuffed with books and records, most of them coming from his old room at his parents when they had cleaned out their home a few years back.

“Tell me to fuck off if I’m being nosy,” you said, tilting your head to read the spines. Most of the books were well loved classics – stuff that Frankie had read over and over until the covers became loose and pages began to fall out.

“Just don’t search the drawers in my bedroom, that’s where I keep all my vintage Playboys and a spare bag of mushrooms.”

You snorted with laughter and turned to face him properly. Your eyes were still puffy and red, but no longer teary. Frankie counted that as a victory. “You always struck me as more of an acid guy. Just like you’re striking me as a fan of Thai food?”

“Big fan, actually.”

“Excellent, I know this great place that delivers, I’ll pay.” When Frankie opens his mouth to protest, you hold a hand up silencing him. “Please, let me pay. I owe you big time for doing this, all of this, for me.”

Frankie eventually conceded, sensing that you were infinitely more stubborn than him. Thai food was ordered and delivered, the scent of the panang curry made Frankie’s mouth water. You sat across from him at the table, eyeing him. It took a few moment for Frankie to realise you had put one of his albums on – Erykah Badu, he quickly identified.

“Can I ask you something?” you said after swallowing a mouthful of pad Thai.

“Anything,” he said. Just don’t ask me how long I’ve wanted to fuck you.

“What’d you mean today, when you said it’s not my fault?”

Frankie wasn’t expecting that. “Well, all that stuff Kurt did – like trying to kill himself, that’s not your fault.” You shrugged, clearly unconvinced, so Frankie ploughed on. “It’s just a form of emotional manipulation. Do you remember Benny, the guy your friend went home with last night? His sister, Eve, kind of went through something similar. Her partner would threaten to hurt himself and her if she tried to leave. It wasn’t until she ended up in hospital that she told Benny and Will what was happening.”

You looked horrified. “Is she okay?”

Frankie made a wavering motion in the air with his hand. “Some – most days are better than others. She moved to Portland, met a really nice lady, they’re getting married in the summer.”

“Good for her,” you murmured.

“But like I said, it’s not your fault. None of it is. He’s the one to blame, if he tries anything. He’s in control of his actions, you aren’t.” Frankie’s voice was firm, and he refused to look away from you as he spoke. He needed, more than anything, for you to understand that.

The next few hours passed quietly, sitting next to each other on his worn couch, Netflix half forgotten while you drifted in and out of sleep. Eventually, when the sky turned from black to grey to pink, Frankie showed you the spare room and gave you some privacy, knowing you probably needed some time to yourself after the gruelling day. He knew that sometimes all a person needed was some time alone to process. He sat on the couch and pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket.

Andi, the waitress, had given him her number, followed by three x’s and a winky face. Once, Frankie would have opened his messenger app and texted her, asking her out. But now. . . he found he wasn’t at all interested. He crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash.

~*~

How long is too long to spend in someone else’s shower? Five minutes? Ten? Until the hot water runs out? Vanilla and honey body wash? Oh, shit that smells delicious.

You kept your thoughts light, avoiding the darkness that brewed in the forefront of your mind. You felt like you were going through a billion crisis’s, so instead of focusing on any, you decided to focus on none.

You thought back to Frankie’s intense gaze as he spoke to you at dinner, how incredibly sexy it had been. You were shocked you could think something like that after the day you’d had, but the thoughts had entered unwelcome into your mind. You tucked them away for later, when you weren’t so close to him and wouldn’t feel burning shame if you looked at him.

Stepping out of the shower, you took a deep breath and decided to truly inspect the . . . damage that was done today. Your wrist was already bruising and ached slightly when you thought too much about it. You faced your back to the mirror and twisted, grimacing at the sight of the damage Kurt had caused. Your lower back, like your wrist, was bruised black and purple. You quickly wrapped a towel around yourself, hiding the damage.

Deep breath, Spud, you’re stronger than you think.

Your grandfathers voice echoed in your ears. It was what he would say to you whenever you were hurt – just fallen out of a tree and fractured your ankle, sliced your finger open cutting onions, sobbing because the boy you had convinced yourself was your soulmate at fifteen just dumped you the day after you lost your virginity to him, it was always your grandfathers voice saying those words. Your heart ached with missing him.

The room Frankie had showed you was more of a home gym with a bed shoved into the corner than anything else. There was still a scattering of things that were undeniably Frankie in the room: a pile of old boots with holes in the canvas, a greasy looking toolbox, a poster for the Brooklyn Nets with players that looked like they had wandered out of the 90s. You didn’t know much about basketball but decided to at least keep an eye on when the Nets lost so you could rag on Frankie about it.

You grabbed your bags, assessing what Manny had grabbed. God, he’s good, you thought, realising he had packed you everything you needed. You dressed and grabbed your phone, breathing a sigh of relief when it was free of messages from Kurt. You typed out a quick message to Manny.

You are truly the most amazing friend anyone can ask for <3 thanks for packing my stuff.

Then, after a few moments, you sent one to Sara.

I broke up with Kurt, should I be sadder about it?

It was 7 in the morning, but within a minute your phone was buzzing with a call from her.

“Tell me you’re not lying to me,” her voice was hushed. You could hear her moving, a door clicking shut.

“I’m not lying. It’s done.” You laid back on the bed and closed your eyes. “It was a fucking nightmare to do though.”

“Spill, what happened? Are you okay?” Sara’s voice was louder now. You gave her the rundown of everything that had happened, from the lunchtime confession to the actual breakup to how you were now sleeping in Frankie’s spare room.

“Wait – Frankie? Benny’s friend?”

“Are you still with Benny?” This was different: Sara had a policy of one night only – anything more and she claimed they’d fall in love with her.

“Of course, he has a massive dick. But back to you missy, you’re staying with Frankie?”

You sighed. “Yeah, just until I get the keys to my new place.”

“Are you gonna fuck him?” Sara sounded hopeful.

“Oh, my god! No!”

“Aw, c’mon, rebound sex is good for the soul.”

“Maybe with strangers in seedy bars who have half a chance of giving me the clap. Not with someone I-”

“-Have a huge thing for. Please, I saw it the moment you spotted him at fight night. You’re so hung up on this guy and Benny says-”

“This conversation is over, it’s my bedtime. I love you and you’re wrong.” You hung up quickly, cheeks burning with the lie. Did you want to have sex with Frankie? Desperately. At the most inappropriate of times, like when you heard the rumble of his voice through the window at work, like when you caught a glimpse of his beautiful, unique side profile, like when you were alone and allowed your thoughts to wander to what could be under his jeans.

You sighed, frustrated with yourself and rolled onto your side. If you were braver, more sure that his attraction matched yours, you would have gone to his room, crawled into bed beside him, let whatever was meant to be, be. But right now, you weren’t brave. You felt like you had used up all your courage quota for the year in a single day, which was a ridiculous sentiment.

So instead of going to Frankie’s room, like the pulsing in your underwear desperately wanted you to, you closed your eyes and tried to sleep.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209 @quica-quica-quica @pintsizemama @phoenix-of-loki

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 12: Hesitation

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

This chapter is a little longer, but I couldn't find anything to cut out of it! So, enjoy! Things are starting to get kind of real with both dudes, lol. Thank you so much for reading, as always. Love and appreciate you guys. Going to try to update again tomorrow but if I can't find time then it will definitely be Tuesday. Had some unexpected hang ups this weekend. Don't worry- next chapter Liu is back! Also, who has seen Max Huang's Flawless Victory video?? Is it not just... unf??? (and as always, open to suggestions!)

Part 11 Part 13 Chapter Index

You followed Kung Lao to the fight pit and by the time that you got there you’d managed to shake any remaining embarrassment. Your nerves about your arcana had long since taken over. Why were you nervous? The fight the other day had gone exceptionally well except for the whole thing with Kung Lao’s hat. You couldn’t get the idea out of your head that you’d hurt Liu Kang without realizing.

You knew Kung Lao was right. The more control that you had over your arcana the better. Besides that, he promised to take it easy on you. Right? He’d promised something but he’d been so close to you that when you tried to recall his exact words, you mostly just recalled his lips forming around the word ‘promise’. Stupid Chen. Teasing you. Stupid Kung Lao. Finding you right after you’d been teased. You couldn’t be blamed for struggling to focus.

Kung Lao didn’t have you meditate the way that Liu would have. Meditation would have helped you so much right now. Your thoughts were jumbled up in a confused pile. You weren’t even dressed properly for a fight, you realized, so you walked back to the edge of the fight pit.

“We haven’t even warmed up, Y/N. Where are you going?” Kung Lao laughed, setting his hat on the steps and out of the way.

“Oh, I just realized I’m not in my gi.” You tugged on the tank top.

“You half are.” He pointed to your pants. “You should be fine. This looks more like you anyway. Not that I’m arguing. You can wear whatever you want but this is much more like you.”

“I didn’t realize you had an opinion about it.” You rolled your eyes but walked back into the fight pit. He was right. You were fine in what you had on. It was your brain that wasn’t cooperating. It was sabotaging you- full of racing, hectic thoughts. Then Kung Lao was next to you, staring down at you with both concern and amusement behind his eyes. How long had you been standing there lost in the spaghetti of your thoughts?

“What’s going on with you today? I thought you were getting past the blood loss thing.”

“Weren’t you the one who said it would take time to recover from that?”

“I did. Still. Focus. Let’s practice channeling that renegade energy of yours.” Kung Lao clasped your forearm encouragingly and then walked back into the fight pit. You joined him, standing next to him. “Follow me. We’ll start with some tai chi since you seem to be all over the place.”

“Kind of like meditating, right? Gets you in touch with your energy.”

“Yeah, but I like this better. Plus, your head is somewhere else so I thought it might help you focus. Be present, Y/N.” He teased.

“I’m present, Kung Lao. Jeez.” You shook out your hands and feet and then took your position next to him. He led you through breathing exercises in various calming poses. He stopped several times to show you how he channeled the energy of not only his arcana, but that ran through him. He urged you to do the same, every so often, adjusting the position of your hands. You had never been good at tai chi. Meditation was much easier for you. Yet, you struggled more than you normally would have. Even the day before, you likely could have managed just fine.

Kung Lao walked behind you as you wobbled in position and he carefully took your hand in his, fingers, brushing down your arm to your elbow and adjusting your positioning. You turned to catch sight of him, but he was very much focused on his task. When he caught your gaze, he let go of your arm and stepped back but averted his eyes with a smile, subtle on his lips.

You exhaled deeply and focused on your energy, trying to will your arcana forth and ignore the lingering touch that Kung Lao had left behind. He was talking, coaching you on how to channel your energy but you’d tuned out the words and instead focused on the comfort of his voice. It was frustrating. The ink had come to you in rivers before and even when you were unconscious, it had come freely. Now you could barely get it to bubble above your fingers. Your fingertips turned black, but it took so much energy, you stumbled forward.

Kung Lao carefully helped you stand back upright and as he made to speak, you stepped away from him and walked until you could see over the edge of the arena. You had to breathe. The air was stifling. Folding your arms over your chest you stared into the ravine.

Kung Lao stood next to you, admiring the temple carved into the side of the mountains. Then he turned away from you and walked back into the pit. “Don’t do that, Y/N.” You turned to face him, and he went back to his tai chi. You admired his control and his knowledge.

“Do what?”

“Worry that you can’t do this.”

“I’m not. I’m nervous, is all.”

“Well, get over it.” He stopped, bowed, and then walked back to join you, standing below you in the sand.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re strong, Y/N. You’re capable. I told you. I’m not going to watch you give up just because you’re scared of what comes next. Now, come down here and practice with me.” He offered you his hand and you stared at it. Sometimes he was completely foreign from the boy you’d known so long ago and sometimes he was right there, like you’d never lost him. You took his hand and stepped back into the pit. “I don’t think we should try sparring until we can get you out of this headspace.”

You didn’t know what to say. He was right. It was sweet that he believed in you so passionately, but it didn’t erase your nerves. You didn’t know each other very well but there was still this old, nostalgic connection you couldn’t shake. You trusted him without understanding why you did. If he believed in you then you could do it. Yet, when you closed your eyes, you heard Liu Kang telling Raiden that you’d attacked him. You hadn’t gotten to ask him what happened and if he was okay. He was probably fine. You couldn’t stop fixating on it.

Kung Lao was right. You had to let it go and focus. You followed his lead again. In comparison to the last time you’d fought, you were barely able to keep your balance, nonetheless focus on your energy and control it.

“Now, take that energy and manifest your arcana.” Kung Lao urged, walking around you to make sure that your posture was still correct. Then he took up the same stance next to you, legs spread wide, arm extended before you, the other curled inward. You closed your eyes and breathed into the stance, trying to take that energy you felt swirling all around you and will it into your arcana. No matter how you tried, it wouldn’t come. The willingness was replaced with nagging doubt. What if you couldn’t control it? What if you summoned it and lost control? “Nothing?” Kung Lao stood before you when you opened your eyes, watching you curiously. Your fingers were throbbing, and you broke the stance briefly before getting back into it.

“Can’t seem to figure it out.”

“Your posture is dreadful. You were so graceful the other day.”

“It’s almost like I went through something traumatic last night.” You broke your stance and were surprised that he laughed under his breath. “That’s not funny, Kung Lao.”

“I know it isn’t. It’s an excuse.” He shrugged, then took a step closer. You stepped back. “You can do this. I’m pushing you because I know that you can. This isn’t working so why don’t we try something else?” He walked across the pit and gestured to a stack of weights. “What’s holding you back?” You joined him and frowned at the weights. You were strong but your body was so sore that the idea of lifting them made you sad.

“I don’t know. I’m exhausted.”

“You were exhausted after we uncovered your arcana and still managed.”

“I did.” You wondered about that too. Ever since you’d had that vision, something had changed, something you couldn’t put your finger on and certainly that you couldn’t explain.

“When Liu first found his arcana, he struggled with keeping control of it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It’s more similar to yours than mine is. Mine is a different kind of control.”

“And did you struggle with that?”

“Well, losing control of mine was a different animal.” He ran his fingers through his messy hair.

“That wasn’t an answer. Now who’s being evasive?” You teased him and he laughed.

“Take the ten pounder, will you?” He grabbed the weight and handed it to you and then took the other one himself. “Liu had to focus on control to tame his arcana. I figure that something similar might help you.” He tossed the weight from hand to hand. It was easy to forget how strong he was when you were mostly teasing each other back and forth. It was impressive. You followed him and watched as he sat in the sand and then laid back. “The weight represents your arcana. It’s important to remember that you’re in control. It is an extension of you.”

You sat and watched him as he held the weight over his head and then slowly, one step at a time, he sat up and stood, the weight still above his head, arms strong and steady. “You control the weight. It’s harder than it looks.” He stood back up and watched as he walked a bit closer to you. “Your turn. Come on.”

You didn’t have much confidence that you would be able to do it as gracefully as he had but you would try. Kung Lao set his weight to the side and then knelt next to where you laid. You held the weight above your head and closed your eyes. It was an extension of you but as you made to sit up, you didn’t go anywhere. Instead, you laughed and opened your eyes. “Yeah, that is definitely not happening.” Your arms were resisting, and your side was too sore to rely on your core.

“Too sore?”

“Yeah.” Despite your objection and proclamation, you focused on the weight and though you were shaking and your body ached, you managed to sit up, still holding the weight above your head. Strength training wasn’t really your forte. What you were skilled in was more about maneuverability and balance. Even that didn’t seem to be cooperating with you today. You were grateful that while Kung Lao had initially come off abrasive and pushy, he was being understanding and patient with you.

“Good. Breathe. Take time to regain your control. It’s all about control.”

“Liu did this kind of thing?”

“The masters did it with him. I remember watching. He can do this in seconds with the bigger weights now.” Kung Lao smiled. “If he can do it then so can you. Ready to stand up?”

“I don’t know if I can do it. I’m going to try but…” You struggled to find a way to get to your feet without letting go of the weight. Much to your surprise, Kung Lao scooted in the sand so he was behind you on one knee and slipped his arm around your middle, careful of how he held you. Then he urged you to lean back against his chest.

“Use me for balance. I won’t push you or help you, but you can lean back against me.” He whispered in your ear, face close to the crook of your neck but careful not to touch. Still, his energy was like lightning mingled with yours. “Relax. It’s about control.”

Easy for him to say. This was seven different kinds of torture. His arm around you, his breath on your neck, the weight held over your head making your arms tremble, your side stretching painfully. You were sure he wasn’t trying to torture you but boy, he was. You had to focus on the task. Carefully, placing your body weight back against Kung Lao who did exactly as he promised, you managed to push onto your knees, one at a time and then onto your feet. He moved with you and he urged his hands up to take the weight. Then he whispered in your ear and you could feel the smile on his lips. “Good.” His lips barely brushed against your ear and you shivered.

You had to stop overthinking. He was just helping you train. That was it. Your heart had to calm down. The tension with him was so different than it was with Liu Kang and even so, you felt guilty that it existed at all. Why? Fuck if you knew. Your brain was exhausted by it.

You practiced that a few more times until you could manage to get up on your own without Kung Lao’s arms wrapped around you. You worked extra hard to make it happen because the longer he had his arms wrapped around you, the less you had been able to focus on what you were actually trying to accomplish.

This was going to be the death of you.

If this was how you had to train? In close quarters with either Kung Lao or Liu Kang, then you stood no chance. Death by tension.

Or sensory overload.

Or embarrassment and guilt.

“How are your arms?”

“Sore.” You would keep trying but the afternoon was fading into evening and your energy was fading with it.

“Let’s see if we can get you to summon your arcana again.” Kung Lao folded his arms over his chest as he walked around you. “Stand up like we’re fighting.” He tapped your shoulder and then imitated one of the stances you’d used the day before. With a laugh, you shoved him, and he lost his balance and then caught himself and pretended to be wounded. “Don’t like being told what to do, do you?”

“I’m used to being the teacher. And I’m exhausted. I’m burnt out.”

“Well, let’s try this and then we can call it an evening.” He assured you and then stood in front of you. “Now, come on.” He gestured with his index finger and you laughed.

“You would be a terrible teacher.”

“Well, I was going to give you a sticker on your report card but now it’s going to be a frown face.”

“You’re not really instructing me and not listening and making bad jokes…”

“But I’m good at what I do, Y/N. You’re stalling.”

“…what if I can’t, Kung Lao?” You avoided his eyes and stepped back into your stance as he had asked you to do.

“You can.” Kung Lao was offering you confidence when you had lost yours. He was still that kid, deep down. The one who had always believed in you. Seeing that gave you a little bit of that confidence too. He was pushing you, but not in a way that you felt small or incapable. Quite the opposite. You’d expected practice with him to be abrasive and exhausting, but instead he had been confident and understanding. You closed your eyes and pictured the ink from the day before. You reached for the energy, but it seemed just out of reach. When you got close, it flitted just out of reach.

Your posture slipped as you focused and you yelped, losing your balance, nearly falling over. Kung Lao helped you upright, hand on your arm cautiously. Then he slipped behind you and rested his hand on your hip and helped you find your balance. You looked at him over your shoulder again and he offered you a confident nod. He then stepped back and copied your stance. “Don’t give up.”

You took comfort knowing that Kung Lao would catch you if you fell so you switched focus. Your fingertips burned and shook, and you watched as they turned black. Kung Lao’s eyes were on you and you suddenly lost focus and shook out of your stance. You bounced on your heels and started again, back in your stance. Kung Lao did the same, close enough that if you stepped wrong then you’d brush against him, but other than that he was careful not to touch you. Even so, the closeness was killing you. His presence radiated behind you, the strength of his form in comparison to yours was impeccable. You were faltering. Things that you’d been confident in were slipping from your grasp.

You were frustrated in a thousand different ways. Kung Lao, try as he might, was not helping the way he thought he was. Somehow this was still all Chen’s fault. You were trying very much not to let it get to you, but it seemed impossible.

“Come on, Y/N.” Kung Lao’s whisper was soft but husky behind you and you fought the chills again. “You’re sloppy.” His hand brushed around your shoulder to show where you were faltering. He then urged your arm back a bit, gently touching your elbow to do so. “Shoulders away from your ears. Come on.” You did as he instructed, and he leaned close to whisper in your ear. “…how does that feel?”

“Uh…” Your words were lost in a haze of confusion. Honestly, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to be doing now. Was it your arcana? You couldn’t remember.

“…is it?”

Focus. You exhaled and shifted, but each movement put you in danger of brushing against him. While your bodies didn’t touch, you caught the occasional phantom touch of his clothing, of his hands. “Like this.” You couldn’t focus, but you were good at what you did. You could do this. Those moments were a haze of desperation and confusion. You wanted to summon your arcana again, but you also wanted to do something to cut this tension but everything your mind came up with was incredibly inappropriate and followed by guilt.

“Y/N, I thought you were better at this.”

That had helped. It had been said in jest, but it had made you want to smack him rather than kiss him. Though, both seemed still like viable options. Kung Lao tried to help you adjust your stance, but you smacked his hand away and did it yourself. When you struggled, he grasped your wrist and tried to help you once more. Darkness surrounded your fingertips and you turned to face him, but it faded as quickly as it came. He didn’t step back, and you were so close to him that you had to crane your neck to look up at him. He dwarfed you then, his hair hanging in front of his face as he looked down at you.

“I know what I’m doing.” You scolded. He smiled down at your, stepping just so that the tip of his shoe touched against yours. He tilted closer to you and you held your breath. He was so close to you but not touching you at all. It was killing you. He was doing it on purpose. You could see the smirk now, the delight behind his dark eyes. He knew exactly what he brought to the table, apparently.

“Then act like it.” He dared you. You thought about proving it to him, but your head was spinning with the intoxicating air surrounding you. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to be doing anymore.

“Then give me a chance to.”

He stepped away from you and you felt as though you could breathe for the first time in ages. You tied your hair back carefully and adjusted your stance.

“That’s much better.” He walked around you, observing your stance. “Now try your arcana. Maybe that’s too vague. Try to manifest something you’re familiar with. Something that you would use when practicing in the dojo.”

“I’m trying, Kung Lao.” You breathed a frustrated sigh. It was at least easier without him practically on top of you. Your fingers tingled and your arms arched with soreness, body exhausted. Still, grasping the air, you managed to summon something familiar in your palms. The hilt of mid-sized jian, double-edged thin blades! You’d practiced with them for years. There was no weight to the versions you’d created with ink but the familiar grip of them was comforting.

“Good!” You could feel the smile in his voice. He had his arms folded over his chest, a satisfied look on his face. You switched stances and twisted the swords in your grip but as you did, the ink dripped and lost its form. You focused on their form again and less on your posture. You had done these moves a thousand times to teach others. There was no reason you couldn’t do this. At least you felt more confident in yourself.

“Now, block me.” Kung Lao lowered his stance and as you switched your focus from the ink to him, you lost your grip on the swords and it faded. You cursed under your breath and Kung Lao laughed in surprise. Walking away from him, you pushed your hair that had come free back, held it there in frustration, and coughed. You were out of breath and exhausted. You needed rest. Your body was giving you all the signs to stop. It had been foolish to push this hard.

Much to your surprise, Kung Lao grasped your arm and whipped you around to face him. You lost your balance and grasped at his shirt to catch yourself.

“This isn’t a game, Y/N.”

“I know that, Kung Lao. I’m exhausted. You’re pushing me too hard.”

“I won’t let you give up.”

“I’m no giving up. I’m just exhausted! After the past few days, I’m burnt out, that’s all. I’m trying my best, but I need rest.”

“It’s not enough.” Kung Lao’s grip on your arm tightened and you tried to twist it free. “Fight the pain. Fight the exhaustion. When you think you’ve hit your bottom, pick yourself back up and fight.”

“I am! I’m doing my best, but I can’t focus.”

Kung Lao released you and you pulled your arm back with a snap as if to prove a point. He stepped back and you were surprised as he slipped into the familiar Wing Chun stance that you’d seen the day before. He knew you weren’t up for it and yet there he was. “I promised that I’d push you.”

“I can’t, Kung Lao.”

“Summon your arcana and fight me.”

You muttered more curse words beneath your breath and stepped back into your stance. Much easier than earlier, you managed to summon the swords you’d barely mustered earlier. They were still dripping and weak and your body was sore in ways that you hadn’t dreamt possible, but you’d done it. It was the best you’d done that day. The familiar form of the jian had really helped and while you were still exhausted, you were grateful that he had pushed you.

Kung Lao waited until he was sure you were ready, then flipped gracefully toward you. You backed away carefully, watching his movements. You ducked and slashed but Kung Lao dodged to the side and with a high kick, knocked the sword right out of your hand. It splattered on the sand in a spray of ink. You cursed and shook out your hand. It felt as though something had been ripped from the flesh of your hand rather than out of it. It was the strain and exhaustion, you were sure.

“Keep going, Y/N.”

“I’m trying,” you hissed under your breath, sweat dripping down your brow. You focused but the sword wouldn’t come back. Yelling in frustration, you struggled to summon the ink again but nothing came of it. As you slumped forward, out of breath, you were surprised to be grabbed roughly by your shoulder and shoved into the wall behind you. Eyes wide, you stared up at Kung Lao, only inches from you.

“What’s stopping you?”

You froze but no words came to you.

“What is stopping you? He repeated, hand relaxing on your shoulder. His eyes were daring you to fight him, to shove him, to summon your arcana and keep him from twisting you around so easily. You tried to summon it, tried to be as skilled and deft as you had been the other day but you didn’t have the strength. You really did need rest. His gaze softened and his eyes searched you and then returned to your eyes. “Y/N, you have to fight.”

Just because you couldn’t summon your arcana it didn’t mean that you were helpless. You’d fought him and Liu Kang fine before you’d managed it. You could do that now too. He was right. You were getting in your own way. This was Kung Lao, a boy you’d wrestled around with as kids. You could do this. You were good at what you did and so far, that day, you’d felt terrible at it.

Kung Lao was still close and breathing awfully heavily for a man who had extraordinarily little challenge that day. You grabbed his wrist, twisted his grip from your shoulder, ducked under his arm and elbowed him in the chest. Then you stepped further into his space and flipped him around and over your shoulder, ducking low and then stepping back. He twisted out of your grasp as you flipped him over and caught himself then gestured toward you with a proud smile.

“There you are.”

“Yeah.” You walked past him out of breath. That was it for you. You were done. You couldn’t do it anymore. Kung Lao grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to him. You whined in exhaustion.

“Good job.”

You shoved his hand off of you and he grabbed your wrist again as if to test you. “Kung Lao, it’s time to listen to me. I’m exhausted. You keep pushing and pushing. I’m not myself today. You recognize that.”

“It worked though, didn’t it? Being what you are now? Being here? Having that mark on your back? You have to always be ready. You’re safe here with me but eventually we won’t be safe anymore. If you have an off day? You’re dead. I’m not going to let that happen. I have to push you.” He looked to you seriously and relaxed his grip on you but didn’t let go. “So, loosen up. And be ready for anything.”

“I must be having a stroke. You just told me to prepare for death and also to loosen up in the same breath.”

He laughed.

“Yeah, it’s going to be dangerous but all the more reason to have fun. Our lives have the potential to be short. Learn to have some fun, Y/N.” He let go of your wrist but as he did, he still towered over you. You didn’t back away, wanting to challenge his position of power over you. He had a way with doing that, with making you feel submissive but in the same breath you wanted to give him a run for his money and push your boundaries. “I never expected you to be so tightly wound.”

“You pushed me too hard.”

“I promised to push you!” He laughed as if this were obvious and leaned closer to your height. You didn’t back down in spite of the sudden closeness. You shoved at his shoulder and laughed. He was ridiculous. “There you go. That’s better.”

“You’re a pain in my side, Lao. Literally.” You smiled even so.

“You trained, Y/N, so come have some fun with me.” He tapped his chest and you watched his hand. He had to stop saying things like that. Almost everything he said was a double entendre and he knew exactly what he was doing. You could tell by that familiar smirk. He wore his confidence on his sleeve. Even when he’d stopped teasing and gotten serious on you, which was something he had a tendence to do you noticed. He would create this intense tension between you and then he’d worsen it by lowering his voice and speaking sincerely and seriously. It was emotionally exhausted but also addictive and sexy.

“Fine, Kung Lao. Let’s have some fun.” You leaned a little closer to him. You couldn’t help but tease him back every so often. He was right. It was fun. And right now, it distracted you from the exhaustion. With a flick of your wrist, you managed to summon your ink sword. Not focusing on it had made it much easier. You kicked him back and away from you and twisted the blade in your grip. Even as you held onto your arcana, it felt different than when you’d first used it. It was as though you’d lost control over it.

It could have been the exhaustion. Your grip shook on the blade but you focused instead on your form and rushed toward him and lunged forward. Kung Lao ducked around the blade and you slashed, and he rolled out of the way. He knocked the sword up and you flipped back with it, faltered on your landing stance but then jabbed toward him again and again. He flipped backwards to avoid your attacks until you had him cornered. Then he kicked the blade and while it splashed ink, it didn’t fall. You followed the momentum of his kick and he ducked behind you. As you made to slash, he stepped around it and grasped the end of the blade. You hesitated for fear of cutting him and he tore it from your grasp. It splattered on the ground.

You stumbled and held your wrist in pain. It was as if you’d lost an extension of yourself. Kung Lao knocked you back and you stumbled into the wall. He pinned your shoulder against the wall but you grasped his arm to try and force him to stay further away from you, to give your room to escape. You struggled to push him back and he held you fast. At least he’d had to try a little harder that time.

You stopped but didn’t let go of his forearm. Then you caught your breath, not having realized how hard you’d been breathing throughout. Kung Lao did the same, though why the hell he was struggling to breathe you could only guess. When you’d last fought, he had barely broken a sweat and that had been a much more intense battle. Right now, you were sloppy and exhausted. Your ears were ringing as he searched your eyes. Then he stepped away from you and with a flick of his wrist the hat that he’d rested aside returned to his hand.

“Good. That’s all for today.”

“Oh, thank god.” You hunched over, resting your hands on your knees.

“Let’s grab a drink.”

“What?” You looked up at him in surprise.

“A drink. Let’s get one. I’ve got some wine stored away for a special occasion.”

“Wine?”

“You know, wine, spirits, liquor. Drinking. Having a little fun? Loosening up? That thing you need to do.”

“That’s a bad idea.”

“Y/N, come on.”

“No, I actually have a reason.” You laughed but you were a little defensive. Drinking with Kung Lao or Liu Kang was one thousand percent off the table. That was a bad, bad idea. A mistake waiting to happen. Any chance of lowering your inhibitions was one you couldn’t take. “The blood loss thing and it being thin. Liquor is a stupid idea.”

“Well, I can’t fight with that.”

“What’s going on with you, Kung Lao?”

“What do you mean?”

You gestured to yourself, exhausted as you were and then gestured to him. He was weird today and you weren’t sure why. There had been several moments where you’d almost stopped to ask him what was going on in his head.

“Did you not have fun? I had fun. Especially those last few rounds there. Could get used to that.” He smirked and you rolled your eyes but laughed a little anyway.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t fun.”

He stepped closer to you again and you were instantly defensive, hands on your hips.

“Admit it, Y/N. I know you like to disagree with me for whatever reason, but you had fun. You have a good time when I’m around.”

“You’re just… being so…”

“Being what, Y/N? I’m being honest.” His tone shifted. There it was. Teasing you mercilessly so that your guard was way up and then knocking it down with sincerity. “You’ve gotten into your head, in your own way. I need you to tell yourself that this isn’t like when we were kids.” You didn’t know what to say. He took you off guard. As much as you expected these serious moments, they were still always enough to make you freeze. He was surprisingly insightful for all the joking that he did. “I had to push you. I’m sorry if it was too much. We’re learning our limits. Besides, it worked. You could barely function when we started. By the end you were fighting me back.”

Your hands were shaking, and you clenched them tightly to stop them. Was it exhaustion or Kung Lao? That was a fun new game you’d come up with in the last few hours. He took your hand, pressing his thumb to your palm to stop your trembling.

“We’re going to get it under control. It’ll be hard. It’ll be exhausting. But we’re going to do it. Together.”

“Together.” He had a way of making you defensive but in that moment, your defenses were down. It felt like, for the first time since he’d come back, that he was being truly sincere. He let go of your and then nodded behind him.

“I’m going to grab a drink. You should rest but… also think about what I said. And if you change your mind about a drink? Come find me.”

He left you alone in the fight pit. You leaned against the wall and let your head hang back, catching your breath. He’d left you with more to think about than he’d likely realized even if he had known exactly what he was doing.

[kuroopaisen]

like breathing. (bokuto koutarou)

➵ you’d never really thought of getting a partner. not when bokuto was around. 

wc: 2.6k

warnings: none!

a/n: this one’s dedicated to chia and @jupiturde! you’re both so cute, and thank you for being so kind to me :( and for tolerating my endless ramblings hhh 

“Finally!” Bokuto’s groan rattled through the small apartment as he rushed towards you. “I’m hungry!”

You laughed as he threw his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “It’s not my fault they were busy,” you mumbled, holding the takeout bag away from your bodies in a bid to stop it from getting crushed.

He grunts, but he pulls back and gives you a brilliant smile.

“What?” you laughed, reaching a hand up to ruffle his hair.

“I haven’t seen you in ages,” he pouted, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how expressive his face was. You’d missed it.

“I’m sorry,” you frowned, the brief shot of energy seeing him gave you crumbling away. Truth be told, you were just exhausted. It was Friday, and you’d just dragged yourself through the worst three weeks of your life. University had whacked you in the ass with a baseball bat, and what little structure you’d set up for yourself had collapsed inwards. On top of that, work had been merciless.

Worst of all, you hadn’t been able to find time to see Bokuto. So, you’d texted him only a few hours ago to tell him that you were coming over. You couldn’t wait any longer. You just had to see him. 

“What’s wrong?” He tilted his head at you, golden eyes round and sad, with a hint of panic. He’d read your emotions effortlessly. Like always.

“It’s just… been a tough month,” you offered him a smile. But you knew it was weak. But, you had to be honest with him. He wouldn’t stop pestering you otherwise.  

The takeout bag was whipped out of your hand, tossed onto the counter. Bokuto was gone, dashing down his hall. You took the opportunity to take off your boots.

He was back in a flash. You weren’t quite sure what happened next, but you didn’t fight it. Everything went dark for a second as a blanket was thrown over you, and you a pair of strong arms lifted you into the air.

A few steps, and he damn near suplexes you onto the couch with a ‘hmph.’ You snort, tugging at the blankets in an attempt to find the light.

By the time you manage to wriggle your head out of your swaddle, he’s already got Netflix up on the Xbox. His brow was creased, and the tip of his tongue peeking out of his mouth as he concentrated on the menu.  

Whoops, you thought, still unwrapping yourself. I’ve sent him into overdrive.

He always got like this whenever you were down. It’s why he was your first port of call whenever you were feeling down. The easiest way to pick up your spirits was to go to his place, put a shitty movie on, and lie in his arms.

There wasn’t much point in getting a partner. Not when Bokuto was around.

Bokuto had always been the very best friend you could’ve asked for. Loving him was like breathing; so easy, so natural. You’d met in the first year of high school, and you’d been damn near inseparable ever since. You’d never been as comfortable with anyone as you had been with Bokuto. And he felt the same way about you. And thankfully, your friendship had survived graduation. If anything, you were closer than ever, even if you didn’t see each other every day anymore.  

But in all those years, the two of you had never even thought about dating. Each other or anyone else.

You’d thought that would change after graduation. A lot of your friends had taken university as an opportunity to find a partner. You’d wanted to try something similar, at first. There was more time for that sort of thing now. You hadn’t really dated anyone in high school; you’d spent so much of your time trying to get into university, and none of the boys at Fukurodani had taken your fancy.

But, as the semesters ran on, the whole thing just sounded taxing. Getting a partner meant dating. Dating meant meeting people and trying to navigate your way through that excruciating introductory phase. Would you get along with this person? Were they normal? Were the two of you going to find each other dreadfully boring? Besides, you wanted to focus on your studies. Some people could juggle their studies, a partner and a fulfilling social life with grace, but you felt like you weren’t capable of that. And you didn’t want to risk it. Especially not after you’d finally gotten a job.

Bokuto had been far too busy to even think about having a proper relationship. Life had been a complete whirlwind for him these past few years. And he loved it. He was doing the only thing he’d ever wanted to do, and he was thriving. He was part of a V-League team, for goodness sake.

It was easier – and far more comfortable – to fill your spare time with each other.

You couldn’t quite remember how the affection had begun. You’d always been quite affectionate with each other; enough to have confused some people in high school, at least. The Black Jackals gave you shit for it too. Well, Atsumu gave you shit for it; but he was very good at rallying the team and getting them all the look at you two with sly smiles while Bokuto’s back was turned. It was embarrassing, but you didn’t go to practices enough to let it get to you.

But, ever since you’d moved into adulthood, more and more evenings were spent in each other’s arms. Had it been the late nights, where in your drowsiness you’d sought each other out? Was it because you were both starved for that kind of contact? Whatever the reason, it had become the natural order things. And frankly, you had no desire to change that. It was too convenient of an arrangement.

Why risk going on out with someone you didn’t like when you could just pop over to Bokuto’s place and get all the cuddling you needed?

“Alright!” He turned and beamed at you as the movie began to play. The Mummy Returns. A solid choice.

You smiled, tossing a corner of the blanket over him. He tugged it with enough force to pull you – still more or less wrapped up in it – towards him. He didn’t flinch, slipping his free arm around your waist and tugging you over to sit between his legs. You melted into his chest, curling towards him. You could’ve swore you heard him hum, but you were too preoccupied with calming the thrumming of your own heart to be sure.

“Hey Bokuto?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you tell me about your day?” You murmured.

“Sure!” You could hear the smile in his voice.

He launched into his story without a moment’s hesitation, actually starting from the moment he woke up. You smiled, closing your eyes.

God, you loved being like this. His toned arms wrapped around your waist as you lay against his chest, which was rapidly rising and falling as he rambled on. The sound of his voice, loud and dynamic as it was, gave you more comfort than anything else.

Being with him felt comfortable. It felt like home.

You could feel every part of him pressed against you. And as usual, you were trying to ignore it. Trying to ignore that little feeling that’d been nagging you for the last year or so. Since that morning you’d woken up in his arms, terrified by how unashamed you felt. Terrified that if you weren’t careful, you would ruin everything.

Bokuto was affectionate with you, yes. Maybe more affectionate than the average friend would be. But, that was him. What if he didn’t feel the same way? How would he feel, if he found out what was going on inside your head?

You were sure he would fight through the awkwardness for the sake of your friendship. But having to go a few months where things were unbearable? Having to adjust to that distance being between the two of you? No. You didn’t want to go through that.

He was still talking.

“And then,” he huffed, “the blockers were too fast, so I was gonna glance the ball of their hands. But the ball was too low, so it…” He was pouting, his cheeks puffed up a little. “So it rebounded right into my face.”

You laughed. You threw your head back, and you laughed.

Bokuto’s heart stuttered in his chest. He’d seen you laugh plenty of times, sure. Hell, you’d laughed at things he said more times than he could count.

But he knew he’d never quite get used to what that did to his heart.

And, he realised, this was the first time he’d seen like this in a long while.

Those last three weeks had been damn near unbearable. Usually, you two managed to see each other at least once a week. That alone was too long of a wait. But three weeks? Three whole weeks of not seeing you? That had been agony. He’d never had to go that long without seeing you before. You’d even moved to Tokyo within a week of each other.

He needed you around. He needed to hold you like this, to spend time talking about nothing of consequence while watching stupid movies. He needed to see you or else his motivation would be off all week.

But there you were, back in his arms as you laughed at something he said. And that look on your face? Seeing you happy like that? Nothing made his heart feel so full, so fond. He didn’t quite understand it, but you always managed to make him feel so, so... 

He leant forward and kissed your cheek.

You froze.

The gesture alone would’ve been innocuous in any other setting. Any other circumstance. But kissing of any kind was a boundary you’d never breached. You personally had been too afraid of them, and he’d never done anything like that himself. Until now.

You forced yourself to look up at him, shifting your entire body to face him.

He was red. His hair looked even stiffer than usual. If you were freaking out, the poor boy looked like he was collapsing from the inside.

“I—Uh—” His body was taut, eyes looking everywhere but you. “I didn’t mean to—I just felt—It seemed—”

Fuck it. You pushed upwards and placed a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose.

He froze. You froze. What the fuck were you going to do next? You didn’t know. The only certainty was the pounding in your ears.

Sure, you’d thought about this before. But you’d never acted on it. Not even after practice, when he stood there looking so hot. Or when you lay on his bed, close enough to feel his breath on your face when he laughed. Not even then.

But now?

He was staring at you, eyes wide and mouth formed in a little ‘o’.

You bit the inside of your cheek, in some weak attempt to hold yourself back. Even your palms felt all fuzzy. Was that normal? God, all you wanted to do was wrap your arms around his neck and--

“Can I-I kiss you?”

Had you imagined those words? Had he really just said that?

No time to think. You surged up and kissed him.

Fuck, he was good.

His hands were now gripping your waist as yours found their way into his hair, pressing yourself against him. His lips moved against yours, hot and soft and desperate. All hesitation was gone. And the sheer intensity of it all was starting to go to your head.

The blanket slipped off the two of you, and you shivered as the cool air hit your skin. His fingers grasped at your waist, and you sighed.

Something snapped. Bokuto flipped you over, laying you out on the couch as he propped himself up with his elbows. He didn’t break the kiss as he hovered over you, one of his legs pressed between yours. Your hands are gripping his shoulders, and you feel like your entire body is burning up.

You don’t know how he’s so good, but he’s giving it his all. Without thinking, your hands trace their way down his torso – you’d always known he was muscular, but shit. Next thing you know, he’s shirtless. And you’re losing your damn mind.

Why did it take you so long? You should’ve done this ages ago--

“Disgusting.” Oh shit. Sakusa.

“Called it.” Fucking Atsumu. You didn’t need to look at him to know his face was a little too smug.

You braved a glance at the door; a door that you hadn’t even heard open.

Fuck, even Hinata was there. He was just gasping, his mouth hanging open and takeout bag in hand.

Bokuto’s head snapped up, and you covered your burning face with your hands. Of course this was how it was going to go.

“Aw, come on, guys!” All things considered, Bokuto was remarkably unphased.  

“What are you doing here?” You managed to whine out, hands still clamped firmly over your face.

“Well, we thought today was games night at Bokuto’s,” Atsumu smirked. “But I see he’s found other ways to entertain himself.”

You peeked up at Bokuto from between your fingers. He was still positioned over you, but at least his face, neck and chest were starting to blush. And there was no word to accurately describe the look on his face.

“Oh,” he swallowed, seemingly at a loss of where to look, “we did agree to do that, didn’t we…”

“Koutarou, I’m going to kill you.”

He looked down at you again, expression caught between the sheer joy at hearing you call him by his first name and the absolute mortification of the situation at hand.

“Ooh, Koutarou,” Atsumu laughed. He was second on your hit-list, and you were going to make him suffer. “We’ll leave you to it!”

The door closed with a resounding thud. Were they… gone? Oh, yep – that was the sound of Hinata’s yell fading down the hallway.

Your hands fell from your face, a rush of relief hitting you. You’d really been through it tonight, huh?

You looked up at Bokuto. He was looking… somewhere.

“Koutarou.”

His gaze snapped to you immediately, eyes bright and hopeful.

“How did you forget?”

“You told me you were coming over,” He pouted. “I was so excited to see you that

“You are… unbelievably stupid,” you groaned. But you couldn’t ignore that feeling of lightness in your chest.

“But you still love me, right?” He’s pouting. And then he realises what he’s just said. So do you.

It’s not a word you would’ve thought about, in any other context. You’d made your love for each other quite clear. But there were so many ways in which you could love someone. In which you could love him.

You simply rolled your eyes, tilting your head up and pressing another kiss to his lips.

He melts.

“I love you, you dumbass,” you mumbled. But you couldn’t quite contain your smile.

You could feel his entire body perk up. He propped himself up, looking down at you with the brightest eyes in the world. You could get used to him looking at you like that.

“I love you!” With that, he peppered kisses on every inch of your face he could reach.

You ran your hand through his hair as he traced his way along your jaw.

Wait.

“Hey Koutarou?”

“Yeah babe?”

“We should probably reheat our food, huh?”

He groaned, burying his head in your shoulder. You laughed, your head lolling back.

Maybe this whole relationship thing is less work than you thought.

After all, loving him was like breathing.

[jojosbizarrefanfics]

Oh my GOD! I just read the Jotaro x reader x Star Platinum and One bed Polnareff x reader fan fic. Oh my goodness. Man it was so hot! 😳 Your content is superb. 😁👏 May I request a fan fic with a fem reader and Avdol (it can be either SFW or NSFW). She travels with the Stardust Crusaders and one morning she walks past his and Joseph's hotel room and sees him with his hair down and she gets super flustered at his beautiful long luscious locks. Joseph even notices and has a little scheme brewing.

Aw thank you! I just picture Joseph like that meme of Kris Jenner “you’re doing amazing sweetie” godjfkskfkskf

Sorry this took so long!! I’m the worst! 😭 Gonna make this NSFW, we’re not shy around here

You knew Avdol had long hair from the ponytail behind his knots. It was no secret, but that didn’t stop you from being surprised when you spotted him after what must have been a wash day.

Joseph was stepping out of the room as you were passing by, which is when you noticed him. He still hadn’t gotten fully dressed yet and was shirtless, but his hair caught your attention. You hadn’t seen his hair outside of the way he normally styled it, and his tight, voluminous curls made him look like a model.

Avdol didn’t notice you looking, but Joseph certainly did.

“Oh, (YN)!”

“Joestar-san! Good morning; sorry, I nearly ran into you.”

He chuckled. “It’s quite alright. Say, can you help Avdol and I with something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

Joseph brought you into the room he was sharing with Avdol without much warning. “Hermit Purple captured a few spirit photographs, but we can’t quite figure them out. Maybe you can help?”

“Yeah, let’s take a look,” you said.

“(YN)!” Avdol exclaimed. “Forgive my indecency.”

You just smiled at him. “You’re fine, Muhammed. Nothing to worry about.”

Avdol tried to play it cool but was spacing out the whole time you were reviewing the spirit photographs with Joseph. The way you said his name made his knees feel weak, and he could have sworn that you kept sneaking glances at him. He wasn’t sure why you’d do that, and he was confused by his combined initial knee jerk reaction to look away and desire to have you look at him just a little bit longer.

Joseph made a comment about stepping out to grab some food for everyone with Polnareff, which left Avdol alone with you. Joseph closed the door behind him and grinned to himself, hoping his matchmaking skills were sharp.

You could tell Avdol was feeling a bit flustered, especially since he had only thrown on his jacket earlier. As you straightened out the spirit photographs on the table, certain that Joseph was just looking for an excuse to get you alone with Avdol, you decided you’d have to be the one to make the first move. “Your hair is beautiful.”

“Huh?” He was caught off guard.

You smiled softly at him as you leaned against the table, hands on either side of you to grip the edge as you faced him. “I’ve never seen it down before. I’d say you should wear it more often like that, but I imagine your knots are a bit more practical when we’re facing off against Stand users.”

Avdol let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, that’s for sure. Today was a wash day. Thank you.” The tension between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife. There was a long pause, both of you unsure of what to say, and then Avdol said, “Mr. Joestar isn’t getting food, is he?”

“I don’t think so,” you said. “I think he caught me checking you out when I passed by and wanted an excuse to have us talk to each other.”

Avdol laughed. “He thinks he’s subtle.” Then, it dawned on him. “Wait... you were checking me out?”

You couldn’t help the giggle. “I mean, yeah. Look at you, Muhammed! You’re really handsome.”

He felt the heat rising to his cheeks. “You think so?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I do. Sorry if I’m being too forward-”

“No, no!” Avdol interjected. “I mean, I don’t mind you being forward. Truth be told, I’ve been holding back quite a bit since we don’t know where this road will end.”

“All the more reason to enjoy the here and now, yeah?”

Avdol nodded as he approached you. A large hand gently caressed your cheek as he kissed you, finally breaking the tension you both felt since Joseph let you in their hotel room.

Avdol was warm to the touch, likely a byproduct of his Stand, and his skin was incredibly soft - you could tell he had recently moisturized. His lips felt right on yours and once you both started, you found it hard to stop. After a few moments of kissing, Avdol gently lifted you up to sit on the table you were leaning against to not have to crane his neck down as much.

Avdol felt a shiver run down his spine as your hands slowly ran down his chest, admiring the dips and curves of his muscular frame. His hand that had caressed your face was now on the back of your neck but his free hand found it’s way to one of your thighs. He gave it a gentle squeeze near your knee and enjoyed the feeling of your soft flesh in his grip.

You knew you wanted more and you knew Avdol had been holding back, so when you broke your kiss for a breath, you decided to speak up. Your forwardness hadn’t failed you yet. “Avdol, you can touch me if you want.”

You made eye contact as Avdol took in what you said. He smiled at you and simply said, “I do want to.”

When you kissed again, you ran your hands below his stomach. As his own hands crept up your thighs and moved their way inward, you palmed his crotch and could feel that he was rather stiff. Avdol groaned into the kiss as he gripped at your upper inner thighs. One of his hands moved to your hip and the other moved over to your clit.

Avdol began to rub you from the other side of your pants, and the added friction from the fabric provided a pressure that had your head spinning. You continued to palm his cock through his pants and you could feel him grow progressively harder.

As Avdol rubbed you through your pants, his other hand moved up from your hip and dipped beneath your shirt. He pushed your bra down to free your breasts and gently pinched one of your nipples. The dual sensation between your nipple and your clit pushed you extremely close to orgasm, and so you decided to let Avdol know by undoing his pants for easier access to his bare dick.

The feeling of your skin on him made Avdol moan into your kiss. You both broke from him, feeling desperate for breath and for each other.

“I want you,” he admitted, remaining ever the gentleman. “Is this mutual?”

“It is,” you confirmed. “And I don’t think Mr. Joestar will be back for a while.”

As Avdol stepped back to remove his pants, you quickly discarded OC your own clothing, leaving you nude and still sitting on the edge of table. Avdol tossed his jacket last, and once he did, he pulled you closer to him in his arms so only part of your ass was on the edge of the table. Locked between one of his arms - which had wrapped behind you and planted firmly on the table to support you better - and his body, Avdol kissed you deeper than ever as he thrust his cock into you.

One of your arms wrapped around his shoulders, careful to not pull on his hair in the process, for support as Avdol fucked you on the hotel room table. He smiled into the kiss as he felt you coming on him and as you groaned into his mouth.

When you nearly slid off the table after a particularly intense thrust, Avdol was quick to catch you. With his cock still in you, Avdol turned you around and laid you on the bed. Your legs hung over the side of it, with only your back and head on the mattress running parallel to the pillows. The sight of a nude Avdol above you was a lovely on, and even better as you watched him continue to thrust his cock in and out of you.

Avdol lifted one of your legs up to deepen the thrusts, which had you moaning more loudly than you’d care to admit. His other hand slid up your stomach and then landed on your breast, kneading it for a moment before he played with your nipple again. This had you coming again, and Avdol leaned down to kiss you when he could feel it.

Avdol wasn’t far behind you, and he pulled out to cum on your stomach once he was ready. Once he finished, he laid down beside you to catch his breath and didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms. His fingers ran through your hair, a rather soothing motion that nearly lulled you to sleep until you remembered that Joseph would eventually return.

What reminded you was his boisterous laugh heard down the hallway. Avdol was quick to help you clean up, and you were dressed just in time for Joseph to come back in, carrying some wraps from a deli down the road.

“Ah, (YN), there you are!” Joseph belted. “You like fried tofu, right? That’s all they had today.”

“Yeah, thank you, Joseph,” you said with a smile. He glanced to the table and noticed one of the spirit photographs had fallen off and picked it up.

“Any time,” he said. Mission accomplished, he thought.

[plush-rabbit]

Love Bites

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: I love this demon so much,,, I wanna touch the horns (and tiddies)(*´﹃｀*)

Mammon loves his brothers. How could he not? They’re his cute, lovable little brothers and then there’s Lucifer, the big brother who he absolutely adores. Who he quite literally followed him into the depths of hell. Of course, he’ll never say it out loud unless he was forced to but he does- the love and admiration for them is and will always be there. 

But even he has his limits. 

They're all so close to you, constantly nuzzling into your side and holding your hand, dragging you away for a cuddle-slash-nap session. It’s insulting to him. More than usual. He’s your first- he gets to have the say on who and how you spend your time with. He’s Mammon. Second most powerful of the brothers and the Avatar of Greed. And here he is, arms empty because Asmo quite literally snatched you out of his arms and carried you off to his room while he ignored the cries of protest from him.

He’s had a long week and all he wanted to do was spend the last day of the weekend with you but he can’t even do that. He just wants you. That’s all he wanted- to take your time and have it for himself.

He can feel his greed take over, his hands curling and pupils dilated with want and take.

His steps are quick and he doesn’t bother to knock when he enters, door bouncing off the wdor stopper and he can hear the hiss of an insult and a threat to tell Lucifer. Azure eyes darken as they glance over you: Asmo is above you, straddling you and his hand cups your face while the other rests next to an opened makeup palette. 

“Ugh! You already had your time with them! Plus I want to doll them up a bit,” the younger brother huffs, champagne colored hair delicately framing his face while he pouts.

His little brother can throw his fit, can beg and fight as if he were a child all over again, but the only thing in Mammon’s mind right now is his greed, the avaricious feeling inside of him that’s threatening to take form as he plops you over his shoulder and stalks his way to your room where he tosses you on the bed.

You yelp first and then giggle, straightening out your hair that was ruffled in the process. “Mammon,” you giggle out his name, sitting up on the bed. You look at him where he has his back turned to you, a hand clamped over his face and the aura around him darkens, magic bursting and bubbling and the hair on your arms stand on end. “Mammon dear, you all right?”

“You’re always so close to them.” His words are muffled through his hand but you can hear the bitterness in his voice.

“I don’t mean to be.” You throw your legs over the edge of your bed and watch him with careful eyes. “Are you mad at me?” You raise yourself on your forearms and watch him.

“‘Course not.” His reply is curt and he rolls his shoulders, loud popping sounds fill the room and a part of you trembles in fear while the other in excitement. 

“Then?” You lay back on the bed and you’re thankful that you wore a skirt, legs parting open.

“You forgot who I am.”

“I could never Mammon.” You lose your breath with the simple sentence, desire taking over and when he stiffens his shoulders, you’re certain that he smells it too. You let your head fall back and you sigh. 

He can smell your lust, and when he turns around, his horns protrude from his crown and his wings flutter and they spread wide, ruffling themselves and slowly, they come to a close behind him. 

His legs hit the bed, and tongue peeks out to lick his lips. Watching you, he bends over, his hands toying with the bottom of your shirt. You squirm under his touch and he smiles softly. In a quick motion, your shirt is lifted and stuffed into your mouth. Your back arches and you whine,  words muffled through the fabric that darkens with your spittle.

Warm hands run up your torso, washing over your belly and his fingers hook into the cups of your bra; long, nimble fingers peek inside and white painted nails ghost over your hardening nipples. You bend towards his touch, your eyes half lidded, glazed over with want and he pulls his hands away from you, dipping them towards the middle of you and mutters an apology. In a quick movement your bra is torn off of your body, ripped threads are tossed to the side and your brows furrow in anger. 

“Tch. I’ll get you a new one.” His teeth peek behind his grin, sharp canines that could break your skin make you twitch in anticipation. “Think of it as payback for letting Asmo take you.” Your breasts bob, nipples pebbled and goosebumps trail across your skin.

Your skirt is pulled down, the fabric scratching and pulling at your skin as it falls to the floor. He kicks it off the side and his hand covers your heat, fingers drumming along the entrance and you breath deeply, your arms bent and creating a mock halo around your head.

“Mammon, don’t tease,” you plead, words garbled and broken.

“You really don’t have any authority right now,” he says quietly, his fingers hooking into the side of your underwear and stretching it to watch your sex that drips with arousal. “‘S a real nice pussy.” You squirm with his words and your face burns with his bold words. He’s never been shy to tell you what he thought while fucking you but even now you still aren’t used to it.  “You’re gonna take my cock, right?” You nod your head. “Yeah, I know you are.”

He grabs himself, and presses the tip of his cock on your clit, swiping it up and down, eliciting a shuddering breath from you. His warmth leaves you and a whine sounds in the back of your throat that’s overshadowed by a loud spit sound.

“Did you-”

“Spit on your pussy?” His eyes widen and he bats his eyelashes in a mock innocent fashion. “Yeah.” He gives you a smug grin and with a breath, he presses himself inside of you. 

His length stretches your walls. His tip is enough to make you cover your mouth through your shirt, a gargle cry when he pushes himself inside, the base bulging out, a sharp sting where you kick your legs out and breath harshly through your nose.

“Work through it baby.” He starts moving slowly, his face flushes and the cocky grin remains. “Remember how god it feels. How you’re being stretched out and fucked.” His thumbs circles your clit, pushing the bundle of nerves around. “Just like that baby.” He glances down and meets your eyes. “Fuck doll, I’m gonna cum inside of you.” Your hips jerk upwards. “Is that what you want?” He breathes sharply through gritted teeth. “Want me to fill up your pussy? Breed you like the bitch you are? Huh?” His pace quickens and he bites his bottom lip. “Fuck,” he spits out.

His hand pushes through your shirt and it drags against your teeth as it’s pulled out. A hand is wrapped around your throat, palm pressing down and fingers pressing deep on the sides of your neck. You make a choking sound, and your face grows a deep hue, tears springing in your eyes while you tighten around him.

“Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, rutting against you. “Would ya look at that? Fuckin’ tight. You’re gonna swallow me whole aren’t ya? You fuckin’ slut.”

His words make you whine, your cunt squeezing him with every word and noise that slips past his lips. He thrusts inside of you, his thickness twitching with every movement in your gummy walls. His grip is tight and your body seizes around him, holding him tight while black spots fill your vision and the little air that you have left depletes, and you claw at him, begging for air, choked gasps leaving your mouth.

His head lowers to your shoulder and his grip on you loosens, sweet air filling your lungs again and you gasp for it, greedily taking it in. You rasp his name, croaking it out only to cry when his teeth pierce through your skin, his own moans muffled into your shoulder. He laps at the wounds, tongue swirling and when he rises again to look at you, a drop of scarlet stains his lips. You quiver underneath him and he gives you a smug grin before dipping his head back down his teeth marking your neck with love bites.

“Bend your legs,” he whispers against your ear, placing a wet kiss on your neck. He gives you an appreciative bite when you do as you're told. You whimper at the angle, he hits at your cervix, little cries that are muted when his lips mesh into yours. 

His wings expand, the ends twitching and a shiver runs up his spine and spreads throughout his wings. Your hands shake as they reach up and grab at his horns. Your curls your fists around, thumbs brushing against the twirls and he purrs at feeling.  

You cry his name and he urges you to continue. His name leaving your lips is music to his ears. A heavenly grace that he has experienced in such a long time and he wants to melt into your touch, to coo and purr into your neck, to feel the warmth that you emit. But when he smells a scent that isn't from qhim nor you, he growls and slams his hips into you. Your breasts bounce and hands leave his horns and slide down his face and onto his chest. You cup his chest, fingers pressing into him and grazing over the white tattoos that adorn him.

A sharp sting rings through your clit and makes you jerk, crying out a mess of his name. He huffs and his wings move towards you, the bat-like wing fluttering and ghosting over your leg, curling inward when they make contact with your skin.

“Fucking demons getting near you,” his teeth are bared, teeth glistening and deadly, “you’re mine. All mine and if I have to put you in a collar and leash, I fuckin’ will.” His words are rushed, spitting out as he moves inside of your velvety walls. “Maybe then they’d all learn their place and stay the fuck away.”

You mewl at his words, eyes misty as he gives another slap to your sensitive pearl. He’s pitiless with his slaps, making sure that you cry, every slap increasing in intensity and making your toes curl while he edges closer to his high.

His hands slip between yours and he pinches hardly at your nipples, twisting them in hand as you arch your back and loll out your tongue. You clench tighter around him, pulling taut on his cock and you beg for release from him.

“Gonna fill you with my cum babe. Let all those demons fuckin’ smell me on you. Your tits are gonna be full of milk and fuck, every” he pushes himself deeper in you, “last demon,” he breaths hot air onto your collarbone, spit dribbling past his mouth and coating you, “is gonna know you belong to me.” He pushes himself deep in you and his cock twitches and jerks. He keeps his head down, feeling your orgasm wash over him and spill out of you; his own cock squirting his seed into you, his shaft plunged deep as to not let a single drop go to waste. He whispers out your name, and slowly, he pulls back, hissing at the sensitivity and your hands fall from his chest and rest over yours that bloom a shade deeper due to his previous abuse. When his seed threatens to spill, he plunges his digits inside and pats at your hips when you tense and close your legs. He wipes the excess of his load on your inner thighs and gives a chaste kiss to your twitching pearl.

With a shaky hand, you touch your neck and whine at the contact. “Mammon, you left marks.”

“Maybe it’ll make everyone back off.” He tosses you a grin and with a pop of his neck, his horns and wings disappear. “They make you look cute anyways.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m glad you enjoy them at least.”

He gives your thigh a sharp slap. “Damn right I do.”

[bluejayblueskies]

flour, sugar, salt

Words: 3.6k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims

Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Baking, Gentle Kissing, Light Angst, Safehouse Period, No Apocalypse, cooking and baking as love languages

Summary:

It had gone like this:

They’d been sitting on the couch, the flames of the fire licking at the brick edges of the fireplace as it eagerly consumed the new wood Martin had topped it off with just minutes earlier. The moment Martin had settled back onto the couch, Jon had resumed his position curled into his side, breathing a small sigh of satisfaction as warmth began to radiate throughout his body once again.

“Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder.

 After a moment, Martin laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze. “I’ve never had a birthday cake.”

----

Jon’s never baked before, but how much harder than cooking can it possibly be?

Things do not go well.

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The cake is awful. There’s no getting around that, Jon thinks as he scowls at the misshapen lump of frosting in front of him, adorned with little yellow and blue candles that he’d found tucked in the meagre baking section of the village’s shop, right next to the boxed cake mix that Jon had hesitated in front of, his hand stalled halfway to the candles. Just add water! it had proclaimed cheerily, which in no way assured Jon that the resulting product would be anything close to edible. So, he’d retrieved the candles and moved on, collecting flour, sugar, baking powder, and the rest of the ingredients for the recipe. For beginners, it had said, and Jon had felt like a child, but he’d followed the steps anyway, doing everything exactly right.

 Perhaps he should have just gone with the boxed mix. At least then the final product would have at least looked edible and not like something one would immediately toss into the bin, like Jon has half a mind to do. But the idea of not having a cake makes Jon’s stomach twist into knots, because he needs the cake. This whole thing is- is pointless without the cake, but the cake looks horrible, and—

 And he’s completely forgotten to put the gołąbki in the oven. He does so now, trying to calm the shaking of his hands that is born more of frustration than anything. It really wouldn’t do to drop the main dish all over the lino, after all. Best not to ruin it more than he already has.

 It had gone like this:

 They’d been sitting on the couch, the flames of the fire licking at the brick edges of the fireplace as it eagerly consumed the new wood Martin had topped it off with just minutes earlier. The moment Martin had settled back onto the couch, Jon had resumed his position curled into his side, breathing a small sigh of satisfaction as warmth began to radiate throughout his body once again. Martin ran hot—hotter than Jon, anyway, whose fingers had a tendency to get so cold they burned when warmed between Martin’s hands—and the slight guilt at using Martin as his personal space heater had dissipated entirely at the small, contented noise Martin had made as he’d wrapped his arm around Jon’s shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

 It had been months since the Lonely, since those first few awkward weeks in the safehouse tucked away in the Scottish highlands where Jon hadn’t been sure if loved was to be taken at face value and Martin wasn’t sure if the little touches Jon gave him were just to stave off that creeping fog that still lingered in the blue-grey of his eyes and the white-streaked curls that mirrored Jon’s own. It had been even less time since Martin had opened the front door, an excuse about needing ‘a much thicker coat, it’s bloody freezing out there’ on his tongue, to find Jon gripping a sheet of official Institute paper in a white-knuckled grip. The words calmly spilling free from his lips were silenced only once he’d slumped bonelessly in Martin’s arms, Martin’s hand still clamped firmly over his mouth and twin tear tracks streaking down both of their faces.

 The statement had gone up in flames easily and without fanfare, the small strands of smoke tickling the still-blue sky that, to Jon, seemed like the second most beautiful thing in the world.

 Now, there’s just this: sitting curled next to the fire, and taking long walks even as the cold of February nips at the tips of their ears, and getting to know each other through fragments of stories and brushes of pinkies and whispered confessions.

 “Tell me something,” Jon said, leaning his head against the curve of Martin’s shoulder and letting his eyes fall on Martin’s hands where they gripped the edges of a notebook, curling script decorating the pages in starts and stops and marred in places with crossed-out lines. They’d established a routine after Jon had admitted one night as they lay in bed, knees curled into his chest protectively, that sometimes what Peter Lukas had said in the Lonely still played on his mind. That they barely knew each other, and that the love Jon felt so potently in his chest and his lungs and his bones was based on nothing more than a construct, something he’d tricked himself into believing was real. It had been hard to think, even harder to say; Jon had squeezed his eyes tightly shut and had held his breath.

 Martin’s hand had found his and squeezed it tight. “Tell me something, then,” Martin had said, a tentative smile on his lips. And so, Jon had.

 Now, Jon’s hands were relaxed as he played absently with the cuff of Martin’s jumper sleeve. It was one of his favourites, a mustard-yellow one that was slightly oversized on Martin and consumed Jon entirely every time he managed to steal it from Martin’s side of the closet. Martin hummed and closed the notebook, turning his hand over and letting Jon’s hand rest against his palm; after a moment, he laced their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze.

 “I’ve never had a birthday cake,” Martin said, sounding a bit wistful as he said it, and Jon leaned back slightly so he could see his face. Martin’s eyes were trained on the fire, and though his lips were still curled into a hint of a smile, his eyebrows folded inward in that way they did when an old wound itched just below the surface, stitched messily shut and stubbornly ignored even as it healed crooked and wrong. “At- at least not one of my own, that is, or- or that I can remember. I don’t know why I didn’t when I was younger, not really, but after Mum got sick, and my dad… well, birthdays just never really seemed all that important anymore, I guess? At least, Mum never seemed to want to celebrate.”

 Martin let out a small laugh, the kind born from reflecting on a memory that was quite the opposite of humorous. “And by the time I was old enough to make one for myself, it all just seemed so… pointless, I suppose. You know, that time we went out for ice cream was the first time I’d even celebrated my birthday since I turned 21?” Under his breath, Martin said, “Though I’m not sure you could call buying myself a bottle of Moscato and drinking alone in my flat celebrating.” He drew in a shaky breath before giving Jon a small, embarrassed smile. Not too long ago, he probably would have stuttered out some sort of apology, like it was shameful for him to show the vulnerable parts of himself. Now, he simply said, “It was nice, I suppose. To have people who cared, even if it didn’t seem like it meant all that much at the time.”

 Martin had that quietly sad look on his face, the one they both shared when thinking of the easy comfort of those first months in the archives, with Tim bright-eyed and smiling and telling jokes that Jon only understood half of the time and Sasha looking the way she had in the Polaroid Jon had found tucked away in the box of statements and cassette tapes Basira had delivered, clearly meant to be more salt in a wound that had been stitched closed before it had the chance to bleed. Jon squeezed Martin’s hand tighter, and when that didn’t seem enough, brought it to his lips and laid a soft kiss across the knuckles. “Yes,” Jon said softly, feeling that same sadness curling within his stomach and mingling with the beginnings of determination, a plan half-forming in his mind. “It suppose it was.”

 It was going to be perfect. Martin had left some time ago to make the longer trip into Inverness to pick up the supplies they couldn’t get in the village, forehead creasing slightly at Jon’s fabricated excuse of ‘not feeling well’ and Jon’s subsequent refusal of Martin’s offer to stay behind and reschedule their trip to a time when Jon was feeling more up to it. Jon had practically pushed Martin out the front door, letting out a small breath of relief when he saw Daisy’s car—now ostensibly their car—trundle down the cratered dirt road and out of sight. He’d had all of the ingredients; he’d followed all of the instructions. It was supposed to be perfect.

 At least the gołąbki turned out well, he thinks with a resigned sigh as he extracts the glass dish from the oven, setting it atop one of the electric hobs to cool. The cake sits in his periphery, almost mockingly; some of the frosting has sloughed off the top, leaving the chocolate pastry underneath starkly exposed.

 It… it wouldn’t hurt to try to fix it, right? Just a little more frosting to patch up the hole.

 Somehow, the middle of the cake ends up collapsing inward, taking a good portion of the candles with it. Christ, Jon can just picture his grandmother’s expression, the stern tilt of her eyebrows and the press of her mouth into a thin line that, thinking back on it, was really more amused than anything as she told him that no, five minutes was not long enough to properly cook chicken breasts in the oven, and no, he could not set the temperature to 260 degrees just to speed things along. She’d taught him how to mince garlic and to make Desi Ghee and to spice dishes without the need for measuring spoons, saying that he may as well put some of his anxious, restless energy to use and that the kitchen was as good a place as any.

 The first time he’d cooked in the safehouse, a few days after they’d arrived, when Martin had sat shivering on the couch with his eyes iced over with fog, his stomach had knotted in worry that he wouldn’t remember how—that he’d neglected it for so long, subsisting off of ready meals and tea in the beginning and then mostly statements after a while, and that this knowledge was the kind of nice, wonderful thing he wouldn’t be allowed to keep. But the knife strokes had come easily, almost mindlessly, and he’d filled the kitchen with mindless chatter as he’d worked in the hopes that it would give Martin something to cling to until he could press a bowl of chicken dumpling soup into his hands and gently coax him to eat.

 After that, Jon had taken to cooking most of their meals while Martin sat at the table and wrote with his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration, or stood behind Jon and wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his chin against Jon’s shoulder as he watched him work, or formed a pile of flour and sugar and spices into a bread or a pastry or some other lovely, doughy concoction that Jon just couldn’t understand. Because Martin could cook, yes, but he’d never really liked it, he’d mumbled into his pillow one night after Jon had whispered, “Tell me something.”

 “It just reminds me of my Mum,” he’d said, voice small and quiet, and Jon had understood.

 But baking seemed to come so easily to Martin, lighting up his face with a radiant joy that captivated Jon to the point where he’d burned several meals just staring at Martin while he worked, transforming the same ingredients into a myriad of different desserts that all tasted light and lovely on Jon’s tongue, even though he’d never been a fan of sweets. At least, not until Martin had pressed a raspberry-filled Paczki into his hand with a tentative smile. He’d made it seem so easy, and Jon had been sure that, at the very least, he could manage a birthday cake.

 Clearly, he’d been wrong.

 He’s halfway to the bin, having decided that having no cake at all is distinctly better than having the monstrosity of a cake that’s currently balanced precariously in his hands, when the front door swings open, bringing with it a rush of winter air that prickles goosebumps onto Jon’s skin and sends a flush to his cheeks. Though that may be only partly due to the chill.

 “Hey,” Martin says, kicking the door closed behind him. His arms are laden with canvas bags of various patterns and designs, collected from a myriad of different shops over the past months, and he’s looking at the floor as he kicks off his boots so he doesn’t see the way Jon freezes halfway to the bin, the offending cake still suspended in front of him in the way one might hold a particularly offensive-smelling bag of rubbish. His muscles lock in indecision, and his mind is a mess of do I throw it away do I hide it oh Christ what do I do he’s going to hate it I have to get rid of it, and then Martin’s looking up from the floor and saying, “Are you feeling any—?”

 His eyes alight on the cake, on the stricken expression on Jon’s face, and his sentence trails off into a small, “Oh.” He takes in the kitchen, which is still in a state of disarray because Jon thought he had more time, surely Martin said he’d be out until six. He says as much, because he’s really not sure what else to do.

 “It’s quarter past,” Martin says, still staring at Jon with an unreadable expression that’s sending Jon’s stomach into a chaotic mess of nervous butterflies, and Jon’s eyes flick over to the clock above the oven. It does, in fact, read 18:14, and Jon feels his cheeks heat further.

 “Ah.” He’s still holding the cake awkwardly in front of him, he realizes, so he pulls it closer to his chest, almost protectively. Martin’s eyes track its movement, and on reflex, Jon says, “I- ah, I made dinner? And, er. A cake as well.”

 “Oh,” Martin says again, and Jon still can’t tell what he’s feeling. Not that he’s ever been good at that, but Martin has a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, which usually makes it easier.

 Nerves loosen his tongue, and he begins to ramble. “I- I know we hadn’t really discussed it, and I- I didn’t want you to think that I forgot about your birthday—which is, ah, tomorrow, I know, but I- I suppose I thought it would be more of a surprise today, and we did make plans for tomorrow already, and you- you said you’d never had a birthday cake of your own, and you’re always baking for me, so I- I thought it might be nice to make something for you, and you always make it seem so easy, but it, ah, it didn’t quite—”

 He shrugs helplessly and nods down at the cake, which is looking significantly more pathetic now that it’s under Martin’s scrutiny. “It’s a bit ruined,” he says, trying to convey within his words the entirety of the apologetic mess that’s been tying his stomach into knots. He stares at the floor, eyes fixating on Martin’s boots and the small puddle of water accumulating beneath them as the snow caked on the sides of them melts. The hot embarrassment that’s rapidly consuming him keeps his eyes cast firmly downward.

 “Oh,” Martin says once more, and it’s a soft, tender noise that makes Jon’s gaze twitch upward. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the wet shine to Martin’s eyes, the open, vulnerable look on his face where the stunned mask has finally cracked. “Oh, Jon.”

 Martin sets the bags on the floor and quickly crosses the room to where Jon’s stood. He takes the cake carefully out of Jon’s hands, despite Jon’s protests, and sets it on the counter like it’s something precious instead of the worst baking monstrosity Jon’s ever laid eyes on.

 “Martin, what—?”

 One of Martin’s hands is on Jon’s shoulder, the other carefully cupping his face. He pauses there for a moment, like he always does, giving Jon a chance to pull back. When Jon doesn’t, Martin leans in and kisses him.

 It’s more insistent than usual, both of Martin’s hands coming up to rest on Jon’s face and thumbs running soft circles over the tops of his cheeks as he presses into him, swallowing Jon’s soft gasp as he pushes him back against the kitchen counter, narrowly avoiding the cake as he kisses him soundly. Jon’s arms come up to loop around Martin’s neck loosely, his fingers brushing against the curls at the nape of Martin’s neck, and the tension he’s been holding in his body for the last hour melts away under the gentle, rhythmic motion of Martin’s thumbs against his face and the little noises Martin’s making against his mouth.

 When Martin pulls back some time later, his face is flushed a lovely shade of pink, and Jon realizes with a start that there are tear tracks running down his cheeks. He brings a hand to Martin’s face and rubs gently at the tears, his stomach twisting again ever so slightly in concern. “What’s wrong?” he says quietly, still breathless from the kissing.

 Martin hiccups a laugh, small and disbelieving. “Nothing’s wrong, Jon. I- Christ, I’m just so- so happy.” He brings a hand up to grasp at the one Jon has on his face, squeezing it tightly before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of Jon’s palm. “You made this for me?”

 Jon blinks, once, before remembering the cake. His forehead creases in disappointment, directed entirely at himself. “Ah. Yes, that.” He glances at the cake, which looks just as appalling as it did before—possibly more so due to the fact that Jon’s elbow seems to have, at some point, jostled the cake after all, dislodging another section of frosting and quite a few candles along with it. “It was meant to look significantly more… edible.”

 Martin lets out another laugh, this one with a bit more substance. “Jon, did you try it?”

 Jon’s frown deepens. “I don’t follow.”

 Martin disentangles himself from Jon, despite Jon’s small noise of protest, opens the cutlery drawer, and retrieves a fork. “How will we know if it’s edible or not until we try it?” he says with a smile that’s entirely too wide and excited at the prospect of eating a cake that looks like it was run over by a car.

 “I really don’t think that’s—Martin!”

 Martin carves off a section of cake, ignoring Jon’s protests to, “At least wait until after we eat.” He puts it in his mouth, and Jon braces himself for the inevitable disgust.

 Martin hums, his eyes still crinkled with a hint of a smile even as he swallows and says, “It’s really not that bad, Jon.”

 “Not that bad,” Jon echoes, glaring at the offending pastry and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Christ, this- this was supposed to be romantic.”

 Martin’s hand finds Jon’s face again, turning his head gently until Jon meets his eyes. “It is,” Martin says softly, eyes full of something so tender it makes Jon melt. “It’s- Christ, I’m going to start crying again. In a good way,” he adds quickly, at Jon’s stricken expression. “You- you just—”

 Martin pinches his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes shining again with unshed tears, and he says in a small voice, “I love you so much, Jon. And I love that you did this for me. I know you hate it when people say that it’s the thought that counts, but—no, don’t give me that look, it really is. I’m not using it as an excuse to- to soften a criticism or anything, or to subtly say that I hate it. I love the cake, Jon, because I love you, and so it really doesn’t matter that it kind of looks like somebody stepped on it.”

 That pulls a small giggle from Jon, entirely against his will and born mostly from the release of the knot of nerves that had reformed in the pit of his stomach. “God, it really does, doesn’t it?” He laughs again, more intentionally this time, and takes Martin’s hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “Well, I promise that the main course is significantly more palatable. It’s from that little recipe book you gave me—the one you picked up at the bookstore?”

 “Oh!” Martin’s eyes brighten as they alight upon the glass dish still sitting on the hob. “You made gołąbki! Christ, I haven’t had that since I was a kid. My grandmother used to make it for holidays before she passed.” When Martin’s eyes meet Jon’s again, they’re full of such fondness that the Jon of a few months ago would have squirmed under the weight of it. Instead, he lets himself lean into it, feeling the flutter of his heart against his ribcage as Martin places another warm, achingly soft kiss against his lips. “Thank you, Jon,” he says, pulling back just enough that the words tickle against Jon’s skin. “I… just, thank you.”

 Jon’s I love you is interrupted by the rumbling of Martin’s stomach, loud and insistent. Laughter splits Martin’s face into a wide smile, and he says, “I suppose we should eat, then.”

 “I suppose so,” Jon says, feeling his own smile grow softer as Martin turns to the glass dish and begins to portion out the gołąbki.

 Maybe they could bake together, he thinks as he sits across from Martin at the table, Martin’s foot reaching underneath and hooking around Jon’s ankle. Yes, that… that might be nice.

 The cake ends up going into the bin after all. Though neither of them really seem to mind.