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skzdarlings · 9 months ago

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vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 2/2

masterlist.

PART 2/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )

You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. cat-and-mouse. dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. brat tamer!felix and brat!reader. everything that transpires is fully consensual with implied conversations on kink preferences, and an established colour safeword system before the scene. that being said, they still get a lil kinky. please heed the following content warnings: fear kink/cnc, hiding, chasing, lots and lots of dirty talk, fingering, blow jobs, face fucking, throat fucking, a little bit of crying, penetrative sex. (protected but dirty talk like it's not.)

(chapter word count: 7750 words.)

enjoy! <3

The gentlest nip of a summer breeze moves through the settling blue darkness. Everything feels romantic. Everything except the handcuffs chaining you to Felix, Security Guard of the Year, Man of the People, and Defender of Propriety and Pop Star Penis.

Felix does not look at you as he drags you away from the stadium. He smiles sweetly at passersby, doing his best to hide the handcuffs no thanks to your flamboyant gesticulations, but it dissolves again to that grim, determined countenance.

Felix has an interesting face, so many sharp lines, but the overall effect is somehow delicate. A body of contradictions, slender but strong, a stark masculinity rippling beneath the glittery prettiness he happily indulges in. Blue hair should not look that good on anyone, but you doubt anything could make him look bad. He sparkles like the glitter star on his cheek.

You poke that cheek. A muscle in his jaw twitches. He looks at you sideways, all pretty brown eyes and a constellation of even prettier freckles.

“Do not,” he says.

“Do not what?”

“Just. Do not.”

You obey his demand for silence. For about six seconds.

“So how long have you been a security guard?” you ask amiably.

“You’re really trying to have a normal conversation with me,” he says. “Now? After that introduction?”

“I prefer the term meet-cute.”

“We wrestled on the ground then you handcuffed us together and threw away the key—”

“Adorable.”

“Right.” He picks up his speed. You could easily keep pace but you decide to stagger along like he is too fast for you, whining as he drags you behind him. Felix sighs but slows his pace. To your surprise, he answers your question. “A month,” he says. “I’ve been working there a month.”

“And you’re already gunning for CEO,” you say. “Considering how dedicated you are to bringing justice—”

He slams to a stop. Your chain jingles when you collide, hands smacking together. He faces you. Wisps of blue escape from his half-ponytail to dance across his face.

“I already told you,” he says. “My job is checking tickets. Chasing you down was my personal pleasure.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” you say.

He smiles. It is a gentle smile, seemingly sympathetic out of nowhere, his eyes softening with the lift of his brow. He has an uncanny ability to make softness more threatening than roughness. It gives you a shiver.

“Let me guess,” he says. “You don’t have a job, do you, sweetheart? You can’t hold one down. You don’t know how. Your parents have money and it’s nice, sure, but they were overbearing your whole childhood, weren’t they? Until one day they decided you were grown and just stopped caring. And now you’re out in the world with no more rules and you don’t know how to deal with it. Except by acting out. It’s fun, right? Looking for trouble. Makes you feel something for a minute. Because even though you have everyone fooled into thinking you’re this wild and carefree person, you’re locked up inside. You’re not scared of consequences because you’re already trapped. Oh, uhh, stop me if I’m getting cold, yeah?”

You just stare as he blithely runs his pretty mouth.

“You don’t really care about the prize, it’s just about the chase,” he continues. “You told me I was a good boy, yeah? Your words. And you think you’re bad. A bad, bad girl,” his deep voice drops even more, like the heavy-handed thud of a low blow, striking some place intimate inside you, “but that’s not really true, is it?”

He smiles that particular smile again, full of affection and tenderness, an expression that is completely alien to your brash and aggressive nature.

“Deep, deep down, you just want to be good,” he says. “But you need to earn it to enjoy it, don’t you? You need someone to tell you that you can, that it’s okay. But you don’t make it easy. And you’ve been running for so long, you probably can’t even remember how it feels when someone cares enough to catch you.”

You suddenly feel the weight of the handcuffs. You expected this dull pretty boy to have a hidden mean streak to rival your own, not for him to blast through your barriers and drag your innermost thoughts to the surface. To say nothing of his perfect speculation on your background.

“So what, you’re some kind of stalker with a philosophy major?” you ask.

He is still smiling.

He laughs, a low chuckle. He looks like a star, glittering silver and blue in the moonlight.

“No, I’m not,” he says. “I’m just the same as you. Vexatious, apparently, because I’m all smiles all the time. Just so good, you know?” He is almost theatrical in tone. “Of course, that’s technically the opposite of you. Isn’t it?”

When you don’t answer, he touches your chin, just his fingertips. It is still enough to guide your face to his, locking eyes.

“I said, isn’t it?” he asks, his tone sharper.

If he is insinuating that you are only pretending to be bad, then that means he is only pretending to be good. If you are secretly good, then he is secretly—

His mouth hovers close to yours. He abruptly steps back.

Oh. You blink quickly. Yes. Of course. It is always the real bad boys who take care to be good, isn’t it? He does not need to flaunt it. He can just smile at you.

“Come on,” he says, interlocking your fingers with his. He tugs you along, humming to himself as he leads you down the street. So seemingly innocent. Grinning to himself like the cheshire cat.

You stare at those freckles, the glitter stars, his dimples.

A vexatious vixen, indeed.

“So that Jisung guy,” you say. “The one who gave you these handcuffs. He thinks you’re a nice guy who needs some adventure in his life. It was just a prank gift and he thought he was being funny.”

“Yup,” Felix says, popping the sound.

“Little does he know you’re actually some sick and twisted pervert,” you say.

“Tsk,” he says, looking at you with a cheeky grin, as if to say what a silly girl you are. “I’m not sick. See, unlike you who bothers everyone whether they like or not, I only chase the ones who like to run. Twisted, on the other hand… well…”

The handcuffs jingle, strung around your joined hands like the red string of fate. You look at each other, starlight on your faces, a noisy arena behind you and a game ahead of you.

You smile back at him.

You still intend to win.

It is a twenty minute walk. Your conversation weaves around implications, some very forthright flirtations, and a couple scandalizing explanations. Despite his previous goading, Felix is far more reserved in his desires. He blinks when you describe a very dirty scenario and get detailed. Very, very detailed.

“Um, right,” he says. “Fun as that sounds, I’m pretty sure that constitutes as a human rights violation.”

“So?”

“I, uhh, prefer to do things that don’t get me put on an Interpol watch list.”

“Coward.”

You nonetheless accept this and describe a totally different scenario. He looks a little wan.

“Where would I get a rocket launcher?” he asks when you are finished.

“I dunno, get creative. My friend Seungmin once—oh shit, my friends!”

“Wait, huh? Your friend Seungmin has a rocket launcher…?”

You take out your phone to find a gathering collection of texts from Seungmin and Minho, ranging from teasing you about losing your touch to asking if you got arrested and they need to bail you out. Your friends are a nightmare which is why you like them, but they always get you out of trouble in the end.

You confirm you are safe, that you already left, and that you are trying to have sex with a hot, insane, kinky sadist of a security guard.

“You know I can read everything you are typing right now,” Felix says. “I am standing right beside you. You’re typing with a hand literally attached to mine.”

“Well, mind your own business.” You do not bother hiding your texts.

“You are giving them my name and address,” Felix replies. “It sounds like my business.”

“Well, it’s not. We’ve already established the world revolves around me. You’re the supporting character, pal.”

“Right,” he says. He blinks at the screen. In a more serious voice, he asks, “Do you want the postal code too?”

It never hurts to be thorough. You type the address and send it to the boys.

Good thing you waxed, Seungmin writes.

Felix squints at the screen and tilts his head like a curious cat. “You waxed for a concert?” he asks, giving you a once-over. “What did you think was gonna—”

“I am prepared for every eventuality,” you interrupt. “It’s why I always win.”

He holds up your handcuffed wrists and cocks an eyebrow. “Is this what you call winning?” he asks.

You smirk, your whole expression bright despite the suggestive wiggling of your eyebrows. “Matter of opinion, I suppose,” you say. “And my opinion is the only one that matters.”

“Right,” he says, forcing a frown. Despite his efforts, a smile is tugging at his lips. He suffices to roll his eyes and march ahead, yanking you along behind him. “Come on,” he says. “We’re almost there.”

Once your friends have your information, you put your phone in your little purse. You turn the corner and find yourself looking at an absolutely gorgeous house. Your jaw drops as Felix leads you up the driveway. It is an ostentatious design to say the least. You pass a gate mounted with two lion statues.

“Not my style,” he says when you gawk at the stone kitties. “This place belongs to my parents. They usually rent it out but they let me live here while I go to school.”

“So you weren’t kidding,” you say, a funny sensation in your chest and stomach. “About your background, I mean. You and me really are alike.”

You realize the sensation in your chest is an inkling of feelings. Genuine, heart-felt, soul-stirring feelings. You look at Felix and see a lot of yourself, though he is like a mirror version, exactly the same and completely the opposite. It makes you huff, holding a hand to your stomach like you can control the butterflies there.

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks, pausing at the front door.

“When was the last time you had a feeling?” you ask.

“A… feeling?” he asks. He stands silent for a long moment. When he realizes you are not going to elaborate, he asks, “What kind of feeling?”

“Just a feeling,” you say. “You know.”

“Uhh.” He blinks quickly. “I have feelings all the time. Every day.”

“Wow,” you say. “That sounds exhausting. Explains a lot about you.”

“All right.” He shakes his head. He reaches into his back pocket and fishes out a set of house keys, twirling them around his fingers until he finds the right one.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I threw those keys too?” you ask.

He gives you an exasperated look. You grin.

With a shake of his head, he sighs and unlocks the door. The foyer lights flicker to life and the house alarm starts ringing. It gives you a punch of adrenaline which has the predictable effect of getting your blood pumping. Your body does not know the difference between fear and desire. You have only been here two seconds but you are already licking your lips.

Felix is none-the-wiser. He flips open the alarm panel and punches in a code. It beeps and goes quiet. You look at each other in the soft golden glow of the foyer lamplight. He still looks stupidly pretty, blue hair and glitter, sleeveless shirt and jeans. Unassuming, gentle, sweet. Not at all like he could throw you over his shoulder or manhandle you in the grass. But he can. He did.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on the chain between you.

You feign disinterest but your eyes scour his space. You pass through the kitchen where there is an array of baking utensils drying in the dishes rack. The entire kitchen is clearly maintained with great care. The rest of the space is a little chaotic, shelves and desks and units overflowing with technological equipment that you can neither recognize nor name.

“I build computers,” he says, catching you staring at the pile of miscellaneous parts. “Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”

This is uttered dryly and you wave it away. You do not want to admit you find it somewhat endearing. Your hobbies primarily consist of keeping the local PD on their toes, but you appreciate the practice of a craft. It only adds another layer to this weird dude, pretty but athletic but intelligent but ridiculous but charming but geeky. And just as competitive and crazy and freaky as you.

“Bedroom’s this way,” he says. “And, uh, don’t get any ideas.”

“Too late,” you answer, though truthfully your filthier fantasies are fracturing in wake of the reality of him. The computers, the baking tools, the wall of games and consoles, collectible toys and ughhh why did he have to be kind of adorable and secretly have a personality. Mutual objectification is more your style. Not quivering under a gentle touch and feeling… feelings.

“You look like you are thinking way too hard,” Felix says, pausing at his bedroom door. “It’s freaky.”

“Not thinking anything,” you say, because you are too busy feeling to be thinking. Ugh. You shake it off and push open his bedroom door.

He shakes his head and leads you in. He has a pretty elaborate gaming setup, the rest of the room plain in comparison. His bed is neatly made and you cannot help but envision a mess of sheets. Yes. That is more your thing. Taking that sweet and gentle façade and corrupting it, right down to the core. You want him to lose control. You want to drive him crazy. You want to draw this out, use the handcuffs and—

“Aha,” he says. “Right here.”

He pulls open a bedside drawer. A pair of handcuffs is sitting inside it, the key right on top. He takes it out and immediately unlocks you.

The cuffs fall to the floor. He scoops them up and jingles them in your face.

You stare at them then slowly meet his gaze.

“Oh,” you say. “You evil son of a bitch.”

He looks at you with a soft little pout, like he cannot imagine why you would be upset and you are hurting his oh-so sensitive feelings. But he knew you wanted to play him. He knew you wanted the handcuffs a little longer. Now there is no reason to linger. Now you can just walk out the door and never see him again.

He is going to make you ask for it.

That is not your style. You hate being out-smarted. And you really, really, really hate losing.

“Right,” you say. “I guess that’s it then.”

“Guess so,” he says. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

You are still standing in his bedroom. It is dark but there is an elaborate lighting rig around his computer, all bright blue neon and blinking lights. You are swimming in blue, breathing it in. His hair, the room, and moonlight.

You will never see this colour the same way again. Of that much you are certain.

“Blue,” you say.

His brow crinkles. “Blue?” he repeats.

“Mm.” You look around the room, pretending you are unbothered by the intensity of his gaze. “Red. Yellow. Green. Colours can say a lot, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he says, exhaled on a breath. The neon light catches the little star on his cheek, glinting at you. He is dazzling. This moment is larger than life.

You take a step back, holding his gaze.

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go…” you drawl, backing out of his room. “It’s amazing what you can say with just a colour…”

“Uh-huh,” he says. He looks at you like he did at the arena, maybe even more intensely. Now he knows what you are capable of doing. Now you understand each other.

He follows you, assessing every step you take. There is a subtle flex to the lean muscles of his arms, reminding you that while he is beautiful, he is also capable of more.

“And what does blue mean?” he asks. “To you?”

You walk backwards, an unspoken understanding that once you turn your back, the game begins. So you hold his gaze, smirking, inviting. The foyer lights flash on and gold light fills the space between you, casting shadows across your smiling faces.

He walks like a predatory cat, slow and smooth. His confidence is easy. He needs no grand display of machoism. He just smiles that pretty pink mouth. The glitter on his cheek sparkles.

“Blue is the colour we show on the outside,” you say, “when deep down we really want something else.”

“I see,” he says. Abruptly, his intensity vanishes when he laughs and says, “Put it back.”

Somehow, despite diverting his attention, he still saw your slight-of-hand. You swiped the closest object, a little jewel-encrusted clock on the nearby table. You waited until your body obscured the view but he still saw.

He can read you that easily, predict your moves that well. Because it is not as though he loves the clock. It stands out from his things, clearly one of the ostentatious designs, courtesy of his parents. You can read him that easily too. He does not like gaudy, shiny little knick-knacks. He likes neon and blue and you.

“Put what back?” you ask. You have reached the front door. Your hands are behind your back, the bauble in one, the other twisting the doorknob.

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says.

You push the door open.

“I’ll give it back, if that’s what you really want,” you say. With a suggestive little smirk, you ask, “So what’s your colour?”

Red to stop. Yellow to pause. Green to give in.

“Blue,” he says. To play.

You smile. You hold up the bauble, wink, then zip it into your purse.

“In that case,” you say, “you’ll have to catch me first.”

His expression changes in an instant, that playful giggling gone as quickly as it came. He breathes and it fills him, makes him look sturdy, makes him look ready.

“Sweetheart,” he says. “Don’t make me do this.”

The softness of the pet name is completely undone by the dark tone of his voice. There is nothing soft about him. He is ice cold blue and burning red heat at once, searing you with his eyes, the way they rove your whole body. You feel each glance. A shiver races down your spine. Instinctively, your body braces itself, fearful of that voice and that gaze.

It also gets you so, so hot.

All that tension snaps.

You turn and run, bolting down the driveway and past the fancy gate. You are quick on your feet, practiced and lithe. You show him no mercy this time. Earlier you were unprepared, severely misjudging his capabilities, but you will not make the same mistake again.

You glance over your shoulder. He is no where to be seen so you slow your pace, bemused.

A minute later, he comes tearing around the corner and your heart starts pumping again. Just like back at the arena, he grins as he thunders after you.

An instinctive little yelp leaves your mouth. You resume your pace, booking it for the corner of the block. There is a little patch of green park so you run there, disappearing between the bushes.

It seemed like a good idea but the streetlight barely breaks the thick tree branches. It is darker and eerier here, genuine fright overcoming you. You come to a clumsy stop, fumbling with your purse to grab your phone. A flashlight will stop you tripping, but it will also lead Felix right to you.

You hear him behind you, clambering through the bushes. Your heart leaps. The darkness makes you forget this is all pretend. You run without a light, dashing down the narrow path and squinting for even a glimpse of street light. You need to get out of the bushes otherwise you risk falling on your face, then he will be right on top of you in seconds. But running on the road will expose you too quickly.

You will not surrender that easily. He knows that.

Torn between the garden and the road, you get a brilliant idea. You dash back onto the street and hope it takes him a minute to follow. He is not behind you so you race back to his house.

There is no way he will circle back here. He knows you want a chase, so a chase is what he anticipates. He would never guess you ran back into his house. Oh, you can’t wait for the look on his face when he finds you perched on his bed, feigning boredom as you wait.

You run back up the driveway. The front door is closed and you crash right into it, assuming it would be unlocked. Nope. He locked it. Maybe that is why he was delayed.

You spin around, halfway expecting to find him there, ready to push you up against his door and cage you in. But no, you are still winning. He is undoubtedly still running through those bushes. He will circle the whole block before heading back here.

You hurry down the side of the house, looking for any open windows. You do not think he had time to set the alarm. Did he? Maybe that is why he was so far behind.

The side gate is unlocked so you slip into the backyard. You come to a surprised stop because it is a beautiful landscape. The greenery is pristine and there are little couches and chairs scattered around. There is a shed, some storage trunks, a fire pit. In the middle of everything is a pool, sparkling blue in the golden lamplight. Of course.

You do not rush. You cross the yard in a slow walk, taking a moment to catch your breath. You strategize your next move. Should you pose on one of the pool chairs? Wait by his back door and knock when he gets home?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a low hum. Someone is making their way down the side of the house.

You panic. You are often caught scampering around places you are not supposed to be, so instinct propels you to hide. You run to one of the storage trunks and duck behind it.

No sooner have you hidden does Felix stroll into the backyard. He is a little dishevelled, a few strands of hair escaping from his half-ponytail, but he seems mostly unbothered. He moves at a leisurely pace, humming to himself as he swings the gate open.

He pauses there, leaning against the tall fence. You are quite certain the world has never been this quiet.

“I know you’re here,” Felix says, his deep voice shattering the silence.

Your heart leaps into your throat. You should have known better. Of course he had the same idea as you. Now what? How can you outsmart someone who can predict your every move?

You peek around the storage trunk. Felix is smiling, all dimples and delight. Even his eyes are glittering as he swings the gate shut. He looks across the yard as he curls his fist around the padlock. He slams it shut, effectively locking you in with him.

So that is why he took so long. He unlocked the gate before giving chase. He laid a trap and you ran right into it.

His walk is more of a prowl, a slow but steady tread across the grass.

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs, uncannily chipper.

You cannot believe you are about to be beaten so quickly. It has your head spinning, your heart racing from your run, your adrenaline pounding as he approaches.

Your heart tempers itself when he stops. He pokes his head around the fire pit to see if you are hiding there.

“Sweetheart,” he says, casting his gaze around the yard. “You don’t need to hide. I promise I’m not mad.” He strolls around the pool, looking from here to there, even up at the trees. He hums thoughtfully to himself. “Now, now… If I was a troublemaker who needed to learn a lesson, where would I hide…” He ducks behind a pool chair, frowning. “Hmm, hmm, hmm…”

He stands for a minute, tapping his chin. You want to glean some semblance of your surroundings, but you do not want to take your eyes off him. You are convinced if you do, he will manifest right beside you. So you look at the house then at him, the gate then at him, the trees then at him. You almost want to scream. He is not even moving and he has you completely captivated, every last sense in your body attuned to him.

“Pleeeeease,” he says in a long drawl, a cute little tone. He ambles over to a different storage trunk and lifts the lid. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He slams the lid down so hard it makes the unit wobble. Even though you are far away, it makes you jump. You have to cover your mouth to stop a yelp from escaping.

You stare as he leans over the other unit, peering behind it. He huffs in frustration when he finds nothing. Despite the angry grimace, when he stands upright, he is wearing that saccharine smile.

“You’re hurting my feelings, sweetheart,” he says. “I thought we were turning into friends. Don’t you want to be my friend?”

He flings a chair out of his way, then swiftly drops to his knees to peer under the picnic table. He is getting closer, bit by bit, which is somehow more terrifying than if he beelined right at you.

He is giving you time, you realize. He wants you worked up. He wants your heart racing. He wants you quivering and soft and afraid.

You look around frantically, searching for an escape.

Your hope rises then plummets. The back door is ajar but that is an obvious trap. It leads into the house but there is no way you are crossing the yard without him seeing you.

You jump at another slam. It was the shed door. He is stepping inside it, rifling through the yard tools in case you are crouched inside.

“Come on,” he says into the shed. “Don’t be scared.”

You take a deep breath. You have only seconds to cross the yard while his back is turned. You do not waste another moment, jumping to your feet and running as quietly and as quickly as you can.

He is just as quiet. You shriek at the sudden arm that catches you, just like it did at the arena. Felix tackles you onto the grass again, pushing you down on your back and covering your mouth.

You wrestle him, just like last time, ignoring his laughter as you claw and bite at him.

“You’re a little mean, you know that?” he says, waving his hand after narrowing dodging your teeth. He dives back in, undeterred, grabbing your face in one hand. “Yeah, that’s it,” he says. “Fight me. Brat.”

You do not surrender easily, but he manhandles you with the same effortless skill as before. There is no doubt he has training that you lack, flipping you in his arm then pushing you down on your front. You kick your legs as he straddles your backside. He brings your hands together on the base of your spine.

You know what is coming and it makes you shriek with frustration. Just like last time, he slaps the handcuffs on your wrists and locks your hands behind your back.

“You stupid little—” you start, your words stifled when he puts his hand over your mouth and yanks your head up. He holds the handcuff key in front of your face, then makes a show of throwing it. You are pretty sure it is still in his fist, but the very idea has you whimpering into his palm.

“That’s better,” he says, slowly taking his hand off your mouth. It hovers like he expects you to start screaming. You just exhale heavily, glaring. “All right,” he says. “Very good. Come on.”

You play at obedience long enough to get off the ground. He helps you stand, then you immediately kick at him. He tries to grab your leg but you dodge the swipe of his hand, running the opposite way.

Your balance is thrown, dizzy from the takedown and the handcuffs. He catches you quickly. You yelp when he sweeps you off your feet, boasting all that hidden strength again.

He carries you over to the deck where he drops down, sitting with his legs spread to fit you in between. With your back to his front, he pulls you against him, an arm across your chest to keep you pinned together.

“Oh fuck you,” you say, wriggling helplessly.

“Not quite,” he says, laughing. “I’ve been picturing something else.”

He covers your mouth again, catching your shriek when he tugs your shirt open. The flannel falls down your shoulders and he yanks the tank top down, getting a handful of everything you inadvertently flashed him earlier.

Despite the force of his initial touch, he is not rough. You might have kept your cool if he was; you are used to rough, fast, hard. But his hand is tender, almost loving, a slow touch that trails from your neck down your chest, thumb circling the peak of your nipple before he squeezes your curves in the cup of his hand. It is maddeningly slow and careful, your whining trapped in the palm of his hand.

“This is what I was picturing,” he says. It sounds like a growl, his deep tone just above a rough whisper. His lips graze your ear and you shiver.

You gasp, taking in deep gulps of air when he frees your mouth. A weak whimper is all you manage when he hooks his legs around yours and pries them apart. His hand dives down to your shorts, making swift work of the buttons.

“Yup, just what I thought,” he says as his fingers sink inside you. “Do you feel that?” he asks, as if your attention could be on anything but the thorough, rolling touch of his fingers, torturing the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. He slides his fingers into you with no resistance whatsoever. He starts finger-fucking you, laughing when you moan, when you rear up under his hand for more. “Mmm, yeah, you want it don’t you?” You try to resist but it is hard, especially when he teases you, making you chase him with your hips. He just laughs again, slowing his touch maddeningly. “God, that’s hot,” he says. “You might be a brat but your pussy... It’s begging for it, isn’t it? Does it like this, sweetheart, hmm? Hmm?”

He is absolutely torturing you, rubbing those swollen nerves to the crest of an orgasm then withdrawing, again and again, until you swear it burns. You make a strangled sound, clutching his hand on your chest, still cupped possessively on your naked breast.

“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me how much you want me to make you come.”

“Mmmph,” is your oh-so intelligent reply.

“You can do better than that,” he says. “Come on. Show me how much you want it. You can’t lie to me, sweetheart. I can feel it, hmm? Gonna feel it when you come. Gonna feel your pussy get nice and tight around my fingers, asking for it, baby—oh yeah, what’s that? What’s it want?”

“Ugh, fuck you,” you whine.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he says. “Fuck you. You can run that pretty mouth but I know what you really need. You’re gonna be begging me for my cock, to fill you up and make you feel all full for real. Isn’t that right? Go on. Show me you want it. Show me.”

Your chest is heaving. Your eyes close. You concentrate on that orgasm, chasing it desperately. It approaches rapidly and your thighs start shaking.

He covers your mouth again, once more predicting you. He knows you are about to come. This time he takes you right over, groaning in your ear, clutching you tight while never once slowing the deft thrust of his hand. You scream into his palm, the intensity of the orgasm washing over you. The blue light of the pool flickers even with your eyes closed, seeing nothing but blue, blue, blue. He surrounds you, his voice, his moans, his touch.

Your hips buck, your heart skipping a frantic beat when pleasure turns to sensitivity. He chuckles but stops, dropping his hand off your mouth. You catch your breath, slumping against his chest.

He touches your face with the hand he just used to fuck you, wet fingers streaking across your mouth as he turns your head. You blink at him and part your lips just for him to shove his fingers in your mouth. You cannot help but moan, eyes closing as you suck the tangy wetness right off his fingers. You watch when he takes them back, when he licks them for himself. Strands of blue fall across his forehead. He looks as flushed and filthy as you feel.

He grins around his fingers. Then he grabs the back of your neck and pulls your face to his. He kisses you for the first time with the taste of your pussy on both your mouths. His kiss is deep and bold, as if you are already his. You are dizzy when he stops, gasping when he pecks your lips with sweet, chaste little kisses.

“Gonna uncuff you now,” he says softly. “Because for what we do next…” He grabs you by the throat and you mewl, clenching around nothing when he rolls his hips under you, showing you how hard he is. “Yeah, sweetheart. For that, I need all of you.”

You sit quietly while he uncuffs you. You feign complacency, standing on shaky legs when he guides you upright. You fix your shirt, glaring at him, though it is a little harder while you are still catching your breath.

He was right about one thing; you need him like you have never needed anyone. You are throbbing, completely and totally aching with the loss of his touch. You have never felt such clear pulsations, your body begging for more even while your expression is petulant.

You follow him to the open door. One step, two steps.

Then you say, “Blue.”

You take off running into the house.

He laughs incredulously, not even making an attempt to grab you.

He slams the door shut behind him. You skid to a stop in the hall, listening to the gentle beeping of the alarm as he arms it from the inside. It is the same quiet threat as the padlock; there is no escape.

Giddy, excited, practically vibrating with anticipation, you run and hide. There are boxes and tables piled high with gadgetry, not to mention his couch and bookshelves and general appliances. Plenty more places to hide than that big back yard. And when he finally does find you, when you have worked him up the way he worked you up—

That is what winning is all about.

You sit in your hiding place, breathing hard.

“Sweetheart,” Felix says in that too-sweet voice. His footsteps are slow, unhurried, casual. “Stop hiding. I said I didn’t want to hurt you, but if you keep this up…”

You peer at him between some boxes. He stops in the middle of the room, catching his breath too. The glittering amusement has left his eyes. They are narrowed, his flushed cheeks and sweaty hairline only exacerbating his predatory air.

He unties his half-ponytail, then bends over to run his fingers through the length of it. He flips back up, all that blue falling prettily in place. He licks his lips as he prowls through the room, looking behind boxes, ducking under tables.

You shuffle with him, moving when he does. He checks your previous hiding space with a jaunty, “A-ha!” then curses.

“Come on now,” he says, turning around. He smiles like a shark, all teeth, hungry despite the innocent flash of a dimple. “You’re only hurting yourself,” he says. “I know you, sweetheart. You’re in here somewhere, and you can’t tell me you’re not thinking about what it’s gonna feel like when I catch you, yeah? Hmm. You’re fast. I bet you’re flexible too. I bet I can get you into all sorts of positions. Get you making all sorts of noises for me…”

It is a struggle to be quiet as you move. Your limbs are still shaky. Every word out of his mouth makes your breath catch.

You swallow hard, freezing when he pauses. Did he hear that? Maybe not. He turns the other way, heaving a deep sigh before he laughs. It lacks amusement, a harsh sound as he turns and turns.

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs. In a harder voice, he snaps, “Stop hiding from me.” Then he smiles again. He turns in your direction slowly. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

You cover your mouth, cowering down when he seems to look right at you. Your heart is pounding so hard, you would not be surprised if he could hear it, even feel it, shaking this whole damn house.

“If you come out on your own,” he says, “I promise to make you feel good. You’ll come so hard, you’ll forget how scared you are.”

You keep that hand over your mouth, fighting to keep quiet. It stifles a shriek when he suddenly waves at you, a drole little finger-wiggle.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says. He crouches down, putting himself at eye-level, peering between the boxes that shield you. “Don’t make me come get you,” he says. “I’ve been nice, haven’t I? Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”

You shuffle to the side. He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head while he laughs.

“Right,” he says. “Fine. We’ll do it that way.”

You bolt when he does, shrieking as you clamber around some equipment to get away. You manage to escape to the foyer, cursing when the automatic lights flash on. It feels like a spotlight, illuminating you in the middle of that big empty space with no where to hide.

You can hear Felix stomping after you. You scurry into the kitchen, looking around frantically for somewhere to hide.

You yelp when he bursts in behind you. This time, he does not give. He grabs you roughly when you try to run again. With very little effort, like you are scarcely more than a mild inconvenience, he lifts you off your feet and slings you over his shoulder. He says nothing while you curse and squirm and slap his back.

“You know what I wonder?” he eventually says, marching you right into the bedroom. “I wonder… if I make you cry, is that gonna make you tighter, you think?” He slides you down his body, holding you flush against him. He smiles. “Worth a shot, no?”

And then he handcuffs your wrist to his wrist and tosses the key across the room.

“Oops,” he says.

He grabs your throat and you gasp, spilling onto the bed when he pushes you. He puts your on your back then straddles your chest, swiftly unbuttoning his jeans.

“Open up,” he says, practically prying your mouth open, just giggling when you bite at him. “If you bite me,” he says, two fingers shoved deep in your mouth, “I promise, I’ll give you something to be fucking scared of.”

You were right. You will never see the colour blue the same way again. You will never be able to settle for anything less than Felix again.

With a whimpery sigh, you relent, blissful as your mouth falls open. He shoves his clothes out of his way, just enough. He is rock hard and wet at the tip when he guides your mouth around his dick. He cradles your head gently, even if the rest of him is not gentle.

You moan, your pussy literally twitching for attention as he shoves into your throat and makes your eyes water. You take him well and he groans, pulsing in your mouth when tears start running down your face. He fucks your mouth and throat, a back and forth that has your seeing stars. Eventually he pulls back, laughing as runs his fingers through his hair.

“Oh, baby,” he says. He reaches down to wipe a tear. “I wanted to do that the second you started mouthing off to me.”

“Asshole,” you say, though it comes out with a giggle.

He laughs, sliding down your body to get between your legs. He gets your shorts and underwear out of his way, kissing across your pussy and up your stomach. He lifts your shirt and crosses your breasts with his mouth, leaving little bite marks in his wake.

With the hand cuffed to yours, he interlocks your fingers sweetly, pressing it into the mattress. Then he swoops up. He kisses you, his tongue a soothing touch after everything.

You moan, literally shaking with need as he smiles against your lips. He speaks in that low, rasping voice when he says, “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you realize you’re gonna come all over my cock.”

“Oh god,” is your rough reply.

“It’s Felix,” he says. “You’re gonna be screaming it in a second, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

He has a condom in his bedside drawer. Though you see him put it on, he still leans down to dirty talk, holding your throat as he whispers, “Was gonna be nice and wrap it, but you don’t like it nice, do you?” He spreads your legs with his own, pushing down with his hips. You whimper when the head of his cock glides over where you are very wet and very needy. “No, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m gonna have all of you. And you – are gonna – take it.”

He punctuates this with short thrusts, gradually easing inside you. You moan, canting your hips to meet him, needing more. When he starts fucking you in earnest, your whole body gets pliant like it never has before. You let him hold you, tethered to him by the handcuffs and something else, something to do with those feelings inside you. You let them melt into the physical sensations. When he touches you, working you into an orgasm while he is deep inside you, it all washes over you. You come with a cry, screaming his name just like he said.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he says. Your bodies are flush together, chests touching, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His face is in your neck when he laughs. It is not a fake laugh, not coloured darkly, but ringing with true amusement. “What’s your name?” he asks.

You laugh too, whispering it against his mouth when he leans in to kiss you. He groans, kissing you, and says your name against your lips when he comes. It binds you to him more effectively than the handcuffs.

You lay there for some time afterward, all that pent-up adrenaline taking its time to dwindle. He lays on your chest, your free hand in his hair, stroking it. Eventually he looks at you with wide eyes.

“I’m not, you know, like that, I mean—” he says.

“I know,” you reply, massaging the nape of his neck. You get uncharacteristically bashful. Usually your partners, being more dominant, are the ones offering consolation to you, and you seldom need much. Felix, you can tell, needs something, and it draws something out of you that you hardly knew existed. Something tender and soft, that enjoys touching him and soothing him and making him smile.

“Do you still have that, uh, feeling?” he later asks.

You nod. He smiles.

“Me too,” he says.

“That’s nice. Can we get the handcuff key now?” you ask, making him laugh.

The handcuffs end up on the floor with your clothes.

This is usually the part where you run away, but you think you are done with running for a while. You lay down with Felix, side by side, washed in the neon blue light. You take a breath and roll onto his chest, resting your head there, and he runs a hand down your back in a soft caress.

“I’m just glad I didn’t wax for no reason,” you break the silence, making him snort. He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head. “What! Don’t look at me like that or I’ll try and sneak into another concert when you’re on the clock.”

“Mm, will you?” he asks, grinning. “I better be prepared.”

“Oh no, I’m not messing with you. I’m picking an easier target next time.”

“I’ll find you anyway,” he says. “Can’t hide from me, sweetheart.”

“Hmm,” you say, hiding your face because that squishy feeling in your chest is back. “I still won this round.”

He lifts your face so he can look at you. Your eyes close when he swoops in and kisses you. You can’t even pretend to be annoyed with him anymore. Vexatious vixen, indeed.

“I think,” he says, “we might have tied this round, sweetheart.”

“Fine,” you say. You kiss again, long and sweet. Then you bop him on the nose. “But next time it’ll be me.”

He sighs but smiles, shaking his head. Then he cups your face and pulls you in for another kiss.

#lee felix x reader #felix x reader #lee felix smut #felix smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix x you #skz x you #stray kids x you

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starkidmunson · 10 months ago

Text

glitter & crimson

It’s both exciting and terrifying to be in Chicago when they arrive Thursday afternoon. This is, unfortunately, very often as close to hometown shows as the band gets to these days. They have the night off, before the show tomorrow, when the band will find out if Steve and his friends actually show up to the gig or not. Despite not having a show, the band doesn’t get the whole day off; Paige had booked a few radio interviews before the gig to drum up attention.

He should have seen it coming when the radio host brought up the TikTok exchange. “So, be honest, have you guys coordinated with Harrington and his friends to get him to your show tomorrow?”

“Not really. Our manager sent info and Steve gave it a thumbs up, but that’s really been it? But we’ve been busy with shows almost every night, and he’s had a lot of travel games the last few days, so we’ll have to wait and see if he’s able to make it out.” Jeff takes over the answer with ease, probably having predicted the attention.

“Did you really not recognize him, Eddie?” The host goads and Eddie lets himself chuckle.

“It may sound kind of ridiculous, but the genuine answer is yeah. I haven’t seen him in, like, 6 years. And, believe it or not, we didn’t exactly run in the same crowds. We knew of one another, I think, but there were hundreds of kids in our school.” Eddie always defaults to the truth in interviews; it’s the simplest route and leaves less room for people to poke holes in the narrative if he’s just honest.

“Will you guys be going to the Blackhawks game on Saturday?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see, man,” Gareth laughs, and just as quickly as the segment started, it’s over with their own latest hit playing them out of the studio.

A Thursday night off in the city wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world, but the band collectively made a trip to the bar closest to their hotel for wings and a few drinks. One of the guys must have posted something on social media about being out because as Eddie’s walking into his hotel, he happens to check his TikTok to find a message waiting for him.

harrington94 should I take it personally that you guys went out in my town and didn’t ask for recs or anything?

eddiecc I honestly figured you’d be too busy and didn’t want to bother you.

harrington94 never too busy to show a friend around town. But I do appreciate having a down day, so thanks.

Eddie wasn’t entirely sure how to answer as he processed Steve’s message. Friends? Is that what they were? Could they even really consider one another that? He ultimately decided not to think too much of it, in favor of keeping the conversation going. Maybe the more they talked, the less awkward the next two nights would be.

eddiecc I totally get it if you want to skip the show in favor of another down day.

harrington94 no backing out on me now, Munson. I’ve finally got the cool card with the Party. We’ll be there, no doubt.

Eddie feels a little smile creep over his face and his ears feel a little warm, but before he can answer that, text bubbles pop up again. He waits to see what else Steve is going to say before he does something embarrassing.

harrington94 now feels like a safe time to confess that I haven’t really listened to much of your music, though, so don’t think I’m rude if I’m not headbanging along with the boys.

That was more like the interaction Eddie had expected from their TikTok exchange. He never expected Steve to know their music and was shocked he even knew their band name when his response had been posted on TikTok.

eddiecc I honestly cannot exactly say I’m surprised to hear this. You never exactly struck me as a headbanger, anyway.

harrington94 i feel like that’s some kind of thinly veiled insult that I’m missing, but you’re not wrong.

The text bubbles appear again, and Eddie waits for him to finish the thought rather than respond.

harrington94 why don’t you text me instead? It feels easier than paying attention to this app I don’t really know how to use.

Eddie was quick to copy the number Steve sent and shoot off a text, weirdly enjoying the exchange the two were having and not ready to call it a night just yet.

__________

A particularly ridiculous meme from Eddie had Steve snorting from his spot lounging across the sofa. The next thing he knew, a pillow was flying at his face. He was able to react quickly enough to block it with his arm, dropping the phone to his chest, before glaring at Robin. She was watching him from the recliner across the living room.

“What the fuck?” He asks, tossing the pillow back in her general direction, more gently than she’d tossed it his way.

“You’re grinning at your phone like you’re setting up a hot date. Please don’t tell me you’re talking to Heidi again.” Robin pleads dramatically, twisting her body in the chair to face him.

“I’m not grinning at my phone, shut up.” He grumbles, ignoring how hot his neck feels as he blushes. Instead, he picks his phone back up to finish the thought he’d been typing before he’d been interrupted. “I’m just texting with Eddie, that’s all.”

Robin’s eyes widened immediately, and she sprung from the recliner toward the sofa. “Give me your phone!” She demands, grunting as she fell face first into the sofa, missing Steve by an inch. He manuveres away from her without looking up from his phone, making his way down the hall to his room. “Steve, come on!”

“It’s not a big deal! We’re just talking! It’s fine!” He insists, tucking the phone into his back pocket as he turns into his bedroom.

But maybe it was a big deal? Steve couldn’t tell; this was the part he was never really good at. He had a tendency to miss signs everyone else thought were obvious, and he didn’t want to risk making things weird with Eddie if Robin thought he was missing something that wasn’t actually there. The texts with Eddie had shifted from Steve confessing his knowledge of Corroded Coffin was strictly limited to whatever the Party played in the car when he drove them places, to Eddie confessing he knew next to nothing about hockey. It seemed to level the playing field between the two of them, and at least made Steve feel more at ease about the time they’d be spending together between the concert and the game.

When Steve had asked how the tour was going so far, Eddie had shared a link to an instagram, where fans were finding something to meme from each night of the shows. To which Jeff and Gareth were making memes in response, picking on one another in a way that felt like with some of his teammates. The message that had prompted the most reaction from Steve was the last thing Eddie had sent before Robin threw the pillow; a meme of Eddie looking confused, which Jeff had edited “So he’s not Joe Jonas?” over his head.

In his room, Steve leans over to pick up his charger, but he feels his phone lift free from his pocket. “Hey!” He calls after Robin, who’s sprinting down the hallway, laughing like the menace she is.

“I just want to see what you’re talking about!” Robin says, unlocking his phone. He’s just about to catch up to her, as she slides on her socks into her bedroom, closing the door behind her, right in his face.

“You’re being a child, Robs, c’mon. Give me my phone back.” He sighs, resting his forehead against the door. He jiggles the handle, but as he’d guessed, she’d locked it behind her.

“Do you like him?” She asks through the door, and he sighs again.

“I don’t know,” He answers, honestly and exhaustedly. “I don’t even know him, you know? We weren’t friends, it’s not like I could tell you anything about him other than Tommy used to buy weed from him and he would stand on tables and yell in the cafeteria.”

There’s a long silence before Robin opens the door, meeting Steve with a little smile. She shoves the phone back into his chest and pats his hand when he takes it from her. “I think this could be good for you. That this could be good for you.”

“I’m trying not to read too hard into it.” Steve mumbles, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair nervously. He glances back down at the screen, to see what while Robin had taken the phone, Eddie had sent another text.

Eddie: How were your games? Are you doing anything special for your day off?

It makes something twist in his chest, that Eddie even cares, and he doesn’t quite know why. It must show on his face, some part of how he’s feeling, because Robin just smiles and nods. Maybe she knows how he feels, part of their weird unspoken telepathy, because she walks further into her room and pats the edge of her bed as she goes.

“Are you going to let me paint your nails for the concert?” She asks. Everything inside of Steve appreciates how she always knows when to give him space to try and figure his shit out on his own.

“Obviously.” He laughs softly, following her into the bedroom to sit on her bed and watch her move around collecting things to paint his nails.

~~~

The following day, Steve spends more time than he would like to admit picking out an outfit to wear to the concert. He can hear the Party starting to get antsy in the living room, even though they’d still be plenty early if they left right now, so he decides to just roll with the white shirt and fitted khakis he’d dressed himself in several hours ago before he started overthinking his choices. He finished the outfit off with a black zip-up fleece and black and white Nikes.

A final check of his hair had him walking out of his room and into the living room, where chaos erupted.

“It’s about time!” Dustin exclaims, practically bouncing up and down with excitement on the sofa.

“It took you that long to come out looking like that?” Mike asks, but Max just snorts and shoves his shoulder.

“Let’s just go.” Steve rolls his eyes, glancing over at Robin who jingles car keys she’s already holding, before leading the way out of the apartment.

In the car, he shoots Eddie a quick text to let him know they’re on the way. Eddie’s quick to reply, giving the message a thumbs-up reaction. Unbelievably, the Party somehow manages to get even louder than usual once they were inside, and it doesn’t take long for a security guard to find them. They’re led through the back tunnels of Wintrust Arena, and Steve gets a little nostalgic for playing hockey in college. He’s snapped out of it when a girl passes out their pass lanyards and gives each of the Party a voucher for free drinks and snacks.

“This is too much, really,” Steve protests as she hands him the voucher, but Paige insists with a kind smile.

“We get this kind of stuff from every venue and rarely get to use it to its full extent. The guys want to do this for you and your friends, just enjoy it.”

The Party loads up on treats at the nearest food station, while Steve and Robin grab beers with Paige. As she collects her drink, Paige hands Steve a palm-sized bag of earplugs. He frowns at them, which makes her laugh.

“Eddie said this isn't really your usual kind of scene, and these shows can get loud,” she taps her own ears to show she has similar earplugs in. “Should also help prevent headaches or anything else that might keep you off the ice tomorrow.”

“Please, he’s too stubborn to stay off the ice. The amount of migraines he’s played through is outrageous,” Dustin bounds back into the conversation, earning a chuckle from Robin. Steve throws his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders, pulling him just a little too close and too tight. Dustin exaggerates choking noises, flailing around and making a scene, but Steve refuses to let up.

_____

There’s more anxiety than usual thrumming through Eddie as he and Jeff make their way through the arena, to where Paige had said she’d take Steve and his friends for snacks. As they walk up on the group, however, Steve quickly pulls a younger boy with a head full of curls into a headlock. He lets the scene continue for a moment before he nudges Jeff.

“At what point fo you think we should intervene?” He asks with a smile, making Jeff chuckle. Steve, however, freezes, then shoves Dustin away. He turns to give Eddie a sheepish smile, and Eddie can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

Steve lets out a huff of a laugh, running his fingers through his hair, shrugging and tipping his head in the boy’s direction. “This is Dustin. He’s like my little brother. I’m allowed to pick on him when he’s being a shithead.” Dustin nudges his elbow into Steve’s gut, who’s quick to smack his arm in response. Before Eddie can stop himself, he’s twisting a curl around his finger and biting back a grin. He does, however, make a conscious effort to not chew on his hair. He knows he’d never hear the end of it, fawning over Steve Harrington after a whole 10 seconds.

Eddie offers a hand out to Dustin, hoping Jeff and Paige would let his little tells fly under the radar. Just this once, they seem to, as he greets the Party. “Hey man, I’m Eddie. Nice to meet you.”

“I know who you are, holy shit, man.” Dustin eventually fumbles through, shaking Eddie’s hand and grinning up at him.

Steve rattles off the introductions for each kid, like a proud mom, and Eddie greets each of them politely, but his eyes keep falling back on Steve. He catches his little smiles and the way he nudges different members of the Party, squeezes their shoulders, ruffles their hair. It’s gentle and sweet and it sends a warm feeling through Eddie’s chest. His smile softens as he watches their interactions. All too soon, Freak leans into the area they’ve gathered in and whistles.

“Shit, guys, we gotta go.” Jeff sighs, and Eddie pats his shoulder before he turns back to the group with a grin.

“Just hang with Paige and try not to get into too much trouble, we’ll get drinks after?” Eddie asks, looking at Steve, who smiles back and gives a little nod.

As Eddie runs to catch up with Jeff and Freak, he wonders exactly what he’s gotten himself into here.

____

It’s more fun than Steve expects, the concert. The excitement of watching the show from the suite quickly bores the Party, as they realize it’s the same as watching hockey games from a guest box. They eat their snacks and drink some through the openers, but during the break before Corroded Coffin, Lucas and Dustin drag Steve around to the side stage. Robin promises to stay with the others, and reminds Steve to wear the earplugs.

He’s grateful Paige had slipped them to him as they get beside the stage and he realizes just how loud the crowd is when the lights go down. From where they’re standing sidestage, he can see Eddie, Jeff, Gareth and Freak in a little huddle. They bounce around with their arms around each others backs, before yelling something Steve can’t quite make out. They’re handed their instruments by the crew. As they’re taking the stage, Eddie walks up in their direction and pokes his tongue out at them, before ripping into a guitar riff to make his entrance.

Despite himself, Steve finds his head bobbing along to the drum beat, and even sings along to the songs he recognizes. It’s hard to take his eyes off Eddie through the whole production. He’s a little ball of energy, bounding around from one end of the stage to the other, bantering with the other guys in the band and drawing the fans into his chaos during talking breaks. During a drum solo, Eddie climbs onto the front of the kit and holds his guitar up in the air over his head. Steve watches, mesmerized, as Eddie holds his gaze for a moment that feels like an eternity but is probably only a few seconds. Eddie winks at Steve, then, before he leaps back into yet another riff. It shouldn’t have had so much of an impact, but Steve finds it kind of takes his breath away.

It’s over before long, and Paige is quick to guide Steve and the boys back to the club box. He smiles as they walk behind Dustin and Lucas, gushing over how great the show was. Back in the box, Steve and Paige agree to meet across the street at Fatpour. He charms his way into using the upstairs as a private room with a signature to the manager and flashes a smile and wave to the few people downstairs who seem to have recognized him.

The band makes a loud entrance as the Party works their way through appetizers, and Eddie is quick to find his way to Steve. “You seemed to have enjoyed yourself, was it more fun than you expected?” He asks around a grin.

“I never said I wasn’t going to have a good time,” Steve defended through a smile, making Eddie laugh and Steve thinks that might be the best sound he’d heard all night, despite having just seen the concert. Eddie glances around then, locking eyes with a bartender to get their attention.

“What’s your poison?” Eddie asks in the most cliche way, wiggling his eyebrows a little, but Steve shakes his head.

“Strictly on water tonight. Gotta get up early tomorrow.” He says, and Eddie softens and nods. Once their drinks are in front of them, he holds his glass up to Steve in a mock toast.

“To making it the fuck out of Hawkins?”

“Cheers to that.” Steve laughs, clanking their glasses together and taking a sip.

“Any reason you stayed in the Midwest?” Eddie asks, before he can stop himself. “Sorry, you don’t have to… you don’t owe me an explanation.”

“Nah, it’s… a few reasons. Couldn’t go too far without them, and most of ‘em followed me here, anyway. And then the chips fell and I ended up on the Blackhawks and there’s kind of no other team I’d rather play for.” Steve explains, leaning a little closer to Eddie with a smile. “Speaking of; are you ready for the game?”

Eddie can’t help but grin back at Steve and laugh a little. “You know, I honestly have no idea what I’m getting in to here. All I remember from watching games on TV is that it’s violent.”

“Not always.” Steve defends quickly, before showing a slight mercy. “It’s cold in there, because of the ice. You’ll want to wear layers.”

“Layers. Noted.” Eddie stores the information away for tomorrow, suddenly concerned he hadn’t even thought about an outfit for the game before the conversation.

As they talk, Robin appears with a basket of cheese curds but pulls it away as Eddie reaches to take one.

“What’s your favorite movie?” She asks, and Steve laughs and shakes his head at her.

“Is this a quiz? I’m not good at tests, I flunked out of senior year.” Eddie whines before he stops to think about it. “Uh, well. The answer you’d probably expect from me is Almost Famous, but it’s actually a close second to Dead Poets Society.”

She narrows her eyes at him but slides the basket in his direction. “I can’t tell if you picked either of those because you thought it was the answer I wanted, or because they’re actually your favorite, so I have to give you curds.”

“They’re actually my favorites!” Eddie laughs around a mouthful of cheese curds.

“Dead Poets is one of Robin’s favorites, too.” Steve offers, and Robin nods.

“Steve will tell you his favorite movie is Risky Business, because he thinks Tom Cruise is hot, but it’s actually Go Figure. You know, the Disney movie about the ice skater who joins her school’s hockey—” Robin is grinning until Steve clasps a hand over her mouth.

“Robin is incredibly annoying when she wants to be,” He grumbles, and Eddie can’t help but laugh at their antics.

“Well, now you’ve got my attention. If Go Figure isn’t your favorite movie, what is?” Eddie asks.

Steve thinks for a moment. “I think Back to the Future feels like a safe answer.” He shrugs, and Eddie glances at Robin to gauge her reaction. She seems to approve, as she gives Steve a soft smile, pats his back, then stands from their table.

“I’ll leave you two alone, I suppose.” She says, leaning close to both of them. “Behave, got it? No funny business before the game.”

Steve flushes and flounders a little, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he just huffs and takes a sip from his water. While Eddie feels his whole face get hot in a blush, he can’t help but laugh a little.

“Is there funny business we could have gotten up to?” He dares to ask, and it’s worth it just to watch the way Steve blushes and bites at his lip.

“Maybe. But I guess you’ve got to wait until after tomorrow’s game to find out.”

________________________________________________________

Wow! Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support you’ve shown this little idea I had! I might just keep this going as a series, with updates on Mondays (Tuesdays at the latest). This is also double the word count of part 1, oops, lol.

I'm going to try to tag everyone in the replies because I hit the character limit! Tumblr wouldn't take them all, so sorry to everyone I missed, I still love you and appreciate the support!

#steddie #steddie hockey au #steddie rockstar au #rockstar!eddie munson #hockey player!steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #dustin henderson #corroded coffin #stranger things #starkidmunson writes #glitter & crimson

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outro-jo · 2 years ago

Text

kissing skz goodbye

pairing: skz x reader

type: reaction

warnings: none

a/n: please read info before requesting update: if you saw that pic of felix before, no you didn’t. upon further investigation that was not even felix and pinterest has done me dirty. this is why we don’t look for photos and post at like 1am 🙃

masterlist | info

——————————

chan- it’s amazing chis was even asleep but he was and you know that if you left before him and didn’t kiss him that he’d pout about it all day. did he jump a little? yes but he melted right into your lips in no time. he let out a groan, his voice still raspy with sleep. his arms wrapped around your waist and because he was so much stronger than you, your body fell right into his.

“i’m not gonna let you go just yet.”

lee know- this was purely to annoy him. he HATES being woken up but nonetheless you had to do your job as a partner. you gave several pecks in a row, lingering longer on the last one. to your surprise a hand came up to the back of your head and the kiss was deepened.

“do this again and i’ll kill you.”

changbin- will also pout if he doesn’t get a kiss before you go to work. you’ll get texts throughout the day teasing that you don’t love him and how could he possibly be with someone so cruel. so to save yourself the headache on such a busy day, you leaned down and gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek. as you turned to walk out, a hand caught yours at the last second and you heard him whine.

“nooo, kiss me properly, baby.”

hyunjin- kisses were spread all throughout your morning routine. when you first opened your eyes and rolled over, you brushed his hair back to admire his beautiful features in sleep before softly kissing them. then a quick peck after your shower on your way to change. lastly, a long kiss to his lips that finally causes him to stir and then return the kiss.

“have a good day, my love.”

han- you know better than to leave a room let alone the house without kissing your boyfriend goodbye. your kisses are like a drug to him and he can’t go more than a few hours without begging for them. you give him a kiss to each cheek to wake him slightly, gently letting him know what’s coming next. his lips poke out while his eyes are still closed. letting you know he’s ready for you and you lean down once more, giving him a final kiss before you have to go.

“i love you, baby.”

felix- lix is so stunning when he sleeps. his bare face littered with freckles and relaxed features looking younger in sleep. you almost hate to wake him up even a little but you can’t help but to kiss him before you leave. not only would he be upset if you didn’t but your heart would ache without one last kiss. your hand rests on his cheek, stroking it with your thumb as you lean down. felix isn’t scared or even fazed by your affections. instead he kisses you right back and reaches up to keep you in place for a little longer.

“such a perfect way to wake up.”

seungmin- sleep is such a precious thing to seungmin but if he was honest, you’re even more precious. the first time you left for work before he was up, you got to hear about it when you got home that evening. he wasn’t really sulking or anything, but was just talking about your absence like it was fact. you got the idea. from then on you remembered to kiss him goodbye. the room was still dark as the curtains were drawn and you leaned over him, pushing his hair off his forehead before kissing his lips. you felt him smile before kissing you back.

“bye, darling.”

jeongin- though he can sleep though anything, jeongin still knows when you leave without kissing him. you joke that it’s like kissing a mannequin but he insist you do it anyways. this morning was a little different because he had just returned home from tour and wanted to savor every moment he could with you. it surprised you when his lips moved against yours and his hand came up to caress your cheek. his nose nuzzling yours as your lips parted to still keep you close to him.

“i’ve missed this.”

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marsoid · 3 months ago

Text

answering these in one go

i got Sugar off a craigslist ad in 2016. she was listed for $9k but i got her for $8800, the seller knocked down the price literally just because he was nice and could tell i loved the car so much 🥹 my bank wouldn't let me pull out all the cash at once so i drove her home and paid him that Monday which is CRAZY but he trusted me to pay him and i did

when i first got her she didn't have power steering or power brakes (turned like a land yacht and stopped when she felt like it) so that was the first thing to address. fixed the horn and some other minor stuff that needed it. i also made the decision to replace the carburetor with EFI, which is kind of controversial in the classic car world lol but it's more fuel efficient

the EFI i had installed actually gave me the most problems over the years it was ALWAYS having issues and breaking down. but i recently had it reinstalled by someone who is NOT an idiot and I've had no problems for like 2 solid years I'm so fucking glad lol now she's more reliable than ever

she has a 350 small block V8 and auto transmission since she's my daily driver and allows for the smoothest ride possible as a commuter car. i don't race but she is fast lmao. I've never put pedal to metal but I've gotten her up to 80mph before without even flooring it so 😭 she can fucking Go lol. she kind of defaults to 30mph coasting so i have to have my foot on the brake to keep the speed limit in residentials

what else uhhh the cabin smells so good.... i love old car smell. I'm so lucky in her 53 years of being on the road she's apparently never had an owner that smoked inside the car i would have gone crazy if it smelled like cigarettes in there lmao

she has bench seats in the front and back which are like two little sofas. i used to nap back there on breaks when i was still working at a studio.

she has no airbags and you have to tighten the seatbelts yourself. there's an over the shoulder belt and separate waist belt. the passenger shoulder belt you gotta tug on after clicking it bc sometimes it comes loose on its own 😭 she is a death machine with no crumple zone so if i crash i will die 👍🏾 but I'm a very cautious driver and i don't even drive that much sooo IT'S FINE

she is very low tech besides the EFI and if there's ever an engine problem u can literally just look under the hood and mess with stuff until it's fixed. it's very spacious in there with a lot of room to poke around. cars in the 70s were made to last and because they are still so beloved to this day there's endless info online from enthusiasts about fixing stuff that pops up. some companies are still making new parts for classics so we don't have to dig through junkyards when we need replacements... unless u want to ofc, the hunt can be fun too LOL

i get people waving me down daily to ask me what year she is and tell me they used to have a Nova when they were younger or knew someone that did and how much they loved them and IDK IT'S SWEET!! ppl are always so happy to see her......... the antithesis of the cybertruck

thanks for reading here's some thirst traps

#ask mars #sugar

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see-arcane · 5 months ago

Text

With a total of 1,176 votes tallied, the preferred plushie poll winner with 28.8% of votes is…

What a close one! Jonathan came in with 27.7%, the mysterious Mr. Morse with 24.9% and, delicious irony of ironies, London Dracula with 18.9%. Rest in pieces. Now, what does all this mean going forward?

First, just to reconfirm: I will absolutely be looking into the costs for having more than one plushie character produced at a time. For all that Mina has the top spot if it comes down to a solo run, Nobody Wants to Separate the Gothic Horror Soulmates, even as wee little plushies. It hurts my heart to think of. Mina and Jonathan deserve to sit side by side on everyone’s pillow. Just as Quinn Morse deserves to haunt the pillow next to theirs while casually throttling and carving London Dracula into pieces. For enrichment.

But beyond that, some other key things:

How is this getting done?

Sadly, I was not a cool enough kid for Makeship to greenlight a collaboration with me. Tragique. But while I was sitting around waiting for them to get back to me, I had time to browse around for other options. During that sniffing around I dug up a couple of promising manufacturers—one of which has some really neat options for not only plush toys, but all sorts of bric-a-brac like stationery, shirts, bags, cups, et cetera—and I plan to reach out to them for quotes to start with. Nothing really gets to move forward until I can nail down prices and the amount of X plushies to be made.

I am more than a little hesitant to tell anyone MAKE ME 1000+ PLUSHIES, PLEASE, THE TUMBLR POLL SAID THEY’RE GOOD FOR IT. These aren’t as simple as print/make-on-demand products, so I need to be careful estimating the amount of folks ready and willing to drop money on the little guys. But I will keep everyone updated on the numbers regardless!

Sooo is this a crowdfunding thing or an investment or what?

Don’t know yet. I am still between jobs at the moment—reminder to check out my Ko-Fi if you want to drop me a buck or commission some art!—but if this is something I can safely drop some of my own money in with the guarantee that it will let me do better than break even, I’ll do what I can out of pocket. However, if the cost of making something of good quality turns out too steep, I’ll start looking into stuff like Kickstarter and Backerkit and so on. I want to be sure I’m not gutting anybody’s wallet to pull this off and I want to be double-sure that what we’re paying for isn’t some flimsy throwaway junk. We are all here on the same Dracula book club starving artist site, so It Has to Be Worth It and not a money-sink for anyone.

Got it. Any other info to spare?

For the plushies specifically, this is when I’ll start:

Polishing up the current four designs into cleaner illustrations with different angles to provide for mockup samples with whoever I pick to manufacture with. If I get stuck on something—(which is likely)—I may throw up another poll to bug everyone about palettes and fashion choices. I have a few more designs I haven’t dropped yet for Epilogue Harkers, a non-Bloofer Lucy, and keychains that I’d love to share too!

Eyeballing materials. I’m already picturing a very close-cut cloth for the build and clothes, but I need to decide on filling too. Stiff overstuffing to hold a pose versus softer/lighter plush for floppy cuddleability.

Poking at other character roughs, ala the Suitor Squad, the Weird Sisters, Van Helsing, Renfield, and Baby Quincey. And if all of those go well…

…maybe some designs for other favorites in the public domain playground. (Looks meaningfully at Clarimonde, Carmilla, Victor Frankenstein and the Creature, the King in Yellow, too many others.) ((But that’s all far-future stuff at the moment.))

Cool! But you also mentioned something about other merch?

I did.

Because goddamn do I want some Dracula-themed stationery. Journals! Memo pads! Pens! Every day we don’t have these things with the Harkers’ mark upon them is a victory for the forces of Count Dracula’s document-destroying evil. Likewise for shirts, totes, mugs, keychains, face masks and other things that could use some novel-flavored goodies. Hell, I’ll probably even get on with making stuff for The Vampyres to link on my website too. Because I am. Maybe behind on that. By several months.

Anyway.

I’ve got to start working on some designs for those too while the plushie process is progressing. Pray that my carpals don’t get tunneled.

Nice! Sounds like your plate is pretty full. So that’s it, right?

Arcane?

:3c

Arcane. I need you to tell me this is all you’re working on.

>:}

Arcane.

Please stand by.

I have a little treat brewing for the Dracula Dailiers and @re-dracula folks in honor of a very special day for our good friend Jonathan Harker.

#I am scheming #my art #my writing #dracula #jonathan harker #mina murray #mina harker #quinn morse #the vampyres #c.r. kane

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ofstarsandvibranium · 9 days ago

Text

In Stitches

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky used to be so in love and so… ignorant of the roles you had to play, which lead to you breaking up. But that didn’t seem to keep you away from each other since you now act as Bucky’s nurse whenever he gets hurt. Based off my mini fic here.

Warnings: depictions of violence

Stitched Together | Pull the Thread | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

He'd won. He came out broken, bloody, and bruised, but he won. At just eighteen years old, technically a man, but still a boy at heart, James Buchanan Barnes was thrown into a cage fight to prove to his father that he can be strong enough to take over the family business.

He came out of that fight looking at his father and a shine of love and pride reflected back at him.

This was Bucky's new reality. Life filled with pain, bloodshed, and darkness. He couldn't bring you into it, especially when his dad said Bucky could use you to get info on what your dad and the department knows about the business. No. He can't use you like that.

He couldn't bring himself to break up with you either so he played the part that everyone expected of him. He became cold and callous, which lead to you breaking up with him. He told himself it was for the best and it was to protect you from his new reality. He loved you and always will, even when he grew up to be someone most thought incapable of love.

___________________________

Bucky: can we swing by? two of our guys got shot.

You read over Bucky's text and you sigh. You pause your favorite rom-com movie and kick off the blanket you had draped over you.

As you head to your bathroom for your med kit, you text back:

You: yup. come on by.

Bucky: ETA is 15min

You: [thumbs up]

It'd been four months now of being a nurse for Bucky and his people. You've come to notice the ones who get hurt often, their bodies littered with various scars and stitches all over their bodies. Bucky, more often than not, came with them. It always surprised you because you figured he'd have other stuff to take care of, but, as he's mentioned to you once:

"These people are under my care. I wanna make sure they're taken care of."

Which made your heart swell a little bit and throw you back to how Bucky always felt protective of those he cared about.

You push your furniture towards the edges of the room and set up the cots for your incoming patients. You were tired of cleaning out the bloodstains on your couch cushions.

A knock at your door, you scurry to pull it open. Four guys trudge in. Two, dragging the other two inside.

Bucky comes in last with a shy smile, "Evening."

"Hey," you say with a nod, letting him in and then closing the door behind him.

"You doing okay?"

You nod, "Yeah. Wasn't doing much when you texted me. Just watching a movie."

"Rom com?" he asks you with a teasing smirk.

You roll your eyes at him in response, "Shut up."

"I wasn't saying anything!"

"You're judging me, Barnes! I know how you look when you're judging, so don't even deny it!" you poke his chest and turn on your heel to go attend to your patients.

___________________

Your patients had left your home, not wanting to take advantage of your generosity further despite your protests. That left you alone with Bucky. He was nursing a glass of whiskey and you a glass of wine while another movie played on the tv. He didn't leave with the rest of his guys. His excuse being that he wanted to finish the movie that you played while you worked on his men. A part of you hoped it was because he wanted to spend some alone time with you. Then you mentally scold yourself for hoping for such a thing.

You clear your throat when the movie ends, "So, you like rom-coms now, hm?"

He chuckles, placing his glass on your coffee table, "Just because I watched one rom-com, doesn't mean I like rom-coms."

You scoff, "I'll convert you, Barnes, just wait." You stand and grab his glass, "You want more?"

"Nah. I, uh, I should go."

You nod, "Right," you turn and head to the kitchen, placing the glasses into the sink.

Bucky follows, placing a small stack of bills onto the counter, "Your pay."

"Thanks," you mumble, not turning around to face him.

There's some sort of tension in the air and Bucky doesn't know why. He wants to poke and see what happened, if he'd done something somehow. But he doesn't. Despite you two being in each other's lives again, albeit in a small capacity, he still feels insecure and unsure about where you two stand now. Because he is still head of a crime organization and you're still the daughter of the chief of police that's trying to bring him down. Your lives keep being woven together, but will it result in the same heartbreaking end?

Bucky hopes not. He's older now. His father is gone and he's more in control of his life now. Right?

"Get some rest, sweetheart," he murmurs before exiting your home.

_______________________________

You're called up to the reception desk during your shift. When you head to the first floor, you see your dad waiting for you.

"Everything okay?" you immediately ask with concern.

"Everything's good, Bug. Figured you'd wanna have lunch with me?" he holds up a paper bag, 'Stan's Diner' logo stamped on it.

You break out into a smile, "Let me just let my charge nurse know I'm going on lunch. I'll meet you in the cafeteria."

"Sounds good," your dad gives you a thumbs up and heads in the direction of the cafeteria.

You head back upstairs, letting the charge nurse, Sharon, of you going on lunch. You punch in your ID number to start your lunch and then go back to your dad.

When you reach the cafeteria, you snort. Your dad is already eating without you. You sit across from him, unwrapping the burger he set out for you, "Couldn't wait?"

He shrugs, "I was starving!" He takes another bite of his burger and then takes out the two cups of fries. He flattens the paper bag and pours all of the fries out. The setting is reminiscent of your childhood. Every Friday, after your dad picked you up from school, you two would go to Stan's Diner. You'd always order the same thing, and your dad always combined the fries in the middle for you both to share.

"Been a while since we had lunch together. You sure things are okay?" you ask him with a hint of skepticism.

After your dad washes his food down with a can of Diet Coke (he's trying to cut back on the sugar), he clears his throat, "Well, uh, I did want to mention something to you."

You fidget in your seat, hoping and praying that he didn't find out that you've been helping nurse Bucky and his people for the past few months.

"So some of my patrol guys mentioned they started seeing more of Barnes' guys around your neighborhood."

You look at him with fake surprise, "What? Really? I haven't seen anything or anyone suspicious, but then again, I'm hardly home and when I am, I'm usually asleep."

"So far, they haven't done anything to be concerned about. Just that they've been showing up around your side of town lately. I just wanted to see if you've seen or heard anything, but most importantly to be cautious and careful."

You gulp, "Do-Do you think Bucky would hurt me?"

He sighs, "Bug, I'm honestly not sure what to believe, but that man isn't the same kid you were friends with back then. He's different now, capable of dangerous things. I just want to you to be careful."

"I will be, dad. I still carry my knife and pepper spray you got me."

"Good. I was also thinking of sending more guys to watch your specific area."

You shake your head, " I'm sure there are other places that need your attention."

"Maybe, but maybe I'll just station one guy on your street to keep an eye on things."

"I'll be fine. Trust me-"

"I trust you just fine, Bug. It's Barnes, I don't trust."

He wipes his hands and mouth with his napkin, "I'm gonna use the bathroom real quick." You give him a nod and watch as he heads to the cafeteria's bathrooms.

Once he's out of sight, you immediately pull out your phone and bring up the text chain between you and Bucky.

You: you guys need to be more careful. dad just told me his patrol guys have been seeing your people around my neighborhood more. he's thinking about having a guy stationed on my street.

Bucky: fuck.

Bucky: thanks for telling me.

You: you're welcome. maybe tell everyone to do their best to not get shot or stabbed for the next few weeks.

Bucky: can't really guarantee that considering our line of work.

You: at least try!

Bucky: will do, sweetheart.

You: stay safe.

Bucky: same to you, sweetheart.

You slip your phone back into your pocket when your dad exits the bathroom. You continue to eat your lunch and chat with him, acting as if you just didn't tip off his biggest enemy.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #marvel au #mob boss au #mob au #mafia au

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 19 days ago

Note

heya i love ur writing and i'm a whore for blue jones (mostly just oscar isaac in eyeliner)

but i love the idea of like a really soft blue. like needy but not sexually just in a 'i have a need to be around you all the time' kinda way. pining maybe? cuddles for sure and just idk i love my slimy rat man sm-

also would work for nathan bateman, his grumpiness would make that hella cute. i am surviving off crumbs at this point i will love whatever you do, your writing makes my heart feel fluffy :D

xox love ya

PYGMI I LOOOOVVEEE YOUUUUUUU! <3 <3 <3

Pout

Blue Jones x gn!Reader • Rating: PG pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Summary: Blue's a grumpy baby.

Warnings: Fluff, cuddles, kisses, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 549

Blue had been sitting next to you for more than an hour. Well, sitting might be the incorrect word. His chair was next to yours. He was currently doing his best to sit all over you.

“Blue,” you mutter, “I am meant to be going over these figures… like you wanted.”

He grumbles lightly, shifting from where his face is pressed into your stomach, his body curled over and half hanging off his chair.

You have your left arm resting on him a little awkwardly, in an effort to actually get to your desk to read over the numbers.

“What was that?” You prod him lightly in the side and he wriggles.

He mumbles something intelligible and then lifts his head up to look at you, half of his short hair sticks up comedically to the side.

“Hmm?”

“Fuck the figures.” He repeats a little groggily.

“Did you fall asleep?”

He gives you a soft glare. “Maybe.”

You can’t stop your chuckle.

“You’re comfortable and warm and you smell nice.”

“You have a wonderful way of making compliments sound like insults, you know that?”

He pouts slightly, but you can tell he’s amused by how he preens a little and stretches his neck. “Come and lay down with me on the sofa.”

“No.”

“With blankets.”

“No.”

“I can rest on you and we both can nap.”

“No.”

“Why?” He stretches the word out, his voice petulant.

“Because,” you lean a little closer, making him think you’re going in for a kiss and then pull back quickly and he scowls. “I am checking. The. Figures.”

He gives you a frown, lifting his hand up to smooth over his moustache before he speaks. “Where’s my kiss?”

“Up your ass.”

He gives you the dirtiest look you’ve ever seen and you giggle.

“You like this? Like upsetting me?”

“Very much.” You smile and kiss the tip of his nose.

He grumbles nonsense and wraps his arms around you fully before snuffling into your chest. “Unfair, so unfair, how could you betray me like this?”

You kiss the top of his head as you go back to looking over the ledger.

It’s only a few seconds before he speaks again. “Where are my kisses?”

“Nowhere, not with that language.” You tease.

He tuts and you can practically feel the eye roll. “May I have a kiss, please?”

“Now you’re making good manners sounds like demands.”

“Does nothing ever please you?” He scoffs.

“You please me.” You whisper and you feel him shiver and untense.

“Don’t go trying to sweeten me with your words.” He shifts closer and kisses your neck softly.

You smile. “Give me five minutes and I’ll come and lay down with you.

“Thank you,” he breathes deeply. “You do really like winding me up don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” He leans back a little to see your face.

“You poke out your bottom lip when you frown, it’s very cute.”

He scoffs again, someone even more indigent this time. “I do not.”

“You’re doing it now.” You say, still looking at the book.

He sucks in his lips quickly and then gives you a firm stare when you smile at him. “You’re so mean to me.”

“You love it.”

He pauses for a moment, wriggling and then sighs. “Yes… I do.”

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes ho

@steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

@silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood

@pygmi-cygni @hammerhead96 @emma23 @sub-aro @killerdollz

@maplemind @mwltwo @loonymagizoologist @dameronshandholder @queerly-anxious

@homuraak3mi @swiftiegirliepop @oscarssimp @milkypompon @eternallyvenus

@mandytrekkie @lounilu @avengersinitiative2012 @pigeonmama @marcsb1tch

@iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @DowBaStan @faretheeoscar@lonelyisamyw-0love

@queerponc @twwcs @Spnwhore2430 @mari-thesimp @ominoose

@ierofrnkk @have-you-seen-my-sanity @to-be-a-sunshine @blushingrn @missdictatorme

@musicalnacho @soft-girl-musings @krakenkitty @purple-amaranthe @marcsb1tch

@howellatme @mystic-writings @f0url3af @sapphossongbird

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#blue jones #sucker punch #blue jones x reader #x reader #blue jones x you #x you #blue jones x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #blue jones x gn!reader #x gn!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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everythingne · 1 year ago

Text

marketing ploy — LN4 / ch.2

Saudi and Aussie. How bad can it go? Well, bad enough for Max and Charles to start asking questions. And maybe for Lando’s behavior to be a little off.

piastri!oc x lando norris / fake dating, brothers best friend

warnings/notes: no big warnings other than some language, probably inaccurate f1 info (spare me here), written while sleep deprived

prev | next

18 MARCH 2023 - JEDDAH, SAUDI ARABIA ↴

The Saudi Arabian heat burns across my shoulders as I duck into McLarens paddock behind Oscar. The tanktop I'm wearing doing nothing to help regulate the heat under my uniform shirt that I've unbuttoned and have tucked at my elbows. Oscar takes a long swig of his now empty water bottle before tossing it away and giving Lando a hug over the shoulder.

"Ready to die in this heat?" He asks, making Lando snort and nearly spit out his water. I giggle as Lando coughs after swallowing and find myself stepping up to stand right next to Oscar, peering up at Lando through my eyelashes as a few cameras click in our direction. It’s certainly odd for me to be here, and not already tucked away in Red Bull’s paddock. Hopefully other people notice that.

"I'm trying not to, man." Lando shakes the sweat of his water bottle in Oscar's direction, making him shriek and wipe the icy water off his face. I can hear the more of the media teams and reporters in the paddocks approaching, almost like a weird sixth sense.

"Morning, Mini Piastri." Lando leans down and gives me a proper hug, one I'm not expecting, but nonetheless I kindly return it. Reminding myself of the contract I'd signed nearly a month ago.

God, it had been a month already?

"Morning, Norris." I step back, adjusting my hair with a tiny giddy smile I let myself easily fake. He looks at me like I've hung the moon and stars for him, and I'm shocked at how easily he can fall into faking utter and complete love. He's a natural.

Someone calls Lando over from the other side of the paddock and as he excuses himself, he places a hand on my lower back as he moves behind me, and it lingers. His fingers glide along the fabric of my shirt, nails scratching at the skin underneath enough to make me look over my shoulder at him as he looks at me one last time before fully stepping away to whichever engineer had called his attention.

"When do you have to be with Red Bull?" Oscar asks, drawing my attention back to him as I try to swallow the blush on my face, "to see your second brother."

"You're so dramatic about Max." I laugh, punching his arm, "and not for another like... ten or so minutes, Kaycee, who works under me. She’s running all the analytic stuff this morning. She's gonna move up to be a co-head analyst."

"Oh! She’s the one with the red hair right? She's so sweet." Oscar takes a water from a worker who hands us both plastic bottles, and Lando ends up snaking back over and taking me by the wrist as Oscar is called over in his place. As Oscar turns away, Lando pulls me back to a far corner and lets me rest against it as he hovers in front of me. Shielding me from view.

"So, how exactly are we handling media?" He says, "like paparazzi?"

"I guess we should just act the same?" I hum, looking over at a few media personnel who hover around the car, the team, and Oscar. The paddocks are slowly buzzing to life as everyone's arriving for the day.

"Then, you have to act like you like me a little bit, Ollie." Lando leans in a bit, breath fanning across my cheeks and I tilt my head up to challenge him. But before I can say anything in retaliation my phone rings with a call from Christian.

"Gotta go, Nori." I smirk, poking his chest as I lean up into his personal space, lips inches apart. He looks down at my lips for half a second, before I step back and call over my shoulder as I leave,

"Tell Oscar I said good luck!"

Luckily no one had passed out at training.

I'm standing at the edge of the paddock, laughing as I flick water at a very heat-exhausted Max Verstappen. He'd done just as well as I had expected him to, everything with the car working just as we had expected, but once again he skews my data with faster laps than I've seen in his car ever.

This rivalry thing was going to cost someone a car at some point.

"Hey, Livie!" A voice shouts, and I turn to see Oscar. Considering he's the only one allowed to call me that, I can't even feign surprise at his sudden appearance outside the Red Bull paddock. Still in race gear. Fuckin’ Aussie.

"Ossie!" I grin back, and Max crosses his arms and wipes sweat from his hairline with a towel as Oscar approaches.

"Hey, Max." He says, wiping sweat from his face with the sleeve of his undershirt. Whistling to get my brothers attention, I toss him a plain white towel, a spare I had tucked in my pocket. I swear Oscar almost melts with appreciation when he sees it and then prompty wipes his entire face down.

"Good to see you, Oscar." Max nods, leaning on the shaded wall adjacent to me. He's been out of his gear for a while, considering he has almost thrown up from the heat twice today. We had pretty much shoved it off of him as soon as he was done with training.

"You weren't answering your phone, and I needed to give you your stuff, so I came over to tell you I've gotta stay late, they're making sure somethings not overheating or something." He tosses me a hotel key and my purse from his passenger seat, I can tell his vagueness is due to whatever issue there is probably being not fully explained. Or because Max is here, because he's usually tell me everything.

"I'll catch a ride back, no worries." I pat his shoulder and he nods, lifting his phone to his face and groaning. I can see Andrea's contact on his screen and I laugh softly at his clearly exhausted expression.

"Gotta go, again, see you for dinner?" He starts backing up and I nod.

"Seven, sharp!" I shout and he nods before turning and just taking off in a run before I see him vanish into the McLaren paddock, which is only separated from Red Bull by Williams, so it's not terribly far. Max and I stand in quiet for a few moments before I hear some keys jingle and look over to see Charles tossing his keys to Max. The two share a quick greeting as I readjust and tip the last drops of my water bottle into my mouth.

"Need a ride back?" Max asks as I lower the bottle, but a whistle takes my attention sideways where I see Lando approaching.

"Nope. See you guys tomorrow!" I cheekily grin, slipping off the wall to approach Lando who twirls his car keys absentmindedly. He smiles at my approach, adjusting his bag as he stops so I can meet him midway.

"Nice to see you, Ollie..You need a ride home, right?" He grins, placing a hand on my lower back once more and I lean up to tuck a stray hair back against the others.

"You too." I say, peeking behind me to see Max and Charles watching the two of us interact and a small idea pops in my head, "yeah, actually."

"Perfect." Lando's eyes lift to look at Max and Charles, and seconds later he's escorting me by the small of my back out of the paddocks. "Starting strong, aren't we?"

I can't help but laugh, hiding my mouth with my hand as we slip into the car park as we peacefully walk along various other racers whose eyes linger on Lando's hand a bit too long.

"Really strong, it seems." I say as he opens the passenger door to his car and I step in as if it's normal for this to happen, wasting no time settling in as he shuts the door and god damn why is that actually so hot?

As Lando settles next to me in the car, shutting his door, he smiles over at me.

"At least they can't say we aren't keeping up our end of the deal."

—

19 MARCH 2023 — TWITTER ↴

URF1NEWS: LANDO NORRIS was spotted yesterday leaving the track, and coming back today with OLIVIA PIASTRI at the Saudi Arabia GP. With tensions at an all time high between Red Bull and McLaren, you can’t tell me you arent wondering what this might mean.

567k LIKES, 350k RETWEETS.

no.rizz: adam sandler what are u doing here??

mclarensnumba1: they have to be dating be so serious.

ferawrri: brothers best friend ‼️‼️

monacosbtch: i think they did it but i just can’t prove it.

norris4: OLIVIA AND LANDO??? BE SO SERIOUS ILL SOB. FREE FLOW TEARS.

30 MARCH 2023 — CALL BETWEEN ADA AND OLIVIA ↴

“Welcome home, Miss Piastri.”

“Morning, Ada.”

“You and Lando need to start pushing this rhetoric of your dating a bit harder. Astrid is already speaking with him about it but we need a strong push here in Australia. It’s you and Oscar’s home race after all.”

“Were the paparazzi photos of me getting into his car not enough?”

“Oh they were, but we really wanna cement it.”

“So… what are you asking of me?”

“Today, Lando has been instructed to drive you to the track with a gift.”

“A gift? Like what?”

“You’ll see. But, we expect you to post that gift on your public instagram story. Preferably with some sort of McLaren indication—the orange hearts work well.”

“Christ. Okay, what else?”

“Oh. it’s time for the soft launch and the pictures in his team shirt. I’ll find you before the race tonight with more details.”

“Great…”

—

Lando’s luckily not in a papaya orange car this time. A black SUV fits him well, and will hopefully blend us in a bit more.

“Morning, Ollie.” he says as I climb in, Oscar somewhere behind me in the hotel still. I yawn in response, waving as I settle in the seat before I notice what he’s holding.

“Oh, Ada was serious.” I laugh at the little bouquet of flowers he holds towards me. They’re daises, my favorite flower, and then some yellow chrysanthemums and little pink roses sit behind them.

“She just said to get the daises.” Lando hands the flowers to me, and I happily take them, and then I notice one final thing resting in the cup holder.

“The girl at the coffee place I stopped at was a McLaren fan, so I asked her to write a ‘cute note for my girlfriend’ on the lid.” his voice lifts in octave as he recounts his words and then he lifts the little coffee in his cup holder so I can see it. That gesture alone makes me swoon just a little bit harder.

“Damn. My real boyfriend after this is gonna have some competition.” I giggle, taking the coffee from his hands and repositioning so I can snap a photo for instagram. He laughs in response to what I say, but I hear the leather of his steering wheel squeak as he grips it a bit tighter.

“Yeah. Boyfriend.” I swear I hear him mutter, but when I ask what he said, he swears he said nothing—so the conversation gets dropped there as he pulls out away from the hotel.

—

OLIVIAPIASTRI POSTED A NEW STORY! ↴

MCLARENRACING MADE A NEW POST! ↴

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, and 965k others…

mclarenracing: @ oliviapiastri visiting the paddock is always a good luck charm. Wishing the best home race for our Piastri siblings!

ryoooraces: NUMBER WHAT NOW??

oliviapiastri: always lovely to see you guys 🧡

no.rizz: IS THAT LANDOS FUCKING JACKET.

logansargeant: gears are turning.

— williamsbaby: LOGAN BE ONE OF US!!!

—

“Charles?” I pause in the doorway to my office, a Red Bull in my hands, bag and purse over one shoulder. The thick jacket I wear making my arms—which hold the flowers, an empty coffee cup, and files I couldn’t fit in my purse tightly to my chest. Both him and Max are pressed along the wall where the door opens and in my rush, I nearly whacked Charles with the door as I kicked it open.

“I have a question.” Max states as soon as I’ve plopped my mess of stuff on my desk, and I hold up a finger as I chug the rest of my lemon Red Bull, make a face, and toss the can along with a coffee cup in the tiny trash can under the desk.

“Well, I do too.” I turn to both men before kneeling down to grab an empty vase from my cabinet along with a stray pair of scissors, “so, fire away.”

“Why are you spending so much time with McLaren?” Max asks as I start moving my files and such to my chair so I can cut and put the flowers in their new temporary home before they live on my mothers kitchen window until their inevitable death, “it’s usually impossible for you to leave the paddock here unless Oscar himself comes and drags you away.”

“And the Lando jacket?” Charles tacks on at the end, smacking Max’s shoulder as if they’d agreed to mention it. The two are as close and you can be at this point, so I’m not surprised at their brotherly antics. I can tell that the two of them have taken it upon themselves to figure out what exactly is going on, just as brothers—or in my case sisters, do.

Oh, a perfect opportunity just appeared in front of me. A way to really get the ball rolling on this whole ‘dating’ thing.

“It’s nothing serious.” I wave a hand, sorting the flowers into the vase with one hand. I shrug off the new Lando Norris varsity jacket merch once it gets too hot, plopping it on the back of my chair.

“Really?” Charles says with a dangerous curiosity in his tone that only makes me smile wider as I keep cutting stems, and popping flowers into the vase. I glance up once I’m done with the daises, eyes challenging Max’s and Charles’ sharp, curious gazes for half a second before I stand fully and let a fake, giddy, nervous smile cross my face.

“Maybe…” I ponder saying it, feeling heat rise to my face naturally as I imagine the way Lando grins at me whenever he sees me walking up, or the way his warm hand feels on my back as he guides me, “a certain McLaren driver has caught my eye.”

The two stare at me for a second, before there’s overlapping shouts with accents so thick in the heat of the moment I can barely understand a word being said.

“Good lord!” I shout through them and dissolve into laughter, Max smacks a hand on my desk—pointing at me.

“So you are dating him?” he asks and I immediately shake my head.

“No, no. Again, it’s nothing serious.” I reply as calmly as I can, feeling a bit bad for lying but knowing in the end no one would be hurt. It wasn’t even like I actually loved Lando, I just liked the way he pretended to be my boyfriend. It was… really cute.

“But he buys you flowers and coffee, you wear his merch, visit him instead of Oscar, he drives you everywhere—is that not dating?” Charles says, crossing his arms over his Ferrari team shirt, “and why are you both being so sneaky about it?”

“He’s a friend for now, guys, and we aren’t really being sneaky!” I sigh as I finish up with the small amount of roses and chrysanthemums, beginning to organize the flowers to hide the shakiness of my hands.

I hate lying so much. If it’s this bad with Max and Charles, the conversation I’m going to have with Oscar will be unbearable.

“Well.” Max pauses, and Charles shrugs, “I guess it’s fine.”

“Wait—are you giving me your approval of Lando? Like a brother?”

“We both are.” Charles makes his way to the doorway, grabbing the handle to the door and stepping out, “he’s a good kid!”

I stare after Charles for a few seconds before my gaze lifts to Max, who grins at me.

“And now half of the Red Bull garage owes us money. Thanks.” He punches my shoulder and as he’s leaving the words register and I can only shout at his retreating form—

“—You guys bet on this?!”

#formula one #lando norris #lando norris x oc #ln4 fic #ln4 #f1 #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #lando norris fic #nicole wrote this

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