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jiminniethemarshmallow · 4 years ago

Text

Wait For Me (M)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: smut, pwp

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: yikes switch!reader, switch!Jimin (but mostly dom), needy!Jimin, horny-ass-mf!Jimin, masturbation, dirty talk, ruined orgasm, post-orgasm torture, dirty talk, overstimulation, 69(?), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, pet names, begging, dirty talk, omg so much dirty talk I’m going crazy

(A/N): Am I the only one that’s into dirty talk like this? Maybe. But did I enjoy writing this? Absolutely. Kinda for Jimin’s birthday but really just me needing an excuse to be a sl*t in writing.

“Please, (Y/n)?” Your boyfriend whines from his spot on the bed, the tent in his boxers already pitched to full height behind you.

“No! Wait until I’m finished.” You huff in frustration, trying your hardest to focus on the words in front of you. It’s a stuffy Sunday night like any other, you sitting at your desk doing your homework at the last minute and Jimin reclining on your shared mattress doing whatever the hell he wants. Except, tonight all he wants to do is you. You’ve been prancing around the house in nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties all day, teasing him playfully and laughing whenever he would get worked up. You thought it was funny how easily you could get him hard without trying, but it doesn’t seem so funny now when he keeps begging to fuck you while you’re desperately trying to complete your homework.

“You promised we would fuck tonight!” His pout is evident in the tone of his voice but you refuse to look at him. If you do, you just might give in.

“We will, but I have to finish this assignment first. It’s due at midnight, so I really need to get it done right now.” It’s your fault for waiting until the night of to work on this, but you wrongfully assumed that Jimin would understand and let you work in peace. All you have to do is complete a short reading and take a 10 question quiz and then you’re free, but what should have been a 15 minute endeavor has now turned into an hour and a half of arguing and rereading the same 3 sentences over and over. It’s getting ridiculous.

“You said you wouldn’t take long, but I’ve been sitting here ALL NIGHT waiting for you.”

“That’s because you won’t shut up!” You snap, glaring at him from the corner of your eye. His mouth falls open before he frowns, puffing his cheeks out cutely for no one to see. You think you hear him mutter something under his breath, but you don’t question it and instead take his momentary silence to speed through a page.

The silence continues for a couple of minutes and you swear you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your seat. There’s some shuffling on the bed, more silence, and just when you begin to think he’s found something useful to do instead of bothering you, you hear a groan. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

He’s closer than he was before— probably sitting on the edge of the bed facing you now— and it almost feels like he’s breathing down your neck with how clear his voice sounds now. You scoot your chair up slightly to escape him. The sound of friction fills the space of the room, the image of his hand wrapped around his dick floating around your mind even when you refuse to look at him. He pumps fairly slowly, his eyes still glued to your back.

“Mmm, I’m so fucking hard, baby.” Jimin moans to you, trying to coax you into turning your head to see him. “I’ve been hard all day because of you and now you won’t even look at me? Such a bad girl.” You roll your eyes, tuning him out as best you can. Yet, you can’t seem to ignore the wet squelch that fills your ears when he rolls over his head. He moans louder this time. “Since you won’t look at me, I guess I’ll just have to tell you what I’m doing. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on anything.”

At your sigh, he chuckles, the sound dark and mischievous in a way that makes you ball up your fists. “Jimin,” You warn, but he knows the threat holds no real substance.

“My cock is so red right now, just aching to fuck your tight little pussy, princess. It’s leaking already, can you hear it? All that precum just for you.” You close your eyes, envisioning the sight you’ve seen so many times, but your eyes snap open when you remember your objective and turn the page of your book. “I want you so bad, want you to lick it all up and take me into your throat. Fuck. My hand feels nothing like that hot mouth of yours.” His strokes are longer now, dragging breathy, rhythmic pants from him.

You’d be lying if you said his voice wasn’t making you wet, but you won’t let him know that. He’ll be at this for a while, you know how much he likes to tease himself, so you try your hardest to get used to his rhythm and make it background noise as you progress through the reading. But the words on the pages don’t seem nearly as interesting as the words he feeds you from his plump lips.

“My head is so sensitive, princess, I can barely even touch it without almost cumming.” He grunts, gasping every time his hand nears his tip. You lick your lips, shifting in your seat, an action he catches onto. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Seeing me cum all over myself while fucking my hand? Calling your name as I make a mess all over myself and our bedsheets?” The bed squeaks and you can only imagine that it’s from his hips bucking into his fist, picking up speed as he speaks. Your clit throbs annoyingly, and before you can stop yourself, your hand slips between your legs to rub over your panties. Thankfully, he doesn’t see this, probably because his head is thrown back as he lets out a series of moans.

You’re sensitive. More sensitive than you realized. And you almost let out a sound of your own when he curses. And for a brief moment— a split second— you contemplate abandoning your work and indulging him just to end your suffering. But no, you can’t give in that easily, you have less than a half hour to do your assignment. You’ll keep your hand where it is, however.

“Feels so fucking good,” Jimin lets out a drawn out moan, slowing his pace and working his hand again so you can hear it slapping against the skin of his abdomen. It’s loud and wetter than before, making you gush in your underwear at the thought of how worked up he’s getting. “I know how much you like playing with my balls,” You hear the grin in his voice. “So I’ll play with them a little for you, baby.” The obscene moan that falls from his mouth makes your eyes roll, the material of your panties completely soaked now at how desperate he sounds. You can’t help but to rub yourself to him, willing yourself not to turn around. “I wanna feel that tight little pussy bouncing on my cock, princess. So wet that you drip and cream down my balls as you ride this big cock til you cum, and beg me to cum deep inside your hot cunt. Will- oh shit- will you let me cum inside you tonight, baby? Let me cum deep inside and fill you up so you’re dripping me for days?” His voice is heavy with lust, it’s tone dipping deeper as his moans pitch higher. You assume it’s a rhetorical question so you don’t respond. “Hmm? Are you wet thinking about my cock and cum filling you up, (Y/n)?”

“No.” You lie through your teeth, voice surprisingly stable despite how your fingers move rapidly over your clothed clit. You can feel your wetness through the fabric now, and you just know there will be a stain on your chair when you get up, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“No?” He asks teasingly. “You okay over there? You haven’t turned a page in a while.” Damn him for being so observant. You almost forgot you were reading, the words all jumbled up on the page as your focus is pulled away by the pleasure. Fuck it, you’ll just take the quiz now to get it over with and accept whatever score you get. Jimin watches in amusement as you turn to your laptop, clicking open the quiz hurriedly and starting the questions, zooming through the first 5. He lets out a short laugh at that. “You better hurry, I’m getting close.”

Sucking in through his teeth, you hear him speed up again, spitting onto himself to make the glide smoother, and your core clenches in want. You read question #6 four times before you comprehend what it’s asking, your body betraying you as it yearns for you to look over at your stubborn boyfriend who curses out your name.

“Listen to that sound, princess. That’s what it would sound like if I was fucking you right now. God, I should just bend you over that desk and take you right here for making me wait like this. Make you take every inch of this cock and see if you can ignore me then.” He nearly growls this, an inaudible whimper squeezing from your throat. You would love that. He’s done it before, pushed you up against the desk and had his way with you when you thought it would be funny to give him a strip tease after he ordered you to get on the bed one wine-laced night. But he doesn’t deserve to have you like that after torturing you like this.

Only 3 more questions left and he’s getting more needy, the whiny quality of his voice letting you know how close he is before his words. A noise that you’re all too familiar with fills the air and you freeze. It’s quick and sloppy, the sound of his hand focusing directly on his tip at an inhuman speed that not even you could reproduce. His moans follow the pace, each one getting longer and pitchier, and you can almost hear how his hips lift off the sheets.

“You better not cum.”

“You want me to edge? But I’ve been on edge all day, baby.” He complains. Against your better judgment, you whip your head around to look at him. There, he sits naked on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide as he leans back on one elbow, one hand tangled in the sheets, the other stroking slowly at his thick cock upon your request. It’s red and leaking just like he said, the glistening tip causing your mouth to water. Jimin’s head is thrown back to expose his sweaty neck, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, eyes shut in pleasure. But once he realizes that you’re looking at him, he snaps his head up to meet your gaze and sends you a shit-eating grin at the flushed look on your face. Then, he resumes working at his head, arching his hips up in the most erotic sight you’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing. That’s the last straw.

“Don’t you dare fucking cum!” You growl.

You click random answers on the last few quiz questions, hitting submit and slamming your laptop shut before stomping over to him, slapping his hand away as you clamber up onto the bed, pushing him down aggressively and throwing a leg over his chest to face his erection. It jumps at you, so painfully hard that you almost feel bad for him. But Jimin doesn’t deserve your pity right now. Not long after your hand finds him, your mouth fits over the soft tip.

“Fuuuuuck.” He grunts, hands finding your ass instantly. The crotch of your panties are soaked all the way through, the dark spot causing a smirk to cross his lips. “Why did you lie to me, princess? I thought you said you weren’t wet?” For some reason, hearing him say this makes you even wetter, and you suck in a breath through your nose when his fingers come up to touch your core, a deep hum vibrating through his body that ends in a chuckle. “Absolutely drenched, baby. Were you touching yourself over there? Your clit is so swollen I can see it through your panties.”

His voice hitches at the end of his sentence as you sink all the way down on him, pushing yourself to take him all the way into your throat just like he wanted, the tip of your nose resting at his balls. It’s partially payback for his teasing, but you adore the response you get from him as he nearly chokes on air from the sudden stimulation. You bob a few times, a delightful lightheaded feeling overtaking you as you hold your breath and force yourself to keep him in your throat. Your reward is that you finally shut him up, Jimin now at a loss of words beneath you and shaking with the effort it takes to not fuck into your mouth. Smirking, you pull off of him, dropping your ass down a bit until your core grazes his lips, and he gets the hint immediately. Always the eager lover, he pulls the crotch of your underwear to the side, groaning at the strings of arousal that cling to it. The sight makes his mouth water, his tongue lurching forward to lick a long stripe up your slit, gliding back down to suck at your engorged clit.

Your moan is muffled around him, working the top half of his shaft while one hand accommodates the rest, and your jaw is already starting to hurt from his size. Although he’s generally a small person, Jimin’s cock is anything but. Your jaw fell to the floor the first time he dropped his pants, the girth surprising you pleasantly. He’s got an impressive width that left you sore for a few days and a length that is well above average. His balls always seem plump and heavy, ready for you to milk them dry, and you can’t stop yourself from reaching up and grabbing them, massaging the plush sacs for your own amusement.

“Oh f- you’re so good at this.” He cuts himself off with a gasp, kissing the inside of your thighs and biting hickies into them as his mind becomes cloudy. He’s close— if the slight movement of his hips is any indication— and an evil idea pops into your mind. His hips thrust upwards at a particularly hard suck at his tip and you gag at the sudden depth, Jimin nearly yelling out at how your throat closes around him. “Yesss, baby girl, choke on my dick.” You preen at his praise, but keep your composure.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Your hips push back into him, covering his mouth with your lower lips, and he continues his work enthusiastically to distract himself. You’ve switched to using just your tongue now, licking up and down the solid shaft and circling around the head, providing just enough stimulation to inch him closer to the edge but no longer giving him what he wants. What he wants is a hard and fast orgasm. You’ll make sure that’s not what he gets. His groans increase in volume and frequency as you work your magic tongue, flicking over that sensitive fold of skin where his tip attaches to the rest of him, and it’s not long before he’s trembling.

“(Y/n),” He mumbles out a shaky warning, and you have to push down his hips with one hand when they begin to lift off the bed, your other hand jerking steadily at his base while you tease over his slit with the tip of your tongue. The pressure builds, his balls lifting in preparation for his release, and you coax it out of him with a few gentle sucks. “Ah!”

Jimin lets out a high pitched groan sounding almost in pain when you pull off of him, squeezing at his base so hard that only a few short spurts of cum make it out. Your mouth has been completely removed from him, it’s only connection being the long strand of saliva hanging from your lips, and he bucks up frantically in search of stimulation to complete his orgasm. Still rock hard, he practically begs you to move your hand, to give him anything as the few lonely globs of semen sadly skid down onto your hand like tears from his one-eyed monster. His mouth is covered by your pussy so you can’t hear his pleas, but the vibrations they send to your core are absolutely delightful. Once you’re sure he’s finished cumming, you begin your evil plan.

It starts with a few slow pumps, lubed by his own semen from his length that’s still twitching in your hand, but it quickly escalates to firm and steady strokes that have him squirming under you. You aren’t even going that fast, but the sensitivity makes him thrash and cry out prettily as you hold him down with your body weight. Jimin’s into all kinds of freaky shit, so this isn’t the first time you’ve indulged in post orgasm torture, but it’s somehow very different when he’s not expecting it. Your hand moves at an unyielding pace, unbothered by the way his legs open and close only to be smacked apart by the hand that still holds his balls.

“I’ll stop when you make me cum.” You state, unsure if he can even hear you. But his tongue dives in with renewed vigor, flicking relentlessly at your clit as you grind down on him. It won’t take long to reach your peak, his technique is flawless, licking wide circles around your bud with the flat of his tongue and then raising up to plunge his long muscle between your walls. Your essence dribbles down onto his face, wetting his chin and cheeks as he eats you like a man starved. You haven’t been this turned on in a long while, you didn’t think you’d be so into seeing him suffer in pleasure like this— his body writhing under yours and cock still so insanely hard in your hand just from the light hold you have on him. His hands claw at your ass, pulling you down and spreading your cheeks apart, fingers bruising the flesh in his haze of sweet agony.

You moan for him and bite your lip, closing your eyes as he edges you closer to your peak, your hand starting to stutter on him. It’s easy to get lost in him and grind down into his mouth, the feeling of his tongue between your folds heavenly, the feeling of his lips even better. But what sets you over the top is when his fingers snake into your opening, first two, then three. The stretch causes you to throw your head back, and you go flying head first into your orgasm when he curls into that one spot, tongue still on your clit and fingers wiggling inside you as your walls spasm around him. With one last groan, you lift away from him, finally moving your hands to his thighs to grip the muscles as you try to catch your breath. Jimin does the same, relaxing into the mattress as a few more ticklish waves flow through him.

“Was that okay?” You spin around until you’re laid on top of him, chin on his chest looking up into his dark chocolate eyes. He cracks a brief smile at your cuteness before flipping you over, capturing your lips sweetly. But the sweetness ends before you can even enjoy it when he bites down on your lip, a whimper falling from you.

“You can’t ask for my consent after it’s over.” He points out, trying to hide his giggle in the crook of your neck as he sucks dark marks there. “But, yeah, that was fucking hot.” The tip of his erection prods at your ass cheek, nudging the fabric of your soiled underwear. Without pulling away, Jimin hooks his fingers into your waistband, snatching them off and chucking them across the room, next comes your shirt, which he damn near rips in his haste to get it over your head. He growls. “So fucking sexy. And all mine. Right, princess?”

“Yes, Jimin, I’m all yours. Do whatever you want with me.” In an instant you switch roles, dropping the momentary dominance to cower in his presence. There’s a hunger in your boyfriend’s eyes that you provoked, the product of the teasing he faced all day, and you drip down your ass at the thought of him taking you however he wants. You suspect he’ll be eager to finally fuck you, but you underestimate how petty he can be. The tip of his cock runs through your wetness, but when he sees the way you jump when it rolls over your sensitive clit, his eyes narrow, seeing an opportunity to get his revenge. Dipping down briefly to collect more of your wetness, he glides the slick underside of him over your bundle of nerves, using his thumb to press down and add pressure, then he grinds his hips ever so slowly back and forth over you, forcing you to feel every ridge of him bump against you. “Oh fuck!” You gasp out, spreading your legs wider and lifting your hips into him. His length is hot, still burning and hard from not getting a full orgasm.

“You like this, baby? You like how my cock feels between these soft lips, rubbing that cute little clit?” He grins when your eyes roll back, thighs already starting to tremble. “Maybe I should just fuck you like this. Make you cum without ever even entering you.”

“No! No, please, Jimin.” Your eyes pop open in alarm at the thought of him not fucking you tonight, though you know he’s far too wound up to deny both of you that. Still, he persists his humping, groaning along with you as you feel another orgasm creeping up embarrassingly fast.

“Hmm, seems like you’d like that though? I mean, you look like you’re about to cum again already.” The patronizing tone of voice he uses would piss you off in any other situation, but you’re not in your right mind currently. As he picks up pace you feel your mind slipping away, your clit throbbing and your empty walls clenching almost painfully around nothing. You try to hold back and prove him wrong, you really do, but your body betrays you and with every nudge of his tip you can feel yourself falling. The most you can let out is a desperate whine. “If you want something, use your words and tell me.”

“P-please...”

“Please what?” You can feel his eyes on your face, but your eyelids are sealed shut and your head is tossed back into the pillows. It takes everything in you to muster the strength to form a coherent sentence and push it past your lips.

“P-please fuck me, baby.” Your voice hiccups at a particular stroke, the hood of your bud now pushed back for more direct stimulation. You aren’t sure how long you’ll last like this.

“You want me to fuck you?” He coos, twitching against your lower lips.

“Yes please, I need your cock.” Asking in the sweetest voice you can, you peel your eyes open to bat your lashes at him, but they snap shut once again when he suddenly pushes inside your velvet walls, shoving you off the edge unexpectedly.

“That’s my good girl,” Jimin sighs once he’s bottomed out, hands roaming your torso as you shake uncontrollably. “So desperate for my cock that you came right when I put it in.” He clicks his tongue, but if you were cognizant at the moment you would have noticed his satisfied tone. You clamp down on him as your orgasm washes through you, and he rides the waves with shallow pumps of his hips and his fingers tweaking your nipples, grunting at the way you pulse around him.

He pushes in deeper as you start coming down, the sensitivity kicking in with every drag of his member inside you. He pays no mind to your whimpering and reaches around your back to lift you up, seating you in his lap with your heels on the tops of his ass. And your hips start moving immediately despite the tingling that shoots up your spine.

Though his body screams for release after his incomplete high, Jimin can’t help but guide you into a sensual pace of grinding and rocking, the intimacy soothing him. With your arms around his neck, you fall into a comfortable rhythm as you slide back and forth against his length, adding a swivel of your hips just to hear him groan. Your weight on top of his feels like the most natural thing in the world and he wishes you could stay like this forever. Running his hands up and down your back, he allows you to mark up his neck and collarbones for everyone to see. He always wears your love bites so proudly. Relishes in the slight tickle of your tongue and nip of your teeth that whisper to him ‘you are mine’. Rose petals bloom on the surface of his skin all the way up to his ear lobe where you nibble.

“Your cock feels fucking amazing, babe.” You whisper in that sultry tone of yours, noting how his hips twitch beneath yours. You’d never say it out loud but you’ve been thinking of this all day. Waiting to hold him close and just love one another. His lips plant a few stray kisses to the side of your neck before trailing downwards, capturing a pert bud between them. You lean back on your hands to give him more access, grinding down just a bit harder when his hips lift to meet yours to make sure you get every inch he has to offer. With your head thrown back like this Jimin can reach that delicate spot deep inside you with ease, humming at the shaky moan you let out. His lips curl into a grin when you begin to bounce with desperation, planting your feet behind him for leverage.

Jimin’s eyes peer up at you as you ride his dick, your breast bouncing in his mouth as he switches to the other to suck. Sweat has now accumulated on your forehead and neck, the droplets glittering against your complexion. Your eyes are screwed shut and the prettiest flush has overtaken your cheeks and chest as you work for your next high, lips bitten and eyebrows squinted together. Truly, you are gorgeous. It makes him impossibly harder to see you like this, his length already throbbing within you, but he holds back as much as he can simply because seeing you fall apart is almost more satisfying than experiencing it himself. It should be surprising that you’re getting close already, but it’s always been easy for you to cum quickly after your first orgasm, the sensitivity and connection you have with your lover making you as explosive as a lit firecracker.

“You’re so needy tonight, princess, is it because of how much you teased me all day? Did you like watching me suffer?” You don’t answer because, frankly, yes. You loved it. And it’s too embarrassing to admit, but Jimin already knows. “Well, let’s see how much you like it when I destroy this cunt until you can’t walk.” The gruffness of his voice makes your eyes roll, the tenderness he’d shown not even a minute ago gone completely as he lets his teeth scrape over your nipple.

Bringing you flush against his chest again, he hooks his elbows under your knees and starts pounding into you in earnest, your hands flying to his shoulders for stability. His core strength is a sight to behold, supporting almost all of your weight while sitting upright, pulling you onto his cock as though you weigh nothing. And all you can do is hang on for the ride, gasping and crying out at the way he repeatedly slams into your spot. Tangling your hands in his hair, you pull him closer and rest your face on the crown of his head, feeling your limbs go weak from the pleasure.

He grunts below you when you tug, bucking up harder when your walls start to squeeze. Wetness streaks down your ass, a string of curses tumble out of your mouth to accompany the lewd sounds of him pushing through your arousal. Each stroke is calculated, and you find yourself teetering very close to the edge.

“Please, Jimin, I’m so close. Please can I cum?” You mumble, barely coherent.

“My baby girl wants to cum again?” He coos into your collarbone, the ticklish skim of his lips sending a shiver through you. ‘My baby girl.’ That one word has you shaking.

“Yes!” You wail as his hands tighten on your ass, palming the globes harshly to slam you down on his length. You can just imagine how sexy his arms look right now, the muscles and veins bulging in his forearms and hands from how tightly he holds you, his biceps and shoulders on full display and glimmering with perspiration. His voice rumbles against you in that thick Busan accent and you almost cream right there.

“Beg for it.” He looks up into your eyes and you see something dark, a heady lust that lowers his eyelids and makes you feel like you’re looking at the definition of sex itself.

“Please please please let me cum, baby!” Your voice shakes with each jolt of your body against his. “I’m so greedy for your cock, I wanna cum for you. You make me feel so good!” Pleased, Jimin gives you permission and moves a little faster, pressing you down against him so your clit rubs against him every time, and you nearly scream from the feeling. You sing your praises into the room knowing how it motivates him, but you couldn’t stop even if you tried. Skin slicked with sweat, you let yourself fall into another breathtaking high, clinging onto your boyfriend who grinds you on top of him to savor the way you clench and throb around his tip when it’s buried deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You both swear at the same time, taking a brief moment to catch your breath as Jimin kisses his way up your neck, releasing your legs and squeezing you close with his arms wrapped tight around your back. Exhaustion dances through you and you sit limply in his hold, eyes closed and basking in his sticky heat. But the moment is soon over when you feel him twitch within your sensitive walls, growling as he shifts his weight until your back is pressed into the mattress with him kneeling over you.

“Keep those eyes open, baby, I’m not done with you yet.” You gasp when his hips begin to move again, your nerves rubbed raw and swollen from the three highs he’s already pulled from you. Still, your eyes roll in delight when he starts ramming into you again, pushing your legs as far apart as they will go and holding you open. “You didn’t think I would let you off that easy, did you, princess? You still need to be punished for today.” He coos, voice gentle despite his hard thrusts. You whine loudly and attempt to close your legs when he touches a sweet spot deep within you, the pleasure almost too much, but it’s like you’re addicted to him, unable to get enough even when your body begs for reprieve. “Shhh, I know you can take it, baby. I know how much you love it when I overstimulate this greedy pussy, so be a good girl and take it.”

He’s absolutely correct, you love the overstimulation and the twinge of pain and overwhelming pleasure that comes with it. And you know this is his payback for the post-orgasm torture you gave him earlier. You’re still incredibly wet, new arousal dripping out of your entrance every time he plunges in, the mess of your juices and his precum dripping down the crack of your ass and onto your bedsheets. Looking up at Jimin’s face, you see how entranced he is by the sight before him, eyes trained between your legs as he watches himself disappear inside you and re-emerge with a new coating of slick covering his shaft. Smirking, you reach your hands down around your ass and pull your lips open wider for him, biting your lip at the way his eyebrows crease together and his mouth drops open at the sight. His pace slows slightly, his breathing labored as he begins to slowly unravel for you.

“Fuck, that’s so sexy! God, you always take my cock so well, princess.” He hisses, licking his full lips when your clit throbs at his praise. He can see and feel when you tighten, his tip finding that spot again that makes your back arch off the bed.

“Jimin,” You mewl, your thighs shaking in his grip and fingers clawing the sheets. Tears build in your beautiful eyes. It feels so good, but would you be able to handle a fourth orgasm tonight? Your body feels pushed to the limit, but your lover says otherwise.

“C’mon, baby girl, cum for me one more time.” You shake your head in desperation, pleading with him with your watery eyes. “Yes you can. Just relax for me, baby, I got you. I want you to cum one last time, just one more, and then I’m gonna fill you up.” He encourages softly, yet you don’t miss the dominant undertones that tell that this is a command. With a huff from his nostrils, he pounds into you harder while fighting off his own release, staying deep right up against that spot making you cry out. His hands reach for your breast and you place your hands over his for comfort, moaning as he squeezes the bouncing mounds as you toss your head back.

“I- I don’t think I can...” You whimper, unsure if you can get there with your nerves feeling numb and worn like this. But Park Jimin is nothing if not determined, so he takes your statement as a challenge. Slipping one hand away from you, he presses his thumb to your lips, staring down at you intensely before you open.

“Suck.” On command, you swirl your tongue around his digit, coating it in your spit before he slides it out with a pop. Suddenly, he’s pressing against your swollen clit in tight circles and those special tingles shoot up and down your spine at the feeling. He hums at the sounds you make, eyes sealed shut because of the blinding waves of bliss coursing through your veins, building you up almost frighteningly fast. He feels you pulse, your jelly legs trembling on either side of him as they attempt to close, but his praises fall on deaf ears as you chase the sensations of his skillful hips and fingers, rocking into him with the last of your energy until you reach the brink.

“Oh my god-!” You shudder and shriek as you finally tense up around him. Your walls clamp down repeatedly as Jimin continues flicking your sensitive nub, and the tears that had been welling up finally spill over. He stops only when your breathing turns to pitiful snivels, wiping away your tears with caring hands and loving eyes. His hips are still fucking you through the aftershocks as he kisses his way around your face, planting his lips firmly on yours until your breathing evens out.

“I’m gonna cum soon,” He whispers out, resting his forehead against yours. “Will you let me cum in this pretty little pussy, baby?” You nod against him, staring right into his coffee colored eyes. “Mm, I want you to keep it inside all night, okay princess? So I can fuck it out of you in the morning. Will you do that for me?”

“Fuck, yes.” You moan. You can feel the way he gets just a bit harder, how his muscles start to shake just slightly, and you know exactly how to push him over the edge. Your fingers lightly caress the velvety skin of his balls, causing a surprised moan to leave his lips. “I want your cum so bad, Jimin. I promise I’ll keep it inside, I’ll be a good girl for you. Please fill me up.” Knowing how much your words would affect him, you use your sweetest voice and lock your heels around his back. His head swims with desire and his voice strains.

Sitting up a bit, his hands clamp onto your hips to stroke into you in earnest, face contorted in the sexiest of expressions. You want to shy away from his intense gaze but you can’t pull your eyes away from him, drinking up the sight of his clenching abs, sweaty chest and neck, and the pure hunger that overtakes his features. “Good girl. Don’t move. Enjoy the feeling of my cum filling you up.” With a few more grunts and groans, he allows himself to release into you, shuddering almost as hard as you were from the feeling of the full orgasm he had been waiting for all day. Spurt after spurt of his release covers your walls, and your inner muscles suck it in as if on instinct, throbbing around him to milk every last drop. You let him collapse onto you as he finishes, cock still throbbing while he gasps and pants into the crook of your neck. You can feel it already starting to leak out around him, but he won’t be too upset about it since he’ll likely have fun fingering it back into you later.

There’s a comfortable silence as you both catch your breath, pressing sleepy kisses to each other’s damp skin with rosy cheeks and smiles on your faces. Jimin moves first, groaning when his muscles scream out in soreness when he sits at the side of the bed to pull on his boxers. You giggle, commenting about how you were supposed to be the one unable to walk, not the other way around. He snorts passing you a pair of panties and helping you stand so you can make it to the bathroom.

Once you’re both cleaned up, you get ready for bed, grumbling about having an early class tomorrow morning. Which reminds you of the homework quiz you took tonight. Opening your laptop again, you check your score, only to have your face drop at what you see.

“50 PERCENT?!” You whip around to face your boyfriend, who was back to reclining against the headboard, the scene similar to the beginning of your night. “You owe me for this, Jimin.”

He waves you off. “Those quizzes aren’t even worth that much, you’ll be fine.” But you disagree because you’ve already missed 2 of them and only the lowest 2 scores are dropped at the end of the semester. He rolls his eyes when you tell him this, cutting you off with a dramatic groan. “Babyyyyyy, stop talking about school and come to bed.” His pout is unmatched, so you easily relent and shut down your laptop, huffing and puffing the entire time.

“You owe me cuddles and breakfast tomorrow morning.” You grumble as you climb in next to him, fitting your body with his.

“And shower sex.” He winks at you and you snort, turning out the bedside lamp.

“Goodnight, Jimin.” You laugh, snuggling up to his chest in the quiet of your stuffy room.

...

“So no shower sex?”

#Jimin smut #ficswithluv #btscreatorscorner #ksmutclub #bts smut

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babybluebex · 4 years ago

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sugar pie, honey bunch [lee bodecker smut]

➽ pairing: lee bodecker x fem!reader(y/n) ➽ word count: 4.3k ➽ summary: lee gets tired of your secret rendezvous at work, so he comes to your house and does something about it. ➽ warnings: NSFW/MDNI. explicit language, smut, unprotected sex (pls wear a condom), daddy kink, degradation, infidelity by both parties, loss of virginity, mentions of anal sex ➽ a/n: if you know me irl no u don’t <3

It was quiet. Too quiet. I hated that. The silence let my thoughts run amok and that was never good for anybody, but least of all me. I had a tendency to overthink things, and quiet and still only amplified that. Knockemstiff, Ohio was the absolute worst place to live if you hated silence, because nothing happened in that little town. About twelve years ago, there had been a veteran who killed himself after his wife died, but that was the loudest thing that had ever happened to my little Knockemstiff. I should know; I worked as a secretary at the police station. I heard all of the gossip from around town. Earlier today, someone had been arrested for being drunk, which I think everyone in Knockemstiff could be in violation of. Every other day was quiet. It was hell.

I could hear the crickets way out in the fields as I walked around the house. Those bugs served as my soundtrack as I found a box of matches and quietly slid a few into my mouth, and I padded through the house until I reached the front door. Knockemstiff was the sort of town where people didn’t use their front doors unless the Pope was showing up; it was all side doors and garages (if you were lucky enough to have one, which most of us didn’t). All that to say, I knew I could smoke by the front door and nobody would smell it.

The night was hot. Oppressive and stifling, nearly suffocating. My skin was tacky against my nightshirt as I struck a match and lit a cigarette, and I leaned up against the side of the house. The moon was full, casting silver light onto my barren front yard and the dirt road that stretched exactly from one side of town to the other that ran in front of the house. It was a weird sort of beautiful. But quiet. Oh so quiet.

Quiet, until I heard the far-off rumbling of a car. It wasn’t unheard of to get visitors in the night-- usually someone coming to ask me about the police station, because nobody had the balls or willpower to call our sheriff after hours-- but the noise drew closer at a snail’s pace. Whoever this was wasn’t in any hurry at all. Finally, a car rolled up in front of the house, the headlights off. There was a moment where I watched the car, then I sighed when the door wrenched open to reveal Lee Bodecker. The sheriff was a nice enough guy, maybe at the risk of being too nice sometimes and a total prick at others, but I was at a loss for why the hell he’d be here this late at night with his cruiser’s lights off. If it were an urgent police matter, he’d have his flashing lights on.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Sheriff Bodecker told me, his voice carrying across the yard.

“Do what?” I quipped.

His boots brushed the porch as he climbed the steps up, and I caught his eye in the moonlight. “Smoking’s unbecoming of a young woman,” Bodecker told me pointedly. “Anyway, it’s a bad habit.”

“You come to lecture me on smoking?” I asked. “I ain’t quite finished typing up that arrest report yet, if that’s what you’re after.”

“No, no,” Bodecker said. “Nah, I ain’t here for that, sugar.”

“Oh?” I said, crossing my arms. “And what are you here for?”

“We’ll get to that soon enough,” Bodecker said. “Ain’t you gonna invite me in? It’s awful late.”

“Exactly why I’m not gonna do that,” I said quickly, taking an exaggerated drag on my cigarette. “People talk, Lee. Blowjobs in the supply closet during lunch break are one thing; showing up to my house unannounced at half past midnight is something else. And I ain’t gonna be no Whore of Knockemstiff, ya hear me? Run along. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Invite me in, Y/N,” Bodecker said, tilting his head down to look me in the eyes. Bodecker was imposing: six feet tall and sturdy as a mule, even if his middle was getting a little soft. He had these steel-blue eyes that cut right to my core and gorgeous eyelashes, with puffy pink lips and a little cleft in his chin. Maybe if he were ten years younger, thirty pounds lighter, with one less marriage, I’d be into him properly, but that wasn’t the case. Our relationship was one of necessity (but aren’t they all?). His pretty little wife had stopped sucking his cock and he had a thing for my pink lipstick. It worked. That wasn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy our little trysts, because I definitely did, but something felt off about this certain encounter. He had never paid me a visit at home before. “Be a good little host for me.”

I huffed and stamped out my cigarette. “Come in, won’t you?” I grumbled, throwing open the squeaky screen door. It felt off to have Lee in my house, but everything about us was off. I guess this was only normal.

I flipped the light on and settled myself against the counter as Lee pulled off his tan sheriff’s hat. His hair was dark as pitch, shorn short on all sides but getting a little long at the top, and little wrinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes as he squinted at the pictures I had on the fridge. “And who’s this?” he asked, pressing his thumb into a picture.

I looked at it and clenched my teeth. “Boyfriend,” I answered simply.

“Oh?” Lee chuckled. “And where is he?”

“Well, right now, he’s in ‘Nam,” I answered. “He enlisted, got sent over.”

“And he didn’t propose before he left?” Lee asked, and I shook my head. “Hmm. Usually when men go to war, they make sure that they’ll have someone waiting for them when they get back.”

“Why are you here?” I asked suddenly. “What do you want?”

“The wife’s mad at me tonight,” Lee said. “She was drinking and started yellin’ at me. Said I was better gone.”

“And you came here?” I said. “Why?”

“Got nowhere else to go,” Lee shrugged. “And I figured that you’d welcome me.”

“You couldn’t go to a bar?” I asked.

“Not unless I wanted to run into my sister,” Lee said. “And I don’t feel like having a fucking lecture.”

I sucked in air through my teeth. “Fine,” I finally said. “But you’re on the couch.”

“Aw, c’mon, babe,” Lee groaned. He approached me at my place at the counter, and his arms went on either side of me, keeping me right where he wanted me. “It’s been a long day for me. You’re not really gonna make me sleep on no stinkin’ couch, are ya?”

“I sure am,” I told him. “‘Cause you’re sure as hell not sleeping in the bed.”

Lee tilted his head. “Not even a good night kiss?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “This is an inconvenience for me. I got shit to do tomorrow and I need sleep.”

“Which is why you were outside smoking,” Lee said.

“Helps me calm down,” I snapped. “Lee. Let me go.”

“You sure are a stupid little bitch, huh?” Lee sneered. “You really think I rolled up to your house just wanting a place to sleep? Honey, you shoulda been expecting more.”

Lee regularly spoke to me like this, but it was usually while I was tying my hair back and kneeling down in front of him. “Don’t call me that,” I said.

“It’s true, though, ain’t it?” Lee asked. “Just a dumb bitch, that’s all you are. You fuck a married man and try to act like you’re better than everyone else. And you don’t think everyone knows?”

My ego deflated in half a second. “Do they?” I asked shakily.

“That’s why the wife kicked me out,” Lee said. “Someone told her I was fuckin’ you, and she got mad. Asked for a divorce and all.”

“We’re not fucking, though,” I tried to counter.

“Oh, so you’ll put my cock in your mouth and call it ‘convienience’, but you draw the line at calling that ‘fucking’?” Lee scoffed. “C’mon, sugar. The whole town already knows it.” I tried to keep my chin up, but I know that Lee saw my lip trembling. “Oh,” he chuckled. “Except the whole town doesn’t know, do they? Your little boyfriend goes to sacrifice himself for the betterment of our fuckin’ country, and you’re here, whoring yourself out for me? Is that why you don’t wanna fuck me proper? Saving your first time for that bitch-boy?”

“I’m not a virgin,” I said, but Lee instantly saw through my lie.

“Bullshit,” he said. “You know how I know? You suck cock like a high schooler.” Lee’s hand went to my waist, and he held me a tight, bruising grip. His hands were so much stronger than I had imagined, and an unfamiliar heat bloomed between my legs. My arousal wasn’t usually a part of the supply closet moments between us, and I had never really felt that before my boyfriend left. This was uncharted territory for me, and I hated that Lee seemed to instantly know that. “I bet you think about me every night, don’t you?” Lee asked. He leaned into me and pressed a kiss to my neck, and a shiver ran down my spine. “Don’t you?” He growled, taking my skin between his front teeth.

“Fuck,” I hissed. “You’re a dick.”

“Answer me,” Lee snapped, smacking my ass hard enough to make me gasp in pain. “You think of me fucking you stupid every single goddamn night, don’t you? I can tell, with the way you eye me at the station. You’re not subtle, honey, not in the slightest.”

“Lee,” I whimpered. “You’re hurting me.”

“Good,” Lee huffed into my neck. He shoved his hips against mine with enough force for my waist to collide with my countertop, and I became well and truly stuck between Lee’s rock-hard cock and the counter. I knew what he was offering, and I couldn’t deny that the thought of his thick cock inside of me made butterflies erupt in my tummy. He kissed my neck, becoming more needy by the second, and he finally sank his teeth into my skin. “Gonna have to make up your mind, sugar, or I’ll do it for you.”

I gulped down my anxiety, and I whispered, “Be gentle.”

“That’s a good girl,” Lee chuckled. “Show me where that bed is, sugar. I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t remember your own goddamn name.”

As soon as I pulled Lee into my bedroom, he had pushed me onto the bed and was kissing me hard. He bit my lips and sucked on my tongue, and he swallowed every pathetic moan I let out. God, I was pathetic. I was shaking, I wanted him so badly. Lee obviously knew that and had no problem with letting it go to his head, because he situated himself over me and gave me a wolfish smile. “You want me to undress you, sugar?” he asked.

“I can do it,” I told him.

Quickly, I rid myself of my nightshirt, and my skin tingled at the exposure to the air. Lee gave a gentle sigh, almost like one of relief, and dipped his head to my chest. He ran his tongue from the dip of my neck to between my breasts, and he latched his teeth onto one of my nipples with no warning. I nearly gave a shout of surprise, but I kept it contained. If this bit of foreplay was any indication, there would be enough time for shouting and crying later.

“These…” Lee growled, grabbing at my breasts with rough hands. “Perfect fuckin’ tits, sugar, Jesus. Wanna come all over them. I just might have to.”

Lee’s mouth went to my other breast, and one of his hands fluttered down from my chest to my waist, and even lower. Again, without so much as a censure, he pushed a finger past my folds and sunk himself knuckle-deep into my throbbing heat. My back arched against my will and I cried out at the amazing feel of it, and Lee laughed into my tits. “I’m only doin’ this ‘cause it’s your first time,” Lee told me, slowly dragging his finger in and out of me. It was a feeling like nothing I had ever experienced before, and I felt tears welling in my eyes. It was so fucking good. “If I had it my way, I’d already have my cock in you. Have you on your belly, fucking the hell outta you, watching myself fuck you so deep.”

“Please, Lee,” I sobbed.

Through my watery gaze, I saw Lee smile against my chest. “Oh, what a good girl,” he moaned softly. “You’re my little fuck-toy, ain’t ya? Just fuckin’ desperate and begging for it. I guess it won’t take too long to fuck you absolutely stupid, will it?” I shook my head, and I jerked in surprise when his calloused finger drove itself into that spot inside of me. I called out his name; I was too far gone to care about the sick pleasure I knew it gave him. “Beg for it, sugar. Beg me to fuck you dumb.”

“Please, Lee,” I whimpered. “Lee, fuck, please. I-I want you to fuck me so hard, please, babe.”

Lee withdrew his fingers from me and sent a hard slap to my throbbing clit. This time, my gasp was one of genuine pain. “That ain’t what you call me and you fuckin’ know it,” he grunted. “Do it right or don’t do it at all.”

I knew what he wanted, and I was too far gone to care. “Oh, Daddy, please,” I mewled, squirming, longing for his touch once more. “Fuck me, Daddy, fuck me ‘til I can’t walk. I want you so deep in my pussy, please.”

“That’s more like it,” Lee whispered. Then, with a strength that I didn’t know that he possessed, he turned me onto my stomach and tugged my hips into the air. My arms shook as I tried to steady myself, and I felt my wet arousal drip down my thigh. As I tried to steady my breathing and remove the fog from my mind, I heard the sounds of Lee undoing his belt and shoving his pants down his thick thighs. His big hand captured a handful of my hair unexpectedly and he tugged me upright with only a small huff of exertion, and he bit my neck again. Lee Bodecker was an animal, and I liked it that way.

One hand stayed in my hair as his other guided himself inside of me, and I nearly felt sick. The stretch was otherworldly and, dare I say, painful. Maybe the prep he had been doing wasn’t such a poor idea. But I had made my bed; now I had to lie in it. “Slow down,” I panted, feeling the tears return, and I writhed in his grip. “Fuck, Daddy, it hurts.”

“I know it does,” Lee whispered, biting my ear. “But you asked for this. You asked for me to fuck you, and I’m gonna do just that. And ya know what? I think I’ll come in this pretty little cunt. What do you think of that?” I started to protest, but Lee shoved his fingers in my mouth, effectively shutting me the hell up. Even if I wanted to say something, I couldn’t. “Fill you up to the fuckin’ brim, have it drip outta you, it’ll be such a filthy thing to see. Your little boytoy comes home from the war and you’ve been letting an older, married guy stuff you full of cum? You think he’ll like that? Think he’ll wanna share?” Lee snapped his hips forward, fully burying himself inside of me, and I gave a wrecked sob around his fingers. I thought for sure that he would split me in two.

Lee’s fingers dug into my hip as he started a steady rhythm. I truly had no idea how old he was-- I imagined probably late 30s or early 40s-- but he was fucking me hard and fast with the stamina of someone my age. Either he had a lot of expertise in the field or he truly had the fantasy of coming inside of me and was wanting to hurry the process along. The more I thought about it, I realized that I really knew nothing about Lee. Not his wife’s name or if he had kids; I didn’t even know that he had a sister until he had mentioned it earlier. However, something about not knowing was better than knowing. At least, this way, I could sort-of distance myself from the act. I was fucking the sheriff (or, technically, he was fucking me), but we weren’t an item. I was just his favorite toy.

Lee suddenly wrenched my arms behind me and captured them against his chest, fully restraining me and leaving me pliable for him. With his fingers still in my mouth, I could hardly do anything but submit, but I liked that. I couldn’t tell if the throbbing in my pussy was pleasure borne from the way he was punishing my g-spot, or pain derived from his taut balls hitting my wet pussy every second. I had gotten my wish; there was to be no walking in the morning. I could feel spit gathering at the corners of my mouth, and I nearly choked on it, but Lee suddenly slowed down, molding his soft body against my back. “Fuck, honey, I’m gettin’ close,” he panted in my ear. “Now’s the time to tell me if you want me to come in ya or not.”

His fingers left my mouth, and I tried to form any thought. Lee was the only thing in my head, though, and I could only whimper out his name. That was answer enough for him, because he released my arm and shoved me down onto the bed. His hand grasped the back of my neck and held me down as his hips pounded in and out of me, huffing and panting. I never could have imagined that the sound of that would have turned me on as much as it did, but my muscles tightened around his fat cock, and he laughed. “Aw,” he cooed. “Does the little cunt need to come? I’ll be honest, I forgot all about that. Wanna make a mess all over Daddy’s cock, don’t you?”

I answered with a keening whine, but that didn’t seem to be enough for Lee. He smacked my ass hard, surely adding to the redness and bruising that I know already existed, and he fisted my hair tighter. “Answer me, bitch,” he growled. “Say it. Say ‘I wanna come on your cock, Daddy’.”

“I wanna--” I started, and a shudder went down my body when I felt something warm and wet find home on my asshole. I was so far past the point of degradation, and my mind instantly went somewhere else. I had heard about that, sure, but I had never imagined that that could be something that I wanted. And yet, here I was, Lee’s spit coating my ass, mumbling out words that would send me to hell. “Fuck, Daddy. Can you fuck my ass?”

“Oh, is that what you want?” Lee asked. “As tempting as that is, I’ll save that for another night. I’m not sure you’re a virgin, sugar, begging for it up the ass. But, fuck, it looks so good… I guess we have something to look forward to, huh?”

Lee’s arm wound around my body and he instantly went to my poor clit. His fingers had tugged at it enough to make it tender to the touch, and he abused it as he fucked right into my g-spot. “Jesus Christ,” Lee whispered. “Squeezing the shit outta me. I’m serious, honey, let me know if you don’t want me to come in you. You’re about to not-- fuck, Y/N-- have a choice.”

“I want it,” I told him. “I fuckin’ want it.”

That seemed to be the final straw, because Lee sent one more hard fuck into me, and I felt his cock twitch before warmth spilled into my pussy. The squelching as he continued to fuck me through his orgasm was so loud that I was afraid that the whole of Knockemstiff would hear it, but I couldn’t make up my mind on whether I cared or not. Somewhere in the middle of that, Lee cussed and began to rub my belly, whispering sweet things to me that would have felt out of place only minutes before. I didn’t realize that I had come. I liked the feeling of it, though, especially with how sweet Lee was suddenly.

“Good girl,” Lee told me. He shushed me as I moaned and cried, my pleasure edging on pain, and he pushed my hair away from my neck and placed gentle, open-mouthed kisses on my throat. “So, so good for me, ain’t ya? So goddamn pretty when you’re coming all over my cock. I can’t tell you how much I dreamt of this…”

My entire body trembled as Lee pulled out of me, and I collapsed onto my bed, panting and trying to form a coherent thought that wasn’t just the sheriff’s name. Only a few seconds passed before he was on me again, but it felt different this time. Lee moved the two of us under the blankets and rubbed my back, and he kissed my forehead gently. I nearly thought it was love. As my tears dried and feeling returned to my fingers and toes, I became aware that Lee was naked against me. As far as I knew, he hadn’t undressed as he had fucked me. His skin was so warm and it was comforting, and I nuzzled my head into his soft chest. My throat was so dry as I tried to swallow to form words, and Lee titled my face up in order for me to look him in those pretty blue eyes of his.

“How’re ya feeling, sugar?” He asked, his voice as wrecked and raw as mine. “Feelin’ alright?”

“Sore,” I mumbled. “It hurts, Lee.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Lee whispered, and I knew that he was being honest. Lee was perhaps the biggest jerk in town, his elected title obviously inflating his ego more than it should have, but I never knew that he was capable of being sweet in this manner. “I was real rough with ya and I just shouldn’t have been. I feel plum awful ‘bout it.”

“No,” I croaked, splaying my hands against his chest. Underneath the coarse hair, I could make out white marks on his skin, and I pressed my forehead against him. As I studied his body, I saw more and more of the marks, and it was only when I saw my hip against his that I connected the dots. Stretch marks. My Lee had stretch marks all over him, just like I did. “Please don’t. I woulda stopped you if it was too much. Thank you.”

Lee nodded and sighed into my messy hair. “You looked so beautiful,” he told me. “Any man that calls you his is a lucky fuckin’ bastard, I’ll tell you that much.”

I couldn’t help myself. My lips pressed against my chest, and I took care to kiss every mark I laid my eyes on. “You’re…” I began. “You’re gorgeous, Lee.”

“Nah, knock that shit off,” Lee chuckled. “I ain’t nothin’ compared to you, sugar.”

“No, really,” I told him. “Those big blue eyes, your pink cheeks… Your fat fuckin’ cock--” I laughed at myself, and Lee kissed the top of my head. “You’re the most handsome man I ever met.”

“Even more than your soldier boyfriend?” Lee asked.

“My soldier boyfriend’s like a twig, Lee,” I told him. “There’s nothing there for me. But you…”

“I’m fuckin’ fat, s’what I am,” Lee said with a smile, but I saw the hurt in his eyes. “I’m old and I’m fat--”

“Alright, shut up,” I said. Suddenly, a different sort of desire burned in me, and I pushed Lee onto his back before I straddled his waist. “There ain’t nothing wrong with you, ya hear? You are fucking perfect, Lee.”

The insecurity flashed across his face, darkening his features for only a second. “But the marks--”

I twisted my body to show him my hip and thigh. “I got ‘em too,” I said. “And don’t act like you didn’t see them, not for one second. And what did you do? You didn’t give a shit. I don’t either. They’re a part of you, and you are so sexy, Lee. I wanted to jump your bones from the moment I met you, and nothing ‘bout that’s changed and nothing’ll make it change. And ya know what? I’d reckon you’re stuck with me, so get used to it.”

“Oh, I’m stuck with ya, am I?” Lee asked with a smile. He tugged me down to him, pressing his tongue into my mouth once more, and the ache between my legs was replaced with the now-familiar pleasing tingle. “And I get no say in it?”

“I think you got your say when you wanted to fuck me up the ass,” I said, sinking my teeth into his plush bottom lip. “What a fuckin’ cliche we are, huh? The sheriff fuckin’ his secretary.”

“When I first hired you,” Lee began, his warm hands traveling all over my body, and his fingers took special care to trace the white marks along my thighs, hips, tits, and ass. “My wife hated the idea. She said she was worried that late nights at the station would wreak havoc on me, and having a pretty little thing like you there with me was dangerous.”

“Don’t go talkin’ ‘bout your wife,” I groaned. “That’s such a turn off, Lee.”

“Oh, is it?” Sheriff Lee Bodecker laughed, stuffing his fingers back inside me, just like nothing had ever happened. “‘Cause you seem all wet for Daddy, just the same.”

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker fanfic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan fanfiction #the devil all the time #tdatt #i am SO going to hell #but i had fun uwu

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years ago

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Day one of the Horror on Cherry Lane Challenge! I’ll be participating this month as a writer! The prompt for today is Knife!

warnings for mentions of suicidal ideation and attempts, death, child abuse, and blood.

Billy met Steve in the psych ward.

Well, they met officially at Tina’s party, but that wasn’t the real Steve. That was the King Steve. Deeper than that though, even the Steve Harrington everyone else saw even after the breakup and the fall from grace still wasn’t the real thing.

That was fake smiles, overdone nonchalance to cover up the wound from his fallen status. Now he was stripped down to himself, all bloody bandages and tired eyes, the boy he was pretending to be finally broken down to reveal this.

Apparently, Ruthie Harrington found her son with his grandfather's switchblade- all the other objects in the house sharper than a spoon and with less sentimental value had already been tossed -bleeding all over her freshly polished linoleum floors. She dropped him off at the hospital a night ago and nobody’s been by to see him since.

Now, it’s by pure coincidence that Billy’s already in on the same day Steve’s admitted.

He’s been locked up the past three days compared to Steve’s one. These small town hicks are jumpier (ha) than he thought, and don’t think doing the walk and turn test on the edge of the quarry after downing a bottle and a half of fireball is as funny as he does. Whatever. Cid would’ve thought that was badass as hell.

So he was admitted, on suicide watch for a stupid joke that wasn’t really worth it, or even really a joke. Max came to visit once. She punched him in the chest as hard as she could and cursed him out for an hour. She’d never done that before. By the time she left they were both in tears, and maybe Billy realized a thing or too about his carelessness. Realized for the first time that someone cared.

But he’s still in here for another week and a half by law, so. He’s not going to mope about it. And while Steve Harrington showing up is about the last thing he’s expecting, he decides that’s at least something he can work with. Definitely brings a little life to the place.

He waits until Steve’s intense watch period is over to bug him, once they’re out of their cramped little rooms for a couple of hours to “socialize” (see, the more sound of mind keep an eye on the other patients while the nurses take their smoke breaks) Billy goes straight to Steve. Him and Harrington are far from friends, but that’s pretty much irrelevant when the only other choices for company are kids younger than them too scared to approach them and people too deep in their midlife crises to bother with teenage drama.

Throwing himself down in the blue plastic chair across from where Steve settled in, Billy kicks his feet up on the table,, “What’s up Harrington? Didn’t expect to see a familiar face in here.”

But Steve, poor Steve, takes one look at Billy with those haunted brown eyes, and his face just falls completely apart. There are tears on his way too pale cheeks before Billy even has a chance to breathe.

The smile drops off of Billy’s face, “Jesus Harrington, I know m’not looking my best surviving on hospital food and cigarettes without a hairbrush, but that’s a little unwarranted.”

“Shut up. Not everything’s about you, Hargrove.”

“Oh I disagree with that. But I get the point. I’ll let ya be.” Billy hums, scooting his chair back and getting up. He stops when Steve starts to speak, “Y-You outta be careful saying that kinda stuff in here.”

“What?”

“That the world revolves around you. They’ll come up with a diagnosis for that and keep you here forever. Drug you ‘til you forget your own name, let alone your status.” Steve tells him with humor, wiping the tears off his face.

Billy nods in understanding, sits back down with an interested smirk, “This ain’t your first time here, is it?”

“Is it yours?”

“Nah. I’ve done some shit on purpose, some on accident. Once it wasn’t even me. But s’never done anything to help so far.”

Steve puffs out a sigh, “Don’t I know it.. I’ve been in and outta this place since I was like, ten. Clearly nothing’s changed.”

“Why? What’s your dirty little secret, Harrington?”

“I cut myself, dumbass.” He deadpans, looking at Billy with a bluntness in his expression that reads more concerning, more like indifference to what he just said than matter-of-fact.

“No shit. But that ain’t the secret.” Billy probes further, can tell he’s getting under that mask Steve wears, “Why do you do it?”

“Legally, I can't tell you. And I don’t think I would anyways.”

“What about if I tell you all about me first? I got no reservations ‘cept the one that got me a bed here.”

“It’s not a hotel, Hargrove.”

“Eh, might as well be. Feels like the damn hotel California.”

“Is that why?”

“Huh? Oh no, I been pullin’ stunts like this long before we left Cali.”

“Like what?”

“Like downing two full bottles of my mother’s meds after she left. Not at the same time obviously, or I wouldn’t be here. Mostly ‘cause my dad didn’t even wanna take me to the hospital either time.” Billy doesn’t look at Steve while he elaborates. Not because he cares, he’s an open book, if a random old woman at the grocery store asked about his last attempt, he’d tell her.

But. He doesn’t like watching people’s faces. Seeing sympathy and concern there. It makes him feel all stupid and guilty. It’s usually not like that with other kids like him, but Steve’s different. He’s got a big heart. Even if there’s no room for himself.

And Billy hurt Steve before. He doesn’t want to see someone he caused pain caring so much about him. He already cracked when Max came to see him. This could be what splits him open, spills out all the things he’s covered up.

So he keeps going, “And like runnin’ out in front of traffic with my friends. They thought we were just playin’ chicken ‘til I stopped dead in front of a station wagon. Metal rims’d done me in for sure if one ‘a the older boys hadn’t pulled me outta the way. Damn near ripped my shirt in half how fast he grabbed me.”

“I’m guessing your parents are the reason why then?”

“Yessir.” Billy deflects, not good at getting deeper into it, “You wanna tell me yours then?”

“I started cutting because Tommy Hagan told me about it. He thought it was freaky, but when he ran his mouth about how they found the neighbor kid in his room, drained of all his blood from his wrists, I wanted to try it. I’ve tried liquor and drugs and all kinds ‘a shit I shouldn’t, but nothin’ stuck like cutting.” Steve pauses for a long time, his eyes going blank, staring right past Billy, “When my mom found out she.. she.. Forget it.”

“Hey, you seen my skeletons. Can’t I see yours?”

“No. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it anymore.” Steve answers, despite his assuredness, his tone wobbling with some unidentifiable emotion.

Talk about mood swings. Billy doesn’t get how nobody would’ve noticed something was up before Steve started carving into himself. Really, he knows someone would have seen it and just ignored it.

It only gets worse though, the reservedness turning to sadness and frustration. None of the words are coming out, but he can tell Steve’s thinking of the stories, reliving all that got him to the here and now. Billy can also tell there’s nothing he can do no to stop him from doomsdaying.

So when Steve is inevitably in the thralls of a panic attack, he tries to hug him tight, to try to get it to stop maybe, that always worked for him at least, but Steve swats him away. Judging from the way he winces, it’s not easy for him to do either, with those thick ass bandages constricting his wrists, but the tears and the pain on his face are buried behind his resolution.

He’s hiding something from Billy.

In hindsight, talking to a new patient about past attempts probably wasn’t his brightest idea anyways, so he switches the subject while Steve works on coming down from his panic attack. He brings up Max and her little nerds, trying to bridge the healthier connections between him and Steve that they’d both been ignoring since the fight. He mentions basketball too, another something they have in common other than trying to kill themselves.

It doesn’t really work, though Steve does stop shaking as bad, just curling up in his little chair and sniffling, pretending not to listen while Billy rambles on and on. But he doesn’t talk. It’s probably better for him not to anyway. Billy himself has been known to say some dumb shit when he’s in distress.

Ultimately, even once the conversation runs out, he stays with Steve until dark. He can tell from the way his gaze sticks to the floor that Steve recovered from his fit a while ago, but he’s embarrassed by having a breakdown in front of him, as if he isn’t in here for the same reason. It helps that he gets it though, and they sit in a comfortable, albeit very prolonged, silence.

Long after Steve gets xanned up and knocked out though, while Billy is still free to wander until the midnight curfew as a low risk patient, he decides to stick with him in his room. Billy’ll never admit it, but he gets nightmares, and he doesn’t want to face that just yet, so with a new friend as an excuse, he’s up half the night watching Steve sleep.

He remembers what happened earlier, how focused Steve was on keeping him away from him, despite his panic, and decides, with a glance at how deeply Steve is sleeping, his greasy hair all strewn about on stiff pillows, that he’s going to figure out what it was.

He snoops around in his bedside drawers, in the bathroom, in the locker in the corner. It’s there he notices the knitted jacket Steve was wearing before, hanging heavy to one side, like there’s something in its pocket. He touches it and feels the outline of something small, so he pulls it out.

He regrets checking though, because it’s a knife. Judging from the old looking engravings on its handle, and the coppery stains within the grooves, it’s specifically the very same one that got Steve hospitalized.

He shoves it in his own back pocket and keeps looking, with a quick glance at Steve, finding a note tucked where the knife had been. Written in perfect scrawl on bond paper that’s been folded a dozen times and stained with tears,

“Do it right next time, why don’t you? Your mother is too soft on you. I’m not paying for this again.

- J.Harrington.”

Billy doesn’t know what to do but throw the note in the trash. Not really in shock, but definitely more than a little fucked up from reading that, he sits on the end of Steve’s bed. His own dad, who'd more than once been the one putting him in the hospital, had never even said anything like that to him.

He didn’t get to talk to Steve much today, but they’ve got as long as Billy’s stuck in here together to fix that. Longer if he just pulls something in front of a nurse. And he wants to, really really wants to.

Because he knows he just met the real Steve, can recognize another broken boy when he sees one, and he knows too, that he never wants to meet a pretty boy like this again.

And if that’s his declaration to get clean, then so fucking be it.

But. He never promised not to hurt anyone. Ultimately he’d still need that outlet.

He keeps the knife. To make sure his pretty boy doesn’t get hurt again.

#CherryLaneChallenge #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ej writer #story by ej!#tw self harm #tw attempted suicide #tw blood #happy October!#I’m so excited!#I’m gonna try to do all of this but I’m real busy coming up!#im not sure what vibe I’m goin got in this challenge #but I think it’s mostly haunting?#not scary but like that oh moment y’know

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i-got-these-words · 4 years ago

Text

Short Midnight Drabble ~

[Content warnings: Excessive drinking; dubious consent; victim self-blaming; jealousy; explicit sexual content; explicit language.]

The rhythm in his head had but one name. Tequila.

Guan Shan winced as a shooting pain lanced through him, striking dead centre in the space between his eyes like a rusty nail trying to screw its way through his skull. His heavy and only-somewhat-cooperative tongue rolled around a tart curse that would have had his mom smacking him upside the head and scolding him six ways to Sunday.

Fuck a cheese grater. Where was he?

Prying his eyes open, Guan Shan squinted into the dimly lit room, thankful that someone had had the foresight to draw the vertical blinds closed. The scintillating shimmer of a spring dawn spilt through the narrow gaps, casting the room and its slumbering occupants in hues of cerise and new beginnings.

Guan Shan didn’t recognise them, and he sure as fuck didn’t believe in new beginnings. Or second chances. He was forced to clench his teeth against a wave of nausea when he tried to sit up, his body stiff and protesting. He took a few steadying breaths through his nose as the rusty nail asserted itself once again, burrowing deeper and laying claim to his alcohol-addled brain.

The room was littered with the usual post-party detritus, but in place of ransacked snack bowls, disposable red cups and crushed beer cans, there were half-empty food platters, fully empty champagne bottles and a slew of personalised confetti.

It came him to then—Jian Yi and Zheng Xi’s engagement party.

He instantly regretted coming. Then, just as quickly, felt bad for even thinking it; Jian Yi was the closest thing Guan Shan had to a friend, even if Guan Shan would never admit it. But then he remembered how, in the face of his hesitation, Jian Yi had assured Guan Shan that he wouldn’t be attending. After all, he was halfway across the globe and had already sent his apologies and felicitations in the form of an outrageously luxurious RV disguised as an engagement gift.

Shit.

Guan Shan needed to get out of there.

He took his time levering himself to his feet, swaying a little as the room spun. Gingerly, he lumbered past the handful of dozing guests, most of them more scantily dressed than they had been at the beginning of the party, limbs twisted around a partner—or partners—a piece of upholstered furniture, or a bottle of top-shelf liquor.

The air was thick with the scents of warm, canoodling bodies, an eye-watering floral fragrance someone had drenched themselves in the night before and the lingering traces of eau de fuck mist. Wrinkling his nose, Guan Shan scowled at the thought of partygoers going at it right there in the living room whilst he was passed out drunk on the couch. What happened to having some goddamn decorum?

Meandering out into the hallway in search of his chukka boots, Guan Shan rubbed his temples and wondered if it was too early in the day for the Sunday trains to be running. He considered getting an Uber back to his place, but he was trying to save up—for a wedding gift, a fucking suit because the one he owned was only fit to be worn at funerals, smart shoes that hadn’t been bought at a thrift store, and a round or two of over-priced drinks at the joint bachelor bash Jian Yi was already twittering about.

Fuckin’-A. He’d need to budget more tightly than he already had been, but he consoled himself with the option of selling the suit and shoes second-hand post-wedding and making up for the difference by picking up a few more shifts at the restaurant.

And making do with less than three hours of sleep a night.

Putting his monetary worries to one side, Guan Shan spent the better half of a minute getting tangled in the loose end of a congratulations banner that had come half-undone from the wall. As he passed the kitchen, he caught the time on the microwave’s digital display: five fucking am. The first train wasn’t due til half six.

Mood souring, Guan Shan ran a frustrated hand through his shorn hair, a little stiff and sticky from the product he’d fingered through it last night. His stomach lurched when he noticed the wretched bottle of jalapeño-infused tequila on the breakfast bar and he wondered why he’d thought drinking himself to oblivion would be a good idea. Not only had it been one of his more foolish decisions, it hadn’t even fucking worked.

Guan Shan could remember, clear as day, how his mouth had dried up and his heart had dithered like a fucking damsel in distress when he’d spotted He Tian sauntering through Jian Yi and Zheng Xi’s verdant backyard. With his signature cocksure swagger, He Tian had garnered the attention of many a guest sprawled on rattan garden furniture. Guan Shan had envied them their insouciance as they sipped chilled champagne from sparkling glasses and got their fill of a fabulous ass furnished in dark denim. Guan Shan, on the other hand, had ensconced himself in the kitchen in an attempt to avoid crossing paths with his ex.

That, too, hadn’t fucking worked.

With an hour to kill, Guan Shan found himself in the guest bathroom, splashing his face with arctic-cold water in the hopes that it would chink away at the haze of his hangover. In anticipation of having overnight sojourners, Jian Yi or Zheng Xi—more likely the latter—had stacked a pile of sealed toothbrushes and bottles of mouthwash on the window ledge.

Guan Shan felt marginally human after he’d scrubbed his teeth and freshened up. He chanced a look in the mirrored cabinet above the sink and grimaced. His rose gold hair, which had been a deliberate mess of spikes at the beginning of the night was now nothing short of a grooming disaster. His cheeks were flushed from the cold wash, masking the dusting of freckles on his face that bloomed and waned with the seasons. Normally a blazing liquid copper, his eyes were a dull brass, tarnished by too many shots and not enough winks.

The mouth-watering aroma of morning coffee wafted through from under the bathroom door and Guan Shan hoped whoever was up was brewing it strong. He was downing a couple of Advil he’d filched from the small cabinet when he noticed a bruise peeking out from the collar of his shirt. He leaned closer to the mirror, trying to get a better look.

Motherfucker. It was an honest-to-fuck hickey.

As his already-shit mood took a nosedive, Guan Shan ground his molars, the flush on his cheeks deepening with anger. Who the fuck had put it there? And when? Guan Shan couldn’t remember making out with anyone last night and, given that he was fully clothed sans shoes, the necking session had probably not gone past first base.

Probably.

Had he been so blitzed out that he couldn’t remember letting someone suck a bruise on his person? Fuck.

Fuck!

Guan Shan’s ire took an ugly turn. He shouldn’t have put himself in that fucking position. He should’ve known better. Seeing He Tian had fucked him up and Guan Shan had responded by getting shitfaced.

Eyes stinging, Guan Shan swiped viciously at his face with another palmful of frosty water. Just as he turned to the toilet and unzipped his fly, the bathroom door swung open.

He Tian paused in his stride to blink at Guan Shan. Then proceeded to make his way to the sink.

“Do you fucking mind?” Guan Shan growled, ignoring the way his insides squirmed at the sight of a sleepy-looking He Tian: softly tousled locks, a rumpled silk shirt and black boxer briefs that were so tight his dick was one cough away from indecent exposure.

Opening the cabinet and rummaging through the contents, He Tian mumbled a curt, “Nope.”

Guan Shan knew he was on the verge of snapping, and he let his anger simmer to a boil as He Tian popped the cap off the Advil container and knocked back a few pills. When he was done guzzling a mouthful of water right from the tap, his gelid grey eyes slid to Guan Shan. He Tian lofted a dark brow and the motion shouldn’t have been as sensual as it was.

“It’s not like you haven’t pissed in front of me before,” He Tian mused. “In fact—”

“Finish that sentence and you’ll be shitting out your own teeth for the next year,” Guan Shan snarled.

A smirk ghosted He Tian’s lips and the challenge in his eyes made Guan Shan’s stupid heart stutter like a gin-soaked queen in stilettos. “—I distinctly recall how much it turned you on.”

The illusion that he had any self-control around He Tian shattered as Guan Shan pivoted on his heel and plunged towards the taller man, fists raised and powered up.

But He Tian was ready for him. He’d always been fucking ready for him.

Guan Shan’s knuckles barely grazed the hard-lined jaw it was aiming for as He Tian swiftly dodged to the side. When Guan Shan brought up his left elbow to ram it into He Tian’s obscenely, perfectly straight nose, He Tian ducked like he was made of liquid and not the stacked muscle Guan Shan knew was rolling under that naturally tan skin. He Tian countered with a friendly jab to Guan Shan’s kidney; it wasn’t meant to hurt, and it didn’t. But it did momentarily surprise Guan Shan and He Tian predictably took advantage of his hesitation.

The bathroom cabinet shook as Guan Shan’s back collided with the tiled wall.

He Tian closed in on him, outstretched arms boxing Guan Shan in from either side and leaving He Tian wide open to a counterattack, one that they both knew wouldn’t come.

Guan Shan blamed his sluggish reflexes on the hangover from hell and, this close up, he could see that He Tian hadn’t come away completely unscathed either from a night of liberal drinking and liberal morals.

His eyes were rimmed pink, half-lidded and weary. His weekend stubble was a velvet shadow that would have taken a younger He Tian a week to grow out. His post-party redolence was a mixture of faded cologne, the spicy notes of celebratory fizz, and a familiar musk that reminded Guan Shan of lazy mornings in bed, sun-warmed sheets, and an intimacy that didn’t involve swapping spunk.

Guan Shan’s throat tightened like a vice when he spied the flecks of dark red on He Tian’s crumpled white collar, and the grisly bite mark on the side of his neck that was responsible.

“I’ve barely said two words to you and you’re already trying to break my face,” He Tian drawled in a voice that was as deep as it was dark, and made all the more dangerous by a disarming smile. “What crawled up your ass this fine morning?”

Read the full fic here: Love Bites and Bruises

#19 days #19 days fic #fanfic #fanfiction #drabble #tianshan #he tian #mo guan shan #love bites and bruises

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lunarliza · 4 years ago

Text

Dirty Little Secret | Chapter One: Blankets

fuckbuddy!JJ x Kook!Reader

You and JJ are fuck buddies- strictly physical. But what happens when you find yourself falling more and more for everyone’s favorite golden boy even though all he can see you as is a spoiled rich girl?

You stared at the ticking clock among the sea of giggling preppy girls. Time had to be running in reverse. There was no way you still had an hour left.

“Alright ladies, let’s now form a single-file line and practice our curtsies,” the cotillion instructor, Linda, ordered. The over-privileged girls hurried to the end of the ballroom, one carelessly stepping over your foot. “Ouch!”

You glared at their backs and non-existent asses as they scurried, being the last one to sulk to your place behind a tall girl named Caroline. The leggy blonde snickered and leaned back slightly once everyone got into formation.

“You look like a beat up mule,” she joked.

You snorted and got on your tip-toes, muttering into her ear. “If I hear the words ‘prim and proper’ one more time, I might actually vomit on the spot.”

You both peered over to Linda who was busy adjusting some of the girls in the front with her annoying pointer stick. It was only a matter of time before she would eventually get to you and criticize, well, everything. Your posture, clothes, hair, attitude.

“If you do,” Caroline added, “make sure to get it all on Delilah in the front left. She totally swiped me for runner-up Miss Teen North Carolina last year.”

You chuckled and shook your head.

Caroline was probably the only thing getting you through these treacherous debutante lessons. She was your typical tall, thin socialite with a Benz and Prada collection to match. Ironically, you guys had more in common than one would think- hating just about every single girl in the room. It may be for different reasons, but the principle was there. Caroline was as competitive as they come and always had to be the center of attention, not that it was hard given her model height.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about becoming a high woman in society- evident in your ability to show up 20 minutes late to each lesson and royally screw up the dance number each chance you got. Caroline admired your talent of not giving a fuck and took a liking to you after you posed non-threatening to her spotlight.

You faked yawned and checked the clock once more.

“Alright I’ve had enough.” You held out your hand to Linda, causing the pageant girl in front of you to wrinkle her perfectly threaded brows. “Linda, I need to use the restroom,” you announced nonchalantly as everyone’s beetle eyes punctured you.

“Very well y/n,” the monotonous instructor answered with her thin-framed glasses hanging on her beak nose.

“See ya next week,” you sneakily whispered to Caroline. You proceeded to hop out of line, snatch your canvas bag at the entrance, and whisk out the door and into the busy street before anyone could see.

It was 3 p.m. on a Thursday afternoon. Your ferry left in an hour, and til then, you were ready to wander around the streets of Chapel Hill.

-----------------------------

“How were lessons today?” your mother asked, taking a sip of her 1999 Vineyard Merlot before setting the glass on the black marble table.

“Fine,” you answered, picking at the halibut on your plate.

Her glasses were perched at the bridge of her nose as she scrolled through items on an iPad. You silently glanced over to your little sister, Macy, who slid her green beans onto your plate and threw you a thankful grin.

“What did you go over?” your stepdad, Ted, asked half-heartedly as he scrolled through his phone.

“Uh, we did some curtsies and practiced the dance,” was all you cared to mention as you munched on your sister’s veggies.

“That’s funny,” your mother lifted her eyes from the screen, “because Linda called and said you went to the restroom and mysteriously disappeared. And you were late.” Her tone was much more adamant at the second part, but your face stayed cool as you took another bite of the awful fish.

“There was backup when I left the ferry,” you lied and your mother rolled her eyes, tossing the iPad onto the table.

“Y/n, you need to take this seriously. Ted spent weeks trying to get you into those debutante lessons and we’re paying a fortune for Linda alone!”

“It’s not my fault she has a stick up her ass just like everyone else there,” you countered. Your mom was seconds away from fuming, so you decided to add a little extra fuel. “Also someone stepped on my foot with their heel so I had to rest it or else I wouldn’t be able to properly do the dance.”

“Enough of this, y/n,” your mother snapped at your terrible sarcasm. Macy and Ted stopped eating and watched you both with hints of concern. You didn’t understand why it was so startling to them. It was just any other Thursday evening with your mom if you were being honest.

“If I get another call from Linda, we’re taking away your keys.”

“Take them,” you said, stepping up from your chair and towards the kitchen. You tossed the half-eaten food into the trash and stuffed the plate into the dishwasher. “Not like I have anywhere better to be on this God-awful island.”

You rushed to your room upstairs and kicked the door shut behind you. You sank into your bed, face first, and let out the longest, dreadful groan into the comforter.

This was your life now. After almost a year, you would think that you’d adjust to this pretentious Kook life, but it only made you feel more stranded than ever. It started when your real parents announced their divorce a few years back. Both yours and Macy’s hearts shattered at the news. Your family lived perfectly in a tiny home until you turned thirteen. Your dad- the one who taught you how to ride a bike, swim, fish, and play poker- got a new job where he would go overseas for months on end. You hated not being able to see him and your mom hated it even more- enough to leave him. Your mom ended up taking full custody of you and Macy. Soon after, she met money-bags Ted, and, before you knew it, your bags were sealed packed as you sailed away to a fancy new home along Figure Eight complete with housekeepers, a pool, and etiquette lessons. It was supposed to be this “better lifestyle” your mother tried to paint into your head- but you saw right through it. No matter how green the grass or white the fence, you still felt like you were being locked up on an island you had no interest in exploring.

Making new friends was also a hassle- first coming in as a high school sophomore, and then not knowing how to engage in Kook-speak with the others. It’s not your fault you weren’t well-versed in luxury cars and handbags. You had one or two friends, but spent most of your days alone. It was well past midnight when you caught yourself drowning in your own self-loathing thoughts. A sudden tap on your window startled you as you turned to find a familiar blonde boy struggling to lift the glass. You watched, unimpressed, as he finally got it open enough to slide his lean body in and land straight onto your window seat.

“You’re late again, JJ,” you said, getting up to lock your door.

“Phone died and there’s a guard on duty, so I had to come in through the long way,” JJ stated, plopping himself comfortably on your bed.

He wore his usual fit- dark cargo shorts and a navy button-up with hardly anything buttoned. He reeked of weed and seawater, wearing a sleazy grin on his face. You wanted to swipe it off. Cocky bastard.

“For the last time,” you retorted, kicking his feet off your white blankets, “no shoes on my fucking bed.”

“I love when you talk dirty to me,” JJ snarkily replied as he slipped off his boots.

This was JJ: your fuck buddy. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly why you were involved with this delinquent of a boy, but he was enough piss off your mom and Ted- not that you would ever tell them. You didn’t know what it was about him, but causally sleeping with JJ made you feel more in control of your life. So, once or twice a week, you two would meet up, do the deed, and go your separate ways without a word. No strings, no feelings, hell, not even a friendship. And not a single soul knew. You both understood the terms of your agreement and will stand by it until the day you both die. “Are you just gonna stand there and stare or are we gonna get to clapping cheeks? I don’t have all night dude,” JJ nagged, interrupting you from your thoughts.

You flipped him off. “If someone showed up during their regularly scheduled time, I would have had a lot more energy.” You peeled off your cropped tee to reveal a lacy black bralette and climbed into his lap. His hands cupped the globes of your ass before sliding them into your shorts, mouth connecting with your neck.

“Let’s make this quick,” he added between short breaths, “I have to meet some friends in an hour.”

-----------------------------

chapter two

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bonesofapoet · 4 years ago

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From Dusk ‘Til Dawn

[marcus lopez arguello x you]

author’s note: i dunno about you guys, but i miss this show So Much, and i wont disappear from this fandom again!! you know, probably. (used to write for deadly class under ladyofstadvst) also, this prompt is like ten years old but im still a sucker for it so here! we! are!

word count: 1148

ao3: @ ladyofstardvst (apparently tumblr doesnt like links anymore??)

two times Marcus wanted to kiss you, and the one time he did.

Marcus Lopez Arguello couldn’t remember the last time he paid attention to the world around him.

He noticed thunderstorms and sunshine, knew when it was cold enough to snow. Saw the leaves begin to change from bright, leafy greens to honey gold and russet red. Of course he saw these things. He simply stopped caring about little happenings when Reagan killed his parents.

The last memory he had of a sunset . . . he couldn’t remember.

And he still couldn’t, even with the one painting the sky right before his eyes. Because when it was transforming into a radiant Monet as the sun descended down, down, down below the skyline, then the harbor -

The only place that held his attention was you.

You, with a smile that tugged the corners of your lips up towards your eyes. Eyes that reflected the deep violets melting into vibrant magentas and swirling with heavenly golden clouds. You, standing next to him in awe at the raw beauty this world had to offer for no cost but your time.

The air had become tinted with that specific shade of pastel pink, and Marcus had to catch his breath. His chest tightened, hands began to shake just enough to be noticed. He shoved them in his pockets so you wouldn’t see.

He would trade all the sunsets in the world just to feel your lips against his own. He would do it in a heartbeat.

II.

This time, it’s different.

Power outages darkened the city, torrential rain threatened to flood the streets, shutting down trains and buses, and no, don’t even think about walking. Wind came alive to uproot small trees and gift certain people with wings. It rattled the glass of Lost Innocence Comics right inside of its frames.

You and Marcus were soaked to the bone after stepping outside to just get a look down the street.

Great, he groaned, slamming his head against the locked door. The C L O S E D sign rattled against the glass. We’re fucking stuck here.

In front of him, the clouds changed from heather gray to deep navy and, within minutes, they were almost midnight black. It began to look like night had come to call early.

“Think we can find some candles around here?”

“Uh,” Marcus scrambled to collect himself, turned to face you in the fading light. “Who knows, there’s all kinds of shit in back.”

An eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Lead the way, then.”

Thunder rumbled low and followed you into the small storeroom. It was all damp concrete and chaos and muted rainfall past the small window lodged into the far wall. Bright, violent flashes of lightning accompanied scavenged flashlight beams as you scored a box of matches. Marcus balanced the half-burned pillars he found on a stack of inventory crates to breathe the treasured warmth of fire into the darkness.

Your chilled bones didn’t complain, either.

Flickers of flame danced across you both, the silence slowly growing thick with that special sort of tension. The kind that was only present when something big was about to happen, or when no one had anything left to lose. It would have become overwhelming, but then – then. You were closer to each other than you had been before. Closer than the moment that had just passed. Maybe it was the sharp crack of thunder that made your heart beat faster when his lips were drawing so close to yours -

A bright, harsh light filled the room and you both jerked apart.

The power kicked back on, and the worst of the storm had passed.

III.

Things were different after Vegas.

Distant, secretive, hushed.

A fog followed them around like a phantom that thrived on fear, and fear alone. The friends who came back were not the same people who left the day before, not really. Those mere hours seemed to age them years, decades, eons.

Maybe it was smart that you bailed on them with Willie. You wondered if the abandonment of their two friends led to their downfall.

That was the thing about King’s Dominion - death clung to it’s students like a cloak one could never shed. You didn’t always want to rush off to meet danger at it’s doorstep when you didn’t have to. There was value in a quiet, comfortable weekend spent in your room, thank you very much. So you turned them down.

But that was the thing.

There was no such thing as comfort in a place like King’s, in a life that trained the next generation of assassins. It felt detached somehow, the reality that there were no safety nets, no promise of a life growing old, no promise of even growing at all. Comfort, ease, dreams – those ceased to exist the day anyone walked through those monstrous front doors.

Marcus forgot that too, sometimes.

Vegas reminded him that life was so impossibly fleeting, invincibility certainly did not exist, and there was no fucking time to live safely when there was nothing safe about life in the first place. When all you really had were ghosts that didn’t yet exist, and nightmares of the ghosts already born from your own making.

When San Francisco greeted them in the early morning sunlight, Marcus Lopez Arguello found himself heading straight to your dorm.

I almost died, he greeted you with tired eyes and a rough voice. Like. Five fucking times.

He watched as your eyes drifted over his silhouette propped against the door frame, all bruised and bloody boy. You expected nothing less at this point.

“But you didn’t.” came your reply.

“No,” he said. You were so close that it had gotten difficult to breathe – and, no, it wasn’t because of his bruised ribs. Probably. “I didn’t die.”

The unspoken ‘yet’ hung in the air, the elephant in your room.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t with-”

The dam inside Marcus cracked, hitched, broke.

There wasn’t a universe where he would allow you to apologize for something he had no right to ask for in the first place. No universe where he would allow death to take him home before he did the small things. The important things.

The kind of things that almost dying in an alleyway dumpster in Las Vegas made him realize mattered.

He kissed you, and you kissed him back.

It was hesitant, at first. All soft lips and warm breath questioning if this was real, if this was happening, if maybe Marcus really was dead after all. Then passion crept in, the comfort of his arms wrapped around you, your hands threaded through his hair, his own pulled you closer and closer and closer.

He was so very much alive, with a pounding heartbeat to prove it. With your skin grazing his, with your breath in his lungs. For the first time in a long time, he was so very grateful to be alive.

#marcus lopez arguello imagine #marcus lopez arguello x you #marcus lopez arguello x reader #deadly class imagine #deadly class #marcus lopez imagine #kas writes

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ahsbitch · 4 years ago

Text

A Walk In The Woods

Word Count: 5762

Summary: You find a wild Michael Langdon in the woods, and after deciding that he definitely needs some help, you invite him back home with you.

Warnings: Smut, 69ing, so obviously oral happens, Male and Female Receiving, A Bit Of Praise Kink, unprotected sex, Vaginal Intercourse, Sad Boi Michael, some cockwarming at the end (obviously I’m v into cockwarming, don’t @ me) Shitty Writing, lots of cursing, that’s all I can think of

A/N: I’m sure this is awful but idk I put effort into it so I’m posting it. Also I should totally wait to post til tomorrow bc it’s like midnight but?? I really wanted to post it today so I’m just going for it. Hope y’all enjoy, comments are Always appreciated, much love! ♥️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking barefoot in the woods was probably your most ridiculous hobby, but it was probably your favorite as well.

There was always something to discover in the woods.

You tried to take a forest walk at least once a week, on Sundays. You would be gone for hours, wandering, feeling the ups and downs of the universe all around you.

There was always something to discover in the woods, and it was always something different.

Often you would stop in sunny patches and meditated. Sometimes you could feel the musings of something greater than you, running through you.

Occasionally, you would find a wounded animal, typically just small things like squirrels or sparrows, although sometimes bigger creatures, a deer, an owl, a fox, things along those lines. You felt a responsibility to them, to help them, to clean them up and help them heal and get them better enough to go off on their journeys in life.

On this particular walk, you found a type of wounded animal you’d never dealt with before.

Michael Langdon.

You found him wandering the woods, bleary eyed, coated in scratches and sunburns.

“Are you alright, sir?” You moved slowly closer to him, not worried for yourself but afraid to startle him.

The man was beautiful, you could tell he was beneath the dirt that covered him.

You had startled him, it seemed, as he looked up at you with wild, piercing eyes, raising a hand and sending you flying back against a tree, pinning you there by the throat.

Well, fuck.

Your hands clawed at your neck in spite of yourself, trying to pull at something that wasn’t there. You wouldn’t have tried at all, if you were capable of rational thought, would have let it happen as you had great faith that the mystery man was going to let you go, but of course when one loses the ability to breathe, one’s body tends to panic in spite of what the mind may wish for.

After a few seconds, you dropped to the ground, gasping for air.

Breathe in...Breathe out...Breathe in...Breathe out...Breath in..

“I’m sorry,” You stood up, keeping your gaze on the ground but taking a step towards him.

Although you still didn’t look him in the face, you could tell just from his voice that the man was confused, wandering closer to you, “Why are you sorry?”

Shrugging, you lifted your head from the ground, although you still kept it below eye level, “I frightened you. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“I,” He frowned, and you focused your eyes on his mouth, “I attacked you.”

“Because I frightened you. I was trying not to, but I did, and I’m very sorry for it.”

“Is that why you won’t look me in the eye?” He sounded curious, and his mouth curved into a funny little smile, “Because you’re sorry?”

“Because direct eye contact can be intimidating,” You explained, “I don’t want to upset you again.”

Biting his lower lip, the man extended his hand, “It’s okay. I’m... my name is Michael. I’m sorry for...what I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You took his hand, feeling a zip of electricity shoot through you, and finally looked into his eyes, “It’s okay. I’ve been hurt worse. Wasn’t a big deal. I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Michael.”

Brows scrunched together over his crystalline blue eyes, Michael cleared his throat, “It’s nice to meet you too, Y/N. I’m sorry for bothering you, I- I should let you go.”

You weren’t quite sure whether he meant that literally or figuratively, as he was still clutching at your hand like a lifeline.

“Hang on,” Drawing him closer, you reached a careful hand up to his face, hesitating at the way he flinched, then stilled, his eyes flickering to the side anxiously, but allowing you to cup his cheek and examine him, “How long have you been out here?”

Michael looked unsure of himself, leaning into your hand ever so slightly and seemingly not even conscious of it, “A few days, I think. I was doing a, well, I was doing something, but it didn’t work, and then I tried to make my way back to the city, but I kinda got lost.”

“You must be starving,” You pulled away from him, straightening up, “I can take you back to the city, and you can come to my place for a little bit.”

You were already walking, and after a moment you heard Michael hurry to follow you, “What do you mean?”

“You said you were lost. I don’t think you just mean physically. Besides, you must be hungry, and no offense, but you’re kind of a mess right now,” You glanced back at him, giving a small smile when you saw his shocked expression, “You need help. I’m happy to give it.”

“Why?” Michael moved to your side, walking in step with you, “Why would you help me? What if I’m a murderer?”

“Even if you are, I don’t think you’ll murder me. If you do, I’d ask that you do it quickly, that’s just a little personal preference of mine, although of course if you’re some truly evil serial killer then I doubt you’d care much about my preferences,” Shrugging, you grasped his hand in yours and pulled him behind you, feeling another volt of electricity crackle through your veins as you led him back to the city.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have a nice place,” Michael told you hesitantly as you made your way up the front steps of your apartment building.

You almost laughed at that, but when you glanced back at him he looked so genuine in the compliment that you paused, pulling him inside, “You... you know this whole place isn’t mine, right? It’s an apartment building. My place is pretty not nice, actually. I mean, I like it, but it’s small and not very fancy, y’know?”

“Oh,” He looked a little embarrassed, and you could tell that he had thought the whole building belonged to you. He looked like someone who was used to money and big houses, or at least he looked like he would look like that if he didn’t currently look like he’d been attacked by some sort of weather monster and was now on the verge of passing out.

“Sit,” You said simply, gesturing to the couch, and you hurried to get a glass of water, handing it to him, “Drink.”

Bustling your way back to the kitchen, you looked back to see him staring at the cup, and you repeated, “Michael. Drink the water. Come on,” You turned to the plants on your windowsill, grabbing your kitchen shears, “Do you mind?”

“Do I mind drinking water?” Michael asked, confusion evident.

“Not you,” You turned to him with a smile, nodding, “You don’t have a choice there. Drink the water. I was talking to Tennyson.”

“Who’s Tennyson?”

He had finished the cup of water, and you took it and refilled it before gesturing to the aloe vera plant that you had just trimmed a stalk off of, returning the cup to him, “The plant. The full name is Aloe, Lord Tennyson.”

“You name your plants?” Clearing his throat, Michael took a sip of the new cup of water, “You... talk to your plants?”

Shrugging, you split the long leaf in half, scooping some of the gel inside onto your fingers, “Yes, and yes. Now this may hurt a bit, just a warning.”

You pressed against his forehead as gently as you could, where a large pinkish red sunburn rested, and Michael let out a hiss and suddenly you were flying across the room, hitting the wall. He didn’t hold you in place or choke you this time, at least, and in a moment he had leapt from the couch and hurried over to you, “I’m so sorry. It hurt and I wasn’t expecting it, I-”

“It’s okay,” You let Michael pull you to your feet, holding onto his hand ever more tightly as you looked at his ashen face and downtrodden expression, “I should’ve given you better warning. Listen, I’ll doctor you up later. Let’s get you in a bath, first, okay? You can bathe and I’ll make some food and then, after, we can take care of your sunburns and scrapes.”

“I keep hurting you,” Michael pulled his hand away, looking at it as though your touch had burned him, “And you keep being nice to me.”

“If you were doing it on purpose, I’d be less nice. But you’re not, I can tell. Now, follow,” You led the way to your small bathroom, starting to fill the tub with water.

Michael sat on the edge of the tub, watching you adjust the temperature and light the candles that lay at the corners and pour in some bubble bath. He stared as you moved, humming to yourself, and when you stood and started to step away, “I have some old clothes that I think will fit you. They’re not particularly fancy, like what you’re wearing now, but they’re clean. I’ll drop them off once I get some dinner started, okay?”

Nodding, Michael began to undo the buttons of his shirt, and you hurried out of the room.

He was still lost, even though he wasn’t in the woods anymore. And you were determined to help him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N?” Michael called, cracking the bathroom door open, “I’m dressed and everything.”

“Great! Hop up on the counter for me, okay? Just hang tight,” You grabbed the bowl of aloe gel that you had scraped from the plant and a box of band aids and hurried back to the bathroom.

He was perched next to your sink, and you tapped at his knees. Michael frowned but opened his legs so you could stand in between them, “Why am I on your counter, exactly?”

“Because it’s time for me to play doctor. I’m going to touch your face, okay?” You cupped his cheek in your hand and tugged him down, beginning to dab gel onto his sunburns and clean the long scratches that streaked across his features, “Are you comfortable? Do the sweatpants fit okay and everything?”

“They’re fine,” Michael mumbled, flinching when you pressed a band aid to one of the deeper cuts on his forehead, his hand curling into a fist. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting his other hand rest gently on your shoulder, “I appreciate you letting me borrow them. And letting me use your bathtub, and well, and everything else.”

You nodded, taking in a deep breath and finally moving your attention to notice that he was staring at you, smiling at him, “You used my shampoo.”

“Oh, yeah,” He turned pink, “Yeah, is that okay? It smelled like strawberries and it was right there so I just...”

“Of course! Not a problem at all. You smell nice,” You were looking straight at him now, and he continued to stare, and just when you’d tilted your head to the side, trying to discern what exactly Michael was thinking, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours.

The hand that had rested on your shoulder came up to stroke your face, and then as quickly as it had started, it was done, and he had pulled away from you, turning his head sheepishly to the side.

Clearing your throat nervously, you stepped back, “Do you like tomato soup?”

“Yes,” Michael hopped off the counter, following you to the kitchen, although he stayed about four steps behind you.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, looking at each other over bowls of soup and large dinner rolls.

Your lips still buzzed from the memory of him against you, but you tried to ignore that. Michael scarfed food down for a while, and you simply kept refilling his bowl until he finally started to slow down, and then you asked carefully, “So, Michael. What’s gotten you lost like this. Tell me where you came from. Tell me about your parents.”

“There isn’t much to tell about them,” Michael turned red, and he steadfastly refused to make eye contact with you, “My father abandoned me, and my mother tried to kill me. There’s only one person who’s ever really cared, who hasn’t abandoned me, and she’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry,” You said earnestly, letting your hand reach out just far enough to brush against his, “Humanity is unkind, often especially so to those who need kindness the most.”

Michael had a curious way of frowning, his confusion always quite evident. His eyes would widen and his brows would move, displaying everything he was feeling. It was cute, honestly.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” He said finally bluntly, having been staring at you in silence, “I shouldn’t have done that. You’re just...I mean... I was gonna try to just not mention it, but you’re so nice and I feel bad.”

“You should’ve asked first,” Drawing your hand away, you tried to make eye contact with him, but now he was avoiding your gaze, “For a lot of reasons. But I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not? I know I should’ve asked, I’m just... I’m not used to having to ask for things. I know that’s not a good excuse, but I don’t really know what to say. I’m just sorry,” Michael was frowning even deeper than before.

Shrugging, you reached back across the table, this time allowing your fingers to stroke along his jaw, “The fact that you’re sorry is enough. Just... don’t go around kissing strangers with no warning, okay?”

“Okay,” He smiled, leaning into your hand, a strange rumbling noise emanating from deep in his chest, almost like a purr.

Suddenly, you felt a bolt of desire shoot through you, seemingly out of nowhere, and you shifted a little in your seat, “Are you done eating?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thank you for the food. I can find somewhere to go, I’m sure,” Pulling away from you, Michael started to stand, and you rushed to stand too.

“What do you mean? Why would you go anywhere?” You grabbed his arm, trying to hold him in place even as he brushed you away.

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

A burden?

“If you were going to be a burden, I wouldn’t have brought you here at all. Spend the night,” Squeezing at his wrist gently, you moved to stand in front of him.

Michael looked utterly taken aback by this, “Really? Are you sure?”

You tugged him along behind you, to your bedroom, bringing him to sit on your bed and collapsing down next to him.

“I’m sure,” Turning towards him, you tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear and leaned forward, looking deeply into his eyes, “You’re the opposite of a burden, and I can prove it.”

Michael’s breathing hitched, and he moved closer to you, closing his eyes and letting out a slow breath, “I really wanna kiss you again.”

“You can,” You said simply, wanting to kiss him very badly, but having decided that he needed to be the one to initiate it.

“But you said-”

“I said you should ask first,” You placed a hand on his cheek, feeling something crackling in the air, his skin soft against your own.

“Y/N,” Michael leaned into you, and another rumble rolled from his chest, “May I please kiss you?”

“You can do a lot more than that. I want to show you that you’re not a burden. You deserve to feel good,” And then his mouth was on yours, and something deeper than electricity was running through you.

He kissed you like a teenager, not pulling you closer to him but pushing his upper body forward, and you let out a giggle in spite of yourself.

Pulling back suddenly, Michael frowned, running a hand through his hair, “Sorry. Did I... did I do something wrong?”

“No, don’t be sorry!” You rolled your shoulders back, wishing that you two were still touching, a wave of regret hitting you when you saw the wounded look in his eyes, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, Michael, I just... I feel a lot of things right now, y’know? But they’re all good things! I’m just, well, shit, I’m rambling. I’m going to stop talking now and, uh, and take off my shirt. Take your shirt off? Please?”

Michael’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak but closed it immediately when he saw you slip off your shirt, fumbling with the fabric of his own, letting out a shout as it got stuck over his head.

“Fuck!” The fabric had bunched around his face, his voice slightly muffled, “Dammit, fucking, Y/N, help me!”

Choking back a laugh, you climbed into his lap and assisted him in wrestling off the shirt, letting another giggle slip out at his look of relief once it was free, which instantly transformed into one of shock as he looked at you, and you could feel yourself starting to blush in spite of your best attempts not to, “Okay, you good?”

He let out a slow breath, eyes trained on securely on your breasts, covered in a lacy white bra, “I’m much more than good. I’m fantastic. Can I... I mean... can I kiss you again? Can I maybe touch you?”

“I want you to feel good, Michael. Yes,” You gave him a quick kiss on the tip of the nose, smiling at the way he scrunched it up in response.

Then Michael was kissing you again, and fuck it felt good, his skin ever so slightly prickling against you, and then he raised a tentative hand to your chest, swiping across your left nipple briefly.

You let out a moan that you hadn’t expected, and he froze for a moment, beginning to slowly swirl his thumb around the covered bud. Suddenly his lips were gone from yours and wrapped around your right nipple, flicking his tongue against it experimentally, and he pulled back with a grin as you let out another breathy moan.

You sounded like a fucking porn star, what the fuck?

“Wow, you’re sensitive,” Michael teased, bringing his other hand up to replace his mouth, “Can I take your bra off?”

“I’ll get it. And I’m not this sensitive, not normally,” You panted, grinding down against him without thinking about it, reaching behind your back to unclasp, and letting out a high pitched whine when his hands were finally on your bare skin, “I mean, not like this. This is... this is you, I think.”

You could already feel him hard underneath you, but at your words his erection became even more prominent, pressed firmly against your inner thigh.

The rumbling noise came from deep in Michael’s chest once again, and you decided that it was in fact a purr, or something damn close to one. He was beaming now, and there was something almost childlike about him when he looked so joyful, and there was an obvious note of pride in his voice, “Really? Me? Do you think I could make you cum doing this?”

He pinched lightly and you gasped, head rolling back, “Probably, but not right now, okay? I wanna-fuck-I wanna-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, couldn’t think of what was supposed to come next, and carefully you gripped Michael’s wrists, pulling his hands away from you and sliding off of his lap.

With a pout, Michael watched you move between his legs, an eyebrow raised, “Was it really that intense?”

“It was,” You glanced up at him from where you now lay, pressing a soft kiss to his cock through his sweatpants, your mind still strangely fogged, “It was... weird. Good weird, but weird. Are you secretly magical or something?”

He barked a short laugh just a little too quickly for it to sound natural, but you figured that was maybe because you were mouthing along the outline of his dick, his hips bucking up every so slightly, and he was perhaps a bit too distracted to act like your terrible joke was funny.

Just as you were sliding the sweatpants down his hips, Michael threaded his hands in your hair, tugging gently so that you’d look up at him, a blissful smile on his face as he watched you, “You’re so pretty, do you know that? You’re beautiful.”

His dick had sprung out of his pants then, bouncing up to his stomach, and you weren’t able to respond at first because fucking hell, it was the most perfect dick you’d ever seen. Thick, veiny, a nice shade of pink although the tip had turned an angry red, and fuck it was big, probably too big, but you weren’t planning to complain about that. Finally, you snapped yourself out of your daze, looking back up at him with a laugh, “You’re just saying that because I’m about to suck your cock.”

“No!” Michael looked shocked by the very thought, his hips bucking again, ever so slightly, at the feeling of your breath on his skin, “No, I’m serious. You’re so gorgeous, I-fuck-” You licked a line up the length of his cock, and he grabbed desperately at your shoulders, making you pause, “Dammit, I really want you to sit on my face.”

Your thighs clenched, and you looked up at him, shaking your head to clear your thoughts, “I, I mean, no. I told you, I want to make you feel good. Not-”

“But it will!” Michael tugged at you, bringing you up until he could press a fervent kiss to your lips, “I want to. So bad. Please, Y/N, please do it. Please let me. Please.”

Fucking hell, was he trying to kill you?

“But I... I wanted you to feel good. Don’t you want me to...” You trailed off, trying to think as Michael kissed your neck.

“I do, believe, me, I really do, but I also want this.”

“I’ve never done that before,” You admitted, feeling your face get hot with embarrassment, “Honestly, I’m afraid I’d end up accidentally smothering whoever I was with.”

“That wouldn’t happen,” Michael assured, kicking his sweatpants the rest of the way off, and you find yourself peeling your own leggings off even though you still weren’t sure of what you were doing, and he hooked his fingers into your panties, a smirk on his face, “And even if it did, I can guarantee you that there would be no better way to die.”

“Okay,” You let out a deep breath, letting out a contented hiss as he brushed his long fingers over your clit, “But I still want to give you a blowjob, okay?”

“You can. Just face that way,” Michael grinned, ripping your panties off with one sharp tug.

You were about to scold him, but then his fingers were pressing into your folds, and you gave a quiet gasp, “Michael, fuck.”

He laid down, hands tapping away at his stomach as he waited for you. Hesitantly, you crawled up the bed, turning so that you could look down the length of his body, and knelt over his face.

You bent down, lifting his cock up and running your fingers along the underside of it, kissing the tip, and you felt him let out a shaky breath beneath you.

“Fucking hell, you taste amazing,” Michael whispered, wrapping his hands around your thighs and pulling you down against him completely.

He made the purring noise once more, sucking fervently at your clit, and you let out a shriek at the feeling of it rumbling through you. Pulling your legs even further apart, he buried his tongue into your folds, and finally, you opened your mouth as wide as you could and sunk down over his cock until his tip brushed the back of your throat.

When he moved back to your clit, giving it careful kitten licks, you buried your finger nails into his thighs. At this, he groaned, thrusting up into your mouth, and you gagged.

This was... what? The third time today he’d accidentally choked you? You hadn’t been angry during any of the other times, but this was the time that probably bothered you the least.

“Sorry, babe, I’m sorry,” He rasped, and although you could hardly hear him, between the feeling of his words vibrating against you and the intense presence of Michael Langdon that filled the air around you, you knew exactly what he was saying.

Babe.

It was such a gentle word from him, the way it rolled off his tongue so naturally making butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

Well, that, and the fact that the feeling of Michael against you was extraordinary, and you were feeling the tight, delightful bubble that signaled your impending orgasm beginning to form.

You sucked harder.

It took only a few minutes of this, of you licking and sucking, running your teeth over the pulsing vein that streaked along the side, before you felt him flex his thigh muscles beneath your hands, his salty cum splashing into your mouth.

It was sweet alongside the salty, a strange mixture of the two, not unlike a chocolate covered pretzel, and you swallowed every drop you could before licking frantically along to make sure you didn’t miss anything.

“Fuck,” He growled, something authoritative, almost dangerous, flooding through the air.

Michael lifted you off of him as though you weighed nothing more than a ragdoll and tossed you down onto the mattress on your back, his lips suctioning around your clit once again, two fingers buried deep inside of you.

You held onto his shoulders as his fingers scissored inside you, squeezing your legs tight around his head unintentionally. You felt him chuckle into your folds at that, and he removed his fingers from you momentarily to pull your legs over his shoulders.

“Michael!” You mewled, your hips straining to jolt upward, and then he was moving faster, faster, adding a third finger that brushed a spot deeper inside you than anything else had ever reached. Your entire body clenched, and then suddenly you felt the waves of your climax wash over you.

When your head was fully back, Michael had straightened up, examining his fingers, which were coated in your juices.

“Fucking hell, Michael, I didn’t need to finish just then. You could’ve waited until you were fucking me for real,” You sat up on your forearms, laughing as you looked down at him.

“Sorry,” Frowning, Michael pulled away, “Was that too much?”

Why was he so goddamn sweet?

Moving to your knees, you pulled his face up to yours and kissed him, the taste of yourself that lingered on his tongue mixing with the salty remains of Michael on your own tongue, and you let out a low groan, pulling back to give him a smile, “No. It was wonderful.”

“Okay. Can we... I mean,” He turned red, looking away from you, “Would you possibly consider riding me? Or do you want to stop now?”

You rolled to the side, gesturing for Michael to move up the bed, and after a moment he did, sitting up against the headboard. Climbing into his lap in one swift movement, you let out a quiet moan at the feeling of him against your folds, his tip pressed against your interest. He swiped his hand between the two of you, gathering the fluids that had spilled from you and rubbing it onto his cock, lubing himself up with the remnants of your last orgasm.

“Do you mind going slow?” You asked meekly, burying your face against his chest as you rocked against him, “I’m sorry, just, you’re really big.”

“Of course,” He cooed, running his hands through your hair, and finally you began sliding down the length of his cock. Burying your teeth into his neck, you tried to concentrate on how good this would feel once you got used to the stretch, the burn, and he whispered in your ear, “You’re doing so good. You-shit-you take my cock wonderfully, do you know that? It’s okay, I know it hurts, but you’re doing great.”

When you had reached the end, and you were filled to the hilt, you gave a careful roll of your hips, testing the waters. You were feeling better now, running your tongue over the spot on his neck you had bitten, before beginning to suck another hickey into his soft skin. At this, Michael bucked into you, his cock hitting all the way up against your cervix, and you let out a shriek.

You almost laughed at yourself. You had thought his fingers were impressive, but they were nothing compared to the sheer, masterful feeling of Michael inside you, his hands splayed against the small of your back, holding you in place as you leaned into him, taking one of your nipples into his mouth once again.

“You feel so good, Michael,” You cried out, and Michael made that damn rumbling noise again, “Fuck, do you know that you purr? I love it.”

Although he continued to hold you, he seemed to be trying to hold back from fucking you too harshly, instead occasionally letting himself thrust into you, his eyes rolling back in his head at the way you moaned each time. He paused, looking up at you with a frown, “I don’t purr.”

You giggled, although it quickly turned into a whimper as he began sucking hickeys into your breasts, and you squeezed his shoulders tightly to concentrate, “You do. You make lots of pretty noises. It makes sense, too. You’ve got such a pretty mouth, such a pretty face, such a pretty cock. You’re so pretty, it’s infected everything you do. And-fucking hell, that feels good-you move so well. Fill me up so well.”

Michel lolled his head back against the headboard, the purring noise coming out again as you began to grind down harder. You kissed him quickly, watching as his eyes opened suddenly, drinking you in.

“You’re perfect, Y/N, do you know that? You bounce so well on my cock, and your tits are so fucking perfect,” He paused, clearing his throat, “Was that the right thing to say? I don’t want to be disrespectful. I respect you, too, and all that. You’re just, fuck, you’re so fucking gorgeous and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last.”

“It’s okay,” You reassured him, looking at his face to see that it was glistening, and it took you a moment to realize that there were tears running down his face. Kissing each one away, licking up the salty trail they had left, you resolved not to mention it or ask why, exactly, he was crying, “I’m not gonna last much longer either. I want you to cum for me, okay? Please, Michael.”

“Should I... should I pull out?” He panted, helping you roll your hips.

“You don’t have to,” Gasping, desperately, you buried your nails into his shoulders, trying to contain the climax that was beginning to boil through you, “Just, fuck, please finish soon, Michael. I’m going to-”

Nodding, Michael’s thrusting increased. Although he was still cautious, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, you could tell that he was close to his end, as well.

And he was, and he did, his cum flooding you once more just as you felt yourself boil over, heading hanging back. You couldn’t keep it up anymore, couldn’t concentrate on controlling your body and finishing, and you felt your breath catch in your throat, stars dancing through the air just in front of you.

Michael held your hips tightly as you came down from your high, and then you had buried your face against his chest once more, arms wrapped around his neck.

Christ, that took a lot out of you.

You leaned back to see that his eyes had drifted shut, and you leaned forward to press soft kisses against the lids.

When Michael blinked them back open, his mouth had curved into a sleepy smile, another purr rumbling up from his throat, “That was... wonderful.”

“I agree,” You smiled too, tilting your head to the side as he peppered gentle kisses along your throat, “Now, you’re tired. Do you want me to leave, so that you can get some sleep?”

Michael tensed, clutching at your hips desperately, “Please don’t leave. I mean, I do want to sleep. But please, stay.”

“Okay,” Mumbling softly, you leaned closer to his ear, “And by the way, I know a place you might wanna check out tomorrow.”

Looking curious at this, Michael brought his nose to your jaw, brushing along it softly, “Where?”

“Church of Satan. It’s a few blocks away.”

“What?” This snapped him to attention, and he stared at you as though you’d grown a second head, “You’re... are you a Satanist?”

“No. Not a fan of organized religions. I believe in nature, and kindness. In caring for the ones around you who need it. But,” You folded his ear forward, kissing the three small scars behind it as delicately as you could, “I think that it would be beneficial for you to go.”

“How did you know?” He shifted back so that he could sit more upright against the headboard, and you felt your sore walls pulse around his cock, still buried deep inside you, as you moved.

You shrugged, “Lucky guess. Now, that’s all. No more talk. You need some sleep.”

Michael looked like he was about to argue with you, but then you pressed your head into his chest once more, and he rested his chin contentedly on top of your shoulder.

You were almost asleep when he finally spoke up, hands rubbing gently along your spine, his voice hoarse, “Y/N? I just... I wanted to say thank you. I don’t normally say that, but you’re, well, I haven’t been treated with this much kindness, this much care, in a long time. Don’t say anything, I don’t want you to say anything, I just needed to tell you. Thank you.”

And within moments his breathing had shifted, and he snored quietly, softly, and the snores sounded an awful lot like purrs, and the two of you were as close to each other as was physically possible, his dick softened inside you and his arms wrapped around you, and then you were asleep too, the two of you floating to a dream land that you couldn’t quite name.

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thepointoftheneedle · 4 years ago

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Happy New Year!

I wrote a little New Year’s Eve one shot. It’s below the cut or you can read it on AO3 here. (I’ve started a collection of short pieces just to keep things tidy.) I hope you are all able to celebrate safely and I wish you a healthy and happy 2021.

It was obvious that the party was going off the rails as soon as Archie started lining up shots along the whole length of the marble counter top. He called Reggie out and Reggie never backed down from a challenge to his machismo so they both worked their way along the little bullets of stupid until, breathless and belly laughing, they slid to the floor, their eyes swivelling in their dumb skulls like cartoon coyotes that had just been smashed over the head with an Acme anvil. It was nine fifteen. Betty had wondered if Veronica would be mad about it but she seemed in the mood for some chaos as she set up two more lines of glasses opposite each other on the counter and challenged Cheryl who had never met an unnecessary drama she didn’t like.

Betty had drunk a very pleasant glass of good champagne and had been contemplating having a couple more before midnight. She’d never been a big drinker so for her that was cutting loose. It had been, to put it crudely, a shit-show of a year and she was glad to see the back of it. At the last New Year’s party she had been showing off a dazzling engagement ring, about to start the job that she had been expensively and laboriously trained for and she and her intended had signed the lease on a cute and well appointed apartment in Sunset Park which everyone said was the up and coming neighbourhood. The world had been unfolding for her like a flower. Then the frost had come and scorched the petals with its chill. This year she was single, her job sometimes felt like it was eating her up and that cute apartment burned through every cent of her pay check now she had to make the rent alone. It was possible that she was the saddest girl in a cocktail dress on the whole island of Manhattan, she was certainly the soberest person at the party.

An hour later the shots were completely out of hand and Betty had only just prevented Ethel from throwing up into the piano. Moose made some half hearted effort to restore order, offering glasses of water, trying to start a game of Charades, but Kevin was in too mischievous a mood for his efforts to bear any fruit and instead they were embarking on Drunk Jenga, the rules of which seemed to be that you took a shot whenever you removed a block and then another when you placed it on top of the stack. She imagined you took a shot if the tower fell but she didn’t stick around to find out. She sidled over to where the Pol Roger was stacked, neglected, in its very own champagne refrigerator and helped herself while everyone else was supporting the economy of Mexico by the prodigious consumption of Patron Silver.

She took her recharged glass to the window and looked out at the snowy expanse of Central Park far below. It looked like the idealised interior of a snow globe, the air glassy and still and a huge yellow moon surveying its domain. Betty remembered walking through the park with Trev last Christmas, bundled in a thick coat and scarf. They’d held hands inside one of his mittens. They’d made snow angels. They’d skated at the Wollman Rink and drunk hot chocolate afterwards. Her life had been a cover image from a romance novel. This year she had spent Christmas being patronised by Polly’s constant offers of introductions to a succession of Jason’s frat brothers and golfing buddies. Eventually she’d pointed out that if she’d wanted some obstructionist, bigoted blowhard she could have found one herself, without Polly’s oh so sympathetic intervention. Polly cried and Betty apologised but she still wasn’t going to go on a date with a junior vice president of acquisitions even if he did have a weekend place in Connecticut. She wouldn’t tolerate being paraded in front of prospective suitors like a prize dairy cow at the county show, not by Veronica and certainly not by her sister.

As she reminisced she became aware of Archie and Veronica deep in conversation in the corner of the room. “We have a teeny emergenshy,” Veronica said, her hand on Archie’s forearm. Veronica was never less than perfectly composed but that slur at the end of her word and the ramped up sincerity gave her away to her best friend. She was sozzled. “Only two bottles of Patron left and then the cupboard is bare. I may have over-ordered on the fizz and neglected the tequila.”

Archie nodded, taking the situation as seriously as his wife. Then some kind of light dawned on his handsome face. “We’ll get the magic doorman to get us some. He’ll be on duty now. I’ll go slip him a fifty and he’ll take care of it.” He turned to reach for his wallet and promptly fell on his face. It was ten to eleven and all was decidedly not well.

Betty went over to help Archie off the rug. He grinned even though his nose was bloody. “Ronnie, Betty’s all sober and sensible. She can go talk to the wizard. Here Betty, here’s fifty for a tip and Ronnie’ll give you her credit card for the booze. Okay? Shit I’m bleeding… still it’s not a party til something gets broke.”

V was looking at her imploringly now. Somewhere there was the sound of glass smashing and Monroe’s attempt to do chin ups on the kitchen doorframe seemed to be bringing plaster down on the floor. Betty would rather be almost anywhere than right here so she nodded at her friend. "What do you need V?”

V explained that the building’s night doorman was a kind of fixer. When Tom in 204 had forgotten his wife’s birthday Jones had got him a gluten free chiffon cake iced with her name at two thirty on a Thursday morning along with a bouquet of out of season narcissuses....narcissi? When the little boy in 116 had told his mama at midnight that he needed a George Washington costume for school the next day the night doorman had sourced it, complete with powdered wig, before the little tyke had finished his cheerios. When V had realised an hour before her 5.15 a.m. flight to Miami that she had completely forgotten her niece’s confirmation gift he had sourced a personalised Catholic Bible bound in white leather which he handed to her as she got into her cab. “He’s a miracle worker B. Just tell him we need a case…no two cases of Patron Silver before midnight. Give him the fifty but tell him I’ll make it a hundred if he can fix it by eleven thirty. OK?”

“Sure. On my way.”

She travelled down in the elevator imagining the doorman. He’d be some old guy in a uniform with gold braid on the chest. He probably knew all the residents and their dogs by name and had one of those old timey extended families so that he could reach out to Cousin Ike for last minute birthday cakes or get his nephew’s wife to sew a costume at no notice. She needed a fixer herself since her life seemed so broken. She wondered what he could do for a lonely woman who was trying to work out if getting a cat was too much of an admission that she had given up.

As she stepped out into the lobby she was slightly taken aback by the mismatch between her expectations and reality. He was behind the reception desk, dark head bowed over a laptop, no braid in evidence, no grey whiskers or paunch, just this dark, poetic looking guy in a black sweater. She approached the desk and he looked up at her, fingers still flying over the keys without him needing to glance down. He seemed to reach a natural pause, closed the lid of the laptop and smiled politely. “Yes ma’am, how can I help?” His eyes were blue. They seemed to look through her probably thinking she was just another rich girl bringing him problems. He must get that a lot.

“Yeah, hi, I’m a guest of Mr and Mrs Lodge Andrews up in the penthouse. They’re having a little New Year's Eve party and they’re running low on liquor. They wondered if you could source them a couple of cases of…”

“Patron Silver? Yes ma’am, of course. Who should I charge it to?” She had no idea how he could have known what she was going to ask for. It made her want to say that they wanted Stolichnaya or absinthe or something, just to surprise him but she’d been sent for Patron and Patron she would get.

“Oh, yes, I have a credit card.” She handed it over, “and Mr Andrews said to give you this for the trouble.” She passed him the fifty, embarrassed.

“No incentive to get it here before the coaches turn into pumpkins?” he asked, eyebrow raised. She thought he was making fun of her but she couldn’t be sure.

“Oh yes, that’s right. Veronica said another $50 if it’s here by eleven thirty.”

“Okay ma’am. I’ll buzz up when it’s here. If that’s all.”

“Oh please don’t call me ma’am. I’m Betty.”

“I’m Jones... Jughead. Nickname. Long dull story.” He raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering why she was still standing in front of his desk.

“Look, it’s a little crazy up there. Would it be okay if I just stay down here for a minute? Just say if it’s inconvenient. I don’t want to disturb you if you’re busy.” She didn’t think she could bear to be the responsible adult at Veronica’s party for a moment longer. Here it was quiet and no one needed her to hold back their hair while they were getting sick.

“Busy getting hold of twelve bottles of good tequila on New Year's Eve but that’s all. I just need to make a call. Excuse me.” He stood and walked away from the desk, his back turned to her. It was a good back. He was wearing the black sweater over grey slacks with a key chain hanging from one of his belt loops. He had broad shoulders but his neck was fine, not thick and meaty like the guys who needed to lift weights to manufacture some self esteem. He was slim at the waist and the hips, long legs, tall. The hair was the USP though, dark waves of it tumbling freely as he dragged long fingers through it, waiting for someone to pick up his call. Finally he yelled “Hey Toni. Yeah, two cases of Patron Silver asap. Yeah, I’d noticed that but mark it up. Can Sweetpea drop it over? Yeah right now. Hey, ask him to get me a burger on the way too.” He turned and looked at Betty with a questioning look and she shrugged and nodded, “Two, make it two. Ok, thanks Toni. Yeah you too. See you Sunday.”

He ended the call and made his way back to the desk. “My pal Toni runs a bar,” he explained with a grin.

“Veronica says you’re magic, a wizard,” she told him.

“Nothing occult about it. I’m just observant, that’s all.”

“Seems magical to produce a George Washington costume overnight,” she countered.

“Oh well, that was a lucky break. My sister’s a textile artist. A struggling one. I gave her the brief and she knocked up the costume in a few hours. Now all the upper east side mommies have her business card and she can afford to buy materials and pay her rent. She had to pull an all nighter but it paid off pretty big in the end.”

“Birthday cake? Out of season flowers?”

“The husband’s kind of a dick. He forgot last year too. They had a fight about it in this very lobby so I wrote down the date and got ready to save his bacon. If he’d remembered the date I’d have had cake for my breakfast and sent my sister a bunch of flowers. As it was I made a couple hundred bucks.”

Betty was laughing now at the smug look on his face. “So you could have reminded him beforehand?”

“Could have, but maybe the expense’ll help him remember next time. Anyway if the doorman knows more about your wife than you do it might be time to review your priorities.”

“Ok but what about the Bible? That seems pretty miraculous.”

“Actually it’s kind of the opposite. The kid’s confirmation name is Maria. Hardly original. My buddy Joaquin’s little sister was confirmed a few months ago. Her confirmation name’s Maria. She hadn’t made a whole lot of use of the Bible. Your pal paid me three hundred, Joaquin’s kid sister got two hundred in her college fund.”

“Seems like the side hustles are more remunerative than the pay check,” Betty observed.

“It’s all a side hustle. I’m a writer. This job’s kept me supplied with characters and plot lines and given me eight hours of mostly uninterrupted writing time.”

Betty flushed pink and jumped up from the corner of the desk where she had been leaning. “Oh I’m so sorry. Here I am wasting your time. I’ll be on my way.”

“No, wait,” he reached out and put his hand on her arm. It tingled. “I didn’t mean it like that. This is research. Maybe I’ll put you in my next book. The sad girl in a party frock who’d rather be in the lobby than with her friends at a party being kissed for New Year.”

“There’s no-one to kiss up there,” she confessed with a sad smile and then, without having any idea why, she said “I broke up with my fiancé last February.”

“Aha,” he said. “There’s the plot. Tell me.”

“He’s great. A really good guy. Kind, loyal, handsome. Everything I should have wanted. Any girl would be lucky to have him. I think I broke his heart.”

“Why?”

“We started to plan the wedding and I wanted to run away. I couldn’t bear to think about it. Then one day I found myself imagining what I’d do if something bad happened that prevented it, like if he got sick or if I was in a car accident or something. It was pretty clear that I couldn’t go through with it if I preferred the idea of one of us being in a coma to the idea of my wedding day.”

“Cold feet?”

“Oh freezing but it wasn’t just nerves. When I imagined being married to him I couldn’t see myself, I was just a blank. It was… I don’t know how to say it…like I was finished. I’d never be anything more than I was, never change or grow or struggle. It was all too easy. No grit in the oyster. I know it’s crazy.”

“You didn’t say it was you not him did you? You didn’t do that to him?” He was smiling at her, sympathising not mocking.

She blushed. “I did. All the clichés. How could I explain? I don’t even understand it myself.”

“I understand it. You want to find out who you can be and he couldn’t give you that. He was happy with who you were, didn’t want you to change. He was probably scared of losing you. Anyone would be.” He looked at her with an intensity that made her nervous so she tried to change the subject.

“A writer then? What do you write?”

“Mostly mystery stories. Magazines and online so far but I’ve just got a publisher for the novel. I’m going to quit this next year. What do you do?”

“I’m a psychologist. I work with kids who are in trouble. Try to get them back on track. I love it but it’s hard sometimes. I hear things that it’s tough to leave at the office.”

“You need to take care of you first. You can’t save someone if you aren’t safe yourself. ”

“Writer or life coach?” she smiled.

He chuckled. “Sorry. I’m not good at small talk. I get too intense too fast and freak people out. Oh hey, cometh the man, cometh the tequila.”

A tall guy in a leather jacket was pulling boxes out of the back of a truck that he’d illegally bumped up the curb outside.. He looked a little scary. Once he was in the lobby she saw that he had a snake tattooed on his neck. He fist bumped Jughead and then pulled him into a side hug. “Hey man. Happy new year and all that. Hey,” he said, noticing Betty for the first time.

“Hey. Thanks so much for bringing it over. There’s a whole apartment full of drunk idiots upstairs just waiting to make themselves sick on it. Oh!” He turned back to Betty, aghast at what he’d said. “Sorry Betty.”

“You’ll not get an argument from me. That’s why I’m down here talking to you.”

Neck tattoo laughed and held out his hand “Sweetpea. Pleasure doing business with you.” He turned back to Jughead, “So I have to get back, I’m supposed to be on the door at the Wyrm. See you Sunday?”

“Burgers?” Jug reminded him and his friend nodded, trotting back to the truck to grab a take out bag and toss it back to Jughead who snatched it from the air like a dolphin snatching a fish at Seaworld.

Betty buzzed up to the penthouse to get one of the assembled jocks to come and collect two cases of tequila and bring down a bottle of Pol Roger and the promised fifty dollars. It was eleven twenty four. Ten minutes later she was sitting on the reception desk eating a burger, washing it down with $200 champagne. “This is the best New Year's Eve I’ve ever had,” she grinned, a little disinhibited by the bubbles.

“Weren’t you engaged last year?”

“This is much better. I was pretending last year. Now I’m just being me.”

“I always find that works better. The not pretending bit. Especially not with someone you can love.”

She certainly wasn’t pretending at eleven fifty nine when she reached out to him and he took her in his arms and kissed her softly as cheers and yells rang out from the parties all over the city and fireworks exploded high above the park, casting confetti of coloured lights across the marble lobby.

As the kiss ended she looked up into his blue eyes, wondering if it was the champagne that was making her blurry and relaxed or if it was him. She thought she’d have to keep on kissing him to know for sure. He really was a fixer though. Her heart felt lighter, hopeful.

He grinned. “Spectacular as that was, this is probably the most surveilled lobby in the city. Can we schedule the repeat for when I’m not actually on the clock?” He gestured at the security cameras covering every inch of the space and she blushed to think that somewhere there was taped evidence of her trying to seduce the sexy doorman.

“Can I stay here and talk to you some more if I promise not to touch?”

“I wish you would. I get off at six and I know a great diner for breakfast. We can tell people our first date was breakfast. They’ll be scandalised.” She couldn’t hold back at the mention of the first date, of them telling people about it, so she kissed him on the cheek before retreating back to the edge of the desk with her hands up.

They talked about her work, his writing, they compiled an ultimate New Year's Eve playlist and top tens of movies and books. She found herself distracted by the fullness of his lips, the expressiveness of his face, the heaviness of the locks of hair that fell forward over his eyes only to be pushed back impatiently. They agreed on almost nothing and that was exactly how she liked it. When she crept up to the penthouse at five thirty to collect her coat and change her party shoes for snow boots, she was met with a scene of devastation. Prostrate bodies sprawled on every flat surface. The two cases of tequila sat unopened in the kitchen, clearly surplus to requirements by the time they had been manifested. She picked her way through the carnage and found the coat closet where Archie had put her things when she’d arrived the night before. Opening the door she noticed the cases of liquor stacked inside, three unopened boxes of Patron among them. She realised that Jug wasn’t the only fixer in the building. She made sure to lean over her sleeping friend to place a kiss on her forehead before she let herself out, locking the door behind her.

#bughead fanfiction #bughead fan fic #New Years

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rosy-cheekx · 4 years ago

Note

“It’s cute that you tried to protect me and all, but you’re like a foot shorter than me, you know?” with jon and anyone??

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28062798

Sooo, here’s the thing. Along the way it became “It’s cute that you tried to attack me and all, but you’re like a foot shorter than me, you know?” The premise is the same but things sorta got out of hand. Either way...Happy Birthday Rye!! This is for you 💕😊

Tim was exhausted. He’d been up late the night before pouring through books on historic architecture, trying to find anything referencing Robert Smirke and his…unique building practices. While he wasn’t usually the one to take work home with him, this statement Jon had recorded, one about Leitner and Gerard Keay and the tunnels underneath the Pall Mall struck a chord with him. It felt just wrong enough to be related to Smirke. So he had been up at all hours, researching Smirke and any associations he may have had with Pall Mall. He had been successful, at the end of it, but had fallen asleep near five and gotten barely four hours of sleep before he was dragged to wretched consciousness again by the sun streaming through his window.

Normally, Tim would grab a coffee on the way to work, but honestly he was nearing a little too close to hand-to-mouth living as it was, especially with their paychecks not being due til next Friday. There was a coffee maker in the Archives breakroom, sputtering as it was. Coffee was coffee and coffee was what Tim needed. It was half eight, a little earlier than most of his crisp, just-late-enough-to-piss-Elias-off-but-not-enough-to-get-called-out-for-it 10:15 arrivals, but it didn’t matter. If he was lucky, no one else would be there.

Jon was in the Archives. When wasn’t Jon in the Archives? They were his Archives after all.

Jon blinked and peeled his cheek from the cool metal of his desk, wincing at the ghostly impression left from the heat and oils of his skin. His neck and spine protested in clicks and pops as he straightened himself up, wincing at the angle he had allowed himself to sleep in for so long. It was just after nine, according to the ever-ticking clock above the door to his office, the only door, the door he left propped open unless he was certain he was the only one there. (No one needed to come knocking for him.) He wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep but it had definitely been past midnight, after even Elias had left his office and the hum of The Institute faded to a strangely comfortable silence, nothing but Jon and his files and statements. Just one more statement, he had thought to himself, wearily regarding the ever-growing stack of “To-Do” files in the box on his desk. One more and then I can go home and rest. One more now is one less Elias can ask after, the acknowledgement of Jon’s failure in his voice. Jon wasn’t sure if he had turned the tape recorder off or if he had just run out of tape-did they even run out of tape? They never seemed to. On investigation, the faint snuffling sounds he heard when he played the tape back proved he had forgotten to tur-

Wait. What was that?

Jon frowned and rewound the tape a few minutes, listening intently. There was the unmistakable sound of footsteps, faint but definitely there. Was someone in his archives? Jon pursed his lips and glanced again at the clock. Just after nine, even Sasha wouldn’t be here yet, the punctuality of her 9:25 arrival something you could set a clock to.

Jon glanced around, not really sure what it was he was looking for. Something to defend himself, maybe? He wasn’t sure when he’d decided to identify the source of the sound, but something in his gut had shifted. He settled on grabbing a crutch resting in the corner of his office, abandoned from his recovery after the Prentiss attack.

Armed, Jonathan Sims crept to the door of his office. The automatic lights in the hallway flickered on as he slowly peered down both sides of the hallway, curly hair a mess and swinging unhelpfully by his cheeks. No one. The hallway was empty, no shadows to be seen sweeping menacingly around the corner.

God. He was probably being stupid. It was probably the statements getting to him. But still, something urged the back of his mind. He couldn’t shake the notion he wasn’t alone in the cold, lonely basement.

Cautiously, Jon crept down the hall, holding the crutch first by the handle, then clumsily turning it over to hold it by the base towards the ground. He didn’t make a habit of watching American baseball, but he imagined he looked rather like the players at bat, the rest of the crutch resting on his shoulder, elbows cocked uncertainly.

“Sasha? Martin? Tim?” His voice was somewhere between a croak and a shout, halfway between cowardice and curiosity. No answer, not that he really expected one.

Jon listened intently as he reached the bullpen of the archives, where Tim, Sasha, and Martin’s desks were arranged. It took him a moment to register what was bothering him about the room before he realized it with a start: the lights were on. These were also automatic; Jon knew this from the number of times Tim, Sash, and Martin had burst into laughter and cacophonies of “no!” and “guess we’re done!” whenever they sat still too long, engrossed in their work. Jon had privately wondered if it had been set up to keep them from being productive.

But the lights were on. That meant someone had been through here. And recently. Jon was paralyzed for a moment, wondering what he should do. Call 999? Or Elias? If it was supern—strange, police wouldn’t be able to do much anyways. Furthermore, if he was imagining things, he would never here the end of it from Elias. What if he asked him to step down from the position? No, Jon could handle this. Of course he could. Whatever it was, he needed to see what was happening and could make a decision from there.

He heard a shuffle from the break room, a scuff of shoe on the worn lino. A thief who just decided to stop for a cuppa and sandwich? Well, the breakroom was next to the records room…what if it was a thing here to steal a statement? A thing like Jane Prentiss, or-or a vampire, or, god forbid, Michael?

Jon felt woozy with fear and nervous energy as he crept forward blindly, twisting the crutch in his hands as he approached the open doorway to the breakroom, the light to which was off. This bulb wasn’t auto, unfortunately. As Jon stood in the doorway, he let his eyes adjust the darkness of the small room, blinking nervously and sweeping the room with his eyes desperately, looking for a clue.

There.

A darker blackness in the black, making up a vaguely humanoid shape, standing motionless by the cupboards. Jon tried to speak, to address it, but his voice was barely a whisper, caught in his throat.

“W-Who are you?” No answer. Jon could’ve sworn it shifted towards him, the thing that looked like a head bobbing slightly.

It would take maybe six steps to get there. The light switch was by the fridge, at the other end of the room. Was it worth it? Jon could probably run and flip the switch but the creature would definitely know he was there. Maybe it was better to just run.

Jon was suddenly struck with a terrifying thought as the creature seemed to shift again, shuddering to itself. What if it was Jane Prentiss, lying in wait for Martin any one of them to come back?

He had to attack. Jon steeled himself, tightening his grip on the crutch.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Gahhhhhhhh!” Jon ran forward, swinging his makeshift weapon towards the creature. He watched the shape in the darkness shifted and seemed to compress and duck out of the way of his swinging, in slow motion but all at once. His crutch struck the countertop, and Jon vaguely registered a shattering as something hit the ground

“Jon!”

“…T-Tim?”

The shadow in the darkness shrunk and Jon blinked at the sudden brightness as the light came on, finally recognizing the creature as Tim, eyes wide as he surveyed his boss in front of him, hair mussed from sleep and wielding a crutch like a cricket bat.

“Jon, what the hell?” Tim’s voice was somewhere at the intersection of confusion, anger, and dazed humor, hard to pin down. “What are you doing here?”

“Me? What are you—It’s nine in the morning! How did you get in?” Jon felt all the adrenaline leave his body at once, and he dropped the crutch to the Formica counter he seemed to have chipped, shoulders sagging.

“I-coffee!” Tim gestured to the shattered ruins of a Derwent Water mug, an orange kayak in two distinct pieces as a coffee spread across the tiles slowly. Jon’s face must have shown the incredulity he was feeling, because Tim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I couldn’t sleep, figured I’d be more use here. Didn’t feel like making a Costa run. That’s second to the real question, though, which would be: Why are you trying to kill me?”

Jon scrubbed his hands over his face; of course it was just Tim. He had been so terrified and it was just Timothy fucking Stoker. “I-I’m sorry, Tim. I heard something on my tape, and I thought there was someone in here…a-and there was. But I mean, someone who wasn’t supposed to be here. I-I did call out, b-but no one answered.” Jon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought maybe you were a vampire. Or Michael. Or Jane Prentiss,” he admitted after a moment, voice quieter.

Two beats of silence, three, before Tim’s raucous, barking laughter finally broke the silence.

“Were you going to kill a vampire with a walking crutch?” Tim managed between chuckles, doubling over. “Just-” he makes a sweeping motion with closed fists over each other, “with a bat, like-like a piñata?” He was taken over by giggles again and Jon was left staring blankly, trying valiantly to figure out what was so funny.

“I-I dunno, maybe? I didn’t want to just do nothing.”

“I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t be laughing, it’s-” Tim straightens and gestures at Jon, composing himself. “It’s cute that you tried to attack me and all, but you’re like a foot shorter than me, you know? You’re not exactly physically menacing.”

Jon stared. “I wasn’t trying to be menacing, I was trying-shit.” He felt warm liquid seeping into his socks-how did he just realize he wasn’t wearing shoes- and stumbled back, grabbing for the paper towels on the table. “I was trying to save my own ass. And I’m not that short.” Another snort from Tim, acknowledging and rejecting his argument. “Sorry about your mug,” Jon continued, dropping to a squat to sweep up the milky coffee and ceramic in a bundle of sopping paper.

“Meh, worth it,” Tim shrugged, dropping next to him and spooling towel into his own hands. “Yep,” popped the p. “The image of you baring your teeth at me like a wild dog is totally worth it. Besides, now I have an excuse to ask Sash to buy me a coffee from the posh place near her flat.”

“Oh, no, please. I should buy you something from the Costa down the street. I-! need to get some anyways.” Jon glanced over his shoulder at the doorway to the now unlit bullpen, trying to pretend he didn’t obviously look like he slept here.

“Yeah, no, you look like shit. No offense,” Tim added absentmindedly, pretending not to acknowledge the fact that Jon did not, in fact, drink coffee. “Did you sleep here again?”

Silence as Jon gathered the coffee-soaked towels in his hands and rose, tossing them in the bin by the door.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I wasn’t trying to. I just nodded off. I was recording statements and lost track of time.”

“Ohh, so you heard me come in?”

“Kind of. Heard it on the tape—”

“Hello?” Martin’s voice called out as the bullpen lights flicked on. “Oh, hey Tim, Jon! You two alright?”

“Heya, Marto. Jon and I were just about to hit up the café. Want something?”

Tim got a caramel latte. Jon got a chai. Martin and Sasha got muffins, a very good story, and a lightly blushing (and smiling, though he would deny it) Archivist.

Tim was grateful to Jon for never asking why he had stood so long, in silence and dark, staring at his cup of coffee as if it wasn’t even there. He never asked why his shoulders had been heaving and why his eyes were as baggy as they had been. Jon did offer more often, though, to get coffee with him, in the odd mornings that they were both there absurdly early and battling their own demons. Tim always said yes.

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #magpod fanfic #tim stoker #jonathan sims #the archivist #kinda jontim #but also platonic #however youd like #fanfic

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

Note

c u d d l e s

Jake wakes to bare feet padding nearly-soundlessly into his room, blinking, his mind working sluggishly to understand the shift in air pressure as the door opens. A sudden hint of chill air. Wind whistles outside, and it’s pitch black, has to be midnight, or later.

“J-Jake?” The voice trembles. A rescue, but shit, his eyes are barely open. Jake yawns widely, pushing himself up on his elbows, squinting up.

“Chris? ‘s that you?”

A flash of light, barely visible through the curtain, and out of very old habit, Jake counts. 1... 2... 3... 4… 5-

Thunder rumbles, rolling from one side of the sky to the other, rattling the windows in their ancient frames. The bare feet move quickly closer and Chris drops down next to the bed, worrying his hands over each other, staring with wide, nervous eyes into Jake’s.

“Jake, hey,” Chris whispers, reaching a tentative hand out, brushing a bit of hair from over Jake’s eyes. “Hey, hey Jake-”

“Yeah, Chris,” Jake says, trying to keep a groan from his voice. It’d just be from being tired, but the young Box Boy wouldn’t know that. He’d think it was annoyance, and apologize, and Jake is too tired to play the talk-down-from-apologies-game. “I’m here. Is something up?”

“It’s, um. It’s storming, Jake.”

As if on cue, another flash of lightning. The thunder takes a full nine seconds this time, but sounds louder. Chris flinches back, pressing himself against the side of Jake’s bed.

“Yeah, I can tell.” Jake yawns again, then stretches, blinking a few more times. Chris is curled into a tiny ball on the floor, wearing one of Jake’s college sweatshirts and basketball shorts, his fingers digging into the sheets and old, kind of grody mattress underneath.

“Jake, can, it’s, um-... can I please-... Jake-” Chris’s voice shook, and Jake’s mind was moving slow - shit, he’d only gone to bed like three hours ago after he and Nat stayed up making inventory lists for buying new paper towels and other supplies. “Jake, my-… um, my Sir-”

Jake winced, suddenly far more awake than he wanted to be.

“-he... my Sir used to l-lock me outside during storms if I was, was bad, can I can I can I-... can I, can I stay in h-here with you? I don’t, I don’t want to-... please please please-”

Oh. Oh.

Jake pushes himself up to sitting quickly, wondering how it’s taken him so long to wake up enough to understand what Chris wants so badly to ask. “Hey, yeah, sure, Chris. Gimmee a sec.”

Jake makes room for Chris - the bed isn’t really big enough, but that doesn’t matter all that much with someone as small as the diminutive rescue. Chris’s reddish-blond hair looks coppery in the darkness, and his eyes are owlish as he climbs up into the bed. He moves limbs-first, like a spider, clinging to the bed as though he might fall off the earth if he wasn’t holding on.

“I need to, to put a shirt on, Chris-”

Another flash of lighting - this time the thunder hits immediately, and the windows rattle heavily in their frames.

Chris lets out a little squeak of fear and buries himself against Jake, tucking his head under Jake’s chin and throwing his arms around him. “Don’t care, don’t leave, please, please...”

“Ssssshhhh, it’s okay. I got you.”

My Sir used to lock me outside during storms.

Jake closes his eyes against the rage, and bundles Chris even closer, pulling him down into the bed to lay against him, holding Chris as tightly as he can. “I’ve got you,” He murmurs. “You can stay here all night, Chris. Right here with me.”

Chris nods against Jake’s throat and they have to shift around a little - it’s not a big bed, and getting remotely comfortable with two people in it isn’t easy - but eventually they mostly settle with Chris against the wall and Jake the barrier between him and the storm.

He keeps Chris’s head under his chin, eyes closed, half-dozing as the boy jerks and flinches with every lightning strike, each roll of thunder. After a while, Jake murmurs, “Anyone ever show you how to count th’ distance in a storm?”

“The, the what? Um, n-no, no no they didn’t,” Chris whispers back. His breath tickles against Jake’s neck.

“When you see lightning, count like this, slow and steady. One... two... three. Count ‘til you hear the thunder. My dad used to say it would tell you when the storm was, was going away.”

Only good thing I ever learned from that crock of shit, Jake thinks, but doesn’t say.

“Might... help you feel safe.” And help Jake get back to sleep before his alarm goes off in entirely too little time, so he can get up and start on breakfast for the rescues before he goes to class.

“Um, okay. Can you, can you try it with me? I’m, I was, I-” Another flash of lightning and Chris trembles, wriggling himself as close against Jake as he can. The movement isn’t entirely unpleasant, and Jake closes his eyes, counting as much for himself as for Chris.

“Got you, buddy. One... two... three... four... five... six... seven-”

The thunder, slow and steady. Nothing rattles.

“See? My dad would say it’s farther away this time.”

Chris nods - Jake can feel the motion of his hair brushing against Jake’s jaw. “I, I, okay. I can do that. I can. I’m, I’m sorry I woke you up, Jake...”

“It’s okay,” Jake says gently, rubbing a circle through the sweatshirt along Chris’s back, feeling the boy melt gratefully into the gentle touch. “That’s why we’re here, is to help you heal up. This is a thing you need help healing from. I got you, Chris. Just chill with me tonight, and see if we can’t get back to sleep.”

They count with the next flash, and the next. With each round of counting, Chris shakes a little less, doesn’t flinch, goes calm and boneless in Jake’s arms. by the seventh, Jake starts to count and Chris doesn’t join in at all.

He realizes, after a moment, that Chris’s breathing is even and deep.

He’s fallen asleep in Jake’s arms.

Jake sighs, laying mostly on his back and staring at the ceiling. He watched his ceiling fan lazily circle as he rubs matching circles in Chris’s back. He can still feel the long, thin fingers pressing into his ribs as he finally falls back asleep to the sound of distant thunder.

#whump #fluff #box boy #box boy universe #jake the shelter guy #cuddles #I was told there would be fluff #angst #conditioning #trauma recovery whump #poor chris #buddy your story gets worse every time I get the slightest tidbit out of you

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captainsuke · 4 years ago

Link

Yusuf should be asleep, he should be wrapped around his husband's body, taking strength from the warmth he's never quite felt anywhere else.

Instead he's in the kitchen, the cool metal grip on his pistol warmed by his hand wrapped white knuckled around it.

He'd heard a noise.

He'd dreamed he'd heard a noise.

It doesn't matter. It's late and the little cottage they are currently calling home is empty, except for his sleeping husband, and Joe, standing vigil in the dark.

(rest of fic under the cut for all you ao3 haters)

There's a small gap between window and wall, and the wind flows through it with a whispering wail. Once all houses creaked and swayed and whistled with the wind, little leaks with pots that were emptied in the morning, a row of fine dust along the window sills and under the doors gifted from a night of wild wind. Now these things are considered nuisances, problems to be torn down and rebuilt new and unremarkable. His heart feels heavy tonight, the feeling of long years catching up on him and curling it's fingers around his soul.

Joe looks out the window of his and Nicky's little Maltese cottage, the moon shines bright enough behind shifting clouds that even the slivers of light allow Joe to see the branches of the apple tree in the front garden sway with the cool night's breeze. Many summers ago they'd laid in the shade of that tree, eating the sweetly tart fruit until they'd made themselves sick. He has a sketch - or eight - of the passing shadows dappling Nicky's face as he'd laid back, full and content.

A memory stacked upon another memory from the days they'd done the same with Andromache, years and years ago, four, five hundred years ago, filling their bellies with overripe apricots after several long hard years of fighting and barely being able to tell if they had even made a difference, let alone actually helped anyone. Even now Joe can close his eyes and see Qýuhn's hair blowing free in the cooling winds coming up along the Peloponnese peninsula. Andromache's fingers sticky with pasteli, her cheeks rosy where she laid them on Qýuhn's thigh. Nicolò, sunbleached and glowing in the golden of light of a Mediterranean sunset.

He remembers retelling the apple story when they'd all met up again, Booker with his ever present flask, Andy sharing long drinks from it, all them tired but smiling, leaning heavily of the heavenly taste of crisp apples and the folly of gorging on enough fresh fruit to upset their stomachs. Because it made Booker laugh. Because it gave them all something to laugh about, to distract themselves from the weather turning and Sèbastien's eyes growing cagey as the winter's teeth started to bite.

Nicky had stoked the cottage's fire til they'd been sweating in front of the tiny hearth, toasty and ridiculous in their undergarments, with thick woolen socks on their feet in respect for the wild weather that battered at the windows. He'd felt happy that they'd managed to turn that haunted look to smiling eyes that crinkled at the edges. Had that moment meant something? Anything? Nothing? Was the glow in his eyes merely momentary? A trick of light and the gleam of drunken eyes?

Would this be the rest of his days? Questioning every moment, desperately searching for where he went wrong, where he should have noticed Booker's pain. Looking for the moment that had been Sèbastien's last straw.

It's funny, Joe can joke, he can laugh, he can make vague reference and yell angry accusing words, he can recite a bit of original poem he's writing as he speaks, but he can't work out how to open his mouth and say the words why did you hurt me?

He's always horribly envied Nicky's ability to put his hurt away, to shelve it for later, or never if he feels it best. Even as he's pulled his hair out in frustration as his other half willfully tears himself to pieces in an effort to find a way to please everyone.

Oh, he knows they're both different shades of Not Dealing Well, both of them like a purpose to distract themselves.

Foolishly, stupidly, for a wild moment Joe wishes for someone else to try for them, to attack them, just so he can slip back into the head space of being a unit, a simple moving part in a machine much larger than himself, Nicky and him working hand in hand, two halves of a whole.

He desperately wishes for that feeling, for anything other than devastated, tearing, hating hurt that sits on his lungs like peine forte et dure, each time he feels like the worst of the pain has occurred he remembers some other occasion, some other memory now colored by betrayal.

He can forgive, he can sympathize, he can hold his brother close and cry for the losses he's suffered.

But anger stabs through at the thought of him not returning that empathy. Like he and all the kin before Booker haven't suffered days of death and nights of death. Day after day, month after month of unimaginable loss, not knowing how to stop it, how to help it, just enduring as time pass uncaring of the pain felt.

He's held Nicky as he begged for the end, for them to finally (please, please, please) be released from the unrelenting years of horrors, just as Nicky has pulled him close while he cried, screamed, wailed for even the slightest chance of reprieve. From the widow with dead eyes and fevered blush, burying her last child and going back to work at the sick houses, for the children with nothing – nothing - yet who could still muster a smile, for Nicky spitting blood, choking, drowning, dying, then coming back to do it all over again. Never ending and relentless.

This is stupid.

He is being stupid.

Awake in the middle of the night, stalking around their Malta house gun in hand, the most unnatural state of himself, but unable to rest, convinced that if he relaxed, if his guard dropped for a moment, he would lose it all.

He places the gun on the table, sits down, there's no peace or answers to be found in an old cottage kitchen by the sea at midnight.

All there is, is the long shadows of moonlight between furniture, the evening dishes neatly washed and drying on the sink, a glass full of pens on the table, Joe's gun now sitting atop Nicky's latest writing attempt. Never long, never complicated, Joe found himself devastated by each small letter his husband left for him, even the three thousand that merely read I love you ♥♥♥♥, he held each one to equal esteem, though Nicky barely seemed to remember writing them, he would just smile and say I was thinking of you.

you unmake me.

you remake me.

everyday

Doodled across cheap lined notepaper, tucked under his dinner plate. They'd shared that meal just a few hours ago, Nicky's eyes had been tired but he'd kissed Joe's curls with a soft smile as he'd served dinner.

A meal that had taken more than half the day to create because if Nicky had the time he found peace in simmering oil and tomatoes, in adding all the extra ingredients that might make an Italian swear but had delighted them so when they'd first tasted them, that now they'd add them to whatever meal they could.

It'd been less than a week and Nicky was already on first name basis with the halal butcher a few blocks away, and many a day they stroll the streets, collecting fresh produce from the little garden markets, stopping by Zakaria's so he could wrap the evening meal with a only my finest cut for my favorite customers and a wink, despite having claimed the same to the little Italian grandmother before them, blushing and waving her hands in a flustered, delighted stop motion.

Joe closes his eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, like his heart would be beat out of his chest, fall out onto the floorboards that they'd sanded and placed lovingly when they'd first started rebuilding this little cottage. Nicky could live his life with just Yusuf and the sea and be happy, but Joe needed people, needed to see people living their lives no matter how mundane. No matter how out of sorts he's been since they arrived, exhausted and devastated from London, Nicky hadn't forgotten that.

And so Nicolò knows the butcher by name, and, in turn, Zakaria's fisherman boyfriend, who stocks the butcher shop with the freshest of catches and shies away from company, with deep sad eyes and ankle bones that jut out like he needs a Nonna to fuss over him.

And so he's befriended the old ladies from the markets who give him unsolicited advice on his roses, on his apple tree, on the lush green vine that flowers bright bursts of color, on how to keep That Nice Young Man He's Always With happy.

And so each of these people is a friend of Joe's as well.

Joe takes one last long look out the window. Daring anyone who might be out there to take the moment. To give him a reprieve from his thoughts.

But the apple trees branches are the only thing moving. Wind rustling leaves the only sounds to be heard over the soft ebbing crash of waves in the distance.

There's no respite to be found tonight, he thinks as he put his pistol away. Part of him aches to remain armed, to keep vigilant, because last time, last time, but he won't walk into their bedroom with a loaded gun in hand. Not tonight when he feels like his very soul has been twisted, not when he still feels as if unseen eyes are watching him.

As Joe closes the bedroom door behind him, eyes open slow but sharp, immediately awake, perhaps awake before Joe came in. His Nicky is a light sleeper, more prone to 3 or 4 hours sleep before waking alert and ready to face the living hours,.

Nicky's eyes go soft, the faintest of gentle smiles curling his lips as he focuses on Yusuf.

“Where are you, my love?” he asks with quiet rasping voice of someone newly woken.

He doesn't know, he feels adrift, but Nicky's hand moves, reaches out and Joe crosses the room to take it as the lifeline he needs.

“What do you need?” His voice is steady and calm and ready to promise anything in his power to Joe.

And Joe feels his heart constrict, he can't live without this man, he thinks wildly

(a flash, a dagger in the dark, Nicolò on the ground, a halo of his blood, his beautiful skull, his precious brains scattered across the floor without second thought)

he wants to know Andy's okay, he wants her and Nile here immediately so he can see for himself that they're safe, he wants Qýuhn in his arms so much it physically aches. He wants her dark humor and her sharp eyes. He wants to hear her screech like stepped on cat whenever something delighted her. He wants Booker snorting into his wine at some stupid joke, he wants to know he's alive, that he hasn't thrown himself into another stupid situation.

In the morning, he thinks, in the morning he'll speak to Nile, her occasional furtive texting isn't quite as secretive as she perhaps thinks but none of them had felt the need to tell her to stop.

In the morning, he can wait til morning to soothe the lies and worries that his anxiety haunts him with. Til then, he threads his hands tighter with Nicky's, lets him pull Joe to bed, lets him rearrange them til he's flat on his back with Joe's head is resting on his chest, Nicolò's heartbeat in his ear.

He keeps a hold of Joe's hand, brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to where they're joined, then curls it close to Joe and his chest, as if shielding it against the rest of the world.

“You, just you.” Joe tells the darkness.

“You have me,” Nicolò says, his breath, his lips, his jaw moving against Joe's curls.

“What do you need?” He asks again, free hand coming to rest, cradling Joe's head, gently gently he feels fingers move lightly in tiny soft circles.

“Tell me something.”

Joe pulls their joined hands close, presses his own kiss against Nicky's long fingers, holds it close enough for his breath to warm skin “Please. Tell me something good.”

It's a hard ask, he knows, he knows, every good moment of their lives can be tied to a bad one, the past could be a minefield with no directions or signs. But Nicolò rarely shied from a challenge.

“Did I ever tell you of the time Qýuhn demanded to know my intentions with you?”

“But she loved you!” He mumbles against their joined hands.

“Yes she did, but she loved your heart just as fiercely.” Nicky's chest moves against Joe's cheek as he snorts, amused, “We'd had to have been intimate for almost a year by this time, but she had me feeling like a sham of a man standing before the most beautiful man's guardian, offering a pauper's dowery.”

Joe starts shifting to argue but the hand on his head keeps him still, gentle but firm.

“It was good. To be reminded that you had someone else who would fight for your happiness, that my love for you was visible enough to be challenged, a reminder that we both still had family even if it looked very different to what we'd been born with. It'd been nice to know no matter how much I felt I didn't deserve, I'd been ready to fight for the right to let that be your decision.”

“You do deserve me,” the gentle circles on his scalp are making him sleepy but he puts a token argument, the principle of no one was allowed talk shit about Nicky, not even Nicky, one he was always ready to defend.

“Hush, you asked for a story, this is my story.”

“Scusi, scusi,” he kisses Nicky's hand again, “tell your story, tell me how you convinced me that Qýuhn you were worthy of my hand in marriage.”

He swears he can hear Nicky smile in the dark.

“I didn't, Andromache came in and declared they should leave us to make our mistakes and then stab which ever of us was most in the wrong.”

Joe can't help but laugh. “Qýuhn like that?”

He feels Nicky's soft laughter vibrate through his skin, he wants to die like this, in a moment like this, just the two of them entwined.

“No, she called Andy soulless and unromantic, they went outside to spar. We didn't see them again til morning, and Qýuhn never mentioned it again, so maybe Andy had a little romance in her.”

“How have I never head of this story?”

Nicky's answering chuckle is a delight.

“You came back and we had the house to ourselves for the entire night.” The hand on Joe's head flexes, like he wants to hold Joe as tight as he is can but its as much as their position allows. “It was a good day. We were loved, we are loved.”

He wants to crawl inside Nicolò, live forever embraced by his heart, to feel every lung full of breath press against him

“Sleep my love,” Nicky says leaning low to press his cheek against Joe's curls, to place an unaimed kiss to his forehead.

Sleep.

Nicky’s heartbeat is a sure and steady thing against his ear

(a monitor screaming as his lives hand falls limp against restraints)

Joe squeezes his eyes tightly shut then forces himself to relax, to hear the beat that's been by his side for a thousand years. He thinks of crinkles at the sides of Qýuhn's eyes when she grinned, the way she'd look to Joe when she found something fun to share.

He thinks of the way Booker's face grew soft in the late of the night when the game had long ended and everyone had gone to sleep and it was just the two of them, keeping the sleepless night company.

He thinks of the glow of Nile's face when they walked the halls of the National Museum, her excited but obviously knowledgeable commentary, how he itches to draw the lines of her joy over and over til he gets it just right.

He thinks of Andy in Marrakesh, the feel of her ribs reverberating with the force of her laugh as he swung her around. She's mother, weird aunt, odd stranger, honored elder, pain in the ass know-it-all older sister and so many more things he can not think to name, but she's theirs, and it's going to take a lot more than mortality to take her from them.

He swears it.

Finally he thinks of Nicky.

Nicky with long hair in his face, of the ever changing color his eyes across the firelight, of the weight of his body passed out, sated atop Yusuf, of the weight of his body lifeless as Joe pulled him somewhere to revive safely. The heaviness of his gaze and the weightlessness of even his smallest smile. Of his hands as they held Joe together, the gentleness of his touch as he put him back together. Of the unique light in his eyes, the fire that burns brightest when his sword is out. He thinks of words freely given when speech was hardest, he thinks of the uncountable I love you's, the innumerable languages he's learnt just to speak them and hear them back.

He thinks of hot blood spattered across his face and the way Nicolòs eyes would fight to meet his own when the end was coming. He thinks of the tightening of hands before they became unbearably limp. He thinks of the bad deaths, of eyelashes glued together with tears as hes gasped alive and the watery smile that followed. He thinks of Nicky moving, his sword swinging, on broken ankle, spitting blood and still moving.

His head, his heart, his life is full, and sometimes it feels like he'll drown with all that's in it.

Nicky's hand moves from his head, moves to stroke down his spine, long and slow in repetition.

Sleep he says again, his own voice thick at the edge of sleep himself.

Joe hugs a small breath, then slows his breathing to match the deep level breathing of Nicolò asleep. He thinks about the first time they slept like this, arms around each other, tangled and holding tight. He thinks of the countless times he's rubbed his nose against the back of Nicky's neck as he tried to catch just a little more sleep time.

There's a heaviness growing in his limbs as he half dreams of Nicky as he wraps himself around and burrows himself closer to Nicky. Slowly, steadily and then suddenly all at once, the sense memory of nine hundred years in this man's arms lulls him into sleep.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #tog fic #fic #nicolò di genova #mine #teamsuke

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